-JJ 


tihravy  of t:Ke  t:  Keolo0ical  Seminar;)!' 

PRINCETON    •   NEW  JERSEY 


•»-««• 

PRESENTED  BY 

John 

M.    Krebs 

BR 

A5 

.C44    V 

.2 

The 

Christian    library 

THE 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY 


COMPRISING 


A   SERIES   OF  STANDARD  WORKS 


IN 


RELIGIOUS    LITERATURE. 


VOL.  II. 


PHILADELPHIA: 
KEY  &  BIDDLE,  23  MINOR  STREET. 

T.  K.  COLLINS  .(■  CO.  PraNTEES. 

1834. 


t.w:-n,j- 


ir 


PBiirejsTOJi^ 


THEOLOGIGilL 

CONTENTS   OF    VOL.  11. 


PAROCHIAL  LECTURES  ON  THE  LAW  AND  THE  GOSPEL. 


Introdi'ctiom.  .-..--.-i 
Lect.  I. — The  Importance  of  a  Knowledge  of  the  Divine 

Law.      ..-...---  ("J. 

Lect.  IL — The  same  (continued.)       -         .         -         -  4 

Lect.  IIL — The  Spirituality  of  the  Law.     -         -         -  6 

Lect.  1  v. — The  Convincing  Power  of  the  Law.           -  8 

Lect.  V. — The  Condemning  Power  of  the  Law.          -  11 

Lect.  VI. — The  Law  a  Guide  to  Christ.     -         -         -  13 

Lect.  VIL — Christ  our  Rigliteousness.       -         -        -  15 

Lect.  Vlll. — The  Governing  Power  of  the  Law.  -  18 
Lect.  LX. — The  Effect  of  Obedience  to  the  Law  upon 

our  Salvation.  .-.--.-20 

Lect.  X. — The  Object  of  the  Gospel.          -        -        •  23 


Lect.  XL — The  Gospel  Way  of  Salvation.          -        -  25 

Lect.  XIL — The  History  of  the  Gospel.     -        -        -  28 

Lect.  XIIL— The  Wisdom  of  the  Gospel.           -        -  31 

Lect.  XIV.— The  Power  of  the  Gospel  to  Save.          -  33 
Lect.  XV. — The   Grace   of  the   Gospel  as  a  Divine 

Gift. 36 

Lect.  XVI. — ^The  Glory  of  the  Gospel  as  a  Revelation 

of  God. 39 

Lect.  XVII. — The  Glory  of  the  Gospel  from  its  Method 
of  Publication.         ...--.-42 

Lect.  XVIIL— The  Glory  of  the  Gospel  from  the  Sub- 
jects which  it  Proclaims.         .....  44 

Lect.  XIX. — The  Gospel  Magnifying  the  Law.          -  4G 


A  GENERAL  VIEW  OF  THE  GEOLOGY  OF  SCRIPTURE. 


Preface.  ........ 

Introductobv  Chapter.     ...... 

Chap.  I. — Our  ideas  of  the  real  extent  of  objects  on  the 
Karth's  Surface  often  erroneous.  True  height  of 
Mountains.  Depths  of  the  Ocean.  Of  Mines.  Of 
Volcanic  Foci.  Kruptions  of  Mud  containing  Fish. 
Volcanoes  only  in  Secondary  Formations.  True  Scale 
on  which  to  view  the  Earth.  Form  of  tlie  Earlli. 
Newton's  Demonstrations.  Gravity  and  Centrifugal 
Force.  False  inferences  drawn  from  Newton's  Hy- 
pothesis. True  Primitive  Creations.  Density  of  the 
Earth.  Reflections  arising  from  the  Subject  The 
Days  of  Creation.  ...... 

Chap.  II. — The  Second  Day  of  the  Creation.  Tlie  Fir- 
mament, or  Atmosphere.  Atmospheric  Phenomena. 
Magnetism,  and  Electricity.     ..... 

Chap.  III. — The  gathering  together  of  the  Waters. 
The  Sublimity  of  tliis  Fiat  of  the  Creator  not  sutTi- 
ciently  understood.     The  Transition  Rocks.     - 

Chap.  IV. — Constant  Changes  in  Nature.  Origin  of 
Secondary  Formations.  Primitive  Soils,  for  the  Nour- 
isliment  of  a  Primitive  Vegetation.  Constant  Circu- 
lation in  ilie  Fluids  of  the  Earth.  Springs,  Brooks, 
and  Rivers.  The  Tides.  Their  Cause  Explained. 
The  Currents  of  the  Ocean,  and  their  present  existing 
System.  Effects  naturally  arising  from  these  jiower- 
ful  Causes.      -.....-- 

Chap.  V. — General  Nature  of  the  F'ormations  on  the 
Eartli.  Origin  and  Progress  of  Secondary  Forma- 
tions. Causes  of  Stratification  in  .Secondary  Rocks. 
Such  Deposits  become  gradually  Mineralized.  Cal- 
careous Formations.  Salt  Deposits.  Proof  of  Gran- 
ite not  being  an  .Igneous  Deposit.  Secondary  Forma- 
tions now  in  Progress  in  the  bed  of  the  Ocean. 

Chap.  VI. — Tlie  Deluge.  Traditional  Evidence  of  that 
Event.  Erroneous  Ideas  commonly  entertained  res- 
pecting it.  Distinctness  of  Scripture  on  the  Subject. 
Evidence  from  Scripture.  Evidence  froiif  the  An- 
cient, though  Apocryphal,  Book  of  Enoch.  Theories 
of  Philosophy  on  the  Subject.  The  most  probable 
(^ause  of  that  Destructive  Event.     -         .         .         . 

Chap.  ^'II. — Mosaic  Account  of  the  Deluge.  The 
Mountains  of  Ararat.  Origin  of  that  remarkable  Name. 
Effects  during  the  Deluge.  Action  of  the  Tides  and 
the  Currents  during  the  Deluge.  Their  Effects  upon 
Organic  Bodies.  Diluvial  Strata.  Abatement  of  the 
Waters.     Renewal  of  the  Face  of  the  Earth. 

Chap.  Vlll. — General  View  of  the  existing  Surface. 
Force  of  the  Waves.  Principles  of  Stratificalion. 
(lavous  Limestone.  Gibraltar.  The  plains  of  the 
Earth.     Of  South  America.     Of  -Africa.     Of  Asia. 


50  Of   Europe.     Result  of  this   View.     Chalk  Basins. 

51  That  of  Paris,  a  Guide  to  all  similar  Basins.  Salt 
Deposits.  Coal  Formations.  Evidences  of  Coal 
being  a  Marine,  and  not  a  Lacustrine  Formation.      -       73 

Chap.  IX. — Organic  Remains.  Evidences  derived  from 
thein.  Erroneous  Theories  of  Continuous  Stratifica- 
tion. Diluvial  Fossil  Remains.  Diluvial  Origin  of 
Coal.  Unfounded  Theories  on  this  Subject.  The 
Belgian  Coal  Fields.  Tropical  Productions  in  Polar 
Regions.  Buffon's  Theory.  High  Importance  of  the 
Evidence  of  Fossils.  Natural  and  unavoidable  mode 
of  Transport.     Instances  in   proof.     Buoyant  nature 

55  of  Bodies  after  Death.     Rate  at  which   they  might 

have  been  transported.  The  thick-skinned  Animals 
floated  longest.         .......       so 

59  Chap.  X. — High  Importance  of  the  Evidence  of  Fossils. 
Siberian  Mammoth.  The  entire  Elephant  of  the  Lena. 
Theories  founded  on  this  Specimen,  unsupported  by 

CO  facts.  Consistent  mode  of  accounting  for  Tropical 
Productions  in  Cold  Climates.  Unchanged  condi- 
tion of  the  Climates  of  the  Earth.  Italian  Deposits. 
Monte  Bolca.  Fossils  on  the  Coast  of  Norfolk.  For- 
mations of  the  South  of  England.  The  same  View 
extended  to  the  Continent.  -  -  -  .  -  86 
Chap.  XI. — The  Cave  of  Kirkdale.  Dr.  Buckland's 
Theory  founded  on  its  P'ossil  Remains.     Contradic- 

61  tory  Nature  of  this  Theory.     Fossil  Bones  from  the 

Hymalaya  Glaciers,  and  from  the  Heights  of  South 
America.  Natural  mode  for  accounting  for  them. 
The  Habits  of  tlie  Elephant.  His  most  perfect  form. 
His  love  of  the  Water,  and  of  a  swampy  and  woody 
Country.  Habits  of  the  Rhinoceros.  Cuvier's  Opin- 
ion of  Fossil  Remains.    Inconsistencj'  of  this  Opinion. 

64  Evidence  of  Astronomy.  Evidence  from  Fossil  Trees. 
Conclusive  Nature  of  this  Evidence.  Evidence  de- 
rived from  Peat  Moss.  Foot-marks  of  Antediluvian 
Animals.  Scratches  occasioned  by  the  Diluvial  Ac- 
tion. Formation  of  Valleys.  Scripture  alone  capable 
of  explaining  these  Evidences.  -  -  -  -  90 
Chap.  XII. — Elephants  clothed  with  Hair  and  Wool 

68  Existing  Instances  of  this  Variety,  even  within  the 

Tropics.  Probable  Identity  between  the  Mammoth 
and  the  Asiatic  Elephant.  Cuvier's  Theory  on  this 
Subject  inconsistent  with  Facts.  More  natural  Con- 
clusions. Erroneous  Theories  respecting  Fossils. — 
The  Mastodon  not  confined  to  the  Continents  of  Amer- 

70  ica,  as  commonly   supposed.     Instance  of  the  great 

Mastodon  in  England.     Form  of  the  Tusks  of  the 
MaModon. — Erroneous  Ideas  on  this  subject.      -         -     98 
Chap.  XIII. — Human  Fossil  Remains.     Why  they  can- 
not be  so  numerous  as  those  of  other  Animals.     Lime- 


CONTENTS. 


stone  Cnves  and  Fis^nres.  An  Example  in  the  Cave 
of  Gaylenreuth,  witli  its  Fossil  Contents.  Dr.  Buck- 
land's  Theory  of  (Javes  and  Fissures.  Human  Fos- 
sils found  at  Guadaloupe.  Also  at  Durfort.  Great 
Fossil  Deposits  in  Spain,  containing  Human  bones. — 
Quarries  at  Kostritz,  containing  Human  Bones. 
Natural  Conclusions  from  the  above  Account.  Dr. 
Buckland's  Conclusion  respecting  Kostritz  incon- 
sistent with  other  parts  of  his  theory.  Caves  and 
Fissures  in  Lime-stone.     General  spread  of  Diluvial 

Effects. 

Chap.  XIV. — On  the  Situation  of  Paradise ;  together 
with  Critical  and  Geological  Evidences  of  the  spurious 
character  of  that  descriptive  account  of  it,  found  in  all 
modern  copies  and  translations  of  the  Book  of  Genesis. 


101 


109 


Chap.  XV. — On  tlie  creation  of  mankind.  The  Origin 
of  Language.  What  was  the  Primitive  Language  ? 
High  Probability  in  favour  of  Hebrew.  On  the  Diver- 
sity of  Colour  among  Mankind.  Testimony  of  the 
Jews  on  this  Subject.  Origin  of  the  American  Indi- 
ans. Their  Traditions  and  Customs.  Their  Religious 
Belief.  Religious  Rites  in  the  Interior  of  Africa.  On 
Sacrifice.  Traditions  and  Beliefs  in  the  Friendly  Is- 
lands. Historical  Evidence  of  a  common  descent 
from  Noah.  On  the  identity  of  words  among  the 
most  distant  Nations.  On  the  universal  use  of  a  Deci- 
mal Gradation.  Natural  Inference  from  all  these  Con- 
siderations.      -        -        -        -        -        -        -        -111 

Conclusions  to  which  we  are  naturally  led  by  the  general 
tenour  of  the  foregoing  inquiry.  .....  110 


LECTURES  ON  PORTIONS  OF  THE  PSALMS. 


Lect.  I. — Psalm  v.  1 — 8.  - 
Lect.  II. — Psalm  v.  8 — end. 
Lect.  III. — Psalm  xv. 
Lect.  IV. — Psalm  xvi.  I — 3. 
Lect.  V. — Psalm  xvi.  4 — 7. 
Lect.  VI. — Psalm  xvi.  8 — end. 


-  118  Lect.  VII Psalm  xxxiii.  1 — 7. 

-  121  Lect.  VIII. — Psalm  xliii.  - 

-  124  Lect.  IX. — Psalm  Ixxxiv.  8 — end. 

-  129  Lect.  X. — Psalm  cxvi.  1—9. 

-  132  Lect.  XI. — Psalm  cxvi.  10 — end. 

-  134  Lect.  XII.— Psalm  iii. 


-  138 

-  113 

-  140 

-  149 

-  152 

-  154 


A  PORTRAITURE  OF  MODERN  SCEPTICISM. 

Chap.  I ^The  Views  which  Infidels  have  entertained  re-  Chap.  II. — Showing  that  the  evidence  of  Christianity  is 

specting  the  moral  character  of  God.       -             -         -  101  of  such  a  nature  that  it  admits  of  being  brought  home 

Chap.  II.— Though  Infidels  profess  to  hold  the  doctrine  individually,  with  convincing  power,  to  every  man's 

of  the  Divine  Existence,  yet  they  refuse  or  neglect  all  bosom.      .........  100 

reliirinus  worship.     .....--     ?i.  Chap.  III. — Containing  a  brief  survey  of  those  branches 

CHAprill. — A  brief  survey  of  the  character  of  that  mo-  of  evidence  which  it  is  proper  to  urge  upon  the  atten- 

rality  which  Infidelity  inculcates  and  displays.        -       162  tion  of  those  who  have  not  as  yet  yielded  up  their 

Chap.  IV. — The  practical  effects  of  Infidelity.      -         -     ib.  minds  to  the  divine  authority  and  transforming  power 

Chap.  V. — A  contrasted  view  of  Infidelity  and  Christi-  of  the  Gospel.  -        - 107 

anity. 163  Chap.    IV. — On     the    Transmission     of    the     Sacred 

Chap.  VI. — An  affectionate  appeal  to  those  who  have  Books. --  183 

been  entangled  in  the  snares  of  Infidelity.           -        -  164  Chap.  V — On    the    Inspiration  of   the    Holy    Scrip- 

SECOND  PART.  r.^'''^%r     'o       "         'i        I-     .'       ,' .u    7  u  i'     ■    '  ^^^ 

THE  TRUTH  AM)  EX(  ELLENCE  01'  CHRISTIANITY.  Chap.  VI — Some  popular  objections  to  the  full  Inspira- 

Chap.L— The  comparative  credit  due  to  the  conclusions  tion  of  the  Holy  Scriptures. 188 

ofSceptics  and  Christians. 105      Conclusion. IdJ 


A  MEMOIR  OF  MISS  MARY  JANE  GRAHAM. 

Extracts   from 


Chap.  I.— Her  Early  Life. 190 

Chap.  II. — Her  Relapse  into  Infidelity.         ...  192 
Chap.  HI. — General  sketch  of  Miss  Graham's  life;  her 
views  of  study ;   extensive  attainments ;    and  active 
devotedness  to  God.  ......  194 


Chap.  IV. — Further 

Correspondence. 
Chap.  V. — Different  views  and 

ham's  character.  .  .  - 
Chap.  VI. — Her  illness  and  death 
Chap.  VII. — Remarks. 


her  Writings  and 

202 

features  in  Miss  Gra- 
230 

-  243 

-  248 


THE  PERSONALITY  AND  OFFICE  OF  THE  CHRISTIAN  COMFORTER. 


Lect.  I. — Interesting  nature  of  the  proposed  Inquiry. 

The  promise  of  the  Comforter  when  given. — Great- 
ness of  the  loss  which  his  coming  was  to  repair.  An 
accurate  comprehension  of  the  meaning  of  the  Pro- 
mise, why  necessary.  Writers  by  whom  the  subject 
has  been  already  treated.  Clagitt. — Ridley. — Owen. 
— Warburton.  -....---  252 

The  discussion  of  Religious  Mysteries  necessary  and  advan- 
tageous. 
Christian  Morality  derives  its  sanction  from  Chris- 
tian doctrine.  No  revealed  truth  unimportant.  Such 
inquiries  not  dangerous  to  the  general  interests  of 
Christianity.  Folly  and  danger  of  dissembling  our 
Faith.  A  due  consideration  of  the  Christian  Myste- 
ries how  useful.  Evils  incident  to  Controversy  : — not 
peculiar  to  Religious  Controversy: — how  best  to  be 
avoided.  -         -  ......  254 

Tlireefold  Division  of  the  subject  of  t/iese  Lectures. 
1.  Nature  of  the  promised  Comforter.     2.  Persons 
for  whose  comfort  and  protection  he  was  to  come.     3. 
Benefits  which  they  were  to  receive  from  him,  -  257 

/.  Inquiry  into  the  Nature  of  tlie  Comforter, 
Impostors  who  have  assumed  his  name — Manes — 
Monlamis — Mohammed.    The   Comforter  the   same 


with  the  Holy  Ghost.  Doctrine  of  the  Church  con- 
cerning his  Personality,  Divinity,  and  Union  with  the 
Father  and  the  Son.  ......  257 

Lect.  II. — Tlie  Personality  of  the  Comforter  shown  from  our 
Saviour's  expressions  concerning  him. 
Actions  and  properties  ascribed  to  the  Holy  Ghost 
or  Comforter.  Such  actious  and  properties  cannot 
properly  be  ascribed  to  a  Virtue,  Operation  or  Quality. 
Qualities,  Influences,  Powers,  &c.  what.  Accidents 
only  predicable  of  a  real  existence  Material  or  Spirit- 
ual.    The  Holy  Ghost  not  a  Slaterial  Substance.       -  257 

T/ie  expressiorif  of  our  Savixtur  concerning  the  Comforter  not 
allegorical  or  figurative. 
In  all  expressions  not  professedly  parabolical,  the 
literal  interpretation  most  probable.  Inconsistency  of 
the  Socinians  in  preferring  the  allegorical  interpreta- 
tion. Motives  by  which  men  are  led  to  the  use  of  Al- 
legory or  Metaphor : — did  not  apply  to  the  discourse 
now  under  examinalion.  Nor  have  our  Lord's  words 
any  of  the  distinctive  marks  by  which  figurative  ex- 
pressions are  distinguished  from  those  which  are  to 
be  taken  literally.  VVherein  those  marks  consist.  The 
Personification  of  an  abstract  quality  not  proper  or  in- 
telligible, under  any  other  name  than  that  which  con- 
ventionally stands  for  it ; — much  less  under  a  name  al- 


CONTENTS. 


ready  appropriated  to  a  real  a^ent.  ISFeaning  of  the 
term  "  i^pirii."  No  reason  to  apprehend  that  our  Lord 
used  the  term  in  compliance  with  popular  superstition. 
Nor  that  the  term  "  Holy  Spirit,"  was  employed  by 
the  Jews  in  a  fipfurative  meaning  to  express  Inspira- 
tion. The  testimonies  of  Jerome  and  Maiinonides  to 
this  effect  not  conclusive.  Jerome  has  misrepresented 
Lactantius.  Maimonides  frequently  at  variance  with 
the  usual  opinions  of  the  Synagogue.  Tlie  ancient 
Jews  regarded  the  Holy  Spirit  as  a  Person.  This 
fact  sufficient  for  the  present  argument,  though  their 
knowledge  of  his  Nature  and  Functions  might  be  im- 
perfect.    .-.-.----  258 

Tlte  expressions  in  question  further  shown  not  to  be  allegorical, 
from  the  general  consent  of  Christians,  and  more  particular!;/ 
of  Ike  primitive  Church. 

Force  of  this  argument.  Reasonableness  of  that  de- 
ference which  is  paid  to  the  opinions  of  the  primitive 
Church.  Those  opinions  favourable  to  the  Orthodox 
cause.  ........  2C1 

The  .indent  Christian  TVriters  not  incompetent  evidence. 
Those  Writers  not  cited  for  their  merit  as  writers  or 
commentators,  but  as  contemporary  witnesses  to  the 
faith  of  the  Ancient  Church.     Tliuir  competency  to 
this  point.  -...-..-  201 

77ie  Orthodox  Opinions  not  first  introduced  into  the  Church  in 
the  Seanid  Century  after  Cliri^l. 
Those  doctrines  found  in  the  writings  of  the  Apos- 
tolic Fathers.  Testimonies  to  the  Personality  of  God's 
Spirit  in  Hermas, — Clemens, — Ignatius, — Pnlycarp. 
The  Doxology  how  ancient.  Canticle  called  the  Kpi- 
lychnia,  popular  with  the  lower  ranks  of  Cliristians. 
Tertullian  and  Justin  do  not  favour  the  notion  that  the 
Doctrine  of  the  Trinity  was  in  their  time  recently  in- 
troduced. Testimonies  of  Justin  and  Irenaeus  to  the 
universal  faith  of  the  Church.  ....  2C2 

I.KIT.  III. — The  Orthodox  Opinions  not  derived  from  the 
Platoniits. 
The  Platonizing  Christians  why  conspicuous  in  Ec- 
clesiastical History.  Their  influence  with  the  general 
body  of  Christians  not  great.  The  Platonists  in  gen- 
eral hostile  to  Christianity,  and  why.  Their  leading 
doctrines  strongly  opposed  to  the  Orthodox  faith.  Be- 
lief in  Two  Principles.  Utter  Impurity  of  Matter. 
The  Creator  of  the  World  how  esteemed  by  them. 
Their  objections  to  the  Orthodox  Faith  in  the  Incarna- 
tion of  the  Godhead,  and  the  Resurrection  of  the  Body. 
Porphyry.  Apollonius  of  Tyana.  Ammonius.  Ju- 
lian the  Apostate.  Synesius.  Platonizing  Christians 
either  Heretics  or  suspected  of  Heresy.  The  Platonic 
Trinity  not  a  conspicuous  part  of  the  doctrine  of  the 
Academy.  Its  resemblance  to  the  Christian  Trinity 
imperfect.  Yet,  from  this  resemblance  an  argument 
may  be  drawn  against  the  Unitarians.        -         .         .  261 

The  Orthodox  Opinions  derived  from  the  .llposlks  themselves. 

The  Ancient  Fathers  appeal  to  Apostolic  Tradition 
and  Authority.  Necessary  inferences  from  such  an 
appeal.  The  Orthodox  regarded  Apostles  as  the  foun- 
ders of  their  Sect.  This  could  not  have  been  the  case 
if  so  important  a  doctrine  as  the  Trinity  had  been  in- 
troduced into  the  Church  by  any  other  person  in  op- 
position to  the  authority  of  the  Apostles  when  alive, 
or  their  known  sentiments  when  dead.  Nor  can  we 
allow  that  such  an  innovation  can  have  been  introduced 
under  colour  of  receiving  the  genuine  opinions  of  the 
Apostles, — for  no  such  pretended  loss  and  revival  of 
the  faith  is  noticed  by  any  of  the  Fathers.  If  such  a 
revolution  in  the  religious  opinions  of  the  Church  had 
taken  place,  its  author  must  have  held  a  high  place  in 
Ecclesiastical  History.  No  such  person  is  known  to 
have  e.visted.  Such  a  change  caimothave  taken  place 
unobserved.     It,  therefore,  never  took  place  at  all.        266 

Resumption  of  the  .irgument  from  the  general  consent  of  Chris- 
Hans. 
The  Orthodox  Believers  composed  a  Majority  of  the 
primitive  Christians.  The  Personality  of  God's  Spi- 
rit not  held  by  the  Orthodox  only,  but  by  the  great  body 
of  Christians  however  otherwise  divided.  The  Mani- 
chees. — The  Arians. — The  Mohammedans. — The 
Gnostics, — The  Ebionites The  Nazarenes.    To  this 


general  consent,  the  Sabellians  and  Socinians  the  only 
known  exceptions.    .-...--  267 

The  Spirit  of  God,  how  spoken  of  in  other  parts  of  Scripture. 
Examination  of  those  passages  where  He  is  said  to  be 
given,  quenched,  &c.  Those  passages  obviously  figu- 
rative, whether  on  our  principles  or  those  of  the  Socin- 
ians. The  persona  ej/iclens  maj'  be  put  for  the  res 
efftcta.  Expressions  of  the  same  kind  applied  to  those 
whose  personal  existence  is  uncontrovertible.  The 
Holy  Ghost  proved  to  be  a  Person  on  the  same  grounds 
with  those  on  which  we  believe  the  Personality  of  God 
the  Father.  The  various  metaphorical  names  ap- 
plied to  the  Holy  Ghost,  no  presumption  against 
his  Personality.  Supposed  Identity  of  the  Holy 
Ghost  and  the  Jewish  Schckiuah  an  argument  in  favour 
of  this  doctrine.        .......  267 

Socinian  and  SabeUian  Notions  compared. 
If  the  Holy  Ghost  be  an  attribute  or  operation,  he 
must  be  an  attribute  or  operation  of  God  the  Father. 
Whatever  is  figuratively  predicated  of  an  accident  is 
roallj-  predicated  of  the  Person  or  Substance  in  wiiich 
that  accident  is  inherent.  The  Divinity  of  the  Holy 
Ghost  in  what  sense  maintained  by  the  Socinians  and 
Sabellians.  The  Holy  Gliost  incidentally  proved  to 
be  God.  But  cannot  be  identified  with  God  the  Fa- 
ther. Inconsistency  of  the  Socinians  in  admitting 
part  of  the  Sabellian  System  and  rejecting  the  remain- 
der. 1  Cor.  ii.  11,  examined  and  explained.  Con- 
clusive against  the  Arian  System  but  not  against  the 
Homoousian.  Ancient  opinion  of  two  Souls  in  Man. 
Contradictions  and  absurdities  of  the  SabeUian  Hy- 
pothesis.   269 

Conclusion  of  the  .Irgument  in  favour  of  the  Spiril''s  Personaltty. 
Motives  by  whicli  a  Christian  is  actuated  in  expos- 
ing the  errors  of  his  Religious  opponents.  Exhorta- 
tion to  the  study  of  Scripture.  Doctrines  now  to  be 
tried.  Practical  nature  of  the  Truths  contended  for  by 
the  Orthodox.  Melancholy  effect  of  the  Socinian 
Tenets. 271 

Lect.  IV. — Consequences  incidentally  deducihle  from  the  Per- 
sonulily  and  Deity  of  the  Holy  Ghost. 
The  Doctrine  of  a  Trinity  in  Unity  necessary  to  re- 
concile Scripture  with  itself.  That  Doctrine  not  more 
above  reason  than  many  acknowledged  truths  in  Nat- 
ural Philosophy  and  Natural  Religion.  No  objection 
to  its  truth  that  it  is  rather  deducihle  from  different 
passages  of  Scripture  than  expresslj'  revealed  in  any. 
This  is  the  case  with  many  oilier  of  the  most  import- 
ant Doctrines  in  the  Old  and  New  Testaments,  and 
corresponds  with  the  general  analogy  of  God's  provi- 
dence. The  indirect  species  of  proof  less  liable  to 
objection  than  the  positive.         .....  271 

//.  Inquiry  into  the  Persons  to  whom  and  for  whose  advantage 
the  Comforter  Jvas  promised.  The  Comforter  not  promised  to 
Ihe  .iJpostles  only,  but  to  all  general  ions  of  Ilclievers. 

The  Comforter  was  to  abide  fur  ever  with  those  to 
whom  he  was  sent.  The  office  of  God's  Spirit  in  this 
capacity  has  relation  to  this  world  only.     ...  273 

III.  Inquiry  into  the  na/ui-e  nf  those  peculiar  hmefds  which 
Chrialians  were  to  receive  from  the  Comforter.  Preliminary 
investigation  of  the  port  which  the  Holy  Glioat  s-ustaincd  under 
the  Patriarchal  and  Mosaic  Di.^pensations. 

Reasons  for  such  an  investigation.  Difficulty  of 
carrying  it  on  so  far  as  concerns  the  earliest  ages  of 
the  world.  Proofs  of  the  Trinity  from  the  word 
Elohim,  &c.  uncertain  and  dangerous.  The  "Spirit 
of  God,"  Gen.  i.  2,  not  a  material  wind.  Uncertain 
whether  the  Third  or  the  Second  Person  of  the  God- 
head be  intended  by  it.  The  name  of  Spirit  applied 
to  both.  Presumption  which  this  circumstance  affords 
against  Socinianism.  Opinion  of  the  Ancient  Fathers 
that  the  Son  of  God,  on  certain  occasions,  appeared  to 
the  Patriarchs  and  Prophets.  That  opinion  not  in- 
consistent with  the  supposed  intercourse  of  God's 
Spirit  with  mankind  during  the  same  periods  of  Sa- 
cred History.  Distinction  hetwren  the  Persons  of  the 
Godhead  implied  in  the  Old  Testament.  The  name 
and  functions  of  the  Holy  Ghost  well  known  to  the 
Jews  before  the  time  of  our  Saviour.  Angels  by  whom 
tlie  Law  was  given.     Tiie  Holy  Spirit  intended  by 


CONTENTS. 


tlie  Rabbinical  Scliekinnli.  Application  of  Ibese  cir- 
cumstances to  the  ex|)lanalioii  of  several  ohi^cure  pas- 
sages in  Scripture.  Vision  seen  by  Daniel  on  tbe 
Banks  of  Ilijclekel.  Not  a  created  Anjjel — nor  God 
the  Son.  ISIicbael  one  of  the  names  by  winch  (Jod  the 
Son  is  distinguished  in  Scripture.  Erroneous  opin- 
ion that  nations  are  subject  to  Angel  Governors,  and 
that  these  Governors  have  wars  with  each  other.  Tbs 
Holy  Ghost  the  ruling  and  sii|)porting  Providence  of 
the  world.  Grounds  i'or  supposing  that  the  Angel  Ga- 
briel and  the  Holy  Ghost  are  the  same  Divine  Person. 
Meaning  of  the  name  (iahriel.  Christ's  .Mortal  Body, 
how  quickened  by  the  .Spirit,  'I'hesc  opinions  sug- 
gested only  as  probable  speculations.  If  true,  may 
illustrate,  if  false,  cannot  w'eaUen  the  other  proofs  of 

the  Trinity  and  Atonement. 273 

Lect.  V. — Inijuiry  resumed.  T/ie  Ilcnffils  conferred  hy  the 
Hilly  Ghont  in  his  capacity  of  Comforter  conferred  on  ('hris- 
tiiins  only. 

The  Spirit  of  God  our  peculiar  ( 'oinforter.    The  pro- 
mise of  his  coming  made  to  (Miristians  oidy.      -         -  27S 
Those  Benefits  were  some  if  which  the  Disciples  tlicmselves  were 
not  in  previous  pnsscssio7t. 

The  terms  of  visitation  and  mission  figurative  only 
as  applied  to  God.     Yet  denotes  some  neu<  manifesta- 
tion of  his  power  or  goodness.     The  coming  of  the 
Paraclete  a  ccimi)ensation  for  the  departure  of  Christ. 
A  compensation  what.       --....  278 
Correspondence  between  the  Miraculous  displays  of  God's  poiver 
at  the  timewhen  the  IjOw  of  Moses  tvas  given,  and  those  which 
distinguished  the  ptih/inition  of  the  Gospel. 

The  Scliekinah.     The  day  of  Pentecost.     IMoses. 
St.  Stephen.     St.  Paul  in  Paradise.     Prophecy.        -  279 
I'tV  the  gift  of  Miraruhius  Powers  was  not  that  definite  blessing 
U'hich  the  llnly  Ghost  was  to  dispense  ns  Paraclete. 

That   blessing   promised   to  all   generations.     But 
Miracles  have  ceased.     No  sufBcitnt  answer  to  this 
cibjection, — that  Miracles  have  become  unnecessary. 
That  answer  disimtahle  in  juiint  of  fact.     Miracles  of 
rare  occurrence,  why.     Nor,  though  supernatural  aids 
may  have  become  less  necessary  than  formerly,  would 
this  change  in  the  circumstances  of  the  reci|)icnt  ac- 
ipiit  the  pvomiscr  of  his  engagement.     Circumstances 
have  not  materially  changed  with  the  Church  in  those 
particulars  on  account  of  which  the  Comforter  was 
especially  promised.  ......  279 

Nor  is  the  promised  protection  of  the  Comforter  fulfilled  by  the 
grace  which  he  dispenses  through  the  Hacruments,  and  the  per- 
petuation of  an  .Ijiostollc  Ministry. 

Because  the  promise  in  question  is  something  moro 
definite  than  a  general  assurance  of  help  and  comfort. 
And  its  terms  are  such  as  suit  neither  of  these  opera- 
tions of  the  Holy  Ghost.  Tiie  Paraclete  was  to  guide 
us  into  all  truth,  &c.  These  particulars  do  not  accord 
with  the  Sacramental  Graces  nor  the  Grace  of  Ordi- 
nation. Nor  were  the  Sacraments  and  Ordination  new- 
privileges  conferred  on  tbe  Church  in  consequence  of 
the  Paraclete's  coming.  These  rites  not  unknown  to 
the  Ancient  .Tews.  And  nil  instilntcd  in  tbe  Christian 
Church  by  tbe  Messiah  before  his  departure.  The  in- 
stitutions in  q\ieslion  are  more  blessed  and  efficacious 
as  means  of  grace  to  the  Christian  than  to  the  Jew, — 
but  the  source  of  this  dillerence  still  remains  to  be 
sought  after.  ....         ...  ogo 

Nor  by  the  profeclion  of  the  Holy  Ghost  in  temporal  mailers  and 
as  ruling  Providence  of  llie  li'orld. 
Tbe  departure  of  Christ  not  compensated  for  by  the 
mere  continuance  of  that  [irotcclion  which  the  Apos- 
tles bad,  before,  in  more  aiujile  measure,  received 

The  terms  of  our  Lord's  promise  have  no  reference  lo 
a  temporal  guardianship.        -         -         -         .         -  2S1 
Inquiry  into  the  necessity  and  rcalily  of  the  ordinary  and  sanc- 
tifying influence  of  God's  Spirit. 
That  influence  denied  by  modern  Socinians.     Sup- 
posed by  us  to  consist  in  the  immediate  agency  of 
God's  Spirit  on  the  Sou).     How  distinguished  from 
the  inspiration  of  supernatural  knowledge  and  power. 

Possibility  of  such  an  intercourse.     Its  neeessit}' 

Objections  of  the  Unitarians  considered.  God's  gen- 
eral Providence  a  succession  of  particular  interferences. 
The  interference  of  the  Spirit  may  e.\lend  through  a  ve- 
ry wide  range  of  our  thoughts  and  actions.  Natural  and 
peculiar  ditliculties  attentlant  on  the  practice  of  virtue. 


'i'ho  inclination  of  man  to  do  evil.  Our  human  reso- 
lution why  insuflicient  to  overcome  this  jiropensity. 
Beligious  motives  for  self-control  often  less  powerful 
than  worldly  motives,  why.  Those  motives  more  dis- 
tant and  not  the  objects  of  sense.  The  objects  of 
worldly  ])rudencc  demand  fewer  sacrifices  at  our  hands. 
Self-government  required  in  a  (^"hristian.  The  gift 
of  sanctifying  grace  proveable  from  Scripture.  'I'he 
opinions  of  Augustine  and  Calvin  on  this  subject  an 
abuse  of  the  Doctrine  in  question.  How  far  those 
opinions  resemble  tbe  Fatalism  of  Socinians.  Scrip- 
tural testimonies  to  tbe  reality  and  necessity  of  (lod's 
sanctifying  (.iracc.  The  gifts  of  Holiness  and  Peace 
distinct  from  tliat  of  Miraculous  Power,  yet  both  as- 
cribed to  God's  Spirit.     Conclusion.  ...  281 

Lect.  V  L —  The  ordinary  and  sanrtlfying  Grace  of  God  not  the 
peculiar  blessing  ivhich  the  Conifurler,  us  such,  xvus  lo  bestow 
on  Christians. 

Nature  and  extent  of  God's  sanctifying  Grace,  ex- 
plained. Communicates  no  new  idea  to  the  Soul,  but 
enables  us  to  profit  hy  those  which  we,  by  other  means, 
acquire.  Acts  by  the  illustration  not  the  revelation  of 
truth.  Cannot,  therefore,  bo  said  to  teach  all  things 
or  show  us  things  to  come.  Given  to  others  besides 
Christians.  C'ontradictions  involved  in  the  contrary 
opinion.  No  man  can  b(;lieve  unless  through  grace 
both  preventing  and  furthering.  Therefore  grace  inust 
have  been  given  to  those  who  were  not  yet  believers. 
This  difficulty  how  avoided  by  the  Calvinists.  Con- 
secpiences  resulting  from  their  system.  How  softened 
by  Owen.  Inconsecpience  of  his  reasoning.  Grace 
given,  through  Christ's  merits,  to  the  Patriarchs  and 
ancient  .lews, — and  to  the  Heathen.  Degree  of  Divine 
knowledge  on  which  a  justifying  faith  may  be  found- 
ed, shown  from  Hehr.  xi.  G.  This  degree  of  know- 
ledge possessed  by  some  among  tlie  Heathen.  I'roved 
from  the  Heathen  \\'riters  and  from  St.  Paul.  And 
Irom  the  virtues  of  some  among  tbe  Heathen.  Those 
virtues  did  not,  all  of  them,  proceed  from  impure  or 
worldly  motives.  Sacrifices  and  Dcvotiotis  of  the 
Heathen,  some  of  the  in  oflcred  to  the  true  (iod.  The 
institution  of  Sacrifice  derived  from  the  ancient  Patri- 
archs. Sacrifices  might  bring  down  a  blessing  on 
those  who  understood  not  tbe  meaning  of  their  ap- 
pointiuent.  Dillcrpnce  between  a  'J'vpc  and  a  Sacra- 
ment. 'I'he  extension  of  (iod's  sanctil'ying  Grace  to 
the  Heathen  does  not  detract  from  the  clficacy  of  Sa- 
cramental Ordinances.  A  due  use  of  those  Ordinances 
necessary  and  ap])ointed  means  of  (Irace  to  all  Chris- 
tians. Analogy  between  .'^.icranieEital  observances 
and  prajer.  Defence  of  Infant  Ba])tism.  The  Sacra- 
ments only  necessary  to  those  by  whom  their  obli- 
gation is  known.  Spiritual  regeneration  sometimes 
given  by  God  w  ithout,  or  previous  to  its  outward  sign 
in  Baptism.  But  through  Gr?ice  may  be  given  to  the 
Heathen,  this  does  not  lessen  the  danger  arising  from 
a  perverse  refusal  of  the  Gospel.  Krror  of  all  kinds, 
even  when  conscientious,  a  great  misfortune.  The 
Grace  given  to  Christians  of  greater  efficacy  than  that 
which  the  Heathen  may  hope  for,  and  why.  Motives 
for  labouring  for  their  conversion.  And  for  gratitude 
for  our  own  knowledge  of  the  Gospel.  -         -  2S.') 

Corollaries  which  follow  from  the  ulove  statement.  1 .  The  op- 
posite systems  of  Pelagius  and  Calvin  are  alike  disproved. 

All  the  good  actions  of  men  referred  to  God's  Grace. 
Scriptural  ineaning  of  tbe  terra  "  Election."  Kqual 
degrees  of  Grace  not  given  to  all.  Yet  no  capable 
subject  absolutely  excluded  from  it.  ...     291 

2,  Grace  may  he  resisted  and  rendered  vain.  Fallacy  of  the 
Doctrine  of  Assurance. 
No  man  punished  but  for  neglect  of  Grace.  Men 
may  fall  from  Grace  received.  Our  own  feelings,  on 
the  subject  of  Assurance,  may  be  mistaken  by  us. 
Difference  between  the  absence  of  doubt  and  the  sensa- 
tion of  perfect  confidence.  The  Doctrine  of  Predesti- 
nation opposed  by  our  natural  instincts.  -         -     292 

Lect.  VH. — The  Holy  Ghost  has  established  his  Title  to  the 
character  of  Paraclete  by  the  Revelations  wh'ch  he  made  to 
the  Apostles. 

The  Son  of  God  the  object,  yet  more  than  the  teacher 
of  the  Christian  Faith  : — Proved  by  the  ignorance  dis- 
jilayed  hy  the  Apostles,  anterior  to  the  coming  of  the 
I'araclete,  as  to  tbe  nature  of  Christ's  kingdom  and  the 
reason  of  his  sufferings.     That  ignorance  not  to  be 


CONTENTS. 


imputed  10  natural  incapacity  or  natural  prejudice,  but 
to  the  fact  that  the  time  was  not  come  when  the  designs 
of  God  were  to  be  made  plain.  The  doctrines  of 
Atonement  for  Sin,  and  the  supercession  of  the  Mosaic 
Law,  not  clearly  expressed  by  Christ  himself,  and 
only  to  be  found  in  the  teachinir  of  God's  Spirit 
through  the  Apostles.      -..---    292 

The  Ditcotery  of  the  Christian  Covenant  of  Pardon  and  Grace, 
a  sufficient  comfort  and  cumpensaiivn  to  Chriit't  fullotcers  for 
his  departure  from  the  ll'urld. 

Enumeration  of  the  advantages  to  which  the  eyes 
of  the  Apostles  were  thus  first  opened.  Effect  of  these 
discoveries  on  their  conduct  and  character.        -         -     29."? 

The  Discovery  of  that  Ct/vcmml  a  necessary  and  sufficient  vindica- 
tion of  Christ''s  character  from  the  objcctinnn  uf  the  Jens. 
The  Spirit  of  God,  in  his  capacity  of  Paraclete,  was 
to  testify  of  the  Messiah's  truth, — to  convict  the  world 
of  the  guilt  they  had  incurred  in  rejecting  him,  &c. 
Objections  urged  by  the  Jews  against  the  truth  of  our 
Lord's  pretensions  to  the  character  of  the  Messiah. 
Those  objections  not  sufficiently  answered  by  the 
blamelessness  of  his  Life  or  the  greatness  of  his  Mir- 
acles. Jewish  Treatise  called  the  Nizacchon.  Suffi- 
ciently answered  by  the  discovery  of  the  nature  of  that 
Salvation  which  Christ  wrought  for  us,  and  of  the 
means  by  which  it  was  to  be  accomplished.  The 
Unitarian  system  of  Theology  takes  away  the  only 
competent  answer  to  the  Objections  urged  by  the 
Jews; — and  all  adequate  motives  for  the  prophecies 
and  miracles  by  which  our  Lord's  birth,  life,  and  death 
were  distinguished.  A  Revelation  from  Goil  may  be 
expected  to  contain  discoveries  transcending  human 
reason.    .-.------    293 

By  hia  Revelations  made  to  the  .ipoatlcs  the  Paraclete  instructed 
the  Church  in  "  things  to  come.'''' 
Our  Lord  himself  rarely  assumed  the  prophetic  cha- 
racter. Our  knowledge  of  the  rise  and  fall  of  Anti- 
Christ,— -of  the  events  which  arc  to  take  place  in  the 
last  days,  &c.  all  derived  from  the  Holy  Ghost  through 
the  Apostles.  .......    291 

.instccr  to  the  Objection  that,  since  the  time  of  the  .Ipoxlles,  no 
fresh  revelation  of  God's  will  has  been  made  to  the  Church. 

The  promise  of  our  Lord  implies  the  universal  and 
continual  superintendence  and  perfection  of  the  Para- 
clete, but  not  that  he  should  be  perpetually  guiding  us 
into  new  truths.  The  insi)iration  accorded  to  the 
Apostles  and  the  elder  Prophets  not  continual  or 
universal.  The  length  of  the  intervals  between  the 
Revelations  made  to  them  immaterial.  Intervals  of 
the  same  kind  and  of  very  considerable  length,  oc- 
curred in  the  history  of  the  Jewish  Church.  The 
Bath-Col  a  Rabbinical  Fable.  Yet  God  still  dwelt  in 
his  Temple  (Matt,  xxiii.  21.)  though  he  had  ceased, 
in  a  perceptible  and  miraculous  manner,  to  declare  his 
will  from  thence, — and,  therefore,  tlic  Comforter  may 
still  be  present  with  the  Church,  though  no  case  has 
latterly  arisen  to  demand  a  new  Revelation.     -        -    291 

But,  further,  the  Comforter  has,  in  every  age,  continued  to  leach 
the  Church  by  the  Scriptures  of  the  New  Testament. 
A  knowledge  of  Divine  Things  being  given  to  the 
Church, — the  manner  in  which  this  knowledge  is  com- 
municated is  a  matter  of  iiiditlerence.  All  Revelations 
made  to  a  few  that  the  many  might,  through  their 
means,  be  benefited.  Immediate  Inspiration  not  ac- 
corded to  the  majority  of  Christians  in  the  Apostolic 
Age.  This  dispensation  not  unequal  nor  disadvan- 
tageous to  the  majority.  The  abode  of  the  Paraclete 
among  men  would  have  been  sufficiently  proved  by  a 
succession  of  one  or  more  inspired  individuals  by  whose 
instruction  the  Holy  Ghost  should  govern  the  Church. 
No  difference  whether  this  instruction  were  oral  or 
epistolary.  Nor  whether  their  authors  were  absent  or 
dead.  Therefore,  so  long  as  the  writings  of  a  deceased 
Apostle  govern  the  Church,  the  Holy  Ghost  who 
dictated  those  writings,  continues  to  govern  it  by  them. 
The  Scriptures  not  only  dictated  by  the  Inspiration 
of  the  Holy  Ghost,  but  preserved  to  our  time  and 
offered  to  our  notice  by  his  Providence.  Tliis  particu- 
lar exertion  of  his  Providence  how  distinguished  from 
his  general  care.  By  the  peculiar  dispensation  in 
question,  the  rites  vfhich  our  Saviour  ap))ointed  before 
the  Paraclete's  coming,  and  the  dispensations  of  the 
Spirit's  mercy  and  power  which  we  share  with  other 
ages  and  nations,  have  become  more  blessed  and  val- 


uable to  the  Chistian  than  to  the  rest  of  the  world. 
But  it  is  through  Scripture  only  that  the  character  of 
these  dispensations  is  thus  altered.  And  by  Scripture 
alone  that  the  Holy  Ghost  now  guides  us  into  truth, 
or  shows  us  things  to  come,  or  pleads  the  cause  of 
Christ  against  his  enemies.  It  is,  then,  as  Dispenser 
of  Supernatural  Truth  and  Teacher  of  the  Doctrine  of 
Redemption,  that  the  Holy  Ghost  sustains  his  charac- 
ter of  (Joinforler.  .\nd  this  truth  he  now  conveys  to 
us  through  the  Holy  Scripture.  .  -  -  -  295 
The  Inspired  .lulhorily  of  the  AVio  Tistnment  asserted, — 
I  ft,  prom  the  Pirsonul  hw^piration  of  its  reputed  .iuthors. 
Their  Inspiration  proved  by  the  miracles  which  they 
performed.  The  reality  of  those  miracles  admitted  by 
the  ancient  enemies  of  Christianity — Celsus — Julian — 
the  Toldos  Jeschu.  No  want  of  ability  or  inclination 
in  the  contemporaries  of  the  Apostles  to  detect  any 
false  pretences  to  miraculous  jiower.  The  reality  of 
the  works  in  question  rendered  probable  by  the  sensa- 
tion w  hich  they  excited  in  the  Heathen  World.  Na- 
ture of  the  change  which  they  produced  in  the  habits 
and  pretensions  of  these  who  continued  hostile  to 
Christianity.  Their  reality  furtlier  shown  from  the 
internal  evidence  to  this  effect  offered  by  the  Apostolic 
Writings.  Bt.  Paul  speaks  of  miracles  not  only  as 
wrought  by  himself,  but  by  those  to  whom  his  Epis- 
tles are  addressed.  Force  of  this  argument.  The  Apos- 
tolic Epistles  not  addressed  in  the  first  instance  to  the 
Heathen,  or  even  to  the  Church  at  large.  Devoid  of 
empirical  ostenlutiun.         ......  297 

2.  The  New  Testamait  is  the  genuine  Work  of  the  JTriters 

whose  name  it  bears. 

Proved  from  internal  Evidence — from  universal  Tra. 
diiion — from  the  reluctance  with  which  Christians  in 
every  age  have  admitted  any  w  orks  into  their  sacred 
canon, — from  the  excellence  of  the  works  themselves, 
as  contrasted  with  the  spurious  productions  which 
have  been,  at  different  times,  offered  to  the  Church, — 
aud  with  the  acknowledged  compositions  of  the  unin- 
spired contemporaries  of  the  Apostles,  ...  298 
Lect.  VIH. — Preliminary  Ubscrv(dlons. 

The  entire  New  Testament  the  work  of  the  Apos- 
tles or  their  accredited  amanuenses.  The  Gospels  of 
Mark,  and  Luke,  sometimes  called  those  of  St.  Peter 
and  St.  Paul.  Distinction  made  by  the  primitive 
Church  between  the  Canonical  writings  and  those  of 
the  Apostolic  Fathers.  The  claims  of  those  writings 
called  afTi>i-)ifiit3L,  always  placed  on  the  ground  of 
their  being  the  genuine  works  of  the  Apostles  only. 
But,  though  all  the  works  of  the  New  Testament  pro- 
ceed from  Inspired  Persons, — it  might  still  be  ques- 
tioned whether  their  Authors  were  Inspired  at  the 
time.  Inspiration  not  a  perpetual  and  pervading  gift. 
Difllculiies  urged  against  the  inspired  Authority  claim- 
ed by  the  New  Testament. 298 

Probability  that  some  of  the  irritings  of  the  .Ipostles  should  be 

inspired,  shown, — 1st,  From  the  necessity  of  the  ease. 

Written  documents  absolutely  necessary  to  the  ex- 
tension and  perpetuity  of  Religions  Truth.  No  rule  of 
failh  or  practice  can  be  absolute  and  definitve  unless  in- 
spired. Nor  unless  the  person  who  delivered  it  were 
inspired  at  that  lime  and  to  that  effect.  Inconvenien- 
ces of  renouncing  the  ])lenary  inspiration  of  Scripture; 
or  of  confining,  with  Simon  and  Warburton,  the  inspi- 
ration of  the  Sacred  Writers  to  a  few  conspicuous  truths.  299 
2.   Prom  the  .Inalngy  of  the  Mosaic  Dispensation. 

Certain  Written  Laws  were  given  by  inspiration  to 
the  Jewish  Church.  But  the  advantage  which  was 
given  to  the  less  perfect  dispensation  would  not  be 
withheld  from  the  heirs  of  the  promise  to  whom  it  was 
equally  necessary.  Nature  of  this  necessity  further 
explained.  The  leading  Facts  on  which  our  Faith  is 
founded,  might  be  believed  on  historic  evidence  only. 

But  the  practical  results  which  follow  from  those 

facts,  as  explained  in  Scripture,  must  be  received  on 
the  authority  of  Revelation,  or  rest  on  no  firm  ground 
whatever.  ........  300 

3.  From  the  fact  that  the  Oral  Doctrine  of  the  Jposiles  was,  in 

certain  cases,  inspired. 
This  fact  established  from  the  promises  of  Christ, 
(Mark  xiii.  11.  Luke  xii.  2.)  But  if  the  discourses 
which  only  extended  to  a  few  were  thus  privileged, 
we  may  much  more  suppose  the  like  assistance  given 
in  works  where  all  ages  were  concerned.   -        -  ' 


01 


CONTENTS. 


/ 


The  particular  T^-eatisca  which  made  up  the  New  Testament, 
shown  to  be  inspired. 
By  internal  evidence.  By  Tradition.  By  the 
clainris  advanced  in  tlieir  favour  liy  the  Apostles  them- 
selves. 1  Cor.  vii.  25.  1  Cor.  xiv.  37.  2  Cor.  v. 
20.  2  Pet.  iii.  16.  Rev.  ii.  29.  Answer  lo  the  ob- 
jection of  iSpinoza,  "  that  the  Apostles  themselves  lay 
no  claim  to  inspiration."  The  Snperscription  "Apos- 
tle of  Christ,"  in  itself  implies  inspiration.  Answer 
to  another  objection  of  .Spimrzn,  taken  from  I  Cor.  vii. 
25,  26.  How  answered  by  Horbery.  'I'liat  Text  in 
reality  a  stronjr  proof  of  llie  general  inspiration  of  St. 
Paul's  writin>;s.  Spinoza's  Tliird  Objection  taken 
from  the  fact  that  the  Apostles  reason  and  persuade 
instead  of  commandinjr.  Not  well  answered  by  Si- 
mon. God  may,  without  impeachment  of  his  Power 
and  Majesty,  use  persuasion  with  his  creatures.  Ex- 
emplified from  the  Old  Testament.    -         -         -         -  301 


.Inswcr  to  the  Objections  levelled  against  the  style  and  mailer  of 
the  J\'cw  Testumcnt. 
Necessity  of  such  an  answer.     All  manifestations 
of  God's  will,  being  appeals  to  the  judgment  or  senses 
of  his  creatures,  in  themselves  challenge  investigation.  302 

.Qnswer  to  the  Objection  of  the  Humanists  that  the  Scriptures  are, 
in  themsttres,  insufficient  as  a  Jiuie  of  Faith. 

Presumption  of  requiring  an  additional  guide.  The 
anoicnt  Synagogue  and  the  primitive  Church  made  uo 
such  claims  as  those  advanced  by  a  Romanist.  The 
Anathema,  what.  No  remedy  provided  by  Moses  for 
those  to  whose  instruction  his  writings  did  not  suffice. 
St.  Peter's  conduct  with  regard  to  the  obscure  passa- 
ges in  St.  Paul.  An  infallible  interpreter  of  Scripture, 
a  futile  expectation — and  unnecessary.  The  Faith  of 
Christians  built  on  Scripture  only.  By  the  Scripture 
the  Holy  (.host  performs  all  the  Functions  of  the 
promised  Comforter.     Conclusion.    .        -        -        -  305 


HISTORY  OF  THE  REFORMATION  IN  SPAIN. 


Chap.  I. — Review  of  the  Ecclesiastical  History  of  Spain 

before  the  era  of  the  Reformation.  .  -  -  .  308 
Chap.  H.— On  the  state  of  Literature  in  Spain  before  the 

era  of  the  Reformation.  ....--  314 
Chap.  HI. — Of  the  Inquisition,  and  other  obstacles  to  the 

Reformation  in  Spain.  ....--  317 
Chap.  IV. — Introduction    of  the    Reformed    Doctrine 

into  Spain.        .....-.-  324 


Chap.  V. — Causes  of  the  progress  of  the  Reformed  Do& 
trine  in  Spain.  -------- 

Chap.  VI. — Progress  of  the  Reformation  in  Spain. 
Chap.  VII. — Suppression  of  the  Reformation  in  Spain.  -  338 
Chap.  VIII. — Protestant  Exiles  from  Spain.        -        -  354 
Chap.  IX. — ElVects  which  the  Suppression  of  the  Refor- 
mation produced  on  Spain.         .        .        -        .        - 


330 
334 


357 


FANATICISM. 


Sect.  I. — Motives  of  the  Work.  -        -        -        -        - 

Sect.  II.— The  Meaning  of  Terms— Rise  of  the  Malign 
Emotions.         ..----■ 

Sect.  HI.— Alliance  of  the  Malign  Emotions  with  the 
Imagination.     ------- 

Sect.  IV.— Fanaticism  the  Offspring  of  Enthusiasm; 
or  Combination  of  the  Malign  Emotions  with  Spuri- 
ous Religious  Sentiments.  .... 


362 


-  365 


-  370 


-  372 


Sect.  V. — Fanaticism  of  the  Scourge. 
Supplementary  Note.  ------ 

Sect.  VI. — Fanaticism  of  the  Brand.   -         -         - 

Sect.  VII. — Fanaticism  of  the  Banner. 

Sect.  VIII. — Fanaticism  of  the  Symbol. 

Sect.  IX. — The  Religion  of  the  Bible  not  Fanatical. 

Sect.  X. — The  Religion  of  the  Bible  not  Fanatical. 


-  375 

-  383 

-  384 

-  395 

-  407 

-  419 

-  427 


HISTORY  OF  THE    CRUSADES  AGAINST  THE  ALBIGENSES,   IN  THE  THIRTEENTH 

CENTURY. 


Chap.  I— First  Crusade,  from  1207  to  1209.  -        -  4 10 

Chap.  II. — Continuation  of  the  Crusade  against  the  Al- 

bigenses,  to  the  Battle  of  Muret,  1210—1213.    -         -  417 
Chap.  III. — Submission  of  the  Albigenses — Revolt  and 
New  War  to  the  Death  of  Simon  de  Montfort,  1214 
—1218 454 


Chap.  IV.— Crusade  of  the  French  against  the  Albi- 
crenses,  from  the  Death  of  Simon  de  Monfort  to  the 
f)eathof  Louis  VHI,  1218— 1226.     -        -        -        -458 

Chap.  V. — Affairs  of  the  Albigenses  from  the  Death  of 
Louis  VIII,  1226,  to  the  Peace  of  Paris,  1229;  and 
its  final  ratification,  1242. 467 


THE  LIFE  OF  BISHOP  WILSON. 


Chap.  I. — Introduction— His  Early  Life.      .        -        -  477 
Chap.  II. — His  Conduct  as  a  Bishop.  -         -         -         -  480 

Chap.  HI — His  Domestic  Character.  -        -        -        -  485 

Chap.  IV. — His  Sunday.     ------  488 

Chap.  V In  his  Closet. 419 


Chap.  VI.— His  Beneficence. 490 

Chap.  VII.— His  old  age,  and  latter  days.    -        -        -492 
Appendix,  Containing  a  few  Passages  from  Bishop  ^^  il- 
son's  Papers,  Illustrative  of  the  Preceding  Memoirs.  - 


494 


SERMONS  BY  THE  RIGHT  REV.  JOSEPH  BUTLER,  D.  C.  L. 


Sermon 
Sermon 
Sermon 
Sermon 
Sermon 
Sermon 
Sermon 
Sermon 


L — TTpon  Human  Nature.        .         .  - 
II.  III. — Upon  Human  Nature. 
IV'. — Upon  the  Government  of  the  Tongue. 

V. — Upon  Compassion.  -         -         -  - 

VI. — I'pon  Compassion.  -         -  - 

VII. — Upon  the  Character  of  Balaam.  - 

VIII. — Upon  Resentment.        .         .  - 

IX Upon  Forgiveness  of  Injuries. 


502  Sermon  X.— Upon  Self-Deceit.    .        -        -        - 

505  Sermon  XL— Upon  the  Love  of  our  Neighbour.     - 

509  Sermon  XIL— Upon  the  Love  of  our  Neighbour.   - 

511  Sermon  XIII.  XIV.— Upon  the  Love  of  God. 

514  Sermon  XIV.       ■"""'"' 

516  Sermon  XV. — Upon  the  Ignorance  of  Man. 

518  Correspondence  between  Dr.  Butler  and  Dr.  Clarke. 

520 


523 
526 
529 
53-3 
534 
537 
539 


SERMONS  BY  THE  LATE  REV.  ROBERT  HALL,  A.M.,  OF  KELSO. 


Sermon  I. — The  Gospel  a  light  to  the  Gentiles,  and  a 
salvation  unto  the  end  of  the  earth.  ...  545 

Qualifications  of  a  Minister  stated.        ....  519 

Sermon  II. — The  security  of  the  Church  in  its  relation 
to  God.  551 

Sfkmon  HI Christ,  our  High  Priest.  -        -        -  553 


Sermon  IV.— The  Advent  of  Christ.     -        -        -        -  556 
Sermon  v.— The  Obedience  of  Christ.  -        -        -560 

Sermon  VI.— The  Necessity  of  Christian  Fruitfulness.  -  562 
Sermon  VIL— The  Desire  of  Life ;  a  New  Years  Dis- 
course.    ------ 


564 


% 


■f'm- . 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


PxMlOCHIAL  LECTURES 


ON 


THE  LAW   AND  THE   GOSPEL. 


BY 


STEPHEN  H.  TYNG,  D.  D. 

BECTOR   OF   ST.    PAl'L'a   CBUKCU,    PUILADKLPUIA. 


INTRODUCTION. 

The  Editor  of  the  Christian  Library,  in  pursuance  of  liisplan  of 
furnishing  occasionally  original  productions  of  American  wri- 
ters for  the  Library,  applied  to  the  author  of  the  following  Lec- 
tures for  some  assistance  towards  that  object.  These  Lectures 
were  prepared  and  delivered  in  the  regular  discharge  of  pastoral 
duty,  to  the  congregation  of  St.  Paul's  church,  in  the  autumn  of 
1831.  The  author  had  no  thought  of  their  publication;  and 
though  it  has  been  often  suggested  to  him,  he  has  heretofore 
declined  it  altogether.  The  opinion  of  others  has  been,  tliat 
they  could  be  made  useful  in  a  larger  distribution,  and  he  has 
yielded  now  to  tliis  opinion.  There  is  but  little  room  for 
originality  in  such  Lectures  as  these.  All  authors  within 
the  writer's  reach  have  been  consulted,  and  very  freely  used 
From  Bishop  Reynolds,  Bishop  Hopkins,  Dr.  J.  Edwards,  Dr 
Dwight  and  the  Rev.  C.  Simeon,  many  of  the  thoughts 
hero  presented  have  been  obtained.  Tlie  latter  writer  espe- 
cially, in  his  university  sermons,  which  have  never  been 
npublished  in  this  country,  so  accorded  with  the  views  of 
the  author  of  these  Lectures,  in  his  statements  upon  subjects 
on  which  they  treated  in  common,  that  he  has  not  hesi- 
tated to  embody  large  portions  of  his  excellent  argument  in 
these  discourses.  These  Lectures  exhibit,  however,  the  au- 
thor's plan  of  preaching,  and  the  truth  as  he  receives  it  from 
the  Scriptures.  If  they  can  be  made  useful  to  others,  the 
object  of  their  publication  will  be  fully  answered.  At  any 
rate,  in  reference  to  a  large  portion  of  the  clergy  and  members 
of  the  Protestant  Episcopal  church,  it  may  be  said,  "So  we 
preach,  and  so  tlicy  believed."  .''.IT.  T. 

Philadelphia,  October  9,  183'3. 
Vol.  II.— a 


LECTURE  L 

THE  ISIPOBTASCE  OF  A  KKOWLEDCE  OF  THE  DIVIKE  LAW. 

Opin  Uiou  miiio  eyes,  tliat  1  mny  behold  wondroua  things  out  of 
Uiy  law. — I'SALM  CIIX.  18. 

No  subject  connected  with  religion  is  probably  estimated 
by  Christians,  and  enforced  from  the  pulpit,  in  such  inadequate 
proportion  to  its  real  importance,  as  the  divine  law.  By 
some  it  is  considered  a  subject  in  which  all  are  sufficiently 
instructed.  By  others,  it  is  spoken  of  as  a  matter  which  be- 
longs not  to  gospel  preaching;  and  most  men  pass  over  the 
study  of  its  principles  and  requisitions  with  carelessness  and 
unconcern. 

The  view  which  the  Psalmist  entertained  of  this  matter,  is 
well  displaj'ed  in  the  devout  solicitude  with  which  he  speaks 
of  the  law  in  almost  every  verse  of  the  Psalm  from  which 
our  text  is  taken.  The  extent  to  which  he  regarded  the 
spirituality  of  its  precepts,  the  fervour  with  which  he  desired 
that  they  might  be  engraven  upon  his  heart,  the  sorrow  which 
he  experienced  in  witnessing  its  violation,  the  ardour  with 
which  he  longed  to  understand  its  perfections,  all  unite  to 
show  that  he  considered  a  knowledge  and  reverence  fur  the 
holy  law  of  God  of  vital  importance  to  the  redeemed  and 
enlightened  soul.  In  this  Psalm  he  employs  several  different 
words  to  designate  the  law.  Tliey  all  have  reference  to  that 
connected  systi^m  of  divine  revelations  which  are  found  in 
the  Scriptures;  and  whether  the  nalioiial  law  of  the  Jews, 
consisting  of  ceremonies  and  judgments  proper  for  their  cir- 
cumstances be  considered,  or  the  great  mural  law  of  God, 
which  has  an  universal  obligation  in  heaven  and  on  earth, 
there  are  contained  in  each,  wondrous  things,  the  understand- 
ing of  which  will  well  repay  the  labour  of  study,  and  reasona- 
bly forms  the  subject  of  prayer. 

A  proper  knowledge  of  the  divine  law  lies  at  the  foundation 
of  all  true  religion.  It  opens  the  only  way  for  understanding 
and  receiving  the  gospel  of  Jesus  Christ.  No  man  can  gain 
a  true  knowledge,  or  an  adequate  appreciation  of  the  un- 
•iearchnble  riches  of  redeeming  grace,  who  does  not  make 
use  of  the  law,  as  his  schoolmaster  to  bring  him  unto  Christ. 
It  is  therefore  of  incalculable  importance,  that  we  attain  right 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


you  so  evidently  need,  under  the  deep  conviction,  that  unless 
he  save  you,  you  must  perish. 


LECTURE  II. 

Open  thou  mine  eyes,  that  I  may  behold  wondrous  tilings  out  of 
the  law. — PsAiM  cxix.  18. 

As  a  proper  introduction  to  this  course  of  sermons  upon 
the  Divine  Law,  I  have  attempted  to  show  you  the  vast  im- 
portance of  an  accurate  knowledge  of  this  law.  In  my  last 
discourse  I  opened  this  subject  by  asserting  that  upon  a 
proper  knowledge  of  the  operation  and  demands  of  the  law 
of  God,  depended  all  our  just  views  of  religious  truth — all  our 
proper  feelings  of  religious  character,  and  all  our  scriptural  and 
well-founded  hopes  of  religious  blessings. 

The  proof  of  the  first  of  these  assertions  occupied  our  at- 
tention when  I  addressed  you  before  ;  and  it  was  my  object 
to  show,  that  without  an  accurate  knowledge  and  view  of  the 
divine  law,  we  could  form  no  just  conceptions  of  the  perfections 
of  God,  of  the  offices  of  Christ,  or  of  the  operations  of  the 
Holy  Ghost.  In  this  view  of  the  subject,  there  was  seen 
abundant  reason  for  the  petition  of  the  text.  But  what  we 
then  considered,  forms  only  a  part  of  the  wondrous  things 
which  we  may  here  behold,  and  we  shall  find  still  more  rea- 
son to  desire  that  our  eyes  may  be  opened  with  spiritual  un- 
derstanding upon  this  all-important  subject,  when  we  have 
finished  our  meditations  upon  the  other  two  points  before 
us. 

II.  A  proper  knowledge  of  the  law  lies  at  the  foundation 
of  all  true  religion,  practical  as  well  as  doctrinal,  and  while 
all  just  views  of  religious  truth  rest  upon  this,  all  proper 
feelings  in  religion,  the  whole  state  of  the  affections  accepta- 
ble in  the  sight  of  God,  are  dependant  upon  it  also. 

1.  All  the  affections  and  feelings  which  now  belong  to  man, 
in  connexion  with  his  Creator,  are  those  which  arise  from  the 
fact  of  his  natural  sinfulness  and  guilt.  Mere  natural  reli- 
gion, of  which  men  sometimes  speak,  the  religion  of  man's 
own  reason,  brings  no  offerings  unto  God,  but  those  of  Cain, 
which,  like  his,  must  be  inevitably  rejected.  Man  has  no 
way  of  his  own  by  which  he  can  find  an  acceptable  approach 
to  fiis  offended  Maker.  His  native  situation  is  one  of  utter 
ruin  and  danger;  the  wrath  of  God  abideth  on  him,  and  he 
is  living  upon  the  despised  forbearance  of  his  Judge,  a  ves- 
sel of  wrath  fitted  for  destruction.  Of  the  extent  of  this  na- 
tural guilt  and  danger,  however,  he  is  ignorant,  and  must  be 
ignorant,  until  he  be  made  acquainted  with  what  God  requires 
of  him.  By  the  law  is  the  knowledge  of  sin ;  and  the  con- 
viction which  the  sinner  has  of  his  guilt,  will  depend  entirely 
upon  the  view  which  he  takes  of  the  divine  law.  If  he  has 
been  accustomed  to  see  it  as  a  spotless  and  inflexible  system, 
to  hear  it  say  to  him,  of  the  utmost  conceivable  devotion  to 
God,  and  obedience  to  his  will,  "Do  this,  do  it  always,  do  it 
perfectly,  do  it  forever,  or  thou  must  die;"  when  his  eyes  are 
opened,  to  behold  his  own  deficiencies,  he  will  see  himself  to 
be  counted  altogether  guilty,  and  to  have  his  mouth  entirely 
stopped  before  God  ;  he  will  see  in  the  demands  of  the  holy 
law,  such  an  extent  of  violated  and  neglected  claims  upon  his 
soul,  that  there  is  left  for  him  no  feeling  upon  which  he  can 
rest  the  shadow  of  hope,  nor  any  circumstance  which  he  can 
plead  in  extenuation  of  a  single  deficiency ;  he  is  condemned  ; 
he  is  only  condemned  ;  he  is  condemned  eternally.  This  the 
law  shows  him,  when  he  beholds  its  searching  application  to 
his  own  character. 

But  if  he  has  been  satisfied  with  more  general  and  indefi- 
nite views  of  the  claims  of  the  law,  the  same  indistinctness 
is  transferred  to  his  conviction  of  his  personal  guilt.  What 
he  sees  not  to  be  guilty  in  fact,  he  will  not  see  to  be  guilty  in 
himself.  His  heart  will  plead  a  thousand  excuses  from 
temptation  and  imbecility  and  inadvertence  ;  and  while  he  ac- 
knowledges that  in  many  things  he  has  certainlj'  done  wrong, 
he  cannot  see  that  even  his  holy  things  have  been  guilt,  and 
every  recess  of  his  heart  filled  with  odious  and  abominable 
wickedness.  Upon  a  proper  knowledge  of  the  divine  law 
depends  all  true  conviction  of  sin. 

'3.  Again,  without  an  accurate  knowledge  of  the  law,  there 
can  be  no  true  humility.  In  the  connexion  between  man  and 
his  Creator,  this  grace  is  of  the  highest  importance.  But 
what  is  humility  '!  It  is  not  merely  a  sense  of  our  weakness 
as  creatures,  nor  is  it  a  more  general  acknowledgment  that 


we  are  sinners.  Not  a  human  being,  probably,  would  deny 
either  of  these  fects.  But  it  is  a  deep  and  abiding  conscious- 
ness of  our  guilty  and  undone  state.  It  is  a  consciousness 
that  darkness  itself  is  not  more  opposite  to  light,  than  we  are 
to  the  pure  and  holy  law  of  God.  It  is  such  a  sense  of  our 
utter  alienation  from  God,  and  of  our  voluntary  enmity  against 
him ;  of  the  fact,  that  every  imagination  of  the  thoughts  of 
our  heart  is  only  evil  continually,  as  makes  us  really  abhor 
and  loath  ourselves,  and  repent  in  dust  and  ashes,  beforie  a 
God  who  searcheth  the  heart,  who  has  surrounded  us  with 
his  mercies,  and  will  bring  every  secret  thing  into  judgment, 
whether  it  be  good,  or  whether  it  be  evil.  This  is  that  broken 
and  contrite  spirit  which  God  will  not  despise.  But  how 
rarely  is  this  seen !  How  seldom  do  we  find  persons  pene- 
trated with  this  deep  sense  of  sin,  smiting  upon  their  breasts, 
and  crying  aloud  for  mercy,  as  sinners  deserving  God's  infi- 
nite wrath  and  indignation  !  Suppose  you  saw  a  man  under 
this  proper  consciousness  of  sin,  crying  out,  "  I  am  damned, 
I  am  damned  already," — groaning  under  the  most  distressing 
apprehensions  of  the  anger  of  God ;  which  of  you,  even  if 
you  did  not  deride  his  fears,  would  not  be  ready  to  suppose 
that  he  carried  matters  quite  to  an  excess,  and  that  unless  ho 
had  been  guilty  of  some  transgressions  far  beyond  the  com- 
mon walk  of  men,  there  could  be  no  reason  for  such  exces- 
sive griefs  and  sorrows  1  Such  penitents  are  few,  and  such 
comforters,  miserable  as  they  are,  would  be  found  in  every 
class  of  life. 

But  why  is  all  this  7  Would  it  he  a  false  view  of  the 
sinner's  character  that  would  lead  to  such  distress  1  No. 
This  false  estimation  of  his  sorrow  arises  from  universal  ig- 
norance of  the  divine  law.  Men  do  not  try  either  themselves 
or  others  by  this  high  standard.  Being  insensible  of  their 
departures  from  God,  they  see  no  cause  for  such  humiliation 
on  account  of  these  departures.  The  idea  of  humility,  as  the 
scriptures  present  the  term,  never  enters  into  the  natural 
mind.  The  unconverted  man  does  not  know  the  meaning  of 
the  word.  Copious  as  were  the  languages  of  Greece  and 
Rome,  they  had  not  a  word  which  can  convey  the  idea  of 
humility,  as  expressed  in  the  language  of  the  Bible.  The 
word  which  expressed  their  notion  of  humility,  spoke  of  it 
just  as  every  natural  man  thinks  of  it,  as  associated  with 
meanness  and  dishonour,  rather  than  as  a  high  and  exalted 
virtue.  Though  all  now  profess  to  admire  humility  as  a 
grace,  there  is  not  in  the  universe  a  man  in  his  natural  and 
unconverted  state,  that  either  possesses  it,  or  approves  of  it 
according  to  its  real  import.  It  is  one  of  the  wondrous  things 
to  be  beheld  from  a  proper  knowledge  of  the  law,  and  God 
alone  can  open  our  eyes  to  see  and  desire  it. 

3.  The  same  assertion  may  be  made  of  true  gratitude  to 
God.  Gratitude  is  nothing  imt  a  thankful  sense  of  mercies 
which  have  been  received,  and  it  will  depend  in  its  degree 
entirely  upon  the  amount  of  benefits  which  the  individual 
supposes  to  have  been  conferred  upon  him.  The  Christian 
who  sees  himself  in  the  light  of  God's  revelations,  will  view 
himself  as  a  poor  bondslave,  ransomed  from  sin  and  Satan, 
death  and  hell,  and  ransomed,  too,  by  the  precious  blood  of 
his  Incarnate  God.  He  will  be,  in  his  own  apprehension, 
altogether  "  a  brand  plucked  out  of  the  burning."  An  apostate 
fiend,  redeemed  from  the  very  fires  of  hell,  would  not,  in  his 
estimation,  be  a  greater  monument  of  grace  than  he.  Having 
this  view  of  him'self,  his  whole  soul  blesses  his  redeeming 
God,  and  he  calls  upon  all  that  is  within  him  to  praise  his 
holy  name.  But,  alas  !  how  rarely  do  we  see  this  transport ! 
How  few,  even  truly  redeemed,  appear  duly  sensible  of  the 
weight  of  obligations  which  has  been  laid  upon  them  ?  A 
proper  and  reasonable  sense  of  man's  unworthiness  and  God's 
abundant  love,  would  be  generally  esteemed  extravagant  and 
absurd.  To  the  generality  of  men,  some  faint  acknowledg- 
ments are  quite  suflicient  to  express  their  sense  of  redeeming 
love;  and  stronger  language,  and  stronger  emotions,  than 
they  indulge,  are  considered  fanatical  and  false.  But  oh! 
how  different  is  this  state  of  mind  from  the  feelings  of  the 
holy  beings  aro\nid  the  throne  of  God.  Angels  and  saints 
are  penetrated  with  the  devoutest  admiration  of  the  stupen- 
dous mystery  of  grace  displayed  in  man's  redemption.  The 
one,  adoring  its  transcendant  excellency ;  the  other,  giving 
praise  to  God,  as  experiencing  themselves  its  richest 
benefits. 

They  are  all  prostrating  themselves  before  the  throne  of 
the  Lamb.  Why  is  it  that  men  are  so  cold  and  insensible  ? 
Is  it  not  simply  because  they  see  not  the  depths  from  whence 
they  have  been  redeemed  1  Because  they  have  no  clear  view 
of  the  condemnation  under  which  the  law  had  sealed  them, 
for  repeated  violation  ?     Did  they  see  in  the  mirror  of  God's 


PAROCHIAL  LECTURES  ON  THE  LAW  AND  THE  GOSPEL. 


holy  law,  the  depth  of  miserj-  from  which  they  have  been 
delivered,  they  would  have  far  other  thoughts  and  feelings  in 
regard  to  that  heavenly  Saviour  who  came  down  into  the 
abyss  of  their  ruin,  to  save  them  with  an  everlasting  salva- 
tion; and  from  this  knowledge  of  the  claims  of  the  law,  holy 
and  ardent  gratitude  would  arise  to  him  who  was  content  to 
bear  its  demands  himself,  that  they  might  be  released  from 
the  necessity  of  bearing  them  forever.  But  having  reduced 
almost  to  nothing,  in  this  ignorance  of  the  law,  their  obliga- 
tions to  him,  it  is  not  a  matter  for  surprise  that  their  gratitude 
for  his  goodness  should  be  proportionably  weak  and  vapid. 

4.  Without  having  our  eyes  opened  to  behold  the  true  charac- 
ter of  the  divine  law,  there  will  be  no  holy  zealiox  God.  Who 
among  the  redeemed  on  earth,  feels  this  in  any  measure  cor- 
respondent with  what  the  Scripture  demands  %  We  are  repre- 
sented a.s  bought  with  a  price  ;  and  are  therefore  called  upon 
to  glorify  God  in  our  bodies  and  spirits,  which  are  his. 
Were  we  truly  sensible  of  our  obligations  to  God,  no  service 
under  heaven  would  appear  too  great  as  a  return  to  him. 
All  that  we  could  do  for  such  a  Lord,  would  be  nothing  in 
our  eyes;  and  all  that  we  could  suffer  for  him  would  be  ac- 
counted light  and  vain.  Our  time,  our  talents,  our  property, 
our  influence,  onr  whole  life,  would  appear  of  no  value,  but 
as  they  could  be  made  subservient  to  advance  the  divine 
glory.  But  how  little  of  this  spirit  is  seen !  and  how  little 
is  it  approved  among  men  even  when  it  is  seen !  How  in- 
finitely below  this  is  the  standard  of  those  who  value  them- 
selves upon  their  morality  of  conduct !  And  this  deficiency 
must  be  traced  to  the  cause  we  have  repeatedly  noticed. 
Humility,  gratitude,  and  zeal  for  God,  all  rise  or  fall,  ac- 
cording to  our  views  of  the  law.  According  as  these  are 
deep,  or  superficial,  will  the  others  evince  themselves  to  ac- 
cord, or  disagree,  with  the  standard  which  is  proposed  to  us 
in  the  gospel. 

We  can  never  have  an  entire  devotedncss  of  heart  to  God, 
as  his  redeemed  people,  until  we  apprehend  the  extent  of  our 
redemption.  With  defective  views  of  this,  we  shall  be  con- 
tented with  a  low  standard  of  obedience,  and  never  aspire 
after  a  perfect  conformity  to  the  divine  image  of  God.  To 
walk  altogether  as  Christ  walked,  will  appear  to  us  as 
bondage.  To  tread  in  the  steps  of  the  lioly  apostles,  will  be 
regarded  as  being  righteous  overmuch.  To  glory  in  the 
cross  for  Christ's  sake,  and  to  rejoice  that  we  are  counted 
worthy  to  sutler  shame,  and  even  death  for  him,  will  be 
thought  a  state  of  mind,  desirable  only  for  apostles,  and  mis- 
sionaries, and  martyrs.  But  no  state  of  mind  inferior  to  this 
will  prove  us  to  be  really  sincere  in  the  service  of  the  Lord. 
No  partial  devotion  will  be  an  acceptable  sacrifice  unto  the 
Lord.  If  we  would  be  Christ's  indeed,  we  must  live  not 
unto  ourselves,  but  unto  him  who  died  for  us  and  rose  again ; 
purifying  ourselves  even  as  he  is  pure,  and  being  perfect 
even  as  our  Father  who  is  in  heaven  is  perfect.  This  is  the 
result  of  the  constraining  love  of  Christ.  Tlie  grace  of 
Christ  alone  can  eftect  it  in  ns.  Without  this  grace  we 
must  remain  destitute  of  this  spirit  forever.  Without  a  vita. 
union  to  Christ  we  have  not,  and  we  cannot  have,  these  higli 
attainments  of  the  gospel ;  and  our  ignorance  of  the  divine 
law  will  keep  us  separated  from  Christ  forever.  Upon 
proper  knowledge  of  the  law,  therefore,  all  religious  feelings, 
the  whole  right  state  of  the  affections,  depend.  And  this  fact 
brings  home  to  us,  with  great  seriousness  and  value,  the  pe^ 
tition  of  our  text :  Open  thou  mine  eyes,  tliat  I  may  behold 
wondrous  things  out  of  thy  law. 

HL  Our  third  general  object  is  to  show  that  a  proper  un 
derstanding  of  the  divine  law  is  the  foundation  of  all  scrip 
turul  Iwpes  of  religious  blessi/igs,  as  well  as  of  all  just  views 
and  proper  feelings  in  religion. 

It  is  made  the  subject  of  repeated  prayer  by  the  apostles, 
that  the  Christians,  to  whom  they  wrote  and  ministered, 
might  have  the  eyes  of  their  understanding  enlightened,  that 
they  might  be  able  to  comprehend  for  themselves  the  nature 
and  worth  of  gospel  hopes  and  privileges,  and  be  able  to 
<rive  to  others  a  reason  for  the  hope  which  was  in  them 
Clear  views  of  religious  truth  are  indispensable  to  the  en- 
joyment of  a  rational  and  consoling  hope  of  life  eternal;  and 
while  Satan  is  deluding  the  vast  multitudes  of  the  uncon 
verted  with  false  and  unfounded  hopes,  the  nature  and  the 
fact  of  these  deceits  are  only  to  be  ascertained  by  an  ex- 
amination of  the  ground  upon  which  the  professed  hope  is 
resting. 

All  false  hopes  of  life  arise  from  an  ignorance  of  the  di- 
vine law.  When  a  sinner  is  found  claiming,  as  it  were, 
from  the  reasonableness  and  justice  of  God's  dealings,  eternal 
life,  because  he  has  done  no  harm,  has  injured  or  defrauded 


no  man, — what  but  ignorance  of  the  law  has  veiled  his  mind 
with  an  expectation  so  deceitful  ?  While  he  sees  not  that 
his  very  best  deeds  stand  in  need  of  mercy  as  much  as  his 
vilest  sins  ;  that  the  smallest  defect  entails  upon  him  an  eter- 
nal curse  as  truly  as  the  most  enormous  transgressions ;  that 
his  prayers,  by  themselves,  will  condemn  him  as  certainly 
as  his  "oaths,  upon  what  but  total  misapprehension  of  the 
tjature  of  the  di\-ine  claims  and  requisitions,  does  his  false 
confidence  of  security  depend? 

If  another  man  speaks  of  his  hope  as  founded  upon  the  un- 
bounded mercy  of  God,  which  is  over  all  his  works,  the 
same  ignorance  of  the  law  lies  at  the  foundation  of  this  delu- 
sion. When  a  judge  is  seated  upon  the  bench,  could  the 
plea  of  guilt,  on  the  part  of  the  criminal,  be  in  any  degree 
affected  by  an  assertion  of  previous  dependence  upon  the 
mercy  that  should  be  found  on  trial  1  The  hour  of  trial  is 
the  time  of  law,  and  not  the  time  for  mercy.  In  the  present 
life,  there  is  abundant  mercy  offered  to  the  sinner ;  but  in 
God's  own  way.  When  the  time  of  final  retribution  arrives, 
all  claim  upon  mercy  has  passed  by ;  and  the  principles  of 
just  and  equal  law  must  govern  every  determination.  The 
man  still  sinning,  and  trusting  in  divine  mercy  for  final  and 
future  pardon,  is  destroyed  by  his  ignorance  of  the  law.  Its 
claims  must  be  satisfied.  It  allows  not,  it  cannot  allow,  the 
name  of  mercy.  Without  the  shedding  of  blood,  it  offers  no 
remission  ;  and  until  its  full  penalty  has  been  sustained,  it  is 
utterly  vain  to  think  of  channing  its  demands  to  rest.  'ITie 
mercy  of  God  is  shown  in  his  gracious  method  of  making 
satisfaction  to  the  law  for  the  sinner's  soul.  It  can  never  be 
exhibited  in  setting  aside  the  demands  of  the  law  while  they 
remain  unsatisfied. 

From  the  same  ignorance  of  the  law  springs  that  indefinite 
kind  of  hope  which  great  numbers  express  in  the  merits  of 
the  Lord  Jesus  Christ.  They  can  give  no  reason  for  trusting 
in  him.  They  have  no  clear  idea  of  what  he  has  done,  that 
should  lead  them  to  this  confidence.  They  furnish  no  evi- 
dence in  the  holy  devotion  of  their  lives,  that  they  have  been 
truly  brought  by  the  Holy  Spirit  to  believe  in  him  ;  nor  have 
they  probably  any  distinct  emotion  in  their  hearts  connected 
with  that  faith  of  whii-h  they  speak.  But  they  say  they  be- 
lieve in  Jesus  Christ,  and  that  all  their  hope  is  in  him.  At 
the  same  time,  they  do  not,  and  will  not  accept  salvation, 
u])on  the  terms  on  which  it  is  offered  in  the  gospel.  They 
will  not  agree  to  renounce  their  good  works,  as  they  are 
called,  as  a  partial  ground  of  dependance  ;  and  to  enter  the 
kingdom  of  heaven  at  the  same  gate  with  publicans  and  har- 
lots". This  is  too  humiliating.  Their  proud  hearts  must 
have  something  in  which  they  can  boast  themselves.  And 
if  they  cannot  make  their  own  lives  the  sole  ground  of  their 
justification,  they  will  rely  upon  them  in  part.  Or  if  they 
are  to  be  brought  to  rest  only  upon  the  merit  of  Christ,  they 
will  make  their  own  goodness  a  reason  for  believing  iii  him. 
They  will  not  sutler  themselves  to  be  stript  of  all  self- 
preference.  They  will  not  glory  solely  in  the  cross  of  Christ. 
The  condemning  character  of  the  law  they  have  never  expe- 
rienced nor  seen.  They  have  not  the  least  idea  of  the 
way  in  which  it  lays  guilt  and  death  upon  their  souls; 
nor  though  they  assert  the  possession  of  a  hope  in  Jesus 
Christ,  do  they  know  or  trouble  themselves  to  think  what  he 
has  done,  or  how  he  has  done  any  thing  for  them. 

All  these  false  hopes,  and  all  other  hopes  of  the  same  kind, 
rise  up  and  are  entertained  in  the  unconverted  mind,  because 
llio  eyes  have  never  been  opened  to  see  wondrous  things  in 
the  divine  law.  Man  cannot  live  without  some  hope ;  and 
Satan,  perfectly  aware  of  this,  presents  these  refuges  of  lies  ; 
and  keeping  his  mind  in  ignorance,  deceives  him  into  the 
embracing  and  confiding  in  these  unfounded  expectations. 
Tlie  fact  that  ignorance  is  the  source  of  these  false  hopes, 
will  open  to  us,  in  part,  the  importance  of  tliat  knowledge  of 
the  law  which  lies  at  the  foundation  of  all  true  and  scriptural 
hope.  Hope  is  founded  entirely  upon  faith.  It  is  a  kind  of 
personal  application  of  the  subject  of  faith.  Now  the  faith 
which  alone  justifies  the  soul,  is  that  which  brings  us  simply 
to  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ  as  the  great  end  and  fulfilment  of  the 
law  for  the  believing  sinner.  If  we  attempt  in  any  ineasure 
or  degree  to  blend  with  the  work  of  Christ's  redemption  any 
thinir°of  our  own,  we  make  utterly  void  all  that  he  has  done 
and  "suffered  for  us.  From  that  moment  Christ  has  become 
of  no  effect  to  us.  As  far  as  we  are  concerned,  he  has  died 
in  vain. 

Faith  looks  to  Christ  as  the  sole  answer  to  the  demands  of 
the  law.  A  due  attention  to  the  law  jiresents  tWo  distinct 
claims,  which  it  makes  upon  every  sinner.  Death,  as  the 
punishment  of  past  guilt;  and  spotless,  eternal  obedience,  a3 


f. 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


the  title  to  future  reward.  Somewhere,  either  in  the  sinner, 
or  according  to  the  covenant  of  grace  in  the  substitute  for  the 
sinner,  these  must  be  found,  or  else  the  law  still  stands  as  a 
flaming-  and  impassable  sword,  at  the  i;ate  of  life.  Now, 
while  tlicse  can  never  be  found  in  the  sinner  himself,  faith 
discerns  them  both,  in  their  utmost  possible  value,  in  the 
sinner's  surety.  As  the  punishment  which  the  law  demands 
for  past  guilt,  there  is  seen  the  sutferings  and  death  of  an 
immaculate  Redeemer,  upon  whom  has  been  laid  the  believer's 
load;  and  from  his  satisfaction,  faith  offers  to  hope  a  full 
and  unqualified  pardon  for  past  transgressions.  As  the  obedi- 
ence wiihout  blemish,  which  the  law  requires  for  justification, 
there  is  beheld  the  perfect,  voluntary,  unrequired  obedience 
which  the  Son  of  God  rendered  to  its  precepts ;  a  righteousness 
which  nvigiiifiod  the  law  and  made  it  honourable ;  and  in  the  per- 
sonal ini]nitation  of  this  righteousness  to  the  believer  freely, 
through  the  grace  of  God,  faith  presents  to  hope  an  undis- 
puted and  interminable  title  to  that  life  eternal  which  the 
soul  desires.  Here  then  is  a  scriptnral  and  well-founded 
hope.  It  is  a  reasonable,  religions,  and  holy  hope.  It  is  a 
sure,  immovable,  and  satisfying  hope.  But  upon  what  does 
it  rest,  save  upon  a  knowledire  of  what  Christ  has  actually 
done?  And  whence  does  a  knowledge  of  what  Christ  has 
done  arise,  but  from  a  proper  view  of  what  the  law  of  God 
required  should  be  done?  Thus  it  is  that  true  hope  rests 
upon  a  knowledge  of  the  law;  and  until  we  have  obtained 
this  knowledge,  nothing  under  heaven  can  lead  ns  to  a  simple 
and  liviii  T  faiih  in  Jesus,  or  give  us  the  hope  which  springs 
from  such  a  faith. 

Under  these  three  heads  of  just  views,  proper  feelini^s  and 
Kcript  unit  hope  &  in  religion,  I  thiidi  I  have  shown  the  import- 
ance of  a  proper  knowledge  of  the  divine  law,  and  of  the 
petition  which  our  text  contains.  O  that  I  mijiht  impress 
upon  your  minds  the  vast  importance  of  this  subject!  Its 
ignora:ice  is  the  root  of  all  the  superficial  views  and  state- 
ments in  religion  wiili  which  the  Christian  world  is  filled. 
The  salvation  of  your  souls  depends  upon  the  acceptance  or 
rejection  of  the  truths  which  are  thus  displayed.  Let  the 
earnest  petition  of  the  text  be  adopted  by  every  hearer.  God's 
Holy  Spirit  must  deliver  you  from  darkness,  in  this  all-in- 
volving concern.  The  day-spring  from  on  high  must  guide 
your  feet  into  the  way  of  peace.  If  you  find  yourselves  in 
total  ignorance,  as  many  of  you  must,  in  this  matter,  or  if 
you  find  yourselves,  though  having  partial  knowledge  to  have 
but  indistinct  conceptions  of  the  truths  which  have  been  set 
before  you,  make  the  prayer  of  David  the  prayer  of  your 
licarts.  Sock  wisdom  from  above,  and  seek  it  with  all  yonr 
hearts,  that  you  may  walk  no  more  in  the  blindness  of  your 
minds,  having  your  understandings  darkened  tlirough  the 
ignorance  that  is  in  them.  You  must  know  the  extent  of 
your  disease  before  you  will  be  adequately  convinced  of  the 
importance  of  the  remedy,  or  see  the  adaptation  of  the  remedy 
to  your  wants.  Give  yourselves,  then,  to  the  understanding 
of  tliis  vital  portion  of  religious  truth;  that,  by  the  Spirit  of 
God  opening  your  eyes,  and  elevating  your  atTeclions,  and 
guiding  your  hearts,  you  may  be  led  to  the  attainment  and 
possession  of  a  hope  which  maketh  not  ashamed;  a  hope  in 
Jesus,  which  shall  lead  you,  though  you  see  Ijim  not,  yet 
believing  in  him,  to  rejoice  with  joy  unspeakable  and  full  of 
glory. 


LECTURE  in. 


THE  SPIRITUALITV  OF  THE  LAW. 
We  know  that  tlie  law  is  sph-itual. — Romans  vii.  1+. 

I  have  spoken  of  the  importance  of  a  proper  understanding 
of  the  divine  law,  upon  two  previous  occasions.  Tlie  character 
of  that  law,  of  which  we  are  to  acquire  a  knowledge,  coines 
now  before  us  as  our  present  subject.  In  considering  the 
nature  of  the  law,  the  first  and  most  iinportant  attribute^of  it 
is  the  one  declared  in  our  text — its  spiriluality. 

The  apostle  speaks  in  this  text  exclusively  of  the  moral 
law,  to  which  our  attention  has  been,  and  is  still  turned.  Th. 
judicial  law  of  the  Israelites  was  merely  the  common  law  of 
that  nation.  It  never  had,  nor  was  it  ever  designed  to  have, 
the  least  authority  over  the  inhabitants  of  any  other  land. 
This  law  could  not,  in  any  sense,  be  said  to  be  a  spiritual 
law.  Like  all  other  statute  books,  its  requisitions  and  pro- 
hibitions took  cognizance  only  of  the  outward  acts  of  its 
subjects,  and  recompensed  obedience  or  disobedience  respect- 


ively, with  temporal  impunity  and  protection,  and  with  tem- 
poral suffering  and  death.  This  law  cannot  be  said  to  be 
abrogated  in  regard  to  other  nations,  for  it  never  had  authority 
beyond  the  bounds  of  tlie  posterity  of  Jacob. 

The  ceremonial  law,  or  the  precepts  which  enjoined  the 
ceremonies  and  observances  of  Jewish  reliirion,  can  with  do 
more  propriety  he  called  spiritual.  St.  Paul  styles  it  a  law  of 
carnal  commandments;  and  speaks  of  it  expressly  as  con- 
sisting of  carnal  ordinances.  It  was  a  system  of  shadows, 
imder  which  were  meant  to  be  represented  the  great  truths 
md  realities  of  the  religion  of  Jesus;  and  in  itself,  it  made 
nothing  perfect.  This  law,  like  the  judicial  law  of  the  Israel- 
ites, was  entirely  partial  in  its  application.  It  was  never 
imposed  upon  the  Gentiles,  except  as  they  became  proselytes 
to  the  religion  of  the  Jews;  and,  therefore,  in  regard  to  them, 
it  can  with  no  more  propriety  than  the  last,  be  said  to  be 
abrogated. 

The  fj;reat  moral  law  of  Jehovah  was  embodied  in  the  in- 
stitutes to  which  the  Israelites  were  required  to  submit.  But 
it  is  entirely  separable  from  that  which  was  merely  local  and 
temporary  in  its  authority  and  its  claims.  Of  this,  the  Psalm- 
ist says,  the  law  of  God  is  |)erfect,  converting  the  soul;  the 
commandment  of  the  Lord  is  pure,  enlightening  the  eyes.  It 
is  to  this,  and  this  only,  that  the  apostle  refers  in  our  text,  as 
a  spiritual  law.  This,  he  says,  was  ordained  to  life;  or  first 
designed  to  confer  life  upon  man,  as  the  result  of  his  obe- 
dience ;  and  it  was  only  by  its  transgression  that  it  was  found 
to  be  unto  death.  This  law  was  perfectly  holy.  All  its 
commandments  were  holy,  just,  and  good.  And  the  very 
holiness  of  the  law  made  sin  appear  exceeding  sinful. 

Let  us  understand,  then,  distinctly,  what  is  to  be  meant  by 
the  moral  law,  of  which  the  declaration  of  our  text  is  made. 
It  is  that  law  wliich  is  embodied  in  the  ten  commandments 
given  to  Moses  on  Mount  Sinai,  by  the  ministration  of 
angels.  It  was  written  then  by  the  finger  of  God,  and 
communicated  with  a  pomp  and  majesty  which  became  its 
character.  The  cerenfonial  and  national  law  was  revealed 
afterwards,  and  in  private.  The  same  law  is  reduced  by 
Jesus  Christ  to  two  simple  commandments,  embracing  su- 
preme love  t-o  the  Creator,  and  universal  benevolence  to  bis 
creatures;  and  still  n:ore  narrowed  down  in  terms  by  St. 
Paul,  who  says,  that  love  is  the  fulfilling  of  the  law.  To 
this  great  law  every  angelic  being  is  subjected.  This  law 
was  originally  written  upon  the  heart  of  man  in  paradise; 
but  being  obliterated  in  consequence  of  the  fall,  by  (he  love 
of  sin,  and  forgetfulness  of  God,  it  needed  to  be  republished. 
In  fallen  and  degraded  man,  there  remained  no  good  thing; 
not  even  the  remembrance  of  what  his  Creator  had  originally 
required  of  him.  In  order,  then,  to  display  the  real  character 
of  God  ;  to  show  how  much  transgression  abounded;  to  ex- 
hibit the  universal  necessity  for  the  promised  seed,  whom 
(Jod  had  taught  men  to  expect,  as  a  blessing  to  all  nations; 
the  divine  law  was  anew  proclaimed  to  the  Israelites.  This 
moral  law  was  announced  before  any  private  and  peculiar 
institutions  were  imposed,  because  this  was  the  foundation 
of  all  other  commands.  In  the  acknowledgment  of  subjec- 
tion to  this,  the  Israelites  confessed  the  right  of  God  to 
impose  upon  them  any  prece]>ts,  which  in  his  infinite  wisdom 
should  seem  advisable.  It  showed  them  on  what  terms  life 
was  to  have  been  obtained  by  man  in  a  state  of  purity ;  the 
only  terms  upon  which  the  law  could  ofler  life.  It  showed 
them  also  the  utter  impossibility  of  attaining  tliis  object  by 
the  law,  in  a  state  of  traiisgression ;  and  thus  revealing  on 
the  one  hand  the  demand,  and  on  the  other  the  impossibility 
of  complying  with  it;  it  shut  them  up  to  the  faith  which 
should  be  afterwards  revealed. 

Of  this  law  our  text  speaks;  a  law  of  total  submission  to 
the  will  of  the  Creator;  as  obligatory  upon  Gentiles  as  upon 
Jews;  as  binding  in  heaven  as  upon  earth.  Of  this  it  is  said, 
we  knotc  that  the  law  is  spiriliral.  This  attribute  of  the  law 
is  a  fundamental  truth,  and  one  as  evident  as  the  same  attri- 
bute of  God.  None  can  deny  it,  without  denying  the  whole 
ch-aractcr  of  God,  of  which  the  law  is  a  transcript.  And  with 
the  same  authority  and  truth  with  which  we  can  say,  we 
know  that  God  is  a  Spirit,  may  we  also  say,  we  know  that 
the  law  is  spiritual. 

1  am  now  brought,  therefore,  to  the  point  at  which  I  desired 
to  arrive,  the  spiriluallfi/  of  the  law. 

I.  My  first  object  will  be  to  explain  the  meaning  of  the 
expression — the  law  is  spiritual. 

1.  In  hs  origin,  it  flowed  from  no  human  or  subordinate 
source,  but  from  God,  who  is  himself  a  spirit;  whom  no  eye 
hath  seen,  nor  can  see.  This  law  is  a  copy  of  the  character 
and  will  of  the  Deit)'.     The  same  inspiration  which  says, 


PAROCHIAL  LECTURES  ON  THE  LAW  AND  THE  GOSPEL. 


love  is  the  fulfilling  of  the  law,  says,  God  18  love;  so  that  a 
perfect  conformity  to  the  law  would  be  an  entire  imitation 
of  the  moral  character  of  God.  It  was  first  established  when 
the  first  creature  was  formed,  for  then  the  will  of  the  Creator 
was  first  declared.  In  heaven,  it  is  bindinor  upon  the  spirits 
exclusively;  and  the  love  which  moves  in  the  breasts  of  in- 
numerable holy  beings  around  the  throne  of  God,  is  the  ful- 
filling of  this  law.  There  its  origin  and  its  whole  operation 
are  equally  spiritual ;  and  it  is  admired  and  reverenced  there 
as  the  mirror  in  which  the  infinitely  glorious  perfections  of 
the  Deity  are  beheld. 

In  reference  to  man,  the  origin  of  the  law  is  spiritual.  It 
was  communicated  by  the  Holy  Ghost.  It  was  written  by 
the  Spirit  of  God,  upon  the  heart  of  man,  in  the  hour  of  his 
creation.  When  Adam  opened  his  eyes  first  upon  the  beau 
ties  with  which  God  had  been  pleased  to  surround  him,  this 
spiritual  law  upon  his  heart  led  him  to  lift  up  his  immediate 
offering  of  pure  and  perfect  love  to  his  great  Creator,  and  to 
scatter  from  his  spotless  soul  the  fragrance  of  the  offering 
upon  every  created  being.  It  was  spiritually  republished  in 
the  soul  of  every  child  of  God,  after  the  apostacy,  in  the  hour 
in  which  that  soul  was  brought  back  to  God  in  a  spirit  of  new 
obedience.  It  was  spiritually  proclaimed  through  the  media- 
tion of  Moses,  and  other  men  of  God,  who  spake  its  requisi- 
tions, as  they  were  moved  by  the  Holy  Ghost.  It  has  still 
the  same  spiritual  origin  when  the  renewed  heart  is  led  to 
perceive  and  admire  its  perfections,  and  the  inner  man  con 
verted  unto  God,  is  made  to  delight  in  its  commands.  It  is 
one  of  those  important  things  which  the  natural  man  per- 
ceiveth  not,  nor  is  able  to  know,  but  by  the  Spirit  of  God.  In 
its  origin,  in  heaven,  with  the  first  created  being;  on  earth, 
in  the  heart  of  Adam ;  in  the  revelations  of  the  scriptures 
and  in  the  soul  of  every  ransomed  sinner,  we  know  that  the 
law  is  spiritual,  and  by  the  Spirit  alone  to  be  revealed  to 
man. 

2.  The  law  is  spiritual  in  its  requisitions.  It  was  probably 
chiefly  under  this  aspect  that  the  apostle  made  the  declaration 
of  the  text.  The  law  is  regarded  by  some,  merely  according 
to  the  letter  of  its  precepts.  The  ten  commandments,  for  in- 
stance, are  considered  as  simply  referring,  in  their  commands 
and  prohibitions,  to  the  external  acts  or  duties  of  which  they 
speak.  This  is  a  false  and  partial  view  of  the  subject.  In 
opposition  to  it,  the  assertions  of  scripture  carry  these  pre- 
cepts as  strongly  to  the  desires  and  purposes  of  the  mind,  as 
to  the  open  conduct  of  the  life.  The  whole  law  is  spiritual 
in  its  application.  It  lays  its  power  upon  the  inner  man,  and 
while  it  reveals  what  God  commands,  it  requires  unqualified 
and  unbroken  obedience  in  the  heart  which  God  searches.  If 
man  were  shut  out  from  the  possibility  of  external  breaches 
of  the  commands ;  nay,  if  he  were  out  of  the  body  in  which 
they  must  be  accomplished,  and  were  wholly  a  spirit,  the 
law  would  impose  the  same  obligation  upon  him,  and  make  the 
same  demands  from  him.  The  principle  of  obedience,  is  that 
to  which  the  law  looks,  a  total  submission  to  the  authority  of 
God.  The  change  of  occasional  relations  to  other  created 
beings,  does  not  at  all  alter  the  demand  for  this  single  princi- 
ple of  subjection  to  the  divine  will.  This  is  the  spirituality 
of  the  requisitions  of  the  law.  The  thoughts  and  purposes 
which  lead,  in  their  regular  issue,  to  outward  violations  of 
these  requisitions,  are  themselves  as  much  sins  against  the 
law,  as  the  results  to  which  they  tend.  When  the  law  for- 
bids a  sin,  it  equally  forbids  every  thought,  and  occupation, 
and  feeling,  which  would  lead  to  its  conimission ;  and  when 
it  commands  a  duty.it  equally  enjoins  every  circumstance  and 
habit  which  can  conduce  to  its  performance.  In  the  prohibi- 
tion of  sin,  it  requires,  in  the  same  precept,  the  contrary  duty, 
and  in  the  injunction  of  a  duty,  it  forbids  the  transgression 
which  stands  against  it.  It  is  thus  exceeding  broad  in  its  ap- 
plication to  the  conscience,  and  like  a  two-edged  sword, 
cutting  at  the  same  moment  in  opposite  directions.  If  the 
ten  commandments,  or  any  one  of  them,  be  considered,  this 
is  to  be  the  principle  of  their  interpretation ;  or  if  we  take 
the  two  commands  into  which  the  Lord  has  resolved  the 
whole,  this  is  their  legitimate  application.  In  the  assertion 
that  the  law  is  spiritual  in  its  demauds,  we  simply  mean  that 
it  demands  the  heart,  in  its  obedience.  Its  object  is  not  the 
regulation  of  the  outward  conduct,  the  directing,  or  the 
cutting  off  the  streams  of  life.  It  goes  to  the  fountain  of  all 
character  in  the  soul,  and  demands  the  perfect  cleansing  of 
that,  in  a  perfect  conformity  to  the  character  of  God.  If  it 
could  be  a  possible  event,  it  would  be  entirely  true,  that 
though  in  every  feeling,  and  desire,  and  act  of  a  whole  life, 
an  individual  had  been  obedient,  and  but  one  single  thought 
had  risen  in  rebellion  against  God,  or  gone  astray  from  him. 


that  one  thought  would  as  really  annihilate  the  whole  obe- 
dience to  which  it  had  been  attached,  as  a  life  of  iniquity. 
This  was  the  fact  with  the  first  man,  who,  by  one  purpose  of 
transgression,  destroyed  his  whole  covenant  of  life.  This  is 
the  spirituality  of  the  law's  demands.  It  requires,  in  your 
whole  heart,  a  submission  to  God,  uninterrupted  by  a  single 
insurgent  feeling,  a  purity  of  character,  uncontaminated  by 
a  single  spot,  and  azeal  of  devotion,  unrelaxing  in  a  single  pur- 
pose. Thus  we  know  that  in  its  precepts  the  law  is  spiritual ; 
it  has  no  partialoperation  for  the  earth.  The  very  same  character 
it  requires  throughout  the  universe.  What  angels  are  in  heaven, 
it  requires  that  you  should  have  been,  from  your  birth,  and  be 
forever.  Its  precepts  reach  the  heart,  and  there  are  to  be  obeyed 
in  a  perfect  and  perpetual  display  of  the  character  of  God. 

3.  The  law  is  spiritual  in  its  operations.  It  was  originally 
ordained  to  be  a  covenant  of  life,  and  its  spiritual  operation, 
then,  was  simply  in  its  holy,  searching  and  animating 
guidance  to  a  perfect  conformity  of  the  soul  to  God.  It  was 
the  friend  and  guide  of  man.  It  taught  him  what  bis  Creator 
required.  It  warned  him  of  what  his  Creator  had  forbidden, 
and  thus,  in  the  keeping  of  its  precepts,  it  gave  him  great 
reward. 

The  disobedience  of  man  has  changed  the  whole  course  of 
these  spiritual  operations  of  the  law.  The  law  can  never  lie 
the  friend  of  sinners.  It  comes  now  with  no  offer  of  life. 
But  faithful  to  God,  it  stands  forth  as  the  witness  and  the 
enemy  against  all  who  rebel  against  him.  The  whole  operation 
of  the  law  upon  a  sinner,  is  to  convince  and  condemn  him.  It 
comes  in  the  majesty  of  its  authorit)-,  and  in  the  clearness  of 
its  accusations,  for  this  twofold  purpose.  It  lays  out  before 
his  conscience  the  extent  of  its  own  claims,  and  places,  side 
by  side,  with  them,  the  enormity  of  his  transgressions.  It 
shows  him  what  God  requires,  and  then  it  shows  him  what 
he  has  done,  and  thus,  spiritually  laying  open  to  him  his 
aggravated  guilt,  it  convinces  him  of  the  truth  of  its  state- 
ments. It  stops  his  mouth  from  all  excuses.  It  compels 
him  to  cry  out  in  deep  humiliation,  unclean,  unclean.  Having 
thus  convinced  him  of  the  fact  of  his  transgressions,  it  comes 
in  its  condemning  power  to  pass  the  sentence  upon  his  soul. 
It  proclaims  the  wages  of  sin  ;  it  announces  a  coming  wrath  ; 
it  unveils  destruction;  it  strips  off  the  covering  of  hell;  and 
thus,  spiritually  destroying  the  transgressor's  soul,  it  con- 
strains him  to  exclaim  in  the  bitterness  of  anguish,  "  O, 
wretched  man  that  I  am,  who  shall  deliver  me  from  the  body 
of  this  death." 

Here  the  work  of  the  law  ends.  It  cannot  go  beyond  this 
limit.  It  convinces  and  condemns  the  sinner,  and  then  leaves 
him  to  perish.  In  this  aspect,  every  true  Christian  may  say, 
as  the  result  of  his  own  experience,  I  know  that  the  law  is 
spiritual. 

Under  these  three  views  I  wish  you  to  consider  the  spirit" 
uality  of  the  law.  In  its  origin,  its  rei/iiisitions,  and  its  ope' 
rations.  Spiritual  in  all,  because  it  came  from,  and  is  em- 
ployed by  that  Divine  Spirit  who  first  made  man  holy,  and 
now  renews  him  again  in  holiness,  after  his  own  perfect 
ima^e. 

if.  My  second  object  will  be,  to  draw  some  suitable  re- 
flections from  this  subject.     And, 

1.  How  deeply  this  view  of  the  divine  law  must  humble 
the  soul  of  the  very  holiest  of  men !  As  to  gross  outward 
violations  of  the  law,  many  of  you  may  be  comparatively 
blameless.  But  who  has  rendered  unto  God  that  glory 
which  is  his  due,  and  despised  every  thing,  in  comparison  with 
himi  Were  we  to  trace  that  line  of  conduct  which  the  law 
lays  down,  in  the  different  relations  of  life,  who  would  not  be 
compelled,  in  view  of  it,  to  acknowledge  that  his  trans- 
gressions were  multiplied  more  than  the  hairs  of  his  head, 
and  as  the  sands  upon  the  sea  shore  1  And  if  we  come  to 
the  tempers  and  dispositions  which  we  have  exercised,  and 
to  the  thoughts  which  we  have  harboured,  who  must  not 
blush  to  lift  up  his  eyes  unto  heaven,  and  be  ashamed  and 
confounded  in  the  presence  of  that  God  who  searclicth  the 
hearts  I  But  to  call  to  mind  what  we  have  done,  or  what  we 
have  left  undone,  will  give  us  a  very  inadequate  view  of  our 
sinfulness.  If  you  would  estimate  yourselves  aright,  you 
must  take  the  high  standard  of  God's  holy  law,  and  see  how 
infinitely  short  ot  your  duty  you  have  come,  in  every  act  of 
your  lives,  and  in  every  moment  of  your  existence.  You 
must  not  inquire  merely  whether  you  have  loved  God  at  all ; 
but  how  near  you  have  come  to  what  his  law  requires,  and 
his  perfections  demand.  You  must  trace  the  whole  state  of 
your  souls  from  the  beginning  of  their  life,  and  estimate  it  by 
this  role.  You  will  then  see  that  your  attainments  have  been 
as  nothing,  literally,  I  say,  as  nothing,  in  comparison  of  your 


CHRISTIAN   LIBRARY. 


short  comings  and  defects.  The  poorest  bankrupt  that  ever 
existed  lias  paid  as  (jreat  a  proportion  of  his  debt  as  you 
have  of  your  debt  to  God  ;  yea,  he  is  in  a  far  higher  state 
than  you,  for  lie,  if  he  discharge  nothing  of  his  debt,  adds 
nothing  to  it,  but  you  have  been  augmenting  your  debt,  every 
day,  every  liour,  every  moment.  Tlie  very  best  deeds  of 
tlie  very  best  men  in  an  unconverted  state,  when  tried  liy 
the  touchstone  of  God's  perfect  law,  arc  hut  one  continued 
accumulation  of  guilt  and  misery,  against  the  day  of  wrath. 
If  you  try  yourselves  only  by  the  letter  of  the  law,  you  will 
not  see  this  ;  but  if  you  look  into  its  spirit,  there  will  be  no 
terms  too  humiliating  to  express  your  sinfulness  and  your 
desert  of  (jod's  wrath  and  indignation. 

()  that  I  could  call  you  to  this  self-abasing  view!  Tliat  I 
could  wrest  out  of  your  hands  tliat  delusive  plea,  that  you 
have  done  no  harm  !  I  pray  you  take  judgment  for  your 
line,  and  righteousness  for  your  plummet,  and  jiulge  your- 
selves as  God  judgeth.  It  is  by  his  judgment  that  you  must 
stand  or  fall,  and  not  by  your  own  ;  and  his  judgment,  rely 
upon  it,  will  be  accordinir  to  truth. 

Were  the'  condemnation  that  awaits  you  to  affect  only  the 
present  life,  we  might  be  contented  to  leave  you  under  your 
delusions.  But  we  know  that  you  must  sliortly  appear  be- 
fore the  heart-scarebing  Ood,  to  receive  your  linal  doom. 
Then  the  book  of  liis  remembrance  will  be  opened.  Then 
your  own  consciences  will  attest  the  truth  of  every  accusa- 
tion which  shall  be  brought  against  yon  ;  and  then  will  you 
see  the  e(|uity  both  of  the  test  by  which  you  will  be  tried, 
and  of  the  sentence  which  shall  be  jironouneed  against  you 
There  will  he  no  respect  of  persons  in  the  judgment  of  tbi^ 
spiritual  law.  The  learned  and  dignified  will  stand  on  tin 
same  footing  with  the  most._iUiterate  peasant ;  or  rather  will 
have  a  severer  judgment,  in  projiorlion  to  the  advantages 
which  they  shall  have  neglected  to  improve.  The  Lord 
grant  you  ability  to  lay  these  considerations  duly  to  heart; 
and  enable  you  to  abase  yourselves  before  (Jod  wiUi  that  hu- 
mility of  mind,  ami  that  brokcnncss  of  heart,  which  God  will 
not  despise. 

•i.  In  conclusion  I  would  remark,  how  foolish  are  all  at- 
tempts to  establish  a  righteousness  of  our  own  by  the  works 
of  the  law  !  There  is-not  a  single  precept  which  does  not 
testily  bclbre  God  against  our  guilt.  .Some  jiersons,  indeed, 
have-  an  idea,  that  (Christ  has  lowered  the  terms  of  the  law, 
and  brought  down  its  demands  to  the  standard  of  human  in 
tirmity.  Hut  where  can  they  find  any  thing  that  sanctions 
such  an  idea  as  this  1  Which  of  the  commands  has  the  Lord 
•lesus  lowered  ^  Me  has  summed  up  the  whole  decalogue  in 
his  two  precepts :  Thou  slialt  love  the  Lord  thy  God  with  all 
thy  heart,  and  thy  neighbour  as  thyself.  V\  hich  of  these  two 
has  he  set  aside  \  ^\  hich  has  he  dis])ensed  with  ?  Or  what 
meas\ire  of  abatement  has  he  made  in  either  of  them  ?  If 
this  law  befiire  the  coming  of  Christ  required  too  much,  was 
it  then  hrdy,  just  and  good  ?  If,  on  the  contrary,  it  reipiired 
only  what  was  really  due,  then  has  not  Christ,  if  he  has  at 
all  lowered  its  demands,  rubbed  (iod  of  the  obedience  which 
was  due  to  him  ;  and  thus  become  himself  the  minister  and 
patron  of  sin  ! 

On  every  suliject  which  concerns  the  Deity  would  I  speak 
with  reverence  ;  but  I  must  say,  that  God  cannot  reduce  the 
demands  of  his  own  law.  It  would  be  to  divest  himself  of 
liis  own  glory,  and  to  give  liberty  to  man  to  violate  the  obli- 
gations which  every  rational  creature  of  necessity  owes  to 
the  (Creator.  The  law  of  God  is  as  immutable  as  himself; 
for  it  is  a  perfeet  transcript  of  his  own  mind  and  will.  It  is 
a  matter  of  indispensable  duty  to  every  creature  to  love  the 
Creator  with  supreme  affection ;  and  to  love,  in  subordina- 
tion to  him,  all  the  works  of  his  intelligent  creation.  This 
law  is  unalterable.  And  if  any  would  obtain  a  righteousness 
by  it,  they  must  obey  it  perfectly,  from  first  to  last ;  and  as 
this  is  utterly  impossible  to  those  who  are  already  trans- 
gressors, the  thought  of  obtaining  righteousness  by  the  law 
must  he  relinquished  by  every  soul  of  rnan.  You  must,  if 
you  would  be  saved  at  all,  seek  for  some  other  righteousness 
more  comniens\irate  with  the  demands  of  the  law,  and  more 
consistent  with  the  honour  of  the  Lawgiver. 

I  would  to  God  yon  could  all  adopt  the  declaration  of  the 
text :  "  If  e  know  that  the  law  is  spiritual."  But  how  gen- 
erally are  you  ignorant  of  this  important  matter  !  Nay,  what 
general  ignorance  of  it  prevails  throughout  the  Christian  world  ! 
All  sinners  are  desirous  of  moderating  the  law  to  their  own 
standard.  All  are  anxious  to  lessen  their  own  criminalitv 
before  God ;  and  to  do  this,  they  thus  attempt  to  make  hiiii 
the  partner  of  their  guilt.  I  beseech  you  to  settle  it  in  your 
miuds,  as  an  indisputable  fact,  that  the  law  of  God  is  alto- 


gether a  spiritual  law ;  and  that  it  must  remain  so  for  ever.  Let 
it  be  thoroughly  understood,  that  this  is  the  nature  of  the  law 
of  which,  in  these  discourses,  I  am  proceeding  to  speak ; 
and  if  you  gain  a  clear  insight  into  this  important  attributo 
of  the  law,  the  uses  and  operations  of  it,  as  subsequently 
considered,  will  be  perfectly  distinct  and  intelligible  to  your 
minds.  My  great  object  in  the  whole  of  this  course  of  re- 
mark, is  to  persuade  you  to  give  up  your  vain  confidence  in 
j'ourselves ;  to  cease  from  man,  whose  breath  is  in  his  nos- 
trils ;  to  lay  aside  every  notion  that  you  have  any  thing  to 
offer  unto  God,  and  to  look  for  a  righteousness  wliich  shall 
correspond  with  the  utmost  demands  of  this  spiritual  law. 
Such  a  righteousness  is  provided  in  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ, 
and  freely  offered  by  him  to  every  penitent  and  believing  sin- 
ner. Kemaining  under  the  law,  you  remain  under  a  curse. 
You  are  exposed  to  the  everlasting  anger  of  God  for  each 
thought  of  your  life.  It  gives  you  no  hope  and  no  comfort. 
The  Taw  is  spiritual,  and  you  are  carnal  and  sold  under  sin. 
It  condemns  and  destroys  you  in  every  one  of  its  precepts ; 
and  it  is  the  height  of  infatuation  to  look  to  it  for  justification 
and  life.  If  these  appear  to  you  hard  sayings,  the  .Spirit  of 
God  must  enable  you  to  receive  them.  He  must  subdue 
your  pride  and  vain  confidence ;  and  show  you  by  the  very 
law  to  which  you  thus  cling,  that  you  are  condemned  and 
ruined.  O  that  his  convincing  power  were  received  and  ex- 
ercised in  all  your  consciences;  that  you  could  be  compelled 
to  cry,  God  be  merciful  to  us  sinners  ;  that  you  could  be 
constrained,  in  the  view  of  the  law's  unbending,  impossible 
demands,  to  ask.  What  shall  we  do  to  he  saved  1  Then 
would  you  follow  me  in  these  considerations  with  success  ; 
and  lind,  to  your  souls'  salvation,  that  Christ  is  the  end  of 
the  law  for  righteousness  to  every  one  that  believeth. 


LECTURE  IV. 

THE    CONVINCING    POWER   OF   THE    LAW. 

Now,  we  know  tliat  what  tilings  soever  the  law  saith,  it  saitJi  to  them 
that  are  uiuler  tlie  law,  that  ever}'  moulli  may  be  slopped,  and  all  tlic 
world  may  become  guilty  before  God. — Romass  hi.  19. 

The  consideration  of  the  spirituality  nf  the  law  leads  us  to 
consider  next,  as  the  subject  immediately  succeeding,  the 
iiiKi!  and  upcratiitns  of  the  law.  The  serious  contemplation 
(if  the  extent  of  the  divine  law,  must  lead  us  with  the 
I'salmist  to  exclaim,  "Thy  commandment  is  exceeding 
broad."  Though,  like  him,  we  have  seen  an  end  of  all  perfec- 
tion, taken  and  understood  the  dimensions  of  all  other  things, 
and  been  able  to  estimate  the  worth  of  all  created  objects,  yet 
none  by  searching  can  find  out  God,  or  behold  the  extent  of 
that  law,  which  is  a  perfeet  transcript  or  ])icture  of  his  cha- 
racter. The  view  which  I  have  attempted  to  give  you  of  the 
spiritual  character  of  the  law,  is  entirely  inadequate  to  the 
importance  of  the  subject ;  but  it  is  probably  sufficieiitly  ex- 
tensive, to  convince  you  that  the  subject  is  important  in  the 
highest  degree,  and  one  which  it  is  reasonable  for  us  to  de- 
sire to  understand. 

We  now  take  the  law,  thus  extended  and  illustrated,  for 
our  subject ;  and  proceed  to  speak  of  its  uses  to  us  who  live 
under  the  operation  and  within  the  reach  of  the  privileges  of 
gospel  grace.  It  is  not  uncommon  to  deny  its  whole  appli- 
cation to  men  living  under  the  gospel ;  and  it  is  frequently 
denied  to  have  any  thing  like  the  power  and  influence  which 
will  be  assitrned  to  it  in  these  discourses ;  and  which  are  as- 
signed to  it,  I  believe,  in  the  infallible  revelations  of  the 
scriptures.  The  question  which  the  apostle  asks,  "  Whereto 
serveth  the  law?"  is  asked,  but  in  a  difl'erent  spirit,  by  many 
among  us.  The  subject  now  before  us  will  be  sufficient,  if 
it  he  projierly  regarded,  to  answer  this  question,  to  those  by 
whom  it  is  suggested  in  a  spirit  of  inquiry  ;  and  to  set  aside 
the  objeetionsof  those  by  wttt)m  it  is  brought  forward,  in  a 
fretful  spirit  of  opposition. 

In  pursuing  my  design,  I  shall  present  the  spiritual  law 
of  the  Most  High  to  your  view,  under  four  different  asjiccts  : 

I.  In  its  CONVINCING  power  upon  the  conscience  of  the 
sinnej. 

II.  In  its  CONDEMNING  powcr  upon  the  sonl  of  the  impenitent. 

III.  In  its  ceiDiNG  power  to  lead  the  sinner  to  Christ. 

IV.  In  its  GOVERNING  power  to  control  him  after  he  has 
embraced  the  gospel. 


PAROCHIAL  LECTURES  ON  THE  LAW  AND  THE  GOSPEL. 


Tlie  subject  of  the  present  discourse,  is  the  convincing 
pinver  of  the  law  ufHtn  the  cimMcience  of  the  sinner.  "Now  we 
know  that  whatsoever  things  the  law  saith,  it  saith  to  them 
that  are  under  the  law,  that  every  mouth  may  he  stopped  and 
the  whole  world  become  puilty  before  God." 

It  is  by  "  whatsoever  things  the  law  saith,"  that  its  power 
to  convict  the  sinner  is  displayed.  The  leo^timate  and  pro- 
per operation  of  this  power  is  "  to  those  who  are  under  the 
law  ;"  and  so  extensive  will  be  seen  this  proper  operation  of 
the  law,  "  that  every  mouth  will  be  stopped,  and  the  whole 
world  will  become  guilty  before  God,"  or  come  under  the 
judj^ment  of  God,  justly  forfeited  and  condemned.  This 
convincing  power  of  the  law  is  either  shown  in  the  salutary 
awakening  of  the  sinner  in  his  day  of  grace,  that  he  may  be 
brought  to  Christ  for  life,  or  in  the  final  arousing  of  his  con- 
science in  the  day  of  judgment,  that  he  may  acknowledge  the 
justice  of  his  own  condemnation.  In  one  or  the  other  of 
these  conditions,  the  mouth  of  every  sinner  in  the  universe 
shall  be  stopped  ;  and  under  an  irresistible  conviction,  he 
shall  be  compelled  to  acknowledge  himself  guilty  before  God. 

The  power  of  the  law  to  convince  the  sinner  in  his  day  of 
grace,  that  he  may  be  saved  by  his  acceptance  of  the  Lord 
Jesus,  is  the  subject  to  which  I  would  direct  your  attention  at 
this  time.  The  law  is  the  great  instrument  which  the  spirit 
of  God  employs  to  convince  men  of  sin  ;  and  in  his  hands  it 
is  declared  to  be  living  and  powerful,  and  sharper  than  a 
two-edged  sword,  piercing  even  to  the  dividing  asunder  the 
soul  and  spirit ;  laying  open  to  view  the  most  secret  pur- 
poses and  plans  of  the  inner  man  ;  and  discerning  or  sepa- 
rating, for  the  purpose  of  clearer  exhibition,  the  thoughts  and 
intents  of  the  heart. 

In  this  process  of  conviction,  the  law  is  altogether  an  in- 
strument of  the  Holy  Ghost.  In  itself,  it  is  to  the  conscience 
of  the  transgressor  a  mere  dead  letter,  because  his  eyes  are 
so  blinded  that  he  will  not  see  its  impartial  records;  and  like 
the  deaf  adder,  he  stops  his  ears  that  he  may  not  hear  that 
which  it  testifies  agamst  his  soul.  This  refusal  to  behold 
and  listcn,thespirit  of  God  overcomes;  and  putting  life  and  re- 
sistless power  into  the  declarations  of  the  law.  he  breaksdown 
all  the  sinner's  strong  holds  of  pride  and  self-confidence,  and 
crushes  his  rebellious  spirit  into  the  dust  of  humiliation  and 
conscious  ruin.  Though  without  this  spiritual  application  of 
the  law  he  may  be  alive  and  boastful  in  himself,  when  the 
commandment  comes  with  the  attendant  power  of  the  Holy 
Ghost,  sin  revives  in  all  its  awful,  deadly  and  destructive 
features,  shows  itself  to  his  conscience,  without  disguise,  in 
its  own  hideous  form ;  and  he,  under  the  clear  apprehension 
of  its  guilt,  and  the  danger  which  attends  it,  dies  ;  lies  pow- 
erless at  the  feet  of  Jesus,  and  yields  liiuiself  to  the  new 
creation  of  his  grace. 

I.  By  the  instrumentalitj'  of  "whatsoever  things  the  law 
saith,"  the  Holy  Spirit  convinces  the  sinner  of  the  guilt  of 
his  past  Irangressions.  We  have  already  seen  that  the  law 
claims  entire,  perpetual  and  spotless  obedience.  It  de- 
scribes the  holiest  of  possible  character,  and  demands  the 
confomiity  of  the  whole  man  to  that.  In  the  exercise  of  its 
convincing  power,  it  reveals  this  true  character  of  itself  to 
the  sinner's  understanding,  and  compels  him  to  acknowledge 
it;  and  then  comparing  the  obliquity  and  defects  of  his  ow 
character  with  its  strictness  and  purity,  laying  down  a  rul 
perfectly  straight  and  unbending  upon  the  crookedness  of  all 
his  conduct,  it  gives  him  thus  a  knowledge  of  sin.  It  com- 
municates a  knowledge  both  of  the  nature  of  sin  in  itself,  as  a 
transgression  of  this  law,  and  of  the  existence  of  it,  in  an  ag- 
gravated degree,  in  his  own  character  and  life.  You  have 
naturally  no  disposition  to  attend  to  the  things  which  the  law 
saith.  In  reply  to  its  holy  and  inflexible  demands,  your 
hearts  are  ready  to  say,  "  Not  so ;  be  that  far  from  thee  to 
condemn  the  righteous  with  the  wicked."  But  it  is  the 
truth,  that  the  law  lays  the  most  awful  charges  of  guilt 
against  your  souls ;  and  in  the  operation  of  it,  to  which  I 
now  refer,  it  convinces  you  of  their  justice.  It  searches  into 
your  character,  and  shows  you  to  be,  by  nature  and  voluntary 
habit,  a  mass  of  corruption  and  sin ;  having  the  whole  head 
sick,  and  the  whole  heart  faint.  It  charges  you  with  having 
spent  the  time  which  the  divine  forbearance  has  allowed  you 
on  earth,  in  an  open  defiance  of  the  great  God  of  heaven.  It  ac- 
cuses you  of  presumptuous  sins  committed  against  warning 
and  knowledge ;  of  relapsing  into  them  against  vows,  and 
proteslati(?hs,  and  prayers  ;  of  rushing  by  all  the  admonitions 
and  entreaties  of  your  own  conscience,  in  the  determination 
of  your  sin.  It  accuses  yon  of  sins  of  inadvertence  and  ig- 
norance,   utterly    without    number;    of  allowing    days    to 


,1 


gether  the  greater  part  of  your  lives,  without  pondering  what 
you  do,  or  caring  whether  you  do  well  or  ill.  It  accuses  of 
secret  sins  of  thought  and  desire,  literally  like  the  ocean's 
sand ;  sins  which,  though  they  are  concealed  from  the  cog- 
nizance of  the  world,  are  open  and  naked  to  him  with  whom 
you  have  to  do ;  sins  which  pass  you  like  the  motes  that 
play  upon  the  sunbeam,  and  elude  all  your  exertion  to  ex- 
amine or  pursue  them.  It  accuses  you  of  the  habitual 
omission  of  holy  duties ;  of  negligence  of  God  and  his  re- 
quirements ;  of  restraining  the  voice  of  prayer,  and  refusing 
the  oflerings  of  praise.  It  accuses  you  of  total  deficiency  in 
the  spirit  of  those  duties  which  you  have  undertaken  to  per- 
form ;  of  dullness,  formality  and  hypocrisy  in  your  apparent 
approaches  to  the  service  of  God.  It  accuses  you  beyond  all 
acts  of  omission  or  commission,  of  that  which  thfey  iiifallibly 
indicate,  a  natural  state  of  sin  ;  a  nature  of  rebellion ;  a  foun- 
tain in  your  hearts,  of  aversion  to  God ;  a  state  of  character 
and  life,  in  which  every  feeling  and  purpose  partakes  of  the 
universal  bitterness,  and  is  sinful  and  worthy  of  condemna- 
tion ;  from  which  there  has  never  proceeded  in  the  minutest 
or  most  infantile  shape,  one  good  thing.  These  are  the 
charges  which  the  law  makes  against  you,  as  constituting 
the  guilt  of  your  past  transgressions ;  and  with  these,  by  the 
quickening  power  of  the  Holy  Spirit,  it  convinces  you  of  sin. 
II.  By  "whatsoever  things  the  law  saitli,"  the  spirit  con- 
vinces the  sinner  of  his  exposure  to  the  wrath  of  Almighty 
God,  and  of  his  danger  of  eternal  death.  The  divine  law 
has  guarded  itself  against  all  violations,  by  the  most  import- 
ant and  solemn  sanctions.  While  it  promises  life  everlasting 
as  the  result  of  everlasting  obedience,  it  denounces  etem^ 
death  as  the  inevitable  conse<iuence  of  eternal  sin.  It  pro- 
claims an  unspeakably  awful  curse  upon  every  soul  of  man 
that  doeth  evil,  and  because  every  man  living  is  bom  a  sin- 
ner, and  grows  and  matures  in  sin,  this  curse,  in  all  its  ter- 
ror, is  laid  upon  every  soul  of  man.  The  sinner's  condemna- 
tion is  not  a  future  matter.  He  is  condemned  already;  and 
although,  like  a  convict  in  his  cell,  there  is  a  respite  yet 
allowed  before  the  execution  of  his  sentence,  still  his  case  is 
to  be  regarded  as  disposed  of;  no  new  act  of  authority  is  re- 
quired for  his  punishment;  his  time  is  fixed,  and  he  is  only 
to  be  let  alone  until  it  shall  arrive.  'I1ie  state  of  an  uncon- 
verted sinner  is  a  state  of  condemnation  and  wrath.  There 
are  many  of  you  who  may  be  ignorant  of  this ;  nay,  perhaps, 
who  may  feel  disposed  to  deny  it.  But  this  is  one  of  those 
things  which  the  law  saith,  and  in  the  exercise  of  its  con- 
vincing power  upon  the  conscience,  it  makes  you  acquainted 
with  this  solemn  and  all-important  fact,  that  you  are  con- 
demned already,  and  the  wrath  of  God  is  abiding  on  you.  It 
shows  you,  that  although  prosperit}-  and  wcaltli,  and  ease  and 
honour,  may  be  allowed  to  decorate  your  passing  hours  here, 
your  final  destiny,  while  you  remain  under  the  law,  is  never- 
theless fixed  ;  there  is  a  curse  rolling  forward  upon  your  souls 
which  will  sink  you  into  etcnial  ruin.  While  the  law  con- 
vinces you  of  your  real  character,  as  sinners,  it  fastens  this 
acknowledgment  upon  your  minds,  that  for  you,  in  this  cha- 
racter, there  remains,  "the  fearful  expectation  of  judgment 
and  fiery  indignation,"  which  will  consume  you,  as  the  ad- 
versaries of  God.  It  shows  you,  that  all  your  past  blessings 
are  no  proof  of  God's  acceptance  of  your  souls  ;  that  although 
le  has  sustained  you,  with  much  forbearance,  you  were  still 
"vessels  of  wrath  fitted  for  destruction."  In  the  hour  of 
conviction,  it  lays  open  before  you  the  solemn  fact,  that  you 
have  been  the  enemies  of  a  God  who  has  said,  "  Vengeance 
is  mine,  I  will  repay."  It  shows  you  that  you  are,  with  the 
utmost  reason,  condemned  to  everlasting  death,  and  that  it 
would  he  altogether  right  and  just  in  God  to  cast  you  finally 
from  his  presence,  and  to  refuse"  the  exercise  of  mercy  to  your 
souls.  It  lays  down  before  j'ou  the  long  chain  of  sins  to 
which  reference  has  been  alread)'  made,  and  attaches  to  every 
individual  in  the  series  an  everlasting  curse,  and  then  bids 
you  to  look  at  your  condition,  and  see  what  hope  you  have  of 
escape  from  the  damnation  of  hell.  I  pray  you  to  observe 
that  this  conviction  of  your  exposure  to  God's  holy  indigna- 
tion, is  only  the  revelation  of  a  fact  of  which  you  were  be- 
fore entirely  ignorant.  The  law  saith,  "There  is  none  that 
doeth  good — no,  not  one ;  they  have  all  sinned  ;  they  have 
all  becjune  abominable."  Then  it  saith,  "Cursed  be  every 
one  that  sinneth  against  God."  "  Let  wrath  come  upon  them, 
and  let  them  go  down  quick  into  hell,  for  I  have  seen  iniquity 
in  them  all."  Of  this  condition  of  ruin  in  which  transgress- 
ion of  the  law  has  placed  you,  in  your  state  of  native  care- 
lessness, you  are  entirely  ignorant.  The  convincing  power 
of  the  law,  of  which  I  now  speak,  docs  not  make  the  fact  of 


pass   without  consideration   or  reflection;    of  crowding  to- 1 your  danger,  hut  it  unveils  your  eyes,  and  compels  you  to 
Vol.  II B  I 


10 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


see  it.  Under  the  operation  of  this  power,  thouy;li  you  wroan 
in  anguish,  you  are  no  more  in  condemnation  than  you  were 
before,  when  you  were  thoughtless  and  gay  ;  but  you  have 
been  made  to  see  and  consider  danfrers  to  which  you  were 
before  voluntarily  blinded,  and  the  sight  of  your  previous  ac- 
tual condition,  over  which  you  have  long  slept  in  heedless- 
ness, will  now,  under  this  convincing  power  of  the  law,  fill 
you  with  api)rehension  and  grief. 

III.  The  law,  with  the  attending  power  of  the  Spirit,  con- 
vinces the  siimer  of  the  utter  im|)0ssibility  of  his  ever  ob- 
taining justification  before  God,  on  the  ground  of  his  own 
works.  This  fact  the  apostle  declares  in  the  verse  immedi- 
ately following  the  text,  "  Therefore,  by  the  deeds  of  the 
law,  shall  no  Hesh  be  justified  in  his  sight,  for  by  the  law 
is  the  kno^rtedge  of  sin."  The  law  teaches  no  other  know- 
ledge than  tliis.  A  knowledge  of  pardon  and  salvation  must 
be  acquired  from  some  other  source.  The  convinced  sinner 
sees  tins  utter  impossibility,  and  while  he  is  obliged  to  ac- 
knowledge his  guilt,  and  to  confess  his  just  exposure  to 
wrath,  for  his  transgressions,  he  finds  himself  compelled  to 
lay  down  all  hope  of  working  out  any  righteousness  for  him 
self.  He  cannot  obtain  acceptance  by  his  obedience  to  the 
law,  for  the  law  shows  him  the  total  imperfection  of  any 
obedience  which  he  can  render.  He  cannot  be  justified  by 
making  satisfaction  for  his  disobedience,  for  the  law  shows 
him  again,  that  no  satisfaction  can  be  received,  short  of  the 
penalty  threatened,  which  is  everlasting  death;  so  that  to 
hope  for  life,  by  satisfying  and  recompensing  divine  justice 
for  his  otfences,  is  simply  to  hope  for  salvation  by  being 
damned.  This  twofold  impossibility  he  sees  demonstrated 
to  his  conscience  beyond  the  power  of  denial.  To  this  great 
end,  the  convincing  power  of  the  law  will  operate  upon  your 
consciences.  When  it  has  thus  hrought  you  to  despair  in 
yourselves,  by  showing  you  your  unspeakable  dangers,  and 
your  utter  inability  to  find  a  remedy  in  yourselves,  by  any 
thing  which  you  can  do  or  suITer.  it  has  finished  its  work. 
There  it  must  leave  you,  in  this  horror  of  great  darkness,  un- 
til the  Holy  Spirit,  who,  by  this  ministry  of  the  law,  has 
convinced  you  of  sin,-  shall,  by  the  gracious  ministry  of  the 
gospel,  convince  you  of  a  perfect  and  sufficient  righteousness 
laid  up  for  you  in  Jesus  Christ. 

This  is  the  conviction  which  the  Spirit  of  God  produces, 
by  "  whatsoever  things  the  law  saith;"  and  until  the  law 
has  wrought  with  this  convincing  power  upon  your  con- 
sciences, all  preaching  of  Jesus  Christ  to  you  is  utterly  vain. 
Until  you  arc  tliorouglily  awakened  to  acknowledge  the  facts 
to  which  tliB  law  calls  your  notice,  you  will  never  turn,  with  a 
godly  sorrow  for  sin,  to  embrace  the  offers  of  mercy  which 
the  gospel  holds  out  to  your  acceptance.  You  will  wrap 
yourselves  in  your  own  carnal  confidence,  and  see  no  need  of 
looking  after  any  other  rigliteousness  than  j'our  own.  You 
will  think  yourselves  whole,  and  will,  therefore,  refuse  the 
physician.  You  will  be  blind  to  danger,  and  deride  the  pro- 
posal of  salvation. 

But  upon  whom  is  this  convincing  power  of  the  law  to 
operate  1  The  text  declares,  "  whatsoever  things  the  law 
saith,  it  saith  to  them  that  are  under  the  law."  In  the  con- 
nexion in  which  the  apostle  uttered  this  assertion,  it  was  to 
prove  the  guilt  of  those  persons  who  were  supposed  to  be  in 
possession  of  the  greatest  privileges.  The  Jews,  who  were 
in  every  sense  "  under  the  law,"  were  perfectly  ready  to  ac- 
knowledge the  truth  of  the  broadest  statements  of  sinfulness, 
when  applied  to  the  Gentiles,  but  were  disposed  to  deny  the 
proper  application  of  the  same  statements  to  themselves.  In 
opposition  to  their  personal  assumption,  the  apostle  wrote  the 
text;  he  argues  the  reasonable  application  of  all  that  the  law 
had  said,  to  those  to  whom  the  law  had  been  given,  and  while 
the  law  did  utter  aloud  the  charge  of  universal  and  indis- 
criminate guilt,  it  certainly  designed  to  direct  the  charge 
against  those  to  whom  its  holy  and  searching  precepts  had 
been  communicated.  In  applying  this  assertion  to  the  moral 
law,  which  we  are  peculiarly  considering,  I  must  unequivo 
cally  assert  its  appropriation  to  everj'^  human  being;  all,  with 
out  exception,  are  born  under  the  inflexible  obligations  of  this 
sacred  law,  and  the  things,  therefore,  which  it  saith,  belong 
to  the  whole  family  of  man.  If  they  applied  to  Jews,  to 
whom  had  been  given  the  oracles  of  God,  as  well  as  to  Gen- 
tiles, who  had  been  without  a  revelation,  they  apply  to  those 
to  whom  these  divine  oracles  are  still  granted,  as  much  as  to 
the  heathen,  who  are  without  the  knowledge  of  God.  As 
extensively  as  the  precepts  of  the  law  reach  upon  the  earth, 
do  its  charges  of  guilt,  and  its  denunciations  of  punishment, 
also  go;  and  if  there  be  not  an  individual  man  who  is  re- 
leased  from  the  obligation  of  loving  God  with  all  his  heart. 


there  is  not  an  individual  who  is  not  justly  accused  of  trans- 
gression, and  threatened  with  punishment  for  having  refused 
to  comply  with  it,  "For  all  have  sinned  and  come  short  of 
the  glory  of  God  ;"  nor  is  there  a  man  who  can  say,  without 
entire  falsehood,  "  I  have  made  my  heart  clean ;  1  am  pure 
from  my  sin."  The  proper  operation  of  this  convincing 
power  of  the  law  is  upon  every  human  being.  Its  broadest 
accusations,  and  its  most  fearful  threatenings,  belong  to  every 
one  before  me,  and  none  can  have  the  prospect  of  security 
by  pleading  an  exemption  from  the  charges  which  it  makes. 
Whatsoever  things  it  says,  it  says  to  you.  And  whether  it 
comes  in  the  power  of  the  precept,  or  in  the  terror  of  the  de- 
nunciation, it  lays  its  iron  grasp  upon  your  souls,  and  will 
hold  you  to  eternity,  unless  tbere  come  to  your  rescue,  a  power 
of  grace  stronger  than  the  power  of  wrath.  Its  object  is  to 
convince  you  of  sin ;  to  show  you  your  entire  need  of  a  Sa- 
viour ;  to  constrain  yon  to  throw  away  all  deluding  and  de- 
structive pleas  ;  to  compel  you,  in  the  acknowledgment  of 
your  guilt,  to  cry  aloud  for  the  exercise  of  mercy ;  to  send 
you  to  the  blood  of  an  Almighty  Redeemer,  as  the  only  foun- 
tain which  can  he  opened  for  sin  and  for  uncleanness.  If  its 
operation  upon  your  consciences,  for  this  purpose,  be  denied 
and  resisted,  its  further  design  is  then  to  convict  you  before 
the  bar  of  God  ;  to  compel  yon  there  to  see  your  exposura 
to  wrath  and  eternal  woe,  and  to  draw  from  your  own  con- 
science the  acknowledgment  that  your  condemnation  is  just. 

This  end  and  result  the  apostle  declares  in  the  conclusion 
of  our  text;  the  law  says  all  these  things,  that  "  every  mouth 
may  be  stopped,  and  the  whole  world  become  guilty  before 
God."  Now,  the  mouths  of  sinners  are  by  no  means  sealed ; 
they  are  every  day  uttering  complaints  against  the  unrea- 
sonable strictness  of  the  divine  commandments.  You  find 
your  natural  hearts  constantly  rebelling  against  the  solemn 
demands  of  God  :  you  do  not,  you  cannot  acknowledge,  that 
you  are  bound  to  such  devotion  as  it  requires,  or  that  you 
are  justly  charged  with  guilt,  for  failing  in  that,  which  you 
find  to  be  so  rejuignant  to  your  dispositions,  that  its  fulfil- 
ment amounts  to  an  impossibilit}'.  You  find  your  hearts 
inventing  a  thousand  excuses  and  pleas  for  your  security ; 
temptation,  ignorance,  heedlessness,  weakness,  are  all  seve- 
rally urged  as  sufficient  reasons  why  you  should  be  dealt 
with  upon  some  milder  system,  and  receive  a  more  extensive 
toleration.  All  these  complaints  and  excuses  arise  from  the 
want  of  that  conviction,  which  it  is  the  province  of  the  law 
to  impress  upon  you.  When  by  the  power  of  the  Spirit, 
with  the  ministration  of  the  law,  you  are  convinced  of  sin, 
your  mouths  will  be  sealed.  The  justice  and  holiness  of 
God  will  be  so  apparent,  that  you  will  feel  no  right  to 
complain  though  you  are  condemned.  Your  own  aggravated 
guilt  will  be  so  clearly  manifested,  that  no  excuse  or  extenu- 
ation will  occur  to  your  remembrance;  you  will  lie  down 
liefore  a  God  of  immaculate  purity,  with  a  spirit  torn  and 
bruised,  acknowledging  the  truth  of  every  accusation,  and 
proclaiming  the  entire  justice  of  every  woe.  Whatever  may 
be  the  character  of  others,  you  will  feel  that  shame  and 
confusion  of  face  alone  belong  to  you,  and  that  God  is 
righteous  though  he  taketh  vengeance.  If  this  conviction  be 
not  awakened  in  your  souls  in  }'our  day  of  grace,  while  it 
may  be  salutary  and  efl'ectual,  it  will  come  upon  you  like  a 
giant  aroused  from  his  sleep  in  the  day  of  judgment;  con- 
fusion will  cover  you  in  that  day  when  God  arises  to  shake 
terribly  the  earth,  and  to  repay  vengeance  and  recompense  to 
all  his  adversaries.  Then,  every  iinpenitent  and  unprofit- 
able servant  will  be  speechless,  though  he  be  bound  hand 
and  foot  and  cast  into  outer  and  final  darkness :  while  the 
universe  will  proclaim  the  abiding  spotlessness  of  the  judge, 
who  thus  solemnly  condemns. 

The  final  result  of  this  convincing  power  of  the  law  is, 
that  beside  silencing  the  complaints  of  every  transgressor, 
"  the  whole  world  may  become  guilty  before  God,"  or  come 
under  the  judgment  of  God,  condemned  for  sin,  and  without 
a  claim  for  the  exercise  of  mercy.  The  holy  law  announces 
its  requisitions,  and  proclaims  its  sanctions,  that  it  may 
make  room  in  this  world  for  the  exercise  of  abundant  grace, 
and  hereafter  display  the  entire  justice  of  God  in  the  exer- 
cise of  condemnation.  It  brings  the  whole  world,  and  every 
individual  transgressor,  under  the  divine  judgment;  nothing 
can  be  demanded  but  the  wages  of  sin  ;  in  passing  by  every 
sinner,  God  would  not  be  unjust;  in  pardoning  and  saving 
one,  he  is  infinitely  gracious  and  merciful.  When  the  sinner 
is  trul}'  convinced,  he  sees  this  fact  strikingly  displayed  to 
his  mind.  Under  such  circumstances  you  will  feel  that 
you  are  justly  imder  condeinnation,  under  the  judgment  of 
God,  and  that  there  can  be  no  reason  found  for  the  extension 


PAROCHIAL  LECTURES  ON  THE  LAW  AND  THE  GOSPEL. 


11 


of  any  compassion  to  you,  hut  in  the  unsearchable  riches  of 
the  love  of  God.  This  conviction  will  lead  you  to  look  to 
nothing-  for  pardon  and  rescue,  but  free  and  unlimited  ornice : 
to  throw  yourselves  altoo-ether  upon  the  mercy  and  sufliciency 
of  that  Being,  who  has  become  the  end  of  the  law,  that  he 
might  bring  in  an  everlasting  righteousness  for  you,  and  in 
whom  God'can  be  just,  and  the  justifier  of  all  who  believe 
in  him. 

^Vhen  the  law  works  its  last  and  eternal  conviction  upon 
the  conscience  of  the  impenitent,  in  the  day  of  retribution, 
this  great  and  final  end  to  which  the  te.'ct  points  you  will  be 
displayed,  "The  whole  worid  will  come  under  the  judgment  of 
God."  He  will  be  seen  to  be  righteous  who  judgcth  in  the 
earth ;  and  while  not  a  being  has  any  claim  to  mercy,  and 
the  impenitent  and  hardened  are  justly  condemned  ;  he  will 
show,  in  the  free  and  full  redemi>iion  of  every  soul  that  has 
fled  to  Christ  for  refuge,  how,  in  his  own  appointed  and 
glorious  wav,  mercy  can  rejoice  against  judgment,  and  grace 
accomjilish  what  the  law  must  leave  undone  forever. 


LECTURE  V. 

THE    CONDEMNING    POWER   OF   THE    LAW. 
The  law  worketh  wrath. — Romaks  iv.  15. 

The  whole  subject  of  the  present  discourse  is  presented 
in  the  declaration  of  this  text.  It  is  the  contlcmning  power  vf 
the  divine  law.  We  are  now  to  consider  the  law  as  standing 
forth,  to  warn  men  against  itself;  we  are  to  regard  it  as  pro- 
claiming to  every  sinner  who  is  seeking  after  salvation,  "it 
i.s  not  in  me  ;"  we  are  to  speak  of  that  aspect  of  its  character, 
which  occasions  it  to  be  culled  "a  fiery  law,"  a  "ministra- 
tion of  condemnation,"  and  a  "ministration  of  death."  Let 
it  be  distinctly  understood,  that  the  whole  power  of  the 
law  here  referred  to,  has  accrued  from  the  apostacy  of  man. 
For  man,  as  an  innocent  being,  it  was  ordained  unto  life.  Its 
one  grand  reiiuisition  of  implicit  and  total  submission  to  the 
will  of  the  Creator,  was  written  upon  his  heart ;  and  whether 
tiiat  controlling  will  of  God  prohibited  the  eating  of  an  apple, 
or  the  crime  of  murder,  the  necessity  of  obedience  and  the 
guilt  of  transgression  were  not  in  any  degree  altered.  This 
law,  to  a  holy  and  oliedient  man,  would  have  wrought  life 
and  happiness,  as  it  does  to  the  ])ure  spirits  of  heaven. 

But  to  a  fallen  man,  it  works  nothing  but  wrath.  In  thi 
violation  of  its  one  grand  requisition,  Adam  and  his  pos 
terity  fell  into  ruin  and  guilt.  "  By  one  man's  disobedience 
many  were  made  sinners."  "  By  the  offence  of  one,  many 
died,  and  judgment  came  upon  all  men,  to  condemnation." 
This  violated  law  is  the  covenant  under  which  every  child 
of  man  is  bom  into  the  world  :  it  rolls  down  its  sentence  of 
death  for  past  transgression,  from  generation  to  generation 
at  the  same  time  that  it  does  not  relax  in  any  degree  the  obli- 
gation of  its  demands.  Every  infant  of  the  race  is  exposed 
from  his  birth  to  the  awful  penalty  of  this  broken  covenant, 
as  much  as  Adam  was  in  the  moment  of  bis  sin,  and  is  still 
bound  to  render  the  full  obedience  which  its  precepts  d 
mand,  as  much  as  Adam  would  have  been,  if  he  had  never 
sinned.  Every  unconverted  sinner  remaining  still  "  a  child 
of  wrath,"  remains  under  the  two-fold  pressure,  which  is 
here  referred  to,  of  a  penalty,  the  endurance  of  which  is 
intolerable,  and  of  a  requisition,  the  fulfilment  of  which  is 
impossible.  Christ  Jesus  the  end  of  the  law  for  righteous- 
ness, offers  the  only  refuge  from  the  wrath  which  the  law 
thus  works,  and  every  man  who  is  rejecting  Christ  Jesus 
from  his  heart,  is  voluntarily  choosing  to  abide  under  a  cove- 
nant which  works, and  can  work,  nothing  but  wrath.  "Tell 
me,  then,  you  who  desire  to  be  under  the  law,  do  you  not 
hear  the  law  V  Does  it  say  any  thing  to  yon,  but  "do  this 
and  thou  shall  live!"  Does  it  set  before  you  any  alterna- 
tive, but  "  Cursed  be  he  that  continucth  not  in  all  things 
which  are  written  in  the  book  of  the  law,  to  do  them  \" 
Has  it  any  other  terms  than  this  %  "  Do  this,"  this  wrath- 
working  law  proclaims;  do  it  all,  (til  without  exception,  con- 
tintie  in°it  from  first  to  last,  and  you  shall  live.  But  a  curse, 
an  everiasting  curse,  awaits  you  if  you  otTend  in  any  one  jiar- 
ticular;  plead  what  you  will,  its  denunciations  are  utterly 
irreversible :  "  I  wish  to  obey  it,"  you  may  say,  and  it 
answers  you,  "  Tell  me  not  of  your  wishes,  but  do  it."  "  I 
have  endeavoured  to  obey."  Tell  me  of  no  endeavours,  but 


do  it,  or  you  are  cursed."  "  I  have  done  it  in  almost  every 
particular."  "  Tell  me  not  of  what  you  have  done  almost, 
have  you  obeyed  it  altogether  1  Have  you  obeyed  it  in  all 
things?  If  not,  you  are  cursed."  "I  have  for  a  great  number 
of  years  obeyed  it,  and  but  once  only,  through  inadvertence, 
have  I  transgressed."  "Then  you  are  cursed ;  if  you  have 
offended  in  one  point,  you  are  guilty  of  all."  "But  I  am 
sorry  for  my  transgression  ;"  "1  cannot  regard  your  sorrows, 
you  are  under  a  curse."  "  But  I  will  reform,  and  never  trans- 
gress again."  "  I  care  nothing  for  your  reformation,  llie  curse 
remains  upon  you."  "  But  I  will  obey  it  perfectly  in  fiiture 
if  I  can  find  mercy."  "  I  have  no  concern  with  your  determi- 
nations for  the  future,  I  know  no  such  word  as  mercy,  I  can- 
not alter  my  terms  for  any  one.  If  you  rise  to  these  terms, 
you  will  have  a  right  to  life  and  need  no  mercy.  If  you  fall 
liort  in  any  one  particular,  nothing  remains  for  you  but 
everlasting  destruction  from  the  presence  of  the  Lord,  and 
from  the  glory  of  his  power.'  " 

I  pray  you  to  obser^'e,  that  this  is  no  fancy  of  mine.  St. 
Paul  says,  "  as  many  as  are  of  the  works  of  the  law,"  or 
looking  to  the  law  for  any  ground  of  hope,  a  description  which 
includes  all  men  in  a  natural  state,  "  are  under  a  curse."  "  All 
have  sinned,  and  come  short  of  the  glory  of  God."  There  is 
no  mere  human  being  wlio  has  ever  obeyed  the  law;  and, 
therefore,  without  an  exception,  every  mouth  is  stopped; 
every  soul  is  counted  guilty  before  God,  and  is  under  a  curse 
now:  condemned  already;  a  curse,  which,  if  the  only  refuge 
for  the  sinner  be  rejected,  must  remain  on  them  eternally. 
This  is  a  plain  statement  of  tlic  demands  of  the  law.  And 
from  the  utter  impossibility  that  an  apostate  being  should 
rise  to  the  terms  of  its  inflexible  demands,  "  it  works  wrath;" 
it  warns  men  to  flee  from  itself,  and  to  seek  a  hope  of  peace 
somewhere,  where  it  may  be  obtained,  in  consistence  with 
the  character  of  God. 

This  condemning  power  of  the  law,  this  solemn  warning 
which  it  utters  against  itself,  is  manifested  in  Ihc  obedience 
which  it  demands,  and  in  the  sentence  which  it  passes. 

1.  If  it  referred  solely  to  overt  and  gross  acts  of  transgress- 
ion, it  would  rather  encourage  us  to  cleave  to  it,  for  our 
hope,  than  dissuade  us  from  abiding  by  iu  terms.  But  such 
is  the  spirituality,  the  exceeding  broadness  of  its  character; 
such  is  the  extent  of  obedience  which  it  demands,  that  it 
charges  us  with  guilt,  not  only  on  account  of  open  violations 
of  its  conimands,"but  also  on  account  of  the  defectiveness  of 
our  best  actions.  Suppose  that  you  are  at  this  moment  filled 
with  love  to  God  ;  does  this  love  rise  to  the  full  measure  of 
the  precept  which  requires  it  1  If  not,  your  best  moment  is 
a  moment  of  guilt,  and  a  sufficient  reason  for  condemnation. 
The  same  may  be  said  in  reference  to  all  your  best  efforts  to 
fulfil  the  commands  of  God.  The  law  cannot  receive  the  dis- 
position in  place  of  the  act.  It  makes  no  toleration  for  the 
sincerity  of  desire,  if  there  be  not  the  utmost  fulfilment  of 
the  requisition.  It  is  so  rigorous  in  its  claims  that  it  admits 
of  no  deviation,  no  weariness,  no  defect,  even  for  a  moment, 
or  under  any  circumstances,  to  the  very  end  of  life.  Thus, 
in  the  inexorable  character  of  its  claims,  it  works  wrath;  it 
produces  inevitable  condemnation,  and  lifts  up  its  voice  in 
perpetual  warning  against  itself.  "  Do  not  think,"  it  says 
to  you,  "of  obtaining  life  by  me;  you  see  my  demands;  you 
sec  that  they  can  never  be  relaxed ;  you  see  that  a  curse  is 
denounced  against  the  least  transgression ;  I  can  make  no 
abatement  on  account  of  your  weakness ;  I  can  offer  no  as- 
sistance for  the  performance  of  any  one  duty ;  I  can  present 
no  hope  of  mercy ;  1  must  have  a  spotless  obedience  from 
first  to  last;  and  though  there  be  but  a  single  failure  in  that, 
I  must  testify  against  the  acceptance  of  the  whole;  and  will 
you  seek  life  in  mel  O  fly  from  me;  be  afraid  to  remain 
one  hour  under  my  curse;  escape  for  your  life  to  him  whom 
I  acknowledge  to  be  a  Prince  and  Saviour,  able  to  give  re- 
pentance and  forgiveness  of  sins."  The  terrors  of  Mount 
Sinai,  and  the  fence  around  its  base,  and  the  strict  injunctions 
against  any  attempt  to  break  through  and  gaze,  marked  the 
impossibility  of  gaining  access  to  God  by  any  way  which 
the  law  could  ope'n.  In  reference  to  that  illustration,  Moses 
said,  "I  exceedingly  fear  and  quake;"  and  much  more,  in 
the  actual  exposure  to  the  rejlity,  may  you  feel  awakened 
and  terrified  at  the  wrath  which  this  holy  law  thus  works. 

■3.  In  the  sentence  which  it  passes,  it  still  further  manifests 
this  destroying  power,  and  warns  you  to  flee  from  all  idea 
of  attaining  hope  in  the  personal  satisfaction  of  its  claims. 
The  penalty  of  disobedience  in  a  single  deficiency,  is  ever- 
lasting death.  There  is  no  alternative  less  than  this  pre- 
sented by  the  law.  Whatsover  things  the  law  saith,  it  saith 
to  those  who  are  under  the  law ;  and  reveals  indignation  and 


13 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


wrath,  tribulation  and  anguish  upon  every  soul  of  man  that 
doth  evil;  and  then  shows  that  all  have  sinned  or  done  evil, 
and  come  short  of  the  glory  of  God.  In  proclaiming  its 
irreversible  sentence,  the  law  asks  you  the  simple  question, 
"Who  can  dwell  with  the  devouring  fire?  who  can  dwell 
with  everlasting  burnings  r'  Thus  bringing  up  every  soul  of 
man  before  God,  under  the  solemn  charge  of  guilt,  and  then 
laying  the  obligation  of  endurance  of  its  penalty  upon  every 
one  who  hath  sinned,  the  law  can  work  nothing  but  wrath ; 
and  man  might  as  reasonably  seek  for  rest  and  slielter  in  a 
burning  fiery  furnace,  as  seek  for  life  and  salvation  in  his 
own  obedience  to  the  law. 

It  is  remarkable  that  the  whole  body  of  the  Israelites  were 
required  to  give  their  cordial  assent  to  this  condemning  power 
of  the  law.  When  the  Levites  proclaimed  from  Mount  Ebal, 
"  Cursed  be  he  that  continueth  not  in  all  the  words  of  this 
law,  to  do  them,"  it  is  added,  "  and  all  the  people  shall 
say  Amen."  Be  it  so,  it  is  right.  Some  of  my  hearers  have 
been  ready,  perhaps,  to  cry  "  God  forbid,"  under  some  of  my 
statements,  to  imagine  that  I  have  overstrained  the  matter. 
But  I  would  commend  this  example  to  you;  and  while  I 
make  assertions  correspondent  with  the  evident  revelations  of 
Almighty  God,  and  so  conformable  to  all  the  sober  diiduc- 
tions  of  our  own  reason,  I  would  hope  there  may  j'et  be  found 
but  one  sentiment  pervading  this  whole  assembly;  and  that 
all,  in  the  way  of  intellectual  acknowledgement,  and  of  cordial 
approbation,  will  be  ready  to  cry  out,  "Amen,  amen." 

Having  considered  this  condemning  power  of  the  divine 
law,  and  shown  how  it  works  wrath,  I  wish  now  to  point  out 
the  connexion  which  this  attribute  of  the  law  has  with  our- 
selves. I  have  said,  that  every  child  of  man  is  born  under 
the  curse  of  this  law,  as  a  matter  of  unavoidable  inheritance. 
But  beyond  this,  I  now  assert  that  every  unconverted  man, 
every  one  who  has  not  yielded  himself  to  the  spiritual 
dominion  of  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  is  labouring  to  obtain 
salvation  by  his  obedience  to  the  law.  All  men  by  nature, 
being  ignorant  of  God's  righteousness,  attempt  to  establish  a 
riThteousness  of  their  own,  and  in  the  refusal  to  submit  to  the 
righteousness  of  God,  thus  expose  themselves  to  all  the  wrath 
which  the  law  can  work.  This  connexion  you  all  have  with 
this  vitally  important  subject.  The  moment  in  which  you 
turn  to  any  thing  which  you  have  done,  as  a  ground  of  hope 
and  justification,  you  choose  this  for  your  covenant,  and  be- 
come debtors  to  do  the  whole  law;  and  then  there  is  presented 
to  you  the  simple  choice  of  perfect  and  perpetual  obedience, 
or  chains  of  everlasting  darkness.  This  disposition  to  rest 
upon  the  works  of  the  law,  you  will  find  all  persons  to  be 
indulging  who  are  not  spiritually  united  to  Christ. 

There  are  some  who  look  for  their  justification  altogether 
upon  the  ground  of  their  own  works ;  they  cannot  understand 
why  good  works  should  be  required  at  all,  if  they  are  not  to 
obtain  our  acceptance  with  God.  And  when  the  assertion  is 
made,  that  our  own  obedience  does  not  in  any  degree  operate 
to  procure  our  justification,  they  suppose  that  we  set  good 
works  altogether  aside,  and  encourage  all  manner  of  licen- 
tiousness. These  persons  throw  themselves  altogether  upon 
the  law ;  agree  to  abide  by  its  terms ;  expose  themselves  to 
the  utmost  of  its  claims ;  and  voluntarily  assume  the  whole 
amount  of  wrath  which  it  has  power  to  work. 

There  are  others  who  see  and  acknowledge  that  some 
honour  is  due  to  Christ,  and  that  from  his  being  called  a 
Saviour,  we  must  stand  indebted  to  him  in  some  manner,  in 
part  at  least,  for  our  salvation.  They  will  assert,  therefore, 
a  partial  dependance  upon  Christ,  and  try  to  connect  his 
atonement  with  their  own  obedience.  The  utter  impossibility 
of  such  an  expedient  they  do  not  see.  The  one  makes  void 
the  other.  Their  salvation  must  be  altogether  of  grace,  or  alto- 
gether of  works.  The  attempt  to  unite  them,  only  forms  a 
system,  like  the  feet  of  Nebuchadnezzar's  image,  part  of  iron 
and  part  of  clay,  which  can  sustain  no  weight,  and  consti- 
tutes a  totally  insufficient  foundation.  These  persons,  in  the 
rejection  of  a  free  redemption  through  unassisted  grace,  lay 
themselves  down  beneath  the  whole  burden  of  the  law;  and 
not  being  able  to  produce  the  perfect  obedience  which  it  re:L 
quires,  for  them  the  law  worketh  wrath. 

There  are  others  who  think  they  must  do  something  for 
themselves ;  and  therefore  they  enter  into  a  kind  of  compo- 
sition or  agreement  with  the  Lord  of  all,  that  they  will  render 
him  obedience,  if  he  will  bestow  upon  them  salvation.  They 
do  not  expressly  unite  their  merits  with  his,  but  they  make 
their  own  obedience  the  ground  upon  which  they  confide  in 
him,  the  reason  for  the  trust  which  they  affect  to  place  in 
him.  They  do  not  remember  that  they  have  no  obedience  to 
bring;  that  they  have  nothing  but  sin  and  misery  to  lay  down 


before  him;  and  thus  they  do  not  feel  that  their  total  depend- 
ance must  be  in  sovereign  and  all  conquering  grace ;  that  they 
must  receive  a  salvation  entirely  witliout  money  and  without 
price. 

There  are  others  who  refine  still  more  than  this.  They 
think  themselves  willing  to  give  all  the  glory  of  their  salva- 
tion to  Christ;  but  they  want  some  warrant,  some  argument 
for  believing  in  him.  They  are  not  willing  to  take  the  ful- 
ness of  the  provision,  and  the  freeness  of  the  promise,  for  this 
warrant,  but  they  must  find  it  in  themselves.  They  will 
either  say,  that  they  dare  not  go  to  him,  because  they  are  so 
vile;  and  therefore  they  will  endeavour  to  make  themselves 
better  before  they  venture  into  his  presence,  and  indulge  the 
hope  of  his  acceptance;  or  else,  that  tliey  have  a  good  hope 
of  his  acceptance  and  mercy,  because  they  have  never  trans- 
gressed the  bounds  of  human  infirmity,  or  have  truly  repented 
of  their  faults.  The  result  of  all  these  delusions  is  the  same. 
They  throw  the  sinner  wholly  back  upon  the  claims  of  the 
'aw.  Salvation  must  be  all  of  grace,  or  all  of  works.  Any 
atWnpt  to  blend  the  two,  in  any  measure,  destroys  the  whole 
idea  of  grace,  and  exposes  to  the  demand  of  perfect  works, 
under  the  alternative  of  endless  wrath  upon  their  failure. 

This  is  your  connexion  with  this  subject.  If  you  do  not 
come  as  poor  and  outcast  and  perishing,  to  the  atoning  sacri- 
fice and  the  justifying  obedience  of  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ, 
you  must  stand  by  the  law  and  meet  its  requisitions.  If  you 
are  not  willing  freely  to  accept  the  work  of  a  perfect  surety 
offered  in  the  covenant  of  grace,  you  must,  in  your  own  per- 
sons, fulfil  the  utmost  demands  or  bear  the  eternal  penalty  of 
the  covenant  of  works.  The  terms  of  this  covenant  you  can- 
not, in  any  degree,  alter ;  you  must  come  up  to  the  full  of  its 
demands,  or  it  works  for  you  nothing  but  wrath.  Let  this 
consideration  lead  you,  with  St.  Paul,  to  seek  earnestly  and 
only  to  be  found  in  Christ,  not  having  your  own  righteous- 
ness, which  is  of  the  law,  but  the  righteousness  which  is  of 
God,  by  faith  in  Christ;  and  to  count  every  thing  but  loss, 
for  the  excellency  of  the  knowledge  of  him. 

If  this  connexion  of  our  ourselves  with  the  condemning 
power  of  the  law  be  a  fact;  if  it  be  true  that'it  works  wrath 
to  an  extent  so  universal,  O  what  deep  himiiliation  of  soul 
becomes  you  all,  in  view  of  its  claims  I  What  an  amount  of 
curses  it  suspends  over  the  sinner's  devoted  head !  You  must 
not  look  solely  to  your  outward  transgressions  of  the  com- 
mands, your  grosser  violations  of  precepts,  as  reasons  for 
God's  righteous  anger.  The  wrath  of  God  is  revealed  against 
all  ungodliness  and  unrighteousness  of  men.  Your  defects 
expose  you  as  much  as  your  violations  to  condemnation, 
and  every  omission,  as  well  as  every  positive  disobedience, 
will  receive  its  just  recompense  of  reward.  If,  then,  it 
should  be  granted  that  your  lives  are  blameless,  so  far  as 
regards  outward  violations  of  God's  authority,  still  your  in- 
iquities have  grown  over  your  heads ;  your  sins  are  utterly 
innumerable.  In  comparison  with  many  of  your  fellow-men, 
who  have  suffered  the  punishment  of  trampling  upon  human 
laws,  your  characters  may  appear  exemplary  and  worthy; 
and  such,  men  may  think  you ;  but  in  the  sight  of  God  the 
difference  between  you  is  small.  He  may  behold  in  you  less 
gross  iniquit}',  but  see  it  far  more  than  counterbalanced  by 
an  abundant  measure  of  spiritual  sins,  by  no  means  less 
hateful  in  his  sight.  Suppose  it  had  all  been  true  which 
the  self-righteous  Pharisee  asserted  of  himself,  that  he  had 
been  no  extortioner  or  adulterer ;  did  not  his  hateful  pride,  his 
self-complacency,  his  uncharitableness,  more  than  compen- 
sate for  that  t  If  he  had  tried  himself  by  a  proper  standard 
he  would  have  found  but  little  reason  for  his  self-preference 
above  the  contrite  Publican ;  he  would  have  seen,  that  had 
all  been  true  which  he  had  asserted,  the  simple  diflerence  be- 
tween them  was,  that  the  one  was  a  painted  sepulchre,  and 
the  other  a  sepulchre  without  paint.  I  do  not  assert  that 
gross  outward  transgressions  add  nothing  to  a  man's  guilt ; 
but  that  in  the  absence  of  these,  God  may  see  spiritual  trans- 
gression in  the  heart,  more  than  enough  to  supply  their  place. 
The  point  to  which  the  attention  must  ht  directed  to  produce 
true  humiliation,  is  the  defectiveness  of  our  best  services. 
Look  upon  this  deep  deficiency  in  duty ;  behold  it  in  its  ag- 
crravated  character,  as  against  a  God  of  infinite  love  and 
mercy;  against  a  God  who  has  assumed  our  nature  and  laid 
down  his  life  for  us ;  against  a  God  who  has  been  interceding 
with  our  hearts,  to  guide  us  aright,  and  to  lead  us  to  repentance. 
Behold  it  also  against  light  and  knowledge,  against  vows  and 
resolutions,  against  judgments  and  mercies,  and  continued 
in  without  repentance  or  shame  for  many  years.  Behold  it 
as  a  proud  rejection  of  the  boundless  love  of  a  crucified  Sa- 
viour; as  a  bold  and  persevering  determination  to  stand  upon 


PAROCHIAL  LECTURES  ON  THE  LAW  AND  THE  GOSPEL. 


13 


your  own  ijTound,  and  to  claim  salvation  upon  your  own 
merits,  and  you  will  see  that  the  law  reasonably  works  for 
you  nothing  but  wrath ;  that  your  guilt  must  sink  you  into 
everlasting  perdition,  if  God  do  not  interpose  in  the  multitude 
of  his  mercies,  and  cause  his  grace  to  superabound,  where 
sins  have  so  fearfully  abounded.  Behold  the  aspect  under 
which  this  condemning  law  brings  out  your  character,  and 
you  will  see  that  to  call  yourselves  the  chief  of  sinners,  is  not 
merely  a  humble  expression,  which,  though  it  sounds  well 
upon  the  lips,  need  not  be  felt  in  the  heart,  but  is  the  real 
character  which  belongs  to  you  all,  since  the  very  best  man 
among  you  must  know  far  more  evil  of  himself  than  he  can 
know  of  any  other  individual,  and  see  a  depth  of  guilt  in  his 
own  heart,  concealed  from  the  knowledge  of  the  world,  which, 
were  it  exposed  to  public  view,  would  overwhelm  him  with 
total  degradation. 

If  you  will  fairly  brinw  up  your  character  to  the  trial  of  this 
condemning  power  of  the  law,  you  will  see  yourselves  ex- 
posed to  God's  heaviest  judgments,  no  less  than  the  most 
flagrant  transgressors  in  the  world.  You  will  feel  obliged  to 
cry  for  mercy,  as  Peter  did  when  siuking  in  the  waves 
"Lord  save  me,  or  I  perish."  Others  who  have  different 
views  of  what  God  demands,  may  wonder  and  say,  "What 
can  you  have  done  to  call  for  such  humiliation  and  distress  V 
But  you  will  know  your  own  deserts,  taste  the  bitterness  of 
your  own  sins,  and  feel  compelled  to  lie  down  before  a  holy 
God  in  the  deepest  self-abasement. 

O  that  you  could  be  brought  to  this  state  of  mind  ;  to  have 
it  as  a  settled  principle  in  your  judgments  while  the  mir- 
ror of  God's  requirements  is  held  up  to  you,  that  by  the 
works  of  the  law  no  man  living  can  be  justified.  O  listen 
to  this  law,  though  it  works  nothing  but  wrath.  If  its 
warnings  are  alarming  to  you,  they  are  indispensable ;  and 
surely  it  is  better  that  you  should  be  warned  in  season,  that 
your  house  is  built  upon  the  sand,  than  be  suffered  to  perish 
in  its  ruins.  Should  I  know  your  danger,  and  utter  no  warn- 
ing, I  should  he  accessary  to  your  ruin.  It  is  a  fatal  delusion 
which  shuts  your  hearts  against  the  accejitance  of  a  Saviour, 
who  is  the  end  of  this  fiery  law,  for  righteousness  to  your  souls. 
There  is  no  other  hope  presented  to  you  ;  but  this  is  presented. 
And  while  the  law  drives  you  thus  away  from  itself,  hum- 
bled, guilty  and  condemned,  it  does  not  thrust  you  upon  an 
ocean  of  uncertainty,  to  find  by  chance,  where  you  can,  a  re- 
medy for  your  disease  and  a  satisfaction  for  your  want.  It  ac- 
knowledges a  righteousness  in  your  anointed  substitute  com- 
mensurate with  its  utmost  demands.  It  bids  you  seek  to 
him  and  live.  It  tells  you  of  a  Saviour  who  can  preach  glad 
tidings,  though  it  cannot.  This  has  been  my  present  object, 
to  show  you  that  there  was  no  dcpendance  to  be  placed  in 
your  own  obedience,  and  no  hope  to  be  offered  you  in  the 
law.  The  law  offers  nothing  but  a  curse ;  and  yet  all  the 
unconverted  among  men  are  still  seeking  salvation  in  this 
curse.  The  gospel  of  Jesus  brings  a  full  salvation,  and  yet 
the  same  sinners  are  rejecting  all  the  mercy  which  it  pre- 
sents. I  ask  your  serious  thoughtfulness  to  be  directed  to 
the  subject  now  presented  to  you ;  and  if  you  can  be  per- 
suaded to  listen  to  the  warnings  which  the  law  utters  against 
itself  in  the  condemnation  and  wrath  which  it  works,  your 
minds   will  be  prepared  to  consider  it  with  me  next  as 


guide  to  him  who  is  able  to  save  unto  the  uttermost,  all  wlio 
come  unto  God  through  liim. 


le(;ture  VI. 

THE    LAW    A    GUIDE    TO    CHRIST. 

MTiercfore  the  law  was  our  schoolmaster  to  liring  us  unto  Christ, 
tliat  we  might  be  justified  by  ("aitJi Galatiaxs  iir.  24. 

The  subject  which  we  are  now  to  consider,  is  one 
upon  which  we  may  enter  with  delight,  as  in  every  respect 
congenial  to  the  feelings  of  a  redeemed  soul.  There  has 
been  an  unavoidable  aspect  of  severity  in  the  views  of  the 
law,  which  have  been  previously  presented  to  your  minds. 
But  this  severe  appearance  of  its  demands  will  serve  to  ren- 
der the  more  cheering  and  valuable  our  reflections  upon  the 
great  object  of  proper  love  and  adoration  who  is  now  brouo-ht 
before  you,  as  the  chill  and  darkness  of  the  night  which  is 
just  passing  away  prepares  us  to  welcome  the  rising  of  the 
sun  with  the  greater  gladness.     To  meditate  and  to  speak  of 


Christ,  is  delightful  to  those  who  appreciate  his  worth  ;  and 
to  be  able  to  lead  the  hearts  of  the  sinful  children  of  men  to 
a  cordial  acceptance  of  his  redemption,  and  to  a  free  submission 
to  his  power,  more  than  compensates  for  the  unpleasant  se- 
verity by  which  their  minds  need  often  to  be  awakened  to  an 
acknowledgment  of  their  necessities. 

The  interesting  subject  now  before  us,  is  the  puling  power 
of  the  divine  law  to  lead  our  hearts  to  Christ.  Tlie  illustration 
in  w-hich  the  apostle  presents  tliis  subject  to  us,  in  connexion 
w'th  our  text,  has  great  force.  He  argues  from  the  total  im- 
possibility that  any  law  should  be  given  to  a  fallen  being 
which  could  bestow  life,  the  necessity  and  value  of  thai 
system  of  redemption  which  the  gospels  reveals  by  faith  in 
Jesus  Christ.  He  then  considers  the  condition  of  all  those 
in  whose  hearts  this  life-giving  faith  had  not  been  produced, 
as  one  in  which  no  alternative  was  presented  to  them  but  this, 
or  ruin.  He  represents  the  law  as  a  jailor,  under  whose 
power  they  were  fast  shut  up,  for  this  alternative.  The  law 
was  added  because  of  transgressions.  It  was  not  designed 
to  give  life  to  a  fallen  beincr,  or  to  be  in  any  way  the  iViend 
of  sinners.  It  imprisoned  all  under  the  Iwndage  of  sin,  and 
allowed  no  avenue  of  escape  but  that  which  grace  opened  in 
Jesus  Christ.  Before  this  great  object  of  faith  came,  men 
were  thus  universally  imprisoned  under  the  law.  Every 
door  was  fast  barred,  and  every  one  was  to  remain  so  but  the 
single  one,  which  opened  upon  the  satisfaction  of  Christ. 
They  were  shut  up  unto  the  faith  which  should  afterwards 
be  revealed,  as  their  only  alternative  to  perpetual  imprison- 
ment. Thus  the  law,  closing  every  nthcr  way  of  escape,  and 
dealing  with  its  captives  with  great  severity',  became  a  kind 
of  schoolmaster  or  guide,  to  bring  them  unto  Christ,  that 
they  who  could  not  be  justified  by  works  mitjht  be  justified 
by  faith  ;  and  when  this  door  of  grace  opened  upon  them,  as 
it  were  of  itself,  and  the  divine  messenger  of  mercy  loosed 
their  chains  and  bade  them  go  in  ])eace,  while  the  keeper  be- 
came as  a  dead  man  ;  then,  except  they  remained  voluntarily 
in  their  captivity,  they  were  no  longer  under  this  school- 
mast<>r  ;  no  longer  under  the  law,  but  under  grace.  This  is 
the  course  of  the  apostle's  argument,  in  which  he  introduces 
the  assertion  of  the  text. 

1.  In  considering  this  guiding  power  of  the  law,  the  views 
of  the  law,  which  have  been  already  presented,  must  be  borne 
in  mind.  It  must  be  remembered,  that  the  law  can  never  be  set 
aside.     It  is  as  unalterable  as  Ihe  character  of  God  himself. 
It  is  holy,  and  can  never  abate  of  its  commands.     It  is  just, 
and  can  never  mitigate  its  sanctions.     It  is  good,  and  must 
eternally  continue  so,  whatever  may  become  of  those  who 
are   subject  to  its  dominion.     In   every  thing  which  it  re- 
quires, its  direct  tendency  is  to  promote  the  honour  of  God 
and  the  happiness  of  man  ;  and  if  it  become  an  occasion  of 
unhappiness  to  any,  it  is  only  through  their  own   perverse- 
ness  in  violating  its  commands.     Immutable  in  its  constraint, 
it  says  to  all,  "The  curse  which  I  have  denounced  must  be 
inflicted  ;  the  commands  which  I  have  given  must  be  obeyed. 
Iftherebeany  person  found  to  endure  the  one  for  you,  and 
to   fulfil   the  other  in  your  stead,  and   God  Most  Hinh  be 
pleased  to  accept  a  substitute  in  your  behalf,  it  is  well.    But 
without  such  a  regard  to  my  right  and  my  honour,  no  man  liv- 
ing shall  be  saved.    I  must  be  magnified  and  made  honourable. 
My  iutegritj'  and  faithfulness  must  be  shown  before  the  whole 
creation,  or  no  sinner- shall  find  acceptance  before  him  from 
whom  I  proceeded,  and  whose  authority  I  must  maintain." 
The  law  thus,  as  it  were,  puts  us  upon  a  search  for  some 
sufficient  Saviour.     It  leads  us  to  look  at  the  demands  which 
it  makes  upon  us ;  and  when  we  are  convinced  of  the  unal- 
terable character  of  those  demands,  and  see  the  impossibility 
of  our  complying  with  them,  we  are  directed  to  the  inquiry, 
if  there  can  be  a  possibility  of  finding  an  adequate  substitute. 
It  is  not  my  object  to  consider  the  text  in  its  application  to 
those  who  lived  before  the  actual  appearance  of  the  Saviour 
on   the  earth.     I  wish   to  present  the  whole  matter  in  the 
light  of  personal  application  to  individuals  among  ourselves, 
and  to  consider  the  present  habitual  operation  of  the  law  as 
the  sinner's  guide  to  Christ.     Considered  in  this  light,  it 
makes  its  personal  demands  upon  us,  by  a  compliance  with 
which  it  promises  us  acceptance.     It  tells  us  honestly  and 
candidly,  that  if  we  can  undergo  the  full  punishment  which 
it  req^uires  for  our  past  transgressions,  we  shall  be  accounted 
free  Irom  guilt,  and  allowed  to  set  out  again  in  our  attempts 
to  obey  the  divine  commands ;  and  then,  if  we  can  offer  a 
full  and  perfect  obedience  to  the  precepts  which  it  sets  before 
us,  we  shall  be  considered  righteous,  and  be  justified  and 
accepted  upon  the  ground  of  our  own  righteousness.     When 
our  consciences  have  become  convinced  of  the  folly  of  any 


14 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


exertions  to  work  out  such  a  righteousness  for  ourselves  as 
this,  then  it  tells  us,  if  we  can  find  such  a  satisfaction  and 
such  an  obedience  in  any  one  who  will  be  the  surety  for  our 
souls,  its  claims  may  be  answered.  But  when  the  law 
has  thus  put  us  upou  looking  out  for  a  Saviour,  we  ask  at 
once:  Whore  can  one  be  found  who  is  capable  of  thus  lul- 
filliriff  its  requisitions  ?  one  who  can  bear  infinite  wrath,  and 
accompUsh  a  spotless  obedience  1  And  above  all,  where  shall 
we  find  one  who  is  ready  to  do  this  far  us?     A  creattire. 


thouo-h  he  were  an  archanml,  wo\ild  sink  under  the  everlast 
ing  wrath  of  (iod.     Any  creature  would  be  himself  as  much 
suTijcct  as  we  to  the  divine   commands,  and  therelbre  could 
only  obey  for  himself.     He  would  be  bound  to  fulfil  all  that 
the  law  has  enjoined.     He  could   do  nothing  beyond  his  ab- 
solute duty.     He  would  therefore  be  in  the  end  an  unprofit- 
able servniit.     He  could  never  obey  for  others,  for  Ife  couh: 
not  exceed  what  was  due  from  himssH';  so  that  no  created 
being  could  become  such  a  substitute  as  the  law  would  ac- 
cept."   The  only  thing  under  such  circumstances  that  could 
give  the  slightest  hope  to  man,  would  be  for  God  himself, 
the  only  befng  competent  to  answer  the  demand,  to  come  as 
the  substitute  for  siimers ;  and  in  their  nature  to  suffer  and 
obey  for  them.     Were  this  possible,  there  might  indeed  be  a 
hope,  because  the  dignity  of  the  sufferer  woultl  put  a  value  on 
his  sufferings  sulficient  to  overbalance  the  eternal  sulTerings 
of  the  whole  world  ;  and  the  obedience  paid  by  one  who  was 
under  no  obligations  to  obey,  would  form  a  justifying  righ- 
teousness suiiieicnt  for  all   the   sinners  of  mankind.     This 
wo\ild  be  sufficient,  were  it  possible;  but  how  can  such  a 
thingbe  contemplated  for  a  moment  T   Is  it  prohnhh  ?   Is  iXjms- 
sible  ?    Possible  or  not,  the  law  shuts  us  up  to  the  attainment 
of  this  or  death.     It  says  decidedly,  "  I  can  consent  to  no 
lower  terms  than  these.      Suppose  such  a  plan  to  be  sanc- 
tioned, approved    and  executed   by  the  .\lmighty    himself, 
then  I  can  consent  to  '.!:e  salvation  of  sinners ;  yea,  I  should 
not  only  cnment,  but  highly  approve  of  it,  because  the  satis- 
faction and  obedience  of  the  living  God  will  glorify  me  in- 
finitely more  than  either  the  obedience  or  the  condemnation  of 
the  whole  human  race.     I.et  such  a  plan  as  this  be  made  and 
executeil  by  the  Creator,  and  I  agree  that  you  shall  be  saved 
by  it  and  receive  a  weight  of  glory,  which  your  own  obe- 
dience never  could  have  deserved.     Let  a  door  like  this  he 
opened  to  you,  and  I  can  hold  you  imprisoned  no  longer  ;  but 
until  it  is  so,  you  are  still  shut  up  under  the  impossibility  of 
obtaining  salvation." 

Thus  the  law  acts  as  a  guide  to  bring  us  unto  Christ,  by 
awakening  our  expectations,  and  putting  us  upon  the  inquiry 
for  a  Saviour  competent  for  our  wants.  It  prepares  our  minds 
to  hear  the  glad  tidings  of  the  gospel,  and  to  look  with 
amazement  aiul  thankfiriness  into  its  glorious  revelations.  It 
prepares  us  to  rejoice  in  the  f  litbful  sayings,  that  "  God  was 
manifest  in  the  liesh  ;"  "  made  in  all  things  like  unto  us,  sin 
only  excepted;"  that  "he  hath  borne  our  sins,  in  his  own 
body,  on  the  tree,"  and  "become  obedient  unto  death,"  and 
been  raised  for  our  justification,"  that  he  might  "become 
the  Lord  our  Righteousness,"  and  that  we  might  be  found  in  him, 
havrng  the  righteousness  of  God,  by  faith  in  Jesus  Christ. 
By  leading  oiir  minds  to  look  altogether  to  this  quarter  for  a 
way  of  escape  from  the  captivity  in  which  we  are  held,  the 
law  becomes  a  guide  to  Christ,  and  when  this  door  of  grace 
is  opened,  and  the  light  of  eternal  day  shines  into  our  prisons 
we  are  ready  to  arise  and  follow  the  herald  of  peace  and  se- 
curity with  the  utmost  gladness  and  speed. 

2.  Again,  the  law  acts  as  our  guide  to  Christ,  by  showing 
us  hnir  we  must  go  to  him  to  obtain  an  interest  in  his  re- 
demption. It  exhibits  to  us  our  real  character  and  condition, 
showing  us  that  we  are,  in  fitct,  sold  under  sin,  in  a  state  of 
entire  bondage,  without  any  thing  to  offer  for  our  own  re- 
demption, and  without  ability  to  do  any  thing  for  our  own 
rescue.  It  holds  up  plainly  to  us  the  great  truth,  that  our 
salvation  nuisl  L-  -  all  of  grace,  the  fruit  of  overflowing  com- 
passi'Mi,  haviu'v  no  reference  to  any  worth  in  us  in  our  state  of 
captivity,  or  to' any  thing  we  shall  do  for  our  Deliverer,  after 
our  release.  WIumi  this  door  of  faith  is  opened  to  us,  and 
Christ  calls  us  to  the  lilierty  of  the  gospel,  the  law  tells  us, 
with  fidelity,  "  you  must  not  attempt  to  recommend  yourselves 
to  him  by  any  works  whatever.  You  must  arise  and  go  to 
him  ignorant,  that  yon  may  be  enlightened  ;  guilty,  that  you 
may  be  pardoned ;  polluted,  that  you  may  be  purified ;  en 
slaved,  that  you  may  receive  a  free  and  full  redemption.  You 
must  carry  nothing  to  him  but  your  wants  and  miseries, 
and  expect  nothing  from  him  but  as  the  result  of  his  own 
previous  purposes  of  grace,  and  the  free  gift  of  God,  for  his 
'sake.     You  must  renounce,  and  count  as  worthless,  every 


thing  of  your  own,  ai»l  desire  to  have  him  made  unto  you,  all 
in   all,  your  wisdom,  and  righteousness,  and  sanctification, 
and  redemption;  that  throughout  eternity  you  may  glory  in 
the  Lord  alone.     If  you  entertain  the  idea  of  earning  any 
thiuff  by  your  own  obedience,  you  will  only  come  back  to  me 
and  remain  under  my  imprisonment,  to  be  dealt  with  accord- 
ing to  the  terms  which  I  have  proposed.     You  must  disclaim 
alf  thought  of  this,  and  be  content  to  be  saved  by  grace  alone, 
to  receive  every  thing  from  that  fulness  which  is  laid  up  in 
Christ.     Tins  is  a  way  of  salvation,  both  sui/cd  to  you,  and 
honouralk  to  God.     It  is  suited  to  you,  because  it  provides 
for  those  who  are  ruined,  everything,  as  a  free  gift.     Itis 
honourable  to  God,  because,  while  it  preserves  niy  integrity 
unviolated,   it  exalts  and   glorifies   every  perfection  of  the 
Deity.     Flee  then  by  the  open  door  which  is  set  before  you. 
Flee  to  the  everlasting  covenant  which  God  the  Son  has  es- 
tablished by  his  own  blood.     Believe  in  him.     Look  to  him 
as  the  procuring  cause  of  all   your  blessings.     Be  not  dis- 
couraged by  any  conviction  of  your  own  unworthiness,  but 
go  to  him  as  the  chief  of  sinners,  that  you  may  be  made  the 
brightest  monument  of  his  grace.     He  came  to  call  sinners 
to  repentance,  to  seek  and"  to  save  that  which  w^as  lost,  to 
preach  deliverance  to  the  captives,  and  to  set  at  liberty  them 
that  were  bound.     The  more  deeply  you  feel  your  need  of 
him,  the  more  readily  will  he  receive  you  to  the  arms  of  his 
mercy.     He  stands  at  the  door  and  knocks.    He  calls  to  you. 
Come  unto  me,  all  that  labour  and  are  hea-\-y  laden,  and  I 
will  give  you  rest."    "Though  your  sins  be  as  scarlet,  they 
shall^be  white  as  snow ;  though  they  be  red  like  crimson, 
they  shall  be  as  wool."     "  Whosoever  cometh  unto  me,  I 
will  by  no  means  cast  him  out." 

The  law  thus  shows  you,  in  your  bondage,  both  the  neces- 
sity that  some  way  of  salvation  altogether  hy  grace  shall  be 
laid  open  to  you,  and  the  method  in  which  you  must  become 
interested  in  this  gracious  salvation  when  it  is  revealed.  It 
tells  you  of  the  necessity  of  some  Almighty  substitute,  and 
of  the  dependant  and  suppliant  manner  in  which  you  must 
apply  for  his  mercy,  and  appropriate  his  work  to  your  souls. 
Thus  it  prepares'  you  to  hear  and  receive  the  revelation  of 
that  great  fact  which  constitutes  the  gospel,  that  such  a  sub- 
stitute has  been  found  ;  that  he  has  finished  the  work  of  re- 
demption which  was  necessary,  and  having  made  all  things 
ready  for  your  salvation,  invites  every  sinner  to  become  a 
partaker  of  his  mercy.  In  this  way  the  law  acts  as  a  guide 
to  the  gospel,  as  a  schoolmaster  to  bring  you  unto  Christ. 

3.  tIic  law  further  manifests  its  guiding  power  by  showing 
you  how  you  must  maintain  an  interest  in  his  redemption. 
'•  That  we  might  be  justified  by  faith."  The  great  want  of 
a  rebel  sinner,°who  is  under  the  condemnation  of  the  law,_is 
of  a  justification  before  God.  The  idea  of  justification,  in- 
cludes in  it  a  pardon  for  past  transgressions  which  shall  re- 
store the  sinner  to  the  condition  of  an  innocent  man,  though 
a  man  without  merit ;  and  a  title  or  right  to  future  blessedness 
and  reward  which  must  arise,  and  can  only  arise  from  a  per- 
fect obedience  to  the  commands  of  God. 

In  onler  that  a  siimer  may  be  justified,  the  law  shows  this 
twofold  riifhteousness  to  he  necessary.  He  must  have  this 
to  present'ljeforc  God.  Now  to  be  justified  by  words,  would 
require  that  we,  ourselves,  had  personally  accomplished  this 
righteousness  of  satisfaction  and  obedience  which  is  de- 
manded. If  this  could  be  done,  we  should  have  whereof  to 
glory;  we  should  be  independent  of  every  other  being; 
heaven  would  be  ours  by  legal  right ;  there  could  be  no  room 
for  the  exercise  of  grace,  nor  could  God  justly  deny  what 
we  fairiy  deserved  by  our  own  obedience.  The  law,  in  the 
exercise  of  its  convincing  power,  shows  the  impossibility  of 
this  o-round  of  hope.  But  still  our  condition  is  not  changed  ; 
our  want  is  the  same;  we  must  be  justified,  or  we  must  be 
condemned.  If  we  cannot  be  justified  by  works,  is  there 
any  other  way  in  which  we  can  attain  this  desired  end  1  Yes. 
The  law  brings  us  unto  Christ  that  we  may  be  justified  by 
faith.  To  be  justified,  or  to  be  pardoned  and  rewarded  by 
faith,  does  tint  mean  that  tuith  is  received  in  the  ))lace  of  a 
perfect  obedience,  and  is  itself  regarded  as  a  sufiicient  righ- 
teousness. Faith  is  not  the  matter  or  reason  of  our  justifica- 
tion. But  it  is  the  instrument  or  means  which  conveys  to  us 
and  makes  our  own,  the  perfect  righteousness  of  our  Great 
Surety,  a  ri<rhtcousness  which  more  than  answers  every  de- 
mand'of  thc^law  of  God.  How  then  does  the  law  guide  us 
to  this  justification  ?     Why,  it  says  to  us,  "  You  must  have 


a  perfect  satisfaction  of  mv  jienalties,  and  a  perfect  obedience 
of  my  precepts,  or  you  caimot  be  justified.  This  satisfaction  and 
obedience  you  can  never  accomplish  for  yourselves ;  therefore, 
by  the  works  of  the  law  shall  no  flesh  living  be  justified.    I 


PAROCHIAL  LECTURES  ON  THE  LAW  AND  THE  GOSPEL. 


f5 


can  never  save  you,  cither  in  whole,  or  in  part.  Cease,  therefore, 
to  look  to  me  for  that  which  I  can  never  bestow  upon  you.  But 
while  you  can  never  obtain  this  end  for  yourselves,  there  is 
one  who  has  done  every  thing  for  you.  He  has  a  righteous- 
ness to  be  bestowed  freely  upon  you,  perfectly  commensurate 
with  my  demands.  Procure  his  righteousness  to  be  imputed 
to  you,  to  be  made  yours.  Obtain  a  title  to  his  obedience, 
which  he  is  ready  to  give  you  without  money  and  without 
price,  and  you  will  be^able  to  present  to  God  all  that  I  can 
ask,  and  be  fully  and  eternally  justified  before  him.  Believe 
in  him,  and  this  perfect  righteousness  of  his  shall  be  made 
yours  forever.  You  well  know  how  a  branch  receives  every 
thing  from  the  stock  into  which  it  has  been  engrafted ;  pre- 
cisefy  thus  must  you  receive  from  him  the  blessings  which 
he  offers.  You  must,  by  faith,  abide  in  him,  and  you  shall 
be  freely  accepted  before  God.  The  law  thus  unalterably  de- 
manding a  perfect  fulfilment  of  all  its  requisitions,  before  a 
sinner  can  be  justified,  and  at  the  same  time  pointing  to  the 
Lord  Jesus  Christ,  whose  everlasting  righteousness  is  to  be 
imputed  to  us,  and  made  ours  by  the  instrumentality  of  faith, 
becomes  our  schoolmaster,  or  guide,  to  lead  us  unto  Christ, 
that  we  may  be  justified  by  faith ;  and  when,  in  the  accept- 
ance of  the  tidings  of  the  gospel,  this  faith  has  come  to  our 
souls  as  the  instrument  of  our  attaining  an  acceptable  right- 
eousness, the  law  sets  us  entirely  at  liberty  ;  we  are  no  longer 
under  a  schoolmaster;  we  are  no  longer  in  bondage;  but  be- 
ing justified  by  fidth,  we  have  peace  with  God,  through  our 
Lord  .Tesus  Christ,  and  the  l.iw  of  the  spirit  of  life  in  Christ 
Jesus,  or  the  gospel  which  brings  the  spirit  of  life  to  our 
souls,  has  made  us  free  from  the  law  of  sin  and  death  ;  the 
law  which  could  give  no  knowledge  but  sin,  and  pay  no 
wages  but  death,  and  we  are  to  stand  fast  in  the  liberty 
wherewith  Christ  hath  made  us  free. 

And  now,  that  you  have  seen  the  guiding  power  of  the 
law,  and  heard  the  instructions  which  this  schoolmaster  gives, 
let  me  intreat  you  to  take  him  as  your  guide  to  life.  Tliere 
arc  other  teachers  who  will  speak  to  yon  in  far  milder  terms, 
and  accommodate  their  statements  much  more  to  your  carnal 
minds.  They  will  tell  you  of  the  value  of  your  good  works, 
of  the  mercy  of  God,  of  the  lowered  terms  of  obedience 
•which  the  Saviour  has  introduced  ;  but  I  beseech  you,  listen 
not  to  them ;  they  will  deceive  you  to  your  eternal  ruin.  A 
dependance,  however  partial,  upon  your  own  obedience,  will 
destroy  your  souls.  For,  establish  whatever  standard  you 
may,  and  try  yourselves  .by  it,  and  you  will  find  that  your 
own  system  concludes  you  under  sin.  Which  of  you  has, 
from  his  earliest  youth,  acted  up  fully  to  the  light  which  he 
has  enjoyed,  and  done  every  thing  which  he  knew,  or  believed 
to  be  required  of  him  ?  Nay,  which  of  you  would  dare  to 
stand  by  this  trial,  and  allow  his  everlasting  destiny  to  be 
determined  by  it,  for  even  a  single  day  of  his  life?  There 
are  many  not  able  to  endure  sound  doctrine,  who  will  deceive 
you  by  such  hopes  as  this,  and  persuade  you  that  your  salva- 
tion must,  after  all,  be  in  part  by  your  own  works.  Such  de- 
lusions are  fatal  beyond  expression.  There  is  no  salvation 
to  be  derived,  in  any  degree,  from  your  own  obedience.  The 
utmost  attainments  in  personal  holiness  which  you  may  ac- 
quire, are  of  no  value  in  the  estimation  of  the  law.  They 
can  purchase  nothing  from  God.  Nay,  so  far  are  you  from 
obtaining  salvation  by  your  own  holiness,  that  you  huve  no 
holiness  of  character  until  you  have  renounced  this  vain 
ground  of  hope,  and  fled  to  Christ  as  your  only  refuge,  that 
you  may  be  justified  because  found  in  him.  All  your  possi- 
ble obedience  to  God  results  from  this  vital  union  with 
Christ,  in  which  you  are  justified.  Before  you  are  thus  ac- 
cepted, there  is  not  a  single  aspect  of  your  character  which 
does  not  exhibit  rebellion  against  God.  You  never  do  or  can 
obey  until  salvation  has  visited  your  souls,  in  your  cordial 
acceptance  of  the  Lord  our  righteousness  ;  and  then  you  are 
accepted  before  God,  not  with  the  least  reference  to  any  thino- 
in  yourselves,  but  solely  because  he  has  paid  the  penalty,  and 
fulfilled  the  precepts  of  the  law  for  you.  , 

O,  that  God  may  be  graciouslj'  pleased  to  impress  these 
tmths  upon  your  minds!  to  open  your  hearts  to  receive  the 
things  which  are  spoken  in  the  word  of  truth !  Your  na- 
tural state  is  one  of  utter  ruin.  Your  condition  was  fairly  re- 
presented in  the  case  of  the  Israelites,  bitten  by  the  fiery  ser- 
pents. You  are  incapable  of  restoring  yourselves  to  health, 
or  of  finding  a  healing  balui  throughout  the  universe.  Death 
is  sweeping  you  off,  in  s\\  ift  succession,  and,  alas  !  whither  is 
it  bearing  you  ?  What  is  to  be  the  result  of  your  rebellion  ? 
But  why  ?  Is  there  no  remedy  1  In  the  case  referred  to, 
see  the  remedy.  Let  Moses  be  your  guide  to  Christ.  By 
God's  command  he  erected  the  brazen  serpent,  and  proclaimed 


throughout  the  host  the  joyful  tidings,  that  whosoever  would 
look  upon  it  should  be  saved.  The  opportunity  was  gladly 
embraced  by  multitudes  who  were  perishing,  and  the  promise 
was  fulfilled  to  them.  This  day  is  this  transaction  renewed 
in  the  midst  of  a  congregation  of  dyin^  sinners.  You  are 
all  perishing  from  the  wounds  of  sin.  There  is  not  a  crea- 
ture in  the  universe  who  can  render  you  the  least  assistance 
towards  a  recovery  from  your  condition  of  ruin.  But  the 
Lord  Jesus  Christ  is  set  forth  openly  among  you,  as  cruci- 
fied for  your  sins  ;  and  the  law  itself  directs  your  hearts  to 
him,  as  the  great  appointed  way  for  your  salvation.  This 
hour  would  this  instructor  brin^your  souls  to  him,  that  they 
may  be  justified  by  faith.  As  Moses  lifted  up  the  serpent  in 
the  wilderness,  even  so  hath  the  Son  of  man  been  lifted  up, 
that  whosoever  believeth  in  him  might  not  perish,  but  have 
eternal  life.  Behold  the  eternal  Son  of  God,  lifted  up  upon 
the  cross,  bearing  the  burden  of  your  sins,  bruised  for  your 
iniquities,  made  a  curse  under  the  law,  for  your  souls.  Hear 
his  gracious  invitations  :  "  Look  upon  me  and  be  ye  saved, 
all  the  ends  of  the  earth,  for  I  am  God,  and  there  is  none 
else."  "There  is  no  Saviour  besides  me."  Hear  the  law 
and  the  gospel  uniting  in  one  annunciation  to  you  :  "Believe 
in  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ  and  you  shall  be  saved."  "  All 
that  believe  in  him  shall  be  justified  from  all  things."  "  In 
the  Lord  shall  all  the  seed  of  Israel  be  justified  and  glory." 
O,  throw  away  your  garments  of  self-righteousness  and  come 
to  him.  Come  miserable,  and  poor,  and  blind,  and  naked, 
and  lay  yourselves  down  before  his  feet,  to  find  a  free  salva- 
tion. Fly  from  all  dependance  upon  yourselves.  Shake  off 
all  the  weights  that  false  instructions  and  false  views  would 
hang  about^you,  and  ask  for  a  free  redemption  by  the  grace  of 
God",  through  the  blood  of  the  Lord  Jesus ;  and  while  the  law 
utters  unavoidable  denunciations,  and  makes  impossible  de- 
mands, let  them  lead  you  to  that  gracious  Saviour  who  has 
wrought  out  an  everlasting  righteousness,  and  bringing  it  for 
your  acceptance,  asks  to  be  received  into  your  hearts,  as  your 
hope  of  glory,  and  your  only  source  of  peace  and  consola- 
tion. 


LECTURE  VII. 

CHRIST  OUR  RIGHTEOISNESS. 

Christ  is  llic  end  of  the  law  for  righteousness  to  cicry  one  tliat  be- 
lieveth.— KoJLlXS  X.  i. 

The  subject  which  this  text  presents  to  you,  is  the  most  im- 
portant one  which  can  be  oQered  to  the  \  lew  of  a  congrega- 
tion of  sinful  beings.  It  embraces  tlie  whole  grand  system 
of  man's  redemption  It  comes  to  you  as  rebels  against  God, 
under  the  condemning  sentence  of  his  law,  exposed  to  his 
fiery  and  everlasting  indignation,  and  utterly  unable  to  find  a 
ransom  for  your  own  souls ;  and  addressing  you  under  this 
character,  it  announces  the  alad  and  glorious  intelligence, 
that  there  is  one,  in  whom  for  you,  all  fulness  dwells,  one 
who  has  fulfilled  every  demand  upon  your  souls,  and  wrought 
out  for  you  an  everiasUng  and  all-sufiicient  righteousness. 
After  the  views  which  we  have  taken  of  the  convincing, 
condemning  and  guiding  power  of  the  divine  law,  after  the 
terrors  w  hich  we  have  seen  to  be  denounced  against  us,  and 
the  demands  which  we  have  seen  to  have  been  made  upon 
us  by  this  violated  dispensation,  it  will  be  refreshing  and 
satisfactory  to  us  to  meditate  upon  the  glorious  truth  of  a 
full  and  free  redemption  from  its  curse,  and  its  power  to 
destroy.  In  my  last  discourse,  I  considered  the  operation 
which  the  law  had  to  lead  us  unto  Christ,  for  a  free  justifica- 
tion through  his  blood.  The  present  subject  comes  in  an 
immediate  succession  to  that,  as  it  presents  the  real  ground 
and  foundation  of  our  acceptance  before  the  throne  of  God, 
and  the  actual  object  of  a  living  Christian  faith :  "  Christ 
the  end  of  the  law  for  righteousness  to  every  one  that  be- 
lieveth." In  my  remarks  upon  this  important  subject,  every 
word  should  be  adequate  to  the  vastness  of  the  theme ;  and 
I  desire  to  look  with  intenseness  of  dependance  to  the 
enlightening  Spirit  of  God  to  guide  me  in  what  I  may  say, 
audio  enabTe  you  to  attend  to,  receive,  and  understand  the 
thino-s  which  may  be  spoken,  agreeably  to  the  holy  word  and 
will  of  Almighty  God. 

In  considering  the  present  text,  three  subjects  are  suggested 
for  reflection  and  inquiry. 


1« 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


I.  What  Jcsiis  (Mirist  did,  as  man's  Redeemer,  for  which 
he  may  be  called  the  end  of  the  law. 

II.  For  what  object  was  lie  thus  the  end  of  the  law  1 

III.  For  whom  is  he  thus  the  end  of  the  law,  and  who  are 
benefitted  by  his  rpdcmption  1 

It  will  be  rjiadily  perceived  that  these  three  inquiries  will 
euffffest  most  important  topics  of  remark,  and  express  my 
views  in  reference  to  some  cardinal  but  controverted  points 
of  divine  truth. 

I.  We  will  inquire  in  what  sense  Jesus  Christ  is  "  the  end 
of  the  law." 

The  word  which  is  hero  translated  end,  presents  to  us  two 
distinct  ideas.  It  signifies  both  the  object  which  was  de- 
sirrned,  and  the  object  which  has  been  accomplished.  Christ 
was  the  end  of  the  law  in  both  these  senses.  He  was  the 
grand  object  to  which  the  law  pointed,  and  to  which  it  was 
desifjued  to  lead,  and  he  has  been  the  fulfilment  of  all  that 
the  law  miuircd.  He  was  the  end  to  be  attained  by  the  law, 
and  in  the  liuisbinij  of  his  work  of  love,  he  has  been  the  end 
and  acconi|)lishiiiciit  of  all  the  law's  demands.  These  two 
points  we  will  separately  consider. 

1.  The  full  redemption  accomplished  by  the  Lord  .lesus 
Christ,  was  the  <jrand  end  to  which  the  law  was  to  lead,  and 
the  objict  in  view  in  the  publication  of  the  law.  Under 
whatevef  sense  you  may  consider  the  word  taw,  you  will  find 
the  entire  truth  of  this  assertion. 

Jesus  (Jhrist  was  the  grand  object  of  all  the  riles  and  cere- 
monies of  the  Jewish  dispensation.  I'^verv  sacrilicc  olTeri-d 
with  liri'  from  the  time  of  Abel,  ])ointed  to  him,  and  had  no 
meanintj  or  elhciency,  exce|)t  as  the  faith  of  the  ofl'erer  laid 
hold  of  this  irreat  sacrifice,  by  which  sin  was  to  be  (nil  away, 
in  the  latter  aijcs  of  the  world.  'I'lie  purirtcations  and  wash- 
ings of  the  ceremonial  law,  the  construction  of  the  taberna- 
cle and  teiiiple,  and  the  thousand  ordinances  among  the  Isni- 
elites,  which  in  themselves  ajipeared  so  uniiicaning  and 
useless,  were  all  designed  to  lead  their  minds  forward  to  him 
in  wlicun  all  riijhteousness  should  be  fulfilled.  They  were 
the  shadows  uf  the  really  good  things  which  were  to  be  re- 
vealed in  the  incarnation  of  the  Son  of  llod.  They  made 
nothing  perfect,  for  they  W(>re  themselves  entirely  imperfect 
and  incompli'te,  willinui  that  key  to  their  design,  furnished 
by  the  actual  redemption  accomplished  in  Jesus  Christ.  He 
was  the  single  object  to  wliicli  ihey  led,  and  willioutliim  they 
are,  in  themselves,  entirely  inexplicable.  The  whole  of  the 
Mosaic  ritual  was  appointiul,  not  of  itself  to  be  the  imme- 
diate means  of  salvation  to  any  individual,  but  to  point  uni 
versal  attention  to  him  that  should  come  as  the  single  author 
and  source  of  life  eternal  unto  sinners..  For  this  purpose  it 
was  established,  and  to  this  end  its  consistent  and  proper  ope- 
ration guided  all. 

Christ  was  also  the  great  object  of  the  moral  law.  Th 
publication  of  this  divine  law  to  fallen  beings,  whether  in  the 
age  of  the  patriarchs,  or  by  the  ministration  of  .Moses,  was 
not  designed  to  open  in  it  a  way  of  life  for  sinners.  Its 
object  was  directly  the  reverse;  it  invited  none,  but  it  faiih 
fully  warned  all.  Uy  showing,  in  the  spiritual  jiurily  of  it; 
required  obedience,  the  impossibility  that  any  sinner  should 
comply  with  its  terms,  it  invited  all  to  look  forward  to  some 
other  source  for  salvation.  It  was  added,  or  proclaimed  anew 
to  man,  from  time  to  time,  because  of  transgressions ;  to  con- 
vince men  of  their  sin  and  danger,  until  the  seed  should 
come,  in  whom  all  the  promises  were  to  meet  and  be  fulfilled. 
To  constrain  sinners  to  look  forward  to  the  great  Redeemer 
wlio  was  promised,  was  one  most  important  object  in  the  pro- 
clamation of  the  law  ;  and  in  the  accomplishment  of  this  pur- 
pose, it  caused  him  to  be  the  desire  of  all  nations,  and  to  be 
welcomed  by  those  in  all  nations  who  waited  for  consolation 
from  on  high,  as  an  unspeakable  gift  and  blessing  to  all. 

In  this  sense  Christ  was  the  end  to  he  attained,  both  of 
the  law  of  ceremonies,  and  the  law  of  moral  obedience.  They 
are  unintelligible  without  him,  and  as  their  requisitions  and 
ordinances  are  read  and  considered  in  the  Old  Testament,  he 
must  be  borne  constantly  upon  the  mind  as  the  great  object  in 
whom  they  were  all  designed  to  meet  and  become  effectual ; 
and  with  the  light  which  is  thrown  back  upon  them  from  his 
redemption,  they  have  a  meaning  and  force,  which  without 
him  they  must  want  entirely. 

2.  Christ  is  the  end  of  the  law,  in  the  actual  accomplish- 
ment of  all  the  law  demands. 

^^  bile  all  the  shadows  and  ceremonies  of  the  Jewish  reli- 
gion were  designed  to  lead  to  him,  he  has  fulfilled  them  all, 
rendered  them  unnecessary  in  their  oblig-ation,  and  set  them 
aside  forever.  The  types  of  the  old  scriptures  are  all  an- 
swered in  him.     The  predictions  which  they  gave  of  his  cir- 


cumstances and  character,  and  the  illustrations  which  they 
furnished  of  the  method  of  his  personal  obedience,  have  been 
all  accomplished.  These  types  and  shadows,  exhibited  in 
correspondence  with  the  Saviour's  work,  are  still  useful,  as 
illustrating  the  nature  of  his  redemi)tion.  They  deserve 
always  to  be  studied  and  considered,  for  his  sake.  Hut  he  is 
their  full  and  single  end,  and  they  cannot  carry  the  mind  be- 
yond the  parts  and  progress  of  his  glorious  dispen.sation. 
The  ordinances  and  institutions  of  the  law  of  ceremonies 
are  fulfilled  in  him.  He  is  the  Great  High  Priest;  the  only 
sacrifice;  the  true  pasihal  lamb.  He  has  opened  the  one  real 
fountain  for  sin  and  for  uncleanness,  and  while  God  could 
not  accept  sacrifices  and  burnt  offerings,  or  have  pleasure  in 
them  for  their  own  sake,  he  has  come,  in  a  body  which  was 
prepared  for  him,  to  do  the  will  of  God,  and  to  sanctify  for- 
ever those  who  are  accepted  in  hira.  Having  thus  fulfilled 
the  objects  and  design  of  all  the  ceremonial  observances  of 
the  law,  he  has  abolished  them  forever.  That  which  is  per- 
fict  has  come,  and  that  which  was  in  part  is  done  away. 
All  the  shadows  of  a  salvation  approaching  for  man  have  past 
by  in  the  arrival  of  this  salvation  in  the  fulness  of  its  light 
and  power ;  and  Christ  having  come,  and  offered  himself 
without  spot  to  God,  to  obtain  eternal  redemption  for  us,  has 
become  the  end  and  fulfilment  of  all  that  this  law  of  ordi- 
nances designed. 

Of  all  the  requisitions  of  the  moral  law  he  is  also  the  end. 
He  has  fully  obeyed  its  precepts,  and  endured  its  penalty. 
While  the  law  required  a  perfect  and  spotless  righteousness, 
an  obedience  which  should  be,  in  the  minutest  point,  alto- 
gether UTiblameable,  Jesus  has  rendered  the  utmost  of  its  de- 
mands; and  because  his  nature  was  so  high  and  dignified, 
and  he  was  under  no  obligation  to  obey  the  law,  but  was  per- 
fectly voluntary  in  his  conformity  to  it,  his  obedience  mag- 
nified it  and  made  it  honourable.  The  law  claimed  the  ut- 
most love  to  God,  and  universal  benevolence  to  his  creatures. 
This  love  Jesus  rendered,  and  thus  his  obedience  was  an  en- 
tire fulfilment  of  the  law. 

Hut  it  cannot  fail  to  be  remarked  by  a  reader  of  observa- 
tion, that  while  Jesus  thus  perfectly  fulfilled  the  law,  so 
that  it  had  no  claim  upon  him  in  the  shape  of  a  penalty,  even 
for  the  most  trifling  deficiency,  he  was  still  dealt  with  and 
punished  as  an  entire  criminal.  He  received  the  full  pun- 
ishment of  transgression,  ami  d^d  under  the  condemnation  of 
the  violated  law.  He  furnished  the  only  possible  instance  in 
which  the  same  being  shall  perfcdlly  conform  to  the  precepts 
of  the  law,  and  yet  sustain  the  curse  of  an  universal  viola- 
lion.  And  while  a  being  who  has  never  sinned  may  fulfil 
the  preceptive  part  of  the  law,  and  a  being  who  has  sinned 
may  bear  the  penalty  and  curse  of  the  law,  he  alone  could 
make  them  both  the  matter  of  experience,  and  thus  become 
the  end  of  all  that  the  law  demandid  of  any  created  being. 

It  is  in  this  aspect  that  he  is  presented  as  the  substitute 
for  sinners.  All  that  he  did,  he  did  for  them.  Kvery  part 
of  his  life  formed  a  portion  of  his  actual  obedience  in  their 
behalf;  and  every  suffering  which  he  passed  was  a  part  of 
that  death  which  he  had  voluntarily  undertaken  for  them. 
The  hour  in  which  he  became  a  subjected  being,  he  began 
his  voluntary  and  unconstrained  humiliation ;  and  from  that 
hour  every  moment  of  his  life  was  a  part  of  his  one  great 
offering  for  the  transgressions  of  his  creatures.  The  two- 
fold demand  which  the  law  made,  he  accomplished ;  and  his 
infinitely  exalted  character  and  rank  added  such  dignity  and 
worth  to  his  obedience  and  sufferings,  that  they  were  rea- 
sonably accepted  as  of  more  value,  and  more  honourable,  than 
would  have  been  the  personal  submission  of  the  whole  hu- 
man race.  The  divine  law  made  no  demands,  and  can  make 
no  demand,  which  this  high  Redeemer  did  not  adequately 
answer,  so  that  though  his  obedience  did  not  abolish  the  law 
as  a  rule  of  life  for  his  followers,  it  did  provide  for  them, 
in  answer  to  its  demands,  a  perfect  righteousness;  and  he 
was  for  them  the  end  or  fulfilment  of  the  law,  so  far  as  it  re- 
garded any  claims  which,  as  a  distinct  dispensation,  the  law 
could  have  against  them. 

It  is  under  these  two  senses  that  Christ  may  be  called  the 
end  of  the  law,  as  he  was  the  great  object  to  whom  the  law 
was  designed  to  lead,  and  as  he  has  been  the  accomplishment 
of  every  thing  which  the  law  required. 

II.  The  text  further  declares  the  purpose  for  which  the 
Saviour  thus  became  the  end  of  the  law :  it  was  for  "righ- 
teousness" 

It  could  be  for  no  other  purpose.  Righteousness  com- 
prises the  whole  circle  of  the  law's  demands,  and  the  whole 
ext(  lit  of  the  sinner's  wants. 

The  law  could  ask  for  nothing  but  a  righteousness  which 


PAROCHIAL  LECTURES  ON  THE  LAW  AND  THE  GOSPEL 


ehoutd  be  a  satisfaction  of  its  penalties,  and  a  fulfilment  of 
its  precepts.  When  this  righteousness,  this  perfect  con- 
formity to  its  claims  was  found,  the  law  was  satisfied,  it 
could  go  no  further. 

The  sinner  under  the  condemnation  of  the  law,  wanted 
nothingr  but  a  riehtcousness  which  should  be  sufficient  to  an- 
swer the  requisitions  of  the  law  which  held  him  in  bondage. 
Whenever  and  wherever  he  could  find  this  adequate  righte- 
ousness, his  release  and  liberty  were  made  secure  to  him 
forever. 

The  violation  of  the  law  formed  the  whole  necessity  for  an 
atonement  and  expiation  for  sin,  because  sin  is  the  trans 
gression  of  the  law.  Accordingly,  when  a  Saviour  was 
found  who  agreed  to  become  the  sinner's  substitute,  iiis  me- 
diation would  have  been  unavailing,  unless  he  could  furnish 
this  righteousness,  which  was  the  sinner's  single  want.  It 
was  the  relation  in  which  the  transgressor  stood  to  the  dl 
vine  law,  which  made  his  need  for  a  priest  and  sacrifice; 
and  when  that  priest  and  sacrifice  appeared,  it  must  have 
been  to  sustain  the  same  relation  to  the  law  in  which  the  sin- 
ner had  been  placed,  or  the  mediation  would  have  come  short 
of  the  necessity.  That  he  might  obtain  a  righteousness  suf- 
ficient for  his  wants,  was  the  sinner's  only  need  for  a  Sa- 
viour and  substitute.  Of  course,  all  that  this  Saviour  did  as 
the  surety  for  the  sinner,  must  have  been  designed  to  accom- 
plish and  provide  for  him  the  perfect  righteousness  which 
his  condition  of  condemnation  and  despair  rendered  indis- 
pensable. 

The  Saviour  came  to  release  the  sinner  from  the  bondage 
of  the  law,  and  to  bestow  upon  him  freely,  by  his  grace,  the 
inheritance  of  life  which  had  been  forfeited  by  disobedience. 
The  law  could  not  agree  to  this  release  until  its  demands 
were  fully  answered.  Kvery  thing,  therefore,  which  the 
Kedecmcr  did  or  suffered,  was  designed  to  make  up  and 
finish  this  everlasting  righteousness  which  the  case  re- 
quired. His  labours  and  instructions,  and  miracles,  his 
pains  of  body  and  agonies  and  darkness  of  mind,  all  his  acts 
of  obedience  and  all  his  deprivations  and  sorrows,  united 
themselves  for  this  single  end,  that  he  might  be  the  Lord  our 
Kighteousncss,  and  able  to  save  unto  the  uttermost  those 
who  should  come  unto  God  through  him.  In  him  there  is 
now  provided  the  infinite  treasure  of  merit  which  the  sinner 
needs.  We  are  to  stand  complete  in  him ;  and  while  the 
Father  could  saj'  of  him  as  the  evidence  of  the  greatness  of 
his  own  love,  "This  is  my  beloved  Son,  in  whom  I  am  well 
pleased,"  the  law  could  proclaim  in  view  of  the  perfcct- 
ness  of  his  work,  "  This  is  a  righteousness  which  meets  my 
utmost  claims." 

The  satisfaction  which  the  Saviour  made  to  the  law  was 
perfect  and  entire.  He  answered  every  claim  which  it  could 
make  for  obedience  or  suffering ;  and  thus  he  accomplished 
a  perfect  righteousness,  for  righteousness  is  nothing  but  per- 
fect conformity  to  the  law. 

But  this  righteousness  which  he  attained  by  bciiig  thus 
the  end  of  the  law,  could  not  be  for  himself.  The  law  had 
no  claims  upon  him ;  his  obedience  and  his  sufferings  were 
equally  and  entirely  voluntary  ;  and  all  that  he  did,  lie  did  as 
the  substitute  for  sinners.  When  he  became  the  end  of  the 
law,  he  was  in  possession  of  a  spotless  righteousness.  But 
for  whom  was  this  righteousness?  The  text  answers  this 
question  :  "  He  is  the  end  of  the  law  for  righteousness  to 
every  one  that  believeth ;"  and  thus  presents  us  with  our 
third  subject  of  remark. 

HI.  There  is  no  distinction  among  the  whole  human 
family  as  it  regards  the  condemnation  under  which  the  vio- 
lated law  has  placed  them.  Without  reference  to  any  acquired 
varieties  of  character  or  degrees  in  guilt,  by  natural  inheritance, 
every  man  bom  into  the  world  is  under  a  curse,  and  under  an 
equal  curse,  for  sin  against  God.  This  is  the  relation  in 
which  the  whole  race  of  men  stand  towards  God ;  con- 
demned under  his  righteous  judgment,  and  exposed  to 
his  everlasting  wrath.  In  becoming  the  end  of  the  law  for 
a  world  thus  universally  guilty,  the  Saviour  has  provided 
a  remedy  in  every  respect  equal  to  the  want.  It  was  to 
satisfy  the  law,  and  to  render  the  salvation  of  men  consistent 
with  the  character  of  God,  that  an  atonement  was  required, 
and  a  Saviour  offered.  Tliis  Jesus  has  done ;  and  the  righ- 
teousness which  he  possesses  as  the  world's  Redeemer,  is 
sufficient  for  all,  is  designed  for  all,  and  is  honestly  offered 
to  all  the  children  of  wrath  and  sin.  The  satisfaction  to  the 
law,  which  was  indispensable  to  render  the  forgiveness  of  a 
single  sinner  consistent  with  the  character  of  God,  was 
equally  sufficient  for  the  whole  world.  Before  the  law  was 
thus  satisfied,  not  an  individual  could  be  pardoned.  After  this 
Vol.  II.— C 


perfect  satisfaction  was  made,  it  is  trifling  to  speak  of  limita- 
tions to  its  sufficiency  or  its  offers.  The  whole  world  may 
be  saved  in  as  perfect  consistence  wiili  the  character  and 
government  of  God,  as  a  single  transgressor.  The  way  is 
perfectly  opened,  for  the  exercise  of  grace  to  all ;  and  there 
IS  not  a  barrier  left,  but  in  man's  voluntary  and  determined 
enmity  to  the  God  that  made  him,  to  the  universal  salvation 
of  tills  fallen  family. 

But  while  there  is  this  perfect  sufficiency  and  unlimited 
invitation  in  the  work  of  substitution  which  Christ  has  fin- 
ished, tlie  result  of  the  case  is  the  simple  one  announced  in 
the  text.  He  becomes  a  personal  righteousness  only  to  those 
who  believe.  Tliere  is  abundant  provision,  and  it  is  hon- 
estly offered  to  everj*  sinner;  but  it  is  applied  for  individual 
salvation  only  to  those  who  accept  it  in  faith.  While  the 
law  was  unsatisfied,  the  holiness  and  faithfiilness  of  God 
could  allow  no  offer  of  salvation.  The  atonement  of  Christ 
has  respect  singly  to  this  difficulty,  and  renders  the  exercise 
of  pardoning  grace  consistent  with  the  divine  character,  and 
honourable  to  the  divine  government.  If  no  atonement  had 
been  made  for  sin,  men  could  not  be  required  to  believe,  for 
there  would  have  been  no  Saviour  for  them  if  they  should. 
But  now  nothing  prevents  the  pardon  of  all  but  the  want  of 
that  evangelical  faith  which  shall  appropriate  to  the  sinner 
the  provided  righteousness.  Any  man  may  be  pardoned 
who  will  accept  with  faith  the  offered  atonement.  The 
way  is  open,  and  equally  open  to  all.  The  proffers  of  pardon 
are  made  with  the  same  sincerity  and  kindness  to  every  sin- 
ner to  whom  the  gospel  is  preached;  and  he  who  does  not 
accept  them,  and  of  consequence  remains  unpardoned,  must 
remember  that  nothing  is  in  his  way  but  his  own  impenitence 
and  want  of  faith.  He  is  condemned  singly  and  wholly,  be- 
cause he  loves  darkness  rather  than  light. 

\\hen  any  sinner  can  be  led  to  accept  with  faith  Christ 
as  the  end  of  the  law  for  his  righteousness,  every  obstacle 
which  the  justice  of  God  and  his  own  perverted  heart  inter- 
posed to  his  salvation,  has  been  removed ;  and  he  is  ac- 
cepted, crowned  with  full  redemption,  and  saved  with  an 
everlasting  salvation. 

How  glorious  and  consistent  is  that  scheme  of  salvation 
which  is  presented  in  the  gospel !  Jesus,  an  Almighty  Sa- 
viour, all  in  all.  The  gospel  takes  us  just  where  it  finds  us, 
in  a  state  of  ruin  and  sin,  condemned  by  the  law  of  God 
to  everlasting  perdition,  and  utterly  incapable  of  procurinor 
justification  by  our  own  righteousness.  In  this  miserable 
condition,  it  announces  to  us  a  Saviour  divinely  great  and 
glorious,  divinely  excellent  and  lovely,  assuming  our  nature 
to  become  an  expiation  for  our  sins,  revealing  to  us  the  way 
of  reconciliation  to  God,  and  inviting  us  to  enter  into  it  and 
be  saved.  The  acceptance  of  this  expiation  it  announces 
from  the  mouth  of  God  himself;  and  the  simple  terms  upon 
which  we  may  be  reconciled  to  God,  by  believing  in  Christ 
and  being  found  in  him,  it  discloses  with  exact  precision  and 
perfect  clearness.  The  one  demand  which  it  makes  upon  us, 
is  the  submission  of  our  hearts  to  Christ,  because  with  the 
heart  man  believeth  unto  righteousness. 

How  desirable  is  that  vital  principle  of  faith  which  shall 
seek  and  find  a  permanent  refuge  for  the  sinner  in  the  bosom  of 
Jesus.  The  cause  of  every  sincere  believer  is  safe  in  the 
hands  of  God.  Christ  has  been  the  end  of  the  law  for  him, 
and  tliere  is  no  condemnation  to  him  while  he  is  in  Christ 
Jesus !  He  has  chosen  the  good  part,  which  shall  never  be 
taken  away  from  him.  The  Saviour  who  has  begun  to  be- 
friend him  in  this  infinite  concern,  will  never  leave  him  nor 
forsake  him.  All  the  steps  of  a  good  man  are  ordered  by  the 
Lord.  Though  he  fall,  he  shall  rise  again ;  and  his  mercy 
God  will  not  utterly  take  from  him.  In  the  seed  which  is 
sown  in  his  heart  there  is  a  blessing,  the  beginning  of  life 
immortal.  Cold  and  wintry  as  is  the  climate  oeneath  which 
it  has  sprung;  unkind  and  barren  as  is  the  soil  in  which  it 
grows  ;  doubtful  and  fading  as  its  progress  often  appears,  it 
cannot  die.  The  hand  which  planted  it  will  cultivate  it  with 
unceasing  care,  and  will  soon  remove  it  to  a  happier  region, 
where  it  will  flourish,  and  blossom,  and  bear  fruit  for  ever; 
and  the  satisfied  law  will  rejoice  in  the  triumphs  of  grace 
which  have  brought  the  ransomed  soul  to  eternal  glory. 

And  O  how  awful  is  their  condition  who  voluntarily  reject 
this  Saviour,  in  whose  atonement  and  sufficiency  God  de- 
clares himself  well  pleased  !  The  law  condemned  them,  for 
their  original  apostac}',  to  everlasting  ruin.  To  the  guilt  of 
this  apostacy,  unatoned,  unrepented  of,  and  therefore  remain- 
ing in  all  its  enormity,  they  add  a  second  condemnation:  the 
peculiar  guilt  of  rejecting  the  singular  and  amazing  efforts  of 
the  goodness  of  God  to  bring  them  back  to  holiness  and  life. 


18 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


In  what  manner  men  can  more  effectually  despise  the  dmne 
character,  affront  the  divine  goodness,  and  expose  themselves 
to  inevitable  destruction,  no  mind  can  conceive,  ^o  other 
offer  can  be  so  kind,  no  other  blessing  is  so  great,  no  other 
display  of  the  character  of  God  so  lovely.  The  ingratitude, 
therefore,  of  the  sinner  refusing  the  righteousness  of  Christ 
is  wonderful,  his  guilt  incomprehensible.  If,  then,  the  righ- 
teous scarcely  be  saved,  where  shall  these  unbelieving  and 
ungodly  sinners  appear  ^  If  it  be  a  fearful  thing  for  all  men, 
for  heathens  and  Mahommedans,  to  fall  into  the  hands  of  the 
living  God,  what  must  it  be  for  those  men  to  whom  Chnst  is 
offered  freely,  daily  and  always ;  who  sit,  from  the  cradle  to 
the  grave,  under  the  noonday  light  of  the  gospel,  and  bask 
throuo-h  life  in  the  beams  of  the  sun  of  righteousness^  Be 
assured,  the  Lord  knows  how  to  deliver  the  godly  out  of 
their  temptations,  and  to  reserve  the  unjust  unto  the  day  of 
judgment,  to  be  punished. 


LECTURE  VIII. 

THE    GOVERNING    POWER   OF   THE   LAW. 
Being  not  wiUiout  law  to  God,  but  under  Uie  law  to  Clu-ist— 1  Co- 

RI>TttIA>"S,  IX.   il. 

I  enter  with  much  pleasure  upon  the  subject  now  before 
me,  because  I  am  aware  that  many  of  my  hearers  have  felt 
anxious  lest  my  arguments,  to  which  your  attention  has  been 
previously  called,  should  be  supposed  to  set  the  obligations 
of  the  law  altogether  aside.  We  have  considered  the  divine 
law  as  a  spiritual  system  of  requirements,  convincing  the 
sinner  of  his  guilt  and  danger  and  weakness,  condemning 
the  impenitent  under  the  perpetual  burden  of  unpardoned 
euilt  ffuidino-  the  awakened  sinner  to  the  mercy  offered  in 
Jesus  Christr-B-ho  has  been  the  end  of  all  its  demands,  as  the 
sinner's  rio-hteousness  ;  and  we  are  now  brought  to  the  fourth 
and  last  aspect  of  this  holy  system,  in  its  governing  power 
over  those  who  have  embraced  the  gospel,  or  fled  Irom  the 
terror  of  its  denunciations  to  the  shelter  offered  in  the  lull 
salvation  of  Christ. 

It  has  been  my  wish  to  state  as  clearly  as  possible,  the 
great  truth,  that  our  own  obedience  has  not  the  least  influ- 
Ince  upon  our  justification  before  God.  We  are  accepted 
solely  for  the  perfect  obedience  of  the  Redeemer.  In  such 
plain  statements  of  the  doctrine  of  the  Bible,  many  in  our 
day,  as  in  the  apostles'  time,  are  ready  to  think  that  the  ne- 
cessity of  obedience  has  been  destroyed,  and  that  our  system 
is  one  which  tends  to  overthrow  a  proper  watchtulness  in 
personal  character.  To  relieve  all  such  fears,  and  to  shield 
the  truth  from  such  unreasonable  and  improper  imputations, 
I  am  now  to  show  the  use  and  obligation  of  the  law  as  a 
rule  of  personal  conduct  to  the  true  believer. 

The  expression  of  St.  Paul  in  the  text  furnishes  a  proper 
introduction.     His  anxiety  to  win  souls  to  Christ,  led  hira  to 
conform,  so  far  as  it  was  consistent  with  his  duty,  to  the  ha- 
bits and  prejudices  of  all  among  whom  he  ministered.     He 
asserted  his  entire  liberty  from  the  impositions  of  all  men, 
and  yet  he  voluntarily  submitted  to  the  views  of  all,  that  he 
mioht  o-ain  the  more.     In  preaching  to  the  Jews,  he  became 
a  few  in  his  outward  conformity  to  unimportant  ordinances  ; 
and  while  they  considered  themselves  under  the  ceremonial 
ohlitrations  of  the  law,  he  refused  not  to  submit  to  them  also, 
that'he  miMit  win  their  attention  to  the  liberty  which  was 
presented  In  the  gospel.     And  on  the  other  hand,  while  he 
preached  to  those  who  had  never  received  the  law,  he  be- 
came in  his  disregard  of  ceremonial  observances,  without  law 
also,  that  he  might  gain  those  who  were  thus  without  the 
law.  This  varying  compliance  with  the  feelings  of  men  did  not 
show  that  he  had  no  regard  to  the  divine  authority,  or  that 
he  felt  himself  to  be  without  law  to  God.     He  claimed  the 
privilege  of  disregarding  only  that  which  had  been  fulfilled  and 
abroo-ated.     The  moral  precepts  of  the  Almighty  laid  upon 
his  c1)nscience  with  their  full  power ;  nay,  his  embracing  the 
hopes  and  promises  of  the  gospel,  had  increased  their  au- 
thority upon  his  heart;  he  was  "under  the  law  to  Christ," 
who  had  o-iven  him  a  still  higher  standard  of  obedience  and 
still  more'powerful  motives  to  lead  him  to  obey;  and  the 
doctrine  of  salvation  in  Jesus  which  he  preached  to  men, 
thouo-h  built  upon  his  perfect  satisfaction  of  the  demands  of 
the  law,  did  not  make  void  its  authority  as  a  rule  of  charac- 
ter, but  tended  still  the  more  to  establish  and  confirm  it. 


The  text  describes  the  exact  condition  of  the  justified  and 
accepted  man.  He  has  been  delivered  from  the  condemna- 
tion of  the  law.  It  has  no  penalties  to  demand  of  him.  He 
is  free  from  all  its  denunciations ;  but  he  has  been  placed 
under  new  obligations  to  obedience,  and  has  new  motives 
leading  him  to  acquire  a  perfect  holiness  of  life  and  charac- 
ter. He  is  not  a  lawless  man,  not  without  law  or  any  rule 
of  obedience  to  God,  but  under  the  law  to  Christ,  who  has 
perpetuated  and  confirmed  upon  him  every  divine  command- 
ment; and  taught  him,  that  thus  only  can  love  to  a  Saviour 
be  exhibited,  by  obedience  to  divine  commandments. 

The  sinner  who  has  embraced  the  gospel  of  Jesus,  is  rest- 
ing his  whole  hope  of  justification  upon  the  perfect  righteous- 
ness of  the  Lord.     He  does  not  expect  to  earn  a  single  hour 
of  peace  or   glory  by  his  own  holiness  of  character.     The 
obedience  in  which  he  trusts  for  his  salvation,  was  finished 
lono-  since ;  and  he  does  not  hope  to  add  an  iota  of  merit  to 
that  great  offering  which  has  been  once  for  all  made  for  his 
soul ;  but  yet,  as  his  rule  of  character,  the  law  has  dominion 
over  him  so  long  as  he  liveth.     Its  governing  power  con- 
strains him  unceasingly  in  his  exertions,  to  bring  forth  fruits 
of  holiness  unto  God.     He  is  bought  with  a  price,  that  he 
may  glorify  God  in  his  body  and  spirit,  which  are  his ;  and 
is  in  the  expression  of  the  text,  "  under  the  law  to  Christ." 
1.  The  law  displays  this  governing  power  over  the  Chris- 
tian, by  setting  before  him  the  unalterable  standard  to  which 
he  must  be  conformed.     As  a  rule  of  individual  character,  the 
law  of  God  is  holy  and  perfect.     It  is  the  transcript  of  the 
character  and  perfections  of  the  Creator.     A  conformity  to  its 
precepts  is  an  attainment  of  the  image  of  God.     After  this 
imao-e  every  Christian  is  to  be  progressively  renewed,  until 
he  is  holy,  as  God  is  holy.     The  one  principle  which  fulfils 
the  law  is  love.    When  with  our  whole  heart  and  strength,  we 
love  the  Lord  our  God;  and  with  a  principle  of  universal 
benevolence  we  love  every  creature  as  ourselves ;  this  prin- 
ciple will  lead  to  the  performance  of  the  duties  of  every  pos- 
sible relation  in  life.    This  requisition  of  entire  and  unlimited 
love  was  laid  upon  us  by  the  Creator,  as  it  is  laid  upon  every 
creature  which  he  hath  formed.     No  change  of  circumstances 
could  ever  alter  the  holy  and  perfect  standard  which  divine 
wisdom  has  thus  placed  before  every  created  being.     What- 
ever station  we  should  occupy  in  the  scale  of  being,  it  must 
be  our  indispensable  duty  to  love  God  with  all  our  hearts, 
and  our  neighbour  as  ourselves.     Nor  can  this  obligation  be 
set  aside  without  authorizing  men  to  despoil  themselves  of 
the  image  of  God,  and  to  rob  him  of  the  glory  which  belongs 
to  him."  When  we  have  embraced  in  a  new  heart  the  mercies 
of  the  gospel,  and  are  under  the  law  to  Christ,  the  constraint 
of  this ''obligation  of  universal  love  is  increased  by  all  the 
high  motives  which  the  redemption  of  the  Lord  Jesus  has  set 
before  us.     No  being  in  the  universe,  not  an  angel  in  heaven, 
is.  placed  under  the  law  of  love,  with  such  a  weight  of  obliga- 
tion as  a  sinner  ransomed  by  the  blood  of  Christ.     This  per- 
fect standard  of  obedience  is  set  before  us,  and  our  great  object 
is,  in  a  conformity  to  its  precepts,  through  the  power  of  the 
Holy  Ghost,  to  be  renewed  after  tlie  image  of  God,  from  day 
to  day.     And  though  we  are  forgiven  and  accepted  in  Christ 
Jesus,  the  governing  power  of  the  law  still  controls  us,  by 
presenting  the  only  standard  to  which  we  are  required  to 
become  conformed. 

2.  One  great  object  of  the  redemption  of  the  gospel  was, 
that  we  might  be  governed  by  the  precepts  of  the  law.     The 
Lord  Jesus  had  in  view  the  holiness  and  obedience  of  his 
people  in  all  that  he  did  and  suffered  for  them.     He  did  not 
come  merely  to  rescue  us  from  death,  but  to  deliver  us  froni 
the  bondao-e  of  sin.     This  design  was  given  as  the  reason  of 
the  name  by  which  he  was  called  :  "  He  shall  be  called  Jesus, 
because  he  shall  save  his  people  from  their  sins."    The  great 
object  declared  in  the  hymn  of  Zacharias,  for  which  God  had 
raised  up  a  horn  of  salvation,  and  remembered  his  holy  cove- 
nant, and  the  oath  which  he  sware  unto  Abraham,  was,  that 
we  beino-  delivered  out  of  the  hand  of  our  enemies,  might 
serve  him  without  fear,  in  holiness  and  righteousness  belore 
him  all  the  days  of  our  life.     To  have  merely  delivered  a 
race  of  rebels  from  the  ruin  which  they  deserved,  would  have 
been  but  a  partial  object.     The  great  design  was  to  bring 
back  these  rebels  to  a  state  of  obedience  and  love;  to  take 
away  the  spirit  of  hostility  which  had  governed  them,  and 
thus  to  restore  harmony  and  peace  to  a  disordered  universe; 
to  stop  the  breach  which  the  waters  of  contention  had  made, 
and  to  bring  all  conflicting  feelings  and  purposes  into  one  in 
Christ  Jesus.     This  St.  Paul  declares  was  the  great  object 
for  which  the  Redeemer  gave  himself  for  us,  that  he  mi^ht 
redeem  us  from  all  inquity,  and  purify  unto  himself  a  peculiar 


PAROCHIAL  LECTURES  ON  THE  LAW  AND  THE  GOSPEL. 


19 


people  zealous  of  good  works.     He  has  restored  that  holy  Idominion  over  you,  for  you  are  not  under  the  law,  but  under 
government  of  heaven  which  is  the  source  of  universal  peace  grace.   When  you  were  under  the  law,  sin  did  have  dominion 


and  assurance,  and  died,  and  risen,  and  revived,  that  he  might 
be  Lord  both  of  the  dead  and  the  living.  He  will  not  rule  in 
kindness  over  a  world  which  still  lies  in  wickedness,  but  has 
purchased  for  himself  a  church,  an  assembly  of  pardoned  sin- 
ners, that  he  might  present  it  unto  God,  holy  and  without  spot 
or  blemish.  As  he  sees  this  sanctifying  of  men  progress,  he 
sees  of  the  travail  of  his  soul,  and  is  satisfied  ;  and,  rejoicing 
over  every  ransomed  sinner,  whom  he  brings  in  triumph  to 
the  glories  of  the  blessed,  he  presents  each  one  to  the  Father, 
as  the  full  accomplishments  of  his  great  design  in  pouring  out 
his  soul  as  an  offering  for  sins,  and  consenting  to  be  num- 
bered among  transgressors ;  "  Behold  here  am  I,  and  the 
children  whom  thou  hast  given  to  me."  In  the  view  of  his 
own  image  impressed  upon  every  glorified  saint,  and  par- 
tially upon  every  child  of  God  on  earth,  he  triumphs  in  that 
result  of  his  humiliation  and  death,  which  has  plucked  brands 
out  of  the  fire,  and  brought  rebels  home  from  eternal  condemna- 
tion to  a  lasting  conformity  to  the  law  and  the  image  of  God. 

3.  The  governing  power  of  the  law  is  displayed  in  the  fact, 
that  the  most  important  end  for  which  we  are  delivered  from 
the  condemnation  of  the  law  is,  that  we  may  obey  its  pre- 
cepts. Christ  hath  purchased  us  in  our  state  of  bondage,  by 
the  offering  of  himself,  and  bestowed  freely  upon  us  the 
liberty  of  the  gospel,  so  that  we  are  no  longer  under  the  law, 
as  a  violated  dispensation,  uttering  condemnation  and  wrath, 
but  under  grace.  But  we  have  not  been  made  free  that  we 
may  continue  in  sin.  We  have  been  liberated  that  we  may 
obey  the  holy  commands  of  God,  in  newness  of  spirit  and 
life.  The  law  of  the  spirit  of  life  in  Christ  Jesus  hath  made 
us  free  from  the  law  of  sin  and  death,  or  the  gospel  has  de- 
livered us  from  the  condemnation  of  the  law,  that  what  the  law 
could  not  do,  in  that  it  was  weak  through  the  flesh,  or  through 
man's  inability  to  obey  God,  in  sending  his  own  Son  in 
the  likeness  of  sinful  flesh,  and  for  sin,  might  do,  that  is, 
condemn  sin  in  the  flesh,  for  this  great  and  important  end, 
that  the  righteousness  of  the  law  might  be  fulfilled  in  us, 
who  walk  not  after  the  flesh,  but  after  the  spirit.  While 
under  the  law  as  a  dispensation,  we  can  never  obey  its  holy 
and  separating  precepts;  it  can  offer  us  no  assistance  or 
strength ;  it  can  neither  make  us  acceptable  nor  holy  in  the 
sight  of  God.  It  acts  as  a  hard  taskmaster,  requiring  us  to 
make  brick  while  it  furnishes  us  with  no  straw.  But  when 
■we  have  embraced  the  gospel,  all  the  help  is  afforded  us 
which  we  want ;  and  we  are  then  able  to  offer  that  obedience 
to  the  precepts  of  the  law,  which  in  our  former  condition  we 
were  unable  to  present.  And  the  great  object  for  which  we 
have  been  thus  set  at  liberty  from  condemnation  is,  that  we 
may  be  able  to  obey  the  precepts  of  the  very  law  which  has 
before  held  us  in  bondage  and  sin.  There  is  a  race  to  be  run 
and  a  contest  to  be  maintained.  But  it  is  vain  to  command 
the  culprit  in  his  dungeon,  bound  hand  foot  with  chains, 
either  to  run  or  fight.  Loose  his  fetters  and  open  his  prison- 
doors,  and  then  with  propriety,  and  probably  with  success,  you 
may  require  him  to  contend  and  strive.  Precisely  so  is  it 
with  our  connexion  with  the  bondage  of  the  law,  and  the 
liberty  of  the  gospel.  We  are  dead  to  the  law,  that  we  may  live 
unto  God,  and  its  power  over  us  is  cancelled  and  destroyed 
as  the  measure  of  our  hope,  that  being  united  unto  Christ 
through  whose  sufferings  we  are  freed,  we  might  obey  its 
precepts,  and  bring  forth  fruits  unto  God. 

4.  The  governing  power  of  the  law  is  remarkably  exliibited 
in  the  fact,  that  a  holy  obedience  to  its  precepts  is  one  of  the 
most  important  promises  of  the  gospel.  It  is  announced  re- 
peatedly in  the  Old  Testament,  that  one  great  result  of  the 
publishing  salvation  in  Jesus  Christ,  should  be,  that  God 
would  put  a  new  heart  into  his  people,  and  renew  a  right 
spirit  within  them ;  that  he  would  cleanse  them  from  all  their 
uncleanness  and  sins,  and  put  his  Spirit  within  them,  and 
cause  them  to  walk  in  his  statutes  and  to  keep  his  judgments 
to  do  them.  When  delivered  from  condemnation,  we  accept 
the  unsearchable  riches  of  grace  which  are  laid  up  in  Christ 
Jesus,  this  gracious  promise  is  fulfilled.  The  disposition  to 
sin  is  taken  away  in  proportion  as  we  are  sanctified ;  and  we 
are  set  out  upon  a  new  course  of  obedience  to  the  commands 
of  God.  In  this  aspect  of  the  gospel  system,  the  Christian's 
personal  holiness  of  character  is  exhibited  as  a  privilege  of 
the  gospd,  and  his  obedience  to  the  law  is  infallibly  secured 
by  God's  undertaking  to  work  it  in  him  and  for  him,  by  the 
good  influences  of  the  Holy  Spirit.  The  solemn  covenant 
which  the  Saviour  makes  with  every  sinner  who  receives 
him  in  his  heart,  as  his  hope  of  glory,  is,  sin  shall  not  have 


over  you ;  but  now  that  you  have  embraced  the  refuge  of  the 
gospel,  this  dominion  is  broken,  and  you  shall  be  holy,  for  I 
am  holy.  No  higher  honour  could  be  put  upon  the  requisi- 
tions of  the  law,  than  this  constituting  obedience  to  them  one 
of  the  chief  blessings  of  the  gospel,  in  the  promise  that  when 
the  full  redemption  of  the  people  of  Christ  should  be  accom- 
plished, they  shall  be  all  holy,  and  presented  without  blame 
before  God.  And  nothing  could  more  clearly  show,  that  in 
delivering  our  souls  from  the  bondage  and  curse  of  the  law, 
the  Redeemer  never  intended  to  open  the  door  of  transgress- 
ion, to  lead  us  to  sin  because  grace  abounded,  or  to  set  us 
fairly  loose  without  law  to  God;  but  to  give  us  the  very  obe- 
dience which  the  law  before  demanded  in  vain,  to  increase 
our  obligations  and  motives  to  obey ;  and  with  new  constraint 
to  bring  us,  so  far  as  its  governing  power  was  concerned, 
under  the  law  to  Christ. 

5.  The  governing  power  of  the  law  over  those  who  have 
embraced  the  gospel,  is  displayed  in  the  fact,  that  Jesus  has 
made  obedience  to  it  the  grand  characteristic  of  his  disci- 
ples. By  this  he  certainly  proves,  that  he  never  designed  to 
make  void  the  law,  as  the  believer's  rule  of  conduct.  "  By 
this  shall  all  men  know  that  ye  love  me,  if  ye  keep  my  com- 
mandments." "  Ye  are  my  friends,  if  ye  do  whatsoever  I 
command  you."  "  By  their  fruits  ye  shall  know  them." 
No  professions  of  regard  or  devotion  testify  the  sincerity 
of  our  love  for  Christ ;  no  sufferings,  though  they  amount 
to  martyrdom  for  his  sake,  form  an  accurate  indication  of  the 
state  of  our  hearts  before  him,  if  a  watchful  pursuit  of  holiness 
of  character  and  conduct  be  wanting.  Our  holy  obedience  to 
the  law,  our  supreme  love  to  God,  our  universal  love  to  men, 
actuating  us  in  all  the  relations  of  life,  constitutes  the  only 
possible  evidence  that  we  have  been  rescued  from  the  con- 
demnation of  the  law,  and  made  free  with  spiritual  and  lasting 
liberty.  A  man  who  has  truly  embraced  the  gospel,  cannot  but 
be  an  holy  man;  for  the  grace  of  God  which  has  brought  him 
salvation,  has  visited  his  heart  for  this  very  purpose,  that  he 
might  be  taught  and  enabled  to  deny  ungodliness  and  worldly 
lusts,  and  live  soberly,  righteously  and  godly  in  the  world. 
And  the  alternative  is  perfectly  true,  that  he  who  is  not  thus 
holy,  and  thus  mortifying  the  body  of  sin,  has  never  yielded 
his  heart  to  the  dominion  and  righteousness  of  Christ,  or  been 
delivered  from  the  law,  which  worketh  wrath.  There  is  no 
other  proof  of  the  existence  and  operations  of  the  spirit  of 
God  within  the  heart;  every  thing  is  uncertain  and  un- 
satisfying as  an  evidence  of  grace,  but  the  love  which  fulfils 
the  law.  They  that  are  Christ's  have  crucified  the  flesh 
with  the  affections  and  lusts.  Against  such  there  is  no  law. 
But,  being  bought  with  a  price,  they  are  delivered  from  the 
law  in  all  its  penalties ;  that  in  a  holy  obedience  to  God,  they 
may  be,  as  their  rule  and  evidence,  under  the  law  to  Christ. 

6.  The  governing  power  of  the  law  is  displayed  in  that 
explanation  of  its  precepts  which  the  Saviour  has  recorded. 
The  constraint  of  the  law,  as  a  rule  of  life,  he  came  not  to 
destroy,  but  to  establish  it  in  the  obedience  of  his  followers, 
as  it  was  in  the  obedience  of  the  holy  angels,  more  durably 
than  even  heaven  and  earth  should  stand.  To  this  end  he 
displayed  the  perfectness  and  spirituality  of  its  character ;  he 
showed  that  its  precepts  extended  to  the  desires  and  purposes 
of  the  heart ;  and  while  men  had  supposed  that  the  regula- 
tion of  the  exterior  conduct  was  all  which  could  be  required 
of  them,  he  insisted  upon  the  necessity  of  attention  and 
watchfulness,  to  be  directed  to  the  feelings  and  thoughts.  He 
taught  that  the  conduct  and  character  of  men  were  desirable, 
according  as  they  were  conformed,  in  sincerity  and  holiness, 
to  the  will  of  God,  who  searches  and  knows  the  heart,  and 
that  nothing  which  was  merely  external  or  partial,  could  be 
of  any  avail  while  the  spirit  and  life  of  true  obedience,  in 
the  inward  character  was  deficient.  In  this  explanation  and 
extension  of  the  precepts  of  the  law,  while  he  adopted  it  as 
the  rule  by  which  his  disciples  were  to  be  governed,  he  mag- 
nified it  and  made  it  honourable.  He  testified  to  its  excel- 
lence and  purity,  and  made  it  evident,  that  unto  all  genera- 
tions of  his  people,  it  was  to  be  made  the  great  standard  of 
obedience  and  character.  In  his  answer  to  the  scribe  who 
asked  him  which  was  the  great  commandment  of  the  law,  he 
displayed  the  extent  of  obedience  which  he  required;  and 
while  Jewish  teachers  had  looked  chiefly  to  the  outward  cha- 
racter, he  demanded  the  cordial  submission  of  the  heart,  in  a 
spirit  of  universal  devotion  and  love. 

Tliese  views  show  the  perpetuity  of  the  law,  as  a  rule  of 
conduct,  and  display  the  existence  and  extent  of  its  govern- 


20 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


'ng  power  over  those  wlio  have  embraced  the  gospel.  Per- 
fect holiness  of  character  is  required  of  every  Christian.  To 
this  all-comprehensive  and  important  end,  the  exertions  of 
every  Christian  are  to  be  directed ;  and  although  we  come  in 
finitely  short  of  this,  in  our  present  course,  we  have  no  right 
to  adopt  an  inferior  standard.  Feeble  and  worthless  as  we 
are  in  our  highest  efforts,  and  not,  in  any  degree,  expecting 
acceptance  on  account  of  our  obedience,  no  lower  purpose 
must  be  set  before  us,  than  that  we  may  be  presented  perfect 
in  Christ  Jesus,  and  have  every  thought  of  our  hearts  brought 
into  captivity  to  the  obedience  of  Christ. 

I  have  thus  endeavoured  to  display  the  governing  power  of 
the  law  over  those  who  have  embraced  the  gospel ;  or  the  fact, 
that  though  set  at  liberty  from  the  condemnation  and  penal 
ties  of  the  law  as  a  covenant,  we  are  still  as  our  rule  of  life, 
under  the  law  to  Christ.  The  effect  which  .our  obedience  to 
the  law  has  upon  our  personal  salvation,  will  form  the  subject 
of  my  next  discourse. 

And  now,  let  me  intreat  you,  in  enforcing  the  obligations 
of  the  lavv',  not  to  attempt  to  lower  its  demands  in  any  point 
of  character.  We  have  seen  that  as  a  covenant  it  recedes  not 
from  a  tittle  of  its  requirements.  Its  demands  were  to  be 
perfectly  fulfilled,  and  they  were  perfectly  fulfilled  in  the 
■work  of  the  Lord  Jesus.  As  your  rule  of  life,  its  requisi- 
tions are  of  equal  extent.  It  enjoins  you  to  attain  a  love  for 
God,  with  your  whole  heart  and  strength,  and  to  love  others 
as  yourselves.  You  must  propose  no  lower  standard  than 
this  to  govern  you  in  your  daily  walk  in  life.  Do  not  be  sa- 
tisfied with  the  standard  of  the  world.  Do  not  be  contented 
with  the  performance  of  a  mere  round  of  outward  duties,  or  a 
few  kind  and  charitable  acts.  You  must  die  altogether  unto 
sin,  and  live  with  your  heart  and  spirit  unto  righteousness. 
Make  it  your  object  to  have  the  whole  body  of  sin  within 
you  mortified  and  subdued  ;  to  delight  yourselves  in  the  law 
of  God,  in  the  spirit  of  your  mind,  and  to  perfect  holiness  in 
his  fear.  While  the  law  is  your  rule,  let  Christ  be  your  ex- 
ample. Walk  as  he  walked.  Purify  yourselves,  as  he  is 
pure.  Be  as  he  was  in  the  world.  Let  nothing  satisfy  your 
desires  and  determinations,  short  of  absolute  perfection,  long- 
ing and  labouring  to  be  holy  as  God  is  holy,  and  to  be  perfect 
as  God  is  perfect. 

Be  willing  servants  and  cheerful  subjects  of  the  precepts 
of  the  law.  Consider  the  obedience  which  God  requires  of 
you,  to  be  perfect  freedom,  and  run  the  way  of  his  command 
ments,  with  enlarged  and  thankful  hearts.  Where  this  spirit 
is,  there  is  liberty  and  comfort,  and  the  commands  of  a  holy 
God  appear  in  no  degree  grievous.  Brethren,  I  speak  to 
them  that  know  the  law,  and  approve  of  it  in  the  operations 
of  its  power,  which  have  been  set  before  you.  Let  me  be- 
seech you  to  give  yourselves  up  unreservedly  to  God.  Those 
■who  do  not  enter  into  your  views,  nor  adopt  your  system,  will 
judge  of  you  by  the  evident  holiness  of  your  characters  and 
lives.  Let  them  see  in  you  what  the  real  tendency  of  the 
gospel  is.  On  the  character  of  professing  Christians,  the 
honour  of  God  and  his  gospel  much  depends;  and  I  would 
that  you  should  be  wanting  in  nothing ;  that  you  should  walk 
worthy  of  your  high  vocation  in  every  duty,  and  by  abound- 
ing in  every  virtue,  and  every  praise,  let  it  be  seen  that  you 
have  no  wish  to  sin,  because  grace  abounds,  but  are  cheerfully 
and  perseveringly  under  the  law  to  Christ.  There  is  no  way 
in  which  you  can  put  to  silence  the  ignorance  of  foolish  men, 
and  prove  yourselves  to  be  indeed  the  disciples  of  Christ, 
and  be  made  the  effectual  instruments  of  doing  good  to  others, 
but  by  pressing  onward  unceasingly  to  attain  the  measure 
of  the  stature  of  perfect  men  in  Christ  Jesus. 

And  should  there  be  any  of  my  hearers  who  have  looked 
with  prejudice  upon  this  subject,  and  regarded  the  law  as  se- 
vere, and  the  gospel  as  licentious,  under  the  display  which 
has  now  been  made  of  them,  I  can  only  say  that  I  have  set 
before  them  life  and  death.  I  pray  them  to  allow  the  law  to 
have,  in  its  application  by  the  Spirit,  its  proper  influence  to 
convince  them  of  their  sin  ;  to  show  them  their  dangers  ;  to 
lead  them  to  Christ,  and  then  to  govern  them  in  a  new  and 
holy  life.  The  blessed  and  abiding  influence  which  it  produ- 
ces upon  one  sinner,  it  may  produce  upon  all,  and  if  it  harden 
any  in  their  sins,  it  is  only  because  they  pervert  its  operation 
and  reject  the  counsel  of  God  against  themselves. 


LECTURE  IX. 

THE  EFFECT  OF  OBEDIENCE  TO  THE  LAW  UPON  OUR  SALVATION. 

Blessed  are  tliey  wlio  do  his  commandments,  that  they  may  have  a 
right  to  the  tree  of  life,  and  may  enter  in  through  the  gates  into  the 
city. — Rev.  sxii.  14. 


At  the  conclusion  of  this  series  of  discourses  upon  the 
divine  law,  I  am  brought  to  consider  the  effect  which  our 
obedience  to  the  law  has  upon  our  everlasting  salvation. 
Everlasting  salvation  and  happiness  is  the  great  object  to 
which  the  scriptures  would  lead  our  desires  and  exertions. 
For  the  attainment  of  this,  they  would  persuade  us  to  forget 
the  things  which  are  behind ;  to  count  all  other  things  but 
loss,  and  to  be  willing  to  sacrifice  every  tiling  which  is  seen 
and  temporal. 

This  everlasting  portion  of  blessedness  to  which  our  atten- 
tion is  turned,  the  text  places  before  us,  under  two  separate 
figures,  suggesting  two  distinct  ideas.  It  speaks  of  it  as 
dwelling  in  a  cUy,  presenting  the  idea  of  security ;  and  as  a 
partaking  of  a  tree  of  life,  presenting  the  image  of  perfect  and 
eternal  enjoyment. 

Blessed  are  they  who  may  enter  in  through  the  gates  into 
the  city,  for  they  shall  be  everlastingly  protected  and  made 
secure  ;  and  blessed  are  they  who  have  a  right  to  the  tree  of 
life,  for  they  shall  possess  the  means  of  everlasting  enjoy- 
ment; and  then,  because  these  results  are  so  desirable  and 
glorious,  blessed  are  they  who  do  his  commandments,  for 
these  important  privileges  shall  belong  to  them. 

The  text  thus  presents  us,  as  two  general  subjects  of  re- 
mark, t/ie  end  which  is  to  be  attained,  and  the  way  through 
ii'hich  7ve  are  to  attain  it.- 

I.  The  great  end  and  result  of  a  Christian  life,  is  the  ever- 
lasting security  and  happiness  of  heaven;  to  enter  through 
the  gates  into  the  cit)' ;  and  to  have  a  right  to,  or  power 
over,  the  tree  of  life. 

1.  The  scriptures  frequently  speak  of  the  future  state  of 
blessedness  for  the  saints  as  an  abode,  or  place  of  residence. 
Our  Saviour  calls  it  "  the  Father's  house."  St.  Paul  speaks 
of  it  as  "  a  city  which  hath  foundations ;"  and  St.  John  styles 
it  the  "  new  Jerusalem."  In  the  two  last  chapters  of  the 
Revelation,  the  apostle  dilates  in  a  beautiful  description  of  the 
whole  appearance  of  this  heavenly  city.  He  speaks  of  its 
walls  and  gates  and  inhabitants,  in  expressions  which  are 
calculated  to  fill  the  mind  with  the  most  elevated  and  glorious 
thought.s.  He  describes  the  character  of  those  who  are  ad- 
mitted to  its  enjoyments,  as  pure  and  holy,  without  a  spot. 
This  description  of  a  city  is  undoubtedly  figurative,  so  far  as 
its  minute  particulars  are  concerned.  But  whether  the  whole 
idea  of  a  material  abode  and  residence  for  the  glorified  people 
of  God,  be  a  figurative  representation,  is  more  than  I  am  able 
to  sa)'.  The  idea  which  is  evidently  suggested  to  us  by  the 
figure  before  us,  is  that  of  perfect  security  and  everlast- 
ing defence,  and  the  entrance  through  its  gates  implies  the 
attainment  of  this  security,  in  the  regular  and  appointed 
method. 

The  ransomed  sinner,  who  has  found  this  eternal  shelter, 
was  a  guilty  and  condemned  rebel.  He  fled  from  the  avenger 
of  blood.  The  violated  law  uttered  its  awful  denunciations 
against  him.  Offended  justice  demanded  the  punishment  of 
his  sin.  The  plain  in  which  he  was  pursued  afforded  him  no 
shelter.  His  own  strength  supplied  no  means  of  defence, 
and  wearied  and  desponding,  he  was  ready  to  perish,  when 
the  glad  tidings  of  the  gospel  directed  him  to  the  city  of  re- 
fuge, and  led  him  to  run  thither  and  be  safe.  Through  the 
door,  by  embracing  the  invitations  of  the  Lord  Jesus,  he 
sought  and  gained  a  blessed  and  eternal  abode  in  this  home 
of  peace.  He  was  again  a  pilgrim  follower  of  Jesus,  con- 
flicting with  trials  and  difficulties  ;  encompassed  with  ene- 
mies, pressing  forward  through  multiplied  sorrows,  but  keep- 
ing his  hope  steadfast  to  the  end,  and  purified  in  all  his  trials, 
he  has  found,  at  last,  his  perpetual  home,  in  the  new  Jeru- 
salem, secured  from  every  enemy,  and  delivered  from  every 
trial  forever.  He  has  sought  a  heavenly  country;  a  continu- 
ing city ;  a  kingdom  which  cannot  be  removed  ;  and  now,  by 
grace,  rescued  from  every  difficulty,  and  supported  through 
full  obedience  to  divine  commands,  he  has  an  everlasting  se- 
curity in  the  presence  of  God.  After  the  views  which  we 
have  taken  of  the  sinner's  necessities  under  the  law,  where  he 
is  without  security,  without  protection,  without  comfort  and 
without  hope,  we  are  prepared  to  adopt  the  full  meaning  and 


PAROCHIAL  LECTURES  ON  THE  LAW  AND  THE  GOSPEL. 


21 


expression  of  tlie  test,  blessed  is  he  who  can  enter  through 
the  gates,  into  a  city  of  everlasting  righteousness  and  peace. 

2.  But  this  salvation  is  not  only  an  abode  of  protection  and 
security  :  it  is  the  enjoyment  of  lasting  bliss.  It  is  to  have 
a  right  to,  or  power  over  the  tree  of  life.  In  the  description 
which  St.  John  gives  of  the  city  of  God,  he  speaks  of  a  pure 
river  of  water  of  life,  proceeding  from  the  throne  of  God  and 
the  Lamb  ;  and  on  either  side  of  the  river  was  the  tree  of 
life,  which  bear  twelve  manner  of  fruits,  and  yielded  her  fruit 
every  month  ;  and  the  loaves  of  the  tree  were  for  the  healing 
of  the  nations.  This  description  presents  an  abundant  source 
of  heavenly  enjoyment.  There  is  an  abundance  of  fruit 
yielded  every  month.  There  is  a  variety ;  twelve  manner  or 
kind  of  fruits.  It  is  lasting,  for  it  is  a  tree  of  life  growing 
upon  the  bank  of  a  river  of  the  water  of  life ;  and  even  its 
leaves,  that  part  of  the  tree  which  is  generally  fading  and 
useless,  are  for  the  healing  of  the  nations.  The  glorified 
Christian  is  stated  to  have  power  over  this  tree  of  life.  It 
belongs  to  him,  and  he  partakes  of  its  enjoyments  as  his 
own.  In  this  image,  I  am  not  disposed  to  follow  out  the 
minute  illustrations.  But  the  whole  presents  the  idea  of 
abiding  enjoyment,  and  to  have  a  right  to  the  tree  of  life  is 
to  have  a  proper  ritle  to  everlasting  joys.  The  wants  of  a 
sinner  under  condemnation,  having  no  prospect  but  death, 
and  no  source  of  comfort  or  lasting  peace  in  himself,  having 
lost  by  disobedience  the  right  to  any  tree  of  life,  and  without 
means  to  acquire  it  for  himself,  perishing  in  his  want  and 
wretchedness,  form  the  contrast  to  this  picture.  Amidst  the 
vain  and  empty  and  fading  gratifications  of  the  present  life, 
blessed  is  the  thought,  that  there  is  a  tree  of  rich  and  abun- 
dant life ;  and  while  all  men  are  under  the  condemnation  of 
sin,  and  without  means  of  purchasing  deliverance,  blessed 
indeed  is  he  who  has  received  a  right  to  this  living  tree ; 
who  may  look  to  the  eternal  enjoyments  of  heaven  as  his 
own,  and  rejoice  in  the  prospect  of  their  being  bestowed 
upon  him. 

Under  these  two  figures,  the  text  presents  to  our  consider- 
ation the  security  and  the  enjoyment  of  heaven.  None  will 
hesitate  to  unite  in  its  expression.  Blessed  are  they  who 
shall  be  enabled  to  attain  these  in  the  sure  and  appointed 
way  which  God  has  set  before  us ;  and,  therefore,  none  can 
refuse  their  cordial  assent  to  the  whole  declaration  of  the 
text,  "  Blessed  are  they  who  do  his  commandments  ;  they 
may  have  a  right  to  the  tree  of  life,  and  enter  in  through  the 
gates  into  the  city." 

II.  This  is  the  way  through  which  we  are  to  attain  the  bless- 
inirs  of  eternal  rest.  While  in  its  convincing  and  guiding 
operations  the  law  is  to  be  our  schoolmaster  to  bring  us  unto 
Christ,  that  we  maybe  justified  by  faith;  in  its  governing 
power  over  our  hearts  and  character  by  the  sanctifying  min 
istrations  of  the  Holy  Ghost,  producing  in  us  perfect  holiness 
of  character,  it  is  to  be  our  schoolmaster  also  to  educate  us 
for  the  glory  of  heaven,  and  render  us  meet  to  become  par- 
takers of  the  inheritance  of  the  saints  in  light.  Perfect 
obedience  to  divine  commandments,  universal  holiness  of 
character,  is  indispensably  required  under  the  gospel  to  the 
attainment  of  life  eternal. 

"  His  commandments"  in  the  text  refer  to  all  divine  com 
mands,  particularly  to  those  two  which  our  Saviour  selected 
as  the  fulfilling  of  the  law  :  supreme  love  to  God,  and  uni- 
versal love  to  his  creatures.  It  is  by  obedience  to  these 
commandments  that  the  high  privileges  of  the  text  are  to  be 
obtained ;  and  the  reverse  of  this  is  perfectly  true,  the  man 
who  does  not  obey  them  cannot  attain  the  glories  which  are 
here  presented. 

1.  The  obedience  to  the  precepts  of  the  law  which  the 
gospel  requires  of  every  believer,  is  a  perfect  obedience  ;  and 
it  cannot,  and  does  not,  promise  salvation  to  any  man  but  in 
the  way  of  a  perfect  obedience.  Still  the  idea  of  perfection  in 
obedience  under  the  gospel  is  quite  distinct  from  the  idea  of 
perfection  in  obedience  under  the  law.  This  distinction  I 
will  make  apparent. 

The  law  demanded  an  obedience  for  justification,  perfect 
in  degree ;  so  perfect  in  degree,  that  nothing  was  deficient 
and  nothing  could  be  added.  This  is  the  obedience  which 
angels  render.  The  original  depravity  of  fallen  beings  vi- 
tiated such  an  obedience  in  the  very  outset,  and  the  attempt 
on  their  part  to  attain  it,  would  have  been  to  build  a  house 
upon  a  quicksand,  into  the  fathomless  abyss  of  which  each 
stone  would  sink  as  soon  as  it  was  laid.  This  obedience, 
perfect  in  its  degree,  to  which  nothing  could  be  added,  an 
obedience  which  was  necessary  to  the  sinner's  justification, 
the  great  Substitute  for  sinners  has  rendered  for  them,  and 
has  thus  entirely  fulfilled  the  demands  of  the  law. 


But  having  released  us  from  the  bondage  of  the  law,  he 
demands  of  us,  under  the  gospel,  a  perfect  obedience  also. 
I  say  he  demands  it ;  for  bein^  justified  by  him,  we  are  no 
lonorer  under  the  law,  but  under  grace.  The  law  does  not 
demand,  but  Christ  does.  But  the  perfection  of  obedience 
which  he  requires,  is  a  perfection  of  motive  and  principle, 
and  not  a  perfection  of  degree.  It  is  a  perfection  w-hich  has 
respect  to  all  commandments,  and  aims  at  a  glorifying  of 
Jesus  in  a  full  obedience  of  all,  though  there  may  be  neces- 
sary infirmity  and  deficiency  characterizing  the  actual  obe- 
dience of  each.  It  is  a  sincere  and  cordial  devotion  of  the 
powers  and  faculties  and  affections  of  the  whole  man  to 
the  obedience  of  God's  holy  commandments,  though  all  may 
be  in  themselves  weak  and  imperfect. 

The  obedience  accepted  under  the  gospel  is  a  china  vase, 
which  is  whole,  without  a  break ;  and  is  therefore  said  to  be 
a  perfect  vase,  although  it  may  be  small  in  size  and  incon- 
siderable in  value  and  workmanship.  The  obedience  de- 
manded by  the  law  is  a  vessel  in  itself  of  the  highest 
possible  worth,  and  therefore  perfect,  because  no  power 
could  improve  it  or  enhance  its  value. 

Legal  perfection  is  a  perfection  of  defpree.  There  can  bo 
no  increase  of  it,  because  there  is  no  deficiency.  Evangeli- 
cal perfection  is  a  perfection  oi  particulars,  a  wholeness  and 
unity  of  sj-stem.  It  is  like  the  body  of  a  perfect  child;  of 
which,  though  every  member  is  diminutive,  none  is  wanting. 
So  in  this  obedience,  all  precepts  are  regarded,  and  all 
graces  are  cultivated,  though  each  one  be  infantile  and  weak, 
and  in  itself  of  no  worth. 

Such  an  obedience  the  gospel  requires  of  every  believer ; 
having  regard  to  every  precept,  and  aiming  constantly  at 
supreme  perfection  in  each;  willingly  omitting  no  com- 
mand, passing  over  no  duty,  but  governed  by  a  sinde  pur- 
pose and  desiring  the  glory  of  a  single  being;  following 
every  commandment  with  an  enlarged  heart.  This  is  a 
perfect,  whole,  unbroken  obedience,  though  weak  and 
imperfect  in  the  degree  to  which  it  is  carried  upon  the 
earth.  Such  an  obetiience  which  consitutcs  the  holiness  of 
a  Christian  character,  is  required  in  the  text  as  the  way 
through  which  we  are  to  attain  a  power  over  the  tree 
of  life,  and  a  right  to  enter  through  the  gates  into  the  city. 
The  man  who  attempts  to  climb  up  some  other  way,  and  to 
separate  the  walk  of  holiness  from  the  reward  of  peace,  the 
same  is  a  thief  and  a  robber. 

2.  But  in  what  character  is  this  obedience  demanded  ; 
What  effect  will  it  produce  upon  our  eternal  salvation? 

Our  obedience  to  the  divine  precepts  is  not  required  of  us 
as  the  meritorious  cause  of  our  salvation.  We  are  saved  by 
grace.  No  obedience  could  save  us  but  one  which  should 
perfectly  fulfil  every  demand  of  the  law  ;  and  the  only  merito- 
rious cause  of  our  salvation  is  that  obedience  of  Jesus  which 
has  actually  fulfilled  the  law,  and  which  is  offered  to  us  as  a 
free  donation  of  the  grace  of  God  to  those  who  are  perishing 
under  the  condemnation  of  their  sins.  This  obedience  has 
purchased  a  right  to  the  tree  of  life,  and  a  right  of  entrance 
through  the  gales  into  the  city ;  and  having  done  this,  Je- 
sus has  become  the  author  of  eternal  salvation  to  all  that 
obey  him. 

1.  But  though  our  own  obedience  is  not  the  meritorious 
cause  of  our  salvation,  it  is  the  indispensable  antecedent  and 
preparation  for  its  completion  in  glory  ;  and  is  thus  required 
of  us.  This  renders  us  meet  or  prepared  to  become  par- 
takers of  the  inheritance  of  the  saints,  as  an  adequate  educa- 
tion in  the  business  of  the  worid  renders  us  meet  to  engage 
in  its  duties,  "when,  at  the  proper  age,  we  are  called  to  their 
performance.  The  business  of  heaven  is  unqualified  sub- 
mission to  God  ;  and  for  this,  the  increasing  holiness  of  the 
Christian  on  the  earth  educates  and  prepares  him.  They 
who  have  lived  and  who  die  in  the  Lord,  rest  in  the  hour  of 
death  from  their  earthly  labours  ;  but  their  works  follow 
them,  not  only  as  the  evidence  of  their  character,  but  as  the 
commencement  of  that  life  of  perfect  obedience  to  the  divine 
will  and  cordial  rejoicing  in  the  divine  presence  and  glory,  in 
which  they  are  to  be  occupied  for  ever.  And  he  who  would 
delight  himself  in  the  eternal  contemplation  of  the  majesty 
and^glory  of  God,  must  not  here  be  habituated  to  love  dark- 
ness rather  than  light,  because  his  deeds  are  evil. 

2.  Perfect  obedience  is  required  of  us  under  the  gospel  as  a 
debt  of  gratitude  to  Christ,  and  an  evidence  of  the  reality  of 
Christian  character.  This  real  motive  of  Christian  obedi- 
ence Jesus  offers  us  when  he  says,  if  ye  love  me,  not  if  ye 
would  purchase  life  eternal,  keep  my  commandments.  A  real 
love  for  Christ  will  constrain  us  to  live,  not  to  ourselves, 
but  for  him  who  died  and  rose  again  to  bring  us  unto  God. 


23 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


For  this  end  we  have  been  bought  with  a  price,  that  we  may 
glorify  God  in  our  bodies  and  spirits,  which  are  his ;  and  Je- 
sus lays  it  upon  us  as  the  argument  of  friendship  for  liira, 
that  we  follow  his  commandments  in  a  life  of  holiness,  and 
keep  ourselves  from  the  power  of  the  evil  one.  He  would 
bind  us  here  by  those  cords  of  love  which  shall  hold  us 
throughout  eternity,  and  deal  with  us,  not  as  vassals  and 
servants  whom  he  can  govern  as  be  pleases,  and  who  dare 
not  resist  his  will,  but  as  Ihe  chosen  friends  and  companions 
in  whom  be  shall  delight  liimself  forever,  and  whose  hearts 
he  would  attach  now  to  that  holiness  of  character  in  whicli 
he  desires  them  to  shine,  as  the  brightness  of  the  firmament 
and  the  stars  forever  and  ever. 

3.  This  perfect  obedience  to  divine  commandments  is  re- 
quired as  the  evidence  of  our  title  to  the  blessedness  of  the 
people  of  God.  "  Lord,  Lord,"  may  multitudes  say  at  the 
gates  through  which  the  real  disciple  enters,  "Open  unto  us; 
we  have  prophesied  in  thy  name,  and  eaten  and  drank  in  thy 
presence,  and  thou  hast  taught  in  our  streets."  But  the  reply 
to  all  such  demands  must  be  the  same  :  "  Not  every  one  that 
saith  unto  me.  Lord,  Lord,  shall  enter  into  the  kingdom  of 
heaven,  but  he  that  doeth  the  will  of  my  Father  which  is  in 
heaven."  The  title  to  reward  is  the  perfect  obedience  of  Je- 
sus ;  but  the  evidence  that  this  title  has  been  conferred  upon 
us,  is  in  the  sanctifying  operation  of  tlie  Holy  Spirit,  by 
which  we  are  sealed  to  the  day  of  redemption.  By  no  other 
testimony  can  the  title  be  established ;  and  vain  is  the  asser- 
tion of  a  right  to  the  tree  of  life,  which,  destitute  of  this  evi- 
dence, we  are  utterly  unable  to  prove.  By  faith  we  are  jus- 
tified and  made  the  heirs  of  the  divine  glory  ;  but  no  man  can 
bring  evidence  of  evangelical  faith,  who  is  destitute  of  evan- 
gelical obedience.  An  unholy  Christian  is  a  contradiction 
in  terms;  for  as  animal  life  can  be  in  no  method  indicated, 
but  by  the  motion  and  speech  of  the  living  being,  no  more 
can  the  spiritual  life  of  the  professed  Christian  be  testified, 
without  the  full  result  of  its  power  in  the  outward  holiness  of 
his  character. 

4.  From  this  it  is  further  evident,  that  perfect  obedience  of 
the  divine  precepts  is  nccessarj'  to  bring  an  assurance  of  the 
attainment  of  salvation  to  the  heart.  There  is  no  possible 
method  by  which  a  voluntarily  sinful  man  can  attain  an  assu- 
rance of  rest.  If  he  could  be  supposed  to  do  it,  it  would  be 
obtaining  conviction  of  the  truth  of  that  which,  after  all,  is 
an  absolute  falsehood ;  for  there  is  no  rest  to  the  wicked, 
saith  the  Lord.  If  you  can  suppose  a  renewed  man,  a  child 
of  God,  to  turn  aside  from  following  after  holiness,  and  to  en- 
ter upon  the  paths  of  disobedience,  we  affirm  that  that  man  is 
on  the  broad  road  to  hell ;  all  his  rigliteousness  shall  not  be 
mentioned  in  the  day  of  his  sin ;  but  for  his  iniquity  that  he 
hath  committed,  he  shall  die;  and  unless  he  be  converted  unto 
God,  and  renewed  in  holiness,  in  the  whole  character  of  his 
soul,  he  shall  be  lost  forever;  for  without  holiness,  no  man 
shall  see  the  Lord. 

5.  From  these  demands  for  perfect  obedience,  as  the  in- 
dispensable preparation  for  heaven,  as  a  testimony  of  grati- 
tude to  Christ,  as  an  evidence  of  a  right  and  title  received 
from  him,  and  as  the  only  ground  of  assurance  to  our  own 
hearts,  I  may  lastly  remark  that  it  is  "necessary,  from  the  ab- 
solute command  of  God.  This  is  the  will  of  God,  even 
your  sanctification.  He  requires  you  to  glorify  him  in  those 
good  works  which  he  hath  before  ordained,  that  you  should 
walk  in  them ;  all  that  lie  has  desired,  revealed,  or  enjoined, 
is  for  this  single  end,  that  ho  might  make  unholy  and  re- 
bellious men  once  more  perfect  in  holiness,  after  his  own 
image.  For  this  his  love  has  laboured.  For  this  his  grace 
has  strove.  For  tliis  his  power  has  been  extended ;  and  to 
this  great  end  the  command  of  God,  which  cannot  be  turned 
aside,  is  directed,  that  they  which  believe  be  careful  to  main- 
tain works  of  holiness ;  that  they  may  stand  according  to 
that  trial  which  shall  say  "  Blessed  are  the  pure  in  heart,  for 
they  sliall  see  God." 

In  considering  the  effect  which  our  own  obedience  produces 
upon  our  eternal  salvation,  we  see  the  truth  of  the  assertion 
of  the  text ;  and  more  than  this,  the  great  truth  that  the  gos- 
pel of  Jesus  is  designed,  and  operates  to  produce  universal 
holiness,  and  universal  peace  in  submission  to  God  through- 
out the  universe.  In  this  method,  tlie  great  object  of  Jesus 
to  redeem  the  world  from  sin  and  to  renew  it  in  holiness,  is 
accomplished;  and  they  who  do  his  commandments,  have, 
through  his  grace,  tlie  right  to  dwell  forever  in  the 
city  of  God,  and  to  enjoy  the  benefits  of  the  tree  of  eternal 
life. 

This  interesting  subject  shows  us  who  are  the  real  candi- 
dates for  eternal  bliss.     They  are  those  who  are  growing  in 


holiness  of  personal  character;  who  are  maturing  in  deep 
and  Immble  piety,  and  daily  acquiring  more  of  the  blessed 
and  delightful  spirit  of  the  Redeemer  of  men.  Hereby  we 
know  that  he  dvvelleth  in  us,  by  the  Spirit  which  he  hath 
given  us;  and  no  evidence  can  truly  convince  us,  that  either 
we  or  others  are  preparing  for  everlasting  glory,  but  the  holy 
and  peaceful  fruits  of  that  spirit.  Our  confidence  in  hope, 
though  it  does  not  rest  upon  our  own  obedience,  but  upon 
the  perfect  obedience  of  Christ,  must  rise  or  fall,  in  direct 
proportion  to  the  holiness  and  watchfulness  of  our  own  con- 
duct ;  and  we  shall  certainly  deceive  ourselves,  if,  while  we 
are  not  growing  in  grace,  we  comfort  ourselves  that  we  may 
still  rejoice  in  hope  of  the  glory  of  God.  The  sinful  and  re- 
bellious heart  cannot  escape  the  just  judgment  of  God.  To 
be  willi  God,  and  to  enjoy  his  presence,  we  must  be  brought 
into  a  state  of  subjection  to  his  will,  and  learn  to  follow  in 
the  steps  of  his  holiness.  While  we  are  pressing  forward 
in  the  paths  of  obedience,  though  we  are  altogether  infirm 
and  imperfect  in  our  character,  yet  if  we  are  sincere  and  true 
in  our  purpose,  we  are  preparing  to  enter  through  the  gate 
into  the  city,  and  Jesus,  passing  by  all  our  infirmities  and 
weakness,  while  looking  to  the  perfect  desire  and  motive 
which  has  governed  us,  will  be  prepared  to  say,  "  Come,  ye 
blessed  of  my  Father,  receive  the  kingdom  prepared  for  you 
from  the  foimdation  of  the  world." 

But  if  this  is  the  way  to  blessedness,  and  this  the  fair  and 
reasonable  prospect  of  those  who  are  following  after  holiness, 
see  the  sad  condition  of  all  who  are  cherishing  a  spirit  of  re- 
bellion against  God.  While  the  renewed  and  humble  Chris- 
tian enters  through  the  gates  into  tlie  city,  against  them  the 
door  is  shut,  and  without  the  protection  and  comfort  which 
that  city  gives,  they  are  with  odious  and  abominable  beings, 
with  whatsoever  loveth  and  maketh  a  lie.  God  looks  upon 
them  with  no  compassionate  tenderness.  Like  reprobate 
silver,  rejected  from  the  fining  pot;  like  tares  bound  in  bun- 
dles for  the  fire,  they  are  rejected  forever,  with  no  eye  to 
pity,  and  no  arm  to  save.  The  wages  of  sin  is  death ;  and 
they  who  have  sold  themselves  to  be  the  servants  of  sin  on 
earth,  must  groan  under  the  payment  of  their  hire  through- 
out eternity.  They  have  passed  a  life  of  enmity  to  the  Al- 
mighty God;  they  have  provoked  against  themselves  the 
vengeance  of  the  Most  High  ;  and  rejecting  the  holy  precepts 
of  his  law  as  the  rule  of  their  life,  they  remain  under  the 
fearful  condemnation  of  that  law,  unpardoned  and  chained 
down  with  everlasting  despair.  What  can  tliere  be  in  the 
pleasures  of  transgression  which  shall  compensate  the  sinner 
for  such  a  result  of  his  wasted  lifel  How  strange  that  Satan 
should  be  able  so  to  delude  him  with  the  prospect  of  security, 
when  the  Almicrhly  has  declared  that  iniquity  has  no  lurking 
place  in  wliicii  it  shall  be  concealed  1  that  though  the  sinner 
could  dig  into  hell,  thence  should  his  hand  take  him;  and 
though  he  could  climb  up  to  heaven,  thence  would  he  bring 
him  down ;  and  neither  the  top  of  Carmel,  nor  the  bottom  of 
the  sea  should  afford  protection  to  his  soul  1  The  present 
discourse  has  placed  before  you  the  only  path  of  safety.  The 
return  of  your  hearts  to  God,  in  a  new  and  holy  life,  con- 
formed to  the  precepts  of  his  sacred  law.  Blessed  are  you 
when  convinced  of  your  guilt,  you  turn  with  desire  to  the 
divine  commandments.  Blessed  are  you  w-hile  with  a  spirit 
of  sincerity  and  love  you  walk  in  the  path  of  these  com- 
mandments ;  for  according  to  God's  gracious  promise  you 
shall  have  power  over  the  tree  of  life,  and  enter  through  the 
gates  into  the  city. 


LECTURE  X. 


THE  OBJECT  OF  THE  GOSPEL. 


The  Son  of  man  is  come  to  seek  and  to  save  tliat  ^\llich  was 
lost — LCKE  XIX.  10. 

The  Son  of  man  is  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ.  It  is  an 
appellation  which  he  assumes  to  designate  his  voluntary 
humiliation  for  the  sake  of  man.  In  his  own  eternal  nature 
he  was  the  Son  of  God,  "  the  brightness  of  the  Father's 
glory,  and  the  express  image  of  his  person."  But  being 
originally  "  in  the  form  of  God,  and  equal  with  God,  "  he 
took  upon  himself  "  the  form  of  a  servant,  and  was  made  in 
the  likeness  of  men."  Then  he  became  the  Son  of  man, 
"  was  made  of  a  woman,  made  under  the  law,  to  redeem  tiiera 


PAROCHIAL  LECTURES  ON  THE  LAW  AND  THE  GOSPEL. 


93 


that  were  under  the  law,  that  we  might  receive  the  adoption 
of  sons." 

When  this  wonderful  event  took  place,  he  came.  Id  the 
expression  of  the  text,  from  lieaven  to  earth ;  from  God  to 
men;  from  personal  crlorj'  to  personal  humiliation  and  dis- 
tress ;  from  the  possession  of  inexhaustible  life,  to  lay  down 
himself  as  a  sacrifice  for  the  sins  of  his  creatures. 

This  coming  of  the  Son  of  God,  to  be  made  the  Son  of 
man,  is  the  whole  subject  of  the  gospel.  The  writings  of  the 
New  Testament  tell  glad  tidings,  good  news  to  fallen  and 
ruined  sinners;  and  thus  they  preach  the  gospel,  because 
they  reveal  the  fact  of  this  mission  of  a  mighty  Saviour. 

The  word  srospel  means  crlad  tidings;  and  the  jlad  tidings 
are,  that  there  is  an  all-sufficient  and  glorious  Redeemer,  who, 
in  the  sacrifice  of  himself,  has  removed  the  necessity  of  eter- 
nal death  from  the  whole  race  of  man. 

That  the  Son  of  man  has  come,  is  the  delightful  intelli- 
gence of  the  gospel.  He  has  borne  the  necessities  of  sinners; 
has  made  an  end  to  sin  for  those  who  believe  in  him,  and  has 
brought  in  an  everlasting  righteousness  as  the  free  gift  of  God 
to  those  who  will  receive  it.  And  having  done  this,  the  gospel 
which  he  commands  his  ministers  to  preach,  is  simply  the 
intelligence  of  this  grand  fact.  The  sum  and  substance  of  all 
that  we  announce  to  man,  in  the  name  of  Jesus  Christ,  is, 
that  "  God  hath  made  him  to  be  sin  for  us,  when  he  knew  no 
sin,  that  we  might  be  made  the  righteousness  of  God  in  him ;" 
and  being  reconciled  to  us  through  this  one  offering  for  sin, 
he  calls  upon  us  to  be  reconciled  to  him,  and  not  to  receive 
the  grace  of  God  in  vain. 

Thus  understood,  the  text  proclaims  the  ohjeet  and  purpose 
of  the  f!;ospel ;  the  design  upon  which  the  Son  of  man  came 
into  the  world,  and  for  which  he  consented  to  be  numbered 
with  the  transgressors.  "  The  Son  of  man  is  come  to  seek 
and  to  save  that  which  was  lost.  The  text  thus  fully  intro- 
duces to  your  notice  the  subject  of  the  present  discourse, 
which  is,  the  object  nf  the  i^o-tpcl. 

This  object  is  here  declared  simply  to  be,  "  to  seek  and  to 
save  that  which  was  lost.  The  mission  of  the  Son  of  God  con- 
stitutes the  subject  of  the  gospel ;  and  the  design  of  that  mis- 
sion is  to  save  the  lost. 

In  discussing  the  important  subject  which  is  thus  presented 
to  us,  I  shall  best  display  it  to  j'our  minds  by  following  the 
language  of  the  text;  and. 

First,  State  the  condition  in  which  the  gospel  finds  you ; 
and, 

Secondly,  The  means  which  it  has  provided  for  your  de- 
liverance from  that  condition. 

I.  The  condition  in  which  the  gospel  finds  the  whole  race 
of  men  is  exhibited  in  the  text  by  a  single  word.  They  arc 
"  lost."  And  in  reference  to  them  it  has  but  a  single  object, 
■which  is,  "to  seek  and  to  save"  them. 

It  needs  no  argument  liere  to  prove  that  you  are  not  now 
by  nature,  what  God  designed  you  to  be.  He  formed  man 
upriglit ;  and  now  that  man  has  fallen,  he  would  restore  you 
to  a  more  permanent  uprightness  than  that  in  which  he  was 
formed  at  first.  It  is,  however,  absolutelj-  indispensable  that 
you  should  understand  the  state  to  which  transgression  has 
reduced  you.  Vou  must  see  yourselves  as  you  are  in  fact ; 
for  a  conviction  of  your  wants  and  dangers,  and  an  humble 
sense  of  your  great  alienation  from  God,  lies  at  the  root  of 
all  true  religion ;  is  indispensable  to  your  acceptance  of  the 
gospel. 

1.  The  gospel  finds  you  lost  under  a  burden  of  inconceiva- 
ble guilt.  Every  precept  of  the  divine  law  testifies  against 
you.  There  is  not  a  duty  required  of  you  which  has  not 
been  left  undone.  There  is  not  a  transnression  proliibited,  in 
■which,  by  thought  and  purpose,  if  not  in  word  and  act,  you 
have  not  engaged.  You  were  born  in  sin;  and  from  the 
birth  you  have  gone  astray.  One  transgression  would  have 
exposed  you  to  eternal  ruin;  and  you  have  multiplied  your 
transgressions  as  the  sand  of  the  sea.  Every  hour  of  your 
life,  because  spent  in  rebellion  against  God,  is  a  record  of 
condemnation ;  and  there  is  not  a  single  hour,  which,  if  you 
were  tried  by  it,  would  not  sink  you  into  unutterable  despair. 
Your  guilt  is,  therefore,  inconceivable:  for  until  you  have 
•written  down  every  sinful  purpose  and  feeling  of  your  lives, 
and  marked  the  recompense  of  everlasting  condemnation  as 
its  proper  desert,  and  then  have  added  up  the  sum  of  all  these 
innumerable  purposes,  and  taken  the  amount  of  condemna- 
tion which  will  result  from  your  estimate,  you  have  attained 
no  just  measure  of  your  guilt.  It  is  high  as  heaven;  what 
can  you  knowl  It  is  deep  as  hell;  what  can  j'ou  do'!  It  is 
utterly  beyond  the  power  of  your  minds  to  comprehend  the 
extent  of  actual  guilt  which  lies  upon  every  one  of  your  souls. 


\  ou  are  lost  bene-nth  a  load  which  the  arm  of  omnipotence 
alone  can  heave  off  from  you  ;  and  in  this  condition  the  gospel 
comes  to  seek  and  to  save  you. 

2.  The  gospel  finds  you  lost  in  the  extremity  of  per- 
sonal corruption  and  sinfulness.  The  depravity  of  your  fallen 
nature  is  exceeding  great,  and  it  extends  to  every  power  of 
your  mind,  and  to  everj'  affection  of  your  heart.  It  is  vain 
to  dispute  about  the  words  total  depravity,  which  are  often 
used  to  express  the  state  of  man  by  nature.  I  mean,  by  my 
assertion,  that  there  is  nothing  in  you  by  nature  which  is 
not  sinful,  that  your  hearts  are  full  of  evil.  Your  understand- 
ings are  dark;  your  wills  are  per\-erse;  your  affections  are 
sensual ;  your  conscience  is  partial ;  your  memory  will  not 
retain  heavenly  truths ;  your  bodies  are  under  the  influence 
of  a  depraved  mind;  and  ever\'  member,  instead  of  being  an 
instrument  of  holiness,  is  a  willing  servant  to  sin.  And  from 
the  head  to  the  foot,  you  are  destitute  of  soundness  or  spiritual 
health,  and  filled  with  unholiness  and  pollution.  Through 
your  whole  lives,  and  in  your  whole  character  there  is  iTot 
one  good  thing.  And  if  j'our  everlasting  salvation  were  of- 
fered you  upon  the  single  condition  of  finding  a  thought  or 
desire  \vhich  was  not  sinful,  in  the  whole  compass  of  your 
past  existence,  the  requisition  would  defy  your  power  in 
compliance.  There  is  none  of  you  who  hath  done  good,  no, 
not  one.  That  there  may  be  depravity  beyond  yours,  none 
will  doubt;  but  that  there  is  any  thing  but  depravity  in  you 
by  nature,  the  word  of  God  denies.  Lost  in  this  extreme  of 
sinfulness,  the  object  of  the  gospel  is  to  seek  and  to  save  you. 

3.  The  gospel  finds  you  lost  in  a  state  of  enmity  to  God. 
The  natural  mind  of  every  man  is  enmity  against  God.  In 
some  it  may  break  forth  into  more  open  acts  of  hostility  than 
in  others.  But  it  is  not  less  really  enmity  to  God,  where 
it  is  cloaked  with  a  fair  exterior,  and  shut  up  under  false 
professions  of  indifference  or  friendship.  I  mean  to  say,  that 
there  is  a  direct  hostility  between  the  mind  of  God  and  the 
mind  of  every  unconverted  sinner.  They  pursue  opposite 
and  entirely  inconsistent  ends;  while  one  is  gathering,  the 
other  is  labouring  to  scatter  abroad.  Many  may  not  be  con- 
scious of  distinct  purposes  of  opposition  to  the  will  of  God  ; 
many  may  deny  that  they  have  such.  The  reason  is,  simply, 
either  that  tlu>y  do  not  stop  to  consider  what  the  will  of  God 
is,  or  that  they  have  formed  such  erroneous  views  of  his 
character  that  they  have  made  him  altogether  such  an  one  as 
themselves.  To  a  God  of  perfect  holiness,  a  God  who  can- 
not abide  transgression,  a  God  who  will  by  no  means  clear 
the  guilty,  there  is  not  an  unrenewed  sinner  upon  the  earth 
who  is  not  an  enemy.  Your  whole  course  of  character  and 
conduct,  in  an  unconverted  state,  is  operating  to  thwart  the 
divine  purposes  in  the  redemption  of  the  world,  to  make  in- 
iquity abound,  when  he  would  make  an  end  of  sin,  and  to 
divert  from  Jesus  the  heart  which  he  would  bring  home  to 
his  dominion.  And  thus,  by  these  wicked  works,  you  prove 
yourselves  the  enemies  of  God. 

4.  The  gospel  finds  you  lost  in  a  state  of  utter  inability  to 
return  to  God,  or  to  restore  to  yourselves  the  divine  image 
and  favour.  So  far  are  you  from  being  able  to  recommend 
yourselves  to  God,  that  every  imagination  of  the  thoughts  of 
your  heart  is  only  evil  continually.  God  alone  can  enable 
you  to  will  or  to  do  any  thing  that  is  good.  You  have  not 
a  wish  of  your  own  to  be  reconciled  to  God.  Your  disposi- 
tions and  affections  are  so  entirely  averted  from  him,  and  you 
love  darkness  and  sin  so  much  better  than  you  love  light  and 
holiness,  that  you  have  no  natural  desire  to  be  brought  to  a 
knowledge  of  yourselves  or  to  a  knowledge  of  God.  This 
aversion  of  your  minds  forms  an  utter  incapacity  of  j'ourselves 
to  return  to  God ;  and  were  there  no  other  power  to  operate 
in  the  conversion  of  your  souls  but  the  determining  power 
of  your  own  wills,  Ezekiel  might  as  well  preach  to  the  dry 
bones  as  ■we  preach  the  gospel  unto  you.  Still  more  beyond 
your  power  is  it  to  restore  to  yourselves  the  divine  favour 
and  image  which  have  been  lost  by  sin.  This  is  a  path  which 
no  human  wisdom  hath  ever  trodden,  and  no  mortal  eye  could 
ever  discern.  And  except  as  the  result  of  God's  unsearcha- 
ble riches  of  grace,  all  possibility  of  reconciliation  to  him 
would  cease  for  ever.  So  far  as  it  regards  a  way  to  render 
God  merciful  to  the  sinner's  soul,  or  to  bring  this  soul  back 
to  God,  though  the  united  wisdom  of  all  creatures  should  be 
collected  to  decide  upon  the  method,  the  gospel  finds  you 
utterly  lost,  and  must  seek  and  save  you  as  you  are. 

This  is  the  condition  in  which  the  gospel  finds  j'ou  by 
nature.  You  are  lost  under  a  load  of  intolerable  guilt,  in  the 
extremity  of  sinfulness  and  corruption,  in  tlie  enmity  of  your 
hearts  to  God,  and  in  an  utter  inaljility  to  restore  yourselves 
to  his  favour. 


24 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


I  have  no  disposition  to  overstate  this  matter.  But  unless 
you  do  discern  your  actual  state  hy  nature,  and  become  ac- 
quainted with  your  necessities,  it  is  vain  to  point  your  notice 
to  the  provisions  which  the  gospel  has  made  for  your  rescue 
and  relief. 

We  cannot  better  illustrate  the  natural  condition  of  fallen 
man  than  by  comparing  it  with  the  actual  condition  of  fallen 
angels.  They  contracted  guilt  and  were  unable  to  remove 
it.  They  lost  the  divine  image  in  which  they  were  created, 
and  were  unable  to  restore  it ;  and  having  no  provision  made 
for  them  by  God  himself,  they  are  left  to  endure  the  ])enalty 
of  their  transgression  in  endless,  irremediable  miserj'.  I 
know  not  that  there  is  a  shadow  of  difference  between  us  and 
them  in  this  respect,  except  so  far  as  the  sovereign  grace  of 
God  in  which  they  found  no  interest,  has  interposed  for  ns. 
This,  I  believe,  to  be  the  very  truth  before  God;  and  all  the 
difference  between  us  and  them,  is  the  difference  which  grace 
has  made. 

But  if  this  truth  were  really  felt  among  you,  our  work,  in 
establishing  the  truth  of  the  gospel,  would  have  no  difficul- 
ties to  encounter.  It  is  the  pride  of  your  hearts  which  inter- 
poses the  great  obstacle  to  your  acceptance  of  the  gospel. 
You  are  so  averse  to  see  your  necessities,  so  disposed  to 
contend  for  some  remnant  of  goodness  or  power  in  yourselves, 
which  shall  lessen  your  obligations  to  God,  that  the  provisions 
of  the  Son  of  man  are  shut  out  from  you  and  despised.  But 
could  you  feel  and  acknowledge  yourselves  to  be  wholly  lost, 
and  f(jr  ever  lost,  you  would  be  ready  to  hear  of  a  Saviour 
with  thankfulness,  and  to  embrace  with  anxious  desire  the 
salvation  which  has  been  provided  for  you  in  the  gospel. 
You  would  rejoice  that  "  the  Son  of  man  had  come  to  seek 
and  to  save  that  which  was  lost." 

II.  We  will  proceed  to  consider  the  means  which  the  gospel 
has  provided  for  your  deliverance  from  this  lost  condition. 

The  object  of  the  Saviour  is  a  single  object;  it  is  '*  to  seek 
and  to  save  that  which  is  lost."  Every  other  purpose  which 
the  gospel  accomplishes,  and  every  other  aspect  under  which 
the  Saviour  is  presented,  is  subordinate  to  this.  As  a  teacher 
of  morals,  a  revealer  of  wisdom,  a  guide  in  life,  the  character 
of  the  Lord  Jesus  is  honourable  and  comforting.  But  all 
these  characteristics  and  offices  are  merged  in  that  one  glo- 
rious, indispensable  character;  "a  Saviour  to  the  chief  of  sin- 
ners."    This  is  the  character  which  the  text  presents. 

The  first  object  of  Jesus  was  to  scfA-a  world  that  was  lost; 
a  world  that  had  started  out  as  it  were  from  its  projier  orbit 
of  submission  to  God,  and  had  wandered  off,  unknowing  and 
unknown,  in  regions  of  everlasting  darkness  and  despair. 
Like  the  shepherd,  whose  ninety-and-nine  sheep  had  re- 
mained in  his  protection,  while  one  only  had  gone  astray, 
Jesus  left  the  innumerable  hosts  of  beings  who  still  owned 
his  just  dominion,  and  came  to  look  for  this  one  poor  race  of 
creatures,  that  in  the  wonderful  method  which  he  had  de- 
vised, he  might  save  them  from  destruction,  and  bring  them 
back  to  acknowledge  and  to  delight  in  the  holy  government 
of  their  Creator. 

Having  visited  and  found  this  alienated  world,  his  next 
object  was  to  save  it;  to  put  an  instant  stop  to  the  course  of 
condemnation  and  ruin;  to  arrest  all  proceedings  of  violated 
justice,  and  to  subdue  the  purpose  of  rebellion  which  actuated 
the  heart  of  man.  In  the  accomplishment  of  this  end,  he  has 
rendered  the  forgiveness  of  man  consistent  with  the  character 
of  God,  and  has  provided  means  to  reconcile  the  alienated 
heart  of  man  to  God,  from  whom  it  had  been  averted. 

In  its  pursuit  of  this  grand  object,  the  gospel  has  made 
every  provision  which  the  lost  condition  of  your  souls  de- 
mands. And  it  otVers  to  your  acceptance  a  salvation  in  everj- 
respect  honourable  to  God,  and  adapted  to  your  utmost  wants 
1.  For  the  inconceivable  guilt  which  presses  down  your 
souls  in  death,  the  gospel  has  provided  a  substitute  and  surety 
in  the  person  of  God's  dear  Son.  He  has  given  himself  a 
ransom  for  all.  He  came  as  the  Son  of  man  to  stand  in  the 
sinner's  place.  He  was  born  of  a  pure  virgin,  that  he  might 
be  a  partaker  of  the  nature  of  man,  while  he  should  not  par- 
take of  his  guilt  or  inherit  his  corruption.  Of  all  our  sinless 
infirmities  he  was  made  the  subject;  but  in  regard  to  our 
corruption  of  nature,  he  was  free  from  sin.  He  was  a  victim 
without  spot  and  blemish;  and  having  no  sins  in  himself  to 
demand  atonement,  he  could  make  himself  an  offering  for  the 
sins  of  others.  In  his  sacred  person  were  united  both  God 
and  man  :  and  having  humbled  himself  to  death,  even  the  death 
of  the  cross,  for  us,  trod  "  laid  on  him  the  iniquities  of  us  all." 
I''or  yuu  he  suffered,  for  you  he  bore  the  penahits  of  the 
broken  law,  which,  without  his  merciful  intervention,  you 
would  have  suffered  in  eternity :  and  for  you  he  obeyed  its 


holy  precepts,  to  work  out  a  rinlit-eousncss  which  should  be 
imputed  to  all,  and  put  upon  all  that  believe.  He  voluntarily 
assumed  your  guilt  to  be  laid  upon  himself,  that  he  might 
bear  its  curse.  This  has  been  done.  If,  now,  you  will  thank- 
fully accept  his  righteousness,  to  be  laid  upon  you,  the  work 
of  the  Son  of  man  for  you  will  be  accomplished;  and  your 
inconceivable  load  of  guilt  shall  be  carried  away  to  a  land  of 
utter  forgetfulness. 

In  this  great  offering  of  the  Son  of  man,  he  has  restored 
the  relation  of  peace  between  God  and  your  souls.  He  has 
thus  rendered  God's  purposes  of  love  to  you  perfectly  con- 
sistent with  the  holiness,  justice  and  faithfulness  of  his  own 
character.  He  has  silenced  the  denunciations  of  the  offended 
law;  he  has  satisfied  the  utmost  claims  of  divine  majesty; 
and  has  done  every  thing  which  is  necessary  to  be  done  be- 
yond the  limits  of  your  own  perverted  hearts,  to  save  you 
from  your  lost  and  ruined  state.  Having  thus  opened  a  per- 
fect and  sufficient  way  to  rescue  your  souls  from  the  everlast- 
ing punishment  of  sin,  he  is  now  able  to  apply  to  each  of 
you,  for  the  conversion  and  cleansing  of  your  individual 
hearts,  the  full  atonement  which  he  has  made. 

2.  For  the  exceeding  sinfulness  and  depravity  of  your 
hearts,  the  gospel  provides  the  influence  and  power  of  the 
Holy  Spirit,  the  third  person  of  the  blessed  Trinity,  whose 
grace  is  freely  offered  to  you  to  bring  back  your  affections 
unto  God,  and  to  renew  you  in  holiness  after  the  divine 
image. 

To  save  you  from  your  native  enmity  to  God,  by  the  power 
of  this  Spirit  it  takes  away  your  evil  hearts  of  unbelief, 
gives  you  a  spirit  of  submission  to  the  divine  will,  and 
causes  you  once  more  to  render  unto  God  that  which  is  his 
own. 

To  supply  your  utter  incapability  to  restore  the  divine 
image  to  your  souls,  it  works  within  you  by  the  same  Spirit 
both  to  will  and  to  do.  It  thus  reveals  the  Saviour  to  your 
acceptance,  and  I'ulfils  the  good  pleasure  of  his  grace,  in 
your  final  salvation. 

Tlie  difficulties  which  your  lost  condition  opposes  to  your 
salvation  beyond  your  own  hearts,  the  gospel  provides  for  in 
the  infinitely  sufficient  mediation  of  God  the  Son;  and  the 
difficulties  which  arise  from  this  lost  condition  within  your- 
selves, the  gospel  removes  by  the  power  and  operation  of 
God  the  Holy  Spirit. 

As,  when  you  were  all  without  strength,  Christ  died  for 
the  ungodly,  and  thus  came  to  seek  and  to  save  a  world 
which  was  lost ;  so  while  you  are  individually  dead  in  tres- 
pass and  sins,  the  Holy  Spirit  comes  as  the  great  gift  of  Christ 
to  apply  the  work  which  he  has  finished  to  your  souls,  and 
thus  as  the  great  agent  to  the  Son  of  man,  to  seek  and  to  save 
each  individual  sinner  among  you  from  his  lost  estate. 

This  last  provision  of  the  gospel  for  the  attainment  of  its 
great  object,  is  as  full  and  sufficient  as  the  former,  which  we 
have  already  considered. 

Your  personal  inability  to  save  yourselves  is  an  entire 
inability,  though  it  be  the  result  of  sin,  and  no  imperfection 
in  the  original  constitution  of  man.  So  far  as  relates  to  any 
spiritual  feeling  or  power,  )'ou  are  naturally  utterly  destitute 
of  both,  and  are  dead  in  your  sins. 

In  this  condition,  the  Son  of  man  comes  by  his  Spirit  to 
seek  and  to  save  you.  This  Almighty  Spirit  quickens  you 
by  his  divine  power;  and  it  is  by  this  power  alone,  the 
power  which  raised  Christ  himself  from  the  dead,  that  any 
one  of  your  souls  can  attain  the  least  disposition  to  serve 
and  honour  God.  Having  quickened  or  awakened  your 
souls,  the  Holy  Spirit  discovers  to  you  the  extent  of  your 
wants,  and  humbles  you  under  a  sense  of  them ;  he  then 
stirs  you  up  to  crj'  after  God ;  he  then  reveals  the  Saviour 
to  your  view,  enables  you  to  exercise  faith  in  him,  and  to 
receive  him  in  the  gTacious  offices  which  he  sustains  for  you. 
Having  done  this,  he  fills  you  with  a  principle  of  love  to 
Christ,  and  constrains  you  to  devote  yourselves  to  him. 

From  this,  he  gives  you  ability  progressively  to  mortify 
the  indwelling  power  of  sin,  to  honour  the  Saviour  who  hath 
called  you  by  a  holy  conversation ;  and  from  day  to  day  he 
transforms  you  more  entirely  after  the  image  of  Christ,  and 
renders  you  meet  to  become  partakers  of  the  inheritance  of 
the  saints  in  light.  He  is  tlius  sent  as  the  great  instrument 
of  God,  to  apply  individually  to  your  souls  the  perfect  and 
all-sufficient  redemption  which  the  Son  of  man  has  wrought 
out  for  you :  and  under  the  gracious  provisions  of  the  gos- 
pel, you  have  access  through  Jesus  Christ  by  one  Spirit  unto 
the  Father. 

In  the  means  of  deliverance  which  are  thus  provided  for 
your  free  acceptance,  the  gospel  accomplishes  its  one  great 


PAROCHIAL  LECTURES  ON  THE  LAW  AND  THE  GOSPEL. 


25 


object;  "to  seek  and  to  save  that  which  is  lost."  These 
means  are  perfectly  sufficient  for  the  end  desig'ned  ;  they 
supply  every  possible  want ;  they  meet  every  possible  de- 
ficiency ;  they  come  up  boldly  to  face  all  opposition  :  and 
the  sinner  who  is  wLllintr  to  embrace  them,  finds  them 
ministering  to  his  soul  a  full  and  final  salvation. 

Let  it  be  remembered  that  the  single  object  of  the  gospel 
in  reference  to  yourselves,  is  your  everlasting  salvation  from 
a  condition  of  utter  ruin  and  death.  Every  other  purpose 
which  it  attains  in  accomplishing  this  is  partial  and  unpro- 
fitable, if  this  be  not  attained.  It'  in  this  life  only,  you  have 
hope  in  Christ,  you  are  of  all  men  most  miserable.  To 
attain  tliis  great  object  of  your  salvation  from  niin,  it  provides 
a  perfect  atonement  and  righteousness  in  the  Lord  Jesus  to 
reconcile  God  to  you,  and  the  all-powerful  sanctifying  in- 
fluences of  the  divine  Spirit  to  reconcile  you  to  God.  It 
declares  to  you,  that  God  has  accepted  the  mediation  of  the 
Son  of  man,  and  is  reconciled  to  you  ;  and  it  asks  if  you  will 
accept  it  also,  by  the  power  which  is  given  you  from  on 
high,  and  be  reconciled  to  him  %  Whenever  you  are  indi- 
vidually ready  to  do  this,  the  great  object  of  the  gospel  has 
been  attained,  and  the  Son  of  man  has  sought  and  saved  that 
which  was  lost. 

III.  In  concluding  my  remarks  upon  this  important  sub- 
ject, I  must  ask  you  to  examine  with  the  utmost  fidelity,  how 
far  this  object  has  been  attained  among  you. 

"  The  Son  of  man  has  come  to  seek  and  to  save,"  this 
whole  congregation  of  sinners,  pressing  forward  to  the  judg- 
ment seat  of  God.  Had  the  gospel  produced  its  proper  effect, 
there  would  not  be  in  this  assembly  one  transgressor  still 
alienated  from  God  through  the  blindness  of  his  mind.  But 
alas,  how  far  are  we  from  this  result !  what  mean  the  num- 
ber of  slaves  to  the  world,  of  captives  to  Satan,  to  whom  the 
solemn  voice  of  the  Almighty  God  this  night  comes  in  the 
warnings  of  his  word  ?  W  hat  mean  the  giddy  children  of 
folly  and  mirth,  for  whom  hell  has  opened  her  mouth,  and 
still  enlarges  herself  without  measure  1  Whence  the  swarm 
of  infidel  hearts  that  yet  lift  up  themselves  in  rebellion 
against  the  Creator  of  heaven  and  earth  1  O,  how  very 
partially  has  the  great  object  of  the  gospel  been  attained 
among  you  !  Could  I  go  from  soiil  to  soul  before  me,  and 
see  the  mark  of  God's  infallible  determination  of  character 
rise  upon  your  foreheads  as  I  ajiproached  each  ;  upon  what 
numbers  should  I  read  that  solemn  word,  lost,  lost  !  in 
many  cases,  perhaps,  beyond  the  reach  of  recovery !  and 
what  would  be  the  probable  result — but,  that  the  greater 
portion  of  this  assembly  of  immortal  beings  would  be  pro- 
claimed to  be  still  under  the  wrath  of  God  and  without  hope 
in  the  world  f  This  fact  is  awful ;  is  it  a  facti  Am  I  now 
addressing  hundrinls  who  are  denying  the  Lord  that  bought 
them,  and  bringing  upon  their  souls  a  swift  destruction  1 
And  are  you  careless  and  unconcerned  under  such  views  of 
your  character  and  condition  ^  Do  you  feed  nothing  ?  Have 
you  no  desire  to  be  brought  back  to  the  fold  of  Jesus  1 
Have  you  no  wish  to  be  saved  in  the  day  of  his  jxAver  1 
Will  you  choose  as  your  portion,  the  darkness  and  despair 
in  which  unpardoned  sin  will  inevitably  involve  youl  I  do 
ask  you  honestly  and  affectionately,  will  you  determine  to 
drive  the  Son  of  God  from  your  souls,  and  lie  down  upon  the 
tinbeliever's  everlasting  bed  ? 

I  would  speak  to  you,  as  a  poor  sinful  creature,  with  humil- 
ity and  tenderness  ;  but  I  Vould  speak  to  you  also,  as  the 
minister  of  God  to  you  for  good,  with  authority  and  much 
assurance;  I  warn  the  multitude  of  dying  and  yet  uncon- 
verted sinners  to  whom  I  speak,  that  they  cannot  escape  the 
just  judgment  of  God;  I  call  upon  you  in  the  name  of  the 
glorious  Redeemer,  who  desires  not  your  death,  to  awake 
from  the  ruinous  delusion  which  you  are  playing  upon  your 
own  hearts.  Lay  up  no  more  sorrow  for  the  last  days.  I5e 
no  longer  infatuated  with  the  false  promises  of  the  destroyer. 
The  Son  of  man  has  sought  you,  O  shall  he  not  be  allowed 
to  save  you  and  bless  you  with  peace  \  Every  thing  is  wait- 
ing the  result  of  your  own  determination;  heaven  and  hell 
are  suspended  upon  a  moment's  choice :  and  this  night  you 
either  go  back  with  the  shepherd  to  the  fold,  or  you  bind 
yourself  the  more  irrevocably  to  the  power  of  Satan. 

Poor  deluded  sinner,  lost .'  O,  how  much  is  meant  by 
that  one  word  lost.  The  man  has  wandered  from  his  home, 
the  shadows  of  the  evening  are  stretched  out,  the  coming 
darkness  hurries  on  despair.  Alone  in  a  wilderness,  wearied 
with  the  day's  anxiety  and  fatigue,  with  no  track  to  lead  him 
to  his  home,  no  prospect  of  repose  but  on  the  bosom  of  the 
desert,  no  shelter  for  the  night  but  the  chill  atmosphere  of 
his  solitude,  with  what  feverish  delirium  he  throws  himself 
Vol.  II.— D 


upon  the  earth.  Home,  children,  friends,  comforts  and  joys, 
all  crowd  into  his  bewildered  mind.  But  these  are  gone. 
He  shall  see  them  no  more.  He  is  lost,  and  many  a  heart  is 
swelling  with  anguish  at  the  fear  he  will  return  no  more  for- 
ever. No  sound  arrests  his  ear  but  the  desert's  blast,  or  the 
wild  beast's  roar ;  and  hope,  and  peace,  and  reason  too,  have 
taken  their  flight  from  his  disordered  mind. 

But  would  you  complete  this  picture  of  woe  1  See,  a 
messenger  of  kindness  comes  to  this  lost  man  to  tell  him 
of  a  path  to  his  home,  and  to  lead  him  back  to  its  secure 
repose.  He  wakes  him  from  his  dream,  intreats  him  to 
arise  and  go  with  him,  assures  him  that  he  will  lead  him  in 
safety  to  his  own  abode,  and  with  a  thousand  words  of  sym- 
pathy and  love  intercedes  with  him  for  his  own  deliverance. 
But  reason  and  feeling  and  recollection  have  gone,  and 
though  he  is  lost,  he  refuses  to  hearken  to  his  guide.  He 
will  listen  for  a  moment  to  his  kind  offer  and  then  lie 
down  in  the  madness  of  despair,  finally  to  perish,  and  turn 
a  deaf  ear  to  every  intrcaty  and  remonstrance.  You  pity 
the  image  which  fancy  has  created,  but  you  are  lost,  and 
will  not  pity  the  actual  miseries  of  your  own  ruined,  deserted 
souls,  nor  allow  the  Son  of  man,  this  messenger  of  mercy,  to 
bring  you  back  to  his  Father's  house  in  peace. 


LECTURE  XI. 

THE    GOSPEL    WAY   OF  SALVATION. 

By  grace  are  ve  saved  thi-ough  faith,  and  tliat  not  of  yourselves : 
it  is  the  gift  of  God. — Efhesiaxs  h.  8. 

The  great  object  of  the  gospel  is  the  eternal  salvation  of 
man.  To  accomplish  this  object  has  been  the  desio-n  of  the 
Son  of  God  in  all  that  he  has  done  and  suffered  and  taught. 
The  accomplishment  of  this  purpose  is  all  that  man  requires. 
Let  the  sinner  be  saved,  and  he  may  he  happy  in  the  prospect 
of  it,  though  he  be  poor  and  deeply  aftiieted  with  the  trials  of 
this  world.  Let  him  live  and  die  without  the  prospect  of 
this  salvation,  and  all  the  wealth  and  indulgence  of  the 
world  cannot  purchase  for  him  the  comfort  which  he  wants. 

The  few  years  of  his  existence  here  are  but  of  small  im- 
portance. Whether  they  pass  away  in  sorrow  or  in  joy, 
they  will  soon  pass,  and  their  pains  and  pleasures  will  be 
alike  forgotten. 

So  far  as  this  life  is  concerned,  it  would  he  reasonable  in 
you  to  dismiss  anxiety  and  care.  But  you  have  to  die  ;  and 
after  death,  the  judgment ;  and  after  the  judgment,  eternity. 
These  claim  your  notice  and  consideration.  Seventy  years 
of  life  you  may  be  allowed  to  despise ;  but  the  countless 
ages  of  your  future  existence  you  cannot  despise.  For  them 
the  great  question  is  to  be  settled,  and  to  be  settled  here. 
Shall  you  be  saved  or  lost  1 

The  object  of  the  gospel  of  Jesus  is  to  settle  this  all- 
important  question.  It  is  to  save  you  with  an  everlasting 
salvation.  But  how  you  shall  be  saved,  how  j-ou  shall  es- 
cape the  just  judgment  of  God,  and  come  before  his  spotless 
throne  in  peace,  forms  another  question,  which  the  gospel 
alone  can  determine. 

To  answer  this  momentous  question  is  my  purpose  at  this 
time,  while  I  bring  before  you,  as  the  subject  of  the  present 
discourse,  the  gospel  way  nf  suhaliim. 

You  find  yourselves  by  nature  in  a  state  of  utter  ruin  and 
condemnation.  You  have  no  peace  with  God,  and  no  com- 
fort or  hope  in  yourselves.  Eternity  is  filled  with  the  black- 
ness of  darkness  forever ;  and  yon  see  that  you  shall  have 
no  hope  when  God  takes  away  your  soul.  God  in  hia 
righteous  indignation  against  you  is  a  consuming  fire,  and 
you  feel  that  it  is  a  fearful  thing  to  fall  into  the  hands  of  the 
living  God.  But  how  you  shall  escape  his  anger,  and  be 
made  secure  from  the  proper  consequences  of  your  own  sins, 
is  a  matter  utterly  beyond  your  power  to  determine.  It  is  a 
matter  which  would  have  remained  a  mystery  hidden  in  God 
forever,  had  it  not  pleased  him,  in  the  riches  of  his  grace,  to 
reveal  it  to  you  in  the  gospel  of  his  Son. 

To  the  decision  of  this  matter,  the  present  text  comes  with 
the  wisdom  of  God,  and  it  answers  as  from  the  very  throne 
of  the  Most  High  to  every  question  and  every  doubt,  "  By 
grace  are  ye  saved,  through  faith,  and  that  not  of  yourselves  ; 
it  is  the  gift  of  God." 


26 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


In  considering  this  Bubject,  the  text  presents  three  natural 
divisions  in  the  three  assertions  which  it  malies  : 

I.  "  By  grace  are  je  saved,"  as  the  cause  and  instrument. 

II.  "  Throuorh  faith,"  as  the  method. 

III.  And  "Tlie  gilt  of  God,"  as  t\ie  origin. 
I.  "  By  grace  ye  are  saved." 

When  our  thoughts  and  desires  are  first  turned  to  tlie 
glorious  blessings  of  the  gospel,  and  we  ask  with  the  jailor 
at  Phillipi,  "  What  shall  we  do  to  be  saved  V  probably  in 
all  instances  the  first  idea  which  occurs  to  the  mind  is,  that 
we  must  do  something,  in  order  that  we  may  in  some  way 
merit  and  earn  the  salvation  which  we  want.  The  perform- 
ance of  some  particular  duty,  the  hearing  of  some  particular 
preacher,  the  reading  of  some  designated  book,  the  new 
obedience  of  our  life,  or  even  our  own  grief  and  sorrow  for 
ein,  are  suggested  to  our  minds  as  a  price  which  we  must 
pay  for  the  blessing  which  we  want ;  and  it  is  sometimes 
long  before  we  are  willing  to  trust  ourselves  to  the  free  and 
sovereign  grace  of  God,  to  be  saved  in  the  way  which 
shall  seem  best  in  his  sight.  The  salvation  of  the  gospel  is 
altogether  a  salvation  by  grace.  The  term  grace  is  used 
generally  to  convey  two  distinct  meanings  ;  the  one  of  which 
is  a  consequent  upon  the  other.  It  means  the  original  un- 
merited favour  or  mercy  of  God,  from  which  our  salvation 
has  flowed  as  the  cause,  and  the  influence  of  the  Holy 
Spirit,  by  which  that  salvation  is  applied  to  us,  as  the 
ittstrument. 

When  we  say  "  ye  are  saved  by  grace,"  we  mean  to  as- 
sert that  your  salvation  flows  exclusively  from  the  unmerited 
mercy  of  God,  which  has  provided  and  offered  a  Saviour, 
and  that  it  is  applied  to  you  exclusively  by  the  new  creating 
power  of  the  Holy  Ghost,  who  takes  of  the  things  of  Christ, 
and  shows  them  unto  you  and  enables  you  to  believe  in  your 
hearts  on  him. 

The  first  aspect  of  the  text  declares  ye  are  saved  by  grace, 
to  the  exclusion  of  all  human  merit,  in  the  purchase  of  your 
sal\'ation.  The  second,  ye  are  saved  by  grace,  to  the  exclu- 
sion of  all  human  power,  in  applying  this  salvation  unto  you, 
and  in  converting  )'ou  unto  God. 

Let  these  two  be  distinctly  considered  : 

1.  The  gospel  teaches  us,  that  we  are  saved  by  the  free 
grace  and  unmerited  mercy  of  God,  to  the  exclusion  of  every 
thought  of  human  works  or  deservings.  The  idea  of  merit 
in  a  fallen  and  imperfect  being  is  entirely  absurd.  Con- 
sider the  situation  of  our  first  parents  after  their  disobe- 
dience, and  what  could  they  do  to  recommend  themselves  to 
the  favour  of  the  God  against  whom  they  had  offended  ?  I 
will  not  ask  what  they  could  do  to  merit  the  gift  of  God's 
dear  Son  and  the  influences  of  the  Holy  Spirit  upon  their 
souls,  for  it  is  obvious  that  no  thought  of  the  possibility  of 
such  a  method  of  restoration  could,  by  anj'  means,  enter  into 
their  minds.  But  what  single  personal  act  or  service 
could  they  render  to  God  for  which  he  should  be  induced  to 
pardon  their  disobedience  and  restore  them  to  his  favour? 
What  can  the  fallen  angels  now  do  to  restore  the  image  and 
favour  of  God  to  themselves  t  and  they  are  as  capable  of 
earning  their  salvation  as  is  any  unconverted  sinner  upon 
the  earth. 

But  it  may  still  be  said,  that  since  God  has  mercifully 
bestowed  a  Saviour  upon  us,  we  should  do  something  to  de- 
serve his  favour,  or  to  repay  him  for  his  kindness.  I  would 
ask,  then,  what  can  we  do?  "  Without  him  we  can  do  no- 
thing." And  if  the  communication  of  his  grace  must  pre- 
cede every  good  act  in  us,  it  will  be  self-evident  that  we  can 
do  nothing  to  deserve  it;  and  must  be  dependant  upon  God's 
sovereign  pleasure  for  the  ability  both  to  will  and  to  do. 

The  truth  is,  as  the  first  gift  of  a  dying  Saviour  sprung 
from  God's  unmerited  love,  so  must  our  salvation  by  him  in 
all  its  parts.  We  have  nothing  to  offer  him.  All  our  suffi- 
ciency is  of  God  ;  and  render  him  what  we  will,  we  only 
render  him  that  which  is  his  own. 

The  gospel  opens  to  us,  therefore,  a  way  of  salvation  per- 
fectly free.  It  has  provided  every  thing  which  our  souls  can 
want ;  and  having  made  such  abundant  provisions,  it  asks 
us  to  receive  them  without  money  and  without  price.  Its 
salvation  is  clogged  with  no  conditions.  Accept  it  as  the 
gift  of  God  to  those  who  are  perishing,  and  it  is  j'our  own 
for  ever.  The  depth  of  your  sinfulness  forms  no  diSiculty. 
Salvation  is  as  freely  offered  to  the  pirate  in  his  dungeon,  as 
to  him  who  is,  in  morality  of  conduct,  not  far  from  the  king- 
dom of  God.  Whosoever  will,  may  take  a  blessing,  to 
which  man  can  add  nothing,  and  for  which  man  give  no- 
thing. Whatever  you  have  been,  whatever  you  have  done, 
the  gospel  does  not  ask  a  question  about  it.     It  addresses 


you  all  as  the  chief  of  sinners,  and  presents  the  full  glories 
of  its  salvation  as  honestly  to  one  as  to  another,  asking  no- 
thing but  your  thankful  acceptance  of  the  gift  which  it  offers. 

•2.  But  hov.'  shall  you  accept  this  gift,  and  apply  this  free 
salvation  to  your  own  souls  ?  The  text  answers  you  under  the 
second  aspect,  "  Ye  are  saved  by  grace."  The  Holy  Ghost 
must  come  upon  you,  and  the  power  of  the  Highest  oversha- 
dow you,  before,  in  the  acceptance  of  this  salvation,  you  can 
be  created  anew  after  the  divine  image,  and  be  made  the  sons 
of  God.  A  real  conviction  of  j'our  sinfulness  and  danger  is 
the  result  of  his  power.  He  gives  a  true  repentance  for  sin ; 
he  leads  your  hearts  to  the  Prmce  and  Saviour  who  has  been 
exalted  to  give  re]ientance  and  forgiveness  of  sins.  He  be- 
stows upon  you  that  new  heart  and  new  nature  which  is  pro- 
mised in  the  covcEiant  that  God  hath  made  with  his  people 
under  the  gospel.  His  power  is  all-sufficient,  and  it  is  alone 
sufficient  to  create  in  you  the  gracious  dispositions  and 
character  which  God  is  ready  to  accept. 

When  you  are  dead  in  your  sins,  he  awakens  you  to  life. 
While  you  arc  infirm  and  feeble,  he  sustains  and  strengthens 
you.  He  leads  you  to  the  fountain  of  living  waters,  and 
clothes  you  with  a  new  and  divine  life ;  and  from  the  first 
hour  of  your  spiritual  existence  to  the  hour  of  eternal  tri- 
umph by  the  grace  of  God,  you  are  what  you  are. 

The  gospel  requires  no  human  power  in  the  work  of  your 
salvation.  It  depends  not,  in  any  degree,  upon  your  own 
wisdom  or  strength,  or  determination.  It  demands  nothing 
of  you  which  it  does  not  promise  to  work  within  you,  so 
that  from  the  divine  fulness  you  may  receive  grace  upon 
grace.  When  it  commands  you  to  repent  or  believe,  or  be 
obedient  to  God,  it  has  before  offered  to  your  acceptance 
the  verj'  gracious  qualities  which  it  requires  you  to  exercise; 
and  there  is  not  a  single  quality  which  it  calls  for  that  can 
flow  from  any  oilier  source  than  its  own  sufficiency. 

This  view  of  the  gospel  way  of  salvation  is  most  im- 
portant, and  cannot  be  too  deeply  impressed  upon  your 
minds.  The  Sa\'iour  asks  from  you  nothing  but  what  he 
first  offers  to  give  you.  There  is  not  a  grace  in  the  re- 
newed heart  which  has  proceeded  from  any  other  power. 
The  same  spirit  upholds  and  sanctifies  the  steadfast  be- 
liever, which  consoled  and  transformed  at  first  the  penitent 
transgressor.  The  gospel  will  set  none  of  you  up  upon  an 
independent  stock  of  grace.  Your  manna  must  fall  every 
morning,  and  be  gathered  before  the  sun  is  hot.  Your 
barrel  and  your  cruse  shall  never  fail,  but  they  shall  never  be 
filled.  As  )-our  day  is,  and  only  so,  shall  be  your  strength; 
and  you  might  as  well  close  the  shutters  of  your  house  to 
keep  the  light  of  the  sun  which  you  have  received,  as  think 
of  retaining  grace  and  strength  when  cut  off  from  immediate 
and  uninterrupted  communication  with  the  great  source  of 
both.  You  will  live  only  while  Christ  lives  in  you;  and 
from  the  first  to  the  last,  the  work  of  your  sanctification  is 
all  divine,  and  the  glory  belongs  entirely  to  God. 

The  gospel  way  of  salvation  is  in  these  two  aspects  a 
salvation  by  grace,  to  the  exclusion  of  human  merit  and  hu- 
man power.  Tlie  provisions  which  it  had  made  it  asks  you 
to  accept,  and  then  promises  and  gives  you  the  power  to 
receive  them.  The  full  foundation  for  your  hope  was  laid 
when  the  Prince  of  Life  offered  himself  upon  the  cross  as  a 
sacrifice  for  your  sins.  You  will  be  able  to  build  securely 
upon  this  foundation  when  the  Spirit  of  God  shall  be  al- 
lowed to  lead  you  back  from  your  love  and  pursuit  of  sin, 
to  acknowledge  and  receive  him  as  your  righteousness 
and  peace. 

The  text  yet  more  definitely  points  you  to  this  way  of 
salvation,  when  it  goes  on  to  state  the  method  in  which  you 
maj-  be  interested  in  it. 

II.  "  Ye  are  saved  by  grace  through  faith." 

Every  gracious  provision  of  the  gospel  is  made  independ- 
ent of  ourselves  ;  and  the  work  of  our  salvation  is  accom- 
plished when  we  are  finally  interested  in  those  abundant 
provisions  for  our  wants  which  God  offers  us  in  the  gospel ; 
When  we  are  united  to  Christ,  we  are  partakers  of  his  abun- 
dant mercy  ;  our  sins  are  pardoned  through  his  atonement ; 
our  souls  are  justified  through  his  obedience  ;  and  because 
he  lives,  we  shall  live  also.  "While  all  these  provisions  are 
beyond  ourselves,  it  is  by  faith  alone  that  we  can  be  inter- 
ested in  them.  The  foundation  is  laid ;  it  is  perfect ;  it  is 
all-sufficient.  Whether  we  believe  or  not,  it  remains  the 
same.  God  cannot  deny  himself.  Would  you  then  be 
made  partakers  of  that  grace  whereby  you  may  be  saved, 
you  must  believe  God's  record  respecting  his  dear  Son  ;  and 
then  look  to  him  for  the  communication  of  his  purchased 
benefits  to  yourselves.     You  must  rest  yourselves  with  con- 


PAROCHIAL  LECTUUES  ON  THE  LAW  AND  THE  GOSPEL. 


27 


fidence  upon  that  unmerited  love  of  God  which  has  offered 
you  solvation,  and  that  all-powerful  influcnre  of  his  Spirit 
whieh  may  apply  this  salvation  unto  you.  There  is  no  other 
conceivable  method  in  which  you  may  obtain  an  interest  in 
the  mercies  which  God  has  treasured  up  in  Jesus  Christ ; 
and  if  you  look  through  the  scriptures,  you  will  find  that 
your  simple  faith  in  the  power  and  promises  of  Christ  is  the 
only  instrument  ever  spoken  of  there,  as  the  one  which  shall 
secure- to  you  the  work  which  he  has  finished.  If  I  have 
treasured  up  in  my  house  abundant  provisions  for  the  desti- 
tute, which  I  offer  freely  to  their  use  if  they  will  receive 
them,  how  can  they  obtain  the  blessing  but  by  believing  that 
it  is  there,  and  will  indeed  lie  bestowed,  and  then  asking  in 
this  spirit  of  faith  for  the  bestowal  ?  God's  treasures  are  laid 
up  for  you.  They  are  not  now  to  be  made,  or  to  be  increased 
in  any  de^ee  bv  all  that  you  can  do.  Believe  that  they  are 
there,  believe  that  they  are  all-sufficient,  believe  that  they 
will  indeed  be  bestowed,  and  then  ask  them  with  the  desire 
of  faith,  and  you  shall  not  be  sent  empty  away. 

It  is  true  you  are  required  to  repent,  and  to  obey  the  com- 
mandments of  God,  in  a  new  life  of  holiness  ;  but  these  are 
the  results  of  a  true  faith.  You  can  have  no  repentance  unto 
salvation  without  believing  in  him  whom  you  have  pierced, 
that  he  may  give  it  to  you.  You  cannot  obey  a  single  com- 
mand but  by  his  power  dwelling  within  you  ;  and  these  gra- 
cious dispositions  and  habits,  instead  of  purchasing  salvation 
for  you,  are  themselves  a  part,  and  a  most  important  part,  of 
that  very  salvation  which  is  offered  to  you  in  the  Lord  Jesus 
Christ  as  the  purchase  of  his  cross. 

Do  you  ask  for  a  godly  sorrow  for  sin  1  for  a  total  subjec- 
tion of  your  unholy  affections'  for  the  dominion  of  holiness 
and  love  within  your  hearts  !  May  not  Jesus  reply  to  every 
request,  "  Believest  thou  that  I  am  able  to  do  this  1"  And 
will  not  his  bestowal  of  them,  and  of  every  thing  accompa- 
nying salvation,  depend  upon  the  answer  which  your  con- 
sciences would  be  obliged  to  render  to  a  question  like  this? 
Only  believe,  we  may  still  say  to  you,  and  these  and  all 
other  mercies  shall  be  bestowe<l.  The  treasury  of  God's 
love,  in  which  attribute  the  scripture  says  he  is  "ricA."  is 
freely  open  to  you.  Every  thing  which  you  want  is  there; 
and  a  coming  thither  with  faith  will  show  you  such  provi- 
sions of  grace  as  pass  man's  understanding.  You  can  pur- 
chase nothing,  )'ou  can  render  nothing,  you  can  offer  nothing, 
When  you  are  by  faith  vitally  interested  in  Christ,  you  will 
want  nothing  more.  You  will  find  no  deficiency  for  your 
own  power  to  supply.  While  he  dwells  within  you  by 
faith,  every  holy  trait,  every  lovely  disposition,  every  spi- 
ritual habit,  every  heavenly  desire,  shall  spring  and  rise,  and 
flourish  and  spread  abroad  in  your  hearts  and  character,  from 
Christ  who  dwelleth  in  you.  But  until  by  faith  you  yield 
to  him,  you  are  dead  in  your  sins  ;  and  a  naturally  dead  man 
might  as  justly  be  expected  to  rise  up  and  offer  a  price  for 
that  life,  the  possession  of  which  was  implied  in  his  very 
rising,  as  you  expect  to  offer  anything  but  a  depraved,  cor- 
rupted and  dead  spirit,  upon  which  Christ  may  show  the 
power  of  his  grace.  You  must  be  saved  by  grace,  and  that 
grace  shall  be  applied  to  your  souls  by  faith ;  and  even  here 
again,  to  take  away  all  pride  and  glorying  from  yourselves, 
the  grace  and  faith  and  every  mercy,  spring  not  from  your- 
selves ;  they  are  all  "the  gift  of  God,"  a  gift  to  those  who 
are  poor  and  destitute  and  perishing  in  their  sins. 

III.  "  The  gift  of  God."  This  last  assertion  does  not  refer 
particularly  to  the  faith  which  is  required  before,  but  to  the 
whole  salvation  by  grace  of  which  the  text  speaks.  Every 
part  of  man's  salvation  is  equally  a  free  gift.  The  original 
purpose  to  save,  the  glorious  sacrifice  which  has  been  made, 
the  offer  of  that  sacrifice  to  you,  the  acceptance  of  it  by  your 
hearts,  and  the  peace  and  holiness  which  this  acceptance 
gives,  are  alike  the  results  of  a  principle  of  love  in  God, 
which  looks  to  no  merit,  or  strength,  or  recompense,  in  the 
creatures  to  whom  the  gift  is  made. 

The  same  determinate  counsel  and  purpose  of  divine 
mercy  which  delivered  up  a  Saviour  to  be  crucified  for  you, 
will,  in  the  last  day,  finish  your  salvation  by  crowning  you 
with  him.  Your  last  breath  will  be  as  much  dependant  upon 
him  as  your  first ;  and  eternity  will  be  spent,  not  in  personal 
congratulations  upon  your  own  strength  or  wisdom  or  per- 
severance, but  in  raptured  hallelujahs  of  thanksgiving  to  liim 
who  has  loved  you  and  given  himself  for  you,  and  washed 
you  from  your  sins  in  his  own  blood,  and  redeemed  you 
from  every  kindred  and  tongue,  and  people  and  nation,  to 
make  you  kings  and  priests  unto  God  for  ever. 

Although  the  truths  which  I  have  here  presented  to  you  have 
been  controverted  in  every  age,  and  there  have  been  multi- 


tudes of  men  who  have  opposed  this  castin;;  down  of  human 
merit  and  ascription  of  all  praise  and  glory  to  the  grace  of 
God ;  still  the  Bible  teaches  the  same  thing,  and  the  plain 
and  simple  way  of  salvation  which  it  first  laid  open  to  sin- 
ners it  lays  open  now  ;  and  it  seems  to  me  that  nothing  can 
be  more  plain  and  evident,  and  intelligible,  than  is  this  way 
of  salvation  which  the  TOspel  offers.  While  ou  the  one  side 
there  is  a  poor  wretched  creature,  wanting  in  every  thing  and 
havinsr  nothing  to  give,  on  the  other  there  is  a  bountiful  Sove- 
reign and  Lord,  who  offers  every  thing  freely,  and  asks  no 
pric*  from  the  subject  of  grace. 

The  gospel  is  provided  in  all  its  operations  as  a  remedy 
for  existing  evil,  and  as  such  it  is  in  every  part  exclusively 
"the  gift  of  God." 

Let  us  come  back  to  consider  the  actual  state  of  a  fallen 
being,  the  actual  condition  of  your  own  souls  by  nature,  and 
you  will  find  yourselves  to  be  entirely  in  a  guilty,  polluted 
and  helpless  condition.  In  this  state  of  spiritual  ruin,  God 
has  provided  for  you  a  rtmtdy ,-  and  he  both  inclines  and 
enables  you  to  apply  that  remedy.  For  your  guilt  he  ap- 
plies to  you  the  atoning  blood  of  Christ;  for  your  pollution 
and  weakness  he  sends  the  Holy  Spirit,  to  begin  and  carry  on 
a  work  of  irrace  within  your  hearts.  By  looking  to  Christ 
you  may  obtain  peace  with  God  and  in  your  own  conscience; 
and  by  yielding  yourselves  to  the  influences  of  God's  Holy 
Spirit",  you  may  become  renewed  and  sanctified  in  all  yonr 
powers.  Your  renovated  health  will  begin  immediately  to 
appear.  You  will  be  enabled  to  mortify  all  your  former  cor- 
ruptions, and  to  walk  holily,  justly  and  unblamably  before 
God  and  man,  and  will  become  gradually  transformed  into 
the  divine  image  in  righteousness  and  true  holiness.  But  to 
what  then  shall  be  ascribed  the  change  which  has  taken 
place  within  you  T  Will  it  not  be  altogether  owing  to  the 
remedy  which  God  has  prescribed  and  enabled  you  to  apply  1 
To  your  latest  hour  you  will  continue  to  apply  the  same 
remedy  ;  for  through  the  whole  of  this  life  you  will  be  only 
convalescent  and  not  perfectly  recovered ;  and  when  in  the 
full  establishment  of  your  spiritual  health,  in  the  heavenly 
inheritance,  you  will  tell  the  history  of  your  restoration  to 
the  sole  honour  of  that  Almighty  Physician  who  visited  you 
in  your  lost  estate,  and  brought  a  balm  which  was  adequate 
to  your  need. 

Now  is  not  this  perfectly  plain  and  simple  %  Is  it  not  ex- 
actly the  gilt  which  every  sinner  wants  for  the  peace  of  his 
mind  and  for  the  sanctification  and  salvation  of  his  soul  1 
Yet  in  this  representation  all  is  of  grace.  Both  the  Saviour 
himself,  and  unmerited  salvation  through  him,  are  the  free 
gift  of  God  ;  and  not  according  to  works  of  righteousness 
which  we  have  done,  but  according  to  his  mercy  we  are 
saved  by  the  washing  of  regeneration  and  the  renewing  of 
the  Holy  Ghost. 

I  have  thus  endeavoured  to  set  before  you  the  gospel  way  of 
salvalion.  You  find  it  a  way  perfectly  adapted  to  your  pow- 
ers and  to  your  necessities.  It  calls  for  your  sincere  thank- 
fulness to  God,  who  has  been  willing  to  provide  it,  and  your 
cordial  acceptance  of  the  gift,  while  it  is  so  freely  presented. 
But  all  will  be  of  no  avail  to  you  unless  you  embrace  with 
rejoicing,  the  remedy  which  is  thus  presented.  Let  not  the 
subject,  therefore,  be  allowed  to  rest  in  your  understandings 
unfruitful  and  barren.  Seek  to  have  your  hearts  interested 
in  it;  hear  the  voice  of  the  Spirit,  which  says  to  you,  "This 
is  the  way,  walk  ye  in  it;"  and  turn  not  to  the  right  hand  or 
to  the  left. 

In  concluding  the  remarks  which  I  have  now  to  make,  let 
me  beseech  you  to  seek  a  deep  acquaintance  with  your  real 
state  before  God,  and  the  application  to  yourselves  of  the 
gracious  remedy  which  is  offered  you  in  the  gospel. 

Had  you  but  a  due  preparation  of  heart  for  the  reception 
of  the  gospel,  were  you  truly  convinced  of  your  unworthiness 
and  danger,  the  glad  tidings  of  salvation  would  distil  as  the 
dew  upon  your  souls,  as  the  showers  that  water  the  mown 
grass.  Did  you  feel  that  the  sorrows  of  death  compassed 
you  about,  and  the  pains  of  hell  had  got  hold  upon  you  in  the 
deep  and  piercing  sense  of  your  own  guilt,  the  sound  of 
salvation  purchased  by  our  incarnate  God  would  transport 
your  souls,  as  it  did  the  angels,  when  they  sung,  "  Glory  to 
God  in  the  highest;  and  on  earth,  peace,  good  will  towards 
men."  Unspeakable  joy  would  spring  up  in  your  hearts 
from  the  thought  of  an  indwelling  God,  undertaking  your 
cause  and  working  effectually  upon  your  souls.  The  great 
and  universal  reason  why  you  hear  the  gracious  invitations 
and  promises  of  the  gospel  so  inattentively,  and  with  so  lit- 
tle effect  upon  your  characters,  is,  that  you  are  not  convinced 
of  your  danger.     You  do  not  feel  and  mourn  over  your  lost 


23 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


condition.  "They  that  are  whole  need  not  a  physician 
Because  so  many  of  you  believe  yourselves  to  be  whole,  the 
remedy  is  heedlessly  rejected,  and  your  souls  are  left  to 
perish.  O  that  God  would  tear  oft"  from  your  hearts  the  veil 
which  Satan  and  the  world  are  uniting  to  weave  over  you 
and  make  you  to  see  the  pollutions  which  are  there  open  to 
his  view !  Why  are  you  so  anxious  to  deceive  yourselves 
in  this  matter  1  There  is  a  day  before  you  when  hell  shall 
be  naked,  and  destruction  shall  have  no  covering; ;  when  every 
false  excuse  shall  fail,  and  every  extenuating-  plea  shall  be- 
come utterly  useless ;  and  when,  tliough  discovery  shall  be 
perfect,  it  shall  be  too  late  to  be  beneficial.  If  j'ou  are  in 
solvent  and  ruined,  why  attempt  to  delude  yourselves  with 
the  contrary  belief ?  But  are  you  not?  Then  Jesus  is  no 
Saviour  to  you.  You  may  as  profitably  own  Mahomet  or 
Brahma  for  your  Lord  as  Jesus.  He  will  not,  he  cannot  save 
you  till  you  feel  yourselves  to  be  lost.  I  pray  you  look  at 
your  characters  in  the  mirror  of  God's  infallible  word ;  and 
while  he  proclaims  that  you  have  altogether  gone  out  of  the 
way,  acknowledge  the  truth  of  his  representation,  and  be 
willing  that  he  should  bring  you  back  to  himself  in  peace. 

Upon  this  deep  acquaintance  with  your  own  character  and 
state  alone,  can  be  built  a  proper  acceptance  of  the  gospel. 
However  your  understandings  may  be  enlightened  with  a 
knowledge  of  the  gospel  way  of  salvation,  it  will  profit  you 
nothing  while  this  knowledge  is  merely  speculative.  Though 
the  patient  in  the  hospital  might  deliver  a  lecture  upon  his 
own  disease,  and  the  adaptation  of  the  remedy  to  his  want,  it 
•would  avail  but  little  should  he  still  refuse  to  apply  the 
remedy  to  himself.  If  you  neglect  the  gracious  remedy  of 
the  gospel,  or  substitute  any  other  in  its  stead,  you  do  so  to 
your  eternal  ruin.  I  beseech  you  to  look -to  Christ  for  the 
justification,  and  to  the  Holy  Spirit  for  the  sanctification  of 
your  souls.  In  no  other  conceivable  method  can  you  find  sal- 
vation from  the  condemnation  of  the  law,  the  bondage  of  sin, 
and  the  everlasting  punishment  of  hell.  There  is  no  other 
name  given  for  salvation,  but  the  name  of  Jesus,  and  that 
name  is  worse  than  useless  to  you,  unless  it  be  permitted  to 
dwell  in  your  heart,  as  your  hope  and  comfort.  Yield  your- 
selves to  his  power.  Be  willing  to  be  saved  by  grace  through 
faith,  and  so  receive  the  unspeakable  gift  of  6od,  that  his 
power  may  operate  within  you,  to  bring  you  homo  to  that 
fold  of  ransomed  sinners  which  is  under  one  shepherd,  Jesus 
Christ,  the  Great  Bishop  and  Shepherd  of  souls. 


LECTURE  XII. 

THE    HISTORY    OF   THE    GOSPEL. 

Blessed  lie  the  Lord  God  of  Israel,  for  he  hath  visited  and  re- 
deemed his  people. 

As  he  spake  by  tlie  mouth  of  his  holy  prophets,  m  liicb  have  been 
since  the  world  began. — St.  Luke  i.  68  and  70. 

In  one  previous  discourse  I  have  considered  the  great  oh- 
jed  wliich  the  gospel  designs  to  accom])lish,  which  is  to  seek 
and  to  save  that  which  is  lost.  In  another  I  have  spoken  of 
the  way  which  the  gospel  lays  open  for  the  attaiimient  of 
this  object,  which  is  by  grace  through  faith,  as  the  gift  of  God. 

Before  I  proceed  to  consider  several  distinct  attributes  and 
characteristics  of  the  gospel,  I  wish  in  my  present  discourse 
to  set  before  you  the  history  of  the  gospel.  By  this  expression 
I  do  not  mean  the  narrative  of  facts  which  the  writings  of  the 
Evangelists  contain,  but  the  history  of  the  gospel  itself,  as 
a  dispensation  to  man,  showing  its  origin  and  its  progress,  in 
tlie  clear  manifestations  of  its  grace  to  those  for  whom  it  was 
designed  since  the  fall  of  man. 

As  an  appropriate  introduction  to  this  subject,  I  have  se- 
lected my  text  from  the  sacred  hymn  which  Zacharias  uttered 
at  the  circumcision  of  his  son.  This  hymn  was  uttered  by 
the  immediate  inspiration  of  God,  for  it  is  said,  "that  Zacha- 
rias was  filled  with  the  Holy  Ghost,  and  prophesied"  in  the 
divine  language  which  is  here  contained.  Every  assertion 
of  necessity  which  this  hymn  makes,  must  be  infallible  and 
eternal  truth. 

The  son  of  Zacharias  was  to  be  the  forerunner  of  the  Lord 
Jesus  Christ,  the  Saviour  of  the  world ;  and  on  the  occasion 
of  his  public  dedication  to  God,  his  father  propliesied  of  the 
character  and  work  of  tliat  Saviour  before  whom  he  was  to 
be  sent. 


The  Redeemer  was  not  yet  born  in  the  lowly  nature  which 
he  had  assumed.  But  the  faith  of  Zacharias  was  led  for- 
ward to  him,  when  it  is  more  than  probable  that  none  of  his 
auditors,  beside  his  own  wife,  understood  the  allusions  which 
he  made.  "  Blessed,"  he  says  "be  the  Lord  God  of  Israel, 
for  he  hath  visited  and  redeemed  his  people,  and  hath  raised 
up  a  horn  of  salvation  for  us  in  the  house  of  his  servant  Da- 
vid." In  the  figurative  language  of  the  Israelites,  a  horn  im- 
plies great  strength,  and  in  the  text,  "  a  horn  of  salvation,"  is 
a  strong  salvation  ;  an  all-sufficient  salvation;  a  salvation  to 
the  uttermost;  or,  as  in  our  prayer-book,  "a  mighty  salva- 
tion," because  accomplished  by  the  miglity  God  of  Israel, 
although  he  stooped  to  be  a  babe  in  the  family  of  his  servant 
David.  The  reference  of  this  high  title,  "  The  Lord  God 
OF  Israel,"  to  the  child  who  was  to  be  born  of  Mary,  be- 
comes evident  in  the  succeeding  verses  of  the  hymn,  in  which 
Zacharias  addresses  himself  to  liis  own  child,  whom  he  now 
held  up  in  dedication  unto  God,  "And  thou,  child,  shall  be 
called  the  prophet  of  the  highest,  for  thou  shalt  go  before  the 
face  of  the  Lord  to  prepare  his  ways ;"  and  this  perfectly 
corresponds  with  the  statement  of  the  angel  before  the  birth 
of  John,  "He  shall  be  filled  with  the  Holy  Ghost,  even  from 
his  mother's  womb,  and  many  of  the  children  of  Israel  shall 
he  turn  to  the  Lord  their  God,  and  he  shall  go  before  him" 
the  Lord  God  of  Israel,  in  the  spiritof  Elias,  to  turn  the  hearts 
of  the  fathers  to  the  children,  and  the  disobedient  to  the  wis- 
dom of  the  just,  to  make  ready  a  people  prepared  for  the  Lord. 
The  great  event  for  which  Zacharias  thus  praises  God, 
was  the  incarnation  of  the  Lord  God  of  Israel ;  the  whole 
sum  and  substance  of  the  gospel.  This  raising  up  a  mighty 
salvation  in  the  family  of  David,  in  the  birth  of  him  who 
was  to  be  the  Saviour  of  the  world,  Zacharias  says  was  a  ful- 
filment of  all  the  divine  promises  of  salvation  to  the  people 
of  Israel.  "  Blessed  be  the  Lord  God  of  Israel,  for  he  hath 
visited  and  redeemed  his  people,  as  he  spake  by  the  mouth  of 
his  holy  prophets,  which  have  been  since  the  world  began." 
This  incarnation  and  suffering  of  tlio  Son  of  God,  is  the  sub- 
ject of  the  gospel.  This  gospel  has  been  proclaimed  by  the 
inspired  prophets  of  God,  from  the  beginning  of  the  world. 
The  interesting  subject  which  I  now  propose  to  you,  the  his- 
tory of  the  gospel,  will  lead  me,Jirst,  cursorily  to  trace  those 
dift'erent  publications  of  the  gospel  to  men,  from  the  earliest 
ages  of  the  world,  in  order  to  show  that  the  great  truth  upon 
which  we  rest  our  hope,  the  incarnation  of  a  mighty  Saviour, 
was  from  the  beginning  of  the  world  spoken  to  our  fathers  by 
the  holy  prophets  whom  God  inspired. 

From  the  day  of  man's  fall  from  God  one  great  plan  has 
comprehended  the  whole  arrangement  of  divine  providence 
and  divine  mercy.  This  one  plan  is  the  redemption  of  the 
world,  bj'  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ.  For  this  the  earth  and 
men  have  been  suffered  to  exist.  For  this  the  mighty  revo- 
lutions of  the  sons  of  men  have  been  overruled.  For  this  the 
least  event  in  the  life  of  each  individual  subject  of  redemp- 
tion is  made  to  operate;  and  all  things  work  together  for 
this  unspeakable  good  to  those  who  lovo  God,  who  are  called 
according  to  his  purpose. 

The  scriptures  teach  us  that  all  the  various  parts  of  man's 
salvation  have  been  devised  from  the  foundation  of  the  world. 
The  great  covenant  of  redemption  between  the  persons  of  the 
Deit}',  in  which  the  Father,  the  Son,  and  the  Holy  Spirit 
united  to  bring  back  the  captives  of  Satan,  was  made  before 
the  world  was  created.  The  great  sacrifice  which  the  law 
demanded,  and  which  this  covenant  of  redemption  provided, 
was  then  appointed,  and  Jesus  is  called  the  Lamb,  slain  irom 
the  foundation  of  the  world.  The  book  of  life  was  tlien 
prepared,  and  the  saints  are  said  to  be  those  who  are  written 
in  the  Lamb's  book  from  the  foundation  of  the  world.  The 
everlasting  home  for  the  saints  was  then  provided ;  for  thus 
says  Jesus  of  the  redeemed,  "Then  shall  the  king  say  to 
them  on  his  right  hand,  come  ye  blessed  of  my  father, 
receive  the  kingdom  prepared  for  you  from  the  founda- 
tion of  the  world."  The  view  which  is  thus  presented  of 
the  great  salvation  of  the  gospel,  is  high  and  comforting. 
For  the  everlasting  good  of  the  feeblest  Christian,  the  power 
of  Almighty  God  has  been  exerted  from  the  beginning  of  the 
world  ;  and  the  gospel,  which  in  its  rich  and  attractive  invi- 
tations is  preached  to  us,  is  the  simple,  but  glorious  intelli- 
gence of  that  which  occupied  the  wisdom  and  the  love  of 
heaven,  before  this  world  was  formed. 

The  redeeming  visit  of  the  Lord  God  of  Israel,  of  which 
Zacharias  speaks,  was  planned  and  determined  before  the  cre- 
ation, and  has  been  announced  as  the  object  of  faith  to  the 
people  of  God,  in  every  age  since  the  world  began.  This  I 
will  i)roceed  to  exhibit  to  you,  and  may  your  hearts  unite 


PAROCHIAL  LECTURES  ON  THE  LAW  AND  THE  GOSPEL. 


29 


with  the  Father  of  the  baptist  in  blessing  the  Lord  God  of 
Israel  for  this  work  of  graoe. 

We  will  first  speak  of  that  period  of  history  between  the 
fall  of  man  and  the  covenant  with  Abraham,  and  show  how, 
in  all  this  interval  of  lime,  God  was  proclaiming  the  glad 
tidings  of  the  gospel  to  men. 

As  soon  as  Adam  fell,  the  Son  of  God  immediately  entered 
upon  the  office  and  work  of  a  mediator.  This  work  he  had 
undertaken  before  the  world  began  ;  for  he  thus  says  of  him- 
self, "  I  was  set  up  from  everlasting,  from  the  beginning,  or 
ever  the  earth  was."  Now  the  appointed  lime  had  come, 
and  in  the  moment  of  man's  transgression,  he  immediately 
presented  himself  as  the  daysman  between  a  holy,  infinite, 
offended  majesty,  and  offending  mankind.  His  mediation 
was  at  once  accepted,  and  wrath  was  prevented  from  going 
forth  to  execute  the  amazing  curse  w-hich  had  been  denounced 
against  transgression.  It  is  manifest  that  Christ  began  his 
work  of  mediation  instantly  upon  the  fall,  because  God  im- 
mediately exercised  mercy,  and  did  not  cut  off  man  at  once 
as  hedid  the  angels  who  had  sinned.  But  no  mercy  could  be 
extended  to  fallen  man, , but  through  a  mediator;  the  exer- 
cise of  divine  forbearance  and  mercy  shows  the  commence- 
ment of  the  work  of  the  gospel,  and  when  the  Saviour  came 
to  comfort  our  first  parents,  on  the  day  of  their  transgression, 
in  the  garden  of  Eden,  he  came  to  seek  and  to  save  that 
which  was  lost,  as  much  as  when  he  came  afterwards  to  take 
upon  himself  the  nature  of  man  of  the  virgin  Mary. 

From  that  day  Christ  took  upon  himself  the  care  of  the 
church  in  all  his  offices.  He  undertook  to  teach  mankind  as 
their  great  prophet ;  to  intercede  for  men  as  their  priest,  and 
to  govern  them  as  their  king.  He  was  then  set  up  as  the  ca])- 
tain  of  the  Lord's  host;  as  the  captain  of  salvation  to  his 
church,  to  defend  tliem  against  all  their  foes,  and  from  that 
hour  God  acted  solely  through  a  mediator,  in  teaching,  go- 
verning, and  blessing  mankind. 

While  on  the  day  of  the  fall  the  Son  of  God  commenced 
the  attainment  of  the  great  object  of  his  niediation,  on  the 
same  day  intelligence  of  lliis  was  also  proclaimed  to  man, 
and  the  gospel  was  first  preached  upon  the  earth.  God  said 
unto  the  serpent,  "  I  will  put  enmity  between  thy  seed  and  her 
seed ;  it  shall  bruise  thy  head,  and  thou  shall  bruise  his 
heel."  This  was  the  first  revelation  of  the  covenant  of 
grace;  the  first  dawning  of  the  gospel  upon  the  earth.  By 
the  transgression  of  man,  the  light  of  God's  favour  had  been 
shrouded  in  darkness,  which  neither  men  nor  angels  could 
scatter;  and  when,  on  that  day  of  sin,  God  called  man  to  ac- 
count, his  heart  was  filled  with  shame  and  terror.  These 
words  of  God  were  the  first  dawning  of  a  returning  light. 
Before  they  were  uttered  there  was  not  one  glimpse  of  light; 
not  one  beam  of  comfort,  nor  a  single  source  of  hope  to  the 
sinner.  Here  was  a  certain  intimation  of  a  merciful  design  to 
be  accomplished  by  "  the  seed  of  the  woman,"  ivhich  was 
like  the  first  glimmering  of  morning  in  the  eastern  sky.  This 
gracious  j)roniise  was  given  before  the  sentence  was  pro- 
nounced upon  either  Adam  or  E  ve,  from  tenderness  to  them, 
lest  they  should  be  overborne  with  a  sentence  of  condemna- 
tion, without  having  any  thing  held  out  whence  they  could 
gather  any  liope. 

In  the  institution  of  sacrifices,  with  the  skins  of  which 
Adam  and  Eve  were  clothed,  the  gospel  was  again  reveah^d 
to  man,  and  a  permanent  type  set  up  of  the  sacrifice  of  Christ, 
by  which  the  power  of  Satan  was  to  be  subdued.  The  ordi- 
nance of  sacrifices  was  instituted  immediately  after  the  reve- 
lation by  the  jjromise  of  the  covenant  of  grace.  Thus  the 
first  stone  in  the  great  edifice  of  man's  redemption  was  laid 
in  prophecy  of  CFirist,  and  the  next  in  this  standing  type  of 
his  one  sacrifice  for  sin. 

Not  long  after  the  gospel  was  thus  first  proclaimed  upon 
the  earth,  and  the  way  of  salvation  through  a  mediator  was 
laid  open,  God  began  the  work  of  actually  saving  the  souls 
of  men.  It  is  probable  that  the  first  fruits  of  the  redemption 
of  Christ  were  Adam  and  Eve.  It  is  probable,  I  say,  from 
God's  manner  of  treating  them,  in  comforting  them  by  a  pro- 
mise, under  their  awakenings  and  terrors;  for  while  they 
stood  trembling  and  astonislied  before  their  Judge,  without 
any  expedient  from  which  they  could  gather  hope,  then  God 
offered  them  an  encouragement,  and  told  them  of  his  de- 
signs of  mercy  through  a  Saviour,  before  he  passed  the  sen- 
tence against  them. 

But  it  is  certain  that  in  their  children,  the  great  Captain  of 
salvation  manifested  his  power  to  save  to  the  uttermost.  In 
the  instance  of  righteous  Abel,  we  hear  of  the  first  ransomed 
sinner  who  went  to  heaven  through  Christ's  redemption.  Iir 
him  the  gospel  thus  wrought  its  perfect  work.     In  him  tl 


angels  first  acted  as  ministering  spirits  to  bring  a  lost  soul  to 
glory.  And  in  him  the  holy  inhabitants  of  heaven  had  the 
first  opportunity  to  behold  one  of  this  fallen,  ruined  race, 
brought  to  the  enjoyment  of  heavenly  glory.  Thus,  while 
they  saw  the  first  eifect  of  the  full  operation  of  the  gospel, 
and  could  sing  worthy  is  the  Lamb  that  was  slain  to  receive 
honour,  and  glory,  and  blessing,  he  first  experienced  this 
operation  of  redeeming  love,  and  first  raised  in  heaven  that 
song  of  experience  to  him  who  had  loved  him,  and  given 
himself  for  him,  and  redeemed  him  from  misery  and  death, 
and  had  made  him  a  king  and  priest  uiito  God  fur  ever.  By 
faith  Abel  had  accepted  the  promises  which  (iod  had  given 
unto  man;  and  offering,  in  this  faith,  a  sacrifice  which  was 
indeed  excellent  and  acc<*ptable,  he  obtained  witness  that  he 
was  righteous;  and  by  this  instance  of  a  living  and  sufficient 
faith,  "he  being  dead,  yet  speaketh." 

By  Enoch,  God  was  pleased  again  with  great  clearness 
to  testify  the  coming  of  the  Lord  to  establish  the  kingdom 
which  was  committed  to  him  upon  the  earth.  "  The  Lord 
Cometh  with  ten  thousand  of  his  saints  to  execute  judgment 
upon  all."  This  may  refer  to  any  particular  coming  of  Christ, 
and  it  cannot  reasonably  be  confined  to  any  one.  But  it 
speaks  generally  of  his  coming  in  the  power  and  glory  of  his 
kingdom,  and  is  fulfilled,  both  in  his  first  coming  to  set  np 
his  kingdom  on  the  earth,  and  his  second  coming  to  finish 
the  salvation  of  his  people  and  the  destruction  of  his  enemies. 
The  coming  of  the  Lord  God  of  Israel  to  visit  and  redeem  his 
people,  and  to  place  his  enemies  under  his  feet,  forms  the 
whole  matter  of  the  gospel.  To  this  the  faith  of  Enoch  was 
directed;  and  while  he  prophesied  of  it  to  the  men  of  his 
generation,  he  embraced  it  as  the  hope  and  comfort  of  his 
own  soul.  By  faith  in  this  appointed  Mediator,  he  was 
translated  that  he  should  not  see  death ;  and  was  not,  for  God 
took  him. 

Noah  also  became  a  preacher  of  righteousness,  and  by  the 
Spirit  of  Christ,  preached  to  those  whose  souls  were  in  cap- 
tivity and  bondage  to  the  power  of  sin.  The  righteousness 
which  he  preached,  and  of  which  he  became  an  heir,  was  the 
righteousness  of  faith,  or  the  righteousness  of  the  Mediator 
eiTibraced  by  faith.  With  him  God  renewed  his  covenant  of 
grace,  and  gave  him  a  promise  of  peculiar  blessings  in  the 
posterity  of  Shem.  God  accepted  the  sacrifice  which  he 
offered,  and  established  with  him  and  his  seed  after  him,  that 
everlasting  covenant  in  all  things  well  ordered  and  sure. 

By  faith  in  this  one  Mediator,  who  was  to  be  peculiarly 
the  seed  of  the  woman,  and  by  whose  sacrifice  a  real  satis- 
faction would  be  made  for  sin,  and  by  whose  obedience  a 
perfect  righteousness  would  be  provided  as  an  object  ol' faith, 
all,  from  Adam  downwards,  who  were  saved  at  all,  obtained 
redemption.  To  them,  in  every  generation,  the  gospel  was 
preached ;  and  the  great  fiict,  which  fomis  the  gospel,  the 
incarnation  and  sufferings  of  the  Son  of  God,  was  held  out  to 
them  as  the  one  grand  object  of  their  faith.  .By  thi.i  faith  all 
the  elders  or  patriarchs  who  w-ere  redeemed,  have  obtained  a 
good  report,  and  transmitted  a  name  to  posterity  which  is 
honourable  to  God,  and  honourable  to  theiuselves.  This  faith 
in  the  divine  promise  of  a  Saviour,  was  to  them  the  substance 
of  every  thing  tJiey  hoped  for,  and  the  sufficient  evidence  of 
their  truth,  akhou'gh  they  were  things  not  seen.  Since  the 
world  began,  God  hath  spoken  to  men  by  his  holy  prophets 
of  the  coming  of  the  Redeemer,  who  is  all  onr  joy  and  all 
our  salvation. 

After  we  have  thus  traced  the  publication  of  the  gospel 
from  Adam  down  to  Abraham,  there  will  be  no  difficulty  in 
understanding  and  acknowledging  its  clear  and  full  revelation 
to  him.  The  apostle  Paul  says,  that  God  preached  the  gosjiel 
unto  Abraham,  in  that  gracious  promise,  "  In  thee  shall  all 
nations  of  the  earth  be  blessed."  The  single  object  for 
which  Abraham  was  called,  and  for  which  his  family  were 
separated  from  all  others  was,  that  the  promised  .Saviour 
might  be  made  a  more  particular  object  of  faith,  as  coming 
from  him.  To  him,  in  a  new  and  more  specific  manner,  the 
covenant  of  o-race  was  revealed;  and  the  rite  of  circumcision 
was  instituted  as  the  outward  sign  of  that  covenant  estab- 
lished with  his  family.  To  former  patriarchs  God  had 
preached  the  gospel  in  proclaiming  a  Saviour  who  was  to 
come  as  the  sinner's  only  hope.  To  Abraham  he  preached 
the  same  gospel  yet  more  clearly,  in  promising  a  Saviour  to 
come  from  his  posterity.  The  glad  tidings  of  a  suflicient 
Mediator  were  clearly  made  known  to  him  ;  and  his  failh  in 
the  promises  of  the  gospel  was  so  established  and  entire,  tliat 
our  Saviour  says  of  him  "he  saw  my  day,  and  was  glad." 
By  faith  in  a  coming  Hedeenier  he  was  justified  and  saved. 
And  the  faith  which  he  had  in  Christ,  the  sure  confidence  with 


30 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


which  he  relied  upon  his  mediation  and  offering^,  are  repeat- 
edly adduced  in  the  New  Testament,  as  illustrating  the  faith 
with  which  we  are  required  to  embrace  a  Saviour  who  has 


and  man,  in  whose  blood  alone  there  is  redemption  for  your 
souls,  even  the  forijiveness  of  your  sins. 

How  elevated  is  the  view  which  this  subject  presents  of 


finished  the  work  which  was  oriven  him  to  do,  and  has  gone  the  character  of  Christ !     His  love  how  wonderful,  that  in- 


to the  glory  which  he  had  before  the  world  was. 

To  Isaac  the  covenant  of  God's  mercy  was  renewed,  and 
the  promised  Saviour  foretold,  as  coming  from  his  posterity; 
and  to  Jacob,  still  more  clearly,  was  the  gospel  preached, 
while  Esau  and  his  family  were  rejected.  In  the  ladder 
which  was  presented  to  Jacob,  as  connecting  together  earth 
and  heaven  by  the  ministration  of  angels,  an  incarnate  Sa- 
viour Wcis  oifered  to  his  faith.  An  open  way  of  salvation 
was  thus  exhibited  to  him  in  vision,  while  in  the  very  time 
of  the  exhibition,  God  renewed  that  gracious  promise  of  a 
Redeemer  from  his  seed,  upon  which  the  faith  of  his  fathers 
had  rested. 

Another  most  remarkable  proclamation  of  the  manifestation 
of  God  in  the  flesh  for  man's  salvation,  was  given  to  Jacob, 
in  his  wrestling  with  God  and  prevailing  in  the  contest,  after 
his  return  from  Padan  Aram.  Here  was  a  representation  to 
his  faith  of  the  whole  scene  of  Christ's  humiliation;  God 
was  shown  to  him  as  dwelling  indeed  upon  the  earth,  and 
subjecting  himself  to  the  power  of  his  creatures;  and  the  all- 
important  fact,  that  there  was  a  way  in  which  man  might  pre 
vail  with  God  and  obtain  a  blessing,  was  established  in  his 
mind.  So  frequently  had  the  covenant  of  promise  been  re 
newed  and  confirmed  with  Jacob,  that  his  faith  rested  upon  a 
Saviour  with  remarkable  distinctness  and  comfort.  And 
when  upon  his  bed  of  death,  he  left  his  last  blessing  to  his 
eons,  the  most  precious  and  desirable  of  all  blessings,  a  Sa- 
viour from  sin,  he  bequeathed  to  them  also.  One  of  the 
clearest  predictions  of  the  time,  and  the  success  of  the  publi- 
cation of  the  gospel,  which  the  Old  Testament  contains,  is  in 
the  last  blessing  of  Jacob  to  his  son  Judah. 

To  Adam,  the  promise  of  a  Saviour  was  given  in  the  gene- 
ral expression,  "  the  seed  of  the  woman."  To  Noah  it  was 
annexed  to  the  descendants  of  Shem.  To  Abraham  it  was 
limited  to  his  posterity  by  Isaac.  To  Isaac  it  was  confined 
again  to  Jacob ;  and  when  by  Jacob  it  was  transmitted  to 
his  children,  the  descendants  of  Judah  were  selected  as  those 
from  whom  the  Christ  should  come.  Judah  was  to  be  the 
ruler  of  Israel  in  the  person  of  David  and  his  successors  on 
the  throne.  And  "  the  sceptre  shall  not  depart  from  Judah," 
said  the  dying  Jacob,  "  nor  a  lawgiver  from  between  his  feet, 
until  Shiluh  come,  and  to  him  shall  the  gathering  of  the  peo- 
ple be."  Thus  the  light  of  the  gospel  shone  more  brightly 
in  every  succeeding  age,  as  the  time  drew  nearer  in  which  all 
its  promises  were  to  be  fulfilled,  and  its  covenanted  Media- 
tor was  to  be  manifested  among  men. 

After  this  period  it  is  hardly  necessary  to  trace  the  history 
of  the  gospel.  From  the  time  of  Moses  the  whole  scriptures 
are  full  of  the  revelations  of  gospel  mercy.  Every  sacrifice  in 
the  tabernacle  or  temple ;  every  type  of  the  Jewish  institu- 
tions; every  prophecy  and  promise  of  succeeding  generations 
preached  Christ  to  the  faith  of  men.  The  wonderful  visit  for 
the  purpose  of  redemption,  which  the  Lr.rd  God  of  Israel  was 
to  make  to  the  earth,  in  the  fulness  of  his  appointed  time, 
was  unceasingly  proclaimed.  The  tide  of  prophecy  swells 
from  age  to  age,  until  in  the  time  of  Isaiah,  it  has  grown  into 
an  unlimited  Hood ;  and  the  gospel  is  hardly  preached  with 
more  clearness  and  power  by  St.  Paul  than  by  him.  From 
the  beginning  of  the  world  Jesus  was  made  the  one  great 
object  of  faith;  and  the  predictions  of  his  character  and  office 
are  multiplied  until  his  time  and  place  of  birth,  his  miracles 
and  instructions,  his  sufferings  and  the  manner  of  his  death 
his  resurrection  and  subsequent  ascension  to  glory,  are  spoken 
of  so  particularly  and  so  minutely,  that  the  language  of  the 
later  prophets,  appears  to  be  rather  a  history  of  what  is  past, 
than  a  prophecy  of  what  is  yet  to  come. 

From  this  history  of  the  gospel,  you  see  that  the  sinner's 
ground  of  hope  has  been  the  same  from  the  beginnino-  of  the 
world.  The  same  Jesus  who  is  preached  to  you  for  your 
acceptance,  was  preached  to  men  from  Adam  down  to  Moses, 
and  from  filoses  to  the  day  in  which  we  live.  No  child  of 
man  has  ever  passed  into  the  heavens  but  through  his  re- 
demption. His  offering  was  equally  availing  and  prevalent 
for  Adam  and  Abel  and  ourselves.  By  his  own  obedience 
no  man  has  ever  found  acceptance  before  God.  But  the  same 
Almighty  grace  which  has  rescued  the  believing  sinners  in 
this  congregation,  brought  the  first  ransomed  sinner  to  glory, 
and  every  other  one  since  his  time.  We  offer  no  new  com- 
mandment unto  you,  but  that  commandment  which  has  been 
from  the  beginning,  that  you  should  believe  on  him  who  has 
been  set  up  from  everlasting,  as  the  one  Mediator  between  God 


tcrposed  for  man  in  the  moment  of  his  transgression,  when 
there  was  no  arm  that  could  save,  and  there  seemed  no  possi- 
bility of  finding  any  expedient  by  which  the  apparently 
inevitable  punishment  of  sin  could  be  turned  aside.  How 
great  the  power  which  has  been  exercised  to  accomplish  thia 
work  of  redemption  in  every  age.  Angels  who  have  wit- 
nessed from  the  beginning  his  labours  of  love,  know  how 
worthy  he  is  to  receive  blessing,  and  honour  and  glory  for 
what  he  has  done,  and  they  gladly  unite  to  praise  him  for  all 
his  goodness  and  all  his  mercy.  Unnumbered  multitudes  of 
ransomed  saints  in  the  enjoyment  of  the  glory  which  he  has 
purchased,  ascribe  all  the  praise  for  their  redemption  unto 
him.  He  is  the  head  of  all  things  in  heaven  and  on  earth, 
and  all  living  beings  live  through  him.  To  the  once  crucified 
and  now  exalted  Jesus,  the  universe,  which  is  upheld  by  the 
word  of  his  power,  unites  to  render  its  thankful  homage. 

How  unspeakable  is  the  privilege  which  this  subject  pre- 
sents to  the  true  believer  in  Jesus  Christ !  The  least  in  the 
kingdom  of  heaven  is  united  by  an  everlasting  bond  to  the 
glorious  assembly  who  have  been  redeemed  through  the  blood 
of  the  Son  of  God.  The  Redeemer  has  but  one  church.  Angels, 
and  living  saints,  and  dead,  but  one  communion  make.  The 
innumerable  company  of  angels  are  subjected  unto  him.  The 
ransomed  believers  in  his  power,  from  righteous  Abel  down 
to  this  day,  are  partakers  of  his  glory;  and  to  this  holy  and 
heavenly  assembly,  the  weakest  believer  before  me  is  eter- 
nally united.  The  poorest  Christian  on  the  earth  is  the  con- 
stant subject  of  angelic  protection  and  care.  And  though  men 
may  despise  him,  the  hosts  of  heaven  delight  to  watch  over 
him,  to  minister  to  his  wants,  to  console  his  sorrows,  to  de- 
fend him  from  dangers,  and  to  bring  him  to  the  salvation  of 
which  he  is  made  an  heir.  How  delightful  is  the  thought 
that  we  are  never  alone !  In  all  our  afflictions  we  have  a 
great  High  Priest  whom  angels  worship ;  who  can  be  touched 
with  the  feeling  of  our  infirmities,  and  remembers  whereof 
we  are  made.  In  our  seasons  of  bodily  suffering  or  family 
distress,  in  our  periods  of  earthly  adversity  and  wants,  he  will 
be  a  present  and  all-suflicient  help;  when  the  shades  of  death 
are  gathering  around  us :  he  will  stand  by  us  to  alleviate  our 
distress  and  to  elevate  our  hope.  He  will  pass  with  us  through 
the  dark  valley  that  we  may  be  in  perfect  peace.  In  the 
^reat  day  of  judgment  he  will  own  us  amidst  assembled 
worlds,  as  the  satisfying  travail  of  his  soul.  He  will  pro- 
claim to  the  universe  that  we  are  the  jewels  whom  he  has 
purchased  for  himself,  and  over  whom  he  will  rejoice  for 
ever.  He  will  accept  us,  poor  and  worthless  as  we  are, 
freely  through  the  value  of  his  own  blood,  and  crown  us  with 
everlasting  glory  in  heaven.  How  unspeakable  is  the  privi- 
lege of  being  united  to  the  whole  company  of  the  redeemed, 
through  the  precious  and  all-sufficient  offering  which  is  pub- 
islied  to  us  in  the  gospel;  and  that  privilege  belongs  to 
every  one  before  me,  who  has  sought  for  refuge  in  the  pre- 
cious blood  of  a  divine  and  mighty  Saviour. 

How  amazing  is  the  conduct  of  those  who  persevere  in 
rejecting  the  mercies  which  this  gospel  presents  to  universal 
acceptance!  With  what  unutterable  joy  Adam  must  have 
heard  of  a  hope  of  returning  peace !  With  what  transport 
Abel  must  have  taken  possession  of  that  home  of  glory  to 
which  ho  was  carried  so  suddenly  from  the  trials  of  the 
world  !  And  why  should  any  of  you  who  need  a  .Saviour  as 
much  as  they,  and  to  whom  the  blessings  of  redemption  are 
as  freely  offered  as  they  were  to  them,  take  upon  yourselves 
the  voluntary  and  persevering  rejection  of  all  that  Christ  has 
done  in  your  behalf.  How  much  you  will  desire  to  see  one 
of  the  days  of  the  Son  of  man  when  the  wish  will  be  entirely 
vain !  It  is  a  fact  with  the  unconverted  sinner,  despise  the 
assertion  of  it  as  he  will,  that  the  hour  will  come,  when, 
trembling  and  astonished,  he  will  crouch  before  the  Son  of 
man,  and  beg  and  cry  for  the  mercy  which  he  has  so  often 
cast  heedlessly  away  from  him.  How  amazing  is  it  that  the 
man  who  knows  that  death,  and  judgment  and  eternity  are 
spread  before  him,  should  be  willing" to  throw  away  a  hope, 
the  sufficiency  of  which  he  acknowledges,  while  he  has  no- 
thing to  supply  its  place  upon  which  he  dare  trust  himself. 
And  yet  this  is  the  conduct  of  every  unconverted  soul  before 
me.  There  is  not  a  man  here,  destitute  of  spiritual  religion, 
but  is  rejecting  what  he  knows  to  be  a  sufficient  hope,  while 
the  rejection  of  this  hope  leaves  his  soul  utterly  without  com- 
fort and  peace.  How  amazing  in  the  sight  of  angels  must 
be  this  course.     They  wondered  when  mercy  was  proposed 


PAROCHIAL  LECTURES  ON  THE  LAW  AND  THE  GOSPEL. 


31 


to  man.  They  must  wonder  still  more  when  this  mercy  is 
again  offered,  after  it  has  been  rejected.  They  must  wonder 
most  of  all,  if  sinners  still  persevere  in  this  rejection,  and 
finally  determine  to  choose  darkness  rather  than  light. 


LECTURE  XIII. 


THE  WISDOM  OF  THE  GOSPEL. 


We  speak  the  wisdom  of  God  in  a  mystory,  even  tlie  hidden  wis- 
dom which  God  ordained  before  the  world  unto  our  glorj'. — 1  Con. 
II.  r. 

The  object  which  the  gospel  is  to  attain,  the  tcay  in  which 
It  is  to  attain  it,  and  the  hislory  of  its  attainment  of  this  ob- 
ject in  past  ages,  have  occupied  our  attention  in  three  former 
discourses.  I  wish  now  to  speak  of  the  several  characteris- 
tics of  the  gospel  itself,  as  a  dispensation  of  divine  grace  and 
mercy  to  man ;  to  show  its  unsearchable  wisdom,  as  an  expe- 
dient for  man's  salvation;  its  almighty  p«u'?r  as  an  instru- 
ment for  the  accomplishment  of  this  end  ;  the  t^ace  arid  love 
which  is  displayed  in  the  gift  which  it  offers  unto  man,  and 
ita  excellency  and  glory,  as  a  revelation  of  the  character  and 
purposes  of  God  in  his  relation  to  fallen  man. 

My  present  subject  is  the  unsearchable  wisdom  of  the  gos- 
pel, as  an  expedient  or  plan  for  man's  salvation. 

The  text  which  I  have  selected  contains  St.  Paul's  descrip- 
tion of  this  wisdom,  as  proclaimed  by  him  and  his  fellow 
apostles.  When  he  carried  the  gospel  of  Jesus  to  the  en- 
lightened and  philosophical  inhabitants  of  Corinth,  he  was 
aware  that  they  sought  after  wisdom,  and  expected  him  to  de- 
velops to  them  some  new  scheme  of  philosophy  which  should 
funiish  matter  for  their  own  speculations.  In  opposition  to 
this  desire  of  theirs,  he  professes  to  them  the  single  determi- 
nation with  which  he  came  to  them,  which  was  to  make 
known  to  perishing  transgressors,  Jesus  Christ,  and  him  cru- 
cified, as  the  only  foundation  for  hope  or  acceptance  before  God. 

This  preaching  rejected  all  the  enticing  words  of  man's 
wisdom  ;  all  the  false  and  delusive  words  of  persuasion  with 
which  other  teachers  were  accustomed  to  come  to  them,  and 
depended  for  its  whole  success  upon  the  demonstration  of  the 
Divine  Spirit  and  the  power  of  God.  He  did  not  attempt  to 
flatter  them  upon  their  own  powers  of  understanding,  nor  to 
submit  to  the  decisions  of  their  natural  and  darkened  reasons, 
the  truths  which  he  was  sent  to  teach.  He  told  them  of 
their  sins  and  dangers,  and  he  held  out  to  them  freely  the  remedy 
which  divine  grace  had  provided  for  their  wants.  Such 
preaching,  which  dealt  only  with  men  as  poor  and  depraved 
creatures,  which  addressed  them  from  an  eminence  of  au- 
thority, as  those  who  were  lost,  was  regarded  by  them  as 
foolishness,  and  their  proud  hearts  despised  him  for  the  bold 
assertions  which  he  made  of  man's  necessity  and  God's 
abundant  mercy. 

But  though  he  has  often  adopted  their  own  scornful  ex- 
pression, and  called  the  preaching  of  the  cross  of  Jesus  fool- 
ishness, he  denies  that  such  was  really  the  character  of  his 
preaching.  "We  speak  wisdom,"  he  says,  "among  them 
that  are  perfect,"  or  able  to  understand  us,  "  yet,  not  the  wis- 
dom of  this  world  ;"  no  wisdom  of  man's  discovery.  "  But 
we  speak  the  wisdom  of  God  in  a  mystery;  the  wisdom 
which  has  been  hidden,  but  which  God  ordained  before  the 
world  to  our  glory." 

The  apostle  here,  as  in  many  other  places,  calls  the  gospel 
the  "  wisdom  of  God."  He  describes  it  as  wisdom  which 
reveals  such  things  as  eye  hath  not  seen,  nor  car  heard,  nor 
the  heart  of  man  conceived ;  as  wisdom  which  is  revealed  to 
man  solely  by  the  Spirit  of  God;  the  Spirit  which  searcheth 
all  things,  even  the  deep  things  of  God,  and  which  the  natu- 
ral or  unrenewed  man  cannot  discern  or  understand. 

"  We  speak,"  he  says,  "in  preaching  the  o-ospel,  the  wis- 
dom of  God." 

This  display  of  Divine  Wisdom,  which  the  gospel  makes, 
has  before  been  "  hidden  in  a  mystery."  It  was  not  clearly 
revealed  until  the  preaching  of  Jesus  brought  life  and  immor- 
tality to  light.  It  was  concealed  in  the  types  of  the  Jewish 
religion,  and  in  the  predictions  of  the  Jewish  prophets  ;  and 
so  hidden  in  the  mysterious  representations  of  the  Old  Tes 
lament,  that  none  of  the  jirinces  or  wise  men  of  this  world 
knew  it,  but  in  their  ignorance  of  it,  crucified  the  Lord  of 
glory. 


Bnt  although  the  wisdom  displayed  in  the  gospel  was  hid' 
den  in  a  mystery  before  its  full  and  perfect  revelation,  in  the 
comingr  and  sacrifice  of  the  Lord  Jesus,  it  was  wisdom  or- 
dained before  the  foundation  of  the  world.  The  whole  plan 
of  brinsinij  from  fimong  men  many  sons  to  glory,  through  the 
sufferings  of  the  Captain  of  their  salvation,  was  devised  and 
determined  before  the  creation  of  man  ;  and  the  gospel  which 
Paul  preached,  and  which  we  preach,  is  but  the  intelligence 
of  that  plan  of  mercy  which  God  ordained  then,  for  man, 
as  a  manifestation  of  the  unfathomable  depths  of  his  own 
wisdom. 

From  this  declaration  of  the  apostle  I  derive  my  present 
subject  of  discourse. 

The  gospel  displays  the  unsearchable  wisdom  of  God 
which  ordained  a  plan  of  salvation  and  glory  for  sinners  be- 
fore the  foundation  of  the  world,  and  concealed  it  in  the  mys- 
teries of  the  Old  Testament  until  he  came,  in  whom  all 
these  mysteries  were  to  be  fulfilled  and  made  plain. 

I.  The  wisdom  of  the  gospel  is  displayed  in  the  extent  of 
the  difficulty  which  it  was  required  to  meet.  In  this  view  it 
may  well  be  called  the  "  wisdom  of  God  in  a  mystery,"  for 
the  extent  of  wisdom  displayed  is  deeply  mysterious. 

In  the  fall  and  disobedience  of  inan  so  many  difficulties, 
and  apparently  such  insurmountable  difficulties  were  created, 
that  all  hope  of  his  restoration  would  seem  impossible.  A 
holy  being  had  become  a  polluted  and  guilty  one.  How 
should  he  be  restored  1  The  holy  and  denouncing  law  of 
God  had  been  violated.  How  should  the  breach  be  made  up  ? 
The  majesty  and  faithfulness  of  an  all-powerful  God  had 
been  offended.  How  should  it  be  appeased?  It  will  be  re- 
membered that  these  questions  were  now  agitated  for  the 
first  time.  All  these  difficulties  had  occurred  in  the  case  of 
the  angels  who  had  sinned  ;  but  there  was  no  purpose  to  save 
them,  and  therefore  there  was  no  necessity  to  ask,  in  their 
case,  how  the  difficulties  should  be  overcome ;  with  them  sin 
had  its  perfect  work,  and  the  wages  of  sin  was  death. 

In  the  case  of  man's  transgression  there  was  a  previous  de- 
termination to  save  them  from  the  ruin  in  which  they  were 
involved,  and  the  demand  for  wisdom  was  to  solve  the  way 
in  which  it  should  be  done. 

We  will  suppose  for  a  moment  that  it  had  been  left  to  man 
to  devise  a  way  for  his  own  restoration  to  the  Divine  favour, 
or  that  every  created  mind  had  been  consulted  by  him  for  that 
end  ;  and  can  you  conceive  that  any  way  would  have  entered 
into  the  thoughts  of  any  finite  being,  but  an  immediate  and 
absolute  pardon,  by  a  single  sovereign  act  of  mercy  ?  We 
may  see  many  difficulties  attending  such  an  exercise  of  mer- 
cy ;  and  whether  it  would  have  been  at  all  consistent  with 
the  honour  of  God's  character,  it  is  utterly  impossible  for  us 
to  say.  None  but  God  can  know  what  it  is  within  the  power 
of  God  to  do.  But  we  may  safely  say,  even  if  we  suppose 
such  an  act  of  mercy,  under  existing  circumstances, /)os«iWe, 
it  was  not  the  way  which  would  the  most  highly  honour  the 
character  of  God,  nor  was  it  the  way  which  was  nioit  suited 
to  the  wants  of  the  occasion,  and  therefore  it  was  not  the 
way  which  a  God  of  infinite  wisdom  thought  best  to  adopt. 
Indeed,  while  I  say  we  may  see  many  difficulties  attending  an 
exercise  of  absolute  mercy,  under  the  circumstances  of  man, 
it  appears  to  me  entirely  proper  to  say,  such  an  act  of  mercy 
would  be  impossible.  God,  who  delights  in  mercy,  would 
have  spared  the  sufferings  of  an  innocent  and  holy  Saviour, 
had  the  salvation  of  man  been  possible  without  their  endurance. 

How  great  was  the  difficulty  which  was  here  presented  ! 
and  what  wisdom  was  demanded  to  meet  the  necessities  of 
the  case!  Every  thing  in  the  case  was  new.  Every  path  to 
be  trodden  was  hitherto  untried.  The  breach  which  sin  had 
made  was  infinitely  wide.  It  was  an  ocean  over  wh  ich  no  created 
intelligence  could  travel ;  and  the  redemption  of  a  single  soul 
was  so  important  and  precious,  that  so  far  as  men  or  angels 
were  concerned,  it  must  have  ceased  forever. 

To  meet  this  infinite  demand ;  to  make  up  all  the  difficulties 
which  the  case  involved,  and  to  bring  God  and  man  together 
across  this  unmeasured  alienation,  was  required  in  the  gos- 
pel, and  here  the  wisdom  of  the  plan  by  which  it  proposes  to 
accomplish  the  purpose  is  gloriously  displayed.  When  all 
created  minds  acknowledged" that  the  case  was  hopeless,  God 
brouffbt  forivard  to  the  view  of  his  creatures  the  hidden  wis- 
dom which  he  had  ordained  before  the  world. 

He  made  the  fall  of  man  an  occasion  of  manifesting  his 
own  glorious  perfections.  This  was  his  purpose  and  design, 
and  the  difficulty  in  removing  man's  guilt,  and  restoring  a 
ruined  world  to  his  favour,  and  at  the  same  time  bringing 
eternal  glory  to  the  character  of  God,  was  met  and  answered 
in  the  abundant  provisions  of  the  gospel.     There  is  not  a 


S2 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


question  to  be  asked  in  reference  to  man's  salvation,  which 
the  gospel  does  not  answer.  It  abundantly  saves  the  sinner, 
and  brings  the  highest  glory  to  God. 

The  wisdom  of  the  gospel  supplies  all  your  wants.  It 
makes  a  guilty  being  a  pardoned  and  justified  one.  It  con- 
verts a  polluted  and  defiled  creature  into  a  holy  and  perfect 
one.  It  satisfies  all  the  demands  and  denunciations  of  the 
law.  It  perfectly  compensates  the  ofi'ended  faithfulness  and 
majesty  of  the  Creator,  and  restores  man  to  God,  and  recon- 
ciles God  to  man.  The  diiFiculty  which  existed  in  the  ease 
of  the  first  transgressor  remains  in  the  case  of  every  other 
sinner  to  be  converted  unto  God  ;  and  the  wisdom  of  the  gos- 
pel as  an  expedient  of  salvation,  is  displayed  in  meeting  and 
supplying  this  amazing  difficulty  whenever  a  sinner  is  brought 
home  to  God. 

11.  The  wisdom  of  the  gospel  is  displayed  in  the  manner 
in  which  it  glorifies  all  the  divine  attributes.  While  it  mani- 
fests abundant  mercy  on  the  part  of  the  Great  Creator  in  his 
dealings  with  his  creatures,  it  does  not  in  the  least  degree 
compromise  any  other  of  his  perfections  in  the  exercise  of 
mercy.  If  you  will  conceive  of  the  relation  in  which  man, 
as  a  sinful  being,  stood  towards  God,  you  will  see  how  all 
the  attrilnitos  of  the  divine  character  were  at  war  with  him. 
God  had  given  him  a  law  in  the  hour  of  his  creation,  and 
had  bound  that  law  upon  hira  in  the  most  solemn  manner. 
He  had  voluntarilj'  and  unnecessarily  broken  that  law,  and 
now,  in  the  presence  of  all  beings,  the  Creator  and  his  crea- 
ture were  at  variance,  as  it  were,  in  an  awful  contest,  whether 
the  Creator  should  be  true  to  his  word,  in  the  punishment  and 
destruction  of  the  creature,  or  the  creature  should  triumph  in 
his  rebellion  over  the  instability  of  his  God.  Angels  stopped 
to  witness  the  result.  Fallen  spirits  watched  the  progress  of 
this  conflict;  and  there  seemed  to  depend  upon  the  issue  the 
one  momentous  question,  shall  God  be  the  ruler  of  his  crea- 
tures or  no  1 

The  holiness  of  God  was  called  to  express  its  abhorrence 
of  sin,  as  it  had  done  before.  The  justice  of  God  was  called 
to  execute  immediate  vengeance  on  those  who  had  committed 
sin,  as  it  had  done  upon  Lucifer  and  his  host.  The  truth  of 
God  was  called  to  fulfil  the  threatenings  which  had  been  de- 
nounced against  sin ;  and  yet,  amidst  all  these  difficulties, 
God  so  loved  the  world  that  he  had  determined  the  whole  of 
men  should  not  perish,  but  some  of  them  should  have  ever- 
lasting life. 

If  the  transgressor  should  receive  an  immediate  and  un- 
conditional pardon,  how  should  the  holiness  of  God  be  dis- 
played, or  his  justice  honoured,  or  his  truth  preserved  invio- 
late'! Shall  all  these  glorious  attributes  be  despised  and 
passed  over  utterly  unheeded  ?  The  character  of  God  is  glo- 
rious, and  must  be  glorified  in  the  salvation  of  man  ;  but  how 
it  should  be  so  glorified,  the  wisdom  of  men  and  angels  could 
never  determine.  No  means  had  been  provided  for  the  resto- 
ration of  fallen  angels,  and  no  angel  could  tell  what  means 
should  be  provided  for  the  restoration  of  fallen  man. 

The  attributes  of  God  evidently  required  the  punishment 
of  sin.  If  the  idea  of  a  substitute  had  entered  into  an}'  cre- 
ated mind,  the  difficulty  was  at  once  seen,  how  can  an  inno- 
cent being  be  punished  for  the  guilty'!  Can  God  accept  a 
substitute  1  Can  it  be  imagined  that  he  would  inflict,  with 
his  own  hand,  sufl'erings  belonging  to  the  guilty  upon  one 
without  sin? 

Here  the  gospel  displays  its  wisdom.  It  announces  a  sub- 
stitute for  the  sinner.  It  exhibits  the  whole  system  under 
which  this  substitute  was  offered  and  accepted. 

But  if  only  the  fact  that  a  substitute  would  be  accepted 
had  been  suggested,  all  creatures  might  ask,  where  shall  one 
be  found  who  can  bear  the  punishment  deserved  by  the  mil 
lions  of  mankind !  Were  all  the  angels  in  heaven  able  to 
render  such  a  service  to  mankind  1  Could  any  one  less  than 
the  living  God  himself  undertake  such  a  work  1  Could  it  be 
conceived  possible  that  God  should  he  willing  to  do  this  for 
creatures  who  had  trampled  upon  his  laws  ?  and  if  he  were 
willing,  how  could  it  be  done  ?  How  shall  God  endure  suf- 
ferings for  man !  How  shall  any  thing  which  he  thus  does 
be  put  to  man's  account  1  and  if  God  were  willing  to  become 
man,  and  to  put  himself  in  the  place  of  man,  and  do  and  suffer 
what  man  was  bound  to  do  and  suffer,  how  could  it  consist 
with  the  holiness  and  justice  of  God,  to  let  the  innocent  suf- 
fer and  the  guilty  go  free  1  yea,  to  let  the  innocent  suffer, 
that  the  guiltj^  might  go  free  ! 

The  more  we  enter  into  the  consideration  of  these  things, 
and  contemplate  all  the  difficulties  which  the  holy  attributes 
of  God  inevitably  threw  in  the  way  of  inan's  recovery,  and 
the  impossibility  that  any  created  wisdom  should  devise  a  way 


in  which  they  could  be  reconciled,  we  see  the  wisdom  of  the 
gospel  the  more  wonderfully  displayed.  Here  divine  wis- 
dom interposes;  here  the  wisdom  ordained  in  the  councils  of 
the  Kternal  Trinilj',  before  the  world  began,  is  exhibited; 
and  the  intelligence  of  God's  own  determination  unravels 
every  obscurity  and  doubt,  and  throws  new  and  infinite  hon- 
our upon  his  own  character. 

Behold  this  glorious  plan.  God's  co-equal,  co-eternal  Son, 
shall  undertake  for  us.  A  body  shall  be  given  him.  In  the 
fulness  of  the  time  before  appointed,  he  shall  be  born  as 
man ;  as  the  substitute  and  surety  for  our  souls,  he  shall 
bear  our  burden  of  sins  in  his  own  sacred  body  upon  the 
cross.  By  his  own  obedience  unto  death,  he  shall  work  out 
an  everlasting  righteousness  commensurate  with  the  utmost 
claims  of  the  law  for  all  who  believe.  Thus  every  attribute 
of  God  sliall  be  honoured,  and  God  shall  be  just,  and  the 
justifier  of  him  that  believcth  in  Christ  Jesus. 

Contemplate  this  "  wisdom  of  God  in  a  .mystery."  A 
mediator !  That  mediator  God  ;  tliat  God  man !  That 
Deity  incarnate,  suffering !  Those  sufferings  borne  in  the 
sleadofraan!  His  whole  obedience,  too,  accejited  for  sin- 
ful man,  and  imputed  unto  him  !  vSinuers  by  tliis  rescued 
and  reconciled  to  God.  Sinners  so  reconciled,  restored  to 
the  divine  image,  approved  of  God,  justified  before  the  as- 
sembled universe,  exalted  to  the  thrones  of  endless  glory ! 
and  all  this  in  perfect  consistency  with  the  honour  of  God  ; 
yea,  glorifying  in  the  highest  degree,  the  divine  perfections  ! 
This  is  God's  plan  for  the  salvation  of  a  ruined  world.  This 
is  the  intelligence  which  the  gospel  brings.  Surely  in  the 
contemplation  of  it  we  can  only  exclaim  with  the  apostle,  "  O 
the  depth  of  the  riches  of  the  wisdom  and  knowledge  of  God  ; 
how  unsearchal)le  are  his  judgments,  and  his  ways  past 
finding  out!"  And  with  him  also,  we  may  declare  in  refer- 
ence to  all  who  are  ignorant  of  this  wisdom,  "  Kye  hath  not 
seen,  nor  ear  heard  ;  neither  have  entered  into  the  heart  of 
man  the  things  wliich  God  hath  prepared  for  them  that  love 
him."  Would  to  God  we  could  all  sa}'  also  with  him, 
"  God  hath  revealed  them  unto  us  by  his  spirit,  that  we 
might  know  the  things  which  are  freely  given  to  us  of  God." 

III.  The  wisdom  of  the  gospel  is  displayed  in  its  perfect 
adaptation  to  the  accomplishment  of  the  great  purpose  which 
it  designs.  Tlie  mark  of  true  wisdom  is  in  the  best  arrange- 
ment of  means  to  obtain  a  desired  end.  The  great  object  of 
the  gospel  is  to  seek  and  to  save  that  which  is  lost,  to  con- 
vert sinners  unto  God,  to  make  a  time  of  restitution  through- 
out the  world,  in  which  God  shall  return  to  bless  his 
creatures,  and  men  shall  return  to  submit  themselves  to  God. 
It  operates  upon  a  lost  and  ruined  world  ;  and  from  it,  it 
wishes  to  bring  many  sons  unto  glorj-. 

Its  wisdom  is  manifested  in  its  being  perfectly  adapted  to 
accomplish  this  whole  end. 

The  provisions  of  the  gospel  are  the  evidence  and  fruit  of 
God's  reconciliation  to  man.  Tlie  one  great  offering  for  sin 
which  it  presents  has  made  up  every  breach,  has  taken  away 
every  obstacle,  has  opened  to  the  sinner  a  path  of  glory  and 
blessedness.  God  is  able  to  forgive  and  save  every  trans- 
gressor on  earth  in  consistence  with  his  own  honour ;  and 
therefore  as  our  last  head  showed,  so  far  as  he  is  concerned, 
the  wisdom  of  the  gospel  is  proclaimed  in  his  acknowledg- 
ment that  it  is  sufficient,  and  that  he  is  willing  that  all  should 
be  saved  and  come  to  the  knowledge  of  the  truth. 

But  man  is  yet  alienated,  and  must  be  brought  home  to 
God ;  and  the  gospel  shows  the  wisdom  of  its  plan  in  its 
perfect  adaptation  to  the  great  end  of  converting  him.  The 
great  fact  of  the  gospel,  the  incarnation  and  sufferings  of  a 
glorious  Saviour,  is  the  one  great  instrument  of  good  to  the 
rebel  sinner ;  and  the  continued  exhibition  of  this  one  great 
fact  is  the  means,  and  the  only  means,  of  bringing  back  to 
God  the  hearts  of  his  creatures. 

Take  the  instance  of  the  individual  sinner  converted  unto 
God,  and  what  has  produced  the  effect  upon  him  which  is  so 
manifest  ? 

He  was  dead  in  his  sins  ;  cold,  heartless  and  unconcerned. 
The  one  object,  then,  was  to  rouse  him  to  reflection,  and  to 
produce  a  true  sorrow  for  sin  in  his  heart.  But  what  could 
do  it !  No  remonstrance  of  moral  precepts,  no  appeal  to  the 
dominion  of  reason,  no  arguments  founded  upon  his  own 
ability  to  rise.  No.  Had  these  been  all  the  instruments 
employed,  he  would  have  remained  eternally,  as  multitudes 
do  under  such  instruments,  a  dead  and  ruined  sinner.  But 
he  heard  of  a  crucified  Jesus.  He  was  made  to  look  upon 
him  whom  he  had  pierced.  He  saw  an  agony  and  bloody 
sweat  drawn  out  by  his  transgression.  His  conscience  felt 
and   o\vned   the   guilt.     A   crucifisd   Jesus!     This  planted 


PAROCHIAL  LECTURES  ON  THE  LAW  AND  THE  GOSPEL. 


33 


thoms  in  liis  pillow ;  this  made  him  water  his  couch  with 
his  tears  ;  this  agitated  his  breast  with  grief  and  anxiety. 
The  preaching  of  the  gospel,  the  exhibition  of  the  great  fact 
of  the  gospel,  convicted  him  of  sin;  ingratitude  to  a  Saviour, 
contempt  of  his  blood,  neglect  of  a  soul  for  which  he  died, 
filled  him  with  anguish,  and  compelled  him  to  ask  forgiveness 
from  him  who  had  borne  his  sins  and  carried  his  iniquities. 
In  this  effect  the  wisdom  of  the  gospel  was  displayed.  It 
awakened  and  convinced  a  sinner  who  could  resist  every 
thing  but  this  one  instrument  of  God.  It  brought  down  into 
the  dust  of  humiliation,  a  rebel  who  could  harden  himself 
airainst  every  other  instrument  and  power,  who  could  mock 
at  all  other  solicitations  as  the  horse  mocketh  at  the  battle. 

When  this  rebel  was  awakened,  convinced  and  made  to 
cry  out  in  the  bitterness  of  his  anguish,  the  next  object  was 
to  elevate  his  affections  to  God,  to  bind  him  eternally  to  a 
Saviour,  and  to  save  him  from  going  back  to  the  captivity  of 
Satan;  but  no  instrument  could  do  it  save  the  same  gospel. 
The  same  great  fact  which  had  aroused  him,  gave  him  peace. 
It  was  not  the  moral  or  natural  perfections  of  the  Deity  ;  it 
was  not  the  beauty  of  his  service  nor  the  holiness  of  his 
habitation  that  bound  his  heart  to  heaven,  and  led  him  to 
seek  the  inheritance  of  the  saints  in  light.  It  was  a  bleeding 
Lamb,  a  suffering  Emanuel,  a  Redeemer  crowned  with 
thorns,  that  took  away  the  anguish  of  conviction,  gave  him 
peace  in  believing,  and  filled  his  soul  with  love  to  God.  He 
was  made  alive  by  receiving  Christ  to  live  in  him.  He  was 
brought  to  glorify  God  in  his  body  and  spirit,  which  were 
his,  by  feeling  that  he  was  bought  with  a  price,  and  that  Je- 
sus had  died  for  him.  The  life  he  now  lives  is  sustained 
by  the  gospel  alone ;  and  being  made  one  with  Christ,  through 
a  cordial  acceptance  of  his  salvation,  he  brings  forth  fruit  of 
holiness  unto  God. 

This  has  been  the  one  course  of  proceeding  from  the  begin- 
ning ;  and  millions  of  rebellious  beings  have  been  awakened, 
convicted  and  hound  in  an  everlasting  covenant  to  God,  by 
the  operation  of  this  single  instrument  of  good.  Here  the 
gospel  has  displayed  its  wisdom,  and  God  has  been  infinitely 
honoured  in  the  operation  of  this  plan. 

This  is  not  the  wisdom  of  this  world.  It  appears  to  be 
foolishness  in  the  carnal  eye.  Unconverted  men  can  see  no 
beauty  in  Jesus,  no  reason  in  the  simple  preaching  of  what 
he  has  done,  no  connexion  between  this  and  any  change 
to  be  accomplished  in  the  human  character.  In  their  proud 
language  it  is  unphilosophical  and  absurd.  But  in  spite 
of  all  their  objections,  and  contentions,  and  pride,  it  does 
produce  the  effect  desired  when  nothing  else  can  do  it;  and 
thus  shows  itself  to  be  the  wisdom  of  God,  though  from  the 
men  of  this  world  it  is  hidden  in  a  mj'Ster}'. 

The  apostles  went  out  to  tell  the  simple  fact  of  the  cruci- 
fixion and  exaltation  of  the  Son  of  God  for  the  salvation  of 
sinners ;  and  though  all  the  wise  men  derided  them,  their 
preaching  made  multitudes  cry  out  together,  "  Men  and 
brethren,  what  shall  we  do  1"  and  added  multitudes  to  the 
church  who  should  be  saved.  They  feared  no  repetition ; 
they  expected  no  weariness ;  they  provided  for  no  love  of 
change  ;  they  ceased  not  to  teach  and  to  preach  Jesus  Christ, 
and  God  confirmed  his  word  every  where  by  its  glorious  re- 
sults. We  have  the  same  gospel,  and  it  still  produces  the 
same  effect.  Though  disputers  of  this  world  still  deride,  the 
more  exclusively  and  entirely  we  preach  Jesus  Christ,  the 
more  abundant  are  the  effects  upon  the  hearts  and  characters 
of  men.  When  wc  are  willing  to  trust  God's  wisdom  and  to 
throw  ourselves  altogether  upon  the  great  fact  of  the  gospel, 
to  preach,  not  ourselves,  but  Jesus  Christ  the  Lord,  we  are 
blessed ;  sinners  are  awakened  and  converted,  and  God  is 
honoured  in  spite  of  all  the  exclamations  of  proud  and  cap- 
tious men  :  "  How  can  these  things  be  V 

The  gospel  is  the  only  possible  instrument  for  this  end. 
There  is  no  sinner  converted  but  by  its  power ;  and  the  wis- 
dom of  God  is  thus  unceasingly  displaved.  Every  song  in 
heaven,  and  every  true  prayer  and  thanksgiving  upon  earth, 
unites  to  utter  the  same  truth ;  we  are  washed  and  made 
white  in  the_  blood  of  the  Lamb;  and  mysterious  as  this  wis- 
dom is  to  the  princes  of  this  world,  it  is  wisdom  ordained 
before  the  world  to  our  glory. 

These  three  views  display  the  wisdom  of  the  gospel  as  an 
expedient  for  man's  salvation  ;  the  difficulty  which  it  meets, 
the  glory  which  it  brings  to  God,  and  its  adaptation  to  pro- 
duce the  end  which  it  designs  :  "  We  speak  the  wisdom  of 
God  in  a  mystery,  even  the  hidden  wisdom,  which  God  or- 
dained before  the  world  to  our  glory." 

How  vain  are  the  objections  which  men  make  to  the  sys- 
tem of  grace  and  salvation !     This  is  God's  plan.      It  is 
Vol.  IL— E 


marked  with  the  wisdom  of  his  character.  It  has  glorified 
him,  in  an  amazing  degree,  in  the  effect  which  it  has  pro- 
duced throughout  the  world.  Though  many  of  you  may  see 
no  reason  in  this  system,  and  may  persuade  yourselves  to  be- 
lieve that  there  is  something  in  it  which  is  contrary  to  your 
reason,  rest  assured,  if  you  will  throw  yourselves  with  faith 
upon  it,  yon  will  find  it  to  be  the  power  of  God  unto  salva- 
tion to  your  souls.  You  have  not  a  want  which  it  will  not 
supply.  It  will  meet  your  whole  necessities.  It  will  abun- 
dantly answer  your  praj-ers. 

This  is  the  true  and  proper  test  of  the  fitness  and  wisdom 
of  the  gospel ;  the  test  of  experience.  Try  this  system. 
Taste  and  see  that  the  Lord  is  gracious.  To  this  point 
would  I  lead  your  affections  and  plans.  I  cannot  stop  to 
argue  about  the  externals  of  this  plan  before  the  tribunal  of 
man's  wisdom.  You  may  be  speculatively  believers,  while 
you  are  practically  unbelievers.  You  can  know  nothing  of 
the  wisdom  or  the  fitness  of  the  gospel,  unless  you  are  will- 
ing to  receive  it  and  try  it  under  the  shape  in  which  it  comes 
to  j'ou  as  a  remedy  for  your  diseased  and  ruined  souls.  If 
you  are  willing  to  be  convinced  of  your  necessities  ;  if  you 
are  ready  to  acknowledge  that  you  have  deep  and  fatal 
spiritual  wants,  and  are  willing  to  lay  yourselves  down  as  a 
free  offering  to  a  crucified  Saviour,  this  gospel  will  tell  you 
all  you  can  desire  to  know,  and  give  you  all  you  ezm  need  to 
possess. 

Your  purblind  reasons  may  urge  a  thousand  questions 
which  God  has  not  answered,  and  which  man  cannot  an- 
swer, about  this  heavenly  system  ;  and  you  may  be  persuaded 
fo  say,  I  cannot  accept  it  because  I  cannot  understand  it. 
This  is  no  fair  or  accurate  test  of  any  remedy  for  evil.  Go 
with  a  deep  conviction  that  you  are  guilty,  and  deserve  con- 
demnation ;  that  you  are  ruined,  and  have  no  help.  Go  with 
a  penitent  and  sorrowful  spirit,  in  remembrance  of  your  sin, 
looking  upon  the  load  you  have  heaped  upon  a  dying  friend. 
Go  with  the  language  of  unfeigned  humiliation,  with  a  sin- 
cere desire  to  obtain  pardon  and  peace  in  the  relation  be- 
tween your  soul  and  God.  Go  thus  to  the  feet  of  Jesus,  and 
ask  for  the  remedy  which  he  bestows.  If,  then,  you  are  sent 
back  empty,  if  you  find  that  the  gospel  can  do  nothing  for  you, 
that  your  load  of  guilt  is  unremoved,  and  your  souls  have  no 
peace  with  God,  then  may  you,  with  much  greater  show  of 
reason,  pronounce  upon  the  unfitness  of  the  gospel  to  answer 
your  necessity.  But  until  you  have  tried  and  found  the  trial 
vain,  you  cannot,  with  the  least  propriety,  urge  a  single  ob- 
jection to  the  terras  and  operation  of  the  gospel. 

Are  you  willing  to  make  this  trial  ?  Are  you  ready  to  test, 
by  experience,  the  sufficiency  of  Christ  ?  He  invites  }-ou  ;  he 
advises  you  ;  he  warns  you  ;  he  encourages  you  ;  he  intreats 
you  all  to  submit  j-our  wills,  j'our  desires,  your  characters,  to 
him  ;  and  by  his  Spirit  he  will  enable  you  to  know  and  un- 
derstand the  things  which  are  freely  given  you  of  God ;  and 
this  acceptance  of  the  gospel  shall  furnish  you  a  salvation 
that  can  be  obtained  by  no  other  instrument  or  method. 


LECTURE  XIV. 

THE  POWER  OF  THE  GOSPEL  TO  SAVE. 

U  is  ilii-  power  of  God  unto  salvation,  to  every  one  tliat  be- 
lievcOi. — RoMAXs  I.  16. 

This  is  the  reason  which  the  apostle  gives  why  he  was  not 
ashamed  of  the  gospel  of  Jesus.  Of  an  instrument  of  such 
power  and  so  much  good  among  men,  he  might  well  glory 
wherever  he  went. 

In  the  eyes  of  the  self-righteous  Jews  the  gospel  of  Jesus 
was  a  stumbling-block,  because  it  allowed  nothing  to  human 
merit.  And  with  the  conceited  Greeks  it  was  accounted 
foolishness,  because  it  paid  no  deference  to  the  arrogant 
claims  of  human  reason.  But,  notwithstanding  it  was  in- 
conceivable to  those  who  confided  in  their  own  wisdom,  that 
the  salvation  of  man  should  be  effected  by  any  means  appa- 
rently so  unsuited  to  the  end,  St.  Paul  hesitated  not  to  affirm, 
in  the  face  of  all  opposition,  that  the  gospel  would  be  power- 
ful for  the  production  of  the  end  which  was  intended,  that  it 
would  operate  as  the  power  of  God  unto  salvation  to  every 
one  who  believed. 

The  power  of  the  gospel  as  an  instrument  of  salvation,  is  the 
subject  which  I  desire  to  present  to  your  attention  at  this  time. 


CHRISTIAN   LIBRARY. 


It  may  be  regarded  under  the  two  aspects  of  the  power 
which  is  exercised  for  us,  in  the  personal  worlt  of  the  Lord 
Jesus  Christ,  and  the  power  which  is  exercised  in  us,  by  the 
operations  of  the  Holy  Spirit. 

I.  Consider  the  gospel  as  the  great  instrument  of  salvation 
in  what  it  does  for  us. 

The  law  held  us  in  bondage,  kept  us  under  condemnation, 
bound  us  over  to  endure  tlie  everlasting  wages  of  sin.  This 
bondage  the  gospel  has  broken ;  it  has  released  us  from  all 
condemnation";  it  has  provided  a  sacrifice  which  can  answer 
every  claim  of  the  law,  and  given  a  new  and  glorious  hope 
to  those  who  were  without  hope.  In  the  obedience  which 
Jesus  has  rendered  to  its  precepts,  and  the  satisfaction  which 
he  has  made  to  its  penalties,  the  law  has  been  silenced  in 
every  demand,  and  the  power  of  the  gospel  for  salvation  has 
been  exhibited.  And  under  the  gospel,  by  this  work  of  the 
Redeemer,  as  our  substitute,  God  can  exercise  mercy  to  those 
whom  the  law  has  condemned,  without  setting  aside,  in  an)' 
degree,  the  authority  or  sanctions  of  his  law. 

Again,  Satan  held  us  in  captivity;  we  were  under  the 
power  of  the  god  of  this  world ;  and  he  exercised  over  the 
hearts  and  habits  of  all  a  ruinous  dominion.  From  his  power 
the  gospel  rescues  us.  Tlie  Lord  Jesus  has  destroyed  him 
that  had  the  power  of  death.  When  he  hung  as  a  bleeding 
man  upon  the  cross,  and  was  to  all  appearance  subdued  and 
destroyed,  then  he  triumphed  over  Satan  and  spoiled  his 
principalities  and  powers,  and  made  a  show  of  his  conquest 
openly.  And  this  one  fact,  the  death  of  Jesus  upon  the  cross 
for  sinners,  has  been  the  single  great  instrument  by  which 
Satan's  kingdom  has  been  demolished,  and  the  Saviour's 
empire  has  been  established  throughout  the  world. 

The  power  of  the  gospel  for  us  is  exhibited  in  heaven,  in 
the  accepted  sufficiency  of  the  Lord  Jesus,  in  his  prevailing 
intercession  as  our  great  High  Priest,  and  in  the  continual 
crowning  of  the  subjects  of  his  redemption  for  his  sake. 

It  is  exhibited  on  earth  in  the  providence  which  causes  all 
thino-s  to  promote  the  salvation  of  sinners;  in  the  continual 
progress  of  truth,  and  its  conquest  over  error  throughout  the 
world  ;  in  the  justifying  of  innumerable  multitudes  of  sinners, 
and  giving  the  guilty  consciences  of  men  peace  with  God ; 
in  the  unceasing  triumphs  which  it  accomplishes  over  death, 
and  in  the  ransomed  souls  whom  it  brings  to  eternal  glory. 

It  is  exhibited  in  hell,  in  the  restraint  which  it  has  put  to 
the  power  of  Satan;  in  the  limits  which  it  affixes  to  his  de- 
signs of  malice;  in  the  subjection  which  it  compels  him  to 
acknowledge  to  the  Lord  Jesus,  as  the  head  over  all,  and  in 
the  triumphs  which  it  is  attaining  over  him  among  men  from 
day  to  day. 

To  the  universe,  the  gospel  is  thus  presented  as  the  power 
of  God  for  salvation  in  behalf  of  sinners.  For  them  it  has 
provided  a  satisfaction  and  righteousness  sufficient  for  the 
whole  world.  For  them  it  has  opened  a  new  and  living  way 
of  salvation,  abundant  for  their  universal  acceptance.  For 
them  it  is  daily  finishing  its  works  of  grace,  and  adding 
new  beings  to  the  triumphant  hosts  of  heaven. 

This  power  of  the  gospel,  as  exercised  for  us  in  the  offer- 
ing and  intercession  of  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  I  pass  over 
thus  cursorily,  because  my  chief  object  is  to  display  the 
power  of  the  gospel  unto  salvation,  as  exercised  within  us. 
Under  this  view, 

II.  It  is  the  power  of  God  unto  salvation,  to  every  one  that 
believeth. 

Wlien  we  consider  the  whole  progress  of  the  gospel  in  the 
world,  and  reflect  upon  the  innumerable  multitude  of  souls 
whom  it  has  actually  rescued  from  the  bondage  of  sin  by  the 
power  of  the  Holy  Ghost,  we  behold  the  power  of  God  more 
remarkably  displayed  in  this  than  in  all  the  works  of  creation. 

We  have  seen  the  little  stone  cut  out  of  the  mountain  with- 
out hands,  as  the  gospel  is  called  in  the  book  of  Daniel,  grow 
into  a  mighty  mountain,  and  establish  itself  in  all  the  king- 
doms of  the  earth.  We  have  seen  millions  of  sinners  sub- 
mitting their  hearts  to  a  doctrine,  at  first  every  where  spoken 
against,  upon  the  testimony  of  a  few  poor  and  despicable 
persons;  to  a  doctrine  diametrically  opposite  to  the  propensi- 
ties of  their  own  natures ;  involving  unceasing  self-denial,  and 
the  assumption  of  a  severe  and  painful  cross.  We  have  seen 
this  submission  made  in  hope  of  a  reward  from  one  whom 
they  have  never  seen,  and  in  whom,  if  they  had  seen  him, 
they  would  have  found  no  Ijeauty  by  a  natural  eye  for  which 
he  should  be  desired ;  and  this  reward,  too,  whatever  it  might 
be,  deferred  for  a  long  time,  and  offering,  in  tlie  meanwhile, 
no  ground  of  assurance  to  expect  it,  but  a  faith  in  his  power 
who  has  promised  it,  and  requiring  a  perpetual  contest  with 
persetjution  and  sufi'ering  and  death. 


Having  seen  all  this,  how  elevated  is  the  view  which  is 
presented  of  the  power  of  the  gospel  of  Jesus.  How  many 
souls  have  been  rescued  from  the  power  of  that  wicked  ad- 
versary who  leads  men  captive  at  his  will !  And  by  what 
means  have  they  been  delivered  from  its  chains?  Not  by 
human  eloquence  or  the  powers  of  moral  suasion  in  a  single 
instance.  Nothing  but  the  gospel  has  ever  emancipated  a 
single  soul,  or  brought  one  to  the  enjoyment  of  lasting  peace. 
But  tliis  has  been,  in  every  age,  quick  and  powerful,  and 
sharper  than  a  two-edged  sword,  and  has  turned  thousands 
from  darkness  to  light,  and  from  the  power  of  Satan  unto 
God.  There  have  been  multitudes  in  every  age  who  were 
living  witnesses  of  its  power;  who  by  its  enlightening,  com- 
forting and  sanctifying  efficacy,  have  been  created  anew,  and 
filled  with  joy  and  peace  in  believing. 

These  effects  the  world  still  beholds.  It  wonders  at  them, 
and  is  unable  to  account  for  them.  They  are  seen  wherever 
the  gospel  is  faithfully  administered.  The  simple  exhibition 
of  Christ  crucified  is  still  as  truly  and  effectually  as  ever  a 
hammer  which  lireaks  in  pieces  the  rocks,  and  a  mould  which 
forms  into  the  likeness  of  Christ  those  who  are  subjected  to 
its  divine  influence. 

Wherever  you  look  abroad  upon  the  Christian  church,  yovi 
see  the  power  of  the  gospel  displayed.  In  every  year  mi- 
riads  are  converted  by  its  influence  unto  Clirist;  angels  look 
with  joy  upon  its  operations,  and  the  name  and  character  of 
the  Lord  Jesus  are  glorified  in  its  results.  Extensive  re- 
vivals of  religion,  under  the  simple  preaching  of  its  truth, 
show  upon  a  large  scale  its  power  unto  salvation. 

With  false  systems  of  doctrine,  all  the  talent  and  eloquence 
of  men  convert  no  sinner's  soul,  while  the  lifting  up  of  a 
crucified  Jesus,  though  feebly  done  by  the  talent  of  the 
preacher,  is  drawing  all  unto  him.  Under  other  preaching, 
religion  dies,  and  hardly  the  form  of  godliness  remains. 
Under  the  preaching  of  the  cross,  grace,  mercy  and  peace 
are  multiplied  among  men,  and  God  confirms  his  word  with 
the  demonstration  of  his  Spirit  and  with  power. 

III.  The  power  of  the  gospel  is  displayed  in  that  gracious 
operation  which  brings  back  every  individual  sinner  to  holi- 
ness and  peace. 

1.  In  tlie  awakening  and  conversion  of  sinners,  in  the 
turning  of  their  hearts  from  the  power  of  Satan  unto  God, 
the  gospel  displays  its  power  unto  salvation.  The  natural 
mind  of  man  refuses  all  subjection  to  the  will  of  God.  The 
strong  man  armed  keeps  his  palace,  and  his  goods  are  in 
peace.  Without  concern  for  himself,  and  in  a  determined 
conflict  with  his  Creator,  the  sinner  sets  himself  to  oppose 
the  grace  of  Jesus;  and  it  is  only  as  he  is  subdued  by  a 
power  stronger  than  he,  that  his  soul  is  spoiled  of  its  rebel- 
lion, and  renovated  in  love.  In  the  accomplishment  of  this 
conversion,  the  gospel  is  mighty  through  God,  to  the  pulling 
down  of  strong  holds,  and  every  imagination  which  exalteth 
itself  against  God.  When  Jesus  stilled  the  tempest  with 
two  words,  "  Peace,  be  still,"  men  wondered  at  the  exhibi- 
tion of  his  power,  and  exclaimed,  "  What  manner  of  man  is 
this,  that  even  the  winds  and  the  sea  obey  himl"  The  con- 
version of  the  sinner  is  a  far  greater  work  than  the  stilling  of 
the  ocean.  The  sea  will  sometimes  be  calm  of  itself;  but 
the  wicked  are  always  "  like  the  troubled  sea  when  it  cannot 
rest,  whose  waters  cast  up  mire  and  dirt."  To  still  the  raging 
sea,  and  to  subdue  the  sinner's  soul  into  the  calmness  and 
beauty  of  a  spiritual  life,  the  gospel,  as  the  word  of  Jesus,  is 
the  chosen  instrument.  It  is  made  the  savour  of  life  unto 
life,  and  new-creates  the  sinner,  not  by  the  will  of  man  or 
the  will  of  the  flesh,  but  by  the  power  of  God. 

The  minister  of  Jesus  speaks  in  the  ears  of  a  dead  man, 
whom  no  thunder  could  have  awakened,  and  he  rises  up  to 
give  glory  to  God.  Christ  calls  upon  men  to  deny  them- 
selves, to  part  with  their  sins,  which  they  have  esteemed 
their  ornament  and  subsistence ;  to  stand  at  defiance  with  the 
allurements  and  opposition  of  the  world,  and  to  rejoice  if  they 
are  counted  worthy  to  suffer  shame  for  Christ's  sake,  and 
they  obey  him  without  consulting  with  flesh  and  blood. 
Those  affections  which  are  bound  to  the  earth  are  lifted  up 
to  heaven.  That  spirit  which  boasted  in  rebellion  against 
God,  yields  to  hira  wdth  the  submission  of  a  lamb;  and  the 
same  man  who  proudly  said,  "  I  will  not  have  this  man  to 
reign  over  me;  who  is  Lord  over  xaeV  now  says,  in  an 
Immble  dependance  upon  Christ,  "  Lord,  what  wilt  thou  have 
me  to  AoV  This  change  of  character  and  heart  the  gospel 
has  accomplished;  andthus,  in  the  conversion  of  the  trans- 
gressor, shows  itself  the  power  of  God  unto  salvation. 

2.  In  the  free  justification  of  the  sinner  before  God,  and 
giving  him  acceptance  and  peace  of  conscience,  the  gospel 


PAROCHLIL  LECTURES  ON  TPIE  LAW  AND  THE  GOSPEL. 


35 


display's  its  power  unto  salvation.  It  comes  to  the  penitent 
transgressor  as  a  ministration  of  righteousness,  as  a  word  of 
reconciliation  and  peace.  It  opens  the  prison  doors  and  bids 
the  captive  go  free.  The  power  of  the  law  was  great,  as 
represented  in  the  mighty  thunderings  with  which  it  was 
given  ;  but  in  comparison  with  the  gospel,  the  law  was  weak, 
and  could  make  nothing  perfect.  The  power  of  the  law  was 
for  destruction.  The  power  of  the  gospel  is  a  life-giving 
power.  The  law  could  only  hold  down  the  man  who  was 
down  before ;  it  could  never  give  him  life  again.  But  the 
power  to  give  life  is  far  greater  than  the  power  to  kill.  The 
gospel  is  thus  mighty  to  pass  by  transgressions  and  sins,  to 
set  at  liberty  the  souls  that  are  bound,  and  to  give  boldness 
in  the  presence  of  the  King  of  Saints  to  the  poor  captives  of 
Satan. 

When  the  sinner's  heart  is  brought  under  the  influence  of 
the  gospel  by  the  power  of  the  Holy  Ghost,  it  takes  away 
the  burden  of  guilt;  it  silences  every  accuser;  it  fills  the  be- 
liever with  the  confidence  of  hope ;  it  forbids  every  weapon 
to  prosper  which  is  formed  against  him,  and  condemns  every 
tongue  which  rises  up  in  judgment  against  his  soul.  The 
justification  which  the  gospel  gives  is  a  perfect  and  entire 
one.  The  sins  of  a  life,  however  accumulated,  however  ag- 
gravated, are  blotted  out  in  one  moment,  and  that  for  ever. 
A  new  and  perfect  righteousness  is  bestowed  upon  the  par- 
doned sinner;  and  he  stands  before  God,  not  only  without  a 
stain  of  guilt,  but  with  a  character  as  perfect,  and  a  title  to 
an  inheritance  of  glory  as  entire,  as  if  he  had  never  trans- 
gressed against  God. 

In  the  justification  of  the  believer,  the  gospel  makes  every 
tiling  sure.  "  Who  shall  lay  any  thing  to  the  charge  of  God's 
elect  ?  It  is  God  that  justifieth ;  who  is  he  that  condemneth  1 
It  is  Christ  that  died,  yea,  rather  that  is  risen  again;  who  is 
at  the  right  hand  of  God  for  ever."  And  where  he  is  his  fol- 
lowers are  also  to  be.  In  this  total  change  in  the  relation  of 
a  sinner  towards  God,  the  gospel  shows  its  power;  it  turns 
aside  the  edge  of  judgment,  and  rejoices  in  a  victory  over 
condemnation ;  and  relieving  a  soul  from  fear,  from  danger, 
and  from  death,  it  shows  itself  to  be  the  power  of  God  unto 
salvation. 

3.  The  gospel  displays  its  power  unto  salvation  in  its  pro- 
gressive sanctification  of  those  whom  it  has  converted  unto 
God,  and  justified  in  the  righteousness  of  Jesus.  It  is  the 
great  and  only  instrument  of  making  men  holy.  Thus  the 
Kedceraer  says  in  his  intercession  to  the  Father,  "Sanctify 
them  through  thy  truth ;  thy  word  is  truth."  In  the  progress- 
ive exercise  of  its  power  to  give  life,  it  leads  the  converted 
soul  every  day  nearer  to  the  image  of  God.  There  is  a 
heavenly  teaching  by  the  Holy  Spirit,  accompanying  the 
word,  which  forms  Christ  in  the  believer's  heart  more  per- 
fectly ;  which  writes  upon  his  heart  the  divine  law,  and  makes 
it  his  delight  to  do  his  will.  There  is  here  a  continual  ex- 
hibition of  the  power  of  the  gospel.  The  impression  upon 
an  adamant,  from  a  simple  touch  of  the  seal,  would  not  be 
more  wonderful  than  this  transformation  of  an  earthly  and  de- 
graded soul  into  the  divine  image,  by  the  preaching  of  the 
word  of  truth. 

In  the  gospel  we  behold,  as  in  a  glass,  the  glory  of  the 
Lord,  and  are  changed  into  the  same  image,  from  glory  to 
glory,  by  the  Spirit  of  the  Lord.  The  application  of  the 
great  truths  of  the  gospel  to  our  hearts,  by  llie  power  of  the 
Spirit,  destroys  the  temptations  of  sense  and  appetite;  over- 
comes the  allurements  and  terrors  of  the  world  ;  bruises  Sa- 
tan under  our  feet,  and  makes  us,  after  the  image  of  the  Lord 
Jesus,  holy,  harmless,  undefiled,  and  separate  from  sinners; 
and  in  this  daily  progress  of  our  souls  to  God,  we  see  new 
displays  of  the  power  of  the  gospel,  and  rejoice  in  him  who, 
by  its  instrumentality,  can  make  all  grace  abound  in  us. 

4.  The  gospel  displays  its  power  unto  salvation,  in  uphold- 
ing and  preserving  those  who  are  brought  to  a  knowledge  of 
its  truth. 

It  is  the  great  instrument  of  keeping  every  child  of  God 
through  faith  unto  salvation.  By  the  divine  power  attending 
its  ministrations,  it  is  able  to  keep  us  from  falling,  and  to 
present  us  before  the  throne  of  divine  glory  with  exceeding 
joy.  For  this  it  is  styled  an  incorruptible  seed  ;  an  abiding 
seed  in  the  heart,  and  brings  forth  permanent  and  increasing 
fruit.  It  is  a  tree  with  perpetual  fruit,  without  any  variation 
for  the  difference  of  seasons.  Like  that  tree  which  St.  John 
saw  in  Paradise,  which  brought  forth  its  fruit  every  month,  of 
twelve  different  kinds.  Thus  Jesus  promises  that  every 
brancli  in  him  which  beareth  fruit  shall  be  purged  and  made 
to  bring  forth  more  fruit,  and  the)' who  live  in  him  shall  have 
life  more  abundantly.     This  preservation  of  divine  grace  in 


the  heart  of  man,  is  a  glorious  exhibition  of  power.  It  is 
like  keeping  a  spark  alive  in  the  midst  of  the  ocean,  and  sus- 
taining a  hope,  even  against  hope. 

The  follower  of  Jesus  is  encompassed  with  innvtmerable 
difficulties.  Many  heavy  loads  are  united  in  their  pressure 
upon  his  soul.  He  must  bear  the  weight  of  a  wounded  spirit ; 
the  sorrows  of  indwelling  sin  ;  the  burden  of  a  decay^ing  bo- 
dy ;  the  load  of  scorn  and  reproach  from  Satan  and  the  world. 
But  amidst  all  these,  the  gospel  gives  him  beauty  for  ashes ; 
the  oil  of  joy  for  mourning,  and  the  garment  of  praise  for  the 
spirit  of  heaviness.  When  fearfulness  and  trembling  come 
upon  him,  and  his  steps  are  almost  gone,  this  is  his  comfort 
in  his  affliction,  that  the  word  of  God  hath  quickened  him, 
and  that  God  will  perfect  that  which  he  hath  wrought  for 
his  servant.  In  the  midst  of  all  his  difficulties,  the  gospel 
leads  the  Christian  not  to  lean  upon  any  created  strength,  nor 
to  look  for  the  help  of  man,  but  to  trust  only  in  the  word  of 
divine  promise,  and  to  cast  his  whole  care  upon  him  who  has 
begun  a  good  work  in  him,  and  will  carry  it  on,  unto  the  day 
of  the  Lord  Jesus. 

This  preserving  power  of  the  gospel  is  displayed  in  many 
instances  through  a  long  course  of  years,  and  in  circumstances 
of  great  trial  and  distress.  "  Eighty  and  sis  years,"  said 
Polycarp  upon  the  day  of  his  martyrdom,  "have  I  served  Je- 
sus of  Nazareth."  And  what  can  be  a  more  delightful  testi- 
mony to  the  worth  and  power  of  the  gospel,  than  that  of  an 
old  man  who  has  passed  through  all  the  sorrows  of  life, 
and  at  the  period  of  gray  hairs,  when  all  the  charms  of  earth 
have  lost  their  power,  can  say,  "  I  have  been  young  and  now 
am  old,  yet  saw  I  never  the  righteous  forsaken,"  to  me  Jesus 
is  still  precious.  This  testimony  is  given  every  day,  and 
God  is  honoured  in  the  power  which  his  gospel  exhibits,  to 
sustain  and  preserve  those  who  have  entrusted  themselves 
to  it. 

5.  The  gospel  exhibits  its  power  unto  salvation,  in  the  final 
crowning  of  the  saints  in  glory.  For  every  child  of  God  be- 
fore me,  its  work  of  grace  shall  be  fully  and  eternally  accom- 
plished. As  the  ransomed  of  the  Lord,  they  shall  return  to 
Zion,  with  songs  and  everlasting  joy  upon  their  heads.  They 
shall  obtain  joy  and  gladness,  and  sorrow  and  sighing  shall 
flee  away.  Then,  how  wonderful  is  the  display  of  power 
which  has  brought  a  child  of  wrath  and  sin  to  be  an  heir  of 
everlasting  glory  !  The  sufferings  of  Jesus  shall  then  have 
received  their  full  reward.  He  shall  be  glorified  in  his  saints, 
and  admired  in  all  that  believe.  He  shall  rejoice  forever 
over  the  vast  multitudes  whom  he  hath  redeemed  and  washed 
from  their  sins  in  his  own  blood.  Countless  armies  shall  as- 
semble before  him,  with  his  mark  upon  their  foreheads  ;  all 
the  fruits  of  his  redemption,  plucked  out  of  the  jaws  of  the 
lion  ;  begotten  again  through  his  word,  to  the  enjoyment  of  a 
lively  hope,  an  everlasting  possession,  and  permitted  to  dwell 
in  the  presence  of  the  Lamb  forever. 

Then  the  salvation  of  each  redeemed  soul  is  finally  accom- 
plished, and  the  gospel  has  displayed  its  full  and  proper 
power  in  the  conversion,  the  justifying,  the  sanctifying,  the 
preserving,  and  the  crowning  every  subject  of  the  redemption 
of  Jesus.  The  work  in  each  instance  has  been  the  same.  A 
vessel  of  wrath  fitted  for  destruction  has  been  brought  to 
glory  for  the  master's  honour  and  use  ;  and  unimmbered  mil- 
lions who  were  by  nature  poor  and  miserable,  and  blind  and 
naked,  for  whom,  while  they  were  without  strength,  Christ 
died,  will  be  found  rescued  by  the  power  of  the  gospel,  and 
made  to  shine  as  the  brightness  of  the  firmament,  and  as  the 
stars,  forever  and  ever. 

This  text  teaches  us  the  proper  ground  of  hope.  The 
power  of  God  as  promised  and  exercised  in  the  gospel  of  Je- 
sus. If  you  look  upon  your  own  characters,  you  find  your- 
selves utterly  weak  and  unworthy.  All  reflections  upon 
j'ourselves  will  inevitably  be  of  the  most  humiliating  and 
painful  character ;  and  if  you  were  compelled  to  receive  the 
wages  which  you  have  earned  by  your  own  conduct,  you 
could  not  sustain  the  load.  You  have  nothing  which  you  can 
offer  unto  God.  There  is  no  part  of  your  lives  which  could 
furnish  you  a  sufficient  hope  of  acceptance  before  him,  and  if  he 
should  call  you  into  judgment,  it  must  be  to  condemn  and 
destroy  you.  But  while  you  are  thus  entirely  deficient  in 
yourselves,  there  is  offered  to  j'ou  in  the  gospel  of  Jesus,  a 
sufficient  and  abiding  hope.  There  the  divine  power  presents 
itself  to  your  acceptance,  as  all-sufficient  for  your  wants,  and 
invites  you  to  lean  upon  it,  as  a  staff  which  can  never  be 
broken. 

Will  you  then  be  persuaded  to  cast  out  all  idea  of  trusting 
in  yourselves ;  to  renounce  all  dependence  upon  your  own 
character  and  conduct,  and  to  seek  a  righteousness  beyond 


30 


CHRISTIAN     LIERARY. 


yourselves,  in  the  perfect  and  spotless  obedience  of  the  Son 
of  God.  You  are  simply  invited  to  accept  the  provisions  of 
the  gospel,  and  as  Noah,  believing  God's  word,  sought 
refuge  and  protection  in  the  ark ;  and  as  the  persecuted  Israel- 
ite, trusting  the  divine  command,  found  a  shelter  in  the  city 
of  refuge  ;  so  to  flee  to  the  work  which  the  Lord  Jesus  has 
finished,  and  plead  notliing  but  that  for  your  acceptance  be- 
fore God.  If  you  are  convinced  of  your  wants,  and  of  your 
total  inability  to  save  yourself,  and  are  ready  to  be  freely  jus- 
tified, and  freely  saved  by  the  power  of  Christ,  every  thing  is 
ready  for  you.  The  sacrifice  and  obedience  of  Jesus  have 
been  accepted  in  your  behalf.  God  is  well  pleased  in  him, 
and  well  pleased  to  save  you,  for  his  sake ;  and  nothing  is 
wanting,  but  that  you,  with  a  penitent  and  humble  spirit, 
should  receive  the  blessings  which  are  so  freely  offered  you 
in  Christ  Jesus.  The  gospel  presents  you  all  a  foundation 
upon  which  you  may  securely  build.  Without  fear  or 
doubting  you  may  embrace  this  glorious  hope  ;  and  when  you 
do  embrace  it  in  your  hearts,  all  your  guilt  shall  be  removed, 
all  your  dangers  shall  pass  away,  and  everlasting  light  and 
glory  shall  rest  upon  your  souls. 

Do  not  trust  yourselves  before  a  heart-searching  God  with 
any  other  ground  of  hope,  for  plead  what  you  will,  you  will 
be  inevitably  condemned.  When  God  riseth  up  in  judgment 
you  cannot  answer  him,  or  stand  before  him,  but  in  the  all- 
sufficient  and  prevailing  merits  of  an  incarnate  and  suffering 
Saviour,  which  have  been  thankfully  embraced  and  dwelt 
upon  by  you. 

You  see  to  whom  all  the  praise  is  to  be  given  for  the  work 
of  salvation.  In  this  work  man  is  nothing.  He  brings  to  it 
no  strength,  no  merit,  no  claim  of  any  kind.  You  are  to  as- 
cribe the  whole  glory  to  that  might)'  .Saviour  who  loved  you, 
when  you  were  dead  in  trespasses  and  sins,  and  interposed 
his  power  and  his  worthiness  for  you,  when  you  were  perish- 
ing, without  strength  and  without  hope.  To  him  let  your 
thanksgivino's  be  every  da)'  addressed,  as  you  are  led  on  from 
strength  to  strength.  In  him  let  all  your  confidence  be 
placed,  for  what  he  has  promised  to  do  for  you,  while  you 
are  passing  the  wilderness  of  life;  and  when  you  are  brought 
to  rest,  in  the  presence  of  his  glory,  to  him  will  you  find 
yourselves  constrained  to  offer  all  the  honour  and  praise  for 
what  he  lias  been  pleased  to  undertake  and  finish  in  your 
behalf. 

He  is  the  great  object  of  universal  praise ;  all  the  angels 
of  God  worship  him;  all  the  spirits  of  just  men  made  per- 
fect, ascribe  honour  unto  him ;  and  from  our  hearts  he  asks 
the  same  tribute  of  thanksgiving  and  honour. 

Give  him  glory  before  your  feet  stumble  upon  the  dark 
mountains,  and  he  turn  the  light  which  you  look  for  into  the 
shadow  of  death.  Be  wise  in  making  him  your  friend  while 
his  mercies  are  offered  you  in  his  word,  and  let  the  power  of 
the  gospel  be  for  you  a  power  to  save. 

For  reflect,  I  pray  you,  in  conclusion,  that  the  same  power 
which  the  gospel  has  to  save,  it  has  to  destroy.  It  increases 
the  condemnation  and  misery  of  those  who  reject  it,  and  it 
were  far  better,  never  to  have  heard  its  gracious  invitations, 
than  having  heard  them,  to  cast  them  voluntarily  away.  To 
this  destroying  power  of  the  gospel,  to  those  who  reject  it, 
Jesus  refers  when  he  says,  "  Whosoever  shall  fall  on  this 
stone  shall  be  broken,  but  on  whomsoever  it  shall  fall,  it  will 
grind  him  to  powder."  It  has  an  irresistible  energy.  It 
comes  with  an  overwhelming  force  upon  those  who  have  de- 
spised its  mercies,  and  makes  it  better  for  such  persons  if  they 
had  never  been  born.  This  gospel  must  appear  in  the  great 
day,  as  a  witness  for  or  against  every  child  of  man.  It 
will  bear  testimony  for  all  who  have  accepted  its  invitations 
that  justice  is  satisfied,  and  all  condemnation  must  pass  away ; 
that  the  Lamb  is  worthy,  and  infinite  honour  and  glory  must  be 
bestowed.  It  must  witness  against  all  who  have  refused  its 
mercies,  that  they  are  without  hope  ;  the  law  must  take  its 
course,  while  their  condemnation  and  ruin  have  been  awfully 
increased,  by  choosing  death  rather  than  life.  With  a  de- 
structive weight  it  falls  upon  such,  to  grind  them  to  powder, 
to  consign  them  over  to  everlasting  ruin,  and  to  bind  them  in 
chains  of  eternal  darkness  and  death. 

Happy  will  it  be,  for  all  before  me,  to  have  this  powerful 
gospel  a  witness  of  approbation  and  not  of  condemnation  in 
that  solemn  day. 


LECTURE  XV. 

THE  GKACE  OF  THE  GOSPEL  AS  A  DIVINE  GIFT. 
Tlic  unsearchable  riclies  of  Clu-ist. — ^Ephesiaxs  hi.  8. 

By  this  expression,  I  understand  the  unsearchable  provi- 
sions of  grace,  which  are  contained  in  the  gospel  of  Christ. 
These  provisions  the  apostle  Paul  was  sent  to  offer  to  the 
gentiles;  and  in  the  whole  of  his  ministrations,  he  shows 
us  the  remarkable  difterence  which  there  is  between  that 
view  of  the  gospel  which  is  the  result  of  speculative  exami- 
nation, and  that  view  of  the  gospel  which  has  been  formed 
from  an  experience  of  its  life-giving  power.  The  man  who 
examines  the  gospel  upon  its  exterior,  sees  much  in  it  to  ad- 
mire, for  its  beauty  of  moral  precepts,  its  attractive  exam- 
ples of  personal  character,  and  its  peculiar  revelations  of  the 
existence  and  character  of  God  ;  and  upon  this  ground  he  ad- 
vocates and  enforces  the  system  of  religion  which  he  conceives 
the  New  Testament  to  contain. 

The  man  who  has  experienced  the  power  of  the  gospel  to 
convert  and  sanctify,  forgets  these  peculiar  reasons  for  valu- 
ing the  gospel,  in  his  wondering  admiration  of  it,  as  a 
system  of  unsearchable  grace  for  the  chief  of  sinners.  Our 
minds  will  naturally  dwell  upon  that  aspect  of  this  system, 
with  the  most  constancy  and  delight,  which  we  feel  to  be 
most  suited  to  our  individual  wants ;  and  if  we  have  felt  our- 
selves to  be  ruined  sinners,  and  have  sought  the  gospel  as  a 
remedy  for  our  necessities,  we  shall  pass  over  every  minor 
characteristic,  and  adore  the  exceeding  riches  of  grace  which 
Almighty  God  has  been  pleased  here  to  exhibit. 

This  view  of  the  gospel  occupied  the  thoughts  and  affec- 
tions of  the  Apostle  Paul.  He  seldom  speaks  of  Jesus  or  his 
dispensation,  except  under  the  idea  of  a  scheme  of  glorious 
salvation  ;  of  which,  in  infinite  mercy,  he  had  been  made  a 
subject,  though  he  was  before  a  persecutor,  a  blasphemer, 
and  injurious.  Paul's  knowledge  of  the  truth  was  the  result 
of  an  experience  of  its  power,  and  to  the  same  experience  he 
desired  to  bring  all  to  whom  he  addressed  himself,  as  an  am- 
bassador of  Christ. 

No  view  of  the  gospel  is  so  honourable  to  God,  or  so  com- 
forting and  suitable  to  ourselves,  as  this  to  which  your  at- 
tention is  now  to  be  directed  :  the  riches  of  its  grace  as  a 
divine  gift  to  man.  The  apostle  states  to  the  Ephesians,  that 
God  especially  designed,  in  the  salvation  which  he  had  pro- 
vided in  the  gospel,  "  to  show  in  the  ages  to  come,  the  ex- 
ceeding riches  of  his  grace  in  Christ  Jesus  ;"  and  to  further 
and  promote  this  design,  had  commissioned  him,  though  les3 
than  the  least  of  all  saints,  to  preach  among  the  Gentiles 
"  the  unsearchable  riches  of  Christ." 

I  have  selected  these  words  of  the  apostle  as  a  text,  be- 
cause they  show  the  fact,  which  it  is  my  design  to  exhibit 
in  this  discourse,  that  the  provisions  of  grace  offered  to  sin- 
ners in  the  gospel,  are  truly  unsearchable.  They  are  ade- 
quate to  supply  every  want;  they  are  adapted  to  every 
circumstance  and  relation  of  man  ;  they  are  sufficient  for  the 
necessities  of  the  whole  race  of  men. 

I.  The  unsearchable  grace  of  the  gospel  is  displayed  in 
the  freeness  with  which  it  offers  every  blessing  to  man.  It 
requires  nothing  to  be  done  by  us  in  order  to  merit  its  bless- 
ings. It  never  puts  us  upon  earning  an  interest  in  the  mer- 
cies which  it  lias  provided.  To  the  utmost  meaning  of  the 
terms,  every  blessing  of  the  gospel  is  a  free  gift  of  God  to  man. 
They  are  as  much  so  as  the  manna  which  was  rained  from 
heaven  upon  the  Israelites,  or  the  water  which  followed  them 
from  the  rock  in  their  wanderings  through  the  wilderness. 
Under  this  character  as  free  and  unmerited  gifts,  the  privi- 
leges of  the  gospel  are  presented  through  the  whole  inspired 
volume.  The  first  promise  of  a  Saviour  is  a  remarkable  il- 
lustration of  this  fact.  That  promise  was  not  given  in  an- 
swer to  any  solicitations  on  the  part  of  our  first  parents. 
They  could  hardly  be  supposed  able  to  conceive  of  the  pos- 
sibility of  such  a  promise.  Indeed  it  was  not  literally  given 
to  them  at  all.  It  was  included  in  the  threatening  which 
was  denounced  by  God  against  the  serpent  who  had  de- 
ceived them,  and  not  personally  addressed  eitlier  to  Adam  or 
Eve,  "I  will  put  enmity  between  thee  and  the  woman,  and 
between  thy  seed  and  her  seed  ;  it  shall  bruise  thy  head,  and 
thou  shalt  bruise  his  heel."  The  Saviour  was  thus  a  free 
gift  of  God,  a  gift  unthought  of  by  man;  and  every  blessing 
which  the  Saviour  brings  is  as  entirely  a  free  gift  as  himself. 
"  The  wages  of  sin  is  death,  but  the  gift  of  God  is  eternal 
life  thrwigh  Jesus  Christ  our  Lord*"    The  whole  amount  of 


PAROCHIAL  LECTURES  ON  THE  LAW  AND  THE  GOSPEL. 


S7 


mercies  and  privileges  which  the  gospel  bestows,  are  un- 
clogged  with  any  conditions.  The  gracious  invitations 
which  it  addresses  to  men,  are  entirely  unlimited  in  their  ap- 
plication. "  Ho !  every  one  that  thirsteth,"  it  says  upon 
the  high  places  of  the  earth,  "  and  he  that  hath  no  money,  come 
buy  and  eat;  yea,  buy  wine  and  milk  without  money  and 
■without  price."  And  again,  in  the  conclusion  of  its  book  of 
grace,  it  says  again,  "The  spirit  and  the  bride  say  come,  and 
let  him  that  heareth  say  come,  and  let  him  that  is  athirst  come, 
and  whosoever  will,  let  him  take  of  the  waters  of  life  freely." 

Now  here  is  exhibited  the  unsearchable  riches  of  the  gos- 
pel. It  comes  to  creatures  who  can  do  nothing  to  deserve  its 
blessings,  or  to  acquire  an  interest  in  its  glorious  promises, 
and  presents  itself  as  perfectly  suitable  to  their  wants,  by  of- 
fering freely  and  unconditionally  to  their  acceptance  all  the 
mercies  they  can  desire.  Fallen  creatures  can  do  nothing  to 
restore  themselves.  The  angels  who  are  confined  in  chains 
of  darkness  can  do  nothing  to  obtain  salvation  from  their 
ruin.  They  are  utterly  incapable  of  meriting  God's  favour, 
and  we  are  equally  so.  No  salvation  would  avail  us  any 
thing  which  required  us  to  do  any  thing  to  deserve  its  be- 
stowal upon  us. 

The  whole  scripture  unites  to  caution  us  against  the 
thought  of  earning  grace :  "  Say  not  in  thine  heart,  who 
shall  ascend  into  heaven  ?  that  is,  to  bring  Christ  down  from 
above;  or  who  shall  descend  into  the  deep  f  that  is,  to  bring 
up  Christ  again  from  the  dead.  But  what  saith  it?  The 
word  is  nigh  thee,  even  in  thy  mouth  and  in  thy  heart ;  that 
is,  the  word  of  faith  which  we  preach  ;  that  if  thou  shalt 
confess  with  thy  mouth  the  Lord  Jesus,  and  believe  in  thy 
heart  that  God  hath  raised  him  from  the  dead,  thou  shalt  be 
saved.  For  with  the  heart  man  believeth  unto  righteous- 
ness, and  with  the  mouth  confession  is  made  unto  salvation." 

Yes,  we  do  preach,  as  the  Holy  Ghost  preaches  throughout 
the  whole  Bible,  that  to  receive  every  divine  blessing  by  faith 
freely  as  it  is  freely  offered,  is  the  only  office  assigned  to  any 
child  of  man.  After  we  have  embraced  the  invitations  of 
the  gospel,  we  have  much  to  do  to  honour  and  adorn  it  in  all 
holy  conversation  and  godliness ;  yet  our  first  reception  of 
its  blessings  must  be  altogether  free,  and  we  must  stand  in 
debted  for  them  solely  to  the  sovereign  grace  of  God. 

But  while  I  merely  say  the  gospel  shows  its  riches  of 
grace  in  offering  every  blessing  freely,  I  say  too  little.  St. 
Paul  expresses  the  greatest  jealousy  upon  this  subject.  He 
declares  that  if  we  attempt  to  do  any  thing,  however  good  in 
itself,  expecting  by  it,  either  in  whole  or  in  part,  to  merit 
our  salvation,  we  make  void  the  whole  gospel.  "  Behold 
I  Paul  say  unto  you,  that  if  ye  be  circumcised,  Christ 
shall  profit  you  nothing."  Salvation  must  be  wholly  of 
works,  or  wholly  of  grace.  If  salvation  were  of  works,  in 
ever  so  small  a  degree,  there  would  be  room  for  boasting ; 
for  we  should  have  done  something  for  ourselves.  Whereas, 
under  the  gospel,  boasting  must  be  utterly  excluded  ;  and 
salvation  from  first  to  last  must  be  received  as  a  free  gift  of 
God  for  Christ's  sake. 

What  unsearchable  grace  is  this  !  and  still  more  so,  if  you 
consider  to  whom  such  offers  are  freely  made.  The  invita- 
tions of  the  gospel  are  presented  and  pressed  upon  the  atten- 
tion of  beings  universally  depraved;  beings  who  perversely 
reject  all  that  has  been  done  for  them,  who  stand  out  to 
resist  its  gracious  influence,  and  to  fight  against  God  until 
they  are  subdued  and  led  captive  by  a  power  stronger  than 
themselves.  These  gracious  invitations  of  God  follow  these 
creatures  through  aU  the  wanderings  of  their  sinful  lives, 
still  pressing  upon  their  attention  the  solemn  call,  "  Turn 
ye,  for  why  will  ye  die."  The  gospel  of  Jesus,  in  the  ten- 
derness of  its  compassion,  literally  persecutes  the  sinner 
with  its  entreaties  that  he  would  be  saved.  It  will  not  give 
him  up.  It  is  like  a  rich  and  noble  prince  who  follows  a 
mendicant  up  and  down,  beseeching  him  to  accept  the  as- 
sistance which  he  otters ;  and  thus  freely  offering,  and  per- 
severingly  offering,  unsearchable  riches  to  sinners  who  could 
deserve  nothing,  who  despise  and  reject  the  mercies  which 
are  presented,  and  weary  the  patience  of  the  Most  High  with 
their  perverseness,  the  gospel  displays  its  unspeakable  grace 
as  a  gift  of  God  to  those  who  are  really  perishing  in  their  sins. 

II.  The  unsearchable  grace  of  the  gospel  as  a  divine  gift, 
is  displayed  in  the  full  and  perfect  manner  in  which  it  com- 
municates its  blessings  to  man.  There  is  not  a  want  in  the 
sinner  which  it  does  not  abundantly  supply.  Are  we  by  na- 
ture wretched  and  miserable,  and  poor,  and  blind,  and  naked  ? 
It  gives  us,  without  money  or  price,  gold  tried  in  the  fire,  that 
we  may  be  rich ;  and  white  raiment  to  cover  us,  that  the 
shame  of  our  nakedness  may  not  appear ;  and  it  anoints  our 


eyes  with  eye-salve,  that  we  may  see.  It  fills  the  hungry 
with  good  things,  and  exalts  those  of  low  degree.  How 
beautifully,  and  in  what  lively  colours,  is  this  fulness  of 
gospel  provisions  exhibited  by  the  Spirit  of  God,  speaking 
through  the  prophet  Isaiah  in  that  passage  which  our  blessed 
Lord  applied  to  himself  in  the  first  public  discourse  which  he 
ever  delivered  :  "  The  Spirit  of  the  Lord  is  upon  me,  be- 
cause the  Lord  hath  anointed  me  to  preach  good  tidings  unto 
the  meek ;  he  hath  sent  me  to  bind  up  the  broken-hearted, 
to  proclaim  liberty  to  the  captives,  and  the  opening  of  the 
prison  to  them  that  are  bound ;  to  proclaim  the  acceptable 
year  of  the  Lord,  and  the  day  of  vengeance  of  our  God  ;  to 
comfort  all  that  mourn ;  to  appoint  unto  them  that  mourn  in 
Zion,  to  give  unto  them  beauty  for  ashes,  the  oil  of  joy  for 
mourning,  the  garment  of  praise  for  the  spirit  of  heaviness, 
that  they  might  be  called  trees  of  righteousness,  the  plant- 
ng  of  the  Lord,  that  he  might  be  glorified." 

Now  this  passage  precisely  illustrates  the  aspect  of  gospel 
grace,  which  is  before  your  minds,  the  fulness  with  which  it 
supplies  every  want  of  man  ;  because  it  takes  a  view  of  man- 
kind in  a  vast  variet)'  of  conditions,  in  every  stage  of  sorrow 
and  distress,  and  represents  the  gospel  as  adapting  itself  to 
every  different  state,  and  as  supplj'ing  every  want  under 
which  men  are  suffering. 

Look  then  upon  the  fulness  of  these  provisions ;  conceive 
of  miserable  man  in  every  condition  in  which  he  can  be  im- 
agined ;  conceive  of  him  bowed  down  with  a  sense  of  guilt, 
or  harassed  with  the  temptations  of  Satan,  or  sinking  under 
persecutions  from  men,  or  under  the  hidings  of  God's  favour,  or 
in  the  prospect  of  immediate  dissolution  ;  and  in  every  condi- 
tion the  gospel  presents  him  with  all  that  he  can  want :  pardon 
for  all  sin,  strength  against  every  temptation,  support  under 
every  trial,  comfort  under  every  affliction,  and  life  everlasting 
by  the  simple  exercise  of  faith  in  Jesus,  as  life  was  given  to 
the  dying  Israelite  by  looking  upon  the  brazen  serpent.  If 
there  were  a  possible  situation  for  which  the  gospel  would 
not  yield  a  supply,  if  there  were  a  single  thing  which  it  re- 
quired us  to  furnish  from  our  own  store,  it  would  display  no 
unsearchable  riches  of  grace,  nor  would  it  be  adapted  to  our 
necessities. 

When  the  Israelites  wandered  in  the  wilderness,  if  they 
had  been  provided  with  bread  and  water,  but  had  been  left  to 
their  own  guidance,  or  no  miracle  had  been  wrought  to  pre- 
serve their  clothes,  or  to  keep  their  feet  from  the  effect  of 
long  and  wearisome  toil,  how  evident  is  it  that  the  want  of 
any  one  blessing  would  have  rendered  all  the  others  nuga- 
tory and  useless.  God  must  supply  all  their  wants,  for  they 
had  no  ability  to  supply  one  themselves.  Just  so  is  it  with 
us.  Should  the  gospel  leave  a  single  necessity  unsatisfied, 
all  its  other  provisions,  however  rich  and  abundant,  would 
be  in  vain.  Go,  for  instance,  to  the  bedside  of  a  dying  sin- 
ner, and  say,  "  You  must  render  such  and  such  services  to 
the  Lord  before  you  can  be  accepted  by  him,"  what  hope 
or  comfort  would  such  tidings  inspire  1  How  cruelly 
would  such  a  message  mock  the  anguish  of  a  man  who  feels 
that  he  can  do  nothing ;  who  is  conscious  that  he  is  sinking 
into  perdition,  and  must  be  plucked  by  some  powerful  arm 
from  the  gulf  which  stretches  beneath  his  soul  !  But  tell 
him,  or  any  other  sinner,  that  "  Christ  died  for  the  chief  of 
sinners  ;  that  those  who  come  to  him  he  will  in  no  wise  cast 
out;  that  sins  like  scarlet  may  be  made  as  white  as  snow; 
that  there  is  a  fountain  which  cleanseth  from  all  sin ;"  and 
you  offer  hope  and  comfort  which  are  entirely  abundant; 
you  present  a  foundation  upon  w-hich  the  soul  may  build 
without  fear,  and  may  see  a  sinner  made  a  precious  jewel  in 
the  Redeemer's  crown  for  ever. 

Thanks  be  to  God  !  there  is  not  a  desirable  blessing  for 
man  which  the  gospel  docs  not  impart  to  us  in  our  hour  of 
need.  Pardon,  peace,  holiness  and  joy,  are  all  offered  freely, 
and  bestowed  abundantly  for  the  Redeemer's  sake.  We  find 
all  fulness  to  dwell  in  Jesus  Christ.  He  is  made  our  wisdom 
and  righteousness,  and  sanctification  and  redemption ;  and 
receiving  from  him  grace  upon  grace,  we  stand  complete  in 
him.  When  our  hearts  have  embraced  his  sufficiency,  we 
are  rich,  we  are  full ;  we  drink  of  a  fountain  which  destroys 
all  thirst  for  every  other  one,  and  have  no  disposition  to  go 
from  him  to  draw  elsewhere.  Jesus  is  all  in  all,  an  answer 
to  ever)"-  accusation,  a  remedy  for  every  evil,  a  supply  for 
every  necessitj',  an  eternal  antidote  to  despair.  In  him  we 
have  life  abundantly,  and  feel  assured  in  the  hope  of  treasures 
passing  man's  understanding,  which  he  has  laid  up  for  us. 

In  this  wonderful  fulness  of  supply,  the  gospel  displays 
riches  of  grace  truly  unsearchable ;  for  ages  have  past,  and 
no  want  has  ever  been  found  which  it  could  not  answer;  and 


3S 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


the  Christian  must  still  exclaim  at  the  close  of  the  longest 
experience  of  its  power,  "  O  the  length  and  breadth,  and  height 
and  depth  of  the  love  of  Christ,  which  passeth  knowledge  ! 
How  unsearchable  !  how  past  finding  out!" 

III.  The  unsearchable  grace  of  the  gospel  is  exhibited  in 
the  perfect  security  with  which  it  bestows  its  mercies  upon 
the  sinner.  The  cordial  embracing  of  the  iuN-itatious  of  the  gos- 
pel finally  secures  to  every  believer  the  everlasting  possession 
of  its  inestimable  blessings.  The  gospel  oilers  us  salvation 
with  all  its  attendant  benelits,  as  the  matter  of  an  everlasting 
covenant,  in  all  things  well  ordered  and  sure,  confirmed  to 
those  who  truly  believe  in  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ.  It  repre 
sents  that  covenant  as  confirmed  by  God  himself  with  an 
oath,  in  order  that  by  two  immutable  things  (that  is,  the 
certain  faithfulness  of  divine  promise  and  the  additional  so 
lemnity  of  a  divine  oath),  in  which  it  is  impossible  for  God 
to  lie,  we  may  have  strong  consolation,  who  have  fled  for 
refuge,  to  lay  hold  of  the  hope  set  before  us.  It  represents 
the  Lord  Jesus  Christ  as  the  mediator  of  that  covenant,  and 
all  its  blessings  as  treasured  up  in  liira  for  our  everlasting 
benefit.  It  states  these  blessings  to  be  treasured  up  in  him 
that  they  may  be  made  finally  secure  ;  because  if  tliey  were 
entrusted  to  the  mutability  and  perverseness  of  our  wills, 
they  would  be  inevitably  lost. 

The  statements  of  the  scripture  upon  this  treasuring  up  of 
a  believer's  hopes  in  Christ,  and  their  infallible  security,  as 
laid  up  in  him,  are  remarkably  strong  and  expressive.  The 
Lord  Jesus  Christ  is  said  to  live  in  the  believer,  and  the  be 
liever  to  have  died  with  him.  "  I  am  crucified  with  Christ, 
nevertheless  I  live  ;  yet  not  I,  but  Christ  liveth  in  me."  If 
this  be  our  character,  and  Christ  lives  by  his  spiritual  pre- 
sence and  influence  in  our  hearts,  while  Christ  lives  we  shall 
live  also.  But  the  apostle  speaks  in  yet  stronger  language 
in  another  place,  addressing  himself  to  the  Colossian  Chris 
tians,  "  Ye  are  dead  ;"  i.  e.  to  the  world  and  the  flesh,  "  and 
your  life  is  hid  with  Christ  in  God  ;  when  Christ,  who  is  our 
life,  shall  appear,  then  shall  ye  also  appear  with  him  in 
glory."  Here  Christ  is  not  only  called  our  life,  but  our  life 
is  said  to  be  "hid  with  Christ  in  God;"  and  because  it  is 
so,  we  may  hope  that  when  he  shall  appear,  we  shall  also 
appear  with  him  in  glory. 

Let  us  examine,  for  a  moment,  the  real  meaning  of  these 
■words. 

When  God  first  made  man,  he  committed  the  life  of  the 
whole  family  to  Adam  as  their  head  and  representative,  that 
they  might  stand  or  fall  in  him  ;  but,  notwithstanding  Adam 
was  made  perfect,  and  had  but  a  single  restraint  imposed 
upon  him  as  a  test  of  his  fidelity,  he  fell;  and  by  this  one 
apostacy  brought  death  and  ruin  upon  his  whole  posterity. 
Now,  in  restoring  men  to  his  favour  under  the  gracious  sys- 
tem of  the  gospel,  God  says,  "I  will  not  commit  your 
eternal  interests  into  your  own  hands  ;  if  I  do,  so  weak  are 
yon,  so  encompassed  with  temptations,  so  prone  to  diso- 
bedience, what  can  I  hope  but  that  you  will  cast  them  all 
away  and  perish.  I  will  give  j'ou  another  covenant  repre- 
sentative and  head,  even  my  beloved  Son,  in  whom  I  am  well 
pleased,  and  commit  all  your  interests  to  him.  Jle  shall  be 
your  hope.  He  shall  be  your  life.  Your  life  shall  be  hid 
with  Christ  in  God ;  then  shall  I  be  sure  that  no  enemy  shall 
prevail  against  )'ou,  for  he  is  mighty  to  save,  and  none  can 
pluck  you  out  of  his  hands." 

This  I  believe  to  be  the  true  meaning  of  the  passage  re- 
ferred to. 

But  this  full  and  final  securit}'  of  a  believer's  hopes  does 
not  depend  upon  any  single  passage  of  the  scriptures.  I 
consider  it  the  statement  of  the  whole  scriptures,  and  insepa- 
rably connected  with  the  gospel  as  a  system  of  unsearchable 
grace.  Everj'  truly  believing  soul  is  given  into  the  hands 
of  the  Redeemer,  that  he  may  keep  it  by  his  own  power, 
"  througli  faith  unto  salvation."  In  his  intercession  to  the 
Father,  recorded  in  the  17th  of  John,  he  affirms,  that  of  those 
who  had  been  given  to  him,  he  had  lost  none ;  that  they  had 
kept  his  word,  and  he  had  bestowed  eternal  life  upon  them, 
according  to  the  divine  covenant. 

St.  Paul,  in  addressing  the  Philippians,  was  confident  that 
he  who  had  begun  a  good  work  in  them  would  carry  it  on 
unto  the  day  of  the  Lord  Jesus.  He  knew  that  the  same 
Lord  would  be  the  finisher  who  had  been  the  author  of  every 
true  faith ;  and  from  this  confidence  he  pressed  upon  every 
believing  soul  tlie  assurance  that  the  Lord  would  never  leave 
or  forsake  them,  so  that  they  might  boldly  say,  "  The  Lord 
is  my  helper,  I  will  not  fear  what  man  can  do  unto  me;" 
and  all  mi^ht  trust  tliat  what  God  had  promised  he  was  able 
also  to  perform. 


This  security  which  the  gospel  offers  to  eveiy  sinner  who 
flees  to  it  for  refuge,  gloriously  exhibits  its  unsearchable 
riches  of  grace.  It  gives  us  an  inestimable  hope.  It  assures 
us  that  if  we  are  ready  to  commit  ourselves  to  Jesus  "  he  is 
able  to  keep  us  from  falling,  and  to  present  us  before  the 
throne  of  his  glory  with  exceeding  joy."  It  bids  us  be  care- 
ful for  nothing,  but  live  the  life  we  now  live  in  the  flesh,  by 
faith  in  the  Son  of  God,  "  who  loved  us  and  gave  himself  for 
us,"  to  know  and  remember  in  whom  we  have  believed,  and 
to  be  assured  that  he  is  able  to  keep  that  which  we  have  com- 
mitted to  him  unto  that  day,  and  to  preserve  us  blameless 
unto  his  heavenly  kingdom. 

Thus  are  the  unsearchable  riches  of  gospel  grace  displayed. 
It  offers  with  the  utmost  freedom  to  every  sinner,  all  the 
privileges  and  mercies  which  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ  hath 
purchased.  If  he  is  willing  freely  to  accept  them,  it  bestows 
upon  him  fully  and  perfectly  a  covenant  title  to  salvation, 
and  all  things  which  accompany  salvation;  it  communicates 
every  holy  habit  and  grace,  and  enables  him  to  vi'alk  worthy  of 
the  Lord  unto  all  pleasing;  makes  him  humble,  and  watch- 
ful, and  persevering  ;  and  to  show  its  ability  to  save  unto  the 
uttermost,  it  secures  to  him  finally  and  unalterably,  the  bless- 
ings which  it  has  freely  promised,  and  for  the  enjoyment  of 
which  it  has  fully  prepared  him. 

These  unsearchable  riches  of  grace  I  desire  with  my  whole 
heart  and  strength  to  press  upon  your  acceptance.  I  would 
have  )'ou  experience  in  your  souls  the  worth,  the  unspeak- 
able worth  of  the  gospel  of  Jesus,  and  be  able  to  comprehend 
with  all  saints,  that  love  of  Christ,  which  passeth  know- 
ledge, that  your  souls  may  be  filled  with  the  fulness  of  God. 
These  provisions  of  the  gospel  are  sufficient  for  you  all. 
They  are  perfectly  sufficient  for  the  comfort,  the  holiness  and 
the  full  salvation  of  every  soul  in  this  assembl)'. 

They  are  sufficient  for  your  comfort.  If  there  be  any  of 
j'ou  brought  by  a  view  of  their  own  sinfulness  to  the  very 
borders  of  despair,  what  can  they  need  more  than  to  hear  that 
God  himself  has  undertaken  their  cause,  has  assumed  their 
nature,  and  expiated  their  guilt  by  his  own  sufferings  unto 
death  1  What  could  they  wish  to  add  to  this?  What  can, 
by  any  possibility,  be  added  to  if!  If  this  be  not  sufficient, 
what  can  hcf  Your  sins,  though  they  were  more  and  more 
aggravated  than  those  of  any  human  being,  are  but  finite 
still ;  they  are  many,  but  they  may  be  numbered.  The  atone- 
ment which  is  offered  for  you,  and  the  righteousness  which 
is  wrought  out  for  you  are  of  value  infinite.  The  blood  of 
Jesus  (liiist  will  cleanse  from  all  sin,  and  all  who  believe  in 
him  will  be  justified  from  all  things  from  which  they  could 
not  be  justified  by  the  law  of  Moses.  Let  a  man's  sins  be 
of  ever  so  deep  a  die,  they  cannot  be  more  red  than  scarlet 
and  crimson,  and  these  can  be  made  as  white  as  snow.  We 
can  hardly  conceive  of  greater  guilt  than  David's,  after  all 
the  mercies  which  he  had  received ;  and  yet  he  prays,  and 
prays  with  success,  "  Purge  me  with  hyssop,  and  I  shall 
be  clean;  wash  me,  and  I  shall  be  whiter  than  snow;"  and 
then  he  acknowledges  the  abundant  efficacy  of  the  remedy. 
"Thou  hast  made  the  bones  which  thou  hast  broken  to  rejoice." 
\\  hat  abundant  instances  the  histoiy  of  the  church  has  given 
of  the  sufficiency  of  the  gospel  for  the  sinner's  comfort.  Be- 
hold three  thousand  Jews  on  the  day  of  Pentecost,  whose 
hands  were  yet  stained  with  a  Sawur's  blood — scarcely  one 
hour  had  they  believed  in  this  crucified  Lord,  before  they 
"  all  ate  their  bread  with  gladness  and  singleness  of  heart, 
blessing  and  praising  God."  Thus,  wherever  Christ  is 
preached  and  received,  true  joy  springs  up  in  the  heart. 
"Though  we  see  him  not,  yet  believing  in  him,  we  may  re- 
joice with  joy  unspeakable  and  full  of  glor}'."  This  is,  and 
is  to  be,  the  invariable  effect  of  a  proper  acceptance  of  the 
gospel  throughout  the  earth.  "  Sing,  O  ye  heavens,"  says 
the  prophet,  in  looking  forward  to  this  da}',  "  for  the  I^ord 
hath  done  it;  shout  }-e  lower  parts  of  the  earth;  break  forth 
into  singing,  ye  mountains,  O  forest,  and  every  tree  therein, 
for  the  Loid  hath  redeemed  Jacob,  and  glorified  himself  in 
Israel."  Only  let  the  gospel  descend  as  the  dew  upon  any 
place,  or  upon  any  soul,  and  "  the  wilderness  will  be  glad, 
and  the  desert  will  rejoice  and  blossom  as  the  rose;"  for  the 
Lord,  by  the  ministrations  of  its  unsearchable  riches  of  grace, 
will  comfort  Sion ;  he  will  comfort  all  her  waste  places ;  he 
will  make  her  wilderness  like  Eden,  and  her  desert  like  the 
garden  of  the  Lord;  joy  and  gladness  shall  be  found  in  every 
habitation,  and  in  every  soul  which  receives  this  gospel, 
thanksgiving  and  the  voice  of  melody.  There  is  not  a  human 
sorrow  which  it  cannot  console;  and  if  you  will  accept  its 
invitations  and  offers,  it  shall  be  found  an  abundant  source  of 
comfort  to  you  all. 


PAROCHIAL  LECTURES  ON  THE  LAW  AND  THE  GOSPEL. 


39 


These  unsearchable  provisions  of  grace  are  sufficient  for 
the  lioliness  of  every  sinner  before  me.  Nothincr  can  ever 
change  the  heart  of  man  but  the  gospel  of  Jesus.  Philosophy 
and  moral  precepts  labour  in  vain  to  renew  the  character  of 
the  sinner.  But  where  the  gospel  is  truly  preached,  and  truly 
received,  the  passions  of  men  are  subdued,  their  lusts  are 
mortified,  their  habits  are  changed,  their  dispositions  are 
made  new,  and  they  are  turned  from  the  power  of  Satan  unto 
God.  The  gos])el  can  make  you  all  holy ;  it  reveals  to  you  a 
dying  Saviour  in  all  the  wonders  of  his  love,  and  thus  will 
create  in  your  souls  a  desire  to  love  and  serve  him.  It  shows 
you  that  you  are  bought  with  a  price !  and  then,  for  this 
reason,  oives  you  a  desire  to  glorify  God  in  your  bodies  and 
spirits,  which  are  his.  To  carry  these  new  desires  into  eftect. 
it  brings  down  the  Holy  Spirit  into  your  souls,  and  thus 
strengthens  you  with  might  in  your  inner  man,  and  works 
within  you  every  good  work;  sanctifies  you  in  soul,  body 
and  spirit,  and  renders  you  meet  to  become  partakers  of  the 
inheritance  of  the  saints  in  light.  It  will  fill  you  with  new 
principles,  and  impart  to  you  new  powers,  and  give  you 
purposes  and  dispositions  to  which  you  have  been  entire 
strangers.  Your  characters  may  be  entirely  purified  and 
cleansed  if  you  are  willing  to  embrace  these  unsearchable 
riches  of  mercy  which  are  offered  you  in  the  gospel  of  Jesus. 

And  finally,  these  provisions  of  grace  are  sufficient  for 
your  full  and  complete  salvation.  You  cannot  be  placed  in 
a  situation  in  which  they  will  not  afford  you  strength  equal 
to  your  day.  They  will  make  you  conquerors,  and  more  than 
conquerors.  They  will  render  your  very  troubles  a  source  of 
joy,  and  your  conflicts  an  occasion  for  more  exalted  triumphs. 

Like  Paul,  you  may  glory  in  infirmities  while  the  power 
of  Christ  rests  upon  you.  Like  him  you  may  rejoice  in  the 
prospect  of  death,  when  to  depart  is  to  be  with  Christ.  Like 
hira  you  may  triumph  in  the  inseparable  love  of  Jesus,  and 
the  complete  salvation  which  he  affords,  if  you  are  ready  to 
count  every  thing  but  loss  for  his  sake ;  and  with  him  the 
gospel  shall  so  carry  you  through  things  temporal,  tliat  you 
shall  in  no  wise  lose  the  things  eternal. 

And  now  let  me  beseech  you  to  receive  these  unsearchable 
riches  of  Christ.  Here  is  bread  from  heaven  for  the  famish- 
ing, and  living  waters  for  the  wear}'  and  thirsting  soul.  Would 
to  God  you  all  felt  your  need  of  them,  and  would  hunger  and 
thirst  for  no  other  supplies  than  these !  O  let  none  despise 
this  gracious  supply.  Whether  you  are  old  or  young,  learned 
or  unlearned,  rich  or  poor,  Christ  is  alike  needful  for  you, 
and  will  be  alike  sufficient  for  you.  Do  not  persuade  your- 
selves that  he  is  unnecessary  to  you.  Do  not  pour  contcinpt 
upon  him,  as  unsuitable.  Do  not  attempt  to  add  to  him,  as 
insufficient;  but  accept  him,  and  live  upon  him  as  all  your 
salvation  and  all  your  desire.  Gatlier  this  bread  of  heaven 
as  your  daily  portion,  and  refresh  yourselves  by  this  living 
fountain  as  your  whole  delight ;  and  in  the  strength  of  this 
food,  go  on  your  way  rejoicing.  And  as  ye  have  received 
Jesus  Christ  tlie  Lord,  so  walk  ye  in  hira;  rooted  and  built 
up  in  him,  and  stablished  in  the  faith  as  ye  have  been  taught, 
abounding  therein  with  all  thanksgiving. 


LECTURE  XVI. 

THE  GLORY  OF  THE  GOSPEL  AS  A  KEVELATION  OF  GOD. 

And  !Moses  said,  I  beseech  thee  sliow  rae  thy  glon'.  And  he  said, 
I  -will  make  all  my  goodness  pass  before  thee,  and  I  will  proclaim 
llie  name  of  the  Lord  before  thee. — ^Exodus  xxxiii.  18,  19. 

The  privileges  granted  to  Moses  in  his  communications 
with  God  were  altogether  peculiar.  It  is  said  the  Lord  spake 
unto  Moses  face  to  face,  as  a  man  speaketh  unto  his  friend  ; 
and  the  testimony  is  added  after  his  death,  that  there  arose 
no  other  prophet  in  Israel  like  unto  Moses,  whom  the  Lord 
knew  face  to  face,  in  all  the  signs  and  wonders  which  the 
Lord  sent  him  to  do  in  the  sight  of  all  Israel. 

God  revealed  his  will  to  other  prophets  before  and  after 
the  time  of  Moses.  But  no  one  had  the  same  view  of  the 
divine  character,  and  knowledge  of  the  divine  purposes  which 
was  allowed  to  him. 

This  difference  in  his  communications,  God  refers  to  in 
the  controversy  which  arose  from  Aaron  and  Miriam  against 
Moses.  "And  he  said,  hear  now  my  words:  If  there  be  a 
prophet  among  you,  I  the  Lord  will  make  myself  knowa 


unto  him  in  a  vision,  and  will  speak  unto  him  in  a  dream. 
My  servant  Moses  is  not  so,  who  is  faithful  in  all  mine  house; 
with  him  will  I  speak  mouth  to  mouth,  even  apparently,  and 
not  in  dark  speeches;  and  the  similitude  of  the  Lord  shall  he 
behold."— iV'iim.  xii.  1 — 8.  This  "similitude  of  the  Lord," 
or  the  apparent  glory  of  the  divine  presence,  IVIoses  saw 
continually  while  he  was  receiving  the  law  from  God  on  the 
mount.  The  cloud  into  which  he  then  entered  was  the  cloud 
of  divine  glory  that  overshadowed  the  mountain.  The  request 
of  OUT  text  was  made  after  his  having  been  forty  dajs  in  the 
mount.     It  was  presented  at  the  door  of  the  tabernacle. 

Moses  had  pitched  the  tabernacle  without  the  camp ;  and 
when  he  went  forth  to  enter  into  the  tabernacle,  the  cloudy 
pillar  descended  and  stood  at  the  door  of  the  tabernacle ;  and 
the  Lord  talked  with  Moses,  speaking  to  him  face  to  face,  or 
in  the  most  free  and  intimate  communication  as  a  man  talketh 
with  his  friend. 

The  conversation  which  was  then  held,  includes  the  request 
of  our  text. 

"  And  Moses  said  unto  the  Lord,  See,  thou  sayest  unto  me, 
Bring  up  this  people,  and  thou  hast  not  let  me  know  whom 
thou  wiit  send  with  me,  yet  thou  hast  said,  1  know  thee  by 
name,  and  thou  hast  also  found  grace  in  raj'  sight. 

"  Now  therefore  I  pray  thee,  if  I  have  found  grace  in  thy 
sight,  show  me  now  thy  way,  that  I  may  know  thee,  that  I 
may  find  grace  in  thy  sight,  and  consider  that  this  nation  i8 
th)'  people. 

"  And  he  said.  My  presence  shall  go  with  thee,  and  I  will 
give  thee  rest. 

"  And  he  said  unto  him,  If  thy  presence  go  not  with  me, 
carry  us  not  up  hence. 

"  For  wherein  shall  it  be  known  here,  that  I  and  thy  peo- 
ple have  found  grace  in  thy  sight?  Is  it  not  in  that  thou  goest 
with  us  ?  So  shall  we  be  separated,  I  and  thy  people,  from 
all  the  people  that  are  upon  the  face  of  the  earth. 

"  And  the  Lord  said  unto  Moses,  I  will  do  this  thing  also 
that  thou  hast  spoken ;  for  thou  hast  found  grace  in  my  sight, 
and  I  know  thee  by  name. 

"  And  he  said,  I  beseech  thee  show  me  thy  glorj'." 

Closes'  petition  here,  pointed  to  some  more  clear  and  sig- 
nificant exhibition  of  the  divine  diaracter  than  he  had  yet 
received.  What  he  had  seen  of  God's  purposes  and  gov- 
ernment, in  the  revelations  which  had  been  made  to  him, 
impressed  the  conviction  upon  his  mind  that  there  was  to  be 
a  further  manifestation  of  God  to  man  than  any  which  he  had 
yet  distinctly  understood,  and  excited  the  desire  in  him  to 
behold  these  peculiar  exhibitions  of  divine  glory  which 
should  be  made  to  God's  people  in  subsequent  ages.  All 
that  had  been  made  known  to  him  was  in  preparation  for 
some  future  development  of  the  glory  of  God ;  and  that  glory 
to  which  his  institutions  were  thus  an  introduction,  he  longed 
to  witness :  "  And  he  said,  I  beseech  thee  show  me  thy 
glorj'." 

In  answer  to  this  prayer  God  promised  to  give  him  the 
exhibition  of  his  glory  which  he  desired  ;  and  in  complying 
with  his  promise,  he  revealed  to  him,  as  the  highest  possible 
manifestation  of  his  glorj',  those  purposes  of  grace  and  love 
which  were  to  be  made  known  and  accomplished  by  the 
gospel. 

These  remarks  naturally  lead  me  here  to  announce  the  par- 
ticular subject  which  I  design  to  consider,  as  connected  with 
the  prayer  of  Moses. 

The  glory  of  the  gospel  as  an  exhihition  of  the  divine  character. 

That  I  do  not  here  go  aside  from  the  real  intention  and 
meaning  of  the  passage,  it  will  be  my  object  first  to  show. 

Moses'  desire  was  for  some  fuller  exhibition  of  the  charac- 
ter of  God.  In  promising  compliance  with  this  desire,  God 
does  not  direct  him  to  the  works  of  creation;  although,  from 
them  the  invisible  things  of  him  are  clearly  seen,  even  his 
eternal  power  and  Godhead.  He  does  not  tell  hira  to  look 
upon  the  sun  as  it  shined,  and  the  moon  walking  in  bright- 
ness, and  there  behold  the  glory  of  tlie  Lord  who  hath  cre- 
ated these  things;  who  bringeth  out  their  hosts  by  number; 
who  calleth  them  all  by  names,  by  the  greatness  of  his  might, 
for  that  he  is  strong  in  power,  and  not  one  faileth. 

He  does  not  tell  him  to  look  upon  the  awful  thunders  and 
earthquakes,  and  unearthly  sounds  with  which  the  law  had 
been  given  upon  Mount  Sinai,  still  trembling  beneath  the 
footsteps  of  a  descending  Deity ;  upon  the  solemn  and  awak- 
ening displays  which  were  there  made  of  the  holiness  of  a 
God  who  cannot  look  upon  iniquity;  although  here,  as  well 
as  in  the  wonders  of  creation,  it  had  been  often  declared  that 
God  had  shown  his  glory  to  men. 

Neither  the  glory  of  divine  power  displayed  in  the  creation, 


40 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


nor  the  glory  of  divine  holiness  exhibited  in  the  law,  was 
that  manifestation  of  the  Deity,  which  God  chose  to  style 
pecnliarly  his  glory.  And,  passing  by  botli  these,  were  there 
no  notice  of  what  he  did  intend,  we  should  be  left  to  settle 
upon  the  gospel  as  tlie  only  remaining  manifestation  of  the 
divine  character  which  has  been  made  to  man. 

But  the  Lord  describes  his  purpose  and  design  most 
significantly.  He  says,  "  I  will  make  all  my  goodness  pass 
before  thee."  But  where  has  all  the  goodness  of  the  Lord 
been  exhibited,  but  in  that  wonderful  dispensation  in  which 
■was  manifested  the  love  of  God,  in  that  he  sent  his  Son  to 
die  for  us  1  and  how  could  all  the  goodness  of  the  Lord  pass 
before  any  mind,  from  which  tlie  riches  of  gospel  grace  were 
concealed  ?  "  And  I  will  proclaim  tlie  name  of  the  Lord  be- 
fore thee ;  and  I  will  be  gracious  on  wliom  I  will  be  gra- 
cious; and  I  will  show  mercy  on  whom  I  will  show  mercy." 
But  the  name  of  the  Lord,  as  bestowing  sovereign  grace  and 
mercy,  can  be  proclaimed  only  in  that  gospel  which  announces 
God  manifest  in  the  flesh  for  sinners,  and  the  fulness  of  the 
Godhead  dwelling  bodily  in  a  man  of  sorrows  and  acquainted 
with  grief.  Under  no  other  dispensation  can  God  be  gracious 
and  merciful  to  sinners,  for  uo  other  one  makes  atonement 
for  sin. 

Still  more  minutely  describing  his  purpose,  God  assures 
Moses,  that  it  would  be  impossible  for  any  mortal  to  behold 
the  full  glory  of  his  presence.  "  No  man  can  see  my  face 
and  live."  Ho  dwells  in  light  inaccessible  which  no  man 
can  approach  unto.  No  man  hath  seen  God  at  any  time  ;  the 
only  begotten  Son  that  dwellcth  in  the  bosom  of  the  Father. 
he  hath  manifested  him;  and  referring  to  tliis  new  and  last- 
ing waj-  of  intercourse  between  himself  and  sinful  men,  God 
says,  "There  is  a  place  by  me,  and  thou  shall  stand  upon  a 
rock,  and  it  shall  come  to  pass,  while  my  glory  passeth  by,  I 
will  put  thee  in  the  cleft  of  the  rock,  and  will  cover  thee  with 
my  hand  while  I  pass  by."  That  rock  was  Christ,  and  here 
is  presented  the  perfect  security  with  which  the  glory  of  God 
is  beheld  tmder  the  gospel.  The  believer  is  hidden  in  a  cleft 
of  the  rock;  while  even  there,  but  partial  displays  are  yet 
made  of  divine  glory.  "I  will  take  away  my  hand,  and  thou 
shalt  see  my  back  parts,  but  my  face  shall  not  be  seen." 
We  know  not  yet  what  we  shall  be,  but  we  know  that  when 
he  shall  appear  we  shall  be  like  him,  for  we  shall  see  him  as 
he  is ;  and  even  now,  though  we  see  him  not,  yet  believing 
in  him,  we  rejoice  with  unspeakable  and  glorified  joy. 

Thus  in  answer  to  the  request  of  Moses,  the  Lord  promised 
to  make  known  to  him  the  rich  grace  which  he  had  prepared 
and  designed  to  reveal  to  men,  in  the  gospel  of  Jesus,  as  the 
peculiar  glory  of  his  character,  and  thus  made  known  that 
all-important  truth,  which  angels  united  to  repeat  on  the  eve 
of  the  incarnation,  that  the  dispensation  which  brings  peace 
on  earth,  and  proclaims  good  will  to  men,  brings  "  glory  in 
the  highest,"  to  the  character  of  God. 

This  was  the  promise  to  Moses.  It  was  to  be  fulfilled  on 
the  ensuing  day;  and  early  in  the  morning  Moses  rose  up 
and  went  up  unto  Mount  Sinai,  as  the  Lord  had  commanded 
him.  "  And  the  Lord  descended  in  the  cloud,  and  stood  with 
him  there,  and  proclaimed  the  name  of  the  Lord.  And  the 
Lord  passed  by  before  him  and  proclaimed,  The  Lord,  the 
Lord  God,  merciful  and  gracious,  long-sutfering,  and  abundant 
in  goodness  and  truth,  keeping  mercy  for  thousands,  forgiv- 
ing iniquity,  and  transgression,  and  sin,  and  that  will  by  no 
means  clear  the  guilty ;  visiting  the  iniquity  of  the  fathers 
upon  the  children,  and  upon  the  children's  children,  unto  the 
third  and  to  the  fourth  generation.  And  IMoses  made  haste, 
and  bowed  his  head  toward  the  earth,  and  worshipped." 

Here  the  Lord  proclaimed  liis  name  and  his  glory,  and  to 
do  it  he  revealed  his  purposes  of  grace,  which  were  to  be  ac- 
complished in  his  Son  Christ  Jesus,  recording  it  forever,  that 
in  nothing  is  the  glory  of  the  Lord  so  wonderfully  displayed, 
as  in  the  grace  which  passes  by  transgressions  and  sins,  ac- 
cording to  that  exclamation  of  the  prophet,  in  looking  forward 
to  the  gospel  revelation,  "  Who  is  a  God  like  unto  thee  that 
pardoneth  iniquity,  and  passeth  by  the  transgression  of  the 
remnant  of  his  heritage  i  He  retaineth  not  his  anger  forever, 
because  he  delighteth  in  mercy.  He  will  turn  again  and 
have  compassion  on  us ;  he  will  subdue  our  iniquities,  and 
thou  wilt  cast  all  their  sins  into  the  depths  of  the  sea." 

If  then  God  preached  the  gospel  to  Moses  as  the  peculiar 
manifestation  of  his  glory,  which  1  think  has  been  made  ap- 
parent, I  am  warranted  in  speaking  from  this  passage  of  the 
glory  of  the  gospel,  as  the  clearest  and  most  gloriou's  exhibi- 
tion of  the  Deity  which  has  been  made  to  man.  The  Old 
Testament  is  filled  with  predictions  and  types,  all  pointing  to 
the  same  glory  in  the  gospel  of  Jesus.     The  temple  of  the 


Lord  is  called  a  glorious  rest;  a  glorious  high  throne;  a 
house  of  glor)',  of  beauty,  of  holiness ;  and  it  is  said,  that 
at  the  dedication  of  it,  "  the  glory  of  the  Lord  filled  the 
house  of  the  Lord."  This  glory  was  the  chjud  which  mani- 
fested the  especial  presence  of  the  Lord.  But  yet  the  glory 
of  the  latter  house  was  to  be  greater  than  the  glory  of  the 
former  house,  because  there  the  sun  of  righteousness  was  to 
arise,  with  healing  in  his  wings,  and  the  gospel  was  to  be 
preached,  with  the  Holy  Ghost,  sent  down  from  heaven. 

In  the  gospel  of  Jesus,  the  dispensation  of  grace  and  mercy 
which  has  been  made  through  him  to  man,  God  has  revealed 
his  character  and  will  to  us,  in  a  peculiar  degree,  and  there- 
fore it  is  styled,  in  the  highest  possible  language  of  honour, 
"The  glorious  gospel  of  the  blessed  God." 

In  all  the  works  of  God  there  is  glor)',  because  they  are 
his.  David  for  this  reason  employs  the  terms  glrtry  and  han- 
dt/work,  promiscuously  for  the  same  thing.  "  The  heavens 
declare  the  glory  of  God,  and  the  firmament  showeth  his  han- 
dywork."  Whatever  he  does  is  glorious  from  his  own  cha- 
racter. But  the  more  he  communicates  of  himself  to  any  of 
his  works,  the  more  glorious  they  are ;  and  therefore,  in  the 
very  passage  in  which  David  celebrates  the  glory  of  creation, 
he  shows  the  higher  glory  of  the  divine  revelation  and  law. 
"The  law  of  God  is  perfect,  converting  the  soul;  the  sta- 
tutes of  the  Lord  are  right,  rejoicing  the  heart." 

Men  stand  in  higher  rank  than  brutes,  and  the  angels  in 
heaven  mount  up  in  loftier  grades  than  men,  simply  upon  this 
principle,  that  the  more  of  his  own  image  God  has  bestowed 
upon  any  of  his  creatures,  the  higher  in  station  and  the  more 
glorious  in  appearance  they  are. 

Now,  of  all  the  manifestations  of  himself  which  the  Deity 
has  made,  there  is  none  in  which  he  may  be  so  fully  known, 
communicated  with,  depended  upon  and  praised,  as  the  gos- 
pel of  Jesus.  This  is  a  glass,  in  which  the  angels  who  sur- 
round his  throne,  see  and  admire  the  unsearchable  riches  of  his 
grace  ;  and  in  which  they  behold,  in  his  mercy  to  men,  a  rev- 
elation of  his  character,  that  they  never  elsewhere  witnessed. 

In  creation  and  providence,  God  is  seen  clearly  and  won- 
derfully ;  but  it  is  only  as  a  God  of  power  and  wisdom,  pro- 
ducing and  upholding  all  things  to  promote  the  glorious  end 
for  which  he  has  designed  them. 

In  the  law,  God  is  displayed  solemnly  and  truly  ;  but  it  is 
only  as  a  God  of  vengeance  and  recompense,  threatening  and 
executing  wrath  upon  those  who  olTend  against  him. 

But  in  the  gospel  he  is  exhibited  as  a  God  of  boundless 
compassion,  as  a  God  of  love;  and  his  power  and  his  wis- 
dom, and  his  faithfulness,  all  come  in  as  subservient  to  his 
bounty  and  grace.  Here  we  behold  his  glory,  full  of  grace 
and  truth.  We  see  him  humbling  himself,  that  he  might  be 
merciful  to  his  enemies  ;  suffering  in  himself,  that  he  might 
bear  the  punishment  of  their  transgressions  ;  and  removing 
every  obstacle  to  their  forgiveness  and  acceptance,  that  he 
might  not  only  olVer  them  pardon,  b\it  beseech  them  to  be 
pardoned  and  reconciled  to  him  again. 

In  the  creation,  he  is  a  God  above  us  ;  in  the  law,  he  is  a 
God  against  us;  in  the  gospel  alone,  he  is  "Emanuel;" 
God  with  us,  God  like  us,  God  for  us. 

It  is  the  gospel  which  reveals  God  to  us  as  he  is.  He  is 
invisible  in  himself;  we  cannot  see  him  but  in  liis  Son.  He 
is  inaccessible  in  himself;  we  cannot  approach  him  but 
through  his  Son.  Would  we  therefore  behold  his  glory, 
we  must  seek  it  in  the  acceptance  and  study  of  that  dis- 
pensation which  proclaims  him  to  be  "the  Lord,  the  Lord 
God,  merciful  and  gracious,  long  suffering,  abundant  in 
goodness  and  truth,  keeping  mercy  for  thousands,  forgiving 
iniquit}',  transgression  and  sin  !" 

But  while  I  make  these  general  assertions  of  the  gospel, 
as  a  revelation  of  the  character  of  God,  and  proclaim  its 
glory  as  a  dispensation,  on  this  account,  it  will  be  more 
satisfactory  to  look  into  its  contents  more  minutely,  and  see 
how  the  gospel  exhibits  in  their  full  glory  the  difterect  per- 
fections of  the  divine  character. 

The  great  object  which  God  designed  to  secure  by  the 
gospel,  was  the  salvation  of  men.  To  the  attainment  of  this 
object,  the  attributes  of  God  interposed  serious  obstacles.  In 
the  dispensation  of  the  gospel,  these  obstacles  have  been  re- 
moved, and  the  attributes  of  God  displayed  in  consistent  and 
glorious  operation.  Just  in  proportion  in  which  there  was 
difliculty  in  reconciling  the  divine  perfections,  does  the  gos- 
pel which  has  accomplished  this  reconciliation  display  their 
glory  and  manifest  its  own  excellency. 

By  it  the  perfections  of  God  are  far  more  gloriously  ex- 
hibited than  they  could  be  in  any  other  method.  For  in- 
stance, suppose  that  man,  with  all  his  descendants,  had  be«n 


PAROCHIAL  LECTURES  ON  THE  LAW  AND  THE  GOSPEL. 


41 


consioiied  to  misery  as  the  consequence  of  his  sin.  The  jus- 
tice of  God  would  have  appeared,  and  his  truth  would  also 
have  been  seen  ;  but  it  would  not  have  been  known  that 
there  existed  in  the  Deity  any  such  attribute  as  mercy ;  or 
that  if  it  did  exist  in  him,  it  could  ever  find  a  fit  scope  for 
exercise,  since  the  exercise  of  it  must  necessarily  involve  in 
it  some  remission  of  the  rights  of  justice,  and  some  encroach- 
ments upon  the  honour  of  the  law. 

On  the  other  hand,  if  free  and  full  remission  of  sins  had 
been  panted  unto  man,  it  would  not  have  been  seen  how 
such  an  act  of  grace  could  be  consistent  with  the  rights  of 
justice  and  holiness  and  truth.  In  either  of  these  alterna- 
tives, the  character  of  God  would  have  been  but  partially 
displayed,  and  his  creatures  would  never  have  seen  him  as 
he  is.  But  in  the  method  of  salvation  which  the  gospel  re- 
veals, not  only  are  all  these  perfections  reconciled,  but  they 
are  all  enhanced  and  glorified  ;  and  a  tenfold  lustre  is  thrown 
upon  them  from  the  gospel,  beyond  what  could  ever  have 
beamed  forth  in  any  other  way.  We  will  consider  some  of 
these  distinctly. 

The  gospel  exhibits  the  divine  justice,  far  more  gloriously 
than  it  would  have  been  displayed  in  the  condemnation  of 
the  whole  human  race.  Behold  the  view  of  justice  which  it 
presents.  The  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  "  God  over  all,"  puts 
himself  in  the  place  of  sinful  man,  and  undertakes  to  endure 
for  man  all  that  the  sins  of  the  whole  world  have  merited. 
But  will  justice  venture  to  seize  on  him  ?  Will  it  draw  its 
sword  against  him  who  is  Jehovah's  fellow  ^  Will  not  the 
sword  of  justice,  stretched  out  against  him,  refuse  to  execute 
its  appointed  work!  No.  Sin  is  found  on  our  incarnate 
God.  It  is  true,  it  is  in  him  only  by  imputation  ;  yet  beint 
imputed  to  him,  he  must  be  answerable  for  it,  and  endure  al 
that  it  has  merited  from  the  hands  of  God.  Behold,  then, 
for  the  honour  of  God's  justice,  the  cup  is  put  into  the  hands 
of  our  blessed  Lord,  and  the  very  dregs  of  its  bitterness  are 
given  him  to  drink ;  nor  is  he  released  from  his  sufferings 
until  he  can  say,  "  It  is  finished.  I  have  completed  the 
work  thou  hast  given  me  to  do."  Contemplate  this  myste 
rious  fact.  The  God  of  heaven  and  earth  becomes  man.  By 
his  obedience  and  death,  he  satisfies  the  demands  of  law  and 
justice,  in  order  that  God  may  be  just,  and  yet  the  justifier  of 
them  that  believe  in  Christ  Jesus.  With  nothing  less  than 
this  could  justice  be  satisfied.  It  could  not  consent  to  the 
salvation  of  a  single  human  being  on  any  other  terms.  Be 
hold,  then,  how  exalted  is  its  character !  how  inalienable 
are  its  rights  !  how  inexorable  are  its  demands  !  In  all  that 
it  inflicts  upon  men  and  angels,  it  is  not  so  highly  glorified 
as  in  this  stupendous  mystery. 

But  if  the  gospel  so  gloriously  exhibits  divine  justice,  see 
how  it  displays  the  divine  mercy.  This  attribute  would  have 
been  displaj'od,  if  man,  by  a  mere  sovereign  act  of  grace,  had 
been  pardoned.  But  it  would  then  have  triumphed  over  the 
concealment  of  all  other  attributes  of  the  Deity.  It  shall  be 
brought  to  light,  but  only  in  such  a  way  as  shall  consist  with 
the  honour  of  every  other  altribute,  in  a  way  by  which  God 
may  be  "a  just  God  and  a  Saviour."  God's  dear  Son  shall 
be  substituted  in  the  place  of  sinners.  The  Creator  of  the 
universe  shall  become  a  man.  He  shall  have  the  sins  of  a 
rebellious  world  laid  upon  him,  that  man,  worthless  man, 
may  be  spared.  Shall  mercy  he  exercised  with  such  a 
sacrifice  as  this?  Yes.  Every  thing  but  God's  honour 
shall  give  way  to  it;  and  when  that  can  be  secured,  no  sa- 
crifice shall  be  esteemed  too  great  to  save  a  perishing  world. 
Go  now  to  Bethlehem,  and  see  that  new-born  infant,  your 
incarnate  Lord,  "  God  manifest  in  the  flesh."  Who  sent 
him  thither?  Who  brought  hiin  from  his  throne  of  glory 
into  this  world  of  wretchedness  and  sin  1  It  was  mercy 
struggling  in  the  bosom  of  Almighty  God,  and  prevailing 
for  its  development  in  this  mysterious  way. 

Go  again  to  Gethsemane  and  Calvary  ;  behold  that  inno- 
cent sutTerer  prostrate  upon  the  earth,  bathed  in  a  bloody 
sweat,  suspended  on  the  cross,  agonizing  under  the  load  of 
his  creatures'  guilt,  crying,  in  the  depths  of  sorrow,  "My 
God,  my  God,  wh}'  hast  thou  forsaken  mel" 

Who  has  brought  him  to  this  state  %  It  was  mercy. 
Mere}'  would  not  rest ;  it  would  break  forth  ;  rather  than  not 
exercise  itself  towards  mankind,  it  would  transfer  to  God 
himself  the  penalty  due  to  them  ;  and  write,  in  the  blood  of 
an  infinite  and  holy  Saviour,  the  pardon  it  designed  for  sin- 
ful man.  How  glorious  is  this  display  of  mercy  ;  and  where 
but  in  the  gospel  of  Jesus  could  it  be  beheld  so  honourabl}' 
and  so  clearly  exhibited. 

Add  to  this  glorious  exhibition  of  justice  and  mercy,  the 
manifestation  which  the  o-osnel  luakes  of  divine  faithfulness 
Vol..  II.-E  °    '  -^      ■' 


and  truth,  and  you  will  see  sufficient  reason  why,  in  answer 
to  the  prayer  of  Moses,  "  Show  me  thy  glory,"  God  should 
preach  to  him  the  unsearchable  riches  of  Christ. 

God  had  surely  threatened  death  as  the  punishment  of  sin. 
When  therefore  man  had  sinned,  what  remained  but  that 
the  penalty  denounced  should  be  executed  immediately  ?  'Hie 
word  had  gone  forth;  it  could  not  be  revoked,  nor  could  its 
sentence  be  reversed,  consistently  with  the  sacred  rights  of 
truth.     What  then  shall  be  done? 

If  the  sentence  be  executed  on  man,  the  veracity  of  God  is 
undoubtedly  displayed  and  honoured.  But  how  can  man  be 
spared,  and  God's  truth  be  preserved  inviolate  ?  In  no  other 
way  than  tbe  substitution  of  God's  own  Son  in  the  sinner's 
place.  This  proposal  truth  willingly  accepts,  gladly  trans- 
fers the  penalty  to  him,  and  joyfully  inflicts  on  the  voluntary 
sufferer  the  sentence  denounced  against  the  offender:  Here 
"  mercy  and  truth  have  met  together ;  righteousness  and 
peace  have  kissed  each  other."  All  the  perfections  of  God 
are  made  to  harmonize  in  the  salvation  of  man,  and  all  are 
displayed  in  a  more  clear  and  glorious  manner  than  they 
could  be  in  any  other  method.  Justice  is  exercised  in  a  way 
of  mercy;  mercy  is  exercised  in  a  waj'  of  justice;  and  both 
of  them  are  manifested  in  the  way  of  holiness  and  truth. 

This  is  one  view  of  the  glorj'  of  the  gospel  as  a  divine 
dispensation.  The  clear  and  sublime  manifestation  which  it 
makes  of  the  character  of  God.'  While  all  his  works  praise 
him  and  his  saints  give  thanks  to  him,  it  is  this  dispensation 
which  proclaims  his  name  and  his  honour:  "  The  Lord,  the 
Lord  God,  merciful  and  gracious,  lung  suffering,  and  abun- 
dant in  goodness  and  truth ;  keeping  mercy  for  thousands, 
forgiving  iniquity,  transgression  and  sin  ;"  and  for  this  reve- 
lation of  his  character,  it  is  well  called  "  the  glorious  gospel 
of  the  blessed  God." 

While  this  glory  of  the  gospel  should  lead  us  to  speak 
with  all  boldness,  and  never  to  he  ashamed  to  declare  its 
power  and  its  worth,  it  should  lead  you  to  remember  how 
worthy  it  is  of  all  men  to  be  received.  This  faithful  saying 
is  worthy  to  be  accepted  with  all  readiness  of  mind  ;  worthy 
to  be  welcomed,  like  the  star  of  the  wise  men,  witli  exceed- 
ing great  joy ;  worthy  to  be  enamelled  in  the  crowns  of 
princes,  and  to  be  written  in  the  soul  of  every  Christian  with 
a  beam  of  the  sun,  "  that  Christ  Jesus  came  into  the  world 
to  save  sinners."  The  faithful  have  ever  been  ready  to  unite 
in  the  exclamation  of  the  inspired  prophet,  "  How  beautiful 
are  the  feet  of  him  that  bringeth  good  tidings,  that  publishetli 
peace,  that  bringeth  good  tidings  of  good,  that  publisheth 
salvation,  that  saith  unto  Zion,  thy  God  reigneth."  What 
man  of  sorrow  would  not  open  his  heart  and  welcome  the 
embraces  of  that  messenger  who  was  coming  to  him  with 
more  lovely  and  acceptable  news  than  the  very  wishes  of  his 
heart  could  have  framed  for  himself? 

When  Joseph  was  sent  for  out  of  prison  to  Pharaoh's 
court,  and  when  Jacob  saw  the  chariots  which  were  sent  to 
carrj'  him  to  his  long  lost  son,  their  spirits  were  revived  and 
comforted  after  their  long  distress.  \\'hcu  Caligula,  the 
Roman  emperor,  sent  for  Herod  (that  Herod  who  was  af- 
terwards smitten  by  an  angel  of  God),  whom  Tiberius  had 
hound  in  chains  and  cast  into  prison,  and  placed  a  diadem 
upon  his  head,  and  for  his  chain  of  iron  gave  him  a  chain  of 
gold  of  equal  weight,  the  historian  says,  "Men  could  not 
believe  the  reality  of  a  change  so  wonderful." 

Now  what  are  all  good  tidings  to  the  gospel,  whicli  is  a 
word  of  salvation,  which  opens  prisons  and  releases  cap- 
tives, and  gives  a  joy  with  which  the  world  intermeddles 
not  ?  "  Your  joy  no  man  shall  take  from  you."  O  how 
worthy  is  such  a  gospel  to  be  accepted  and  improved. 

If  we  suffer  the  loss  of  ever)'  thing  for  Christ,  godliness  is 
great  gain  after  all.  In  a  shipwreck,  I  throw  mj'  goods 
overboard,  and  count  myself  happy  to  get  my  life  in  ex- 
change. O  how  willingly,  then,  should  the  man  who  is 
convinced  of  the  danger  of  his  soul,  cast  ofT  everj'  thing 
which  presses  him  down  ;  and  rejoice,  with  unspeakable  joy, 
to  have  his  soul  saved  from  an  eternal  shipwreck,  and  to  be 
brought  before  God  in  peace  ! 

Have  you  no  desires  to  see  the  glory  of  God  displayed  in 
the  face  of  Jesus  Christ,  or  to  enjoy  the  presence  of  God, 
made  jieaceful  and  happy  for  you  by  the  sprinkling  of  the 
blood  of  Jesus?  Can  you  deliberatel)'  make  the  choice,  that 
while  hereafter  myriads  of  ransomed  sinners  rejoice  in  the 
glories  of  a  full  salvation,  your  souls  should  see  God  only  as 
an  avenger  of  blood  ?  It  is  a  painful  alternative  which  is 
presented  to  you,  but  it  is  the  only  possible  one. 

God  is  dwelling  among  you  in  the  riches  of  gospel  invita- 
tions and  in  the  fulness  of  spiritual  strength.     In  the  persons 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


of  the  Son  and  the  Spirit,  he  would  be  received  into  your  bo' 
soms,  and  rule  over  all  your  affections  and  purposes.  But  if 
he  be  rejected  by  you  to  the  end,  you  will  be  constrained  to 
see  him  appearing  in  the  glory  of  his  government,  to  take 
vengeance  on  them  that  know  not  God,  and  obey  not  the  gos- 
pel of  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ." 

The  glorious  gospel  which  is  offered  you  now,  forms  the 
highest  honour  of  your  souls.  It  brings  you  a  king  having 
salvation,  and  makes  you  with  him,  kings  and  priests  for 
ever.  Happy  are  the  people  that  know  the  joyful  sound, 
they  shall  walk  in  the  light  of  his  countenance  ;  and  blessed 
will  3'ou  be,  though  in  the  midst  of  reproaches  and  tribula- 
tions, if  you  are  led  to  welcome  salvation  to  your  hearts,  and 
to  wash  your  robes  and  make  them  white  in  the  blood  of  the 
Lamb. 


LECTURE  XVn. 

THE  GLORY  OF  THE  GOSPEL  FROM  ITS  METHOD  OF  PUBLICATION. 

How  beautiful  upon  the  mountains  are  the  feet  of  liim  that  bring- 
eth  good  tidings,  tliat  publisheth  peace,  that  bringeth  good  tidings 
of  good,  tliat  publisheth  salvation,  tliat  saith  unto  Zion,  thy  God 
reignetli. — Isaiah  li.  7. 

No  one  would  be  led  to  doubt,  probably,  in  the  most  cur- 
sory reading  of  this  text,  that  it  was  intended  to  refer  to  the 
publication  of  the  gospel  of  Jesus  Christ.  But  if  there  should 
be  such  a  doubt,  St.  Paul  has  decided  the  proper  application 
of  the  passage  in  his  epistle  to  the  Romans,  by  adducing  it 
as  a  reason  for  sending  preachers  of  the  gospel  throughout 
the  world.  Speaking  of  the  messengers  of  the  gospel,  he 
says,  "How  shall  they  preach  except  they  be  sentV  as  it  is 
written,  "  How  beautiful  are  the  feet  of  them  that  preach  the 
gospel  of  peace,  and  bring  glad  tidings  of  good  things." 

It  is  then  the  gospel  of  Jesus,  the  ministry  of  which  is 
said  to  be  so  excellent  and  desirable.  This  gospel,  in  its 
very  name,  is  glad  tidings;  it  is  a  publication  of  peace  be- 
tween God  and  his  alienated  creatures.  It  is  good  tidings  of 
everlasting  good  through  the  mediation  of  a  crucified  Re- 
deemer to  those  who  return  unto  God  and  live.  It  is  salva- 
tion, full,  free,  eternal  salvation  to  every  one  who  accepts  its 
tidings  with  a  thankful  heart;  salvation  from  present  despair 
and  misery;  salvation  from  everlasting  sorrow  and  punish- 
ment, the  just  wages  of  sin.  It  is  a  glorious  annunciation  to 
Zion,  or  the  people  of  the  living  God,  that  their  God,  an 
incarnate  God,  a  justifying  God,  reigneth  for  ever  more. 

He  who  proclaims  to  a  ruined  world  that  Jesus  reigns  as 
a  Prince  and  Saviour,  to  give  repentance  and  forgiveness  of 
sins,  in  the  proclamation  of  this  one  great  truth,  tells  the 
whole  system  of  gospel  grace,  publisheth  salvation,  bringeth 
good  tidings  of  good,  publisheth  peace.  The  people  who 
hear  the  joyful  sound  are  a  highly  privileged  people;  the 
heart  that  embraces  the  glad  intelligence  is  a  converted  and 
thankful  heart.  The  man  who  welcomes  the  precious  truth, 
finds  it  all  his  salvation  and  all  his  desire.  And  the  com- 
munity and  nation  upon  which  its  beneficial  influence  is  ex- 
erted, is  converted  from  a  wilderness  into  the  garden  of  the 
Lord,  a  place  in  which  the  Lord  delights  to  dwell. 

In  the  text  the  prophet  rejoices  in  a  view  of  their  happiness 
and  glory  who  are  allowed  to  minister  this  gospel  of  peace. 
He  derives  the  figurative  expression,  "  how  beautiful  upon 
the  mountains,"  from  the  local  situation  of  Jerusalem.  That 
city  was  surrounded  by  mountains,  which  were  consi- 
dered alike  its  glory  and  its  defence.  The  Psalmist  adduces 
this  peculiarity  of  its  location  as  an  illustration  of  divine 
protection  to  the  people  of  God.  "As  the  mountains  stand 
round  about  Jerusalem,  so  the  Lord  is  round  about  his  peo- 
ple, from  henceforth,  even  for  ever."  From  whatever  direc- 
tion a  messenger  came  to  this  city,  his  path  crossed  the 
mountains.  In  the  text  the  prophet  is  carried  forward  to 
hear  the  publication  of  gospel  mercies;  and  in  the  glorious 
prospect  of  this  publication  of  grace,  the  circumstances  of 
his  own  city  furnish  him  an  illustration  of  his  feelings. 

As  the  sight  of  a  bearer  of  any  joyful  tidings  to  Jerusalem 
was  delightful  to  those  who  watched  him  crossing  the  sur- 
rounding mountains,  so  in  a  still  higher  degree,  beautiful 
upon  the  mountains,  (.  e.  beautiful  at  the  most  distant  point 
from  which  they  can  be  seen,  are  the  feet  of  him  who  comes 
with  more  joyful  and  valuable  intelligence  to  men  than  they 


have  ever  heard  before,  who  comes  to  proclaim  to  the  waiting 
people  of  God,  the  tidings  that  their  God,  Emanuel,  reigns  as 
the  Author  of  salvation,  and  the  Prince  of  everlasting  peace. 

The  text  contains  an  extensive  exhibition  of  the  excellency 
and  glory  of  the  gospel,  as  a  dispensation  of  God's  goodness 
to  man.  The  particular  view  of  this  glory,  however,  which 
it  leads  me  to  propose  to  your  present  consideration  is. 

The  glory  of/he  gospel  arising  from  the  method  of  its  publi- 
cation. 

In  considering  this  subject,  I  shall  speak 

I.  Of  the  character  of  its  various  preachers. 

II.  Of  the  providence  which  has  attended  its  publication. 

III.  Of  its  triumph  over  every  species  of  opposition. 

I.  In  speaking  of  the  preachers  of  the  gospel  in  various 
ages,  the  exclamation,  "  how  beautiful,  how  glorious,"  may 
be  most  equitably  applied. 

The  gospel  has  been  at  all  times  highly  glorious  and  ex- 
alted in  this  aspect  of  its  publication. 

God  hiinself,  who  commanded  the  light  to  shine  out  of 
darkness,  who  created  the  world,  visible  and  invisible,  by  the 
word  of  his  power,  was  the  first  preacher  of  these  good  ti- 
dings of  good.  On  the  very  day  of  man's  transgression  he 
descended  with  a  promise  of  grace.  In  that  promise  he  held 
forth  to  view  a  Saviour  who  should  be  miraculously  con- 
ceived as  man,  and  should  be  a  bruised  and  yet  a  finally  tri- 
umphant Saviour.  This  promise  contained  the  elements  of 
the  whole  gospel  dispensation.  And  while  Adam,  as  a  sinner, 
trembled  before  the  visible  glory  of  his  Creator,  as  a  believer 
he  was  enabled  to  see  with  rejoicing  a  glory  in  this  exhibi- 
tion of  the  gospel  far  more  excellent. 

Through  the  whole  patriarchal  and  prophetic  ages  the 
gospel  was  administered  to  the  faith  of  men,  by  those  who 
spake  as  they  were  moved  by  the  Holy  Ghost ;  and  was  glo- 
rious in  its  ministry  from  its  being  the  peculiar  subject  and 
end  of  all  intelligence  from  God  to  man. 

In  the  personal  ministry  of  Jesus,  a  Saviour  miraculously 
born,  a  God  incarnate  for  man,  the  most  exalted  glory  was 
connected  with  the  gospel.  "  Never  man  spake  like  this 
man,"  said  they  who  were  sent  to  apprehend  him  for  punish- 
ment. All  wondered  at  the  gracious,  or  becoming  and  en- 
nobling words  which  proceeded  from  his  mouth. 

All  creation  listened  to  his  voice  and  obeyed  his  irresisti- 
ble commands.  Things  animate  and  inanimate  alike  yielded 
to  his  control;  the  sea  heard  him,  and  was  still;  the  earth 
heard  him,  and  opened ;  the  dead  heard  him,  and  awoke  to 
life;  the  blood-thirsty  multitude  of  the  Jews  heard  him,  and 
went  backward  and  fell  to  the  ground ;  the  spirits  of  dark- 
ness heard  him,  and  departed  from  men. 

All  this  exercise  of  power  elevated  the  character  of  the 
gospel  dispensation,  because  it  displayed  his  rank  and  glory 
who  had  come  to  the  earth  solely  to  declare  it.  Jesus  ap- 
peared simply  as  the  great  preacher  of  gospel  grace,  and  all 
the  honour  which  appertained  to  his  character  as  a  messen- 
ger, was  reflected  upon  the  message  with  which  he  was 
charged.  And  highly  glorious  and  excellent  indeed  was  that 
dispensation  which  brought  the  Deity  to  earth,  as  a  preacher 
of  its  truth. 

His  ministry  was  honoured  by  the  annunciation  of  angels, 
and  by  the  proclamation  of  a  divinely  appointed  herald ;  and 
though  he  was  despised  and  rejected  by  a  portion  of  men,  yet 
honour  was  paid  to  him  in  his  humiliation  by  heaven  and 
earth. 

But  during  his  earthly  ministry  he  was  comparatively  in  a 
cloud.  His  real  glory  was  eclipsed  by  the  burden  of  man's 
afflictions,  temptations  and  sins ;  and  it  was  in  the  subsequent 
ministry  of  his  apostles  that  his  divine  power  and  sutficiency 
were  really  displayed. 

Then,  when  the  gospel  was  preached  with  the  Holy  Ghost 
sent  down  from  heaven,  and  the  Lord  confirmed  his  word 
with  wonders  and  signs  following,  the  honour  of  the  Son  of 
man  w-as  gloriously  exhibited.  The  apostles  acted  in  the 
name  of  Jesus  of  Nazareth;  and  this  name  was  every  where 
the  signal  of  divine  and  unlimited  power.  The  miracles 
which  Jesus  wrought  in  person,  while  on  earth,  they  wrought 
in  his  name  after  his  ascension  to  glory.  And  in  addition 
to  all  these  mighty  signs  and  wonders,  the  conversioii  of 
myriads  of  immortal  souls  from  the  power  of  Satan  unto  God, 
did  honour  to  that  dispensation  of  the  gospel  which  had  been 
committed  unto  them. 

How  beautiful,  then,  in  the  eyes  of  the  multitudes  through- 
out the  earth,  who  were  asking  the  way  to  life,  were  the  feet 
of  those  who  published  with  such  authority  and  effect,  glad 
tidings  of  peace  and  salvation  through  the  merits  of  a  cru- 
cified Lamb!    And  how  glorious  in  their  ministry  was  that 


PAROCHIAL  LECTURES  ON  THE  LAW  AND  THE  GOSPEL. 


43 


gospel  of  the  blessed  God  which  triumphed  over  error,  par- 
doned sin,  consoled  the  disconsolate,  and  gave  life  from  the 
dead,  in  the  name  of  our  great  God  and  Saviour  Jesus  Christ, 
to  every  believer  in  its  truth. 

But  while  through  all  these  periods  of  time  the  glory  of 
the  gospel  was  displayed  in  the  character  and  rank  of  its 
preachers,  can  we  adopt  the  same  assertion  of  the  present 
ministry  of  the  gospel  ?  Now,  the  excellency  of  this  divine 
treasure  is  committed  to  fallible,  weak  and  sinful  men  ;  they 
have  no  miraculous  powers  entrusted  to  them ;  they  have  no 
signs  and  wonders  to  follow  their  utterance  of  the  name  of 
Jesus ;  they  have  no  power  to  overrule  or  punish  the  diso- 
bedience of  those  who  obey  not  the  gospel ;  and,  generally 
speaking,  they  have  no  excellency  of  speech  or  of  wisdom  to 
command  the  attention  of  those  who  camiot  be  attracted  by 
the  truth. 

Is  the  gospel  still  glorious  in  the  character  of  its  preachers  1 
And  are  the  feet  of  those  who  publish  it  still  beautiful  upon 
the  mountains^ 

Yes,  there  is  still  a  preacher  of  the  gospel  among  men, 
without  whose  influence,  signs  and  wonders  would  be  power- 
less, and  the  tongues  of  men  and  angels  utterly  unprofitable. 
He  follows  the  sinner  with  a  boldness  which  is  always  un- 
daunted, and  tells  him  hourly  in  his  face,  "  thou  art  the  man." 
He  carries  glad  tidings  with  a  forbearance  which  will  not 
be  wearied,  and  beseeches,  "  to-day,  after  so  long  a  time, 
if  ye  will  hear,  harden  not  your  hearts."  He  grasps  the 
conscience  with  a  hold  which  will  not  be  shaken  off,  and 
awakens  the  transgressor  with  a  solemn  crj',  "  escape  for 
your  life."  He  binds  up  the  heart  which  he  has  broken, 
with  more  than  a  mother's  tenderness,  while  he  leads  the 
soul  to  Jesus,  and  says,  "  believe,  and  he  will  give  you  rest." 

There  is  none  who  teacheth  like  him  ;  and  while  we  preach 
the  gospel  with  the  Holy  Ghost  and  with  much  assurance,  its 
ministration  is  glorious,  and  brings  honour  to  the  truth  which 
it  declares.  This  divine  Spirit  will  be  the  great  preacher  of 
Christ  crucified  unto  the  end  of  the  gospel  dispensation. 
His  power  is  unceasingly  displayed  in  the  instant  conversion 
of  the  man  who  came  under  the  word,  cold  and  isrnorant  and 
careless;  in  the  extensive  revival  of  the  power  ot  godliness, 
in  the  community  which  has  settled  down  into  a  dark  and 
lifeless  state  ;  in  the  spreading  before  an  individual  sinner 
the  startling  view  of  his  own  iniquities,  and  in  causing  great 
searchings  of  heart  among  those  who  have  held  the  truth  in 
unrighteousness.  And  while  the  ministry  of  the  gospel  has 
such  power,  though  the  earthly  minister  be  weak  and  igno- 
rant, the  gospel  is  glorified  in  the  character  of  its  preachers 

For  nearly  sixty  centuries  God  the  Father,  God  the  Son, 
and  God  the  Holy  Ghost,  have  united  to  publish  these  glad 
tidings  of  peace,  of  good,  and  of  salvation.  In  this  divine 
ministry,  great  honour  has  been  brought  to  the  gospel  dispen- 
sation, and  it  has  been  made  glorious  in  the  method  of  its 
publication. 

II.  The  glory  of  the  gospel  in  the  method  of  its  publica- 
tion is  exhibited  in  the  Promdence  which  has  always  at- 
tended it. 

It  is  perfectly  evident  from  scripture,  that  the  existence  of 
the  human  race,  after  their  apostacy  from  God,  was  permitted 
only  as  a  display  of  God's  grace  in  their  redemption  ;  and  the 
whole  divine  government  of  man  has  been  a  comment  upon 
that  promise,  which  was  given  to  Adam,  of  a  coming  Sa- 
viour. Four  thousand  years  were  employed  in  preparing  for 
this  manifestation  of  God  in  the  flesh.  During  this  period 
the  Divine  Providence  was  unceasingly  displayed  in  watch- 
ing over  the  great  purpose  of  redemption,  and  making  provi- 
sion for  the  fulness  of  time. 

The  division  of  nations  in  preparation  for  the  final  triumph 
of  truth  and  grace;  the  call  of  Abraham  to  be  the  father 
and  spiritual  representative  of  all  believers,  the  depositary 
of  that  everlasting  covenant,  which  was  in  all  things  well  or- 
dered and  sure,  and  the  head  of  the  earthly  line  from  which 
the  desire  of  all  nations  should  be  born ;  the  separation  of 
the  Israelites,  to  keep  those  precious  truths  and  promises, 
which  constituted  so  much  the  treasure  of  the  world ;  the 
various  dispensations  and  revelations  which  were  made  to 
them,  all  pointing  to  more  excellent  things  to  come;  the  di 
versified  events  of  their  history  and  their  relations  to  other 
nations  of  the  earth ;  all  these  were  arrangements  of  Divine 
Providence  to  prepare  the  way  of  the  Lord  and  a  highway 
for  oar  God. 

When  the  fulness  of  the  appointed  time  was  come,  the  same 
Providence  was  displayed  in  the  subjugation  of  the  tempo- 
ral power  of  the  Jews,  that  there  might  be  no  rival  to  that 
kingdom  not  of  this  world,  which  the  Lord  God  designed  to 


set  up  among  them ;  in  the  universal  empire  which  Rome 
had  been  permitted  to  establish  through  the  known  world, 
giving  such  free  course  to  the  divine  word,  and  such  opportu- 
nities and  protection  to  the  preachers  of  the  gospel,  as  no  age 
before  or  after  could  have  afforded  ;  in  the  establishment  of 
a  general  language  through  all  civilized  nations,  and  that  the 
language  in  which  the  New  Testament  was  written;  in  the 
great  literary  cultivation  and  wisdom  of  that  period,  affording 
the  most  certain  and  scrutinizing  examination  of  the  claims 
of  the  new  religion,  which  made  such  large  demands  upon 
men ;  all  these  are  remarkable  arrangements  of  that  Provi- 
dence which  was  ordering  events  to  co-operate  for  the  estab- 
lishment of  the  kingdom  of  Christ  among  men. 

In  the  whole  period  of  time  which  has  since  elapsed,  all 
human  changes  have  been  made  to  work  together  to  promote 
the  same  intended  results.  The  gospel  of  Jesus,  its  pro- 
gress, its  establishment,  its  triumph  in  the  world,  have 
formed  the  all-suflicient  reason  for  the  most  wonderful  alter- 
nations among  the  children  of  men.  In  the  embracing  and 
cultivation  of  this  gospel,  savage  nations  have  been  raised  to 
civilization,  prosperity,  and  temporal  happiness  and  power. 
In  the  neglect  and  contempt  of  it,  civilized  nations  have  been 
reduced  to  degradation,  barbarism,  and  ignorance.  All  desi- 
rable earthly  blessings  have  been  made  to  follow  in  the  train 
of  the  Redeemer's  gospel ;  and  while  no  nation  has  been  ex- 
alted without  it,  the  sin  of  its  rejection  has  been  a  permanent 
reproach  to  every  people  who  have  been  guilty  of  it. 

The  great  commotions  of  the  world,  the  wars  and  tumults 
which  have  agitated  the  sons  of  men,  have  all  been  made  to 
prepare  the  way  for  Jesus,  as  the  fire,  and  the  wind,  and  the 
earthquake  in  Iloreb,  introduced  to  Elijah  the  still,  small 
voice  of  divine  commands. 

The  present  overturning  of  the  nations  of  the  earth,  though 
feeding  the  plant  of  liberty  and  virtue  with  human  blood,  are 
overruled  to  establish  the  more  widely  the  kingdom  of  the 
Saviour.  ISIen  fill  the  atmosphere  with  noise  and  confusion 
to  gratify  their  own  ambition.  God  rides  upon  the  storm, 
and  makes  the  clouds  the  dust  of  his  feet,  to  bring  to  pass 
his  great  designs.  They  think  to  destroy  nations  not  a  few  ; 
he  purposes  to  establish  a  dominion  under  another  King,  one 
Jesus,  from  sea  to  sea,  and  from  the  river  to  the  ends  of  the 
earth. 

This  same  Providence  is  to  carry  on  the  gospel  to  a  final 
triumph.  The  north  and  the  south  are  to  give  up  the  victims 
of  ignorance  and  idolatr)',  that  they  may  be  made  the  children 
of  God  ;  and  even  now  commerce  has  for  this  purpose  brought 
together  the  ends  of  the  earth,  and  the  peaceful  galley  of  the 
merchant  has  carried  the  ministers  and  the  books  of  truth  to 
most  of  the  remotest  nations  of  men. 

This  continued  providence  of  God,  watching  over  the  gos- 
pel, preparing  the  way  for  its  propagation,  establishing  it 
upon  the  ruins  of  human  ignorance  and  vice,  has  thrown  un- 
ceasing honour  upon  it  as  a  dispensation  from  God  to  man. 
That  God,  by  w-hom  and  for  whom  all  things  were  made,  is 
for  this  reason  a  glorious  God,  and  that  gospel  for  which  the 
earth  has  been  preserved  and  governed,  and  the  promotion  of 
which  among  men  has  been  the  object  of  a  sleepless  Provi- 
dence, is  for  this  reason  a  glorious  gospel,  and  is  honoured 
and  made  beautiful  in  the  method  of  its  publication. 

III.  The  glory  of  the  gospel,  in  the  method  of  its  publica- 
tion, has  been  displayed  in  its  constant  triumph  over  every  spe- 
cies of  opposition. 

In  every  age  Satan  has  sought  to  destroy  it  among  men, 
and  to  defeat  the  divine  purpose  to  redeem  and  to  bless  them. 
His  triumph  over  our  first  parents  led  to  the  promuloation  of 
this  glorious  scheme  of  grace ;  and  from  that  period  his  pur- 
pose has  been  to  pcrVert  its  operation,  and  to  destroy  its 
saving  efiicacy. 

He  buried  the  nations  in  ignorance  and  vice  in  the  antedilu- 
vian world,  until  the  Creator  was  provoked  to  cleanse  it  with 
an  universal  deluge. 

He  involved  the  Israelites  in  the  deepest  and  most  de- 
grading idolatry,  until  sometimes,  as  in  the  reign  of  Josiah, 
the  divine  law  had  become  quite  forgotten.  He  led  them  to  a 
repeated  forsaking  of  God,  and  despising  of  his  ordinances, 
that  he  might  annihilate  the  truth  which  had  been  entrusted 
to  their  keeping. 

But  notwithstanding  all  his  power,  the  purpose  of  God  to 
accomplish  man's  redemption  kept  on  a  steady  and  undevia- 
ting  course;  all  things  were  made  ready  for  its  development 
in  the  appointed  time ;  and  though  the  heathen  raged,  and 
the  people  imagined  a  vain  thing,  God  did  set  his  King  upon 
his  holy  hill  of  Zion. 

When  the  Saviour  was  manifest  in  the  flesh,  he  attempted 


44 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


to  destroy  him.  He  excited  the  jealousy  of  Herod  to  c\it 
him  off  in  his  infancy.  He  attempted  to  persuade  him  to 
his  own  destruction.  He  arrayed  against  him  the  whole 
power  of  Jewish  and  Roman  governors,  so  that  in  the  ex- 
pression of  the  apostles,  "against  the  holy  child  Jesus,  hoth 
Herod  and  Pontius  Pilate  and  the  rulers  of  Israel  were 
gathered  together."  He  finally  succeeded,  as  he  supposed,  in 
his  destruction,  by  nailing  him  to  the  cross.  But  still  the 
gospel  triumphed ;  and  the  very  death  which  was  to  show 
the  weakness  and  falsehood  of  the  professed  Messiah,  was  his 
full  and  perfect  triumph  over  the  gates  of  hell,  and  his  open 
spoiling  of  the  principalities  and  powers  of  darkness. 

Foiled  and  defeated  in  this  attempt,  the  enemy  has  pur- 
sued the  gospel  in  every  succeeding  age  like  a  flood.  He 
raised  the  arm  of  temporal  power  and  wealth,  so  that  the  most 
dreadful  and  bitter  wasting  of  human  lives  was  exhibited  in 
the  persecution  of  the  apostles  and  all  successive  preachers. 
But  the  gospel  triumphed  over  power,  and  in  the  reign  of 
Constantine  seated  itself  upon  the  very  throne  of  the  perse- 
cuting empire.  Millions  of  lives  have  been  sacrificed  by 
the  enmity  of  Satan  because  they  were  Christians,  and  yet 
increasing  millions  have  risen  up  to  supply  their  place. 

He  has  inspired  the  wisdom  and  genius  of  man  to  write 
down  the  religion  of  Jesus  in  the  books  of  infidelitj',  so  that 
some  of  the  mightiest  efforts  of  the  human  mind  which  the 
world  has  ever  seen  have  been  displayed  in  hostility  to  the 
gospel.  Age  after  age  has  furnished  the  same  display  ;  and 
yet  this  despised  gospel  has  triumphed  over  the  arguments 
and  writings  of  infidelity,  and  still  stands  the  monument  of 
God's  Almighty  power,  while  the  names  and  the  former  ex- 
istence of  many  of  these  opposers,  are  known  only  by  the 
answers  which  Christian  writers  have  made  to  them. 

He  has  in  different  ages  thrown  corruptions  and  heresies  in 
practice  and  doctrine  into  the  body  of  the  church;  has  raised 
up  secret  enemies  in  the  very  camp,  until  the  word  of  God 
appeared  almost  buried  under  the  wickedness  of  men.  But 
the  gospel  has  thrown  off  successively  corruptions  and  here- 
sies, and  still  stands,  after  all  these  attempts,  precisely  the 
same  living  and  life-giving  truth,  as  when  it  was  first  re- 
vealed. 

He  has  sent  his  agents  and  ministers  to  assume  the  Chris- 
tian garb  ;  to  array  themselves  among  the  followers  of  Jesus, 
and  thus  to  betray  the  cause  which  they  professed  to  espouse. 
But  though  the  tares  have  grown  together  with  the  wheat, 
there  have  been  ci^ntinually  succeeding  harvests  in  which 
they  have  been  separated,  and  the  gospel  is  still  offered  in  its 
simplicity  and  purity  to  man,  and  embraced  in  its  true  charac- 
ter by  thousands,  while  these  false  pretenders  and  preachers 
have  gone  to  their  own  place. 

No  species  of  opposition  which  could  have  been  aroused 
has  been  omitted.  Every  possible  instrument  has  been 
called  in  requisition,  and  every  instrument  in  its  highest  pos- 
sible power;  and  yet  over  all,  truth  has  prevailed.  The 
gospel  has  set  its  foot  upon  the  necks  of  its  enemies ;  and 
still  triumphs,  and  still  will  triumph,  until  its  full  dominion 
has  been  attained. 

Opposition  probably  was  never  stronger  or  more  serious 
than  in  the  present  day.  The  truth  is  every  where  spoken 
against.  The  doctrines  and  ordinances  of  the  gospel  are  re 
viled  by  thousands.  Bitter  terms  of  reproach  are  appended 
to  the  names  of  those  who  maintain  its  truth,  and  the  most 
unfounded  calumnies  are  circulated  in  reference  to  their 
character  and  conduct ;  and  yet  the  gospel  establishes  its 
throne  in  the  very  midst  of  those  who  hate  it,  and  converts 
its  enemies  into  friends. 

Such  triumphs  reflect  high  honour  upon  the  gospel  of 
Jesus,  and  show  its  glory  in  the  method  of  its  publica- 
tion. Men  may  raise  insuperable  diflicultics,  as  they  sup- 
pose ;  but  beautiful  in  their  triumphant  march  over  all  these 
mountains,  are  still  the  feet  of  those  who  publish  the  gospel 
of  peace  and  preach  glad  tidings  of  good  things. 

From  this  view  of  the  glory  of  the  gospel,  we  may  learn, 
1.  That  whatever  men  may  think  of  the  dispensation  of 
the  word,  the  rejection  of  the  gospel  is  really  a  rejection  of 
God  himself.  ^Vhoever  may  proclaim  to  you  this  message 
of  grace,  and  however  weakly  and  infirmly  he  may  pro- 
claim it,  provided  he  be  faithful,  speaks  the  word  of  the 
Lord ;  and  he  that  despiseth,  despiseth  not  man  but  God. 
From  God  himself  to  you  is  the  word  of  this  salvation  sent ; 
and  let  all  take  heed  that  they  receive  not  the  grace  of  God 
in  vain.  In  his  name  we  demand  the  submission  of  your 
hearts  to  him.  We  oiler  3'ou  the  fulness  of  mercy  for  per- 
ishing sinners,  which  is  laid  up  in  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ; 
and  by  his  authority  require  you  to  repent  and  believe  the 


gospel.  We  leave  it  not  to  your  choice  whctlier  you  will 
accept  the  provisions  of  divine  mercy  or  not.  You  may  re- 
ject them  indeed,  but  you  will  reject  them  to  your  eternal 
ruin.  Brethren,  Almighty  God  demands  his  own.  He  made 
you  not  to  be  destroyed ;  he  has  bought  you  with  an  inesti- 
mable price ;  he  commands  you  to  return  to  him  and  live ; 
and  you  will  answer  it  before  him  in  a  solemn  final  judg- 
ment, how  you  have  received  and  improved  the  precious 
opportunity  of  salvation  which  he  has  so  long  allowed  you. 
•2.  The  way  in  which  you  should  receive  it,  not  as  the 
word  of  man,  but  as  it  is  in  truth,  the  word  of  the  Lord, 
which  worketh  effectually  in  you  that  believe.  The  word  of 
God  profits  you  not  if  it  be  not  mixed  w-ith  faith  in  them  that 
hear  it.  Listen  to  the  gospel  as  a  personal  message  to  your- 
selves; hear  it  describe  your  necessities  and  offer  you  a  full 
and  perfect  remedy,  with  the  humble  acknowledgment  of 
your  want,  and  a  cordial  embracing  of  the  mercy  proposed  ; 
■appropriate  with  thankfulness  the  privileges  which  God  of- 
fers here  to  sinners,  and  learn  to  come  with  your  whole  heart 
to  the  fountain  of  blessedness  and  mercy  which  he  has  laid 
open.  The  Lord  Jesus  invites  you  in  great  kindness  to  re- 
ceive his  love.  B}'  his  ministers  he  calls  you,  and  by  his 
spirit  he  strives  with  you,  that  you  maj'  not  be  penuitted  to 
destroy  yourselves.  Believe  in  him  with  your  hearts,  and  it 
shall  be  well  with  you ;  he  will  pardon  your  unrighteousness, 
and  yo\ir  iniquities  will  he  remember  no  more.  He  brings 
you  this  day  good  tidings;  he  publishes  to  you  peace  and 
salvation.  O  let  your  thankful  hearts  rejoice  that  there  is  a 
Saviour  so  worthy  to  be  received,  admired  and  loved,  pre- 
sented to  your  embrace ;  and  come  unto  him  and  he  shall 
give  you  rest. 


LECTURK  XVUL 

THE    GLORY    OF    THE    GOSPEL    FROM    THE    SUBJECTS    WHICH    IT 
PROCLAIMS. 

How  beautifid  upon  the  mountains  are  tlie  feet  of  liim  that  bring- 
eth  good  tidings,  that  publishcth  peace,  that  bringetli  good  tidings 
of  good,  that  publislieth  salvation,  that  saitli  unto  Zion,  thy  God 
reigneUi. — Isaiau  li.  7. 

Such  we  have  seen  is  the  divine  description  of  the  minis- 
ters of  the  gospel  of  Christ.  Whether  men  justly  appreciate 
their  office  or  not,  they  are  sent  as  messengers  of  God's  chief 
blessing  to  a  fallen  world.  Coming  with  intelligence  of  par- 
don from  on  high,  to  the  penitent  and  contrite  their  approach 
is  welcomed,  their  feet  are  beautiful.  God  is  pleased  to  put 
high  honour  upon  their  office,  and  to  show  himself  personally 
interested  in  the  acceptance  and  respect  which  they  receive. 

But  why  are  they  thus  styled  beautifur!  Not  for  any 
personal  merit  or  worth  in  themselves.  They  are  infirm  and 
imperfect.  Not  for  any  dignity  or  power  which  they  pos- 
sess or  which  they  can  exercise.  They  are  like  otlier  men, 
altogether  weak,  sinful  and  unprofitable.  God  honours  them, 
and  they  are  welcomed  by  man,  altogether  on  account  of  the 
messao-e  which  they  are  commissioned  to  proclaim.  This 
message  contains  the  highest  possible  benefit  to  man,  and 
reflects  unceasing  glory  upon  God.  The  test  exhibits  this 
message  at  large,  and  introduces  to  your  notice  the  subject  of 
the  present  discourse. 

The  glory  of  Ike  gospel,  arising  from  the  intelligence  ichich  it 
communicates  to  man. 

1.  It  brings  "  good  tidings."  This  expression  is  a  gene- 
ral designation  of  the  revelation  made  by  Jesus  Christ.  It 
is  the  title  by  which  w-e  know  this  glorious  system,  and 
which  is  thus  called  the  gospel,  because  it  is  altogether  a 
communication  of  good  tidings  to  man. 

The  good  tidings  of  the  Christian  system  of  truth  involve 
many  particulars,  adapted  to  all  human  circumstances  and 
conditions.  It  appoints  every  where  to  them  that  mourn, 
to  give  them  beauty  for  ashes,  the  oil  of  joy  for  mourning, 
the  garment  of  praise  for  the  spirit  of  heaviness.  It  speaks 
in  lanoTiage  of  consolation  to  all  who  sufler,  of  security  to 
all  who  are  in  doubt,  of  encouragement  to  all  who  fear, 
of  promise  to  all  who  seek  for  mercy.  There  is  no  condi- 
tion of  man  under  the  Providence  of  the  God  of  Truth,  for 
which  the  gospel  of  Christ  will  not  bring  relief  and  comfort. 
He  cannot  be  placed  under  such  circumstances  as  shall 
shut  him  out  from  security  and  hope,  if  he  be  willing  to 


PAROCHIAL  LECTURES  ON  THE  LAW  AND  TITE  GOSPEL. 


45 


accept  the  offers  which  are  here  made.  Whenever  the  sin- 
ner is  destroyed,  he  has  destroyed  himself,  though  God  has 
offered  him  abundant  help. 

But  the  good  tidings  of  the  gospel  may  all  be  comprized 
in  its  one  offer  to  man  of  universal  pardon  for  sin.  It  exhib- 
its a  Saviour,  who  has  accomplished  in  his  own  person  a 
full  salvation  for  the  sinful  posterity  of  Adam,  and  the  riches 
of  whose  grace  are  truly  unsearchable  ;  and  it  offers  simply 
through  him,  and  in  the  acceptance  of  him,  universal  for- 
giveness to  those  for  whom  he  died.  I  say  universal  for- 
giveness, for  not  a  single  sinner  is  personally  excepted  from 
the  offer  which  it  makes.  Whosoever  will,  may  come  and 
drink  freely  of  the  water  of  life :  Jesus  has  offered  himself 
once  for  all.  And  there  is  not  a  man  living  who  can  say 
with  truth,  "for  me  there  is  no  redemption,  God  has  shut 
me  out  of  life."  No,  brethren,  we  do  injustice,  great  injus 
tice,  to  the  free  and  unbounded  grace  of  God,  if  we  suppose 
that  it  is  not  honestly  proposed  to  all,  and  proposed  with  a  sin- 
cere desire  on  the  part  of  its  great  author  that  all  should 
partake  of  it  and  live.  Whatever  theoretical  difficulties 
may  be  imagined  in  reconciling  God's  purposes  of  love 
defeated,  with  his  unlimited  and  resistless  power  to  do  his 
will,  we  cannot  lay  the  blame  of  man's  destruction  upon 
him.  ^fo^  in  searching  through  the  whole  catalogue  of 
offenders  against  him,  can  we  find  one  to  whom  we  are 
authorized  to  say,  that  no  atonement  has  been  made  for  him, 
and  no  pardon  is  offered  upon  his  return  to  God. 

Tills  offer  of  forgiveness  is  universal  in  regard  to  the  trans- 
gressions of  each  individual.  No  sinner  can  be  too  guilty 
to  be  pardoned.  No  man  can  have  fallen  to  a  depth  which 
is  beyond  the  reach  of  Almighty  grace.  Is  he  the  c/iief  of 
sinners  ?  Has  no  one  ever  passed  beyond  the  limits  of  his 
transgression  1  Then  is  the  faithful  saying  true  for  him, 
that  Christ  Jesus  came  into  the  world  for  his  salvation,  and 
is  able  to  set  him  forth  as  a  pattern  of  divine  long  suffering. 
All  the  offences  of  previous  life  are  pardoned,  when  a  sinner 
embraces  the  provisions  of  grace  in  Christ  Jesus ;  one  act 
of  divine  mercy  restores  him  to  the  favour  of  his  God,  and 
removes  forever  all  charge  of  guilt  against  his  soul.  It  is 
true  that  the  sinner's  forgiveness  is  dependant  upon  his  return 
to  God.  If  he  continue  in  a  persevering  rejection  of  the 
Holy  Spirit,  and  determine  to  sin  because  grace  abounds, 
he  commits  indeed  a  sin  for  which  there  is  no  forgiveness, 
either  in  this  world,  or  in  the  world  to  come.  None  in  this 
world,  because  he  thus  casts  finally  away  the  ohiy  possible 
means  of  pardon.  None  in  the  world  to  come,  because  all 
exercise  of  pardon  is  confined  to  the  present  life.  This  sin 
against  the  Holy  Ghost  cannot  be  forgiven,  not  because  its 
guilt  is  too  great,  but  because  it  is  final  impenitence ;  and 
no  impenitent  sinner  can  be  pardoned.  But  for  all  classes 
and  degrees  of  gxiilt,  if  the  sinner  truly  repent  and  submit 
himself  to  God,  there  is  forgiveness  offered  in  the  gospel. 
And  thus  the  gospel  is  a  message  of  good  tidings  to  man, 
bringing  him  back  to  God  and  restorwg  him  again  to  the 
divine  favour  and  love. 

•2.  It  "publisheth  peace."  The  transgressions  of  men 
have  excited  the  just  anger  of  God  against  them,  have  ex- 
posed them  to  necessary  punishment,  and  made  it  the  in- 
flexible rule  of  his  government,  that  there  should  be  no 
peace  to  the  wicked.  This  is  the  relation  in  which  by 
nature  you  stand  to  God  ;  your  souls  are  forfeited  to  his 
divine  justice.  .Should  he  carry  forward  his  anger  against 
sin  to  final  execution,  and  cast  3-ou  all  into  everlasting  ruin, 
no  one  of  you  could  have  the  right  to  complain.  Your  own 
consciences  would  unite  with  his  holy  determinations,  and 
proclaim  that  God  was  just  though  he  thus  took  vengeance. 
You  could  make  no  offering  to  him  which  should  purchase 
peace,  or  deserve  the  remission  of  the  punishment  denounced 
against  sin.  Under  such  circumstances  the  worth  and  glory 
of  the  gospel  are  displayed.  God  has  accomplished  and 
proposes  reconciliation,  and  his  gospel  declares  it  to  you  in 
his  name.  It  is  an  offer  of  peace  altogether  worthy  of  God  ; 
it  compromises  not  the  justice  or  integrity  of  his  character, 
but  confirms  and  glorifies  his  whole  government  of  man. 

Peace  between  yourselves  and  your  Creator  is  thus 
proclaimed.  You  are  allowed  to  come  before  him  with  your 
prayers  and  offerings  without  fear.  He  looks  upon  you  in 
the  righteousness  of  his  Son  with  acceptance  and  favour. 
He  invites  you  to  become  united  to  him  in  the  spirit  of  new 
and  holy  obedience,  and  to  forget  that  there  has  been  any 
separation  between  you  in  your  experience  of  the  future 
manifestations  of  his  love.  The  gospel  exhibits  the  cha- 
racter of  God  to  you  under  the  most  attractive  aspect.  It 
shows  you  that  he  is  desirous  to  pardon  and  save  you ;  and 


invites  you  to  commit  all  your  cares  and  ways  to  him  in  the 
assurance  that  he  will  be  a  friend  and  beloved  to  you  forever. 
Beside  this  relative  peace  between  your  souls  and  God, 
the  gospel  publishes  peace  in  the  experience  of  your  own 
hearts.  When  you  receive  by  faith  the  Saviour  whom  it 
offers,  and  he  is  allowed  to  dwell  in  your  hearts  as  your  hope 
of  glory,  there  is  then  bestowed  upon  you  the  peace  whict 
passes  understanding.  Your  troubled  and  anxious  minds 
have  rest.  Tranquillity  and  assurance  forever  establish  their 
dominion  in  your  souls.  The  accusations  of  guilt  are  hushed 
by  divine  testimonies  of  pardoning  love.  Your  hope  is  fixed 
calmly  and  surely  upon  the  promises  of  God;  and  resting 
thus  in  love  for  him,  and  in  his  love  for  you,  you  are  filled 
with  peace  in  believing  throush  the  power  of  his  spirit. 
Peace  is  thus  thrown  over  all  the  changes  and  prospects  of 
mortal  Jife.  All  things  work  together  for  good  to  those  who 
love  God  ;  and  he  keeps  them  in  perfect  peace  whose  mind 
is  stayed  on  him.  There  is  real  worth,  beloved  brethren, 
in  this  gospel  offer  of  peace  to  the  sinner's  soul,  and  you 
will  exhibit  true  wisdom  in  embracing  it  for  your  own  com- 
fort in  the  present  world,  and  your  eternal  joy  in  a  world  to 
come.  God  makes  it  his  glory  to  pass  by  transgressions, 
and  gives  glory  to  his  gospel  in  constituting  that  the  instru- 
ment of  proclaiming  his  riches  of  love  to  every  sinner  truly 
repenting  and  believing  in  his  Son. 

3.  The  gospel  brings  "  good  tidings  of  good."  It  not  only 
restores  the  sinner  by  the  oflcr  of  free  forgiveness  to  the 
condition  of  an  innocent  man,  removing  all  penalty,  and 
rescuing  him  from  condemnation,  but  it  adds  also  positive 
and  infinitely  valuable  benefits.  It  offers  him  in  the  right- 
eousness of  God  his  Saviour  everlasting  life  and  glory.  It 
bids  him  lift  up  his  eyes  and  his  hopes,  for  God  hath  pro- 
vided for  him  such  good  things  as  pass  man's  understanding. 
The  present  good  which  results  from  a  cordial  acceptance  of 
the  gospel  is  important,  but  it  is  partial.  The  following  of 
Christ  may  involve,  with  all  the  peace]  and  comfort  which 
it  promises,  the  endurance  of  much  suffering  and  trial.  The 
Christian  may  pass  through  many  and  great  tribulations  in 
entering  into  the  kingdom  of  God.  But  the  future  good 
which  is  set  before  him  is  all-sufficient,  and  the  final  result 
of  his  obedience  will  make  abundant  reparation  for  any  con- 
flicts by  which  he  must  be  tried.  But  what  is  this  future 
good  1  What  offers  are  made  to  be  fulfilled  in  a  world  to 
come?  Continuing  life  to  b(ings  who  deserve  to  die.  Un- 
ceasing enjoyment  for  those  who  merit  only  sufferings  and 
woes.  Perfect  acceptance  w  ith  God,  for  rebels  against  him, 
v.ith  whom  he  was  justly  angry  every  day.  Kverlasting 
honour  and  glory  for  those  who  have  been  degraded  and 
destroyed  by  sin.  The  fellowship  of  Jesus  and  his  saints, 
the  society  of  all  who  are  holy  and  perfect,  the  approbation 
of  the  Ruler  and  Judge  of  all,  for  beings  who  were  cast  out 
in  their  sins  ready  to  perish.  Such  is  the  good  which  the 
gospel  offers.  It  is  a  spiritual  and  permanent  grpod,  which, 
like  its  author,  has  no  variableness  nor  shadow  of  changing. 
.Such  honour,  such  recompense  have  all  his  saints. 

This  everlasting  provision  of  good  answers  all  the  re- 
proaches of  the  world,  while  it  shows  that  the  Christian,  in 
counting  all  things  as  loss  for  Christ,  acts  with  wisdom  and 
prudence,  and  that  he  lays  up  his  treasure  securely  where 
moth  and  rust  do  not  corrupt,  nor  thieves  break  through  to 
steal,  and  builds  his  house  upon  a  rock  which  shall  stand 
the  assault  of  every  tempest  and  abide  firm  forevermore. 
It  answers  all  the  temptations  of  the  world,  while  it  pre- 
sents more  than  a  counterbalance  for  ever}'  sinful  joy,  and 
excites  a  faith  and  hope  which  shall  overcome  every  allure- 
ment to  transgression.  It  applies  itself  to  all  the  changing 
circumstances  of  life,  bringing  encouragement  and  treasure 
from  God,  wherever  its  possessor  may  be  placed.  It  is  so 
satisfying,  that  its  messenger  is  always  welcome  to  those 
who  understand  its  worth.  To  the  poor,  the  afllicted,  the 
sick,  the  dying,  the  glorious  gospel  brings  good  tidings  of 
good.  It  takes  man  by  the  hand  when  all  others  forsake 
him.  It  can  speak  with  power  when  all  others  are  silent. 
And  shows  itself  thus  useful  and  desirable,  however  low  and 
desperate  may  be  the  condition  of  the  individual  to  whom  its 
gracious  offers  come. 

4.  The  gospel  "  publishes  salvation."  It  proclaims  to 
every  believer  final  security  from  the  punishment  of  sin,  and 
from  the  power  of  Satan.  It  encourages  liim  with  the  assur- 
ance of  victory,  even  while  he  is  in  the  midst  of  his  warfare. 
It  bids  him  remember  the  Almighty  power  which  is  engaged 
upon  his  side,  and  under  whatever  circumstances  of  danger, 
to  be  not  faithless  but  believing. 

The  salvation  which  the  gospel  offers  is  a  salvation  al- 


46 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


leady  finisheil  and  completed.  Man  is  invited  to  partake  of 
that  wliicli  Ciod  has  freely  provided  for  him;  and  the  great 
office  of  the  gospel  is  to  publish  to  man  this  glorious  salva- 
tion, and  to  invite  him  to  an  enjoyment  of  the  bounties  which 
have  been  thus  prepared.  This  salvation  ii  proclaims  in  ex- 
hibiting an  all-sufficient  sacrifice  for  sin  oirered  by  God's 
dear  Son.  It  shows  that  the  burden  of  human  guilt  was  ac 
tually  laid  upon  him,  and  that  his  death  upon  the  cross  was 
borne  as  a  required  punishment  in  the  sinner's  stead. 

In  such  an  exhibition  of  the  death  of  Christ,  it  displays 
a  full  and  final  atonement  made  to  God  for  human  transgress- 
ions, and  publishes  salvation  in  the  assurance  that  every 
barrier  which  unexpiated  guilt  interposed  to  the  acceptance 
of  man  has  been  thus  removed.  It  proclaims  this  salvation 
in  displaying  the  resurrection  from  the  dead,  and  the  subse- 
quent exaltation  of  the  glorious  Redeemer  who  had  humbled 
himself  even  to  this  death  upon  the  cross  for  man,  and  thus 
shows  that  Almigbty  power  is  enlisted  in  behalf  of  all  who 
come  to  him,  and  that  he  is  able  to  save  them  unto  the  utter- 
most, seeing  he  ever  liveth  to  make  intercession  for  them. 
While  the  gospel  proclaims  the  united  exercise  of  the  power 
of  God  and  the  suflerings  of  man,  in  the  person  of  Jesus 
Christ  the  Lord  our  righteousness,  it  publishes  salvation  in 
a  method  which  removes  every  difficulty  and  commends  itself 
to  the  enlightened  judgment  of  man  as  perfectly  adequate  to 
his  wants,  and  precisely  suited  to  his  condition  as  a  guilty 
and  helpless  being. 

But  though  it  thus  publishes  to  man  a  complete  salvation,  it 
does  not  leave  him  to  obtain  for  himself,  and  by  liis  own  power, 
a  personal  interest  in  this  salvation.  It  comes  to  him  attended 
by  the  same  Spirit  who  has  proclaimed  its  intelligence  to  the 
world,  as  a  personal  gift  to  his  soul,  to  enable  him  to  see  his 
dangers,  and  to  take  advantage  of  the  mercies  which  are  of- 
fered to  his  acceptance.  It  brings  this  Holy  Spirit  to  dwell 
within  his  heart  as  a  comforter  and  guide,  to  encourage  and 
to  lead  him  in  the  path  to  life  eternal.  By  the  ministration 
of  the  Spirit,  it  applies  to  him  the  salvation  which  it  pub- 
lishes abroad,  and  thus  completes  the  gracious  design  of  God 
of  bringing  the  siimer  from  the  power  of  Satan  to  himself  and 
glory  everlasting. 

It  displays  the  Father,  the  Son  and  the  Holy  Ghost  united 
in  the  work  of  man's  redemption ;  shows  the  office  which 
each  person  of  the  Deity  exercises  to  attain  this  end;  and 
having  proclaimed  the  whole  scheme  of  grace,  it  publishes 
as  the  result  a  full  and  eternal  salvation  to  all  who  believe 
the  intelligence  which  it  communicates. 

5.  The  gospel  "  saith  unto  Zion,"  to  the  people  of  God, 
"  thy  God  reigneth." 

This  personal  designation  of  God  as  connected  with  his 
people,  sliows  us  that  Emanuel,  God  manifest  in  the  flesh, 
is  especially  referred  to.  Of  him,  the  righteous  are  by  the 
same  prophet  represented  as  saying,  "  Lo,  this  is  our  God, 
we  have  waited  for  him,  and  he  will  save  us."  The  God  of 
Zion  is  an  incarnate  God,  our  "  great  God  and  Saviour  Jesus 
Christ." 

The  gospel  declares  his  reign,  his  everlasting  dominion  as 
God  over  all,  blessed  for  ever.  It  proclaims  his  exaltation 
as  head  over  all  things  for  the  church,  as  Lord  of  lords  and 
King  of  kings,  making  his  enemies  his  footstool.  It  declares 
this  reign  of  Christ  as  joyful  intelligence  to  his  people,  as- 
suring them  that  their  cause  is  safe  under  his  extensive  and 
resistless  dominion. 

He  reigns  in  the  government  of  the  present  world,  ordering 
all  things  according  to  the  counsels  of  his  own  will,  and  con- 
straining all  beings  and  all  events,  to  promote  his  glory  and 
the  good  of  his  people.  In  this  assurance  Zion  rejoices  in 
the  prospect  of  a  final  victory  for  his  truth,  and  fears  not  that 
his  cause  is  safe,  whatever  may  be  the  assaults  of  the  ungodl}'. 
However  men  may  fill  the  earth  with  confusion  and  sin,  he 
rides  upon  the  whirlwind  and  the  storm,  and  makes  the  clouds 
the  dust  of  his  feet.  He  brings  light  out  of  darkness,  and 
makes  crooked  things  straight.  And  lie  will  accomplish  his 
purpose  of  the  universal  dominion  of  righteousness  and  peace 
among  men,  through  whatever  opposition  and  conflict  he 
must  pass  to  gain  the  end. 

He  reigns  in  the  heart  of  every  redeemed  sinner,  and  will 
keep  each  one,  therefore,  to  the  enjoyment  of  his  eternal  glory. 
In  this  intelligence,  too,  his  people  rejoice;  they  have  put 
on  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  and  they  stand  complete  in  him. 
Whatever  may  be  the  temptations  of  sin,  and  the  difficulties 
of  obedience  while  he  reigns  in  their  hearts,  they  shall  be 
made  more  than  conquerors  through  his  divine  power.  The 
■world  shall  he  overcome,  Satan  shall  be  bruised  under  their 
feet,  self  shall  be  crucified  and  destroyed,  and  grace  shall 


triumph  finally  and  eternally,  because  Christ  rules  in  those 
whom  he  has  redeemed. 

He  reigns  amidst  the  hosts  of  heaven,  and  Zion  rejoices  in 
the  prospect  of  reward  which  his  dominion  there  ensures. 
His  presence  constitutes  the  happiness  and  glory  of  his  peo- 
ple. They  look  forward  with  delight  to  another  world  as  an 
everlasting  home,  because  he  is  there.  The  single  promise 
of  recompense  which  the  gospel  makes  is  an  enjoyment  of 
his  favour  and  a  dwelling  together  with  him.  In  the  hope 
of  this  the  believer's  heart  rejoices  with  joj' unspeakable  and 
full  of  glory ;  and  having  counted  all  things  as  loss  for  Christ's 
sake,  he  looks  forward  with  triumph  to  the  day  when  he 
shall  be  like  him  and  see  him  as  he  is.  Jesus  reigns  in 
heaven,  and,  therefore,  for  those  who  love  him,  heaven  must 
contain  a  desirable  and  ample  reward. 

Such  is  the  glorious  intelligence  which  the  gospel  brings 
you ;  such  are  the  communications  which  it  makes  to  a  world 
of  sinners.  It  brings  good  tidings,  it  publishes  peace,  it 
brings  good  tidings  of  good,  it  publishes  salvation,  it  de- 
clares to  Zion,  thy  God  reigneth.  These  gracious  communi- 
cations throw  a  glorious  light  over  the  whole  message,  and 
constitute  it,  by  their  excellency,  the  glorious  gospel  of  the 
blessed  God. 

How  important  is  the  obligation  which  arises  from  such 
intelligence  to  constrain  sinful  men  to  accept  with  thankful- 
ness these  heavenly  otTers!  The  immediate  duty  required  of 
you  all  is  the  reconciliation  to  God  which  the  gospel  pro- 
poses, and  for  which  it  has  made  provision.  All  things  are 
ready  for  the  return  of  sinners  unto  Christ,  and  I  would  be- 
seech j'ou,  brethren,  to  welcome  the  ministers  of  reconcilia- 
tion, to  receive  the  pardon  which  is  offered,  and  to  place 
yourselves  under  the  dominion  of  this  glorious  and  merciful 
King.  Kiss  the  Son  in  token  of  your  cheerful  submission  to 
him,  and  let  not  his  wrath  be  kindled  against  you,  even  but 
a  little,  lest  you  perish  from  the  right  way,  and  lose  for  ever 
the  hopes  which  are  offered  you  through  his  grace. 

How  important  also  is  the  obligation  upon  Christians  to 
press  upon  all  others  the  acceptance  of  these  messages  of  di- 
vine love !  To  you  who  have  believed,  the  Lord  has  committed 
the  treasure  ofhis  grace,  that  you  may  otTerit  to  others.  In  your 
conversation  and  your  conduct,  and  in  direct  eftbrts  to  lead 
sinners  unto  Christ,  much  influence  is  to  be  exerted  to  pub- 
lish this  salvation,  and  to  spread  abroad  the  knowledge  of 
the  truth.  The  worth  of  this  glorious  intelligence  marks  the 
amount  of  your  responsibility ;  and  while  it  teaches  you  what 
Christ  has  done  and  suffered  to  open  the  way  of  salvation,  it 
impresses  upon  you  how  much  you  should  be  w  illing  to  do 
and  to  suffer  to  make  this  way  plain  and  profitable  to  others. 
Let  no  effort  be  spared  which  can  be  made  effectual  to  bring 
men  from  the  darkness  of  their  sins,  to  the  light  of  the  glory 
of  God  which  is  seen  in  Jesus  Christ. 


LECTURE  XIX. 

The  gospel  magnifying  the  law. 

The  Lord  is  "well  pleased  for  Ids  righteousness  sake,  he  will  mag- 
nify the  law  and  make  it  houom-ablc. — Isaiah  xlii.  21. 

The  connexion  of  the  different  divine  revelations  with  each 
other,  forms  an  important  subject  for  our  consideration  in 
closing  this  series  of  lectures. 

Faithfulness  and  immutability  are  attributes  inseparable 
from  the  divine  character.  With  God,  there  is  no  variable- 
ness, nor  shadow  of  turning.  He  illustrates  the  unchange- 
ableness  of  his  own  nature  by  contrasting  with  it  the  transi- 
tory existence  of  the  most  splendid  of  all  his  works.  Like  a 
vesture  and  a  garment,  they  are  to  change,  and  to  be  folded 
up,  but  he  is  the  same  for  ever,  his  years  have  no  end. 

This  immutability  of  his  character  and  purposes  he  adduces 
as  the  reason  of  all  his  forbearance  towards  those  who  have 
disobeyed  his  commands.  "I  am  Jehovah,  I  change  not, 
therefore  ye  sons  of  Jacob  are  not  consumed,"  and  again,  "I 
will  not  execute  the  fierceness  of  mine  anger,  I  will  not  re- 
turn to  destroy  Ephraim,  for  I  am  God,  and  not  man." 

The  same  unchangeable  character,  is  asserted  in  the  New 
Testament  to  be  the  attribute  of  God  manifest  in  the  flesh. 

Jesus  Christ,  the  same  yesterday,  to-day  and  forever." 
And  Jesus  says  of  his  own  revelation,  "heaven  and  earth 
shall  pass  away  ;  but  my  word  shall  not  pass  away." 


PAROCHIAL  LECTURES  ON  THE  LAW  AND  THE  GOSPEL. 


47 


This  immutability  appertains  to  all  the  divine  purposes 
and  plans.  He  is  from  everlastino;  to  everlasting,  One  God. 
He  does  not  change  the  purposes  which  he  forms ;  nor  is  he 
frustrated  in  the  accomplishment  of  his  own  designs. 

The  connexion  of  this  attribute  with  our  text,  will  become 
immediately  apparent. 

God  has  made  successive  revelations  to  men,  and  has  placed 
them  by  these  revelations  under  distinct  dispensations  of  go- 
vernment. Now  are  not  these  dispensations  contrary  the  one 
to  the  other  1  and  is  not  the  divine  immutability  compromised 
and  destroyed  in  the  various  declarations  which  he  has  thus 
successively  made  1 

This  is  the  important  subject  or  thought  which  1  would 
present  before  you  at  this  time. 

Is  the  law  against  the  promises  of  God  1  or  do  we  make 
void  the  law,  through  faith  1  To  each  of  these  demands  the 
apostle  returns  the  same  answer,  "  God  forbid,"  and  asserts 
the  same  fact,  that  the  law  and  the  gospel  are  designed  not 
to  destroy,  but  to  confirm  and  establish  each  other. 

Our  text  declares,  that  God  was  perfectly  satisfied  with 
that  everlasting  righteousness  which  the  Messiah  has  brought 
in,  under  the  gospel ;  and  that  in  the  acceptance  of  this  right- 
eousness for  man,  he  would  magnify  the  law,  and  make  it 
honourable. 

TTie  honour  which  the  grace  of  the  gospel  Tejieela  upon  the  di- 
vine law  is  the  subject  here  presented  to  you. 

In  remarking  upon  this  subject : 

I.  Our  first  object  must  be  to  recall  the  distinct  and  clear 
views  which  we  have  already  taken  of  the  law  and  the  gos- 
pel.    And  then, 

II.  To  consider  the  assertion  of  the  text,  that  the  righteous- 
ness of  the  gospel  magnifies  and  makes  honourable  the 
law. 

I.  We  must  first  recall  the  clear  views  which  we  have 
taken  of  what  the  law  and  gospel  are. 

1.  The  law  of  God,  is  simply  the  revealed  will  of  the 
Creator.  It  was  first  made  known,  when  the  first  creature 
was  formed.  It  required  in  every  creature  unqualified  sub- 
mission to  the  Creator's  will,  whenever  and  however  that 
will  should  be  proclaimed.  By  all  the  angels  in  heaven  who 
delight  to  do  their  maker's  will,  it  is  fully  obeyed.  It  was 
communicated  to  man  at  his  creation,  requiring  from  him 
simply  this  entire  submission  to  God,  and  fixing  tlie  trial  of 
his  obedience  upon  a  single  and  comparatively  unimportant 
precept.  It  was  revealed  anew  to  the  Israelites  upon 
Mount  Sinai,  with  many  additional  particulars,  some  of 
which  were  entirely  national  and  local.  It  is  as  much  binding 
upon  every  soul,  under  the  gospel,  as  it  was  before  Jesus  ap- 
peared as  the  Saviour  of  men. 

This  law  governs  throughout  the  universe.  It  will  govern 
forever.  There  can  be  no  creature  exempted  from  obedience 
to  it;  nor  can  its  authority  ever  be  annulled.  While  the 
Creator  reigns,  every  created  being  will  be  bound  to  submit 
unconditionally  to  his  will,  which  is  his  law,  however  and 
whenever  that  will  shall  be  published. 

So  soon  as  any  being  disobeys  this  law,  he  comes  imme- 
diately under  condemnation,  and  is  at  once  a  lost  and  ruined 
being.  He  is  without  protection  and  without  hope.  God  is 
turned  against  him,  and  none  can  be  on  his  side. 

Thus  it  was  with  the  angels  that  sinned.  Thus  it  was 
with  Adam,  and  thus  it  is  with  every  man  born  into  the 
worid.  None  of  us  are  keepers  of  the  law.  Ajid  therefore 
the  whole  family  of  man  have  come  under  the  curse,  and 
every  man  living  is  condemned  by  the  divine  law,  as  a  trans- 
gressor against  God. 

Let  it  be  further  remembered  that  this  law  cannot  be  set 
aside  or  annulled.  It  demands  an  obedience  and  satisfaction 
adequate  to  its  own  character,  and  it  will  not  release  from 
condemnation  any  transgressor  who  does  not  produce  them. 
If  no  such  obedience  and  satisfaction  can  be  obtained  by  sin- 
ners, whether  men  or  angels,  no  fallen  being  can  be  restored 
or  saved. 

This  is  the  vitw  which  we  have  taken  of  the  divine  law. 
It  is  not  the  Jewish  law,  nor  the  command  given  to  Adam 
particularly.  It  is  the  original,  divine  will  of  God,  requiring 
simply  unqualified  submission  in  his  creatures  under  all  the 
circumstances  which  he  shall  see  fit  to  place  them. 

It  was  made  known  in  some  precepts  to  Adam,  and  in 
others  to  the  Israelites,  and  in  others  still  by  the  Lord  Jesus. 
So  far  as  now  revealed,  it  is  contained  in  the  Scriptures,  which 
are  given  by  inspiration  of  God.  It  may  be  made  known  in 
new  precepts,  to  the  creatures  of  God,  throughout  eternity : 
and  to  whatever  labour  or  duty  God  shall  ever  direct, — this 
universal  law  will  require  unconditional  obedience. 


Neither  the  gospel  then,  nor  any  other  dispensation  from 
God,  can  make  roid  or  annul  this  law, — because  whatever  is 
revealed  or  commanded  by  him,  becomes  from  that  moment 
a  part  of  his  law;  and  comes  to  man  with  the  same  authority 
which  has  attended  all  previous  revelations. 

They  cannot  be  inconsistent  with  the  law,  because  God  can- 
not deny  himself;  he  is  always  the  same,  and  changes  not,  nor 
can  his  purposes  contradict  each  other. 

2.  The  gospel  is  a  free  ofler  of  salvation  to  man  under  the 
condemnation  of  the  law,  it  was  designed  as  a  remedy  for  ex- 
isting evil,  and  was  intended  to  restore  the  transgressor  of 
the  law  to  his  former  situation  of  security  and  peace.  It 
makes  its  gracious  proposal  of  salvation,  through  the  suffer- 
ings of  a  divine  substitute;  it  is  the  annunciation  of  a  Saviour, 
who  has  assumed  the  sinner's  place,  and  rendered  for  him  the 
obedience  and  satisfaction  which  the  divine  law  required. 

It  is  not,  then,  a  system  which  has  originated  from  another 
being  than  the  one  who  gave  man  his  law,  and  which  was 
intended  in  its  operation  to  set  aside  that  law  :  but  one  which 
has  flowed  from  the  divine  lawgiver  himself,  to  restore  the 
violated  majesty  of  his  own  government,  and  to  provide  for 
man  that  satisfaction  to  the  law,  without  which  he  could 
never  have  been  saved. 

The  intelligence  of  the  gospel  was  first  revealed  to  man 
after  his  transgression,  as  his  all-sufficient  remedy.  It  provi- 
ded salvation  for  him,  and  offers  it  to  him  freely  as  a  lost 
creature.  But  it  does  not  and  cannot  give  him  salvation,  in 
opposition  to  the  demands  of  the  law;  it  first  satisfies  the  law, 
and  makes  it  perfectly  whole,  and  then  freely  and  fully  justi- 
fies and  saves  the  sinner  whom  it  had  condemned. 

Here  then  is  no  opposition,  but  a  perfect  unity^  of  action, 
and  mutual  agreement :  As  if  a  creditor  should  imprison  his 
debtor  for  default  in  payment,  and  another  individual  should 
come  forward  voluntarilj'  to  discharge  the  claim  and  set  the 
prisoner  at  liberty,  the  latter  could  not  be  said  to  be  opposed 
on  this  ground  to  the  former,  or  in  any  way  to  deny  or  de- 
stroy the  legal  justice  of  the  claim  which  he  thus  dischar- 
ged, but  both  would  unite  in  releasing  the  man  whose  debt 
had  thus  been  paid;  so  while  the  law  of  God  held  man  in 
bondage,  as  a  transgressor  of  its  precepts,  and  the  gospel 
provides  a  full  discharge  of  the  penalty,  and  bids  the  ran- 
somed soul  go  and  sin  no  more,  it  does  not  on  this  account 
show  itself  opposed  to  the  law's  demands.  It  honours  the 
justice  of  the  law  by  satisfying  it  fully,  and  in  no  degree 
annuls  it. 

The  same  divine  being  has  given  the  law  as  the  rule  for 
all  his  creatures,  and  the  gospel  as  the  hope  for  fallen  man. 
In  both  these  dispensations  he  is  the  same,  and  there  is  in  him 
no  shadow  of  turning. 

When  he  first  created  man,  he  placed  him  under  his  law, 
as  he  had  done  all  other  beings,  and  when  man  transgressed 
the  law  and  sinned  against  him,  and  of  necessity  was  con- 
demned by  the  law,  then  he  revealed  his  gracious  purpose  to 
save  him  in  perfect  consistence  with  the  majesty  of  his  own 
law,  and  provided  and  offered  a  righteousness  in  the  Lord  Je- 
sus, with  which  he  was  well  pleased,  and  which  would  mag- 
nify the  law,  and  make  it  honourable. 

II.  We  now  proceed  to  consider  the  assertion  of  the  text: 
That  the  righteousness  of  the  gospel  does  magnify  the  law, 
and  make  it  honourable. 

This  part  of  our  subject  deserves  peculiar  consideration. 
In  preaching  the  gospel  of  the  Lord  Jesus,  we  offer  a  free  and 
full  salvation  to  those  whom  the  law  condemns,  and  that  to 
be  obtained  simply  by  faith  in  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ.  In 
such  a  system  we  appear  to  many  to  set  aside  the  claims  of 
the  law,  and  still  more  so,  when  we  further  state  that  the  law 
cannot  justify  any  man;  that  it  is  not  to  be  observed  with  any 
view  to  obtaining  justification  by  it;  that  we  must  not  so  much 
as  lean  upon  it  in  the  slighest  degree,  and  that  our  placing 
the  smallest  dependence  upon  it  will  invalidate  our  whole 
interest  in  the.system  of  the  gospel.  In  these  assertions,  we 
are  supposed  to  be  Antinomians  in  our  principles,  and  our 
doctrines  are  thought  to  be  subversive  of  moral  obligations. 

It  will  be  remembered  that  the  apostle  Paul  was  obliged 
to  contend  with  the  very  same  difficulties,  and  that  his  doc- 
trines were  obnoxious  to  the  very  same  reproach,  and  against 
this  reproach  he  was  compelled  to  vindicate  himself  in  re- 
peated instances. 

But  what  is  the  real  ground  which  we  occupy  in  this  mat- 
ter !  The  law  you  will  remember  requires  perfect  obedience 
to  all  its  commandments.  It  denounces  a  curse  against  every 
[one  who  shall  violate  them  in  the  smallest  degree.  Now  it 
is  manifest,  that  every  man  living  has  violated  them  in  ten 
thousand  instances,  and  is  consequently  obnoxious  to  the 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


48 

heaviest  judoiiients.  And  yet,  in  prcacliinn;  the  frlad  tidings 
of  the  gospel,  we  say  to  those  who  believe  in  Jesus  Christ, 
that  they  have  nothing  to  fear,  for  there  is  no  eondcmnation 
to  them  that  are  in  Christ  Jesus.  Do  we  in  this  system  of 
preaching  set  aside  tlie  law,  or  act  in  contrariety  to  its  estab- 
lished principles  'i 

This  is  the  point  before  us.  In  reply,  we  say,  by  no  means  ; 
we  establish,  and  confirm,  and  honour  the  law,  to  the  utmost 
possible  extent.  Vi'c  announce  a  salvation  which  God  has 
provided,  and  in  which  he  is  well  pleased  ;  which  satisfies 
every  legal  demand,  makes  the  sinner  perfectly  secure,  and, 
at  the  same  time,  infinitely  glorifies  the  majesty  and  charac- 
ter of  God. 

1.  The  gospel  honours  and  magnified  the  law  in  the  volun- 
tary ohcdiencc  of  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ. 

It  would  have  been  honoured  by  the  personal  obedience  of 
man,  had  he  continued  upright,  as  it  is  by  the  obedience  of 
the  pure  spirits  of  heaven.  In  the  universal  submission  to 
God,  which  is  there  displayed,  the  cheerfulness  with  which 
all  unite  to  rrlorify  the  divine  Creator,  and  the  love  and  com- 
munion which  is  maintained  among  themselves,  the  purity 
and  glory  of  the  divine  lavr,  are  unceasingly  beheld.  Had 
man  remained  in  his  first  estate,  such  would  have  been  the 
character  of  earth ;  and  here,  in  all  the  int^-rcoursc  of  men 
■with  each  other,  the  perfect  law  of  God  would  have  been  the 
controlling  principle.  This  obedience  would  have  magnified 
the  law,  and  displayed  its  wrath.  But  the  voluntar)'  sub- 
mission of  God  the  Son  to  its  commands,  has  magnified  it 
far  more  highly.  He  over  whom  it  had  no  control,  and  whose 
will  constituted  the  law  itself,  yielded  himself  to  be  command- 
ed by  the  law,  for  those  who  were  under  its  condemnation. 
His  perfect  obedience  to  every  precept,  is  the  righteousness 
with  which  God  declares  himself  well  pleased.  As  itian,  he 
fulfilled  ever}'  command;  from  childhood  to  death  he  was 
constituted  under  the  law:  he  thus  wrought  out  a  spotless 
righteousness,  by  which  the  majesty  of  the  law  is  perfectly 
sustained,  while  the  subjects  of  its  condemnation  are  released 
and  set  at  liberty. 

Now,  how  can  the  law  be  more  glorified,  or  set  upon  higher 
ground,  in  the  view  of  the  intelligent  universe,  than  by  this 
voluntary  humiliation  of  God  himself?  With  what  authority 
and  sanction  must  it  have  pressed  itself  home,  upon  the 
thrones,  and  dominions,  and  principalities,  and  powers,  in 
heavenly  places,  when  they  beheld  such  regard  paid  to  it  by 
the  Creator  himself!  The  personal  obedience  of  Jesus  hon- 
ours the  purity  and  holiness  of  the  law  from  its  undefiled  and 
spotless  character,  showing  how  holj-  must  be  that  law  which 
was  made  the  rule  of  such  perfection  in  one  who  was  govern- 
ed by  it.  The  same  obedience  also  honoured  the  majesty  and 
authority  of  the  law,  because  it  was  the  voluntary  submission 
of  a  being  so  elevated  and  glorious,  over  whom  it  could  have 
had  no  necessary  control. 

2.  The  oQspel  honours  the  law,  in  the  voluntary  sufferings 
of  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ. 

The  righteousness  which  the  law  required  was  not  only  a 
Tighteousness  of  obedience  to  its  precepts,  but  of  satisfaction 
also  for  past  transgressions.  Had  the  law  been  violated,  and 
the  transgression  remained  unpunished,  its  authority  would 
have  been  utterly  overthrow-n;  instead  of  being  magnified  and 
made  honourable,  it  would  have  been  dishonoured  and  des- 
pised. Had  the  transgressors  of  the  law  all  been  punished, 
it  would  have  been  honoured,  and  the  Creator  would  have 
been  seen  to  be  a  being  glorious  in  holiness  and  justice. 

But  it  is  far  more  highly  magnified,  w  hen  the  mighty  God 
himself  consents  to  bear  its  penalties,  rather  than  it  should  be 
despised.  The  sutTerings  which  he  sustained  were  a  satis- 
faction to  the  violated  law.  They  were  the  wrath  of  God 
against  sin.  How  far  they  were  the  same  which  sinners  un- 
pardoned must  sustain  for  themselves,  and  how  far  they  were 
only  a  full  equivalent  for  their  suflcrings,  we  cannot  precisely 
determine. 

The  bodily  suffering,  the  darkness  of  mind,  and  the  violent 
death  which  the  Lord  endured,  were  certainly  parts  of  that 
express  penalty  which  the  law  had  denounced  against  trans- 
gression. \\  bile  tlie  hatred  of  God,  and  the  unquenchable 
despair  which  are  also  parts  of  the  sinner's  own  punishment, 
were  not  found  in  Christ.  This  question  it  is  not  necessary 
for  us  to  decide.  The  infinite  dignity,  and  the  infinite  capacity 
of  the  Saviour,  affixed  a  worth  and  an  extent  to  his  sufferings, 
which  made  them  an  equivalent  for  man.  They  answered  the 
demands  of  the  law.  They  made  it  whole  and  honourable, 
and  thus  opened  a  wa}'  for  the  salvation  of  a  single  sinner, 
or  for  all  siiiiiers,  as  one  or  all  should  accept  the  offers  of  sal- 
vation. 


Thus  the  Lord  Jesus  l-.onoured  the  justice  of  the  law,  and 
its  faithful  character,  in  submitting  both  to  obey  and  to  suffer 
for'man,  under  its  requisitions. 

3.  The  gospel  honours  the  law  in  the  acknowledgment  of 
guilt  which  it  requires  every  sinner  to  make,  on  whom  it  be- 
stows a  pardon.  The  honour  which  Jesus  gave  it,  is  but  a 
part  of  that  which  it  receives.  The  gospel  olfers  mercy  to 
man  in  a  method  which  requires  him  to  acknowledge  the  jus- 
tice of  his  condemnation  under  the  law,  before  he  can  receive 
it.  Everj'  one  who  asks  for  pardon,  must  confess  himself  a 
sinner  ready  to  perish.  He  must  not  only  declare  in  words, 
but  i'cel  it  also  deeply  in  his  conscience,  that  he  deserves  to 
be  cast  into  outer  darkness,  amidst  weeping  and  gnashing  of 
teeth,  and  if  God  should  avow  that  he  had  no  pleasure  in  him, 
and  should  refuse  for  ever  to  accept  him,  it  would  be  just  and 
right.  He  must  go  to  Christ,  as  one  who  feels  himself  ex- 
posed to  imminent  and  awful  danger,  and  cry  to  him  for  mer- 
cy, as  a  cast-away  sinking  into  destruction  everlasting.  He 
is  to  plead  nothing  for  himself,  but  the  full  satisfaction  which 
the  obedience  and  sufferings  of  the  Lord  Jesus  have  made  to 
the  demands  of  the  law,  and  must  found  his  whole  hope  upon 
the  perfectly  sufficient  and  honourable  offering  which  was 
thus  made.  He  must  not  desire  that  the  demands  of  the  law 
should  be  lessened  even  for  his  salvation.  But  while  he  feels 
condemned,  and  acknowledges  himself  to  be  condemned,  he 
must  still  proclaim  that  the  commandment  which  destroys 
him  is  just  and  good.  He  must  acknowledge,  tiiat  without 
a  righteousness  which  fully  answers  the  demands  of  the  law, 
he  cannot  be,  and  ought  not  to  be,  accepted  before  God.  And 
while  he  laments  his  own  inability  ever  to  render  this  righte- 
otisness,  he  must  plead  the  merit  of  his  incarnate  God,  as  all 
his  salvation  and  all  his  desire.  Thus,  in  the  very  entrance 
on  the  way  of  salvation,  the  gospel  provides  for  the  honouring 
and  magnifying  of  the  law,  in  the  acknowledgments  which 
the  sinner  makes.  It  will  save  none  who  do  not  feel  and  will 
not  confess  this  guilt  and  danger  under  a  previous  condemna- 
tion. There  must  be  a  deep  humiliation  for  sin,  and  convic- 
tion of  his  lost  estate  in  the  sinner's  mind,  before  he  can  ob- 
tain pardon  in  Jesus,  and  receive  the  gracious  blessings  which 
the  gospel  offers.  Where  this  state  of  mind  is  found,  and  the 
sinner  comes  to  plead  the  obedience  of  his  Saviour  for  him- 
self, the  Lord  is  well  pleased  for  his  righteousness  sake,  and 
the  law  is  magnified  and  made  honourable.  INo  precept  has 
been  set  aside,  and  no  principle  has  been  overturned.  The 
sinner  acknowledges  the  justice  of  God  in  his  condemnation, 
while  he  sues  for  the  exercise  of  mercy  in  his  forgiveness. 
And  God  is  consistent  with  himself,  in  hearing  and  answer- 
ing the  penitent's  supplication. 

4.  The  gospel  honours  the  law  in  the  new  obedience, 
through  w'hich  it  leads  every  one  whom  it  has  pardoned.  It 
allows  none  to  sin,  because  grace  abounds ;  but  forgives  all 
who  seek  for  pardon,  that,  as  the  result  of  their  forgiveness, 
they  may  serve  God  in  newness  of  life,  and  walk  according 
to  his  holy  will.  It  is  true,  the  man  who  has  embraced  its 
offers  of  pardon  does  not  expect  that  he  shall  perfectly  obey 
the  commands  of  God ;  still  less  does  he  expect  by  any  such 
obedience  to  commend  himself  to  the  favour  of  God.  But  he 
has  in  his  heart  as  a  divine  gift,  the  love  of  holiness,  and  the 
desire  for  holiness  ;  he  approves  of  the  precepts  of  the  law  in 
his  inner  man;  he  has  the  law  written  upon  his  heart,  and  the 
grace  of  God,  which  has  brought  him  salvation,  teaches  him 
to  deny  ungodliness  and  worldly  lusts,  and  to  live  soberly, 
righteously,  and  godly,  in  this  present  world.  His  whole  ef- 
fort and  object  in  regard  to  himself  is,  that  he  may  perfect 
holiness  in  the  fear  of  God,  and  walk  in  all  the  command- 
ments and  ordinances  of  the  Lord  blameless.  Thus  the  law 
is  magnified  and  made  honourable  in  his  experience  and  in  his 
character.  He  has  been  made  free  from  guilt,  that  he  may 
be  a  servant  to  holiness,  and  delivered  by  the  gospel  from  the 
condemnation  of  the  law,  that  he  may  obey  and  honour  it  in 
its  precepts ;  and  while  he  is  accepted  solely  for  the  righteous- 
ness sake  of  God  his  Saviour,  his  whole  life  is  an  exertion  to 
be  holy  as  he  is  holy. 

Under  these  four  aspects  of  the  work  of  the  Saviour  for  the 
sinner,  and  of  the  Spirit  in  the  sinner,  we  see  how  perfectly 
united  are  these  two  holy  systems  from  God,  and  that  the  la- 
ter one  has  established  and  honoured  in  a  high  degree,  the  one 
previously  revealed.  The  views  which  I  have  given  you  of 
these  dispensations  in  the  discourses  which  have  now  been 
brought  to  s  conclusion,  and  the  outlines  of  which  I  have  here 
recalled,  have  exhibited  this  perfect  agreement  between  the 
divine  revelations,  as  well  as  the  everlasting  benefit  which 
arises  from  them  for  man,  and  the  glory  which  they  bring  to 
God. 


PAHnCIIIAL  LECTURES  ON  THE  L.\U"  AND  THE  GOSPEL. 


49 


The  subjects  which  we  have  considered  in  these  lectures,  ] 
are  such,  that  their  importance  cannot  be  overstated;  and  the 
more  you  reflect  upon  the  statements  regarding  them  which 
1  have  made,  the  more  will  you  become  convinced,  I  am  sure, 
that  these  have  been  scriptural  and  just.  I  have  desired  to 
avoid  all  points  of  needless  controversy  among  true  believers 
in  the  gospel,  while  at  the  same  time  I  have  desired  to  state 
most  clearly  and  decidedly  what  I  believe  to  be  the  truth  of 
God,  however  it  may  be  opposed  by  those  who  would  set 
aside  the  spiritual,  heart-changing  character  of  the  religion  of 
JesHS.  I  pray  you  to  compare  the  views  which  I  have  pre- 
sented to  you,  with  the  declarations  of  the  divine  word  ;  if 
they  speak  not  according  to  its  testimony,  I  shall  allow  there 
is  no  truth  in  them.  But  the  more  studiously  you  make  this 
comparison,  the  more  will  you  see  the  accordance  of  all  you 
have  heard  with  the  Lord's  sacred  communications,  and  I 
trust,  also,  experience  their  convincing  and  renewing  power 
in  your  own  souls. 

These  are  the  truths  which  the  apostles  preached  in  the 
demonstration  of  the  Spirit,  casting  down  all  man's  native 
pride  and  wisdom,  and  exalting  the  Lord  alone,  as  his  righte- 
ousness and  salvation.  They  are  the  truths  for  which  the 
venerable  reformers  of  the  church  sacrificed  themselves  under 


the  hatred  of  antichristian  bigotry.  They  were  embodied  by 
them  in  the  formularies  of  the  whole  protestant  church,  as 
the  doctrine  of  the  oracles  of  God.  In  every  land  in  which 
the  power  of  the  reformation  was  felt,  the  same  system  of 
doctrine  was  simultaneously  drawn  from  the  divine  word, 
and  that  system  is  the  one  which  I  have  attempted  to  display 
to  you  in  these  discourses.  They  are,  further,  the  truths 
which,  by  all  faithful  teachers  of  the  gospel  of  Christ,  are 
proclaimed  now  in  the  various  denominations  of  orthodox 
Christians;  the  truths  by  which  the  doctrine  of  Christ  is  tri- 
umphing among  men,  and  under  which  alone  the  souls  of 
sinners  are  or  can  be  converted  imto  God.  They  are,  finally, 
the  truths  which  our  church  every  where  teaches,  and  by  her 
fidelity  in  declaring  which,  she  shows  her  worth  to  _us,  and 
the  honour  she  gives  to  God.  May  they  be  the  truths  which 
in  this  house  you  shall  always  hear,  as  the  wisdom  of  God, 
and  the  power  of  God  unto  salvation.  Prize  them  as  your 
treasure;  cling  to  them  as  your  hope;  proclaim  them  as  the 
blessed  instrument  of  universal  good,  and  may  God  cause 
them  to  bring  forth  in  you  the  abundant  and  eternal  fruits  of 
holiness  for  his  sake.  And  all  the  glory  be  to  the  blessed 
Tri.mtv,  the  Father,  the  Son  and  the  Holy  Ghost,  one 
God,  world  without  end.    Amen. 


Vol.  II.— G 


A  GENERAL  VIEW 


THE  GEOLOGY  OF  SCPJPTURE, 


THE    UNERRING  TRUTH   OF  THE   INSPIRED    NARRATIVE   OF  THE    EARLY  EVENTS   IN   THE 
WORLD  IS  EXHIBITED,  AND  DISTINCTLY  PROVED,  BY  THE  CORROBO- 
RATIVE TESTIMONY  OF  PHYSICAL  FACTS,  ON  EVERY 
PART  OF  THE  EARTH'S  SURFACE. 


BY 


GEORGE  FAIRHOLME,  Es^. 


PREFACE. 

Ix  presenting  the  following  pages  to  the  judgment  of  the 
world,  I  have  reason  to  fear,  that  the  very  tiiU  of  the  work 
will  excite,  in  the  minds  of  some,  feelings  bj'  no  means  fa- 
vourable to  an  unprejudiced  perusal  of  it. 

I  am  fully  aware  of  the  objections  which  have  frequently 
been  raised  to  the  endeavours  to  connect  physical  facts  with 
the  details  of  scripture;  and  lam,  also,  aware  of  the  mischief 
that  has  sometimes  ensued  to  the  cause  of  religion,  from  the 
imprudent  or  unskilful  defence  made  by  those  whose  wishes 
and  intentions  were  the  most  friendly  to  it. 

The  course  of  every  science  must  be  progressive ;  begin- 
ning in  faint  attempts  to  dissipate  the  obscuritj-  of  ignorance, 
and  gradually  advancing  towards  the  full  light  of  truth.  To 
this  usual  course,  the  science  of  geology  caunot  be  considered 
as  an  exception,  having  already  passed  through  some  of  its 
early  stages,  whicli  were  avowedly  marked  with  obscurity 
and  error.  During  these  stages  of  geological  ignorance,  I  am 
free  to  admit,  that  the  attempt  to  connect  the  supposed  dis- 
coveries in  the  physical  phenomena  of  the  earth,  with  the 
truths  announced  to  us  in  the  sacred  record,  could  not  but 
tend  to  injure  either  the  one  cause  or  the  other;  because, 
it  is  impossible  that  any  concord  can  exist  between  truth  and 
error.  In  this  case  it  unfortunately  happened  that  the  asser- 
tions of  pliilosophy  were  uttered  with  such  boldness,  and  so 
supported  by  the  deceptions  evidence  of  physical  facts,  seen  under 
a  false  light,  that  it  was  difficult  for  the  supporters  of  revela 
lation,  ignorant,  as  they  generally  were,  of  the  nature  of  these 
facts,  to  hold  their  ground  with  success,  or  not  to  weaken 
their  own  cause  by  an  apparent  failure  in  its  support. 

The  necessity  which  has,  however,  been  acknowledged,  of 
rejecting  the  geological  theories  of  those  days,  opposed,  as 
they  were,  to  the  Mosaical  History,  was,  therefore,  a  fair 
source  of  hope  and  encouragement  to  such  as  advocated  the 
unerring  character  of  Inspired  Scripture.  It,  at  least,  left 
that  Mosaic  Narrative  uninjured  by  the  assault ;  and  encou- 


raged a  hope,  that,  as  in  all  other  cases,  the  truth  would  finally 
appear  and  prevail. 

It  has  been  w'ell  remarked,  by  the  able  author  of  a  work 
which  has  lately  appeared,  full  of  information,  and  written 
upon  the  soundest  principles, — "  It  is  now  thirty-five  years 
since  my  attention  was  first  directed  to  these  considerations. 
It  was  then  the  fashion  for  science,  and  for  a  large  part  of  the 
educated  and  inquisitive  world,  to  rush  into  a  disbelief  of  all 
written  Revelation ;  and  several  geological  speculations  were 
directed  against  it.  But  I  have  lived  to  see  the  most  hostile 
of  these  destroj'ed  by  their  own  as  hostile  successors ;  and  to 
observe,  that  nothing,  which  was  of  this  character,  however 
plausible  at  the  moment  of  its  appearance,  has  had  any  dura- 
tion in  human  estimation,  not  even  among  the  sceptical."* 

Of  late  years,  accordingly,  fact  after  fact  has  been  gradually 
accumulating ;  each  tending  to  temper  the  wild  character  of 
an  hj'pothetical  philosophy;  and  every  day  produces  some 
new  evidence  of  the  hasty  and  erroneous  conclusions  from 
phj-sical  facts,  to  which  the  friends  of  Revelation  had  found 
it  too  often  necessary  to  succumb. 

Each  of  these  errors  in  philosophy  has  been  a  source  of  tri- 
umph to  the  cause  of  truth ;  and  the  time  is  gradually  ap- 
proaching, if  it  be  not  yet  fully  come,  when  the  trial  must  be 
brought  to  a  positive  issue,  and  when  those  undeniable  physi- 
cal facts,  seen  in  a  new  and  more  correct  light,  will  lend  their 
aid  to  the  supp^/rt  instead  of  to  the  destruction  of  our  confidence 
in  scripture  ;  and  when  the  simplicity  and  consisteiicy  of  the 
geology  of  Scripture,  will  make  us  regard  with  astonishment 
and  contempt,  schemes  that  could  so  long  have  exerted  so 
powerful  an  influence  over  our  reason  and  understanding. 

I  am  not  vain  enough  to  suppose  that  I  am  myself  qualified 
to  bring  about  so  desirable  an  end  :  but,  as  it  is  the  duty  of 
every  one  to  lend  a  hand  to  the  demolition  of  error,  and  to 
the  encouragement  of  truth,  I  propose,  in  the  following  pages, 
to  endeavour,  in  as  clear  and  concise  a  manner  as  the  subject 


'  Sacred  Hi6lory  of  the  World,  by  5L-.  Sharon  Turner. 


GEOLOGY  OF  SCRIPTURE. 


51 


will  admit  of,  to  account  lor  liie  geological  structure  of  the 
upper  surface  of  our  earth ;  taking  the  Mosaical  History  for 
my  guiding  star,  to  be  kept  constantly  in  view  throughout  my 
course. 

A  great  part  of  my  object  will  be  attained,  if  I  can  succeed 
in  bringing  any  one  of  those  able  minds,  who  are  now  so  in^ 
fluential  in  the  geological  world,  to  view,  in  the  same  light  as 
myself,  the  phenomena  presented  to  our  examination  on  the 
earth.  I  am  persuaded,  that  many  of  those  individuals,  so 
distinguished  in  science,  are  not  so  wedded  to  a  party  or  theo- 
ry, as  not  to  acknowledge  and  retract  an  error  in  judgment,  if 
thry  are  convinced  of  its  existence. 

Amongst  the  many  unquestionable  physical  facts,  there- 
fore, which  I  hope  to  be  able  to  produce  in  the  course  of  this 
treatise,  supporting,  in  a  remarkable  manner,  the  Sacred  His- 
tory of  the  early  events  in  the  world,  should  any  tiling  be 
found  sufficiently  strong,  and  sufficiently  pointed,  to  shake 
the  foundations  of  many  of  the  present  receivid  opinions  in 
geology,  I  hope  that  some  one,  or  more,  of  those  gifted  indi 
viJuals,  may  be  found  with  sufficient  candour  to  retrace  his 
steps,  and  to  lend  the  aid  of  a  powerful  and  active  mind  to  the 
cause  of  lievdation. 

\  It  is,  however,  to  be  feared,  that  there  arc  many  geologists, 
(if  indeed  they  are  deserving  of  the  name,)  whoso  great  de- 
light in  this  subject  arises  from  the  play  nf  fancy  its  consid 
cration,  under  a  false  view,  gives  rise  to;  and  who  would 
consequently,  be  unwilling  to  yield  so  pleasing  a  source  of 
argument  and  hypothesis  to  the  plain  and  simple  course  of 
events  which  the  Mosaical  History  unfolds. 

Notwithstanding,  however,  the  opposition  I  may  meet  with 
from  such  theorists,  and  in  the  absence  of  more  able  advocates 
for  the  support  of  this  view  of  the  subject,  I  propose  to  follow 
the  course  I  have  laid  down ;  and  I  feel  perfectly  confident, 
that  any  failure  in  the  proposed  plan  will  not  arise  from  the 
defective  nature  of  the  plan  itself,  or  from  the  materials  within 
ray  reach  for  the  completion  of  it;  but  merely  from  the  inabil- 
ity of  the  builder,  which  defect  may,  at  any  time,  lie  remedied, 
by  the  same  materials  being  placed  in  the  hands  of  a  more 
able,  though  not  more  zealous  advocate  for  the  cause  oi  truth. 

It  must,  however,  be  kept  in  view,  that  it  is  not  the  object 
of  this  treatise  to  enter  minutely,  or  in  detail,  into  the  nature 
and  history  of  each  particular  formation  in  the  upper  strata  of 
the  earth.  We  must  first  lay  a  solid  foundation  for  our  views, 
by  an  enlarged  and  general  ayslem  ;  and  when  this  great  and 
primary  object  has  been  perfectly  attained,  we  may  then,  with 
safety,  examine  in  detail  the  many  interesting  objects  present- 
ed to  our  inspection,  without,  at  any  time,  however,  losing 
sight  of  the  great  first  principles  by  which  wo  had  found  it 
expedient  to  be  guided  in  our  course.  W'e  may  thus  hope  to 
be  led,  by  the  full  light  of  da}-,  through  those  devious  paths, 
over  which  so  complete  a  twiliijht  has  hitherto  been  spread; 
and  we  shall,  undoubtedly,  have  the  gratification  of  finding, 
that  the  same  dignified  simplicity  and  truth  whieli  have  al- 
ways been  remarked  as  the  characteristics  of  the  other  part.< 
of  Inspired  Scripture,  are  not  less  remarkable,  in  the  concise 
but  eiiipliatic  details  of  the  early  events  of  the  world. 


INTRODUCTORY   CHAPTER. 

The  very  high  interest  and  importance  of  the  history  of 
the  globe  which  we  inhabit,  will  be  admitted  by  all  wliosp 
minds  are  capable  of  entering  beyond  a  mere  superficial 
consideration  of  the  objects  around  us  ;  and  the  principles  of 
curiosit}',  and  the  innate  love  of  trutli,  so  inherent  in  the  hu- 
man mind,  lead  us,  step  by  ste]),  from  the  consideration  of 
objects  themselves,  to  the  Great  First  Causk  from  whence 
all  things  liavp  originally  sprung. 

i  have  always  felt  an  ardent  desire  to  study,  and  endeavour 
to  follow  up,  the  theories  which,  from  time  to  time,  liavel 
been  formed  by  philosophy,  respecting  the  original  foiniatioiil 


and  subsequent  changes  of  tlie  globe  which  sustains  us  ;  and 
fur  many  years  of  my  life  I  have  reirularly  studied  almost 
ever)'  thing  that  has  been  advanced  on  those  important  subjects. 
In  the  course  of  repeated  travels  over  a  great  part  of  Europe, 
I  have  also  had  many  opportunities  of  practically  forming  a 
judgment  of  the  more  visible  and  tangible  evidences  adduced 
in  support  of  those  theories.  I  have  never  felt,  however, 
either  on  the  subject  of  the  primitive  or  ucondary  formations 
of  geology,  that  firm  conviction  of  the  truth  of  the  doctrines 
taught  by  the  great  leaders'  in  science,  which  is  the  necessary 
consequence  to  be  looked  for  in  sound  and  truly  logical  rea- 
soning. In  the  very  opening  of  the  subject,  in  treating  of 
the  mode  of  firat  formatiom,  and  in  the  numerau*  reroluiions 
which  are  said  subseqqently  to  have  left  unquestionable  tra- 
ces upon  the  earth,  1  have  never  found  any  argtiment  advan- 
ced which  did  not  leave  the  mind  in  a  bewildered  and  uncer- 
tain state;  and  in  but  too  many  of  the  theories  of  philosophy 
on  tlicse  snbjects,  we  find  opinions  broached  by  the  very 
ablest  meri,  so  extraordinary,  and  so  repulsive  to  our  reason 
and  common  sense,  that  we  are  compelled  at  once  to  reject 
tliem,  and  not  without  losing,  at  the  same  time,  some  portion 
of  that  bi^li  respect,  with  which  a  sound  pliilosophy  ought 
always  to  Inspire  us. 

In  the  course  of  these  studies,  I  have  never  been  able  to 
exclude  from  my  mind  those  lights  and  beacons  held  out,  as 
it  were,  for  our  guidance,  in  tracing  the  more  obscure  portions 
of  tlie  history  of  the  earth,  by  the  inspired  writings,  of  llic 
trutli  of  which,  on  other  subjects,  the  unprejudiced  mind  can 
entertain  not  a  shadow  of  doubt,  strengthened  as  they  are 
by  the  great  and  wonderful  events  which  have  been  foretold 
in  prophecy,  and,  subsequently,  literally  fulfilled   in  history. 

"Tiie  great  problem  of  creation  has  been  said  to  be,  'Mat- 
ter and  Motion  jf/i-f/i,  lofonn  a  world;'  and  the  presum|ition 
of  man  has  often  led  liiiu  totattempt  the  solution  of  this  ab- 
surd problem.  At  first,  philosophers  contented  lliemselves 
with  reasoning  on  the  traditional  or  historical  accounts  they 
had  received  ;  but  it  is  irksome  to  be  shackled  by  authoritj', 
or  for  the  learned  to  be  content  with  the  same  degree  of  in- 
formation on  so  important  a  subject  as  t)ic  most  ignorant  of 
the  peojde.  After  having  acquired,  tlurefore,  a  smattering  of 
knowledge,  philosophy  bi  gau  to  iningine  that  it  could  point 
out  a  much  bi  tier  way  of  forming  the  world,  than  tliat  which 
had  been  transmitted  liy  the  consenting  voice  of  antiquit)'. — 
Epicurus  was  most  distinguished  among  the  ancients  in  this 
work  of  reformation,  and  |)roduced  a  theory  on  the  principle 
of  a  forluitoua  concourse  of  atoms,  the  extravagant  absurdity 
of  which  has  alone  preserved  it  from  oblivion.  From  his 
day  to  the  present  lime,  thoie  has  been  a  constant  succession 
of  systems  and  theories  nf  the  earth,  which  are  now  swallowed 
up  by  those  of  a  chaotic  geology,  founded  on  chemistry;  the 
speculations  of  which  have  been  attended  with  many  useful 
results,  in  so  tar  as  they  proceed  on  the  principles  of  induc- 
tion; but  when  applied  to  solve  the  problem  of  creation,  or 
the  mode  of  first  formations,  will  only  serve,  like  the  systems 
of  their  forerunners  of  antiquity,  to  demonstrate  the  igno- 
rance and  presumption  of  man."* 

Unfortunately  for  the  cause  of  truth,  and  of  sound  philoso- 
phy, the  studj'  of  geology  was  begun,  at  no  very  distant  pe- 
riod, in  a  school  where  the  on\y  history  which  could  he  con- 
sulted on  such  a  subject  was  neglected  and  despised,  on 
points  incomparably  more  important  than  scientific  inquiries. 
We  cannot,  therefore,  feel  surprise,  that  the  philosophy  of 
that  period  should  have  excluded  from  its  view  the  concise 
but  most  important  geological  information  given  us  in  the 
first  part  of  the  Jlosaical  history. 

IMislcd  by  the  theories  of  the  earth  set  forth  by  the  conti- 
nental philosophy  and  infidelit}',  theories  so  wild  and  absurd, 
that  sober  reason  now  looks  upon  them  with  contempt; 
many  zealous  and  able  men  of  our  own  country  have  been 
hurried  away  by  the  torrent,  and  have  been  induced  to  follow 
out  their  own  researches,  under  the  delusive  and  prejudiced 
impressions  of  their  early  studies. 

Even  some  of  the  most  Jearncd  divines,  without  any 
knowledge  of  geology,  have  considered  themselves  bound, 
in  translating  and  explaining  the  sacred  record,  to  submit  to 
the  dictates  of  philosophy,  and  by  taking  liberties  with  the 
original  text,  which  would  not  be  tolerated  in  translating 
any  classic  author,  have  thus  unintenlionally  aided  the  cause 
of  scepticism  and  unbelief.  They  have  admitted  a  doubt  up- 
on a  great  and  fundamental  point,  in  which  the  inspired  his- 
tory, fairly  translated,  directly  o))poses  them;  viz.  in  con- 
ceding to  the  theories    of  philosophy  the  duration  of  the  six 


•  Kdinliupgh  Encyclopedia. 


CHRISTIAN   LIBRARY. 


53 

days  of  the  crcalion.  As  it  was  contrary  to  these  theories  to 
admit  the  perfect  creation  oI  all  things,  at  the  first,  by  an 
Almighty  Power,  it  became  necessary  to  search  for  such 
secoii(liii-i/  causes,  as  would,  by  the  mere  laws  of  nature,  as 
they  are  called,  have  produced  the  primitive  rocks,  as  we 
now  find  them.*  These  supposed  causes  were  discovered  in 
chemistry ;  and  as  it  was  found  by  chemists  that  various  sub- 
stances, under  certain  circumstances,  formed  themselves  into 
crystals,  and,  by  geologists,  that  granite,  and  other  primitive 
rocks,  had  a  crystalline  appearance  and  formation,  it  was  as- 
sumed as  a/ocif,  assisted  by  the  heathen  notion  of  a  chaos,  that 
all  matter  once  existed  in  a  confused  and  imperfect  mass,  from 
which,  in  the  course  of  some  indefinitely  long  period  of  time, 
our  o-lobe,  in  all  its  crystalline  beauty,  nnisthave/wmerfi7«7/. 
We  "are  no  where  informed  by  this  chaotic  philosophy  whence 
the  material  atoms,  of  which  this  imperfect  compound  was 
formed,  were  produced;  how  the  liquid  mass  was  held  togeth- 
er before  the  laws  of  attraction  and  of  gravity  were  ordained  ;  or 
by  what  power  the  laws  of  nature,  by  which  crystallization 
takes  place,  were  first  instituted. 

By  some  philosophers  of  the  French  school,  this  theory 
of  gradual  perfection  was  extended  even  to  animated  beings. 
They  considered  that  life,  in  its  lowest  shape,  was  first  gene- 
rated in  this  fermenting  mass,  and  that  the  present  variety 
and  perfection,  so  remarkable  in  the  animal  world,  gradually 
arose  from  those  species  of  marine  creatures  called  zoophytes, 
resembling,  as  their  name  denotes,  the  order  of  plants.  It 
is  not  easy'to  determine  the  original  ground-work  for  so  extra- 
ordinarj-  and  impious  a  theory  ;  but  it  probably  arose,  in  some 
degree,"from  the  erroneous  conclusions  from  fossil  remains, 
wSich  have  been  the  fertile  cause  of  so  much  misconception 
during  the  last  century.  It  has  been  remarked  by  geologists, 
that  the  onl}-  fossil  remains  of  animated  beings  to  be  found 
in  the  earliest  secondary  rocks,  are  of  this  description  of 
zoophytes;  and  it  has  therefore  been  concluded  as  ?l positive 
fact,  that  zoophytes  were  the  first  and  most  imperfect  of  an- 
imated beings,  from  which,  by  a  living  principle  in  nature, 
all  other  improvements  have  gradually  sprung  up.  It  may 
easily  be  imagined  to  what  absurdities  such  theories  must 
have  led,  and  from  them  we  may  trace  the  systems  of 
Lamarck,  who  held,  amongst  others,  the  following  extraor- 
dinary opinions.  He  considered  that  all  the  forms  of  anima- 
ted beings,  as  they  now  exist,  must  have  been  gradually  de- 
veloped,°as  their  wants  and  necessities  demanded.  For  in- 
stance, the  deer,  and  the  antelope  tribe,  had  not  originally  the 
delicate  forms  and  nimble  activity  they  now  display ;  these 
qualities  were  produced  by  the  necessity  of  flying  from  their 
enemies,  and  of  seeking  safety  by  rapid  flight.  The  aquatic 
birds  and  beasts  having  webbed  feet  to  assist  them  in  swim- 
ming, had  no  such  helps  in  their  primitive  condition,  but  by 
constant  action  and  exertion  of  the  toes,  the  membrane  con- 
necting them  at  length  became  extended.  B\it  one  of  the 
most  whimsical  of  these  ideas,  perhaps,  relates  to  the 
unusual  length  of  neck  exhibited  by  the  cameleopard,  which 

•  III  the  underct.in(liTis;  w  likh  Ilts,  in  a  manner,  been  tacitly  agreed 
upon  in  science,  caixt'iilly  to  exclude  every  allusion  to  the  Deity,  in 
the  contemplation  ot  his  works,  we  constantly  find  the  unmeaning; 
name  of  nature  inti-oduccil,  even  in  pages  wlicre  the  admii-ation  ol 
HF.n  -ivorks  would  make  it  apjioar  impossible  to  avoid  an  acknow- 
ledgment of /»m  IVoni  whom  all  things  have  arisen.  In  a  posllivi- 
mous  treatise  bv  Millon.wclind  the  Ibllovving  just  reflections  on  this 
subject. — "Though  there  be  not  a  few  who  deny  the  existence  of 
God,  for  'the  foo'l  hatlisaid  in  bis  heart,  there  isnoGod,'(Psal.  xiv.) 
yet  tlieDeitv  has  impiinted  on  the  human  mind  so  many  unquestion- 
able tokens  of  himself,  and  so  many  traces  of  him  arc  found  through- 
out the  whole  creation,  that  no  one  in  his  senses  can  long  remain  ig- 
noi-ant  of  the  ti'uth.  There  are  some  v>  bo  pretend  Uiat  !iO('(;r,  or 
fate,  is  the  supreme  power;  but  llie  very  ?iiihm"  &/' Hn/»re  implies 
that  it  must  ow  e  its  birth  to  some  prior  agent ;  and  fate  can  be  notJi- 
ing  but  a  Divine  decree,  emanating  from  some  superior  power." 

"\Ve  must,  however,  in  justice  admit,  that,  in  the  minds  of  many, 
Uie  exclusion  above  alluded  to  has  been  acceded  to  with  tlie  veiy 
best  intention,  though  this  admission  may  be  looked  upon  as  a  proof 
of  that  very  tone  in  philosophy  in  general,  «bich  is  so  often  opposed 
to  the  gi-eat  trudis  of  Revelation  ;  tbr,  in  the  ohscm-ities  under  w  bicb 
many  of  the  iibenomena  of  creation  are  still  viewed,  and  under  the 
impression  of  such  obscm-e  and  erroneous  tlieories  as  have  been  put 
fortli  bv  philosophy,  men  of  tlie  soundest  faidi  must  have  found 
themselves  so  constantly  involved  in  conti'adietion  to  tlie  records  of 
inspiration,  in  die  course  of  their  scientific  researches,  that  it  would 
be  found  more  advantageous  to  the  cause  of  religion  to  accedetotbis 
entire  exclusion,  dian  to  confound  and  shatter  both,  by  such  continual 
collision  as  must  occur,  till  the  views  of  creation  become  more  en- 
lightened, and  complete  concord  is  established  between  Revelation 
and  die  plienomcna  of  die  world  around  us.  Tliis  desirable  and 
inex'itable  concord  is  every  day  advancing  with  rajud  strides  ;  for, 
however  the  theories  of  philosophy  may  change,  the  Rock  of  Rev- 
elation sUmds  for  ever  immovably  fixed. 


is  described  as  being  originally  much  like  other  animals  ;  but 
by  the  habit  of  feeding  on  branches  of  trees,  it  gradually  as- 
sumed the  form  we  now  look  upon  with  admiration.      8uch 
glaring  absurdities  as  these  have  lonw  ceased  to  find  support- 
ers ;  but  it  is  no  less  certain  that  the  idea  of  gradual  creation, 
or  production  of  successive  species  of  animated  beings,  is 
still  to  be  found  in  the  principles  of  our  modified  philosophy ; 
and  that  the  tribe  of  zoophytes,  or  sea  animals,  resembling 
plants  in  their  form,  is  still  looked  upon  as  the  first  link  in  the 
great  animated  chain.     It  will,  therefore,  not  be  considered 
unworthy  of  our  attention,  if  we  take  a  more  extended  view 
of  the  argument,  and  endeavour  to  show  that  such  an  arrange- 
ment in  nature  is  not  only  derogatorj'  in  the  highest  degree 
from  the  Almighty  power  and  wisdom,  but  completely  at  vari- 
ance with  a  correct  view  of  the  animal  kingdom.     AVe  find  it 
correctly  stated  in  the  following  extract  from  one  of  the  most 
instructive  and  able  works  of  our   times,  that  the   various 
tribes  of  zoophytes  subsist  upon  the  minute  species  of  animal- 
cula,  so  abundant  in  the  sea  as  well  as  in  all  the  other  waters  of 
the  earth,  and   which  have   been  called  infusoria,   from  the 
well  known   circumstance  that   scarcely  any  vegetable  sub- 
stance can  be  infused  in  pure  water,  without,  in  a  short  time, 
exhibiting,   under  the  microscope,  myriads  of  su(di  wonders 
of  the  creative   power  and  wisdom.     "  Zoophytes  appear  to 
feed  principally  on  infusoria,  (or  sea  auimalcula,)  and  they  re- 
quired ONLY"  the  existence  of  that  class  to  prepare  the  sea  for  their 
creation.     Their  remains  form  the  oldest  fossil  animals  met 
with  in  the  strata  of  the  earth."* 

The  latter  part  of  this  passage,  from  the  pen  of  a  learned 
professor,  sliows  that  its  author  directly  pointed  towards  the 
above  mentioned  notion,  grounded  on  French  philosophy, 
although  the  case  is  not  expressly  stated  in  words;  but,  as  in 
all  similar  doctrines  of  an  unsound  philosophy,  this  passage 
contains  the  antidote  as  well  us  the  poison,  for  it  fixes  upon  a 
class  of  animated  beings  as /uor/ for  tins  first  link  of  the  ani- 
mated chain,  of  all  the  wonders  of  creative  wisdom,  that 
which  is,  perhaps,  best  calculated  to  excite  our  most  profound 
admiration. 

That  all  created  beings  present  to  our  admiring  view  a 
great  chain  of  various  parts,  each  link  connected  with  its 
fellow  by  easy  shades  of  similarity  of  structure,  is  a  fact  ad- 
mitted by  the  most  cursory  student  in  this  wonderful  book. 
But  what  link  of  this  chain  is  to  be  looked  upon  as  less 
wonderful,  or  incomprehensible,  in  its  origin,  than  another  1 
And  if,  which  it  would  be  diflicult  to  do,  we  can  discover 
one  more  imperfect  than  another,  for  the  performance  of  the 
great  ends  to  which  it  is  decreed,  are  we  to  fix  upon  Uiis  ap- 
parent imperfection  as  the  first  attempt  and  failure  of  the 
Almighty  hand  1  The  wonders  displayed  by  the  microscope 
ought  for  ever  to  obliterate  from  our  minds  any  such  impious 
and  unworthy  notions.  That  instrument  exhibits  to  us  the 
great  fact,  l\iat  it' perfection  of  design,  combined  with  what 
we  consider  difficulty  in  formation,  is  to  be  looked  for  in  the 
creation,  it  is  amongst  the  minutest  of  the  insect  tribe  that 
we  shall  find  displayed  the  most  wonderful  wisdom  of  tlie 
Creator.  All  that  the  most  profound  genius  is  capable  of 
inventing,  presents  hut  a  feeble  image  of  the  structure  and 
actions  of  these  minute  creatures;  and  yet  the  tribe  of  zoo- 
phytes, as  the  most  imperfect  of  created  animals,  "  only 
required  the  existence  of  the  class  infusoria  to  prepare  the  sea 
for  their  creation!"  Such  ideas  of  imperfection  in  the  works 
of  the  Almighty,  are  quite  unworthy  of  our  enlightened  limes; 
and  the  streams  of  knowledge  flow  to  little  purpose,  if  the 
lead-springs  arc  tainted  with  such  impurities. 

Our  notions  of  the  power  of  the  Creator  never  can  be  more 
elevated  than  in  contemidating  the  more  minute  portions  of 
the  animated  chain,  the  wonders  of  which  make  it  appear  as 
if  he  wished  to  veil  his  most  perfect  works  from  human 
eyes,  and  to  lavish  them  on  beings  the  most  obscure,  and,  in 
appearance,  the  most  vile;  for,  according  to  our  finite  and 
imperfect  ideas,  there  would  be  less  difficulty  (if  we  may 
so  speak  of  the  works  of  the  Almighty,)  in  forming  the 
large  members  of  the  whale,  or  of  the  elephant,  than  the 
delicate  fibres  and  minute  vessels  of  the  gnat  or  of  the 
spider.  But  as  we  descend  in  the  scale  of  magnitude,  we 
seem  to  ascend  in  that  of  perfection  and  incomprehensible 
difficulty ;  for  by  the  aid  of  the  microscope,  we  discover  new 
wonders  at  every  step  of  our  investigations,  and  find  that 
our  unassisted  vision  can  perceive  but  one  half  of  the  living 
beings  which  adorn  the  earth.  The  mind  is  lost  in  wonder, 
and  is  incapable  of  conceiving  what  the  tongue  can  so  easily 
express,  that  there  are,  in  almost  all  fluids,  animals  as  per- 


'EdiTdjurgh  Encyclopedia,  vol.  xviii.    p.  843 


GEOLOGY  OF  SCRIPTURE. 


53 


feet  as  oursolves  in  bodily  stnicture  and  action,  so  minute, 
that  it  would  require  millions  of  them  to  form  the  compass  of 
one  single  ^ain  of  sea  sand  1*  But  when  we  thus  arrive  at 
the  verore  of  power  in  our  instruments,  we  have  still  no  rea- 
son to  conclude  that  we  have  reached  the  utmost  limit  of  an- 
imated creation.  Future  instruments  may  possibly  exhibit 
wonders  as  great  as  those  we  are  now  considering ;  and  we 
thus  find,  as  astronomers  have  done  in  the  opposite  extremity, 
that  we  can  discover  no  bounds  to  creative  power  and  wisdom. 

It  may  also  be  remarked,  that  the  balance  of  animal  and 
vegetable  productions  is  so  admirably  arranged,  tliat  the  re- 
moval of  any  one  link  would  serve  to  throw  the  whole  chain 
into  confusion.  Vt'e  come,  then,  in  conclusion,  to  the  same 
point  from  whence  we  at  first  set  out,  viz.  that  zoophytes 
could  not  exist  without  the  animals  on  which  tliey  feed;  and 
as  the  same  may  be  concluded,  with  regard  to  any  other 
individual  species,  that  all  must  have  been  the  spontaneous 
creation  of  an  Almighty  power,  at  one  and  the  same  period, 
and  not  a  gradual  production,  by  the  mere  laws  af  nature.  We 
shall  have  a  future  opportunity  of  showing  why  zoophytes 
could  not  but  be  the  earliest  fossil  productions  found  in  the 
secondary  strata  of  the  earth. 

The  supposed  chemical  process,  however,  which  we  were 
before  considering,  must  have  required  a  much  longer  period 
than  the  inspired  writings  have  given  us,  to  bring  it  to  per- 
fection. The  days  of  the  Mosaical  history,  (which  histor)- 
never  could  be  entirel}'  excluded  from  the  minds  of  men,) 
with  their  evenings  and  their  itumiings,  were,  therefore, 
forced  into  the  indefinite  periods  necessary  for  the  operation. 

Geologists,  without  any  knowledge  of  the  original  text, 
and  learned  men,  without  any  knowlege  of  geology,  have, 
therefore,  unintentionally  formed  a  species  of  coalition,  the 
effects  of  which  strike  deep  into  the  verj'  root  of  our  confi- 
dence in  scripture,  and  sap  the  foundation  on  which  our  be- 
lief in  the  Uiiinipotence  and  Omniscience  of  an  Almighty  Crea- 
tor ought  to  be  founded. 

With  whatever  pleasure  and  interest,  then,  we  may  follow 
the  more  plausible  theories  of  seamdury  formations  on  the 
surface  of  the  earth,  it  appears  impossible  for  our  reason  to 
enter,  even  in  the  slightest  degree,  into  the  hypothetical  sys- 
tems taught  by  the  highest  scientific  authorities  with  rcgvir<l  to 
first  formations.  We  are  taught,  both  by  scripture  and  by  our 
reason,  that  the  earth,  as  but  a  small  part  of  an  immense 
sytem,  was  intended  as  a  temporary  abode  for  immortal  souls 
in  their  mortal  bodies.  W  e  have  no  reason  to  suppose  that 
we  are  misled  by  histor}',  when  we  arc  infiirmed  that  hut  a 
very  few  thousands  of  years  have  elapsed  since  the  creation 
of  mankind  :  we  are  taught  to  believe,  from  what  we  read  in 
a.  part  of  scripture,  which  it  is  not  so  much  the  object  of 
science  to  dispute,  that  a  very  considerable  portion  of  the 
historical  events  of  the  world  has  already  passed  away,  and, 
consequently,  we  may  infer,  that  the  scene  on  which  we  now 
act  a  part,  will  not  be  of  immense  duration.  Now,  in  con- 
sidering the  laws  bj'  which  events  are  brought  about,  and  the 
changes  of  this  world  are  effected,  we  never  discover  so  great 
a  disproportion  between  the  means  and  the  end,  as  would  be 
the  case,  if  we  admit,  with  but  two  many  geologists,  that 
millions  of  years  may  have  been  necessary  for  the  preparation 
and  ripening  of  this  earth  from  chaos,  to  tit  it  up  as  a  stage  on 
which  so  brief  a  drama  was  to  be  acted.  This  is  one  of  the 
first  difficulties  our  reason  has  to  encounter  in  considering  the 
gradual  formation  of  the  globe  from  secondary  causes :  but 
our  difficulties  are  only  then  beginning,  for  even  if  we  admit 
this  theory,  we  do  not,  in  the  least  degree,  advance  towards 
the  object  of  our  scarcli;  we  are  as  far  as  ever  removed  from 
a  Gkeat  First  Cause,  to  which  our  reason  is  as  true  as  the 
magnet  to  its  pole.  \\  e  cannot  close  our  eyes  upon  the  great 
truth  so  deeply  impressed  upon  our  minds  by  every  thing 
around  us,  that,  even  admitting  a  cliaos,  that  chans  must  have 
been  created  in  all  its  component  parts.  The  chemist,  in  his 
laboratory,  may  compound  the  various  substances  and  fluids, 
from  the  qualities  of  which  he  is  aware  that  crystals  will  be 
formed ;  but  he  is  obliged  to  exercise  the  knowledge  acquired 
from  study  and  experience,  and  to  apply  the  heat  necessary 
for  their  formation.  Although  he  may  thus  form  the  com- 
pound, can  he  create  the  materials  of  it?  Though  he  may 
produce  crystals,  ca?i  he  enact  a  law  by  ivhich  these  beautiful 


forms  shall  be  arranged?     No.     The  potter  may  form  the 
vessel,  but  he  cannot  create  the  clay. 

Amongst  the  many  inextricable  difficulties  in  which  we 
become  mvolved,  by  a  departure  from  the  guidance  of  the 
sacred  record,  and  by  supposing,  with  the  continental  philo- 
sophy, that  the  solid  globe  was  a  chemical  cry.-'talline  deposit 
from  an  aqueos  chaos,  we  have  to  overcome  this  certain  fact 
in  these  same  laws  of  nature  /  viz.  that  as  we  know  of  no 
other  source  of  heat,  and,  consequcntlj-,  o{  Jliiidity  on  our 
globe,  and,  probably,  in  the  other  members  of  the  solar  sys- 
tem, than  the  sun;  as  we  know  that  there  are  parts  of  our 
planet  around  the  poles  where  no  water  can  exist  in  a  fluid 
state,  for  the  greater  part,  if  not  the  whole  of  the  year,  from 
the  absence  of  that  sun's  influence,  nor,  indeed,  ever  could 
hare  existed  since  the  solar  sjstem  was  arrancred  ;  and  as  wc 
know  that  without  that  solar  infiuence  no  fluidity  could  exist 
on  any  part  of  the  earth's  surface,  by  the  mere  laws  of  nature, 
(as  even  mercurj-  becomes  solid  at  a  higher  temperature  than 
exists  at  the  poles,)  how  are  we  to  suppose  a  chaotic  aqueous 
fluid,  held  together  in  empty  space,  and  without  the  melting 
influence  of  a  sun,  which,  consistently  with  this  philoso- 
phy, we  must  conclude  was  not  yt:t  precipitated  or  crystallized 
into  perfection  within  its  own  chaos;  for  if  we  adopt  the 
chaotic  principle,  with  regard  to  our  own  planet,  we  cannot, 
in  fairness,  refuse  it  to  the  other  heavenly  bodies. 

In  adopting  secondary  causes,  then,  or  the  theor)-  of  the  for- 
mation of  the  earth  by  the  mere  laws  of  nature  from  an  a//uenus 
chaos,  we  must  account  ioT  fiuidiiy  without  heat,?m  effect  with- 
out a  cause,  and  directl)-  opposed  to  all  the  known  laws  of 
nature.* 

In  advocating,  then,  the  chaotic  philosophy,  we  must  ac- 
count for  the  creation  of  the  crude  materials  of  which  that 
chaos  must  have  been  composed,  and  also  for  those  wonderful 
laws  to  which  matter  has  been  subjected,  and  by  which  it  is 
forced  to  assume  those  crystalline  forms  which  wc  so  much 
admire;  and  being  thus  forced  to  acknowledge  a  Creator  so 
wise  and  powerful  as  to  be  able  to  form  even  a  chaos  out  of 
nothing,  ("for  if  God  did  not  create  the  first  thing,  then  there 
is  something  besides  Him  that  was  never  made,  and  then 
there  are  two  Eternals," [)  we  come  to  the  consideration  of 
his  power  to  create  things  in  a  more  perfect  form.  We  find 
that  created  matter  is  divided  into  three  kingdoms,  as  they^ 
have  been  called,  of  animal,  vegetable  and  mineral  ■  there  are 
few  who  would  now  dispute  that  the  first  and  second  of  these 
great  divisions  must  have  been  at  first  formed  in  a  perfect 
and  mature  state,  although  both  have  since  been  submitted 
to  laws,  through  which  they  must  pass  from  the  embryo  state 
to  perfection.  W"e  cannot  for  a  moment  suppose  the  first 
man  to  have  been  once  an  infant,  or  the  first  oak  tree  to  have 


*  The  author  has  lately  had  an  opportunity  of  demousti'atiiig,  in 
tlie  most  unequivocal  manner,  tliat  it  «  ould  require  from  one  to  ttiree 
itiilUoiis  of  some  active  animalcula  to  form  the  bulk  of  a  grain  of  sau(i. 
Tliis  distinct  measurement  is  made  by  means  of  a  vegetable  gradu- 
ated tibre,  accidentally  discovered  in  a  greenish  scum  on  a  gravel 
walk. 


•  The  greatest  degree  of  natiiral  cohl  that  lias  hitherto  been  ob- 
served in  <hc  open  air,  is  about  50  degrees  below  zero  ;  but  at  the 
actual  poles,  and  more  especially  at  ifiu  south  pole,  vvliicli  is  sui*- 
rounded  by  ice,  and  inaccessible  by  ships  for  upwards  of  ltK)0  miles 
on  all  sides,  is,  probably,  at  a  nuich  lower  temperature.  Mercury 
freezes  at  39  degrees  below  zero,  and  tlu-n  becomes  malleable  like 
any  other  metal.  Thus,  at  the  poles,  nwrcuru  never  could  have 
existed  iu  a  Huid  state,  any  more  than  -neater;  and  tlie  strongest  spirits 
are  frozen  at  a  still  higher  teniperatiU'e. 

"  All  substances  in  natiu-e,  as  far  as  wc  know  them,  occur  in  one 
or  other  of  three  states ;  that  of  solids,  of  /ifjuids,  or  of  elastic  Jluids. 

"  In  a  vast  ntmiber  of  cases  tlic  same  substance  is  capable  of  as- 
suming each  of  these  states  iu  succession.  Thus,  sulphur  is  usually 
solid,  but  at  218  degrees  it  becomes  a  liquid,  and  at  570  degrees  it 
boils,  and  is  converted  into  an  elastic  fluid.  Jf'ater  is  a  liquid,  but  at 
o2  decrees  it  freezes  into  a  solid,  whih-  at  212  degrees  it  boils  into  an 
elastic  fluid. 

"All  solids  (a  very  few  excepted)  maybe  converted  into  liquids 
by  heating  them  suiiiciently  ;  and  almost  all  liquids  Iiij  cooling  them 
sufiicientltf,  may  be  converted  into  solids.  The  la\i'  of  nature  then, 
is,  that  solids  by  heat  are  converted  into  liquids  and  elastic  fluids  ; 
wliile  elastic  fluids  and  liquids  Ini  cohl  are  brought  into  the  state  of 
solids.^' — £din.  Eiicyclop.  ('Iiemistrij,  p.  :>G. 

"  From  what  has  been  advanced  respecting  the  situation,  proper- 
ties and  manner  of  formation  of  tbc  iec  sm-rounding  tlic  pole,  we 
mav  naturally  conclude  that  a  continent  of  ice-tnountains  may  exist 
iu  regions  near  On*  pole,  yet  unexplored,  Uie  nucleus  of  v\hich  may 
be  as  ancient  as  ibe  earth  itself,  and  its  increase  derived  from  the  sea 
and  atmosphere  combined." — Hcoresby's  Arctic  lieg.  vol.  ii.  p.  319. 

t  Letter  trpm  Jeremt  Tatlob,  to  Sows  Evelt!?e,  Esa. 

"  To  your  question,  *  How  it  appears  that  God  made  all  things  out 
of  notliing,'  I  answer,  it  is  demonstrably  certain,  or  else  there  is  no 
God.  For  if  there  be  a  God,  he  is  the  one  principle  :  but  if  he  did 
not  make  the  first  thing,  then  there  is  something  besides  him  that 
was  never  made,  and  then  there  are  two  Eternals.  Now,  if  God 
made  the  first  thing,  he  made  it  of  nothing. 

*'  Your  obliged  and  aflectionate  servant, 

"  .Iebemy  TATLon." 


54 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


sprung  from  an  acorn,  though  all  subsequent  individuals,  in 
both  species,  must  now  pass  through  these  stai^cs.  If  tliis 
perfection  of  form  is  admitted,  then,  in  the  first  creation  of 
the  animal  and  vegelahle  world,  are  we  to  suppose  that  the 
mineral  productions  of  the  earth  were  exceptions  from  this 
rnlel  or  that  a  Being  so  wise  and  so  powerful  as  to  be  able 
to  create  a  man  or  a  tree,  with  all  the  wonderful  contrivance 
and  design  discoverable  in  each,  and  above  all,  endued  with 
a  living  principle,  was  yet  oljligcd  to  form  an  imperfect  mass, 
and  to  wait  the  fermenting  or  crystallizing  process  from 
■which  its  more  perfect  form  was  to  arise  ?  The  idea  is  re- 
voltincr  to  reason ;  and  when  we  have  rejected  it  as  improbalilc. 
as  impossible,  then  comes  inspiration,  with  its  lofty  and  im- 
posing simplicity,  to  assist  our  weak  understandings,  and  to 
assure  us  that  "  in  the  beginning  God  created  the  heaven  and 
the  earth." 

Having,  by  this  line  of  reasoning,  come  to  the  conclusion 
that  the  theory  of  a  chaos,  or  imperfect  formation  of  the  earth, 
is  not  only  contrary  to  our  reason,  but  also  in  direct  opposi- 
tion to  history,  our  belief  in  the  truth  of  the  inspired  writings 
is  strengthened  and  confirmed ;  and  we  feel  equally  disposed 
to  question  those  theories  of  ])hilosophy  which  account  for 
the  present  appearances  and  stratifications  on  the  earth's  sur- 
face, by  a  mmierous  succession  of  accidents  and  revolutions 
which  are  supposed  by  some  to  have  occurred  previous  to 
the  creation  or  production  of  mankind,  but  subsequent  to  the 
earth's  having  assumed  that  perfect  crystalline  form  we  now 
discover  in  the  primitive  roeks.  The  demand  for  time  is  here 
again  advanced  by  geologists,  who  support  this  theory  of 
alternate  revolutions ;  and  as  time  is  as  nothing  in  eterniti/. 
they  make  whatever  draughts  they  have  occasion  for  upon 
this  inexhaustible  fund.  It  appears  that  history,  as  well  as 
the  consideration  of  the  present  course  of  things  upon  the 
earth,  are  equally  considered  as  nothing  in  this  philosoph}-. 
The  minerals  of  the  earth  have  been  likened  to  coins  stamped 
with  unknown  or  difficult  characters;  and  it  is  the  business 
of  the  geologist,  as  of  the  antiquar}-,  to  decipher  and  arrange 
them  in  chronological  order.  But  as  it  may  safely  be  pre- 
sumed that  the  antiquary  would  make  little  advance  in  his 
work,  if  he  neglected  to  consult  such  histories  as  were  within 
his  reach,  so  we  may  come  to  the  same  conclusion  with  re- 
gard to  the  geologist.  Ancient  coins,  minerals  or  fossils  are 
all  equally  unintelligible,  if  we  have  no  guide  from  liistory  to 
lead  us  to  an  explanation  of  them. 

In  entering,  then,  upon  our  geological  inquiries,  it  appears 
the  more  natural  course  to  proceed  upwards,  i'rom  material 
things  as  they  are  now  presented  to  our  senses,  to  the  First 
Great  Cause,  by  which  alone  they  could  have  been  produced ; 
and  then,  consulting  such  historj'  as  may  be  within  our  reach, 
to  retrace  our  steps  downwards,  from  the  beginning  of  all 
things  to  the  present  time.*  AVe  may  thus  entertain  a  con 
fident  hope  that  all  the  appearances  on  the  surface  of  the 
earth,  upon  which  the  theories  of  philosophy  have  been 
founded,  may  be  accounted  for  by  an  attentive  and  unpreju 
diced,  and  above  all,  a  docile  consideration  of  the  three  great 
events  recorded  in  histor\',  viz.  the  creation  (f  the  earth;  the 
formation  of  a  bed  for  the  primitive  sea,  loith  the  natural  causes 
acting  within  that  sea  fn- upwards  of  siaiec?i  centuries;  and, 
lastly,  the  deluge,  with  its  crowd  of  corroborative  witnesses, 
together  with  the  subsequent  action  of  natural  causes  frorn  that 
time  to  the  present  day,  or  for  upwards  of  four  thousand  years. 
With  regard  to  the  character  of  Moses  himself,  and  the 
books  of  scripture  which  were  written  by  him,  under  the 
guidance  of  inspiration,  by  which  alone  he  could  have  prO' 
nounced  the  remarkable  prophecies  which  were  afterwards 
so  strictly  fulfilled,  it  would  not  be  to  my  purpose  in  this 
place  to  enter  into  discussion.  It  is  enough  to  say  that  he 
is  acknowledged  by  all  as  the  most  ancient  historian  whose 
works  have  come  down  to  our  times;  and  that  the  frequent 
notice  taken  of  him  by  ancient  writers,  would  serve  to  con- 
firm the  truth  of  his  own  narrative,  even  if  events  foretold  did 
not  vouch  for  his  veracity. 

If  the  great  events  thus  recorded  in  the  inspired  writings, 
with  all  their  necessary  consequences,  were  as  studiously 
adopted  as  foundations  to  build  upon,  as  they  have  hitherto 
been  studiously  set  aside  in  geology,  we  should  soon  find  in 
all  classes,  ardent  students  in  this  most  interesting  science. 

*  In  tlic  sixteenth  century,  tlie  astronomer,  Jolin  Kepler,  of  AA'ir- 
temburg,  presented  a  «ork  full  of  v  ild  tlieorv,  to  the  s^reat  T\ cbo 
Brahe,  who,  after  perusing  it,  re'urncd  it  with  the  foilowin-'  ad- 
vice:— "  First,  lay  a  solid  foundation  for  your  views  by  actual  obser- 
vation ;  and  then,  by  ascending  from  tliese,  sU-ive  to  reacli  the  causes 
of  things."  The  whole  philosophy  of  Bacon  was  thus  compressed, 
by  anticipation,  into  one  short  sentence. 


But  when  an  ordinary  mind,  anxiously  searching  after  truth, 
finds  itself  launched  into  a  sea  of  clouds  and  thick  darkness, 
without  star  or  compass  as  a  guide,  it  must  either  desperately 
proceed  from  doubt  to  infidelity,  uiuler  the  guidance  of  unas- 
sisted reason  and  philosophy,  or  must  give  up  the  subject  in 
despair  of  ever  reaching  the  desired  object ;  happy  if  it  escape 
the  too  common  taint  of  unbelief  on  points  incomparably  more 
important  than  geology.  For  if  the  sacred  scriptures  are  the 
unerring  dictates  of  divine  inspiration,  which  prophecy  so 
fully  determines,  we  must  consider  them  as  infollihk  in  every 
])oint.  If,  on  the  contrary,  we  find  at  the  very  threshold  a 
statement  demonstrably  false,  we  should  have  the  strongest 
(lossible  ground  for  refusing  our  belief  to  the  subsequent 
history. 

"  Infidels  have  always  imagined,  and  believers  have  too 
generally  conceded,  that  the  Mosaic  account  of  the  early  ages 
of  the  world  is  the  weakest  of  the  outworks  of  Christianity. 
But,  on  the  contrary,  we  may  be  persuaded  that  the  firmest 
ground  which  even  a  philosophical  believer  can  take,  is  the 
Mosaic  record." — jEdin.  Encychp.  Antediluvian. 

It  is  in  vain  we  look  for  this  line  of  reasoning  in  the  works 
of  those  who  are  generally  considered  the  great  leaders  in 
science.  Both  parties  into  which  geologists  have  ranged 
themselves,  the  supporters  of  the  theories  of  fire  and  of  loater, 
are  equally  opposed  to  the  simple  and  unadorned  narrative  of 
the  sacred  historian;  and  both  parties  have,  conse(|uently,  led 
themselves  and  tlieir  followers  into  an  inextricable  maze  on 
the  subject  of  primitive  formations.  It  is,  indeed,  a  melan- 
choly proof,  if  an)'  such  were  wanting,  of  the  natural  turpi- 
tude of  the  human  mind,  that  notwithstanding  the  bright 
instances  which  have  been  and  still  are  found  in  the  opposite 
scale,  so  large  a  portion  of  those  who  search  deepest  into,  and 
who  ought,  therefore,  to  be  best  acquainted  with,  the  works 
of  the  Creator,  have  been  so  little  inclined  to  give  him  the 
credit  due  to  his  omnipotence  and  wisdom,  that  philosophy 
and  scepticism  have  been  but  too  often  and  too  justly  looked 
upon  as  almost  s5'nonymous  terms.  What  advances  have 
been  made  in  every  branch  of  science  and  of  arts  since  the 
da3's  of  Newton,  and  even  since  those  of  the  great  Linnajus! 
yet  we  do  not  always  find  a  proportioned  increase  either  in 
faith  or  in  religious  zeal.  Any  attempt  to  mix  up  science 
with  religion  has,  indeed,  been  openlj'  condemned  by  many 
able  writers;  yet  the  time,  it  is  to  be  hoped,  will  come,  when 
the  Linnsan  systems  will  be  followed,  as  well  in  religion  as 
in  its  union  with  the  knowledge  of  the  works  of  the  C -eator. 
The  great  and  good  Linnsus  lost  no  opportunity  of  expa- 
tiating on  the  wisdom  and  goodness  of  the  Almighty.  In 
such  expressions  of  admiration  his  breast  seemed  to  glow 
with  warmth,  and  he  became  truly  eloquent.* 

"Awake,  upon  the  earth,"  exclaims  he,  "I  have  contem- 
plated an  immense,  eternal,  all-powerful,  and  omniscient 
God  !  I  have  seen  him,  and  fallen  prostrate  in  astonishment 
at  his  very  shadow.  I  have  sought  out  his  steps  in  the  midst 
of  his  creatures,  even  amongst  the  most  imperceptible.  What 
power !  what  wisdom !  what  inexpressible  perfection  !  I  have 
observed  the  animals  nourished  by  vegetables;  these,  again, 
b}-  earthly  bodies ;  the  earth  rolling  in  its  unalterable  orb  round 
the  sun,  the  burning  source  of  its  life ;  the  sun  itself,  turning 
on  its  axis,  with  the  planets  that  surround  it,  forming,  with 
the  other  stars,  indefinite  in  number,  an  immense  and  bound- 
less S3'stem.  All  is  ruled  by  the  Incomprehensible  Prime 
INIover,  the  Being  of  Beings,  as  Aristotle  has  called  him,  the 
Cause  of  Causes,  the  Eternal  Architect  of  his  magnificent 
work." 

Even  the  heathen  philosophers  have  set  us  an  example  on 
these  great  and  important  jjoints,  which  the  most  humble 
Christians  must  acknowledge  witli  admiration.  "Do  yon 
call  him  Fatality?  you  are  not  wrong,''  says  Seneca,  "as 
every  thing  depends  upon  him.  Do  you  prefer  hint  under  the 
name  of  Nature?  you  are  right;  all  things  are  born  from  him. 
If  you  name  him  Providence,  3-011  are  equall3-  right;  for  by 
his  orders  and  councils  the  world  displays  its  wonders.  He 
is  all  eye,  all  ear,  all  soul,  all  life;  and  human  intellect  is  in- 
capable of  comprehending  his  immensity^"  "That  Being," 
says  the  same  heathen,  "  that  Cause  of  Causes,  withj^iut  whom 
notliing  exists,  who  has  constructed  and  organized  all  things; 
who  is  every  where  present,  and  yet  escapes  our  view;  has 
veiled  his  August  Majesty  in  a  retreat  so  holy  and  impene- 
trable, that  it  IS  in  thought  alone  that  we  can  reach  it. 

In  a  beautiful  hymn  of  Cleanthes,  as  preserved  by  Sto- 


'  This  great  naturalist  and  philosopher  inscribed  over  tlie  door  of 
his  lecture  room  at  Upsal  : 

"  luuocui  vivite,  Xumcn  adcst. " 


GEOLOGY  OF  SCRIPTURE. 


55 


baeiis,  we  find  the  following  sublime  address  to  the   Deity, 
under  the  title  of  Jupiter : 

"  O  God,  from  whom  all  ^fts  descend,  who  sitteth  in  thick 
darkness,  dispel  all  ignorance  from  the  mind  of  man;  deign 
to  enlighten  his  soul,  draw  it  to  that  eternal  reason  which 
serves  as  thy  guide  and  support  in  the  government  of  the 
worW ;  so  that,  honoured  with  a  portion  of  this  lisht,  we  may, 
in  our  turn,  be  able  to  honour  thee,  by  celebrating  thy  great 
works  unceasingly  in  a  hymn.  This  is  the  proper  duty  of 
man.  For  surely  nothing  can  be  more  delightful  to  the  in- 
habitants of  the  earth,  than  to  celebrate  that  Divine  Reason 
which  presides  over  the  world." 

To  such  magnificent  acknowledgments  of  a  true  God,  by 
those  whom  we  call  heathens,  we  may  add  the  beautiful 
creed  of  the  great  Pliny :  "  We  must  believe,"  says  he,  "  that 
there  exists  an  Eternal,  Infinite,  and  Uncreated  Divinity." 

The  light  of  day,  however,  begins  to  dawn  upon  this  philo- 
sophic night;  and  there  are  many  whose  e)'es  begin  to  be 
opened,  by  the  very  excesses  of  hypothesis  which  have  been 
promulgated  by  their  scientific  leaders.  :The  great  end  of  the 
study  of  geology  ought  to  be,  a  moral,  rather  than  a  scientific 
one ;  the  numerous  practical  and  economical  uses  to  be  de- 
rived from  it,  should  be,  comparatively,  subordinate,  and 
would  be  fully  gained  in  the  course  of  the  inquiry.  The  study 
carried  on  upon  this  principle  in  the  present  day,  when  sci- 
ence has  made  such  rapid  advances,  as  to  have,  as  it  were, 
shed  a  new  light  upon  our  benighted  minds,  would  liave  the 
effect  of  settling  our  fluctuating  opinions,  which  may  have 
been  shaken  by  the  suggestions  of  a  false  philosophy.  Let 
but  a  small  portion  of  the  brilliant  talent  be  displayed  on  the 
science,  viewed  in  this  light,  that  has  been  expended  and  lost 
in  hypothetical  reasoning  for  the  last  half  century,  and  we 
may  confidently  trust,  that  the  coalition  thus  formed  between 
science  and  religion,  will  bid  defiance  to  the  utmost  efforts  of 
infidelity  and  scepticism.* 


POSTSCRIPT. 

Since  this  work  was  completed,  the  "  Principles  of  Geolo- 
gy," by  Mr.  Lyell,  have  appeared;  a  work  of  very  great  tal 
ent,  and  full  of  interesting  research  and  information  on  the 
secondary  causes  in  constant  action  upon  the  earth.  This  able 
writer  has,  however,  taken,  in  some  respects,  a  new  line  of 
theory,  and  is  as  desirous  of  accounting  for  the  phenomena  on 
the  surface  of  the  earth,  without  the  aid  of  any  unusual  or 
preternatural  convulsion,  as  other  geologists  have  been  to 
press  into  their  service  a  constant  repetition  if  deluges  and 
disasters.  He  sets  out  upon  the  principle  of  Playfair,  "that 
amid  all  the  revolutions  of  tlie  globe,  the  economy  of  nature 
has  been  uniform,  and  her  laws  are  the  only  things  that  have 
resisted  the  general  movement.  The  rivers  and  the  rocks,  the 
seas  and  the  continents,  have  changed  in  all  their  parts;  but 
the  laws  which  direct  those  changes,  and  the  rules  to  which 
they  are  subject,  have  remained  invariably  the  same." — Title 
Page. 

Thus  we  find,  that  while  Cuvier  inculcates  the  doctrine  of 
numerous  deluges,  alternately  of  salt  and  of  fresh  water,  Mr, 
Lyell  endeavours  to  account  for  all  things  without  the  aid  of 
any  general  deluge,  though  he  considers  local  deluges  as 
amongst  the  ordinary  occurrences  of  nature,  and  producing 
violent  local  effects.  The  Mosaic  deluge  appears  to  be  look- 
ed upon  either  as  a  fable,  or  as  a  less  general  catastrophe, 
than  it  is  usually  conceived  to  have  been ;  and,  as  a  supporter 
of  the  Mosaic  account  of  it,  it  is  probable  that  I  shall  be  class- 
ed among  those  '■'■  physico-theological  writers,"  who,  in  the 
early  days  of  science,  ^v^ote,  it  is  true,  but  little  worthy  of 
saving  them  from  the  contempt  with  which  they  are  here 
treated. 

As  may  easily  be  conceived  of  a  theory  wherein  all  things 


are  to  be  accounted  for  by  the  slow  and  gradual  march  of  na- 
tural secondary  causes,  Mr.  Lyell's  system  requires  an  un- 
limited period  of  time  for  its  completion;  and  in  tracing  the 
errors  into  which  other  philosophers  have  fallen,  he  thinks 
there  can  be  no  wonder  if  such  should  be  the  case,  when  hun- 
dreds of  years  are  often  reckoned  instead  of  thousands,  and 
thousands  instead  of  millions.  Mr.  Lyell  accounts  for  the 
elevation  of  mountain  ridges,  by  successive  up-heavings  of 
volcanic  force,  small  in  degree,  but  of  frequent  repetition ; 
and,  having  time  at  command,  he  finds  no  difficulty  in  this 
process. 

But  notwithstanding  this  theoretical  argument  in  the  "  Prin- 
ciples of  Geology,"  so  distinctl}'  opposed  by  so  many  facts 
in  nature ;  and,  with  regard  to  at  least  one  deluge,  so  totally 
opposed  to  history,  and  the  traditions  of  all  nations,  Mr.  Lyell 
has  taken  a  very  learned  and  extended  view  of  secondary 
causes  and  of  secondary  formations.  On  the  evidences  to  be 
derived  from  the  fossil  remains  of  quadrupeds,  however,  he 
has  encountered  the  same  difficulties  as  professor  Buckland, 
without  having  succeeded  in  throwing  any  greater  degree  of 
light  on  the  obscurities  of  that  subject.  His  mode  of  account- 
ing for  the  remains  of  elephants  in  the  icebergs  of  the  polar 
seas,  and  for  the  other  tropical  remains  of  animals  and  vege- 
tables over  the  temperate  and  polar  regions,  proceeds  upon 
the  same  principle,  and  is  open  to  the  same  glaring  objections 
as  the  theories  of  Dr.  Uuckland  and  baron  Cuvier. 

With  regard,  however,  to  the  actual  age  of  the  world,  and 
the  actually  short  period  during  which  secondarj-  causes  have 
been  in  action  on  the  portions  of  the  globe  we  now  inhabit, 
we  may  safely  refer  the  subject  to  the  powerful  evidence  pro- 
duced in  such  abundance,  and  with  so  much  industry,  by  this 
author  himself.  I  have  had  occasion  in  a  note,  in  another 
part  of  this  treatise,  (see  Chapter  V.)  to  notice  the  startling 
facts  produced  by  Mr.  Lyell,  with  respect  to  the  quantity  of 
mud  daily  imported  into  the  sea  by  the  single  river,  the  Ganges  ■• 
it  is  llicre  admitted  by  Mr.  Lyell,  that  even  at  the  lowest  esti- 
male,  viz.  one  part  in  a  hundred,  of  mud,  in  the  waters  of  that 
river,  there  is  imported  rftu'/y  into  the  Bay  of  Bengal,  "amass 
more  than  ecjual  in  weight  and  bulk  to  the  great  pyramid  of 
Kgj-pt."*  It  docs  not  suit  tlie  tlieory  of  Mr.  Lyell  to  admit 
the  correctness  of  major  Rennell's  estimate,  in  which  it  is 
shown,  with  much  clearness,  that  the  daily  deposit  uflhat  sin- 
gle river,  in  the  flood  season,  instead  of  only  once,  is  nearly 
equal  to  seventv-fouk  times  the  weight  of  that  gigantic  monu- 
ment. If  we  even  divide  the  difference  between  these  two 
authors,  and  admit  the  amount  to  be  not  more  than  than  from 
thirty  to  forty  times  the  size  of  the  pyramid  per  day,  and  if  we 
extend  our  view  of  a  similar  action  to  all  the  rivers  nf  the  earth, 
and  then  consider  the  comparative  actual  extent  of  the  w  hole 
mass  of  secondary  formations  over  the  surface  of  the  primitive 
globe,  we  shall  at  once  perceive  that  such  violent  transporting 
powers,  acting  for  a  million  of  years,  must  have  produced  a 
mass  of  secondary  formations,  infinitely  greater  than  what 
actually  exists  upon  the  earth,  which  may,  probably,  be  con- 
sidered as  of  not  greater  medium  thickness  than  about  one 
mile.  But  one  million  of  years  is  not  sufficient  for  those 
who  advocate  the  view  of  the  s\ibject  adopted  by  Mr.  Lyell; 
no  author  of  that  school  has  ever  yet  been  able  to  bound  his 
views  within  anj'  nameable  period;  and  we  may,  with  much 
truth,  transpose  their  own  animadversion,  and  consider  it  as 
not  very  wonderful  if  they  find  themselves  involved  in  inex- 
tricable confusion  and  difficulty,  when  they  calculate  upon 
thousands  of  years,  instead  of  hundreds,  and  millions  instead  of 
thousands. 


•  It  mav  be  said  of  this,  and  of  all  other  philosophical  hiquiries, 
as  has  been  eloquently  observed  willi  regard  to  christiauitj .  "  It  is 
delightful  to  have  every  doubt  removed,  by  tlie  positive  proof  of  its 
truth;  to  feel  that  conviction  of  its  certaintj-  which  infidelity  can 
never  impart  to  her  votaiies;  and  to  pei-ceive  tliat  assurance  of  the 
failli  -which  is  as  superior  in  the  hope  which  it  communicates,  as  in 
tlie  certainty  on -nhieh  it  rests, to  the  cheerless  and  disquieting  doulits 
of  the  unbelieving  mind.  Instead  of  being  a  mere  prejudice  of  edu- 
cation, which  may  be  easily  shaken,  belief,  thus  founded  on  reason, 
becomes  fixed  and  immovable;  and  all  the  scoffing  of  the  scorner, 
and  speculations  of  the  infidel,  lie  as  lightly  on  the  mind,  or  pass  as 
imperceptibly  over  it,  and  make  as  little  impression  there,  as  the 
spray  upou  a  rock." — Keith's  Etid.  ofProph.  p.  4. 


CHAPTER  I. 

Our  Ideas  of  the  real  extent  of  objects  on  the  Earth's  Surface  often 
erroneous. — True  height  of  Mountains. — Depths  of  the  Ocean. 
— Of  Mines. — Of  rotcanic  Foci. — Eruptions  nf  Mud  contain- 
in<r  Fish. —  Volcanoes  only  in  Secondary  Formations. —  True 
iSra/f  on  which  to  view  the  Earth. — Form  of  the  Earth. — New- 
ton''s  Demonstrations. — Gravity  and  Centrifugal  Force. — 
False  inferences  drawn  from  Newton's  Hypothesis. — True 
Primitive  Creations. — Density  nf  the  Earth. — Reflections 
arising  from  the  Subject. — The  Days  of  Creation. 

On  entering  on  a  subject  so  extensive  as  the  consideration  of 
the  entire  globe,  and  with  the  intention  of  first  viewing  it  in  a 


*  Principles  of  Geology,  vol.  i.  p.  284. 


50 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRyVRY. 


general  way,  before  we  proceed  to  the  examination  of  its  par- 
ticular parts,  our  first  object  ought  to  be  to  attain  the  neces- 
sary elevation  from  whence  this  full  and  general  view  may  be 
obtained. 

Man,  in  his  little  sphere  of  action,  on  a  minute  portion  of 
its  surface,  finds  his  ideas  so  confined,  that  he  is  constantly 
misled  by  them,  in  forminn'  conceptions  of  objects  beyond 
common,  every  day  observation.  Tlius,  when  traversing  the 
stupendous  Alpine  regions  of  tlie  earth,  the  inind  of  a  stranger 
is  overcome  with  the  unusual  appearances  of  things;  and  it 
is  in  such  scenes  that  the  geologist  but  too  often  forms  erro- 
neous notions  of  the  "/rac/Hi-c  and  ruin  uf  the  solid  crust  of  the 
earth."*  In  like  manner,  an  idea  of  immensity  is  attached  to 
the  fathom/ess  abysses  of  the  great  deep,  or  to  the  profound 
sources  of  volcanic  fires.  These  objects,  however,  great  as 
as  they  may  appear  in  the  common  scale  of  human  compari- 
son, almost  vanish  when  the  larger  and  more  correct  scale,  on 
which  the  whole  globe  has  been  framed,  is  applied  to  them. 
The  entire  diameter  of  the  earth  is  computed  at  about  8,000 
miles.  Now,  the  loftiest  peak  upon  the  earth's  surface, | 
though  it  rises  to  the  enormous  elevation  of  upwards  o(  twenty- 
six  thousand  feet,  is  but  fvc  such  miles  above  the  general  sur- 
face of  the  ocean.  In  like  manner,  the  greatest  depths  of  the 
ocean  sink  into  coinparative  insignificance,  when  this  scale  is 
applied  to  them.  For  although  the  actual  measurement  of 
these  depths  is,  and  ever  must  remain,  beyond  the  reach  of 
human  art,  yet  we  have  the  strongest  reasons  (almost  amount- 
ing to  certainty)  for  supjjosing,  from  analogy,  that  the  form 
and  surface  of  the  bed  of  the  sea  have  no  greater  variation 
from  the  general  level  than  those  of  the  surface  of  the  dry 
land  ■,X  and,  consequently,  that  while  there  may  be  depths  in 
the  ocean  extending  to  four  or  five  miles,  by  far  the  greater 
portions  of  it,  as  of  the  dry  land,  do  not  vary  more  than  from 
a  few  hundred  feet  to  half  a  mile,  from  positive  smoothness. § 

The  greatest  depths  that  have  ever  been  reached  by  actual 
soundings,  have  seldom  exceeded  one  mile.  Captain  Parry, 
however,  in  latitude  57  degrees  4  minutes  north,  longitude 
•2i  degrees  31  minutes  west,  and  about  one  hundred  leagues 
from  any  land,  fotmd  no  bottom  with  the  deep  sea  clanmis, 
and  a  line  of  1020  fathoms,  or  one  mile  and  280  yards,  being 


*  "  In  the  midst  of  such  scenes,  tlie  geologist  feels  his  mind  invigo- 
rated; the  magnitude  of  llie  appcar.inces  before  }iim  extinguishes  all 
the  lilLle  and  conlraited  notions  lie  may  have  formed  in  his  closet;  and 
lie  leai-ns  that  it  is  only  by  visiting  and  sliidying  these  stupendous 
■works,  that  lie  can  form  an  adecjnate  conception  ot  the  great  relations 
of  liie  crnst  of  the  globe,  and  ol  its  mode  of  formation." — Edinburgh 
£nciictopf'dia,  Jilino'atogi/. 

It  lias  been  well  observed,  that  gi'eatncss  is  only  a  comparative 
quality.  It  is  true,  that  Al[iinu  scenery  is  well  calculated  to  enlarge 
the  mind,  and  to  extinguish  notions,  formed  on  a  more  contracted 
view  of  tlie  earth's  surface.  But  even  this  enlarged  view  becomes 
contracted  in  its  turn,  unless  the  eartli  be  viewed  upon  its  own  proper 
scale. 

t  Dhawalageri,  in  Asia.  Mount  Blanc  is  not  quite  three  miles 
above  the  same  level.  On  taking  tlie  mean  height  of  Iwentv-nine  of 
the  gi-eatest  elevations  in  the  Old  World,  it  is'Tound  to  be'only  one 
mile  and  three-quarters.  The  mean  height  of  an  ecpial  number  in 
the  New  World  is  nearly  two  miles  above  the  le\el  of  the  sea. 

i  We  find  it  a  general  rule,  probably  witliout  any  material  excep- 
tion, that  where  a  country  is  low,  and  the  shore  flat,  the  neiglibour- 
ing  sea  is  shallow  in  about  llie  same  i,ro|inrtion.  On  the  contrary, 
where  a  coast  is  mountainous,  and  llic  dill's  bigli  and  precipitous, 
there  wc  find  llie  sea  of  very  consicbrabb-  ibplb,  and  marly  of  llic 
same  form  under  w.ater  as  above.  ^\'r  bave  this  point  ably  illuslra- 
ted  in  till'  survey  of  the  German  Ocean,  witb  sections  of  the  diqitbs, 
in  six  dilUrenl  lines,  from  tlie  shores  of  Great  Britain  to  lliose  of 
Holland,  Denmark,  and  Norway,  by  Mr.  Stevenson,  in  ISiiU.  We 
come  to  the  same  cnndnsion  on  a  small,  but  generally  cori-ect  scale, 
by  considering  any  fiesb-water  lake,  the  shores  of  which  present  a 
variety  of  scenery.  In  all  the  S«  iss  lakes  it  is  very  striking;  and  in 
some,  where  the  immediate  shores  are  of  great  elevation,  the  bottom 
of  the  lake  has  not  yet  been  found. 

§  In  tlie  course  of  siiiiie  late  experiments  at  sea,  on  board  11.  jM. 
slo(>|i  'I'lincnlo,  captain  Bnolb,  by  order  of  the  lords  of  the  admiralty, 
in  order  to  liml  sdimilings  at  uni'isual  depUis,  Mr.  Massey  made  use 
of  several  newly  invenU-d  machines  for  tiiis  purpose. 

He  Slink  a  copper  globe,  capable  fif  snsUiining  gl-eat  pressure, 
with  a  line  of  SlO  fathoms.  The  globe  was  enclosed  in  a  strong  net 
of  cord,  and  was  fixed  close  on  llic  line,  at  about  4<1  fathoms  i'rom 
the  lead.  Xeidier  globe  nor  lead  returned  to  the  surface;  the  globe 
had  exploded,  by  the  high  pressure,  and  Ibe  line  appeared  as  if 
blown  oir  by  an  air-gun.  .\  second  glnbe  Mas  smik,  with  a  greater 
weight,  and  the  same  qnanlity  of  line,  and  it  was  inclosed  in  a  still 
stronger  netting,  made  of  log-line,  and  not  fixed  so  close  to  the  line 
as  ill  the  foiin.r  tiial.  In  this  instance  the  had  returned  without 
having  reachril  the  bollom;  but  the  globe  had  exploded,  and  the  net 
was  blown  to  pieces.  I'bese  experiments  proved,  to  the  salisl'action 
ol  Mr.  Massey  and  capUiin  Booth,  the,  imiKissibililv  of  counterucling 
thg  elfects  of  high  pressure  oflVred  at  great  depths'  in  the  scu. 


more  than  a  quarter  of  a  mile  deeper  than  was  reached  by  lord 
Mulgrave. 

Mr.  .Scoresby  sounded  in  latitude  75  degrees  50  minutes 
north,  longittide  5  degrees  50  minutes  west,  with  1058  fath- 
oms ;  and  in  latitude  76  degrees  30  minutes  north,  longitude 
1  degrees  48  minutes  west,  with  1200  fathoms  of  line,  or  one 
mile  and  640  yards,  in  neither  instance  finding  the  bottom. 
This  last  is,  probabl}',  the  greatest  depth  of  soundings  ever 
attempted. 

The  deepest  mines  that  man  has  yet  been  able  to  form,  do 
not  reach,  in  perpendicular  depth,  inuch  beyond  two  hundred 
fathoms,  or  not  more  than  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile.  M. 
Humboldt  saw,  in  1803,  a  mine,  in  Mexico,  which  was  to  be 
sunk  to  the  great  depth  of  1685  feet,  or  280  fathoms,  and 
which  was  to  require  twelve  years  for  its  completion,  which, 
however,  appeared  very  doubtful. 

In  viewing  even  volcanic  action  on  the  same  great  scale  by 
which  we  have  measured  the  mountains  and  the  depths,  we 
cannot  consider  these  aw"ful  phenomena  of  burning  mountains 
as  more  than  superficial  pustules  on  the  mere  skin  of  the  earth. 
It  is  now  pretty  generally  understood,  and  acknowledged,  that 
water  is  one  of  the  most  active  agents  in  the  production  of  vol- 
canic fires ;  and  when  we  consider  the  number  of  volcanoes  ia 
the  interior  of  our  continents,  which  have,  to  all  appearance, 
become  extinct  from  the  want  of  that  communication  with 
the  waters  of  the  sea,  which  obviously  must,  at  one  time,  have 
existed ;  and  that  almost  all  the  active  volcanoes  now  known 
are  situated  near  the  sea  coast,  and  rarely,  or  never,  far  in  the 
interior  of  large  continents,  we  have  very  great  reason  to  con- 
clude, that  the  utmost  depths  of  volcanic  action  are  not  much, 
if  at  all,  greater  than  those  we  have  found  reason  to  assign  to 
the  ocean  itself,  that  is,  from  one  lo/we  miles. 

Catopaxi,  in  South  America,  is,  perhaps,  of  all  volcanic 
mountains,  the  most  distant  from  the  sea ;  and  yet  it  is  only 
140  miles  from  the  shores  of  the  Pacific.  This  remarkable 
volcano,  which  is  nearly  19,000  feet  above  the  level  of  the 
sea,  presents  us  with  a  very  strong  corroboration  of  what  has 
been  said,  that  icuter  is  the  great  agent  in  volcanic  action  ;  and 
that  the  deepest  source  of  this  activity  is  not  greater  than 
has  been  above  supposed.  This  volcano,  from  time  to  time, 
throws  up,  not  only  great  quantities  of  mud,  but  also  innume- 
rahle  Jish.  The  almost  extinct  volcano  of  Imbarbara,  has  also 
frequently  thrown  up  fish  in  such  quantities  as  to  cause  pu- 
trid exhalations  over  the  whole  neiglibouring  country.  The 
species  offish  thus  thrown  up,  is  that  called  by  the  natives  of 
Quito,  perniadilla;  it  is  about  four  inches  in  length,  and  is 
almost  the  only  fish  found  in  the  lakes  and  waters  of  Quito : 
but  the  great  numbers  occasionally  thrown  out,  give  us  reason 
to  suppose  that  there  must  be  very  considerable  subterraneous 
lakes  in  the  calcareous  caverns  of  that  country  in  which  these 
fish  are  bred,  and  froirt  which  the  volcanic  action  of  these 
mountains  so  far  from  the  sea,  is  su])plied  with  the  necessary 
quantity  of  water.  In  this  case  we  are  certain,  that  those  lakes 
cannot  be  at  any  very  great  depth  below  the  general  surface  of 
the  country,  as  the  fish  could  not  exist  deprived  of  atmospheric 
air. 

According  to  Ilumbohlt,  the  volcanoes  of  America  scarcely 
ever  threw  out  lava;  but  chiefly  slag,  ashes,  pumice,  and 
vast  quantities  of  water  and  slime.  We  consequently  never 
hear  of  burnings  in  the  tremendous  eruptions  of  Quito,  but 
only  of  overflowings  of  slimy  inud.  During  the  great  earth- 
quake of  the  4th  of  Feliruary,  1797,  40,000  human  beings 
were  destroyed  by  the  water  and  mud  that  issued  from  the 
mountains.  In  the  description  of  the  mud  volcanoes  in  the 
island  of  Trinidad,  given  by  Dr.  Furguson,  inthe  Edinburgh 
Transactions,  one  of  the  party  who  was  examining  them 
picked  up  a  white  sea  shell  of  tlic  turbinated  kind,  in  the  act 
of  being  thrown  out  along  with  the  mud  ;  a  very  sufllicient 
proof  ol  a  subterraneous  communication  with  the  sea. 

It  has  been  remarked,  that  no  known  volcano  is  seated  in 
granite,  nor  is  it  found  near  any  volcano,  except  in  ver}'  low 
situations.  The  same  may  be  said  of  primitive  rocks  in 
general.  The  volcanic  formation  of  Iceland  is,  probably,  the 
most  extensive  in  the  world,  covering  a  space  of,  at  least, 
60,000  square  miles  ;  yet  there  is  no  appearance  of  primitive 
rock  in  the  whole  of  tbp^t  island,  though  the  mountains  reach 
an  elevation  of  nearly  6000  feet  above  the  sea.  One  eruption 
of  j^Otna  covered  a  space  of  fifty  leagues  in  circumference, 
and  one  liundred  and  twenty  feet  in  thickness,  with  calcare- 
ous sand  or  dust;  and  as  calcareous  earth  enters  very  spa- 
ringly into  the  composition  of  what  are  considered  primitive 
rocks,  though  it  forms  a  largo  jiroportion  of  tlie  secondary, 
we  have  thus  another  strong  reason  for  supposing  that  volca- 
noes are  not  very  deeply  seated  in  the  eartli. 


GEOLOGY  OF  SCRIPTURE. 


The  whole  volcanic  formation  ol'  which  Vesuvius  forms 
the  focus,  reposes  upon  tiic  sccoiidary  lime  stone,  of  which 
the  Appenine  range  is  there  formed.  '  Of  tliis  we  liave  vari- 
ous direct  proofs,  the  most  remarkable  of  which  is  the  fre- 
quent projection  of  calcareous  bodies  from  tlie  crater,  either 
in  an  unaltered,  or  in  a  modified  state.  AVhen  we  connect 
this  fact  with  the  probable,  and  almost  obvious  communica- 
tion with  the  waters  of  the  neighbouring  sea,  wo  cannot  but 
consider  it  as  highly  probable  that  the  focus  of  this  volcano 
is  at  a  depth  below  the  surface  of  the  land,  not  much,  if  at 
all,  greater  tlian  the  thickness  of  the  secondary  strata,  or  the 
depth  of  the  adjoining  s.-^a. 

When  we  have  thus  reduced  to  their  true  and  proper  scale 
those  objects  on  the  earth's  surface  which  we  consider  ^Tfa/- 
est ;  and  wlien  we  further  cotisider  that  the  theories  of  philo- 
sophy on  the  formation  of  the  ichok  earth,  are  formed  on  a 
view  of  the  minute  portions  of  its  diameter  to  which  we  have 
access,  these  portions,  not  being  more  than,  at  the  very  ut- 
most.  Jive  miles  172  height,  and,  by  zn-!i\ogy,  five  in  depth,  out  of 
%000  miles ;  how  trifling  does  tlie  theorist  appear  with  his 
cabinets  of  minerals  on  which  his  theories  are  founded.  Let 
him  cast  his  mind's  eye  along  the  diameter  of  a  section  of 
the  globe,  and  say  if  he  is  justified  in  forming  theories  of  the 
mode  of  first  formations  on  so  slight  a  view  of  its  mere  sur- 
face.* 

Having  thus  corrected  any  false  notions  we  niay  have  formed, 
as  to  the  comparative  extent  of  objects  within  our  view ;  and 
'  having  thus  attained  the  proper  elevation  from  whence  we 
may  consider  and  study  the  globe  as  a  whole,  let  us  now  pro- 
ceed to  an  attentive  and  unprejudiecd  consideration  of  it,  from 
the  earliest  times  of  which  we  have  any  record,  and  examine 
whether  that  record  is  contradicted,  or  corroborated  by  the  ap 
pearaiiccs  we  may  discover. 

We  find,  then,  that  the  most  remote  history  opens  with  the  as- 
sertion, that,  "  in  the  beginning  God  created  the  heaven  and  the 
earth;  but  the  earth  was  invisible  and  unfurnished,  and  dark- 
ness was  upon  the  face  of  the  deep." 

I  shall  here  adopt  the  corrected  translation  of  the  Mosaic 
record,  from  the  .numerous  authorities,  and  unanswerable  ar- 
guments brought  forward  by  Mr.  Granville  Penn,  in  his  ad- 
mirable work,  entitled,  the  "  Comparative  Estimate  of  the  Min- 
eral and  Mosaical  Geologies.^''  That  estimable  writer  has 
l»oved,  in  the  most  satisfactory  manner,  that  the  tohu  valmhu 
of  the  Hebrew  text,  the  '  without  form  and  void'  of  our  trans- 
lation, was  uniformly  translated,  both  by  the  .Scptiiagint,  and 
by  the  Jewish  and  Christian  churches,  for  GOO  years  subse- 
quent to  the  Septuagint  translation  by  the  terms  invisilile, 
(trom  being  covered  with  the  waters)  and  unfurnished,  from 
having,  as  yet,  no  vegetation. f 

It  is  one  of  the  great  triumphs  of  human  intellect,  that  the 
globular  form  of  the  earth  is  proved  to  demonstration  ;  and  to 
this  has  been  added,  by  the  immortal  Newton,  the  certain 
knowledge  of  that  remarkable  fact,  that  the  globe  is  slightly 
flattened  at  the  poles,  and  may,  therefore,  beU'rmed  rather  an 
obtuse  spheroid,  than  a. perfect  sphere. 

This  great  and  wise  man,  in  considering  the  nature  and  ori- 
gm  of  all  things,  has  said,  "  it  appears  probable  to  me,  that 


57 


•It  IS  not,  perhaps,  surprising,  tliat  the  general  views  of  mankind 
are,  on  such  subjects,  so  verv  confined;  for  tlie  globe  itself  is  as 
much  too  large  as  tlie  best  artificial  globes  are  too  small  for  general 
use. 

In  order  to  obviate,  in  some  degree,  both  objections,  I  have  occa- 
sionally formed  a  section  of  the  earth  upon  a  flat  saiulv  beach,  upon 
the  scale  of  one  inch  to  a  mile ;  and  1  liave  found  thfit  such  a  scale 
materiallj- assists  the  mind,  in  correcting  false  judgments  on  Ibis  ex- 
tensive subject.  We  have  tlmsa  circle  of  8,000  inclies  in  diameter 
or  of  222  yards,  which,  when  marked  out  witli  small  stakes,  upon  a 
sraootli  surface,  appears  an  immense  area.  Placing  ourselves  upon 
any  purl  ol  tins  circumference,  we  have  an  opportunity  of  taking  a 
just,  lliough  microscopic  view  of  tilings  as  tliey  are.  Tlie  very 
highest  mountain  is,  llien,  fully  represented  by  five  indies'  tlie 
greatest  depth  ol  tlie  ocean  by  the  same  little  span!  while  we  can- 
not calculate  upon  more  than  one  inch  as  the  medium  variety  of  sei 
and  land  over  tlie  wliole  of  this  vast  surface!  In  order  to  ibrm  an 
idea  ol  smaller  objects,  we  must  examine  an  inch  scale,  finelv  Grad- 
uated, and  that,  too,  by  tlie  aid  of  a  microscope;  ami  wc  sbali""lbns 
find,  timt  man  would  occupy  about  the  SSUtli  p.art  of  an  iiidi  in  liis 
proudest  stature,  or  about  tlie  size  of  tlie  smallest  animalcula  obi 
scr^ed  in  fluids! 

+  Comp.  Estim.,  vol.  i.  p.  IT.,. 

I  must  here  ackuow  ledge  tlie  very  important  services  iliat  have 
been  rendered  to  science  by  tliis  most  able  » ritcr,  who  is  tlie  first 
tliat  has  clearly  exhibited  some  of  the  most  impoiUint,  but  obscure, 
tl-ulhs  of  Scriptm-e,  in  connection  witli  phvsical  facts,  open  to  our 
examination.  It  is  only  to  he  regretted,  tliat  the  necessaiilv  ron- 
ti'ovcrsial  cbaracterof  tbc  comparative  eslimate,  renilers  it  a'  work 
more  snitc.l  to  the  mind  of  the  lenrncd  than  of  the  general  reader 
Vol.  n. — H. 


God,  in  the  beginning,  formed  matter,  in  solid,  massy,  liard, 
iinprnotrable,  and  movable  particles,  of  such  sizes  and  figures, 
and  with  such  other  properties,  and  in  such  proportions  to 
space,  as  most  conduced  to  the  end  for  which  he  formed  them. 

"  All  material  things  seemed  to  have  been  composed  of  the 
hard  and  solid  particles  above-mentioned,  variously  associated 
in  the  first  creation  by  the  counsels  of  an  intelligent  agent.  For, 
it  became  liim,  who  created  them,  to  set  them  in  order  ;  and  if 
he  did  so,  it  is  unphilosophical  to  seek  for  any  other  origin  of 
this  world,  or  to  pretend  that  it  might  rise  out  oi  chaos  by  the 
mere  laws  of  nature ;  though,  being  once  formed,  it  may 
continue  by  these  laws  for  many  ages."* 

"  When  Newton  had  remarked,  that  the  planets  present  to 
the  sight  figures  oi  obtuse  spheroids,  and  not  ol' perfect  spheres; 
when  he  had  reflected  upon  the  nature  and  properties  of  that 
particular  figure,  and  had  contemplated  those  orbs,  as  subjected 
in  their  revolutions  to  the  opposing  actions  of  gravity  and 
centrifugal  force,  his  penetrating  mind  at  lengtb'discovered, 
that  iXmrule  of  harmony  and  equlUhrium  between  these  two 
contending  powers  was  only  to  be  found  in  the  figure  of  an 
obtuse  spheroid.  " 

"In  order  to  render  this  fact  plain  to  the  understandino-  of 
others,  he  imagined  this  hypothetical  illustration.  If,"  laid 
he,  '•  the  earth  were  formed  of  an  uniformly  yielding  sub- 
stance; and  (/"it  were  to  become  deprived  of  its  motioiV'  the 
law  of  attraction  or  gravity,  acting  equally,  and  without  re- 
sistance, from  all  points  of  its  surface,  towards  its  centre, 
would  cause  that  yielding  substance  to  settle  into  the  figure 
of  a  perfect  sphere.  But  ;/  it  were  then  to  receive  a  transverse 
impulse,  causing  it  to  revolve  upon  its  axis,  this  new  impulse 
would  cause  a  centrifugal  force,  counteracting  the  force  of 
gravity,  by  urging  the  particles,  composing  the  yielding  sub- 
stance,/;-o7;(  the  centre  towards  the  circumference;  and  thus 
would  produce  an  alteration  in  the  figure  of  the  sphere.  For 
this  new  force  would  tend  to  elevate  the  surface,  and  would 
have  most  power  at  the  equator,  and  least  at  t\\e poles  ;  where- 
as, the  opposite  force  of  gravity  would  tend  to  depress  the 
surface,  and  would  have  most  power  at  the  poles,  and  least  at 
the  equator.  The  result  of  this  inequuUty  of  gravitation 
must  necessarily  be,  that  tlie  original  sphere,  becoming  eleva- 
ted at  the  equator,  but  not  at  the  poles,  and  the  power  by 
which  this  elevation  was  occasioned  gradually  dimiuishing 
from  the  equator  to  the  poles,  the  figure  would  be  eventuallv 
"hanged  into  that  of  an  obtuse  spheroid. 

" Itbeing  thus  shown  that  such  would  be  the  necessary  re- 
ult  ol  the  compound  power  of  gravity,  and  centrifugal  force, 
it  followed,  that  those  two  antagonist  forces,  actino-  at  the 
same  time  in  the  earth,  (supposing  it  to  have  been  formed  of 
an  uniformly  yielding  substance,)  would  have  worked  them- 
selves into  harmony  and  equilibrium,  by  assuming  that  figure, 
which  they  would  thenceforth  maintain.  Whereas,  if  we 
suppose  the  case  of  a  true  sphere,  wliich  should  consist  of  a 
solid  and  resisting  substance,  the  two  opposing  forces  would 
act  in  perpetual  and  violent  discord,  with  a  constant  tendency 
to  disunite  and  rend  the  texture  of  the  fabric.  Now  Newton 
having  maintained,  that  God,  in  the  beginning,  formed  all 
material  things,  of  such /^'urcs  and  properties  as  most  con- 
duced to  the  end  for  which  he  formed  them  ;  and  having  de- 
monstrated that  the  property  of  an  oi/^sci/i/feTO/V/ was  that  whicli 
niost  conduced  to  the  end  for  whicli  God  formed  the  earlli, 
viz.  to  revolve  with  regularity,  and  with  perfect  harmony  in 
all  its  parts;  he  left  it  to  the  capacity  of  every  one  to  draw  the 
obvious  inference,  in  conformity  with  his  known  principles, 
viz.  that  it  is  highly  probable  that  God  has  formed  the  earth 
with  the  same  figure,  wliich  it  is  manifest  he  has  given  to 
the  other  planets,  and  for  which  an  adequate  reason  is  thus 
rendered  plain  to  the  intelligence :  and  he  confirmed  this  ar- 
gument oi  probability  by  adding  the  positive  fact,  that  unless 
the  earth  actually  v.-as  flatter  at  the  poles  than  at  the  equator, 
the  waters  of  the  ocean  constantly  rising  towards  tlie  latter, 
must  long  since  have  deluged  and  overwhelmed  the  ciiuatorial 
regions,  and  have  deserted  the  polar  ;  whereas  the  waters  are 
now  retained  in  equilibiio  over  the  whole  surface  of  the 
"■iobe."f 

Maclaurin,  in  his  account  of  Sir  Isaac  Newton's  philoso- 
phy, t  thus  draws  his  inference  from  the  above  clear  and 
beautiful  demonstration: — 

"  What  we  have  said  of  a  fluid  earth  must  hold  good  of  the 
earth  as  it  is ;  for  if  it  had  not  this  figure  in  its  solid  parts, 
but  a  spherical  Agnre,  the  ocean  would  overflow  all  the  equa- 
torial  regions,  and  leave   the  polar   regions  elevated   many 


*  Optics,  Lib. 
t  Page  3C4. 


+  Com.  Eslim.  vol.  i,  p.  73. 


58 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


miles  above  llie  level  of  llic  sea ;  whereas   wo  find  that  one 
is  not  more  elevated  above  that  level  than  the  other." 

The  supposed  figure  of  a  globe  of  an  yielding  substance, 
made  use  of  by  Newton,  merely  to  explain  the  ctrects  of  the 
two  great  forces  which  are  constantly  in  action  upon  the  earth, 
has  been  construed,  by  the  continental  philosophy,  into  an 
argument  in  favour  of  the  actual  primilivc  fluidity  of  the  globe 
in  a  chaotic  state  ;*  and  thence  it  has  argued,  that  that  par- 
ticular form  which  was  given  to  all  the  revolving  heavenly 
bodies,  by  the  great  wisdom  of  the  Creator,  to  obviate  the  ef- 
fects of  two  contending  powers,  was  assumed  by  the  globe  itself 
while  i'n  a  fluid  state,  by  the  vierc  laws  of  naturc.i 

Nothing,  however,  could  be  further  from  the  ideas  of  New- 
ton, who  had  previously  stated  his  belief,  that  "as  God  had 
formed  matter  with  such  figure  and  proportions,  as  most  condu 
ced  to  the  end  for  which  he  formed  it  ;  and  as  the  enrf,  in  this 
instance,  was  regularity  and  harmony,  it  was  uiiphilosophicul 
to  seek  for  any  other  origin,  either  for  the  substance,  or  the 
shape  of  the  globe  ;  or  to  pretend,  that  it  could  have  risen  out 
of  a  chaos  by  the  mere  laws  of  nature." 

From  the  announcement,  then,  of  the  sacred  record,  that 
"in  the  beginning,  God  created  the  earth  ;"  and  from  the  pre- 
ceding considerations,  from  the  great  mind  of  Newton,  on 
the  subject  of  this  announcement,  we  are  to  conclude,  that, 
"  in  the  beginning"  our  globe  was  of  the  same  solid,  sphe- 
roidal figure,  we  now  find  it  to  be ;  and,  consequently,  that 
granite,  and  all  other  rocks,  which  do  not  bear  the  stamp  of 
subsequent  formation  from  the  elfects  of  those  laws,  com- 
monly called  of  nature,  but  in  reality  those  of  God,  and  to 
which  the  earth,  and  all  things  upon  its  surface,  have  been 
subjected  since  the  first  creation,  are  to  be  considered  as  prim 
itive  creations  ;  and,  also,  that  the  clastic  fluid,  forming  tlie 
firmament  or  atmosphere,  and  the  waters,  which  were  at  first 
spread  over  the  whole  surface,  but  were  afterwards  collected 
"  into  one  place,"  at  the  command  of  the  Almighty,  are  to  be 
included  in  our  minds  as  primitive  creations. 

It  appears  strange,  that  the  consideration  of  air  and  water, 
(we  may,  perhaps,  also,  include ^»-e,)  has  been  hitherto  omit- 
ted by  those  philosophers  who  have  formed  theories  on  the 
chaotic  lorraation  of  the  earth.  In  those  theories  we  hear  of 
nothing  but  the  formation  of  rocks  by  natural  or  secondary 
causes;  and  though,  by  some,  Jire  was  considered  the  chief 
agent  in  these  formations,  and  by  others,  water,  we  have  no 
account  given,  or  attempted,  of  how  these  two  important  ele- 
ments first  came  into  existence.  Thus,  in  the  sj'stems  of  the 
chaotic  ])hilosophy,  outofthefourelementsofwhichthe  system 
of  our  globe  is  composed,  three  remain  utterly  unaccounted  for; 
and  we  may  justly  add,  that  the  origin  oi  i\\e primitive  elements, 
from  which  the  fourth  is  supposed,  in  those  theories,  to  have 
arisen,  is  equally  concealed  from  the  reason  and  understanding, 

Some  philosophers,  undeterred  by  the  apparent  impossibil- 
ity of  any  satisfactory  result,  have  attempted  to  ascertain 
the  mean  density  of  the  earth.  This  problem  only  admits  of 
an  approximated  solution,  derived  from  the  principles  of  univer- 
sal gravitation.  For  our  actual  view  of  the  interior  of  the 
earth  does  not  extend,  as  has  been  before  said,  to  more  than 
one-sixteenth  thousandth  part  of  the  luliole.  The  calculations  of 
Dr.  Maskelyne,  from  observations  on  the  attraction  of  the 
mountain,  called  Scheh;ilien,  in  Perthshire,  followed  up  by 
Hutton,  Playfair,  and  Ciivendish,  lead  us  to  the  same  con- 
clusions, which,  a  priori,  we  should  have  expected  ;  viz.  that 
the  central  parts  of  the  earth  abound  with  some  _species  of 
heavy  and  solid  matter ;  and  as  our  inquiries,  with  regard  to 
the  surface  of  the  globe,  are  in  no  wa)^  affected  by  the  ques- 
tion of  its  interior  structure,  which  will  probably  remain  for- 
ever unknown  to  us ;  and  as  the  above  result  is  in  no  way  con- 
tradictory, either  to  our  reason,  or  to  history,  we  may  safely 
assume  the  internal  solidity  of  the  earth,  as  a  fact,  until 
stronger  reasons  are  adduced  in  opposition  to  it.:|: 


•DeLuc.  Lett.  Geol.  p.   SI. 

t"  The  splici-oidal  figure  of  the  earth,  its  crj'stalline  aid  stratified 
structure,  and  its  numerous  peti'ifactions,  are  proofs  of  its  original 
fluidity.  The  fluidity,  accoi-dir.g  to  Werner,  Tias  aqueous  ;  and  lie 
conjectures  Ihattlie  various  rocks  were  originally  suspended  or  dis- 
solved in  water,  and  gradually  deposited  fi'om  it.  "—£(£«.  Encyctop. 
^lineralogy,  p.  408. 

It  has  been  already  shown,  tliattlus  AVerneriantheor}' of  primitive 
formations  is  entirely  at  variance  witli  these  very  laws  of  nature,  to 
tlie  agency  of  v.  liich  alone  these  formations  were  attributed. — ( See 
page  17.) 

\  The  terms  so  commonly  used  in  geological  writings,  tiie  ciitst  of 
tlie  earth,  is  bnt  too  Avell  adapted  to  mislead  the  mind  as  to  tlie 
true  nature  of  the  globe,  which,  as  far  as  we  know,  or  can  under- 
stand, is  solid  throughout.  The  above  term  would  seem  to  imply 
a  mere  outer  shell,  covering  a  hollow  interior.     Of  the  many  false  or 


We  have,  then,  presented  to  the  mind,  on  the  first  day  of 
the  creation,  and  created  out  of  nothing,  by  the  incomprehen- 
sible power  of  the  Almighty,  a  soticl  mineral  globe,  with  its 
surface  invisible,  (from  being  covered  with  a  thin  coating  of 
water,  and  there  being  as  yet  no  light,  for  "  darkness  was 
upon  the  face  of  the  deep.")  And  here,  it  is  not  without 
effort,  that  the  mind  is  restrained  within  the  limits  to  which 
our  present  inquiries  must  be  confined.  For  when  we  con- 
sider that  this  great  globe  is  but  a  small  member  of  a  stu- 
pendous system  ;  and  that  even  that  system  is  lost  in  the  immen- 
sity of  other  systems  throughout  boundless  space,  the  appa- 
rent similarity  of  all  which  suggests  the  probability  of  each 
revolving  sphere  being  destined  to  the  same  ends  as  our  own  ;* 
the  mind  is  overyvhelmed  with  the  extent  of  the  prospect,  and 
with  our  own  incomparative  insignificance,  which  would  al- 
most induce  a  doubt  of  the  realitj'  of  those  numerous  bless- 
ings which  we  feel  have  been  conferred  upon  us  bj'oar  Ma- 
ker. There  is,  indeed,  nothing  that  so  completely  over- 
whelms the  finite  mind  of  man,  as  the  discoveries  which  his 
genius  and  his  reason  have  enabled  him  to  make  in  astron- 
omy;  by  which  he  finds,  that,  great  as  our  solar  system  is, 
the  immensity  of  space  is  filled  with  such  systems,  each 
moving  in  its  own  sphere,  and  all  retained,  in  the  most  won- 
derful regularity  and  order,  by  the  laws  to  which  the 
Creator  has  submitted  them.  When  we  raise  our  thoughts, 
from  our  own  little  planet,  to  the  contemplation  of  so  bound- 
less a  creation,  it  is  not  without  the  utmost  effort  of  the  mind 
that  we  can  connect  time,  and  more  especially  ashort  time,  with 
such  immensity.  But  we  mustkeep  in  mind,  while  dwelling 
on  such  subjects,  that  man's  most  erroneous  notions  of  creation, 
arise  from  the  necessity  he  experiences  of  connecting  length 
if  time,  with  extent,  or  difficulty  of  operation  in  his  oien finite 
labours.  We  must  not  forget  thatmost  of  our  great  astronomical 
discoveries  have  been  founded  on  our  own  earth,  and  its  sin- 
gle satellite,  as  a  base:  and  if,  in  the  study  of  this  earth,  wo 
find  it  revealed  to  us  in  the  most  unequivocal  manner  by  his- 
tor)',  and  corroborated  by  physical  facts,  that  our  planet  has 
not  existed  more  than  what  may  appear  to  us  infinitely  too 
sliort  a  time  for  the  formation  of  so  great  and  so  perfect  a  body, 
we  have  no  power  to  limit  this  discovery  to  an  individual 
member  of  the  solar  system ;  we  mast  extend  it  to  the  whole, 
upon  the  same  principle  of  analogy  on  which  so  many  astro- 
nomical discoveries  have  been  suggested,  and  subsequently 
demonstrated  to  be  true ;  our  reason  must  bend,  with  whatever 
difficulty,  to  so  conclusive  a  corollary.  13ut  this  is  a  field 
much  too  wide  for  our  finite  comprehensions.  We  cannot 
proceed  far  on  such  inquiries  as  the  present,  without  the  con- 
viction being  pressed  upon  us,  that  "  the  w-ays  of  God  are  not 
as  our  ways,  nor  his  thoughts  as  our  thoughts."  We  feel  the 
necessity  of  curbing  our  curiosity  respecting  the  state  of  otter 
planets,  and  of  other  systems ;  and  we  must  he  satisfied  and 
thanktul  for  the  merciful  dispensations  it  has  pleased  the 
Almighty  to  bestow  so  abundantly  upon  our  own. 

We  must  feel  satisfied,  however,  from  what  history  an- 
nounces, and  our  reason  corroborates,  that  not  only  our  own 
earth,  but  the  whole  of  our  solar  system,  started  into  being- 
at  the  same  instant,  and  by  the  same  incomprehensible  and 
Almighty  power ;  and  that  the  laws  by  which  the  revolutions 
of  the  various  members  of  our  system  are  regulated  and 
preserved,  were  enacted  on  this,  the  first  day  of  the  creation  ; 
when,  though  the  sun  had  not  yet  actually  shoneforth, it  yet  pro- 
duced the  effect  of  light,  and  of  the  "  evening  and  the  morn- 
ing," which  "were  the  first  day." 

It  is  here  scarcely  necessary  for  us  to  dwell  upon  that 
most  remarkable  part  of  the  first  day's  creation,  the  fiat  that 
light  should  appear,  as  it  has  no  very  intimate  connexion  with 
the  geology  of  the  earth,  and  has  been  most  justly  admired  by 
all  who  are  capable  of  reading,  or  expounding  the  sacred  vol- 
ume. The  remark,  however,  ought  not  to  be  omitted,  that 
the  distinct  mention  of  the  evening  and  the  morning,  forming 
each  particular  day,  has  always  proved  an  insurmountable 
difficulty  in  the  theories  of  a  chaotic  philosophy,  which,  in 
acknowledging  the  days  of  Scripture,  though  it  assigns  to 
them  a  much  longer  period  of  time  than  oru  revolution  of  the 
earth  on  its  axis,  has  yet  been  unable  to  give  any  reasonable 
explanation  of  the  terms  evening,  and  morning,  as  forming 
one  da3'.f     The  idea  of  assigning  unlimited  periods  to  the 


problematical  ideas  of  men,  tlierc  is,  perhaps,  none  more  common  or 
unfounded  Uian  that  which  attributes  to  tlie  globe  a  hollow  interior. 

•  AVe  may  say  of  the  tuiivcrsc,  what  Pascal  has  so  beautifully  ex- 
pressed of  the  immensity  of  God  :  "  C'est  un  cercle  infini,  done  Ic 
ecnti-e  est  partout,  et  la  cireonference  nullepart." 

t  There  is  a  very  general  ti-aditionary  notion  amongst  all  nations. 


GEOLOGY  OF  SCRIPTURE 


59 


days  of  creation,  as  recorded  by  Moses,  has  only  arisen  from 
the  necessity  of  a  longer  period  than  2 1  hours  for  tlio  com- 
pletion of  so  great  a  chemical  prncesti  as  the  supposed  produc- 
tion of  the  earth  from  chaos.  But  if  first  formations  were 
not  the  consequence  of  a  chemical  process,  which  Newton 
considered  most  unphilosophical,  and  which  our  reason,  and 
common  sense  most  decidedly  condemns,  then  the  extension 
of  the  period  demanded  for  their  production  becomes  unneceS' 
sary. 

It  may  here  be  objected,  that  if  an  Almighty  power  were 
able  to  create  the  universe  in  a  perfect  state,  wliy  should  the 
work  have  occupied  a  period  of  six  days  ?  Why  should  not 
all  things  have  started  into  being,  as  light  is  described  to  have 
done,  instantaneously  ?  The  only  answer  that  can  be  made 
to  such  objections,  is  simply,  that  it  was  the  will  of  God,  who, 
in  his  wisdom,  appears  to  have  had,  in  this,  an  ulterior  moral 
view  for  the  good  of  mankind,  and  for  the  commemoration  of 
his  own  power  and  glory  by  his  creatures.  Time  has  accord 
ingly  been,  by  his  express  command,  subdivided  into  «x  days 
of  labour,  and  one  of  rest:  and  so  much  of  the  divine  wisdom 
may  be  traced  in  this  arrangement,  tliat  it  has  been  generally 
admitted  by  the  wisest  men  who  have  considered  the  subject, 
that  no  human  ingenuity  could  improve  upon  it. 

There  is  also  a  strong  argument  to  be  found  in  the  divine 
command  which  establishes  the  hebdomadal  division  of  time, 
against  the  theories  which  demand  an  extension  for  the  days 
ol  the  creation: — "Six  days  shalt  thou  labour,  and  do  all 
that  thou  hast  to  do ;  hut  in  the  seventh  day  thou  shall  do  no 
work ;  for  in  six  days  the  Lord  made  heaven  and  earth,  the  sea, 
and  all  that  therein  is,  and  rested  the  seventh  day  ,•  therefore 
remember  this  seventh  day,  to  keep  it  holy."  In  this  com- 
mandment the  days  of  creation,  and  workini;  days  of  twenty- 
four  hours,  ate  so  completely  identified  in  the  sense  and  con- 
stniction,  that  nothing  but  that  species  of  force,  so  often  resort- 
ed to  by  philosophy,  in  support  of  a  week,  but  favourite  theory, 
can  separate  them. 

Now,  a  creation  by  an  Almighty  power  may  as  easily  be 
the  work  of  one  moment,  as  of  a  thousand  years  ;  and  though 
the  laws  of  chemistry  are  now  found  to  produce  crj"slals,  un- 
der the  hands  of  the  chemist,  the  great  mind,  even  of  a  Davy, 
has  never  yet  produced  either  a  vegetatjlc  or  an  animal  forma- 
tion ;  and  there  is,  consequently,  no  ground  for  this  df  inand 
for  lime,  with  respect  to  any  of  the  Mosaic  days  on  which 
these  creations  were  first  called  into  being.  But  we  have  no 
reason  to  suppose  that  there  was  any  variation  in  the  length 
of  the  Mosaical  days,  which  are  eacli  defined  in  a  manner  so 
similar  and  distinct.  We  can,  therefore,  come  to  no  other 
conclusion,  than  that  the  Mosaical  days  were  such  periods  of 
21  hours,  as  have  ever  since  continued  in  succession,  and  will 
continue  till  "  time  shall  be  no  more." 


CHAPTER  II. 

The  Second  Day  of  the  Creation. — The  Firmament,  or  .atmo- 
sphere.— Atmospheric  Phaiomcnc. — Magnetism,  nwt  !%/■  rir 
city. 

Wo  now  come  to  the  consideration  of  the  second  day  of 
the  creation,  in  which  it  pleased  the  Almighty  to  create,  and 
set  in  order,  the  firmament,  or  atmosphere,  by  wliich  the  whole 
globe  was  to  be  surrounded. 

"And  God  said,  let  there  be  a  firmament  in  the  midst  of 
the  waters ;  and  let  it  divide  the  waters  frotn  the  waters  :  and 
God  made  the  firmament,  and  divided  the  waters  which  were 
under  the  firmament,"  (or  upon  tlie  earth,)  "  from  tlic  waters 
which  were  above  the  firmament,"  (or  in  the  clouds,)  "  and 
it  was  so." 

It  were  as  vain  to  inquire  into  the  mode  of  the  creation  of 
the  atmospheric  firmament,  or  firm  support,  by  whicli  the 
whole  globe  is  embraced,  and,  in  a  manner,  hermetically 
seiJed,  as  into  that  of  granite,  or  of  icatcr.  We  have,  there- 
fore, nothing  left  us,  but  to  receive  the  fact  as  recorded,  as 


that  darkness  preceded  light  In  Otaheite,  Oie  natives  consider 
tliat  darkness  was  the  origin  of  all  things. 

Aristotle  says,  "  tlic  tlieologians  argue  Uiat  all  things  sprung  from 
darkness  :  iiliilosopliers  say  Uiat  all  thinKS  ivere  mingled  together." 
-.Metohli.l   14.  f.   6.  °  = 

"As  darkness  preceded  light,  so  the  night  of  the  Hebrew  compu- 
fiilion  always  preceded  the;  day  ;  thus  in  a  manner  perpetuating  a 
ciiinmemoration  of  Uic  transactions  of  tjic  first  d.ayof  the  creation." 
—  Comparative  Estimate. 


this  is  a  part  of  our  earth  to  which  the  principles  of  crystalli- 
zation will  not-apply,  and  which  the  chaotic  philosophy  has 
not  j-et  accounted  for  by  sccndury  causes.  It  may  be  permit- 
ted to  us,  however,  to  form  some  idea  of  the  state  of  the  new 
earth  at  the  termination  of  the  "  first  day,"  and  of  the  effects 
produced  by  the  fiat  of  the  second.  We  have  already  arrived 
at  the  conclusion,  that  as  the  "  evenino-and  the  morning"  had 
formed  the  "first  day,"  the  sun  was  already  created,  although 
nothing  more  than  its  effects  of  light  had  yet  appeared.  The 
power  of  the  sun  must  now,  however,  have  begun  to  act  by 
those  laws,  by  which  it  has  ever  since  been  regulated  ;  and 
this  power,  acting  upon  the  earth,  with  its  waterv  envelope, 
must  have  produced  the  ctfcct  of  a  thick  fog,  which  was  now 
to  be  evaporated,  and  raised  high  into  the  new  atmosphere, 
thus  dividing  "  the  waters  which  were  under  the  firmament" 
from  the  aqueous  vapours  which  were,  from  hence  forward, 
to  be  suspended  "  above,"  (or  in  tlie  higher  parts  of)  "  the 
firmament." 

Although  the  consideration  of  the  atmosphere  docs  not, 
strictly  speaking,  come  within  the  scope  of  a  geolotrical  in- 
quiry, yet  it  may  not  be  altoerether  irrelevant  to  our  subject 
to  make  a  few  observations.  In  this  ])lace,  upon  this  highly 
important  portion  of  creation,  by  the  action  of  which  the  de- 
composition of  a  portion  of  the  earth  is  continually  proceed- 
ing, and,  consequently,  the  materials  for  secondary  formations 
are  as  constantly  being  produced. 

The  atmosphere,  or  firmament,  is  that  elastic  fluid  which 
surrounds  the  earth,  and  encloses  it  on  all  sides.  This  fluid, 
so  little  understood  by  the  ancients,  has  occupied  much  of  the 
attention  of  modem  philosophers,  and  has  given  birth  to  some 
of  the  most  remarkable  discoveries  of  modern  science.  Its 
weiglit  was  first  ascertained  by  Galileo,  and  applied  by  Torri- 
celli  to  explain  the  rise  of  water  in  pumps,  and  of  mercury  in 
the  barometer.  Its  elasticity  was  accurately  determined  by 
Boyle  ;  and  the  efiocts  produced  upon  it,  by  heat  and  moisture, 
have  been  explained  by  Halley  and  Newton.  That  atmo- 
spheric air  is  a  heavy,  compressible,  and  elastic  substance,  has 
i)cen  proved  by  many  simple  and  direct  experiments ;  and,  in 
consequence  of  its  weight,  the  portion  of  it  nearest  the  earth 
is  compressed  by  the  whole  of  the  superincumbent  mass,  and 
it  is  thus  much  more  dense  in  the  lower,  than  in  the  upper 
regions. 

The  air,  in  the  higher  regions,  therefore,  must  be  extremely 
rare,  from  its  elastic  nature  not  being  opposed  by  any  pres- 
sure from  above  ;  and,  in  this  state,  it  becomes  gradually  un- 
fitted for  the  support  of  animal  life,  as  has  been  painfully 
experienced  by  those  adventurous  travellers  who  have  as- 
cended the  highest  mountains.  Some  attempts  have  been 
made  to  calculate  the  height  above  the  earth  to  which  the  at- 
mosphere extends.  If  the  density  of  air  were  uniform,  it  would 
be  easy  to  ascertain  this  point,  by  means  of  the  data  placed 
within  our  reach,  by  the  discovery  of  the  barometer ;  and, 
upon  this  supposition,  the  height  of  the  atmosphere  would  be 
found  to  be  a  little  more  than  five  miles.  But  as  this  is  not 
the  case,  and  as  the  air  gradually  diminishes  in  density,  its 
utmost  height  must  be  much  greater.  From  observations 
which  have  been  made  on  the  duration  of  the  twilight,  or  re- 
flected light  which  we  enjoy  from  the  sun,  after  that  luminary 
has  itself  disappeared,  and  before  he  again  rises,  the  atmo- 
sphere has  been  calculated  to  extend  to  about  thirty-six  miles 
above  the  surface  of  the  earth  ;  and  it  is  even  probable  that 
it  exceeds  that  elevation,  which,  though  it  appears  great  to 
us,  is,  in  fact,  not  so,  when  compared  with  the  diameter  of  the 
whole  globe ;  and  not  more  in  proportion,  than  a  few  coats  of 
varnish  on  a  common  artificial  globe. 

The  atmosphere,  then,  is  like  a  thin  transparent  veil  around 
the  earth,  which  multiplies  and  propagates  the  light  of  the 
sun,  by  an  infinity  of  reflections ;  and  it  is  by  means  of  these 
that  we  enjoy  day-light  before  the  sun  has  risen,  and  after  he 
has  set.  If  the  atmosphere  did  not  exist,  each  point  upon  the 
earth's  surface  would  only  receive  tlie  light  from  the  rays 
which  fell  upon  it,  direct  from  the  sun.  Wherever  the  sun 
did  not  actually  shine,  complete  darkness  would  reign.  On 
the  tops  of  the  highest  mountains,  it  has  been  observed,  that 
the  sun's  rays  are  so  little  reflected,  that,  when  placed  in  the 
shade,  one  can  see  the  stars  at  noon-day ;  and  what  appears 
blue  sky,  in  the  lower  regions,  seems  there  almost  black. 

It  is  upon  the  same  principle  of  reflection  of  the  rays  of  the 
sun,  in  our  atmosphere,  that  we,  and  other  inhabitants  of  the 
temperate  and  high  latitudes,  enjoy  more  of  twilight,  both  in 
the  evening  and  morning,  than  the  inhabitants  of  tropical 
countries,  where,  as  soon  as  the  sun  has  set,  and  until  he 
again  rises,  there  is  almost  total  darkness,  except  from  the 
light  of  the   moon   and   stars.     Our  longer  twilight  arises 


60 


CHRISTIAN    LinRARY. 


from  the  inclined  position  of  tlie  earth's  axis,  from  which 
position  the  sun's  rays  not  falling  so  vertically,  as  in  tropical 
regions,  pass  through  the  atmosphere  in  a  slanting  direction, 
and,  consequently,  through  a  longer  extent  of  air,  and  with  a 
greater  variety  of  reflectfons,  thus  ])roducing  light  long  after 
the  sun  has  set,  and  hefore  lie  has  risen. 

It  is  witliin  the  range  of  this  firmament,  that  all  the  meteoric 
phenomena,  in  constant  action  around  us,  are  generated.  Raiu, 
dew,  hail,  and  snow,  are  all  occasioned  by  moisture  imbibed 
by  the  atmosphere,  from  the  evaporation  of  the  liquid  portions 
of  the  earth's  surface,  and  acted  upon  by  various  degrees  of 
lieat  from  the  sun. 

The  winds,  in  all  their  various  degrees,  from  the  gentle 
zephyr  to  the  raging  storm,  are  all  produced  by  the  action  of 
heat  upon  this  elastic  fluid  :  and  when  we  consider  that  the 
mineral  surface  of  the  earth  is  constantly  and  violently  acted 
upon  by  the  circulation  thus  kept  up  by  means  of  the  at- 
mosphere, we  can  have  no  difficulty  in  understanding  how 
materially  it  must  effect  geological  scamclary  fi/rmations. 

Amongst  the  latest  discoveries  of  science  connected  with 
the  phenomena  of  this  vital  element,  is  the  very  intimate  con- 
nexion now  found  to  exist  between  mac;)utl!snt  and  elcdrici/i/. 
There  is,  perhaps,  nothing  in  the  whole  range  of  natural 
phenomena  which  has  excited  more  the  admiration  of  man- 
kind, and,  at  the  same  time,  been  obscured  with  more  com- 
plete darkness  than  the  principle  of  magnctisin ;  and  it  may 
be  considered  as  a  distinct  proof  of  tlie  difficulty  of  tlie 
subject,  to  observe,  that  few  liave  even  been  the  theories 
produced  in  order  to  account  for  it.  A  ray  of  light  has  now, 
however,  been  shed  upon  the  subject,  by  the  discovery  of  a 
few  remarkalde  facts;  and  it  is  probable  that  in  a  few  years 
more  the  active  mind  of  man  may  overcome  this  hitherto 
insuperable  problem.* 

On  the  second  day,  then,  of  the  creation,  this  most  vital 
part  of  the  earth's  system  was  ordained,  and  submitted  to 
those  laws  which  have  ever  since  continued  in  action.  The 
moisture  exhaled  from  the  newly  created  loafcrs,  by  the  newly 
created  sun,  was  elevated  from  the  surface  of  the  globe,  still 
hid  under  its  watery  covering,  and  was  suspended  in  the 
higher  regions  of  the  firmament,  to  descend  upoit  the  future 
dry  land  in  fruitful  showers. 

The  sun  itself,  however,  was  not  yet  made  to  appear  through 
the  clouds,  although  its  light  again  produced  a  second  morning, 
which,  with  its  preceding  evening,  formed  "//ic  second  day. ''^ 


CHAPTER  III. 

The  gathering  together  of  the  Waters. — The  Suhlbnity  of  this 
Fiat  of  the  Creator  not  sufficiently  understood. — The  Transi- 
tion liocks. 

We  now  come  to  the  consideration  of  the  events  which 
toolc  place  on  the  third  day  of  the  creation,  viz.  '•  the  gather- 
ing together  of  the  waters  unto  one  place,"  and  the  consequent 
appearance  of  the  "  dry  land." 

"  And  God  said,  let  the  waters  under  the  heaven  be  gathered 
together  unto  one  place,  and  let  the  dry  land  appear ;  and  it 
was  so." 

And  this  great  fiat  of  the  Almighty  was  to  produce  the 
first  great  geological  secondary  formations  which  we  find 
upon  the  earth's  surface ;  and  as  the  laws  which  were,  in  the 
course  of  time,  to  give  rise  to  all  the  other  secondary  forma- 


*  A  most  remarkable  accident,  wUicli  occurred  on  the  lotli  of 
April,  183*2,  has  served  to  tln-ow  some  light  on  tlie  intimate  con 
uexion  between  electricity  and  magnetism.  A  gentleman  and  lady, 
Avhilst  travelling  in  Worcestershire,  on  tlie  hind  box  of  their  own 
carriage,  were  overtaken  by  a  violent  thunder-storm,  and  both  wcr 
struck  by  the  electric  fluid  so  violently,  that  their  lives  were  in  great 
danger  for  some  weeks  afterwards.  A  minute  and  most  interesting 
account  of  this  accident  and  its  effects,  is  given  in  Uie  "London  and 
Edinbiu-gh  Pbilosopbical  Magazine,"  for  September,  1832.  It  is 
only  necessary  here  to  allude  to  these  cfi'ects  on  the  steel  and  iron 
work  through  wliicb  the  cUctric  lluid  had  passed  in  its  com-se.  It 
was  found  to  lia\e  communicated  a  bigldy  magnetic  power  to  all 
these  articles.  The  balance-wheel  of  the  gentleman's  watch  was, 
amongst  others,  so  highly  magnetized,  Uiat  it  has  since  been  mounted 
as  a  compass. 

In  furtlier  ilhislation  of  this  most  interesting  subject,  it  has  lately 
been  discovered  llial  a  vi\id  siiarlc  of  fire  is  produced  on  the  sudden 
removal  of  a  steel  ])oint  from  a  powerful  magnet.  This  effect 
now  exhibited  in  Loudon,  in  the  National  Ualleiy  of  Science  in  the 
Sti-and. 


tions,  were  from  this  time  forth  to  come  into  action,  it  will 
be  necessary  for  us  to  give  our  utmost  attention  to  the  con- 
sideration of  this  great  change  upon  the  surface  of  the  earth. 

We  have  before  reiuarkcd,  that,  during  the  first  and  second 
days  of  the  creation,  the  earth  must  have  presented  to  the 
view  (had  any  human  eye  existed  to  look  upon  it,)  a  solid 
globe  of  spheroidal  form,  covered  with  a  thin  coat  of  aqueous 
fluid,  and  already  revolvitig  on  its  axis  as  a  member  of  the 
solar  system.  We  are  fully  authorized  in  coming  to  this 
latter  conclusion,  from  the  distinct  mention  made  in  the 
record,  of  the  days,  comprising,  like  our  present  days,  the 
eraiing  and  the  morning,  with  the  darkness  and  the  light 
following  each  other  in  regular  succession.  The  sun,  it  is 
true,  had  not  yet  been  made  visibly  to  appear,  or  to  shine 
through  the,  as  yet,  cloudy  atmosphere;  nor  had  the  moon 
3'ct  become  visible,  from  an  additional,  and  yet  more  interest- 
ing and  remarkable  reason,  which  of  itself,  ought  to  be  looked 
pen  as  confirmative  of  this  view ;  and  that  is,  that  supposing 
her  to  have  been  placed  on  the  first  day  of  the  creation,  (when 
we  are  to  conclude  that  the  whole  solar  system  started  into 
being,)  in  the  relative  situation  as  to  the  sun  and  the  earth, 
which  she  has  ever  since  held  at  that  period  of  her  course 
when  we  give  her  the  title  of  a  new  moon,  it  was  not  possible 
she  could  have  been  seen  from  the  earth  "  until  the  third 
evening  of  her  revolution,  according  to  ouj-eoinputation,  which 
exactly  answers  to  the  fourth  evening  of  the  Mosaical  days ; 
our  computation  connecting  the  evening  with  the  preceding 
lay-light,  but  the  Mosaical  computation  with  the  succeeding 
day-light:"*  and  on  this  very  day,  accordingly,  and  not  till 
then,  she  was  made  to  appear  at  sun-set,  to  rule,  or  lead  on 
the  night,  as  the  sun  was  ordained  to  rule  and  conduct  the 
day. 

It  was  now  the  will  of  the  Creator  that  the  earth  should  no 
ongcr  be  '■'■invisible''''  under  its  watery  covering;  and,  ac- 
cordingly, the  command  was  given,  that  "  the  waters  sliould 
he  gathered  together  unto  one  place,"  that  the  "dry  land" 
might  appear.  In  considering  this  great  event,  it  becomes  a 
natural  and  fair  question,  as  it  has  been  left  open  to  us  by 
the  record,  as  to  the  mode  or  means  by  which  it  must  have 
taken  place.  The  well-poised  earth  had  already  begun  to 
revolve  upon  its  axis ;  and  the  laws  of  gravitation  and  of 
fluids  had  consequently  began  to  act  in  our  system.  By  these 
laws,  it  was  impossible  that  the  waters  could  have  been 
gathered  together  by  accumulation,  or  above  the  general  level, 
as  the  solids  of  the  earth  might  have  been.  W  e  can,  there- 
fore, come  to  no  other  conclusion  than  that  to  which  we  are 
also  led  by  various  parts  of  the  inspired  writings,  viz.  that 
God  did  "rend  the  depths  by  his  intelligence,"  and  formed 
a  depression,  or  hollow,  on  a  part  of  the  solid  globe,  within 
which,  by  the  appointed  laws  of  fluids,  the  "depths"  were 
"  gathered  together." 

And  here  we  should  naturally  feel  disposed,  if  the  inquiry 
could  be  expected  to  lead  to  any  satisfactory  result,  to  inquire 
how  a  hollow  could  be  formed  in  so  solid  a  mass  as  we  must 
conceive  the  primitive  earth  to  have  been.  But,  in  this  in- 
quiry, we  should  be  adopting  that  very  hypothetical  reasoning 
which  has  so  often  led  to  error,  and  which  we  have  already 
found  such  reason  to  condeiun.  The  record  is  distinct ,-  the 
fact  of  water  requiring  a  holloiv  bed  is  undeniable.  The  means 
of  forming  that  bed,  we  may  safely  refer  to  the  hands  of  him 
who  could  create  the  ocean  himself  which  it  was  to  contain. f 
It  were  equally  vain  and  futile  to  enter  here  upon  the  disputed 
points  respecting  the  solidity  or  the  hollow  nature  of  the  globe; 
because,  when  we  apply  to  this  bed  of  the  ocean  the  true  and  . 
proper  scale  by  which  we  have  already  examined  other  parts 
of  the  earth's  surface,  we  shall  find  the  depression  necessary 
for  containing  the  whole  waters  of  the  earth,  so  very  trifling 
compared  with  the  globe  itself,  as  not  in  any  way  to  be  af- 
fected by  either  side  of  such  arguments ;  for  we  have  found 
reason  to  conclude:^:  that  the  very  deepest  abysses  of  tlie  ocean 
arc  not  more  than  from  four  to  five  miles  below  the  level  of  its 
surface;  and  that  the  mean  depth  over  the  whole  sea  caniiot 
be  considered  more  than  from  a  few  hundred  feet  to  half  a  mile. 

In  considering,  then,  such  comparatively  diminutive  de- 
pressions upon  the  earth's  surface,  it  is  by  no  lueans  neces- 
sary either  to  imagine  the  "  vast  disruption  and  depression 
of  the  solid  frame-work  of  the  globe;"  or  to  enter  upon  the 
question  as  to  the  solid  or  cavous  state  of  the  7990  miles  of 


*  Comp.  Estim.  vol.  i.  p.  230. 

t  "He  spake  the  word,  and  they  were  made  :  He  commanded, 
and  Ibcv  were  ci'eatcd. 

"  He'liatli  made  tlicm  fast  for  ever  and  ever  :  He  hath  given  tliem 
a  law  which  shall  not  be  broken." — Psalm  c.\lviii. 
I     i  See  chap.  i.  p.  56. 


flEOLOGY  OF  SCRIPTURE. 


61 


its  (lianifctcr,  which  must  for  ever  remain  concealed  from  our 
view. 

The  fotlowinof  beautiful  reflections  on  this  part  of  our  sub- 
ject arc  from  the  enlightened  mind  of  Mr.  Granville  Penn. 
who  may,  indeed,  \)C  called  the  first  great  advocate  for  the 
Mosaic  Geolo<Ty,  amon<rst  the  men  of  science  of  our  day. 
"The  briefness  of  this  clause  (Genesis  i.  9,)  and  the  nature 
of  the  subject,  have  caused  it  to  be  little  contemplated  in  pro- 
portion to  its  importance,  and  to  the  fulness  of  the  instruction 
which  it  conveys;  and,  therefore,  it  has  not  been  observed 
that  the  same  sublimity  which  is  universally  perceived  in 
the  clause,  'Let  there  be  lijrht,  and  tliere  wa.i  li^dil,'  subsists 
eqally  in  this  clause  ;  '  Let  the  waters  be  gathered  to<Tether 
unto  one  place,  and  let  the  dry  land  be  seen,  and  it  was  so.' 
The  sentiment  of  sublimity  in  the  former  clause,  results  from 
the  contemplation  of  an  instantaneous  transition  of  the  uni- 
verse from  the  profoundest  darkness  to  the  most  splendid 
light,  at  the  command  of  God.  All  men  familiarly  a)iprehend 
the  sadnexs  of  the  former,  and  the  delif^hl  of  the  kttlcr;  and 
they  are,  therefore,  instantly  sensible  of  the  glorious  nature 
of  the  change  which  was  then  so  suddenly  produced.  But 
the  nature  of  the  change  which  must  necessarily  have  taken 
place,  in  surlrlcnli/  renderini;  visible  a  part  of  a  solid  gloeb. 
the  universal  surface  of  which  had  been  overflowed  and  con- 
cealed by  a  flood  of  waters,  is  not  so  familiarly  or  so  in- 
stantly apprehended ;  the  mind,  therefore,  does  not  care  to 
dwell  upon  it,  but  is  contented  with  receiving  the  general 
infonnation  lliat  llie  sea  was  fnrmeri.  Hence,  both  commenta- 
tors and  geologists  have  equally  failed  to  draw  the  immediate 
and  necessary  inference  from  the  revelation  of  l/ial  great  and 
ttnileniiihle  !ieiil(ii;ical  fael.''"'' 

There  is,  besides,  this  further  reason  for  our  regarding  the 
creation  of  light  with  more  wonder  and  admiration  than  that 
of  the  "gathering  together  of  the  waters;"  that  however 
great  and  stupendous  the  latter  operation  must  have  been,  it 
comes  more  easily  within  the  scope  of  our  intelligence  than 
tlio  former.  \Ve  can  imagine  to  ourselves  secondary  causes 
whirh  could  produce  hollows  in  the  surface  of  the  earth,  but 
the  creation  of  litrht  is  far  beyond  the  reach  of  our  finite  un- 
derstandings. Although  we  can  study  its  effceln,  and  al- 
thougli  science  has  made  many  brilliant  discoveries  with 
rigard  to  these  effects,  yet  we  can  in  no  way  comprehend  its 
origin.  Its  nature  is  beyond  our  reach  :  its  creatlmi,  there- 
fore, excites  our  admiration,  in  proportion  to  the  dilliculty  we 
feel  in  comi)rehending  it ;  but  we  are  not,  on  this  account,  to 
form  an  erroneous  estimate  of  the  great  f)perAtion  which  we 
are  now  to  consider;  for  the  formation  of  a  Uil  for  the  ocean 
could  be  the  work  of  that  intelligence  alone,  which  was  able, 
at  the  first,  to  create  that  ocean. 

This  depression,  small  as  it  proves  to  be,  compared  with 
the  diameter  of  the  whole  earth,  was  sufficiently  deep  and 
extensive  to  cause  vast  changes  in  the  structure  of  a  great 
part  of  the  surface  of  the  globe.  In  whatever  mode  the  bed 
of  the  ocean  was  sunk,  it  is  ipiite  certain  that  the  shores  of 
the  newly  gathered  waters  must  have  been  left  in  a  rough, 
broken,  and  precipitous  state.  The  descending  portion  of  the 
solid  earth,  which  was  to  form  the  bottom  of  the;  new  sea, 
must  have  been  subjected  to  extensive  fracture  and  deninge- 
ment,  and  must  instantly  have  been  acted  upon  by  that  con- 
tinual movement,  and  circulation,  wliich  were  then  decreed, 
and  have  ever  since  been  kept  up,  in  the  great  body  of  the 
waters. j-  The  tide.i,  and  the  current s,\.\i(:sc  unceasing  ag(uits, 
would  then  commence  their  unwearied  labours ;  and  the  im- 
mense dihrls  of  primitive  rocks,  would,  by  constant  move- 
MuMit  and  friction,  he  reduced  to  the  various  stages  in  which 
they  are  now  often  found.  From  that  day  forth,  the  vapours 
exhaled  from  the  waters  by  the  heat  of  tl\e  sun,  were  to  be 
converted  into  the  various  meteoric  phenomena  with  which 
the  finnamcnt  is  charged.  The  clouds  were  to  descend  upon 
the  now  "dry  land;"  the  rills,  the  brooks,  the  rivers,  were 
now  to  begin  their  never  ending  courses,  each  charged  with 
its  load  of  moveable  particles,  destined  to  be  deposited  in  the 
bed  of  the  new  sea.  The  sands,  and  gravels  of  the  new  shores, 
would  then  be  unmixed  with  those  various  secondary,  or  shelly 
substances,  w-e  now  find  amongst  them  in  such  abundance. 
Their  appearance  would  then  be  altogether  crystalline  and 
primitive  ;  and  the  first  strata  arranged  by  the  ocean  on  the 

*  Comp.  Estim.,  vol.  i.  p.  212. 

+  "  Tlie  transition  rocks  include  a  consideitilile  varletj-  of  cartliy 
substances  ;  Ijul  they  arc  generally  composed  of  tlie  primitive  i-ocks, 
rt'duecd  to  a  stale  of  disintegration,  apparently  Ijy  a  mechanical 
i:iusc,  anil  atlci-wards  rc-unitc(l  into  conglomerate  masses,  hy  some 
kiiiil  ol  ceiuciii,  of  an  argillaceous  or  calcareous  nature." — Jitlin. 
Eniijvhp.  I'liydcal  Geography,  p.  488. 


granitic  surface  of  the  sea's  bed,  would  naturally  be  formed 
of  such  substances,  and  without  any  vestiire  of  animal  bodies 
which  had  not  then  been  created ;  and  which,  though  soon 
after>vards  "brought  forth  abundantly,"  could  not,  for  a  long 
time,  have  left  their  shelly  remains  in  the  abundance  we  have 
reason  to  know  they  subsequently  did.* 

If  an  opportunity,  therefore,  were  ^iven  us  for  the  examina- 
tion, we  should  expect  to  find  various  strata  composed  of 
broken  masses  of  primitive  rocks,  reposing  upon  these  same 
rocks  in  their  solid  and  unbroken  condition.  The  opportuni- 
ty has  been  placed  within  our  reach,  and  we  dnfmd  such  strata 
as  were  to  be  anticipated,  and  to  which,  even  the  chaotic  ge- 
ology has  given  the  name  of  transition  ot  fragmentary  forma- 
tions; a  name  evidently  suggested  by  their  appearance  and 
composition. 

It  is  not  my  intention,  in  this  place,  to  proceed  with  the 
consideration  of  the  three  last  days  of  the  creation,  as  record- 
ed in  the  Mosaic  history,  because  they  do  not  present  the  same 
grounds  for  geological  inquiry  which  are  to  be  found  in  tlie 
operations  of  the  first  three  days,  which  we  have  now  been 
considering.  We  have  seen  that  the  creation  of  the  primitive 
portions  of  the  earth,  that  is,  of  mck,  of  water,  and  of  the  aerial 
atmosp/icre  surrounding  both,  could  have  been  effected  only  by 
the  fiat  of  the  Almightj'  architect  of  the  universe.  We  have 
found  no  reason  to  cast  a  shadow  of  doubt  upon  the  Mosaic 
record,  where  it  informs  us  that  the  various  parts  of  creation 
were  produced  in  six  separate  and  distinct  days,  which,  from 
their  crcning.i,  and  tlicir  mornings,  must  have  each  comprised 
one  revolution  of  the  globe  upon  its  axis.  On  the  contrary, 
we  have  seen,  that  the  very  remarkable  coincidence  of  the  first 
visible  appeiirance  of  the  moon,  at  the  very  time  alone  when 
she  could  have  been  first  seen  from  the  earth,  (viz.  on  the  third 
evening  of  Iter  revolution,)  affords  tis  the  strongest  corrobora- 
tive evidence  of  the  truth  of  that  part  of  the  record.  Since 
we  have  found  reason  to  conclude,  that,  at  the  end  of  the  third 
day,  all  those  laws  by  which  the  earth  was  afterwards  to  bo 
governed  (excepting  those  of  animated  beings  which  had  not 
yet  been  created,)  had  begun  to  act ;  that  the  various  influences 
of  the  sun,  and  of  the  moon,  were  from  this  time  forth  to  be  in 
force;  it  now  remains  for  us  to  proceed  to  the  consideration 
oftlu'selaws,  and  of  these  influential  causes;  and  to  endeavour 
to  discover  w  hether  they  are  not  suflicient  to  produce  many  of 
the  secondary  appearances,  so  general  over  the  whole  surface 
of  the  earth. 


ClIAl'TEIi  IV. 

Ciinslant  Changes  in  Nature. — Origin  of  Secondary  Forma' 
lions. — Primitive  Soils,  for  the  Nourishment  of  a  Primitive 
Vegetation. — Constant  Vireulalinn  in  tlie  Fluids  of  the 
Eartli. — Springs,  Brooks,  and  liivers. — The  Fides. —  Their 
Cause  Explained. — The  Currents  of  the  Ocean,  and  their 
present  existing  System. — Effects  naturally  arising  from  these 
powerful  Causes. 

Taken  in  a  general  sense,  wo  may,  perhaps  not  unaptly, 
liken  our  earth,  surrounded  with  its  atmosphere,  to  the  vari- 
ous contents  of  a  vessel  hermetically  sealed  up,  and  kept  in 
constant  agitation.  This  continued  movement  would  cause  a 
constant  change  in  the  relative  situation  of  every  part  of  its 
contents.  But  the  exact  number,  or  quantity,  would  for  ever 
remain  the  same.  No  extraneous  substance  could  find  ad- 
mittance ;  no  particle  from  within,  could  escape.  Thus  every 
created  atom  now  contained  within  our  atmosphere  must  have 
been  so,  under  some  form  or  other,  "  in  the  beginning." 


•  "Xo  fossil  remains  have  ever  been  found  in  v\bat  are  termed  the 
oldest  formations.  In  the  transition  rocks," (the  formation  of  some 
of  which  «e  are  above  considering, )"  where  tliey  first  occur,  they 

e  but  very  rare;  yet  in  the  m-M  or"  (or  upper)  "  transition  i-ocks 
tliey  increase  considerably  in  ipiantity.  In  the  floetz  formations  they 
continue  increasing  in  <iiianlity  to  the  newer  formations." — Ellin, 
Enryclop.  .Mineraloffif,  p.  4<)9. 

In  considering  die  fossil  remains  of  shell  fish,  which  are  by  far  the 
most  abundant  of  all  fossils,  we  must  remember  tJiat  the  accumula- 
tion of  their  shelly  remains  would  be  progressive.  Tliose  of  the  first 
generation,  for  instance,  would  exist  llirough  many  generations  of 
living  fish  ;  and  at  the  end  of  a  hundred  generations,  v\e  sliould  find 
nearly  all  tlie  shells  of  these  generations,  though  die  numbers  of  liv- 
ing creatures  were  not  increased  from  the  first  year.  A\'e  can  thus 
easily  and  naturally  account  for  Ihe  scarcity  of  fossil  shells  in  the 
earlier  formations,  and  for  Uieir  progressive  abundance  in  tlie  subsc- 
ipient  ones. 


02 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


It  requires  but  a  slight  frlanco  around  us  to  perceive,  that 
by  the  laws  to  which"all  things  have  been  submitted  by  the 
Almlnhir,  (to  which  we  generally  give  the  unmeaning  name 
of  the  laws  of  nature,)  raaUer  is  constantly  assuming  a  differ- 
ent form.  The  stately  oak  moulders  into  dust,  and  becomes 
food  fur  other  plants.  The  ox  changes  grass  into  flesh;  his 
flesh  passes  at  his  death  into  other  beings,  who,  in  their  turn, 
undergo  the  same  metamorphosis.  All  created  beings  move, 
■without  ceasing,  from  one  form  to  another.  Man  himself,  be- 
ing laid  in  the  earth,  fertilizes  the  soil:  his  tlesh  becomes 
food  for  plants,  which  are  eaten  by  animals,  which  man,  in 
his  turn,  devours.  His  Creator  has  announced  to  him  this 
great  truth,  "For  dust  thou  art,  and  unto  dust  thou  shalt  re- 
turn."* Even  the  most  solid  ])ortions  of  the  mineral  world 
are  not  exempted  from  the  influence  of  these  laws,  'i'he  primi- 
tive and  solid  granite,  when  acted  upon  by  cold,]  by  heat,  or 
by  moisture,  becomes  slowly,  but  gradually  decomposed.  Its 
minute  parts  become  detached,  and  are  removed  far  from  their 
parent  rock,  by  the  action  of  the  running  waters.  Frequent 
movement  rubs  off  their  angles ;  they  assume  a  new  form  ; 
they  are  known  by  a  new  name  ,•  they  become  sand  or  gravel. 
In  either  of  tliese  new  forms,  they  arc  hurried  to  tlie  great 
deep,  and  add  their  mile  to  that  immense  treasury.  The  same 
currents  in  the  ocean  bring  the  same  materials,  until  either 
the  one  becomes  expended,  or  the  other  differently  directed. 
A  bed,  or  stratum,  is  formed,  which,  under  certain  circum- 
stances, becomes  hardened  into  stone.  It  again  assumes  a 
new  form,  and  is  again  known  by  yet  another  name ;  it  be- 
comes the  freestone,  or  conglomerate  of  geologists.  Thus  we 
may  trace  the  materials  of  secondary  formations  to  the  de- 
composition of  t\\e  2)rimitive  creations. 

"  Tlie  primitive  rocks  of  Werner  arc  the  following,  amount- 
inn-  to  fourteen  :  granite,  gneiss,  micaceous  schistus  or  mica 
slate,  argillaceous  schistus  or  clay  slate,  primitive  limestone, 
primitive  trap,  inehiding  hornblend  and  greenstone,  serpen- 
tine, porphyry,  sienite,  topaz  rock,  quart/,  rock,  primitive 
flinty  slate,"white  stone,  and  primitive  gypsum. 

"  .Some  geologists  consider  this  catalogue  as  too  limited, 
and  include  jas])er,  hornstone,  pitchstone,  and  puddingstone, 
in  the  number  of  primitive  rocks.  All  these  rocks,  though 
some  of  them  be  occasionally  found  mingled  or  alternated  in 
strata  witli  each  other,  are  crystalline  deposits,  and  are  abso- 
lutely without  any  trace  of  organic  remains,  either  of  plants 
or  animals.  All  rocks  not  included  in  the  foregoing  catalogue 
(except  those  called  alluvial)  are  termed  secoijdary,  because 
they  arc  found  to  contain  more  or  less  of  organic  remains : 
but  it  has  been  observed  that  the  four  rocks  found  in  imme- 
diate succession  to  the  preceding  fourteen  do  not  contain  or- 
ganic remains  of  the  same  characters  as  the  rest.  For  al- 
though they  contain  some  shells  common  to  those  in  immedi- 
ate succession  to  them,  the)-  alone  are  found  to  contain  zoo- 
phytes, a  species  of  animal  «-/;;c/t  is  cnn.iidcred  as  forming  the 
first  link  in  the  cliuin  of  animated  beings,  none  of  which  are 
found  in  any  of  the  succeeding  rocks.  AVerner  has  called 
these  four,  transition  rocks,  as  connecting  the  primitive  with 
the  newer  ox  flnetz  (flat)  rocks,  containing  abundant  fossil  re- 
mains, but  by  others  they  are  included  in  secondary  forma- 
tions.''''— Phillips'' s  Geology. 

AVe  h-ave,  in  a  former  part  of  this  treatise,  considered  the 
question  of  zoophytes  being,  as  Mr.  Phillips  here  states, 
"  ihe  first  linkin  the  chain  of  animated  beings."  It  may  now 
be  sufficient  in  this  place  to  point  out,  that  as  it  is  one  part  of 
the  nature  of  zoophytes  to  inhabit  the  depths  of  the  ocean, 
and  there  to  become  fixed,  as  plants  are  by  the  roots,  without 
having  it  in  their  power,  like  the  other  inhabitants  of  the 
deep,  to  clear  themselves  from  the  sediments  that  are  con- 
stantly being  deposited,  their  remains  are  found  in  a  fossil 
state,  as  we  should  naturally  have  anticipated,  amongst  the 
very  earliest  of  these  secondary  strata,  and  before  the  re- 
mains of  the  testaceous  animals  could  have  accumulated  in 
any  great  numbers. 


The  question  then  occurs,  what  were  the  primitive  crea- 
tions 1  and  were  they  confined  to  the  small  number  of  rocks 
now  considered  as  such  by  geologists'!  We  feel  <piitc  satis- 
fied that  all  the  calcareous  and  secondary  formations  now 
known  as  such,  did  not  exist  in  their  present  form  in  the  be- 
ginning ;  because  they  contain  the  fossil  remains  of  animals 
or  vegetables  which  are  often  preserved  in  their  most  delicate 
parts,  and  which,  consequently,  must  have  been  embedded  at 
a  period  when  these  hard  rocks  were  in  the  state  of  soft  mud. 
lint  as  the  materials  fiir  the  formation  of  these  soft  beds,  must 
have  originally  been  furnished  from  some  primitive  creation; 
and  as  a  minute  examiniUion  of  them  does  not  generally  ex- 
hibit a  crystalline  appearance  such  as  is  supposed  to  charac- 
terize primitive  rocks,  it  becomes  a  highly  important  con- 
sideration whether  our  present  ideas  of  primitive  creations 
are  sulfieiently  extended.  For  example,  what  conclusion  do 
we  come  to  from  a  minute  examination  of  the  composition  of 
challi-,  which  forms  so  extensive  a  portion  of  secondary  forma- 
tions ?  Its  particles  are  of  the  finest  earthy  nature,  an<l  no  ap- 
pearance can  be  detected  of  any  of  the  constituent  parts  of 
what  arc  considered  y»-((Ht7(i-e  rocks.  In  the  finer  sorts  of  clay 
Vtc  find  the  same  smooth  earthy  character;  and  all  limestone 
formations  may  perhaps  be  included  in  this  remark.  Some 
geologists  have  supposed  that  all  limestone  is  as  much  an 
animal  formation  as  coral.*  This  idea  is  probably  unfininded  ; 
for  if  we  can  trace  the  formation  of  this  extensive  class  of 
secondary  rocks  to  the  bed  of  the  antediluvian  ocean,  wo 
shall  find  reason  to  conclude  that  all  these  earthy  formations, 
containing  sea  shells,  must  have  been  gradually  formed  by 
the  accumulation  of  the  finer  particles  of  primitive  decompo- 
sition. 

Are  we  to  suppose,  then,  at  the  end  of  the  six  days  of  the 
creation,  when  the  new  earth  had  been  brought  forth,  adorned 
with  "  grass,  and  the  herb  yielding  seed,  and  the  fruil-treo 
yielding  fruit  after  his  kind,"  that  all  this  vegetable  world  was 
nourished  u])on  the  solid  primitive  rocks,  wliich  in  the  jircsent 
day  are  found  to  be  utterly  unfitted  for  vegetation?  Are  we 
to  conclude  that  the  same  Almighty  Power,  which  could  cre- 
ate solid  granite,  together  with  all  the  varieties  of  the  vegeta- 
ble world,  could  not  also  provide  the  pro])er  soils  in  which 
vegetables  were  to  be  nourished  'i  No. — The  idea  would  be 
worthy  of  that  philosophy  which  imagines  all  things  to  have 
been  at  first  in  an  imperfect  state,  and  that  their  jjrescnt  order 
and  beauty  have  gradually  arisen  4^  the  mere  laws  of  nature. 
It  is  more  consistent  with  reason,  as  well  as  with  the  histori- 
cal Record,  to  conclude,  that  as  vegetables  of  every  descrip- 
tion were  created  perfect,  there  must  have  been  a  soil  also 
created  at  the  first,  and  suited  to  the  nourishment  of  this  now 
vegetable  creation. 

Tlie  consideration  of  the  component  parts  of  the  loose  allu- 
vial soils,  and  of  their  origin,  has,  in  general,  been  set  aside, 
or  overlooked  by  geologists;  and  our  present  soils  arc  so 
mixed  up  with  decomposed  animal  and  vegetable  matter,  that 
we  caimot,  from  them,  formadistinct  idea  of  whatthey  origi- 
nally must  have  been.  But  if  we  deny  that  a  pure  soil  must 
have  existed  from  the  very  first,  we  adopt  tlie  doctrine  of 
secondary  causes.  We  must,  in  that  case,  suppose  that  vegeta- 
tion began,  and  gradually  proceeded  in  much  the  same  man- 
ner as  is  observed  on  the  lava  thrown  out  by  volcanoes;  which, 
for  many  years  after  it  has  cooled,  remains  solid  and  totally 
barren,  and  which  first  admits  of  only  the  most  minute  spe- 
cies of  mosses  ;  but  by  the  gradual  decomposition  and  renewal 
of  these,  and  by  the  atmospheric  action  upon  the  lava  itself,  a 
soil  is  o-radually  formed,  which  proves  in  the  end  extremely 
fertile. 


*  "  To  say  T\'ith  Pythagoras,  that  the  soul  of  a  man  can  pass  into  the 
l)ody  of  a  bu-tl,  is  to  extend  to  a  moral  sense,  tliis  ^eat  truth  in  natural 
history.  Notliing  can  be  more  conti-ai-y  to  I'cason  or  revelation  than 
ibis  idea  ;  but,  on  the  other  band,  notliing  is  more  certain,  than  that 
the  alimentary  matter  of  Avhieli  a  body  is  composed,  is  transformed 
into  the  flesh  of  tlie  \Tiltiire  tliat  devours  it. 

t  Mr.  Scorcsby,  in  bis  account  of  Spttzberj^en,  says,  "  the  invari- 
alilv  brnken  state  of  the  rocks,"  (upon  a  bijj^li  mountain,  the  ascent  of 
Avliicb  be  was  attempting,)  "  appeared  to  be  the  eftect  of  frost.  Ko 
solid  rock  was  met  with,  and  no  earth  or  soil.  On  calcareous  rocks 
not  imper\ious  to  moistui-e,  tlie  efiect  is  such  as  might  be  expected  ; 
but  bov,-  frost  can  operate  on  quartz,  is  not  so  easily  understood. — 
^irctic  Regions,  ^•ol.  i.  p.  1-2. 


*  It  is  not  a  little  i-cmai-kable,  that  in  all  the  secondary  rocks  of 
Europe,  altliongh  we  have  many,  consisting  of  almost  one  mass  of 
shells,  Ave  find  none  wiiieli  we  could  suppose  were  formed  by  insects, 
in  tlie  same  manner  as  tlie  coral  reefs  are  in  the  present  seas  of  soutli- 
evn  latitudes.  The  extent  of  tlie  coral  formation  is  truly  remarka- 
ble. The  great  coraj  rei-f,  on  the  east  coast  of  New  Holland,  extends 
unbroken  Vor  .350  miles,  forming,  with  otliers,  more  or  less  connect- 
ed with  it,  a  reef  upwards  of  1,000  miles  in  length,  and  varying  from 
20  to  50  in  breadth.  As  diese  reefs  are  know  u  to  be  always  founded 
in  verv  deep  -n-ater,  tlicv  would  form,  if  laid  drj,  a  calcareous  forma- 
uon,  before  which  many  of  our  considerable  mountain  ridges  would 
shrink  in  tlie  comparison.  We  cannot,  perluaps,  find  a  more  cominc- 
ing  argument  in  favour  of  the  unchanged  position  of  the  axis  and  Ibe 
poles  of  the  earth  since  the  creation,  tlian  in  the  tot;il  absence  of 
coral  reefs  in  tlie  secondarv  formations  of  nordiern  and  temperate 
latitudes.  Had  the  present  poles  of  the  earth  been  in  tlie  situation 
of  the  present  eqnalori:il  regions,  before  the  deluge,  iibicb  is  one  of 
the  prevailing  arguments  and  som-ces  of  error  and  confusion  in 
modern  geology,  we  should  certainly  have  found,  in  our  secondary 
quarries,  »hc  petrified  remains  of  former  coral  reefs. 


GEOUKJY  OF  SCRIPTURE. 


63 


We  have  befuru  IVjiiiid  reason,  however,  to  come  to  a  differ- 
ent  conclusion.  W'e  have  found,  witli  Newton,  "  that  it 
became  Him  who  created  all  thin^,  to  set  them  in  order; 
and  if  He  did  so,  it  is  unphilosophical  to  seek  for  any  other 
orioin  of  things,  or  to  pretend  that  they  might  have  arisen, 
by  the  mere  laws  of  nature." 

W'e,  therefore,  conclude,  that  there  must  have  been  a  pr! 
milive  soil  for  the  support  o(  a  primitive  vegetation  ;  that  that 
soil  must  have  been  tmse  and  friable,  as  at  present,  and  sub 
ject,  like  the  present  soils,  to  continual  movements  by  cur- 
rents; and  that  it  would,  conse(|uently,  aflbrd  the  materiah  for 
many  of  the  secondary  rocks,  which  geologists  cannot  other- 
wise account  for. 

I  do  not  here  propose  entering  into  the  mazes  of  hypothesis, 
by  attempting  to  define  what  were  the  actual  primitire  rrea- 
tioru  in  the  mineral  world;  but  as  secondary  formations  must 
always  have  been  in  progress,  (as  they,  even  now,  arc  going 
on)  occasioned  by  the  combined  action  of  the  atmosphere  and 
the  currents,  their  materials,  however  earthy,  must  have 
originally  been  primitive;  and  if  a  primitive  vegetable  crea- 
tion required  support  from  a  primitive  soil,  we  shall  find,  in 
the  varieties  to  be  naturally  expected  in  such  soils,  a  source 
for  the  variety  we  observe  in  the  colour  and  grain  of  second 
ary  rocks. 

It  may  be  demanded,  what  cause  can  be  assigned  for  the 
variety  in  the  colours  of  the  different  secondary  formations  1 
As  well  might  a  cause  be  sought  for  the  varied  colours  of  the 
primitive  rocks,  or  the  varied  tints  of  the  animal  or  vegetable 
world.  When  the  colours  of  the  tiger,  the  zebra,  or  the  but- 
terfly, are  accounted  for,  we  may  hope  for  information  as  to  the 
cause  of  chalk  or  Carrara  marble  being  white,  and  other  calca^ 
reous  formations  being  of  such  variety  of  shades,  down  to  the 
blackest  marble.  There  can  be  no  other  reason  given  for  such 
endless  variety,  but  Ihevnll  of  a  Beneficent  Creator,  who  hast 
thought  fit  thus  to  adorn  his  incomprehensible  creation  with  in- 
numerable objects,  well  fitted  to  convince  the  most  sceptical 
mortal  who  will  be  at  the  pains  to  study  them,  that  neither  nc- 
eident,  nor  the  lawa  of  chemistry  alone,  could  have  produced 
such  admirable  variety. 

It  has  already  been  observed,  that  tlie  currents  in  the  wa- 
ters of  the  earth  are  the  great  agents  by  which  almost  all  se- 
condary formations  have  brrn,  and  still  are,  carried  on.  In 
order  to  render  this  more  plain  to  the  intelligence,  it  will  be 
necessary,  in  this  place,  to  enter  somewhat  at  large  into  the 
subject,  and  to  trace  the  operations  of  nature  now  going  on 
under  our  eyes. 

It  is  certain,  then,  that  there  is  a  continual  circulation  kept 
up  in  the  waters  of  the  earth.  The  heat  of  the  sun  causes 
an  immense  evaporation  from  both  sea  and  land.  The  va- 
))Ours  tluis  raised,  become  either  visible  or  invisible,  according 
to  the  deoTee  of  heat  in  the  atmosphere;  and  thus,  when 
Cooled  either  bj-  their  contact  with  mountains,  or  by  currents 
of  cold  air  from  the  poles,  they  become  condensed  into  drops, 
and  fall  upon  the  earth  by  their  own  weight,  in  the  form  of 
rain  or  snow.  But  although  the  supplies  of  rivers  are  very 
materially  influenced  by  the  moisture  derived  from  the  atmo- 
sphere, in  the  form  of  ram  or  snow,  we  must  be  convinced  that 
a  more  steady  and  constant  supply  must  be  obtained  from 
some  other  source;  otherwise  many  rivers  would  become  com- 
pletely dried  up  during  the  summer  months,  when  they  are 
most  wanted  for  the  support  of  both  animal  and  vegetable  life. 
This  steady  supply  may  he  traced,  in  all  hilly  or  mountainous 
countries,  from  whence  streams  generally  flow,  to  the  never 
failing  springs  invariably  found,  more  or  less,  in  such  situa- 
ations,  and  which  have  given  rise  to  much  discussion 
amongst  philosophers,  to  account  for  such  pure  and  copious 
steams,  which  are  but  little  affected  by  the  changes  of  wet  or 
dry  seasons  of  the  year.  It  is  to  the  action  of  the  atmo- 
sphere alone  that  we  must  look  for  a  solution  of  this  problem. 
The  day  is  gone  by,  when  it  was  supposed  that  there  was 
some  internal  communication  between  the  sea,  and  the  sprimrs 
in  the  mountains,  by  means  of  which  those  pure  and  cooling 
fountains  w'ere  kept  in  continual  action.  The  whole  process 
is  now  familiarly  exhibited  to  our  view  in  our  every  dining- 
rooms,  by  observing  the  effects  of  heated  air  on  the  surface 
of  the  cold  caraffes  upon  our  tables.  It  has  been  before  ex- 
plained, that  a  great  quantity  of  moisture  is  absorbed  by  the 
atmosphere,  from  the  surface  of  the  waters  of  the  earth,  oc- 
casioned by  the  heat  of  the  sun :  this  moisture  is  generally 
eva])orated  in  an  invisible  form ;  but  it  nevertheless  pervades, 
in  a  greater  or  less  dearce,  every  part  of  the  atmosphere,  and 
becomes  visible  in  the  form  of  clouds,  when  cooled  by  cold 
currents  of  air,  or  by  contact  with  mountains,  the  surface  of 
which  is  colder  than  the  temperature  of  the  surrounding  at- 


mosphere. But  even  in  the  finest  and  clearest  weather,  these 
watery  vapours  hover  around  us,  in  an  invisible  shape,  and 
become  condensed  in  the  form  of  dew  on  the  surface  of  rocks, 
or  of  plants,  during  the  absence  of  the  sun,  and  thus  aflbrd 
nourishment  to  vegetation  even  during  the  hottest  weather. 

But  in  the  hilly  and  mountainous  districts,  these  vapours 
are  constantly,  more  or  less,  condensed  upon  the  surface  of 
the  rocks  or  of  the  ground;  and  tricklingdown  the  sides  and 
fissures,  guided  by  the  direction  of  the  strata,  they  occasion- 
ally meet  with  obstructions  through  which  they  cannot  pass, 
and  are  thus  forced  upwards  to  the  surface,  and  break  forth  in 
the  form  of  springs,  which  never  cease  to  flow,  because  the 
source  from  which  they  are  supplied  can  never  cease  to  act.* 

Every  one  is  familiar  with  the  effects  of  rain.  A  heavv 
fall  upon  the  tops  of  the  mountains  detaches  the  various  sizctl 
particles  already  loosened  by  the  action  of  the  atmosphere. 
They  are  hurried  along  by  the  little  rills  into  the  brooks,  by 
the  brooks  into  the  rivers,  and  finally  by  the  rivers  into  the 
sea,  the  waters  of  which  are  partially  tinged  with  these  tur- 
bid streams.  Every  river,  in  the  whole  earth,  is  more  or 
less  heavily  charged  with  earthy  matter,  on  its  renchinn-  the 
parent  ocean.  The  nature  and  colour  of  this  muddj"  mixture 
must  depend  upon  those  of  the  countries  through  which  the 
rivers  flow. 

Having  now  traced  the  course  of  this  earthy  matter  to 
the  sea,  it  becomes  necessary  to  obscr>-e  in  what  way  it  is 
disposed  of,  in  the  bosom  of  tlie  depths ;  and,  for  this  pur- 
pose, we  must  consider  the  nature  and  action  of  this  great 
body  of  waters.  The  continual  influence  of  the  moon,  aided 
in  a  less  powerful  degree  by  the  attraction  also  of  the  sun,  is 
known  to  be  the  occasion  of  the  tides  which  assist  in  keeping 
up  the  circulation  of  the  waters. t  But  a  ranch  more  power- 
ful agent  is  continually  at  work  m  producing  this  elfect ;  and 
as  this  agent,  and  its  elfects,  do  not  come  so  familiarly  with- 
in our  view,  its  power  is  not  so  generally  understood  or  ac- 
knowledged. Thisagent  is  the  general  system  of  the  currents 
in  the  ocean. 


•  It  is  to  Ibis  ])articular  action  of  U»c  atmospbero,  wlu*n  cominj*  in 
eontiict  with  a  lower  leiupi'nitiu-e  than  its  own,  that  wc  can  ol\en 
li-ace  the  caus<'  of  that  dampness  in  our  bouses,  \^  liicli  noltiing  can 
ever  eiitii-ely  ol>viat<'.  tiraiiilu,  whiiistone,  and  soniroihrr  rocks,  arc 
liij;bly  object ionalilc,  as  liuildiii<;  nuilcrials,  on  account  of  iJieir  groat 
coldness  ;  and  iii  Iiouscs  built  ot  siicli  malurials,  one  may  alwavs  ob- 
scrM",  in  winter,  on  a  clianf^o  from  frost  to  thaw,  a  dewv  appearance 
stimdin^  tliick  upon  the  siu*fucc',  and,  in  tiic  ciul,  runninj^  down  in 
copious  slri-anis,  like  a  violent  pcrspinttion.  'I'hi-  conmionohjection 
made  to  such  stones,  is,  that  Itiey  retain  nioisluif,  and  perspire  at 
certain  times  ;  Ibis,  however,  is  a  \"ul'r.ir  error. 

If  a  liouso  be  built  upon  a  clay  soil,  tlic  dampness,  which  is  a  usual 
conse<iuence,  does  not  arise  so  nuicli  fron»  the  clay  bein*^  wet  in  itself, 
as  from  its  j^real  coldness,  wbicli  condenses  llie  warm  air  of  iJie  at- 
mosphere, and  thus  forms  a  constiint  moistvire.  It  is  ob\ious,  iJien, 
that  sand  stone,  or  brick,  as  a  material,  and  a  lijclit  satidv  soil,  as  a 
foiuidation,  must  produce  the  most  dry  and  hraltliy  dwelling. 

t'l'be  followinj;  clear  description  of  llie  tides  is  given  by  Sir  Da- 
vid Hri'wster,  in  bis  *'  Life  of  Sir  Isaac  Xewton." 

'•  One  of  llie  gieat  subjects  to  wliich  Newton  applied  the  princi- 
ples of  attraction  and  giavity,  was,  tlie  tides  of  the  ocean.  I'liiloso- 
phers  of  all  ages  bad  recognized  tlie  connection  between  the  phenom- 
ena of  llie  tides,  aii<i  Uie  position  of  the  moon.  Tliat  the  moon  is  Uic 
principle  cause  of  llie  tides  is  obvious,  from  the  ^lell  known  fact, 
that  it  is  high  water  at  any  given  place  about  the  time  when  she  is  in 
(be  meridian  of  that  place  ;  and  tliat  the  sun  performs  a  secondary 
part  in  their  production,  is  proved  by  the  circumstance,  liiat  the  high- 
est, or  s[)ring  titles,  take  place  when  the  sun,  llic  moon, and  die  earth, 
are  all  in  a  sii-aighl  line  ;  that  is,  when  the  force  of  the  attraction  of 
llie  sun  conspires  w  ilb  tliat  of  die  moon  ;  and  that  the  lowest,  or  neap 
tides,  lake  place  wlien  lines  drawn  from  the  sun  and  moon  to  the 
[^arth,  arc  at  right  angles  to  oachodier;  tlial  is,  when  die  force  of  die 
iittraclion  of  the  sun  acts  in  opposition  to  that  of  Uie  moon.  Hut  the 
most  periilexing  phenomenon  in  tlic  tides,  and  one  which  is  still  a 
stumbling-block  to  persons  slightly  acquainted  with  the  tlieoiy  of  at- 
traction, is  tlic  existence  of  high  water  on  die  side  fui-Uiest  from  die 
moon,  at  tile  same  time  as  on  die  side  nc\t  the  moon.  To  maintain 
that  the  atti-action  of  the  moon  at  die  same  time  draw  s  the  waters  of 
die  card)  towards  bers<lf,  and  also  draw  s  them  from  die  earth  in  an 
opposite  direction,  seems,  at  first  sight,  paradoxical.  But  tlie  diffi- 
culty vanishes,  n  hen  we  consider  die  earth,  (or  rather  the  centre  of 
the  eardi,)  anil  Uic  waters  on  each  side  of  it,  as  three  distinct  bodies, 
placed  at  diflfercut  distances  from  die  moon,  and,  consequently,  at- 
U'acted  V  ilh  forces  inversely  proportioned  to  the  s(|Uares  of  iheirdis- 
tances.  The  waters  nearest  the  moon  will  be  much  more  power- 
fully attracted  than  the  centie  of  the  earth,  and  the  centre  of 
the  earth  more  diaii  Uie  waters  furdiest  from  the  moon.  The  con- 
sequence of  this  must  be,  tliat  the  waters  nearest  die  moon  will  be 
drawn  away  from  the  centre  of  the  earth,  and  will,  consequently, 
risi^  from  Uieir  Ie\el;  while  die  earth  « ill  be  di-awn  a« ay  from  die 
waters  opposite  the  moon,  which  » ill,  as  it  were,  be  left  behind,  and 
be  in  the  same  situation  as  if  raised  from  the  earth  in  a  direction  op- 
posite tp  Uiat  in  w  Uicli  tliey  are  attracted  by  the  moon." 


64 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


These  currents  have  long  been  remarked  by  voyagers  in 
every  part  of  the  sea;  and  they  have  been  found  so  powerful 
that  vessels  arc  constantly  borne  out  of  their  course,  unless 
due  allowance  be  made  for  their  influence.  It  was  long  sup- 
])0sed  that  these  rivers  in  the  ocean  were  occasioned  by  the 
action  of  the //(/«.•  but  modern  science  and  observation  has 
proved  this  idea  to  have  been  unfounded  ;  and  has  discovered 
that  there  is  as  regular  a  circulation  in  the  great  deep  as  in 
the  veins  of  the  human  body.  These  currents  chiefly  arise 
from  the  following  causes.  In  consequence  of  the  powerful 
action  of  the  sun  Tn  tropical  climates,  the  loss  by  evapora- 
tion from  the  sea,  is  much  greater  than  can  be  supplied  by 
the  quantity  of  rain  which  falls  in  these  latitudes.  The 
moisture  thus  imbibed  by  the  atmosphere,  passes  into  the 
regular  circulation  of  the  air;  and  when  carried  into  the  tem- 
perate or  polar  regions  of  the  earth,  it  becomes  condensed, 
and  falls  there  in  much  greater  quantity  than  these  regions 
lose  by  evaporation.  This  superabundant  supply  of  water 
cannot,  from  the  figure  and  motion  of  the  earth,  remain  where 
it  falls,  but  rushes  back  towards  the  equator  in  currents,  the 
directions  of  which  must  depend,  in  a  great  measure,  on  the 
forms  of  the  coasts  they  may  meet  with  in  their  course:  and 
as  no  strong  current  can  take  place  either  in  the  air  or  in  the 
waters,  without  a  variety  of  eddies,  or  counter  cunents,  as 
we  familiarly  know,  on  a  small  scale,  by  observing  a  strong 
stream  in  any  river,  or  by  the  draughts  of  air  in  our  houses, 
such  are  almndantly  to  be  found  in  the  ocean,  and  sometimes 
on  so  large  a  scale,  and  in  such  a  direction,  as  might  appear 
in  opposition  to  the  system  above  explained,  unless  the  whole 
be  viewed  upon  an  enlarged  scale.  It  has  been  supposed  by 
some,  that  the  winds,  and  especially  the  regular  trade  winds, 
have  a  great  influence  on  the  currents  of  the  ocean,  and  may 
even  be  regarded  as  the  cause  of  this  constant  motion  in  the 
waters.  Hut  this  is  taking  too  superficial  a  view  of  the  subject. 
It  is  known  that  the  currents  of  the  air  affect  the  surface  of 
the  ivatcrs,  merely  by  contact  and  friction  in  the  same  manner 
as  in  the  friction  of  any  other  two  substances;  and  however 
the  surface  of  the  ocean  may  be  agitated  by  this  contact,  an  ' 
raised  into  waves  by  its  force,  we  cannot  suppose  it  capable 
of  acting  to  any  considerable  depth,  or  of  displacing  large 
bodies  of  water.  It  is,  indeed,  understood,  that  though  the 
swell  of  a  wave  advances  on  the  surface,  the  water  over  which 
it  moves  remains  nearly  stationary;  so  that,  altliough  the 
winds  may,  in  some  small  degree,  aid  or  impede  the  tides  or 
the  eurrents,  they  cannot  be  considered  the  cause  of  the  move- 
ment, any  more  in  the  one  case  than  in  the  other.  There 
appears  to  be  a  close  resemblance  between  this  circulation  kept 
lip  in  the  waters,  and  that  known  to  exist  in  the  atmospliere. 
lo  the  latter  we  have  winds  of  various  power  and  continu- 
ance, and  also  whirlwinds,  occasioned,  like  the  ivhirlpools  in 
fluids,  by  the  action  of  two  contrary  streams,  or  by  the  dis- 
turbance occasioned  by  an  opposing  object.  There  are  also 
such  decided  cnutiter-currcnis  in  the  air,  from  the  eftbrt  to 
preserve  a  just  balance  in  that  element,  that  it  is  a  common 
practice  with  a-ronauts  to  scud  up  a  small  balloon  before 
launching  their  larger  one.  in  order  to  discover  in  what  direc- 
tion the  upper  currents  of  the  wind  may  be  setting. 

The  whole  system  of  the  currents  in  the  ocean  can  proba- 
bly never  be  distinctly  defined,  on  account  of  its  great  extent, 
and  the  very  partial  observations  of  voyagers.  Besides,  there 
must  be  a  constant  though  slow  alteration  in  the  directions 
of  their  smaller  divisions,  according  as  the  opposing  objects 
are  gradually  worn  away.  But  the  general  outline  of  the 
larger  branches  may  be  traced  with  tolerable  distinctness, 
and  may  be  here  explained  as  they  now  exist  in  our  own 
times.  The  present  great  system  of  currents,  then,  may  be 
traced  from  the  western  coast  of  America  across  the  Pacific 
ocean ;  of  this  current  we  as  yet  know  little,  but  that  it 
exists.  But  one  branch  of  it  strikes  on  the  south  of  New 
Holland,  running  through  Bass's  Straits,  round  South  Cape; 
and  another  branch  runs  amongst  the  islands  of  the  Archipe- 
lago, on  tlie  north  of  New  Holland.  On  entering  the  Indian 
ocean,  and  meeting  the  south  polar  current,  it  runs  through 
the  gulf  of  Bengal,  round  cape  Comorin,  and  over  to  Africa, 
acquiring  great  velocity  in  its  passage.  From  the  straits 
of  Babelmandel,  it  keeps  always  a  south-west  direction,  till 
jt  doubles  the  Cape  of  Good  Hope,  when  it  turns  to  the 
north-west,  following  the  line  of  the  coast.  On  approaching 
the  equator  it  sets  nearl}'  west.  AVheu  in  the  latitude  of  three 
degrees  north  it  meets  with  another  current,  which  has  run 
southerly  along  the  west  coast  of  Africa,  with  which  it  unites, 
and  crosses  the  AtlantLc,  nearly  \V.  S.  W.  On  reaching  the 
Brazils,  it  diverges  at  cape  St.  Augustine  into  two  streams; 
one  going  S.  W.  parallel  with  the  coast  till  it  doubles  Cape 


Horn,  where  it  meets  the  south  polar  currents.  The  other 
part  of  this  great  Atlantic  stream  proceeds  in  a  northerly  di- 
rection through  the  gulf  of  Glandin,  along  the  shores  of  the 
United  States,  where  it  is  called  the  Gulf  Stream,  to  New- 
foundland; and  here  it  is  backed  by  the  north  polar  currents; 
takes  an  easterly  course  across  the  Atlantic,  coming  over  to  the 
coast  of  Norway  and  the  British  Isles,  and  t\irning  thence  ta 
the  south,  through  the  bay  of  Biscay,  and  along  the  coasts 
of  Spain  and  Africa,  meets  the  great  southern  current  in  the 
atitude  of  three  degrees  north.  The  breadth  of  the  African 
Ijranch  of  this  magnificent  ocean  river  is  supposed  to  be  from 
150  to  1000  miles.  At  the  Cape  of  Good  Hope  it  runs  at  the 
rate  of  about  two  miles  an  hour;  at  the  equator  three  and  a 
half;  and  in  the  Gulf  Stream  four  miles  an  hour. 

It  may  easily  be  supposed  what  changes  must  be  con- 
stantly taking  place  in  the  bed  of  the  ocean,  and  on  the  shores 
of  the  dry  land,  by  the  never-ceasing  action  of  these  currents, 
the  force  of  which  is  too  powerful  to  be  more  than  slightly 
alTeeted  by  the  action  of  the  tides  or  the  winds.  There  is, 
probably,  a  very  great  re-action  also  below  the  surface,  and 
at  greater  depths  than  our  very  limited  observations  can 
penetrate.* 

11  such  is  the  power  and  action  of  the  currents  and  the 
tides  in  the  earth,  as  it  now  is,  we  may  safely  conclude  that 
they  were  not  less  active  in  the  Antediluvian  seas,  the  beds 
of  which  we  now  inhabit;  having  it  thus  in  our  power  to' 
examine  the  various  strata  of  earthly  debris,  which,  in  the 
course  of  more  than  sixteen  centuries,  were  deposited  in  va- 
rious directions,  according  to  the  partial  changes  that  must 
be  constantly  taking  place  in  the  direction  of  the  currents,  as 
the  opposing  points  by  which  they  are  in  a  great  degree 
guided,  are  worn  away. 

Having  thus  found  one  agent  of  suflicient  power  to  remove 
vast  quantities  of  mineral  matter  from  the  land  into  the  ocean, 
and  another,  the  eflect  of  which  is,  gradually  to  arrange  this 
matter  in  strata  more  or  less  horizontal,  according  to  the  form 
or  slope  of  the  primitive  bed  on  which  they  are  deposited, 
we  can  have  little  difliculty  in  accounting  for  most  of  the  phe- 
nomena now  discovered  in  the  lower  secondary  formations  of 
our  earth.  For  the  upper  secondary  formations  and  alluvial 
soils,  we  shall  find  a  full  and  sufficient  cause  when  we  come 
to  the  consideration  of  the  INIosaic  deluge. 

^Ve  must  now  resume  the  consideration  of  the  primitive 
ocean  from  its  first  being  "  gathered  together"  until  the  :Mo- 
saic  deluge,  a  period  amounting  to  about  1(J5G  years;  and  which 
will  be  found  fully  sufficient  to  account  for  many  of  the 
geological  phenomena  exposed  to  our  view.  For  when  we 
api)ly  to  the  utmost  depths  of  secondary  formations,  the  scale 
on  which  we  are  now  considering  the  whole  earth;  and  also 
when  we  think  of  the  great  extent  of  decomposition  and  re- 
formation incessantly  proceeding  in  our  own  times,  we  shall 
feel  satisfied  that  the  indefinite  periods  assumed  by  the  chaotic 
philosophy,  are  infinitely  greater  than  the  existinsr  phenomena 
demand  ;j-  and  we  shall,  consequently,  have  a  more  confirmed 
confidence  in  the  truth  of  the  inspired  record. 


CHAPTER  V. 

General  Nature  of  the  Formations  on  Ihc  Earth. — Orii^'n  and 
Progress  of  Secondary  Formations. — Causes  if  .Stnitijicalion 
in  kecondurij  Hocks. — Such  Deposits  become  gradualli/  Mine- 
ralized.— Calcareous  Formations. — Salt  Deposits. — Proof  of 
G-ranitc  not  being  an  Aqueous  Deposit. — Secondary  Forma- 
tions now  in  Progress  in  the  Bed  if  I  lie  Ocean. 

The  active  researches  of  geologists  into  the  existing  phe- 
nomena on  the  surface  of  the  earth,  have  led  to  the  following 
conclusions  with  respect  to  mineral  bodies. 

"Primitive  Rocks 

"  Consist  only  of  crystalline  formations; 
Tlicv  contain' no  organic  remains; 

TIkv  arc  foiuid  beloiv  all  other  rocks ;  ... 

And'tlicy  rise  fiom  tlie  base,  through  all  oUicr  rocks, forming  tlie 
surnmlts  of  the  most  lofty  mouutauis. 


*  We  mav  look  for  much  interesting  and  useful  information  ro- 
•DLcthi"  tlie  c\irrcnts  of  tlie  ocean,  in  a  -work  luni  in  course  ol 
i.uljlicauon,  and  written  by  the  late  Slajor  Eeniiell.  It  is  imdcr- 
btood  to  apply,  more  particularly,  to  the  currents  of  Uic  AU.antic. 

%  See  page"55,  and  iiole,  page  C5. 


GEOLOGY  OF  SCRIPTURE. 


65 


'■  Tbassitiun  and  Floetz,  (or  Secondary  Rocks,) 
"Consist  partly  of  crjstiilline,  partly  of  mechanical  deposits; 
They  conl;iin  or^nie  r(;matns  of  sea  shells; 
And  arc  never  found  under  primitive  rocks. 

"  jVllitial  Deposits 

"  Consist  of  meclianical  deposits  ; 

Thev  result  from  the  ruin  of  rocks ; 

Tliev  conUiin  abundance  of  shells,  together  ■with  the  hones  of 

'((Uiidnipeds,"  and  of  the  human  race  ; 
"And  tliey  are  found  above  all  die  other  rocks.'" 

Thus  far  the  chaotic  and  the  Mosaic  geolo^es  coincide; 
the  facts  are  self-evident,  and  within  the  reach  of  every  one 
who  will  take  the  trouble  to  examine  them.  But  when  the 
causes  by  which  these  facts  have  been  produced,  come  under 
consideration,  the  two  geologies  separate;  the  one  following 
the  path  which  history  has  marked  out,  and  which  reason 
can  comprehend,  leading  at  every  step  towards  the  light  of 
truth;  the  other,  under  a  variety  of  leaders,  plunges  into  the 
dark  and  devious  mazes  of  hypothesis,  rejects  the  guidance 
of  history,  and  is  led  more  and  more  into  obscurity  and  error. 
There  is  no  possible  way  of  clearing  this  labyrinth  and  of 
gaining  the  desired  end,  but  by  retracing  our  steps  and  tak- 
ing advantage  of  the  clue  which  history  affords  us.  But  in 
doing  this,  we  must  keep  constantly  in  mind  the  difficulties 
from  which  we  have  escaped ;  and  the  impossibility  we  have 
experienced  of  tracin'r  primitive  effects  to  secondary  causes. 
Truth  and  reason  acknowledge  but  one  primitive  cause;  and 
that  is,  an  .itmighty,  though  to  us,  incomprehensible  Creator. 
Having  found  the  arguments  in  favour  of  secondary  causes, 
or  the  mere  laws  of  nature,  as  they  are  called,  totally  insuffi- 
cient to  account  satisfactorily  to  our  reason,  for  the  first 
formation  of  crystallized  mineral  bodies,  anymore  than  for 
the  first  formation  of  animal  or  vegetable  bodies,  we  come  to 
the  unavoidable  conclusion  that  they  were  all  the  creative 
work  of  an  Almighty  hand.  But  as  it  is  evident  that  this 
creation,  as  soon  as  completed,  was  submitted  to  certain  laws, 
by  some  of  which  a  constant  succession  of  decay  and  re-for- 
mation was  to  be  kept  up  in  the  mineral  world,  at  least  as 
far  as  regards  the  mere  surface  of  the  earth,  it  may  be  con 
sidered  (juito  within  the  scope  of  our  reason  to  examine  these 
laws,  and  to  account  for  these  secondary  effects  by  secondary 
causes. 

We  find,  then,  that  it  is  one  constant  law  of  the  Creator 
that  tlie  action  of  the  atmosphere  shall  decompose  or  break 
up  the  mineral  bodies  exposed  to  its  influence.  We  find 
another  called  the  law  oi gravity,  by  wliii:h  the  waters  of  the 
earth,  in  seeking  their  own  level,  are  hurried  from  the  highest 
mountains  to  the  sea;  carrying  along  with  them  abundance 
of  mineral  matter  in  the  shape  of  sand,  mud  and  gravel.  We 
find  a  third  law  by  which  the  waters  of  the  ocean  are  kept  in 
constant  agitation;  and  the  mineral  matter  imported  by  the 
rivers,  is  arranged  in  classes,  according  to  the  weight  and 
volume  of  its  parts,  and  distributed  over  the  sea  bed  in  va- 
rious directions,  and  in  various  quantities,  according  to  the 
nature  of  the  currents  which  remove  it.f 


These  three  laws,  which  have  been  in  constant  action  since 
the  first  creation  of  the  seas,  the  rivers,  and  the  atmosphere, 
which  events,  history  informs  us,  took  place  about  6000  years 
ago,  are  fully  sufficient  to  account  for  a  prodigious  accumula- 
tion of  decomposed  mineral  matter  in  the  bed  of  the  ocean.* 

Should  any  event,  then,  take  place  to  enable  us  to  examine 
that  bed  in  a  dry  stale,  we  could  feel  no  surjjrise  if  we  should 
discover  the  original  crystallized  surface  of  the  earth,  loaded 
with  various  accumulations,  resulting  evidently  from  such  de- 
composition of  rocks  as  the  atmosphere  every  where  occa- 
sions, as  the  rivers  every  where  become  charged  with,  and  as 
the  currents  of  the  ocean  must,  at  all  times,  be  depositing. 
As  it  is  one  part  of  the  laws  of  gravity,  that  deposits  in  fluids 
shall  fall  to  the  bottom,  in  the  same  horizontal  position  in 
which  these  fluids  themselves  are  retained  by  attraction,  wo 
should  expect  to  find  these  deposits  in  this  particular  posi- 
tion ;  unless  the  irregular  form  of  that  part  of  the  primitive 
earth  on  which  they  happened  to  be  laid,  occasioned  an  ir- 
regularity also  in  the  deposited  mass.  Should  any  very  con- 
siderable elevation  or  irregularity  have  existed  on  the  primi- 
tive surface  of  the  earth,  such  as  we  now  denominate  an  Al- 
pine height,  but  at  the  bottom  of  the  primitive  sea,  we  should 
expect  to  discover  the  various  horizontal  deposits  of  various 
changing  currents  laid  one  above  another,  towards  its  top.  If 
this  top  had  been  of  sufficient  elevation  to  be  above  the  sur- 
face of  the  waters  in  the  form  of  an  island,  we  should  not  look 
for  any  such  deposits  above  the  level  which  the  waters  had 
reached;  but,  on  the  contrary,  we  should  expect  to  find  the 
bare  primitive  rock  free  from  all  secondary  formation. f 

After  taking  this  general  view  of  the  bed  of  a  former  oc«an, 
supposing  it  to  be  within  our  power  to  do  so,  we  should 
naturally  enter  upon  a  more  minute  examination  of  the  vari- 
ous mineral  masses  of  which  these  deposits  were  formed.;}: 


*  Pliillips's  Geolog)'. 

t  This  law  of  aiTaiigemcnt,  vliich  is  foumled  on  ihe  law  of  gi-avitv, 
may  be  looked  upon  as  the  giTal  af;cnt  in  distinct  suatificalion.  Anil 
as  tills  law  could  not  be  in  force  williout  tlie  latinil  movement  kept 
up  by  tlie  currents  of  tlie  ocean,  we  cannot  look  for  its  ellects  in 
situations  wlierc  such  constant  action  and  re-aelion  of  currents  do 
not  exist.  Thus  we  never  can  expect  to  find  the  secondary  forma- 
tions of  fresh  water  lakes,  however  extensive,  in  the  same  sUatificd 
arrangement  as  in  the  bed  of  the  sea.  AMialever  sand,  mud,  gravel 
or  rock  is  lodged  in  a  lake  by  rivers,  must,  therefore,  remain 
exactly  in  the  same  irregular  mass  as  when  first  imported  and  ile- 
positeil ;  and,  accordingly,  we  never  find  tlie  shores  of  lakes,  or  the 
banks  of  rivers,  presenting  the  same  distinct  classification  as  is  al- 
ways found,  more  or  US'!,  on  the  sea  shores.  For  the  same  reason, 
we  may  be  assured  that  in  draining  marshes  or  lakes,  when  we  cut 
Uirough  distinct  strata  of  sand,  marl,  gravel,  or  fine  clav,  which 
arc  all  generally  found  in  strata  in  such  situations,  we  are  to  attri 
bute  such  deposits,  as  well  as  llieir  fossil  contents,  to  a  period  when 
tlie  action  of  the  sea  was  in  force ;  and  that  tlie  hollow  basin-like 
form  wluch  now  causes  a  marsh  or  a  lake,  must  have  been  at  least 
partially  coated  with  marine  strata  at  the  period  of  the  deluge.  AVe 
must,  however,  be  guided  by  circvmistances,  in  forming  a  judgment 
~  in  such  cases,  as  tliere  can  be  no  doubt  that  many  places  which  were 
formerly  slialiow  lakes  or  marshes,  are  now  nearly  dry,  froni  the 
growtli  of  peat,  or  tlie  accumulation  of  the  debris  of  land  sti*eams  ; 
and  we  must,  consequently,  judge  of  the  natiu'c  of  the  soils,  and  of 
the  period  of  the  fossil  deposits,  according  to  their  degi'ee  of  strati- 
fication, and  the  nature  of  the  embedding  soils. 

The  remains  of  deer  ami  other  animals  often  found  in  peat  mosses, 
must,  therefore,  be  considered  antediluvian,  or,  otherwise,  according 
Vol.  II.— I 


lo  the  siUiation  in  which  Oioy  occur,  and  accordinj^  to  the  presence 
or  absence  of  land  stieanis,  liy  the  a^ncv  of  witich  the  deposits 
might  have  been  made.  The  well  known  lossil  elks  of  Ireland,  and 
of  Uic  Isle  of  Man,  may  probably  be  rcpirded  as  Indy  antediluvian  ; 
lliouf^h  geologists  have  otten  considered  tliem  as  much  more  modern. 
*  In  a  late  publication  by  Mr,  Lyeli,  which  has  come  under  my 
notice  since  tlie  above  vas  written,  and  which  is  a  work  full  of  in- 
formation of  the  most  important  kind,  w'liU  regard  to  natui^l 
sccondai")' causes,  which  he  considers  sufficient  to  account  for  all 
the  appearances  on  lJ»e  surface  of  the  earth,  we  find  a  calculation 
with  respect  lo  Uie  quantity  of  mud  lodged  in  the  sea  by  tlie  (Janges, 
wliieh  appears,  as  it  is  well  calculated  to  do,  to  shake  to  its  founda- 
tion tlie  tJieorj'  of  tlic  author  ;  for  it  is  obvious,  tliat  it  proves  loo 
much  to  suit  his  idea  of  millions  of  years,  as  the  a^  of  the  world. 
After  stating  the  calculations  of  Hcnnell,  and  of  Major  Colebrookc, 
with  respect  to  llie  waters  of  the  Ganges,  which  arc  calculated  to 
contain  one  part,  in  four,  of  mud,  Mr.  Lyell  continues  :  *'  But,  al- 
tliough  we  can  readily  believe  the  proportion  of  sediment  in  the 
waters  of  the  Ganges  to  exceed  that  of  any  river  in  northern  lati- 
tudes, we  are  somewhat  sUiggered  by  the  results  lo  which  we  must 
arrive,  if  we  compare  the  proportion  of  mud,  as  given  by  Renticll, 
with  his  computation  of  the  quantity  of  water  discharged,  which 
latter  is  probably  Tcrj'  correct-  If  it  be  true  tliattlic  Ganges,  in  the 
flood-season,  contains  one  part,  in  four,  of  mud,  we  shall  then  be 
obliged  to  suppose  tliat  lliere  passes  down,  every  four  days,  a  quan- 
tity of  mud,  equal  in  volume  to  tlie  water  which  is  discharged  in 
the  course  of  twcnU-four  hours.  If  tlic  mud  be  assumed  to  be 
equal  to  one  half  tJic  sjiecific  gravity  of  granite,  (it  would,  however, 
be  more,)  tlic  weight  of  matter  f/aj/j/ carried  down  in  the  flood  sea- 
son, would  be  about  equal  to  "4  times  the  weiglitof  the  Great  Pji-a- 
raid  of  Kg}'pt.  Even  if  it  could  be  proved  that  tlie  turltid  waters  of 
the  Ganges  contain  one  part  in  a  humhed  of  mud,  whith  is  possi- 
ble, and  which  is  affirmed  to  be  the  case  in  regard  to  the  Khine,  we 
should  be  brought  to  the  extiaordinary  conclusion,  tliat  there  passes 
down,  ever)'  day,  into  the  Hay  of  Bengal,  a  mass  more  tlian  equal  in 
weight  and  bulk  to  llie  Great  Pyramid." — I'rincipks  of  Geology, 
vol.  i.  page  2S4. 

Let  llie  candour  of  this  very  able  author  calculate  this  effect  over 
the  whole  earth  for  2(XtO  years,  and  then  consider  it  as  having  acted 
for  one  or  two  millions  of  years;  and  let  him  say  which  result 
bears  the  most  just  proportion  to  the  secondary  formations  actually 
found  to  load  the  primitive  surface  of  tlie  eartli. 

t  "Of  the  nat\u-e  of  the  bed  of  the  ocean  we  know  but  Utile. 
The  portions  of  it  which  have  been  explored  by  soundings,  are 
found,  in  one  place,  to  contain  immense  colleclions  of  the  wreck  of 
testaceous  animals,  intermixed  with  sand  or  gravel  ;  and  in  another, 
to  consist  of  soft  alluvial  mud,  several  feet  in  depth.  Donati  found 
tlie  bottom  of  the  Adriatic  to  be  composed  of  a  compact  bed  of  shells, 
not  less  than  a  hundred  feet  in  tliickness. " — Ediii.  Urici/clop.  Physi' 
cal  Geog-raphy,  p.  518. 

It  was  likewise  discovered,  in  the  researches  of  Donati,  tliat,  at  a 
veiy  few  feet  below  the  sui-face  of  the  bed  of  the  Adriatic,  the  de- 
posits were  converted,  by  pressure,  and  by  tlie  actions  of  the  chemi- 
cal laws  of  nature,  into  solid  marble,  and  the  shells  completely 
petrified. 

\  '*  Various  marine  substances  are  to  be  foimd  almost  in  evei-y 
part  of  the  extensive  province  of  Chili,  and  even  on  the  lops  of  some 
of  its  lofty  mountajjis.    lu  the  main  ridge  of  the  Andes,  the  internal 


66 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


And  hore  we  should  soon  find  that  the  laws  by  which  the 
world  is  governed,  are  not  confined  to  those  three,  by  the  ac- 
tion of  which  these  deposits  have  been  formed.  We  should 
have  to  consult  the  voluminous  code  of  chemical  laws,  the 
foundations  of  which,  like  those  of  all  the  other  laws  of  God, 
are  beyond  our  comprehension  ;  but  in  the  nctlim  of  which, 
human  science  has  made  so  many  brilliant  discoveries.  We 
should  every  where  discoverefiects  produced  by  these  chemi- 
cal laws,  varyini;  according  to  the  situation,  and  the  nature  of 
the  materials  to  be  acted  upon.  Instead  of  finding  these  ma- 
terials, when  freed  from  the  waters  in  which  they  had  been 
deposited,  simply  in  the  state  of  dry  sand,  mud,  or  gravel, 
and  equally  loose  and  friable  as  they  must  have  been  at  the 
period  of  their  deposition,  we  should  find  them  cemented  to- 
gether in  the  most  solid  and  compact  manner.  All  the  inter- 
vening spaces  between  the  angles  of  the  grosser  particles, 
filled  up  with  a  stony  matter,  and  the  whole  assuming  the 
appearance  and  qualities  of  solid  rock.* 

Where  cavites  liad,  by  any  accident,  been  formed,  either  in 
the  first  deposition,  or,  as  would  be  more  probable,  in  the 
course  of  desiccation,  we  should  frequently  find  that  wonder- 
ful and  unaccountable  law  in  operation,  by  which  fluids  as- 
sume, in  drying,  a  crystalline  form.  As  the  primitive  ocean 
had,  by  the  command  of  tlie  Almightj',  produced,  "  abundant- 
ly the  moving  creature  that  hath  life;"  and  as  many  of  these 
creatures  were  destined  to  become  the  permanent  inhabitants 
of  the  deep,  we  should  feel  no  surprise,  in  every  where  discover- 
ing more  or  less  of  animal  remains,  mixed  up  with  the  mineral 
deposits  of  their  own  proper  element.  But  as  the  fish  of  the 
sea,  as  well  as  the  fowls  of  the  air,  and  the  beasts  of  the 
field,  are  guided  by  the  laws  of  instinct  for  their  self-preser- 
vation ;  and  as  instinctive  self-preservation  would  lead  them, 
when  alive,  to  keep  upon  \\\c  surface  of  these  gradually  form- 
ing deposites,  unless  when  overpowered  or  buried  by  any 
unusual  accumulation,  we  should  seldom  expect  to  find  more 
than  the  shelly  remains  of  the  crustaceous  animals. |  Even 
these  would  be  looked  for,  but  in  small  numbers,  in  the  first 


sti-ucture  consists  of  primitive  rocks  of  ^rftnite  and  quartz.  Tlic 
maritime  and  midlancl  mountains,  togctlicr  witli  the  lateral  cliainsof 
the  Andes,  arc  of  secondary  formation  ;  tlu'ir  strata,  which  arc  hori- 
zontiil,  and  of  unequal  thickness,  abound  witli  marine  pi-oductions, 
and  contain  the  impi-cssions  of  animal  bodies." — Jilolina^s  ^.Yatural 
and  Civil  History  of  C/tili. 

*  A\'c  are  sometimes  enabled  to  form  some  idea  of  the  operations 
in  the  great  laboratory  of  nature,  and  can  thus  trace,  in  some  re- 
markable instances,  the  action  of  this  petrifying  i)0wcr.  One  of  the 
most  remarkable  of  tliese  instances  is  <lescribe<l  by  Mr.  Moricr  as 
existing  in  Persia,  not  far  from  Maraglia.  A  minei*al  spring  issues 
from  tlie  earth  in  bubbles,  and  falls  into  a  basin  of  about  15  feet  in 
diameter.  On  flowing  o^■er  tlie  edgesof  this  basin,  the  water  spreads 
over  the  ground,  forming  numerous  ponds  and  plashes,  and  in  these 
it  becomes  hard,  and  produces  that  beautiful  transparent  stone,  com- 
monly called  Tabrecz  marble.  "The  process  of  petrifaction," 
says  Mr.  Morier,  '*  may  be  traced  fi-oin  its  first  beginning  to  its 
termination.  In  one  part,  the  water  is  clear;  in  a  second,  it  ap- 
pears thicker,  and  stagnant ;  in  a  third,  quite  black  ;  and,  in  the 
last  stage,  it  is  white,  like  hoar  frost.  The  petrified  ponds  look  like 
frozen  water  ;  a  stone  slightly  thrown  upon  them  breaks  the  crust, 
and  the  black  water  cvudes.  But  where  the  operation  is  complete, 
a  man  may  walk  upon  the  surface  without  wetting  his  shoes.  A 
section  of  the  stony  mass  appears  like  sheets  of  rough  paper,  in  ac- 
cumulated layers.  Such  is  the  constant  tendency  of  this  water  to 
become  stone,  that  the  bubbles  become  hard,  as  if,  by  a  stroke  of 
magic,  they  had  been  arrested,  and  metamorpliosed  into  marble. " 
Instances  nearlyas remarkable, are  seen  atthc  tallsof  Terni  in  Italy, 
at  the  famous  hot  springs  in  Iceland,  in  Derbyshire,  and  in  many 
otlier  places. 

"  I  saw,"  says  S,aussure,  "  on  the  sea  shore,  near  the  Pharo  de 
^Messina,  sands  which  were  loose  and  friable,  when  lodged  by  the 
waves  on  the  shore,  but  which,  by  means  of  tlie  calcareous  juice  in- 
filti'ated  into  them  by  the  sea,  gradually  becomes  so  hard,  as  to  be 
used  as  millstones.  This  process  takes  place  in  tlie  course  of  a  very 
few  years." — Comp.  Kstim.  vol.  ii.  p.  45. 

t  in  the  course  of  considerable  experience  in  the  search  of  fossil 
shells  in  various  secondary  formations,  I  have  been  led  to  the  con- 
clusion that  these  fossil  remains  must,  in  by  far  the  greater  number 
of  cases,  have  been  embedded  after  tlie  death  of  the  fish  that  in- 
habited Uiem.  The  chalk  formation  is  especially  remarkable  for 
the  perfect  state  of  preservation  in  which  it  renders  up  its  fossil 
treasures  ;  and  they  are  often  found  retaining  the  remains  of  their 
most  delicate  parts,  as  perfect  as  when  first  embedded.  In  the  case 
of  the  echini,  for  example,  many  of  which  are,  in  the  natural  state, 
covered  with  spines,  like  a  hedgehog,  I  have  found,  in  a  few  of  tlie 
most  perfect  fossil  specimens,  just  sufficient  indication  of  a  spine, 
to  convince  me  how  complete  tliey  would  have  been,  had  thev  been 
buried  in  a  living  state.  But  as  they  are  almost  always,  more  or 
less,  stripped  of  their  spines,  it  appears  certain  that  thev  must  have 
been  exposed  to  the  friction  of  the  waters,  in  an  empty  .state,  before 
they  were  covered  up.  The  fractui-ed  and  disordered  position  of 
fossils  in  general,  also  tend  to  the  same  opinion. 


marine  deposits;  and  they  would  afterwards  be  found  gradu- 
ally more  abundant,  as  the  bed  of  the  sea  became  more  load- 
ed with  the  remains  of  past  generations.*  Wo  could  have 
little  expectation  of  discovering  the  remains  o(  fish,  and  still 
less,  those  of  quadrupeds,  in  these  gradually  formed  sea  depos- 
ites; for  though  race  after  race,  of  the  finny  tribes,  must  have 
perished  from  the  very  first,  and  the  bodies  of  many  land  an- 
imals, and  even  of  human  beings,  must  have  been  conveyed 
to  the  ocean,  in  the  common  course  of  events,  before  the 
flood ;  yet  that  wonderful  law  of  God,  by  which  so  just  a 
balance  is  preserved  throughout  the  animal  creation,  would 
have  prevented  almost  a  possibility  of  the  remains  of  tho 
dead  being  covered  up,  or  preserved :  for  no  sooner  does  a 
fish  perish,  than  its  body  disappears  among  the  voracious 
tribes  of  the  deep  ;  and  those  of  terrestrial  animals  could 
rarely  meet  with  any  other  fr.te.| 

On  a  closer  inspection  of  some  of  the  finer  earthy  deposits, 
having  every  appearance  of  having  once  been  a  tenacious 
mud,  we  should  find  them  variously  loaded  with  these  crus- 
taceous remains.  We  should  also  find,  that  the  whole  mass 
had  become  impregnated  with  a  calcareuus  quatili/,  whicli  was 
not  to  be  found  in  any  of  the  formations  generally  considered 
primitive  ;  and  which,  therefore,  must  have  been  aciiuired 
by  some  of  those  chemical  laws  at  all  times  in  action  in  tho 
world.  We  should  find  some  difiicully  in  coming  to  any 
positive  conclusion  with  respect  to  the  original  cause  of  this 
calcareous  property;  more  especially,  when  we  discover  a 
similar  calcareous  principle  in  the  shells  and  bones  of  both 
terrestrial  and  marine  animals.:}: 

The  deposits  of  salt  which  we  might  discover,  would,  in  no 
way,  surprise  us,  having  had  connexion  with  waters  of  the 
same  brinj'  character.  But  the  question,  whether  the  saltness 
of  the  ocean  he  derived  frum  the  mineral,  or  the  mineral  he  a 
cheinical  deposit  from  the  rcater,  would  probably  lead  us  out  of 
the  plain  beaten  track  wc  had  determined  to  pursue,  and 
should,  therefore,  be  declined,  and  left  for  future  investiga- 
tion, as  not  in  any  way  affecting  the  general  question.? 

In  the  whole  of  this  general  review  of  the  secondary  for- 
mations, however,  we  sliould  be  deeply  impressed  with  this 
remarkable  fact,  that  in  all  these  various  formations,  in  which 
the  laws  of  chemistry  had  been  observed  to  have  acted  so 
powerfully,  and  in  some  of  which  even  crystallization  ap- 
peared, in  man)-  cases,  to  have  taken  place,  we  should  dis- 
cover no  trace  of  such  formations  as  wc  had  previously  re- 
marked in  primitive  rocks,  ichich  we  had  been  taught  to  believe 
were  originally  crystallized  in  an  aqueous  fluid  of  the  very  self 
same  character. 

We  should  no  where  find  granite,  or  any  other  primitive 
rocic,  amongst  the  secondary  chemical  deposits ;  and  we  should 
consider  this  fact  alone,  as  a  positive  confirmation  of  the  con- 
clusion we  had  before  come  to  by  a  diflferent  process,  viz.  that 
the  primitive  creations  never  could  have  arisen  in  an  aqueous 
fluid,  by  the  mere  laws  of  nature. 

It  is  scarcely  necessary  to  observe,  that  the  case  which  has 
been  here  put  hypothetically,  of  having  it  in  our  power  to 
make  this  actual  survey  of  the  bed  of  the  former  ocean,  has 
in  fact  occurred  ;  as  is  sufficient!)'  testified  by  the  numerous 
phenomena  presented  to  us,  over  nearly  Uie  whole  surface  of 
the  present  dr)'  land. 

But  in  order  to  form  a  more  defined  idea  of  the  mode  of 
secondary  formations,  let  us,  for  a  moment,  consider  the  ac- 
tion of  tliese  same  laws  by  which  we  have  supposed  them  to 
have  been  formed,  as  they  may,  at  any  time,  be  observed  go- 


•  See  page  61,  note. 

+  Fish  are  rarely  found  in  a  fossil  state  in  the  lower  secondary 
formations  ;  but  the  fact  occasionally  occurs,  as  might  be  expected, 
as  exceptions  to  what  may  be  called  a  general  rule.  They  arc, 
however,  found  in  great  abundance  in  diluvial  formations,  as  we 
shall  have  occasion  to  perceive,  in  considering  the  effects  of  the 
deluge. 

%  "The  component  parts  of  bones  are  chiefly  four;  namely, 
eartlni  salts,  fat,  gelatine,  and  cartilage.  The  earthy  salts  are 
four  in  number,  1st.  Phosphate  of  lime,  which  constitutes  by  far 
the  greater  part  of  the  « hole.  2d.  Cardonate  of  lime.  3d. 
Phosphate  of  magnesia.  4tli.  Sulphate  of  lime." — EJiiu  Encyclop. 
Chemistry,  p.  138. 

"Lime  has  been  known  from  the  remotest  ages.  It  abounds  in 
every  part  of  the  earth,  constituting  immense  ranges  of  rocks  and 
mountains.  It  may  be  obtained  by  burning  calcareous  spars,  and 
certain  marbles.  Oyster  shells,  when  burnt,  yield  it  nearly  pure." — 
Ibid.  p.  45. 

§  The  saline  principle  so  generally  found  in  all  animal  produc- 
tions, would  incline  us  to  refer  all  saltness  to  the  great  laboratory  of 
nature,  and  not  to  atu-ibute  it  solely  to  marine  origin.  AVith  regard 
to  salt,  as  a  solid  mineral  body,  I  sluill  hai-e  occasion  to  make  some 
remarks  uiion  it,  in  a  subsequent  chapter.     [Sec  chap.  8. ) 


GEOLOGY  OF  SCRIPTURE. 


C7 


ing  oa  under  our  eyes.  Let  us  statioo  ourselves  on  a  part  of 
the  sea  coast,  near  the  mouth  of  any  ^reat  river,  and  consider 
how  the  laws  of  nature  are  continually  acting.  We  must, 
however,  in  the  absence  of  extensive  primitive  coasts,  which 
are  now  scarcely  any  where  to  be  found,  content  ourselves 
with  illustrations  from  the  secondary  and  alluvial  formations 
with  which  our  present  shores  are  loaded  ;  so  that  the  second- 
ary deposits,  now  in  progress,  are  formed  from  secondary 
rocks,  instead  of  from  primitive,  as  the  antediluvian  deposits 
must  have  been. 

Let  us  station  ourselves,  for  instance,  on  that  point  of  our 
own  shores,  formed  by  the  Isle  of  Thanet,  where  we  have,  to 
the  south,  a  great  extent  of  chalky  coast,  and  to  tlie  north,  the 
mouth  of  our  noble  Thames.  And,  first,  let  us  observe  the 
action  of  the  atmosphere  on  the  chalky  cliffs  of  this  island. 
There  are  few  of  the  secondary  formations  more  easily  affect- 
ed than  the  chalk,  by  the  alternate  moisture  and  dryness  of 
our  climate :  and  this  is  materially  assisted  by  the  chemical 
action  of  the  salt  from  the  spray  of  the  sea.  In  the  spring 
of  the  year,  when  the  heat  of  the  sun  becomes  powerful,  and 
evaporates  the  abundant  moisture  imbibed  by  the  chalk  dur- 
ing the  winter,  the  whole  surface  of  the  cliff,  as  it  were,  ex- 
foliates ;  and  large  masses,  becoming  detached,  are  precipitat- 
ed on  the  sands  below,  in  a  crumbling  heap  of  ruin.  The 
very  first  succeeding  tide  that  flows,  begins  the  work  of  trans- 
portation ;  and  the  waters  retire,  on  the  ebb  tide,  loaded  with 
the  finest  particles  of  this  chalky  ruin.  But  though  this  in- 
satiable enemy  retires  white  with  its  booty,  and  sullies,  for  a 
considerable  distance,  the  purity  of  the  ocean,  yet,  on  every 
succeeding  flow,  it  again  advances  empty  handed  :  the  flow- 
ing waves  are  as  transparent  as  if  no  chalk  existed  on  the 


Now,  as  all  this  sand  is  a/«-i«ii7ire  cryslalline  furmaliim,  hav- 
ing no  mixture  of  calcareous  earths,  except,  perhaps,  particles 
of  broken  sea  shells,  in  small  quantity,  we  must  conclude, 
that  it  is  brought  from  other  parts,  by  the  currents,  and  that 
the  lighter  and  finer  muddy  deposits,  which  arc  not  found  so 
commonly  on  that  coast,  are  carried  off  and  deposited  in  some 
of  the  depths  of  tlie  ocean. 

Wherever  these  secondary  formations  may  be  in  the  act  of 
deposition,  we  could  feel  no  surprise,  if,  on  examining  them 
in  a  dry  and  hard  state,  we  should  discover,  embedded  in 
them,  the  shells  of  such  crustaceous  animals  as  may  in- 
habit these  depths ;  and  if  we  should  even  find  the  remains 
offish,  or  "  creeping  thing,"  with  which  we  were  unacquaint- 
ed, we  should  not  feel  justified  in  concluding  that  they  were 
not  the  inhabitants  of  onr  present  seas,  or  not  of  existing 
species,  because  our  research  had  not  yet  penetrated  their 
deep  abodes.  For  we  may  rest  assured,  that  however  minute- 
ly we  may  scan  the  dry  land,  and  its  various  productions, 
there  are  treasures  in  the  great  deep,  that  are  for  ever  placed 
far  beyond  the  eye  of  the  most  active  naturalist. 

But  let  us  now  turn  our  thoughts  towards  the  flowing 
Thames,  and  obsen'e  the  continual  operations  carried  on  by 
its  unwearied  waters.  We  shall  find  them  charged  with  a 
load  of  earthy  matter,  collected,  in  their  course,  from  llie  va- 
rious formations  through  »  hich  the  river  flows.  This  burden 
must  necessarily  be  of  the  most  indiscriminate  character; 
but  these  vanoas  bodies  are  to  be  deposited  in  an  element 
where  each  species  of  importation  is  most  exactly  sifted,  and 
every  thing  is  arranged  according  to  its  own  particular  class. 
The  muddy,  the  tundy,  or  \)\e  f-rarelly  bodies,  which  are  thus 
"n  constant  motion  downwards,  from  the  highest  sources  of 


whole  coast.     A  few  weeks  or  months  of  this  never-ceasing  i  the  river,  are  all  at  length  submitted  to  the  action  of  those 
action  gradually  diminishes  even  the  most  solid  portions  of  luws  of  nature,  which  regulate  the  deep.     We  cannot  sup- 


the  chalk;  and,  at  length,  the  sands  arc  as  pure  and  as  free 
from  earthy  matter,  as  if  no  fall  had  ever  taken  place.  Now, 
though  we  may  liken  this  gradual  disappearance  of  the  chalk 


pose  that  all  tliis  earthy  matter  remains  in  the  form  of  banks 
and  shoals,  near  the  immediate  mouth  of  the  river  itself;  for 
if  this  were  the  case,  that  mouth  must  long  since  have  been 


to  that  of  salt  or  sugar  immersed  in  water,  there  is  this  most  ^ completely  blocked  up.  But,  although  we  always  find  rivers 
material  difference  ;  that  in  the  one  case,  the  matter  is  actual-  closed,  more  or  less,  with  a  bar,  occasioned  by  (he  contend- 
ly  dissolved,  and  held  in  solution  as  long  as  the  moisture  i'"g  action  of  the  tide,  and  the  stream  ;  yet  we  do  not  per- 
continues;  but  in  the  other,  the  indissoluble  earthy  particles  feive   that  bar  materially  to  increase;  for  the  exact  balance 


of  the  chalk  are  carried  off  bodily  by  the  waves ;  and  are 
only  held  in  mispmsiim,  until,  by  theirown  weight,  they  sink 
to  the  bottom  of  the  sea,  and  are  added,  in  the  form  of  mud, 
to  beds  that  must  have  been  in  the  course  of  formation  ever 
since  that  great  revolution  which  placed  the  chalky  bottom  of 
the  antediluvian  sea  in  a  situation  to  be  thus  acted  upon  as 
the  high  coast  of  the  post<lilnvian  ocean.* 

It  is  not  so  easy  to  determine  in  what  part  of  the  bed  of 


is,  at  all  times,  kept  up  by  the  constant  removal  of  superflu- 
ous matter,  by  the  action  of  the  currents  of  the  neighbouring 
ocean.* 


.,  .1  •       L    11"  J  ■  i_   •        1        ■■      1     1         1         T   |Sand«iili   Mas  oiici:  a  s<,a  port,  tliuucli  it    is  now 

the  sea  this  chalky  mud  is  now  being  deposited  ;  but  there  is  f,om  the;  Lhorc.    At  Uial  period,  Ui.llc  of  Tlianct  -as  nally  au 


which  ihc  »rcck  of  many  n  tiill  ship  has  been  burieil,  «as  once  a 
cultivated  island,  and  part  of  the  property  of  l)ie  Earl  of  Godwin. 
The  ancient  lionian  custle  of  ]{icliljoroiigb,  atiout  a  mile  norili  of 

it    is  now  fullv  two  miles 


considerable  reason  to  su|)pose  that  it  is  not  in  the  immediate 
neighbourhood  of  the  present  shores  :  for  there,  the  currents 
seem  to  deposit  sand  in  such  immense  quantities,  as  to  render 
the  navigation  both  difficult  and  dangerous.  We  no  where 
hear  of  a  muddy  bottom  :  every  thing  is  either  sdud  or  solid 
chalk.  And  here  we  have  numerous  examples  of  the  changes 
that  are  gradually  effected  in  the  form  and  structure  of  the 
bed  of  the  ocean.  Every  old  pilot,  well  acquainted  with 
the  difficult  navigation  of  this  part  of  the  coast,  can  relate  in- 
stances, within  his  own  memory,  where  the  shifting  nature 
of  the  sand  banks  renders  the  most  watchful  attention  to  the 
landmarks,  and  buoys,  so  necessary.  The  form  and  extent 
of  the  fatal  Goodwin  sands  have  undergone  considerable 
changes  within  a  comparatively  short  period  of  time.  They 
now  extend  many  miles  in  length,  and  are  formed  of  so  pure 
a  sand,  that  scarcely  a  shell  is  to  be  found  upon  ihem,  and  no 
gravel  whatever.  The  ramifications  of  this  bank,  extending 
northward  towards  the  mouth  of  the  Thames,  are  all  formed 
of  ail  equally  pure  sand,  which  is  dry  and  hard  at  lowwater.f 


•  Tlierc  cannot  exist  a  doubt,  lliat,  llioiii;li  Kn^land  he  now  se- 
parated from  J'lance  by  a  distance  of  from  1!0  to  4<i  miles,  and  that 
disLance  be  now  occupied  by  tlie  sea,  the  whole  intervenini;  siiace 
and  a  peat  extent  of  liotli  countries,  form  one  continuous  secondary 
formation  of  elialk,  of  which  the  basins  of  Paris,  London  and  tlie 
Isle  of  Wi^Iit,  so  well  known  to  geologists,  form  a  part.  It  is  tlie 
opinion  of  some,  whose  ideas  in  jjeologi,'  are  quite  unfettered  liv 
hislor),  as  to  time,  lliat  llie  two  countries  were  once  nniteii,and  tliat 
the  separation  has  been  effected  by  gradual  decay,  from  tlic  action 
of  the  sea  upon  a  narrow  isthmus.  But  history  w  ill  not  liear  us  out 
in  this  idea;  for  we  know,  from  certain  landmarks,  which  existed 
many  centuries  ago,  such  as  the  Roman  part  of  Dover  Castle,  and 
other  ancient  buildings  on  the  coast,  tliat  the  decay  of  the  clifls, 
tliough  constant  and  gradual,  has  not  been  such,  in  the  last  2iXH)  years, 
as  to  «  an-ant  any  such  conclusion,  supposing  the  deluge  to  have  Uiken 
placis  as  we  have  reason  to  know  it  did,  about  4tHT(1  years  ago. 

t  It  is  traditionally  reported,  that  tliis  formidable  Siiud  bank,  in 


island,  being  separated  from  die  main  land  by  a  channel, at  one' end 
of  wliich  was  Kichborongh,  and  at  tlie  oUier  Ueculvers,  botli  Itomaii 
stations,  under  the  names  of  Kiliipiuni  and  Uigulbium.  In  tlie  lioni- 
ncy  Marsh,  on  llic  south  coast  of  Kent,  tliere  was  anoUier  Komaii 
port,  wliicli  is  now  several  miles  from  tlie  sliore. 

•  As  an  insUince  of  the  power  wiUi  whicli  rivers  act,  in  filling  up 
inland  lakes,  and  in  ailding  to  the  accumulations  in  the  bed  of  llic 
sea,  Uie  following  example  may  serve  to  give  an  idea. 

Tlie  river  Kander,  a  mountain  ton-ent  of  no  great  size,  rushes 
down  llic  valley  of  Kanderllial,  in  the  Canton  Bume,  in  Switzerland, 
and  enters  die  lake  of  Thoun,  aliout  four  miles  from  tiie  town  so 
called.  About  a  hundred  years  ago,  tliis  stieam  did  not  flow  into 
die  lake,  from  m  hich  its  course  was  cut  off  by  a  ridge  of  diluvial 
hills  of  several  hundred  feet  in  height,  stretching  along  the  south 
side  of  the  lake,  in  a  nordi-westerly  direction.  This  diluvial  ridge, 
exteniling  more  than  ten  miles  in  length,  is  entirely  composed  of 
rounded  gravel,  or  pudding  stone. 

In  consequence  of  llic  mischief  done  by  the  overflowing  of  tlie 
Kander,  to  a  great  extent  of  valuable  meadow  land,  in  its  course  to 
join  tlic  Arr,  ten  miles  below  Tlioun,  which  was  its  natural  course, 
a  spirited  plan  was  proposed  and  adopted,  for  cutting  a  subteixanc- 
ous  pass.'ige  for  tlie  riu-r,  through  llie  above  mentioned  ridge,  at  a 
place  Mlierc  it  approached  the  lake  wiUun  about  a  mile,  and  Uius 
admitting  it  into  its  bed.  This  passage  was  cut  in  the  beginning  of 
the  last  century  (about  471.^.)  The  descent  \\as  rapid,  from^llie 
lake  being  considerably  lower  than  Uie  olil  course  of  llie  river.  At 
this  period,  the  depth  of  tile  lake  was  in  proportion  to  the  steep  hills 
forming  its  shore.  The  Kander  had  not  long  followed  its  new  sub- 
terraneous course,  when  it  gi-cally  enlarged  the  aitificial  tunnel,  and 
liiuried  great  quantities  of  gravel  into  the  lake.  The  rapidity  of  the 
torrent  in  a  few  years  cnlai-ged  its  course,  till  at  lengUi  tlie  \\  bole  su- 
perstructure gave  way,  and  fell  in;  so  tliat  there  is  now  a  most  ro- 
mantic w  ild  glen,  where,  a  century  ago,  there  was  smooth  pasture 
and  wood  lands.  The  efiicts  of  the'torrent  soon  became  apparent  in 
the  lake  :  an  immense  quantity  of  gravel,  and  every  sjiccies  of  rock, 
was  carried  in  by  the  current,  'and  bidged  in  its  bed.  In  1  R'«J,  when 
I  lived  in  that  neighbourhooti,  the  beil  formed  of  this  debris,  was  of 
not  less  extent  than  300  acres;  the  greater  part  was  covered  with 
thick  wood  ;  and  this  secondary  formation  is  every  year  increasing 
in  the  same  proportion  ;  so  that,  as  the  lake  is  not  tliere  of  great 
breadth,  tliere   is   evci-y  prospect   of  a  rapid   and  most  material 


OS 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


It"  this,  then,  is  the  system  now  in  action,  on  a  small  por- 
tion of  our  own  shores,  to  what  an  extent  must  it  be  going 
on  aronnd  our  whole  island.  And  if  we  extend  our  view, 
and  consider  the  more  gigantic  scale  of  the  rivers  on  the  con- 
tinents, and  the  more  direct  inthieneo  of  the  great  currents  upon 
their  vast  importations,  we  shall  lind  a  cause  fully  sufficient 
for  the  formation  of  secondary  deposits  of  great  depth  and 
variety,  in  the  course  of  a  comparatively  short  space  of  time. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

'riif  Dchttxt- — TraiUlionri!  Evidence  nf  that  Evpnt. — Erroneous 
IJtas  cummonly  entertained  rcspectini^  it. — Distinctness  nf 
Scripture  on  the  Subject. — Evidence  from  Scripture. — Evi- 
dence from  the  Ancient,  though  .Jpocri/plutl,  Book  of  Enoch. — 
Theories  of  Philosophi/  on  the  Suliject. — The  most  probable 
Cause  of  that  Destructive  Event. 

In  the  former  part  of  this  work,  and  in  taking  a  general 
view  of  the  phenomena  presented  to  our  observation  on  the  sur- 
face of  our  earth,  a  confident  hope  was  held  out,  that  we 
should  be  able  fully  to  account  for  all  those  phenomena,  by 
considering,  with  a  candid  and  unprejudiced  judgment,  the 
three  great  events  recorded  in  history,  viz.  1st,  the  creation  of 
the  world ;  2J,  the  formation  of  a  bed  for  the  gathering  to- 
gether of  the  waters,  together  with  the  action  of  the  laws  of  na- 
ture  within  that  bed,  for  upwards  of  sixteen  centuries;  and  last- 
ly, the  deluge,  as  described  by  Moses  in  the  book  of  Genesis. 
We  have  already,  at  some  length,  considered  the  two  first  of 
these  greatcvents;  and  in  the  last  of  the  two,  we  have  found 
an  unquestionable  source  of  very  extensive  secondary  forma- 
tion, and  sufficient  to  account  for  a  large  proportion  of  all 
those,  actually  existing,  on  the  primitive  surface  of  the  earth. 
We  have  thus  satisfactorily  explained  the  formation  of  the 
transition  rocks  containing  few  or  no  fossil  remains ;  and  also 
accounted  for  the  early  sand  stone,  and  calcareous  formations, 
together  with  the  abundance  of  fossil  sea  shells  found  in  the 
latter. 

We  now,  therefore,  come  to  the  consideration  of  that  great 
event  by  which  so  complete  a  revolution  has  occurred  upon  the 
earth,  and  by  means  of  which  alone  we  are  now  enabled  to 
trace  out  a  part  of  the  operations  of  those  laws,  to  which  the 
world  has  been  submitted  by  its  Creator.  For  had  we  now 
been  jilaced  in  the  situation  of  the  antediluvian  world,  as  in- 
habitants of  a  primitive  surface,  we  could  have  had  none  of 
that  information  which  we  now  derive  from  the  inspection  of 
the  secondary  formations  on  which  we  dwell. 

"  According  to  the  most  approved  systems  of  chronology, 
this  remarkable  event  happened  in  the  year  1656,  after  the  ere 
ation,  or  about  2348  years  before  the  Christian  fera. — Of  so 
general  a  calamity,  from  which  only  a  single  family  of  all  then 
living  on  the  earth  was  preserved,  we  might  naturally  ex- 
pect to  find  some  memorials  in  the  traditionary  records  of  Pa- 
gan history,  as  well  as  in  the  sacred  volume.  Its  magnitude 
and  singularity  could  scarcely  fail  to  make  an  indelible  im- 


chixngc  taking;  place  in  its  form.  I  liave  sounded  tlie  lake  at  tlic 
present  moutli  of  tJie  Kander,  and,  as  I  found  no  bottom  ivitli  a  line 
of  about  a  hundi'cd  feet,  we  are  certain  tliat  this  mountain  stream 
has,  in  little  more  than  one  century,  produced  a  secondary  bed  of 
mixed  materials,  of  fully  tlu*ee  hundred  acres,  and  at  least  one 
lunidred  feet  in  depdi. 

One  circumstance,  hovevcr,  is  vcrOiy  of  remark,  with  respect 
to  such  secondary  formations  in  fresh  ^\'atcr  lakes  ;  and  tliat  is,  that 
in  consequence  of  tlie  absence  of  tides  and  currents,  and  that  con- 
stant lateral  movement  kept  \qi  in  tlie  Led  of  the  sea,  we  never  dis- 
cover in  them  tliat  sti-atified  regnlarit}-  so  remai-kablewitliin  the  ac- 
tion of  the  tide.  The  mixture  of  mineral  bodies  carried  into  an  in- 
land lake,  remains,  therefore,  exactly  as  deposited  at  the  first,  and 
this  must  always  be  in  great  confusion.  The  difference  of  effect, 
may,  periiaps,  be  safely  taken  as  a  guide,  in  judging  of  what  some 
geologists  have  called  salt  and  fresh  "water  formations;  and  if  tliis 
idea  be  correct,  we  have  an  additional  evidence  against  the  extraor- 
dinary theories  of  Cuvicr,  who  supposed  the  well  defined  strata  of  the 
^.„^I^u•is  basin  to  have  been  occasioned  by  the  alternate  occupation  of 
^fllit  basin  by  salt  and  fresh  water.  TJie  rounded  pebbles  and  sand, 
found  in  lakes,  are  never  formed  in  Ibc  lakes  tliemselves,  as  they 
are  in  the  bosom  of  tlie  sea,  but  are  carried  into  tliem  by  the  rivers 
nearly  in  the  sliape  in  which  we  find  tliem. 

It  may,  therefore,  be  safely  assumed,  tluit  the  regular  strati  of 
sand,  or  gravel,  or  of  fine  clay,  found  in  mosses,  aiid  shallow  lakes, 
if  quite  distinct  from  other  strat;>,  must  have  been  formed  at  iH? 
period  of  the  deluge,  under  the  influer.ce  and  by  the  agency  of  the 
action  of  Uie  sea. 


pression  on  the  minds  of  the  survivors,  whicdi  would  be  com- 
municated from  them  to  their  children,  and  would  not  be  ea- 
sily ell'aced  from  tlie  traditions  even  of  their  latest  posterity. 
A  deficiency  in  such  traces  of  this  awful  event,  though  it 
might  not  entirely  invalidate  our  belief  of  its  reality,  would 
certainly  tend  considerably  to  weaken  its  claim  to  credibility  ; 
it  being  scarcely  probable  that  the  knowledge  of  it  should  bo 
utterly  lost  to  the  rest  of  the  world,  and  confined  to  the  doc- 
uments of  the  Jewish  nation  alone. 

"  What  we  might  reasonably  expect,  has  accordingly  been 
actually  and  fully  realized.  The  evidence  which  has  been 
brought  from  almost  every  quarter  of  the  world,  to  bear  upon 
the  reality  of  this  event,  is  of  the  most  conclusive  and  irre- 
sistible kind  ;  and  every  investigation  which  has  been  mado 
concerning  heathen  rites  and  traditions,  has  constantly  added 
to  its  force,  no  less  than  to  its  extent." — Edin.  Ency.  Deluge. 

Without  entering  at  great  length  into  the  evidence  on  tlii^ 
subject,  which  has  been  brought  from  the  most  distant  heathei» 
lands,  it  may  perhaps  be  sufficient,  here,  to  stale  generally, 
that  allusion  is  made,  more  or  less  directly,  to  the  flood  of 
Noah,  and  to  Noah  himself,  under  various  names,  by  the  an- 
cient Greek,  Latin,  Egyptian,  Oriental,  and  Chinese  authors. 
Lucian,  a  Greek  author,  and  an  avowed  scoflcr  at  all  religions, 
gives  a  history  of  the  deluge,  and  of  Noah  under  the  name  of 
Deucalion,  so  minute  and  circumstantial,  that  it  must  certain- 
ly have  been  taken  from  the  ancient  tradition  of  the  same 
event  which  is  described  by  Moses.  The  accounts  of  the 
flood  of  Deucalion  of  the  ancient  heathens,  bear  so  strong  a 
resemblance  to  the  Mosaic  narrative  in  some  parts,  that  no 
one  can  doubt  their  being  founded  on  traditions  of  the  flood  of 
Noah.  Deucalion,  the  son  of  Prometheus,  reigned  over  part 
of  Thessaly.  The  impiety  in  the  world  had  irritated  .lupiter, 
who  resolved  to  destroy  mankind  ;  and  immediately  the  earth 
exhibited  a  boundless  scene  of  waters.  The  highest  moun- 
tains were  climbed  by  the  terrified  inhabitants  of  the  earth; 
but  these  seeming  places  of  security  were  soon  overtopped 
by  the  rising  waters,  and  no  hope  was  left  of  escape  from  the 
universal  calamity.  Prometheus  advised  his  son  to  maka 
himself  a  ship;  and  by  this  means  he  saved  himself  and  his  wife 
Pyrrha. — As  to  the  account  of  the  flood  given  by  Ovid,  it  ap- 
pears nearly  certain,  from  the  order  in  which  he  describes  the 
creation,  and  from  the  facts  connected  with  the  deluge,  as 
described  by  him,  that  he  was  acquainted  with  the  sacred 
volume.  The  Septuagint  translation  had,  at  that  period,  been 
known  for  more  than  two  centuries;  and  being  written  in  a  lan- 
guage with  which  all  well-educated  Romans  were  perfectly  con- 
versant, it  is  more  than  probable  that  the  ideas  of  the  heath- 
en poet  were  directly  derived  from  this  source. — The  accounts 
given  by- Plutarch,  Plato,  and  Diodorus  Siculus,  show 
that  the  Egyptians  believed  in  a  universal  deluge,  and  allude 
to  Noah  under  the  title  of  Osiris,  but  in  the  obscure  and  con- 
fused manner  to  be  expected  in  their  heathen  traditions. 

Sir  William  Jones,  in  his  valuable  researches  into  the 
works  and  traditions  of  the  Hindoos,  gives  us  the  substance 
of  their  accounts  of  the  deluge,  which,  though  also  full  of  the 
wild  superstitions  of  the  east,  bear  the  strongest  marks  of 
the  same  origin.  But  the  most  extraordinary  traditional  evi- 
dence of  this  event,  comes  from  quarters  where  it  could  be 
least  expected,  and  is  consequently  of  the  greater  value,  as  it 
could  not  have  been  handed  down  by  any  other  means  than 
oral  tradition,  from  one  generation  to  another.  Some  of  the 
inhabitants  of  Olaheite,  on  being  asked  by  one  of  our  cir- 
cumnavigators concerning  their  origin,  replied  that  their  su- 
preme  God,  having,  a  long  time  ago,  been  angry,  dragged 
the  earth  through  the  sea,  when  their  island  was  broken  ofl',  and 
preserved.  In  the  island  of  Cuba  they  relate,  that  an  old 
man,  knowing  that  the  deluge  was  approaching,  built  a  ship, 
and  went  into  it,  with  a  great  many  animals  ;  that  he  sent  out 
from  the  ship  a  croie;  which  did  not  immediately  come  back, 
stayinir  to  feed  on  the  carcasses  of  dead  animals,  but  afterwards 
returned  with  a  green  branch  in  his  beak.  From  Peru,  Bra- 
zil, and  Jlexico,  the  traditions  of  the  duluge  are  very  dis- 
tinctly marked  with  traces  of  the  original  from  whence  they 
must  all  have  come;  and  even  among  the  Iroquois  Indians  of 
America,  it  is  believed  that  a  great  lake  overflowed  its  banks, 
and  in  a  short  time  covered  the  whole  earth,  in  consequence 
of  the  dogs  of  one  of  their  spirits  being  lost  in  it,  while  hunting. 

It  hasVrequently  been  asked  by  these  who  are  incredulous 
on  many  points  of  scripture  history,  how  it  happened  in  an- 
cient times,  when  navigation  was  little  kno\vn,  that  the  most 
distant  islands,  in  the  midst  of  the  ocean,  and  the  entire  con- 
tinent of  America,  so  recently  discovered  by  Europeans,  be-  -| 
came  inhabited,  if  it  were  true  that  all  men  perished  except  one  * 
lamily,  who  were  landed  in   Asia.     It   is  difficult  to  reason 


GEOLOGY  OF  SCRIPTURE. 


C9 


witli  those  who  are  scoptical  on  scriptural  subjects,  because 
such  persons  are  too  often  unsettled  in  their  belief  of  the 
omnipotence  of  a  Creator.  To  such,  therefore,  it  were  almost 
useless  to  observe,  that  a  beinq;  who  could  cause  a  deluge, 
and  re-arrange  a  dry  land,  in  the  diversified,  adn  as  it  were,  <«:■ 
eidental  forms  we  now  find  it,  could,  in  ways  apparently  as 
aecidentul,  spread  abroad  the  human  beings  which  were  to 
people  it.  But  to  such  persons,  perhaps,  the  remarkable  fact 
of  the  universal  tradition  of  the  deluge,  from  which  only  a 
few  persons  were  saved,  is  more  convincing  than  the  most 
conclusive  abstract  reasoning :  and  the  more  especially  when 
these  traditions  are  found  to  exist  even  amongst  those  very 
isolated  nations,  the  descent  of  which,  from  Noah,  appeared 
so  problematical.  If  we  add  to  this  tradition,  the  strong  coin- 
cidence in  the  lanffuages  of  all  nations,  which  we  shall  have 
occasion  to  remark  upon  in  a  subsequent  chapter,  the  mind 
of  that  man  must  be  of  a  singular  character,  which  can  retain 
a  doubt  of  the  truth  of  the  inspired  history  on  the  subject  of 
the  deluge.  There  are,  however,  so  many  instances  which 
may  be  produced,  from  the  voyages  of  navigators,  of  sava- 
ges in  their  canoes  being  drifted  out  to  sea,  and  carried  by 
winds  or  currents  to  great  distances,  that  no  reasonable  ob- 
jection can  be  raised  to  the  spread  of  population,  even  in  this 
accidental  manner.  Mr.  Mariner,  and  Captain  Dillon,  in 
their  accounts  of  the  South  Sea  Islands,  furnish  us  with  ma- 
ny instances  of  such  accidents. 

"Wlion  we  thus  meet  with  some  traditions  of  a  deluge  in 
almost  every  country,  though  the  persons  saved  from  it  arc 
said,  in  those  various  accounts,  to  have  resided  in  districts 
wiilely  separated  from  each  other,  we  are  constrained  to  admit, 
that  so  general  a  concurrence  of  belief  could  never  have  ori- 
ginated merely  by  accident.  While  the  mind  is  in  this  situa- 
tion, scripture  comes  forward  ;  and  presenting  a  narrative  more 
simple,  better  concocted,  and  bearing  an  infinitely  greater  re- 
semblance to  authentic  history  than  any  of  these  mythological 
accounts,  which  occur  in  the  traditions  of  Paganism,  it  im- 
mediately flashes  a  conviction  on  the  mind,  that  this  must  be 
the  true  histori/  of  those  remarkable  facts,  which  otiier  nations 
have  handed  down  to  us  only  through  the  medium  of  alle- 
gory and  fable.  By  the  evidence  adduced  from  so  many 
quarters,  the  moral  certaliili/  of  the  Mosaic  history  of  the 
flood  appears  to  be  established  on  a  basis  sufficiently  firm  to 
hid  defiance  to  the  cavils  of  scepticism.  Let  the  ingenuity  of 
unbelief  first  account  satisfactorily  for  this  universal  agree- 
ment of  the  Pagan  world,  and  she  may  then,  with  a  greater 
degree  of  plausibility,  impeach  the  truth  of  the  Scripture 
narrative  ot  the  deluge." — Kdin.  Encychip.  Deluge, 

The  moral  certainly  we  thus  attain  of  the  Mosaic  deluge  it- 
self, may  be,  witli  equal  force,  extended  to  the  preservation 
of  Noah,  and  those  with  him  in  the  ark,  as  the  only  living 
beings  preserved  from  this,  otherwise  universal,  destruction; 
and  thus,  from  every  hand,  may  be  drawn  additional  eviden- 
ces to  confirm  our  confidence  in  the  unerring  truth  of  the 
inspired  writings. 

The  Mosaic  narrative  of  the  deluge  is  as  full  and  circum- 
stantial as  we  could  almost  desire  ;  but,  like  many  other  most 
interesting  points  in  Scripture,  its  very  simplicity  occasions 
our  not  giving  it  that  attention  which  it  so  well  merits ;  and 
there  is,  perhaps,  no  subject  on  which  the  general  ideas  of 
mankind  arc  so  erroneous. 

The  most  common  notion  entertained  of  this  catastrophe, 
is,  that  by  some  means,  incomprehensible  to  us,  the  sea  rose 
upon  the  dry  land  to  the  height  of  the  higiiest  mountains  ;  and 
after  destroying  every  living  thing,  excepting  those  whom  it 
pleased  God  to  spare,  the  waters  gradually  retired  to  their 
hidden  retreats,  leaving  the  same  dry  land  that  had  before 
been  inhabited,  though  variously  changed,  in  its  actual  sur- 
face, by  the  wreck  and  ruin  with  whiclMt  remained  charged. 

It  would  be  dillu-ult  to  say  from  what  source  this  errone- 
ous idea  of  the  deluge  has  first  arisen;  the  mode  by  which 
this  fatal  event  was  brought  about  by  the  councils  of  the  Al- 
mighty, has  not  indeed  been  given  us  by  the  inspired  historian  ; 
but  the  clearness  of  the  recital,  together  with  the  elTects, 
which  we  now  every  where  find  to  corroborate  it,  can  leave 
no  doubt  in  an  unprejudiced  mind,  that  the  above  mentioned 
common  opinion  is  altogether  false,  and  has  given  rise  to 
many  of  the  equally  false  doctrines  and  theories  of  the  cha- 
otic geology. 

In  the  Mosaic  record  we  are  told,  "And  God  said  unto 
Noah,  the  end  of  all  flesh  is  come  before  me;  for  the  earth  is 
filled  with  violence  through  them  (mankind),  and  behold,  I 
will  destroy  them,  together  with  the  earth."* 


'  Genesis,  vi.  13. 


irerc  we  have  it  distinctly  announced  by  the  voice  of  the 
Almiglity,  that  he  was  not  only  to  destroj'  mankind  from  off 
the  earth,  which  would  have  implied  the  earth  remaining  as 
at  first,  to  become  the  habitation  of  a  postdiluvian  race  :  but 
they  were  to  be  destroyed  togetheb  with  the  earth  on 
which  they  dwelt.  It  is  also  afterwards  declared  by  the  Al- 
mightj-,  in  establishing  a  covenant  with  mankind.  "Audi 
will  establish  my  covenant  with  you,  neither  shall  all  flesh 
be  cut  olfany  more  b}'  the  waters  of  a  flood  ;  neither  t^hall 
there  any  more  be  a  Jluoit to  DESTROY  the  earth."*  The  lat- 
ter part  of  this  sentence  would  have  been  altogether  unneces- 
sarj-,  were  we  not  given  to  understand  by  it,  that  the  earth,  or 
dry  land,  of  the  antediluvian  world,  had  then  been  destroyed, 
as  well  as  its  wicked  inhabitants. 

A  verj-  close  critical  inquiry  has  been  instituted  by  Mr. 
Granville  Penn,  into  the  various  translations  of  the  oriirinal 
text  on  this  part  of  Scripture;  and  he  proves,  beyond  dispute, 
that  the  original,  in  these  passages,  has  never  had  any  other 
interpretation,  or  translation,  than  that  adopted  in  our  English 
version ;  implying  the  destruction  of  the  earth,  as  well  as  "of 
all  flesh  that  moved  upon  it."  This  estimable  writer  has  not 
confined  his  Scriptural  inquiries  to  the  Mosaic  history  alone; 
but  has  most  ably  drawn  from  other  inspired  sources,  what 
were  the  received  opinions  respecting  the  deluge,  throughout 
the  whole  jicriod  of  Jewish  history,  down  to  the  times  of  the 
apostles,  lie  brinijs  forward  that  very  rcinarkable  passage, 
from  the  2(1  Kpistle  of  St.  Peter,  ."d  cha])ter,  6  and  7  verses, 
"  whereby  the  u-orld,  that  then  wajs,  bting  mcrjiowcd  with 
u-atcr,  perished;  but  the  heaven,  and  the  earth,  which  are 
NOW,  by  the  same  word  (of  God,)  arc  kept  in  store,  reserved  for 
fire,  against  the  day  of  judgment,  and  perdition  of  ungodly 
men. "I  Mr.  Penn  also  quotes  a  passage  from  the  Book  of 
Job,  in  which  the  friend  of  Job,  reasoning  with  him,  says, 
"  Hast  though  remarked  the  old  wa)- which  wicked  men  have 
trodden  ;  who  were  cut  down  out  of  time  ;  whose  foundation 
was  overflowed  with  ajlood;^'  which  passage  the  Greek  inter- 
preters render  yet  more  decidedly,  "  their  foundations  arc  be- 
come an  orcrjluwins:  flood,"  and  Michaclis  interprets  it,  .i 
flood  obliterated  their  foundations." 

In  the  very  curious  and  interesting  work,  called  the  hook 
of  Enoch,  referred  to  by  St.  Judc,  v.  11,  which  had  long 
been  looked  upon  as  lost,  but  which  was  at  length  discover- 
ed in  the  Ethiopic  language  by  Bruce,  in  Abyssinia,  who 
brought  home  three  manuscript  copies  of  it,  one  of  which 
was  presented  to  the  Uoyal  Library  at  Paris,  a  second,  to  tlio 
Bodleian  Library  at  Oxford,  and  the  third,  retained  by  him- 
self; we  find  a  very  remarkable  corroborative  testimony  to 
the  above  view  of  the  subject  of  the  deluge.  In  quoting,  from 
this  apocryphal  book,  it  is  not  necessary,  in  this  placet  to  en- 
ter into  the  question  of  its  actually  being,  what  its  title  pro- 
fesses it  to  be,  a  prophetic  work  of  the  antediluvian  Enoch. 
This  point  has  been  clearly  settled  by  Dr.  Laurence,  to  whom 
we  are  indebted  for  an  English  translation  of  the  cojiy  in  the 
Bodleian  Library.  But,  although,  in  the  opinion  of  the 
learned  translator,  this  original  licbrcw,  or  Chaldee  work, 
was  composed  subsequent  to  the  Babylonish  captivity,  it 
must  be  admitted  to  be  a  very  interesting  and  curious  piece  of 
antiquity,  though  not  worthy  of  a  place  among  the  canonical 
books  of  Scripture. 

The  passage  I  am  about  to  quote,  however,  will  serve  to 
show  the  prevailing  opinion  on  the  subject  of  the  deluge  in 


•  Genesis,  ix.  11. 

+  This  passagb,  from  the  inspired  apostle,  might,  perhaps,  be 
extended  "wiUi  mm-h  etlV-ct ;  for  lie  seems,  in  lhJs[>art  of  his  general 
epistle  to  tlu!  new  Cln-islian  clnirch,  proidietically  to  dcscriljo  some 
of  the  opinions  now  held  by  modern  philosopliy- 

"This  second  Epistle,  beloved,  1  now  wi-ite  unto  yoxi ;  in  bolli 
whiclt  (Kitislles)  I  stir  u[>  your  piu'c  minds  by  way  of  remembrance  : 

"  Tliat  ye  may  be  mindfnl  of  tJie  words  wliich  were  spoken  be- 
fore by  the  lioly  prophets,  and  of  the  commandment  of  us,  the 
apostles  of  die  Lord  and  Saviom- :  knowing  this  first,  that  there  shall 
come,  in  the  last  days,  scoffers,  walking  after  dieir  own  lusts  : 

"  And  saying,  where  is  the  promise  of  bis  coming  '  For  since 
the  fathers  fell  asleep,  all  things  continue  as  tbcy  were  from  tlie  be- 
ginning of  tlic  creation.  For  tliisllicy  willingly  are  ignorant  of,  tliat, 
by  tlie  \\  ord  of  God,  the  heavens  w  ere  of  old,  and  tlie  earlli  stand- 
"ng  out  of  the  waters,  and  in  tlie  waters  : 

"  A\'berL'by"(viz.  by  the  word  of  God,)"llic  wo7'Wlliat  thi.'n  was, 
being  overflowed  with  waters,  pcristiet/. 

"  lint  the  heavens,  and  tlie  earth,  which  noii>  are,  by  the  same 
word  (of  God)  are  kept  in  store,  reserved  unto  fire,  against  tlie  day 
of  indgment,  and  perdition  of  ungodlv  men, 

"  But,  beloved,  be  not  ignorant  of  ibis  one  thing,  that  one  day  is, 
widi  die  Lord,  as  a  tltousaud  years,  and  a  tliousand  years  as  one 
day." — Second  Epistle  of  Peter,  iii.  1,  &;c. 

This  short  passage  contains  lessons  in  philosophy,  as  well  as  in 
morality,  which  «  e  .should  do  «  ell  most  seriously  to  consider. 


70 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


the  times  of  the  author  of  it,  and  is  quite  consistent  with 
the  passage  in  St.  Peter's  Epistle,  and  with  the  above  passage 
in  the  book  of  Job. 

In  the  82d  chapter  of  the  book  of  Enoch,  and  the  5th 
verse,  we  iind  the  writer  prophetically  describing  the  destruc- 
tion of  the  "  earth,  that  then  was,"  in  tlie  following  manner  : 

"  And  falling  to  the  earth,  I  saw  likewise  Ike  earth  absorbed 
By  A  GREAT  ABYSS,  and  mountains  suspended  over  mountains, 
hills  were  sinking  upon  hills,  lofty  trees  were  gliding  oft'  from 
their  trunks,  and  were  in  tlie  act  of  being  projected,  and  of 

SINKING  INTO  THE  ABYSS. 

"  Being  alarmed  at  these  things,  my  voice  faltered.  I  cried 
and  said,  the  earth  is  destroyed  !  Then,  my  grandfather, 
Malalel,  raised  me  up,  and  said  to  me,  Why  dost  thou  thus 
cry  out,  ray  son  ?     And  wherefore  dost  thou  thus  lament^ 

"  I  related  to  him  the  whole  vision  which  I  had  seen.  He 
said  to  me,  coi\firmcd  is  that  ivhich  thuu  has  seen,  my  son  : 

"And  potent  the  vision  of  thy  dream  respecting  every  se- 
cret sin  of  the  earth.  Its  substance  shall  sink  into  the 
ABYSS,  and  a  great  destruction  take  place. 

"  Now,  my  son,  rise  up  ;  and  beseech  the  Lord  of  Glory, 
(for  thou  are  faithful,)  that  a  remnant  may  be  left  upon  the 
earth,  and  that  he  would  not  wholly  destroy  it.  My  son,  all 
this  calamity  upon  earth  comes  down  from  heaven,  upon 
earth  shall  there  be  a  great  destruction.''^ 

In  another  part  of  the  book,  purporting  to  be  jyouh's  vision 
of  the  deluge,  we  find  the  following,  to  the  same  effect :  "  On 
account  of  their  impiety  have  their  innumerable  judgments 
been  consummated  before  me.  Respecting  the  moons  have 
they  inquired,  and  they  have  known  that  the  earth  will 
PERISH,  tfith  those  who  dwell  upon  it,  and  that  to  these  there 
will  be  no  place  of  refuge  for  ever." — Chap.  Ixiv.  v.  9. 

These  passages,  from  such  authorities,  decidedly  show, 
that  the  destruction  of  "Mf  earth  that  then  was,"  formed  a 
part  of  the  effects  of  that  awful  judgment ;  and  the  phenomena 
presented  to  our  view  over  the  whole  "  earth  that  now  is," 
establish  the  truth  of  the  historical  record  in  a  manner  the 
most  conclusive.  We  have  thus  given  us  most  important 
data  on  which  to  form  a  judgment  of  the  mode  by  which  this 
great  event  was  brought  about ;  but,  as  the  mere  lavs  of 
nature  will  be  found  utterly  incompetent  to  it ;  and  as  the 
deluge  was  evidently  an  operation  as  Qom\>\ele\y  preternatu- 
ral, as  either  the  creation  itself,  or  the  gathering  together  of 
the  waters  of  the  ocean,  we  must  come  to  the  same  conclu- 
sion with  regard  to  it  which  we  have  already  done  with 
regard  to  these  events,  viz.  that  it  was  in  the  power  of  God 
alone  to  bring  it  about. 

Many  disputes  have  arisen,  and  theories  been  formed, 
among  philosophers,  respecting  the  mode  by  which  a  deluge 
might  have  been  brought  about  by  natural  causes;  but,  like 
the  theories  of  first  formations,  they  lead  the  mind,  at  every 
step,  into  obscurity  and  contradiction.  Some  have  supposed 
the  earth  to  be  hollow,  and  to  contain  water,  which,  issuing 
out  by  some  incomprehensible  means,  deluged  the  earth,  and 
again  retired  to  its  hidden  abode.  Others  have  supposed 
that  by  a  great  earthquake,  a  heaving  up  of  the  superincum- 
bent mass  of  one  portion  of  the  earth  might  have  raised  the 
waters  of  the  ocean,  so  as  to  furm  one  vast  wave  on  the  sur- 
face, which  swept  over  the  remaining  parts  of  the  earth.  In 
supporting  this  theorj'  it  is  truly  stated,  that  during  partial 
earthquakes,  an  agitation  of  the  sea,  somewhat  similar,  takes 
place,  the  effects  of  which  have  often  been  most  destructive 
in  low  countries.  But  this  theory  implies  one  sweeping  con- 
vulsion which  could  have  lasted  but  a  short  time,  and  been 
but  partial  in  its  effects  ;  whereas,  both  history,  supported  by 
the  traditions  of  the  most  obscure  nations,  and  physical  facts, 
tend  to  convince  us  that  the  deluge  must  have  lasted  some 
considerable  time,  and  been  universal  in  its  destructive  effects. 

As  to  the  theory  of  the  cavous  nature  of  the  globe,  in  order 
to  contain  water  for  the  purpose  of  one  particular  deluge  of  a 
few  months  duration,  we  have,  amongst  other  powerful  ob- 
jections, this  especial  one ;  that  such  an  arrangement  would 
be  in  contradiction  to  all  the  general  laws  of  the  Creator,  in 
the  study  of  which  we  perceive  an  economy  of  means,  if  I 
may  use  the  expression,  which  is  most  remarkable.  The 
means  employed  for  any  end  are  never  greater  than  are  abso- 
lutely necessary  to  attain  that  end  ;  and  thence  the  just  balance 
which  we  so  much  admire  throughout  the  creation.  When 
the  mandate  was  issued,  on  the  third  day  of  the  creation, 
"  Let  the  waters  be  gathered  together  unto  one  place,  and 
let  tlie  dry  land  appear,"  which  "gathering  together  of  the 
waters  God  called  sea,"  we  have  not  a  vestige  of  ground 
for  supposing  that  there  was  any  superabundance  in  the  primi- 
tive creation  of  icutcr,-  nor  that  any  portion  of  it  was,  as  it 


were,  locked  up  from  common  use,  and  reserved  for  one 
especial  occasion.  Besides  this  objection  of  tlie  reason,  we 
have  also  one  fact  ■•  for  when  we  come  to  measure  the  depths 
of  the  sea,  and  the  quantity  of  water  existing  on  our  wlioje 
planet,  by  the  great  and  only  true  scale  before  mentioned  ;* 
and  when  we  find  its  medium  depths,  all  over  the  earth,  not 
to  exceed,  comparatively,  a  thin  coat  of  varnish  on  a  common 
artificial  globe;  we  shall  at  once  perceive  how  utterly  un- 
necessary it  would  be  to  demand  so  great  a  quantity  of  water 
as  a  hollow  earth  would  contain,  for  the  sole  purpose  of  ef- 
fecting so  diminutive  an  end.f  No.  The  ends  of  the  Al- 
mighty are  brought  about  by  much  more  simple  means;  and 
when  we  are  informed  by  the  inspired  record,  that  not  oidy 
the  inhabitants  of  the  first  "  dry  land,"  but  also  that  "  dry 
land"  itself  was  to  be  destroyed,  we  can,  without  any  strain 
upon  our  reason,  and  in  perfect  accordance  with  surrounding 
ph)'sical  facts,  imagine  the  same  great  Being  by  whose  power 
the  waters  were  at  first  gathered  together,  issuing  his  second 
mandate  for  the  execution  of  this  terrible  decree,  and  saying, 
"  Let  the  level  of  the  dry  land  be  lowered,  and  let  the  founda- 
tions of  the  great  deep  be  broken  up :  and  it  was  so." 

But  if  we  insist  on  discovering  or  inventing  a  mode  by  which 
llie  Almighty  caused  this  destructive  interchange  of  sea  and 
land  to  take  place,  we  shall  find  ourselves  in  the  same  in(^x- 
tricable  difficulties  as  when  endeavouring  to  account  for  the 
mode  of  first  formations  by  secondary  causes.  We  must  make 
our  reason  bend  to  the  inscrutable  ways  of  the  Omnipotent, 
and  submit,  with  whatever  rebellious  reluctance,  to  the  great 
truth  every  where  impressed  upon  us,  that  "  the  ways  of  God 
are  not  as  our  ways,  nor  his  thoughts  as  our  thoughts."  All 
our  reasoning  must  end  in  this  point,  that  the  deluge,  like 
the  creation,  was  a  preternatural  event,  which  could  by  no 
means  be  brought  about  but  hy  preternatural  means ;  and  con- 
sequently, that  we  should  in  vain  search  for  a  cause  in  the 
mere  laws  of  nature. 


CHAPTER  VIL 

Mosaic  Account  of  the  Deluge. —  Tlie  Mouyitains  of  .Ararat. — 
Origin  of  that  remarkable  Name. — Effects  during  the  De- 
luge.— .iction  of  the  Tides  and  the  Currents  duririg  the  De- 
luge.—  Uheir  Effects  upon  Organic  Bodies. — Diluvial  Strata. 
— Matcment  of  the  Waters. — Renewal  of  the  Face  of  the 
Earth. 

Having  thus,  by  a  variety  of  evidence,  convinced  ourselves 
that  a  universal  deluge  took  place  upon  our  earth,  from  which 
but  one  family  of  human  beings  was  saved  by  the  mercy  of 
the  Almighty  ;:t  ^i"!  that,  in  this  deluge,  not  only  the  antedi- 
luvian race,  but  the  antediluvian  earth  or  dry  land  on  which 
they  dwelt,  was  destroyed,  we  can  be  at  no  great  distance 
from  the  truth,  if  we  suppose,  though  it  is  no  where  stated 
in  direct  terms,  that  the  deluge  was  effected  by  the  inter- 
change of  level  between  the  former  sea  and  land ;  or,  in  other 
words,  that  either  the  bed  of  the  former  sea  was  gradually 
elevated,  or  "  broken  tip ;"  or  that  the  first  land  was  gradually 
depressed  beneath  the  level  of  the  waters ;  or,  perhaps,  by  a 
combination  of  both  ;  in  either  of  which  cases,  the  effects 
would  be  exactly  such  as  are  described  in  the  Mosaic  record. 

Let  us  now  consider  this  record  itself. 

'•And  God  looked  upon  the  earth,  and  behold  it  was  cor- 
rupt; for  all  flesh  had  corrupted  his  way  upon  the  earth. 
And  God  said  unto  Noah,  The  end  of  all  flesh  is  come  before 
me  ;  for  the  earth  is  filled  with  violence  through  them  (men)  ; 
and  behold  I  will  destroy  them,  with  the  earth."  "Behold 
I,  even  I,  do  bring  a  flood  of  waters  upon  the  earth,  to  destroy 
all  flesh,  wherein  is  the  breath  of  life,  from  under  heaven ; 


*  Chupter  i,  paa^e  57,  note. 

+  Would  not  a  liollo«  glass  globe,  of  one  foot  in  diameter,  con- 
tain JnfinitL-!y  more  water  than  w  ould  be  necessarj'  slightly  to  moisten 
its  exterior  surface  ? 

\  The  preservation  of  one  family,  at  the  deluge,  may  be  looked 
upon  as  one  of  the  most  remarkable  instances  of  divine  wisdom  anil 
providence:  for  tliere  could  have  been  no  gi-eater  difficulty  to  tlie 
Almightj-  power,  in  forming,  in  this  instance,  an  entirely  new  crea- 
tion, than  in  doing  so  in  llie  beginning  of  tlie  world.  Unt  if  all 
mankind  had  perished,  a  new  i-ace  could  not  have  been  so  deeply 
impressed  with  tlie  terror  o{  this  great  event,  as  we  now  find  tlie 
most  distant  nations  arc  :  and  if  we  liad  only  historical  evidence  ot 
its  having  happened,  unsupported  by  tradition  and  facts,  the  recitid 
would  be  found  to  make  but  a  slight  impression  upon  our  minds. 


GEOLOGY  OF  SCRIPTURE. 


71 


and  every  thino'  that  is  in  the  earth  shall  die."  "And,  in 
the  six  hundredth  year  of  Xoah's  life,  in  the  second  month, 
the  seventeenth  day  of  the  month,  the  same  day  were  all  the 
fountains  of  the  great  deep  broken  up,  and  the  windows  of 
heaven  were  opened."  "  And  it  came  to  pass,  after  seven 
days,  that  the  waters  of  the  flood  were  upon  the  earth." 
"  And  the  same  day  were  all  the  fountains  of  the  great  deep 
broken  up,  and  the  windows  of  heaven  were  opened." 
"And  the  rain  was  upon  the  earth  forty  days  and  forty 
nights."  "And  the  waters  prevailed,  and  were  increased 
greatly  upon  the  earth,  and  the  ark  went  upon  the  face  of  the 
waters."  "  And  all  the  high  hills,  that  were  under  the  whole 
heaven,  were  covered."  "  Fifteen  cubits  upwards  (above 
the  highest  hills)  did  the  waters  prevail,  and  the  mountains 
were  covered."  "And  the  waters  prevailed  upon  the  earth 
an  hundred  and  fifty  days."  At  length,  '■  God  made  a  wind 
to  pass  over  the  earth ;  and  the  waters  assuaged.  The 
fountains  also  of  the  deep,  and  the  windows  of  heaven  were 
stopped,  and  the  rain  from  heaven  was  restrained.  And  the 
waters  returned  from  off  the  earth  continually;  and  after  the 
end  of  the  hundred  and  fifty  days  the  waters  were  abated. 
And  the  ark  rested  in  the  seventh  month,  on  the  seventeenth 
day  of  the  month,  upon  the  mountains  of  Ararat.  And  the 
waters  decreased  continually  until  the  tenth  month :  in  the 
tenth  month,  on  the  first  day  of  the  month,  were  the  tops  of 
the  mountains  seen.  And  it  came  to  pass  at  the  end  of  forty 
days,  that  Noah  opened  the  window  of  the  ark,  which  he  had 
made.  And  he  sent  forth  a  raven,  which  went  forth,  to  and 
fro,  until  the  waters  were  dried  up  from  off  the  earth.  Also 
he  sent  forth  a  dove  from  him,  to  see  if  the  waters  were 
abated  from  off  the  face  of  the  ground.  But  the  dove  found 
no  rest  for  the  sole  of  her  foot,  and  she  returned  unto  him  into 
the  ark ;  for  the  waters  were  on  the  face  of  the  whole  earth  : 
then  he  put  forth  his  hand,  and  took  her,  and  pulled  her  in 
unto  him,  into  the  ark.  And  he  stayed  yet  other  seven  days, 
and  again  he  sent  forth  the  dove  out  of  the  ark  ;  and  the  dove 
came  in  to  him  in  the  evening;  and,  lo,  in  her  mouth  was  an 
olive  leaf  plucked  off:  so  Noah  knew  that  the  waters  were 
abated  from  off  the  earth ;  and  he  staid  yet  other  seven  days, 
and  sent  forth  the  dove,  which  returned  not  again  unto  him 
anymore."  "And  Noah  removed  the  covering  of  the  ark, 
and  looked,  and  behold  the  face  of  the  ground  was  dry.  And 
in  the  second  month,  on  the  seven  and  twentieth  day  of  the 
month,  was  the  earth  dried."* 

Thus  the  whole  duration  of  this  dreadful  event  was  one 
year  and  ten  days ;  or  from  the  seventeenth  day  of  the  second 
month  of  one  year,  imtil  the  twenty-seventh  day  of  the  second 
month  of  the  next  year. 

Now,  in  the  whole  of  this  narrative,  wc  find  no  one  cir- 
cumstance to  lead  us  to  a  supposition,  that  the  .same  carlh,  or 
dry  land,  existed  after  the  flood,  as  had  been  inhabited  pre- 
vious to  that  event;  or  to  contradict  the  united  evidence  of  the 
declaration  of  the  intention  of  God  to  destroy  the  earth,  and  of 
the  physical  facts  with  which  we  are  now  surrounded,  on 
every  part  of  the  present  dry  land.  An  erroneous  idea  is, 
however,  very  general  with  respect  to  "Mc  mountains  of  .Ira- 
rat,''''  which  are  commonly  considered  as  havinnr  been  moun- 
tains on  the  old  earth,  and  known  to  Noah,  fhere  can  be 
no  one  reason  given  from  the  niirrativc  for  this  opinion,  and 
there  are  many  of  the  most  decided  character  to  lead  us  to 
an  opposite  conclusion. |     The  inspired  historian  is  describ- 


•  "According  to  the  account  given  by  Moses,  the  ark  was  500 
cubits  long,  50  broad  and  30  high;  but  the  length  of  Ibis  cubit  has 
ijivcn  i-ise  to  much  argument  and  conjecture.  Some  have  supposed 
It  to  be  nine  feet,  and  others  tliree  ;  but  the  opinions  most  worthy  of 
notice  are,  1st,  That  of  Bishop  Cumberland,  vho  considered  the 
Hebrew  cubit  as  about  2*2  inches,  which  woidd  make  the  ark  550 
feet  long,  91  broad  and  55  high.  2d,  That  of  the  liarncd  Park- 
hurst,  who  computes  the  cubit  at  sometliing  less  that  18  inches, 
which  makes  the  ark  450  feet  long,  75  broad  and  45  high.  Even 
upon  the  smallest  estimate  of  this  cubic  measure,  the  competency  of 
the  ark,  for  tlie  purpose  assigned  to  it,  has  been  satisfactorily  proved 
by  different  writers  ;  but,  especially,  by  the  ingenious  Bishop  "NVil- 
kins,  who  has  established  the  point  with  a  clearness  and  exactness 
almost  amounting  to  demonstration,  and  rather  found  too  much  than 
too  little  room.  Thus  does  this  seeming  difficulty,  like  many  others 
connected  with  scripture  history,  the  more  closely  it  is  investigated, 
furnish  an  evidence,  instead  of  an  objection,  to  the  ti'uth  of  revealed 
religion." — Kilin.  Encycfop.  Ark. 

+  Jerom  places  Mount  Ararat  tow  ards  the  middle  of  Armenia,  near 
the  river  Araxes,  or  Aras,  about  280  miles  north-east  of  Al  .ludi,  and 
12  leagues  south-east  of  Erivan.  It  is  detached  from  the  other 
mountains  in  its  neighbourhood,  and  stands  in  the  midst  of  a  very 
extensive  plain.  It  is  in  the  form  of  a  sugar-loaf,  and  has  two  dis- 
tinct stimmits,  the  largest  of  which  is  perpetually  covered  with  snow, 
and  may  he  seen  at  a  great  distance.     It  is  not  a  little  singular,  that 


ing  to  the  Jewish  nation,  many  years  after  the  event,  and 
when  the  continent  of  Asia  had  become  perfectly  well  kriown, 
and  thickly  peopled,  the  circumstances  of  the  destruction  of 
the  former  world  by  means  of  the  flood ;  and  he  relates,  that 
on  the  subsiding  of  the  waters,  the  ark,  with  its  inhabitants, 
oTounded  on  one  of  the  points  of  a  ridge  of  mountains,  which 
was,  from  henceforth,  to  be  remarkable  amongst  the  inhabit- 
ants of  the  east,  and  to  which  those  saved  from  the  deluge 
gave  the  expressive  name  of  .Irarut,  or  the  cukse  of  tremb- 
ling .(which  is  the  meaning  of  the  Hebrew  word),  that  the 
memory  of  the  dreadful  event  from  which  they  had  just 
escaped  might  be  handed  down  as  long  as  the  mountain  was 
in  being,  on  which  they  had  been  saved.  We  may  also  come 
to  the  same  conclusion  when  we  consider  the  improbability 
of  the  ark  floating  quietly  for  nearly  a  year  on  the  surface  of 
an  ocean  as  much  effected  by  winds  and  tides  as  our  present 
seas,  being  stranded  in  the  immediate  neighbourhood  of  the 
place  whence  it  is  generally,  but  erroneously,  supposed  to 
have  been  first  borne  up  by  the  waters  :  and,  also,  the  equally 
improbable  circumstance  of  any  mountain  of  the  old  world 
bearing  such  a  title  as  the  curse  of  trembling,  previous  to  any 
■event  likely  to  call  forth  so  remarkable  a  name.  We  must 
not  forget,  besides,  that  even  those  who  support  the  idea  of 
our  now  inhabiting  the  antediluvian  earth,  admit  that  the 
effects  of  the  deluge  were  such  as  would  probably  prevent 
the  recognition  by  those  in  the  ark,  of  any  part  of  the  former 
countries  they  had  known,  as  the  surface  must  have  been 
every  where  loaded  with  diluvial  soils  of  very  great  depth. 

All  these  reasons,  taken  collectively,  and  siiiiporiing  the 
positive  sentence  of  destruction  passed  upon  "  the  earth  that 
then  was,"  leave  no  room  to  doubt  as  to  the  mode  by  which 
this  sentence  was  put  in  execution.  ^^  e  may,  therefore, 
conclude,  that  when  the  time  was  come,  when  this  great 
revolution  was  to  happen,  the  drj-  land  began  gradually 
and  insensibly  to  sink,  or  the  surface  of  the  bed  of  the 
former  ocean  as  gradually  to  rise ;  the  whole  accomjianicd 
with  such  a  convulsion  of  the  elements,  such  torrents  of 
rain,  and,  probably,  such  peals  of  thunder,  as  would  he  cal- 
culated not  only  to  make  a  lasting  impression  upon  the 
minds  of  those  who  escaped  ;  but  to  render  the  punishment 
of  those  who  suffered  from  this  Curse  nf  Trembling  the  most 
awful  and  heart-rending  that  the  mind  of  man  can  conceive  !* 
The  living  creatures  upon  the  earth,  of  every  kind,  must 
then  have  been  gradually  swept  from  the  elevations  on  which 
they  would  naturally  seek  salety :  and  at  the  end  of  forty 
days  the  whole  globe  became  again  overspread  with  the 
same  thin  coat  of  water,  from  the  effects  of  which  it  was 
'■'■  incisibW'  on  tlie  first  and  second  days  of  the  creation. 

"  .lamquc  mare  ct  tellus  nullum  discrimen  habebat  ; 
Omnia  poiitus  crtint ;  deer.mt  quo^ue  littora  ponto." 

For  150  days,  or  for  about  five  months,  this   universal 

the  description  of  Mount  Parnassus,  by  Ovid,  should  bear  so  close 
a  resemblance  to  this  account  of  Ararat : 

"  Mens  ibi  verticihus  petit  arduus  astra  duobus 
Nomine  Parnassus,  superatquc  cacuminc  nubes." 

The  surface  of  the  lower  part  is  composed  of  loose  sand,  or  large 
masses  of  free  stone.  Xodiing  is  to  be  seen  growing  upon  it  but 
some  juniper  and  goat's  tliorn.  The  whole  mountain  is  described 
bv  travellers  as  having  a  gloomy  and  disagree."ible  aspecL^7'imr7jfi- 
forl,  Tafertu'er,  &c. 

•  AVe  may  apply  to  this  subject  the  sublime  expressions  of  the  In- 
spired Psalmist,  w  hen  alluding  to  the  miraculous  preservation  of 
the  children  of  Israel,  pursued  by  the  Egv-])tians  ;  and  it  is  even 
probable,  that  he  had  also  in  view' the  very  event  we  are  now  con- 
templating. 

"  The  waters  saw  thee,  O  God,  the  waters  saw  thee  ;  they  were 
afraid  :  the  depllis  also  were  troubled.  The  clouds  poured  out 
water  :  the  skies  sent  out  a  sound  :  thine  arrows  also  went  abroad. 
The  voice  of  thy  thunder  was  in  heaven  :  tlie  lightenings  lightened 
the  w orld  ;  the  earth  trembled  and  shook.  Thy  nay  is  in  the  sea, 
anil  thy  path  in  the  great  waters,  and  thy  footsteps  are  uot  known." 
— Psalm  Ixxvii. 

In  the  104tli  Psalm,  we  find  what  may  be  considered  a  more  di- 
rect allusion  to  the  creation,  and  to  the  period  of  tlie  Deluge,  in 
the  follow  ing  sublime  passage. 

""Who  laid  the  foundations  of  the  earth,  that  it  should  not  be 
removed  for  ever. 

"  Thou  coveredstit  with  the  deep,  as  w  ith  a  garment :  Uie  waters 
stood  above  the  mountains. 

"  At  Thy  rebuke  they  fled  ;  at  the  voice  of  Thy  thunders  tliey 
hasted  away. 

"  They  go  up  by  the  mountains  ;  they  go  down  by  the  valleys 
unto  the  place  which  Tliou  hast  founded  for  tliera. 

"Thou  hast  set  a  bound  that  they  may  not  pass  over;  that  tliey 
tutm  not  AC.Aty  to  cover  the  earth. *^ 


^      * 


72 


CHRISTIAN   LIBRARY. 


aqueous  covcriiiir  remained  nearly  stationary  ;  and  it  is  from 
tills  loujr  continuance  of  the  waters  upon  the  earth,  that  we 
can  account,  in  a  satisfactory  manner,  for  many  of  the  strati- 
fied appearances  in  the  upper  bcrh,  which  we  had  before 
rcniarked  in  the  tower  secondary  formations.  ^^  e  feel 
(|uite  assured,  that  though,  by  tins  rrrrat  revolution,  the  lace 
of  all  things  upon  the  earth's  surface  was  to  become  changed, 
yet  the  planet  still  retained  its  regular  position  and  place  in 
"the  solar  system,  and  must,  consec|uently,  have  continued  to 
be  alfected,  as  it  was  at  other  times,  by  the  influences  o^'  the 
sun  and  of  the  moon.  The  action  of  the  tides  and  of  the 
currents,  which  we  have  before  considered,  must  now  have 
Irad  a  most  powerful  influence  both  during  the  rise,  the  cun- 
linuimce,  and  the  abalcmeni  of  the  waters.  The  surface  of 
the  all-prevailing  ocean  must  now  have  been  covered  with 
the  wreck  and  ruin  of  the  animal  and  vegetable  world,  floated 
olT  in  various  directions,  according  to  the  currents,  and  the 
eddies,  which  must  have  every  wliere  prevailed.  The  soils 
of  the  old  earth,  loosened  by  the  moisture,  must  now  have 
become  suspended  in  the  turbid  waters,  and  been  deposited 
in  the  bed  of  the  ocean  as  at  other  times,  only  in  unusual 
quantity.*  Dead  bodies  of  every  description,  swelled  up  by 
corriip/iiiii,  must  now  have  followed  the  courses  of  the  cur- 
rents, and  floated  or  sunk,  according  to  the  state  they  hap- 
jiened  to  be  in.  Those  of  the  larger  animals  more  especially- 
would  long  continue  flouling  on  the  waves,  like  strong  blad- 
ders filled  with  mephetic  vapours,  and  be  hurried  far  from 
their  natural  climates,  to  excite  the  wonder  and  speculation 
of  succeeding  generations. 

At  length  the  waters  are  permitted  to  subside ;  the  full 
purpose  of  the  Almighty  has  been  accomplished.  The  earth 
and  its  inhabitants  have  been  destroyed  ;  and  the  waters  are 
again  to  be  "gathered  unto  one  place,"  to  "  let  the  dry  land" 
once  more  "appear."  What  a  scene  now  presents  itself  to 
the  mind's  eye  !  for  no  human  eye  could  look  upon  it;  even 
Noah  himself  could  form  no  distinct  idea  of  the  state  of  the 
new  earth,  but  by  sending  out  f-ne  of  his  feathered  family, 
who  he  knew  would  return  to  him,  if  "she  found  no  rest  for 
the  sole  of  her  foot."  Week  after  week  passed  with  those 
occasional  experiments,  long  after  the  ark  had  been  finally 
lodged  upon  the  heights  of  Ararat.  It  is  now  left  to  our 
imagination  to  conceive  effects  which,  though  not  described, 
must  have  naturally  followed  such  powerful  causes.  As  the 
waters  gradually  subsided  into  their  new  bed,  the  dry  land, 
Avhich  was  now  to  come  for  the  first  time  into  the  light  of 
day,  must  have  presented  a  most  singular  appearance.  ^Ve 
must  keep  in  mind,  that  as  the  bed  of  the  first  ocean  had 
become  charged  with  the  stratified  debris  of  upwards  of 
sixteen  centuries,  deposited  upon  it  by  the  laws  of  gravita- 
tion and  of  the  currents,  the  surface  of  this  bed,  when  raised 
above  the  new  level  of  the  waters,  must  have  been  soft,  and 
still  saturated  with  the  moisture  of  the  slowly  retiring  seas. 
As  tlie  waters  became  more  and  more  shallow,  they  would 
act  with  the  more  violent  elfect  upon  the  soft  and  muddy 
plains  over  which  the  tides,  the  currents,  and  the  u-inds,  must 
now  have  swept  with  irresistible  force.  As  point  after  point 
upon  the  new  and  soft  earth  became  liberated  from  their 
sway,  the  various  floating  bodies,  whether  animal  or  vege- 
table, would  be  scattered  on  the  surface,  or  deeply  embedded 
in  the  yielding  mud  or  sand  by  the  violence  of  the  waves. 
Other  mixed  masses  of  organic  remains,  brought  into  one 
place  in  an  indiscriminate  heap,  by  the  eddies  of  the  waters, 
would  now  he  covered  up  by  these  new  secondary  formations, 
of  mud,  or  gravel,  w  hich  formations  would  be  of  very  con- 
siderable depth,  from  the  enormous  quantities  of  materials 
thus  furnished  in  a  preternatural  way.  It  is  also  highly 
probable  that  many  submarine  volcanic  districts  would  now 
become  exposed,  and  also  that  even  volcanic  action  was  not 
wanting  to  complete  the  terrors  of  this  curse  of  trembling. 
In  whatever  manner  the  Almighty  thought  fit  to  bring  about 
this  elevation  of  the  bed  of  the  antediluvian  sea,  it  is  to  be 
supposed  that  the  "  breaking  up"  of  the  fountains,  or  foun- 
dations, of  the  great  deep  must  have  occasioned  that  elevation 


and  deranginient  in  the  horizontal  stratifications  of  some  of 
the  secondary  formations  which  we  have  hitherto  speculated 
upon  in  dvirkness,  and  in  error:  and  that  we  should  conse- 
cpieiitly  find  them,  when  fully  exposed  to  our  view,  in  a 
/iif;/ili/  inclined,    and   sometimes  even     in    a  vertical    posi- 


tion.^ 

Let  us  imagine  to  ourselves  the  whole  vegetable  kingdom 
of  the  earth  deposited  at  various  depths,f  and  more  or  less 
covered  up  by  the  sandy  or  other  sediments  of  the  deluge. 
We  look  in  vain  to  the  most  terrific  catastrophes  of  our  own 
times,  to  give  us  a  faint  idea  of  the  scene  which  the  earth 
must  now  have  presented.  Those  who  have  witnessed  the 
raging  of  a  hurricane  on  the  ocean,  many  leagues  distant 
from  any  land,  can  perhaps  best  form  a  conception  of  this 
watery  waste,  unsheltered  by  any  shore. 

Tlie  tossing  of  a  tall  ship,  at  the  mercy  of  a  raging  sea, 
may  best  represent  the  manner  in  which  the  floating  masses 
must  have  been  precipitated  on  the  yielding  shoals.  For 
"  they  that  go  down  to  the  sea  in  ships,  and  do  business  in 
the  great  waters ;  these  see  the  works  of  the  Lord,  and 
his  wonders  in  the  deep." 

At  length  it  was  permitted  to  the  elements,  by  the  Great 
Ruler  of  the  storm,  to  resume  their  wonted  order  and  regu- 
larity. 

"  Surgit  humus,  crcscunt  loca  decrescentibus  undis." 

The  new  bed  of  the  ocean,  when  sunk  to  the  necessary- 
depth,  was  there  arrested  ;  and  means  were  thus  afforded  to 
the  new  dry  land,  of  becoming  gradually  drained  of  its  super- 
abundant moisture.  The  order  of  the  world  was  to  be  rein- 
stated, and  the  command  was  given  to  Noah  to  quit  the 
irk,  and  to  lead  out  with  him  his  family,  and  every  living 
creature  that  had  been  with  him  in  the  ark,  that  they  might 
"breed  abundantly  in  the  earth,  and  be  fruitful  and  multiply 
u])on  the  earth."  "And  God  said,  1  will  not  (/^'Ui/i  smite 
every  living  thing,  as  I  have  done ;  but  while  the  earth  rcinain- 
eth,  seed  time  and  harvest,  and  cold  and  heat,  and  summer 
and  winter,  and  day  and  night,  shall  not  cease." 

It  seems  scarcely  necessary  here  to  raise  a  question  as  to 
how  the  new  world  became  again  replenished  with  verdure, 
and  adorned  with  a  renewal  of  all  those  riches  which  the 
deluge  must  have  so  completely  destroyed ;  because  all  who 
are  deeply  impressed  with  the  effects  produced  by  the  fiat  of 
the  Almighty,  at  the  first  creation,  must  be  satisfied  that, 
though  no  direct  mention  is  made  of  a  new  creation  of  vege- 
table substances  after  the  deluge,  it  must  have  been  both  as 
necessary,  and  as  easy  an  operation,  as  in  the  beginning. 
The  vegetable  world  must  have  been  completely  obliterated  at 
the  deluge,  even  supposing  that  the  old  earth  had  merely 
sulfered  from  a  passing  event:  but  when  we  find  that  the 
new  earth  which  we  now  inhabit,  appeared  tlien,  for  the 
first  time,  in  the  light  of  the  sun,  and  that  it  must  have  been 
composed  of  moist  soils,  on  which  no  vegetable  production 
had  ever  grown,  we  shall  be  forced  to  the  conclusion  which 
is  most  consistent  with  reason,  in  the  absence  of  historical 
evidence ;  and  that  is,  that  the  creative  power  must  have 
been  again  exercised  upon  this  occasion.  Nor  shall  we, 
indeed,  find  it  necessary  to  stop  at  a  new  vegetable  world  ; 
for  there  are  many  reasons  for  extending  tiiis  conclusion  also 
to  the  animal  world,  though,  probably,  on  a  less  extended 
scale,  as  we  have  the  positive  evidence  both  of  tradition  and 
of  history,  as  to  a  great  variety  of  animals  having  been 
saved  in  the  ark,  together  with  Noah  and  his  family.  It 
appears  more  than  probable,  however,  that  we  ought  to  con- 
sider the  strong  expression  used  in  the  record,  "  of  every 
living  thing  of  all  Jlesh,"  in  the  same  sense  as  we  find  it  in 
various  other  parts  of  Scripture  ;  and,  indeed,  as  such  ex- 
pressions are  often  used  in  our  own,  and  in  other  languages, 


*  In  a  former  note,  referring  to  the  lately  published  work  of  Mr. 
Lyell,  (see  page  C5),  we  had  occasion  to  obser\e  tlie  wonderful 
effects  of  rivers,  in  ti-ansjiorthig  ni:iu-rials  for  llie  formation  of 
secondary  sti-ata  in  die  bed  of  the  sea.  The  account  given  in  that 
note,  of  tlie  mud  of  the  Ganges,  in  its  daily  course,  will  serve  to 
give  us  some  faint  idea  of  die  turbid  state  of  the  whole  ocean,  at 
this  eventful  period  :  and  the  sediments  deposited  by  tliis  catasti-o- 
plie,  addeil  to  the  secondary  formations  in  the  antediluvian  sea, 
lormed  in  the  space  of  1650  years,  will  peoduce  a  much  more  con- 
sistent result  tlian  can  possibly  be  extracted  from  Uie  theories  of 
geology,   which  giie  an  unlimited  time  to  die  age  of  the  world. 


*  All  such  derangements  of  tlie  stratifications  of  the  sui-face  of 
the  earth,  must  not,  however,  be  attributed  to  Uiis  cause,  for  tliere 
can  be  no  doubt,  tliat  in  the  upper  strata  occasioned  by  the  deluge, 
and  left  by  die  waters  in  a  >ery  moist  state,  the  derangements  of 
their  level  must  be  accounted  lor  in  die  very  uatuial  w ay  of  subsi- 
dence in  tlie  com-se  of  dessicatiou. 

t  AVe  are  enabled  to  form  some  idea  of  the  floating  or  sinking 
masses  of  malted  legetable  productions,  from  the  accounts  gi\en 
us  of  the  floating  islands  of  timber,  in  some  of  the  American  lakes  : 
these  are  often  several  miles  in  length,  and  of  very  considerable 
breadth  and  depth,  rising  or  falling  widi  die  valer,  and  covered 
willi  vegetation.  In  tlie  deluge,  when  the  soils  of  the  forests  be- 
came saturated  with  moisture,  die  Mhole  vegetable  nmss  woidd 
natui-ally  rise  to  the  surface,  bound  logelliei-  by  the  roots  and 
branches,  and  be  IbiaLcd  oft'  by  vbatever  ciu'reiit  happened  to  pre- 
vail in  their  immediate  iieighhomhood. 


GEOLOGY  OF  SCRIPTURE. 


73 


that  is,  not  as  literally  meaning  every  created  being  over  the 
whole  iflohe,  but  merely  a  ^eal  number. 

Michatlis*  remarks,  "the  Jews  have  well  observed  that 
the  expression  all,  every,  is  not  to  he  understood,  on  all  occa- 
sions, with  the  mathematical  sense  of  «//,•  because  it  is  also 
used  to  signify  man^.  Thus,  in  Isaiah  xxiv.  10,  were  we 
read  » every  house  is  shut  up,'  Kimchi  most  truly  observes, 
though  he  says  every  house,  he  only  means  muny  .•  as  it  is 
said,  «// countries  came  into  Kgypt.  And  if  we  reflect  upon 
our  own  native  tongues,  we  shall  find  that  we  often  use  the 
term  all  for  many,  or  most.  We  have  also  a  remarkable 
example  of  this  strong  mode  of  speech  in  1  Kings,  xviii.  10, 
where  Obadiah  affirms  thus  forcibly  and  solemnly  to  Elijah  ; 
*-\s  the  Lord  tby  God  liveth,  there  is  nu  nation  ur  kingdom, 
whither  my  lord  bath  not  sent  to  seek  thee :'  which  affirma- 
tion, though  universal  in  its  terms,  was  evidently  not  design- 
ed to  be  universal  in  its  iiipiijication ;  and  innumerable 
instances  of  the  same  mode  of  speech  occur  in  tfie  iSacred 
Writings."! 

W'c  have  some  reason  to  doubt,  from  the  fossil  remains  of 
animals  now  discovered,  which  have  not  yet  been  found  alive 
upon  the  present  earth,  whtllicr  erery  living  creature  was  in- 
cluded in  this  slronir  expression :  and  though,  from  the  remark- 
able circumstance  of  the  similarity  of  all  languages  in  certain 
commom  expressions,  and  in  the  universal  tradition  of  the 
deluge  found  amongst  the  most  distant  and  savage  nations, 
we  feel  assured  that  the  whole  existing  race  of  man  on  the 
whole  earth,  has  sprung  from  Noah  and  his  family  ;  we 
have  no  evidence  to  lead  us  to  the  same  conclusion  with 
respect  to  quadrii])eds,  or  birds  found  in  such  isolated  coun- 
tries as  New  Holland,  where  the  species  so  entirely  differ 
from  every  kind  known  on  other  parts  of  the  earth.  With 
respect,  also,  to  the  lower  classes  of  animated  beings,  includ- 
ing reptiles,  insects,  and  animalcula,  to  which  latter  there 
seems  no  bound  in  the  creation,  we  feel  inclined  to  believe 
that  a  new  creative  power  was  exercised  after  the  deluge; 
and  we  may,  in  this  instance,  say  with  the  inspired  Psalm- 
ist, "  He  took  away  their  breath,  and  they  died,  and  returned 
to  their  dust:  He  sent  forth  His  .Spirit,  and  they  were 
created,  and  He  renewed  the  fact  of  t  tie  eiirt/t." 

It  may,  perhaps,  here  be  asked.  What  reason  can  be  as- 
signed for  the  slow  and  gradual  course  of  this  awful  judg- 
ment ;  since,  if  the  first  formation  of  the  bed  of  the  sea  were 
an  instanlancoim  o])cration,  the  destruction  of  the  earth  by  a 
■  deluge  cdiilil,  and  i)rohably  vmttd,  be  equally  raj)id.  IJut 
various  good  and  suflicient  reasons  may  be  given,  for  a  gra- 
dual, rather  than  an  iiistanltnuims,  ojjeration,  in  the  case  of 


CHAPTER  Vlll. 

General  View  of  titt  existing  Surface. — force  of  the  n'aves. — 
I'rinciples  of  Stratifcaliun. — C'avoux  Limetlonc. — Gibraltar. 
—  The  Plains  of  the  Earth. — Of  South  Jmerica. — Of.ifriea. 
— Of  .Isia. — l)f  Europe. — Result  of  this  View. — Chalk  Ba- 
sins.— That  of  Paris,  a  Guide  to  all  similar  Basins. — Salt 
Deposits. — Coal  Formations. — Evidences    of  Coal  being  a 

.    Marine,  and  not  a  Lacustrine  Formation. 

Thus  have  we  followed,  in  as  concise  a  manner  as  tho 
subject  will  admit  of,  the  traditions  as  well  as  the  history  of 
this  awful  event,  both  supported  by  the  corroborative  evi- 
dence of  numerous  physical  facts  in  all  parts  of  the  world  : 
and  we  cannot  doubt  its  having  been  tlie  intention  of  the 
Almighty,  tliat  the  memory  of  so  signal  a  judgment  should 
be  for  ever  deeply  imprinted  on  the"  human  niind,  even  in 
the  most  distant  and  isolated  corners  of  the  earth.  But  we 
should  not  be  doing  justice  to  so  interesting  a  subject,  if  we 
left  it,  without  taking  a  general  view  of  tjie  present  surface 
of  the  habitable  globe,  and  further  tracing,  as  we  shall  every 
where  be  able  to  do,  the  lasting  monuments  of  it,  so  univer- 
sally presented  to  our  consideration. 

When  we  consider,  then,  the  slate  of  the  earth,  as  it  now 
is,  we  find  it  divided  into  sea  and  land  ;  but  so  unequally, 
that  the  ocean  occupies  about  three-fifths  of  the  whole  sur- 
face; and  if  a  meridian  line  be  taken  to  divide  tho  earth 
equally,  we  shall  find  the  proportions  of  land  and  water,  on 
the  opposite  sides,  strikingly  different :  there  being  a  great 
preponderance  of  water  on  the  southern,  and  of  land  in  the 
northern  hemisphere.* 

On  viewing,  on  the  oreat  scale,  the  general  condition  of 
this  land,  we  find  by  far  the  greater  portion  of  it  but  little 
elevated  above  the  level  of  the  ocean.:  so  little,  indeed,  that 
it  may  be  safely  said  that  nine-tenths  of  llie  w  hole  would  bo 
airain  submerged,  either  by  a  rise  in  the  level  of  the  waters 
of  a  very  fiwliundrid  feit,  or  by  a  depression  of  the  land  to 
a  similar  trifling  extent.  There  is,  perhaps,  no  portion  of 
the  whole  extent  of  the  plains  of  tho  earth,  where  the  primi- 
tive surface  of  the  globe  can  be  seen.  Nor  can  it  even  be 
reached  by  mining,  without  a  deep  section  of  various  second- 
ary formations.  Even  the  most  elevated  plains,  and  many 
mountains  of  very  considerable  height,  are  either  entirely 
formed  of,  or  heavily  loaded  with,  strata  of  secondarj-  rocks. 
It  is,  generally,  only  on  the  tops  of  the  most  elevated  moun- 
tain ridges,  where  the  primitive  formations  of  the  earth  are 


the  deluge.      And,  first,  we  must  consider,  that,  by  this  mt-  found  in  mass.     But  the  lower  portions  of  even  the  highest 

thod,  the  great  moral  impression  which  was  intended  to  bo        '  '         '  '        <•■■■■ 

made  u])on  the  family  of  Noah,  and  upon  all  succeeding  gene 
rations,  would  be  nmch  more  cfl'cctual,  by  the  lon^  continu- 
ance of  their  terror,  than  if  they  had  been  stunned,  and,  as 
it  were,  thunderstruck,  by  a  dreadful,  but  rapid  calamity. 
Again,  wc  must  remember,  that  as  the  All-Wise  Ruler  of  the 
Universe  had  ulterior  views  for  the  welfare  of  liis  human 
creatures,  a  gradual  operation  acting  upon  what  was  to  be 
the  new  eartli,  would  render  it  better  fitted  for  a  habitation 
for  mankind,  than  if  the  bed  of  the  sea,  with  its  soft  sedi- 
ments, had,  by  one  violent  convulsive  throe,  been  elevated 
above  tht;  surface,  and  thus  left  dry,  in  the  most  deranged 
and  ruinous  condition.  Besides,  any  sucli  suiiden  convulsion 
must  have  caused  so  violent  an  agitation,  tliat  the  natural 
jneans  of  preservation  prescribed  to  Noah,  by  the  Almighty 
himself,  must  have  been  overpowered  by  the  prctcnxdural 
vortex  into  which  tlie  vessel  would  have  been  plunged. 

Thus,  although  we  can  in  no  way  account  for  tlie  deluge, 
but  by  supernatural  agency,  yet  the  command  given  to  Noah 
to  make  use  of  so  common  a  means  of  safety  as  a  floating 
vessel,  shows  us  that  it  was  the  intention  of  God  to  alio 
natural  means,  or  the  laws  of  nature,  to  take  their  course, 
after  the  first  impulse  had  been  given  by  his  preternatural 
decree.:!: 


*  Micliaelis  was  a  celebrated  Gevman  IheoIoKian  and  biblical 
critic,  mIio  (liL-d  hi  1701.  The  extensive  knowleujrc  which  hu  bad 
acquired  in  bililical  pliiliiloi;)',  as  well  as  in  every  department  of 
learninj;  connected  with  tlie  study  of  the  Scriptures,  enabled  him 
to  form  %ery  accurate'  notions  on  tlie  original  institutions  and  laii- 
j^-uage  of  the  Hebrews.  He  vas  professor  of  Hebrew,  Arabic,  and 
Svriac,  in  the  Uiii\ersity  of  Gottingcn. 

t  Comp.  Estini.  ii.  |i,  'Jl4. 

t  Ihe  e.\perieiicc  uf  ca  ery  year  ou2;ht  to  teach  us  caution  in  com- 
ing to  any  determined  conclusion  witli  respect  to  extinct  races  of 
animals.  A  great  portion  of  tlie  earth  still  remains  unexplored, 
and  everv  year  makes  us  acquainted  with  some  new  tliiiip;  in  the 
Vol.  II.— K 


mountains,  bear  unequivocal  marks  of  their  having  once 
formed  the  bed  of  the  sea :  and  fossil  sea  shells  have  been  found 
upon  the  Andes,  at  an  elevation  of  1 1,000  feet  above  the 
present  level  of  the  ocean.  Whole  ridges,  however,  of  very 
considerable  height,  are  found  to  be  entirely  formed  of  these 
secondary  formations ;  and  so  full  of  fossil  shells,  that  no 
iloubt  can  be  entertained  of  their  present  site  having  once 
formed  the  bottom  of  the  sea. 

Tlie  ridge  of  the  Jura  mountains,  to  the  south-west  of  the 
Alpine  range  of  Switzerland,  is  one  of  the  most  remarkable 
and  best  known  of  these  secondary  formations.  This  ridge 
rises from  3  to  1000  feet  above  the  level  of  the  Swiss  plain; 
and  its  length  is  nearly  one  hundred  leagues,  being  from 
eighteen  to  twenty  in  breadth. 

It  is  almost  entirely  composed  of  compact  limestone,  in 
strata  w  hich  alternate  with  beds  of  clay  and  shelly  marl  ; 
and  the  stratification  is  so  much  inclined,  llial  it  presents  a 
most  interesting  example  and  proof  of  a  raising  or  depress- 
ing power  having  been  in  force,  subser/uent  to  the  ncar\y  hori- 
zontal stratification  which  must  at  all  times  take  place  from 
a  deposition  in  water.  Tliere  is,  also,  to  be  found  on  this 
secondary  ridge  a  remarkable  proof  of  a  great  mechanical 
power  having  been  exerted,  such  as  the  deluge  was  perhaps 
alone  capable  of.  Innumerable  masses  of  primitive  rock 
are  found  scattered  on  the  surface,  even  at  a  height  of  2500 
feet.  These  masses,  so  far  detached  from  their  parent  rock 
on  the  Alpine  summits,  (and  similar  masses  of  granite  arc 
found  on  almost  all  the  alluvial  plains  of  Switzerland),  have 
given  rise  to  much  difficulty,  and  various  theories  among 


animal  world,  witli  the  existence  of  which  we  were  before  unac- 
(juainted. 

*  A\'c  shall  have  a  future  opportunity  of  remarking  the  difference 
of  temperature  between  llie  Southern  and  Nortliern  Polar  regions, 
«hicli  difference  may,  probably,  be  accounted  for  by  the  great  pre- 
ponderance of  land  ill  tlie  one,  and  of  water  in  the  otlier  hemis- 
plicre. 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY 


geologists,  all  which  are  remleretl  nugatory,  by  referring 
their  present  locality  to  the  powers  of  the  deluge,  the  extent 
of  which  no  one  can  reasonably  doubt,  who  has  considered 
the  instances  of  mechanical  force  constantly  exhibited  by  the 
ocean  when  in  a  state  of  agitation. 

Some  recent  and  remarkable  instances  of  the  great  mechan- 
ical force  of  the  waves  may  be  interesting,  on  a  subject 
which  has  occasioned  so  much  theoretical  discussion  amongst 
philosophers.  In  the  Isle  of  Eshaness,  in  Shetland,  which 
is  exposed  to  the  full  furj'  of  the  western  ocean,  huge  blocks 
of  stone  are  removed  far  from  their  native  beds,  and  hurried  up 
an  acclivity  to  an  almost  incredible  distance.  In  180'2,  a  mass 
eio-ht  feet  by  seven,  and  five  feet  thick,  was  dislodged  from 
its  bed,  and  removed  to  a  distance  of  about  90  feet.  Thebed 
from  which  another  block  had  been  removed,  in  1318,  was 
seventeen  and  a  half  feet  by  seven,  and  two  and  a  half  feet 
thick.  This  mass  had  been  borne  to  some  distance,  and  then 
shivered  into  many  lesser,  though  still  large,  fragments, 
which  were  carried  more  than  120  feet  further.  A  block  nine 
feet  by  six  and  a  half,  and  four  feet  thick,  was  carried  up  a 
slope  a  distance  of  150  feet.  A  mass  of  rock,  the  average 
dimensions  of  which  may  be  rated  at  twelve  or  thirteen  feet 
square,  and  Jive  feet  thick,  was  first  moved  from  its  bed,  to  a 
distance  of  upwards  of  thirty  feet,  and  has  since  been  twice 
turned  over.  But  the  most  extraordinary  scene  is  in  a  breach 
of  porphyry  called  the  grind  of  the  Navir,  where  the  waves 
have  forced  a  passage,  separating  huge  stones  from  the  rock, 
and  forcing  them  to  a  distance  of  nearly  200  feet.  These 
fragments  are  accumulated  in  immense  heaps,  like  the  pro- 
duce of  a  quarr)'. 

In  Liinna,  several  large  detaclicd  rocks,  called  the  stones  nf 
Stephouse,  are  found  at  some  distance  from  the  sea,  having  evi- 
dently been  transported  by  the  waters,  and  are  the  trunsportcd 
stones  of  geologists.  The  largest  is  about  23  fed  high,  and 
96  in  circumference. 

Amongst  the  remarkable  features  of  the  mountain  ridges  of 
the  earth,  are  the  naked  primitive  summits  of  the  highest 
peaks,  which  from  their  freedom  from  secondary  formations, 
and  other  marks  of  the  sea,  we  may,  with  much  probability, 
suppose  to  have  been  in  the  form  of  islands  in  the  antedilu- 
vian ocean:  and  as  all  islands  are  but  the  summits  of  sub- 
marine elevations,  it  is  natural  to  expect  to  find  the  lower 
parts  of  these  mountains,  which  must  have  long  been  cover- 
ed with  the  sea,  bearing  the  same  marks  of  secondary  and 
sedimentary  formations,  mixed  with  sea  shells,  that  are  found 
in  the  lower  levels  of  the  earth. 

As  we  descend  from  the  higher  grounds  tow-ards  the  plains, 
we  are  every  where  struck  with  tbe  hills  of  various  heights 
and  forms,  entirely  composed  of  these  secondary  rocks,  and 
often  formed  of  nothing  but  rounded  gravel,  or  dry  sand, 
precisely  in  the  state  we  now  find  these  substances  on  our 
present  sea-shores,  and  under  the  continued  action  of  the 
waters.* 

One  cannot  but  be  sensibly  struck  with  the  close  similarity, 
of  these  elevations,  both  in  substance  and  in  form,  to  those 
minor  elevations,  and  valleys,  formed  by  the  present  sea,  in 
many  parts  of  its  shores.  One  can  even  trace,  on  a  minute 
scale,  in  those  recent  beds  of  sand  and  gravel,  the  principles 
of  stratification  and  arrangement  which  we  remark  in  many  of 
the  great  secondary  formations,  and  in  the  great  beds  of  up- 
per alluvial  rocks  and  soils  :  and  as  we  have  already  had  oc- 
casion to  remark,  those  principles  are  founded  on  the  laws  of 
gravitation,  and  of  Jluid-s,  by  the  combined  action  of  which, 
the  raw  materials  of  secondary  formations,  when  once  indis- 
criminately brought  into  the  ocean  by  the  rivers,  in  the  man- 
ner before  described,  are  sifted  and  arranged  ;  and  the  vari- 
ousclasses  «f/)ora/c/y  deposited,  according  to  the  action  of  the 
currents,  and  the  eddies  of  the  waters. f  It  is  by  the  action 
of  those  laws  alone,  that  we  can  account  for  the  great  beds  of 


*  Tlie  hills  of  I'iilust'mc  iirc  almo»t  :ill  formed  of  calcareous  rocks, 
reinarkable  for  tlieir  itatm-al  cavities.  Those  woiidcrhil  stones  of 
whicli  iliu  temple  of  Jc-nisalem  was  built,  were  of  lliis  nature, 
ahouTulinj^  in  fossil  shells.  The  iiyraniids  of  Kgypt  arc  also  huiU 
of  a  species  of  oolite,  which  is  ("nil  of  small  fossil  shells,  which 
were  once  thought  lo  he  petrified  lentils,  and  oUicr  seeds,  left  h_v 
the  workmen  employed  on  these  slupeinlousfabrics.  This  is  nearly 
as  philosophical  a  way  of  accountinj;  for  them,  as  the  idea  of  \'ol- 
tiire,  whothonj^ht  the  fossil  lisU  found  iu  Italy  were  llic  refuse 
thrown  away  hy  tin;  Uoman  epicures. 

t  \\  t:  t'aniiliat-ly  make  vise  of  tlu-se  same  laws,  on  many  occa- 
sions of  every  <lay  oeciu'rehce.  If  we  wish  to  separate  any  dry  ar- 
ticles in  the  I'orm  of  a  powder,  hut  of  irrct^nlar  }^rain,  we  naturally 
shake  it  w  ilh  a  ItUvrut  motion,  when  the  different  .sixths  and  weijjhts 
of  the  particles  become  arranj^ed;  llic  finer  always  hein;^  found  at 
llic  boUoni.     Every  spoilsman   must  \jv  familiar  with  this  law  of 


sand  upon  one  part  of  a  coast,  all  equal  in  grain,  and  perfect- 
ly free  from  earthy  particles :  on  another  part  of  the  same 
coast,  and,  perhaps,  at  no  great  distance,  we  find  a  similar 
extent  of  ro]\ed  gravel,  almost  entirely  free  from  «n;irf.-  on  a 
third,  a  bed  of  the  purest  clay,  perfectly  free  from  both ;  and, 
perhaps,  on  a  fourth,  an  immense  accumulation  of  sea  shells. 

If,  then,  we  allow  for  the  action  of  those  laws  in  the  depth 
of  the  ocean,  onlj'  on  a  scale  infinitely  more  enlarged,  and 
proportioned  to  the  extent,  both  of  the  material  s.nd  the  agent, 
we  shall  find  a  much  more  easy  and  rational  means  of  account- 
ing for  the  geological  phenomena  on  the  surface  of  the  globe, 
than  all  tlie  wild  theories  yet  formed  by  philosophy  have  been 
able  to  produce  ;  and  having  this  high  additional  value,that 
instead  of  opposing  both  history  and  reason,  we  follow  the 
well  defined  track  of  both. 

Tbe  most  common  source  of  error  in  forming  our  ideas  on 
the  formation  of  secondary  rocks  and  soils,  is  our  measuring 
the  works  performed  by  the  unceasing  action  of  the  latvs  of  na- 
ture, by  the  small  and  contracted  scale  of  our  own  actions. 
Thus  we  almost  instantly  conclude,  on  observing  a  calcareous 
formation  some  hundreds  of  feet  iu  depth,  that  it  must  have 
required  some  prodigiously  long  period  of  time  to  accumulate 
such  a  mass ;  whereas,  when  we  consider  the  action  of  one 
great  river,  such  as  the  Amazon,  or  the  St.  Lawrence,  (re- 
markable, as  all  the  American  rivers  are,  for  its  muddiness, 
and  tinging  the  ocean  for  GO  or  70  leagues  from  its  inouth,) 
for  a  hundred  years,  and  bearing,  night  and  day,  its  prodigious 
load  of  mud  into  the  sea,  from  whence  it  never  returns ;  we 
must  perceive  that  our  ideas  on  such  subjects  are,  in  general, 
much  too  confined,  and  stand  greatly  iu  need  of  revision  and 
correction.  It  is  not  yet  ascertained  to  what  depth  it  may  be 
necessary  to  probe,  before  we  com6  to  the  primitive  surface ; 
but  it  is  highly  probable,  if  not  certain,  that  if  we  allow  a  mean 
thic/cness  of  one  mile,  for  the  whole  secondary  formations  of 
our  present  dry  lands,  we  shall  be  considerably  over-rating 
their  actual  extent.  We  know  that  the  most  lofty  peaks 
are  not  more  than  five  miles  in  height,  and  we  have  good  rea- 
son to  presume,  that  the  greatest  depths  of  the  ocean  are  not 
widely  different  in  extent.  Now,  in  the  four  thousand  years 
that  have  taken  place  since  the  deluge,  during  which  a  fresh 
series  of  secondary  formations  has  been  going  on  in  the  post- 
diluvian ocean,  we  must  conclude  that  a  much  greater  change 
has  taken  place  than  could  have  occurred  in  the  sixteen 
centuries  previous  to  that  event ;  and  yet  we  cannot  discover 
changes  to  have  taken  place  cither  on  the  lands,  or  in  any 
part  of  the  ocean,  to  lead  us  to  the  conclusion  that  formations 
to  such  an  extent  have  occurred,  even  during  this  longer  pe- 
riod. How  then  can  we  subscribe  to  those  theories  of  phi- 
losophy, which  attribute  immense  periods  to  the  formation  of 
each  stratum,  and  which  would  imply,  from  a  view  of  a  few- 
hundred  feet  of  diluvial  stratification,  in  such  a  chalk  basin 
as  that  of  Paris,  a  succession  of  revolutions,  and  of  salt  and 
frcsli  water  deluges,  occurring  during  an  unnameable  lapse  of 
time'! 

Amongst  the  remarkable  secondary  formations  of  our  Eu- 
ropean continents,  there  are  few  more  worthy  of  our  attention 
than  the  celebrated  rock  of  Gibraltar,  in  wMiich  we  find  pre- 
senter! to  our  consideration  a  close  connexion  between  diluvi- 
al animal  remains,  and  the  extensive  fissures  and  cavities  with 
which  that  rock  has  become  intersected. 

This  mountain  is  completely  isolated  ;  having  the  sea  on 
three  sides,  and,  on  the  fourth,  a  low  sandy  plain  or  isthmus, 
of  several  miles  in  length,  and  about  900  yards  in  width  near 
the  rock,  though  its  breadth  increases  towards  the  Spanish 
continent ;  whilst  its  greatest  elevation,  above  the  level  of 
the  sea,  is  not  more  than  about  ten  feet. 

The  rock  of  Gibraltar  is  of  an  oblong  forin,  and  lies  in  the 
direction  of  north  and  south.  The  craggy  ridge  of  which  its 
summit  is  formed,  is  somewhat  higher  at  the  two  extremities 
tlian  in  ilio  centre.  The  whole  rock  is  about  seven  miles  in 
circumrorence,  and  forms  a  promontory  of  about  three  miles 
in  length.  Its  breailth  varies  according  to  the  indentations 
of  the  shore,  but  it  no  where  exceeds  three  quarters  of  a  mile. 
The  most  elevated  point  of  this  promontory  towards  the  south, 
is  called  the  Sugar  Loaf,  aiul  is  about  1110  feet  above  the 
sea  ;  that  towards  the  north  is  called  the  Kock  Mortar,  and  is 
1j50  feet  high ;  the  signal  house,  which  is  nearly  in  the 
centre,  is  1'2H0  feet  above  the  level  of  the  sea. 

The  mountain  of  (Jibraltar  consists  of  a  reddish  grey  cal- 
careous rock,  in  regular  strata,  which  may  be  examined  with 

p;ravitv,  as  it  is  well  demonstrated  in  the  accidental  mixtures  of 
hotli  powder  and  shot  of  different  grains,  which  it  is  often  necessary 
to  separate. 


GEOLOGY  OF  SCRIPTURE. 


great  accuracy  in  the  north  front,  where  there  is  a  complete 
sectiun  of  upwards  of  1300  feet  of  perpendicular  height.  The 
strata  are  from  20  to  50  feet  in  thickness;  and  tlie  whole 
mass  is  cavernous,  presenting  some  of  the  most  remarkable 
caves,  adorned  with  magnificent  stalactites. 

I  liave  been  favoured  with  the  perusal  of  a  MS.  account  of 
the  celebrated  cave  of  St.  Michael,  in  the  rock  of  Gibraltar ; 
and  with  the  kind  permission  of  its  author,  I  cannot  hesitate 
in  presenting  it  to  my  readers,  as  it  will  serve  to  give  a  very 
jtist  idea  of  the  numerous  similar  instances  of  lime-stone 
caverns,  which  are  to  be  found  in  so  many  other  parts  of  the 
world . 

The  following  extract  is  from  a  MS.  journal  kept  by  Cap- 
tain Martin,  while  in  the  command  of  the  late  sir  ^ViUiam 
Curtis'  yacht,  the  Emma,  on  a  pleasure  cruise  to  the  Medi- 
terranean, in  11^23  and  1824.* 

"  Having  determined  to  explore  St.  Michael's  cavern,  I 
took  ashore  part  of  the  crew,  with  a  supply  of  signal  lanterns, 
lines,  Koman  candles  and  blue  lights  :  and  Captain  Paterson, 
an  oiiioer  of  the  garrison,  who  had  before  made  the  excursion 
joined  our  party,  and  was  a  great  acquisition.  We  landed 
at  the  dock-yard,  and  inmiediateJy  commenced  our  march  to- 
wards the  summit  of  the  mountain.  In  about  three-quarters 
of  an  hour  we  reached  the  stone  platform  in  front  of  the 
cavern,  which  forms  an  esplanade  for  artillery. 

"  From  this  platform  we  overlooked  the  extraordinary  line 
of  fortifications,  together  with  the  villas  and  gardens,  the 
town,  the  parade,  the  mole,  the  shipping  at  anchor  in  the 
bay.  the  city  of  Algesiraz,  La  Roche,  and  the  distant  moun- 
tains, the  Ape's  hill  on  the  coast  of  Barbary,  and  the  whole 
line  of  the  two  bold  shores  forming  the  straits,  along  to 
Ceula :  these  objects,  together  with  the  deep  blue  pass, 
stiiddcil  with  white  sails,  completed  the  bird's-eye  view, 
and  formed  one  of  the  most  splendid  pictures  that  can  possi- 
bly be  imagined. 

"  V('e  now  commenced  our  descent  into  the  cavern ;  and 
havintr  proceeded  about  a  hundred  }"ards  wo  halted  to  look 
about  us.  The  roof  of  this  apartment  is  supported  in  the 
midst  of  a  stupendous  pillar  of  stalactite  irregularly  fluted. 
The  water,  clear  as  crystal,  but  loaded  with  calcareous  mat- 
ter, was  seen  dropping  from  various  parts,  and  exJiibited  the 
manner  of  this  continual,  but  gradual  formation,  as,  wherever 
it  fell,  a  round  knob  of  stony  matter  was  upon  the  increase, 
instead  of  the  liuUow  which  would  have  been  produced,  had 
the  rock  from  which  it  falls,  been  of  the  sand  stone  formation. 

'•The  rays  of  light  from  the  cavern's  mouth,  fall  on  a 
number  of  broken  crags,  and  detached  parts  of  pillars,  plainly 
indicating  their  having  experienced  some  severe  shock  as  of 
an  cart!iquake,'as  the  points  from  which  they  liave  been  shat- 
tered are  distinctly  visible. 

"  W'e  now  followed  Captain  Paterson  into  the  second 
cavern,  which  was  larger  than  the  one  just  described  ;  and  I 
here  lighted  a  Roman  candle,  which  brought  into  view  two 
most  beautiful  arches,  the  columns  of  which  much  resembled 
the  pipes  of  an  organ.  Through  the  termination  of  one  of  these 
arches  an  aperture  presented  itself;  and  having  made  fast  the 
end  of  a  line,  and  left  one  of  the  crew  at  the  entrance,  we 
proceeded  on  our  hands  and  knees,  extending  our  line  as  a 
clue  to  our  return.  We  thus  crawled  along  a  very  considera- 
ble distance,  till  we  found  ourselves  once  more  in  an  open 
space,  but  in  darkness  so  thick  that  the  rays  of  our  lantern 
extended  but  a  very  short  way,  and  above  our  heads  was  a 
void  of  indefinite  extent.  As  we  now  stood  in  a  groupe, 
afraid  of  venturing  further,  or  of  being  precipitated  into  some 
horrible  abyss,  1  suddenly  lighted  one  of  our  blue  lights, 
when  the  whole  dome  of  this  magnilicent  cavern  hur.st  at 
once  upon  our  sight,  tinged  with  the  sulphureous  hue  of  the 
brilliant  flambeau  1  held  in  my  hand.  Pillar  upon  ]>illar, 
supporting  mimic  g-alleries,  arch  upon  arch  rising  in  Ciothic 
elegance,  seemed  as  if  the  sudden  work  of  a  magic  spell,  and 
sparkling  with  crystal  and  stalactite  far  beyond  our  reach." 

(SimulaTcitit  .-irtem 
Ingcnio  naturo  suo  :  n:im  pumice  vivo- 
Kl  levibus  topliis  nativuiu  duxcrat  arcum.) 

"A  few  feet  from  us  was  a  well-like  aperture,  which  Cap- 
tain Paterson  now  invited  me  to  descend  bj'  the  aid  of  a  rope; 
but  this  1  thouglit  it  prudent  to  decline,  satisfied  with  the 
magnificent  scene  before  me.  That  gentleman  had,  however, 
formerly  explored  this  cavit\';  and  he  described  it  as  being 
about  50  feet  deep,  and  terminating  in  a  range  of  caverns 


•  Should  the  nutbor  ol'  this  interesting^  ^IS.  ever  be  inthiccd  to 
ofler  il  to  the  p\il)llf,  it  will  exhil/it  llie  workings  of  a  jxH-tic  r.iiiid 
and  a  i^rapbic  i)cii,  such  us  have  seldom  nppeai-ed  in  our  naval  ntuials. 


similar  to  the  one  in  which  we  then  stood  ;  and  beyond  these 
were  other  descents  which  never  j'et  have  been  explored. 

"  W'e  now  retraced  our  steps,  highly  gratified  with  what 
we  had  seen;  and  as  we  emerged  once  more  into  the  light  of 
day,  our  agreeable  sensations  were  much  increased  by  the 
exhilarating  contrast.  Upon  looking  upwards  towards  the 
suinmit  of  the  rock,  I  perceived  the  smoke  which  our  flam- 
beaux had  occasioned,  issuing  out  from  among  the  shrubs; 
and  being  led  by  curiosity  to  climb  up  to  the  spot,  we  found 
a  fissure  in  the  rock,  which,  no  doubt,  communicated  with 
those  remarkable  labyrinths,  and  through  which  aperture  the 
currents  of  air  were  now  clearing  away  the  smoke  produced 
by  our  lights. 

"  W  hat  a  wonderful  natural  monument  of  former  events  is 
this  extraordinary  rock !  A  pyramid  of  huge  stony  strata 
completel)'  honey-combed  with  caverns  of  this  description. 
Its  inaccessible  and  perpendicular  face  to  the  eastward,  com- 
monly called  its  Levant  side,  is  perforated  with  innumerable 
fissures,  opening,  no  doubt,  into  its  interior  recesses,  and 
forming  the  habitation  of  swarms  of  apes  and  sea-fowl ;  while 
to  the  northward  it  is  completely  isolated  from  the  main  land 
by  a  long  extent  of  sand,  called  the  neutral  ground. 

"  The  view  which  we  also  had  of  this  remarkable  rock  from 
the  sea,  was  in  the  highest  degree  imposing.  The  swell  of 
the  waves  rolling  against  its  base,  and  rushing  into  its  dark 
caverns,  produced  a  melancholy  sound  ;  and  I  amused  myself 
as  we  passed  close  in  shore,  in  prying  with  my  telescope  into 
the  mouths  of  these  gaping  chasms,  within  which  I  should 
suppose  a  boat  could  seldom  enter,  as  the  restless  waters  are 
agitated  by  the  slightest  breeze." 

From  the  consideration  of  the  mountains  and  the  hills,  in 
both  of  which  we  find  strong  corroborative  evidence  in  sup- 
)>ort  of  what  has  been  advanced,  we  now  descend  to  the  plains 
of  the  earth;  and  we  there  find,  as  might  naturally  be  ex- 
pected, so  many  additional  traces  of  a  former  ocean,  that 
every  shadow  of  doubt  ought  to  be  removed  from  an  unpre- 
judiced mind.  W'e  have  before  remarked,  that  by  far  the 
greater  proportion  of  the  present  dry  land  consists  of  plains 
but  little  elevated  above  the  present  level  of  the  sea.  W'e 
find  no  exception,  in  this  particular,  in  any  of  the  continents 
into  which  geographers  have  divided  the  earth ;  but  in  order 
to  form  a  better  idea  of  this  part  of  our  subject,  we  may  refer 
to  the  descriptions  given  us  by  some  of  the  most  enlightened 
travellers  of  those  seas  of  land,  as  they  have  sometimes  been 
called. 

Humboldt  has  given  us,  in  his  valuable  book  of  travels, 
so  interesting  an  account  of  the  great  plains  of  South  America, 
that  I  shall  here  lay  it  before  my  readers  : 

"  In  the  Mesa  de  Paja,"  says  he,  "  in  the  ninth  degree  of 
south  latitude,  we  entered  the  basin  of  Llanos.  The  sun  was 
almost  at  the  zenith ;  the  earth,  wherever  it  appeared,  was 
sterile  and  destitute  of  vegetation.  Not  a  breath  of  air  was 
felt  at  the  height  we  sat  upon  our  mules;  yet,  in  the  midst 
of  this  apparent  calm,  whirls  of  dust  incessantly  arose,  driven 
on  by  the  small  currents  of  air  that  glide  only  over  the  surface 
of  the  ground,  and  are  occasioned  by  difl"erence  of  temperature, 
which  the  naked  sands  and  the  spots  covered  with  herbs,  ac- 
quire. These  smid  winds  augment  the  suffocating  heat  of  the 
air;  every  grain  of  quartz,  hotter  than  the  surrounding  air,  radi- 
ating heat  in  every  direction.  All  around  us  the  plains  seemed 
lo  ascend  towards  the  sk)',  and  that  vast  and  profound  solitude 
appeared  to  our  eyes  li/;e  un  ocean  covered  U'i/k  sea  weeds. 
Through  a  dry  fo^,  and  the  strata  of  vapours,  palm-trees 
were  seen  from  atar,  the  stems  of  which,  stripped  of  their 
foliage,  but  with  verdant  tops,  appeared  like  masts  of  s/iips 
discm-ercd  in  t/ie  heirizon, 

"There  is  something  awful,  but  sad  and  gloomy,  in  (he 
uniform  aspect  of  these  steppes.  I  know  not  whether  the 
first  aspect  of  them  excites  less  astonishment  than  that  of 
the  chain  of  the  Andes  itself. 

"  Mountainous  countries,  of  whatever  variety  of  height, 
have  always  an  analogous  physiognomy;  but  we  accustom 
ourselves,  with  diflicnlty,  to  the  view  of  the  Llanos  of  Vene- 
zuela and  Casanary,  and  to  that  of  the  Pampas  of  Uuenos  Ayres 
and  of  Chaco,  which  recall  to  the  mind  incessantly,  and  dur- 
ing journeys  of  twenty  or  thirty  days  successively,  l/ic  smnntk 
snrfeiec  of  the  ocean.  I  had  seen  the  plains  or  Lla)u>s  of  La 
.Maficha,  in  .Spain,  and  the  /lealli  lands  that  extend  from  the 
extremity  of  Jutland,  through  I.uneburg  and  Westphalia  to 
Uelgium.  These  last  are  real  s/tpjjts.  of  which  man,  during 
many  ages,  has  been  able  to  subject  only  small  portions  to 
cultivation.  But  the  immense  plains  of  South  America  are 
but  feebly  represented  by  tho.^e  of  the  north  and  west  of 
Kurope. 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


"The  coarse  ol'the  rivers  in  these  vast  plains,  all  branches 
of  the  Oroonoko,  had  once  led  mc  to  think  that  they  formed 
iahk  land.},  raised  at  least  100  or  150  fiithoms  above  the  level 
of  the  ocean.  I  supposed,  in  like  manner,  that  the  deserts  of 
interior  Africa  were  also  at  a  considerable  height,  and  that 
they  arose  one  above  another,  like  stages,  from  the  coast  to 
the  interior  of  the  continent.  With  regard  to  the  Llanos  of 
South  America,  however,  I  found,  by  barometical  measure- 
ments at  various  points,  that  their  lui'^ht  Is  onli/  from  40  to  50 
fathoms  above  the  level  of  the  sea.  The  fall  of  the  rivers  is  so 
gentle,  that  it  is  often  imperceptible;  so  that  the  smallest 
swell  of  the  Oroonoko  causes  a  reflux  in  those  rivers  of  the 
plains  which  run  into  it. 

"The  chief  characteristic  of  the  savanahs,  or  steppes  of 
South  America,  is  the  absolute  want  of  hills  and  inequalities, 
and  the  perfect  kvel  of  every  part  of  the  soil.  This  resem- 
blance to  the  surface  of  the  ocean  strikes  the  imagination  most 
powerfully,  where  the  plains  are  altogether  destitute  of  palm 
trees,  and  where  the  mountains  of  the  shore  and  of  the  Oroo- 
noko, are  so  far  distant  that  they  cannot  be  seen.  This 
equality  of  the  surface  reigns,  without  interruption,  from  the 
mouths  of  the  Oroonoko  to  Ospinos,  under  a  parallel  of  180 
leagues  in  length  (510  miles),  and  from  San  Carlos  to  the 
savanahs  of  Caqueta,  on  a  meridian  of  200  leagues,  or  GOO 
miles.  The  planters  who  inhabit  the  southern  declivity  of 
the  chain  of  the  coast,  look  down  tipon  the  steppes,  which 
extend  towards  the  south  as  far  as  the  eye  can  reach,  tike  an 
ocean  of  verdure.  They  know  that  they  can  traverse  the 
plains  for  380  leagues,  (or  for  11 10  miles),  to  the  very  foot 
of  the  Andes  of  Paste  !"' 

The  generally  low  level  of  North  America  is  scarcely  less 
remarkable  than  that  of  the  South ;  but  that  country  is  so 
much  more  broken  and  irregular  in  the  line  of  its  sea  coast, 
and  so  much  indented  by  gulfs  and  inland  lakes,  that  the 
plains  are  no  where  of  such  vast  extent.  However,  the 
generally  level  state  of  that  countr}'  is  show-n  by  the  naviga- 
ble rivers  with  which  it  is  every  where  intersected,  and  from 
which  the  greatest  riches  of  North  America  are  derived. 

In  the  extensive  low  plains  of  Carolina,  marks  of  the  for- 
mer occupation  of  the  sea  are  every  where  displayed.  Ex- 
tensive beds  of  oystcrshells  are  found  at  considerable  depths, 
alternating  irith  strata  of  blue  clay ;  and  the  bones  of  mon- 
strous animals  are  often  discovered  in  cutting  canals ;  these 
are  the  remains  of  the  mastodon,  and  the  mammoth,  found  in 
so  many  other  parts  of  the  world  in  similar  situations. 

From  the  new  world  we  turn  our  eyes  to  the  deserts  and 
sands  of  Africa,  of  an  extent  and  character  not  less  remarka- 
ble. They  have  been  described  by  Bruce,  Park,  and  other 
travellers.  Pure  sea  sand  is  there  the  prevailing  soil,  (if  it 
deserve  the  name  :)  and  though  their  elevation,  above  the  sea, 
has  not  been  so  accurately  measured  as  those  of  Europe,  or 
of  Asia,  we  may  3'et  judge,  from  the  currents  of  the  Nile, 
and  other  rivers  of  Africa,  flowing  from  the  interior,  that  that 
continent  is  not,  generally,  of  greater  elevation  than  that  of 
America,  being  crossed,  however,  by  ridges,  of  very  consid- 
erable height,  in  various  directions. 

M.  Caillie,  the  enterprising  French  traveller,  who,  in  182-1 
and  1825,  succeeded  in  penetrating  to  Timbuctoo,  and  was 
the  first  European  who  has  ever  returned  to  give  us  a  distinct 
idea  of  that  mysterious  city,  has  thus  described  the  desert  of 
Sahara,  which  description  will  be  found  intimately  connected 
with  onr  present  subject. 

"A  boundless  horizon,"  says  he,  "expands  before  me; 
and  we  can  distinguish  buto»  enormous  plain  of  shining  sand, 
and  over  it,  a  burning  sun.  We  come  occasionally  to  deep, 
w-ells,  full  of  brackish  water.  At  a  depth  of  four  feet  from 
the  surface  is  found  a  gray  sand,  mixed  with  a  little  clay  of 
the  same  colour.  At  the  bottom  of  these  wells  there  is  often 
found  a  white  kind  of  earth,  resembling  cAaft,  and  mixed,  oc- 
casionally,  with  some  black  or  gray  rounded  pebbles.  As  far 
as  the  eye  can  reach  there  is  no  trace  of  vegetation ;  for 
hours  in  succession  we  did  not  see  one  blade  of  grass.  The 
plains  had  the  precise  appearance  of  the  ocean ;  perhaps,  such 
as  the  bed  of  the  sea  would  have,  if  left  dry  by  the  waters.  In 
fact,  the  winds  form  in  the  sand  undulating  furrows,  like  the 
waves  of  the  sea,  when  a  breeze  slightly  ruffles  its  surface. 

"  At  the  sight  of  this  dismal  spectacle,  of  this  dreadful 
and  awful  abandonment  and  nakedness,  I  forgot,  for  a  moment, 
all  my  hardships,  to  reflect  upon  the  violent  convulsions 
which  appeared /o  have  dried  up  part  of  the  ocean,  and  upon 
the  catastrophes  which  have  thus  changed  the  face  of  our  globe.''^ 

This  traveller  states,  that  the  trade  of  Timbuctoo,  and,  in 
great  part,  of  all  the  interior  of  Africa,  consists  of  salt,  from 
the  mines  of  Tondeyni,  and  of  Wadcn. 


In  Asia,  we  are  piiually  struck  with  the  great  plains  of 
China  and  Miudostan,  which  are  of  immense  extent;  but, 
from  their  richer  soils,  they  constitute,  in  point  of  fertility, 
the  most  productive  portion  of  the  habitable  globe.  Some 
parts  even  of  these,  however,  being  composed  of  sand,  or  of 
indurated  clay,  are  also  completely  barren:  and  the  plains  of 
the  Cambul  territory,  extending  four  hundred  miles  in  length, 
are  of  this  desert  description.  The  great  salt  desert  of  Per- 
sia stretches  over  an  extent  of  about  500  miles,  and  is  com- 
posed of  a  reddish  sand,  so  fine  as  scarcely  to  be  perceptible, 
and  producing  nothing  but  a  few  saline  and  succulent  plants. 

Arabia  contains  deserts  of  not  less  extent,  composed  of 
barren  sand.s  impregnated  with  sea  suit,  and  totally  destitute  of 
rivers.*  The  very  low  level  of  these  deserts,  would  causo 
them  to  he  again  inundated  by  the  sea,  by  a  very  slight  rise 
in  its  waters.  The  sub-soil,  like  that  of  most  deserts,  is  a 
grayish  clay,  with  a  large  proportion  of  sand,  and  containing 
marine  exuvi;r. 

We  find  the  following  descriptions  of  the  plains  of  Meso- 
potamia, in  Buckingham's  travels  in  that  country.  "The  as- 
pect of  the  country  was  dull  and  uninteresting;  as  there  was 
neither  mountain,  valley,  nor  even  plain :  the  whole  being  an 
unequal  surface,  like  the  high  and  long  waves  of  a  deep  sea, 
when  subsiding  from  a  tempest  into  a  calm  :  not  a  tree  was 
any  where  in  sight  to  relieve  the  monotony  of  the  scene." 
The  description  of  these  plains  by  Xenophon,  in  his  jlnabasis, 
2200  years  ago,  is  strikingly  correct.  "  The  country,"  says 
he,  "  was  a  plain  throughout,  as  even  as  the  sea,  and  full  of 
worm-wood  :  if  any  other  kind  of  shrubs  or  reeds  grew  there, 
they  had  all  an  aromatic  smell  :  but  no  trees  appeared.  Of 
wild  creatures,  the  most  numerous  were  wild  asses,  and  not  a 
few  ostriches,  besides  bustards  and  roe-deer  (or  antelopes) 
which  our  horsemen  sometimes  chased. "f 

Mr.  Buckingham,  in  another  place,  proceeds  :  "The  peo- 
ple here  have  a  particular  and  characteristic  name  for  the  des- 
ert, similar  to  that  which  we  use  for  the  vi'ide  expanse  of 
the  ocean,  when  we  call  it  the  ojien  sea.  In  these  extensive 
plains,  minute  objects  are  seen  at  quite  as  great  a  distance 
as  on  the  ocean ;  and  the  smallest  eminences  are  dis- 
covered by  degrees,  just  as  islands  and  capes  are  at  sea,  first, 
showing  their  tops,  and  then  raising  them  gradually  above  the 
horizon,  till  their  bases  appear  on  a  level  with  the  observer. 
The  bearings  and  distances  of  wells  are  noted  and  remember- 
ed from  such  objects ;  and  they  are  seen  by  caravans,  slowly 
crossing  the  great  desert,  for  many  days  in  succession,  as 
they  approach  to,  or  recede  from  them.":}: — Buckingham' a 
Travels,  vol.   i,  p.  237.  _      ■ 

In  Europe,  the  most  extensive  plains  are  in  Hungary,  be- 
tween the  Danube  and  the  Theiss.  These  plains  have  been 
computed  by  Humboldt  to_bc  about  3000  squarel  eugues ;  and 
the  line  of  division  constituting  the  ridge  between  these 
two  rivers,  has  been  ascertained  by  accurate  survey  to  be  only 
lo  tuises  (or  78  feet)  above  the  level  oftheDamibe.  Thus,  it  is 
plain,  that  a  rise  of  from  200  to  300  feet  in  the  waters  of  the 
Mediterranean,  would  overflow  all  the  steppes  of  Russia, 
and  connect  that  sea  with  the  Baltic.  The  extensive  penin- 
sula of  the  Crimea,  is  in  great  part  occupied  by  a  vast  undu- 
lating plain,  ox  steppe,  without  wood,  and  mostly  composed  of 
sand,  more  or  less  mixed  with  clay.  This  plain  abounds  in 
salt  lakes  and  marshes,  from  which  salt  is  obtained  during  the 
dry  season,  for  the  supply  of  a  great  extent  of  country,  and 
all  the  shores  of  the  E\ixine.  Petrifactions,  and  marine 
exiivis,  are  every  where  found  in  great  abundance.  The  salt 
mines  of  Armenia  have  also  long  been  celebrated. 


*  The  camel  is  emphatically  called  by  the  Arabians  the  Ship  of  the 
Desert. 

t  In  consideiing  the  diluvial  nature  of  this  portion  of  the  world, 
iii  M  hicli  tlie  Paradise  of  our  first  parents  is  described  to  have  been, 
it  must  be  obvious  to  every  one,  that  no  such  local  descriptions  of 
Paradise,  as  is  found  iu  our  translations  of  the  Book  of  Genesis, 
can  consist  with  the  total  destruction  of  the  antediluvian  eartli,  and 
V  ith  our  now  inhabiting  the  bed  of  the  antediluvian  sea.  That  the 
discussion  of  tliis  question  may  not  now  interrupt  the  general  line  of 
our  subject,  in  this  place,  it  may  be  satisfactory  to  the  reader  to  know, 
that  so  gicat  an  inconsistency  is  not  left  unexplained,  but  that  tlie 
I4th  Chapter  is  entirely  occupied  by  it. 

±"Travelling  in  Mesopotomia  seems,  even  in  the  earliest  ages  ot 
wlecliwc  have'anv  records,  to  have  been  liule  less  dangerous  tlian  at 
nrescnt  Josephus,  in  his  /ravs/i  .intiqvUies,  in  relating  diat  part  of 
thebistorv  of  Aliraliam,  wlien  he  sent  his  chiet  servant  trom  Canaan 
to  Haran,"to  betroth  a  wife  for  his  son  Isaac,  says  :  '  it  was  a  consid- 


able  time  before  the  servant  got  thitlier  ;  tor  it  requires  much 
tin'ie  to  pass  through  MesopoUimia,  where  it  is  tedious  travelling  in 
winter  from  the  depth  of  the  clav,  and  in  summer,  from  the  M.ant 
of  water  ■  and,  besides,  it  is  dangerous,  on  account  of  the  robberies 
there  committed,  wliirli  arc  not  to  be  avoided  by  travellers,  except 
by  caution  before-hand.'  " 


GEOLOGY  OF  SCRIPTURE. 


77 


If  wo  turn  our  view  nearer  to  our  own  shores,  and  contem- 
plate tlie  level  plains  ot'  rich  cultivation  occupying  almost  the 
whole  of  liussia,  Poland,  Germany,  France,*  and  Holland, 
we  shall  be  satisfied  of  the  correctness  of  the  statement  with 
which  we  set  out ;  that  the  appearances  which  present  them- 
selves on  the  plains  of  every  quarter  of  the  globe,  prove  be- 
yond a  doubt,  that  they  have,  at  no  very  distant  period,  form- 
ed a  part  of  the  bed  of  the  ocean  ;  and  that  a  change  of  a  very 
few  hundred  feet,  in  the  comparative  level  of  the  present  sea 
and  land,  would  once  more  destroy  by  far  the  greater  propor- 
tion of  the  habitable  parts  of  the  globe.  We  arc  not,  how- 
ever, from  hence  to  imply  that  the  nmdt  by  which  the  deluge 
was  eflected,  was  less  the  agency  of  a  supernatural  power. 
We  are  only  to  guard  ourselves  against  the  ideas  of  some  the- 
orists, who,  in  treating  of  this  great  revolution,  lose  sight  of 
the  comparative  extent  of  the  whuk  ^Inhe,  and  of  its  aqueous 
emxriii!^ ;  and  who  think  it  necessary  to  break  up  the  solid 
sphere  of  800O  miles  in  diameter,  in  order  to  produce  the 
means  of  immersing  a  few  thousand  feet  of  its  surface. 

We  shall  find,  that  the  more  we  study  geology  and  min 
cralogy,  on  an  enlarged  scale,  and  under  the  impression  of  the 
historical  view,  which  informs  us  not  only  that  the  old  earth 
was  lu  dissappear,  but  that  it  actually  did  become  overwhelmed 
by  afwud  of  waters,  and  that  we  are  consequently  now  inhabit- 
ing a  new  earth,  the  very  nature  of  which  assures  us,  without 
the  evidence  of  history,  that  it  formerly  was  the  bed  of  the 
ocean ;  the  more  easily  we  shall  bo  enabled  to  account,  in  a 
natural  manner,  for  the  secondary  formations  and  effects,  now 
every  where  presented  to  our  view.  When  we  have- once  ad- 
mitted that  the  primitive  rocks  were  created  without  any  con- 
nexion or  assistance  from  the  sea,  of  which  they  bear  no 
marks  ;  that  the  depression  for  the  "  gathering  together  of  the 
waters"  must  naturally  have  given  rise  to  the  earliest  second- 
ary formations,  in  which  no  fossil  remains  are  found  ;  that  in 
tlie  course  of  upwards  of  sixteen  centuries,  many  strata  of  a 
sandj-  and  calcareous  nature  must  naturally  have  been  form- 
ed, witli  which  the  entire  bed  nf  the  antediluvian  ocean  must 
have  been  encased  ;  and  forming  heights  and  hollows  of  an 
easy  and  rounded  form,  as  at  the  jjrosentday;  and  that  at  this 
particular  period  of  the  world,  an  interchange  was  to  take 
place,  between  the  level  of  the  old  sea,  and  of  the  old  land, 
by  which  preternatural  operation,  ordained  for  an  especial 
purpose  by  the  great  ruler  of  the  universe,  these  secondary 
heights  and  hollows  were  to  become  visible  ;  from  the  mo- 
ment we  take  this  view  of  the  subject,  every  thing  on  the 
earth  becomes  consistent,  which  was  before  confused,  and  in 
darkness  :  we  can  trace  in  our  minds,  the  whole  operation  of 
mineral  secondary  formations,  although  we  cannot  be  expect- 
ed, always,  to  account  for  the  various  characters  impressed 
upon  ditlerent  rocks,  in  the  course  of  passing  under  the  in- 
fluence of  the  chemical  processes  of  nature.  When  we  thus 
acknowledge  \.\\c period  and  the  mode  of  the  deluge,  we  have 
only  then  to  discover,  in  our  present  rocks,  what  the  particu- 
lar formations  were,  which  formed  the  actual  bed  of  the  sea, 
at  that  destructive  period.  When  wc  have  been  enabled  to  do 
tills,  as  we  often  can  do  most  distinctly,  (as,  for  instance,  in 
the  chalk  basins  of  geologists,)  we  may  be  satisfied,  that 
every  thing  we  find  almve  them,  is  the  result  of  the  action  of 
the  deluge,  in  the  slow  and  gradual  progress  of  which,  durintr 
one  whole  year,  the  sea  would  continue  to  arrange  and  deposit 
the  substances  of  every  kind  submitted  to  its  action,  in  the 
same  manner  as  at  other  times,  only  to  a  prodigiously  greater 
extent,  from  the  preternatural  supply  of  the  whole  moveable 
soils  and  productions  of  the  antediluvian  continents. |  Nor 
must  we  permit  our  minds  to  be  misled  by  the  depth  and  ex- 
tent to  which  these  diluvial  formations  are  frequently  found. 
For  though  iu  our  low  lands  we  often  cannot  penetrate  the  to- 
tal depth  to  which  they  extend ;  yet  we  must  keep  in  mind, 
on  the  other  liand,  that,  on  our  higher  grounds,  tlio  rocks,  in 
numberless  instances,  present  at  once  the  secondary  forma- 
tions which  formed  the  bed  of  the  sea  at  the  deluge :  and, 
consequently,  that  the  whole  moveable  soils  of  the  ofd  world, 
are  accumulated  deeply  in  the  hollows,  or  spread  more  thinly 
over  ihe plains  of  the  new.  As  a  familiar  instance  of  this  ar- 
rangement, we  may  take  the  chalk  formation  of  the  south  of 

*  Tlie  enormous  collections  of  sea  shells  tli:it  exist  in  France,  in 
Touruine,  and  at  Grignon,  have  always  attracted  much  attention. 
Ill  the  formep  instance  there  are  said  to  be  about  nine  square  leagues, 
■with  a  depth  of  about  IS  feet,  the  Avhole  consisting,  almost  entirely, 
of  fossil  shells.  It  is  also  s;ud,  lliat  at  Grignon,  iipwards  of  COO  spe- 
cies have  been  discovered. 

t "  The  bones  of  quadi-upods,alrcad}-  mentioned,  are  never  found  in 
the  strata  below  tlu>  chalk,  but  ahiays  in  the  clay  over  the  chalk." — 
Juliii.  Encychp.  Enfflaiul,  713. 


our  own  country,  and  of  the  nortli  of  France,  which  broad  ex- 
tent of  country,  though  now  intersected  by  the  channel,  is  ob- 
viously one  great  continuous  secondary  formation  of  the  ante- 
diluvian sea,  presenting  a  rounded  and  varied  outline,  with- 
out any  naturally  abrupt  form. 

Let  us  then  consider  this  great  extent  of  chalk,  (which,  in 
France  alone,  is  calculated  at  16  millions  of  acres.)  at  the 
period  of  the  deluge,  when,  as  has  been  above  explained,  the 
interchange  of  level  was  to  take  place,  either  by  the  depres- 
sion of  the  old  lands,  the  elevation  of  the  foundations  of  the 
old  seas,  or,  perhaps,  by  the  action  of  both  these  effects. 
This  chalky  accumulation  of  many  centuries,  continued  below 
the  surface  during  the  eariy  period  of  the  deluge,  the  waters 
of  which,  turbid  as  they  naturally  must  have  been,  deposited 
more  or  less  of  the  new  soils,  over  every  part  of  it,  both  high 
and  low,  but,  probably,  to  a  greater  depth  in  the  hollows;  the 
liner  particles  sunk,  as  usual,  to  the  bottom ;  the  grosser  were 
moved  about  by  the  currents  on  the  upper  parts  of  these  new 
formations,  as  they  were  deposited  ;  the  depression  of  tlio 
old  continents  gradually  continued  ;  until  we  at  length  arrive 
at  a  period  of  this  interchange,  when  the  tops  of  the  round 
heights,  in  the  chalk  formation,  came  gradually  to  the  surface 
of  the  waters,  and  were  washed  over  by  the  waves.  The 
operation  proceeds;  they  gradually  become  more  and  more 
elevated  above  the  level  of  the  waters,  which,  as  they  sink, 
wash  off  any  of  the  new  soils  which  might  have  been  de- 
posited on  the  heights,  and  carry  them  again  into  the  gulfs, 
to  undergo  a  fresh  deposit  in  a  lower  level.  The  tops  and 
sides  of  the  chalky  elevations  were  then  left  nearly  Imre,  as  we 
now  find  them ;  while  the  whole  moveable  matter  of  the  diluvial 
waters  became  deposited  in  the  basins  or  hollows.  In  tracing 
the  Sections  of  the  chalk,  which  are  visible  on  the  sea  coasts, 
we  often  discover  such  hollows  similarly  filled  up  ;*  and  wo 
can  have  no  reasonable  doubt,  that  the  extensive  districts  now 
contained  in  the  well-known  basins  of  Paris,  London,  and  the 
Isle  of  Wight,  &c.,  are  precisely  of  the  same  character,  and 
owe  their  formation,  and  their  richness  of  soil,  to  the  very 
same  cause  and  period. 

If  any  further  proof  of  this  were  required,  we  should  find 
it  in  the  fossil  remains  of  ijuailruped.i,  birds,  fish,  plants,  and 
shells,  found  in  the  lower  strata  of  the  Paris  basin  ;  similar, 
in  many  instiinccs,  to  those  fo\ind  in  the  upper  soils  of  the 
earth,  which  latter  are  unanimously  admitted  to  have  been 
edged  there  by  the  diluvial  waters. |  . 

\  section  of  this  basin,  (which  has  become  more  remark- 
able than  numberless  similar  basins,  merely  from  its  situation 
near  Paris,  and  its  having  been  so  minutely  scanned  by  tho 
distinguished  Cuvier,  whose  theories,  enoncous  as  they  are, 
have  been  founded  upon  the  phenomena  there  displayed), 
presents  a  numerous  succession  of  distinct  strata  of  sand, 
sand-stone,  clay  of  many  sorts  and  colours,  marl,  lime-stone, 
gypsum,  burr-stone,  and  alluvial  earths.      In  all  these  we 


*  There  is  an  interesting  section  of  a  sonic^vhat  similar  basin,  pre- 
sented to  our  view,  on  our  own  shores.  On  the  coast  of  Kent,  the 
clialk  clifls  of  the  Isle  of  Thanct  dip  beneath  the  diluvial  deposits 
about  lialf  a  mile  west  from  Pcgwell,  and  they  do  not  appear  again 
upon  llie  coast  till  a  little  way  beyond  Deal,  in'thc  inighbourhooil  of 
Walmcr  Castle.  The  borough  of  .Sandwich  stands  in  the  centre  of 
this  diluvial  section  of  a  basin  ;  and  a  branch  of  it,  of  a  long,  narrow 
form,  divides  the  Isle  of  Tbanit  from  the  main  land,  and  connects 
the  diluvial  formations  of  Sandwich  with  the  Isle  of  Slieppcy  and 
the  brd  of  the  Thames,  where  bones  of  elephants,  and  other  tropical 
productions,  arc  constantly  found  in  such  abundance.  The  wells 
sunk  .-It  Sandwich,  and  in  odier  parts  of  tliis  plain,  to  the  depth  of 
from  ."iO  to  130  feet,  indicate  many  nf  the  same  species  of  ililuviaJ 
strati  to  be  found  in  London  and  at  Paris.  Blue  clay,  sand  stone  of 
various  kinds,  and  raany  fossils,  in  tlic  strat:i  of  clav  and  marl,  in- 
dicate a  succession  very  similar  to  that  found  in  all  such  sitnalions. 

Nor  can  we  examine  any  gicat  length  of  coast  mIhto  llie  chalk  is 
the  prevailing  formation,  without  observing,  in  the  section  presented 
to  our  view,  numerous  smaller  instances  of  hollows  or  valleys  on 
the  ohl  surface  of  the  chalk,  which  hale  been  filled  up  i\  itb  soil,  or 
straUi  of  sand  and  gravel  ;  all  of  vibich  arc  to  be  attributed  to  the 
same  diluvial  action  on  a  small  scale.  Several  such  small  basins  may 
be  si-en  between  Ilamsgate  and  Kingsgate  in  die  Isle  of  Thanet,  and 
also  at  the  village  of  Pegwell. 

\  "  We  shall  conclude  our  account  of  this  basin  (of  Paris)  with 
an  enumeration  of  some  of  the  most  remarkable  organic  remains 
which  have  Ijoen  found  in  its  various  strata.  Skeletons  of  unknown 
birds,  elephant's  bones,  fish,  and  fish  skeletons  ;  leaves  and  parts  of 
vegcUibles  changed  into  silex  :  large  trunks  of  palm  trees  converted 
into  silex  :  skeletons  of  various  quadrupeds  :  tortoise  bones  :  bitu- 
minous wood  ;  and  nearly  throughout  all  the  various  formations, 
oyster  shells." — Edln.  Eticjiclo/i.  Fra/ice,  p.  GS6. 

The  above  enumeration  is  surely  sufficient,  of  itself,  to  demon- 
strate die  deposition  nf  so  extraordinary  a  mixture  of  land  and  sea 
productions  at  one  and  the  same  period,  and  by  the  action  of  one 
and  the  same  agent. 


7S 


CHRISTIAN   LIBRARY. 


find  no  formation  of  the  same  exact  character,  as  tlie  older 
sand-stone  formations,  or  chalk,  or  other  calcareous  gradual 
deposits,  U'liicli  funned  the  bed  of  lite  aniedi/iivian  sea. 

Ciivier  remarks,  that  the  (juatitity  o(  Imies  embedded  in 
the  g-ypseous  strata  of  Paris,  is  such  as  to  be  scarcely  credi- 
ble. In  some  parts  of  tliese  strata  there  is  scarcely  a  block 
that  does  not  inclose  a  bone ;  and  millions  must  have  been 
destroyed,  in  the  course  of  the  old  excavations,  before  these 
objects  began  to  attract  attention.  The  depth  of  the  entire 
basin  has  never  been  ascertained,  but  it  is  calculated  at 
about  500  feet. 

Of  the  numerous  species  of  fossils  found  in  these  various 
strata,  we  need  only  enumerate  a  few  of  the  most  remark- 
able, rind  coming  from  the  most  opposite  lalitudes,  to  show 
that  this,  and  other  such  hollows,  became  the  general  de- 
posits of  every  sort  of  diluvial  debris,  arranged,  however, 
aceording  to  the  mode  iiniversalli/  prevalent,  within  the  influ- 
ence of  the  iL-aters  of  the  ocean.  VVc  find,  then,  a  vast  num- 
ber of  marine  fossil  shclk,  of  which  oysters  form  a  prominent 
part.  .Some  other  shells,  found  in  a  formation  where  regc- 
iahle  fusils  also  were,  have  been  called  fresh  water  shells ; 
and  thus,  the  two  together,  have  given  rise  to  one  part  of 
Cuvier's  theory  of //-csA  water  deposits.*  There  can  be  no- 
thing surprising  in  finding  fresh  water  shells,  even  if  well 
ascertained  to  be  such,  in  an  accumulation  of  so  varied  a 
character;  but  their yjrfMficc  alone  cannot  support  the  extra- 
ordinary ideas  of  the  above  distinguished  individual:  and, 
besides,  it  is  admitted,  that  the  exact  character  of  such 
shells  is  by  no  means  clear.  We  find,  amongst  many  vege- 
table fissils,  the  stems  of  palm  trees  in  a  petrified  state. 
Of  large  quadrupeds,  birds,  and  fish,  there  are  man}'  most 
interesting  specimens  found  in  the  gypsum  formation  ;  and', 
also,  tiie  bones  of  elephants,  lortoii.es,  crocodiles,  and  other 
tropical  animals,  similar  in  character,  and  in  species,  to  many 
of  those  fossils  found  in  lime-stone  rocks  in  England,  and 
clsewlierc  ;  and  in  the  basin  of  London. "f 

We  can,  thus,  have  no  hesitation  in  attributing  similar 
effects  to  similar  causes  all  over  the  world  :  and  if  it  may  be 
safe!}'  laid  down  as  a  general  principle  in  geology,  that  no 
remains  of  terrestrial  animals  or  vegetables  are  to  be  found 
in  formations  previous  to  the  Mosaic  deluge,  it  must  natu- 
rally follow,  that  all  formations  in  which  such  fossils  are 
now  found,  are  of  diluvial  origin.  We  are,  of  course,  to 
distinguish  between  snch  formations,  and  the  animal  and 
vegetable  remains  found  so  abundantly  in  the  more  partial 
deposits  of  marshes  or  lakes,  which  have  taken  ])lace  in  the 
common  course  of  things,  and  are  now  going  on  under  our  eyes. 


*  "Those  teiTesti'ial  or^nic  remains  which  may  be  considered 
aa  properly  terrene,  arc  pi-csumed  to  be  so,  from  their  natures,  and 
not  from  llioir  situations  ;  as  they  arc  found  embedded  in  strata  of 
aquatic  orijjin,  as  v.A\  as  in  alluvial  deposits,  and  orcasionallv  in 
comijany  M'illl  aquatic,  in  sonic  casus,  indeed,  even  willj  marijie  re- 
mains. They  comprise  quadrupeds,  bii'ds,  reptiles,  insects,  and 
plants ;  and  tiiey  bring  us  down  to  the  last  periods  of  the  carUi's 
cbanjj;e,  which  coimect  tlie  most  ancient  living  beings  widi  those 
whicli  are  actually  in  existence. 

*'  llemains  of  quadrupeds  of  various  extinct  genera  or  species, 
togetlier  widi  those  of  some  birds  and  i-cptiles,  are  found  accompa- 
nying fishes  and  shells  in  tiie  fresh  water  deposits  of  the  Paris  basin. 
1'bese  are  also  accumulated  in  caverns,  oi*  fissures,  more  or  less 
entangled  In  earthy  matter.  Under  llie  s:imi'  bead  may  be  also  in- 
cluded the  animals  entangled  in  ice." — Kdin.  Encyclop.  Organic 
Jiemnins. 

"We  iierc  find,  in  the  able  ai'licle,  of  which  the  above  is  an  cxti-^.et. 
a  distinct  admission  of  analogy  between  all  such  fossils,  wherever 
tliey  are  found  in  a  mixed  slate  ;  and  it  may  be,  perhaps,  witli  con- 
fidence concluded,  that  no  fossil,  (juadruped,  bird,  or  plant,  has  yet 
been  found,  v\  bicb  may  not  be  considered  a  deposit  from  llie  diluvial 
waters. 

t  In  the  above  quoted  able  article  on  organic  remains,  in  the 
Edinburgh  Encyclopaedia,  amidst  the  general  obscui-ity  which  una 
voidably  overhangs  this  subject,  \>hen  viewed  under  the  iniUience  of 
existing  tlicories,  we  find  many  gleams  of  light,  all  of  which  tend 
towards  the  very  points  for  ■which  we  are  now  contending.  The 
blindness  of  dieorists  to  the  imiierfections  and  contradictions  of 
tlicir  o\\  n  conceits.  Is  often  exposed  by  the  able  author  of  that  ar- 
ticle :  and  tb.e  geological  theories  of  Cuvier  have  not  escaped 
remark,  and  able  animad\-ersIon.  After  giving  an  account  of  some 
fossil  iish  found  in  a  calcareous  shale  near  tlie  village  of  Steiu^ 
(where  the  Rhine  issues  out  from  tliu  Lake  of  Constance,)  300  feet 
above  the  le;el  of  die  lake,  and  which  have  been  called  fresh  water 
fish  by  Saussure,  probably  from  die  vegetable  remains  also  found 
in  the  same  cleposit,  this  author  makes  tbc  following  remark,  which 
might  be  eiiually  applied  to  many  other  parts  of  that  article  :  "  V,> 
can  only  say,  that  if  this  interniixture  of  marine  and  fresh  water 
fish  exists  in  tiiis  place,  and  if  tliere  is  no  error  in  the  assignment 
of  sjiecies,  die  geology  of  this  district  requires  to  be  more  carefully 
exainiiied." — Edin.  Knctjclnp.  Organic  Remains,  p.  717. 


We  come  to  the  same  conclusions  in  considering  the  great 
deposits  of  rock  salt  and  of  coal,  in  every  part  of  the  world ; 
on  each  of  which  it  may  be  necessary  to  make  some  observa- 
tions :  for  nothing  more  strongly  marks  the  former  presence 
of  the  sea  upon  onr  present  lands,  than  the  immense  strata 
of  rnek  salt  now  found  in  all  secondary  districts. 

In  Kngland,  beds  of  from  20  to  ."O  yards  thick,  are  found 
in  Cheshire,  and  in  other  parts.  Spain  posf^esses  the  cele- 
brated rock-salt  mountain  at  Cordova,  which  is  nearly  300 
feet  high.  The  salt  alternates  with  parallel  beds  of  clay, 
gypsu?n,  or  sand.  Near  the  same  place  is  a  promontory  of 
red  salt,  OGO  feet  high,  and  nearly  solid  throughout.  The 
whole  Island  of  Ormuz,  in  the  Persian  Gulf,  is  said  to  be  a 
solid  mass  of  fossil  salt.  In  South  America  the  salt  mines 
are  numerous ;  and  some  are  found  in  Peru,  at  an  elvevation 
of  10,000  feet  above  the  sea;  but  even  in  these  elevated 
regions,  it  is  always  associated,  as  in  other  countries,  with 
secondary  and  diluvial  formations  of  lime-stone,  clay,  sand, 
sea  shells,  &c. 

As  to  the  origin  of  these  remarkable  deposits,  we  may 
conclude,  from  the  accompanying  phenomena,  that  the  salt 
has  been  deposited  in  hollows,  on  the  retreat  of  the  diluvial 
waters,  and  tliat  the  moisture  has  been  evaporated  or  drained 
off  in  the  course  of  subsequent  periods. 

That  tlie  waters  of  the  ocean  are  found  to  be  more  richly 
impregnated  with  sail,  the  greater  the  depth  from  whence  they 
are  taken,  is  a  fact  which  has  long  excited  the  remark  of  philo- 
sophers ;  and  it  appears  highly  probable  that,  from  the  greater 
specific  gravity  of  salt  water,  a  very  extensive  deposit  of  solid 
salt  maj'  take  place  in  the  greatest  depths  of  the  ocean  itself. 
The  reflux  current  in  the  Mediterranean  sea  is  easily  account- 
ed for  on  this  principle,  that,  as  the  waters  arc  forced  into  it  by 
the  winds  and  the  tides,  and  a  great  evaporation  takes  place 
i'rom  its  inland  surface,  the  impregnated  sail, water  sinks,  and 
being  constantly  supplied  by  the  entering  current,  the  lower 
strata,  heavily  charged  with  salt,  arc  forced  out  again  into  the 
ocean,  at  a  depth  far  beyond  our  observation. 

We  have  a  most  interesting  illustration  of  this  fact,  in  an 
account  given  (in  the  18th  number  of  the  Edinburgh  .Tournal 
of  Agriculture,)  of  the  opening  of  the  lake  of  Lothing,  at 
Lowestoft,  in  Suifolk,  on  the  3d  of  June,  1831,  when  the  new 
harbour  was  first  entered  by  sea-borne  vessels.  The  salt 
water  entered  the  lake  with  a  strong  under  current,  the  fresh 
water  running  out,  at  the  same  time,  to  the  sea,  upon  the  sur- 
face. This  fiesh  water  was  raised  to  the  top  by  the  irruption 
of  the  sea  writer  beneath,  and  an  immense  quautit}-  of  yeast- 
like scum  rose  to  the  surface.  The  entire  body  of  water  in 
the  lake  was  elevated  above  its  former  level  ;  and  on  putting 
down  a  pole,  a  strong  under  current  could  be  felt,  bearing  it 
from  the  sea.  At  one  place,  there  was  a  jierceptible  and  clear- 
ly defined  line,  where  the  salt  water  and  the  fresh  met,  the 
former  rushing  tinder  the  latter;  and  upon  this  line,  salt 
water  might  have  been  taken  up  in  one  hand,  and  fresh  in  the 
other.* 

Mr.  Cox,  in  describing  the  salt  mines  of  Wiolitska,  near 
Cracow,  in  Poland,  says,  that  the  latter  city  is  completely 
undermined,  and  stands,  as  it  were,  on  pillars  of  salt.  The 
strataof  the  whole  mine  are  described  minutely  by  M.  Gue- 
tard,  who  says,  that  the  upper  surface,  like  a  great  part  of 
Poland,  is  sand ;  then  follows  clay,  occasionally  mixed  with 
sand  and  gravel,  containing  fossil  animal  remains;  and  the 
third  stratum  is  calcareous  rock,  or  gypsum  ;  from  all  which 
circumstances  he  very  naturally  concludes,  that  this  spot  was 
formerly  covered  by  the  sea,  and  that  the  salt  was  deposited 
from  its  evaporated  waters.  All  the  above  extraneous  for- 
mations being  evidently  diluvial,  like  those  at  Paris,  guide 
us  to  the  exact  period  of  this,  and  all  other  salt  deposits. 

It  only  now  remains  for  us  to  take  a  general  view  of  the 
coal  formations,  and  endeavour  to  discover  whether  there  is 
any  analogy  between  them  and  those  we  have  already  been 
considering.  The  first  striking  circumstance  in  the  coal 
fields,  is,  that  they  have  no  connection  with  primitive  rocks,  but, 
on  the  contrary,  are  always  found  in  secondary  and  plain 
countries.  The}'  lie  amongst  sand-stones,  clay-slates,  and 
calcareous  rocks,  but  have,  in  no  instance,  been  found  below 
chalk,  which  is  one  of  the  best  defined  secondary  formations 
immediately  preceding  the  deluge,  as  has  already  been 
shown.  It  is  true,  that  in  the  unreasonable  systems  of  gen- 
eral and  continuous  stratification  over  the  whole  globe,  which 
so  much  prevail  in  the  geology  of  the  present  day,  coal  is 

"  Great  quantities  of  fresh  water  fish  perished  on  this  occasion ; 
one  pike,  bow evei-,  of  201bs.  weight,  bad  found  time  enough  to  de- 
vour a  herring,  Mliich  was  found  entire  in  his  stomach. 


GEOLOGY  OF  SCRIPTURE. 


79 


made  to  lie  far  beneath  chalk,  and  is,  consequently,  supposed 
to  be  a  fornialion  of  a  much  earlier  period.  Calculations 
have  accordingly  been  made,  as  to  the  probable  depth  of  coal 
beneath  chalk;  assumino',  as  a  fact,  that  the  dip  of  the  coal, 
strata  continues  in  the  directions  we  now  fiud  them  to  lie  in 
different  coal  fields.  Such  calculations  will  be  elsewhere 
shown  to  lead  only  to  error  and  confusion. 

The  following  passage  in  an  able  article  of  the  Edinburgh 
Encyclopaedia,  on  the  geology  of  England,  will  serve  to 
show,  in  the  clearest  manner,  the  general  nature  of  the  coal 
fields  of  our  own  country;  and  all  similar  fields  may  be  tra- 
ced to  similar  situations,  by  extending  our  views  on  a  suffi- 
ciently lar^e  scale,  and  not  being  misled  either  by  the  dip  of 
the  strata,  or  by  the  nature  of  the  embedding  rocks. 

"The  principal  coal  fields,  in  the  northern  part  of  this  dis- 
trict, lie  in  Northumberland  and  Durham;  the  West  Hiding 
of  Yorkshire ;  and  in  Derbyshire.  The  strata  of  coal  tenni- 
iiate  a  few  miles  north-east  of  the  town  of  Derby,  but  make 
their  appearance  again  to  the  south  of  the  Trent,  in  Leices- 
tershire, near  Ashby  de  la  Zouch:  on  the  south-east,  tlieyi 
terminate  at  Clrarnwood  Hills;  while,  on  the  south-west,  a  I 
thick  bed  of  coant  breccia  and  <p-avcl  separates  them  from  the 
coal  fields  in  the  county  of  Warwick." — England,  p.  713. 

"Although,  as  we  liave  already  remarked,  the  red  sand- 
stone rock  cuts  off  the  coal  fields  in  general,  yet,  in  some 
parts  of  Lancashire,  and  the  western  counties,  detached  coal 
fields  are  surrounded  by  it.  All  the  strata  of  coal,  and  iron- 
stone, in  South  Wales,  are  deposited  in  a  lime-atone  baiin, 
the  form  of  which  is  an  irregular  oval,  in  length  100  miles, 
and,  where  broadest,  18  or  20  miles.  The  Ujjper  stratum  of 
coal  is  at  the  depth  of  50  or  CO  fathoms ;  the  succeeding 
strata  lie  deeper,  and  are  accompanied  with  paralleled  strata  of 
iron  ore:  the  lowest  strata  at  the  centre  range  are  from  000 
to  700  fathoms  deep."  (This  depth  has,  of  course,  not  been 
found  from  actual  measurement  ■■  700  fathoms  is  not  far  from 
a  mile;  and  it  raaj'  be  doubted,  as  is  elsewhere  shown,  whe- 
ther any  secondary  formations  extend  to  so  great  a  depth.) 
"In  this  basin  there  arc  12  strata  of  coal  from  three  to  tiinc\ 
feet  thick,  and  eleven  others  from  eighteen  inches,  to  three 
feet,  making  in  all  95  feet  of  coal.  The  lime-stone  that  furnus 
the  aiibrtralum  of  this  mineral  deposition,  appears  on  the  sur- 
face alt  along  the  boundur)/  of  the  busin,  and  is  supposed  to  have 
an  underground  connexion,  from  point  to  point.'''' — Edin. 
EncycUip.  England,  p.  711. 

Nothing  can  be  clearer  than  this  account:  and  it  appears 
certain,  that  as  in  the  case  of  the  Paris  basin,  this  lime-stone 
formed  llie  bed  of  the  antediluvian  sea,  on  which  the  dilu- 
vial deposits  of  coal,  clay,  iron-stone,  and  free-stone,  were 
alternately  laid  at  the  same  period.  This  being  admitted, 
we  have  a  natural  means  of  accounting  for  the  various  incli- 
nations in  the  j^arallel  strata  of  such  diluvial  deposits.  For, 
in  the  first  place,  thej'  must  have  followed  any  inclinations 
that  might  have  existed  in  the  bed  on  which  they  were  laid ; 
and,  in  the  next  place,  we  cannot  conceive  so  great  a  mass  of 
very  moist  materials  becoming  drained  of  their  moisture,  and 
settling  down  ijilo  a  dry  and  hard  state,  by  their  own  weight, 
without  subsiding  more  in  one  place  than  in  another;  and  we 
can  thus  account  for  those  derangements  in  coal  and  other 
strata  which  always  occasion  trouble,  and  often  much  ex- 
pense to  the  miner;  and  are  called  by  the  technical  and 
provincial  names  of  troubles,  hitclics,  nips,  slips,  &c. 

If  any  additioiial  proof  were  wanting  of  the  formation  of 
coal  having  been  occasioned  by  terrestrial  vegetable  substances, 
deposited  by  murine  acliun,  we  should  find  it  in  the  presence 
of  the  impressions  oi  fish  and  shells  in  the  stratii  of  coal  in 
Leicestershire.  It  may  be  said,  that,  as  coal  is  called  by  ge- 
ologists a  fresh  wuler  formation,  these  aciuatic  fossils  most 
probably  belong  lo  fresh  water  lakes  ;  but  this  reasoning  is  not 
consistent  with  numberless  other  facts,  exhibited  in  the  coal 
strata,  and  wliieh  fully  prove  their  connection  with  the  sea. 

There  occurs  also  in  the  coal  districts  another  dilliciilty, 
which  is  not  so  easily  accounted  for,  although  wo  may  form 
some  indistinct  idea  of  it.  This  is,  the  solid  dijhe  of  a  dif- 
ferent mineral,  which  sometimes  completely  intersects  the 
strata,  and  appears  to  have  been  injected,  as  it  were,  into  a 
fissure  occasioned  by  the  subsidence  above  explained.  We 
discover  something  analogous  to  these  dykes,  in  the  remarka- 
ble beds  of  solid  flint,  which  intersect  the  strata  of  chalk,  in 
every  direction.*     These  dykes  of  flint,  though  they  never 

•  During  a  residence  of  some  time  in  a  chalk  district,  on  the  coast, 
I  have  had  an  opportunity  of  paying  some  attention  to  the  formation 
of  flint ;  a  subject  uhiih  lias  ne\er  yet  been  duly  ex  plained,  and  which 
will,  probably,  long  continue  a  problem  in  mineralogy.     Vv'ith  regard 


extend  to  the  thickness  often, found  in  the  coal  strata,  are 
spread  both  laterally  and  vertically  over  a  very  considerable 
space.  They  are  distinctly  proved  to  be  a  formation  subse- 
quent to  the  chalk  itself;  and  appear,  like  all  flints,  to  be  the 
petrified  calcareous  lluids  drained  from  the  whole  mass  in  the 
course  of  pressure.  It  is  not  easy  to  account  for  the  manner 
in  which  the  strata  of  the  chalk  were  sustained,  and  kept 
asunder,  whilst  the  petrifaction  of  this  juice  was  going  on ; 
but  this,  like,  many  other  such  difficulties  in  mineralogy,  does 
not  affect  the  general  question  ;  nor  ought  the  dykes  of  the 
coal  fields  to  be  advanced  in  opposition  to  the  general  princi- 
ple of  formation  which  we  have  now  been  considering. 


POSTSCRIPT  NOTE  TO  CHAPTER  VIII. 

While  these  sheets  are  preparing  for  the  press,  and  while 
an  opportunity  is  still  i:i  my  power,  I  cannot  permit  it  to  pass 
without  a  few  remarks  upon  an  important  paper  on  the  Coal 
Series,  lately  read  before  the  Yorkshire  Philosophical  So- 
ciety, and  which  has  now  been  published  in  the  last  number 
of  the  London  and  Edinburgh  Philosophical  Ma^zinc  (for 
Dec).  This  paper  is  upon  the  subject  of  "  The  Lower  Coal 
Series  of  Yorkshire."  It  presents  one  of  the  many  steps  in 
the  received  systems  of  geology,  which  arc  slowly,  but  surely, 
advancing  towards  that  very  point  for  whicli  1  am  now  con- 
tending ;  and  the  few  remarks  I  have  to  make  upon  it,  will,  I 
trust,  go  far  to  prove,  that  the  hasty  conclusions  of  the  con- 
tinental geology,  on  which  our  own  schools  have  all  been 
founded,  have  led  to  much  contradiction  and  error,  on  this 
hi"jhly  important  branch  of  our  subject. 

It  lias,  for  some  time,  been  one  of  the  well  known  facts  of 
geology,  that,  as  trees  and  herbs  could  not,  in  any  common 
circumstances,  or  by  the  common  laws  of  nature,  be  deposit- 
ed in  a  tranquil  st;ite  in  the  bed  of  the  sea,  the  extensive 
deposits  we  now  discover  in  the  form  of  repeated  and  alter- 
nating beds  of  coal,  must  have  been  deposited  in  fresh  water  ; 
and,  from  this  assumption,  it  has  followed,  that,  wherever 
vegetable  substances  have  been  discovered,  in  the  form  of 
regular  strata,  even  though  occasionally  accompanied  with 
shells,  such  formations  have  received  the  geological  name  of 
Lacustrinf;  deposits,  as  having  resulted  from  the  long-coii- 
tinned  action  of  the  laws  of  nature  in  inlutid  lakes  of  fresh 
water. 

This  idea  has,  in  a  great  measure,  arisen,  as  I  have  else- 
where had  occasion  to  show,  from  the  deep-rooted  error,  that 
we  are  now  inhabiting  the  same  dry  land  which  existed 
before  the  iSIosaic  deluge;  and  so  misled  have  we  in  general 
been,  by  this  delusion,  that,  wherever  shells  have  been  found 


to  tlie  actual  composhi^n  of  flint,  I  consider  il  clearly  to  be  a  pelri- 
licd  fluid  draini-d  from  Uic  udcarcous  mass,  in  a  moist  stale.  The 
pi  ilect  fluidity  of  flint,  at  one  period  of  its  formation,  is  distinctly 
proved,  1)V  the  fossil  shells  often  completely  embedded  in  its  sub- 
st-mce,  or  preserved  in  tlic  most  perfect  manner,  attached  to  its  sur- 
face. Shells,  in  a  very  complete  slate  of  ju-csci-vation,  and  of  Ibe 
most  fragile  nature,  are  often  found  neatly  iiiled  w  idi  pure  Bint,  even 
wbiii  at  a  distance  from  any  bed,  or  nodule,  of  that  matter,  from 
A\bich  we  might  havcconclucled  tliem  to  have  been  accidciiUilly  tilled, 
like  melted  lead  intoamoidil.  Tliis  fluid  mailer, however,  evidently 
did  not  follow  the  general  laws  of  fluids,  by  reUiining  a  liorizonliil 
surface;  for  I  have,  in  my  collection  of  fossils,  some  sliells  of  echini, 
which  I  found  to  be  half  fdlcd  with  chalk,  and  half  with  flint ;  the 
latter,  with  a  rounded  surface,  and  in  a  sloping  position.  The  flint, 
ill  these  specimens,  is,  also,  quite  unconnected  with  the  only  two 
orifices  by  whicli  tlie  liipiid  mailer  could  have  entered  from  widiout; 
it  would,  iberefore,  appear  to  have  originated  « ilbin  tlie  shell.  And 
Uiis  idea  is  further  confirmed,  by  finding,  in  other  beautiful  and  per- 
fect specimens,  filled  with  flint,  that  the  substance  is  gintly  rounded 
outwards  at  die  orifices,  as  if  pressed  in  a  lliick  gummy  state  from 
within;  instead  of  being  hollowed  inwards,  as  lead  is,  when  poured 
into  :i  mould  from  wilhont.  1  have  also  found,  occasionally,  tliat 
those  nearly  spherical  nodules  found  in  the  chalk,  are  sometimes 
lioUow,  and  contain,  in  the  cavity,  a  yellow  calcareous  liquid,  of  tlie 
consistencv  of  cream,  and  perfeclly  tasteless.  The  elongated  and 
irregularly  pointed  noilulcs,  are  often  found  in  the  form  of  hollow 
tubes-  widiin  which,  are  sometimes  minute  crystals,  and  at  other 
times,  the  matter  has  shot  into  long  and  delicate  fibres,  like  hair,  cu- 
riouslv  interwoven.  All  these  appeanmces  in  flint,  distinctly  prove 
it  to  have  been  a  fluid,  subsequent  to  die  deposition  of  the  chalk  in 
which  it  is  now  fomid  ;  and  that  it  may,  perhaps, properly  be  termed 
the  juice  of  the  calcaicons  mass,  in  the  course  of  dessication,  con- 
veited  into  stone,  by  tliose  unaccountable  chemical  laws,  which  now 
govern  the  mineral  world.  The  cause  of  the  singularly  irregular 
cavities  in  which  the  flints  have  been  formed,  and  of  their  horizon- 
tal sti-.atification  in  the  chalk,  must,  for  the  present,  remain  subjects 
of  conjeilure  alone;  but,  like  tlie  ilykes  in  the  coal  strata,  or  the 
grottoes  and  fissures  in  lime-stone  rocks,  they  do  not  in  the  least 
affect  llie  general  question. 


80 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


in  the  neighbourhood  of  the  coal  strata,  it  has  been  assumed, 
as  a  matter  of  course,  that  they  had  belonged  to  such  ani- 
mals as  tlien  inhabited  the  fresh  ivater.  It  must,  also,  be 
kept  in  mind,  that,  as  there  is  often  a  separation  of  several 
hundred  feet  between  the  extreme  limits  of  the  beds  of  coal, 
and  that,  within  that  space,  there  are  often  mdny  seams  of 
that  invaluable  deposit,  each  assumed  as  having  been  the 
result  of  immense  pcrw(h  of  lime,  as  we  may  have  naturally 
concluded,  from  the  invisible  (because  visionary)  progress  of 
such  deposits  in  the  lakes  of  our  own  country,  or  in  the  rest 
of  Europe;  we  are  unavoidably  led,  by  the  adoption  of  such 
a  theory,  to  discard  history,  and  to  adopt  hypothesis  ;  laying 
ourselves  open,  in  such  instances  as  I  am  now  about  toqviote, 
to  the  vacillating  effects,  arising  from  distinct  contradiction. 

Mr  .John  Phillips,  the  author  of  the  interesting  paper  above 
alluded  to,  says  :  "  The  lowest  portion  of  the  Yorkshire  coal 
strata,  resting  upon  the  mill-stone  grit,  produces  compara- 
tively but  a  small  quantity  of  coal ;  and  this,  in  general,  not 
of  a  good  quality.  But  no  part  of  the  coal-field  is  more 
curious  in  its  geological  relations,  or  more  worthy  of  close 
studi/,  hy  those  who  desire  to  penetrate  into  the  history  of  the 
production  of  cool.  We  may  define  this  lowest  coal  series 
very  simply,  by  saying,  that  it  is  included  between  the  mill- 
stone grit  of  Bromley,  beneath,  and  the  Jlag-stone  of  Elland, 
above,  having  a  thickness  of  120  or  150  yards,  and  inclosing, 
near  the  bottom,  two  thin  scams  af  coal,  one,  or  both  of  them, 
workable  ;  and  several  other  layers  scattered  through  its  mass, 
too  thin  to  be  worth  working.  The  most  regular  and  con- 
tinous  of  all  these  coal  seams,  reaches,  in  a  few  places,  to 
the  thickness  of -27  or  30  inches,  but  is  generally  only  about 
16.  It  is  worked  at  various  places,  near  Leeds,  Bradford, 
Halifax,  and  .Sheffield. 

"  It  would  have  been  impossible  to  have  traced  so  thin  a 
seam  of  coal,  along  so  extensive  a  range,  without  some  pecu- 
liar facilities — somp points  of  reference  more  distinct  than  the 
varying  ijuality  of  the  coal,  and  the  still  more  irregular 
Jhictuations  of  the  sandstones  and  shales.  This  coal  seam 
is  covered  by  a  roof,  unlike  that  of  any  other  coal  bed,  above 
the  mountain  limestone,  in  the  lirilish  Islands  ,■  for,  instead  of 
containing  onli/  the  remains  of  plants,  or  fresh  water  shells, 
it  is  filled  with  a  considerable  diversity  of  marine  shells, 
belonging  to  the  genera  Peeten,  and  Ammonites ;  and,  in  one 
localiry,  "near  Halifax,  specimens  of  Orthocera  Ostrea,  and 
scaly  fish,  have  been  obtained  from  certain  nodular  argillo- 
calcareous   concretions,    called    Baum   Pots,   lying   over  it. 

The  uniform  occurrence  of  the  Pectens,  and  Ammonites, 
through  so  wide  a  range,  over  one  particular  thin  bed  of  coal, 
while  they  are  not  found  in  any  other  part  of  the  coal  strata, 
is  one  of  the  most  curious  phenomena  yet  observed  concerning  the 
distribution  of  organic  remains,  and  loill,  undoubtedly,  be  found 
of  the  highest  importance  in  all  deductions  relating  to  the  cir- 
cutnstances  which  attended  the  production  of  coal." 

Mr.  Phillips  then  proceeds  to  give  sections  of  the  whole 
series,  which,  as  in  other  coal  fields,  consists  of  alternating 
strata  of  sandy  and  argillaceous  deposits,  exactly  similar, 
in  their  general  character,  to  what  I  have  already  had  occa- 
sion to  exhibit ;  and  containing,  in  several  instances,  the 
fossil  remains  of  shells  and  plants. 

He  then  continues:  "  In  the  upjiercoal  series  of  Northum- 
berland, Durham,  Yorkshire,  and  Derbyshire,  are  several  most 
extensive  layers  of  bivalve  shells,  commonly  called  muscle- 
bands,  and  referred  to  the  genus  Unio,  from  which  the  fresh- 
water origin  of  those  coal  deposits  has  been  inferred.  It  was, 
therefore,  with  extreme  gratification,  that  I  found,  in  passing 
throun-h  Mr.  Rawson's  colliery,  at  Swan  Banks,  in  the  midst 
of  the  series  above  described,  two  layers  of  these  shells,  one 
of  them  about  the  middle  of  the  scries,  considerably  above  the 
Pecten  coal  ;  the  other  near  the  bottom,  and  considerably 
DELOW  that  coal." 

Mr.  Phillips  then  reasons  upon  the  "  periodical  return  of 
the  marine  element  into  its  ancient  receptacle,  after  that  had 
been,  for  some  time,  occupied  by  fresh  water,  and  its  few  in- 
habitants," in  much  the  same  way  by  which  the  theories 
of  Cuvier  attempt  to  account  for  the  stratifications  in  the 
Paris  chalk  basin. 

After  what  has  been  already  said  on  the  more  consistent 
and  historical  source  of  such  deposits,  it  is  only  necessary,  in 
this  place,  to  add,  that  so  unqnestionable  a  proof  of  marine 
agency,  in  various  parts  of  the  coal  basins  of  England,  must 
shake  to  their  foundations  the  theories  of  lacustrine  depo- 
sits ;  and,  until  it  can  be  shown  in  our  own  lakes,  or  in  those 
of  the  European  continent,  not  only  that  such  extensive 
ligneous  deposits  are  now  going  on  in  their  beds,  but,  also, 
that  distinct  stratification  can,  under  any  circumstances, 


take  place,  without  the  action  of  the  tides  and  currents,  we 
must  continue  to  look  upon  such  vague  and  conlradictory 
theories,  as  nothing  better  than  empty  dreams,  which  leave 
the  rnind  in  a  confused  and  bewildered  state,  without  the 
reason  being  able  to  attain  anj'  sound  or  solid  ground  upon 
which  securely  to  repose.* 


CHAPTER  IX. 

Organic  Hemains. — Ei'idences  derived  from  them. — Erroneous 
'rtieories  of  Continuous  Stratification.  Diluvial  J'ossil  lie- 
mains.  Viluvial  Origin  of  Coal. — Unfounded  Theories  on 
this  iSuliject. — T/ie  Belgian  Coal  Fields. — Tropical  Produc- 
tions in  Polar  Regions. — Bajfon^s  Theory. — High  Import- 
ance of  the  Evidence  of  Fossils. — Natural  and  unavoidable 
mode  of  Transport. — Instances  in  Proof — Uuoi/ant  nature 
of  Bodies  after  J)eath. — Rate  at  ivhich  they  might  have  been 
Transpoi-ted. — 1'hc  thick-skiimed  Animals  floated  longest. 

Having  thus  found  a  further  corroboration  of  the  truth  of 
Scripture,  in  examining  the  appearances  still  existing  on  the 
general  surface  of  the  earth,  we  now  come  to  the  consideration 
of  a  most  important  part  of  the  evidence,  by  which  the  record 
is  still  further  sujiporfcd,  and  in  a  still  more  remarkable  de- 
gree :  I  mean,  that  of  the  fossil  remains  of  animal  and  veg- 
etable productions,  so  abundant  in  the  secondary  and  diluvial 
formations.  This  most  interesting  part  of  our  subject  is 
much  too  extensive  to  be  here  entered  upon  at  great  length; 
but  as  many  of  the  theories  of  geology  have  been  formed  on 
the  evidence  of  fossils,  viewed  under  a  false  light,  it  becomes 
liighly  necessary  to  take  a  general  view  of  the  subject;  and 
this  general  view  may,  perhaps,  prove  sufficient  for  our  pre- 
sent general  purpose  :  for  it  must  be  evident,  that  a  few  facts, 
unequivocally  proved,  and  supported  both  by  reason,  and  by 
history,  are  of  more  value  in  leading  to  a  just  conclusion, 
than  a  thousand  theories,  however  plausibly  and  ably  com- 
posed, where  both  reason  and  history  are  directly  contra- 
dicted. 

The  observations  of  the  last  half  century,  in  various  parts 
of  the  world,  have  served  to  give  us  a  tolerably  extensive 
view  of  this  wide  field  for  inquiry :  but  when  we  consider, 
that  geology  is  but  yet  in  -its  youth,  and  is  only  gradually 
rejecting  the  wild  fancies  of  its  more  childish  years ;  and, 
further,  when  we  remember  the  comparatively  few  spots 
upon  the  surface  of  the  whole  earth,  where  we  can  have  free 
access  to  a  view  of  the  interior  structure  in  its  upper  strata, 
it  may,  perhaps,  be  worthy  of  admiration,  that  our  knowledge 
is  already  so  extensive  as  it  is.  As  every  day,  however, 
adds  to  the  number  of  ardent  inquirers  who  bring  in  their 
stores  of  information,  to  add  to  the  common  stock,  we  may 
hope,  in  a  short  time,  to  obtain  much  more  correct  and  cer- 
tain data  than  we  even  yet  possess,  in  order  to  secvire  the 
foundations  of  the  whole  structure,  which  have  been,  hitherto, 
but  too  generally  laid  in  the  sand. 

In  tracing  the  strata  of  the  earth's  surface,  we  discover, 
first,  that  no  organic  substances  exist  in  the  primitive  rocks ;  nor 
do  we  meet  with  any  marine  remains  until  we  rise  several 
stages  in  the  secondary  strata.  As  we  mount,  however,  to- 
wards the  surface,  the  quantity  of  shells  increases  in  some  of 
the  strata,  while  in  others  they  are  almost  entirely  wanting, 
as  we  may  observe  is  the  case  in  the  visible  parts  of  the  pre- 
sent seas;  but  as  we  approach  still  nearer  to  the  surface,  and 
examine  the  rocks  and  soils  which  were  formed  at  the  period 
of  the  deluge,  we  find  a  vast  increase  in  the  fossil  remains, 
and  also  a  much  greater  variety  in  the  species  that  have  be- 
come embedded. 

In  the  course  of  our  examination  into  the  laws  of  nature, 
by  which  secondary  formations  have  been,  and  are  still  in 
the  act  of  being  formed,  we  found  that  it  could  not  be  ex- 
pected that  we  should  discover  any  fossil  remains  in  the 
transition  rocks,  and  but  few  in  the  earlier  secondary  forma- 
tions; because,  in  the  first  case,  the  rocks  so  called,  having 
been  formed  from  the  first  fragments  of  the  primitive  earth, 
(by  the  depression  of  a  part  of  which,  the  bed  for  the  "  gather- 
ing together  of  the  waters"  was  first  formed,)  were  arranged 
by  the  currents  of  the  ocean,  before  that  ocean  became  thickly 
peopled ;  and,  in  the  second  case,  because  the  empty  shells 


•  For  further  most  important  evidence  on  lliis  subject,  see  the 
Supplementary  ,/Vo(a  to  Cliapter  XI. 


GEOLOGY  OF  SCRIPTURE. 


SI 


of  the  tribes,  as  they  perished,  would  be  comparatively  few, 
for  many  years  after  the  rivers  and  the  ocean  had  been  at 
work  in  forming  secondary  deposits.  As  time  advanced, 
however,  the  sea  would  naturally  become  loaded  with  the 
shelly  remains  of  past  generations;  and  we  should,  therefore, 
expect  to- find  a  proportioned  increase  contained  in  the  tena- 
cious soils  which  have  since  been  hardened  into  stone. 

As  we  have  seen  that  the  laws  which  are  in  constant  action 
in  the  waters,  have  a  power  of  assorting  and  arranging  dif- 
ferent materials,  in  dilTerent  and  separate  situations,  we  should 
expect  to  find  shells  more  abundant  in  one  formation  than  in 
another ;  and  as  we  now  find  recent  beds  of  sea  sand  of  the 
most  equal  grain,  and  of  vast  extent,  without  almost  a  vestige 
of  entire  sea  shells,  we  cannot  be  surprised  on  finding  that  the 
same  law  had  obtained  in  the  early  sand-stone  formations, 
and  that  freestone  rocks  are  consequently,  in  general,  desti- 
tute of  these  fossil  remains;  while  the  calcareous  rocks,  which, 
when  soft  and  moist,  must  have  been  of  a  tenacious  and 
muddy  consistency,  retain  shells  in  extraordinary  quantities. 
We  have  also  found  that  there  was  little  probability  of  dis- 
covering the  remains  of  either  fish  or  quadrupeds  in  the 
gradually  formed  secondary  rocks,  because,  in  the  case  of 
such  deposits,  the  dead  of  both  classes  must  generally  have 
been  devoured  by  the  voracious  tribes  of  the  sea,  before  they 
could  have  been  covered  up  and  protected. 

It  has  been  too  long  and  too  generally  the  custom  with  geolo- 
gists to  reason  upon  the  age  of  particular  formations,  from  the 
nature  of  the  fossils  which  they  may  be  found  to  contain 
We  have  thus  arrived  at  many  erroneous  conclusions  with 
respect  both  to  the  actual  age  of  our  globe,  and  to  the  gradual 
production  of  new  species  in  the  animal  kingdom.  As  the 
whole  science  of  geology  may  be  considered  to  be  founded 
on  the  evidence  of  organic  fossils,  it  is  of  the  highest  im 
portance  on  entering  upon  this  subject  to  endeavour  to  correct 
our  evidence  before  coming  to  a  final  conclusion.  And  it  is, 
therefore,  highly  necessary  to  discover  whether  the  theory  of 
continuous  stratification  is  well  founded ;  and  also,  whether 
a  distinct  identity  of  fossil  species  can,  in  general,  be  traced 
in  the  same  formations  in  every  situation.  On  this  most  im 
portant  part  of  the  subject,  I  cannot  produce  stronger  reason 
ing  than  has  already  been  inade  use  of  by  one  of  our  most 
distinguished  writers  on  geology  and  mineralogy;  and  the 
author  of  the  very  able  article  on  Organic  Remains,  in  the 
JOdinburgh  Encyclopa'dia.  Although  my  opinions,  on  many 
parts  of  these  sul)jects,  differ  widely  from  those  expressed 
by  this  able  writer,  yet  we  here  so  completely  coincide,  that 
1  shall  not  hesitate  to  introduce  his  line  of  reasoning  in  this 
place. 

"  It  is  now  necessary,"  says  he,  "to  examine  a  question 
wliich  is  strictly  geological ;  namely,  the  nature  and  value 
of  the  evidence  which  fossil  remains  afford  towards  the  in- 
dentification  of  strata,  whether  in  the  same,  or  in  distant 
countries.  Too  much  stress  seems  to  liave  been  lately  laid 
on  their  utility  in  this  respect;  a  natural  consequence  of  the 
enthusiasm  which  commonly  attends  the  discovery  of  a  new 
engine.  It  is,  in  some  degree,  connected  with  the  opinion 
which  has  been  also  held  respecting  the  necessary  identity 
of  certain  distant  strata,  and  of  ari  universal  or  very  general 
deposition  of  particular  rocks.  The  general  question,  as  far 
as  it  is  peculiarly  of  a  geological  nature,  we  dare  not  here 
enter  upon,  as  it  would  lead  us  to  a  very  long  train  of  investi- 
gation ;  but  we  may  state  it,  not  only  as  our  own  conviction, 
but  as  now  a  prevailing  opinion  among  all  geologists,  that  no 
proof  of  such  VNiVERSAh  formations,  as  they  have  been  called, 
exists.  The  arguments  which  would  prove  that  opinion,  from 
zprcnimcd  identity  between  certain  strata  mutually,  and  tliat 
of  the  fossils  which  they  contain,  wivX  which,  of  course,  presume 
on  a  succession  of  fossil  bodies,  as  definite  and  constant  as 
the  corresponding  successions  of  the  strata,  are  open  to  many 
other  objections,  which  we  must  now  proceed  to  examine. 

"  Even  admitting,  that  in  two  parts  of  the  globe,  which 
we  shall  here  suppose  polar  and  equatorial,  the  same  strata, 
as  to  the  materials  and  constitution  of  the  rocks  themselves, 
should  exist,  and  be  found  also  in  the  same  order,  it  is  not  to  be 
expected  that  the  same  fossil  bodies  should  occur  in  them,  unless 
the  differences  of  climate  were  considered  an  object  of  no  momcni. 
If,  in  a  weaker  degree,  yet  the  same  objections  hold  good  in 
those  cases  where  the  positions  are  far  loss  discordant,  as, 
even  between  the  Mediterranean  and  the  British  channel,  at 
present,  we  do  not  find  a  correspondence  in  the  living  species. 
In  every  situation,  were  we  even  to  consider  the  animals 
only,  the  same  reasons  against  such  identity,  among  distant 
fossils  in  particular  strata,  exist ;  as  we  know  that  the  different 
species  inhabit  different  places  irregularly,  in  colonies,  or 
Vol.  II. — L 


otherwise;  and  that  even  when  mixed,  they  are  limited  to  no 
detenninate  kind  or  numlier.  If  to  this,  we  add  the  uncer- 
tainty of  the  strata  themselves,  the  chances  of  a  concurrence 
become  so  extremely  small,  as  rather  to  make  us  wonder 
that  such  a  notion  could  ever  have  been  adopted.  Many 
strata  have  been  formed  in  independent  cavities,  and  are  not 
likely  to  have  corresponded  in  any  respect;  and  at  this  mo- 
ment, one  species,  the  oyster,  or  the  muscle,  for  example,  is 
now  an  inhabitant  of  submarine  alluvia  of  entirely  different 
characters  in  different  seas,  or  even  in  different  parts  of  the 
same  sea.  There  is  no  reason  why  the  fossils  of  the  Paris 
basin  should  be  identical  with  those  of  the  English;  because 
the  living  animals  may  have  differed.  If  the  bottom  of  the 
English  channel  should  hereafter  become  an  elevated  stratum, 
the  variety  of  its  fossils  would  confound  all  this  reasoning. 

"  ^'either  can  the  antiquity  of  beds  be  proved  by  the  same  rea- 
sons, unless  we  could  also  prove  an  absolute  succession  ofspedes, 
or  genera  in  creation  ;  and  unless  these  recurrences  were  more 
constant  and  regular  than  they  are,  and  than  we  have  shown 
them  to  be,  in  former  parts  of  this  essay.  We  might,  besides, 
to  these  add  many  more  objections  to  the  probable  value  of 
this  criterion,  from  general  considerations;  but  it  cannot  be 
necessary.  With  respect  to  its  value  in  minor  cases,  when 
the  strata  in  one  deposit,  such  as  that  of  England,  are  to  be 
identified,  the  objections  may  diminish  in  number,  yet,  even 
then,  these  proofs  are  not  to  be  relied  on,  as  must  be  evident 
from  what  has  just  been  stated  with  respect  to  living  colo- 
nies, now  in  the  surrounding  seas.  7Vtal  which  would  not 
identify  modern  submarine  strata  of  mud,  must  not  be  expected 
to  prove  the  identity  vf  ancient  strata  of  rock,  formed  under  the 
same  circumstances.  That  it  may  afford  occasional  assistance, 
will  not  he  denied  :  but,  to  use  a  icrong  method  of  solving  diffi- 
culties is  not  only  to  deceive  ourselves,  but  to  establish  or  confirtn 
false  theories,  and  to  stop  the  progress  of  alt  useful  investigation. 

"  It  is  evident,  that  to  prove  the  identity  of  an  universal 
stratum,  one  species,  or  set  of  species,  must  have  existed  all 
over  the  ocean  where  its  materials  were  deposited.  To  prove 
the  correspondence  of  strata  less  universal,  a  more  limited 
degree  of  the  same  improbability  is  required.  To  prove  that 
I  particular  fossils  determine  the  character  and  place  of  any 
particular  stratum,  every  species,  or  set  of  species,  should  have 
changed  with  the  superposilipn  of  a  fresh  stratum :  besides 
which,  it  should  never  either  have  /ore-existed  or  re-existed. 
But  it  is  surely  unnecessary  to  add  to  these  arguments  against 
this  theory.  We  must,  therefore,  here  drop  Ihe  subject,  and 
examine,  in  as  few  words  as  possible,  by  an  enumeration  of 
species  and  genera  in  particular  strata,  how  the  fact  really 
stands.  Conchologists,  and  those  geologists  who  have  studied 
this  subject,  will  be  at  no  loss  to  extend  a  comparison,  which 
we  shall  render  as  distinct  as  possible,  consistent  with  the 
necessary  brevity;  because  o  few  deficiencies  in  the  evidence  are 
sufficient  to  render  the  whole  nearly,  if  not  entirely,  useless  ; 
and  we  need  scarcely  say  how  much  we  may  be  misled  by 
thus  trusting  to  what  is  imperfect  or  groundless. 

"  The  lias  of  France,  Spain,  Italy  and  England,  a  stratum, 
or  set  of  strata,  well  identified  by  their  position  with  regard 
to  the  red  marl,  contains  different  fossils,  in  these  several 
countries.  Eckiyii  are  found  from  primary  slate  up  to  chalk; 
as  are  tellina>,  turbines  and  clinma;.  The  belemnites,  which 
are  common  in  the  chalk  of  France  and  Ireland,  are  rare  in 
that  of  England;  and  the  fossils  of  the  chalk  of  Maistricht 
are  almost  peculiar  to  it.  The  vegetable  remains  that  are 
found  in  the  clay  of  Sheppey,  do  not  occur  in  that  stratum  in 
other  parts  of  England,  t'rocodiles,  a  fossil  not  a  little  con- 
spicuous, occur  in  the  lias,  in  the  Portland  oolite,  in  the  green 
sand  of  England,  and  in  the  blue  cla)-.  Crabs,  which  are 
found  in  one  of  the  earliest  secondary  strata,  to  wit,  in  the 
mountain  limestone,  also  exist  in  the  chalk,  and  in  the  London 
clay ;  as  far  asunder  as  they  well  can  be.  Madreporites,  ento- 
molites,  pentacrinites,  patella;,  ostreae,  ammonites,  terebra- 
tulae,  gryphiles,  pectines,  anomiae,  and  numerous  others, 
which  it  would  be  superfluous  to  name,  are  found  in  nearly 
all  the  strata  ■■  and  so  far  is  it  from  being  true,  that  there  are 
even  any  predominant  associations  of  these,  that  they  occur, 
intermixed  in  every  possible  man7ier,  as  will  be  more  fully 
evinced  in  the  general  list  hereafter  given.  It  seems,  there- 
fore, quite  unnecessary  to  pursue  this  subject  further,  since  it 
must  be  sufficiently  plain  that  the  evidence  in  question  is  worth- 
less, or  worse." — Edin.  Encyclop.     Organic  Remains,  p.  753. 

I  do  not  think  it  necessary  to  attempt  to  add  to  the  powerful 
reasoning  from  facts,  contained  in  the  above  extract.  It  must 
be  evident  to  every  candid  inquirer,  that  it  shakes  to  its  very 
foundation  tlie  whole  theory  upon  which  the  indefinite  age  of 
our  globe  is  assumed ;  and  we  thus  distinctly  advance  in  the 


S2 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


line  of  reasoning  suggested  by  the  earliest  history  of  the 
earth,  and  by  the  action  of  the  laws  of  nature  every  \vhere 
displayed  around  us. 

But  it  is  in  the  monuments  left  us  by  the  deluge,  that  we 
should  chiefly  look  for  the  most  abundant  fossil  remains  of 
every  kind  ;  and  we  must  begin  the  consideration  of  these  re- 
markable monuments,  by  again  alluding  to  what  has  been 
already  said  in  the  last  chapter,  respecting  the  origin  of  the 
strata  amongst  which  coal  and  other  fossil  productions  are 
invariably  found.  It  has  already  been  stated,  that  by  far  the 
most  probable  origin  of  the  coal  formations,  may  be  traced 
to  the  ruins  of  the  whole  vegetable  world,  at  the  period  of 
the  deluge;  and  in  considering  the  subject  of  fossil  quadru- 
peds from  tropical  climates,  we  shall  find  sufficient  reason  to 
account  for  the  numerous  palm  trees  and  other  tropical  plants 
which  have  been  found  to  exist  in  some  of  the  coal  fields. 
Some  writers  have  endeavoured,  indeed,  to  account  for  the 
coal  formations,  by  the  idea  of  submarine  forests  of  sea  weed, 
which  they  have  supposed  to  exist  in  the  depths  of  the  ocean. 
Though  there  can  be  little  doubt  that  many  unknown  wonders 
exist  in  these  depths,  and,  amongst  them  many  species  of 
marine  animals,  with  which  we  must  for  ever  be  unacquainted, 
and  which,  as  fossils,  we  may  look  upon  as  extinct;  yet  we 
have  no  reason,  from  the  specimens  of  marine  vegetation  oc- 
casionally thrown  upon  our  coasts,  to  suppose  that  anj'  thing 
like  trees  exists  there.  It  may,  indeed,  be  with  confidence 
affirmed,  that  no  unexceptionable  specimen  of  a  marine  plant, 
embedded  in  rock,  has  ever  yet  been  produced.  The  ground 
for  supposing  that  all  these  numerous  strata  in  the  coal  dis- 
tricts, ought,  like  those  of  the  basins  of  Paris  and  of  London, 
which  contain  no  coal,  to  be  included  in  diluvial  effects,  is, 
that  from  the  number  of  months  during  which  all  things  were 
fully  submitted  to  the  laws  which  act  within  the  bed  of  the 
ocean,  these  laws  had  sufficient  time  to  class  and  arrange  the 
enormous  quantity  of  moveable  materials  so  abundantly  pro- 
vided by  that  destructive  event :  and  however  difficult  we 
may  find  it,  to  bring  our  minds  to  the  conviction,  that  beds 
of  many  hundred  feet  might  have  been  formed  in  the  course 
of  a  few  months,  we  ouglit  to  correct  our  confined  notions  on 
such  subjects,  by  well  considering  the  large  scale  of  the  whole 
earth,  by  which  we  have  hitherto  been  measuring  the  phe- 
nomena on  its  surface. 

In  examining  a  section  of  the  coal  strata  in  the  vicinity  of 
Newcastle,  we  find  the  following  result  in  a  mine  of  270 
yards  in  depth. 

Yds.  ft.  in. 

Covering  of  loose  soil    ------     10     00 

35  strata  of  different  coloured  sandstone 

at  various  depths    ------177     1     0 

16  strata  of  f/oy  and  f/oy  */a/e      -     -     -     72     2     8 

16  strata  of  coal,  of  various  thickness, 

from  2  feet  to  6  inches     ----1002 


Yards    270     0     10 


We  thus  find  the  strata,  in  this  great  coal  field,  composed 
exclusively  of  such  sandy  and  argillaceous  materials  as  were 
naturally  to  be  looked  for  in  the  accumulations  from  the  di- 
luvial waters,  during  a  continued  action  of  several  months. 
On  examining  sections  of  other  coal  districts,  as  in  Stafford- 
shire, and  in  Scotland,  we  find  the  same  constant  repetition 
of  sandstone,  slate-clay,  fire-clay,  argillaceous  iron-stone,  &c. 
without,  in  any  instance,  intervening  formations,  such  as 
chalk,  containing  shell  fossils,  or  others  obviously  of  slow 
and  gradual  marine  formation,  indicating  a  long  period  be- 
tween the  deposition  of  the  diflerent  strata  of  coal.  It  has 
been  already  observed,  that  the  coal  fields  are  generally, 
more  or  less,  in  the  form  of  a  basin ;  and  as  the  upper  edges 
of  these  calcareous,  or  sand-stone  basins,  are  in  many  in- 
stances traced  round  the  whole  circumference  of  the  deposit ; 
and  as  the  same  materials  are,  in  such  cases,  found  to  form 
the  bed  on  which  the  coal  and  other  superincumbent  strata 
repose,  we  have  the  strongest  possible  reason  for  concluding 
that  the  whole  formed  a  valley  or  basin  in  the  bed  of  the  an- 
tediluvian sea,  and  received  its  contents,  while  that  sea  was 
depositing  the  whole  movable  matter  of  the  former  continents, 
with  which,  we  feel  satisfied,  its  waters  must  have  been 
charged.  In  these  deposits  large  trees  are  often  found,  de- 
tached from  the  great  strata  of  coal,  and  extending  from  one 
stratum  through  a  variety  of  others,  which  is  sufficient  proof 
of  these  strata,  at  least,  having  all  been  formed  at  one  period. 
Some  of  these  fossil  trees  are  so  perfectly  petrified,  that  the 
roughness  of  the  bark  is  distinctlj'  seen,  as  well  as  the  in- 
terior circles,  which  denote  the  yearly  growth  of  the  timber. 


At  other  times,  the  wood  is  half  carbonated,  like  the  surtitr- 
brand  of  Iceland.  It  is  also  a  general  remark  in  all  coal  dis- 
tricts, that  the  stratification  which  attends  that  fossil  sub- 
stance, always  terminates,  and  is  ill  defined  and  disordered 
when  it  approaches  any  mountain  range  of  primitive  or  early 
secondary  rock.  This' is  an  eft'ect  which  we  should  naturally 
look  for,  when  we  consider  the  nature  of  the  subsidence  of  a 
moist  mass  of  such  extent,  on  being  left  to  drain  of  its  su- 
perfluous waters.  For  while  that  mass  subsided  more  in  one 
place  than  in  another,  and  thus  produced  what,  in  tlie  miner's 
phrase,  are  called  troubles,  dykes,  ^nA  slips,  we  can  easily  sup- 
pose great  disorder  to  have  been  occasioned  where  the  mass 
touched  the  edges  of  the  basin  within  which  it  was  deposited  ; 
and  where  friction  would  prevent  regularity  in  the  subsidence 
for  some  considerable  distance,  and  would  consequently  throw 
the  whole  stratification  into  disorder.  That  these  troubles, 
dykes,  and  slips,  are  occasioned  by  such  subsidence,  is  clearly 
proved  by  the  well  known  circumstance  in  coal  mines,  that, 
even  in  such  cases,  each  stratum  usually  retains  its  parallel- 
ism, with  regard  to  those  immediately  above  and  below  it. 

We  must  feel  satisfied,  that,  at  the  period  of  the  deluge, 
the  v,'ho]e  forest  scenery  of  the  globe,  with  the  roots,  branches, 
and  foliage  entire,  must  have  been  floated  off  upon  the  waters, 
matted  together  in  groups,  and  forming  immense  islands, 
which  must  have  been  overwhelmed  in  confused  masses,  by 
the  force  of  the  waves,  embedded  at  various  depths,  and  cov- 
ered up  by  strata,  of  various  earthy  and  sandy  composition, 
all  which  strata,  having  been  subsequently  placed  above  the 
level  of  the  present  seas,  either  by  the  depression  of  the  for- 
mer continents,  or  by  the  elevation  of  the  bed  of  the  former 
sea,  (or  by  a  combination  of  both  these  effects,)  have  been 
since  drained  of  their  former  moisture,  and  have  assumed  the 
solid  mineral  substance  which  we  now  find  so  valuable. 

It  may  be  urged,  in  opposition  to  this  idea,  that  such  mass- 
es of  vegetable  substances  would  continue  to  float  upon  the 
waters  for  any  length  of  time,  and  therefore  could  not  be  em- 
bedded at  the  depths  we  now  often  find  the  coal  strata.  But 
we  are  assured  by  daily  experience,  that  though  vegetable 
matter  may  float  for  some  time  upon  the  waters,  it  does  not 
thus  continue  sufficiently  buoyant  for  an  indefinite  period; 
but,  on  the  contrarj',  becomes  at  length  so  completely  satu- 
rated with  water,  as  to  lose  its  buoyancy,  and  to  sink  to  the 
bottom,  like  any  other  heavy  substance.  We  have,  amongst 
many  familiar  proofs  of  this,  one  directly  in  point,  which  is 
described  as  now  in  progress,  on  a  considerable  scale,  in  some 
of  the  American  lakes;  where  such  collections  of  timber  are, 
in  many  instances,  being  formed  near  the  embouchures  of  the 
rivers  which  flow  into  them  from  the  forests,  that  the  extent, 
both  superficially,  and  in  depth,  appears  truly  astonishing, 
and  has  been  described  as  the  incipient  formation  of  future 
coal  fields. 

In  the  late  survey  of  the  boundaries  between  the  United 
States  and  Canada,  we  have  some  interesting  information  on 
this  subject.  About  1000  streams  of  various  sizes  are  des- 
cribed as  emptying  themselves  into  Lake  Superior ;  and  as 
sweeping  into  it  great  quantities  of  drift  timber,  which  form 
islands  near  the  mouths  of  the  rivers.  Within  a  mile  of  the 
shore,  this  lake  is,  in  many  places,  70  or  80  fathoms  in 
depth;  and  within  eight  miles,  it  has  been  sounded  136  fath- 
oms. The  thickness  of  this  lignite  formation  is,  therefore, 
probably  very  considerable. 

These  accumulations  are  often  at  some  depth  under  water; 
and  it  is  probable  that  in  the  course  of  their  long  passage 
down  the  American  streams,  the  trees  become  saturated  with 
moisture,  and  arrive  in  the  lakes  in  a  state  which  causes  them 
to  sink,  and  accumulate  in  the  manner  described.  In  our  own 
country  we  are  so  familiarised  to  floating  fir  timber  in  all  our 
sea  ports,  that  we  are  too  apt  to  consider  o//  timber  as  buoyant 
in  a  hish  degree.  But  when  we  extend  our  views  to  the  im- 
mense forests  of  the  whole  earth,  and  consider  the  condition 
to  which  this  forest  scenery  must  have  been  reduced  by  the 
action  of  the  deluge,  we  must  be  convinced  that,  on  so  great 
a  scale,  the  buoyancy  of  the  great  floating  masses  could  not 
have  long  continued ;  and  that  various  succeeding  masses 
must  have  sunk  in  the  diluvial  waters,  at  successive  short 
periods,  sufficiently  distant,  however,  to  admit  of  considerable 
intervening  accumulations  of  earthy  or  sandy  sediments,  be- 
tween the  strata  which  were  destined  to  the  formation  of  coal.* 

We  feel  satisfied  that  the  plants  and  leaves  now  foiind  in 
such  abundance,  impressed  upon  the  strataincontact  with  the 
coal,  and  for  a  few  feet  distant  from  it,  must  have  been  em- 

•  For  the  most  comlusive  evidence  on  this  part  of  oiu-  subject,  see 
the  Supplementary  Note  to  Chapter  XI. 


GEOLOGY  OF  SCRIPTURE. 


83 


bedded  in  a  fine,  soft  clay,  or  mud  ;  because  their  most  tender 
stems  are  well  preserved,  and  are  often  unbroken  to  a  consid- 
erable length  :  and  as  man)'  of  tliese  plants  have  been  recog- 
nized as  belonainor  to  tropical  climules,  they  must  be  judged  by 
the  same  evidence  by  which  the  tropical  animals  now  found 
in  uncongenial  climates  can  be  proved  to  have  been  floated, 
by  the  currents  of  the  ocean,  from  a  southern  to  a  northern 
latitude.*  If,  then,  it  can  be  proved,  beyond  a  doubt,  that  the 
mammoth  of  the  frozen  regions,  never  could  have  been  an  in- 
habitant of  those  regions,  where  its  remains  are  now  found 
preserved  in  ice,-  we  must,  upon  the  same  evidence,  conclude 
that  all  tropical  fossil  productions  now  found  in  climates  un- 
suited  to  their  growth,  were  lodged  in  their  present  beds  by 
the  same  powerful  agent;  and  that  that  agent  was  the  deluge 
described  by  Moses ;  because  neither  from  history,  tradition, 
nor  fads,  have  we  evidence  of  any  other  such  destructive 
event. 

In  Iceland,  and  also  in  the  lately  discovered  Melville  Island, 
in  the  arctic  regions,  remains  of  large  trees  have  been  found 
more  or  less  converted  into  coal ;  and  in  some  cases  the  stems 
are  only  partially  carbonized.  In  both  these  cases,  they  are 
of  a  size  that  bespeaks  the  produce  of  a  very  different  climate 
from  that  in  whicli  they  are  now  found  ;  and  they  must,  there- 
fore, like  other  southern  products,  in  northern  latitudes,  be 
attributed  to  the  action  of  the  currents  at  the  period  of  the 
deluge. 

Amber  may  also  be  mentioned  as  an  antediluvian  fossil, 
found  more  frequently  in  the  northern,  than  in  the  southern 
regions.  It  is  not  certainly  known  to  what  species  of  tree 
this  gum  must  formerly  have  belonged  ;  but  it  is  evident,  that 
it  is  the  resinous  juice  of  a  tropical  plant,  in  which  insects 
have  become  entangled  in  the  same  manner  as  in  similar 
cases,  on  modern  trees.  That  it  should  be  found  more  fre- 
quently in  the  nnrth  than  in  the  south,  is  an  additional  evi- 
dence of  the  effects  of  currents  ;  as  from  its  great  buoyancy 
in  water,  it  would  float  for  any  length  of  time,  and  become 
embedded  in  the  diluvial  soils,  from  which  it  has  subsequent- 
ly been  washed  out  by  rivers,  carried  again  to  the  sea,  and 
thrown  upon  our  coasts,  or  is  found  floatinjron  the  waters.  It 
is,  however,  often  found  in  its  diluvial  bed  in  France,  and  in 
Germany  ;  and  on  many  parts  of  our  own  eastern  coasts,  it  is 
found  associated  with  jet,  or  bituminized  wood. 

The  above  line  of  reasoning  respecting  stratification,  must, 
no  doubt,  appear  strange  to  all  those  who  coincide  with  the 
following  curious  passage,  to  be  found  in  a  work  intended 
"for  the  use  of  young  persons,  who  may  desire  to  become 
acquainted  with  the  elements  of  Mineralogy'  and  Geology." 
In  treating  of  the  general  geology  of  England,  and  after  ex- 
plaining the  commonly  received  theory  of  general  and  regu- 
lar stratification,  this  author  proceeds  thus:  "  In  fine,  a  view 
of  the  geology  of  England  assures  us  of  the  truth  of  the 
assertion  with  which  we  set  out, — that  order  in  regard  to  de- 
position is  universallfi  prevalent,  and  that  this  order  is  never 
inverted.  Keeping  in  view  this  important  fact,  wc,  who  re- 
side in  a  country  wliieh  is  of  the  newest  formation,"  (allud- 
ing to  London,  or  its  neighbourhood,)  "  miffht  amuse  our- 
selves with  speculations  upon  the  distance  which  any  one  of  the 
more  ancient  strata  dips  beneath  our  feet.  This  can  only  be 
done  as  a  matter  of  curiosity,  for  ue  cannot  even  hope  to  ap 
proach  the  truth,  because  of  the  uncertainty  whether  the 
numerous  strata  to  the  west  of  us  do,  or  do  not,  actually  con 
tinue  to  dip  towards  the  east,  any  considerable  distance  be 
neath  the  surface ;  and  even  if  we  were  to  assume  this  to  be 
the  fact, /or  the  sake  of  amusing  ourselves  with  a  calculation  of 
Some  sort,  we  should  still  be  at  a  loss  as  to  the  probable  thick 
ness  of  the  several  strata.  Coal  is  one  of  the  most  important 
deposits,  and  therefore  claims  our  consideration  in  as  great,  if 
not  in  a  greater  degree,  than  any  other.  We  find,  then,  that 
the  nearest  place  to  London  at   which  coal   is   found,    is  in 


*  The  species  of  fossil  found  near  the  coal,  which  has  been 
called  Lepidodeiidron,  is  very  abundant,  and  is  sonielimes  found  of 
gi-eat  size.  Some  specimens  have  been  measured  in  the  Jan-o« 
CoIIiei-)-,  from  25  to  50  feet  in  length  :  and  in  the  Fossil  Floi-a,  a 
specimen  of  this  plant  is  mentioned, y«(r  and  a  half  feel  in  breadth. 

The  unbroken  Icnglli  of  some  of  the  coal  fossils  has  been  urged  as 
an  argument  against  transportation,  but  witliout  sufficient  grounds. 
For  if  we  consider  the  great  floating  masses  of  vegetation  M-hich 
must,  in  numberless  instances,  have  been  bound  together  at  the  pe- 
riod of  the  deluge,  we  may  easily  suppose  tljat  many  of  the  reeds 
or  tough  canes  must  have  become  deposited  with  the  whole  mass,  in 
an  unbroken  state.  Amongst  other  vegetable  substances  found  in 
the  mines  of  Northumberland,  ears  of  barley,  and  leaves  of  pine- 
apples, have  been  noticed.  Sometimes  large  trees  extend  from  one 
stratum,  into  another,  one  end  of  tliis  petrified  timber  being  of  a  dif- 
ferent mineral  nature  from  the  other. 


the  neighbourhood  of  Bristol,  near  w  liieli  jilace  it  dips  to  the 
east,  beneath  the  red  marl.  In  this  country  its  geological 
situation  is  between  it  and  the  mountain  limestone.  Now, 
its  geological  situation  being  beneath  the  red  marl,  we  may 
observe,  that  there  are  very  many  formations,  or  strata,  sup- 
ftosing  them  all  to  dip  together  towards  the  east,  intervening, 
between  THE  London  clay  and  the  coal.  And  when  we  recol- 
lect that  the  outgoing  of  the  nearest  coal  is  upwards  of  100 
miles  from  London  ;  that  the  wells  there  pass  upwards  of  130 
feet  through  the  London  clay,  before  we  reach  the  sand 
which  lies  upon  the  chalk,  from  which  sand  the  water  of  the 
London  wells  springs  ;  i/ again  we  consider  that,  between  the 
sand,  and  the  coal,  the  numerous  strata  extend  on  the  surface, 
over  a  tract  of  country  about  40  miles  in  length  from  east  to 
west,  as  from  Hungerford  to  Bristol ;  and  if,  moreover,  we  im- 
agine all  these  strata  to  be  compressed  beneath  the  sand  which 
lies  upon  the  chalk,  into  one-twentieth  part  of  what  their  out- 
ofoino^  occupy  on  the  surface ;  ice  shall,  even  then,  be  compelled 
to  suppose,  that  the  strata  of  coal  are  more  than  two  miles  be- 
neath the  bottom  of  the  London  clay.  How  near  the  truth  this 
calculation  may  be,  or  whether  the  coal,  and  all  the  interven- 
ing strata  between  it  and  the  chalk,  pass  away  beneath  our  feet, 
we  have  no  reasonable  ground  for  cnntluding.^^* 

Thus,  because  "Me  coal  near  Bristol  dips  towards  the  east 
three  feet  in  six,"  there  may  be  a  possibility  of  the  existence 
of  the  tame  seam,  at  the  depth  of  several  miles  under  the 
deep  London  clay.  For  it  is  too  much  to  allow  a  loss  of 
nineteen  twentieths,  in  the  calculation,  by  the  compression  of 
the  strata ;  for,  instead  of  being  compressed,  they  must  be 
supposed  to  be  expanded,  to  occupy  so  much  more  room  than 
they  would  all  have  done,  had  llie  whole  series  been  found 
at  Bristol.  It  seems  scarcely  necessary  to  remark  upon  the 
extravagance  of  theory  contained  in  the  above  passage.  In- 
stead of  taking  London  for  our  point  of  calculation,  we  have 
only  to  extend  the  idea  a  few  hundred  miles  still  further  to 
the  east  of  Bristol .■  and,  including  in  oifr  calculation  all  the 
strata  of  secondary  rocks,  upon  which  coal  reposes  at  Bris- 
tol, and  following  up  the  same  line  of  reasoning,  upon  the 
continuous  stratification  of  the  earth,  what  would  be  the 
result  of  our  calculation  ?  What  a  deformed  and  irregular 
mass  would  a  section  of  the  globe  present,  under  such  a 
theory  1  It  would,  in  some  rough  degree,  resemble  the 
effect  of  Indian  turning  on  a  watch :  the  primitive  nucleus 
of  the  globe  would  be  entirely  absorbed  by  the  irregular 
segments  of  circles  of  secondary  formation ;  and  we  should 
be  utterly  at  a  loss  to  represent  the  strata  which  lie  in  a 
vertical  position . 

When  such  theories  as  the  above  can  be  proved,  to  de- 
monstration, to  be  founded  in  reason,  and  supported  hy  facts, 
the  page  of  the  Mosaic  geologist  must,  indeed,  be  forever 
closed. 

With  regard  to  the  comparative  level  of  the  extensive 
chalk  formation  of  the  north  of  France,  and  the  great  coal 
field  of  Belgium,  we  have  the  most  convincing  occular  de- 
monstration of  that  of  the  former  being  below  that  of  the 
latter.  For  if  we  follow  out  the  section  of  the  chalk  pre- 
sented to  our  view  on  the  sea  coast,  proceeding  from  Calais 
in  an  easterly  direction,  we  find  the  cliffs  becoming  gradually 
lower,  as  the  whole  country  inclines  to  a  lower  level,  until, 
at  length,  the  chalk  dips  from  our  view,  and  we  are  launched 
into  that  immense  sea  of  level  alluvial  plain,  of  which  Hol- 
land and  Belgium  form  but  a  small  part.  Now,  when  we 
trace  the  borders  of  the  great  chalk  lormation  in  the  north 
of  France,  proceeding  inland  from  the  neighbourhood  of 
Calais,  in  a  S.  E.  direction,  we  find,  that,  although,  from 
the  unbroken  state  of  that  country,  we  cannot  perceive  the 
actual  dip  of  the  chalk-beneath  the  alluvial  plains  of  Bel- 
gium, yet  we  must  feel  convinced,  from  the  section  of  the 
coast  which  we  had  previously  examined,  that  we  may 
assume  that  dip  with  as  much  certainty,  as  if  presented  to 
our  view  throughout  the  whole  line.  It  is  in  this  great  allu- 
vial plain,  then,  that  we  find,  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Brus- 
sels, all  those  proofs  of  diluvial  ruin,  precisely  similar  to 
what  are  presented  to  our  view  in  so  many  other  parts  of  the 
world.  We  discover  in  great  abundance,  and  at  various 
depths,  the  remains  of  elephants,  and  other  tropical  quad- 
rupeds. We  find,  in  great  abundance,  both  coal  and 
limestone,  without  in  any  instance  having  to  pierce  the 
chalk,  which  we  had  seen  disappearing  under  the  diluvial 
strata,  with  a  gentle  dip  and  inclination.  Here,  then,  we 
have  another  convincing  proof  of  the  nature  of  the  deluge, 
and  of  the  great  chalk  formation  having  formed  at  least  one 


•Phillip's  Outlines  of  Geologj-,  page  219. 


84 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


portion  of  the  bed  of  the  sea,  at  this  destructive  period ;  and 
yet,  in  tlie  usually  received  opinions  of  CTeology,  the  clialk 
formation  is  placed  far  above  that  of  coal,  apparently  from  no 
better  reason,  than  that  chalk  usually  presents  an  ckvatiun 
on  the  upper  surface,  while  coal  must  be  looked  for  at  various 
depths  below  the  level  of  the  orround.* 

In  givinor  a  faint  sketch  of  the  scene  that  must  have  been 
presented,  during  the  height  and  abatement  of  the  deluge,  I 
had  occasion  to  notice  the  power  with  which  the  currents 
must  have  acted,  in  transporting  the  floating  remains  of  ani- 
mals and  vegetables  from  one  place  to  another,  and  the 
speculations  which  those  fossil  bodies  have  given  rise  to,  in 
these  latter  times.  There  is,  indeed,  no  part  of  geological 
research  that  appears  to  have  been  viewed  in  a  more  false 
light,  or  that  has  given  rise  to  more  wild  and  unreasonable 
theories,  than  the  mode  of  accounting  for  the  fossil  remains 
of  tropical  productions,  in  climates  quite  uncongenial  to  their 
support  in  a  living  stale.  To  account  for  the  numerous 
remains  of  elephants  in  the  frc:c?i  rfifiVms,  theories  have 
been  Ibrmed  to  show  that  the  climates  of  our  planet  have 
been  changed,  by  a  change  or  position  of  the  earth  with 
regard  to  the  sun.  Others  have  supposed,  that  the  climates 
are  now  what  thci/  ever  have  been,  but  that  the  animals  whose 
remains  are  now  fouiid  in  the  north,  /nid  a  conslilutiun  fitted 
to  a  polar  cliiaate,  because  some  elephants  have  been  there 
found  to  have  hair  upon  their  bodies,  with  which  most  modern 
elephants  are  usually  ver)'  sparingly  provided. 

The  complete  state  of  preservation  in  which  they  hav£ 
been  found,  has  also  been  advanced  as  a  conclusive  argu- 
ment in  proof  of  their  having  lived  where  the)'  died,  and 
having  lieen  suJdinlj  encased  in  ice,  by  which  even  their 
flesh  and  blood  liave  been  completely  preserved,  like  the 
bodies  of  insects  in  amber. 

To  give  some  notion  of  the  extraordinary  grounds  upon 
which  philosophers  have  sometimes  founded  their  wild 
theories,  we  liave  only  to  glance  at  the  idea  of  the  celebrated 
BufFon,  w'ith  regard  to  the  changes  of  the  climates  of  the 
globe;  and  all  this  extravagance  of  theory  was  to  account 
for  the  remains  of  tropical  animals  m  frozen  regions  ;  and,  at 
the  same  time,  to  lend  a  helping  hand  to  the  ideas  respecting 
the  earth  which  he  had  previously  promulgated.  Bufi'on 
considered,  that  our  earth  was  nothing  more  than  a  piece 
of  the  sun,  struck  oil"  from  its  orb,  bj'  the  violent  collision 
of  a  passing  comet ;  that  it  was  driven  into  space  in  a  state 
of  red  hot  fusion,  and  thus  gradually  lost  its  native  heat ; 
that  in  process  of  time  the  latitude  of  Siberia  became  suffi- 
ciently cool  for  elephants,  and  other  animals  to  live  there  ; 
that  when  Siberia  became,  at  length,  too  cold,  they  migrated 
to  the  southward,  until  they  at  length  settled  themselves, 
and  became  confined  to  the  torrid  zones.  We  are  not  told,  by 
this  distinguished  naturalist,  wlience  the  elephants  come;  how 
the  plants  migrated,  or  how  so  many  thousands  of  elephants 
showed  so  little  of  their  celebrated  and  well  known  sagacity, 
as  to  have  permitted  themselves  to  be  caught  in  the  ice  of 
the  polar  regions.  This  theory  of  Bulfon  holds  out  but  a 
melancholy  prospect  to  the  animated  beings  now  inhabiting 
the  earth  ;  as,  in  process  of  time,  the  whole  must  cool 
down  to  what  the  polar  regions  now  are.  Our  only  comfort, 
.in  such  circumstances,  must  arise  from  the  millions  of  years 
which  the  great  theorist  reckoned  upon,  for  the  cooling  of  so 
large  a  mass,  and  of  which,  we  must  hope,  there  are  some 
few  thousands  3-et  to  elapse. 

Such  are  the  grounds  on  which  opposition  to  the  sacred 
history  has  been  raised ! — and  this  within  the  last  half  cen- 
tury !  On  a  foundation  nearly  equally  unsound,  have  the 
subsequent  theories  of  French  geolog}'  been  laid.f 


•  The  actual  depth  of  the  chalk  formation,  is  a  point  with  whieli 
we  are,  as  vet,  verv  imijcrfectly  acquainted.  la  the  Isle  of  Thanet, 
in  Kent,  a  well  was  bot-ed  for  nearly  500  feet,  in  the  idea  of  finding- 
fresh  water  beneath  ;  but  as  the  chalk  and  flint  beds  were  equally 
solid  throughout,  the  attempt  was  abandoned.  This  bore  was 
continued  u|)\vards  of  400  IVct  below  the  level  of  the  sea,  and  must 
have  also  been  I'ar  below  the  sea-bed  of  the  adjoining  coast ;  for,  in 
tle^  straits  of  Uover,  the  greatest  depths  are  only  "from  18  to  2-i 
fathoms,  (or  from  lOS  to  I4i  feet).  From  this  circumstance,  «e 
may,  with  cerminty  conclule,  tliat  the  chalk  formations  of  England 
and  of  France  form  one  continuous  bed  of  much  greater  depth  tlian 
we  can  easily  penetrate  ;  and  especially  as  it  does  not  oftep  tlie  same 
inducement  to  mining  speculations,  which  are  so  often  presented 
among  other  secondarv  beds. 

t  There  cannot,  perhajjs,  be  a  more  proper  place,  than,  after  the 
exhibition  of  so  impious  anil  wild  a  theory  of  French  philosophy,  to 
remark  upon  the  very  common  notion,  from  time  to  time  revived 
amongst  the  weak  and  the  ignorant  in  Europe,  tliata  comet  is  to  ap- 
pear, and  to  injure,  or  utterly  destroy  the  earth;  and  the  year,  and 


As  the  whole  question  of  the  nature  of  the  deluge,  how- 
ever, may  be  said  to  turn  upon  the  subject  of  fossils,  it  must 
be  admitted  to  be  a  point  of  the  very  liighest  interest,  and, 
consequently,  well  worthy  of  the  most  careful  examination. 
The  great  difficulty  of  accounting  for  these,  and  all  other 
fossil  remains  of  tropical  productions  in  northern  latitudes, 
appears  to  arise  from  the  constant,  but  erroneous  conception, 
that  wcaronow  livingon  the  identical  dry  land  which  existed 
before  the  flood,  and  which  the  .llmigliti/  had  declared  he  u-ould 
destroy,  together  with  its  inhabitants.  From  the  moment  the 
subject  is  viewed  in  a  proper  light,  and  the  conviction  is 
secured,  in  the  total  disappearance  of  tlie  old  lands,  and  of 
our  novi'  inhabiting  the  dry  bed  of  tiie  former  ocean,  the 
dilfieulties  vanish,  and  the  whole  subject  becomes  consistent 
and  clear. 

The  first  objects  in  this  inquiry  ought  to  be,  to  show,  from 
physical  facts,  that  a  mechanical  force  does  exist,  the  nature 
and  action  of  which  is,  to  transport  floating  bodies  to  a  great 
distance,  and,  in  many  cases,  in  a  northerly  direction. 

In  a  former  part  of  this  ^realise,  I  have  explained,  in  a 
general  way,  the  nature  and  causes  of  the  currents  of  the 
ocean,  and  have  shown,  that  one  great  branch  flowing  west- 
ward, from  the  western  coasts  of  America  across  the  Pacific, 
passes  through  the  Chinese  seas  with  great  force,  accelerated, 
no  doubt,  by  the  opposition  it  meets  with  amongst  the  nume- 
rous points  and  islands.  Here,  then,  is  one  mechanical 
power,  by  which  floating  objects  would  be,  and  no  doubt  are, 
transported  from  one  side  of  the  great  Pacific  to  the  other. 

This  same  current,  advancing  westward  through  the  sea 
of  Bengal,  and  forced  to  double  Cape  Comorin,  on  the  south 
point  of  that  peninsula,  is  ursred,  by  the  prrseni  form  of  the 
eastern  coast  of  .ifrica,  in  a  southern  direction,  whereas,  if 
this  opposing  shore  did  not  exist,  it  would  more  naturally 
flow  to  the  northward  and  westward,  in  the  direction  of  the 
present  European  coasts.  Here,  tlien,  is  another  part  of  the 
same  inechanical  power,  which,  if  not  prevented  by  the  form 
of  the  present  dry  lands,  and  left  free,  as  it  must  have  been 
at  the  period  of  the  deluge,  ivould  transport  floating  bodies  in 
a  direct  course  from  .'Isia  towards  Europe. 

If  we  still  further  follow  out  the  courses  of  the  currents, 
we  discover  another  great  branch  called  the  Gulf  IStream, 
rushing,  with  great  rapidity,  along  the  coasts  of  the  United 
States,  from  a  southern  to  a  northern  latitude,  washing  the 
coasts  of  Newfoundland  ;  from  whence  it  is  forced,  in  a  north- 
easterly direction,  across  the  Atlantic,  over  to  the  coasts  of 
Norwa)'  and  tlie  British  Isles,  and  would,  no  doubt,  have 
continued  in  its  north-easterly  course,  towards  the  Arctic 
regions,  had  there  been  any  free  opening  into  the  North 
Pacific  Ocean  in  that  direction.  In  tlie  present  state,  how- 
ever, of  the  sea  and  land,  this  current  passes  through  the 
Bay  of  Bisca}',  and  advances,  southerly,  towards  the  equa- 
tor. Here,  again,  is  an  existing  instance  of  mechanical 
power,  by  means  of  which  floating  objects  are  now  constantly 
transportid frotn  the  tropical  climates  of  .imeriea  and  the  IJ'est 
Indies,  to  tlie  northern  shores  of  Europe. 

-Mr.  Pennant,  amongst  others,  has  remarked  the  variety  of 
nuts,  and  other  vegetable  substances,  which  are  thrown  on 
the  coasts  of  Norway  and  the  Orkneys,  from  these  southern 
climes;  and  also  the  mast  of  a  British  ship  of  war,  the  Til- 
bury, which  was  burnt  (;/  Jamaica,  being  thrown  by  this 
current  on  the  western  coast  of  Scotland.  The  same  naturalist, 
also,  speaks  of  the  amazing  quantities  of  drift  wood  from 
the  Amtrican  rivers,  lodged  on  the  coasts  of  Iceland. 

In  further  proof  of  the  general  system  of  the  currents,  the 
following  instances  may  be  given,  out  of  many. 

A  bottle,  thrown  overboard  otf  Cape  Farewell,  on  the 
•2)ih  cflMa}',  1618,  from  the  Alexander,  (one  of  the  ships  in 
Captain  Koss's  first  voj^age,  in  search  of  a  north-west  pass- 
even  the  day,  is  sometimes  named  for  this  termination  to  our  human 
anxieties.  This  idea  savours  much  of  that  very  fortuitous  i)hiloso- 
phy  which  we  have  found  such  reason  to  condemn.  Can  it  be  for  a 
moment  supposed,  Oiat  the  Providence  of  the  Almighty  Kuler  of 
tlie  creation  is  so  imperfect,  or  obscure,  or  the  mechanism  of  the 
universe  so  ill  regulated,  tliat  a  collision  can  take  place  between  any 
of  tlie  heavenly  bodies,  and  an  accident  arise  from  tlie  derangement 
of  the  Divine  work,  as  constantly  happens  iu  tlic  most  perfect  of  the 
weak  inventions  of  man?  When  lias  such  an  event  occurred,  in  the 
lapse  of  ages  •  In  what  part  of  tlie  annals  of  astronomy  is  it  described  ? 
On  tliose  who  repose  v\  ith  confidence  in  an  All-w  ise  Providence,  and 
■n'bo  have  faith  iu  tlie  inspiration  of  Scripture,  and  consequently,  in 
the  unerring  trutii  of  prophecy,  such  vain  alarms  will  have  no  elfect ; 
for  they  know  that  tlie  foretold  events  of  Scripture  are  not  yet  nearly 
fulfilled;  and  that,  till  these  events  take  place,  and  while  the  earU\ 
remainetli,  '■  seeil  time  and  harvest,  and  cold  and  In-al,  and  summer 
and  winter,  and  day  and  night,  shall  not  cease." — Genesis,  viii.  2'J. 


GEOLOGY  OF  SCRIPTURE. 


85 


affc)  was  picked  up  on  tlie  Island  of  Bartragh,  in  the  Bay  J 
of  Killala,  in  Ireland,  on  the  17th  of  March,  1819,  having 
floated  across  the  Atlantic,  probably  al  a  rate  of  more  than 
four  miles  per  day. 

.Some  casks  and  shakes,  (or  empty  casks  taken  to  pieces, 
and  packed  tight,  for  the  convenience  of  stowage,)  belonging 
to  the  lloytilUt  and  London  Hull  whalers,  which  were  both 
wrecked  about  latitude  61  degrees  N.,  and  longitude  5G 
degrees  W.,  in  181 1  and  1817,  were  picked  up  oli'  the  Butt 
of  the  Lewis,  within  a  year  of  the  time  of  these  vessels 
being  lost,  A^d  a  shake  that  had  belonged  to  the  London, 
was  found  dnfling  through  the  Orkneys,  about  eleven 
months  after  the  loss  of  that  vessel.  It  had,  therefore, 
performed  the  passage  of  IGOO  nautical  miles  within  that 
time,  or,  on  an  average,  of  five  miles  per  day  ;  and,  in  this 
instance,  the  transporting  agent  must  have  been  quite  unas- 
sisted by  the  winds,  as  these  shakes  are  generally  so  soaked 
in  oil,  and  are  so  heavy,  tl.at  they  float  almost  entirely  under 
water. — Scoreslty''s  Arct.  Hcg.  vol.  i.  p.  208. 

Mr.  Scoresby,  also,  mentions  a  log  of  mahogany  which 
was  picked  up  at  sea  by  Admiral  Lowenorn,  in  17H6,  when 
on  his  voyage  to  attempt  the  discovery  of  Old  Greenland. 
"This  piece  of  wood,  which  was  so  large,  that  they  were 
obliged  to  saw  it  in  two,  before  they  could  get  it  on  board, 
they  found  in  latitude  G3  degrees  11  minutes  N.,  longitude  35 
degrees  8  minutes  West  of  Paris.  In  the  Danish  settlement 
of  Disco,  is  a  mahogany  table,  made  out  of  a  plank  drifted 
thither  by  the  current ;  and  it  is  now  in  the  possession  of  the 
governor.  A  tree  of  log-wood  was  also  picked  up  not  far 
from  the  same  place. 

These  logs  of  wood,  the  produce  of  the  isthmus  which 
connects  North  and  South  America,  could  only  reach  the 
places  where  they  were  severally  found,  by  floating  up  the 
west  coast  of  America,  luwards  the  north,  through  Behring's 
Straits,  and  so  along  the  northern  face  of  Asia  or  America, 
or  across  the  northern  pole." — Scoresbi/'a  Arcl.  ling.  vol.  i, 
p.  7. 

V\  e  have  thus  distinct  instances  produced  by  the  above  en- 
lightened navigator  and  philosopher,  of  floating  bodies  being 
carried  from  an  equatorial  to  a  frozen  region.  Lieutenant 
Kotzebue  found  the  current  in  Behring's  Straits  setting  witl 
great  force  to  the  north-cuat,  and  with  a  velocity  of  about  two 
miles  and  a  half  an  hour.  If  the  same  opportunities  were 
aflbrdcd  for  scientific  observations  on  the  transporting  effects 
of  the  Currents,  in  the  southern  hemisphere,  and  in  the  un 
explored  or  barbarous  parts  of  the  northern  hemisphere, 
where  Kuropean  knowledge  has  not  yet  been  introduced,  there 
can  be  no  doubt  that  these  transporting  etfects  would  be  as 
distinctly  observed  all  over  the  earth,  as  they  have  been  in 
the  above  instances.  These  are,  however,  fully  sufficient  to 
establish  the  existence  of  a  mechanical  power  of  transporta- 
tion ;  and  it  would  be  both  injudicious,  and  unnecessary,  to 
endeavour  to  account  for  all  the  individual  courses  of  the  di- 
luvial currents ;  for,  as  the  lands  by  which  these  currents  must 
have  been  influenced,  no  longer  exist,  the  attempt  could  not 
be  expected  to  terminate  in  any  certain  result. 

Having  now,  however,  found  an  agent,  by  which  floating 
bodies  are  naturally  carried  from  a  tout/iern  to  a  northern  lat- 
itude, let  us  follow  the  course  of  any  animal  body,  such  as 
that  of  an  elephant,  when  deprived  of  life,  in  a  southern  lati- 
tude, and  left  to  the  influence  of  the  natural  currents  of  the 
ocean. 

It  is  a  well  known  part  of  the  laws  of  r.ature,  that  an  ani- 
mal body,  deprived  of  life  by  drowning,  at  first  generally 
sinks  by  its  own  weight,  and  remains  under  water,  until  the 
laws  of  decomposition  begin  to  operate.  In  the  early  course  of 
this  operation,  and  sooner,  or  later,  according  to  the  tempera- 
ture of  the  atmosphere  and  the  water,  a  quantity  of  air  becomes 
disengaged  ;*  and  by  this  air,  generated  in  the  interior  of  the 
body,  the  whole  becomes  distended  like  a  bladder,  and  rises 
to  the  surface  of  the  water,  by  tlic  same  laws  of  gravity  by 
which  it  had  before  sunk.  The  cause  of  this  gasseous  va- 
pour, with  which  animal  bodies  'become  distended  in  the 
water,  has  not,  perhaps,  been  yet  examined  with  that  careful 
attention  which  the  subject  appears  so  well  to  merit.  It  has 
been  remarked  by  naval  men,  that  when  a  body  has  sunk  in  a 
situation  where  no  current  is  likely  to  remove  it,  it  may  be 


expected  to  appear  floating  on  the  surface,  ond  in  a  shape  any 
thing  but  human,  about  the  ninth  day  afterdeath,  when  a  good 
look  out  is  generally  kept  for  ils recovery.  The  time  of  such 
appearance  on  the  surface,  w  ith  regard  to  other  animals,  must, 
of  course,  depend  upon  their  size,  and  the  temperature  of  the 
water.* 

In  the  common  coarse  of  things,  a  body  cannot  long  con- 
tinue in  this  floating  state,  because  it  is  immediately  attacked 
by  birds  or  fish,  ana  again  sinks  to  Uie  bottom,  as  soon  as  the 
skin  is  broken,  and  the  air  thus  suffered  to  escape.  In  the 
interesting  accounts  of  the  whale  fisheries,  by  Mr.  Scoresby, 
we  find  that  the  bodies  of  whales  are  often  seen  in  the  man- 
ner above  described,  and  buoyed  up  by  .the  air  generated  in 
the  operation  of  decomposition.  That  remarkable  whale,  the 
skeleton  of  which  has  so  lately  excited  the  wonder  and  admi- 
ration of  every  beholder  in  London,  (the  weight  of  which,  in 
an  entire  state,  was  240  tons,  or  -ISOjOOO  pounds,  its  lengtli 
being  95  leet.)  even  this  monster  of  the  deep  polar  seas,  was 
found  floating  on  the  surface  of  the  water,  ofl"  the  coast  of 
Belgium,  and  was  conveyed  ashore  near  the  port  of  Ostend. 
This  whale  was,  no  doubt,  brought  into  these  temperate  re- 
gions by  one  of  the  ver^'  currents  we  have  lately  been  consid- 
ering. When  a  whale  is  struck  dead  by  repeated  wounds  of 
the  harpoon,  its  body  often  sinks,  if  not  immediately  secured 
to  the  ship,  or  to  the  neighbouring  ice.  When  this  occurs,  a 
look  out  is  kept  for  some  days,  and  the  body  is  generally  found 
floating  on  the  surface  of  the  w^ater,  and  attended  by  great 
flocks  of  sea  gulls,  and  sometimes  by  white  bears,  which 
soon  destroy  its  buoyant  qualit)-,  when  it  again  sinks,  to  rise 
no  more  ;  and  we  may  easily  suppose  that  such  large  remains 
become  gradually  covered  up  by  the  marine  soils,  or  second- 
ary formations,  and  would  thus  prove  sources  of  wonder 
and  speculation,  if  there  were  a  possibility  of  their  ever  be- 
ing exposed  to  the  eyes  of  man,  which,  however,  we  know, 
from  the  very  highest  authority,  is  never  likely  to  happen,  as 
it  has  been  declared  by  the  Almighty  :  "  I  will  establish  my 
covenant  with  man  ;  neither  shall  all  flesh  be  cut  oft"  any 
more  by  the  waters  of  a  flood  ;  neither  shall  there  any  more 
be  a  flood  to  destroy  the  earth. — Genesis,  ix.  11. 

But  during  the  awful  event  we  are  now  considering,  all  an- 
imated nature  ceased  to  exist,  and,  consequently,  the  floating 
bodies  of  the  dead  must  have  been  buoyed  up  until  the  bladders 
burst,  by  the  force  of  the  increasing  air  contained  v.  ithin  them. 
The  stronger,  therefore,  the  hide  of  the  animal,  the  longer  it 
would  resist  this  internal  force;  and,  consequently,  we  can, 
without  any  difliculty,  imagine  the  bodies  of  elephanU!,  rhi- 
noceri,  bears,  lions,  and  other  large,  coarse-skinned  animals, 
floating  upon  the  waters  forscveral  weeks,  or  even  still  longer, 
if  they  were  rapidly  carried  into  a  cool  latitude. 

We  have  not  many  positive  data  on  which  to  form  a  judg- 
ment as  to  the  length  of  time  neccssari/  for  floating  a  body 
from  the  equatorial  to  the  more  northern  regions;  but,  as  one 
instance,  well  authenticated,  is  as  valuable  for  our  purpose, 
as  many,  I  shall  quote  that  mentioned  by  Mr.  Granville  Penn, 
of  the  "  Newcastle,  GO  guns,  Captain  Fanshawc,  which  sailed 
from  Halifax,  in  Nova  Scotia,  on  the  morning  of  the  12th  of 
December,  1821,  and  anchored  at  Spithead  on  Christmas  day, 
having  traversed  a  space  of  3U00  miles  in  thirteen  days.f 


•"WHien  the  operation  of  flensing  is  completed,"  riays  Mr. 
Seorcsby,  "  the  tackle  by  wlikhllie  whale  was  sui)portLd  is  removed, 
and  the  carcase,  or  h-eng,  comnionly  sinks  ;  but  sometimes  it  is  so 
swollen  bif  t/ie  air  produced  bo  Uutrefaciion,  that  it  swims,  and  rises 
several  feet  above  the  water. — ^it  thus  becomes  the  food  for  bears, 
sharks,  and  various  kinds  of  fish." — .irc/ic  Regions. 


•It  is  a  singular  fact,  well  know  to  many  na^al  men,  that  the 
bodies  of  unfortunate  indi\iduals,  who  have  been  drowned  in  a  har- 
bour, or  other  situation,  free  from  currents,  may  be  recovered  bi/ 
the  Jiring  of  cannon  in  the  immediate  neighbourhood  of  the  spot 
wliere  they  ha^e  sunk.  Many  successful  instances  of  this  experi- 
ment have  been  mentioned  to  me  ;  and  especially  one,  v\hercin  llie 
cimplain  and  a  whole  boat's  crew  of  the  \'aliant,  were  upset  in  a 
squall,  many  years  ago,  in  Torbay,  and  the  wliolc  unfortunate  peo- 
ple disappeared.  On  the  loUowino^  d.iy,  an  order  was  issued  by  the 
Adntirai,  for  each  of  the  ships  of  the  fleet  to  fire  some  guns,  and,  in 
about  an  hour  afterwards,  the  whole  of  tlie  bodies,  amounting-  to  12 
or  14,  were  found  floating  on  the  sui-face.  A  similar  trial,  attended 
by  similar  eflccts,  was  made  w  iih  the  guns  of  Sir  Godfrey  AA'ebster's 
vacbt,  at  Margate,  wlien  the  body  of  a  boatman,  v\ho  had  been  lest, 
was  thus  recovered.  The  idea  generally  entertained  of  the  cause  of 
lliis  efteet,  is,  tlialtlie  concussion  occasioned  by  the  firing,  breaks  the 
gall-bladder,  when  a  cljemical  process  lakes  place,  in  w  iiieh  a  quan- 
tity of  gas  is  produced,  which  swells  up  tlie  body,  and  causes  it  in- 
stantly to  rise  to  the  surface.  "\Mictlier  tliis  be  strictlv  correct  or 
not,  must  be  left  for  chemists  to  decide.  This  eff*ect  of  concussion, 
however,  certainly  deserves  more  attentive  consideration  tlian  it  ap- 
pears hitherto  to  have  met  with.  It  may  assist  in  leading  us  to  an 
explanation  of  the  manner  in  which  fish  are  known  to  be  aftecled,at 
a  great  depth,  by  sounds;  as  porpoises,  dolpllins,  and  other  larger 
fish,  are  known  to  be  roused  to  unusnal  exertion  and  activity,  bv  the 
firing  of  cannon.  The  subject  might  also  afford  great  additional  as- 
sistance to  the  benevolent  efforts  of  the  Royal  Humane  Society,  iu 
the  recovery  of  lost  bodies. 

t  -■Vs  the  longitude  of  Halifax  is  CS  degrees  west  of  London,  the 


86 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


Had  it  not  been  for  an  interruption  of  forty-eiffht  hours,  occa- 
sioned by  contrary  winds,  this  distance  would  have  been  run 
in  eleven  Jays.  The  averajre  progress,  therefore,  was  273 
miles  in  the  twenty-four  hours;  and  on  one  of  the  days,  the 
vessel  actually  ran  288  miles.  As  the  wind  blew  almost  a 
constant  hurricane,  very  Utile  sail  was  carried.''''* 

We  have  here  a  recent  instance  of  a  large  floating  body 
following  the  direct  line  of  one  of  the  very  currents  which 
we  have  traced,  (assisted,  it  is  true,  by  a  high  wind,)  and 
passing  over  a  space  of  nearly  4000  miles  in  about  eleven 
days,  with  very  little  assistance  from  artificial  means.  One 
glance  at  the  map  of  the  world  will  show  that  the  same  fa- 
vourable current,  aad  the  same  powerful  wind,  would,  in  a 
few  days  more,  have  carried  the  same  body  into  the  polar  seas. 
Now,  from  the  latitude  of  20  degrees  north,  (or  about  the 
meridian  of  the  centre  of  Hindostan,)  to  that  of  75  degrees, 
(or  that  of  the  north  of  Nova  Zerabla  and  Siberia,)  i°s  not 
more  than  a  distance  of  3300  miles;  and,  therefore,  even  al- 
lowing for  a  smaller  floating  body  than  a  ship  of  war,  without 
much  sail,  we  cannot  hesitate  in  concluding  to  the  impossi- 
bility of  large  inflated  animal  bodies  remaining  entire  durino- 
a  longer  time  than  would  be  necessary  for  the  passage  of  this 
distance,  at  a  period  peculiarly  marked  by  storms  and  tem- 
pests. We  are  not,  however,  to  suppose  it  probable,  that  the 
greater  number  of  dead  bodies  reached  a  high  northern  lati- 
tude in  an  entire  state.  On  the  contrary,  numbers  must  have 
sunk  in  every  part  of  the  temperate  regions,  and  become  em- 
bedded, piece-meal,  in  the  rapidly  accumulating  diluvial  for- 
mations where  we  now  find  them  in  a  fossil  state.  But  it 
must  he  admitted  to  be  a  remarkably  corroborative  circum- 
stance, in  support  of  this  view  of  the  subject,  that,  as  the 
elephant,  the  hippopotamus  and  rhinoceros,  are  the  animals, 
of  all  others,  we  should  expect  to  float  longest  in  an  entire 
state,  from  the  great  strength  and  thickness  of  their  skins,  so 
they  are  the  verj^  animals  now  found  in  such  vast  numbers  in 
the  frozen  regions,  as  to  make  their  ivory  a  very  considerable 
and  valuable  branch  of  northern  commerce. 


we  have  found  to  be  so  objectional  and  unsound.  His  nu- 
merous  revolutions,  his  alternate  salt  and  fresh  ivalei-  deluges, all 
bespeak  the  school  from  which  he  derived  his  earliest  geo- 
logical ideas,  and  of  which  he  himself  latterly  became  the 
head.  We  cannot,  therefore,  with  any  consistency,  or  hope 
of  profitable  instruction,  follow  the  track  by  which  he  would 
leail  us  to  the  origin  of  these  fossil  remains. 

It  is  in  the  arctic  and  north  polar  regions  of  the  earth,  that 
some  of  the  most  remarkable  and  best  preserved  of  these 
fossil  remains  have  been  discovered.  There  cannot,  how- 
ever, be  a  doubt,  that  if  the  south  polar  regions  were  equally 
accessible,  we  should  also  find  their  icy  masses  charged  with 
the  remains  of  the  antediluvian  dead.  In  Siberia,  that  barren 
region,  so  associated  in  our  minds  with  tyrannical  cruelty, 
solitude  and  desolation,  where 


■  nequo  uUe 


Aut  herbie  campo  apparent  aut  arbore  frondcs  : 
Sfd  jacet  ag,s:cTibus  niveis  informis  et  alto 

Terra  j^elu  late,— ^ • 1  . 

Semper  hiems,  semper  spirantes  frigora  cauri, 


CHAPTER  X. 

High  Importance  of  the  Ei'idenec  of  Fossils. — Siberian  Mam- 
moth.—  The  entire  Elephant  of  the  Lena. —  Theories  founded 
on  this  Specimen,  unsupported  by  facts. — Consistent  mode  of 
accounting  for  Tropical  Traductions  in  Cold  Climates. — i'n- 
ehanged  condition  of  the  Climates  of  the  Earth. — Italian 
Deposits. — Monte  Bolca. — Fossils  on  the  Coast  of  Norfolk. — 
Formations  of  the  South  of  England. —  The  same  Fieiv  ex- 
tended to  the  Continent. 

We  may  now  proceed  to  the  consideration  of  some  of  the  most 
remarkable  fossil  remains  of  quadrupeds  that  have  been  found 
in  the  temperate  regions,  and  in  such  quantities  in  high 
northern  latitudes,  as  to  have  given  rise  to  much  speculation 
and  vague  theory  amongst  philosophers,  respecting  the  means 
by  which  they  came  into  their  present  unnatural  situations. 

The  bones  of  large  quadrupeds  have  been  observed,  more 
or  less,  in  all  the  quarters  of  the  globe,  where  any  attention 
has  been  paid  to  the  search  for  them.  In  early  times  they 
were  considered  as  the  bones  of  the  giants  which  were  sup- 
posed to  have  formerly  inhabited  the  earth.  As  mankind 
became  more  enlightened,  these  absurd  opinions  o-ave  place 
to  something  nearer  approaching  the  truth :  it  is,  however, 
only  within  the  last  half  century  that  science  has  applied 
that  attention  to  the  subject,  of  which  it  is  so  highly  deserv- 
ing; though  the  number  of  diflerent  opinions  relating  to  these 
aniiual  remains,  proves  how  uncertain  philosophers  still  are 
respecting  them.  Tlie  great  attention  of  late  paid  to  com- 
parative anatomy,  more  especially  in  France,  under  that 
distinguished  naturalist,  the  late  Baron  Cuvier,  has  greatly 
increased  our  knowledge  of  the  diff"erent  classes  of  aiTimals, 
the  rernains  of  which  are  now  found  in  the  earth.  But  the 
geological  views  of  that  eminent  man  by  no  means  kept  pace 
Avith  his  zoological  and  anatomical  knowledge.  His  theo- 
ries of  the  earth,  though  exhibiting  much  talent,  are  all 
formed  upon  those  very  principles  of  secondary  causes  which 


direct  distance  passed  over  by  the  Newcastle,  must  be  fully  sroO 
geographical  miles,  or  nearly  ICKIO  more  than  Mr.  Penu  has  calcu- 
lated upon. 

*  Comp,  Estim. 


the  great  steppes,  or  plains,  formed  of  a  sandy  and  gravelly 
soil,  intermixed  with  salt  lakes,  contain  such  quantities  of  the 
reiuains  of  elephants,  that  the  fossil  ivory  forms  a  highly 
important  and  valuable  branch  of  commerce.  The  natives  of 
that  country  have  given  the  name  of  mammoth,  or  the  mole, 
to  these  fossil  elephants ;  and,  however  strange  it  may  appear, 
they  look  upon  them  as  the  bodies  of  animals  noiv  living 
under  the  ground ;  which  idea  is,  however,  founded  on  ap- 
pearances and  facts  which  render  it  in  some  sort  plausible. 
For  those  who  inhabit  the  northern  regions,  frequentlj'  find 
the  remains  of  these  large  bodies  still  fresh  and  bloody;  and 
as  no  such  animals  are  ever  seen  on  the  surface  of  the  ground 
in  those  regions,  it  is  not  uimatural  for  the  ignorant  peasants 
to  suppose  them  to  be  a  species  of  gigantic  mole,  which  still 
lives  and  burrows  in  the  earth.  The  able  historian,  Muller, 
who  resided  at  Moscow  in  1779,  admitted  that  he  was  of  the 
same  opinion. 

About  the  year  1799,  a  large  object  was  observed  by  some 
fishermen,  near  the  mouth  of  the  Lena,  on  the  coast  of  the 
Arctic  ocean,  to  project  from  an  icy  bank,  but  beyond  the 
reach  of  examination.  For  several  following  seasons  the 
same  object  was  remarked,  and  every  year  a  little  more  dis- 
engaged from  its  icy  bed,  by  the  slow  melting  of  the  ice 
during  the  short  summers.  At  length,  in  1803,  it  became 
entirely  detached,  and  the  enormous  carcase  of  a  mammoth 
fell  upon  the  sand  bank  below.  This  remarkable  specimen 
was  rjuite  entire  when  it  first  fell,  and  the  flesh  so  well  pre- 
served that  it  was  greedily  devoured  by  the  white  bears,  and 
by  the  dogs  of  the  fishermen.*  In  1806,  the  remains  of  this 
carcase  were  examined  by  Mr.  Adams,  a  member  of  the 
academy  of  St.  Petersburgh,  when  the  greater  part  of  the 
bones,  and  a  large  portion  of  the  skin  j'et  remained.  The 
brain  was  then  still  within  the  skull,  but  shrunk  and  dried 
up ;  and  one  of  the  ears  was  well  preserved,  retaining  a  tuft 
of  strong  bristly  hair.  The  animal  was  a  male,  and  is  de- 
scribed as  having  had  a  sort  of  mane  on  its  neck.  As  the 
description  of  Mr.  Adams,  however,  was  given  nearly  three 
years  after  the  body  fell  on  the  sands,  and  as  it  had  been  par- 
tially exposed  to  the  atinosphere  during  several  3'ears  more, 
there  can  be  little  doubt  that,  if  it  had  been  dug  out  of  its 
icy  bed  when  first  seen  in  1799,  we  should  have  had  a  com- 
plete and  minute  description  and  drawing  of  one  species  of 
the  antediluvian  elephant. 

Much  stress  has  been  laid  by  naturalists,  whose  theories 
of  the  earth  required  the  aid  of  such  evidence,  on  the  remark- 
able shaggy  coat  of  hair,  with  a  species  of  wool  at  the  roots, 
with  which  this  antideluvian  elephant  was  clothed  :  and  it 
has  been  advanced,  as  a  positive  proof  of  the  animal  having 
lived  ivhere  his  remains  were  discovered ;  and,  consequent!)',  that 
he,  and  thousands  of  the  same  unwieldly  race,  the  fossil  bones 
of  which  arc  now  found  in  such  surprising  quantities  in  the 
north,  were  all  the  natural  inhabitants  of  these  sterile  regions, 


•  It  may  appear  to  some,  an  improbable  part  of  tlie  history  of  this 
remarkable  fossil,  that  any  animal  substance  could  have  so  long 
resisted  decomposition,  ■xvhen  acted  upon  by  a  solar  heat,  capable  of 
melting  the  ice  in  m  liich  it  "was  embedded.  But  it  nm^t  be  con- 
sidered, that,  in  tiiose  higii  northern  latitudes,  as  in  the  great  at- 
mos])lieric  elevations  of  mountain  ridges,  in  the  regions  ot  eternal 
snow,  the  air  is  of  so  rare  and  dry  a  nature,  diat  the  deconipositiou 
of  animal  substances  can  scarcely  take  place  under  any  circum- 
stances. It  is  true,  that  tlie  direct  rays  of  the  sun  act,  in  such  situa- 
tions, for  a  short  time,  with  great  power.  But  a  general  heat  is 
never  produced,  sucli  as  occasions  rapid  fermentation  in  the  equa- 
torial and  temperate  regions. 


GEOLOGY  OF  SCRIPTURE. 


87 


where  no  appearance  of  vegetation  for  their  support  is  ever 
now  produced.*  But  notwithstanding  this  thick  coat  of  hair 
and  wool,  we  have  not  a  shadow  of  ground  for  supposing  the 
animal  which  it  covered,  ever  to  have  been  a  native  of  the 
frozen  regions;  because,  in  their  present  state,  the  soils  of 
those  climates  do  not  produce  the  food  necessary  even  for 
the  smallest  graminivorous  animals,  much  less,  then,  for 
creatures  of  the  size  of  the  elephant,  which  are  known  to  re- 
quire the  most  luxuriant  forest  scenery  for  their  habitation 
It  is  admitted  that  no  such  scenery  exists  within  many  degrees 
of  latitude  of  the  Arctic  ocean;  and  it  must,  therefore,  follow, 
that  no  such  animals  could  find  the  necessary  sustenance  there, 
in  the  present  state  of  the  world.  This  difficulty  is,  however, 
easily  overcome  by  those  who  insist  on  the  mammoth  having 
been  a  native  of  the  countries  where  we  now  find  its  remains. 
For  they  immediately  change  the  position  of  the  globe,  and 
endeavour  to  show,  that  what  are  now  the  frozen  poles,  were 
made  so  by  some  unexplained  convulsion,  after  having  en- 
joyed all  the  luxuries  of  a  tropical  climate;  and  they  further 
endeavour  to  prove,  that  this  convulsion  must  have  been  quite 
sudden,  as  the  flesh  and  blood  of  this  fossil  elephant  were 
still  preserved  entire.  The  supposed  suddenness  of  this  sup- 
posed convulsion,  however,  proves  more  than  is  demanded  or 
desired  by  these  theorists;  for,  if  this  elephant,  together  with 
the  very  great  number  of  elephants  and  rhinoceri,  whose  re- 
mains are  found  in  such  quantities  all  over  the  frozen  zone, 
were  suddenly  encased  in  ice,  and  thus,  from  that  instant, 
preserved  as  entire  as  insects  found  in  amber,  why  is  it  that 
we  do  not  find,  in  the  descriptions  of  these  icy  masses,  an}- 
mention  made  of  the  quantities  oives^etuble  productions  amongst 
which  they  must  have  lived,  and  which  would  equally  have 
been  preserved  in  the  most  perfect  manner^  We  should,  in 
such  a  case,  have  expected  to  have  found,  on  the  shores  of 
the  icy  ocean,  a  complete  antediluvian  herbal,  which  would 
have  settled  all  discussions  respecting  fossil  vegetables 
found  in  other  parts  of  the  earth.  We  can  in  no  way  con- 
ceive a  convulsion  taking  place,  to  produce  suddenly,  such 
effects  as  exist  at  the  poles,  without  freezing  up,  and  preserv- 
ing entire,  the  forests  and  jungles,  as  well  as  the  wild  beasts 
contained  in  them:  nor  is  it  in  the  least  degree  probable,  that 
the  elephants  and  rhinoceri  would  have  been  singled  out  for 
preservation,  amongst  all  the  numerous  species  of  animals 
which  inhabited  the  same  forests  as  themselves,  wliilst  al 
most  every  other  creature  was  suffered  to  escape. 

"There  is  not,"  says  Pallas,  "in  all  Asiatic  Russia,  from 
the  Don,  to  the  extremity  of  the  promontory  of  Tchutchis,  a 
stream  or  river,  in  the  banks  of  which  they  do  not  find  ele 
phants,  and  other  large  uniniuh,  now  strangers  to  that  cli' 
mate."f  We  no  where  hear,  however,  of  either  fossil  or 
recent  luxuriance  of  vegetation  in  these  inhospitable  regions, 
nor  have  we  the  smallest  ground  to  conclude,  that  they  have 
ever  been  less  rigid  than  they  now  are,  since  the  creation  of 
the  world  ;  nor,  consequently,  that  elephants,  or  other  tropi- 
cal productions,  animal  or  vegetable,  could  ever  have  found 
subsistence  there  for  a  single  day  :  nor  will  the  undisputed 
fact  of  an  elephant  having  hair  on  its  body,  afford  us  any 
conviction  of  its  ever  having  inhabited  so  cold  a  climate  :  for 
though  most  of  the  present  known  species  have  but  little 
hair,  many  of  the  most  shaggy  animals  are  natives  of  the 
tropics. 

Pallas,  in  his  Memoir  on  the  remarkable  fossils  with 
which  Siberia  abounds,  describes  having  there  discovered 
an  entire  rhinoceros,  the  skin  and  flesh  of  which  were  pre- 
served in  ice,  in  the  same  manner  as  the  specimen  cf  the 
mammoth  which  we  have  now  been  considering :  but  we  do 
not  find  that  this  specimen  was  covered  with  a  coat  of  hair. 
Nor  is  it  likely  that  so  unusual  a  circumstance,  had  it 
existed,  would  have  escaped  particular  remark  and  descrip- 
tion by  this  philosopher. 


*  I  liave  seen  tlie  highly  interesting  portion  of  the  skin  and  liair  of 
this  specimen,  -wliicli  was  sent  to  Sir  Josepli  Banks,  and  is  now  in 
the  museum  of  tlie  Royal  College  of  Surgeons  in  London.  The  skin 
is  fully  half  an  incli  in  tliickness,  in  its  di-y  and  hard  stale,  and  must 
have  originally  been  nearly  an  inch  thick,  and  of  prodigious  strength. 
The  hair  is  of  three  kinds,  probably  taken  from  ditiercnt  parts  of 
the  body.  The  longest  is  about  a  foot  in  length,  of  the  nature  of  a 
tliick  bristle,  and  black  in  colour.  The  tufts  of  the  second  are  of  a 
dark  chesnut  colour,  about  four  or  five  inches  long,  and  of  about  the 
coarseness  of  the  mane  of  a  horse.  The  third  kind  of  hair  is  of  a 
dirty  yellowish  tint,  and  not  more  than  about  an  inch  long,  closely 
covering  the  skin  at  the  roots  of  the  longest  coat.  Upon  the  whole, 
this  hair  presents  us  with  the  idea  of  a  very  rough  and  shaggy  ani- 
mal, of  a  dark  brown,  or  chesnut  colour,  approaching  to  black,  and 
which  must,  indeed,  have  exhibited  a  frightful  appearance. 

t  Rcliq.  Diluv.  p.  185. 


To  those  who  have  well  considered  the  condition  of  the 
earth  at  the  period  of  the  deluge,  which  has  been  so  lately 
discussed,  there  can  be  no  difficulty  in  accounting  for  the 
numerous  fossil  remains  of  tropical  plants  and  animals  every 
were  found,  more  or  less,  in  the  upper  strata  of  the  globe ; 
and  that  such  remains  should  have  been  preserved  entire  in 
the  frozen  regions,  towards  which,  I  have  shown,  they  would 
naturally  be  carried  by  some  of  the  currents  of  the  ocean,  is 
only  a  consequence  to  be  as  naturally  expected  from  such 
transportation.  We  must  feel  satisfied,  that  the  elephant 
and  rhinoceros  would  be,  of  all  animals,  the  most  likely  to 
float  longest,  from  their  great  bulk,  and  the  strength  and 
thickness  of  their  skin.*  If  we  follow  the  track  which  such 
large  floating  bodies  must  have  taken,  in  a  current  flowing 
directly  from  the  tropical  to  the  northern  latitudes ;  and  if  we 
consider  that  a  very  few  weeks  would,  at  the  utmost,  be  neces- 
sary for  their  transport,  as  has  been  shown  by  the  passage 
of  a  vessel,  carrying  little  sail,  over  nearly  4000  miles  in  a 
similar  course,  in  eleven  days,  we  shall  feel  convinced  of  the 
possibility  of  their  having  been,  in  many  instances,  lodged 
in  the  icy  regions  of  the  north,  with  their  skins  entire,  and 
their  flesh  ana  blood,  consequently,  preserved. 

That  those  regions  were  then  as  cold  as  at  the  present  day, 
is  distinctly  proved  by  the  condition  of  the  bodies  themselves, 
which,  with  their  icy  covering,  must  be  in  exactly  the  same 
stale  as  when  embedded  four  thousand  years  ago.  Whv  is  it 
only  in  the  colder  regions  that  the  flesh  of  these  animals  has 
been  preserved,  while  in  Britain,  and  in  the  other  temperate 
climates,  nothing  but  the  bones  remain,  and  generally  in  a 
detached  and  broken  state  ?  It  is  clear,  that  in  the  one  case, 
the  higher  temperature  of  the  soil  has  caused  the  decompo- 
sition of  the  softer  parts  ;  while  in  the  other,  the  frozen  state 
of  the  earth,  at  the  depth  of  a  foot  or  two,  even  in  the  heat 
of  the  short  summers,  has  prevented  decay  ;|  and  it  must  be 
equall}'  evident,  to  an  unprejudiced  mind,  that,  in  the  course 
and  prevalence  of  the  waters  upon  the  earth,  and  in  so  com- 
plete a  wreck  of  animated  beings,  numberless  bodies  of 
every  kind  must  have  sunk  and  gone  to  pieces,  and  have 
become  subject  to  the  same  laws  ot  gravity  and  of  fluids,  by 
which  we  have  seen  that  all  movable  bodies  becoine  classed 
and  arranged  in  the  bed  of  the  ocean ;  while  those  that  were 
floated  ofl'  by  more  rapid  portions  of  the  currents,  reached  a 
higher  latitude  in  a  more  entire  state,  where  their  subsequent 
preservation  must  have  depended  upon  the  temperature  of 
the  climates,  where  they  became  embedded. 

It  appears  certain,  then,  that  on  the  subsiding  of  the 
waters  of  the  deluge  into  their  new  bed,  the  floating  bodies, 
in  the  northern  regions,  must  have  been  stranded  on  the 
gravelly  and  sandy  bottom  of  what  was  formerly  the  bed  of 
the  antediluvian  sea;  that  thej'  were,  in  many  cases,  sunk  at 
various  depths  in  this  soft  soil,  agitated  as  its  surface  must 
have  been  by  the  si  owl}'  retiring  waters  ;  that  the  inclemency 
of  the  north  soon  congealed  into  ice  the  moisture  that  was 
not  quickly  drained  off  upon  the  surface  ;  and  that  the  bodies 
so  hermetricallj'  sealed  up,  have  remained  in  the  precise  con- 
dition in  which  they  chanced  to  be,  not  only  until  our  days, 
but  will  be  preserved  for  any  length  of  time,  unless  brought 
within  the  action  of  the  atmosphere  by  the  mechanical  fric- 
tion of  rivers,  or  by  other  natural  causes.  It  is  also  certain, 
that  all  other  embedded  bodies,  such  as  vegetable  produc- 


*  In  Siberia,  there  are  found  the  fossil  remains  of  buflaloes,  of  a 
very  great  size,  and  said  to  he  larger  tlian  any  existing  known  spe- 
cies. But  tills  latter  fact  we  have  everj' reason  to  doubt.  Mankind 
arc  at  all  times  fond  of  the  marvellous  ;  and  witliout  recent  bones, 
witli  which  to  make  tlie  comparison,  tliose  of  the  fossil  buftiiloe  must 
appear  very  great.  The  fact  is,  tliat  there  are  lev  quadrupeds  of  a 
more  unwieldy  growth,  tliau  the  full  grown  buftaloe  in  its  native 
ti-opical  climate. 

t  In  the  frozen  regions,  and  near  the  poles,  the  heat  of  the  sun, 
even  during  an  unceasing  day  of  several  montlis  duration,  has  so 
little  power,  tliat,  at  whatever  dcptlis  trials  have  been  made,  the 
fissures  in  the  rocks  have  always  been  found  filled  with  ice,  as  eternal 
as  that  on  die  tops  of  the  highest  mountains.  M.  I'atrin,  «  ho  spent 
many  rears  in  Siberia,  found  this  to  be  tlie  case,  on  descending  the 
mines  of  tliat  country. 

"The  antiseptical  effect  of  cold,  in  the  polar  countries,  on  animal 
and  vegetable  substances,  is  such  as  to  preserve  tlieni  unchanged  for 
a  period  of  many  years.  An  instance  corroborative  of  lliis  remark, 
is  given  by  M.  Bleau,  who  in  his  Atlas  Historique,  informs  us,  that 
tlie  bodies  of  seven  Dutch  seamen,  who  perished  in  Spitzbergen,  in 
1635,  were  found  twenty  years  afterwards  in  a  perfect  state,  not 
having  suffered  the  smallest  <legi-ee  of  puti-efaction." — "  A\>od,  and 
other  vegetable  substances  are  preserved  in  a  similar  manner. 
Things  o"f  this  nature  have  been  met  witli  in  Spitzbergen,  vhicii 
have  resisted  all  injury  from  the  w  eallier  during  the  lapse  of  a  cen- 
tury."— Scoresbi/''s  Arct.  Re^.  vol.  ii.  p.  54-i. 


88 


CHRISTIAN   LIBRARY. 


tions,  would  have  been  equally  well  preserved,  both  in 
substance,  and  in  colour,  had  they  existed  in  any  great  quan- 
tity, as  in  their  natural  soils  ;  and,  that  as  no  such  vegetable 
productions  are  found  in  the  ice  of  the  north,  we  must  con- 
clude, that  the  northern  regions  never  were  different  in  cli- 
mate from  what  they  are  at  present;  and,  consequently,  that 
they  have  always  been  equally  unfitted  for  the  support  of 
both  the  animal  and  vegetable  world.* 

The  conclusion  at  which  we  thus  unavoidably  arrive,  with 
respect  to  any  one  fossil  body,  in  the  condition  of  the  mam- 
moth in  ice,  at  the  mouth  of  the  Lena,  involves  the  history 
of  almost  all  the  fossil  remains  of  quadrupeds  found  in  the 
alluvial  soils  in  every  quarter  of  the  world.  For  if  we  can, 
in  anij one  instance,  prove  that  a  production  of  a  southern  lati- 
tude has  been  transported  to  one  very  far  to  the  north,  in  so 
short  a  space  of  time  as  to  have  its  most  destructible  parts 
perfectly  preserved,  we  cannot  stop  short  in  our  conclusions  : 
we  cannot  suppose  that  to  be  a  solitary  instance.  On  the 
contrary,  we  must  attribute  all  fossil  remains,  both  of  ani- 
mals and  vegetables,  now  found  in  climates  uncongenial  to 
them,  to  the  powerful  agency  of  the  same  mechanical  law 
What,  then,  becomes  of  the  lions,  tigers,  hysenas,  elephants, 
crocodiles,  tortoises,  and  other  animals  of  tropical  regions, 
whose  remains  are  now  found  in  every  land  indiscriminately, 
and  often  in  confused  heaps,  deeply  buried,  in  what  was 
once  the  muddy  sediment  of  a  deluge,  but  now  hardened  into 
calcareous  or  other  secondary  rocks,  and  worked  into  cavities 
probably  in  the  course  of  dessication  1  Are  we  to  conclude, 
from  the  entire  elephant  found  near  the  pole,  which  we  feel 
satisfied  could  not  have  lived  within  many  degrees  of  latitude 
of  where  his  remains  were  discovered,  that  all  the  polar  and 
temperate  latitudes  of  the  earth  were  once  inhabited  by  a 
class  of  beings  now  unnatural  to  them  1  or  because  palm 
trees  and  cocoa  nuts  are  now  found,  in  a  fossil  state,  in  the 
strata  of  Britain,  that  they  formerly  grew  there  ■?■)■  No.  We 
are  forcibly  and  irresistibly  drawn  to  a  directly  opposite  con- 
clusion, by  the  concurrent  evidence  both  of  history,  and  of 
physical  facts.  We  must  Icel  a  conviction,  as  strong  as  is 
possible,  in  any  case,  of  which  wo  have  not  had  occular 
proof,  that  the  same  mechanical  power  which  transported  the 
mammoth  of  the  Lena  from  its  natural  climate,  to  its  icy  bed 
in  the  frozen  zone,  must  have  also  brought  along  with  it,  all 
the  various  fossil  productions  found  in  climates  which  would 
now  be  uncongenial  to  their  support.:): 

By  the  same  line  of  reasoning,  we  are  led  to  the  solution 
of  what  has  been  one  of  the  leading  subjects  of  discussion 
amongst  philosophers  for  the  last  century  ;  that  is,  the  re- 
markable accumulation  of  fossil  remains  at  Monte  Bolca, 
near  Verona,  in  Italy.  This  deposit  may  certainly  be  regard- 
ed as  one  of  the  most  interesting  now  known  ;  and  from  the 
attention  which  has  been  paid  to  it,  and  the  care  and  expence 
bestowed  upon  the  collection  of  its  fossil  treasures,  there  are 
few  with  which  we  are  better  acquainted.     The  district,  of 


*  It  is  mucli  to  be  re.q^-etted,  tliat  the  countries  in  which  these 
most  interesting  and  wcli-pi'escrved  specimens  of  fossil  animal  re- 
mains are  alone  to  be  found,  are  so  situated,  as  to  be  beyond  the 
convenient  reach  of  pbilosopbic  eyes.  For,  although  we  only  hear 
of  the  huge  remains  of  the  larger  animals,  because  tliey  naturally 
make  the  greiitesl  impression  upon  the  uncivilized  peasants  who  dis- 
cover tbem,  there  can  be  no  doubt  that  the  frozen  regions  must 
conU\in  many  other  equally  interesting  and  highly  preserved  remains, 
lodged  by  the  dilu\ial  currents:  and  it  is  probable,diat  if  any  journey 
wei'c  undertaken  to  the  shores  of  the  Frozen  Ocean,  for  the  express 
purpose  of  such  research,  the  discoveries  would  amply  repay  the 
enterprise  and  trouble  bestowed  on  the  undertaking. 

t  Upuards  of  500  kinds  of  seeds  and  fruits,  many  of  -which  are 
now  confined  to  tropical  climates,  have  been  found  in  the  diluvial  de- 
posits in  the  Isle  of  Sheppcy,  on  the  Thames  ;  and  they  are  there 
associated  with  numbers  of  animal  remains,  of  elephants,  and  otlier 
tropical  (juadrupods.  In  Professor  Buckland's  collection,  at  Ox- 
ford, there  are  fossil  and  recent  cones,  of  immense  size  ;  the  form- 
er from  the  Portland  quarries,  the  latter  from  a  tropical  climate. 

%  "  In  the  valley  of  the  Arno,  parts  of  the  skeletons  of  at  least  a 
hundred  hippopotami  have  been  discovered.  AV  ith  these  were  also 
found,  in  great  abundance,  the  remains  of  rhinoceros  and  elephant, 
together  with  those  of  horses,  oxen,  several  species  of  deer,  hycena, 
hear,  tiger,  fox,  wolf,  mastodon,  hog,  tapir,  and  beaver  ;  they  are 
from  animals  of  all  ages,  and  one  of  tlie  elephants  could  not  have 
been  a  week  old." — Retiquix  Diluv.  p.  1S2. 

The  latter  pai-t  of  the  above  passage,  respecting  an  elephant  of  not 
more  than  a  week  old,  is  probably  intended  as  conclusive  evidence 
of  its  having  been  born  in  Italy.  But  it  is  obvious,  that  the  over- 
wlielniing  calamity  vhich  deprived  its  modier  of  life,  in  a  tropical 
climate,  could  not  be  expected  to  respect  its  lender  age,  but  would, 
on  the  conti-ary,  transport  its  remains  to  the  latitude  nf  the  banks  of 
the  Aino,  with  as  little  diflicultv'  or  pity,  as  those  of  the  still  smaller 
animals,  whose  remains  are  now  associated  witli  it. 


which  Bolca  forms  a  part,  is  calcareous,  and  tlie  quarries  in 
which  the  most  remarkable  impressions  of  fish  are  found, 
consist  of  a  stone  of  a  schistose  structure,  and  susceptible  of 
being  split  into  lamina-,  or  flags,  of  various  dimensions.  It 
is  called,  by  mineralogists,  a  marl,  or  marley  schist,  and  is 
of  a  yellow,  white,  or  bluish  gray  colour. 

The  most  remarkable  fossils  of  this  deposit  consist  offish, 
in  a  highly  preserved  state.  In  some  collections  that  have 
been  nrade  from  these  quarries,  there  are  from  GOO  to  800 
specimens  of  various  sorts,  and  of  every  size,  from  being 
almost  invisible,  up  to  four  feet  in  length.  >Some  of  the  spe- 
cies, which  have,  in  all,  been  calculated  at  about  70,  are  re- 
cognized as  being  fish  of  the  Mediterranean  sea  ;  others  have 
been  supposed  to  be  now  peculiar  to  the  Pacific,  and  other 
southern  waters.     Some,  however,  are  totally  unknown. 

This  extraordinary  deposit  of  fish  has  been  the  occasion  of 
much  speculation,  and  of  many  theories  amongst  naturalists, 
to  account  for  its  present  elevation  above  the  sea ;  and,  like 
that  of  elephants  in  the  polar  regions,  authors  have  endeav- 
oured to  account  for  it  in  various  ways.  The  most  generally 
received  opinion  is,  though  opposed  by  the  most  glaring  in- 
consistencies, that,  as  a  fish  could  not  be  so  well  preserved 
as  those  of  Monte  Bolca,  unless  thrown  into  their  present 
position  in  a  sudden  manner,  their  destruction  must  have  been 
occasioned  by  a  submarine  volcano,  before  the  great  revolu- 
tion happened,  b}'  which  the  present  lands  of  Italy  became 
elevated  above  the  present  seas.*  It  has  been  too  often  the 
custom  to  resort  to  volcanic  agency,  with  regard  to  Italy  in 
general,  and  to  any  such  difficulties  as  were  occasioned  by 
Alonte  Bolca,  in  particular.  The  fact  is,  that  few  countries 
present  more  calcareous  appearances  than  Italy  ;  the  greater 
part  of  the  whole  ridge  of  the  Apennines,  is  composed  of 
limestone  and  marbles  of  various  kinds  ;  and  the  existence  of 
volcanic  action,  in  such  extensive  secondary  formations,  as 
are  found  in  Italy,  exactly  corresponds  with  what  has  been 
already  remarked  respecting  volcanoes  in  general,  and  Iceland 
in  particular,  in  an  early  part  of  this  treatise.  But  about 
\'erona,  the  whole  country  is  calcareous,  and  Monte  Bolca  is 
admitted  to  be  so,  notwithstanding  the  above  mentioned  com- 
mon opinion. 

But  we  are  led  to  the  solution  of  this  fossil  mystery,  by 
the  same  steps  which  guide  us  in  our  researches  in  other 
countries  ;  and  we  thus  find  that  Monte  Bolca  is  only  peculiar 
in  the  quantity  and  beauty  of  its  speciinens,  and  not  in  the 
manner  in  which  they  were  deposited.  When  we  hear  of 
Monte  Bolca,  the  idea  of  petrified  fish  instantly  presents  itself 
to  the  mind,  so  much  more  numerous  are  they,  than  other  fos- 
sils. But  other  fossils,  nevertheless,  exist ;  and  such  as  are 
totally  inconsistent  with  volcanic  origin,  imder  the  waters  of 
the  sea.  The  bones  of  huge  elephants,  stags,  and  bears,  and 
likewise  those  of  the  intermediate  tribe,  ihn  phoac,  have  been 
discovered;  besides  many  terrestrial  jo/a;(?«,  birds,  and  insects. 
Here  are  evidences  of  diluvial  origin,  as  clear  as  can  be 
produced  from  any  region  of  the  earth ;  and  the  presence  of 
the  bones  of  elephants,  or  of  other  large  quadru|ieds,  such  as 
are  found  in  the  polar  regions,  surrounded,  as  in  this  instance, 
by  marine  animals,  connect  the  two  in  a  manner  the  mostcon- 
clusive,  and  tend  to  the  same  point  to  which  the  Geology  of 
t5cripture,  in  all  its  parts,  so  consistently  leads  us.  It  is  not, 
therefore,  necessary,  in  such  individual  cases  as  we  are  now 
considering,  to  account  for  the  accidental  circumstances, 
which  must  have  occasioned,  in  one  instance,  a  preponder- 
ance of  terrestrial,  and  in  another,  that  of  marine  animal  re- 
mains, in  detached  deposits.  It  is  sufficient  for  the  support 
of  the  general  system  which  we  are  now  considering,  that, 

*  Amongst  other  proofs  that  die  deposits  in  Monte  Bolca  were 
caused  by  a  sudden  revolution,  we  find  an  instance  quoted,  of  a  fish 
having  anodier  in  its  mouOi,  yet  uiis-wa! to-wed ;  while  others havedie 
undigested  ren.ains  of  the  stomach  still  visible.  Had  those  instan- 
ces related  to  land  animals,  instead  of  to  fishes,  who  were  naturally 
enjoying  their  own  proper  element,  up  to  Uie  very  moment  «  hen  the 
lides  or  the  cm-rents  caused  them  to  be  suddenly  overwhelmed  by 
the  muddy  diluvial  sediments,  we  should  haveatonce  acknowledged 
die  force  of  the  conclusion.  But  we  have,  in  this,  a  remarkable 
proof,  diat  a  great  proportion  of  Uie  inhabitants  of  the  deep  must 
have  been  presened  alive  at  a  time  v\ hen  almost  all  productions  of 
die  land  were  consigned  to  destruction.  Had  not  this  been  the  case, 
we  must  have  found  die  fossil  impressions  of  fish,  in  almost  every 
direction,  in  our  diluvial  strata.  But  it  is  a  well  known  fact,  that 
fish,  though  abuiiilant  ill  some  paiticular  spots,  are  by  no  means  com- 
mon as  fossils.  In  Dr.  Buckland's  fine  cabinet  of  fossils,  tlierc  is  a 
good  impression  of  a  part  of  a  large  fish,  with  the  scales  of  an  un- 
digested meal  visible  through  the  ribs.  I  believe  diis  specimen  is 
from  Shotover,  near  Oxford,  which  has  never  been  looked  upon  as 
a  sudtlen  formation. 


GEOLOGY  OF  SCRIPTURE. 


89 


in  almost  all  in-ttanccs  nf  fossil  remains  nf  quadrupeds,  the  two 
arc  more  or  less  lilendcd  together,  and  in  a  manner  to  lead  to 
the  instant  conviction,  that  sea  and  land  productions  had,  by 
some  means  or  other,  become  indiscriminately  confused  ;  and 
that  they  were  thus  left  in  a  dry  state  by  the  retiring  waters, 
the  action  and  circulation  of  which  had  been  the  agent  in  this 
unnatural  combination.  The  Mosaic  History  is  alone  capa- 
ble of  clearing  up  the  obscurity  of  such  phenomena;  and  it 
does  clear  away  all  difficulties  in  a  manner  the  most  satisfac- 
tory to  the  reason  and  understanding. 

It  may  almost  be  considered  unnecessary  to  proceed  further 
ill  the  production  of  proofs  of  diluvial  effects  upon  animal 
and  vegetable  productions  at  this  eventful  period.  But  our 
own  country  presents  so  many  examples  of  the  highest  inter- 
est, which  are  in  a  great  degree  unknown  to  general  readers, 
that  some  further  account  of  them  may  be  desirable. 

All  geologists  are  well  acquainted  with  the  rich  mine  of 
fossil  remains  along  the  east  coast  of  FCngland  ;  and  especially 
in  the  counties  of  Essex,  Suffolk,  Norfolk,  and  Lincoln.  An 
account  of  those  on  the  coast  of  Norfolk  has  been  kindly 
communicated  to  me  by  the  Rev.  James  Layton.  of  Catfield 
in  that  county,  now  resident  at  Sandwich,  a  distinguished 
collector  of  such  fossil  treasures ;  and  as  this  account  will 
serve  to  throw  a  great  additional  light  upon  the  effects  of  d 
luvial  action  now  under  consideration,  1  shall  proceed  to  lay 
it  before  my  readers. 

After  describing  the  strata  of  blue  clay,  locally  called  mud 
cliffs,  of  which  an  interesting  section  is  presented  along  that 
coast,  exhibiting,  in  the  clearest  manner,  the  violent  effects  of 
some  diluviul  cddi/,  at  that  particular  point,  by  the  action  of 
which  the  intermixture  and  contortions  of  the  strata,  as  they 
were  formed,  took  place;  Mr.  Layton  proceeds  as  follows  : 
"  One  remarkable  feature  in  this  compact  blue  clay,  is  a 
stratum  nf  wood,  exhibitinor  the  apperirance  if  a  wood  over- 
tkrown,  or  crushed  in  situ.  At  Paling,  the  stumps  of  trees  seem 
now  to  be  really  standing ;  the  roots  are  strong,  spread  abroad, 
and  intermingling  with  each  other  :  were  a  torrent  to  sweep 
away  the  mould  from  the  surface  of  a  thick  wood,  leaving  the 
roots  bare  in  the  ground,  the  appearances  would  be  exactly  the 
same.  This  phenomenon  occurs  again  at  Hasborough,  the 
lino  of  crushed  wood,  leaves,  grass,  &c.,  frequently  forming 
a  bed  of  peat,  extends  just  above  low  water  mark.  About 
this  stratum  are  found  numerous  remains  of  mammalia:  the 
bonis  and  bones  of  at  least  four  kinds  of  deer;  the  ox,  the 
horse,  hippopotamus,  rhinoceros,  and  elephant.  These  fos- 
sil remains  are  found  at  Hasborough,  and  its  neighbourhood, 
on  the  denuded  clay  shore  :  at  Mundesle}'  they  are  found  in 
the  cliff.  The  great  mine,  however,  is  in  the  sea,  some  miles 
from  land,  where  there  is  an  oyster  bed,  on  a  stratum  of 
gravel,  about  six  fathoms  deep.  The  sea  gains  rapidly  on 
this  coast ;  two  yards  at  least  every  year.  We  may,  there- 
fore, conclude,  that  the  land  once  extended  considerably  be- 
yond  that  bed ;  and  that  the  stratum  of  fossils  was  left,  be- 
cause they  were  hard  and  heavy,  while  the  mud  and  sand 
have  been  carried  into  deeper  water. 

"How  far  this  bed  of  fossils  extends,  I  cannot  pretend  to 
say;  but  in  1826,  some  fishermen,  while  dredging  for  soles  on 
'  the  Knowl,'  a  bank  twenty  miles  off  shore,  brought  up  an  en- 
tire tusk  of  an  elei)hant,  which  is  now  in  my  possession ;  i 
is  nine  feet  six  inches  long,  one  foot  nine  inches  in  its  great- 
est circumference,  and  weighs  97  pounds.  It  is  cornuform, 
and  exactly  resembles  the  tusks  of  the  mammoth,  said  to 
have  been  found  in  the  ice  in  Siberia.*  The  elephants  must 
have  been  abundant.  I  have  at  least  70  grinders,  of  all  sizes, 
from  four  laminae  to  twenty ;  and  so  various  in  their  features, 
that,  at  first,  I  fancied  I  could  distinguish  a  dozen  different 
species  ;  but  I  now  believe  that  they  all  belong  to  the  same, 
and  that  most  resembling  the  .isintic.  Those  which  I  now 
have,  are  reserved  from  more  than  two  hundred,  which  have 
been  in  my  possession;  and  the  oyster  dredgers  reported,  that 
they  had  fished  up  immense  quantities,  and  thrown  them  into 
di^ep  water,  as  they  greatly  obstructed  their  nets.  Amongst 
these  fossils,  that  is,  from  the  oyster-bed,  are  some  supposed 
to  be  of  a  species  of  the  whale. 

"  In  1820,  an  entire  skeleton  of  the  Great  Mastodox  was 
found  at  Horstead,  near  Norwich,  lying  on  its  side,  stretched 


*  The  largest  specimen  of  a  fossil  tusk  that  I  have  seen  or  heard  of, 
it  in  the  cabinet  of  Ui-.  Bncklaiid,  at  Oxford,  and  was  found  at  Rome. 
Is  is  but  a  small  portion  of  what  Ifie  -iihole  has  been,  being  not  more 
than  about  two  feet  long  ;  but,  from  its  great  size  and  slraightness,  it 
must  have  been  of  prodigious  length,  and  of  nearly  four  hundred 
M eight.  Its  diameter  is  about  10  inches,  and  in  its  present  decayed 
state,  it  much  resembles  a  piece  of  fossil  timber. 
Vol.  II.— M 


out,  between  the  chalk  and  Ihegrarel.  A  grinder  was  brought 
to  me,  (it  is  still  in  the  possession  of  Dawson  Turner,  Esq. 
of  Yarmouth ;)  but  so  long  after  it  was  discovered,  that 
scarcely  any  other  part  of  the  animal  could  be  preserved. 
The  whole  had  been  carried  away  with  the  chalk,  and  burnt 
for  lime,  or  spread  in  minute  fragments  over  the  fields.* 

"  Perhaps,  I  should  also  tell  you,  that  upon  this  compact 
blue  clay,  so  rich  in  fossils,  is  generally,  but  not  constantly, 
a  stratum  of  light  blue  clay,  varying  in  thickness  up  to  four 
feet:  this  is  ahvays  delicately  laminated;  often  having  the 
appearance  of  the  leaves  of  a  book  when  pressed  on  one 
side.  Above  this  are  sand,  (frequently  stratified,)  brown 
clay,  gravel,  and  chalk  rubbish,  intermingled,  or  alternating, 
and  surmounted  by  a  deep  rich  soil.  These  upper  beds  occa- 
sionally present  fossil  suells,  probably  from  the  crag  stra- 
tum.^^ 

It  is  scarcely  necessary  to  make  any  remark  on  the  inter- 
estiiio- and  corroborative  evidence  of  diluvial  action,  presented 
to  us  throughout  every  word  of  this  singular  and  distinct 
account. 

We  here  have  every  thing  that  the  imagination  can  require, 
in  painting  the  effects  of  a  great  diluvial  eddt,  collecting 
in  its  vortex  an  indiscriminate  mixture  of  floating  animal, 
vegetable,  and  marine  productions,  from  every  climate  under 
heaven.  The  description  of  the  washed  state  of  the  roots  of 
the  trees  is  particularly  striking,  as  every  one,  who  has  seen 
a  high  land  flood,  bearing  along  its  vegetable  booty,  must  be 
familiar  with  the  appearances  which  these  fossil  forests 
exhibit.  But  instead  of  single  trees,  we  must  endeavour 
to  present  to  the  mind's  eye  such  floating  and  matted 
forests,  as  the  wilds  of  America  could  still  produce,  in  the 
event  of  a  renewal  of  so  awful  a  calamity  ;  we  must  enlarge 
our  views,  in  considering  such  vast  effects  ;  and  imagine  this 
portion  of  the  diminishing  waters  of  the  deluge  to  be  com- 
pletely charged  with  a  floating  mass  of  objects,  collected  by 
the  currents  from  "  the  four  winds."  We  must  endeavour 
to  conceive,  what  mortal  eye  never  saw,  nor  ever  can  see  ; 
and  we  shall  then  be  fully  able  to  elucidate  and  unravel  the 
mystery  which  has  so  long  overshadowed  this  awfullj-  grand 
subject.  The  whole  scene  now  presents  itself  to  the  imagi- 
nation ;  and  we  are  thus  led  to  a  period  in  the  history  of  our 
native  land,  when  its  soft  and  chalky  surface,  for  the  first 
time,  showed  itself  above  the  level  of  the  waters ;  and  when 
all  its  valleys  and  its  basins  first  became  the  depositories  of 
what  we  have  so  long  speculated  upon  in  darkness  and  in 
error,  under  the  guidance  of  a  false  and  theoretical  philoso- 
phy. The  same  level  of  the  waters,  which  deposited  this 
mingled  mass  of  organic  destruction  on  the  coasts  of  modern 
Norfolk,  must  have  been  extended  over  the  whole  of  the 
south  of  England,  and,  also,  over  by  far  the  greater  part  of 
the  north.  If  we  consider,  on  the  great  scale,  the  general 
structure  of  this  southern  portion  of  England,  and  follow 
out  the  formation  of  the  chalk  on  which  all  these  animal 
remains  and  diluvial  strata  repose,  and  below,  or  in  which  no 
quadruped,  or  regctnble  substance  has  ever  yet  been  discovered, 
we  shall  find,  that  from  that  ver}'  shore  of  Norfolk,  and  of 
the  neighbouring  counties  of  Suffolk,  of  Essex,  and  of  Kent, 
ramifications  of  chalk,  in  the  form  of  high  bare  downs, 
stretch  from  east  to  west,  across  the  whole  of  this  part  of 
the  kingdom  ;  and  in  three  well  defined  ridges,  are  known 
by  the  names  of  the  Oxfordshire  Hills,  the  Surrej-  Hills, 
and  the  Sussex  Downs.  Between  each  of  these  hilly 
ridges,  on  which  little  or  no  soil  is  to  be  found,  excepting  in 
the  dips  or  hollows,  which  are  i/ivnriably  filled  with  strati- 
fied diluvial  clay  and  grnvd,  we  find  extended  plains  of  the 
richest  soils,  often  of  a  depth  which  cannot  easily  be  pene- 
trated, and  containing  abundant  animal  and  vegetable  testi- 
monies to  their  formation  having  taken  place  at  the  same 
destructive  period  when  the  strata  of  Norfolk  became  so 
charged  with  animal  debris.  To  the  north  of  the  Oxford- 
shire hills,  (one  part  of  which,  called  Nettlebed,  is  consid- 
ered the  highest  point  of  England,  south  of  the  Trent,)  we  find, 
in  the  vale  of  Oxford  itself,  numerous  instances  of  the 
common  diluvial  strata,  in  the  form  of  deep  soil,  gravel, 
clay  of  various  kinds,  and  stratified  rocks  of  a  calcareous 
description, /u//  of  sea  shells. 

In  one  of  these  strata,  the  quarries  opened  up  on  the  rising 
ground  at  Shotover,  a  few  miles  from  Oxford,  furnish  a  rich 
treasure  of  fossil  animal  remains  ;  and  it  was  from  this  place 
that  one  of  the  Saurian,  or  Crocodile  tribe,  was  lately  pro- 
cured for  the  cabinet  of  Professor  Buckland,  on  one  of  the 
bones  of  which  a  large  oyster  is  seen  attacked,  together  with 


For  a  further  account  of  this  fossil,  see  Chapter  12. 


90 

two  fine  iiinmnnites,  in  their  natural  position.  Those  speak- 
ing witnesses  of  marine  action  could  not  have  been  produced 
on  this//-esA  imfer  animal,  without  its  having  been,  for  some 
time,  subjected,  like  the  bones  of  the  mammoth  mentioned 
by  Cnvier,  to  the  waters  in  which  they  naturally  dwelt. 

Now,  if  we  suppose  the  level  of  the  sea  to  have  gradually, 
and  in  the  course  of  weeks,  sunk  from  the  heights  at  Nettle- 
bed,  drifting  off,  as  it  fell,  every  movable  substance,  either 
animal,  vegetable  or  mineral,  into  the  lower  levels,  where 
they  were  submitted  to  the  lateral  action  of  the  tides,  and, 
consequently,  arranged  in  stratified  order,  as  has  been  before 
fully  explained,  and  as  always  must  happen  in  such  cases  ; 
we  shall  have  a  clear  and  well  defined  idea  of  the  ellects 
observed  in  this  and  every  other  vale  or  plain  in  the  south  of 
E no-land,  formed  almost  invariably  of  the  same  materials 
and  structure.  By  this  means,  we  have  a  distinct  concep- 
tion of  the  Lnmlon  basin,  situated  between  these  same 
Oxfordshire  hills,  and  the  ridge  of  those  of  Surrey,  to  the 
south.  By  this  meatis,  we  learn  how  the  rich  wealds  of 
Kent,  and  of  Sussex,  came  to  be  formed  of  such  unfathomable 
depth  of  blue  clay,  marl,  sand-stone,  iron-stone,  &c. ;  all 
reposing,  in  alternate  strata,  upon  the  chalk,  which  there 
can  be  no  doubt  extends  below,  from  the  Sussex  Downs  to 
the  Surrey  hills  ;  and  from  these  latter  again,  to  those  of 
Oxfordshire.* 

By  extending  this  line  of  reasoning  to  other  parts  of  our 
own  native  country,  and  from  thence  carrying  the  mind's 
eye  over  the  plains  of  France,  of  Germany,  of  Europe,  and 
of  the  rest  of  the  world,  there  is  at  once  a  full  conviction 
presented  to  the  reason,  of  the  manner  in  which  such  unifunn 
effects  have  been  produced  by  so  universal  and  prevailing  u 
cause.  The  basins  of  Paris,  of  London,  and  of  the  Isle  of 
Wight,  so  long  the  subjects  of  blind  speculation  and  of 
error,  must  all  have  then  received  their  load  of  fossil  trea- 
sures;  and  then,  also,  might  be  seen  the  inflated  and  colossal 
forms  of  the  animal  kingdom,  bending  their  gradual  but 
certain  courses  towards  their  present  icy  beds  in  the  Polar 
regions. 

The  work  of  destruction  had  at  length  been  consummated ; 
and  the  new  dry  lands  were  now  to  assume  those  forms 
and  qualities,  which  experience  shows  us  are  so  happily 
suited  to  the  wants  and  comforts  of  postdiluvian  generations. 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

TVie  Cave  of  Kirhdale.—Dr.  Biickland's  Theory  founded  on 
its  Fossil  Bemains. — Contradiclory  Nature  of  this  Theory. 
— Fossil  Bones  from  the  Hymulaya  Glaciers,  and  from  the 
Heights  of  South  .imerica. — Natural  mode  f.r  accounting 
for  "them. —  The  Iluhits  of  the  Elephant. — His  most  perfect 
form. — His  Inve  of  the  Water,  and  of  a  swampy  and  ivoudy 
Country. — Haljits  of  the  Bhinoceros. — Cuvier's  Opinion  of 
Fossil  Bemaiiu. — Inconsistency  cf  this  Opinion. — Evidence 
of  Astronomy. — Evidence  from  Fossil  Trees. — Conclusive 
Nature  of  this  Evidence. — Evidence  derived  from  Peat  Moss. 
— Foot-marks  of  Ant  ediluvian  .inimals. — .Scratches  occasioned 
by  the  Diluvial  Action. — Formation  of  Valleys. — Scripture 
alone  capable  of  explaining  these  Evidences, 

There  probably  never  has  appeared  any  geological  work, 
that  excited  so  much  attention  and  interest  at  the  time  of  its 
publication,  as  the  Beliquise  Diluviunse  of  Professor  Buck- 
land  ;  in  which  that  excellent  and  learned  geologist  endea- 
vours to  account  for  the  fossil  remains  found  in  our  own 
island,  of  quadrupeds  which  are  now  confined  to  much  more 
southern  latitudes. 


*  The  form  and  structure  of  the  weald  of  Kent  and  Sussex,  are, 
indeed,  ti-uly  wortliy  of  our  most  attentive  observation.  In  out- 
ward form,  there  is  the  greatest  variety  of  liiU  and  dale,  without, 
however,  in  almost  any  instance,  being  provided  with  the  brooks  or 
rivers,  which,  in  oilier  circumstances,  we  should  look  for  as  certjiin 
in  every  hollow.  This  peculiarity  is  obviously  occasioned  by  llie 
nature  and  extent  of  the  prevailing  clay,  which,  in  manj-  instances, 
is  unfathomable.  It  is  not  a  little  singular,  that  coal  has  not  yet 
been  discovered  in  tlie  wealds  of  Kent ;  for,  as  the  soils  and  strata 
are  almost  every  where  identical  with  those  of  many  of  our  richest 
coal  fields,  there  can  be  no  reason  given  for  its  absence  from  the 
iron  and  sand  stone  strata  which  so  much  abound,  tlian  that  the  diluvial 
waters,  in  this  i)articular  locality,  were  not  charged  with  the  same 
floating  vegetable  masses  which  they  have  deposited  in  s\ich  abun- 
dance m  omer  more  favoured  places. 


It  is  with  the  most  sincere  respect  for  the  well-known 
talents  of  Professor  Buckland,  that  I  consider  it  a  duty,  in 
this  place,  and  while  considering  this  part  of  my  subject,  to 
advance  any  thing  in  opposition  to  one  whose  opinions  are 
so  influential  in  the  geological  world.  But  the  whole  theory, 
under  the  impression  of  which  that  work  is  written,  is  so 
directly  opposed  to  what  has  now  been  advanced,  that  I  feel 
it  due  to  myself,  as  well  as  to  my  readers,  to  make  some 
observations  upon  it ;  not  only  in  the  fair  support  of  an  op- 
posite argument,  but  for  the  sake  of  advancing,  in  at  least  a 
nearer  degree,  towards  the  same  great  end,  to  which  all  such 
inquiries  ought  invariably  to  point. 

After  describing  the  remarkable  and  indiscriminate  mixture 
of  fossil  bones,  found  in  a  cave  at  Kirkdale,  in  Yorkshire,  in 
1821,  Dr.  Buckland  proceeds  with  the  following  remarks 
upon  the  general  theory  of  the  fossil  remains  of  quadrupeds. 

"  It  was  probable,  even  before  the  discovery  of  this  cave, 
from  the  abundance  in  which  the  remains  of  similar  species 
occur  in  superficial  gravel  beds,  which  cannot  be  referred  to 
any  other  than  diluvial  origin,  that  such  animals  were  the 
antediluvian  inhabitants,  not  only  of  this  country,  but  gene- 
rally of  all  those  northern  latitudes  in  which  their  remains 
are  found  :  the  proof,  however,  was  imperfect,  as  it  was  possi- 
ble they  might  have  been  drifted  or  floated  hither  by  the 
waters,  from  the  warmer  regions  of  the  earth ;  hut  the  facts 
developed  in  this  charnel-house  of  the  antediluvian  forests  of 
Yorkshire,  demonstrate  that  there  was  a  long  succession  of 
years  in  which  the  elephant,  rhinoceros  and  hippopotamus, 
had  been  the  prey  of  the  hyaenas,  which,  like  themselves,  in- 
habited England  at  the  period  immediately  preceding  the 
formation  of  the  diluvial  gravel ;  and  //  they  inhabited  this 
country,  it  follows  as  a  corollary,  that  they  also  inhabited  all 
those  other  regions  of  the  northern  hemisphere,  in  which 
similar  bones  have  been  found  under  precisely  similar  cir- 
cumstances, not  mineralized,  but  simply  in  the  state  of  grave 
bones,  imbedded  in  loam,  or  clay,  or  gravel,  over  great  part 
of  northern  Europe,  as  well  as  North  America  and  Siberia." 

"  It  is  in  the  highest  degree  curious  to  observe,  that  four 
of  the  genera  of  animals,  whose  bones  are  thus  widely  dif- 
fused over  the  temperate,  and  even  over  the  polar  regions  of 
the  northern  hemisphere,  should  at  present  exist  only  in  tropi- 
cal climates,  and  chiefly  south  of  the  equator ;  and  that  the 
only  country  in  which  the  elephant,  rhinoceros,  hippopotamus 
and  hyaena,  are  now  associated,  is  in  southern  Africa.  In  the 
immediate  neighbourhood  of  the  Cape,  they  all  live  and  die 
together,  as  they  formerly  did  in  Britain;  whilst  the  hippo- 
potamus is  now  confined  exclusively  to  Africa,  and  the  ele- 
phant, rhinoceros  and  hya;na,  are  diffused  widely  over  the 
continent  of  Asia. 

"To  the  question  which  here  so  naturally  presents  itself, 
as  to  what  might  have  been  the  climate  of  the  northern  hem- 
isphere, when  peopled  with  genera  of  animals,  which  are 
now  confined  to  the  warmer  regions,  it  is  not  essential  to  the 
point  before  me  to  find  a  solution.  My  object  is,  to  establish 
the  fact,  that  the  animals  lived  and  died  in  the  regions  where 
their  remains  are  now  found,  and  were  not  drifted  thither  by 
the  diluvial  waters  from  other  latitudes." 

In  the  Edinburgh  PhilosophicalJournal,  (in  1827,)  a  letter 
was  published  by  Dr.  Buckland,  which  he  had  received  from 
Colonel  Sykes,  on  the  subject  of  hyaenas  dens  in  India;  and 
the  object  of  this  publication  was,  to  show  the  solidity  of  the 
foundation  on  which  the  professor's  theory  of  the  Kirkdale 
cave  was  built.  This  letter  from  India  gives  the  exact  de- 
scription which  we  should  naturally  expect,  of  the  earth,  or 
hole  of  a  carnivorous  animal.  A  good  many  bones  were  found 
in  it ;  but  not  more  in  proportion  to  the  size  of  the  animal, 
and  the  prey  on  which  he  usually  feeds,  than  we  always  find 
in  a  fox's  liole  in  our  own  country.  I  have  lately  had  the 
pleasure  of  conversing  with  Colonel  Sykes,  and  of  discussing 
this,  and  other  subjects  of  equal  interest,  connected  witli  a 
tropical  climate,  and  of  the  animals  natural  to  it.  His  de- 
scription of  the  hysena  is  any  thing  but  favourable  to  the 
theory  of  the  cave  of  Kirkdale,  even  supposing  that  we  had 
no  stronger  ground  on  which  to  combat  it.  He  considers 
that  the  hyeena  does  not  live  in  a  gregarious  manner;  on  the 
contrary,  he  never  but  once  saw  three  full  grown  animals  in 
the  same  hole ;  and  he  supposes  that  one  of  them  was  a  young 
one,  not  yet  expelled  from  the  family,  which  always  happens 
as  soon  as  the  young  arc  able  to  shift  for  themselves.  This 
is  the  well  known  habit  of  foxes  and  of  wolves,  between 
which,  and  the  hya;na,  there  seems  to  be  considerable  simi- 
larity of  character.  Colonel  Sykes  inclines  to  think  that  they 
do  not  live  so  much  in  caves  of  a  large  size,  as  in  fissures 
and  burrows  similar  to  fox  earths;  and  that  it  is  probable 


GEOLOGY  OF  SCRIPTURE. 


91 


that  they  do  not  haunt  even  these,  except  when  the}'  have 
young;  but  lie  out  in  the  open  country,  or  in  the  woods,  as 
wolves  are  known  to  do. 

In  the  earth  which  Colonel  Sykes  laid  open,  he  chose  one, 
which,  from  its  beaten  and  used  appearance,  seemed  a  well 
established  haunt;  and  in  such  a  country  as  India,  if  such  a 
haunt  be  not  disturbed,  or  destroyed,  it  is  probable  that  it 
may  be  so  tenanted  for  many  successive  years.  There  was, 
however,  no  unusual  quantity  of  bona;  and  such  as  were 
found,  were  of  a  very  recent  character.  The  abundance  of 
teeth  was  entirely  wanting;  nor  could  I  learn  that  there  were 
any  indications  of  hyeenas,  «,•/«)  had  died  of  old  age,iiaviDg  heen 
devoured  by  their  own  species. 

The  learned  professor  then  proceeds  to  state  the  differences 
of  opinion  that  exist,  on  the  subject  of  climate,  amongst  the 
highest  authorities,  and  he  mentions  the  opinion  of  Cuvier, 
that  these  animals  probably  had  a  constitution  adapted  to 
endure  the  rigours  of  a  northern  winter,  which  opinion  was 
supported  (and  indeed  was  probably  formed)  by  the  "  large 
quantity  of  wool"  found,  with  the  skeleton  of  an  elephant, 
discovered  in  1771,  in  the  frozen  gravel  of  V'ilhoui. 

He  proceeds,  however,  with  much  candour,  to  state  the 
opposing  objections  to  such  an  idea,  and  to  destroy  both  his 
own  and  Cuvier's  theory,  upon  the  very  natural  and  unan- 
swerable principle,  that  food  could  not  have  been  found  in 
those  rigorous  climates,  proper  for  the  sustenance  of  such 
large  animals :  he  proceeds  as  follows ;  "  for  though  the 
elephant  and  rhinoceros,  if  clothed  in  wool,  may  have  fed 
themselves  on  branches  of  trees  and  brushwood,  during  the 
extreme  severities  of  winter,  still  I  see  not  how  even  these 
were  to  be  obtained  in  the  frozen  regions  of  Siberia,  which, 
at  present,  produce  little  more  than  moss  and  lichens,  which, 
during  great  part  of  the  year,  are  buried  under  impenetrable 
ice  and  snow;  yet  it  is  in  those  regions  of  extreme  cold,  on 
the  utmost  verge  of  the  now  habitable  world,  that  the  bones 
of  elephants  are  found,  oecusionully  crowded  together  in  heaps, 
ajong  the  shores  of  the  icy  sea,  from  Archangel  to  Behring's 
.Straits,  forming  whole  islands,  composed  of  boxes  and 
jiL'D,  at  the  mouth  <if  the  Lena,  and  encased  in  ice,*  from 
which  they  are  melted  out  by  the  solar  heat  of  the  short  sum- 
mer, along  the  coasts  of  Tungusia,  in  sufficient  numbers  to 
form  an  important  article  of  commerce." — Jielin.  Diluv.  p.  4G. 

In  concluding  this  fundamental  part  of  his  subject,  on 
which,  indeed.  Dr.  Buckland  had  before  admitted  that  his 
whole  theory  entirely  depended,  he  proceeds :  "  Between 
tliese  two  conflicting  opinions,"  (viz.  either  that  of  Cuvier, 
that  the  animals  had  a  constitution  fitted  to  a  colder  climate; 
or  that  of  other  philosophers,  who  supposed  the  climates, 
now  so  inclement,  to  have  been  formerly  warm,  and  the 
change  to  have  suddenly  taken  place  by  an  alteration  in  the 
inclination  of  the  earth's  axis,  or  by  the  near  aproach  of  a 
comet;|)  '■  between  these  two  conflicting  opinions,  we  are 
eoinpelled"  says  Dr.  Buckland, '• /o  make  oar  choice ;  there 
seems  to  be  no  third  or  intermediate  state  with  which  both 
may  be  compatible.  It  is  not,  however,  my  purpose  to  dis- 
cuss the  dij/iculties  that  will  occur  on  both  sides,  till  the  further 
progress  of  geological  science  shall  have  aflTorded  us  more 
ample  information,  as  to  the  structure  of  our  globe;  and  have 
supplied  those  data,  without  which  all  opinions  that  can  be 
advanced  on  the  subject  must  be  premature,  and  amount  to  no 
more  than  plausible  conjectures.  At  present,  I  am  con- 
cerned ONLY  TO  establish  TWO  IMPORTANT  FACTS  ;  firSt,  that 

there  has  been  a  recent  and  general  inundation  of  the  globe ; 
and,  secondly,  that  the  animals,  found  in  the  wreck  of  that 
inundation,  were  natives  of  high  northern  latitudes,  and  not 


*  In  order  to  trace  such  islands  of  bones  and  mud  encased  in  ice, 
to  their  true  origin,  we  have  only  to  imagine  the  same  kind  of  scene 
as  we  liavejiist  been  contemplating  on  the  coasts  of  Xorfolk.  And 
in  order  to  disprove  so  obvious  a  cause,  or  to  show  tliat  such  effects 
are  ])i-oduceil  in  the  common  course  of  tilings,  as  some  have  sup- 
poscii,  it  must  be  sliovvn  in  what  part  of  tlie  world  such  deposits  ever 
now  Uike  place,  and  by  wliut  possible  event  the  desU'uction  of  so 
prodigious  a  number  of  elephants,  and  otlier  large  quadrupeds, 
could,  at  any  one  time,  have  been  effected  :  for  it  must  be  evident, 
tjiat,  liad  the  mud  cliffs  of  Xorfolk  been  formed  in  Uie  polar  regions, 
■we  must  have  had  tlie  natural  addition  of  ice,  wherever  they  are  now- 
saturated  with  water. 

t  It  was  a  part  of  the  theory  of  La  Place,  in  his  Systemc  du  Alondc, 
that  the  sti'oke  of  a  passing  comet  was  the  most  probable  cause  of 
tlie  Mosaic  deluge.  But,  at  the  same  time,  he  endeavours  to  allay 
tliose  tears  which  were  then,  as  now,  so  common,  of  a  repetition  of 
so  dreadful  an  accident,  upon  the  principle  of  tlie  improbability  of 
such  a  chance,  in  so  wide  a  space  as  tihe  heavenly  bodies  have  to  move 
in.  ^  How  strange  it  is  to  find  so  great  a  mind  incapable  of  appre- 
ciating the  provident  wisdom  of  an  Almighty  Creator,  and  conceiv- 
ing that  such  supposed  events  were  left  to  the  guidance  of  chance! 


drifted  to  their  present  place  from  equatorial  regions,  by  the 
waters  that  caused  that  inundation." — Reliq.  Diluv.  p.  47. 

The  most  remarkable  feature  in  this  part  of  ihe  work  of 
Dr.  Buckland,  is  the  very  loose,  and  even  contradictory  rea- 
soning, to  be  found  throughout  the  above  quotations.  In  one 
part,  he  considers  it  as  positively  proved,  that  the  animals, 
whose  bones  are  now  found  in  Yorkshire,  inhabited  England 
"  at  a  period  immediately  preceding  the  formation  of  the  di- 
luvial gravel  in  which  they  are  embedded ;"  and  that  "  if 
they  inhabited  England,  it  follov.-ed  as  a  corollary,  that  they 
also  inhabited  all  the  other  regions  of  the  north,  in  which  simi- 
lar bones  have  been  found ;"  and  yet  he  soon  after  states,  that 
he  "cannot  see  how  even  branches  of  trees  and  brushwood 
were  to  be  obtained  for  their  support,  in  climates  now  pro- 
ducing nothing  but  moss  and  lichens,  which  are  covered  with 
impenetrable  ice  during  the  greater  part  of  the  year." 

The  fact  is  evident,  that  the  contradictory  difficulties  of 
such  a  theory  were  not  concealed  from  the  searching  mind  of 
the  learned  professor;  who,  however,  leaves  the  whole  ques- 
tion precisely  in  the  same  unstable  condition,  in  which  the 
mind  is  left  bewildered  by  the  theories  o(  first  formations  by 
secondary  causes.  He  admits  the  evident  and  close  connexion 
between  the  fossil  remains  of  quadrupeds,  found  in  all  coun- 
tries ;  but  though  he  sees  the  utter  hopelessness  of  ever  beinu- 
able  to  provide  the  necessary  food  for  elephants  in  the  polar 
regions,  he  yet  casts  aside  this  insuperable  difficulty,  and 
twice  presses  the  two  important  facts  he  is  most  concerned 
TO  PROVE,  regardless  of  the  contradiction  in  which  he  must, 
unavoidably,  become  involved  in  the  attempt.  I  cannot  agree 
with  the  learned  professor,  that  the  subject  of  climate,  and, 
consequently,  ol  food,  was  of  secondary  importance  in  the 
support  of  his  theory;  and  there  surely  may  be  better  means 
of "  establishing  ihe  fact,  that  animals  lived  in  the  regions 
where  their  remains  are  now  found,"  than  by  showing  the 
impossibility  of  their  finding  the  necessary  food,  which  the 
professor  not  only  perceived,  but  very  candidly  admitted.* 

But  the  above  reasoning  of  Dr.  Buckland  must  appear  the 
more  remarkable,  from  his  having,  in  a  subsequent  part  of 
the  Reliquia:  Diluvianae,  and  in  the  course  of  most  ably  prov- 
ing the  inundation  of  high  levels,  fully  admitted  the  principle 
oflransjjortation,  or  drifting  if  animal  remains,  as  the  only 
possible  means  of  accounting  for  the  fossil  bones  found  in 
the  high  elevations  of  Asia  and  America,  and  in  the  avalanches 
from  the  regions  of  perpetual  snow.  "  With  regard  to  the 
bones  of  animals,"  says  he,  "  that  perished  by  this  great  in- 
undation, although  they  have  not  yet  been  discovered  in  the 
high  Alpine  gravel  beds  of  Europe,  (which  is  but  a  negative 
fact,)  we  have,  in  America,  the  bones  of  the  mastodon,  at  an 
elevation  of  7800  feet  above  the  sea,  in  the  Champ  des  Geants, 
near  Santa  Fe  de  Bogota;  and  another  species  of  the  same 
genus  in  the  Cordilleras,  found  by  Humboldt  at  an  elevation 
of  7'200  feet,  near  the  volcano  of  Imbarbura,  in  the  kingdom 
of  Quito.  If  the  animal  remains  of  this  era  have  not  yet  been 
discovered  at  such  heights  as  these,  in  Europe,  let  it  be 
recollected,  that  we  have  no  elevated  mountain  plains  like 
those  in  America ;  that  our  highest  mountains  are  but  narrow- 
peaks,  and  ridges  of  small  extent,  when  compared  with  the 
low  country  that  surrounds  them ;  and  that  if  it  were  proved 
{which  it  is  not)  that  the  animals  inhabited  these  highest 
points,  it  is  more  than  probable  that  their  carcases  would 
have  been  drifted  off,  as  the  greater  mass  of  their  gravel  has 
been,  into  the  lower  levels  of  the  adjacent  countrj'. 

"But  in  central  Asia,  the  bones  of  horses  and  of  deer  have 
been  found  at  an  elevation  of  16,000  feet  above  the  sea,  in  the 
Hymalaya  mountains.!     7"he  bones,  I  am  now  speaking  of. 


*  "Though  the  soil  of  tlie  whole  of  that  remote  countiy  (Spitz- 
bergen)  does  not  produce  vegetables  suitable  or  sufficient  for  the 
noui'ishment  of  a  single  human  being,  yet  its  coasts  and  seas  have 
afforded  riches  and  independence  to  thousands. "- 

"  The  only  plant  I  met  with  in  Spitzbergen,  partaking  of  the  na- 
ture of  a  tree,  (a  salix,  allied  to  tlie  S.  herbacea,)  gi-ows  but  to  the 
height  of  three  or  four  inches." — Scoresbir^s  .irctic  liegio7is. 

t  Dr.  Buckland  has  given  an  interesting  note  from  Gilbert's  An- 
nalen,  1821,  in  which  a  discoveiy  by  Lieutenant  Kotzebue  is  described 
as  follows:  "On  llie  western  part  of  the  gulf,  to  the  north  of 
Behring's  Straits,  a  mountain  was  discovered  covered  witli  verdure 
(moss  and  grass,)  composed  interiorly  of  solid  ice.  On  arriving  at  a 
place  where  the  shore  rises  almost  perpendicularly  from  the  sea  to 
the  height  of  100  feet,  and  continues  afterwards  to  extend  w ith  a 
gradual  inclin.ition,  tliey  observed  masses  of  the  purest  ice  100  feet 
high,  preserved  under  the  above  vegetable  cai-pet.  The  soil  is  only 
about  half  a  foot  thick,  and  is  composed  of  a  mixtvu-e  of  clay,  earth 
and  mould.  ' 

The  portion  of  the  cliff  exposed  to  the  sun  was  melting,  and  send- 
ing much  water  into  the  sea.  An  undoubted  proof  of  this  ice  being 
primitive  [i.  e.  not    formed  by  any  causes  now  in  action)  is  afforded 


92 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


are  at  the  Royal  College  of  Surgeons  in  London,  and  were  travels  of  that  indefatigable  sportsman,  J/,  ie  Fo///a;i/,  in  that 


sent  home  last  year  (1822,)  to  Sir  Everard  Home,  by  cap- 
tain \V.  S.  Webb,  who  proenred  them  from  the  Chinese 
Tartars  of  Daba;  who  assured  him  that  they  were  found  in  the 
north  face  of  the  snowy  ridge  of  Kylas,  in  latitude  32  degTees, 
at  a  spot  which  captain  Webb  calculates  to  be  not  less  than 
16,000  feet  high:  they  are  only  obtained  from  masses  that 
fall  with  the  avalanches,  from  the  regions  of  perpetual  snow, 
and  are,  therefore,  said  by  the  natives  to  have  fallen  from  tlie 
clouds,  and  to  be  the  bones  of  genii."* 

"  The  occurrence  of  these  bones,  at  such  an  enormous  eleva- 
tion in  the  regions  of  eternal  snow,  and,  consequently,  in  a 
spot  now  unfrequented  by  such  animals  as  the  horse  and  the 
deer,  can,  I  think,  be  explained  only  by  supposing  them  to  be 
of  antediluvian  origin,  and  that  the  carcasses  of  the  animals 
were  drifted  to  their  present  place,  and  lodged  in  sand  by  the 
diluvial  waters."! 

"This  appears  to  me  the  most  probable  solution  that  can 
be  suo-gested  ;  and  should  it  prove  the  true  one,  it  will  add  a 
still  more  decisive  fact  to  these  of  the  granite  blocks,  drifted 
from  the  heights  of  Mont  Blanc  to  the  Jura,  and  tUe  bones  of 
diluvial  animals,  found  by  Humboldt,  on  the  elevated  plains 
of  South  America,  to  show  that  '  all  the  high  hills,  and  the 
mountains  nndcr  the  whole  heavens,  were  covered,'  at  the 
time  when  the  last  great  physical  change  took  place,  over  the 
surface  of  the  whole  earth." — Retiqutie  nibiviciupe,  p.  222. 

Now,  it  must  be  considered  not  a  little  singular,  that  this 
distinguished  writer  should  at  once  admit  the  drifting  of  ani- 
mal remains  into  the  regions  of  perpetual  snow,  occasioned  by 
elevation  in  ihe  u/mosp/tere  ;  and,  at  the  same  time,  deny  the 
same  mode  of  transport  to  those  found  in  such  abundance  in 
the  equally  unnatural  regions  of  eternal  ice,  occasioned  by 
their  polar  elevation.  It  nmst  be  evident,  that  the  two  cases 
are  perfectly  similar.  For,  in  order  to  elevate  those  fossil 
bodies,  found  in  the  mountains  of  Asia,  they  must  have^foa/- 
td  on  the  surface  of  the  waters ;  and,  in  order  to  effect  the 
transport  of  such  bodies  to  high  latitudes,  there  was  only  re- 
quired that  power  of  currents,  which  may  be  (and,  I  trust, 
has  been,)  proved  to  exist  at  all  times  over  the  whole  surface 
of  the  ocean.  But  this  is  only  one  of  the  many  difficulties  and 
contradictions  which  must  occur  in  the  course  of  supporting 
a  theory  so  wide  of  the  truth.  One  difficulty,  for  example, 
■would  he  removed,  with  regard  to  the  cave  of  Kirkdale,  and 
other  similar  caves,  in  many  parts  of  E  urope,  if  we  could  hear, 
from  the  Cape,  of  any  one  instance  of  a  hyaena's  den,  furnished 
in  the  same  remarkable  manner  as  the  cave  of  Kirkdale  in 
Yorkshire;:)^  and  there,  surely,  could  be  no  great  difficulty  in 
doing  this  in  our  own  colony  at  the  Cape,  "  in  the  immediate 
neighbourhood  of  which  the  elephant,  rhinoceros,  hippopota- 
mus, and  hyania,  are  now  associated,  and  live  and  die  together, 
as  they  formerly  did  in  .intidiluvian  Yorkshire.'^  W  e  have  many 
anecdotes  and  amusing  accounts  of  all  these  animals,  in  the 


by  the  great  number  of  bones  and  teeth  of  mammoths,  which  make 
their  appearance  when  it  is  melted." — Jieliq.  JJiluv.  p.  46. 

*  1  have  had  much  pleasure  and  the  highest  interest  in  the  exami- 
nation of  tliese  bones  ;  they  appear  decidedly  to  have  been  embedded 
in  lime-stone  rock,  of  a  gray  colour  ;  they  are  mucli  broken,  though 
not  taken  from  a  Jiycena's  den,  and  the  hollows  of  some  are  tilled 
with  the  most  beautiful  crystiils,  lu  otliers,  these  crystals  have  filled 
up  the  whole  cavity  with  piu-e  gypsum,  of  the  whitest  colour.  It 
seems,  tlieu,  probable,  that  the  masses  of  rock  in  which  they  were 
embedded  at  tlie  deluge,  were  torn  from  tjieir  lofty  situations  by  the 
avalanches,  as  in  our  European  Alpine  heights  :  the  bones  are  not 
easily  assigned  to  tlieir  proper  species,  but  one  is  evidentl}'  that  of 
tlie  horse. 

t  Mr.  Temple,  in  his  light  and  amusing  sketches  of  Pera,  de- 
scribes some  iossil  bones  found  in  the  province  of  Tarija.  They 
]n-oved  to  be  those  of  an  animal  of  the  elephant  tribe,  and  probably 
tJiC  mastodon. 

He  says,  "  It  is  a  subject  of  interest  to  inquire  how  tlicse  monstrous 
animals  came  into  tlie  valley  of  Tarija,  surrounded,  as  it  is,  by  a 
moantiiinous  rampart,  accessible,  as  1  have  been  credibly  informed, 
in  only  four  places,  and  tliose  witli  great  difficult}",  even  to  mules  and 
horses.  Over  three  of  tliose  places,  the  most  frequented  and  most 
convenient  in  tlie  whole  rocky  barrier,  I  have  myself  travelled,  and 
certainly  I  do  not  think  itpossible  that  any  elephant  could  have  tliere 
passed." — l^i-nvets  in  Peiit^  vol.  ii.  p.  295. 

\  A  collection  of  the  fossil  bones  of  quadrupeds  haslatcly  been  dis- 
covered in  a  lime-stone  cave  in  "Wellington  A^alley,  in  New"  Holland. 
One  of  the  bones  was  submitted  to  the  inspection  of  the  late  Baron 
Cuvier,  who  ascertained  that  it  was  the  thigh  bone  of  a  young  ele- 
phant We  thus  find  tiiat  this  new  continent  forms  no  exception  to 
that  general  nde  which  is  applicable  to  the  other  great  continents  of 
the  earth  ;  and  that,  though  elephants  have  not  yet  been  found  there 
in  a  living  state,  their  fossil  remains  bear  testimony  to  tlie  same 
transporting  powers,  which  are  so  distinctly  ti-aced  in  our  own  more 
nortliern  latitudes. 


very  part  of  Africa  ;  but  from  his  silence,  and  that  of  other 
naturalists,  on  this  alleged  habit  of  hya-nas  of  amassing,  from 
age  to  age,  the  broken  remains  of  the  very  food  they  are  said 
to  be  most  fond  of,  we  have  the  greatest  reason  to  doubt  that 
such  a  thing  ever  occurs.  Both  the  elephant  and  rhinoceros 
are  described  by  that  author  as  swimming  well,  and  being 
exceedingly  fond  of  the  water  ;  rolling  themselves  in  swamps 
for  the  purpose  of  defending  their  bodies  from  the  flies  by  a 
thicl;  coating  of  mud  ;  and  feeding  on  branches  of  trees  torn 
from  a  height  which  no  other  animal  can  reach.  But  it  seems 
unnecessary  to  search  further  into  the  difficulties  and  contra- 
dictions in  which  we  become  involved  by  adopting  the  theory 
of  Dr.  Buckland,  on  this  highly  important  subject. 

The  following  observations  on  the  natural  history  of  the 
Asiatic  elephant  may  be  found  both  amusing  and  instructive, 
while  we  are  considering  the  nature  and  habits  of  that  race  of 
animals.  They  are  taken  from  that  most  amusing  work,  "  The 
Wild  sports  of  the  East,"  by  Captain  Williamson ;  and 
though  the  general  tenor  of  that  and  of  similar  writings,  may, 
by  some,  be  deemed  frivolous,  and  uncongenial  to  the  pur- 
suits of  the  man  of  science  and  the  philosopher,  yet  it  must 
be  kept  in  mind  that,  however  the  information  obtained  from 
such  sources  may  be  digested  in  the  closet,  it  is  from  the 
tented  field,  with  the  sportsman  and  the  native  savage,  that 
our  first  knowledge  of  these  noble  animals  of  tropical  climates 
must  originally  be  derived;  and  it  may  be,  with  justice,  as- 
serted of  the  beautiful  work  in  question,  that  if  all  sportsmen 
in  foreign  countries  could  convey  the  results  of  their  exhilira- 
ting  pursuits,  with  the  same  intelligence  and  judgment,  we 
should  soon  have  a  fund  of  most  instructive  information  upon 
many  points  in  natural  history,  of  which  we  have  yet  much  to 
learn. 

Captain  Williamson's  account  of  a  perfect  elephant  is  as 
follows: 

"  An  elephant  should  have  an  arched  back,  a  broad  barrel, 
the  hind  quarters  full  and  square,  the  hind  legs  short  and 
firm,  tlie  toe  nails  thick  and  black;  and,  to  please  a  native, 
there  should  be  five  on  each  forefoot,  and  four  on  each  bind 
foot ; — odd  numbers  are  considered  by  them  unlucky.  I  have 
known  some  with  15  nails,  which  no  one  wo\dd  purchase; 
and  I  have  heard  of  one  with  20;  but  never  saw  one  with 
more  than  18.  The  tail  should  be  long,  very  thick  at  the 
insertion,  and  tapering  well  towards  the  end,  where  it  should 
be  well  furnished  on  each  side  with  a  row  of  single  hairs, 
or  rather  bristles,  for  about  a  foot,  forming  a  fork  at  the  end, 
and  resembling  the  feathers  or  wings  of  an  arrow.  This 
circumstance  respecting  the  tail  is  considered  by  the  natives 
perfectly  indispensable  ;  for  a  short  tail,  or  a  broken  one,  or 
a  want  of  hair  at  the  termination,  are  formidable  objections. 
Xo  man  of  consequence  would  be  seen  on  an  elephant  whose 
tail  was  devoid  of  hair;  and  particularly  if  broken  short,  as 
is  frequently  the  case.  This  latter  deiiciency  is  owing  to 
a  habit  elephants  have,  in  a  wild  state,  of  seizing  each  other 
by  the  tail,  with  their  trunks,  and  twisting  them  off  some- 
times very  close  to  the  croup.  Even  servants  of  inferior 
degree  are  averse  to  ride  on  an  elephant  so  blemished. 
The  chest  should  be  wide  and  full,  the  fore  legs  muscular 
and  well  turned  ;  the  forehead  broad,  and  ornamented  between 
the  eyes,  with  a  protuberance  gracefully  harmonizing  with 
the  surrounding  parts.  The  top  of  the  head  should  be 
thickly  set  with  hair,  carried  high  and  square;  the  trunk 
thin,  and  very  elastic;  the  teeth  of  males  should  be  exactly- 
alike,  thick  and  long ;  they  should  diverge  from  each  other, 
so  as  to  be  rather  more  distant  at  the  tips,  than  at  the  inser- 
tion ;  and  with  a  graceful  curve.  The  ears  should  be  large, 
and  free  from  raggedness  at  the  edges  ;  the  cheeks  full ;  and, 
above  all  things,  the  eyes  clear  of  specks  and  rhenm." 

An  elephant,  having  all  these  rare  perfections,  and  from 
nine  to  ten  feet  high,  is  worth  8  or  10,000  rupees,  or  up- 
wards of  £1000. 

"  Elephants  are  generally  black ;  but  few  of  them  entirely 
so;  many  are  sprinkled  over  the  ears,  trunk,  jowl,  shoulders, 
and  legs,  with  dun  coloured  spots,  which  are  far  from  dis- 
pleasing. The  Nabob  Vizier  had  one,  which  was  called 
white  ;  but  it  was  really  dun.  It  was  unique  in  Bengal ;  but 
I  have  been  informed  that  in  Ceylon  they  are  by  no  means 
rare." 

"  In  some  years,  very  few  wild  elephants  can  he  found 
near  the  sea  coast,  whence  they  retire  into  the  immense  jun- 
gles which  lie  between  Chittagong,  and  the  Chinese  fron- 
tier. At  other  times,  the  coasts  are  overrun  with  them,  to 
the  utter  ruin  of  the  peasants,  whose  crops  and  plantations 
are  often  destroyed  in  the  course  of  one  night.     This  gene- 


GEOLOGY  OF  SCRIPTURE. 


93 


rally  hajjpcns  in  a  dry  season,  when  ivant  of  water,  aiul  af 
fucculetit  litrbafic,  in  the  interior,  causes  the  herds  to  descend 
to  the  ever  verdant  plains  bordering  the  sea,  vv'herc  the  diur- 
nal breezes  inspire  fresh  vigour." 

"  Nature  has  wisely  proportioned  her  animal  to  her  vege- 
table productions.  Thus  we  find  the  districts  furnishinu- 
elephants,  replenished  with  immense  tracks  of  high  grass 
and  abounding  in  lakes  and  streams;  without  such  ample 
stores,  such  stupendous  animals  as  the  elephant  must  perish. 
For,  exclusive  of  the  large  quantity  of  grass,  &c.  which  an 
elephant  daily  consumes,  his  broad  feet  will  destroy  immense 
qantilits.  As  to  his  thirst,  which  requires  both  frequent 
and  copious  libations,  the  ordinarj'  puddles,  such  as  furnish 
a  supply  for  cattle,  would  by  no  means  answer.  The  eUphunI, 
like  the  btiffaloe,  delights  in  wallowing,  and  never  thrives 
so  well,  as  when  he  is  allowed  to  visit  a  rapid  stream,  there 
to  exercise  himself  in  swimming,  as  well  as  to  lie  immersed 
in  the  water." 

"  Chittagong  elephants,  growing  to  a  much  larger  size 
than  those  to  the  North,  or  NepauT  district,  and  being  ol  a 
more  substantial  form,  are  peculiarly  valuable  to  those  who 
catch  elephants  with  the  slip  knut,  or  phuun.  The  only  ob- 
jection is,  their  want  of  speed.  They  are  more  healthy  after 
beine;  aea.ioned  to  the  elimite  of  the  A'epaul  country,  while  the 
native  elephants  of  that  northern  climate  are  extremely  defi- 
cient, not  only  in  the  three  grand  points,  viz.  stature,  strength 
and  beauty,  but  in  cunstitutiun  also.  Hence  they  arc  of 
much  less  value  than  those  of  Chittagong,  Tipperah,  and 
Silhet."* 

"  The  Ceylon  breed  far  exceeds  that  of  the  continent ;  and 
it  becomes  a  curious  and  interesting  question  whence  Ceylon 
was  first  furnished  with  elephants,  there  being  none  on  the 
opposite  shores,  nor  to  be  found  in  all  the  great  peninsula, 
from  the  west  bank  of  the  Ganges  to  the  Persian  Gulf! 
Besides,  the  generality  of  !he  Ceylon  elephants  are  of  a 
brown,  or  dun  colour" 

"  Elephants  are  natives  of  a  tuei  soil,  and,  in  the  wild 
state,  feed  on  very  watery  aliments.  They  also  take  great 
delight  in  ranging  among  swamps.^^ 

"  They  rarely  exceed  nine  feet  in  height.  The  tallest  ever 
found  in  Bengal,  was  the  Paugitl,  or  mad  elephant,  (about 
1780).  It  was  nearly  12  feet  high ;  but  the  medium  size  is 
from  seven  to  eight  feet." 

There  is  no  definite  mark  by  which  the  age  of  the  ele- 
phant can  be  known.  We  can  only  judge  by  his  general 
appearance. 

While  we  are  thus  instructed,  by  this  active  and  intelli- 
gent sportsman,  on  the  subject  of  the  elephant  in  its  wild 
state,  I  shall  hero  also  extract  the  few  particulars  he  was 
enabled  to  give,  on  the  sul)ji.ct  of  the  haunts  of  the  rhino- 
ceros, an  animal  whose  remains  are  also  now  found  in  a  fossil 
state  in  the  northern  and  temperate  regions,  and  frequent!)- 
in  the  same  situations,  though  never  in  the  same  abundance  as 
those  of  the  elephant.  We  shall  find  that  this  wild  and 
very  mischievous  and  savage  animal  is  equally  a  native  of 
the  hottest  and  most  wooded  countries ;  and  we,  therefore, 
come  to  the  same  conclusion  with  regard  to  it,  that  we  have 
reached  with  regard  to  the  various  races  of  elephants,  viz. 
that  it  never  could  have  been  the  inhabitant  of  a  very  cold 
climate. 

"  The  rhinoceros  is  an  animal  whose  natural  history  is 
very  imperfectly  known.  He  resides  in  impervious  jungles 
and  swamps ;  he  is  seldom  to  be  found  on  the  west  of  the 
Ganges,  though  the  jungles  there  are  fully  competent  to 
afford  abundant  shelter ;  nor,  indeed,  has  an  elephant  ever 
been  seen  in  a  wild  state,  but  to  the  east  of  that  noble  stream. 
It  would  seem  that  these  animals  are  partial  to  the  immense 
tracts  of  the  surput,  or  tassel  grass,  which  skirts  the  vast 
jungles  bordering  our  possessions  on  that  side ;  and  which, 
being  composed  of  lofty  forests  of  saul  and  sissoo  trees, 
filled  up  with  various  sorts  of  underwood,  ofler  an  asylum  to 
the  ferine  species,  such  as  cannot  be  equalled  in  any  part  of 
Europe,  and  can  bo  compared  only  with  the  prodigious 
wilds  of  the  American  interior." 

The  rhinoceros  is  never  seen  in  herds,  nor  often  even  in 
pairs.  He  may,  therefore,  be  properly  termed,  like  the  largest 
wild  boars,  and  the  oldest  chamois,  a  solitaire. 


We  may  now  shortly  pass  under  review  the  opinions  of  the 
late  Baron  Cuvier,  on  the  subject  of  fossil  remains.  This 
able  philosopher  has  long  been  considered  tlie  head  of  the 
scientific  world  on  the  continent ;  and  his  indefatigable  re- 
search, and  wonderful  anatomical  knowledge,  have  given  him 
the  highest  claims  to  our  esteem  and  regard  in  many  branches 
of  geological  research.  We  have  already  found,  however, 
that  his  theories  of  the  earth,  and  of  the  numerous  revolutions 
to  which  he  supposed  it  had  been  subjected,  were  not  founded 
on  what  history  teaches,  or  physical  facts  bear  witness  to; 
and,  therefore,  we  cannot  be  surprised,  if  we  find,  on  the  sub- 
ject of  fossil  remains,  some  portion  of  that  contradiction  and 
inconsistency  which  must  always  attend  a  departure,  how- 
ever well  meant  and  unintentional,  from  the  direct  and  simple 
path  of  truth. 

On  the  subject  of  the  fossil  elephant,  as  published  in  his 
"  Ossemens  Fossiles,"  vol.  i.  p.  1!)9,  &c.  Cuvier  desicmates  it 
"The  Mammoth  of  the  Russians,  (Elephas  primigenius, 
Blum.)  or  elephant  with  prolonged  cranium,  concave  fore- 
head, very  deep  sockets  for  the  tusks  ;  lower  jaw  obtuse  ; 
grinders  very  larwe,  parallel,  and  marked  with  narrow  stripes. 

"The  bones  of  this  animal  are  only  found  in  a  fossil  state  : 
they  are  in  great  numbers  in  many  countries,  but  better  pre- 
served in  the  north  than  elsewhere.  It  resembled  the  Indian 
rather  than  the  African  species.  It  diflercd,  however,  from 
the  former  in  the  grinders,  in  the  form  of  the  lower  jaw,  and 
in  many  other  bones,  but  especially  in  the  length  of  the  sock- 
ets for  the  tusks.  This  latter  character  must  have  modified, 
in  a  remarkable  manner,  the  form  and  organization  of  the 
trunk,  and  have  given  him  an  appearance  much  more  dissim- 
ilar to  the  Asiatic  elephant,  than  could  be  expected  front  the 
general  resemblance  of  the  rest  of  the  bones.  It  appears 
that  his  tusks  were  generally  large,  often  more  or  less 
bent  in  a  spiral  form,  and  pointing  outwards.  His  size  was 
not  much  greater  than  that  which  the  Asiatic  race  sometimes 
attains  ;  and  he  appears  to  have  had,  in  general,  a  more  thick 
and  solid  form.  We  cannot  determine  what  was  the  size  of 
his  ears,  nor  the  colour  of  his  skin,  but  it  is  certain,  that  at 
least  some  of  the  species  had  two  sorts  of  hair ;  viz.  a  reddish 
wool,  coarse  and  bushy,  with  stitT  black  hairs,  whicli,  upon 
the  neck,  and  along  the  back,  were  pretty  long,  and  formed  a 
sort  of  mane. 

"Thus,  there  is  not  only  nothing  impossible  in  his  having 
been  able  to  support  a  degree  of  cold,  in  which  the  Asiatic 
race  would  die;  but  it  is  even  probable,  that  he  was  so  con- 
stituted, as  to  prefer  cold  climates.  His  bones  are  usually 
found  in  the  upper  alluvial  beds  of  the  earth ;  aud  most  com- 
monly in  those  which  Jill  the  hollows  of  valleys,  or  which  form 
the  beds  of  rivers. 

"  They  are  scarcely  ever  alone,  but  pclemele,  together  with 
the  bones  of  other  quadrupeds  of  knoivn  ki?ids,  as  rhinoceros, 
ox,  antelope,  horse,  and  frequently  with  the  remains  of  ma- 
rine animals,  such  as  shells,  &c.,  some  of  which  are  even 
fixed  upon  them. 

"  The  positive  testimony  of  Pallas,  of  Fortis,  and  of  others, 
admits  not  of  a  doubt  with  respect  to  this  latter  circumstance, 
although  it  is  not  invariable.  I  have  now,  myself,  under  my 
eye,  a  i)ortion  of  a  jaw,  loaded  with  miltepores,  and  with  small 
oysters.* 

"The  bones  of  elephants  ztc  rzrc\y  petrtfed ;  and  we  know 
of  but  one  or  two  instances  in  which  they  are  embedded  in 
shell  limestone  or  other  rock."  (Such  instances  are  as  good 
as  thousands,  for  the  purpose  of  showing  how  they  become 
thus  embedded.) 

"  Every  thing,  then,  announces,  that  the  cause  of  their  des- 
truction was  o.ne  of  the  most  recent  of  those  events  which 
have  contributed  to  change  the  surface  of  the  globe.  It  was, 
however,  a  physical  and  general  cause.  That  cause  was  aa 
aqueous  agent. 

"But  it  was  notthesewaters  which  transported  them  to  the 
places  where  they  now  are.  An  irruption  of  the  sea,  w  hich 
would  only  have  brought  them  from  where  the  Indian  ele- 
phants now  inhabit,  could  not  have  spread  them  to  such  a 
distance,  nor  dispersed  them  so  equally." 

It  would  appear  from  this  remark  of  Cuvier,  that  he  had 
no  belief  in  the  general  and  total  immersion  of  the  whole  dry 


*  Here  we  have  it  distinctly  shown,  that,  even  within  the  tropics, 
the  elephant  is  in  his  most  natural  climate,  in  the  hottest  parts  ;  and 
if  the  constitution  of  tlie  animal,  in  its  wild  slate,  cannot  be  fully 
sustained  in  regions  of  the  most  luxui'iant  vegetation,  but  subject  to 
occasional  slight  frosts,  how  are  we  to  suppose,  for  a  moment,  that 
elephants  could  have  lived  in  the  temperate  or  frozen  regions  of  the 
earth  ? 


*In  the  splendid  collection  of  fossils  of  Dr.  Buckland,  at  Oxford, 
there  is  a  highly  interesting  specimen  of  one  of  the  crocodile  tribe, 
obtained  from  the  quarry  at  Shotover,  ncai'  that  city,  and  several 
hundred  feet  above  the  level  of  the  sea;  on  one  of  the  bones  of 
which  tliere  is  a  large  oyster  attached  ;  and  also  two  beautiful  and 
perfect  specimens  of  the  ammonite,  -with  the  shell  entire,  and  seem- 
ingly fixed  to  the  bone  by  suction,  as  a  snail  adheres  to  a  stone  or 
plant. 


94 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


lands  of  the  earth,  at  the  period  of  the  deluge;  and  he  must, 
therefore,  ])robahly  have  considered  the  Mosaic  account  of 
"all  the  hills,  upon  the  whole  earth,  bein it  covered," -as  a 
mere  piece  of  Eastern  allegory.  Such  "  irruptions  of  the 
sea,"  as  he  had  in  view  in  the  above  reniarl;,  must  have  been 
considered  as  only  partial  convulsions,  and  producing  such 
partial  effects  as  he  there  alludes  to.  Had  he  believed  in  o 
general  aqueous  covering  over  the  whole  globe,  for  the  space  of 
several  months,  and  had  he  then  considered  the  laws  of  nature, 
acting,  in  this  flood  of  waters,  on  the  flouting  bodies  of  the 
animal  world,  by  tides  and  currents,  this  able  naturalist  and 
philosopher  could  not  but  have  perceived,  that  it  was  o\lv  by 
such  means,  that  so  ^'^  equal  a  dispersion^''  of  animal  remains 
could  possibly  have  been  effected. 

After  some  other  equally  unsatisfactory  reasoning,  Cuvier 
expresses  his  idea  of  the  impossibilit  i/  of  entire  carcasses  havin 
been  transported  to  such  distances  by  violence. 

"  It  is  true,"  says  he,  "  that  in  such  a  case,  the  bones  would 
have  been  unworn  by  friction ;  but  then  they  would  have  re- 
mained together,  and  not  been  found  so  scattered  as  they  now 
often  are. 

"  Every  thing  then  renders  it  extremeli/  probable,  that  the 
elephants  to  which  these  fossil  bones  belonged,  inhabited  th 
countries  where  we  now  find  their  remains.  They  were  there 
scattered,  as  the  bones  of  horses  and  of  other  animals  now 
are,  over  our  own  lands,  the  carcasses  of  which  are  found  in 
our  fields."* 

"  But,  whatever  that  cause  was,  it  must  have  been  a  sud- 
den ONE.  The  bones,  so  perfectly  preserved  in  the  plains  of 
Siberia,  could  only  have  been  so  from  the  effect  of  cold.  If 
this  cold  had  only  come  on  by  degrees  and  slowly,  the  bones, 
and  especially  the  softer  parts,  would  have  had  time  to  be- 
come decomposed,  like  those  we  now  find  in  our  fields.'''' 

The  remark  cannot  here  be  omitted,  how  contradictor}-  is 
the  reasoning  of  the  baron  in  this  place.  He  first  considers, 
that  the  bones  of  the  animals  must  have  been  scattered  over 
the  country,  like  those  of  our  domestic  cattle,  in  the  present 
day ;  and  ought  to  have  been  "  decomposed,  like  those  we 
now  find  in  our  fields  ;"  and  then  proceeds  to  show,  that 
they  are  77ot  decomposed,  but  preserved  entire  by  a  sudden 
convulsion,  and  excessive  low  temperature.  We  seldom 
find,  in  our  own  times,  and  in  our  inland  counties,  the  bones 
of  cattle  covered  with  oysters,  or  other  sea  animals.  But 
if  we  suppose  a  bone,  or  an  entire  animal,  to  remain  for  a 
few  weeks,  subject  to  the  action  of  the  tides  and  of  the 
currents,  wc  should  not  be  surprised  at  finding  upon  it,  what 
every  piece  of  floating  wreck  is  generally  covered  with. 

"  It  would  have  been  especially  impossible  for  the  carcase 
seen  and  described  by  Mr.  Adams,  to  have  preserved  'its  flesh 
and  its  skin  E^iTiRE,  if  it  had  not  been  immediately  tnveluped 
in  the  ice  in  which  it  was  found."  We  must  here  pause 
one  moment  in  our  perusal  of  Cnvier's  argument,  to  consider 
what  effect  would  have  been  produced  by  this  sudden  _/(«-ma- 
tionofanicy  bed,  on  the  ivoods  and  jungles  through  which 
this  shaggy  monster  must  naturally  have  been  wandering, 
when  embraced  and  scaled  up  by  so  sudden  a  disaster.  The 
same  element  which  had  so  preservative  an  effect  upon  his 
unwieldy  carcase,  must  have  entirely  decomposed  or  evapo- 
rated the  vegetable  productions  on  which  lie  fed  ;  as  they  are 
no  where  to  be  found  in  any  part  of  the  frozen  regions,  even 
preserved  in  ice. 

"  Tlius,"  continues  he,  "  the  hypothesis  of  a  gradual 
cooling  of  the  globe,  or  of  a  s/oic  variation  of  its  temperature. 


*  I  have  been  informed  by  Colonel  Sykes,  than  whom  we  can  have 
no  higher  autliorily  on  such  a  subjct-t,  trom  his  Ion*  residence  in  the 
East,  and  llie  great  attention  and  ability  -whieli  lie  has  displayed  on 
every  subjeet  connected  witJi  science,  that,  as  far  as  liis  observation 
goes,  it  may  be  looked  upon  as  a  striking  and  extraordinary  tact, 
thai  in  the  forests  of  India,  peopled  as  they  are  by  thousands  of  ani- 
mals of  every  size,  and  of  which  there  must  naturally  be  a  consider- 
able annual  destruction  as  well  as  increase,  the  bones,  or  otlier  re- 
mains of  the  <lead,  are  scarcely  ever  to  be  seen.  We  cannot, indeed, 
wonder  that  tJiis  should  be  the  case,  when  we  consider  the  laws  of 
nature,  by  which  so  just  a  balance  is  at  all  times  kept  up.  In  so  hot 
a  climate  as  tliat  of  the  tropics,  the  decay  of  the  softer  parts  must  be 
most  rapid  ;  and  in  order  to  obviate  tlie  bad  consequences  which 
■would  attend  tliis  natural  course,  we  find  myriads  of  the  insect  tribe 
at  all  times  ready  to  remove  what  the  birdsand  beasts  of  prey  can- 
not readily  consume.  A  large  aiumal  bodv,  therefore,  would  almost 
entirely  disappear  in  the  course  of  a  few  days  ;  and  even  the  bones 
roust  soon  become  decomposed  under  the  powerful  action  of  so  hot 

an  atmosphere.  It  is  almost  proverbial  even  in  our  own  woods,  well 
stocked  as  they  arc  with  hares  and  other  game,  how  seldom  we  dis- 
cover any  indication  of  natural  death.  In  the  animal  world,  in  every 
climate,  each  individual  becomes  the  prey  of  his  fellow,  for  "  dust 

we  are, and  unto  dust  we  soon  return." 


either  from  inclination,  or  from  i\\e position  of  its  axis,  falls 
to  the  ground  by  its  men  weight," 

We  may  here  remark,  that  this  groundless  hypothesis  was 
proposed  by  Buffon,  as  we  have  already  had  occasion  to  notice. 

'•  The  various  mastodons,  hippopotami,  rhinoceri,  &c., 
must  have  inhabited  the  same  countries  and  the  same  dis- 
tricts, as  tlie  fossil  elephants,  since  we  find  their  bones  in 
the  sa7ne  situations,  and  in  the  same  condition.  One  cannot 
imagine  any  cause  which  would  have  destroyed  the  one  and 
spared  the  other.  And  yet  the  first,  most  certainly,  no  longer 
exist,  as  we  shall  show  in  subsequent  chapters." 

"The  elephant  is  the  existing  animal  which  most  resem- 
bles the  mastodon  ;  and  may  serve  as  the  principle  object  of 
comparison.  In  short,  I  call  mastodon,  quadrupeds  of  the 
size  and  form  of  the  elephant,  having,  like  him,  a  trunk,  and 
long  tusks  ;  the  feet  of  the  same  structure  ;  and,  in  a  word, 
only  ditl'ering  in  an  essential  manner  in  the  molar  teeth, 
which,  instead  of  being  formed  of  transversal  lamina?,  had  a 
simple  crown,  and  were  furnished  with  tubercles  or  rounded 
points,  more  or  less  numerous,  and  more  or  less  prominent. 

"  Our  continents  do  not  now  nourish  any  animals  of  this 
exact  kind  ;  although  the  upper  strata  contain  the  bones  of 
three  or  four  different  varieties." — Ossemens  Fossiles,  vol.  i. 
chap.  ii.  p.  205. 

Such  are  the  ideas  of  Baron  Cuvier  on  the  svibject  of  the 
fossil  elephant:  and  as  it  may  be  truly  said,  that  the  whole 
question  of  fossil  remains,  and,  consequently,  many  of  the 
most  important  and  fundamental  points  in  geology  in  gene- 
ral, turn  upon  the  true  and  consistent  history  of  those  ele- 
phants now  found  in  northern  latitudes,  it  cannot  be  considered 
irrelevant  to  our  purpose,  to  have  gone,  at  considerable  length, 
into  the  opinions  of  some  of  the  great  leaders  of  science  on 
so  fundamental  a  subject.  To  all  who  have  considered, 
with  an  unprejudiced  mind,  the  course  and  tendency  of  the 
arguments  which  have  been  urged,  in  opposition  to  tliese 
generally  received  theories  on  the  subject  of  tropical  produc- 
tions in  polar  regions,  it  must  appear  unnecessary,  in  this 
place,  to  proceed  further  with  the  subject.  It  has  been 
clearly  shown,  that  no  elephant  could  possibly  find  subsis- 
tence in  those  inclement  and  barren  regions  at  the  present 
time.  It  is  equally  clear,  that  had  a  sudden  change  of  tem- 
perature, with  an  irruption  of  the  sea,  overwhelmed  and 
frozen  up  the  animal  productions  of  the  antediluvian  world, 
in  what  are  now  the  polar  regions,  we  must  equally  have 
discovered,  in  the  ice  which  has  preserved  them,  a  perfect 
and  entire  series  of  the  vegetable  productions,  amongst 
which,  it  is  admitted,  they  must  have  lived,  and  tvithout  which 
there  is  no  conceivable  way  of  accounting  for  the  supply  of 
food  necessary  for  such  vast  numbers  of  gigantic  animals. 
When  we  add  to  this  incontrovertible  point,  the  consistent 
and  natural  method  by  which  those  animal  bodies  might  have 
been  transpoi-ted,  by  an  agent  in  the  common  laws  of  nature, 
to  which  the  waters  of  the  earth  have  been  subjected  by  the 
Creator,  for  a  great  and  benificcnt  purpose,  we  cannot  retain 
a  doubt  as  to  the  actual  means  by  which  those  larger  animals 
were  conveyed  to  their  icy  beds  in  the  polar  regions ;  and 
having  arrived  at  this  conclusion,  with  respect  to  those  now 
found  within  the  arctic  circle,  we  have  every  right  to  judge, 
by  the  same  line  of  reasoning,  concerning  all  other  tropical 
productions  in  unnatural  climates,  on  every  part  of  the  sur- 
face of  the  earth  ;  and,  consequently,  that  the  globe  has 
undergone  no  material  change  in  its  position,  nor  in  its  tem- 
perature, since  the  creation. 

Our  inquiries  have,  it  is  to  be  hoped,  led  us  to  a  consistent 
and  natural  conclusion  on  the  whole  question  of  fossil  re- 
mains; and  we  thus  find,  that  in  adopting  the  system  of 
geolog)',  grounded  on  the  Inspired  History,  and  so  strongly 
supported  by  the  evidence  of  physical  facts,  instead  of  those 
philosophical  theones,  founded  on  physical  facts,  but  rejecting 
the  evidence  of  Scripture  ;  the  current  of  the  narrative  runs 
smoothly  along,  and  our  minds  feel  satisfied,  and  at  rest,  in- 
stead of  being  constantly  suspended  in  doubt  and  uncertainty. 

If  we  come  to  the  conclusion,  that  all  the  present  dry  lands 
of  the  earth  were  formerly  the  bed  of  the  antediluvian  sea, 
and  that  Britain  was  no  exception  to  this,  (as  is  evident  from 
the  appearances  every  where  visible  around  us,)  it  must 
follow  as  a  corollary,  that  all  the  fossil  remains  of  quadru- 
peds, whether  in  our  upper  soils,  or  in  the  uppei-  strata  of 
rock,  over  the  whole  earth,  must  have  been  lodged  in  their 
present  situations  by  the  waters  of  that  destructive  deluge,  of 
which  we  have  now  been  treating.* 


'  Since  writing  the  above,  one  of  the  most  remarkable  works  of 
our  times  has  appeared,  in  w  hich  v  c  find  the  follow  ing  passage  : — 


GEOLOGY  OF  SCRIPTURE. 


95 


SUPPLEMEiNTAKY  PART  TO  CHAPTER  XI. 

Since  entering  upon  the  subject  of  the  Geology  of  Scrip- 
ture,  the  evideuces  in   support   of  the  general    principles, 
which  have  been  explained  in  the  foregoing  chapters,  have 
so  crowded  upon  my  observation,  that  I  have  experienced 
some  dilTiculty  in  confining  myself  within  those  limits  which 
I  had  previously  laid  down,  in  order  to  bring  my  work  within 
the  compass  of  one  single  volume.     In  a  late  journey  which 
I  have  had  occasion  to  make  throughout  a  great  part  of  the 
longitndinal  extent  of  the  kingdom,  I  have  found,  in  every 
direction,  the  most  complete  corroborative  proofs  of  the  solid 
foundation  on  which   the  Scripture  sj'sleni  is   constructed. 
Amongst  many  of  these  proofs,  I  cannot  resist  the  present 
opportunity,  of  giving  some  short  account  of  a  few  of  the 
most  remarkable  ;  the  particular  importance  of  which  must 
at  once  be  acknowledged   by  every  candid  student  in   thi 
interesting  science.     1   allude  particularly  to  the  subject  of 
entire  fua.nl  trees,  frequently,  of  late,  discovered  in  the  coal 
strata;    and  to  that  of  the  foot-marks  of  animals  distinctly 
imprinted  upon  the  sand  when  in  a  soft  state,  and  discovered 
on  the  upper  surface  of  the  strata  in  several  free-stone  quarries. 
The  instances  of  entire  fossil  stems  of  trees,  and  nume- 
rous smaller  plants,  have  long  been  remarked  in  the  coal 
formations  in  various  countries ;  and  have,  also,  been  noticed 
in  the  former  part  of  this  work.     But  the  stems  of  the  larger 
plants  have,  hitherto,  in  general,  been  observed  to  lie  in  the 
same  direction  as  the  strata  themselves;  and,  consequently, 
they  could  afford  us  little  or  no  indication  of  the  period  at 
which   they  were  embedded,   or  of  the  time  necessarj'  for 
their   having   become  surrounded  by  their  present  mineral 
envelope.     Late  observations,  however,  have  thrown  a  new 
and  vivid  light  upon  this  hitherto  obscure  subject.     Trees, 
of  very  considerable  size,  have  been  found,  placed  in  a  posi- 
tion perpendicular  to  the  direction  of  the  beds  or  strata,  and 
intersecting  many  of  these,  of  various  kinds  and  thickness. 
One  of  the  first  that  attracted  particular  notice  in  the  North, 
was  found  in  Craglcilh  free-stone  quarry,  in  1826,  where  the 
different  visible  strata  exist  to  the  extent  of  ItiO  feet  in  depth  ; 
and  upwards  of  GO  feet  more  are  known  to  lie  below,  which 
have  not  j'et  seen  the  light  of  day. 

"  It  appears,  from  tlie  marine  slicUs  found  on  the  tops  of  tlic  high- 
est mountains,  and  in  almost  ever)-  part  of  the  globe,  th.it  immense 
continents  liavc  been  elevated  above  the  ocean,  wliich  must  have  in- 
gulfed others. 

"  Sucli  a  catastrophe  would  be  occasioned  by  a  variation  in  the 
position  of  the  axis  of  rotation  on  tlie  surface  of  the  cartli ;  for  the 
seas  would  leave  some  portions  of  the  globe,  and  would  overwhelm 
otiicrs.  But  theory  proves,  that  neither  nutation,  precession,  nor  any 
of  the  disturbing  forces  w  hicli  afFcct  the  system,  liave  the  smallest  in- 
fluence on  the  axis  of  rotation,  which  maintains  a  jtermaneut  position 
on  the  surface,  if  tlie  earth  be  not  disturbed  in  its  rotation  bv  some 
foreign  cause,  as  Uie  collision  of  a  comet,  which  may  have  happened 
in  tlic  immensity  of  time. '*  The  able  authoress  then  proceeds  to 
show  how  little  influence  the  sea  would  have,  even  in  such  a  case, 
upon  the  general  equilibrium;  and  concludes  thus, — *' It  tlms  ap- 
pears, that  a  great  change  in  the  position  of  tlie  axis  is  incompatibh- 
v\ill»  tlie  law  of  equilibrium  ;  therefore,  the  geological  plicnoiuena 
(of  fossils)  must  be  ascribed  to  an  internal  came.  Thus,  amidst  the 
mighty  revolutions  which  have  swept  innumerable  races  of  orga- 
nized beings  from  the  cartli,  which  have  elevated  plains,  and  burled 
mountains  in  tlic  ocean,  the  rotation  of  the  eartli,  ami  the  position  of 
the  axis  on  its  stirface,  liave  undergone  but  slight  variations." — Me. 
chanism  of  the  Heavens^  by  J\Irs.  SomerinUe. 

Upon  the  above  passage,  the  Quarterly  Review  has  remarked,  that 
"the  lunar  theory  teaches  us,  that  the  internal  strata,  as  well  as  the 
extern.al  outline  of  our  globe,  are  elliptical  ;  their  centres  being  co- 
incident, and  their  axis  identical  witli  that  of  the  surface  ;  a  state  of 
tilings  incompatible  with  any  subsequent  accommodation  of  the  sur- 
face, to  a  new  and  different  state  of^ rotation  from  that  which  deter- 
mined the  original  distribution  of  the  component  matter." — Quar- 
terlif  Rex'ie^i\  No.  xciv.  p.  552. 

Although  I  cannot  subscribe  to  the  doctrine  which  dictated  tlie 
latter  part  of  the  above  remark,  nor  to  tlie  idea  of  Mrs.  Somcrville, 
that  the  collision  of  a  comet  "  may  have  happened  in  the  immensitv 
of  time,"  although,  we  thus  have  acknowledged  proof  against  the 
probability-  ot  any  such  collision,  which  is,  therefore,  quite  uncalled 
for  ;  we  must  bail,  with  pleasure,  the  step  thathas  thus  been  gained 
by  the  admission  of  so  able  an  authority.  The  Uieor}-  of  a  cbange 
in  the  axis  of  tlie  eartli,  which  was  only  engendered  for  the  purpose 
of  accounting  for  tropical  productions,  in  polar  latitudes,  is,  there- 
fore, for  ever  destroyed  ;  and  we  tlius  arrive  at  tlie  same  point  by 
various  different  roads. 

After  this  concession,  that  the  phenomena  of  geologj'  must  have 
originated  in  a  cause  Twt  exieimal  to  our  earth,  w-e  may  hope,  that 
the  true  internal  cause  will,  ere  long,  be  equallv  admitted.  One 
other  such  departure  from  the  usual  Iheories  of  the  deluge  and  the 
union  which  is  every  day  approaching,  between  Philosophy  and 
Scripture,  will  be  at  length  completed. 


The  stone  in  this  immense  quarry  is  of  very  white  and 
pure-grained  quality,  and  is  the  Si.me  which  we  find  forming 
the  roof  of  the  coal  beds  in  many  of  the  Lothian  collieries. 
It  is  every  where,  more  or  less,  marked  with  impressions  of 
leaves  and  stems,  which  are,  in  this  case,  however,  far  from 
the  coal  seams,  but  the  latter  of  w  bich  invariably  present  a 
thin  surrounding  mass  of  the  purest  jewel  coal,  generally 
about  a  quarter  of  an  inch  round  the  bark;  the  whole  of  the 
rest  of  the  interior  being  filled  with  the  same  mineral  in  which 
it  is  embedded.  These  fossil  stems  are  called,  by  the  miners, 
coat  pipe.f,  ignorant  as  they  are  of  their  real  nature.  This 
small  portion  of  the  purest  coal,  serves  to  give  us  considera- 
ble insight  into  the  nature  of  the  larger  beds  of  this  fossil 
production,  which  are  evidently  the  consequence  of  great 
pressure,  and  some  chemical  process,  connected  with  the 
nature  of  the  wood  itself,  with  which,  however,  we  have,  as 
yet,  no  acquaintance.  In  1830,  a  second  and  more  remarka- 
ble fossil  tree  was  exposed  to  view  in  this  quarry;  and  ex- 
cited, from  its  particular  position,  a  degree  of  interest  which 
no  other  vegetable  fossil  could  before  lay  claim  to.  Its  total 
length  was  upwards  of  60  feet;  and  at  angle  of  about  40  de- 
grees, it  intersected  10  or  12  different  strata  of  the  sand-stone. 
Its  diameter  at  the  top  was  about  seven  inches ;  and  it  had 
become  flattened  by  pressure  near  its  base,  in  such  a  manner 
as  to  measure ^re/cf/,  in  its  greater,  and  two  feet  in  its  lesser 
diameter.  There  were  no  branches,  nor  marks  of  them  on 
its  bark;  nor  were  there  any  roots,  although  the  lower  part 
formed  a  species  of  bulb.  As  in  the  former  specimen,  the 
bark  had  been  converted  into  a  thin  coat  of  the  purest  and 
finest  coal;  and  the  whole,  as  it  lay  exposed  in  the  quarry, 
presented  the  appearance  of  charred  wood,  forming  a  striking 
contrast  in  colour  with  the  white  stone  in  which  it  lay. 

Before  making  any  remarks  upon  the  important  evidence 
depending  on  this  fossil,  I  shall  describe  some  other  instances, 
which  have  come  within  my  knowledge,  of  trees  standing  in 
an  upright  or  slightly  sloping  position,  and  intersecting  a 
great  variety  of  strata. 

In  a  colliery,  near  Dalkeith,  which  I  lately  inspected,  I 
found  a  stem  of  nearly  two  feet  in  diameter,  proceeding  out 
(if  the  Jlnor  of  the  coal  seam,  passing  through  the  coal  itself, 
and  entering  the  roof  above.  In  the  floor,  and  in  the  roof,  it 
was  petrified,  whilst,  in  passing  through  the  coal  stratum,  it 
had  become  one  mass  nf  pure  coal,  and  its  shape  was  with  diffi- 
culty distinguished.  How  far  its  top  or  roots  extended  could 
not  be  ascertained  ;  but  it  is  probable  that  it  was  of  much 
greater  length  than  met  the  eye. 

In  Cullelo  sand-stone  quarry,  near  Aberdour,  in  Fife,  num- 
bers of  trees  are  found,  supposed  to  be  of  the  palm-tribe,  and 
often  intersecting  the  straUi  in  the  rock. 

In  Killingworth  colliery,  north  of  New-castle,  there  are 
many  large  fossil  trees  discovered  in  the  coal  strata,  and  they 
frequently  have  some  indication  of  roots.  One  of  these  is 
particularly  described  and  figured  by  Mr.  Wood,  in  the  Trans- 
actions of  the  Natural  History  Society  of  Northumberland. 
Its  roots  rested  in  the  shale,  immediately  above  the  coal  bed, 
and  its  stem  pierced  10  or  12  different  strata. 

In  Wideopen  free-stone  quarry,  near  the  house  at  Gos- 
forth,  in  Northumberland,  a  tree,  of  70  feet  in  length,  and 
lying  across  the  strata,  was  lately  discovered  in  a  petrified 
state. 

In  Jarrow  colliery,  also,  similar  plants  are  found  in  con- 
siderable abundance;  and  in  the  Gosforth  pit,  down  which  I 
lately  went,  (a  depth  of  190  fathoms  in  one  shaft,  being  the 
deepest  now  in  the  kirigdom,)  I  found  the  roof  of  the  main 
coal  stratum  to  be  entirely  composed,  in  many  places,  of 
trunks  of  trees,  lying  in  every  direction,  and  of  very  con- 
siderable size.* 

From  all  these  instances,  (and  many  others  might  be  quo- 
ted if  it  were  necessar)',)  we  cannot  but  perceive,  that  our 
previous  notions  of  the  formation  of  strata  in  general,  have 
been  of  the  most  erroneous  description  ;  for  when  we  look  at 
a  lofty  cliff  of  sand-stone  rock,  w^ithout  any  embedded  fossil, 
we  at  once  conceive  to  ourselves  the  vast  length  of  time  which 
we  had  been  taught,  by  geology,  to  assign,  for  so  extensive 
and  gradual  a  formation.   But  such  an  example  as  the  Craig- 


*  I  cannot  here  omit  remarking,  that  in  Jarrow  colliery,  tlie  muscle 
beds  or  strata,  containing  sea  shells,  are  very  abundant.  I  saw  some 
specimens  of  these  shells  in  the  museum  at  S'ewcastle  ;  they  exactly 
resemble  those  muscles  found  in  Oie  blue  clay,  reposing  on  the  chalk 
at  Pegwcll,  in  Kent. 

I  al.so  find,  that  in  some  of  the  cnnl  pits  in  Scotland,  (and  that  of 
the  Drum,  near  Dalkeith,  w-as  particulai-iy  mentioned,)  sea  shells, 
as  large  as  oysters,  are  frequently  found  in  the  roof  of  the  coal  stra- 
tum, as  if  they  had  been  stuck  into  clay  from  below. 


96 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


leith  fossil  tree  exhibits,  must  serve  at  once  to  show,  that  in- 
stead of  tltoumnds  or  millions  of  years,  for  such  deposits  of 
sand-stone  rock,  but  a  very  short  time  indeed  must  have  been 
occupied  in  the  formation  of  the  whole  of  this  quarry;  and, 
consequently,  of  the  whole  coal  formation  which  rests 
below  it.  The  tree,  could  not  possibly  have  remained 
in  a  reclining  posture,  if  only  held  by  a  few  of  the  stra- 
ta near  its  base.  Nor  could  it  have  been  long  exposed  with 
its  top  protruding  in  air  or  in  water;  a  few  passing  waves, 
or,  at  most,  a  few  days  of  the  agitated  and  turbid  waters 
of  the  deluge,  must  have  been  sufficient  for  the  formation 
of  the  whole  bed  in  which  it  is  now  found,  and  which  we  are 
apt  to  look  upon  as  of  vast  extent.  In  the  same  manner  we 
are  instructed  by  those  fossil  stems,  which  pass  through  a 
coal  bed  from  the  floor,  into  the  strata  above,  to  a  great  height. 
These  are  only  further  indications  and  proofs  of  the  truth  of 
what  I  have  before  stated,  that  the  formation  of  coal,  under 
every  circumstance,  must  be  attributed  to  the  progressive 
sinking  and  covering  up  of  the  diluvial  vegetable  ruin  at  the 
period  of  the  flood  ;  and  that  this  invaluable  fossil  production, 
in  its  present  state,  has  been  the  result  of  prodigious  yjrc^surc 
on  the  one  baud,  and  oi  chemical  action  on  the  other. 

We  cannot,  for  a  moment,  doubt  that  all  the  beds  through 
which  these  stems  now  pass,  were  once  in  a  soft  or  semi- 
fluid state,  like  the  sands  upon  the  sea  shore,  about  the  eb- 
bing of  the  tide.  The  whole  strata,  however  horizontal  they 
must  once  have  been,  have  since  become  more  or  less  derang- 
ed, not  by  clemf ion,  hnlhy  depression  ;  and  upon  this  principT 
alone  I  have  already  explained  the  origin  and  cause  of  the 
slips,  dykes,  and  troubles,  so  well  known  in  all  mining  coun- 
tries. We  now  account,  in  a  natural  and  consistent  manner, 
for  a  large  proportion  of  all  the  upper  soils  and  strata  vvitli 
which  the  surface  of  the  present  earth  is  covered.  Let  us  only 
suppose,  for  a  moment,  a  greater  number  of  these  fossil  stems 
acting,  as  they  do,  as  measures,  cast  into  various  parts  of  the 
deluvial  strata,  one  above  another.  If  a  series  of  twelve  or 
fourteen  solid  beds  of  sand-stone,  and  other  strata  of  the  coal 
formation,  were  formed  in  the  short  space  of  time  necessary 
to  support  one  tree  of  iixly  or  seventy  feet  lung,  in  a  reclining 
posture,  we  have  a  fall  right  to  carry  our  ideas  much  further 
on  the  same  scale.  Our  notions  of  lacustrine  quiet  deposits, 
in  an  immense  period  of  years,  must  be  for  ever  laid  aside 
with  regard  to  the  coal  fields.  The  presence  of  sea  shells,  in 
even  a  few  of  the  coal  strata,  is  sufficient  for  the  total  destruc- 
tion of  this  long  received  theory.  And  if  we  are  forced  to 
give  up  this  proof  of  the  great  antiquity  nf  the  globe,  we  must 
naturally  enter  upon  that  more  consistent  and  well  defined 
system  presented  to  our  contemplation  in  the  geology  of 
Scripture.  We  thus  attain,  by  these  vegetable  evidences,  tlu 
same  strong  ground  we  had  already  taken  up,  by  the  testimo- 
ny of  animal  fossil  bodies,  on  every  part  of  the  earth's  surface 
Every  thing  is  consistent  and  agreeable  to  histor}',  instead  of 
being  contradictory  in  all  its  parts,  and  directly  opposed  to 
what  the  sacred  narrative  so  plainly  lays  before  us. 

I  feel  it  scarcely  necessary  here  to  remark  upon  the  singu 
lar  notion  entertained,  by  some,  of  these  fossil  trees  having 
grown  in  the  sandy  or  argillaceous  strata  in  which  they  now 
happen  to  lie.  This  mistake  arises,  like  most  of  the  other 
erroneous  notions  in  geology,  in  the  constant  idea  that  we  are 
now  living  upon  the  antediluvian  dry  latids  ;  an  idea  which 
we  have  already  found  it  necessary  entirely  to  lay  aside.  Had 
the  trees  grown  where  we  now  find  them,  their  roots  must 
have  been  fixed  on  a  diSerent  material  from  that  which  now 
covers  the  stems;  and  we  must  have  discovered,  "ifhich  has 
never  3'et  been  done,  some  indication  of  a  former  soil,  suited 
to  the  nourishment  of  so  rich  a  vegetation.* 


With  regard  to  the  fine  fossil  tree,  we  can  have  no  sort  o' 
doubt  of  its  having  been  embedded,  together  with  all  the 
other  vegetable  raatter  found  in  the  q\iarry  of  Craigleith,  in 
the  course  of  a  few  days,  or,  perhaps,  of  a  few  tides;  a  con- 
jecture for  which  we  shall  presently  find  that  there  are  the 
strongest  possible  grounds.  And  as  this  free-stone  formation, 
of  at  least  220  feet  in  depth,  is  of  precisely  the  same  nature 
as  that  which  forms  the  roof  of  many  of  the  coal  beds  in  that 
neighbourhood,  and  containing  tlie  very  same  fossil  vegeta- 
ble productions,  we  come  at  once  to  the  strongest  evidence, 
both  as  to  the  nature  and  the  period  of  the  whole  contents  of 
the  coal  basins ;  and,  also,  of  the  very  great  rapidity  with 
which  they  must  have  been  deposited. 

All  these  facts  tend,  in  the  strongest  manner,  to  confirm 
the  opinions  I  have  before,  and  at  greater  length,  expressed ; 
that  the  coal  beds  were  formed  at  the  period  of  the  deluge, 
by  successive  deposits  of  great  vegetable  masses,  which  must 


•  In  a  lately  published  work  of  Mr.  L.vcll,  to  which  allusion  has, 
more  than  once,  been  made,  and  in  which  that  able  writer  takes  a 
very  luminous  view  of  the  secondary  causes  in  constant  action  oi 
Uie  surface  of  the  earth,  we  find  a  very  striking  (thougli  altogethei 
unintentional)  argument  against  the  generally  received  tlieory,  of 
tlie  fossil  remains  of  tropical  quadrupeds  now  found  in  our  upper 
soils  and  strata  having  belonged  to  animals  formerly  naturalized  to 
our  climates,  and  inhabiting  our  "antediluvian  forests."  This  ar- 
gument is  found  in  his  account  of  tlie  formation  and  extent  of  peat 
mosses  in  tlie  North  of  Europe,  in  the  course  of  which,  this  author 
clearly  shows,  "that  a  considerable  portion  of  tlie  European  peat 
bogs  .are  evidently  not  more  ancient  than  the  age  of  Julius  Cffisar  ;"* 
an  admission  we  could  scarcely  have  looked  for,  from  a  writer, 
whose  whole  tlieory  is  founded  on  "the  economy  of  Nature,"  hav 
ing  been  "  uniform,"  and  the  laws,  which  direct  the  changes  on  the 
earth,  having  "remained  invariably  the  same;"  for,  as  agreatpart 
of  his  work  is  occupied  in  endeavoming  to  show  that  the  present 

•  Principles  of  Geology,  vol.  ii.  p.  21-i. 


system  of  Nature  has  been  regular,  and  has  procebded  in  the  same 
course  for  millions  of  years,  we  can  in  no  way  account,  in  a  system 
of  such  indefinite  extent,  for  the  origin  and  growth  ot  peat,  within 
so  comparatively  trilling  an  era  as  the  days  of  the  Romans. 

"The  antlers,"  says  he,  "  of  large  and  full  grown  stags,  are 
amongst  the  most  common  and  conspicuous  remains  ot  aninials  m 
peat  Bones  of  the  ox,  hog,  horse,  sheep,  and  other  herbivorous  ani- 
mals, also,  occur ;  and  in  Leland,  and  the  Isle  of  Man,  skeletons  of 
a  gigantic  elk  ;  but  no  remains  have  been  met  witli  belonging  to 
those  extinct  quadrupeds,  of  which  the  living  congeners  inhabit 
warmer  latitudes,  such  as  the  elephant,  rhinoceros,  hliipopotamus, 
hyiena,  and  tiger,  though  these  are  so  common  in  superficial  deposits 
of  silt,  mud,  sand,  or  stalactite,  in  various  localities  throughout 
Great  Britain." — Vol.  ii.  p.  21S. 

Now,  it  must  be  evident  to  eveiT  one,  that  if  England,  and  the 
rest  of  Europe,  where  peat  is  now  found  in  such  abundance,  (and 
coritaining  the  remains  of  animals  preserved  in  the  comjdete  manner 
peculiar  to  this  substance,)  were  formerly  in  existence  above  llie 
waters,  and  were  covered  with  forests  and  wilds,  suited  to  the  shelter 
and  nourishment  of  elephants,  and  other  large  quadrupeds,  now 
confined  to  the  tropics,  there  can  be  no  conceivable  reason  why  peat 
should  not  have  been,  as  it  now  is,  in  constant  progress  ;  nor  is  it 
consistent  with  analogy  and  facts,  that  such  animals  as  are  said  to 
have  been  so  abundant  in  these  supposed  forests,  should  not  occa- 
sionally liave  been  found  ill  such  situations.  In  this  dilemma  we 
naturally  look  for  tlie  means  by  which  so  great  an  inconsistency  is 
accounted  for  by  its  author,  who,  accordingly,  proceeds  as  follows  : 
"  Their  absence  seems  to  imply,  that  they  had  ceased  to  tire  before 
tlie  atmosjjhere  of  this  part  of  tlie  world  acquired  that  cold  and  hu- 
mid character  -which  favoitrs  tlie  growth  of  peat.^^  A\  by  they 
"  ceased  to  live,"  we  have  no  reason  given,  nor  can  we  conceive  any 
reason  tliat  would  agree  w  ith  the  rest  of  Mr.  Lyell's  tlieory.  Their 
disappearance  could  not  have  arisen  from  cold,  because  we  are  told 
by  this  author,  in  another  part  of  his  work,  when  treating  of  the 
fossils  of  the  polar  regions,  that  tlie  greater  part  of  the  elephants 
lived  in  Siberia,  after  it  had  become  subject  to  intense  colil,  w  hich  is 
confirmed,  amongst  other  reasons,  by  the  state  of  the  ivory,"  &c.* 
This  "  intense  cold"  could  not  have  existed  in  Siberia,  w  hen  inhabi- 
ted by  elephants,  witliout  its  influence  being  also  extended,  as  in  our 
ou  n  times,  over  Russia,  Germany,  Sweden,  and  England ;  and 
consequently,  these  countries  must  have,  even  tiien,  enjoyed  precise- 
Iv  "that  cold  and  humid  character  which  favours  the  growth  of 
peat." 

"  Some  naturalists,"  says  Cuvier,  "  reckon  much  on  the  Uiousands 
of  ages  which  they  accumulate  with  a  dash  of  their  ])en  ;  but,  in  such 
matters,  we  canriot  venture  to  judge  of  what  might  be  produced  in  a 
long  time,  except  by  multiplying,  in  idea,  what  a  shorter  period 
does  produce." 

"We  have  never  yet  had  any  geological  account  of  the  extensive 
peat  mosses  which  ought  to  have  existed  in  the  "antediluvian 
forests  of  Yorkshire,"  and  in  tlie  rest  of  Europe  ;  norcan  wc  readi- 
ly believe  that  elephants  and  rhinoceri,  could  have  inhabited  such 
forests,  or  passed  over  «ucli  swamps,  without  having  been  occasional- 
ly buried  in  the  peat,  and  preserved  in  the  same  manner  as  cattle  are 
in  our  own  times. 

There  can,  perhaps,  be  no  sUongcr  ground  taken  up  for  tlie  sup- 
port of  the  Geologv'  of  Scripture,  or  for  the  destruction  of  the  theory 
of  indefinite  periods,  Uian  the  argument  arising  from  the  nature  and 
extent  of  peat  inoss  ;  and,  by  doubling  llie  short  periodj  admitted  by 
Mr.  Lyell,  or,  obtaining  from  his  abundance,  so  trifling  a  boon  as  a 
couiile  of  tliousand  years  more  than  he  has  already  freely  given  us, 
we  can  perfectly  account  for  its  comparatively  recent  iormation,  as 
well  as  for  the  total  absence  of  ti-oiiical  animals  and  plants.  Peat  is, 
as  Mr.  Lyell  has  well  explained,  a  recent  formation,  inconstant  pro- 
gi-ess  in  certain  favourable  situations  and  circumstances.  It  is,  in 
short,  of  post-diluvian  growth,  and  contains  only  such  animal  or 
vegetable  remains  as  are  iiaturiil  to  our  European  climates.  The 
beds  of  "  silt,  mud,  s.aiid,  and  stalactite,"  in  which  tropical  organic 
remains  are  mixed  up  « ith  those  of  temperate  latitudes,  are  equally 
superficial  ;  but  they  owe  their  formation  to  a  dillerent  period,  and 
to  a  different  cause.  They  are  diluvial  formations  j  and  as  they  owe 
their  origin  to  tliat  destructive  period,  we  cannot  womler  that  they 
should  contain  proofs  of  the  indiscriminate  organic  ruin,  which 
naturally  resulted  from  that  preternatural  judgment. 

*  Principles  of  Geology,  vol.  i.  p.  3. 


GEOLOGY  OF  SCRIPTURE. 


97 


have  been  matted  together,  and  floating  on  the  waters  at  that 
eventful  time ;  and  that  the  contents  of  all  the  bairins  of  geolo- 
gists,  whether  containing  coal,  or  not,  must  have  also  become 
deposited  at  the  same  period ;  the  whole  of  these  moist  forma- 
tions being  stratified  according  to  the  common  laws  in  constant 
action  in  the  ocean;  and,  on  the  depression  of  the  waters  into 
their  new  bed,  becoming,  in  many  places,  deranged  by  de- 
pre»si(m,  and,  subsequently,  hardened  into  the  stony  masses 
now  exhibited  to  our  admiring  view. 

I  now  come  to  the  second  subject  on  which  I  proposed 
making  a  few  observations  in  this  place;  and  which  presents 
perhaps,  one  of  the  most  difficult  problems  in  the  whole  ex- 
tent of  our  geological  inquiries. 

I  allude  to  the  fossil  foot-marks,  if  I  may  so  call  them,  of 
animals,  which  have,  in  a  few  instances,  been  distinctly  dis- 
covered on  the  surface  of  the  strata,  in  sand-stone  quarries. 
I  am  not  aware  of  more  than  two  known  instances  of  this 
remarkable  fact.  The  first  occurred  in  a  red  sand-stone  on 
Corncockle  muir,  in  Dumfrieshire ;  and  the  second,  in' the  same 
free-stone  quarry  of  Craiglieth,  where  the  large  fossil  tree 
was  discovered  in  1830.  I  do  not  happen  to  have  read  or 
heard,  what  aie  the  opinions  of  philosophers  on  this  remark- 
able subject;  but  I  cannot  help  thinking,  that  the  evidences 
to  be  found  in  Craigleith  quarry,  with  respect  to  the  above- 
mentioned  fossil  trees,  will  serve  as  a  ground  for  the  most 
probable  conjecture  with  respect  to  the  true  nature  of  those 
animal  foot-marks  on  the  diluvial  sands. 

These  impressions,  of  which  some  of  the  originals,  as  well 
as  casts  in  stucco,  are  to  be  found  in  various  collections,  in- 
dicate a  small  animal,  having  a  foot  about  the  size  of  that  of 
a  fox.  There  appears  to  be  considerable  variety  in  the  size, 
but  as  to  the  identity  of  conformation  in  every  case,  I  have  not 
yet  had  an  opportunity  of  correctly  ascertaining  the  facts 
Trials  have  been  made,  by  making  a  variety  of  animals  walk 
over  sand,  or  moist  clay  ;  and  I  have  been  informed,  that  it 
was  the  opinion  of  Sir  Kverard  Home,  that  the  impression 
of  the  track  of  the  tortoise  was  the  nearest  to  those  hitherto 
found  in  the  quarries. 

As  I  am  entirely  ignorant  of  the  locality  of  Corncockle 
Muir,  I  shall  confine  myself  to  those  impressions  found  in  the 
Craigleith  free-stone,  and  of  which  casts  have  been  placed  in 
the  Museum  of  the  Royal  Society  of  Edinburgh. 

In  endeavouring  to  solve  this  geological  mystery,  we  must 
bear  in  mind  two  positive  facts,  with  which  we  are  made  ac 
quainted  by  the  evidence  of  the  fossil  trees  above  described  : 
first,  that  the  whole  formation  of  the  rock,  in  which  both  are 
found,  must  have  been  very  rapid ;  and,  secondly,  that  there 
is  no  conceivable  means,  within  the  common  laws  of  nature, 
with  which  we  are  acquainted,  by  which  such  rapid  forma- 
tion could  take  place  at  tlie  present  lime. 

In  the  course  of  the  view  I  have  formerly  taken  of  the  ac- 
tion of  the  deluge,  and  its  etfccts  upon  the  "  earth  that  now  is,'' 
I  had  an  opportunity  of  explaining  what  the  appearances 
must  probably  have  been,  both  on  the  rise  and  on  the  decline 
of  the  destructive  waters.  I  have  shown,  that  as  the  position 
of  the  globe,  during  this  awful  judgment,  remained  precisely 
the  same  as  it  was  before,  and  as  it  ever  since  has  been,  the  ef- 
fects of  the  sun,  and  of  the  moon,  as  exhibited  in  the  tides, 
must  have  remained  in  equal,  if  not  in  greater  force,  than  at 
other  times.  This  action  of  the  tides  must  have  been  parti- 
cularly powerful  on  the  gradual  decline  of  the  diluvial  waters, 
at  a  time  when  the  new  lands,  in  a  soft  state,  began  first  to 
appear  above  the  surface;  and,  in  process  of  time,  to  be,  for 
a  short  space,  periodically  left  dry  by  the  ebbing  tide,  in  the 
same  manner  as  the  sandy  or  muddy  shoals  on  our  own,  or 
on  the  Dutch  coast. 

Now,  in  the  present  course  of  things  upon  the  earth,  the 
footsteps  of  any  animal,  passing  over  the  smooth  sands  on  the 
ebb  tide,  could  not  long  resist  even  the  gentlest  action  of  the 
waves,  because  the  waters  of  the  ocean,  in  their  natural  state, 
are  so  nearly  pure,  and  free  from  sediment,  that  the  progress 
of  secondary  formations  is  so  slow  as  to  be  almost  impercepti- 
ble to  our  view.  But,  at  the  awful  period  of  which  we  are 
now  treating,  the  case  must  have  been  totally  different.  The 
waters  of  the  whole  sea  must  then  have  been,  as  we  have  be- 
fore shown,  heavily  charged  with  their  preternatural  burden  ; 
and  every  successive  tide  must,  constquently,have  deposited 
some  additional  beds  upon  the  growing  earth.  In  this  man- 
ner alone  can  we  account  for  the  rapid  deposition  of  the  trees 
we  have  just  been  considering;  and,  in  this  same  manner 
alone  can  we  also  account  for  the  preservation  of  those  ant 
mal  foot-marks  now  discovered  between  the  strata. 

But  it  will  naturally  be  asked,  where  was  the  animal  to 

come  from,  at  a  time  when  the  whole  living  kingdom  was  in 

Vol..  II.— N 


the  act  of  being  destroyed  ;  or,  (if  the  foot-marks  were  made, 
as  appears  most  probable,  on  the  decline  of  the  deluge,)  when 
all  had  already  perished  %  To  this  we  reply,  that  we  have  here 
the  most  positive  evidence,  that  all  had  not  yet  perished  when 
these  sandy  formations  were  being  so  rapidly  deposited.  At 
whatever  period  of  the  deluge  this  deposit  took  place,  we  see, 
that  at  least  a  few  individuals,  of  the  animal  world,  were 
lingering  out  a  miserable  existence,  perhaps  preserved  for 
weeks  or  months  upon  these  same  vegetable  islands  which 
we  have  seen  were  being  deposited  in  the  immediate  neigh- 
bourhood, and  now  exhibited  in  the  form  of  coal.  If  the  ani- 
mals in  question  were  of  the  tortoise  or  turtle  tribe,  as  has 
been  generally  conjectured,  and,  consequently,  of  an  amphibi- 
ous nature,  we  can  have  the  less  difficulty  in  finding  a  solution 
for  this  interesting  problem ;  for,  in  considering  the  fossil  re- 
mains of  the  natural  inhabitants  of  the  sea,  we  have  before 
found  it  probable,  that  by  no  means  a  general  destruction  took 
place  amongst  this  extensive  class  at  the  period  of  the  deluge. 

The  impressions  I  have  had  an  opportunity  of  seeing  are 
of  various  degrees  of  freshness ;  but  none  of  them  have  the 
appearance  of  a  longer  time  than  would  occur  between  one 
ebb  tide,  and  the  following  flow.  If  an  animal  pass  along  a 
fresh  sand  bed,  on  the  present  shores,  the  impression  of  his 
steps  soon  becomes  less  sharp,  as  the  moisture  is  evaporated 
from  the  drying  sands. 

These /os«7  foot-marks  have  all  the  appearances  exhibited 
on  a  recent  sand  bank.  They,  in  some  instances,  indicate  a 
short  and  shuffling  gait,  with  the  feet  pressing  outwards,  and 
are  such  as  we  can  suppose  an  amphibious  animal  to  produce. 
Had  the  marks  occurred  in  clay,  instead  of  in  sand,  we  can 
suppose  the  air  to  have  completely  hardened  the  impression, 
so  as  to  have  preserved  it  a  long  time  before  being  covered 
up.  But  such  IS  not  the  case ;  and  we  can,  therefore,  have  no 
manner  of  doubt  that  they  were  occasioned  by  some  animal 
coming  ashore  on  a  sand  bank  left  dry  by  the  tide :  and  that 
the  returning  waters,  heavily  charged  as  they  nmsl  have  been, 
with  diluvial  sediments,  immediately  covered  up  the  former 
strata,  and  thus  preserved  entire  those  most  interesting  and 
solitary  indications  of  a  still  living  antediluvian  race. 

We  find  in  this  same  quarry  of  Craigleith,  another  remark- 
able evidence  of  the  truth  of  what  has  now  been  stated.  For 
it  has  been  remarked,  by  the  intelligent  individual  who  has 
the  management  of  these  valuable  works,  that,  on  the  upper 
surface  of  the  whole  quarry,  wherever  it  has  been  covered  up, 
and  protected  by  the  mixed  diluvial  soils  and  rounded  stones, 
now  so  general  on  the  surface  of  the  earth,  the  upper  stratum 
is  marked  with  grooves  or  scratches,  generally  lying  in  a  S.  TV. 
direction,  and,  evidentlj',  attributable  to  the  impression  of 
gravelly  substances  hurried  along  by  the  currents,  about  the 
termination  of  the  flood.  Similar  grooves  have  long  since 
been  remarked,  especially  by  the  late  Sir  James  Hall,  whose 
active  and  intelligent  mind  has  suggested  so  many  original 
and  acute  remarks  on  the  phenomena  of  nature,  as  well  as  in 
the  wide  field  of  scientific  research.  As  we  have  already  found 
that  the  action  of  currents  is  at  all  times  most  powerful  in  the 
ocean,  and  must  have  occasioned  many  wonderful  effects  at 
the  period  now  in  question,  we  cannot  be  surprised,  on  the 
discovery  of  such  self-evident  proofs  ;  nor  can  we  avoid  being 
stDick  with  admiration  at  the  consistent  and  remarkable  man- 
ner in  which  all  these  evidences  concur  towards  the  same 
points,  exhibited  in  the  Inspired  History.  It  is  to  this  event- 
ful period,  and  to  it  alone,  that  we  must  also  look  for  a  solu- 
tion of  the  great  question  with  respect  to  the  valleys  of  the 
earth's  surface,  about  which  so  many  remarkable  theories 
have  been,  from  time  to  time,  brought  forth.  We  can  now 
plainly  perceive  what,  in  these  philosophical  theories,  has 
never  been  made  clear  to  the  intelligence,  that  the  rounded 
forms  of  our  hills,  and  the  easy  rotundity  of  our  secondary 
slopes,  must  all  have  been  occasioned  by  the  action  of  the  re- 
tiring waters  upon  the  soft  and  recent  deposits.  We  now 
plainly  perceive  why  our  mountain  lowland  valleys  are 
much  longer  and  more  extensive  than  the  action  of  their  ru/i- 
ning  streams  could  possibly  have  occasioned,  even  in  mil- 
lions of  years. 

We  now  also  find  a  natural  and  consistent  reason  for  many  . 
deep  sections  of  sandy  and  calcareous  rocks,  by  rapid  streams, 
on  every  part  of  the  earth's  surface.  We  find  the  strata  of 
one  side  so  exactly  corresponding  with  those  of  the  other, 
that  no  doubt  can  exist  as  to  their  once  having  formed  one 
united  deposit,  through  which  we  have,  hitherto,  supposed 
the  rivers  must  have  taken  unlimited  periods,  to  work  their 
deepened  beds.  We  cannot  now  wonder  if  we  found  a  diffi- 
culty in  making  these  phenomena  correspond  with  the  exist- 
ing laws  of  nature ;  foj  they  differ  in  a  manner  so  material 


98 


CHRISTIAN   LIBRARY. 


from  every  thing  now  observed  in  action  in  the  world,  that  no 
human  ingenuity  could  possibly  clear  up  the  difficulty.  No- 
thing short  of  that  Divine  Inspiration  in  the  Sacred  Scripture 
Histtry,  which  has  been  vouchsafed  to  us,  for  the  most  bene- 
ficient  ends,  could  ever  have  enlightened  our  benighted  miuds, 
which,  in  rejecting  this  powerful  evidence,  have  hitherto 
wandered  in  a  maze  of  inextricable  obscurity.  Let  it  not  be 
urged  for  the  future,  as  has  hitherto  so  often  been  done  in  our 
philosophical  schools,  that  Scripture  was  graciously  bestowed 
upon  us  only  for  momU  and  not  for  scientife  purposes.  If  we 
make  a  humble  and  proper  use  of  the  indications  on  many 
philosophical  inquiries,  which  are  presented  to  us  in  the  In- 
spired Writings,  however  slight  they  may  appear,  we  cannot 
but  confess,  that  every  word  of  Scripture  "  has  been  written 
for  our  learning,"  and  that  no  part  of  it  has,  consequently, 
been  given  us  in  vain. 

From  the  indications  derived  from  this  inspired  source 
alone,  could  we  have  attained  the  conclusions  to  which  the 
above  phenomena  consistently  lead  us: — 

First,  that  coal  is  an  undoubted  vegetable  production. 

Secondly,  That  it  became  embedded  at  a  much  more  recent 
period,  and  in  a  much  more  rapid  manner,  than  we  have  hither- 
to thought. 

Thirdly,  That  it  was  an  aqueous  deposit. 

Fourtlily,  That  that  aqueous  medium  was  marine,  and  not 
LACUSTRINE ;  and, 

Fifthly,  That  one  or  more  beds,  in  many  secondary  strata, 
were  formed  with  intervening  ebb  tides  on  the  decline  of  the 
diluvial  waters  ;  and,  consequently,  that  the  theories  of  geo- 
logy, which  advocate  unlimited  periods  for  the  age  of  the 
earth,  are  not  onlycontrary  to  our  reason,  but  entirely  opposed 
to  those  leading  beacons  which  Scripture  holds  out  for  our 
guidance  and  instruction. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

Elephants  clothed  with  Hair  and  Wool. — Existinfr  Instances  of 
this  Variety,  even  irithin  the  Trcpics. — I'rolialile  Identity 
between  the  Mammoth  and  the  .'Isiotic  Elephant. — Curier's 
Theorij  on  this  Subject  inconsistent  with  Faets. — More  Natu- 
ral Conclusions. — Errojieous  Theories  rcspeclina;  Fossils. — 
The  Mastodon  not  confined  to  the  Continents  of  Jlmericn,  as 
commonlfi  supposed. — Instance  of  the  great  Mastodon  in 
En!;la7id. — Form  of  the  Tusks  of  the  Mastodon. — Erruncous 
Ideas  on  this  subject. 

Having  now  tried  upon  its  own  merits  this  interesting  and 
important  question,  respecting  the  former  history  of  the  earth, 
by  the  presumptive  evidence  derived  from  the  northern  fossil 
remains;  and  having,  by  conclusive,  though  indirect  proofs, 
shown  that  the  elephants,  found  in  the  ice  of  the  Arctic  re- 
gions, never  could  have  been  inhal/itants  of  such  high  lati- 
tudes, but  must,  on  the  contrary,  have  a/l  been  drifted  to  their 
present  beds  by  the  natural  currents,  which  have,  at  all  times, 
prevailed  in  the  ocean ;  and  that  these  natives  of  tropicql 
climates  never  could  have  existed  but  in  the  latitudes  in 
which  we  now  find  them  naturalized,  notwithstanding  the 
startling  fact  of  some  individuals  having  been  found  entire, 
and  covered  with  a  warm  coat  of  hair  and  wool;  I  now  pro- 
ceed to  bring  forward,  what  may  truly  be  considered  a  positive 
and  direct  evidence  of  the  correctness  of  those  conclusions  to 
which  we  have  been  led.  For,  as  many  of  the  theories  of 
geology  may  be  distinctly  traced  to  the  remarkable  fossil 
animals,  covered  with  a  shaggy  coat,  which  have  already 
been  so  fully  described,  it  is  a  point  of  the  very  highest  interest 
and  importance  to  geology,  to  find  that  the  arguments, 
grounded  on  this  hairy  covering,  can  no  longer  be  of  the 
smallest  service  in  the  support  of  such  false  and  contradictory 
opinions.  For  it  has,  within  a  few  years,  been  indisputably 
proved,  that  though  neither  the  common  Asiatic,  nor  the 
African  elephant,  requires,  in  general,  such  natural  protec- 
tion, owing  to  the  heat  of  the  climates  which  they  most  de- 
liaht  in ;  yet  that  a  variety  of  the  species  actually  exists  in 
one  district  of  Hindostan,  in  the  immediate  neighbourhood  of 
the  Hymalaya  range,  having  a  thick  and  shaggy  coat  of  hair  : 
and  being  thus  suited,  by  the  common  laws  of  nature,  to  be- 
come the  inhabitants  of  a  region  comparatively  cold. 

When  we  consider  the  admirable  manner  in  which  animal 
as  well  as  vegetable  productions  accommodate  themselves  to 
the  particular  temperature  in  which  they  are  placed,  we  can- 


not feel  surprised,  that,  in  some  instances,  elephants  toith 
hair,  should  be  found  to  exist.  For  the  common  Asiatic  ele- 
phant cannot  be  regarded  with  any  attention,  without  our 
perceiving  that,  on  almost  every  part  of  his  bare  hide,  there 
is  an  indication  of  hair,  such  as  we  see  on  some  species  of 
the  dog  from  Turkey,  or  of  the  hog  from  China;*  and  we 
may,  therefore,  safely  conclude  that,  as  in  both  these  familiar 
instances,  the  clothing,  natural  to  most  other  animals,  is  only 
wanting  in  the  case  of  the  elephant,  from  the  warmth  of  the 
climates  to  which  he  is,  for  the  most  part,  confined.  This 
natural  clothing,  however,  which  circumstances  alone  have, 
in  general,  caused  him  to  lay  aside,  is  immediately  called  into 
action,  when  a  cooler  temperature  requires  its  presence.  Au 
elephant  docs  not  continue  long  in  our  temperate  climates 
without  this  provision  being  more  or  less  developed  ;  and  we 
have,  at  this  moment,  in  London,  most  decided  instances  of 
this  incipient  roughness,  in  the  two  elephants  belonging  to 
the  Zoological  Society  in  the  Regent's  Park. 

The  recent  discovery  of  this  zoological  fact,  in  a  country 

liich  has  so  long  been  occupied  by  numbers  of  our  country- 
men, may,  perhaps,  be  looked  upon  as  one  of  the  most  re- 
markable parts  of  it;  and  though  the  work  I  am  about  to 
quote  has  now  been  for  several  years  before  the  public,  I  do 
not  any  where  find  that  this  new  and  interesting  variety  of 
the  elephant  has  met  with  that  attention  to  which  it  may 
certainly  lay  claim.  That  it  bears  in  a  most  remarkable 
manner,  on  the  great  questions  in  geology,  must  be  apparent 
to  all  who  have  attended  to  the  line  of  reasoning  so  recently 
explained.  For  it  must  be  evident,  that  if  the  common  ele- 
phants, of  the  hottest  climates,  without  hair,  were  floated  by 
the  currents  from  a  tropical  to  a  frozen  region,  and  were 
there  stranded,  and  sealed  up,  on  the  subsiding  of  the  waters ; 
all  such  as  inhabited  a  cooler  climate,  even  within  the  tropics, 
must  also  have  been  subjected  to  a  similar  mechanical  power. 
But  we  arc  not  to  suppose,  h(  cause  a  few  fossil  specimens 
may  have  been  found  with  hair,  that  a// the  elephants,  whose 
remains  are  embedded  in  the  northern  or  tem|ierate  climates 
of  the  earth,  were  of  this  rough  species.  On  the  contrary,  it 
may  safely  be  looked  upon  as  certain,  that  the  number  of 
bodies  tvilh  hair,  bore  no  greater  proportion  to  those  without, 
than  we  now  find  to  exist  in  the  living  species.  We  have 
every  reason  to  conclude,  that  the  elephant  is  a  native  only 
of  such  climates  as  furnish,  in  luxuriance,  the  vegetable  pro- 
ductions on  which  he  feeds.  They  are  no  where  found,  in  a 
natural  state,  in  temperate  latitudes;  but  only  in  those  coun- 
tries where  the  herbage  may  be  termed  gigantic,  and  where 
the  jungles  are  so  thick,  that  the  animals  may  not  only  be 
completely  concealed  from  their  enemies,  but  may  also  find 
an  easy  and  abundant  subsistence.  Such  is  the  case,  not 
onlj-  in  the  low  and  swampy  plains  of  Hindostan,  but,  also, 
in  the  districts  of  India,  bordering  on  the  mountains,  where  a 
higher  elevation  in  the  atmosphere  counteracts,  in  some  de- 
gree, the  powerful  eifects  of  the  sun,  and  occasions  a  tem- 
perature, which,  in  India,  is  termed  cold,  though  the  ther- 
mometer may  rarely  indicate  the  freezing  point. 

The  first,  and,  as  yet,  only  notice  we  have  of  this  shaggy 
variety  of  the  elephant,  is  to  be  found  in  the  interesting  jour- 
nal of  Bishop  Ilcber.  It  was  in  the  course  of  that  long  tour 
round  the  district  over  which  his  spiritual  government  ex- 
tended, that  the  bishop  arrived  in  the  residency  of  Barielly, 
a  city  situated  in  the  plain,  in  the  '28th  degree  of  north  lati- 
tude, and  about  50  miles  from  the  lower  range  of  the  Hyma- 
laya. It  was  at  only  one  day's  journey  from  Barielly,  on  his 
way  to  the  mountains,  and  while  passing  through  the  un- 
wholesome forests  and  jungles  of  the  plain,  that  he  was 
visited  by  a  native  border  prince  of  that  district,  who  invited 
him  to  join  in  the  hunting  of  a  tiger,  which  had  lately  been 
seen  in  that  neighbourhood.  It  is  in  the  short  and  animated 
description  of  this  hunt,  that  the  bishop  makes  use  of  the 
following  terms :  "  The  rajah  was  mounted  on  a  little  female 
elephant,  hardly  bigger  than  the  Durham  ox,  and  almost  as 
shaggy  as  a  poodle.  She  was  a  native  of  the  neighbouring 
woods,  where  they  are  generally,  though  not  always,  ol  a 
smaller  size  than  those  of  Bengal  and  Chittagong." 

Heher  again  mentions  having  met  the  same  rajah,  a  few 
days  afterwards,  "on  his  little  elephant;"  and  we  cannot 
peruse  this  concise,  yet  particular  description  of  so  casual  a 
circumstance,  without  perceiving,  that,  though  he  does  not 
enter  into  details  upon  the  subject  of  this  rough-coated  ele- 


*  It  is  well  known,  tli.it  many  of  tlie  hog  tribe,  especially  those 
fiom  China,  have  little  or  no  liair,  when  first  brought  into  our  cli- 
mates. The  law  s  of  nature  soon,  how  ever,  take  eftVct ;  and  they  not 
only,  in  the  end,  become  covered  with  hair,  but  they  also  acquire  a 
complete  under-covering  of  wool,  as  is  well  known  to  all  fly-fishers. 


GEOLOGY  OF  SCRIPTURE. 


99 


phant,  yet  his  atleiition  was,  on  bolli  these  occasions,  par- 
ticularly attracted  to  so  uncommon  an  animal.  I  am  the 
more  desirous  of  drawing  the  attention  to  the  artless  and  fa- 
miliar description  contained  in  the  above  passage,  from  hav- 
ing found,  on  inquiry  from  many  who  have  spent  a  great  part 
of  their  lives  in  the  East,  that  this  variety  of  the  elephant  is 
so  little  known,  that  much  doubt  is  entertained,  by  some, 
as  to  the  correctness  of  the  account  of  it. 

Setting  aside,  however,  for  a  moment,  the  character  of  the 
individual  from  whom  alone  we  have,  as  ye^  derived  our  in- 
formation of  this  new  living  variety,  let  us  consider  the  col- 
lateral circumstances  of  the  case;  and  we  shall  find,  that  this 
generally,  though  not  invariably  small  nee  of  elephants,  are 
said  to  be  the  natural  and  wild  inhabitants  of  an  extensive 
range  of  jungle,  where,  thuuf^h  ice  is  rartly  seen,  yet  hoarfrost 
is  quite  a  common  occurrence;  and  where,  consequently,  the 
clothing  of  the  native  animals  might  be  expected  to  be  wanner 
than  in  the  burning  plains,  at  a  greater  distance  from  the 
highest  mountains  on  the  globe. 

We  find,  that  this  very  animal  on  which  the  rajah  was 
mounted,  accompanied  the  bishop  to  the  town  or  village, 
where  he  was  to  leave  his  elephants  for  a  time,  and  to  con- 
tinue his  journey  on  "  little  while  shagp-  ponies,"  in  every 
respect  similar  to  those  of  Wales,  or  of  Scotland,  to  which 
Ileber  likens  them;  and  in  the  course  of  one  day's  journey 
further,  he  begins  to  mention  chamois,  which  are  well  known 
to  be  naturalized  only  in  very  cold  climates.* 

It  is  not  necessary,  however,  to  urge  the  probabHily  of  the 
account  of  any  object  of  that  description  given  by  the  pen  of 
the  amiable  Heber.  For,  however  mistaken  his  views  may 
sometimes  have  been  upon  Indian  affairs,  in  the  short  ac- 
quaintance which  he  was  permitted  to  enjoy  with  that  im- 
mense range  over  which  his  spiritual  authority  extended,  we 
cannot,  for  a  moment,  doubt  his  exactness  on  such  points  as 
we  are  now  considering;  and  as  he  was,  at  the  time,  accom- 
panied by  Mr.  Boulderston,  who  had  for  many  years  held  an 
official  situation  in  that  district,  and  from  whom,  Heber  says, 
he  derived  much  information  on  the  natural  history  of  the 
jungles  they  were  then  traversing,  it  ib  hut  reasonable  to 
suppose,  that  the  short  description  above  quoted,  was  the 
result  of  the  conversation  and  inquiry  which  this  new  and 
stran"e  looking  animal  must  naturally  have  given  rise  to. 

I  am  happy  to  say,  that,  in  as  short  a  space  of  time  as  the 
great  distance  will  pennit,  we  may  hope  to  have  a  full  and 
particular  account  of  the  rough-coated  elephant.  Through 
the  kindness  of  Dr.  Wilkins,  Librarian  to  the  honourable  the 
Kast  India  Company,  in  London,  letters  have  been  written 
to  the  gentleman  who  is,  at  present,  engaged  as  a  naturalist, 
in  traversing  some  of  the  extensive  districts  of  Hindostan,  for 
the  purpose  of  drawing  his  particular  attention  to  this  animal ; 
and  to  all  who  enter  into  the  consequences,  to  be  naturally 
de<luced  from  its  discovery,  a  more  particular  description  of 
it,  from  the  pen  of  a  naturalist,  must  alford  a  subject  of  the 
highest  interest  and  expectation. 

In  the  mean  lime,  I  must  not  omit  to  take  notice  of  one 
point  which  has  come  under  my  observation,  and  which  cer- 
tainly corroborates,  as  far  as  it  goes,  my  idea  of  the  complete 
or  approximating  identity  of  species,  between  this  existing 
caste  of  the  elephant,  and  the  shaggy  fossil  of  Siberia,  as 
well  as  between  the  common  Asiatic  race,  and  the  animal 
whose  bones  and  teeth  are  so  generally  distributed  over  the 
surface  of  the  earth,  and  known  by  the  name  of  the  mammoth. 

I  have  before  alluded  to  the  interesting  specimens  of  the 
skin  and  hair  of  the  fossil  mammoth  of  the  Lena,  preserved 
in  the  Museum  of  the  Koyal  College  of  Surgeons,  in  London. 
After  having  examined  the  three  different  varieties  of  hair  of 
which  this  sample  is  composed,  viz.  a  sort  of  wool  or  short 
hair ;  a  longer  kind,  about  the  coarseness  of  that  of  the  mane 
of  a  horse;  and  a  stronger  sort,  thicker  than  any  bristle  with 
which  I  am  acquainted  ;  I  had  an  opportunity  of  seeing,  in  the 
same  fine  collection,  the  tail  of  the  common  Asiatic  elephant, 
with  the  curious  arrangement  of  hair  of  which  it  is  composed. 
This  hair  is  from  one  to  two  feet  in  length,  and  of  such  thick- 
ness, that  it  more  resembles  long  rounded  strips  of  whale- 
hone,  than  any  thing  else  to  which  I  could  liken  it.     The 

•  "  The  p«liai-ialis,  or  hill  people,  are  quite  a  <listinct  race  from 
the  rest  of  the  iaiiabitants  of  Bengal ;  and,  Irom  cvt-rv  circunistijnce, 
may  lie,  with  reason,  considered  as  aborigines.  They  are  iu  stature 
and  fipire  very  like  the  Welsh,"  kc. 

"  Most  people  conclude  the  climate  of  India  to  be  invariably  sul- 
try and  scorchins;,  whereas  tlie  nionllis  of  Deci-nibcr  and  January 
ai-e  often  so  cohlas  to  produce  a  thin  coat  of  ice  upon  tlie  puddles  ; 
and,  very  commonly,  a  smart  hoar  frost  on  tlic  grass  and  vegeta- 
tion."— Fielil  Spoils  of  the  East. 


peculiarity  of  tliis  coarse  hair,  however,  is,  that  it  is  neither 
perfectly  round,  nor  perfectly  _/7a/,  as  that  from  the  tail  of  the 
horse  is  occasionally  found  to  be  ;  but  it  is  irre^larly  roundtd 
and  Jliitttmed  over  its  whole  surface,  in  a  manner  so  unlike 
any  other  hair,  that  it  may,  probably,  be  looktd  ujion  as  quite 
peculiar  to  the  elephant.*  It  immediately  occurred  to  me, 
to  compare  this  unusual  construction  with  the  crarser  sort 
of  hair  of  the  fossil  specimen;  and  though  there  is  not  in 
that  sample,  (which  was  sent  to  Sir  Joseph  Banks,  from 
St.  Petersburg,)  any  hairs  which  could  be  supposed  to  belong 
to  the  tail  of  the  antediluvian  animal,  yet  it  is  most  obvious 
and  surprising,  to  sec  the  exact  similarity  which  exists  between 
the  coarsest  hairs  or  bristles  of  that  sample,  and  those  of 
the  tail  of  the  common  Asiatic  species. 

Such  corroborative  points,  in  the  chain  of  our  evidence,  are 
not  to  be  overlooked,  nor  despised ;  and  though  Bishop 
Heber  does  not  give  us  the  slightest  notion  of  the  colour  of 
the  animal  he  saw,  yet  we  may  naturally  conclude,  from  what 
we  already  know  of  the  existing  species,  that  it  must  have 
been  of  a  dark  brown  tint,  nearly  approaching,  in  the  coarser 
hairs,  to  black.  If  this  be  the  case,  it  will  agree,  most  per- 
fectly, with  the  description  I  have  read,  and  the  samples  1  Irave 
seen,  of  the  shaggy  coat  of  the  antediluvian  animal. 

The  coarsest  hair  in  the  Museum  of  the  College  of  Sur- 
geons, is,  in  colour,  like  that  of  some  dark  chesnut  horses, 
which  are  often  called  black,  but  whose  manes  and  tails  show 
a  reddish  colour  when  viewed  transparently.  The  tufts  of 
hair  from  the  fossil  animal,  evidently  indicate  an  inclination 
to  curl;  the  woolly  hair,  at  the  roots  of  the  coarser  sort, 
shows  this  even  more  distinctly ;  and  the  whole  gives  at  once 
the  idea  of  its  having  formerly  belonged  to  exactly  such  an 
animal  as  Heber  so  graphically  describes  as  being  '^almost 
as  shaiigy  <u  «  poodle,"  to  which  animal  alone  it  could,  per- 
haps, lie  properly  likened. | 

As  we  have  now  found,  therefore,  a  situation,  within  the 
tropics,  sufficiently  cold  to  produce  a  thick  coat  of  hair,  on  a 
race  of  animals  usually  bare ;  but,  at  the  same  time,  suf- 
ficiently hot  to  furnish  a  climate  fitted  for  the  richest  Eastern 
vegetation,  and  a  jungle  grass  so  high,  as  nearly  to  cover  llie 
elephants  of  the  hunters,  let  us  imagine,  for  a  moment,  such 
an  event  to  occur,  as  is  supposed  by  Cuvier  to  have  actually 
happened  in  the  present  Polar  regions,  at  tlie  period  of  his 
last  revolution,  or,  what  we  term  Uie  Mosaic  deluge.  Cuvier 
supposed  that  a  suode.n  flood  of  waters  must  have  occurred, 


•  nie  liair  tliat  is  next  in  coarseness  to  tliat  of  the  elephant's  tail, 
is  tluil  of  till-  tail  of  llic  caniclioiiard,  which  is  of  a  fine  round  form, 
and  from  two  to  llircc  feet  in  lenglli.  The  hair  of  llic  lii|ipopotamus 
is  also  very  strong  ;  but  tJic  skni  of  tJiis  animal  is  usually  nearly 
bare.  About  the  mouth  arc  tufu  of  strong  bristles — as  also  in  tlie 
ear:  and  it  is  singular,  Oiat  iJic  form  and  armngtmeiit  of  the  tail 
should  be  the  same  as  lliat  of  the  elephant.  UoUi  arc  fullmwd 
towards  die  point,  and  tlic  hairs  are  only  on  tlie  edges,  and  not  upon 
llie  sides  of  Uie  flat  part  of  tlie  tail. 

•f  Since  writing,  tlie  above,  I  have,  by  the  kindness  of  tlie  Zoologi- 
cal Society,  been  permitted  to  take  specimens  of  llie  hair  from 
iliHereiil  parts  of  die  boily  of  their  small  Ceylon  elephant ;  and  have 
compared  Uiem  with  the  fossil  sjiecimcns,  in  Uic  presence  of  Mr. 
Clift,  at  the  Hoval  College  of  Sui-geoiis. 

This  small  elephant  in  the  Zoological  Gardens  of  the  Regent's 
Park,  has  not  been  many  monUis  in  Englan<l.  It  is  tlirce  or  four 
vears  old,  and  is  not  yet  larger  lliaii  a  small  Highland  ox.  He  is  as 
iiairii-  as  many  species  of  pigs ;  anil  his  coat  has  a  dei  ide<I  tendency 
lobe  "  shasfCfy"  or  curly.  His  colour  is  a  dark  chesnut  brown  on 
the  back,  iliri)  gray  on  the  stomach  and  lower  parts  of  the  body ;  and 
Uiere  is  most  hair,'  (of  a  yellow  ish  colour,)  about  the  moutli.  In  the 
interior  of  die  ear,  the  hair  is  close  set,  and  of  a  light  gray  colour, 
much  resembling  tliat  called  wrjol,  in  tlie  descriptions  of  llie  Siberian 
fossil. 

The  keepers  arc  conscious  of  the  gradual  increase  of  this  hair, 
since  the  animal  has  been  in  England  :  and  the  older  and  larger 
Mvsore  elejibanl,  of  die  same  collection,  has  alsoa  diin  coal  of  liair, 
of  a  few  inches  in  lengUi,  all  over  his  boily,  and  of  llie  same  colour 
as  in  the  smaller  animal.  In  both,  tlie  longest  hair  is  mi  the  neck 
and  shoulders;  but  it  has  not  yet  assume<l  any  appearance  of  a  mane. 
It  is,  indeed,  probable,  that  the  mane  desciibed  on  the  fossil  qieci- 
men  did  not  more  resemble  dial  of  a  horse,  Uian  die  longer  bristles 
alwavs  found  on  the  neck  and  shoulders  of  die  hog.  Upon  the  w  hole, 
the  small  Ceylon  elephant  appears  fast  approaching  to  such  a  shaggy 
appearance  as  Heber  describes,  and  as  Mr.  Adams  found  on  die  Si- 
berian fossil  elephant. 

The  resemblance  of  the  hair  of  die  fossil,  and  of  the  recent  animal, 
s  complete,  having  that  general  inclination  to  red,  before  remarked; 
and  lite  longer  hair  of  boUi  is  chesnut  when  viewed  transparently, 
and  so  similar  in  this  respect,  tlial  die  one  cannot  be  distinguished 
from  the  other. 

I  have,  also,  by  die  kindness  of  Mr.  Clef?,  been  permitted  In  ex- 
amine the  tooth  of  a  Siberian  fossil,  wliicli  was  sent  to  Sir  Joseph 
Banks  at  the  same  time  as  the  hair.  It  is  completely  identical  in 
form  and  structure  to  that  of  the  common  Asiatic  elepbant. 


100 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


and,  at  the  same  time,  an  equally  sudden  and  violent  (/ioimi/- 
tion  of  heat,  so  as  first  to  envelope  the  animals  in  the  water, 
and  then  to  convert  that  water,  almost  instantly,  into  ice ; 
which  has  been  the  means  of  preserving,  in  an  entire  state, 
even  the  mo3t  perishable  parts  of  some  of  the  animal  bodies 
embedded  in  it. 

It  must  be  obvious  to  every  one,  that  if  such  an  event  were, 
at  the  present  day,  to  occur  in  the  jungles  and  forests  in  the 
vicinity  of  the  Hymalaya  range,  now  inhabited  by  a  race  of 
elephants  more  or  less  "  shaggy ;"  and  also  by  innumerable 
other  animals  of  every  sort,  usually  found  in  such  latitudes, 
we  should  expect  to  find,  on  inspecting  the  frozen  mass,  that 
the  animal  remains  were  invariably  entire,  and,  in  no  in- 
stance, exhibiting  such  decided  marks  of  marine  action,  as 
oysters,  and  other  sea  creatures,  firmly  attached  to  them.  In- 
stead of  prodigious  beds  of  "  niiid,"  mixed  with  "  ice,"  and 
"  bones,"  so  correctly  described  by  Professor  Buckland,  as 
the  state  in  which  the  shores  and  islands  of  the  Polar  seas 
are  now  found,  we  should  look,  with  a  confident  expectation, 
amounting  to  certainty,  for  the  mass  of  vegetable  substances, 
and  entire  trees,  which  must  have  equally  shared  the  melan^ 
choly  fate  of  the  unhappy  elephants. 

Such,  however,  is  by  no  means  the  state  of  things  in  the 
latitude  of  the  mouth  of  the  Lena,  in  Siberia;  and,  as  every 
thing  there  denotes  total  ruin,  and  diluvial  confusion,  we  have 
a  right  to  assume,  as  a  demonstrable  fact,  that  the  theory  of 
Cuvier  is  entirely  groundless.  It  must,  however,  in  justice, 
be  admitted,  that  the  shaggy  coat  of  these  fossil  animals 
formed  a  strong  and  plausible  ground  for  some  such  theory. 
But  the  enthusiasm,  too  common  on  the  discovery  of  a  new 
and  interesting  fact,  was,  in  this  instance,  permitted  to  outrun 
the  discretion  so  necessary  on  a  point  which  was  to  lead  to 
such  sweeping  conclusions.  For  the  tindeniahk  facts  which 
were  assumed  from  this  discovery,  led  to  thos  following  una- 
voidable results  ;  first,  that  ai.i,  northern  fossils  must  have 
been  "■clothed  in  ivool ;'"  secondly,  that  the  remains  of  the 
same  class  of  animals  found  in  less  rigorous  climates,  such 
as  our  own,  were  also  those  tf  natives  of  such  climates  respec- 
tively ;  and,  thirdly,  that  the  climates  of  the  antediluvian 
earth,  as  well  as  the  nature  of  its  animal  productions,  must 
have  been  widely  different  from  what  they  now  are. 

All  these  conclusions,  and  innumerable  others  which 
naturally  flowed  from  them,  we  must  now  hold  to  be  utterly 
false  and  groundless.  Ever}^  thing  denotes,  on  the  contrary, 
that  the  earth,  and  its  productions,  liave  been  nearly,  if  not 
entirely,  uniform,  ever  since  they  came  from  the  hand  of  the 
Creator.  We  have  not  yet  discovered,  it  is  true,  an  existing 
variety  of  the  elephant,  exactly  similar  to  that  which  has  re 
ceived  the  title  of  mastodon  among  geologists  ;  but,  as  we 
have  now  advanced  so  important  and  unexpected  a  step  with 
respect  to  the  mammoth,  we  may  not  altogether  despair  of 
still  becoming  acquainted,  at  some  future  time,  with  a  living 
mastodon.  Science  is  a  plant  of  but  tardy  growth,  even  un 
der  the  most  favourable  circumstances  of  civilized  society  ; 
much  more,  then,  in  countries  where  such  fostering  care  can 
not  be  afforded  for  its  protection.  In  our  eastern  possessions, 
for  example,  so  far  removed  as  they  are  from  the  parent 
country,  there  must  still  be  the  richest  field  for  scientitic  re 
search  in  every  branch  of  Natural  History.  Our  young  men 
have,  however,  for  the  most  part,  hitherto  gone  out  at  an  age 
when  the  mind  is  unprepared  to  take  advantage  of  the  vivid 
impressions  which  novelty  affords.  We  soon  become  famil- 
iarized to  what  was,  at  first,  new  and  surprising  ;  and  we  are, 
afterwards,  incapable  of  perceiving  that,  what  is  an  every  day 
occurrence  in  a  foreign  land,  may  prove  of  the  highest  interest 
to  science  in  our  own  more  cultivated  societies.  Thus,  for 
example,  has  this  shaggy  race  of  elephants  been  seen,  for 
years,  by  numbers  of  our  countrymen,  without  any  one  hav- 
ing thought  of  its  being  more  interesting  than  the  common 
breed.  Geology,  or  general  science,  is,  probably,  but  little 
thought  of,  in  a  country  where  business  must  require  all  that 
exertion  and  energy  of  the  mind,  which  is  not  dissipated  by 
the  debilitating  eifects  of  the  climate.  We  have,  it  is  true, 
made  a  most  rapid  progress  in  our  knowledge  of  Natural  His- 
tory within  the  last  half  century  ;  but,  with  almost  all  China, 
the  greater  part  of  Africa,  and  nearly  the  whole  of  New  Hol- 
land, still  before  us,  unexplored,  we"  probably  have-  much  to 
learn,  before  we  reach  the  boundaries  of  so  wide  a  field  for 
inquiry.* 

Wheawe  consider,  on  the  other  hand,  the  unfathomable 


depths  of  the  ocean,  an  element  to  which  many  of  those  ani- 
mals must  have  belonged,  which  we  now  generally  look  upon 
as  extinct,  it  nmst  be  admitted  to  be  extremely  probable,  that 
many  of  our  conclusions  on  that  head  have  been  inconsider- 
ate and  hasty.  We  have  long  been  amused,  from  time  to 
time,  with  reports  of  what  have  been  termed  sea  serpents,  of 
enormous  dimensions ;  and  these  accounts,  though  coming 
from  a  great  variety  of  persons  and  places,  have  usually  been 
set  down  to  the  account  of  ignorance  and  fable.  Without 
being,  by  any  means,  an  implicit  believer  in  such  stories,  I 
cannot  but  think  it  possible,  and  even  highly  probable,  that 
there  are  still  many  things  in  the  wide  earth  "  but  little 
dreamt  of  in  our  philosophy ;"  and  that  some  such  monsters 
of  the  deep  may  exist,  and  be  occasionally  seen,  as  has  so 
often  been  asserted  by  many  respectable  persons.* 

It  %vas,  formerly,  one  of  the  well  know  facts  of  geology, 
that  there  had  once  existed  a  species  of  carnivorous  elephants. 
This  extraordinary  idea,  arising  from  the  form  of  the  teeth  of 
the  mastodon,  is  now  entirely  exploded.  It  was,  also,  a  pre- 
vailing opinion,  and  reasoned  upon  as  another  of  these  well 
k-nnwn  facts,  that  that  animal  must  have  been  a  native  of 
.tmcrica,  as  his  fossil  remains  were  onlj'  found  in  that  country; 
thus  encouraging  the  groundless  notion,  that  the  continents  of 
the  New  World  had  existed,  a«  they  now  do,  before  the  flood. 
This  idea  has  been  subsequently  proved  to  be  as  unfounded 
and  false,  as  so  many  other  parts  of  the  theories  of  philosophy. 
It  may  be  admitted,  that  the  remains  of  this  particular  spe- 
cies of  the  elephant  have  been,  hitherto,  oftener  observed  in 
America,  than  elsewhere  ;  and  if  it  were  necessary,  it  would 
not  be  difficult  to  advance  very  plausible  theories  to  ac- 
count for  the  predominance  of  the  fossil  remains  of  one 
species  over  another,  in  particular  localities,  in  the  same 
manner  as  we  find  the  greater  part  of  one  deposit  to  consist 
offish,  and  of  another  of  bones,  or  shells. 

Such  currents  of  the  ocean  as  now  sweep  along  the  coasts 
of  New  Holland,  must,  at  the  period  of  the  deluge,  have 
somewhere  deposited  those  animal  bodies  which  might  have 
belonged  exclusively  to  any  similar  portion  of  the  former  dry 
lands.  In  the  direction  of  this  branch  of  the  currents,  or  in 
any  of  the  eddies  which  it  might  chance  to  have  occasioned, 
we  should  certainly  look  for  such  fossil  remains  as  would  be 
rarely  found  in  other  parts  of  the  bed  of  the  sea.  In  the 
event  of  such  a  calamity,  in  the  present  day,  the  peculiar 
animal  and  vegetable  productions  of  New  Holland  would 
certainly  attract  a  great  share  of  attention,  and  be  productive 
of  much  theory  in  philosophy,  supposing  that  we  had  still 
remained  ignorant  of  the  existence  of  that  immense  country, 
and  of  its  curious  productions,  as  we  were  half  a  century  ago. 
But,  as  my  object  is  rather  to  treat  of  facts  than  of  theories,  I 
shall  proceed  to  give  an  interesting  instance  of  the  fossil  mas- 
todon in  our  own  country,  and  in  the  immediate  neighbourhood 
of  one  of  the  most  extensive  and  remarkable  diluvial  deposits 
with  which  we  are  any  where  acquainted.  We  know,  that, 
in  America,  the  remains  of  both  the  mastodon  and  mammoth 
are  constantly  discovered  in  the  same  soils.  This  circum- 
stance would,  of  itself,  be  suflicient  to  destroy  the  whole 
theory  of  geologists,  who  confine  the  mastodon  to  America, 
as  they  do  the  gigantic  elk  to  Ireland,  or  the  Isle  of  Man, 
because  his  remains  happen  to  have  occurred  in  those  coun- 
tries, in  several  instances.  One  undoubted  instance  of  the 
mastodon  in  Europe  would  be  sufficient,  then,  for  the  support 
of  the  system  we  are  now  defending;  and  we  cannot  have 
the  smallest  doubt,  that,  however  rare  these  instances  may, 
as  yet,  have  been,  a  more  intimate  and  general  acquaintance 
with  the  distinguishing  features  of  the  two  fossil  varieties, 
(^whicli  are  only  to  be  known  by  the  form  of  the  grinders,) 
will  make  us  acquainted  with  many  more  instances  than  we 
have  at  present  heard  of.  I 

In  a  former  part  of  this  treatise,  and  in  quoting  from  the 


•AVe  cinnot  peruse  the  Monthly  Transactions  of  our  different 
Scientific  Societies,  without  perceiving  descriptions  of  animals  and 
things  not  already  described,  and  entirely  "new  to  Science." 


*  Amongst  the  fossil  animals  -h  hich  are  now  looked  upon  as  extinct, 
are  some  species  of  tlie  saurian,  or  crocodile  tribe.  When  we  con- 
sider, that  by  far  the  greater  part  of  the  interior  of  Africa  is  still 
unexplored,  and  that  we  are  but  partially  acquainted  with  the  pro- 
ductions, even  of  its  known  rivers,  we  must  suspend  oiu"  judgment 
on  tlie  subject  of  the  extinct  species  of  the  crocodile  ;  and  we  may 
reason  from  analog}',  tliat  we  shall  still  become  acquainted  with 
many  new  things  ;  and  mav  conclude,  that  every  new  discovery  will 
tend  to  show  the  literal  truth  of  the  Inspired  Kecord,  and  the  provi- 
dent care  of  the  Creator,  for  the  preservation  of  all  created  species. 
The  crocodile  of  the  Ganges  differs  much  in  form  from  that  of  the 
Nile,  and  greatly  resembles  one  variety  of  the  supposed  extinct  fos- 
sil species. 

+  Professor  Buckland  mentions  the  bones  of  the  mastodon  as  hav- 
ing formed  a  part  of  that  remarkable  fossil  deposit,  formerly  alluded 
to,  on  tlie  baiiks  of  tlie  Arno,  iu  Italv. 


GEOLOGY  OF  SCRIPTURE. 


101 


interesrins:  communication  of  Mr.  Layton,  on  the  fossil  re- 
mains of  tlie  coast  of  Norfolk,  mention  is  especially  made  of 
the  skeleton  of  the  "^eat  mastodon"  having  heen  found 
nearly  entire,  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Norwich.  Being 
desirous  of  ascertaining  upon  what  certain  grounds  this 
skeleton  was  called  that  of  the  great  mastodon,  1  wrote  to 
Mr.  Layton,  to  request  some  further  explanation  on  the  sub- 
ject; and,  in  reply,  I  had  the  pleasure  of  receiving  the 
following  interesting  statement. 

"  Your  doubt,  as  to  the  great  mastodon  being  found  in 
Norfolk,  came  not  at  all  unexpected.  I  should  have  doubted 
it  myself  under  almost  any  other  circumstances ;  as  it  is,  I 
feel  sure  and  certain  of  the  fact. 

"  I  lived  at  Catfield,  in  Norfork,  six  miles  from  Hasbo- 
rough,  and  about  as  far  from  Horstead.  From  this  latter 
place,  marl  (•«"//  chulk,  with  regular  layers  of  Jiiitl,  about  fuur 
feet  opart,  or  less,)  is  carried  to  all  the  villages  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood, to  be  spread  upon  the  lands.  A  boatman,  who  was 
in  the  habit  of  bringing  me  fossils,  brought  a  grinder  of  this 
mastodon  as  a  curiosity,  saying,  it  had  been  found  in  the  marl, 
and  given  to  him  by  the  head  pitman.  It  was  the  posterior 
portion  of  the  grinder  of  the  great  mastodon,  (I  am  certain  of 
the  fact,)  containing,  as  far  as  I  recollect,  eight  points,  none 
of  which  had  been  cut,  or  brought  into  use.  On  the  first 
opportunity,  I  went  to  make  inquiry  about  it  at  the  chalk  pit. 
'Ihe  pitman  pointed  out  to  me  the  place  where  it  was  found, 
and  said ,  that  the  whole  animal  was,  as  it  were,  lying  on  its  side, 
stretched  out  on  the  surface  of  the  marl.  He  described  it  as 
being  very  soft,  and  that  a  great  part  of  it  would  at  first  spread 
like  butter;  the  whole,  however,  had  been  thrown  down  along 
with  the  marl,  and  carried  away.  He  said  ho  had  looked 
upon  it  as  very  airinus  indeed,  but  of  no  use ;  and  he  had  kept 
that  piece  of  the  tooth  merely  by  accident.  He  afterwards  found 
another  fragment  or  two  of  the  bones,  in  his  garden,  where  he 
had  thrown  them,  and  he  sent  them  to  me.  Tluy  are  now  in 
my  possession,  but  I  am  not  able  to  fdentify  them  with  the 
mastodon,  as  distinguished  from  the  mammoth,  or  elephant. 
The  grinder  I  sent  to  Dawson  Turner,  Esq.,  of  Great  Yar- 
mouth, who,  probably,  has  it  now.  Smith,  in  his  '  Strata 
Identified,'  has  given  the  figure  of  a  very  fine  grinder,  (mas- 
todon's,) said  to  have  been  found  at  Whitlingham,  by  Nor- 
wich;  and  Mr.  Woodward,  of  Norwich,  has  a  fragment, 
which  appears  to  be  half  of  one  of  the  points  of  a  mastodon's 
grinders,  found  at  bramerton,  adjoining  Whitlingham." 

V\'e  have  here  the  most  clear  and  unquestionable  statement 
of  this  interesting  fossil  body,  and  on  the  testimony  of  one, 
who  not  only  possesses,  perhaps,  the  most  perfect  collection 
of  the  teeth  of  the  mammoth  any  where  existing,  (amountino- 
to  70,  of  all  ages  and  sizes,  selected  out  of  nearly  200,)  but 
who  has,  also,  made  this  curious  part  of  geological  research 
his  particular  study ;  and  who,  therefore,  could  not  possibly 
be  misled  with  respect  to  the  animal  in  question,  distinguish- 
ed, as  it  so  clearly  was,  by  the  form  of  its  grinders.  And  we 
liave  thus  a  well-defined  instance  of  the  fossil  existence  of  a 
species  of  animal,  in  our  own  soils,  which  has  lono-  been 
looked  upon  as  exclusively  confined  to  the  continents  of 
America  alone. 

One  of  the  most  remarkable  features  of  both  the  known 
fossil  varieties  of  the  elephant,  appears  to  have  been  the  oc- 
casional horn-like,  or  spiral  form  of  the  tusk.  It  is  the  opinion 
of  some  able  comparative  anatomists,  that  all  the  tusks,  even 
of  modern  elephants,  have  a  tendency  to  this  particular  shape ; 
but  this  opinion  does  notappear  to  be  supported  eilher  by  the 
fossil  or  the  recent  specimens  of  ivory.  The  largest  recent 
tusks  with  which  we  are  acquainted,  have  seldom  been  found 
to  exhibit  much  indication  of  this  form  ;  and,  on  the  other 
hand,  many  fossil  tusks  have  been  found  as  uniform  in  their 
bend  as  those  of  the  common  elephants  most  generally  exhi- 
bited in  Kuropc.* 


We  are  not,  however,  to  infer  from  these  variable  eviden- 
ces, either  that  nil  fossil  elephants  had  spiral  tusks,  or  that 
all  recent  ones  have  those  of  a  simple  bend  upwards.* 

On  this  latter  point,  as  upon  the  subject  of  the  teeth  of  the 
mastodon,  we  must  reserve  our  judgment  until  we  have  a 
more  perfect  knowledge  of  all  the  existing  varieties.  We 
ought  to  learn  caution  on  subjects  which  involve  such  import- 
ant conclusions,  from  the  numerous  instances  we,  from  time 
to  time,  experience,  of  being /orced  to  give  up  what  had  long 
been  looked  upon  as  well  established  facts.  From  such  in- 
stances we  may  safely  infer,  that  naJure  has  not  undergone 
such  total  changes  as  we  are  generally  taught  to  suppose. 
The  planet  we  inhabit,  together  with  its-animal  and  vegetable 
productions,  remains  governed  bv  the  same  general  laws  it 
ever  has  been  subjected  to,  since  'the  creation.  The  numer- 
ous revolutions  of  the  continental  geology  must,  therefore, 
now  be  reduced  to  the  o.ve  great  revolution,  recorded  in  the 
Inspired  Writings,  and  of  which  we  have  now  been  tracing 
so  many  unquestionable  proofs.  \Vc  aie  thus,  every  day, 
more  and  more  securely  confirmed  in  the  confidence  to  be  re- 
posed in  these  inestimable  records;  and  the  more  closely  we 
examine  ihe  evidences  by  which  they  are  corroborated,  the 
more  striking  is  their  resemblance  to  some  deep  bedded  rock, 
on  which  the  angry  waves  of  scepticism  are  for  ever  breaking 
in  vain.| 


CHAPTER  Xni. 

Human  Fossil  Remains. —  Why  they  cannot  be  so  numerous  at 

those  of  other  Animals. — Limc-^tone   Caves  and  f'isstires. 

Jin  Example  in  the  Cave  of  Oaylcnreuth,  with  its  Fosfll  Con- 
tents.—JJr.   Auckland's   Theory  of  Caves   and   Fissures.— 

Human  Fossils  found  at   Guadaloupe. — Aho  at  Durf/rt. 

Great  Fo-isil  Deposits  in  Spain,  containing  Human  Bimes. 

Quarries  at  Kostritz,  containing  Human  Hones. — Xatural 
Conclusions  from  the  above  Account. — /Jr.  l)ucklnnd''s  Cmi- 
clusion  rejipecting  Kostritz  inconsistent  with  other  parts  of 
his  Theory. — Caves  and  Fissures  in  Lime-stone.— General 
spread  of  Diluvial  Effects. 

W'e  now  come  to  the  consideration  of  a  part  of  the  subject 
of  organic  fossil  remains  in  rocks  and  soils,  which  has, 
hitherto,   occasioned    very  considerable  difficulty,  and   has 


*  It  18  highly  interesting  to  trace  the  history  of  such  immense  ani- 
mals as  the  elephant ;  and  when  we  consider  tlie  high  value  that  has, 
at  all  times,  been  set  upon  his  tusks  as  an  article  of  commerce,  it 
appears  surprising  that  the  whole  race  has  not,  long  since,  become 
extinct.  AVc  know  that  elephants  are  in  some  countries  hunted  ex- 
clusively for  the  sake  of  their  ivory,  although  some  portion  of  our 
supply  may  also  be  derived  from  teeth  found  in  the  woods,  when 
the  animals  die,  or  are  destroyed  by  wild  beasts.  From  the  year 
1788  to  17TO,  tliere  was  imported  into  Britain  at  the  rate  of  1576 
hundred  weight  of  ivory  annually !  Now,  if  we  take  the  average 
weight  of  each  tusk  at  40  pounds,  which  is  a  very  low  estimate,  we 
find  that  upwards  of  tiao  tlimtsand  of  these  noble  animals  must  have 
perished  each  year,  to  supplv  the  British  market  alone !  Some  tusks 
have  been  know  n  to  weigh  from  325  to  350  pounds  :  and  100  pounds 
is  not  an  uncommon  weight ;  so  that  the  above  number  is,  probably, 
ratlicr  below  than  above  tlio  real  annual  consumption.    If  we  add 


to  tins  the  supply  necessary  for  the  rest  of  Europe,  and  of  tlie  East- 
ern nations,  our  astonishment  is  excited  at  llie  number  of  elephants 
that  must  annually  perish;  and  at  llic  vast  extent  of  wild  country 
through  which  such  herds  must  range,  in  seeking  their  subsistence. 

•  In  the  Museum  of  the  College  of  Edinburgh,  lliere  are  l«o  very 
large  fossil  tusks,  from  Siberia.  One  of  these  is  iierfectly  formed, 
« iib  one  sinqile  bend  ;  the  oilier  is  very  slightly  of  the  cornuform', 
which  appears,  in  that  instance,  quite  accidental. 

+  Before  concluding  tlie  consideration  of  tlie  varieties  of  the  fossil 
elephant,  I  cannot  omit  tllis  0|iportunity  of  correcting  an  error  in 
which  our  ideas  of  these  antediluvian  animals  have  been  involved  : 
and  this  explanation  may  serve  to  show  how  easily  the  public  mind 
may  be  misled  by  the  most  trifling  and  casual  circumsUmces.  I  am 
enabled  to  mention  the  following  tact,  on  the  authority  of  Mr.  Clift, 
of  the  Koyal  College  of  Surgeons,  who  kindly  communicated  it  to  me, 
and  has  permitted  me  to  make  it  public. 

In  llie  year  1799,  a  great  fossil  deposit,  of  animal  remains,  was 
discovered  near  Xewburgh,  on  the  Hudson  River  ;  and  in  this  tliere 
were  found  so  many  bones  of  tile  fossil  elephant,  called  the  masto- 
don, that  two  nearly  complete  skeletons  were  constructed,  w  ith  some 
little  assisUincc  from  artificial  means.  The  most  perfect  of  these  re- 
mained at  Philadelphia,  while  tlie  other  was  brought  over  for  exhibi- 
tion in  London ;  and,  in  the  year  180'2,  we  were  tlius,  for  the  first 
time,  jiresentcd  with  a  specimen  of  the  carnivorous  elephant,  (as  it 
was  then  thought  to  be.) 

This  curious  specimen  excited  much  attention  for  a  time,  and  some 
idea  of  its  purchase  was  entertained  ;  but  the  price  demanded  bcin" 
great,  a  report  arose,  and  was  soon  circulated,  tiiat  it  was  notliing 
but  the  skeleton  of  a  common  elephant,  and  was,  therefore,  notwor- 
lliy  of  so  much  attention.  This  idea  threatened  seriously  to  affect  tjie 
profits  of  tlie  exhibitor ;  and,  in  order  to  prevent  this,  and  to  keep 
up  public  attention  in  favour  of  a  highly  ingenious  and  deserving 
individual,  who  had,  at  great  expense,  introduced  so  rare  an  object 
amongst  us,  the  late  Dr.  Shaw,  of  the  British  Museum,  suggested 
the  idea  of  humouring  the  public  ;  and,  by  changing  tlie  position  of 
the  tusks,  of  thus  giving  a  totally  different  appearance  to  the  animal, 
and  restoring  its  credit  as  a  rare  and  interesting  object.  This  idea 
was  immediately  adopted.  The  tusks,  which  had  been  very  properly 
placed  so  as  to  point  upwards,  as  in  the  common  elephant,  »  ere  now- 
reversed,  and  placed  downwards  ;  and  one  of  the  great  resemblances 
to  the  conimon  race  having  now  disappeared,  the'animal  again  came 
into  public  favour,  and,  no  doubt,  was  considered  as  much  more 


102 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


thrown  a  shade  of  doubt  and  uncertainty  over  the  historical 
account  of  the  deluge,  which,  liowever,  appears  to  be  totally 
unwarranted  by  facts.  I  allude  to  the  rarity  o{  human  fossil 
remains  amongst  those  of  the  animated  beings,  which  are  fre- 
quently discovered  in  such  abundance  on  the  earth.  For,  it 
is  objected,  if  all  the  human  race,  excepting  one  single  family, 
perished  by  the  flood,  at  a  period  when  the  population  of  the 
world  must  have  been  very  considerable,  there  can  be  no 
good  reason  given  why  we  should  not  also  find  their  remains 
in  the  same  abundance  as  those  of  other  animals,  on  every 
part  of  the  surface  of  the  present  dry  lands. 

In  reply  to  this  objection,  it  may  be  answered,  that  there 
can  be  no  doubt  that  we  have  a  consistent  right  to  expect, 
occasionally,  to  find  such  fossil  remains.  But  that  we  should 
discover  them  in  any  thing  like  the  abundance  in  which  we 
find  the  remains  of  other  animals,  would  be  to  expect  what, 
from  the  very  nature  of  the  case  itself,  must  be  an  utter 
impossibility. 

When  we  look  back  to  the  early  history  of  the  world,  and 
consider  that  man  was  created,  one  male  and  one  female,  from 
whom  the  whole  human  race  was  to  spring;  while  ail  the 
other  species  of  animated  beings  wore  produced  "  ubundant- 
ly,''''  and  the  earth  at  once  replenished  with  them ;  we  must 
readily  perceive,  that  at  the  end  of  any  given  period,  such, 
for  instance,  as  the  1G56  years  between  the  creation  and  the 
deluge,  there  could  be,  numerically,  no  proportion  between 
the  race  of  man  and  that  of  other  animals.*  We  should 
come  to  the  same  conclusion,  even  in  our  own  times,  and  in  the 
most  populous  countries,  where,  as  in  England,  the  number 
of  inhabitants  bears  but  a  small  proportion  to  that  of  quadru- 
peds and  birds. f  Much  more  then,  if  we  extend  our  view 
generally,  over  the  whole  inhabited  earth,  where  the  immense 
forest  tracts  are  peopled  with  milliuns  of  quadrupeds  and 
birds,  for  every  hundred  of  the  human  species. 

For  instance,  if  we  conceive  any  such  event  as  the  deluge 
to  happen  to  the  continent  of  America,  at  tlie  present  time, 
when  the  wilds  of  that  country  are  swarming  with  deer,  wild 
cattle,  horses,  and  every  inferior  race  of  quadrupeds  and 
birds,  with  a  human  population,  scarcely  worth)'  of  calcula- 
tion, in  proportion :  we  should  feel  no  surprise,  if,  on  being 
enabled  to  examine  the  wreck,  we  should  discover  the  re- 
mains of  the  former,  in  thousands  of  instances,  for  one  of  the 
latter.:j:  Instead,  then,  of  exciting  astonishment,  or  creating 
doubt,  tlie  circumstance  of  the  comparative  rarity  of  /luman 


fierce  and  cariiivorous  looking  than    it  ^vas  before,  being  tlius  fur- 
nished witli  hooks  for  the  capture  of  its  prey. 

Drawings  aiui  cngravhigs  were  made  of  tiie  skeleton  in  tliis  dis- 
guise ;  ami,  from  that  time  to  the  present,  tlie  common  impression  of 
the  public,  with  respect  to  the  mastodon,  is,  tliat  it  was  a  fierce  and 
Jiesh  eating  animal,  and  quite  unlike  the  modern  race  of  elephants. 
In  a  late  number  oi  a  cheap  and  po|)idar  publication,  intended  for 
the  difi'usion  of  knowledge  amongst  tlie  poor,  the  figui-e  of  tlie  mas- 
todon, or  the  mammoth,  is  accordingly  given  with  the  tusks  placed 
in  this  unnatm-al  and  inconvenient  position. 

*  "  The  kingdom  of  Congo,  like  most  other  parts  of  Africa,  pro- 
duces a  prodigious  variety  of  w  ild  animals.  Amongst  the  most 
remarkable  are  the  elephants,  which  are  found  chieflv  in  Bam'da,  a 
province  abounding  witli  woods,  pastures  and  plenty  of  water.  They 
go  ill  troops  of  100  or  more,  and  some  are  said  to  be  of  so  monstrous 
a  size,  that  the  prints  of  tlieir  feet  measure  from  four  to  seven  spans. 
They  delight  in  bathing  during  the  heat  of  the  day.  Lions,  of  im- 
mense size,  tigers,  wolves  and  other  beasts  of  prey,  abound  in  this 
country.  The  zebra,  the  wild  ass,  tlie  buffalo,  and  numerous  tribes 
of  deer  and  antelopes,  are  all  most  abundant ;  and  tlie  forests  swarm 
■with  hyienasand  wild  dogs,  which  hunt  in  packs  willi  dreadfid  bowl- 
ings."— Jiibliot.   Univers.  tie  J'oifaci'es. 

t  The  population  of  England,  which  is  not  exceeded  by  that  of 
any  counti-y  in  Kurope,  in  proportion  to  its  extent,  is  about  ten  or 
eleven  millions.  It  is  calculated  that  tliere  are  about  Iwentj^-six 
millions  of  sheep  in  this  countiy  alone  ;  and  if  we  include  Scotland 
and  Wales,  where  the  disproportion  is  infinitely  greater,  we  may 
form  some  tolei*able  idea  of  )iow-  the  matter  stands,  wjien  we  add  to 
the  sheep,  every  other  species  of  tjuadruped  and  bird,  willi  which 
our  woods  and  plains  are  so  abundantly  peopled. 

\  *'The  Missouri  and  Arkansas  territories,  which  would  be  capa- 
ble of  sustaining,  probably,  more  than  fift)'  millions  of  inhabitants, 
if  in  a  state  of  civilization,  arc,  at  present,  occupied  by  somediing 
more  tlian  one  hundred  thousand  Indians;  and  they  have  been  com- 
puted to  contain  about  one  million  of  square  miles." 

*'Tlie  buffaloes  go  in  immense  herds,  and  no  one,  ignorant  of  the 
extent  of  these  fertile  prairies,  can  form  any  idea  of  the  countless 
myriads  that  are  spread  over,  and  find  support  on  tlicni. " — Himta's 
Memoirs  of  Ms  Captivity  among  the  A'orth  .imerican  Indians. 

"On  the  south  of  the  river  Saladillo,  (in  Buenos  Ayres,)  are  the 
immense  ])lains  of  Pampas,  which  iiresent  a  sea  of  waving  grass  for 
7Une  hundred  miles.  Their  luxuriant  herbage  aftbrds  pasitire  to  in- 
numerable herds  of  cattle,  which  rove  about  unow  ncd  and  unvalued: 
lliey  are,  also,  the  abode  of  immense  troops  of  w  ild  liorses,  deer, 
ostriches,  armadillos  and  everv-  sort  of  game. " 


fossil  remains,  ought  rather  to  be  looked  upon  as  the  strongest 
confirmation  of  the  general  history  of  the  earth,  which  we  are 
now  considering.  We  must  keep  in  mind,  too,  that  it  is  only 
within  a  few  years,  and  in  a  very  confined  portion  of  the 
whole  earth,  that  fossil  remains,  in  diluvial  formations,  have 
excited  the  attention  which  they  now  do:  and  that  before  the 
study  of  comparative  anatomy  became  so  common  as  it  now 
is,  many  bones  must  have  been  frequently  discovered  which 
ought  to  have  been  considered  under  this  head,  but  which 
were,  in  ignorance,  mistaken  for  those  of  other  animals,  or 
attributed  to  some  more  recent  era.  It  is  certain  that,  at  all 
times,  since  the  deluge,  such  remains  must  frequently  have 
been  foiuid ;  but,  in  the  ignorance  and  darkness  of  past  ages, 
these  instances  have  generally  been  overlooked  and  forgotten. 
Besides,  as  such  discoveries  must  almost  always  be  made, 
even  in  our  own  enlightened  daj',  by  the  most  ignorant  of  the 
people,  instances  must  still  frequently  occur,  which  would  he 
of  the  highest  interest  to  science,  but  which  are  lost  or  forgotten 
from  the  thoughtless  ignorance  of  the  peasants  who  discover 
them.* 

This  darkness  is,  however,  at  least  in  our  own  country, 
passing  rapidly  away  ;  and  the  love  of  science  is  now  spread- 
ing from  our  own  shores  into  every  part  of  the  habitable 
globe ;  from  whence,  we  may  hope,  that  the  instances  of  di- 
luvial human  fossil  remains  will  soon  be  greatly  accumulated, 
and  will  afibrd  us,  from  year  to  year,  additional  corroborative 
evidences  of  the  true  history  of  the  earth.  When  we  con- 
sider, indeed,  the  fiiw  spots  on  the  surface  of  the  globe,  either 
by  art,  or  by  nature,  laid  open  to  our  inspection,  we  ought, 
perhaps,  to  feel  surprise  at  the  extent  to  which  our  knowledge 
has  already  attained. 

There  is  no  part  of  the  systems  of  geology,  of  the  present 
day,  in  which  more  scepticism  is  evinced  than  in  the  instan- 
ces which  have  occurred  of  human  fossil  remains ;  and  it  has 
even  been,  by  some,  considered  nearly  certain,  that  human 
beings  had  not  been  created  at  the  period  when  the  other  ani- 
mals, whose  remains  we  find  in  a  fossil  state,  were  the  in- 
habitants of  the  earth.  The  instances  of  human  remains, 
which  have  been,  hitherto,  discovered,  are  not  indeed  numer- 
ous ;  but  they  are  abundantly  sufficient  for  the  support  of  the 
general  system  now  under  consideration :  and  the  instances 
which  I  am  now  about  to  mention,  bring  this  branch  of  onr 
subject,  in  the  most  natural  and  consistent  method,  within  the 
very  same  class  of  facts,  as  those  we  have  been,  hitherto, 
occupied  in  passing  under  our  review. 

Before  entering  upon  these  statements,  however,  it  may  be 
necessary  to  saj'  a  few  words  upon  the  subject  of  the  lime- 
stone caves  and  fissures,  in  which  such  animal  remains  are 
so  generallj'  found.  The  nature  of  some  lime-stone  rocks  to 
split  into  fissures,  and  to  become  perforated  in  all  directions, 
by  cavities  more  or  less  extensive,  is  well  known  to  have 
given  rise  to  one  of  their  geological  names,  that  of  carous 
limestone.  This  particular  character  is,  as  may  naturally  be 
supposed,  not  confined  to  any  country,  nor  to  any  district; but 
is  as  universal  as  the  extensive  secondary  formation  to  which 
it  belongs.  Aceordinglj',  innumerable  instances  of  such  cav- 
ities may  be  found  in  all  countries;  but  they  have,  of  late, 
come  more  especially  into  notice  from  the  organic  remains  of 
diluvial  destruction,  which  they  have,  in  a  great  variety  of 
instances,  been  found  to  contain.  The  cave  of  Gaylenreuth, 
in  Franconia,  has  long  been  celebrated  for  such  animal  re- 
mains ;  and  as  an  account  of  one  will  serve  to  give  a  very 
general  idea  of  all  such  caverns  or  fissures,  I  shall  here  give 
Dr.  Buckland's  account  of  it ;  without,  however,  entering,  in 
any  degree,  into  his  theory  of  the  means  by  which  the  ani- 
mal remains  of  this,  or  other  caves,  came  into  their  present 
remarkable  situation. 


•  On  three  several  occasions,  I  have  lately  had  opportunities  of 
remarking  the  careless  apathy  with  wliicli  discoveries,  most  inter- 
esting to  science,  were  regarded,  botli  by  overseers  and  labourers, 
in  extensive  works,  wheie  objects  were  eveiy  day  discovered,  most 
likelv  to  altiact  their  curiosity  and  attention.  In  the  coal  mines, 
both 'of  England  and  of  Scotland,  I  have  seldom  met  widi  any  work- 
man who  was  aware  that  trees  and  plants  were  visible  in  almost 
every  part  of  their  works  ;  tliev  have  no  difficulty  in  admitting  the 
fact  when  pointed  out  to  them';  but  the  situation  of  tliese  remains 
must  appear  so  improbable  to  tliem,  tliat  tliey  would  scarcely  credit 
the  evidence  of  tlieir  senses.  One  pitman,  in  a  Scotch  coal  mine, 
aiipeared,  however,  to  have  viewed  the  interesting  objects  around 
him  with  more  attention.  Observing  tliat  1  held  my  light  towards 
the  walls  and  roofs  of  the  gallery,  witliout,  however,  having  made 
any  remark  to  him,  he  said,  "  there  must  have  been  fine  confusion 
he're,  sir,  in  the  time  of  Noah."  I  could  not  help  wishing  that  this 
remark  had  come  from  some  leading  member  of  our  scientific 
societies. 


(lEOLOGY  OF  SCRIPTURE. 


103 


"The  mouth  of  this  cave  is  situated  in  a  perpcnJicular 
rock,  ill  the  highest  part  of  the  cliffs,  wliich  form  the  left  side 
of  the  valley  of  the  VVeissent  river,  at  an  elevation  of  more 
than  300  feet  above  its  bed.  We  enter  by  an  aperture,  about 
seven  feet  high,  and  twelve  feet  broad  ;  and,  close  to  it,  we  ob- 
serve an  open  fissure  rising  from  the  cave,  towards  the  table- 
land above.*  The  whole  consists  priiicipally  of  two  large 
chambers,  varying  in  breadth  from  ten  to  thirty  feet,  and  in 
height  from  three  to  twenty  feet.  The  roof  is,  in  most 
parts,  abundantly  hung  with  stalactite;  and,  in  the  first  cham^ 
ber,  the  floor  is  nearly  covered  with  stalagmite,  piled  in  ir- 
regular mamillated  heaps,  one  of  which,  in  the  centre,  is  ac- 
cumulated into  a  large  pillar,  nniting  the  roof  to  the  floor.f 

"From  the  first  chamber  we  descend,  by  ladders,  to  a  se- 
cond, the  floor  of  which  also  appears  to  have  been  overspread 
with  a  similar  crust :  this,  however,  has  been  nearly  destroy- 
ed by  holes  dug  through  it,  in  search  o{  the  prodigimis  rjuun- 
titiea  (if  bones  that  lie  beneath.  This  last  chamber  is  connecU-d 
by  a  low  and  narrow  passage,  with  a  smaller  cavern,  at  the 
bottom  of  which  there  is  a  circular  hole,  descending  like  a 
well,  about  twenty-five  feet,  and  from  three  to  four  in  diame- 
ter. The  circumference  of  this  hole,  in  desceiiding,  is,  for 
the  most  part,  composed  of  a  breccia  of  bones,  pt-bblrs,  and 
Ivani,  ccntented  by  stalagmite.  The  de])tti  to  which  this  ex- 
tends has  not  yet  been  ascertained.  The  roof  and  sides  of  all 
the  artificial  cavities,  (formed  in  the  search,)  are  crowded  witfi 
teeth  and  bones :  but  these  do  not  occur  in  the  roof  or  sides  of 
any  of  the  upper,  or  na/ura/ chambers,  above  the  level  of  the 
stalagmitic  crust  that  covers  the  floor.  This  observation  ap- 
plies equally  to  all  other  lime-stone  caverns  of  this  descrip- 
tion, and  is  important  on  account  of  the  erroneous  statements 
and  opinions  which  exist  on  this  subject.  The  floor  of  the 
first  chanihr-r  has  beon  already  stated  to  he  almost  entirely 
covered  with  a  crust  of  stalagmite.  Through  this  crust  large 
lioU's  have  been  dug,  and  in  these  we  see  a  bed  of  brown 
diluvial  Itinm  and  pebbles,  mixed  with  angular  fragments  of 
rock,  and  witli  tcelh  and  bones.  1  could  not  ascertain  the  dejilh 
of  this  diluvium. 

"  In  the  second  chamber  the  formation  is  of  the  same  de- 
scription, but  more  abiindiinlli/  taixled  with  bones.  Its  depth 
appears  to  be  irregular,  and,  in  some  parts,  extremely  deep. 
A  side  chamber  descends  rapidly  into  the  body  of  t\w  rock, 
awA  coa\a.\ns  curt  L)ads  of  teeth,  bones,  and  pebbles,  dispersed 
through  a  loose  mass  of  brown  diluvial  loam,  but  not  united 
by  stalagmite."  "  The  distribution  of  the  component  mate- 
rials of  the  breccia  of  these  caves  is  irregular;  in  some  parts 
the  earthy  matter  is  wholly  wanting,  and  we  have  simply  a 
congeries  of  u!;<;lutinatcd  bones ,-  in  others,  the  pebbles 
abound  ;  in  a  third  place,  one  half  of  the  whole  mass  is  loam, 
and  the  remainder  Icclh  and  hones.  The  state  of  preservation 
of  these  animal  remains,  when  incrusted  with  stalagmite,  is 
quite  perfect,  and  the  colour  a  yellowisii  white. "J 

This  cave  of  Gaylenrcuth  is  only  one  of  many  such  lime- 
stone caverns  in  the  same  neighbourhood,  all  turnished,  in 
this  manner,  with  similiar  witnesses  of  diluvial  destruction. 

Dr.  JJuckland'saccovinlof  the  cave  of  Kuhloch  is  truly  re- 
m-*rkablc.  "It  is  literally  true,"  says,  he  "that  in  this  single 
cavern,  (the  size  and  proportions  of  which  are  nearly  equal  to 
those  of  a  large  church,)  llicrc  are  hundreds  of  cart-had^  of 
black  ANIMAL  DUST,   entirely  covering  the  whole  floor  to  a 


•  It  may  here  be  impoi-tant  to  remark,  that  nearly  the  whole  of" 
this  i)art  of  Germany  I'oi-ms  one  great  table-land,  of  little  vai-iity  on 
tlie  surfate,  and  in  whicli  Uie  rivers,  (and  amongst otlii-rs,llie  Uliine,) 
run,  as  it  were,  iuti-enches,  the  sides  of  wlii(-h  often  prt-st-nt  a  pur- 
pentlicular  section  of  this  whole  sceondai-}'  formation  ;  and  the  sanu-- 
liess  of  character  in  V>otU  sides  of  which  greatly  (h-trai-ts  from  tlu- 
beaiity  of  the  scenci-y  for  which  the  Rhine  is  nioi-e  particularly  cele- 
brated. That  all  this  plain  countl-)-,  connected  as  it  is  with  tin-  low- 
er levels  of  Belgium  and  lloUatid,  on  one  sidir,  and  (»f  Poland  and 
Russia  on  anoMicr,  once  formed  the  bed  of  the  sea,  is  a  lad  so  jjL-n- 
crally  adniitlrd,  that  it  is  here  unnecessary  to  dwell  upon  it.  'I'lie 
pcriod  at  which  this  state  of  things  existed  heconies  a  more  ini- 
]»oi-tant  (piestion  ;  and  if  I  have  succeeded  in  proving  tliat  the  chalk 
formations  of  France,  and  of  England,  were  in  this  state  immedi- 
ately pre\'ious  to  tlie  Mosaic  deluge,  and  by  that  event  were  ele- 
vated to  their  present  level  above  tlie  waters,  vvc  can  have  no  hesi- 
tation in  carrying  the  same  level,  and  the  same  line  of  reasoning, 
over  all  those  plains  of  Germany,  in  which  these  cavities  are  found. 

t  When  water  is  filtered  through  lime-stone,  it  becomes  impreg- 
nated with  a  calcareous  princiiile  ;  and  when  exposed  to  evaporation 
in  llie  atmosphere,  it  deposits  a  stony  matter,  in  the  same  form  as 
icicles  in  a  moist  cave  or  cellar  ;  such  stony  icicles  are  often  seen  de- 
pendent from  the  arches  of  bridges  lately  constructed,  being  formed 
from  the  mortar  used  in  the  building.  'When  the  matter  is  formed 
on  the  roof  of  a  cave,  it  is  called  stalactite  ;  when  oji  the  floor,  it  is 
named  st^ilagmitc. 

4  Ueliq.  i)iluv.  page  133. 


depth  which  must  average,  at  least,  six  feet,  and  the  cubit 
contents  of  which  must  exceed  5000  feet.  If  we  allow  two 
cubic  feet  of  dust  and  bones  for  each  individual  animal,  we 
shall  have,  in  this  single  vault,  the  remains  of  at  least  2500 
BEARS,  a  number  which  may  have  been  supplied  in  the  space 
of  1000  years,  by  a  mortality  at  the  rate  of  two  and  a  half  per 
annum." 

Dr.  Buckland's  theory  of  the  mode  by  which  such  animal 
remains  became  enclosed  in  caves,  in  every  similar  situation, 
is  simply,  that  all  such  caverns  were,  before  the  deluge,  iV 
habited  by  wild  beasts,  which,  in  some  eases,  as  at  Kirkdale, 
accumulated  the  bones  of  their  prey  in  great  quantities  in  their 
dens ;  and  in  others,  as  in  the  above  mentioned  caves  of  Ger- 
many, the  animals  died  a  natural  death,  when  their  decom- 
posed remains  were  gradually  added  to  the  common  stock ; 
and  while  the  diluvial  currents  were  in  force,  the  waters, 
filling  these  caverns,  and  drifting  into  them  a  mixture  of  mud 
and  rolled  pebbles,  the  whole  mass  of  loam,  gravel,  and 
bones,  subsided  into  the  hollows  of  the  cave,  became  mixed 
up  together  in  the  confused  state  we  now  find  them ;  and, 
in  the  course  of  subsequent  j-ears,  the  whole  surface  be- 
came incrusted  with  stalagmite,  often  fonniiig  a  hard  and  stony 
breccia. 

As  to  the  bones  of  animals,  accompanied  with  loam  and 
gravel,  contained  in  the  fissures,  or  more  confined  cavities  of 
lime-stone  rocks.  Professor  Buckland  looks  upon  it  as  certain 
that  these  were  open  fissures  before  the  delude,  and  that  num- 
bers of  the  wild  animals  of  that  period,  endowed,  it  would 
seem,  with  a  much  smaller  degree  of  natural  instinct  than 
those  of  our  own  day,  carelessly  wandering  among  the  woods 
and  pastures,  fell  in,  and  perished.  That  the  bones  of  these 
animals  were  of  a  much  less  perishable  natarc,  than  in  our  own 
times,  is  thus  evident;  for,  during  the  whole  period,  previous 
to  the  deluge,  or  for  upwards  of  IGOO  years,  these  open 
fissures  preserved  their  animal  prey;  and  when  the  diluvial 
oravel  and  earthy  sediments  came  to  be  lodged  in  them,  the 
whole  of  the  bones  were  not  compressed  at  the  bottoia,  as  we 
should  naturally  have  expected,  but  were  mixed  up  in  com- 
plete chaos,  together  with  these  earthy  sediments  in  every 
part  of  the  fissures;  though  they  are,  in  numberless  cases,  of 
prodigious  depth  and  extent. 

Had  the  above  theory  respecting  caves,  being  formed  upon 
the  solitary  instance  of  one  cave,  or  even  a  set  of  caves  in  the 
same  locality,  containing  the  bones  of.  one  species  if  animal, 
such,  for  instance,  as  bears,  we  might  have  looked  upon  it  as 
not  only  highly  ingenious,  but  as  havipg  even  much  appear- 
ance of  probability  :  but  when  we  extend  our  view  over  the 
whole  earth,  and  coolly  examine  all  the  circumstances  of  in- 
numerable cases,  of  a  similar  nature,  we  cannot  fail  to  per- 
ceive the  inconsistency  of  the  whole  theory,  and  consequent- 
ly, that  the  abovementioned  "  animal  di  st"  must  he  attributed 
to  a  different  cause  from  that  of  the  gradual  decay  of  "two 
THOUSAND  FIVE  Hi'NDRED  BEARS  in  the  Space  o/lOOO  years,  at 
the  rale  of  two  and  a  half  per  annum  .'" 

Amongst  other  proofs  of  the  solid  foundation  on  which  this 
singular  theory  has  been  offered,  and  so  generally  accepted  as 
satisfactory,  by  the  scientific  world,  we  must  be  informed,  on 
the  surest  evidence,  of  some  one  posl-diliivial  cave,  inhabited, 
ike  Gaylenreuth,  by  hundreds  of  bears  at  the  same  time,  and 
of  the  unnatural  habit  of  these  animals  to  admit  of  even  two 
and  a  half  putrid  carcasses  in  the  year,  to  rot  and  moulder  to  a 
black  "  animal  dust"  under  their  very  feet.  The  range  of  the 
Jura  mountains  is  the  exact  situation  where  the  professor's 
search  ought  to  be  directed;  for  tliere,  in  a  climate  very  simi- 
lar to  that  of  Germany,  are  to  be  found,  in  considerable  abun- 
dance, not  only  bears  in  the  most  savage  slate,  hut  caves  and 
fissures,  of  lime-stone  rock,  of  exactly  a  similar  nature.  In 
Geneva,  the  tables  of  the  curious  arc  every  winter  spread 
with  this  species  of  game ;  and  the  peasants,  on  both  sides  of 
the  Jura,  are  so  partial  to  the  chase  of  the  bear,  that  his 
haunts  and  habits  are  as  well  known  as  those  of  the  red  deer 
to  the  Scottish  Highlander.  We  may  add  a  hope,  that  the 
Zoological  Societies  of  London,  with  that  zeal  tor  scientific 
information  for  which  they  are  so  distinguished,  W'ill  turn 
their  attention  to  this  important  and  interesting  trait  in  the 
natural  history  of  the  bear. 

I  shall  now  proceed  to  lay  before  my  readers  the  accounts 
of  such  undoubted  instances  of  human  fossil  remains  as  are  at 
present  known  to  science  :  and  that  I  may  avoid,  as  much  as 
possible,  all  appearance  of  prejudice,  in  favour  of  the  views  I 
am  at  present  supporting,  I  shall  quote  the  statements  of  these 
instances  from  the  works  of  writers  who  have  held  very  dif- 
ferent opinions  from  myself;  and  who  appear,  in  some  in- 
stances, to  have  written  these  accounts  under  a  general  and 


104 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


commonly  received  impression,  that  any  thing,  of  human 
form,  could  not  be  oi  aniediluvian  date,  or,  strictly  speaking, 
fossil.  It  is  not  difficult  to  trace  this  very  common,  though 
erroneous  impression,  to  those  theories  of  geology,  which 
cannot  imagine  any  stratum,  or  formation  of  rock,  to  have 
taken  place,  except  in  the  course  of  a  very  long  period  of  years ; 
and  by  which  the  immense,  yet  indefinite  age  of  the  globe,  is 
thus  looked  upon  as  a  firmly  established  fact.  By  those  theo- 
ries, a  regular  sttccession  of  creations  is  taught;  the  animals, 
found  in  the  lowest  secondary  strata,  being,  as  a  matter  of 
course,  less  recent  than  those  whose  remains  are  found  above 
them.  Man,  therefore,  having  been  rarely  found  in  a  fossil 
state,  his  remains,  when  discovered  in  rocks  or  soils,  are  gene- 
rally regarded  as  accidental  occurrences,  arising  from  ancient 
battle  fields,  falling  into  fissures,  or  the  like. 

It  may,  however,  be  safely  asserted,  that  in  the  whole  his- 
tory of  fossil  animal  remaius,  there  is  nothing  more  clearly 
defined,  or  more  completely  certain,  than  the  antediluvian 
date  of  many  human  fossils  ;  and  it  is  to  be  hoped,  that  the  fol- 
lowing statements  will  at  once  be  stripped  of  all  their  mystery, 
to  those  who  have  entered  into  the  line  of  reasoning  adopted 
in  this  treatise,  with  respect  to  the  newer  secondary,  or  dilu- 
vial strata  of  the  earth. 

The  first  account  which  I  propose  considering,  is  contained 
in  a  letter  from  Mr.  Kunig  to  sir  Joseph  Banks,  published  in 
the  Philosophical  Transactions  for  1814.  It  relates  to  the 
human  remains  embedded  in  limestone  rock,  at  Guadaloupe. 

"All  the  circumstances,"  says  Mr.  Konig,  "under  which 
the  known  depositions  of  bones  occur,  both  in  alluvial  beds, 
and  in  caves  and  fissures  of  the  flcetz  lime-stone,  tend  to 
prove,  that  the  animals  to  which  they  belonged,  met  their 
fate  in  the  very  places  where  they  now  lie  buried.  Hence, 
it  may  be  considered  an  axiom,  that  man,  and  other  animals, 
whose  bones  are  not  fonnd  intermixed  with  them,  did  not  co- 
exist in  time  and  place.  The  same  mode  of  reasoning  would 
fully  justify  us  in  the  conclusion,  that  if  those  catastrophes, 
which  overwhelmed  a  great  proportion  of  the  brute  creation, 
■were  general,  as  geognostic  observations,  in  various  parts  of  the 
world,  render  probable,  the  creation  of  man  must  have  been 
posterior  to  that  of  the  genera  and  species  of  mammalia, 
which  perished  at  the  great  cataclysm,  and  whose  bones  are 
so  thickly  disseminated  in  the  more  recent  formations  of 
rocks." 

I  must  here  remark,  that  it  is  not  my  object,  in  this  place, 
strictly  to  criticise  the  very  interesting  paper  from  which  the 
above  is  taken  ;  but  I  quote  the  preface,  in  order  to  show  the 
general  impression  under  which  the  whole  of  this  account 
was  written ;  an  impression  which  was  then  pretty  generally 
felt  amongst  all  geologists. 

After  nearly  20  years  of  additional  experience  and  know- 
ledge in  this  interesting  science,  it  may  be,  by  some,  con- 
sidered scarcely  fair  to  bring  forward  the  written  opinions  of 
those  early  times  ,■  and  I  should  certainly  feel  disposed  to  take 
this  view  of  the  subject,  were  it  not  that,  however  the  geo- 
logical views  of  the  able  author  of  this  paper  may  have 
changed,  with  regard  to  human  fossil  remains,  it  must  be 
admitted,  that  the  general  impression  on  this  branch  of  geo- 
logy, is,  at  the  present  day,  exactly  such  as  is  so  clearly 
defined  in  the  above  passage :  and  when  we  consider  the 
importance  and  weight  which  are  very  naturally  attached  to 
the  opinions  of  the  great  leaders,  in  the  scientific,  as  in  the 
political  world,  we  cannot  but  admit  the  necessity  which 
brings  those  public  and  important  documents  under  our  strict- 
est review. 

"  The  human  skeletons  from  Guadaloupe,  are  found  in 
that  part  of  the  windward  side  of  the  grande  terre,  called  La 
Moulle;  and  they  are  enveloped  in  what  M.  Lavaisse,  in  his 
Voyage  a  la  Trinidad,  (1813,)  calls  'Masses  de  Madrepore 
petrifies.'  The  block  brought  home  by  sir  Alexander  Coch- 
rane was  about  eight  feet  long,  by  two  and  a  half  wide, 
and  one  and  a  half  thick,  being  of  nearly  two  tons  weight.  Its 
shape  was  irregular,  approaching  to  a  flattened  oval.  Ex- 
cepting the  few  holes,  evidently  made  to  assist  in  raising  the 
block,  there  were  no  marks  of  a  tool;  and,  indeed,  the  whole 
hud  very  much  the  appearance  of  a  huge  nodule,  disengaged 
from  a  surrounding  mass.  The  situation  of  the  skeleton  in 
the  block  was  so  superficial,  that  its  presence  in  the  rock, 
on  the  coast,  had,  probably,  been  indicated  by  the  projection 
of  someof  the  more  elevated  parts  of  the  left  fore  arm." 

Mr.  Konig  then  proceeds  to  describe  minutely  the  deranged 
condition  of  the  bones,  and  states,  that  the  whole  of  them, 
when  first  laid  bare,  had  a  mouldering  appearance;  but,  after 
an  exposure  of  some  days  to  the  air,  they  acquired  a  con- 
siderable degree  of  hardness.     The  calcareous  rock  in  which 


these  human  remains  are  embedded,  is  an  aggregate,  composed 
chiefly  of  zoopHVTic  particles,  and  the  detritus  of  common 
lime-stone.  Its  general  colour  is  grayish  yellow,  and  it  is 
harder  than  statuary  marble.  Thtrc  were  shells  in  the  muss; 
one  of  which  appeared  to  be  the  turbo  pica  of  Linnaeus;  it 
was  in  a  worn  state,  and  the  brown  spots  were  still  distinctly 
seen  on  its  surface.  "  Besides  these  bodies,"  dontinues  Mr. 
Konig,  "I  found  near  the  surface  of  the  block,  part  of  a  bone 
of  a  concentric  lamellated  structure,  apparently  the  fragment 
of  a  tusk,  but  of  what  animal  I  was  unable  to  define.  From 
this  description  of  the  rock,  it  will  be  sufficiently  clear,  that 
it  is  by  no  means  of  a  stalactetic  character,  and,  therefore, 
cannot  be  compared  either  with  travertino,  or  any  other  chemi- 
cal calcareous  deposition  of  this  kind.  Its  origin  seems  un- 
questionably to  be  that  of  common  sand-stone ;  only,  that  the 
grains  of  winch  it  is  composed,  have,  in  some  parts,  become 
confluent,  and  have  formed  a  nearly  compact  lime-stone. 

"  Respecting  the  age  of  these  fossil  remains,  if  not  much 
positive  information  can  be  derived  from  the  preceding  de- 
tails, this  will  prove,  at  least,  that  the  enveloping  rock  is  not 
of  a  stalactetic  nature;  and  that  the  bones,  after  they  were 
deposited,  underwent  a  degree'of  violence,  which  dislocated 
and  fractured  them,  without  removing  the  fragments  to  a 
distance  from  each  other.  It  may,  therefore,  be  safely  con- 
cluded, that  the  surrounding  mass  must  have  been  in  a  soft 
or  scmi-Jluid  state;  which,  whilst  it  opposed  no  effi?ctual  re- 
sistance to  a  shock  from  without,  readily  filled  up  the  chasms 
produced  by  it."  M.  Lavaisse,  above  mentioned,  states,  that 
'  the  bed  of  lime-stone  in  which  these  nodules,  containing,  in 
many  instances,  human  fossil  bones,  are  found,  is  nearly  an 
English  mile  in  length  along  the  shore,  and  is  covered  by 
the  waves  at  high  water.'  " 

The  head  is  wanting  in  this  most  interesting  fossil  speci- 
men, and,  also,  the  right  arm,  both  the  feet,  and  the  ribs  of 
the  right  side.  Notwithstanding,  however,  this  imperfect 
condition,  the  general  form  stands  in  high  relief  from  the 
embedding  lime-stone ;  and  as  the  block  is  placed  in  an  up- 
right posture,  the  beautiful  proportions  of  a  female  form, 
which  appears  to  imply  youth,  and  a  striking,  though  fortui- 
tous resemblance  to  the  position  of  the  celebrated  Venus  de 
Medicis,  gives  to  the  whole  a  degree  of  intense  interest, 
which  no  other  known  fossil  can,  in  the  least  degree,  lay 
claim  to.  For,  in  contemplating  this  form  "of  other  days," 
the  mind  experiences  a  mixed  feeling  of  w  onder,  of  curiosity, 
and  of  commiseration.  We  long  to  be  made  acquainted  with 
the  personal  history,  and  to  take  an  interest  in  the  mental 
feelings  which  once  belonged  to  this  mortal  form.  What  a 
tale  of  woe  could  she  unfold,  if  now  again  endowed  with 
speech  !  The  dreadful  scenes  of  her  latter  days  w  ould  pre- 
sent a  picture,  which  the  most  lively  imagination  is  totally 
incapable  of  conceiving. 

The  mind  derives  a  painful  pleasure  in  dwelling  upon  the 
subject,  and  in  tracing,  in  various  colours,  the  incidents,  the 
language,  and  the  feelings,  by  which  this  stony  body  was 
once  influenced,  in  a  degree,  as  acute  as  we  ourselves  expe- 
rience. The  skull  of  Yorick  is  as  nothing,  when  compared 
to  this,  as  a  moral  lesson ;  for  in  the  delicate  female  form 
now  before  us,  we  contemplate  the  actual  bodily  remains  of 
one,  who  has  painfully  experienced  the  terrible  judgments  of 
an  OFFENDED  Deity.* 

I  shall  close  this  short,  but  interesting  account  of  the  hu- 
man fossils  of  Guadaloupe,  with  the  remark,  that  no  hesita- 
tion could  have  been  felt  as  to  their  being  of  antediluvian 
origin,  had  they  been  the  remains  of  quadrupeds,  and  not  of 
the  human  race  ;  but  so  strong  is  the  effect  of  pre-conception, 
that,  although  every  thing  here  tends  to  demonstrate  the  fact 
in  the  clearest  manner,  yet  the  mind  of  the  very  able  geolo- 
gist I  have  just  quoted,  found  a  difficulty  in  admitting  a  fact 
so  entirely  inconsistent  with  all  the  received  laws  of  the  con- 
tinental theories  of  geology. 

We  cannot  question,  however,  the  clearness  of  the  fact, 
that  this  interesting  specimen  is  the  mutilated  body  of  an  ante- 
dihu'ian  female,  which,  having  lost  the  head,  and  being,  in  other 
respects,  fur  gone  in  decay,  became  embedded,  in  this  shuttered 
state,  in  the '^muddi/  sediments  of  the  diluvial  waters;  which 
sediments,  composed  oi  shell i/  detritus,  and  having,  also,  em- 
bedded in  it  the  tusk  of  some  quadruped,  and  various  known 


»lna  former  arrangement  of  our  great  national  museum,  iJus, 
tlie  most  interesting  of'all  kno-nn  fossils,  occupied  a  highly  conspicu- 
ous place.  At  the  present  time,  it  is  concealed  in  an  obscure  corner 
of  an  obscure  closet.  It  is  to  be  hoped,  that  the  managers  of  the 
British  Museum  will  make  such  arrangement  as  may  again  exhibit 
this  specimen,  as  it  so  ■»  ell  merits,  in  "  the  place  of  honour"  of  our 
splendid  collection. 


GEOLOGY  OF  SCRIPTURE. 


105 


marine  shells,  has  since  been  hardened  into  "a  nearly  pUre 
l!me-3lone."  When  we  examine  the  specimen  of  the  croco- 
dile, taken  from  the  quarry  at  Shotover,  (and  now  in  Profes- 
sor Buckland's  collection  at  Oxtori,)  haviitf^ sea shelh  attached 
to  it,  we  never,  for  a  moment,  doubt  that  it  was  of  antedilu- 
vian origin.  Let  us  judge  of  this  human  fosxil,  accompanied, 
in  like  manner,  by  murine  porductions,  with  the  same  degree 
of  candour,  and  with  an  unprejudiced  mind  ;  and  the  theories 
which  thus  contradict  the  inspired  narrative,  with  respect  to 
the  period  of  the  creation  of  man,  must  for  ever  fall  to  the 
ground.* 

I  now  proceed  to  state  the  phenomena  exhibited  in  the 
lime-stone  formation  at  Durfort,  in  France,  as  they  are  de- 
tailed and  published  by  M.  D"Hombres  Firmas,  in  the  seven- 
teenth volume  of  the  Biblioteque  Universelle,  for  1821,  p.  33 

M.  Firmas  opens  his  account  of  these  phenomena,  by  re- 
marking, that  the  environs  of  Durfort,  near  Alais,  in  the  de- 
partment of  Garde,  in  the  South  of  France,  are  of  the  high- 
est interest  to  mineralogists,  from  the  mines  of  calamine, 
crystals  of  barytes,  and  other  minerals,  which  are  abundantly 
found  in  that  neighbourhood;  where  are,  also,  displayed  "  the 
most  astonishing  quantities  of  silicious,  calcareous,  and  py- 
ritous  petrified  shells,  some  of  which  are  of  the  rarest  sort." 

When  M.  Firmas  was,  for  the  first  time,  at  Durfort,  in 
1795,  he  was  informed  by  the  peasants  of  the  existence  of  a 
cave,  which  contained  what  they  called  petrified  men. 

He,  at  first,  thought  that  this  idea  must  have  arisen  from 
the  statactetic  formations  common  to  lime-stone  cavities;  and 
that  the  ignorant  superstition  of  the  peasants  must  have  at- 
tributed to  these  the  supposed  human  form.  They  added, 
however,  the  supposition,  common  in  the  country,  that  after 
some  very  ancient  battle,  the  dead  had  been  carried  to  this 
speciesof  catacomb,  which  was  every  where  known  by  the 
name  of  the  Baoumo  das  Marts.  These  reports,  however, 
made  him  very  desirous  of  visiting  the  cave,  and  he  was,  ac- 
cordingly, conducted  to  it,  a  little  way  to  the  north  of  the 
village,  and  almost  at  the  top  of  the  mountain  of  Lacoste, 
which  is  "of  the  old  limestone  formation,"  and  the  height  of 
which  is  about  500  feet  above  the  level  of  the  Mediterranean. 
The  mouth  of  this  cavern  consists  of  a  fissure  in  the  rock, 
into  which  one  is  obliged  to  descend  nearly  perpendicularly 
for  above  10  feet,  pressing,  with  the  back  and  the  knees, 
against  the  sides  of  the  fissures,  as  chimney-sweepers  do. 
They  at  length  entered  the  baume  des  mr/rts,  which  is  a  cavity 
not  more  than  10  or  12  feet  in  its  greatest  width,  and  in  which 
a  man  of  cnmnion  stature  can  scarcely  stand  upright.  The 
roof,  the  walls,  and  the  whole  interior  of  this  cave,  are  lined 
with  stalactite  of  a  dirty  white  colour,  approaching  to  brown. 
It  is  neither  vast  nor  brilliant  in  its  interior.  "  The  unequal 
ground  on  which  he  stood,  wns  formed  of  bones,  covered  with 
stalaifmile,  filling  all  the  intervals  which  had  separated  them, 
and  forming  a  solid  mass  of  various  dimensions." 

"  We  detached  some  fragments  from  this  mass,  by  means 
of  a  hammer  and  chisil;  they  were  filled  with  hones,  which 
we  recognized  as  human,  or,  at  least,  the  greater  part  of 
them  ;  for  there  were  many  so  broken  and  incrustcd,  that  we 
could  not  decide  whether  they  belonged  to  our  own  species, 
or  to  the  bodies  of  other  animals. 

"  We  have  shown  these  bones,  such  as  the  cranium,  the 
jaws,  and  other  parts,  to  some  of  the  savans  at  Paris,  and  they 
admit  not  of  a  doubt  as  to  what  they  must  have  originally 
belonged  to.  They  seemed  thrown  together,  pde-melc,  in 
the  pate,  which  incloses  them  ;  and  they  are  in  such  quanti- 
ties, that  they  formed  more  than  the  half  of  the  whole  mass." 

M.  Firmas  then  attempts  to  account  for  the  circumstances 


•  Thei-e  cannot  be  a  doubt,  that  if  this  rimc-stone  bed,  on  the  sea 
shore  of  Guailaloupe,  were  properly  examined,  or  if  there  were  oc- 
casion to  intersect  it  by  quai-ries,  we.  shoiil<l  soon  oliL-dn  many  olhcr 
conclusive  and  undeniable  proofs  of  its  diluvial  origin.  A  stratum 
of"  pure  lime-stone"  cannot  be  supposed  to  extend  a  mile,  or  more, 
along  a  coast,  without  also  extending  laterally,  in  an  inland  direc- 
tion, for  a  considerable  distance.  It  has  been  long  looked  upon  as 
the  most  probable  origin  of  this  bed,  that  the  vvatcrsof  the  sea  having, 
in  many  instances,  a  property  of  rapidly  depositing  calcareous  mat- 
ter, must  have  cemented  together  tlie  sands  ujjon  that  coast, and  thus 
]ietrified  e*ery  subsUince  that  happened  to  be  cmbediled  in  them. 
Tliis,  it  must  be  admitted,  is  taking  a  very  prejudiced  and  limited 
view  of  Ibe  subject ;  for  a  conglomerate,  thus  formed  of  the  varied 
particles  of  a  cummoii  sea  beach,  vi'ould  present  a  very  different  ap- 
pearance in  the  fracture,  from  what  is  exhibited  in  the  close  and 
eqiuil  texture  of  tlie  specimen  in  tlie  Britisli  museum.  There  can 
be  no  doubt,  that  in  a  formation,  containing  one  human  fossil,  accom- 
panied by  one  tusk\  and  various  shells,  -vvo  miglit,  on  further  inspec- 
tion, discover  sucii  animals  as  that  tusk  must  have  belonged  to, 
besides  many  other  equally  distinct  proofs  of  tlie  true  period  of  the 
origin  of  this  interesting  formation. 

Vol.  II.-O 


and  phenomena  attending  this  remarkable  cave ;  in  doing 
which,  he  first  attributes  the  stalactites  to  the  action  of  run- 
nin«:  water;  and  then  very  naturally  asks,  where  that  water 
could  have  come  from  ?  "  For,"  says  he,  "  the  mountain  of 
Lacoste  is  entirely  separated  from  all  the  neighbouring 
heights;  and  the  brooks,  which  run  between  these  heights, 
are,  consequently,  very  low.  The  rains  could  not  have  oc- 
casioned them,  as  it  is  evident  that  these  stalactites  have  not 
made  any  perceptible  progress  in  the  course  of  the  last  25 
years. 

"  This  grotto  is  not  accessible  to  quadrupeds ;  the  bones 
which  it  contains  do  not  appear  to  have  been  worn  by  rolling : 
it  could  not  have  been  a  burying-ground  of  the  country  ;  for 
they  never  would  have  chosen  a  place  so  distant,  and  in  the 
midst  of  the  woods  ;  besides,  it  would  have  been  too  difficult 
to  have  introduced  bodies  by  the  fissure  through  which  we 
descended ;  and  we  looked  in  vain,  in  every  part,  both  of  the 
interior  and  exterior  of  the  cave,  for  any  other  opening. 

"  There  exists,"  says  he,  "  in  other  countries,  similar  de- 
posits of  bones.  We  need  not  speak  of  those  of  Germany, 
Hungarj',*  Gibraltar,  and  the  Archipelago  ;  but  the  human 
bodies  found  near  Soissons,  in  1G85 ;  petrified  bodies  found  in 
Guadaloupe ;  the  incorporated  bones  in  calcareous  rocks,  in  a 
cave  in  Somersetshire ;  and  also  those  of  this  Baume  des 
Morts,  are  all  evident  instances  of  the  fossil  remains  of  our 
own  species." 

There  is  little  occasion  for  farther  remark  upon  the  fossil 
remains  found  in  this  cave  :  they  are  evidently  attributable  to 
the  same  diluvial  cause,  by  means  of  which  the  innumerable 
lime-stone  caves  of  all  secondary  countries  have  been  so 
abundantly  furnished.  In  our  own  country  we  have  a  vast 
variety  of  instances  of  this  sort ;  many  of  them  have  been 
very  fully  detailed  by  Professor  Buckland,  in  his  Reliquiae 
Diluvianae  ;  but  from  the  particular  geological  theory  which 
has  arisen  in  consequence  of  his  views,  with  respect  to  the 
Cave  of  Kirkdale,  viz.  that  it  was  inhabited  by  hyaenas  before 
the  flood,  who  preyed  upon  the  elephants  and  rhinoceri 
which  pastured  in  the  forests  of  Yorkshire,  the  true  causes  of 
such  animal  deposits  have  been  hitherto,  in  a  great  measure, 
distorted  or  concealed.  Having  elsewhere  shown  the  total 
fallacy  of  the  w'hole  of  this  theory,  it  follows  that  we  must 
look  for  a  principle  less  contradictory,  and  more  consistent 
with  the  laws  of  nature,  and  with  the  phenomena  themselves. 
This  principle  I  have  already,  in  some  degree,  explained;  but 
I  shall  reserve  the  few  remarks  1  have  further  to  make  upon 
the  subject,  until  we  have  perused  the  details  of  the  other 
fossil  deposits  connected  with  this  branrh  of  our  inquiry. 

The  third  remarkable  instance  of  indiscriminate  fossil  re- 
mains, in  which  Au»i«)i6OTiM  have  been  very  frequently  found, 
is  an  immense  congeries,  displayed  in  a  hill  called  Cucba  Mu- 
bia,  (or  red  cave,)  near  the  village  of  Concud,  in  the  province 
of  Arragon,  in  Spain.  This  hill  takes  its  name  from  a  kind 
of  red  diluvial  earth,  which  has  been  intersected  and  laid  open 
by  the  waters  of  a  mountain  stream.  Some  of  the  bones  con- 
tained in  it  are  of  the  nature  of  common  (-hurch-yard  bones; 
some  are  solid,  and  well  preserved  ;  others  seem  pulverized, 
and  fall  to  pieces  on  exposure  to  the  atmosphere.  They  be- 
long to  a  great  variety  of  animals,  and  lie  confusedly  huddled 
together,  or,  as  the  French  term  it,  pcle-mcle.  Seven  or  eiorhl 
human  shin  bones  are  frequently  seen  in  one  spot,  withou. 
any  other  parts  of  the  body.  There  are  many  articulations  o;' 
the  larger  bones  of  animals  mingled  with  them;  and  theyari 
often  filled  with  a  crj'stalline  substance.  Don  GuillermJ 
Bowles  relates,  that  he  was  informed  of  an  entire  humin 
skeleton  that  had  been  there  discovered  :  the  thickness  of  tl  is 
diluvial  mass  is  described  as  being  upwards  of  GO  feet.  ''V'e 
have,  in  this  remarkable  instance,  a  complete  identity  of  cha- 
racter and  circumstances,  with  numerous  other  fossil  depo- 
sits, which  are  of  unquestioned  diluvial  origin  :  but,  as  is 
usual,  wherever  human  bones  have  been  found  intermingled,  it 
has  been  the  custom  with  geologists,  in  their  remarks  oa  this 
mass,  to  attribute  the  whole  to  some  comparatively  recent 
cause.  A  candid  and  unprejudiced  judgment  of  the  facts  can- 
not, however,  fail  to  lead  us  to  a  very  different  conclusion. 

Before  proceeding  to  make  any  remark  upon  the  similarity 
which  obviously  exists  between  the  cave  of  Durfort  with  its 
fossil  contents,  and  those  of  Kirkdale,  Gaylcnreut.'i,  and  so 


*In  the  Carpathian  chain  of  mountains,  in  Hungary,  jrottoes  are 
very  numerous,  in  some  of  the  calcareous  sti-ata.  The  principal  of 
these  are,  Mazarna,  and  Dupna,  in  the  disti-ict  of  Thnrotz  ;  Drach- 
enliole,  in  that  of  Liptau  ;  Holgoez,  in  Zips ;  Altelek,  in  Geomor  ; 
and  Sziliacz,  in  Torn.  Bones  and  skeletons,  partly  petrified,  are 
found  in  tliese  gi'otlocs  ;  and  tlie  most  beautiful  stalactites  of  every 
size  aud  form. 


lOS 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


deposit,  are  expressed.  The  above  passage  is  not  written  in 
that  style  of  decided  conviction  in  which  he  so  beautifully 
expresses  himself,  when  his  geological  views,  however  erro- 
neous, are  completely  satisfactory  to  his  own  mind.  We 
find  no  such  hesitation  with  respect  to  the  liy^nas  of  Kirk- 
dale,  ulthough  their  ronains  icere  also  accompanied  by  such 
RECENT  animals  as  the  fox,  the  weasel,  the  horse,  the  fallow  deer, 
the  ox,  the  hare,  the  rabbit,  the  mouse,  and  the  water  rat.* 

The  remains  of  ail  these  animals,  and  of  many  more,  that 
mio-ht,  with  equal  reason,  be  termed  recent,  were  found  at 
Kirkdale,  and  in  other  diluvial  deposits,  accompanied  by 
those  of  elephants,  lions,  rhinoceri,  &c.,  about  which  no 
doubt  has  ever  bee/i  expressed  ■■  and  yet,  in  the  instance  of 
Kostritz,  the  rhinoceros  is  to  be  looked  upon  as  ancient  and 
antediluvian,  while  the  hare,  the  rabbit,  the  owl,  the  cock,  and 
the  man,  are  all  to  be  considered  post-diluvian  ;  although,  it 
"yet  remains  to  be  ascertained,  by  what  means,  or  at  what 
period,"  the  remains  of  the  two  eras  became  mixed  up  together. 

I  have  but  one  remark  further  to  make  upon  the  opinions 
professed,  and  the  geological  doctrines  taught  by  the  able 
author  1  have  just  quoted  ;  and  I  do  so,  with  a  repetition  of 
my  former  sincere  profession  of  my  highest  respect  for  him 
as  a  public  character,  though  I  totally  differ  with  him  in  the 
■whole  view  he  has  taken  of  the  Mosaic  deluge.  But  1  can, 
by  no  means,  perceive  the  principle  upon  which  he  is  so 
constantly  and  strenuously  opposed  to  the  occupation  of 
some  parts  of  the  antediluvian  world  by  the  human  race:  for 
the  disbelief,  even  in  the  probability  of  their  remains  ever 
beiniT  found,f  amounts,  in  fact,  to  at  least  a  doubt  of  their 
having  existed  at  the  same  time  as  the  animals,  whose  bones 
he  admits  to  have  belonged  to  that  ancient  period. 

If  they  then  existed,  they  must  have  perished  with  the 
other  animals  by  the  waters;  if  they  perished,  their  bodies 
must  have  floated,  and  been  submitted  to  the  very  same  laws 
of  tides  and  of  currents,  b}'  which  other  animal  bodies  were 
scattered  and  dispersed  over  the  bed  of  the  sea,  in  every  di- 
rection. 

If  they  were  so  scattered  and  mixed  up,  (and  it  could  not 
possibly  be  otherwise,)  we  can  imagine  no  reason,  why  we 
should  not  find  them,  as  we  do  other  diluvial  remains,  only 
in  that  small  numerical  proportion,  which,  we  are  assured, 
they  must  have  borne,  if  the  history  of  Scripture  is  to  be 
depended  upon.  That  we  may  place  implicit  confidence  in 
the  information  conveyed  to  us  from  this  Inspired  source, 
we  have  found  many  convincing  proofs  in  the  whole  course 
of  this  general  treatise ;  and  we  can,  therefore,  have  no  con- 
ceivable plea,  short  of  a  distinct  desire  to  prove  it  ivrvng, 
for  strenuously  opposing  the  evidence  of  numerous  facts,  on 
the  subject  of  the  fossil  remains  of  our  own  species. 

It  may,  perhaps,  here  be  expected,  that  some  consistent 
and  natural  mode  should  be  shown  of  the  origin  and  cause 
of  these  remarkable  caves  and  fissures,  which,  in  so  many 
instances,  characterize  the  lime-stone  formations,  and  inter- 
sect them  in  every  direction.  I  should  be  sorry  to  involve 
either  my  readers,  or  myself,  in  the  difficulties  which  this 
part  of  the  subject  might  very  possibly  lead  to.  It  has, 
hitherto,  been  too  much  the  custom  for  science  to  endeavour, 
by  some  means  or  other,  to  account  for  every  individual  phe- 
nomenon presented  to  the  view  on  the  surface  of  the  earth. 
By  such  injudicious  attempts,  many  able  men  have  led  them- 
selves into  contradictions,  beyond  which  they  could  not 
advance,  and  from  which  it  was  ditBcult  to  retrograde  ;  and 
it  is  to  be  feared,  that  many  of  the  errors  of  our  geological 
theories  have  arisen  from  this  mistaken  course.  Upon  this 
subject  of  cavernous  lirne-stone,  therefore,  I  do  not  hazard 
more  than  a  passing  opinion,  confining  myself  to  the  facts 
which  all  such  cavities  invariably  exhibit,  and  leaving  this 
branch  of  the  subject  open  to  the  more  extended  researches 
of  future  observations. 

If  it  be  true,  as  the  Inspired  Writings  informs  us,  and  as 
every  appearance  on  the  face  of  the  present  dry  lands  corro- 
borates, that  the  '^  earth  that  now  is,"  is  different  from  the 
"  earth  that  then  was  ;"  and  if  my  idea  of  the  probable 
means  by  which  the  deluge  was  effected,  is  founded  in 
reason,  viz.  that  either  the  former  dry  lands  sutik,  or  that  the 
bed  of  the  former  sea  was  elevated,  (in  either  of  which  eases 
the  effects  would  be  the  same;)  if  these  premises  be  well 
founded,  it  must  naturally  follow,  that  the  lands  we  now 
inhabit,  formed,  before  the  deluge,  the  bed  of  the  ancient 
ocean.  If  this  be  true,  and  that  many  of  the  secondary 
calcareous  formations,  which  now  almost  every  where  cover 
the  surface  of  the  continents,  were  the  result  of  gradual 


'  Reliq.  Diluv.  p.  1",  18. 


+  Reliq.  Diluv.  p.  109,  170. 


marine  deposits,  embedding  sea  shells  in  vast  abundance,  but 
HO  where  containing  reihains  of  quadrupeds,  or  other  land 
PRODUCTIONS,  we  must  conclude,  that  on  the  subsiding  of  the 
ocean,  (or,  as  we  term  it,  the  diluvial  ivuters,)  into  its  new 
bed,  the  lands  that  were  then,  for  the  first  time,  left  above 
the  level  of  the  sea,  must  have  been  in  a  soft  and  saturated 
state,  and  containing  abundance  of  that  marine  fluidity,  in 
the  midst  of  which  they  had  gradually  been  formed.  We 
have  already  found,  in  the  instance  of  that  most  extensive 
formation,  the  chalk,  containing,  as  it  every  where  does,  posi- 
tive and  invarialde  marks  of  marine  origin,  without  any  indi- 
cation of  a  single  land  production,  that  upon  its  moist  and 
still  movable  surface,  the  retiring  waves  had  produced  a 
partial  mixture  between  it  and  the  diluvial  gravels  and  soils, 
containing  the  remains  of  elephants,  and  other  quadrupeds, 
besides  vegetable  substances  in  great  abundance,  (as  on  the 
coasts  of  Kent  and  Norfolk).  Had  it  been  the  nature  of 
chalk  to  crack  and  divide  itself  into  such  cavities  and  fissures, 
as  we  find  in  some  other  calcareous  deposits,  it  is  very  cer- 
tain that  we  should  have  found  these  cavities  furnished, 
more  or  less,  with  those  gravels,  or  loams,  containing  the 
remains  of  organic  bodies.  This  is  not  frequently  the  case 
in  the  chalk,  because  it  is  not  part  of  the  nature  of  this 
formation  to  be  cavous ,-  but  we  have,  even  in  the  chalk,  cer- 
tain cavities  also  filled  with  diluvial  gravel,  of  the  origin 
of  which  it  would  be  very  diflicult  to  give  even  a  plausible 
conjecture.  I  allude  to  those  well-like  cavities  so  often 
seen  in  the  chalk  pits  near  London,  and  also  frequently 
found  in  the  sections  of  the  French  and  English  sea  coasts.* 
We  have,  also,  in  the  chalk  an  insuperable  difficulty,  in 
accounting  for  the  regular  cavities  in  which  flint  nodules 
have  subsequently  been  formed.  I  say  subscrjuenlly,  because 
this  fact  is  demonstrably  certain,  from  the  fossil  shells,  of  the 
chalk  formation,  often  embedded  in  the  flints,  as  in  the  purest 
water. 1[ 

If  we  find  ourselves  in  difficulty,  with  respect  to  these  mi- 
nor cavities,  which  must  have  occurred  under  the  level  of  the  sea, 
much  more  shall  we  despair  of  plausibly  accounting  for  the 
more  extensive  and  even  stupendous  grottoes  peculiar  to  other 
marine  deposits,  as  palpably  having  formed  a  part  of  the  bed 
of  the  antediluvian  ocean.  One  thing,  however,  is  a  well 
established  fact,  that  there  is  an  intimate  and  constant  con- 
nection between  the  latest  sediments  of  the  waters  of  the  de- 
luge, with  their  animal  and  vegetable  contents,  and  these  • 
upper  calcareous  formations.  In  the  instance  of  the  gypsum 
of  the  basin  of  Paris,  the  organic  remains  are  not  contained 
in  cavities,  but  are  completely  incorporated  in  the  body  of  a 
rock,  so  liard  as  to  require  to  be  blasted  with  gunpowder.  . 
Here  is  a  positive  proof  that  gypsum  is  a  chemical  depositor 
formation,  which  was  once  in  a.  fluid  state;  and  we  can  have 
no  hesitation  with  respect  to  the  period  at  which  this  fluidity 
existed,  illustrated,  as  the  point  is,  by  the  identity  of  some  of 
its  fossils,  with  those  of  tiie  superincumbent  diluvial  soils. 
If,  therefore,  gypsum  was  ?i  fluid,  at  the  period  of  the  deluge, 
in  the  basin  of  Paris  we  have  the  strongest  reasons  for  coming 
to  a  similar  conclusion,  wherever  that  calcareous  rock  is 
found  to  exist.  At  Kostritz,  the  gypsum  is  split  into  fissures, 

*  These  remarkable  cavities,  in  the  form  of  regular  n  ells,  of 
various  deptlis,  and,  occasionally,  of  irregular  forms,  are  exhibited 
in  a  remarkabk-  manner  in  the  chalk  pits  at  Greenhitlie,  on  the 
south  bank  of  die  Thames,  between  Dartford  and  Gravesend. 
There  is,  indeed,  nothing  more  interesting,  or  instructive,  in  the 
geology  of  England,  than  the  obviously  diluvial  origin  of  the  super- 
incumbent strata,  upon  die  chalk,  every  where  near  London,  where 
the  wants  of  man,  and  die  laws  of  natm-e,  have,  in  so  many  places, 
combined  to  lay  the  whole  formations  completely  open  to  our  in- 
spection. The'almost  invariably  horizontal  surface  of  the  chalk, 
with  the  very  marked  irregularitV  of  the  new  diluvial  surface  in  the 
neighbourhood  of  Greenwich,  Woolnich,  Shooter's  Hill,  and  all 
over  that  part  of  Kent,  as  well  as  on  the  nordiern  shores  of  the 
Thames,  must  serve  to  explain  this  branch  of  oiu-  subject  in  the 
clearest  and  most  obvious  manner. 

+  I  have  formerly  had  occasion  to  make  some  remarks  upon  the 
fossil  shells  of  tlie  chalk  formation,  often  found  attached  to,  or  filled 
bv,  pure  flint.  I  have  lately  seen  one  of  tliese  fossil  specimens, 
w-hich  has  been  cut  dirough,'  and  polished  by  a  lapidary.  The 
polish  given  to  the  flint  is  oi  die  finest  kind ;  and  in  looking  into  the 
transparent  mass,  we  find  many  of  Uic  small  spines,  with  wluch  the 
shell  was  originally  covered  on  its  exterior  surface,  perfectly  pre- 
served, and  lying  iii  various  directions,  as  if  preserved  in  ice.  JSo 
proof  can  be  more  distinct,  that  tlie  flint  was  once  in  the  sLite  of  a  per- 
fect fluid  ;  and  that  this  fluid  state  was  subsequent  to  die  deposit  of 
the  chalky  mass,  may  be  looked  upon  as  equally  cerUun.  The  cause 
of  die  irregular,  diougli  stratified  cavities,  in  which  flint  nodules 
have  been  s"iibsequently  formed,  must  ever  remain,  however,  a  matter 
of  conjecture  ;  aUhou'gh,  the  obscurity  of  the  cause  does  not,  in  any 
dcTt-e,  aflect  the  trudi  of  die  facts  presented  to  our  contemplation. 


GEOLOGY  OF  SCRIPTURE. 


109 


often  filled,  as  they  naturally  would  be,  with  the  superincum- 
bent gravel  under  wlueh  it  is  found.  But  the  animal  remains 
are  of  the  very  same  description  in  the  g^j'psum  at  both  places, 
and  the  bones  are  in  the  same  state  of  decay  or  preservation. 
We,  therefore,  have  a  right  to  conclude,  that  as  the  Paris 
gypsum  was  a  diluvial  formation,  the  bones,  contained  in  it, 
could  be  no  other  than  those  of  antediluvian  animals.  We 
must  judge  of  the  Kostritz  grpsum  by  the  ver}-  same  law ; 
there  can,  therefore,  be  no  hesitation  in  considering  the  fiu- 
man  bones  of  those  quarries,  as  well  as  those  of  the  r/nmestic 
cock,  and  the  rhinoceros  which  accompany  them,  as  indisputa- 
ble remains  of  ike  ancient  world.  The  nature  of  all  lime-stone 
cavities  appears  to  be  nearly  the  same  in  all  countries.  A\  e 
hear  of  the  bones  of  elephants  in  J^'ew  Holland,*  as  well  as  in 
.America,  and  in  Europe,  contained  in  similar  caverns ;  and  as 
we  know  of  no  other  calamity  so  destructive  as  the  Mosaic 
deluge,  either  from  history,  tradition,  or  animal  remains,  u-e 
must  conclude  thai  every  land  production,  (together  with  such 
marine  shells  a.s  often  accompany  them,)  when  found  in  our 
rocks  and  soils,  is  attributable  to  the  actioa  of  the  Mosaic  de- 
luge, and  to  that  period  alone. 


body  of  the  work,  by  the  ignorance  of  a  subsequent  tran- 
scriber, as  has  also  occurred  in  some  other  parts  of  the  Sacred 
Writings. 

In  support  of  this  opinion,  he  shows,  on  the  authority  of 
the  most  learned  critics,  both  ancient  and  modern,  that  copies 
of  the  Hebrew  Scriptures  formerly  existed,  which  exhibited 
variations,  arising  from  marginal  glosses  and  insertions, 
originally  designed  as  illustrations  of  the  text,  but  which 
illustrative  glosses  had  become,  in  some  instances,  incor- 
porated into  the  text  in  subsequent  copies. 

One  remarkable  example,  given  by  this  able  writer,  of  an 
incorporated  gloss  in  the  New  Testament,  and  which  is  not  so 
generally  known  as  it  deserves  to  be,  is  well  adapted  to 
show  the  nature  of  similar  incorporations,  and  of  the  serious 
mischief  to  which  they  invariably  lead ;  for  truth  is,  in  all 
instances,  so  consistent  and  simple,  that  any  deviation  from 
the  plain  tenor  of  its  course,  must,  generally,  excite  observa- 
tion, as  the  following  remarkable  instance  has  frequently 
done.  This  example  is  found  in  the  remnant  of  a  very 
ancient  Greek  M.S.  of  the  New  Testament,  in  the  Royal 
Library  at  Paris,  entitled  the  Codex  Ephrenii,  which  has  been 
pronounced,  by  Wetstein,  to  be  of  tlie  same  date  as  the 
celebrated  Alexandrian  MS.  In  this  work,  the  first  five 
verses  of  the  5th  chapter  of  St.  John's  Gospel  are  thus  read  : 


CHAPTER  XIV. 


On  the  Situaiion-of  Paradise ;  together  U'lth  both  Critical  and 
Geological  Evidences  of  the  spurious  Character  of  that  de- 
scriptive account  of  it,  found  in  all  Modem  Copies  and 
Translations  of  the  Book  of  Genesis. 

As  the  chief  object  of  this  treatise  has  been  to  show, 
from  the  evidence  of  history,  corroborated  by  physical  facts, 
that  the  greater  part  of  the  present  dry  lands  of  the  earth 
formed  the  bed  of  the  antediluvian  sea,  and  that  the  former 
lands  were  utterly  destroyed  at  the  period  of  the  deluge, 
"Me  earth,  thai  now  is,"  being  thus  distinct  from  "Mc  earth, 
thai  then  ivas,"]  a  question  respecting  the  situation  of  the 
Paradise  in  which  our  first  parents  were  placed  by  their 
Creator,  has  probably  arisen  in  the  mind  of  every  one ;  and 
but  for  the  interruption  to  the  general  course  of  the  subject 
which  this  question  must  have  given  rise  to,  it  should  un- 
doubtedly have  been  considered  at  an  earlier  period  of  this 
work ;  as  there  is,  perhaps,  no  part  of  the  Old  Testament,  as 
found  in  our  translations,  which  has  been  so  fruitful  a  source 
of  error  and  misconception,  as  the  descriptive  account  of  the 
rivers  of  Paradise.  These  rivers  are  described  as  being  four 
in  number,  of  which  the  only  one  at  present  known  is  the 
Euphrates.  The  names  of  the  other  rivers,  and  the  extra- 
ordinary and  inconsistent  geographical  account  of  their  sup- 
posed courses,  have  long  been  a  source  of  anxious  critical 
inquiry,  as  well  as  of  local  research  :  for  almost  all  travellers 
who  have  visited  the  East,  and  had  an  opportunity  of  becom- 
inor  acquainted  with  the  course  of  the  Euphrates,  have 
anxiously  sought  for  the  situation  of  Paradise ;  and  have, 
invariably,  been  obliged  to  relinquish  the  subject,  from  the 
utter  impossibility  of  applying  the  description,  in  the  slight 
est  degree,  to  any  part  of  the  course  of  that  noble  river. 

Mr.  Granville  Penn,  in  his  "  Comparative  Estimate  of  the 
Mineral  and  Mosaical  Geologies,"  has  entered,  at  consider- 
able length,  and  with  his  usual  ability,  into  a  critical 
examination  of  this  subject ;  and  has  most  clearly  shown 
the  high  probabilili/,  amounting  almost  to  certainty,  of  the 
descriptive  part  of  the  Garden  of  Eden,  as  found  in  all  modern 
translations  of  the  original  text,  having  been  originally 
annexed,  as  an  explanatory  note,  to  the  margin  of  an  early 
MS.  and  having  been,  subsequently,  incorporated  into   the 


*  For  an  angeliAfter  this,  there  was  a  feast  of  the 
n'onidownatacer-'Jews,  and  Jesus  went  up  to  Jemsa- 
tainseasonintothe  leni.  Now  lliere  is  al  Jerusalem, 
balh,  and  troubled'by  the  sheep-uiarkcl.  a  balli.  wlucU 
thcwaters:  w-lloso- is  calb'd  in  the  Hebrew  lon!:ne  ite- 
ver,t lion,  after  thejtliesda,  having  five  porches;  in  these 
iroublingoftiiewa-  lay  a  preat  number  of  impotent  folk, 
tfrs.Iirslsleppedin.iof  blind,  halt,  withered;*  and  a  cer- 
was  made  whole  oftain  man  was  there. t  which  had  an 
whatsoevordisease  infirmity  thirty  and  ei^'ht  years, 
he  had.  |\Vheu  Jesus  saw  him,  ic. 


t  Waiting;  forthc 
troubling  of  tliu 
waters. 


*  Specimens  of  fossil  bones  and  -n-ood  -were  sent  liome  bv  !Mr. 
Crawford  from  the  distriet  of  Ava,  in  latitude  21  degrees  north. 
Amongst  these  bones  were  found  those  of  two  new  species  of  tlie 
mastodon,  together  -witlt  the  bones  of  the  hippopotamus,  rliinoceros. 
antelope,  deer,  the  ox,  the  hog,  the  tortoise,  and  the  alligator. 

From  the  instances,  few  as  they  are,  with  \\  hieh  we  are  alreadv  ac- 
quainted, of  such  fossil  deposits,  in  tropical,  as  well  as  in  temperate 
and  polar  regions,  we  can  liave  no  doubt  of  the  general  and  indis- 
criminate dispersion  of  animalbodiesover  every  region  of  the  earth  ; 
and  that  if  the  wants  of  man,  in  Asia,  and  in  Africa,  required  such 
extensive  operations  under  the  surface  of  the  ground,  as  have  brought 
to  light  so  many  fossil  treastu-es  in  Europe,  and  in  America,  we 
should  often  there  discover  the  remains  of  animals  as  unnattu-al  to 
hot  climates,  as  the  elephaRt  and  alligator  are  to  cold  ones. 

t  2d  Epistle  of  Peter,  ill,  fi. 


"  In  the  MS.  in  question,"  says  Mr.  Penn,  "  the  text,  and 
the  marginal  sentences,  though  both  are  in  the  same  uncial 
character,  are  written  by  different  hands ;  and  it  is  evident, 
from  the  language,  and  from  an  itacism,  perceptible  in  the 
latter,  that  they  are  of  a  date  posterior  to  the  former.  It  is 
equally  manifest,  that  they  were  marginal  notes,  annexed 
with  the  design  of  illustrating  the  popular  superstition, 
under  which  the  infirm  man  was  waiting  at  the  bath  :  but,  at 
the  same  time,  they  adopt  the  superstition,  and  aver  it  to  be 
true.  The  original  text  was  free  from  that  blemish;  and  the 
simplicity  and  close  sequence  of  the  recital,  bear  internal 
evidence  that  these  marginal  passages  are  alien  to  it.  The 
superstitious  clause,  therefore,  does  not  pertain  to  the  evan- 
gelical historian,  but  has  become  incorporated  into  his  history 
in  the  progress  of  transcription."* 

Although  the  passage  we  are  now  to  consider  in  the  second 
chapter  of  Genesis,  in  which  the  descriptive  account  of  the 
situation  of  Paradise  is  found,  has  not  the  advantage  of  so 
clear  and  distinct  an  evidence  of  its  spurious  character,  as 
that  of  St.  John  above  mentioned,  yet  there  does  appear,  in 
the  narration  itself,  the  strongest  internal  evidence  of  the 
llth,  12ih,  13th,  and  14th  verses  of  that  chapter,  having 
been,  subsequently,  inserted  into  the  original  text,  in  a  man- 
ner precisely  similar,  from  a  marginal  note,  intended,  by 
some  ignorant  transcriber,  as  an  illustration  of  the  subject. 
When  we  add  to  this  internal  critical  evidence,  the  remark- 
able geological  proofs  of  the  correctness  of  this  view  of  the 
subject,  the  mind  becomes  fully  confirmed  in  this  opinion ; 
and  tills,  the  only  part  of  the  Inspired  Writings  which  stood 
in  contradiction  to  the  geology  exhibited  in  the  rest,  becomes 
at  once  both  consistent  and  clear. 

It  appears,  therefore,  nearly  certain,  that  the  text  and  gloss 
originally  stood  thus,  as  Mr.  Penn  has  most  ably  shown: — 

Now  the  Lord  God  had  planted  ai 
'garden  in  Eden  from  the  first;  and 
there  He  put  the  man  whom  He  had 
formed;  and  out  of  the  ground  the 
Lord  God  had  made  to  grow  every 
tree  that  is  pleasant  to  the  sight  and! 
good  for  food:  the  tree  of  life,  also, 
m  the  midst  of  the  garden,  and  the 
tree  of  knowledge  of  good  and  evil. 
And  a  river  went  out  of  Eden,  for 
(or  after)  watering  the  garden,  but 
thence  (above)  it  was  parted,  and 
divided  into  four  heads(or  sources)  * 
.\nd  the  Lord  Gud  took  the  man,  and 
put  him  into  the  garden  of  Eden,  to 
dress  it,  and  to  keep  it,  &c.  &:c. 


♦Thenameofthe 
first  is  Ph-on:  that 
is  it  which  compas- 
selh  ihewholeland 
of  Ilavilah.  where 
there  is  cold;  and 
the  gold  of  that  land 
is  good;  and  there 
isbdelliom.and  The 
onyx  stone;  and  the 
name  of  the  second 


ieOistion:  thesame 
isitthatencompas- 
seth  Ihewholeland 
ofEthiopia:andthe 
name  of  the  Thirdia 
Hiddekel:  that  is 
it  which  goeth  in 
front  of  .Assyria ; 
and  the  fourth  riv- 
er is  Euphrates. 


'That  the  illustration,  intended  by  the  gloss,  is  unskilful, 
*  Comp.  Estiin.  vol.  ii.  p.  233. 


108 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


deposit,  are  expressed.  The  above  passage  is  not  written  in 
that  style  of  decided  conviction  in  which  he  so  beautifally 
expresses  himself,  when  his  geological  views,  however  erro- 
neous, are  completely  satisfactory  to  his  own  mind.  We 
find  no  such  hesitation  with  respect  to  the  hyajoas  of  ICirk 
dale,  although  their  remains  icere  a/sn  accompanied  by  such 
RECENT  animals  as  the  fox,  the  weasel,  the  horse,  the  fallow  deer, 
ike  ox,  the  hare,  the  rabbit,  the  mouse,  and  the  water  rat.* 

The  remains  of  ail  these  animals,  and  of  many  more,  that 
mio-ht,  with  equal  reason,  be  termed  recent,  were  found  at 
Kirkdale,  and  in  other  diluvial  deposits,  accompanied  by 
those  of  elephants,  lions,  rhinoceri,  &c.,  about  vjhich  no 
doubt  has  ever  been  expressed:  and  yet,  in  the  instance  of 
Kostritz,  the  rhinoceros  is  to  be  looked  upon  as  ancient  and 
antediluvian,  while  the  hare,  the  rabbit,  the  owl,  the  cock,  and 
the  man,  are  all  to  be  considered  post-diluvian  ;  although,  it 
"  yet  remains  to  be  ascertained,  by  what  means,  or  at  what 
period,"  the  remains  of  the  two  eras  became  mixed  up  together. 

I  have  but  one  remark  further  to  make  upon  the  opinions 
professed,  and  the  geological  doctrines  taught  by  the  able 
author  I  have  just  quoted  ;  and  I  do  so,  with  a  repetition  of 
my  former  sincere  profession  of  my  highest  respect  for  him 
as  a  public  character,  though  I  totally  ditfer  with  him  in  the 
whole  view  he  has  taken  of  the  Mosaic  deluge.  But  1  can, 
by  no  means,  perceive  the  principle  upon  which  he  is  so 
constantly  and  strenuously  opposed  to  the  occupation  of 
some  parts  of  the  antediluvian  world  by  the  human  race :  for 
the  disbelief,  even  in  the  probability  of  their  remains  ever 
being  found, |  amounts,  in  fact,  to  at  least  a  doubt  of  their 
haviiV  existed  at  the  same  time  as  the  animals,  whose  bones 
lie  admits  to  have  belonged  to  that  ancient  period. 

If  they  then  existed,  they  must  have  perished  with  the 
other  animals  by  the  waters;  if  they  perished,  their  bodies 
must  have  Jluuted,  and  been  submitted  to  the  very  same  laws 
of  tides  and  of  currents,  by  which  other  animal  bodies  were 
scattered  and  dispersed  over  the  bed  of  the  sea,  iu  every  di- 
rection. 

If  they  were  so  scattered  and  mixed  up,  (and  it  could  not 
possibly  be  otherwise,)  we  can  imagine  no  reason,  why  we 
should  not  find  them,  as  we  do  other  diluvial  remains,  only 
in  that  small  numerical  proportion,  -which,  we  are  assured, 
they  must  have  borne,  if  the  history  of  Scripture  is  to  be 
depended  upon.  That  we  may  place  implicit  confidence  in 
the  information  conveyed  to  us  from  this  Inspired  source, 
we  have  found  many  convincing  proofs  in  the  whole  course 
of  this  general  treatise ;  and  we  can,  therefore,  have  no  con- 
ceivable plea,  short  of  a  distinct  desire  to  prove  it  wrong, 
for  strenuously  opposing  the  evidence  of  numerous  facts,  on 
the  subject  of  the  fossil  remains  of  our  own  species. 

It  may,  perhaps,  here  be  expected,  that  some  consistent 
and  natural  mode  should  be  shown  of  the  origin  and  cause 
of  these  remarkable  caves  and  fissures,  which,  in  so  many 
instances,  characterize  the  lime-stone  formations,  and  inter- 
sect them  in  every  direction.  I  should  be  sorry  to  involve 
either  my  readers,  or  myself,  in  the  difiiculties  which  this 
part  of  the  subject  might  very  possibly  lead  to.  It  has, 
hitherto, been  too  much  the  custom  for  science  to  endeavour, 
by  some  means  or  other,  lo  account  for  every  individual  phe- 
nomenon presented  to  the  view  on  the  surface  of  the  earth. 
By  such  injudicious  attempts,  many  able  men  have  led  them- 
selves into  contradictions,  beyond  which  they  could  not 
advance,  and  from  whicli  it  was  ditiicult  to  retrograde  ;  and 
it  is  to  be  leared,  that  many  of  the  errors  of  our  geological 
theories  have  arisen  from  this  mistaken  course.  Upon  this 
subject  of  cavernous  lime-stone,  therefore,  I  do  not  hazard 
more  than  a  passing  opinion,  confining  myself  to  the  facts 
which  all  such  cavities  invariably  exhibit,  and  leaving  this 
branch  of  the  subject  open  to  the  more  extended  researches 
of  future  observations. 

If  it  be  true,  as  the  Inspired  Writings  informs  us,  and  as 
every  appearance  on  the  face  of  tlie  present  dry  lands  corro- 
borates, that  the  "  earth  that  Now  is,"  is  difi'crent  from  the 
"  earth  thai  then  was  ;"  and  if  my  idea  of  the  probable 
means  by  which  the  deluge  was  effected,  is  founded  in 
reason,  viz.  that  either  the  former  dry  lands  sunk,  or  that  tlu- 
bed  of  the  former  sea  was  elevated,  (in  either  of  which  cases 
the  effects  would  be  the  same;)  if  these  premises  be  well 
founded,  it  must  naturally  follow,  that  the  lands  we  now 
inhabit,  formed,  before  the  deluge,  the  bed  of  tiic  ancient 
ocean.  If  this  be  true,  and  that  many  of  the  secondary 
calcareous  formations,  which  now  almost  every  where  cover 
the  surface  of  tlie  continents,  were  the  result  of  gradual 

•  Rcliq.  Diluv.  p.  17,  18.  +  Keliq.  Diluv.  p.  1G9,  170. 


marine  deposits,  embedding  sea  shells  in  vast  abundance,  but 
HO  where  contai/iing  remains  of  quadrupeds,  or  other  land 
productions,  we  must  conclude,  that  on  the  subsiding  of  the 
ocean,  (or,  as  we  term  it,  the  diluvial  ivuters,)  into  Its  new 
bed,  the  lands  that  were  then,  for  the  first  time,  left  above 
the  level  of  the  sea,  must  have  been  in  a  soft  and  saturated 
state,  and  containing  abundance  of  that  marine  fluidity,  in 
the  midst  of  which  they  had  gradually  been  formed.  We 
have  alreadj^  found,  in  the  instance  of  that  most  extensive 
formation,  the  chalk,  containing,  as  it  every  where  does,  posi- 
tive and  invariable  marks  of  oiarine  origin,  without  any  indi- 
cation of  a  single  land  production,  that  upon  its  moist  and 
still  movable  surface,  the  retiring  waves  had  produced  a 
partial  mixture  between  it  and  the  diluvial  gravels  and  soils, 
containing  the  remains  of  elephants,  and  other  quadrupeds, 
besides  vegetable  substances  in  great  abundance,  (as  on  the 
coasts  of  Kent  and  Norfolk).  Had  it  been  the  nature  of 
chalk  to  crack  and  divide  itself  into  such  cavities  and  fissures, 
as  we  find  in  some  other  calcareous  deposits,  it  is  very  cer- 
tain that  we  should  have  found  these  cavities  furnished, 
more  or  less,  with  those  gravels,  or  loams,  containing  the 
remains  of  organic  bodies.  This  is  not  frequently  the  case 
in  the  chalk,  because  it  is  not  part  of  the  nature  of  this 
formation  to  be  cavous  ;  but  we  have,  even  in  the  chalk,  cer- 
tain cavities  also  filled  with  diluvial  gravel,  of  the  origin 
of  which  it  would  be  very  difficult  to  give  even  a  plausible 
conjecture.  I  allude  to  those  well-like  cavities  so  often 
seen  in  the  chalk  pits  near  London,  and  also  frequently 
found  in  the  sections  of  the  French  and  English  sea  coasts.* 
We  have,  also,  in  the  chalk  an  insuperable  difficulty,  in 
accounting  for  the  regular  cavities  in  which  flint  nodules 
have  subsequently  been  formed.  I  say  subsequently,  because 
this  fact  is  demonstrably  certain,  from  the  fossil  shells,  of  the 
chalk  formation,  often  embedded  in  the  flints,  as  in  the  purest 
water. '\ 

If  we  find  ourselves  in  difficulty,  with  respect  to  these  mi- 
nor cavities,  which  >nust  have  occurred  under  the  level  of  the  sea, 
much  more  shall  we  despair  of  plausibly  accounting  for  the 
more  extensive  and  even  stupendous  grottoes  peculiar  to  other  . 
marine  deposits,  as  palpably  having  formed  a  part  of  the  bed 
of  the  antediluvian  ocean.  One  thing,  however,  is  a  well 
established  fact,  that  there  is  an  intimate  and  constant  con- 
nection between  the  latest  sediments  of  the  waters  of  the  de- 
luge, with  their  animal  and  vegetable  contents,  and  these* 
upper  calcareous  formations.  In  the  instance  of  the  gypsura 
of  the  basin  of  Paris,  the  organic  remains  are  not  contained 
in  cavities,  but  are  completely  incorporated  in  the  body  of  a 
rock,  so  hard  as  to  require  to  be  blasted  with  gunpowder. 
Here  is  a  positive  proof  that  gypsum  is  a  chemical  deposit  or 
formation,  which  was  once  in  a.  fluid  stale ;  and  we  can  have 
no  hesitation  with  respect  to  the  period  at  whicli  this  fluidity 
existed,  illustrated,  as  the  point  is,  by  the  identity  of  some  of 
its  fossils,  with  those  of  the  superincumbent  diluvial  soils. 
If,  therefore,  gypsum  was  ay/u/rf,  at  the  period  of  the  deluge, 
in  the  basin  of  Paris  we  have  the  strongest  reasons  for  coming 
to  a  similar  conclusion,  wherever  that  calcareous  rock  is 
found  to  exist.  At  Kostritz,  the  gypsum  is  split  into  fissures. 


*  lliese  remarkable  cavities,  in  tlie  form  of  regular  wells,  of 
various  dcptlis,  and,  occasionally,  of  irregular  forms,  are  exhibited 
in  a  remarkablt;  manner  iu  the  chalk  ])its  at  Greenhitlie,  on  the 
south  bank  of  tlie  Thames,  between  Dartford  and  Gravesciul. 
There  is,  indeed,  nothing  more  interesting,  or  instructive,  in  the 
^cologv'  of  England,  than  the  obviously  diluvial  origin  of  the  super- 
nciunbent  strata,  upon  tlie  chalk,  every  where  near  London,  where 
the  wants  of  man,  and  the  laws  of  natiu-c,  have,  in  so  many  places, 
combined  to  lay  the  whole  formations  completely  open  to  our  in- 
spection. Tlie  almost  Invariably  horizontal  surface  of  the  chalk, 
with  the  verv  marked  irregularity  of  the  new  diluvial  surface  in  the 
neigbbourliood  of  Greenviich,  Woolwich,  Shooter's  Hill,  and  all 
over  Uiat  jiart  of  Kent,  as  well  as  on  the  nortliern  shores  of  the 
Thames,  must  serve  to  explain  this  branch  of  om-  subject  in  the 
clearest  and  most  obvious  manner, 

t  1  have  formerly  had  occasion  to  make  some  remarks  upon  the 
fossil  shells  of  Oie  chalk  formation,  often  found  attached  to,  or  tilled 
bv,  ]>ure  flint.  I  have  lately  seen  one  of  llicse  fossil  specimens, 
which  has  bien  cut  llirou-ih,  and  polished  by  a  lapidary.  The 
polish  given  to  llie  flint  is  of  the  finest  kind ;  .-ind  in  looking  into  the 
transpa'rimt  mass,  vc  find  many  of  the  small  spines,  with  which  the 
shell  was  originally  covered  on  its  exterior  surface,  perfectly  prc- 
servoil,  and  Iv'ing  in  various  directions,  as  if  preserved  in  ice.  No 
proof  can  be  more  distinct,  that  the  flint  was  once  in  the  state  of  a  per- 
fect fluid  ;  and  that  this  fluid  stiite  was  subsequent  to  the  deposit  of 
the  cbalkv  mass,  niav  be  looked  upon  as  equally  certain.  The  cause 
of  the  irregular,  tliougli  stratified  cavities,  in  wliich  flint  nodules 
have  been  subscqucntlv  formed,  must  ever  remain,  however,  a  matter 
of  conjecture  ;  although,  the  obscn'rity  of  the  cause  dni-s  not,  in  any 
degree,  aflect  the  trutli  of  the  facts  presented  to  our  contemplation. 


GEOLOGY  OF  SCRIPTURE. 


109 


often  filled,  as  they  naturally  would  be,  with  the  superincum- 
bent gravel  under  wliieh  it  is  found.  But  the  animal  remains 
are  of  the  very  same  description  in  the  frypsuni  at  both  plucos, 
and  the  bones  are  in  the  same  state  of  decay  or  preservation. 
We,  therefore,  have  a  right  to  conclude,  that  as  the  Paris 
gypsum  was  a  diluvial  formation,  the  bones,  contained  in  it, 
could  be  no  other  than  those  of  antediluvian  animals.  We 
must  judge  of  the  Kostritz  gj-psura  by  the  very  same  law  ; 
there  can,  therefore,  be  no  hesitation  in  considering  the  /m- 
man  bones  of  those  quarries,  as  well  as  those  of  llie  t/iirnesfic 
cock,  and  the  rhinoceros  which  accompany  lliem,  ns  indisputa- 
ble remains  of  the  ancient  world.  The  nature  of  all  lime-stone 
cavities  appears  to  be  nearl)'  the  same  in  all  countries.  We 
hear  of  the  bones  of  elephants  in  A'ew  Holland,*  as  well  as  in 
America,  and  in  Europe,  contained  in  similar  caverns;  and  as 
we  know  of  no  other  calamity'  so  destructive  as  the  IMosaic 
deluge,  either  from  history,  tradition,  or  animal  remains,  tee 
must  conclude  that  every  land  production,  (together  with  such 
marine  shells  as  often  accompany  them,)  when  found  in  our 
rocks  and  soils,  is  attributable  to  the  action  of  the  Mosaic  de- 
luge, and  to  that  period  alone. 


body  of  the  work,  by  the  ignorance  of  a  subsequent  tran- 
scriber, as  has  also  occurred  in  some  other  parts  of  the  Sacred 
Writings. 

In  support  of  this  opinion,  he  shows,  on  the  authority  of 
the  most  learned  critics,  both  ancient  and  modern,  that  copies 
of  the  Hebrew  Scriptures  formerly  existed,  which  exhibited 
variations,  arising  from  marginal  glosses  and  insertions, 
originally   designed  as  illustrations  of  the   text,  but  which 

ustrative  glosses  had  become,  in  some  instances,  incor- 
porated into  the  text  in  subsequent  copies. 

One  remarkable  example,  given  by  this  able  writer,  of  an 
incorporated  gloss  in  the  New  Testament,  and  which  is  not  so 
generally  known  as  it  deserves  to  be,  is  well  adapted  to 
show  the  nature  of  similar  incorporations,  and  of  the  serious 
mischief  to  which  they  invariably  lead  ;  for  truth  is,  in  all 
instances,  so  consistent  and  simple,  that  any  deviation  from 
the  plain  tenor  of  its  course,  must,  generally,  excite  observa- 
tion, as  the  following  remarkable  instance  has  frequently 
done.  This  example  is  found  in  the  remnant  of  a  very 
ancient  Greek  MS.  of  the  New  Testament,  in  the  Royal 
Library  at  Paris,  entitled  the  Codex  Ephremi,  which  has  been 
pronounced,  by  Wetstein,  to  be  of  the  same  date  as  the 
celebrated  Alexandrian  MS.  In  this  work,  the  first  five 
verses  of  the  5th  chapter  of  St.  John's  Gospel  are  thus  read  : 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

On  the  Situation-of  Paradise ;  together  rritk  both  Critical  and 
Geohgical  Evidences  of  the  spurious  Character  of  that  de- 
scriptive account  of  it,  found  in  all  Modern  Copies  and 
Translations  of  the  Book  of  Genesis. 

As  the  chief  object  of  this  treatise  has  been  to  show, 
from  the  evidence  of  history,  corroborated  by  physical  facts, 
that  the  greater  part  of  the  present  dry  lands  of  the  earth 
formed  the  bed  of  the  antediluvian  sea,  and  that  the  former 
lands  were  utterly  destro3'ed  at  the  period  of  the  deluge, 
"  the  earth,  that  iww  is,"  being  thus  distinct  from  "Me  earth, 
that  then  tua.s,"f  a  question  respecting  the  situation  of  the 
Paradise  in  which  our  first  parents  were  placed  by  their 
Creator,  has  probably  arisen  in  the  mind  of  every  one;  and 
but  for  the  interruption  to  the  general  course  of  the  subject 
which  this  question  must  have  given  rise  to,  it  should  un- 
doubtedly have  been  considered  at  an  earlier  period  of  this 
work ;  as  there  is,  perhaps,  no  part  of  the  Old  Testament,  as 
found  in  our  translations,  which  has  been  so  fruitful  a  source 
of  error  and  misconception,  as  the  descriptive  account  of  the 
rivers  of  Paradise.  These  rivers  are  described  as  being  four 
in  number,  of  which  the  onlj'  one  at  present  known  is  the 
Euphrates.  The  names  of  the  other  rivers,  and  the  extra- 
ordinary and  inconsistent  geographical  account  of  their  sup- 
posed courses,  have  long  been  a  source  of  anxious  critical 
inquiry,  as  well  as  of  local  research:  for  almost  all  travellers 
who  have  visited  the  East,  and  had  an  opportunity  of  becom- 
ing acquainted  with  the  course  of  the  Euphrates,  have 
anxiously  sought  for  the  situation  of  Paradise  ;  and  have, 
invariably,  been  obliged  to  relinquish  the  subject,  from  the 
utter  impossibility  of  applying  the  description,  in  the  slight- 
est degree,  to  any  part  of  the  course  of  that  noble  river. 

Mr.  Granville  Penn,  in  his  "  Comparative  Estimate  of  the 
Mineral  and  ^losaical  Geologies,"  has  entered,  at  consider- 
able length,  and  with  his  usual  ability,  into  a  critical 
examination  of  this  subject ;  and  has  most  clearly  shown 
the  high  probabilit)/,  amounting  almost  to  certainty,  of  the 
descriptive  part  of  the  Garden  of  Eden,  as  found  in  all  modern 
translations  of  the  original  text,  having  been  originally 
annexed,  as  an  explanatory  note,  to  the  margin  of  an  early 
MS.  and  having  been,  subsequently,  incorporated  into   the 


*  For  an  angell 
went  down  at  a  cer- 
tain season  into  the 
bath,  and  Ironbled 
tlie waters:  whoso- 
\er,l]ien,aftertlie 
t  rou  bl  i  n  g  of  the  wa  ■ 
lers, first  steppedin. 
was  made  whole  of 
whatsoever  disease 
he  had. 


After  this,  there  was  a  feast  of  the 
Jews,  and  Jesus  went  up  to  Jerusa- 
lem. Now  there  is  at  Jerusalem, 
by  the  sheep-market,  a  bath,  which 
is  called  in  the  Hebrew  tonsrue  Be- 
tbesda,  having  five  porches;  in  these 
lay  a  great  number  of  impotent  folk, 
of  blind,  halt,  withered;*  and  a  cer- 
tain man  was  there, t  w-hicli  had  an 
intirmity  thirty  and  eight  years. 
When  Jesus  saw  him,  &c. 


t  Waiting  forthe 
troubling  of  the 
waters. 


*  Specimens  of  fossil  bones  and  wood  were  sent  home  by  Mr. 
Crawford  from  the  district  of  Ava,  in  latitude  21  dcgi-ecs  north. 
Amongst  these  hones  were  found  those  of  two  new  species  of  tlic 
mastodon,  togetlier  with  llie  bones  of  the  hippopotamus,  rhinoceros, 
antelope,  deer,  the  ox,  the  ho,?,  the  tortoise,  and  the  alligutor. 

From  the  instances,  few  as  thev  are,  w  ith  which  we  are  already  ac 
quainted,  of  such  fossil  deposits,  in  tropical,  as  well  as  in  temperate 
and  polar  regions,  w-e  can  Iiave  no  doubt  of  the  general  and  indis- 
criminate dispersion  of  animal  bodies  over  every  region  of  the  earth 
and  that  if  the  wants  of  man,  in  Asia,  and  in  Africa,  required  such 
extensive  operations  underthe  surface  of  the  ground,  as  have  brotight 
to  light  so  many  fossil  treasures  in  Europe,  and  in  America,  wc 
should  often  there  discover  the  remains  of  animals  as  unnatural  to 
hot  climates,  as  the  elephant  and  alligator  are  to  cold  ones. 

+  2d  Epistle  of  Peter,  iii.  fi. 


In  the  MS.  in  question,"  says  Mr.  Penn,  "  the  text,  and 
the  marginal  sentences,  though  both  are  in  the  same  uncial 
character,  are  written  by  different  hands ;  and  it  is  evident, 
from  the  language,  and  from  an  itacism,  perceptible  in  the 
latter,  that  they  are  of  a  date  posterior  to  the  former.  It  is 
equally  manifest,  that  they  were  marginal  notes,  annexed 
with  the  design  of  illustrating  the  popular  superstition, 
under  which  the  infirm  man  was  waiting  at  the  bath  :  but,  at 
the  same  time,  they  udnpt  the  superstition,  and  aver  it  to  be 
true.  The  original  text  was  free  from  that  blemish;  and  the 
simplicity  and  close  sequence  of  the  recital,  bear  internal 
evidence  that  these  marginal  passages  are  alien  to  it.  The 
superstitious  clause,  therefore,  does  not  pertain  to  the  evan- 
gelical historian,  but  has  become  incorporated  into  his  history 
in  the  progress  of  transcription."* 

Although  the  passage  we  are  now  to  consider  in  the  second 
chapter  of  Genesis,  in  which  the  descriptive  account  of  the 
situation  of  Paradise  is  found,  has  not  the  advantage  of  so 
clear  and  distinct  an  evidence  of  its  spurious  character,  as 
that  of  St.  John  above  mentioned,  yet  there  does  appear,  in 
the  narration  itself,  the  strongest  internal  evidence  of  the 
Uth,  l-2ih,  13th,  and  14th  verses  of  that  chapter,  having 
been,  subsequently,  inserted  into  the  original  text,  in  a  man- 
ner precisely  similar,  from  a  marginal  note,  intended,  by 
some  ignorant  transcriber,  as  an  illustration  of  the  subject. 
When  we  add  to  this  internal  critical  evidence,  the  remark- 
able geological  proofs  of  the  correctness  of  this  view  of  the 
subject,  the  mind  becomes  fully  confirmed  in  this  opinion ; 
and  this,  the  only  part  of  the  Inspired  Writings  which  stood 
in  contradiction  to  the  geology  exhibited  in  the  rest,  becomes 
at  once  both  consistent  and  clear. 

It  appears,  therefore,  nearly  certain,  that  the  text  and  gloss 
originally  stood  thus,  as  Jlr.  Penn  has  most  ably  shown: — 

Now  the  Lord  God  had  planted  a 
garden  in  Eden  from  the  first:  and 
there  He  put  the  man  whom  lie  had 
formed;  and  out  of  the  ground  the 
Lord  God  had  made  to  grow  every 
tree  that  is  pleasant  to  the  sisht  and 
good  for  food:  the  tree  of  life,  also,  ieOMon:  the  same 
in  the  midst  of  the  garden,  and  the  isitthatencompas- 
tree  of  knowledge  of  good  and  evil,  seth  thewholeland 
And  a  river  weiit  out  of  Eden,  for  of  Ethiopia;  and  the 
(or  after)  watering  the  garden,  but  name  of  the  thirdis 
thence  (above)  it  was  parted,  And.  Hiiidekrl :    that    is 
divided  into  four  heads(or  sources)-*  it  which  goeth  in 
L-Vnd  the  LordGodtook  the  man,  and  front    of   Assyria; 
put  him  into  the  garden  of  Eden,  to  and  the  fourth  riv- 
dress  it,  and  to  keep  it,  &c.  &.c.         (or  is  Eup/irafcs. 


♦Thenameofthe 
first  is  Pi^on:  that 
is  it  which  compas- 
seth  the  whole  land 
of  Havilah.  where 
there  is  gold;  and 
the  gold  of  that  land 
is  ctiod;  and  there 
isbiielliiini.and  the 
onyxstone:  andthe 
name  of  thesecond 


"That  the  illustration,  intended  by  the  gloss,  is  unskilful. 


Comp,  Estim.  vol.  ii,  p.  233. 


110 


CHRISTIAN   LIBRARY. 


and  does  not  answer  to  tlie  text,  is  manifest ;  for  the  text 
mentions  only  one  river,  whereas,  the  gloss  undertakes  to 
describeyowr  rivers, 

"Micliaelis  shows,  that  the  original  word,  translated 
heads,  denotes  sources,  in  the  Syriac  and  Arabic  languages ; 
and  he  expressly  states,  that  it  never  signifies  the  branches  of 
a  river  in  the  Oriental  tongues.  Thus,  the  final  confluence 
of  four  contribiitary  streams,  from  the  f(ntr  sources  or  heads, 
to  which  the  historian  traces  them  in  Eden,  produced  one 
river,  discharging  itself  out  of  Eden,  of  which  he  speaks  ; 
which  four  heads,  therefore,  can  have  no  relation  to  the  four 
rivers  recited  by  the  scholiast  in  the  gloss  ;  because,  no  river 
separates  itself  into  different  rivers  downwards ;  on  the  con- 
trary, it  is  the  nature  of  all  rivers  to  grow  by  confluence." 

Mr.  Granville  Penn  proceeds  thus  : — "  Most  certainlj'," 
observes  Kennicott,  "  the  closest  attention  should  be  paid,  in 
biblical  investigations,  to  all  such  mistakes  as  introduce  con- 
fusion and  contradiction.  Neither  of  these  could  have  obtain- 
ed origimtUy  ;  and  both  of  them  have  frequently  been  objected 
by  the  advocates  of  infidelity." 

"  But,"  adds  Mr.  Penn,  "  the  case  before  us  exhibits  a  sig- 
nal example  of  that  contradiction;  and,  therefore,  of  the  ob- 
vious necessity  of  demanding,  and  therefore  Avarranting,  the 
critical  interposition  which  has  here  been  undertaken.  For 
the  destruction  of  the  primitive  earth  is  a  fact  rooted  in  the 
very  substance  of  the  Sacred  Scriptures,  and  spreading  its 
roots  from  the  text  of  Moses  to  tliat  of  St.  Peter;  whereas, 
the  contradiction  of  that  fact,  contained  in  the  above  geogra- 
phical gloss,  lies  loosely  and  unrooted  on  the  surface,  and 
only  on  this  particular  point  of  it.  Since,  then,  a  manifest  con- 
tradiction of  the  former  is  produced  by  the  presence  of  the 
latter;  and  since  the  one  must,  of  necessity,  give  place  to  the 
other,  it  is  unquestionabl)'  the  office  and  the  duty  of  sound 
and  scrupulous  criticism,  to  demonstrate  the  invalidity  of  the 
latter,  in  order  that  the  important  testimony  of  the  former  may 
stand  unimpaired."* 

Having  now  viewed  this  part  of  our  subject  critically,  we 
may  proceed  to  the  geological  proofs  above  alluded  to,  which 
proofs,  being  altogether  unknown  to  Mr.  Penn,  at  the  time 
his  valuable  work  was  written,  the  judgment  he  has  above 
given  becomes  of  the  greater  value.  Since  the  period  of  his 
publication,  we  have  had  the  advantage  of  perusing  the  de- 
scriptive sketches  of  an  intelligent  traveller  in  the  East, 
whose  remarks,  as  far  as  they  relate  to  our  present  subject, 
are  of  the  greater  consequence,  from  the  circumstance  of  their 
having  been  written  without  any  theory  in  view,  without  any 
geological  knowledge,  or  the  smallest  desire  of  supporting  or 
opposing  any  particular  question. 

The  traveller  I  allude  to  is  Mr.  Buckingham,  who,  in  the 
year  181G,  accompanied  one  of  the  caravans  which  cross  the 
Syrian  desert  from  Aleppo  to  Mousnl,  on  the  Tigris,  from 
whence  he  proceeded  to  Bagdad,  on  his  way  to  India.  He 
thus  had  an  opportunity  of  passing  through  the  region  of  Mes- 
opotamia, which  is  bounded  by  the  two  great  rivers,  the  Eu- 
phrates, and  the  Tigris ;  and  by  a  route  across  the  deserts  of 
that  countr)',  which  had  not  been  passed  by  any  European 
writer  during  nearly  a  century. 

1  shall  now  proceed  to  give  a  few  extracts  from  Mr.  Buck- 
ingham's work,  which  must  throw  the  most  important  light 
upon  the  subject  of  our  present  inquiry;  and  as  the  nature  of 
the  soil  over  which  he  passed,  is  mentioned  merely  in  a  casual 
manner,  and  is  altogether  unconnected  with  the  chief  objects 
he  had  in  view,  there  can  be  no  just  cause  for  hesitation  or 
doubt  as  to  the  correctness  of  the  statement. 

He  first  came  upon  the  river  Euphrates,  at  Beer,  where  he 
crossed  it,  and  where  he  considered  its  breadth  to  be  about 
that  of  the  Thames,  in  London. 

"  Its  greatest  depth  did  not  seem  to  be  more  than  ten  or 
twelve  feet.  Its  waters  were  of  a  dull  yellowish  colour,  and 
were  quite  as  turbid  as  thoseof  the  Nile;  though,  as  I  thono-ht, 
much  inferior  to  them  in  sweetness  of  taste.  The  earth  with 
which  it  is  discoloured,  is  much  heavier,  as  it  quickly  sub- 
sided, and  left  a  sediment  in  the  bottom  of  the  cup,  even  while 
drinking;  whereas,  the  waters  of  the  Nile,  from  the  lightness 
of  the  mould,  may  be  drank  without  perceiving  such  deposit, 
if  done  immediately  on  being  taken  from  the  ri^A-er." 

"The  town  of  Beer,  which  is  the  Birtha  of  antiquity,  is 
seated  on  the  east  bank  of  the  Euphrates.  The  river  is  here 
about  the  general  breadth  of  the  Nile,  below  the  first  cataract 
to  the  sea,  and  is  at  least  equal  to  the  Thames  at  Blackfriars 
bridge.  The  people  of  Beer  are,  in  general,  aware  of  the 
celebrity  of  their  stream ;   and  think  it  is  the  largest  in  the 


world.  It  still  preserves  its  ancient  name,  with  little  corrup- 
tion, being  called  by  them  Shat-el-Fraat,  or  the  River  of 
Fraat.  It  is  known,  also,  as  one  of  the  four  rivers  of  Paradise; 
and  the  only  one,  seemingly,  ivhich  has  preserved  its  name.  The 
river  Gihon,  which  is  mentioned,  also,  in  the  Koran,  was 
thought,  by  an  Indian  pilgrim  of  our  party,  to  be  the  Gunga 
of  the  Hindoos ;  and  the  rest  assented  to  its  being  in  the  inner- 
most India.  It  is  true,  that  it  is  said  to  compass  the  whole 
land  of  Ethiopia ;  hut  Herodotus  speaks  of  Indian  Ethiopians 
in  his  time;  and,  among  early  writers,  the  word  Ethiopia  was 
apjdied  to  the  country  of  the  black  people  generally." 

We  have  here  another  instance  of  the  error  and  inconsist- 
ency which  is  evident  in  the  descriptive  clause  respecting 
the  rivers  of  Paradise.  The  whole  geography  of  the  Eu- 
phrates is  now  well  known,  and  that  it  runs  into  the  Persian 
Gulf,  after  being,  like  all  other  rivers,  enlarged  by  many 
additions,  of  which  the  Tigris  is  the  most  considerable.  It 
is,  therefore,  both  unnatural  that  it  should  divide  into  large 
rivers,  of  various  diverging  courses;  and,  contrary  to  fact,  that 
any  part  of  it  compasseth  the  whole  land  of  either  Indian  or 
African  Ethiopia. 

But  this  idea  of  Mr.  Buckingham,  respecting  Indian  Ethi- 
opia, appears  entirely  without  foundation,  in  as  far  at  least  as 
Scripture  is  concerned. 

Mention  is  very  frequently  made  of  Ethiopia,  and  of  the 
Ethiopians,  in  various  parts  of  the  Old  Testament,  both  in 
the  historical  and  in  the  poetic  books  ;  but  in  no  one  instance 
does  the  term  imply  any  allusion  ^o/n(//a,  or  to  the  East.  On 
the  contrary,  Egypt,  and  Ethiopia,  are  almost  always  men- 
tioned togetlier,  as  forming  parts  of  the  same  great  African 
continent.* 

Salust,  in  his  Jugurthine  war,  gives  us  a  very  luminous 
view  of  the  geography  of  Africa,  and  of  its  various  nations,  as 
far  as  both  were  known  in  his  day  ;  and  he  places  Ethiopia 
next  to  "  loca  exusta  solis  ardoribus,"  or  the  countries  burnt 
up  by  the  heat  of  the  torrid  zone.  This  same  valuable  histo- 
rian, in  a  fragment  which  has  been  preserved,  tells  us,  "that 
the  Moors,  a  vain  and  faithless  people,  as  all  Africans  are, 
would  mate  us  believe,  that,  beyond  Ethiopia,  there  is  an 
antipodes,  a  just  and  amiable  people,  the  manners  and  cus- 
toms of  which  resemble  those  of  the  Persians." 

We  shall  have  occasion,  in  the  next  chapter,  to  notice 
some  customs  amongst  the  Africans  of  the  interior,  which  are 
evidently  derived  from  their  Asiatic  progenitors. 

"  The  hanks  of  the  river,  at  Beer,  are  steep  on  both  sides, 
and  of  a  chalky  soil."  "  There  are  mzny  perpendicular  cliffs 
within  and  around  it,  indifferent  directions ;  in  these  are  many 
large  caves,  and  smaller  grottoes.  They  are  of  a  hard  chalkv 
substance,  and  the  cavities  have  furnished  the  materials  for  the 
building  of  the  town."!"  The  whole  presents  a  mass  of  glaring 
ivhite,  which  is  painlul  to  look  upon  in  the  sun." 

After  leaving  Beer,  and  on  his  way  to  Orfah,  over  a  very 
flat  and  desert  country.  Mr.  Buckingham  proceeds;  "we 
were  now  come  into  a  more  uneven  country  than  before;  the 
height  of  many  of  the  eminences  gave  them  the  character  of 
hills  ;  and  they  were,  throughout,  formed  of  lime-stone  rock, 
of  a  rounded  surface,  and,  generally,  barren.     In  the  valleys 


*  Comp.  Estim.  vol.  ii.  p.  242. 


*^A  few  instances  from  the  Old  Testament,  in  order  to  show  this 
lose  connection,  may  here  be  of  use. 

"  Now  it  came  to  pass,  in  the  days  of  Ahasuerus  (this  is  Ahasuerus 
rhich  rt_-igiicd  from  India, even  unto  Ethiopia,  over  127  provinces;") 
kc. — Esther  J.  1.  also  viii.  9.  tliat  is,  from  east  to  west,  or  from  the 
most  distant  parts  of  .Isia,  even  unto  the  interior  of  .Africa. 

*'For  lam  tlie  Lord  thy  God  tlic  Holy  one  of  Israel,  thy  Saviour; 
I  gave  Egypt  for  tliy  ransom,  Ethiopia  and  Seba  for  tliee. " — Isaiah 
xliii.  3. 

'Thus  saith  the  Lord,  the  labour  of  Egypt,  and  the  mercliandise 
of  Ethiopia,  kc.  sliall  come  unto  tliee. " — ^Isaiah  xlv.  14. 

''  Philistia,  and  Tyre,  with  Ethiopia." — Psalm.  Ixxxii.  4. 

"  Moreover,  the  Lord  stirred  up  against  .Tehoran,  the  spirit  of  the 
Pltilislines,  and  of  the  Arabians,  that  were  near  the  Ethiopians." — 
Chron.  xxi.  16  ;  that  is,  the  Red  Sea  only  dividing  tiiem. 

*' Ethiopia  and  Egypt  were  lier  sti'engtlt,  and  it  was  infinite." — 
Xahum  iii.  8  and  9. 

Moses,  also,  when  residing  in  Egypt  had  married  an  Ethiopian 
woman. 

'  He  shall  have  power  over  the  treasures  of  gold  and  of  silver,  and 
overall  the  precious  Uiings  of  Egypt ;  and  tlie  Libyans  and  the  Ethio- 
pians shall  be  at  his  steps." — Uaniel  xi.  42;  see  also  tlie  whole 
of  the  20th  chapter  of  Isaiah.  Besides  tliese,  many  distinct  instances 
might  be  quoted,  to  show  that  Ediiopia  is  never  alluded  to  in  Scrip- 
ture, but  with  reference  to  a  province  of  Africa  ;  and,  consequently, 
that  diere  could  be  no  possible  connection  between  any  branch  of  the 
Euphrates,  and  that  distant  country. 

t  It  is  highly  probable, from  tlie  nature  of  the  secondary  rockabove 
described,  tluit  tlicse  "  large  caves  and  smaller  grottoes"  were  such 
natural  cavifies  as  are  peculiar  to  some  calcareous  formations. 


GEOLOGY  OF  SCRIPTURE. 


Ill 


were  some  few  patches  of  cultivated  ground,  but  the  rest 
was  covered  witli  a  long  wild  grass."  We  have  here,  again, 
on  these  extensive  plains,  all  the  outward  form  and  charac- 
ter of  that  chalky  formation,  exposed  to  view  in  the  channel 
of  the  Euphrates,  at  Beer. 

On  arriving  at  Orfah,  we  find  a  repetition  of  the  ahove 
secondari/  indicutimu,  in  the  following  extract.  In  the  course 
of  a  walk  round  the  outside  wall  of  the  city,  Mr.  Bucking- 
ham remarked,  in  the  construction  of  the  wall,  three  distinct 
periods  of  very  ancient  building.  The  foundation  was- evi- 
dently fif  an  extremehj  remote  period.  "  Tlie  surface  of  the 
blocks  of  stone,"  says  he,  "  was,  in  general,  much  corroded 
by  the  action  of  the  air ;  and,  on  a  close  examination,  I  was 
surprised  to  find  them  mostly  blocks  of  coral  and  sea  shells, 
such  as  are  seen  in  the  cliffs  along  the  shores  of  the  Red  Sea, 
in  a  state  of  decay.  In  some  of  these,  the  substance  scorned 
to  be  a  mms  of  lime,  in  a  state  of  decomposition,  which 
crumbled  at  the  touch,  into  a  white  salt-like  powder.  In 
others,  the  large  oyster,  with  the  small  queen,  or  fan  shell, 
was  repeatedly  and  distinctly  seen,  with  still  more  numerous 
examples  of  those  smaller  ones,  like  ram's  horns,  so  frequent 
among  the  sands  of  every  sea-beach.  Other  parts,  the  sur- 
faces of  which  had  become  hardened  by  the  action  of  the  air, 
looked  like  coarse  lime-stone,  crossed  by  harder  and  liner 
veins  of  pure  marble.  These  stones  were  all  in  tlie  original 
structure  of  the  wall,  though,  of  what  age,  it  would  be  dilfi- 
cult  to  determine.  But  the  nature  of  the  stone  is  well  worthy 
of  remark,  in  a  situation  so  remote  from  any  sea,  and  so 
elevated  above  the  level  of  the  ocean,  beneath  which,  alone, 
it  could  have  been  formed.  I  had  seen  no  such  rocks  in  the 
way  to  Orfah;  though  no  doubt  the  quarries  from  which 
the  stones  were  taken,  are  not  far  remote ;  but,  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood of  Aleppo,  there  are  several  masses  of  hardened 
shells  and  coral,  appearing  above  the  surface  of  the  ground." 

We  find  a  similar  instance  of  secondary  formation  men- 
tioned by  Xenophon,  in  his  Anabasis,  3,  p.  'J  12,  who  describes, 
in  the  following  terins,  a  very  large  city,  which  tlie  Ten 
Thousand  passed  in  their  famous  retreat:  "marching,  the 
rest  of  the  day,  without  disturbance,  they  came  to  the  river 
Tigris,  where  stood  a  large  uninhabited  city,  called  Larissa," 
(probably,  the  Resen,  mentioned  as  a  grciil  city,  Gen.  x.  I'J.) 
"anciently  inhabited  by  the  Modes,  the  walls  of  which  were 
25  feet  broad,  and  100  in  height,  all  built  of  brick,  except  the 
plinth,  which  was  built  of  stones,  and  20  feet  high.  The 
plinth  of  tiiewaWwas  built  of  polished  stone,  full  of  shells,* 
&c." 

These  very  casual  observations,  on  the  Geology  of  Meso- 
potamia, serve  to  indicate,  in  a  remarkable  manner,  the  gen 
eral  secondary  and  diluvial  nature  of  the  whole  surface  of 
that  eastern  region,  which  is  composed  either  of  secondary 
rocks,  or  diluvial  sands  and  soils  ;  for  the  calcareous  ot  chalky 
character  of  the  rocks,  appears  evident  from  the  distinct 
mention  of  the  fossil  sea  shells  contained  in  some  of  the  few 
specimens  to  which  the  traveller's  attention  had  been  attracted. 
The  object,  in  quoting  these  extracts,  is  not  with  the  view  of 
any  general  information,  as  to  the  secondary  nature  of  a  great 
part  of  .Syria,  and  the  regions  east  of  it;  as  our  former  gen- 
eral view  of  those  regions  tended  distinctly  to  prove  that  the 
whole  of  that  part  of  the  continent  of  Asia,  with  but  few  ex- 
ceptions, was  of  that  secondary  character.  But  as  the  chalk 
formation  is  here  described  as  lorming  a  considerable  part  of 
the  course  of  the  Euphrates,  upon  which  the  primitive  Para- 
dise is  said  to  have  existed,  the  subject  is  thus  brought,  geologi- 
cally, to  a  positive  issue. 

P'or  if  it  has  been  satisfactorily  proved,  in  the  course  of 
this  treatise,  that  the  chalk  formation  formed  a  part  of  the 
bed  of  the  antediluvian  ocean,  and  that  the  chalk  basins  of 
geologists  must  have  become  charged  with  their  present  dilu- 
vial contents  at  the  period  of  the  deluge,  it  is  an  inconsistency, 
of  the  most  glaring  kind,  to  look  for  the  site  of  the  primitive 
Paradise  upon  the  surface  of  a  secondary  country,  then  form- 
ing the  bottom  of  the  sea,  as  is  satisfactorily  proved  by  the 
nature  of  its  rocks,  and  by  the  marine  fossils  contained  in 
them ;  which,  like  all  secondary  formations,  in  other  parts  of 
the  earth,  could  only  have  become  habitable  dry  land,  by  the 
interchange  of  level  between  the  old  lands  and  the  ocean,  at 
the  period  of  the  deluge. 


No  one  can,  therefore,  persist  in  his  search  for  Paradise,  in 
a  country  avowedly  secondary  in  its  rocks,  anrl  diluvial  in  its 
sandy  deserts,  or  richer  soils,  without  advocating  a  theory  in 
geology  still  more  inconsistent  and  wild,  than  has  yet  been 
advanced  ;  for  as  we  can  trace,  over  all  these  regions  through 
which  the  Tigris  and  the  Euphrates  flow,  the  same  monu- 
ments of  the  flood,  which  are  so  remarkable  in  every  other 
quarter  of  the  world,  in  the  form  of  boundless  deserts  of 
sand  mixed  with  salt  and  shells,  we  might  as  well  look  for  the 
rich  and  beautiful  regions  of  our  first  parents  in  the  plains  of 
America  or  of  Africa,  as  expect  to  discover  any  trace  of  them 
on  the  banks  of  the  river  Euphrates, 

We  thus  come  to  the  same  point,  geologically,  which  various 
writers  have  before  reached  critically ,-  and  we  have,  in  this 
united  evidence,  a  striking  example  of  what  must  ever  hap- 
pen, where  human  reason  interferes  with  the  sublime  and 
consistent  simplicity  of  Divixe  Revelation. 


*TIie  great  pyramid  of  Cheops,  in  Egypt,  stands,  like  the  other 
pjTamids  of  tliat  country,  in  a  plain,  composed  of  calcareous  rock, 
it  is  formed  of  lime-stone,  of  a  grayish  white  colour,  and  -which  ex- 
hales a  fetid  odour  when  broken  by  a  smart  blow.  Thus  we  find 
another  instance,  of  one  of  tlie  earliest  edifices,  of  post-diluvian 
man,  formed  of  a  secondary  rock,  and  standing  on  a  secondary  for- 
mation. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

On  the  Creation  of  Mankind. —  The  Origin  of  Language, 
What  was  the  Primitive  Language? — Jfigh  Probability  in 
favour  of  the  I/etjrew. — On  the  Diversity  of  Colour  among 
Mankind. —  Testimony  of  the  Jews  on  this  Subject. — Origin 
of  the  American  Indians. —  Their  traditions  and  Customs. — 
Their  Religious  Belief. — Religious  Rites  in  the  Interior  of 
.ifrica. — On  Sacrifice. —  Traditions  and  Belief  in  the  Friendly 
Islands. — Historical  Evidence  of  a  common  descent  from  ^'oah. 
— On  the  Identify  of  IVords  among  the  most  distant  Notions. — 
On  the  universal  use  of  a  Decimal  gradation. — Natural  Infer- 
ence from  all  these  Considerations. 

It  may,  by  some,  be  looked  upon  as  an  inconsistent  and 
uncalled-for  departure  from  the  geological  inquiries  which 
form  the  main  object  of  this  treatise,  to  take,  in  this  phace,  a 
rapid  view  of  a  subject  so  apparently  unconnected  with  the 
structure  and  phenomena  of  the  earth,  as  the  languages,  the 
complexions,  the  traditions,  and  the  customs  of  many  of  the 
most  distant  nations.  But  when  we  consider,  that  the  design 
of  thus  tracing  the  history  of  the  earth,  as  recorded  by  inspi- 
ration, is  to  oppose  those  theories  of  philosophy  which  would 
expand  the  well-defined  periods  of  the  Mosaic  history  into 
indefinite  periods,  during  the  long  lapse  of  which,  both  the 
mineral  world,  its  inhabitants,  and  its  languages,  gradually 
became  what  we  now  find  them,  by  the  progress  of  society,  in  the 
one  case,  and  by  the  mere  laws  of  nature  in  the  other,  without 
any  aid  from  a  superior  power;  it  may  be  readily  admitted 
to  be  a  point  of  no  small  importance,  in  corroboration  of  the 
correctness  of  the  views  we  have  taken  of  the  earth,  if  we 
can  discover,  from  an  equally  general  view  of  the  human 
race,  and  of  their  various  languages  and  customs,  decisive 
proof  of  the  recent  creation  of  man,  of  the  still  more  recent 
action  of  the  deluge,  and,  consequently,  of  the  entire  confi- 
dence with  which  we  may  refer  to  the  Mosaic  record,  for  a 
true  account  of  the  early  events  upon  the  earth. 

The  evidence  which  may  be  adduced  of  the  general  origia 
of  all  the  languages  of  the  globe,  when  added  to  the  remark- 
able traditions  of  the  deluge,  which  have  already  been  no- 
ticed, may  serve  to  confirm,  in  sceptical  minds,  the  unerring 
truth  of  the  sacred  volume,  when  it  announces  to  us,  first, 
that  -all  mankind  have  sprung  from  one  pair,  created  on  the 
sixth  and  last  day  of  the  creation;  secondly,  that,  after  up- 
wards of  sixteen  hundred  years  of  increase  over  a  portion  cf 
the  then  dry  land,  the  whole  of  that  race  perished  by  an  awful 
judgment  of  the  Almighty,  excepting  one  single  family;  third- 
ly, that  whatever  the  languages  of  the  antediluvian  world  might 
have  been,  that  single  family  had  but  one  individual  lan- 
guage, which  was  handed  down  by  them  to  their  descend- 
ants; and,  fourthly,  that  froin  the  deluge  to  that  period  in 
which  the  descendants  of  Noah  had  so  far  increased  iA_  num- 
ber, and  in  wickedness,  as  to  endeavor  to  elude  any  similar 
effect  of  the  divine  wrath,  by  building  the  tower  of  Babel,  in 
the  plains  of  Shinar,  "the  whole  earth  was  of  one  language, 
and  of  one  speech,"  which  language  was  there  "  confounded," 
or  scattered,  by  the  will  of  the  Almighty;  so  that  the  people 
were  interrupted  in  their  impious  intention,  and  "  scattered 
abroad,"  in  various  tribes  or  clans,  "over  the  face  of  the 
whole  earth." 

With  respect  to  the  original  language  which  Moses  de- 
scribes our  first  parents  as  making  use  of,  from  their  very 


112 


CHRISTIAN   LIBRARY. 


first  creation,  we  arc  no  where  informed  in  what  manner  the}' 
first  acquired  it,  nor  how  it  was  communicated  to  them.  It 
is,  indeed,  prohable  that  the  inspired  historian  addressed  him- 
self to  those  who  were  much  less  sceptical  on  such  subjects 
tlian  ourselves;  and  that  this  remarkable  endowment,  pecu- 
liar to  the  human  race,  and  by  which  they  so  lar  excel  all 
other  created  beings,  was  never,  in  early  times,  doubted  as 
havina  been  directly  communicated  from  the  same  wise  and 
provident  source  from  whence  the  human  race  itself  had 
arisen;  and  the  researches  of  the  wisest  and  most  learned 
men  of  all  ages  have  invariably  led  them  to  the  same  natural 
conclusion. 

AVe  have  no  direct  means  of  positive  knowledge  as  to  what 
relation  the  primitive  language  of  the  earth  may  have  had 
with  existing  tongues ;  but,  in  the  absence  of  such  evidence, 
we  may  forin  sonTe  conjectures  on  the  subject,  which  are  cer- 
tainly marked  with  the  highest  probability.  In  the  first  place, 
we  must  consider  that  the  numbers  of  the  antediluvian  human 
race,  and  their  consequent  divisions  into  nations,  could  not 
have  been  nearly  so  great  as  in  the  present  day,  from  the 
comparatively  short  period  they  had  existed,  and  from  the 
comparatively  unrclined  condition  natural  to  a  primitive  race 
of  beings,  on  whom  the  gift  of  reason  was  obviously  be- 
stowed 1)y  the  Creator,  for  the  purposes  of  exertion,  and  of 
gradual  cultivation  and  improvement.  We  must  not  here 
suppose,  however,  with  too  many  advocates  of  an  erring  phi- 
losophy, that  man  was.  at  first,  naturally  savage,  or  in  the 
state  we  now  find  the  wild  and  uncultivated  natives  of  savage 
countries;  or  that  religion  and  knowledge  were,  in  the  first 
days,  in  the  debased  condition  we  now  too  often  find  them, 
in'tlie  remote  corners  of  the  earth.  7'/,e  tavugc  stale  is  not 
natural  fo  man;  but,  on  the  contrary,  is  brought  on  by  erring 
from  the  true  path  of  knowledge,  in  which  both  Adam  and 
Noah  must  have  brought  up  their  first  descendants;  and 
which,  in  both  instances,  was  communicated  in  a  direct  man- 
ner, from  the  unerring  source  of  every  good  which  mankind 
now  enjoys.  In  considering  the  progressive  stages  of  society 
we  are'too  apt  to  content  ourselves  with  merely  looking  iacX-, 
from  our  own  times,  into  the  darker  ages  of  barbarism,  and 
thus  to  form  our  ideas  on  the  false  supposition,  that  the 
primitive  nature  of  man  is  one  of  perfect  ignorance,  and  such 
as  we  now  find  amongst  the  savages  of  Africa  or  America: 
whereas,  if  we  trace  the  progress  of  society,  in  its  proper  and 
natural  course,  by  deseending  from  the  creation,  and  frora  the 
deluge,  instead  oi  ascending  i'rom  our  own  times,  we  shall  find 
that'the  primitive  state  of  niankind,  even  immediately  after 
the  creation,  was  one  oi  intelligence  and  understanding,  if  not 
in  arts  and  sciences,  at  least  on  the  leading  point  of  religion, 
which  is,  of  all  others,  that  in  which  the  savage  falls  most 
short  of  the  civilized  man.  It  pleased  his  Creator  to  bestow 
upon  primitive  man  a  full  and  ])erfect  conception  of  the  rela- 
tion in  which  he  stood  towards  the  Supreme  Being;  audit 
was  in  order  to  preserve  a  knowledge  of  the  true  religion 
among  men,  that  a  ct  rtain  family  and  race  were  afterwards 
expressly  chosen;  we  find,  accordingly,  that  to  whatever 
state  of  idolatrous  ignorance,  or  savage  barbarity,  the  various 
ancient  nations  of  the  earth  were,  from  time  to  time,  reduced 
there  was  always  some  portion  of  the  world,  and  especially 
of  the  Jewish  race,  which  adhered  to  the  true  faith,  and 
which  was,  consequently,  preserved  from  that  state  of  un- 
natural debasement  from  which  man  has  a  constant  tendency 
and  desire  to  emancipate  himself.  It  is,  therefore,  highly 
probable,  tlial  as  we  hear  of  no  diversity  of  language  on  the 
earth,  until  after  the  deluge,  the  whole  primitive  race  was 
"  of  one  laniTuage,  and  of  one  speech,"  and  that  that  language 
must,  consequently,  have  been  the  same  spoken  by  those  few- 
individuals  who  were  preserved  from  the  tiood. 

Now,  when  we  consider  the  great  scheme  of  the  Al- 
mighty, foretold  from  time  to  time,  from  the  days  of  Adam  to 
those  of  Abraham,  and  continued  from  thence,  in  a  well  de- 
fined course  of  history,  to  our  own  times  ;  when  we  consider 
the  wonderful  and  miraculous  events  that  were  furituld,  and 
were  afterwards  so  literally /u//?//f(/,  in  the  line  of  the  chosen 
people  of  God ;  that,  through  them,  and  through  their  Ian 
guage,  the  Inspired  Writings  of  the  early  times,  were  to  be 
for  ever  handed  down  to  the  generations  of  men;  that  of  all 
the  languages  of  the  earth,  the  Hebrew  tongue,  like  the  He- 
brew people,  has  hitherto  withstood  every  change  and  every 
calamity;  and  been,  like  them,  miraculously  preserved  by  the 
Almighty  will,  for  a  great  and  beneficent  end  ;  and  when  we 
further  consider  the  strong  analogy  and  filiation,  so  easily 
traced,  in  all  the  languages  of  the  earth,  to  the  Hebrew,  as 
the  most  probable /)os/-(/(7u['/fiM  original  tongue ;  when  all  these 
considerations  are  combined,  is  it  unreasonable  to  conclude  to 


the  high  probability  of  the  original  language  of  the  Sacred 
Scriptures  being  the  pure  and  original  tongue  first  communi- 
cated to  man  by  his  Maker  ]  In  considering,  then,  the  language 
of  the  Hebrews  as  the  most  probable  source  from  whence  all 
other  tongues  have  been  derived ;  and  when  we  trace  in  all 
these  other  tongues,  the  gradual  varieties  that  have  arisen,  and 
are  still  now  proceeding  in  the  dialects  of  the  earth,  by  the 
secondary  causes,  and,  seemingly,  trivial  accidents,  by  which 
the  dillerent  shades  of  language  are  brought  about,  are  we  not 
strongly  reminded  of  the  same  character  which  we  have  traced 
in  the  primitive  and  secondary  formations  of  the  mineral 
world!  Are  we  not  justified  in  drawing  a  comparison  be- 
tweeiv  the  miraculously  preserved  primitive  language,  and  the 
no  less  miraculously  preserved  chosen  people,  who  are  the 
constant  living  miracle,  hearing  unwilling  witness  to  the  truth 
of  Inspiration,  to  all  the  generations  of  mankind  1  We  are 
reminded,  that  it  was  repeatedly  foretold  in  prophecy,  that 
the  Hebrew  nation  should  be  dispersed  into  all  countries ; 
yet  that  they  should  not  be  swallowed  up  and  lost  amongst 
their  conquerors,  but  should  subsist,  to  the  latest  times,  a 
distinct  people ;  that,  "  though  God  would  make  an  end  of  the 
nations,  their  oppressors.  He  would  uot  make  an  end  of 
them." 

In  the  common  course  of  human  events,  who  has  heard  of, 
or  seen,  so  unusual  a  thing?  The  mighty  monarchies  of  As- 
syria, of  Persia,  of  Greece,  and  of  Rome,  have  vanished,  like 
the  shadows  of  the  evening,  or  passed  rapidly  away,  like  the 
shining  meteors  of  the  night.  Their  places  know  them  no 
more  ;  nothing  remains  but  the  great  moral  of  their  tale.  But 
this  chosen  people  of  God,  contemned  by  all  nations,  without 
a  friend  or  protector,  yet  secure  amidst  the  wreck  of  empires, 
oppressed,  persecuted,  harassed  by  edicts,  by  executions,  by 
murders,  and  by  massacres,  has  outlived  the  very  ruiiu  of 
theiii  all.  Well  may  we  exclaim,  "Truly  this  is  the  Lord's 
doing,  and,  therefore,  so  marvellous  in  our  eyes." 

lielbre,  however,  ])roceeding further  with  the  consideration 
of  the  languages  of  the  earth,  it  may  not  be  uninteresting,  or 
uninstructive,  to  make  a  few  observations  on  a  difterent  sub- 
ject, which,  like  language,  has  given  rise  to  much  theory 
and  hypothesis  amongst  men  ;  and  on  which  subject,  the 
same  remarkable  people  may  assist  in  enlightening  us.  I 
mean,  the  varied  colour  of  the  human  race. 

Notwithstanding  all  the  arguments  which  have  been  made 
use  of,  and  the  modified  exceptions  which  may  be  produced, 
there  is  no  general  conclusion  more  certain,  than  that  the  com- 
plexions of  men  are  influenced  by  the  temperature  of  the  cli- 
mates they  have  long  inhabited  ;  and  that,  in  common  circum- 
stances, the  equatorial  regions,  nearest  the  level  of  the  sea, 
are  inhabited  by  the  darkest  of  the  human  race  ;  while  the 
cooler  temperatures  of  the  earth,  either  from  atmospheric,  or 
polar  elevation,  produce  a  race  of  men,  of  various  degrees  of 
whiteness.  We  must  not,  however,  estimate  the  degree  of 
heal  in  any  climate,  merely  by  its  distance  from  the  equator; 
for  the  climates  of  the  earth  are  most  materially  aflected  by  a 
variety  of  circumstances  ;  such  as  their  elevation  above  tlie 
level  of  tlie  sea;  the  height  of  the  neighbouring  mountains; 
the  comparative  extent  ol  land  and  water,  and  the  like.  Thus, 
ihere  are  no  native  negroes  in  America,  although  the  torrid 
zone  extends  across  that  continent.  But  the  extent  of  its 
neighbouring  oceans,  its  loft}'  mountains,  in  many  instances 
covered  with  perpetual  snow,  cool  the  scorchhig  breezes  of 
the  torrid  zone,  and  convert  it  into  a  comparatively  temperate 
climate.  The  inhabitants  of  this  New  World  are,  therefore, 
found  to  be  only  of  a  tawny,  or  copper-coloured  complexion. 

But  the  most  remarkable  instance  of  the  eftects  of  climate, 
in  changing  the  colours  of  men,  after  a  certain  period,  may  be 
found  in  the  history  of  the  Jews ;  that  race,  which  we  know 
were  once  all  of  one  colour,  but  which  are  now  found  dis- 
persed among  the  nations,  and  assuming,  in  every  clime,  the 
varied  tint  of  the  individual  people  amongst  whom  they  dwell, 
without,  however,  having  one  drop  of  blood  in  their  veins  hut 
what  has  flowed  in  a  direct  line  from  their  patriarch  Abraham. 
In  Britain,  and  in  more  northern  countries,  they  zrefair;  in 
Spain,  and  Portugal,  they  are  brown,-  in  Arabia,  and  Egypt, 
they  are  copper-coloured ;  while  in  Abyssinia,  and  in  India, 
they  are  almost  wholly  black. 

l)r.  Buchanan,  is  his  Christian  Researches,  in  treating  of 
the  Jews  of  Cochin,  in  India,  says,  "  It  is  only  necessary  to 
look  at  the  countenances  of  the  black  Jews,  to  be  satisfied  that 
their  ancestors  must  have  arrived  in  India  many  ages  before 
those  of  the  w  hite  Jews.  Their  Hindoo  complexions,  and 
their  imperfect  resemblance  to  the  European  Jews,  indicate 
that  they  have  become  detached  from  the  parent  stock,  many 
acres  before  those  of  the  north  and  west." 


im 


GEOLOGY  OF  SCRIPTURE. 


113 


liishop  Hfljer,  in  his  Journal  in  India,  makes  the  following 
just  and  interesting  observations  on  this  subject.  "  The  In- 
dians consider  fairness  as  a  part  of  beauty,  and  a  proof  of 
noble  blood.  They  do  not  like  to  be  called  black,  and  they 
taunt  the  Abyssinians,  who  are  sometimes  met  with  in  the 
country,  on  the  charcoal  complexion  of  the  Iluhshee.  Much 
of  this  taste  has,  probably,  arisen  from  their  country  having 
always  been  a  favourite  theatre  for  adventures  from  Persia, 
Greece,  Tartary,  Turkey,  and  Arabia  :  all  white  men,  and  all, 
in  their  turn,  possessing  themselves  of  wealth  and  power. 
It  is  remarkable,  however,  to  observe,  how  surely  all  these 
classes  of  men,  in  a  few  generations,  and  without  any  inter- 
marriage with  the  Hindoos,  assume  the  deep  olive  tint,  little 
less  dark  than  a  Xegro,  which  seems  natural  to  the  climate. 
The  Portuguese  natives  form  unions  among  themselves  alone, 
or,  if  they  can,  with  other  Europeans;  yet  they  have,  during 
a  three  hundred  years  residence  in  India,  become  as  black  as 
CaflTres." — Heber's  Journal,  vol.  i.  p.  51. 

It  is  evident,  therefore,  that  in  the  many  various  shades 
which  mankind  are  found  to  assume  in  different  parts  of  the 
earth,  according  to  the  different  temperatures  of  climate,  there 
can  be  no  sound  argument  raised  against  a  common  origin 
from  a  parent  stuck.  The  varied  colour  of  mankind  appears 
to  be  the  effect  of  a  mere  luiv  of  nature,  instituted,  no  doubt 
for  a  beneficial  purpose  by  the  Creator,  which  purpose  ma)', 
probably,  be  one  day  explained,  like  so  many  other  obscuri- 
ties in  the  wonders  of  creation. 

It  has  been  found  by  Dr.  Franklin,  that  black  transmits 
heat  more  readily  than  any  other  colour;  and  the  subject  has 
since  been  investigated,  and  confirmed,  in  various  conclusive 
experiments,  by  Mr.  Leslie,  and  Count  Rumford.  We  maj', 
therefore,  reasonablj'  conclude,  that  the  dark  colour  of  the 
human  race,  which  is  found  to  increase  in  proportion  to  the 
scorching  influence  of  the  sun,  is  a  wise  provision  of  the  Al- 
mighty, for  cooling  the  fever  of  the  blood,  under  tlie  intem- 
perate ra3'S  of  a  tropical  climate. 

But  to  return  from  this  digression,  to  the  subject  of  lan- 
guage, which  we  were  before  considering. 

As  recorded  history  cannot  be  looked  for  in  wild  and  savage 
nations,  we  can  only  hope  to  find  some  traces  of  the  origin  of 
such  nations  in  their  traditions,  or  in  their  language.  In  the 
former  of  tliese,  however,  we  can,  in  general,  only  look  for 
approximations  to  truth  ;  as,  however  sound  their  foundation 
may  originally  have  been,  they  generally  become,  in  a  long 
lapse  of  time,  so  clouded  with  error,  and  obscured  by  the  su- 
perstition which  usually  accompanies  the  ignorance  of  uncivi- 
lized states,  that  even  the  early  histories  of  the  most  ))olished 
nations  are  unsatisfactory  and  obscure.  Much  less  then  can 
we  expect  any  defined  account  of  the  rise  or  progress  of  the 
nations  of  the  New  World,  or  in  tlie  still  more  distant  parts 
of  the  earth.  All  travellers  in  America,  however,  who  have 
taken  any  notice  of  this  subject,  record  the  tradition,  common 
amongst  many  of  the  tribes  of  that  continent,  with  regard  to 
their  originally  having  come  from  a  great  distance,  and  hav- 
ingbeen  urged  forward  by  the  advance  of  other  tribes,  in  much 
the  same  manner  as  the  European  states  were  overrun  by 
the  northern  hordes  towards  the  decline  and  fall  of  the  Roman 
empire.  But  whether  these  American  tribes  were  urged  on, 
by  sea  or  by  a  land  communication  with  the  Old  World, 
towards  the  north,  must  probably  now  remain  for  ever  a  sub 
ject  for  speculation  and  conjecture. 

It  may  be  interesting  in  this  place,  however,  to  make  a  few 
remarks  u])on  some  of  the  customs  and  traditions  of  the  In- 
dian tribes  in  America,  which,  in  many  instances,  tend  to  con- 
firm, in  the  most  remarkable  manner,  the  fact  of  their  descent 
from  the  common  parent  stock  in  the  Old  World,  altliough 
the  manner  ot  their  entering  the  American  continent  has  not 
yet  been  in  any  degree,  ascertained.  A  tradition  is  mention- 
ed by  Hunter,  as  common  to  many  of  the  Indian  tcibes,  that 
their  ancestors  were  forced  to  migrate  from  a  nnrth  or  north- 
east direction,  towards  the  south.  It  has  already  been  remark- 
ed, that  these  Indian  tribes  all  count  their  time,  or  daj'S,  from 
sun.tet  to  sunset,  in  the  same  manner  as  the  Hebrews,  tliough 
contrary  to  our  established  customs  in  Europe.  Their  )-ear 
also,  begins  with  the  spring,  and  is  divided  into  13  moons.' 
Tliey  relate,  that  the  Great  Spirit  created,  at  first,  one  of  each 
sex,  and  placed  them  on  an  island  in  the  miclsl  of  the  great 
waters,  which,  as  the  human  race  increased,  was  enlarged,  by 


supernatural  means,  to  the  present  extent  of  the  earth. 
Their  traditions  respecting  the  general  deluge  have  been  al- 
ready noticed.  They  are  a  highly  moral  people,  and  ac- 
knowledge one  supreme,  all-powerful,  and  intelligent  Being, 
called  the  Great  Spirit,  who  created  and  governs  all  things. 
"  They  believe,  in  general,  that  after  the  hunting  grounds  had 
been  formed  and  supplied  with  game.  He  created  the  first  rerf 
man  and  woman,*  who  were  ver)'  large  in  their  stature,  and 
lived  to  an  exceedingly  old  age;  that  He  often  held  councils, 
and  smoked  with  them,  and  gave  them  laws  to  be  ahsericd ;  but 
that,  in  consequence  of  their  disobedience.  He  withdrew  from, 
and  abandoned  them  to  the  vexations  of  the  Bad  Spirit,  who  has 
since  been  instrumental  to  all  their  degeneracy  and  suffer- 
ings."— Hunter^s  Siirth  .imerica,  p.  21-i. 

"  By  the  term  Spirit,  the  Indians  have  an  idea  of  a  being 
that  can,  at  pleasure,  he  present,  and  yet  invisible." 

"  They  have  no  particular  day  set  apart  for  devotion, 
though  they  have  particular  times,  such  as  a  declaration  of 
war,  restoration  of  peace,  the  season  of  the  harvest,  and  the 
new  moons.f  In  general,  however,  a  day  seldom  passes  with 
the  elderly  Indians,  or  others,  who  are  esteemed  wise  and 
good,  in  which  a  blessing  is  not  asked,  or  thanks  returned  to 
the  Giver  of  life;  sometimes  audibly,  but  most  generally 
in  the  devotional  language  of  the  heart."  "  All  their  se- 
rious devotioiis  arc  performed  in  a  standing  position."  "  On 
some  occasions  of  joyous  festivals,  lamps,  constructed  of 
shells,  and  supplied  with  bear's  grease,  and  rush  wicks,  arc 
kept  burning  all.  the  preceding  and  following  night.''''  "  In 
all  the  tribes  I  have  visited,  the  belief  of  a  future  state  of 
existence,  and  of  future  rewards  and  punishments,  is  preva- 
lent." 

"  I  have  seen  an  instance,  wherein  a  prophet,  or  priest,  burnt 
tobacco,  and  the  offals  of  the  buffalo,  and  deer,  on  a  kind  of 
altar,  formed  of  stones,  on  a  mound."  X 

In  Lander's  Journal,  to  explore  the  course  of  the  Niger,  in 
Africa,  we  find  the  following  account  of  a  sacrifice  offered 
annually  at  Kiama.  "This  is  the  eve  of  the  Behum  Salali, 
or  Great  Prayer  Day,  on  which  da\',  every  one  here,  who  pos- 
sesses the  means,  is  obligi  d  to  slaughter  either  a  bullock  or 
a  sheep ;  and  those  who  may  not  have  money  sufficient  to 
procure  a  whole  one,  are  compelled  to  purchase  ayx/r/i'on  of  the 
latter,  at  least.  The  Mallams  make  a  practice  of  slaughter- 
ing the  sheep  which  may  have  been  their  companion  in  their 
peregrinations  for  the  past  year ;  and  as  soon  as  the  feast  is 
over,  they  procure  another  to  supply  its  place,  and  to  undergo 
the  same  fate  on  the  following  year."  After  describing  tho 
religious  ceremonies  of  the  day,  Mr.  Lander  proceeds: 
'  W'hen  the  priest  had  finished,  he  descended  from  the  hillock, 
and,  with  his  assistants,  slaughtered  a  sheep,  which  had  been 
bound  and  brought  to  him  fur  sacrifice.  The  blood  of  the  ani- 
mal was  caught  in  a  calabash ;  and  the  king,  and  the  most 
devoted  (devout)  of  his  subjects,  washed  their  hands  in  it, 
and  sprinkled  some  on  the  ground." 

The  very  remarkable  analogy  between  this  African  cere- 
mony and  the  Jewish  passover,  and  other  sacred  ordinances, 
is  too  striking  to  require  comment.  Amongst  many  other 
savage  nations,  the  custom  of  fm  offering  is  so  common,  that 
a  glass  of  water  is  never  drank,  or  a  morsel  of  food  made  use 
of,  without  a  little  of  it  being  first  thrown  upon  the  ground, 
as  an  offering  to  their  deity  or  fetish. 

This,  and  man)'  other  instances  of  sacrifice,  to  be  found 
in  the  best  accounts  of  the  American  and  the  African  savages, 
would  be,  of  themselves,  sufficient  to  prove,  most  distinctly, 
their  descent,  in  both  cases,  from  Adam.  For  it  has  always 
been  admitted,  that  the  ordinance  of  sacrifice  could  have,  in 
no  way,  occurred  to  tho  human  mind  but  by  a  direct  command 
from  the  Creator,  such  as  must  have  been  given  to  our  first 


"  This  most  natural  idea  of  hesjimiinc;  the  circle  of  the  year  witli 
till'  Spnns;,  is  highly  iiiterestinj,  wlii-ii  found  to  exist  in  a  savagn 
cnnntry  like  Amei-ica. 

Tlie  ancients  were  of  Ihc  same  opinion,  as  we  find  from  many 
iiassaircs  in  tlieir  wiitinirs  :  and  especialiy  in  tliosc  beaulilul  lines  in 
Vol.  II.— P    ■ 


the  second  Georgic,  Mlicre  tlie  Poet  describes  the  effect  of  Spring 
and  proceeds  thus : 

Non  alios  prima  crescentis  origine  mundi 
niuxisse  dies,  aliumve  habuisse  tenoreni 
Crediderim  ;  ver  illnd  erat,  ver  magnus  agebat 
Orbis,  et  hibernis  parcebanl  flatibus  Euri, 
Cum  primura  luccm  peciides  bausere,  virumque 
Ferrea  progenies  duris  caput  cxtidit  arvis, 
Immissiequeferrc  silvis,  et  sidera  cluio. — Geor.  2d,  33G. 

*  It  is  a  circumstance  not  unworthy  of  remark  in  Ibis  place,  that 
the  name  of  our  first  parent  Adam  was  bestowed  upon  him  from  tiie 
red  earth,  from  wliich  be  sprung  ;  Adam  having  Uiis  signification  in 
tlie  Hebrew  tongue. 

t  **  Blow  up  the  trumpet  in  the  new  moon,  In  the  lime  appointed, 
on  our  solemn  feast  day. 

''  For  this  is  a  statute  Ibr  Isi-aeljand  a  !:iw  of  iJie  Godol  .Tacob.'*' — 
Psalm  Ixxxi.  3,  4. 

t  Hunter's  North  America. 


114 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


parents  themselves;  and  which,  in  the  case  of  tiicir-two  eldest 
children,  led  to  the  acceptance  of  the  one,  and  the  rejection  of 
the  other,  from  the  presence  and  the  absence  of  belief  or /a/M 
in  its  efficacy.  From  Cain  and  Abel,  and  their  descendants, 
we  hear  of  a  continual  conrse  of  sacrifice,  both  in  the  line  of 
the  true  believers,  and  in  heathen  nations,  down  to  the  times 
of  Christianity ;  whence  it  has  been  carried  on,  in  Christian 
countries,  by  the  new  dispensation;  and,  in  the  heathen  na- 
tions, by  the  varied  course  of  blind  superstition,  common  to  a 
state  of  deoTpnerate  man. 

In  Mr.  Mariner's  sketch  of  the  Friendly  Islands,  we  are 
informed,  that  the  savage  of  Tonga  believe  in  gods,  or  su- 
preme beings,  who  have  the  power  of  dispensing  good  and 
evil  to  mankind,  according  to  merit ;  and  that  there  are  also, 
evil  spirits,  or  mischievous  gods,  who  tiirnient  the  wiched,  as 
a  punishment  for  their  deeds.  The  respect  which  they  pay  to 
these  imaginary  beings  is  so  great  and  universal  that  scarcely 
any  instance  is  known  of  direct  impiety,  though  they  consider 
many  things  meritorious  which  we  consider  criminal. 

Their  ideas  of  the  origin  of  the  world  are  so  singular,  and 
so  strong  an  indirect  proof  of  their  original  descent,  that  I 
shall  here  mention  them.  They  believe  that  originally,  there 
7vas  no  land  above  the  waters  of  the  sea;  but  that  when  one  of 
their  gods,  named  Tangaloa,was  fishing  in  the  ocean,  his  hook 
became  fixed  at  the  bottom;  he  exerted  his  strength,  and 
presently  there  appeared,  aliove  the  surfare  of  the  tmifers,  several 
points  of  rock,  which  increased  in  number  and  extent,  the 
more  he  drew  his  line.  The  rocky  bottom  of  the  ocean  was 
now  fast  advancing  to  the  surface,  when,  unfortunately,  th 
line  broke,  and  the  Tonga  islands  remain  to  show  the  incom- 
pleteness of  the  operation.  The  earth  thus  brought  to  tlie 
light  of  day,  soon  became  replete  with  all  kinds  of  plants 
and  animals,  (such  as  exist  in  an  imaginary  island,  called 
Bolotoo,  or  the  residence  of  the  gods,)  but  the}'  were  of  an 
inferior  quality,  and  subject  to  decay  and  death.  Tangaloa 
now  sent  two  of  his  sons  to  dwell  in  Tonga,  and  to  divide 
the  land  between  them.  But  one  of  these  sons  was  Indus 
trions,  and  the  other  idle,  and  envious  of  his  brother,  whom 
at  length  he  killed.  On  which  his  father  confined  him,  and 
his  race,  to  the  Tonga  islands  for  ever,  to  be  black  in  their 
persons,  and  to  have  bad  canoes;  while  he  sent  the  children 
of  his  murdered  son  into  a  distant  land,  to  be  white  in  their 
colour,  as  their  minds  were  pure;  to  be  wise  and  rich,  and  to 
have  axes  and  large  canoes  in  the  greatest  abundance. 

That  this  singular  tradition,  in  these  the  most  remote 
islands  of  the  earth,  must  have  been  handed  down  from  their 
continental  progenitors,  clearly  appears  from  some  of  their 
customs,  which  bear  a  close  analogy  to  those  of  ancient 
Asia,  as  well  as  from  some  words  in  their  language,  W'hich 
will  be  afterwards  noticed. 

At  their  funerals,  they  wOund  the  head,  and  cut  their  flesh 
with  knives  and  shells,  as  a  testimony  of  respect  to  the 
memory  of  the  dead.  This  is  a  custom  which  we  find  ex- 
presslj'  forbidden  in  the  19th  chapter  of  Leviticus,  28th  verse. 
"  Ye  shall  not  make  any  cutting  in  your  flesh  for  the  dead, 
nor  print  anj'  marks  upon  you;  I  am  the  Lord."  The  natives 
of  tfiese  islands  also  practise  circumcisiott,  a  custom  so  re- 
markable, that  it  could  only  have  been  derived  from  the  very 
ancient  religious  rite,  commanded  at  first  to  Abraham.  They 
also  otTer  sacrifices  to  their  gods ;  and,  as  in  other  countries, 
an  INNOCENT  victim,  such  as  a  young  child,  is  considered 
most  likely  to  expiate  sin.  This  sacred  rite,  so  universal  in 
the  world,  and  one  which  unassisted  reason  never  could  have 
conceived,  is,  of  itself,  sufficient  to  show  the  primitive  descent 
of  these  distant  islanders,  from  the  parent  stock  of  Noah 

When  we  add  to  these  remarkable  customs  and  traditions, 
the  conclusive  evidence  of  the  common  tradition  of  a  general 
deluge;  and,  also,  the  equally  convincing  proof  to  be  derived 
from  an  almost  identity  of  language  in  many  general  express- 
ions, common  to  all  nations;  we  cannot  resist  the  conclusion 
to  which  we  are  led  ;  we  must  admit,  that  accident  alone  could 
never  have  produced  such  remarkable  identity ;  and,  conse 
quently,  that  the  trnth  of  the!\Iosaic  record  is  fully  established 
as  to  the  gradual  descent  of  all  the  present  human  race,  from 
the  one  family  preserved  at  the  deluge. 

It  only  now  remains  for  us,  after  having  thus  found  such 
circumstantial  evidence  of  a  co7nmon  descent,  to  consult  the 
most  authentic  history  on  this  interesting  point,  and  we  shall 
find  the  strongest  reason  to  give  up  all  hesitation  or  doubt 
that  may  have  still  lurked  in  our  minds.  The  historian  I  am 
about  to  cite,  is  Josephus,  a  writer,  whose  works  are  of  such 
importance  to  history  in  general,  and  to  Scripture  history  in 
particular,  that  many  have  not  hesitated  to  consider  him  nearly 
in  the  light  of  an  inspired  authority.     Though  this  may  be 


going  too  far,  yet  it  must  be  admitted,  that  this  remarkable 
man,  from  the  uncommon  circumstances  in  which  he  was 
placed,  at  a  period  of  the  Jewish  history,  avowedly  miracu- 
"ous;  from  his  great  candour,  his  extensive  learning,  and 
admitted  probity,  in  the  difficult  situation  in  which  he  was 
placed,  as  the  intimate  friend  of  the  enemy  of  his  country, 
can  scarcely  be  looked  upon  in  the  light  of  a  common  histo- 
rian. When  we  add  to  these,  his  almost  miraculous  escapes 
from  death,  his  prophetic  dreams,  and  his  luminous  writings, 
preserved  entire,  while  so  many  others,  of  that  period,  have 
been  for  ever  lost,  one  can  scarcely  fail  to  be  convinced  that 
this  man  was  raised  up  by  the  providence  of  God,  for  great 
and  useful  purposes,  which  no  subsequent  writer  could  be 
expected  to  accomplish,  with  a  like  authority. 

This  valuable  historian,  in  taking  a  general  view  of  the 
early  history  of  the  world  after  the  deluge,  distinctly  shows 
the  origin  and  names  of  a  large  proportion  of  the  nations 
then  known  to  the  Romans.  He  was  addressing  this  review 
of  the  early  events  on  the  earth,  to  an  enlightened  and  learned 
people,  amongst  whom,  as  the  intimate  friend  of  the  Emperor 
Titus,  he  held  a  high  rank.  He  appears,  in  his  writings 
against  Apion  and  other  Greek  authors,  who  had  attempted 
to  throw  a  doubt  upon  his  accounts  of  the  early  history  of  the 
.Tews,  to  have  had  the  most  full  and  minute  acquaintance  with 
the  whole  range  of  Grecian  and  Egyptian  literature,  and  was, 
therefore,  by  his  equally  intimate  acquaintance  with  the  his- 
tor)'  and  traditions  of  the  Jews  themselves,  perhaps  the  only 
individual  that  can  be  named,  who  was  qualified  to  view  the 
suliject  in  a  wide  and  unprejudiced  field. 

Josephus,  then,  in  taking  a  general  view  of  the  early  events 
in  the  post-diluvian  world,  distinctly  shows  the  origin  of 
many  of  the  nations,  then  known  to  the  Greeks  by  other 
names  than  they  originally  had;  and  proceeds  thus: 

"  After  this,  they  were  dispersed  abroad  on  account  of  their 
languages,  and  went  out,  by  colonies,  every  where;  and  each 
colony  took  possession  of  tliat  land  which  it  lighted  upon, 
and  unto  which  God  led  them,  botli  the  inland  and  maritime 
countries.  There  were  some,  also,  who  passed  over  the  sea 
in  ships,  and  inhabited  the  islands;  and  some  of  these  nations 
f/o  still  retain  the  denominations  ivhich  tvere  givtn  them  by  their 
\  founders  ;  but  some  have  lost  them  also;  and  some  ha%'e  only 
admitted  certain  changes  in  them,  that  they  might  be  the 
more  intelligible  to  the  inhabitants;  and  they  were  the  Greeks 
ivho  became  the  authors  of  such  mutations;  for  when,  in  aftei 
ages,  they  grew  potent,  tliej'  claimed  to  themselves  the  glory 
of  antiquity,  giving  7iumes  to  the  nations  that  sounded  tvcll  in 
Greek,  that  they  might  be  better  understood  among  them- 
selves ;  and  setting  agreeable  forms  of  government  over  them, 
as  if  they  were  a  people  derived  from  themselves." — Antiqui- 
ties, book  1st,  chap.  v. 

Without  entering  more  fully  into  the  clear  account  given 
of  the  dispersion  of  mankind,  in  the  6th  chapter  of  the  first 
book  of  the  Antiquities  of  the  Jews,  I  shall  here  content 
myself  with  strongly  recommending  its  perusal  to  the  atten- 
tion of  any  one  desirous  of  following  out  this  interesting  sub- 
ject ;  and  with  referring  to  the  annexed  genealogical  scheme, 
which  comprises  the  whole  information  given  us  by  Jose- 
phus on  this  point;  it  will  clearly  show,  at  a  glance,Jthe 


outline  of  the  first  dispersion  of  mankind  from  Noah.  The 
subsequent  stages,  and  more  minute  ramifications  of  this  vast 
tree,  must  be  traced  out  by  history,  and  by  the  customs,  tra- 
ditions and  languages,  now  existing  among  the  nations. 

We  may  now  proceed  to  the  consideration  of  the  identity 
in  some  parts  of  the  languages  of  various  nations,  before  al- 
luded to ;  but  this  part  of  our  subject  has  been  already  so  ably 
handled  by  Dr.  ]Mason  Good,  in  his  Book  of  Nature,  that  I 
shall  not  hesitate,  (in  adopting  his  views  of  the  subject,)  to 
present  to  my  readers  an  extract  from  that  most  able  work, 
which  will  place  the  subject  before  them  in  the  clearest  pos- 
sible light. 

"  Articulate  language,"  says  that  able  writer,  "  is  of  two 
kinds,  ora/ and  %(7//e,-  the  one,  penned,  or  printed,  and  ad- 
dressed to  the  eye  ;  the  other,  spoken,  and  addressed  to  the 
ear.  Written  language  distinguishes  civilized  man  from  savage 
man,  as  speech  distinguishes  man  in  general  from  the  brute 
creation.  It  is  of  so  high  an  antiquity,  that,  like  that  of  the 
voice,  it  has  been  supposed,  by  many  good  and  wise  men,  in 
all  ages,  to  have  been  a  supernatural  gift,  communicated  either 
at  tlie  creation,  or  upon  some  special  occasion,  not  long  after- 
wards ;  yet  there  seems  no  satisfactory  ground  for  either  of 
these  opinions. 

"  That  it  was  not  communicated, like  oral  language,  at  the 
creation  of  mankind,  appears  highly  probable,  because,  first, 
it  by  no  means  possesses  the  universality  which,  under  such 


GEOLOGY  OF  bCKlFTUKE. 


115 


circumstances,  we  should  have  reason  to  expect,  and  which 
oral  language  actnally  displays.  No  tribe,  or  people,  have 
ever  been  found  without  a  tongue,  but  multitudes  without  a 
legible  character ;  and  amongst  the  different  tribes  and  nations 
that  do  possess  it,  it  is  far  from  evincing  that  unity,  or  simi- 
larity in  the  structure  of  its  elements,  which  maybe  traced  in 
those  of  speech,  and  which  must  be  the  natural  result  of  an 
origin  from  one  common  source ;  for  the  system  of  writing, 
among  some  nations,  consists  in  pictures,  or  marks  represent- 
ative of  things  :  among  others,  in  letters,  or  marks,  symboli- 
cal of  sounds ;  besides,  there  does  not  seem  to  be  the  same 
necessity  for  Divine  interposition  in  the  formation  of  written 
characters,  as  in  that  of  oral  language;  the  latter  existing,  the 
former  might  be  expected  gradually  to  follow,  in  some  shape 
or  other,  from  that  imitative,  and  inventive  genius  which  be- 
long to  man,  especially  in  a  civilized  state. 

"  With  respect  to  oral  language,  those  who  have  most  deep- 
ly studied  the  subject  have  generally  come  to  the  conclusion, 
that  nothing  short  of  Divine  Power  could  have  given  rise  to 
80  wonderful  a  gift. 

"  Some  schools  of  philosophy,  indeed,  have  supposed,  that 
man,  when  created,  had  no  greater  gift  of  tongue  than  is  found 
amongst  the  various  kinds  of  brutes;  and  that  it  was  only  by 
gradual  steps  in  civilization  that  perfect  language  arose. 
This  is  arguing  upon  the  same  principle  as  the  strange  opin- 
ions of  BulTon,  and  others,  who  derive  the  race  of  man  from 
monkeys,  and  who,  in  exhibiting  the  ottrang-outang,  have 
hence  denominated  him  the  satyr,  or  man  of  the  wooda. 

"  If  the  above  opinion  were  admitted  to  be  just,  we  should 
have  a  right  to  expect  that  the  language  of  a  people  would  al- 
waj's  be  commensurate  with  their  civilization.  It  so  hap 
pens,  however,  that  although  language,  whatever  be  its  origin 
IS  the  most  difficult  science  in  the  world,  (if  a  science  it  may 
be  called,)  it  is  one  in  which  savages  of  all  kinds  exhibit 
more  proficiency  than  in  any  other.  No  circumnavigator  has 
ever  found  the  inhabitants  of  the  most  distant  islands  deficient 
in  this  respect,  even  where,  in  every  thing  else,  they  were  al- 
most in  a  state  of  nature. 

"There  is,  in  all  the  languages  of  the  earth,  a  general 
tinity  of  principle,  which  evidently  bespeaks  a  general  unity 
"f  origin;  a  family  character  and  likeness,  that  cannot  pos- 
sibly be  the  ctTcct  of  accident.  The  common  divisions,  and 
rules  of  one  language,  are  the  common  divisions  and  rules 
of  the  whole  ;  and  hence,  every  national  grammar  is,  in  a  cer- 
tain sense,  and,  to  a  certain  extent,  an  universal  grammar, 
and  he  who  has  learnt  one  foreign  tongue,  has  imperceptibly 
made  some  progress  towards  a  knowledge  of  other  tomrues. 
Diversity  of  language  consists,  not  in  different  sets  of  articu- 
lations, but  only  in  a  difference  in  their  combinations  and  ap 
plications.  No  people  have  ever  been  found  so  barbarous  as 
to  be  without  articulate  sounds  ;  and  no  people  so  refined  and 
fastidious,  as  to  wish  to  add  to  the  common  stock. 

"  But  independently  of  an  uniform  circle  of  articulations, 
and  an  uniform  system  of  grammar,  there  is  also  an  uniform 
use  of  (he  very  same  terms,  in  a  great  variety  of  languages,  to 
express  the  same  ideas,  which  cannot  possibly  be  accounted 
for,  except  \ipon  the  principle  o(  one  common  origin  and  mother 
tongue.  I  mean,  particularly,  those  kind  of  terms,  which,  un- 
der every  change  of  time,  and  every  variety  of  climate,  or  of 
moral  or  political  fortune,  might  be  most  naturally  expected 
to  remain  immutable;  as,  for  example,  those  of  family  rela- 
tionship, and  patriarchal  respect,  or  descriptive  of  such  other 
ideas  as  cannot  but  have  occurred  very  generally  to  the  mind, 
as  those  of  earth,  sky,  death,  Deity,  lie." 

I  do  not  here  propose  following  Dr.  Mason  Good  through 
the  whole  course  of  his  most  interesting  research,  but  shall 
merely  select  a  few  of  the  most  striking  examples,  which 
must  be  fully  sufficient  for  my  present  general  purpose. 

"  In  our  own  language,  the  term  papa,  and  filht^,  describe 
the  paternal  character,  both  are  as  common  to  the  Greek  lan- 
guage as  our  own,  and  have,  probably,  alike  arisen  from  the 
Hebrew  source ;  and  it  may  fearlessly  be  affirmed,  that  there 
is  scarcely  any  language  or  dialect  in  the  world,  polished  or 
barbarous,  continental  or  insular,  employed  by  blacks  or 
whites,  in  which  the  same  idea  is  not  expressed  by  the  radi- 
cal of  tlie  one  or  the  other  of  these  terms.  The  terra  father 
is  still  found  in  the  Sanscrit,  and  has  decendcd  to  ourselves, 
as  well  as  to  almost  all  other  nations  in  Europe,  through  the 
medium  of  the  Greek,  Gothic,  and  Latin.  Papa  is  stilf  more 
obviously  a  genuine  Hebrew  term,  and  has  a  much  wider 
spread  over  Asia,  Africa,  and  the  most  barbarous  islands  of 
the  Pacific,  extending  from  Egj'pt  to  Guinea,  and  from  Ben- 
gal to  .Sumatra  and  New  Zealand. 

"  Tiie   terms  for  son  are  somewhat  more  numerous  than 


those  for  father ;  but  one  or  other  of  them  may  be  traced  al- 
most as  extensively,  as  may  the  words  brother,  sister,  and 
even  daughter,  which  last,  branching  out,  like  the  teica  father, 
from  the  Sanscrit,  extends  northward  as  far  as  Scandinavia. 

"The  generic  names  for  the  Deity,  are  chiefly  the  three 
following,  .il,  or  .illah,  Theus,  or  Deus,  and  God.  The  first 
is  Hebrew,  the  second  Sanscrit,  the  third  Persian ;  and  be- 
sides these,  there  is  scarcely  a  term  of  any  kind  by  which  the 
Deity  is  disignated  in  any  part  of  the  world,  civilized  or  sa- 
vage. Among  the  barbarians  of  the  Philippine  Islands,  the 
word  is  .illatallah,  obviously  the  God  of  Gods,  or  the  Supreme 
God,  and  it  is  the  very  same  term  in  Sumatra.  In  the  former 
islands,  we  meet  with  the  terms  malahet  for  a  spirit,  which  is 
both  direct  Hebrew  and  Arabic ;  is  and  dua,  one  and  two, 
which  are  Sanscrit  and  Greek ;  iambor,  a  drum,  which  is 
also  Sanscrit  ;'and  inferno,  hell,  a  Latin  compound  of  Pelasgic 
or  other  Oriental  origin.  In  the  Friendly,  and  other  clusters 
of  the  Polynesian  Islands,  the  term  for  God  is  Tooa ;  and  iQ 
New  Guinea,  or  Papuan,  Dewa,  both  obviously  from  the 
Sanscrit,  whence  Eaiooaa,  among  the  former,  is  God  the  Spirit, 
or  the  Divine  Spirit,  ca  meaning  a  spirit  in  these  islands. 
They  also  apply  the  Hebrew  el,  as  the  Pelasgians  and  the 
Greeks  did,  to  denote  the  sun;  whence  e/ijn^ce  means  the  sky, 
or  sun's  residence,  and  papa-ellangee,  father  of  the  sky  or 
spirits. 

"  The  most  common  term  for  death,  amongst  all  nations,  is, 
mor,  mart,  or  mat.  It  is  mut  in  Hebrew  and  Phcenician ;  it 
is  mor,  or  mart,  in  Sanscrit,  Persian,  Greek,  and  Latin ;  it  is 
the  same  in  almost  all  the  European  languages ;  and  it  was 
with  no  small  astonishment,  the  learned  lately  discovered  that 
it  is  the  same  in  Otaheite,  and  some  other  of  the  Polynesiaa 
Islands,  in  which  mor-ai  is  well  known  to  signify  a  sepulchre, 
or,  literally,  the  place  or  region  of  the  dead;  at  meaning  ^  place 
or  region  in  the  Otaheitan,  precisely  as  it  does  in  Greek  ;  an 
elegant  and  expressive  compound,  which  is,  perhaps,  only  to 
be  equalled  by  the  Hebrew  zaimut,  literally  death  shade,  but, 
in  our  Bibles,  rendered  shadow  of  death.* 

"  Sir,  in  our  own  language,  is  the  common  title  of  respect ; 
and  the  same  term  is  employed,  in  the  same  sense,  throuo'h- 
out  every  quarter  of  the  globe.  In  Hebrew,  */r,  or  sher,  im- 
ports a  ruler,  or  governor!  in  Sanscrit  and  Persian,  it  means 
the  organ  of  the  licad  itself;  in  Greek,  it  is  synonymous  with 
Lord ;  in  Arabia,  Turkey,  and  amongst  the  Peruvians  in 
South  America,  it  is  employed  as  in  the  Greek ;  and  is  not  es- 
sentially different  in  Spain,  Portugal,  Italy,  and  France.  In 
Germany,  Holland,  and  the  contiguous  countries,  the  s  of  the 
Hebrew  sher,  is  dropped,  and  it  is  converted  into  her. 

"  Man,  in  Hebrew,  occurs  under  the  form  of  maneh,  a  verb 
signifying  to  discern  or  discriminate,  and,  as  a  noun,  signify- 
ing a  discriminating  being.  In  Sanscrit,  we  have  both  these 
senses.  Hence,  menu,  in  both  Sanscrit  and  ancient  Egyptian, 
means  Mam,  or  the  first  man,  emphatically  the  man,  Afeiiet 
was  the  first  king  of  Egypt,  and  Minos  the  chief  judge 
amongst  the  Greeks.  Hence,  also,  in  Greek,  men  and  maios, 
signifying  mind,  and  the  Latin  mens,  the  mind,  is  the  same. 
In  the  Gothic,  and  in  all  the  northern  dialects  of  Europe,  man 
imports  the  same  idea  as  in  our  own  tongue.  In  Bengal  and 
Hindostan,  it  is  manshce  ;  in  the  Malayan,  manizu ;  in  Japan- 
ese, manio;  in  Atooi,  and  in  the  Sandwich  islands  generally, 
lane,  tanato,  or /an";/,  while  manauie  imports  l\\e  mind  or  spirit ; 
and  in  New  Guinea,  or  Papuan,  it  is  sonaman.  In  this  ut- 
most extremity  of  the  southern  world,  we  also  meet  with  the 
term  Sytan,  for  Satan,  or  the  source  of  evil ;  and  Wath  (Ger- 
man Goth,)  for  God.  But  it  may  perhaps  be  observed,  that, 
in  all  the  southern  dialects  of  Europe,  we  meet  with  no  such 
term  as  man,  nor  even  in  the  Latin,  from  which  so  many  Eu- 
ropean languages  are  derived,  and  which  has  homo  for  man. 
Yet,  it  is  clear,  that  homo  itself  is  derived  from  the  common 
root.  Its  adjective  is  hu-man-us,  human,  while  man,  or  min, 
is  found  in  every  inflection  below  the  nominative  case,  as  ho- 
min-is,  &c. :  the  former  nominative  itself  was  ho-men,  from 
whence  it  is  clear  that  ho  is  redundant,  and  did  not  originally 
belong  to  the  \<*ord.  The  negative  of  homo  is  ne-homo,  now 
pronounced  nemo  in  the  Latin  ;  in  which  latter  the  ho  has  been 
dropped.  The  ho  is  also  omitted  in  the  feminine  oi  homo, 
which  is  fc-min-a,  and  was,  at  first,  feo  min-a,  from  feo,  to 
produce;  literally,  ihe  prodticer  of  man  or  /n/n.  From/eo- 
min-a,  we  have  also  our  own,  and  the  common  Saxon  term 
wo-man,  the  /,  and  v,  or  w,  being  convertible  letters  in  all 
languages,  of  which  we  have  a  familiar  instancein  the  words 
vat er  ind  father,  in  German,  and  English." 

*  In  Otaheite,  the  natives  direct  their  voyages  by  the  siui,  moon, 
and  stars  j  and  they  have  names  for  many  of  the  constellations,  re- 
sembling, io  several  instances,  those  of  the  Greeks. 


116 


CHKISTIAJN     I^IBKAKY. 


All  the  above  cases,  and  many  more  that  might  be  pio- 
(luced,  are  confederating  proofs,  that  the  various  languages 
and  dialects  that  are  now,  or  ever  have  been  spoken,  have 
orio-inated  from  one  common  source ;  and  that  the  various 
nations  that  now  exist,  or  ever  have  existed  since  the  deluge, 
have  orii^inated  from  one  common  cradle  or  quarter  of  the 
world ;  and  that  that  quarter  was  an  eastern  region,  as  we 
might,  a  priori,  have  supposed,  from  Asia  having  been  the 
first  land  peopled  after  the  flood. 

"  But  besides  this  singular  coincidence  in  language,  over 
the  whole  inhabited  earth,  there  is,  also,  a  most  remarkable 
confirmation  of  the  same  unifij  of  origin,  in  the  correspondence 
between  all  nations  whatever,  where  any  traces  of  the  art  of 
arithmetic  exist,  in  the  employment  of  a  decimal  gradation. 

"  Whence  comes  it  to  pass,  that  blacks  and  whites,  in  every 
quarter,  the  savage  and  the  civilized,  wherever  a  human 
community  has  been  found,  have  neither  stopped  short  of,  nor 
exceeded  a  series  of  ten  in  their  calculations  ;  and  that  as  soon 
as  they  have  reached  this  number,  they  have,  uniformly, 
begun  a  second  series  with  the  first  unit  in  the  scale,  as  one 
ten,  two  ten,  &c.  ?  Why  have  not  some  nations  broke  off  at 
Jive,  or  others  proceeded  to  fifteen  before  they  began  a  second 
series  ?  Or  why  have  the  generality  of  them  had  any  thing 
more  than  one  single  and  infinitesimal  series,  and  conse- 
quently, a  new  name  for  every  unit  ?  Such  an  universality 
cannot  possibly  have  existed,  except  from  a  like  universality 
of  cause;  and  we  have,  in  this  single  instance  alone,  a  proof 
equal  to  mathematical  demonstration,  that  the  different  lan- 
guao-es  into  which  it  enters,  and  of  which  it  forms  so  promi- 
nent" a  feature,  must,  assuredly,  have  originated  not  from 
accident,  at  different  times,  and  in  different  places,  but  from 
direct  determination  and  design,  at  the  same  time,  and  in  the 
someplace  ;  that  it  mnst  be  the  result  of  one  grand,  compre- 
hensive, and  original  system.  Such  system  could  not  have 
been  of  human  invention :  what  then  remains  for  us,  but  to 
confess  that  it  must  have  been  of  Divine  and  Supernatural 
communication  ? 

"  Such  examples,  though  few,  are  abundantly  sufficient  to 
establish  the  point ;  and  they  even  lead  us  to  a  second  and 
catenating  fact,  namely,  that  the  primary  and  original  language 
of  man,  that  language  divinely  and  supernaturally  communi- 
cated to  him,  in  the  early  ages  of  the  world,  has  been  broken  up, 
confounded,  and  scattered,  in  various  fragments,  over  every  part 
of  the  habitable  globe  ;  that  the  same  sort  of  disruption  that 
has  confounded  former  continents  and  oceans,  and  inter- 
mingled the  productions  natural  to  different  hemispheres  and 
latitudes,  this  same  Power  has  assaulted  the  world's  prime- 
val tongue,  has  overwhelmed  a  great  part  of  it,  wrecked  the 
remainder  on  distant  and  opposite  shores,  and  turned  up  new 
materials  out  of  the  general  convulsion :  and  if  it  were  possi- 
ble for  us  to  meet  with  an  ancient  historical  record,  which 
professed  to  contain  a  plain  and  simple  statement  of  such 
supernatural  communication,  and  such  subsequent  confusion 
of  tongues,  it  would  be  a  book,  which,  independently  of  any 
other  information,  would  be  amply  entitled  to  our  attention, 
for  it  would  thus  bear  an  indejc  of  commanding  authority  on  its 
own  forehead. 

"  Such  a  book  is  now  in  our  hands.  Let  us  prize  it,  for  it 
must  be  the  Word  of  God,  as  it  bears  the  direct  stamp  and 
testimony  of  His  works."* 


CONCLUSIONS 

To  which  ive  are  naturally  led  by  the  general  tenor  of  the  fore- 
going inquiry. 

Having  completed  the  proposed  general  survey  of  the  sj's- 
tem  of  geological  phenomena,  on  every  part  of  the  earth's 
surface,  let  us  now  take  a  retrospective  view  of  the  various  con- 
clusions to  which  we  have  been  led,  in  regarding  the  Crea- 
tion, and  the  laws  to  which  all  created  beings  have  been 
submitted  by  the  Almighty.  And,  first,  we  have  found  it 
unreasonable,  and  unphitosuphical,  to  subscribe  to  the  doc 
trines,  too  commonly  taught,  wherein  tlie  first  production  of 
all  things  is  supposed  to  have  arisen  by  the  mere  laws  of  na- 
ture, or  from  secondary  causes,  within  a  chaotic  or  imperfect 
mass ;  because,  in  adopting  this  opinion,  we  find  ourselves  as 
far  removed  as  ever  from  the  origin  of  things  of  which  we 


The  Book  of  Natuic,  by  Dr.  Mason  Good. 


were  in  search  :  for  even  were  we  to  admit,  with  the  Wer- 
nerian  school  of  philosophy,  the  primary  existence  of  an 
aqueous  chaos,  and  that  the  laws  of  nature  have,  in  an  indefi- 
nitely long  period  of  time,  gradually  produced  the  beautiful 
order  and  arrangement  we  now  admire  in  the  universe ;  we 
should  still  have  to  account  for  the  component  parts  of  that 
chaotic  mass,  which  could  not  have  come  into  being  by  any  of 
the  known  laws  of  nature:  and  being  thus  driven  lo  acknow- 
ledge a  Creative  Power,  capable  of  producing  even  a  chaos 
out  of  nothing,  and  of  establishing  those  wonderful  laws  which 
now  govern  the  world,  we  should  find  ourselves,  without  any 
available  object,  derogating  from  the  Wisdom  and  Power  of 
a  Creator,  by  denying  a  perfect  creation  of  all  things  in  the 
beginning.  If  we  are  forced  to  this  conclusion,  with  regard 
to  the  actual  structure  of  the  mineral  body  of  the  earth,  we 
are  even  more  forcibly  convinced  of  this  great  truth,  by  a 
survey  of  the  animal  and  vegetable  world  with  which  it  is  fur- 
nished. For  wheu  we  consider  the  evident  design,  vihich  is 
so  remarkably  displayed  in  the  structure  of  these  bodies,  we 
must  feel  satisfied,  that  though  the  laws  of  nature  may,  and 
do,  now  regulate  them,  they  never  could  have,  at  first,  pro- 
duced them.  We  have  found,  that  as  it  is  unreasonable  to  sup- 
pose the  first  man  to  have  ever  been  an  infant,  or  the  first  oak 
tree  to  have  sprung  from  an  acorn,  we  are  forced  to  the  adop- 
tion of  the  only  other  alternative  left  for  our  choice  ;  and  we 
must,  therefore,  conclude,  that  both  animal  and  vegetable  pro- 
ductions were,  at  first,  created  in  their  mature  and  perfect 
forms,  and  were  then  submitted  to  those  laws  which  have 
ever  since  been  in  action  in  the  world.  And  when  we  are 
unavoidably  led  thus  far  by  our  reason  alone,  and  when  we 
then  consult  the  only  History  of  the  early  events  of  the  world 
that  is  within  our  reach,  we  find  this  Record  announcing,  in  the 
most  unequivocal  terms,  that  "  in  the  begining,  God  created 
the  heaven  and  the  earth  ;"  and  that,  "in  six  days  He  made 
heaven  and  earth,  the  sea,  and  all  that  in  them  is,  resting  on 
the  seventh  day,  and  hallowing  it,"  as  a  day  of  rest  and  of 
worship  for  all  the  generations  of  men. 

And  with  respect  to  the  nature  and  duration  of  those  six 
days,  so  particularly  defined  in  the  Record,  which  it  pleased 
the  Creator,  for  an  obviously  wise  and  beneficent  end,  to 
occupy  in  this  incomprehensible  work  of  creation,  we  can  have 
no  reasonable  doubt  that  they  were  such  days  as  are  now, 
and  ever  have  been,  occasioned  by  one  revolution  of  the  earth 
on  its  axis  ;  first,  because  a  perfect  creation  may  be  as  easily 
the  work  of  one  daj^  or  of  one  moment,  as  of  thousands  of 
years  ;  secondly,  because  the  supposed  longer  periods  of  philos- 
ophy, were  only  called  for  in  the  erroneous  idea  of  gradual 
perfection,  from  an  imperfect  creation,  which  idea  we  have 
found  such  reason  altogether  to  condemn ;  and  thirdly,  be- 
cause that  Record,  on  the  evidence  of  which  our  confidence  has 
been  confinned,  on  the  subject  of  perfect  creation,  has  dis- 
tinctly defined  each  of  these  days  by  its  evening  and  its  morning, 
which  terms,  so  often  repeated,  can  be,  in  no  way,  applicable 
to  the  supposed  indefinite  periods  above  alluded  to. 

Secondly, — We  have  found  reason  to  conclude,  that  the 
first  great  geological  change  which  took  place  after  the 
creation  of  the  solid  mass  of  the  globe,  was  occasioned  by 
ihdXfiat  of  the  Almighty,  on  the  third  day,  by  which  the 
waters,  equally  covering  the  whole  mineral  surface  during 
the  first  and  second  days,  were  "gathered  together  into  one 
place,"  that  the  "  dry  land"  might  appear ;  and  as  this 
"  gathering  together  of  the  waters"  of  the  sea,  could  not  have 
taken  place,  according  to  the  laws  oi  gravity  and  of  fluids,  by 
accumulation,  it  must  have  been  effected  by  a  depression  of  a 
portion  of  the  surface  of  the  earth,  into  which  the  waters 
would  naturally  flow.  This  depression  could  not  have  taken 
place  without  a  partial  derangement  of  a  thin  portion  of  the 
earth's  surface ;  and  from  this  partial  derangement,  acted  upon 
by  the  laws  which  have,  at  all  times,  governed  the  ocean, 
we  derive  the  earliest  secondary  formations,  now  found  rest- 
inor  upon  the  primitive  mineral  mass. 

Thirdly, — We  discover  an  adequate  and  reasonable  origin 
for  a  great  portion  of  the  other  secondary  formations,  now 
found  upon  the  earth,  in  the  action,  during  a  period  of  six- 
teen hundred  and  fifty-sL\  years,  of  those  laws  of  nature,  by 
which  a  constant  removal  of  mineral  debris  is  taking  place, 
from  the  dry  land,  to  the  bed  of  the  ocean :  and  in  considering 
the  existing  action  of  those  laws  which  govern  the  waters, 
we  find  a  natural  and  easy  solution  of  the  problem  of  hori- 
zontal strutifcation,  and  individual  mineral  arrangement,  which 
has  occasioned  so  many  erroneous  conclusions  in  some  schools 
of  philosophy.  And  we  further  discover  the  most  convincing 
proof  of  the  erroneous  nature  of  the  Wernerian  theory,  of 
primitive  rocks  having  been  formed  in  an  aqueous  chaos,  in  the 


GEOLOGY  OF  SCRIPTURE. 


117 


circumstance  o(  no  primHive  creation,  such  as  granite,  havinw 
ever  been  discovered  amon^t  what  are  denominated  second- 
ary rocks,  allhough  these  latter  are  knoum  to  have  ariien  in  the 
self-snme  AQi'EOfs  medium. 

fourthly, — We  have  found,  in  considering  the  subject  of  the 
deluge,  that,  as  the  phenomena  presented  to  our  consideration, 
over  every  part  of  the  present  dry  lands,  correspond  minutely 
with  the  terms  of  the  Mosaic  record,  where  it  informs  us  of 
the  intention  of  the  Almighty  to  destroy  the  antediluvian  dry 
lands,  as  well  as  their  inhabitants ;  that  great  and  awful 
judgment  must  have  been  occasioned  by  the  gradual  inter- 
change of  level  between  the  former  seas  and  lands  :  that  we 
are,  consequently,  now  inhabiting  the  bed  of  the  antediluvian 
ocean ;  and  that  all  the  fossil  remains  of  animals,  or  vegeta- 
bles, now  discovered  in  our  rocks  or  soils,  were  either  em- 
bedded in  the  course  of  the  gravel  formation  of  the  secondary 
strata,  under  the  waters  of  the  former  sea,  (as  in  the  case  o" 
the  mjfrine  productions  in  chalk,  and  many  other  calcareous 
marine  formations,)  or  were  thrown  into  their  present  situa- 
tions by  the  waters  of  the  deluge,  and  embedded  (as  in  the 
case  of  quadrupeds,  vegetables,  human  beings  and  other  land 
productions,)  in  the  soft  soils  and  strata  so  abundantly  formed 
at  that  eventful  period,  by  the  preternatural  supply  of  mate- 
rials for  secondary  formations. 

Fifthly, — As  it  can  be  plainly  demonstrated,  by  existing 
causes,  and  existing  phenomena,  that  the  animals  and  plants, 
the  fossil  remains  of  which  are  now  found  in  uncongenial 
climates,  could  not  have  existed  in  a  living  state,  where  their 
remains  are  often  now  discovered;  as  a  general  inundation 
could  not  possibly  take  place  upon  the  globe,  without  the 
entire  destruction  of  animal  life,  and  the  total  overthrow  of 
the  whole  vegetable  kingdom ;  as  it  is  a  well  known  law  of 
nature,  that  jmimal  bodies,  when  destroyed  by  drowning, 
invariultly  float  at  one  period  of  their  decomposition;  and 
that  almost  all  vegetable  substances,  being  specifically  lighter 
than  water,  must  always  come  to  the  surface,  at  least  for  a 
time;  and  as  such  floating  animal  and  vegetable  bodies  could 
not  but  follow  the  action  oi  the  windi,  the  tides,  and,  more 
especially,  the  currents  of  the  then  universal  ocean,  some  o{ 
which  currents  have,  at  aJl  times,  a  tendency  from  the  equa- 
torial regions  towards  the  poles ;  from  all  these  several  rea- 
sons, we  cannot  come  to  any  other  rational  conclusion,  but 
that  all  the  fossil  remains  of  land  productions,  over  the  whole 
surface  of  the  present  dry  lands,  became  embedded  in  their 


present  situations  at  the  period  of  the  Mosaic  deluge ;  and 
that,  consequently,  the  climates  of  the  earth  have  been,  in  no 
way,  suddenly  changed,  as  some  philosophers  have  thought 
it  necessary  to  suppose ;  but  that,  on  the  contrary,  the  ante- 
diluvian animals  and  plants  must  have  been  distributed  over 
the  various  climates  of  the  former  dry  lands,  and  in  nearly 
the  same  latitudes  in  which  similar  existing  species  are  now 
respectively  found. 

SisthIy,-^As  we  have  found  the  most  conclusive  proofs, 
that,  amongst  other  animal  fossils,  the  remains  of  the  human 
race  are  not  unfrequently  found,  although,  in  that  small  nu- 
merical proportion  to  those  of  other  species,  which  the  sacred 
history  would  lead  us  to  expect,  we  must  entirely  reject  those 
doctrines  of  philosophy  which  teach  a  gradual  perfection  in 
the  animal  creation;  and  which  suppose  that  man  was  not 
yet  created,  at  the  period  when  those  animals,  the  remains  of 
f  which  we  now  discover,  existed  on  the  earth. 

Seventhly, — We  feel  our  belief  in  tlie  Mosaic  record,  of 
all  these  wonderful  events,  strengthened  and  confirmed  by 
the  many  traditional,  and  otlier  proofs  that  have  been  brought 
forward,  of  all  the  present  human  race,  in  every  climate  of 
the  world,  havinnr  sprung  I'rom  one  family,  and  from  one  pe- 
riod, which  period  was  that  of  the  Mosaic  deluge ;  and  that  that 
post-diluvian  family  origin  must  have  first  arisen  in  Jlsia,  is 
proved  by  the  affinity  of  so  many  common  expressions  in  the 
languages  of  even  the  most  remote  islands,  with  the  original 
languages  of  that  portion  of  the  globe. 

Lastly, — As  all  these  conclusions,  to  which  we  have  been 
naturally  led,  in  the  course  of  this  inquiry,  tend  to  corrobo- 
rate, in  the  most  distinct  manner,  the  history  of  the  early 
events  on  the  earth,  as  given  in  the  Mosaic,  and  other  books 
of  Scripture,  our  confidence  in  the  unerring  accuracy  of  these 
records,  is  firmly  established;  for  by  such  collateral  evidence 
we  should  try  the  veracity  of  any  other  ancient  history :  but 
when  we  add  to  the  usual  qualifications  of  a  correct  historian, 
the  incomprehensible  guidance  o{  divine  inspiration,  so  clearly 
evinced  by  numerous  prophecies  distinctly  fulfilled,  we  feel 
that  the  conclusions  to  which  our  inquiries  have  conducted 
us,  by  the  simple  evidence  of  reason  and  of  facts,  are  only 
such  as  might  have  been  anticipated,  when  we  consider  the 
unerring  source  from  which  this  divine  guidance  or  inspira- 
tion flowed;  and  that  both  the  events, and  the  inspired  record 
of  them,  which  has  been  so  wonderfully  preserved  for  our 
information,  are  super-Natukal  and  divine. 


LECTURES 


ON 


PORTIONS    OF    THE    PSALMS. 


BY 


/ 


ANDREW    THOMPSON,   D.  D. 

LATE  MLNISTEB  OF  ST.  GEOROk's,  EDINBURGH. 


LECTURE  I. 

"  Give  ear  to  my  U'orrh,  0  Lord ;  cnnsiiJer  my  meditation. 
Hearken  unto  the  voice  of  my  cry,  my  King,  and  my  God  ■■ 
for  unto  tliee  will  I  pray.  My  voice  s/ialt  thou  hear  in  the 
morning,  0  Lord;  in  f/ie  morning  tvill  I  direct  my  prayer 
unto  thee,  and  will  look  up.  For  thou  art  not  a  God  that  hath 
pleasure  in  wickedness ;  neither  shall  evil  dwell  with  thee. 
The  foolish  shall  not  stand  in  thy  sight ;  thou  ha/est  all  work- 
ers of  iniquity.  Titan  shall  destroy  them  that  speak  leasing ; 
the  Lord  will  abhor  the  bloody  and  deceitful  man.  Bus  as  for 
me,  I  trill  come  into  thy  house  in  the  multitude  of  thy  mer- 
cy ;  and  in  thy  fear  will  I  ivurship  toward  thy  holy  temple.'''' 
— PSALM  V.  1. — 8. 

You  have  been  often  addressed  on  the  subject  of  prayer, 
— on  the  oblig-ations  you  are  under  to  engage  in  it;  on  the  im- 
portance and  necessity  of  attending  to  it ;  and  on  the  encour- 
agement which  you  have  respecting  it,  from  the  example  and 
experience  of  the  people  of  God  in  every  age.  Now,  let  me 
ask  you,  if  you  really  make  it  a  part  of  your  Christian  work  1 
Do  3' ou  ever  pray  1  Are  you  frequently  at  a  throne  of  grace  1 
Is  it  the  habit  of  your  life  to  "make  your  requests  known 
unto  God  r'  Can  you  affirm  with  truth  that,  regularly,  or  as 
often  as  occasion  requires,  you  ask  in  order  to  receive  from 
him  the  various  blessings  which  are  essential  to  you,  both  in 
this  life,  "and  in  that  which  is  to  comeV  Just  consider 
what  judgment  must  be  pronounced  upon  you,  on  the  sup- 
position that  conscience  commands  you  to  answer  these  ques- 
tions with  a  negative,  and  that  you  must  be  counted  among 
those  who  "  restrain  prayer  before  God." 

In  the  first  place,  you  act  in  opposition  to  your  sense  and 
your  confession  of  what  is  right.  You  know  that  you  ought 
to  pra)%  You  are  convinced  that  this  is  incumbent  upon  you. 
You  allow  that  those  are  far  wrong  who  neglect  such  an  in- 
stitution. And  how  then  can  you  repel  the  charge  of  incon- 
sistency, when  prayer,  notwithstanding,  is  excluded  from 
your  practical  system?  We  desire  you  not  to  pray,  merely 
in  compliance  with  our  earnest  exhortation,  or  in  conformity 
to  the  pious  example  of  your  brethren.  In  this,  as  in  all  other 
cases  of  a  similar  description,  we  say,  '•  let  every  one  of  you 
be  fully  persuaded  in  his  own  mind."  Take  the  matter  into 
consideration.  Examine  it  attentively  and  thoroughly.  Try 
it  by  the  test  of  reason ;  weigh  it  in  the  balance  of  the  sanc- 
tuary ;  adopt  every  proper  mode  of  bringing  it  to  a  just  and 
conclusive  issue.  And  if  the  inquiry  shall  terminate  in 
showing  you,  that  you  are  not  bound  to  pray — that  there  is  no 
propriety  in  praying — that  neither  your  comfort  nor  your  in- 
terest is  concerned  in  it — then,  do  not  pray.  Weaskj'ou  noti 
in  any  case  to  act  contrary  to  the  serious  and  decided  dictates! 


of  your  own  mind.  And,  above  all,  we  ask  you  not  to  act 
thus  in  a  case  like  the  present,  in  which  a  conscious  approval 
of  the  exercise  is  necessary  to  prevent  it  from  being  at  once 
unacceptable  and  profane.  But,  on  the  other  hand,  if  the  les- 
son which  you  learn  from  Scripture — if  the  determination  of 
the  question  to  which  you  have  con^ — be,  that  men  should, 
and  must  pray — and  that  you  can  learn  any  other  lesson  on 
this  point  from  Scripture,  or  that  you  can  come  to  any  other 
determination  of  the  question  respecting  it,  as  professing 
Christians,  may  be  held  impossible — then  have  we  not  cause 
to  wonder  and  to  complain  that,  in  spite  of  what  j'ou  have 
learnt  and  of  what  you  admit  to  be  your  duty,  you  are  as 
negligent  of  praj'er,  as  if  }'ou  had  learnt,  and  as  if  you 
mamtained,  that  it  was  not  )'our  duty "!  You  acknowledge 
that  you  ought  to  pray — nevertheless  you  forget,  or  you  refuse 
to  pray.  Is  not  this  a  palpable  and  unworthy  contradiction 
in  your  character  ?  And  why  should  you  permit  it  to  exist  % 
What  excuse  can  you  bring  forward  to  justify  it?  Or  how 
can  you  account  for  it,  except  by  tracing  it  to  an  ungodliness 
and  a  depravity  in  the  heart  which  overpowers  the  efforts  of 
your  understanding,  and  proclaims  your  bondage  to  that  sin 
from  which  it  is  the  very  province  of  jirayer  to  seek  deliver- 
ance 1  We  call  upon  you  to  banish  this  practical  solecism. 
Let  your  conduct  correspond  with  your  real  and  avowed  con- 
victions. And  let  the  first  voice  of  your  supplications  be  for 
grace  to  make  you  love  what  )'ou  know  to  be  dutiful,  and  to 
infuse  into  your  soul  the  spirit,  whUe  it  guides  you  to  the 
practice,  of  true  devotion. 

But  we  must  remind  you,  in  the  second  place,  that  by 
neglecting  prayer,  you  resist  the  authority  of  God.  Are  not 
you  aware,  my  friends,  tliat  God  has  commanded  you  to 
pray  ? — that  he  has  not  left  you  to  discover  this  by  mere  in- 
ference, but  has  announced  it  in  terms  not  inore  precise  than 
tliey  are  emphatic  1 — and  that  the  injunction  holds  such  acon- 
spicuous  place,  and  is  so  frequently  re])eated  in  his  word,  as 
to  show  the  vast  importance  which  he  attaches  to  the  manner 
in  which  it  is  treated  ?  And,  aware  of  these  tilings,  how  can 
you  venture  to  treat  it  with  contempt,  and  yet  hope  to  pros- 
per? What  title  have  you  to  expect  that,  in  this  particular, 
more  than  in  any  other,  you  can  disobey  God  with  impunity  ? 
Think  you  that  he  does  not  mean  what  he  declares,  or  that 
he  will  not  fulfil  what  he  has  promised,  or  that  he  will  not 
execute  what  he  has  threatened  ?  Or  can  any  apology  be 
wisely  or  successfully  pleaded  for  withholding;  from  him  the 
homage  which  he  demands,  and  refusing  to  put  up  to  him 
those  petitions,  which  are  equally  called  for  as  tokens  of  sub- 
mission to  his  will,  and  of  respect  for  his  character?  No, 
my  friends  :  it  is  from  the  throne  of  unlimited  sovereiOTty 
that  he  speaks,  when  he  commands  you  to  pray;  and  diso- 
bedience to  this  is  just  as  criminal  and  just  as  dangerous  as 


LECTURES  ON  PORTIONS  OF  THE  PSALMS. 


119 


disobedience  to  any  other  precept  of  liis  law.  I  say  that  lie' 
speaks  to  you  from  the  throne  of  unlimited  sovereignty,  that 
you  may  be  deterred  from  trifling  with  his  behests  when  he 
exacts  from  you  the  tribute  of  prayer.  But  I  must  add  that 
his  throne  of  sovereignty  is  a  throne  of  grace  ;  and  that  if  the 
commandment  comes  armed  with  the  sanction  of  stern  author- 
ily,  it  also  comes  recommended  by  the  charms  of  tender  mer- 
cy. God  is  the  hearer  of  prayer,  in  virtue  of  his  compassion 
to  sinners :  and,  had  he  not  been  a  being  in  whom  compas- 
sions abound,  so  far  from  giving  you  access  to  his  presence, 
and  laying  it  upon  you  as  a  peremptory  obligation  and  an  ex- 
press duty  to  make  use  of  that  privilege,  he  would  have  for- 
bidden you  to  address  him,  and  shut  his  ear  against  j'ourcry, 
and  left  you  to  perish  in  your  apostacy.  But,  looking  upon 
3'ou  with  pity,  and  desirous  to  extend  to  you  every  needful 
blessing,  he  is  ready  to  listen  to  your  applications ;  and,  in 
order  to  secure,  as  it  were,  your  coming  to  him  that  you  may 
have  your  every  want  supplied  and  your  every  evil  remedied, 
he  not  only  opens  up  "  a  new  and  living  way"  of  approach, 
but  he  clothes  himself  in  majesty,  and,  by  issuing  his  high 
mandate,  sliuts  you  up  to  the  necessity  of  praying  to  him, 
under  the  penalties  of  disobedience  to  the  united  voice  of 
righteous  authority  and  unmerited  love.  And  I  put  it  to  you 
my  friends,  how  you  can  bring  yourselves  to  be  guilty  of 
such  disobedience,  and  yet  go  on  to  live  as  if  you  were  sub- 
mitting to  the  divine  will  by  being  men  of  piety  and  praj'er. 
O  do  not  continue  any  longer  in  such  a  delusion  as  this. 
Either  cease  to  neglect  prayer  before  God,  or  cease  to  tliink 
that  you  are  submissive  to  him.  Either  be  habitually  given 
to  this  exercise,  or  acknowledge  that  j'ou  are  self-convicted 
rebels  against  the  government  of  him  who  "  ruleth  over  all." 
And  remember  that  rebellion  here  is  as  fatal  to  those  who  are 
chargeable  with  it,  as  if  they  had  violatedthe  most  important 
enactment  of  the  moral  law. 

And  now  I  have  to  state,  in  the  third  place,  that  without 
prayer,  vain  will  be  to  j-ou  all  the  provisions  that  are  made  in 
the  Gospel  for  your  deliverance  and  happiness.  The  Gospel 
is  a  dispensation  of  divine  wisdom  and  goodness.  It  pro- 
poses to  bestow  upon  sinful  men  the  benefits  of  salvation. 
But  it  proposes  to  bestow  them  in  a  certain  wav,  and  accord- 
ing to  a  certain  scheme.  And  nothing  is  clearer  than  that  they 
cannot  be  received  and  enjoyed  without  a  humble  acqui- 
escence, on  the  part  of  those  to  whom  they  are  communicated, 
in  the  method  by  which  it  has  pleased  God  to  impart  them. 
Now,  do  you  know  any  ground  for  thinking  that  these  bene- 
fits can  ever  belong  to  those  who  do  not  pray  for  them?  It  is 
distinctly  taught,  that  if  you  ask  tlicm  in  prayer,  believing, 
they  shall  become  yours.  But  where  is  it  taught  within  the 
whole  compass  of  the  Bible,  that  the  prayerless  sinner  shall 
be  saved  1 — that  you  need  not  supplicate  one  of  the  blessings 
of  redemption,  and  j'et  be  as  sure  of  obtaining  them  all  as  if 
you  had  ! — that  pardon  has  even  been  procured,  or  that  hea- 
ven has  ever  been  reached,  by  a  single  individual  who  has  not 
sincerely  felt,  and  cordially  put  forth  the  desire  for  them  1 
There  is  no  such  thing  taught  in  the  Bible ;  and  you  must  be 
sensible  that  the  very  contrary  of  this  is  what  the  Bible  uni- 
formly maintains  and  inculcates.  You  cannot  fail  to  perceive 
that,  agreeably  to  the  constitution  of  the  Gospel,  salvation  is 
the  end  at  which  you  aim,  and  prayer  the  means  by  which  you 
are  to  attain  it;  that  the  connection  which  God  has  establish- 
ed between  these  is  close  and  inseparable ;  and  that  the  hus- 
bandman may  as  well  expect  to  reap  a  harvest  where  no  seed 
has  been  sown,  and  no  culture  bestowed,  as  that  you  can  in- 
herit the  fruits  of  Christ's  labour,  though  they  have  never 
been  to  you  the  object  of  devout  and  believing  supplication. 
And,  impressed  with  the  truth  of  these  things,  on  what  prin- 
ciple, or  with  what  consistency,  can  you  neglect  to  pray  1  Is 
not  such  neglect  tantamount  to  a  deliberate  casting  away  of 
every  spiritual  and  every  eternal  hope  \  Is  it  not  equivalent 
to  saying  that  you  grudge  to  pray  more  than  you  wish  to  be 
redeemed  1  And,  if  persisted  in,  must  it  not  necessarily  have 
the  effect  of  separating  you  for  ever  from  God,  and  Christ,  and 
immortality  ?  Ves,  brethren;  such  must  be  the  inevitable  and 
awful  consequence  of  your  being  strangers  to  prayer.  And 
what  is  more,  I  defy  you,  by  any  ingenuity  you  can  employ, 
to  get  quit  of  this  alternative,  or,  continuing  to  believe  in  the 
Bible,  to  flatter  yourselves  for  a  moment,  that  it  is  either  of 
trivial  importance  or  of  the  least  uncertainty.  I  intimate  to 
you  a  truth  which  you  cannot  gainsay,  and  which  should  go 
home  to  the  heart  of  every  one  of  you  with  awakening  power, 
that  while  God  will  confer  upon  those  who  pray  for  it  as  they 
ought,  not  only  to  the  half,  but  even  to  the  whole  of  his  king- 
dom— not  one  good  thing,  as  pertaining  to  salvation,  will  he 
convey  into  your  lot,  if  you  persevere  in  disregarding  the  in- 


strumentality by  which  it  is  his  holy  and  sovereign  pleasure 
that  you  shall  seek  for  it,  and  come  to  the  possession  of  it. 
Your  guilt  shall  remain  uncancelled.  Your  hearts  shall  be 
still  under  "  the  bondage  of  corruption."  The  Holy  Ghost 
will  remain  at  a  distance  from  you.  Heaven  will  refuse  to 
unbar  its  everlasting  doors.  The  terrors  of  unpropitiated  and 
undeprecated  wrath  will  hang  over  you,  and  close  in  upon  you, 
and  at  last  bury  you  in  utter  and  irretrievable  ruin.  And  all 
this  misery  will  come  upon  you  with  the  unspeakable  aggra- 
vation that  you  might  have  escaped  it,  had  not  you  so  "  hard- 
ened your  heart"  against  God,  that  you  would  not  even  pray 
to  him — that  you  would  not  implore  from  him  the  deliverance 
which  you  needed — that  you  would  not  oflTer  up  one  cordial 
petition  for  that  which  he  was  willing  to  grant  you,  and  which 
he  is  now  commanding  you  to  ask  for,  that  vou  may  receive 
it,  and  be  happy  for  ever.  O  then  be  persuaded  to  go  to  the 
throne  of  grace.  Lift  up  your  soul  to  him  who  delights  in  the 
supplications  of  the  penitent.  Join  yourselves  to  them  of 
whom  we  can  say,  in  the  language  of  mingled  admiration  and 
pleasure,  "  Behold  !  they  pray."  And  let  this  exercise  be  so 
dear  to  you,  and  of  so  much  importance  in  your  regard,  that 
you  shall  sympathize  with  the  Psalmist,  and  catch  his  devout 
spirit,  and  enter  into  his  pious  resolutions  when  he  thus 
speaks,  "Give  ear  to  my  words,  O  Lord,  consider  my  medi- 
tation. Hearken  unto  the  voice  of  my  cry,  my  King  and  my 
God  ;  for  unto  thee  will  1  pray.  My  voice  shall  thou  hear  in 
the  morning,  O  Lord;  in  the  morning  will  I  direct  mj' prayer 
unto  thee,  and  will  look  up-" 

1.  It  becomes  us,  my  friends,  to  form  and  adopt  the  pur- 
pose of  the  Psalmist.  His  purpose  was  to  pray ;  and  that 
purpose  should  be  ours.  We  have  many  motives  and  induce- 
ments to  engage  in  this  exercise.  And  if  we  consider  these 
aright,  and  submit  to  that  influence  which  they  are  fitted  to 
hold  over  our  feelings,  they  will  speedily  and  elTectually  de- 
termine us  to  address  ourselves  to  God  in  these  words,  '"LTn- 
to  thee  will  I  pray."  We  will  be  satisfied  that  it  is  our  high 
honour,  our  distinguished  privilege,  our  bounden  duty,  our 
purest  comfort,  and  our  truest  advantage  :  and,  viewing  it  in 
these  lights,  we  cannot  but  resolve  to  attend  to  it,  and  to  give 
ourselves  to  it,  as  an  observance  of  the  utmost  consequence  to 
our  welfare.  Even  the  speculative  conviction  of  its  excel- 
lence, as  thus  contemplated,  must,  if  we  are  actuated  by  the 
ordinary  principles  of  a  rational  nature,  constrain  us  to  fix  our 
attachment  upon  it,  and  to  employ  it  as  the  means  of  im- 
provement and  of  happiness.  But  how  much  more  powerful 
will  be  our  regard  for  it,  and  how  much  more  deeply  and  de- 
cidedly will  it  affect  our  minds  and  our  practice,  if  we  know 
from  personal  experience  all  the  advantages  which  it  confers, 
and  all  the  joys  which  it  imparts  !  Having  felt  what  it  is  to 
commit  ourselves  to  God  in  prayer — having  received  the  mer- 
cy to  pardon,  and  the  grace  to  help  that  we  implored — having 
been  rescued  from  dangers,  supported  under  trials,  fortified 
against  temptations,  strengthened  for  duties,  and  comforted 
amidst  sorrows,  in  answer  to  the  petitions  that  we  had  offer- 
ed up^this  must  endear  the  throne  of  grace  to  us,  attract  our 
hearts  to  it,  and  encourage  us  to  make  it  our  habitual  and 
chosen  refuge,  amidst  all  the  vicissitudes,  and  in  all  the  cir- 
cumstances, of  our  Christian  pilgrimage.  And,  aware  how 
apt  the  world  is  to  break  in  upon  our  devotional  duties;  and 
how  much  we  are  in  hazard,  from  that  and  various  other  cau- 
ses, of  neglecting  to  perfomi  these  as  they  ought  to  be  per- 
formed, or  of  postponing  them  to  concerns  and  occupations  of 
a  secular  nature,  we  shall  just  feel  the  stronger  necessity  for 
"building  ourselves  up"  in  this  pious  resolution, and  making 
a  covenant  with  our  own  minds,  that  we  will  allow  nothing 
to  come  in  between  God  and  our  souls,  but  that,  in  whatever 
we  are  employed,  wherever  we  are  placed,  and  whatever  be- 
fals  us,  "  unto  him  will  we  pray." 

2.  Then  it  will  be  with  great  earnestness  that  we  pray  to 
God.  We  will  not  go  about  the  duty  in  a  cold,  iormal,  or 
perfunctory  manner,  as  if  it  were  a  matter  of  indifference  to 
us,  whether  we  were  successful  in  our  application  or  not. 
This  would  be  unsuitable  to  the  character  of  the  Being  to 
whom  our  application  is  made,  and  to  the  importance  of  the 
blessings  that  we  are  desirous  to  obtain.  The  God  whom  we 
address,  looks  with  a  jealous  eye  on  the  frame  of  mind  in 
which  we  approach  him,  and  could  not  fail  to  be  angry  with 
us,  if  he  saw  us  careless  and  unconcerned,  either  as  to  the 
things  which  we  asked  from  him,  or  as  to  the  tone  of  feeling 
which  we  cherish,  and  the  mode  of  supplication  which  we 
emplo3-ed,  when  bending  at  his  throne.  It  would  be  irreve- 
rence and  mockery,  which  would  have  the  effect  of  bringing 
upon  us  a  curse,  instead  of  a  blessing.  And  then,  if  we  had 
no  vehemence  of  <lpsirR,  and  no  fervour  of  expression,  would 


120 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


it  not  be  a  proof  that  we  attached  but  little  importance  to  the 
benefits  themselves,  which  yet  we  profess  to  seekl  And  if 
we  attach  but  little  importance  to  the  benefits  which  Christ 
has  purchased  with  his  blood,  which  God  has  commanded  us 
to  aspire  after  with  the  utmost  sincerity  and  diligence,  and 
which  are,  in  every  aspect  indispensable  to  our  present  and 
our  eternal  advantage — how  can  we  expect  that  our  prayers 
will  meet  with  the  acceptance  that  is  essential  to  their  suc- 
cess, or  be  attended  with  any  one  of  the  advantages  of  which 
prayer  is  so  productive  to  the  true  worshipper'!  When  we 
pray  to  God,  therefore,  let  us  he  truly  anxious  that  our  prayer 
may  ex])crience  his  favourable  regard.  Let  our  hearts  be  en- 
gaged in  the  exercise,  and  engaged  in  it  with  an  ardour  and  so- 
licitude becoming  the  case  of  those  who  must  have  from  him 
what  they  pray  for,  or  perish.  Let  us  wrestle  with  the  angel  of 
his  presence,  omitting  no  importunity  of  sentiment  or  of  lan- 
guage which  the  occasion  may  justity.  Let  the  words  which 
we  utter  be  the  vehicle  oftliat  earnestness  which  we  feel,  and 
let  us  beseech  him  to  hear  them  as  coming  from  the  dependants 
and  pensioners  of  his  bounty.  Lotus  meditate  with  deepest  in- 
terest on  the  extent  and  urgency  of  our  need,  and  entreat  him 
to  "consider  our  meditation,"  and  think  of  the  necessities 
of  our  condition,  and  exert  his  wisdom  as  well  as  his  mercy, 
in  giving  a  supply  to  all  our  various  wants.  Let  us  cry  to 
liim  with  all  the  fervour  of  men  who  have  no  other  refuge  but 
himself,  to  whom  there  is  no  hope  but  what  is  to  be  found  in 
the  riches  of  his  grace,  and  whose  ruin  is  inevitable,  unless 
he  will  have  pity,  and  send  deliverance;  and  let  us  implore 
liim  to  "  barken  to  the  voice  of  our  cry,"  as  the  cry  of  guilty 
condemned,  helpless,  and  miserable  creatures.  And,  alive 
to  the  unspeakable  moment  of  receiving  from  him  an  answer 
in  peace,  let  us  not  cease  to  cherish  all  this  intensity  of  de- 
sire ;  let  every  dawning  day  find  us  in  the  spirit,  and  in  the 
attitude,  of  importunate  supplication  ;  let  our  powers,  when 
invigorated  by  the  refreshments  of  sleep  and  rest,  be  called 
forth  to  the.  performance  of  this  good  work  ;  and  let  our  minds 
be  continually  and  earnestly  directed  to  heaven,  as  the  source 
from  which  we  are  to  draw  whatever  is  needful  for  our  pil- 
grimage through  life,  and  for  our  felicity  in  a  better  world. 

3.  But  we  are  not  to  pray,  as  if  God  were  unwilling  to 
hear  ns,  and  to  bestow  the  blessings  that  we  need.  He  has 
revealed  himself  as  the  hearer  of  prayer.  He  has  manifested 
his  readiness  to  give  us  whatever  our  situation  requires. 
"  He  that  spared  not  his  own  Son,  but  freely  delivered  him 
up  to  death  for  us.  how  shall  he  not  with  him,  also  freely 
o-ive  us  all  things  V     And  having  by  this  wonderful  display 


of  love,  and  by  various  aflectionate  declarations  of  his  word 
taught  and  encouraged  us  to  confide  in  him  for  the  attain- 
ment of  every  thing  for  which  we  are  cither  permitted  or  in- 
structed to  pray,  it  follows  that  our  prayers  should  always  be 
accompanied  with  lively  faith,  and  with  humble  hope.  Con- 
sidering the  representations  he  has  afforded  to  us  of  his 
character,  and  the  assurances  he  has  reiterated  us  of  his 
mercy,  any  thing  like  distrust  or  despondency  is  as  unbecom- 
ing, as  the  carelessness  and  inditVerence  against  which  we 
have  already  warned  you.  You  must  honour  God,  as  well 
as  consult  your  own  comfort,  by  giving  place  to  no  doubt  or 
disbelief,  when  you  draw  near  to  him  in  prayer.  Rest  im- 
plicitly on  the  faithfulness  of  his  promises,  which  are  all 
"yea  and  amen  in  Christ  .Tesus;"  and  pleading  on  the  merit 
of  your  great  High  Priest  and  Intercessor,  plead  witli  the 
boldness,  and  the  expectation  of  those  who  know  that  they 
"have  an  advocate  with  the  Father,"  whom  he  "  hearcth  al- 
ways," and  with  whom  he  is  ever  "well  )deased."  But 
while  you  "  look  tip"  to  God  with  the  conviction  that  he  will 
not  turn  away  your  prayer  from  him,  nor  his  grace  from  you, 
let  this  conviction  be  mingled  with  humility,  when  you  re- 
collect your  great  unworthiness,  and  the  weakness  and  \n\ 
perfection  ofyour  faith  itself.  Let  it  he  mingled  with  sub- 
mission, that  you  may  not  be  cast  down  and  disappointed, 
when  he  withholds  any  particular  blessing  which  you  had 
asked  with  peculiar  solicitude,  and  on  which  you  had  counted  as 
nt  once  important  to  your  welfare,  and  certain  in  its  attainment. 
And  let  it  be  mingled  with  that  patience  which  shall  prevent 
you  from  repining  at  delay  in  the  communication  of  what  you 
have  besouglit  your  heavenly  Father  to  send,  which  shall  make 
you  still  trust  in  him  for  the  accomplishment  of  all  that  con- 
cerns your  well-being,  notwithstanding  the  frustrations  of 
hope  which  you  may  have  experienced,  and  which  is  not  only 
quite  consistent  with  a  continued  and  unwavering  expectation 
of  ihe  gifts  that  you  implore,  but  imparts  such  a  tone  of  holy 
resignation  to  the  petitions  in  which  you  sup])licate  them,  as 
to  give  additional  grace  and  piety  to  the  sacrifice  which  you 
thus  lay  on  the  altar  of  your  God. 


4.  And,  finally,  yon  must  not  forget  that  the  God  to  whom 
you  pray  is  a  holy  God.  It  is  true  he  allows  us  to  approach 
Him  as  sinners;  and,  as  sinners,  to  ask  from  him  with  the 
hope  of  receiving  all  the  blessings  of  salvation.  But  then, 
in  this  act  of  condescension,  he  does  not,  and  he  cannot  re- 
nounce that  purity  and  rectitude  of  character  which  belong  to 
him  as  the  infinitely  perfect  Jehovah.  We  have  access  to 
him  by  the  blood  of  Christ:  but  hy  the  shedding  of  that  blood 
in  sacrifice,  he  has  set  before  us  a  most  emphatic  demonstra- 
tion of  the  divine  holiness,  which  the  sacrifice  of  Christ  was 
appointed  to  maintain  and  vindicate.  And  though,  in  virtue 
of  Christ's  meritorious  sutferings,  God  is  now  "  reconciling 
the  world  to  himself,"  and  free  to  bestow  salvation  upon  our 
fallen  race,  yet  he  has  not  ceased  to  be  as  much  distinguished 
by  holiness  in  his  own  character,  and  as  peremptory  in  his 
exaction  of  it  in  the  character  of  his  creatures,  as  he  was  be- 
fore the  existence  of  any  atonement,  or  of  any  satisfaction. 
Most,  true  is  the  representation  here  given  of  him  by  the 
Psalmist;  and  most  necessary  is  it  that  we  bear  it  in  mind, 
and  be  influenced  by  it,  in  all  our  devotional  exercises.  "  He 
has  no  pleasure  in  wickedness.  Neither  shall  evil  dwell 
with  him;  the  foolish  shall  not  stand  in  his  sight;  and  he 
hatclh  the  workers  of  iniquity.  He  shall  destroy  them  that 
speak  leasing  or  falsehood ;  he  will  abhor  the  bloody  and 
deceitful  man." 

Now,  this  statement,  of  which  we  need  not  at  present  give 
any  particular  illustration,  its  general  meaning  being  quite 
obvious,  and  quite  suflicient  for  our  purpose,  is  not  set  before 
us  to  deter  us  from  praying  to  God.  It  would  have  that 
elTect,  indeed,  were  we  to  confine  our  views  to  the  immacu- 
late holiness  of  God  on  the  one  hand,  and  to  our  moral  de- 
pravity and  guilt  on  the  other.  But  we  know  that  God  is 
merciful  as  well  as  just;  that  while  his  mercy  is  displayed, 
his  justice  is  satisfied;  and  that  according  to  the  wonderful 
plan  of  redemption,  even  the  chief  of  sinners  may  return  to 
him  through  the  appointed  mediator,  and  for  the  sake  of  that 
mediator,  be  pardoned,  and  accepted,  and  saved.  Still,  how'- 
ever,  if  we  thus  believe  in  Jesus  Christ,  and  thus  return  hy 
him  to  God,  our  very  faith,  and  our  very  return,  necessarily 
direct  our  views  to  him  as  a  God,  "  glorious  in  holiness," 
and  requiring  holiness  in  all  that  draw  nigh  to  him,  and  are 
admitted  to  the  enjoyment  of  his  favour.  And,  accordingly, 
it  is  one  provision  of  the  gospel,  that  we  be  sanctified  for  his 
service,  while  it  is  one  prescribed  qualification  for  engaging 
in  that  service,  that  we  have  "  clean  hands  and  pure  hearts." 
When  we  pray  to  him,  we  must  pray  in  the  spirit  of  peni- 
tence. We  must  he  animated  by  a  hatred  of  sin;  for,  "if 
we  regard  iniquity  in  our  hearts,  the  Lord  will  not  hear  us." 
We  nuist  have  a  sincere,  and  decided,  and  paramount  affection 
for  holiness ;  for  without  this,  we  could  not  fix  our  minds  with 
comfort,  or  with  hope,  on  him  whom  we  pretended  to  wor- 
ship. If  conscious  that  we  were  "enemies  to  God  in  our 
minds,  and  by  wicked  works,"  and  that  we  were  persevering 
in  our  enmity,  notwithstanding  all  that  he  had  done  to  subdue 
it,  we  could  not  possibly  cherish  towards  him  one  devotional 
sentiment,  or  utter  one  sincere  supplication.  It  becomes  us, 
therefore— it  is  requisite  for  us — to  be  holy,  that  we  may  pray 
to  God  as  we  ought.  And,  for  the  purpose  of  impressing  us 
with  the  importance  of  having  that  qualification,  and  with 
the  necessity  of  having  it  in  active  operation  when  we  ad- 
dress God  in  prayer,  let  us  always  contemplate  God  as  he  is 
here  delineated  by  the  Psalmist.  And  while  a  sense  of  our 
guiltiness  before  such  a  holy  Being,  determines  ns  to  seek 
for  acceptance  through  the  sacrifice  of  Christ,  let  the  purity 
of  him  to  whom  we  pray  determine  us  to  be  earnest  in 
seeking  for  the  renewing  and  purifying  influence  of  the  Divine 
.Spirit,"in  banishing  from  our  hearts  every  sinful  afiection  and 
every  unworthy  thought,  and  in  cultivating  all  those  graces 
and  'virtues  which  shall  qualify  us  for  holding  communion 
with  the  "father  of  our  spirits"  upon  earth,  and  for  enjoying 
his  beatific  presence  in  the  kingdom  of  heaven. 

But  while  the  holiness  of  God  is  a  commanding  reason  for 
praying  to  him  in  the  spirit  of  penitence,  we  may  also 


take  'encouragement  from  it  to  apply  to  him  wlien  men  are 
assailing  and  persecuting  us.  This  was  the  particular  view 
of  it  taken  by  the  Psalrnist  in  the  passage  we  are  consider- 
ing. He  knew  that  the  conduct  of  his  enemies  could  not  fail 
tolie  most  ofl'ensive  to  that  Being  who  ruled  the  world  in 
righteousness,  and  who  saw  in  their  hostility  to  his  servants, 
a  practical  contempt  of  his  law,  and  a  daring  opposition  to 
his  authority.  And,  therefore,  he  concluded  that,  however 
unworthy  he  was  in  himself  of  the  divine  favour,  and  how- 
ever necessary  it  was  to  pray  in  the  name  of  a  mediator,  the 
very  perfection  of  God's  moral  excellence,  would  justify  him 


LECTURES  ON  PORTIONS  OF  THE  PSALMS. 


121 


for  asking  his  interposition,  and  for  asking  it  with  the  as- 
sured hope  tliat  it  would  be  sjrantfd.  In  like  manner,  when 
we  suffer  from  the  malice  and  injustice  of  our  foes,  and  apply 
to  God  for  deliverance  or  for  help,  it  is  a  warrant  for  us  to  do 
so  that  he  is  infinitely  holy  and  just.  Were  he  "  altogether 
such  a  one  as  ourselves,"  were  his  nature  tinctured  with  sin, 
or  were  he  indifferent  to  its  prevalence  among  his  creatures, 
we  could  not  expect  that  he  would  "  give  an  attentive  ear" 
when  we  besought  him  to  guard  us  against  the  machinations 
and  the  malignity  of  those  who,  by  the  commission  of  it  in 
some  of  its  most  obnoxious  forms,  aimed  at  our  destruction. 
But,  convinced  that  he  is  "  the  Holy  One  of  Israel,"  that 
every  species  of  iniquity  is  hateful  in  his  sight,  that  the  work- 
ers of  it  are  the  objects  of  his  displeasure,  and  that  one  great 
purpose  of  liis  administration  must  be  to  check  and  to  punish 
them,  we  feel  ourselves  constrained  to  make  use  of  that  as  an 
argument  for  "calling  upon  him,"  when  we  are  treated  by 
our  fellow-men  with  cruelty  or  injustice.  It  is  appealing  to 
the  honour  of  his  character  and  of  liis  government,  and  to  the 
l)l(!dge  which  he  has  given,  in  all  that  he  has  revealed  of  him- 
self in  the  law  and  in  the  gospel,  in  the  ways  of  providence, 
and  in  the  word  of  truth,  to  prevent  the  triumph  of  ungodli- 
ness, when  we  invoke  him  as  a  God  of  righteousness,  to  come 
between  the  oppressor  and  the  oppressed,  and  to  save  us  from 
our  false,  deceitful,  and  blood  thirsty  foes.  We  must  never 
forget  that  this  attribute  of  God  should  make  us  approach 
at  all  times  with  much  self-abasement,  and  with  reliance  on 
his  mercy  through  the  blood  of  atonement ;  but  neither  should 
we  forget  that,  in  particular  circumstances,  it  furnishes  the 
most  animating  motive  that  we  can  have  for  fervent  sup- 
plications; and  that,  when  situated  as  the  Psalmist  was,  we 
may  freely  adopt  the  language  which  he  employed,  when  he 
said,  "  I  will  direct  my  prayer  unto  thee,  and  will  look  up  ; 
For  thou  art  not  a  God  that  hath  pleasure  in  wickedness ; 
neither  shall  evil  dwell  with  thee." 

The  Psalmist  did  not  satisfy  himself  with  private  prayer; 
lie  also  resolved  to  engage  in  the  exercises  of  public  worship. 
'Hie  same  feeling  of  piety  which  constrained  him  to  do  the  one, 
constrained  him  also  to  do  the  other.  And  then,  he  did  not 
think  himself  at  liberty  to  go  to  the  house  of  God,  without  a 
due  consideration  of  the  service  with  which  he  was  to  be  there 
occupied,  and  of  the  dispositions  and  views  which  it  required 
from  him,  as  both  becoming  and  necessary.  "As  for  ine," 
says  he,  "  I  willcome  into  thy  house  in  the  multitude  of  thy 
mercy  ;  and  in  thy  fear  will  I  worship  toward  thy  holy 
temple." 

The  resolution  of  the  Psalmist  should  be  ours.  We  may 
be  tempted  by  our  natural  disinclination  to  spiritual  employ- 
ment, and  1)}'  the  allurements  of  a  degenerate  world,  and  by 
the  example  and  counsel  of  ungodly  men,  to  "forsake  the  as- 
semblinir  of  ourselves  together."  But,  "  as  for  us,"  if  we  are 
actuated  by  the  principles  and  the  spirit  of  true  religion,  we 
will  resist  all  these  temptations,  and  account  it  our  honour, 
our  privilege,  and  our  duty,  to  "  wait  on  the  Lord"  in  the  ser- 
vices of  his  sanctuary.  This  we  will  do,  regularly  and  punc- 
tually, in  the  ordinary  circumstances  of  life.  But  we  will 
especially  have  recourse  to  God  in  his  house  of  prayer,  when 
we  are  distressed  by  the  hostility  and  persecution  of  our  foes, 
in  order  that  we  may  derive  consolation  from  the  communion 
which  we  there  hold  with  our  heavenly  father,  and  be  in- 
structed by  what  is  there  delivered  to  us,  in  all  tliat  can  re- 
concile us  to  our  troubles,  and  guide  us  in  our  difficulties,  and 
support  us  under  our  trials.  And,  far  from  rushing  into  his 
holy  i)lace,  as  too  many  do,  without  any  serious  thought  con- 
cerning him  to  whom  we  are  about  to  pay  our  homage,  and 
the  manner  in  which  he  must  be  approached,  if  we  would  ap- 
proach him  with  acceptance, — we  will  study  to  have  our 
minds  impressed  with  just  conceptions  of  his  character,  to 
bring  with  us  those  offerings  which  the  occasion  requires, 
and  to  present  them  with  suitable  affections,  and  in  a  suita- 
ble manner.  Instead  of  merely  going  to  his  tabernacles,  we 
will  go  to  them  with  the  conscious  purpose  of  worshipping 
him, — of  offering  to  him  our  prayers  and  our  praises,  and  of 
listening  to  his  word.  And  instead  of  merely  going  to  wor- 
ship him,  we  will  go  to  worship  him  in  that  way  which  is 
suggested  by  the  nature  and  circumstances  of  the  duty,  or 
dictated  by  his  own  express  injunctions.  Contemplating  the 
immaculate  purity  by  which  he  is  distinguished,  and  aware 
of  our  own  unworthiness  and  guilt,  it  will  be  with  the  deep' 
est  humility  that  we  enter  his  courts ;  it  will  be  with  de 
pendence  on  his  unmerited  mercy;  and  it  will  be  with  a 
l)elieving  reference  to  that  scheme  of  reconciliation  liy  which 
his  rncrcy  has  been  manifested  to  sinful  men.  And  though 
drawing  near  to  him  ii\  faith,  and  beholding  and  trusting  in 

Vol,.  II.— ti 


him  as  a  God  of  mercy,  we  will  feel  ourselves  encouraged  to 
hope  for  a  favourable  reception,  yet  still  thinking  of  his  un- 
spotted holiness,  and  of  our  own  great  depravity,  it  will  be 
with  godly  fear  that  we  lift  up  our  eyes  to  "  the  place  where 
his  honour  dwelleth,"  whether  we  give  him  the  tribute  of  our 
thanksgiving,  or  ask  from  him  the  blessings  that  we  need. 
Thus  going  into  the  house  of  God  "  in  the  multitude  of  his 
mercy"  and  worshipping  towards  his  holy  temple  "  i«  his 
fear,"  we  may  cherish  the  expectation  that  he  will  graciously 
receive  us  ;  that  he  will  "  cause  his  face  to  shine  upon  us  ;" 
that  he  will  listen  to  the  voice  of  supplication  which  we  lift 
up  to  him  from  amidst  "the  assembly  of  the  upright;"  that 
he  will  help  us  in  the  performance  of  our  sacred  duties ;  that 
he  will  bless  them  for  our  comfort  and  advantage  ;  and  that 
he  will  make  the  services  of  his  temple  below,  a  preparation 
for  the  purer  and  more  exalted  services  of  his  temple  above. 


LECTURE  II. 

"  Lead  me,  0  iMrd,  in  thy  righteousness  because  of  mine  ene- 
mies .-  make  l/iy  way  straight  before  my  face.  For  there  is  no 
faithfulness  in  their  mouth  ;  their  inward  part  is  very  wicked- 
ness ;  their  throat  is  an  open  sepulchre;  they  flatter  tcith  their 
tcngue.  Destroy  thou  them,  0  God:  lei  them  fall  by  their 
own  counsels  cast  them  out  in  the  multitude  of  their  transgress- 
ions !  for  they  have  rebelled  against  thee.  But  let  all  those 
that  put  their  trust  in  thee  rejoice:  let  them  eier  shout  for  joy, 
because  thou  defcndest  them  :  let  them  also  that  lore  thy  name 
be  joyful  in  thee.  For  thou,  Lord,  ivilt  bless  the  righteous ;  with 
favour  wilt  thou  compass  him  as  with  a  shield.'" — PsALM  v.  8. 
— E.ND. 

David  had  addressed  himself  to  God  as  the  hearer  of  prayer, 
and  he  did  so,  when  he  was  in  distress  by  reason  of  the  op- 
position and  hostility  of  ungodly  men.  He  took  encourage- 
ment in  praying  for  help  and  deliverance,  from  the  considera- 
tion that  God  was  a  holy  being,  who  had  "no  pleasure  in 
wickedness,"  and  who  would  take  part  with  his  servants 
when  they  were  persecuted  by  the  workers  of  iniquity.  And 
he  expressed  his  determination,  amidst  all  his  trials  and  trou- 
bles, to  adhere  closely  to  the  worship  of  his  Maker,  to  ap- 
proach him  in  a  dependence  upon  his  mercy,  and  to  "  serve 
him  with  reverence  and  godly  fear." 

He  proceeds  thus  :  "  Lead  me,  0  Lord,  in  thy  righteous- 
ness, because  of  mine  enemies  :  make  thy  way  straight  before 
my  face."  David's  enemies  were  numerous,  malicious,  and 
inveterate.  They  watched  to  spy  out  his  faults;  they  waited 
for  his  halting :  they  were  anxious  to  discover  him  acting  in- 
consistently with  his  professions  :  thej'  longed  for  some  vio- 
lation of  that  law  by  which  he  pretended  to  be  guided,  for 
some  departure  from  that  character  by  which  he  laboured  to 
be  distinguished — that  thcj'  might  accuse  him  before  the 
world,  that  they  might  disgrace  him  in  the  eye  of  the  church, 
that  they  might  overwhelm  him  in  infamy  and  ruin.  Now, 
in  this  situation  of  peril,  he  applied  to  God.  He  was  sensible 
that  of  himself  he  was  not  proof  against  their  enmity  ;  that  if 
left  to  his  own  wisdom  and  strength  and  resolution,  their  as- 
saults would  be  successful  and  their  object  accomplished; 
that  nothing  could  preserve  him  but  the  interposition  of  divine 
aid.  And,  therefore,  he  trusted  in  it,  and  lie  prayed  for  it. 
He  prayed  that  the  Almighty  would  prevent  him  from  com- 
mitting any  sin  which  would  have  given  his  foes  an  advantage 
over  him,  or  an  occasion  against  him  ;  that  he  might  be  ena- 
bled at  all  times,  and  in  all  circumstances,  to  present  to  them 
the  commanding  aspect  of  a  blameless  and  holy  life  ;  that  the 
\Vay  of  dutj'  might  be  made  so  plain  to  him,  that  he  could  not 
miss  it;  that  its  ruggedness  and  its  difficulties  might  be  so 
smoothed  down,  that  he  could  walk  in  it  easily  and  surely; 
that  those  who  looked  on  him  with  the  most  suspicious  and 
malignant  eye,  might  be  unable  to  detect  any  fault  in  his  con- 
duct; that  their  captiousness  might  he  ungratified,  their  cla- 
mours put  to  silence,  and  their  expectations  disappointed. 

Now,  my  friends,  we  are  in  one  sense,  situated  like  the 
Psalmist,  and  we  must  act  like  him.  We  have  all  of  us  ene- 
mies to  encounter,  whose  aim  is  deadly,  whose  vigilance  is 
ceaseless,  whose  attacks  are  unremitting,  whose  numbers,  and 
power,  and  devices  are  formidable.  And  what  have  we  where- 
with to  resist  them  f  Nothing  that  is  adequate  to  the  arduous 
task.  LTnskilful,  ignorant,  and  weak;  apt  to  slumber  at  our 
post;  easily  tempted,  or  easily  frightened  into  dangerous  con- 
cessions; unwilling  to  undergo  the  toils,  or  to  submit  to  the 


123 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


sacrifices  which  our  warfare  demands, — we  have  scarcely  be- 
gun the  contest,  when  we  lose  the  victory,  and  fall  a  jirey  to 
those  who  have  nothing  else  at  heart  than  our  everlasting  de- 
struction. But  though  such  is  our  condition,  is  it  quite 
helpless  and  irremediable  1  No,  brethren  :  the  God  whom  we 
serve  is  for  us,  and  he  is  mightier  by  far  than  all  that  can  be 
against  us.  He  has  promised  guidance,  and  protection,  and 
assistance ;  he  has  promised  to  give  courage  to  our  hearts, 
and  wisdom  to  our  counsels,  and  vigour  to  our  arm ;  he  has 
promised  to  be  himself  our  leader  and  commander,  to  sup- 
port us  through  the  perils  of  the  combat,  and  to  conduct  us  to 
conquest  and  to  triumph.  What  then  should  we  do,  but  con- 
fide in  these  promises,  and  pray  for  their  fulfilment  1  Let  it 
be  our  fixed  purpose  to  oppose  a  firm  and  unyielding  front  to 
our  adversaries.  Let  us  be  resolved,  that  in  spite  of  all  their 
efforts,  we  will  "hold  fast  our  righteousness,  and  never  let  it 
go  ;"  that  nothing  tliey  can  say  or  do  shall  prevail  upon  us  to 
surrender  one  iota  of  our  principles  or  our  purity ;  that  we  w"ill 
wage  interminable  war  with  them,  rather  than  suffer  them  in 
a  single  point  to  acquire  the  mastery  over  us.  And  let  all  the 
means  which  we  possess  of  repelling  their  assaults,  of  coun- 
teracting their  stratagems,  and  of  defeating  their  attempts,  be 
employed  with  every  degree  of  care  and  energy.  But  still, 
with  all  this,  let  us  never  forget  that  there  is  no  hope  for  us, 
if  we  rely  on  our  own  independent  resources  ;  that  we  must  be 
"strong  in  the  Lord,  and  in  the  power  of  his  might ;"  and 
that  his  all-sufficient  help  must  be  obtained  by  prayer  and  sup- 
plication. Let  us,  therefore,  beseech  him  "  to  lead  us  in  his 
righteousness,  because  of  our  enemies,  and  to  make  his  way 
straight  before  our  face."  Let  us  not  only  ask  him  to  be  thus 
mindful  of  us,  and  thus  assisting  to  us,  in  the  extreme  or 
more  trying  exigencies  of  our  lot;  but  let  us  habitually  apply 
to  him  for  the  wisdom  that  is  necessary  to  direct,  and  the 
strength  that  is  necessary  to  resist,  and  let  us  be  specially 
careful  to  implore  grace  to  prevent  us  from  doing  any  thing, 
which,  though  apparently  or  comparatively  insignificant,  may 
yet  pave  the  way  for  a  succession  of  evil  works,  which  would 
gradually  undermine  the  foundations  of  our  Christian  charac- 
ter, and  finally  involve  us  in  the  moral  desolation  which  our 
enemies  are  seeking  to  accomplish.  And  let  us  thus  labour, 
and  thus  pray,  not  merely  because  it  is  requisite  for  working 
out  our  own  personal  salvation,  by  keeping  us  stedfast  in  the 
path  of  God's  righteousness,  but  also  because  it  contributes 
to  the  honour,  and  the  influence,  and  the  prosperity  of  that 
great  cause  which  we  have  espoused,  as  believers  in  the  Gos- 
pel, by  depriving  our  foes  of  that  handle  with  which  our  mis- 
conduct would  furnish  them  for  "  blaspheming  the  holy  name 
by  which  we  are  called,"  and  by  exhibiting  to  them  the  vir- 
tuous and  irreproachable  deportment  which  is  formed,  and 
nurtured,  and  matured  by  the  religion  of  Jesus  Christ. 

The  Psalmist  next  gives  an  account  of  his  enemies,  and 
petitions  for  their  destruction.  "  For  there  is  no  faithfulness 
in  their  mouth  ;  their  inward  part  is  very  wickedness  :  their 
throat  is  an  open  sepulchre,  they  flatter  with  their  tongue. 
Destroy  thou  them,  O  God ;  let  them  fall  by  their  own  coun- 
sels :  cast  them  out  in  the  multitude  of  their  transgressions, 
for  they  have  rebelled  against  thee."  They  had  no  regard  to 
truth,  and  scrupled  not  to  invent  and  propagate  deliberate 
falsehoods,  if  they  could  thereby  injure  the  interest,  the  repu- 
tation, or  the  comfort  of  the  King  of  Israel.  And  this  they 
did  under  the  influence  and  by  the  impulse  of  inherent  de- 
pravity, of  an  inborn  enmity  against  God  and  the  people  of 
God,  which  neither  kindness  j-,or  virtue  could  subdue,  and 
which  startled  at  no  lie  and  at  no  malignity,  by  which  its  feel- 
ings might  be  gratified  and  its  purposes  gained.  Nay,  they 
carried  this  odious  and  reckless  passion  so  far,  that  they 
thirsted  for  David's  blood  ;  they  were  ready  to  devour  him  ; 
and  insatiable  as  the  grave,  which  never  says  "  it  is  enough," 
they  longed  to  swallow  up  not  him  only,  but  all  who  were 
embarked  in  the  same  holy  cause,  and  distinguished  by  the 
same  devoledness  to  the  King  of  Heaven.  And  so  far  did 
they  carry  their  diabolical  practices,  that  they  put  on  the 
mask  of  friendship,  and  spoke  in  the  accents  of  applause,  that 
thereby  they  might  more  easily  lull  the  suspicions,  and  effec- 
tuate tiie  ruin  of  all  who  were  the  objects  of  their  hatred. 

Such  were  the  Psalmist's  enemies  ;  and  he  prayed  for  their 
destruction.  He  pra)-cd  that  they  might  be  sulijected  to  the 
punishment  which  they  had  so  justly  merited  ;  he  prayed  that 
the  counsels  which  they  took,  and  the  measures  which  they 
devised  against  others,  might  be  so  overruled  as  to  turn  to 
their  own  overthrow ;  he  prayed  that  in  the  midst,  and  on  ac- 
count of,  their  multiplied  offences,  they  might  be  cast  out 
from  the  land  of  the  living,  and  the  place  of  hope.  These 
were  dreadful  imprecations,  and  could  only  be  justified  on  pe 


culiar  grounds,  in  explanation  of  which,  we  w'ould  offer  these 
two  short  remarks.  In  Ihejirst  place,  David  did  not  pray  for 
the  destruction  of  his  enemies,  from  any  feelings  of  personal 
resentment.  They  had,  indeed,  given  him  every  provocation 
that  insult  and  persecution  could  furnish.  But  he  did  not 
yield  to  it;  he  took  higher  and  more  imjiortant  views.  His 
own  wrongs  were  forgotten  amidst  the  affronts  that  were  of- 
fered to  the  majesty  of  heaven.  It  was  upon  this  ground  that 
he  pleaded  for  the  divine  vengeance  to  fall  upon  his  enemies. 
In  aiming  a  blow  at  him,  they  were  opposing  the  appoint- 
ments of  Jehovah,  and  they  were  doing  so  by  means  which 
implied  a  violation  of  the  most  important  and  sacred  enact- 
ments of  the  moral  law ;  and  hence,  he  urges  his  suit  against 
them  with  this  argument,  "  for  they  have  rebelled  against 
thee."  And  in  the  second  place,  when  interpreting  this  and 
similar  passages,  we  must  never  forgot  that  David  sustained 
a  particular  character,  and  was  the  champion  of  a  particular 
dispensation.  He  was  the  anointed  King  of  Israel ;  he  was 
inspired,  and  invested  with  the  prophetical  office ;  and  lie 
was  ordained  to  act  a  most  important  part  in  carrying  for- 
ward the  arrangements  of  God,  not  merely  for  the  imme- 
diate safety  and  prosperity  of  the  Jewish  state,  but  also 
and  chiefly  for  the  coming  of  the  Messiah,  and  the  ultimate 
salvation  of  the  world.  When  praying,  therefore,  for  the 
destruction  of  his  enemies,  he  was  not  an  unguided,  unau- 
thorised individual,  praying  for  ruin  to  the  common  enemies 
of  his  person,  or  of  his  country.  But  he  was  an  individual, 
specially  gifted  and  called  of  God,  and  "  moved  in  w-hat  he 
spoke  by  the  Holy  Ghost,"  praying  for  the  destruction  of 
those  who  "  set  themselves"  obstinately  and  malevolently 
"  against  the  Lord  and  his  anointed,"  who  were  levelling  the 
shafts  of  their  malice  against  the  cause  both  of  God  and  man, 
and  doing  what  they  could  to  frustrate  the  counsels  of  heaven 
concerning  the  advent  of  the  Saviour,  and  the  redemption  of 
the  human  race. 

But  while  these  extraordinary  circumstances  fully  justified 
the  Psalmist  in  imprecating  destruction  upon  his  enemies, 
there  is  nothing  in  our  situation  by  which  we  can  be  justifif  d 
in  following  his  example.  Evil  men  may  calumniate  us, 
and  do  us  all  manner  of  injury  ;  and  in  afflicting  ««  they  may 
they  must,  be  offending  God  ;  but  we  have  no  more  warrant 
to  pray  for  divine  wrath  to  consume  them,  than  we  have  war- 
rant to  cherish  personal  revenge  against  them.  We  are  under 
the  law  of  Christian  charity ;  and  that  law  forbids  undue  re- 
sentment ;  it  requires  us  to  "  love  our  enemies,  and  to  pray  for 
them."  We  must  be  regulated  by  the  example  of  Jesus; 
and  from  the  cross  of  his  agony,  he  lifted  up  the  voice  of  in- 
treaty  in  behalf  of  his  murderers,  and  said,  "  Father  forgive 
them,  for  they  know  not  what  they  do."  We  must  be  "fol- 
lowers of  God  as  dear  children  ;"  and  we  know  that  he  has 
no  pleasure  in  the  death  of  the  wicked,  but  is  willing  that  all 
men  should  come  to  repentance,"  and  therefore  it  becomes  us 
to  pray  that  even  those  who,  in  the  wantonness  or  the  wick- 
edness of  their  hearts,  have  done  us  most  evil,  may  be  "eon- 
verted  from  the  error  of  their  ways,"  and  made  partakers  of 
that  grace  in  which  we  ourselves  rejoice,  and  which  teaches 
us  to  remember  the  very  worst  of  them  in  our  supplications 
at  the  throne  of  mercy. 

When  we  come,  however,  to  consider  our  spiritual  ene- 
mies, the  case  is  altered,  and  in  so  far  as  we  exclude  from 
our  regard  whatever  is  at  once  an  object  of  pity  and  capable 
of  change,  it  is  not  only  allowable  but  dutiful  in  us  to  pray 
for  their  destruction.  With  that  limitation,  it  is  impossible 
for  us  to  be  on  any  terms  with  them,  and  not  endanger  our 
well-being.  And  as  we  should  use  every  method  in  our 
power,  for  breaking  down  their  dominion  and  annihilating 
their  very  existence,  seeing  that  their  hostility  is  equally  di- 
rected against  us,  and  against  God,  and  against  all  that  is 
good  and  holy,  we  must  not  omit  the  instrument  of  prayer, 
which,  when  employed  in  sincerity,  and  in  faith,  and  with 
perseverance,  is  not  less  availing  than  it  is  necessary.  It  is 
right  for  us  to  pray  that  the  kingdom  of  Satan  may  be  over- 
turned, that  he  may  be  seen  as  "  lightning  falling  from  hea- 
ven," that  he  may  be  banished  from  the  hearts  and  the  habita- 
tions of  all  men,  and  driven  away,  baffled  and  defeated,  "into 
his  own  place."  It  is  right  for  us  to  pray  that  the  spirit 
which  "  worketh  in  us  as  the  children  of  disobedience,"  may- 
be crashed  and  subdued— that  "  the  old  man  with  his  corrupt 
deeds  and  deceitful  lusts"  may  fall  down  and  die— that  every 
vestige  of  that  authority  w'hich  sin  has  established  in  our 
falleiT  nature,  may  perish  and  become  as  if  it  had  never  been. 
It  is  right  for  us  to  pray,  that  the  world  may  be  divested  of 
its  charms  to  seduce,  and  of  its  terrors  to  frighten  us  from 
the  paths  of  virtue  ;  that  it  may  fall  prostrate  and  without 


LECTURES  ON  PORTIONS  OF  THE  PSALMS. 


123 


strcnph  at  the  feet  of  a  triumphant  faith  ;  that  it  may  be 
hiirleu  from  its  proud  pre-eminence  among  men  ;  and  tliat  on  its 
ruins  may  be  erected  the  bright  and  purifying  hope  of  that 
"  new  heaven  and  that  new  earth,  in  which  dwelleth  righte- 
ousness." And  if  among  our  fellow-men,  there  are  those 
who  by  their  counsel,  their  example,  or  their  ridicule,  are 
trying  to  wound  our  conscience,  to  shake  our  confidence,  and 
ruin  our  souls,  and  thus  proving  themselves  to  be  the  worst 
enemies  with  whom  we  have  to  struggle, — it  is  right  also  to 
pray  with  respect  to  them,  that  the  character  in  which  they 
appear  as  foes  to  the  followers  of  Jesus  Christ  may  be  utter- 
ly extinguished  ;  that  the  very  devices  which  they  have  con- 
trived and  are  executing  against  us,  may  be  made  the  instru- 
ments of  their  discomfiture;  that,  whether  by  mercy  or  by 
judgment,  the  Lord  may  be  pleased  to  break  their  stubborn 
wills,  and  bring  them  into  subjection  to  himself  and  into  cap- 
tivity to  Christ;  and  that  the  enmity  of  theirminds  being  thus 
conquered,  and  all  the  strong  holds  of  unbelief  taken  from 
them,  and  their  souls  spoiled  of  every  carnal  affection  and 
every  hostile  feeling,  they  may  be  so  etfectuall)-  converted  as 
to  become  "lovers  of  God,"  the  friends  of  his  people,  and 
the  supporters  of  his  cause  throughout  the  world.  It  is  right 
for  us  to  pray  in  this  manner  and  to  this  extent  for  the  de- 
struction of  our  spiritual  enemies:  and  if  we  thus  "pray  with 
all  prayer  and  supplication  in  the  Spirit,"  He  to  whom  our 
petitions  are  addressed  will  answer  us  in  mercy,  taking  to 
him  his  great  power,  and  thereby  accomplishing  our  deliver- 
ance, securing  us  equally  against  the  wiles  and  the  violence 
of  our  foes,  and  giving  us  that  victory  over  them  all,  which 
shall  terminate  iu  "  glory,  honour,  and  immortality." 

Having  described  the  enemies  of  God  and  prayed  against 
them,  the  Psalmist  next  describes  the  people  of  God,  and 
prays  for  them.  "  But  let  all  those  that  put  their  trust  in 
thee  rejoice ;  let  thrm  ever  shout  for  joy;  because  thou  de- 
fendest  them  •  let  tlicm  also  that  love  thy  name  be  joyful  in 
thee.  For  thou.  Lord,  wilt  bless  the  righteous,  with  favour 
wilt  thou  compass  him  as  with  a  shield. 

God's  people  are  described  as  putting  their  trust  in  him. 
Their  confidence  is  withdrawn  from  the  creature,  and  reposed 
in  the  Creator.  They  contemplate  his  perfections ;  and  in 
them,  they  behold  every  thing  which  can  render  God  worthy 
of  their  affiance  as  a  guide,  a  protector,  and  a  friend.  They 
read  his  promises ;  and  these,  while  they  come  from  hiiu 
who  is  faithful  and  almighty,  apply  so  kindly  and  minutely 
to  all  their  circumstances,  as  to  invite  and  secure  their  un- 
suspecting reliance  upon  him  for  all  that  they  need.  And  the 
experience  they  have  had  of  his  gracious  and  providential 
treatment  of  them  during  what  is  past,  teaches  them  to  look 
up  to  him,  with  an  unwavering  conviction,  that  he  will  not 
forsake  them  during  all  that  yet  remains  of  their  earthly  pil- 
grimage. They  "  trust  in  him  at  all  times :"  they  trust  in 
him  with  their  whole  heart:  they  trust  in  him  for  present 
safety  :  they  trust  in  him  for  support  at  death  :  they  trust  in 
him  for  the  happiness  of  eternity. 

God's  people  arc  also  described  as  loringhis  name.  He  is 
the  object  of  their  devout  and  grateful  attachment.  Their 
understandings  have  been  enlightened  to  see,  and  their  hearts 
have  been  purified  to  relish,  the  transcendent  excellence 
which  resides  in  his  character.  And  the  forbearance,  the 
merey,  and  the  kindness  which  he  has  shown  them,  and 
which  run  through  all  their  temporal,  and  all  their  spiritual 
lot,  have  drawn  their  hearts  to  him  in  delighted  admiration 
and  everlasting  gratitude.  vSo  that  they  think  of  him  with 
complacency.  They  take  pleasure  in  every  thing  by  which 
he  condescends  to  make  himself  known.  They  are  glad- 
dened by  every  token  of  his  bounty  which  they  themselves 
receive,  and  by  every  demonstration  of  grace  and  power 
which  he  gives  in  the  world  around  them.  And  they  long 
for  the  period,  when  from  that  clearer  view  of  his  character, 
and  from  that  more  enlarged  experience  of  his  mercy,  and 
from  that  more  sainted  capacity  of  appreciating  "  the  beau- 
ties of  holiness,"  which  they  shall  attain  in  heaven,  they 
shall  be  enabled  to  love  him  with  boundless,  uninterrupted, 
and  never-ending  affection. 

God's  people  are  also  described  as  righteous.  To  confi- 
dence in  his  attributes  and  administration,  and  sentiments  of 
devoted  attachment  to  him  as  their  heavenly  Father,  their 
almighty  friend,  their  eternal  portion,  they  add  the  substan- 
tial and  practical  attainment  of  conformity  to  his  will.  They 
do  not  rest  satisfied  with  honouring  him  by  the  mere  feelings 
of  dependence  and  affection:  they  honour  him  also  by  the 
obedience  which  he  requires,  and  which  it  is  at  once  their 
privilege  and  their  duty  to  render  to  his  holy  law.  They 
are  righteous  in  their  principles  :  they  are  righteous  in  their 


tempers :  they  are  righteous  in  their  conduct.  Righteous- 
ness is  their  grand  distinction.  It  adorns  them  wherever 
they  are,  and  points  them  out  as  children  of  the  most  High, 
and  as  heirs  of  immortality ;  and  following  after  it  with  un- 
remitting zeal,  and  willingly  subjecting  themselves  to  "  the 
sanctifieation  of  the  Spirit,"  their  "  path  is  like  the  shining 
light  which  shineth  more  and  more  until  the  jjcrfect  day." 

Such  are  God's  people  according  to  the  description  given 
of  them  by  the  Psalmist.  And,  juding  of  yourselves  by  this 
test,  are  you,  my  friends,  among  the  number  of  God's  peo- 
ple 1  If  you  are  not,  I  need  not  tell  you  how  much  you  are 
lost  to  all  that  is  greatest  and  happiest  and  best.  There  is 
but  one  other  alternative  ;  and  if  you  have  chosen  it ;  if  you 
are  indeed  the  enemies  of  God  ;  if,  instead  of  "  trusting  in 
him"  you  are  trusting  in  "  refuges  of  lies ;"  if,  instead  of 
"  loving  his  name,"  you  are  hating,  and  blaspheming,  and 
turning  away  from  it;  if,  instead  of  being  "righteous,"  you 
are  living  in  sin,  eager  in  its  pursuits,  and  contented  with  its 
pleasures  ;  then,  what  can  you  expect,  or  what  can  we  hold 
out  to  you,  but  the  destruction  for  which  David  prayed,  and 
which  the  .\1  mighty  has  threatened,  and  with  which  he  will 
assuredly  visit  all  those  who  will  not  "repent  and  be  con- 
verted" that  they  may  be  saved  ?  O  be  persuaded  to  forsake 
your  evil  ways,  and  to  return  to  the  Lord.  Abandon  the  ranks 
of  his  foes.  "  Come  out  from  among  them,  and  beye  separate." 
And  join  yourselves  to  them  who  love  God  and  keep  his 
commandments.  He  will  "  receive  you  graciously."  He 
will  pardon  you  freely  for  the  sake  of  his  dear  Son.  He  will 
treat  you  with  every  mark  of  affection  that  may  be  hoped  for 
from  a  tender  parent — from  a  reconciled  God.  He  will  put 
it  into  the  hearts  of  his  saints  to  pray  for  you,  as  David  pray- 
ed for  the  righteous.  He  will  teach  them  the  supplications 
they  are  to  prefer  in  your  behalf.  And,  among  all  the  vari- 
ous blessings  that,  under  his  guidance,  will  be  the  subject  of 
their  petitions,  this  will  be  none  of  the  least  fervent  nor  least 
effectual,  that  you  may  be  "  comforted  concerning  all  that  has 
befallen  you ;"  that  you  may  be  enabled  to  rejoice  in  God, 
to  whose  friendship  you  have  been  restored,  and  "under  the 
shadow  of  whose  wings"  you  have  taken  refuge  from  the 
guilt  and  the  calamities  of  an  unholy  life ;  that  you  may  even 
"shout  for  joy" — the  joy  of  perfect  security  from  all  that 
once  harassed  your  mind  and  robbed  it  of  its  peace — the  joy 
of  complete  triumph  over  the  foes  under  whose  cniel  power 
you  were  fast  "  filling  up  the  measure  of  your  iniquhies," 
and  fast  sinking  into  the  "  perdition  of  ungodly  men," — the 
joy  of  unwavering  faith  in  the  merit  and  intercession  of  him 
wlio  redeemed  you,  and  opened  up  the  way  of  return  to  your 
offended  Maker — the  joy  of  assured  hope  that  the  time  is  not 
far  distant  when  you  shall  be  rescued  from  every  remaining 
evil,  be  admitted  into  the  celestial  presence  of  your  redeem- 
ing God,  and  there  rejoice  for  ever  with  "  a  joy  that  is  un- 
speakable and  full  of  glory."  And  most  unquestionably  this 
prayer  will  be  heard  and  answered.  God  is  already  pledged 
by  his  character  and  by  his  promises  to  grant  what  is  thus 
implored.  "  For  he  will  bless  the  righteous;  and  with  fa- 
vour will  he  compass  him  as  with  a  shield."  You  need  his 
blessing,  and  you  shall  have  it ;  and  you  shall  find  that  it  is 
"a  blessing  which  maketh  rich,  and  addeth  no  sorrow." 
You  need  his  favour,  and  you  shall  have  it ;  and  you  shall 
find  that  his  "favour  is  life,  and  his  loving  kindness  better 
than  life."  You  need  his  defence,  and  you  shall  have  it ;  and 
you  shall  find  that  they  whom  the  Lord  defends  have  a  shield 
which  compasses  them  about  on  every  side,  and  keeps  them 
in  perfect  safety.  And,  amidst  all  your  difficulties  and  all 
your  dangers,  this  will  be  your  song,  till  you  reach  the  tem- 
ple out  of  which  you  shall  no  more  go  out,  and  the  kingdom 
that  shall  never  be  moved  ;  "  The  Lord  is  my  light,  and  my 
salvation,  whom  shall  I  fear  1  The  Lord  is  the" strength  of 
my  life ;  of  whom  shall  I  be  afraid  ?  When  the  wicked, 
even  mine  enemies  and  my  foes  come  upon  me  to  eat  up  my 
flesh,  they  stumbled  and  fell.  Though  an  host  should  en- 
camp against  me,  my  heart  shall  not  fear :  though  war  should 
rise  against  me,  in  this  will  I  be  confident.  One  thin<r  have  I 
desired  of  the  Lord,  that  will  I  seek  after:  that  I  may  dwell 
in  the  house  of  the  Lord  all  the  days  ofm}'  life  to  behold  the 
beauty  of  the  Lord,  and  inquire  in  his  temple.  For  in  the 
time  of  trouble  he  shall  hide  me  in  his  pavilion  :  in  the  secret 
of  his  tabernacle  shall  he  hide  me:  he  shall  set  me  up  upon 
a  rock.  And  now  shall  mine  head  be  lifted  up  above  mine 
enemies  round  about  me  :  therefore  will  I  offer  in  his  taber- 
nacle sacrifices  of  joy.  I  will  sing — yea,  I  will  sing  praises 
unto  the  Lord." 


124 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


IJGCTURE  III. 

"  Lord,  rvho  shall  abide  in  thy  tabernacle  ?  ivhn  shall  dwell  in 
thy  holy  hill?  He  that  ivalketh  uprightly,  and  tvorketh 
righteousness,  and  speaketh  the  truth  in  his  heart.  He  that 
backbiteth  not  tvith  his  tongue,  nor  doeth  evil  to  his  neigh- 
bour, nor  taketk  up  a  reproach  against  his  neighbour.  In 
whose  eyes  a  vile  person  is  condemned ;  but  he  honoureth  them 
that  fear  the  Lord:  he  that  siveareth  to  his  own  hurt,  and 
changeth  not.  He  that  putteth  not  out  his  money  to  usury, 
nor  laketh  reward  against  the  innocent.  He  that  doeth  these 
things  shall  never  be  moved," — Psalm  xv. 

Part  I. 

Nothing  can  be  more  important  than  the  inquiry  with 
which  this  Psalm  commences.  It  refers  not  to  a  subject  of 
idle  or  useless  curiosity;  nor  to  a  subject  involvino-  some 
merely  temporary  interest;  nor  to  a  subject  about  which  we 
may  be  indifferent,  and  at  the  same  time  neither  compromise 
our  wisdom,  nor  endanger  our  safety.  It  refers  to  a  subject 
which  comprehends  at  once  our  prospects  of  eternal  felicity, 
and  the  practical  concern  that  we  must  necessarily  feel,  and 
the  practical  efforts  that  we  must  necessarily  make,  in  order 
that  these  prospects  may  be  certainly  realized.  And,  there- 
fore, it  is  infinitely  more  deserving  of  our  regard  than  the 
most  momentous  of  all  the  various  inquiries  that  were  ever 
engaged  in  by  men  of  science,  or  by  men  of  the  world,  whose 
views  were  confined  to  the  circumstances  and  the  comforts  of 
a  present  state. 

And  yet  how  little  of  the  patient  attention  of  most  men,  and 
how  little  of  their  serious  meditation,  does  it  occupy  !  To 
every  thing  else,  whether  grave  or  trifling,  they  are  more  than 
suflSciently  alive.  They  are  eager  in  asking,  and  the}'  spare 
no  trouble  in  ascertaining,  by  what  means  their  "  knowledge, 
which  puffcth  up,"  may  be  enlarged,  or  their  worldly  advan- 
tages secured,  or  their  personal  gratifications  promoted,  or 
their  animal  life  prolonged,  or  their  passing  amusements  va- 
ried, and  multiplied,  and  heightened.  Listen  to  their  con- 
versation, and  you  will  hear  how  much  they  are  in  earnest 
about  these  objects  of  pursuit.  Look  to  their  conduct,  and  you 
will  see  what  sacrifices  they  are  ready  to  make,  in  order  to 
attain  what  they  thus  so  vehemently  desire.  Examine  their 
whole  system  of  life,  and  you  will  find  them  giving  their  days 
and  their  nights,  their  warmest  atfections  and  their  most  vig- 
orous efforts,  to  the  engagements  and  the  pleasures  of  a  pre- 
sent world;  seeking  after  these  with  insatiable  curiosity,  and 
unwearied  activity ;  and  as  intent  upon  them  as  if  they  com- 
prised all  that  is  alluring  to  human  ambition,  and  all  that  is 
requisite  to  human  happiness.  As  they  do  not  deny  that  they 
have  immortal  souls,  and  that  there  is  a  coming  retribution 
from  which  they  cannot  escape,  one  might  expect  that  the 
thought  of  this  would  exact  from  them  some  consideration, 
even  in  their  busiest  hours,  and  that  now  and  then  they  would 
devote  to  it  their  solemn  and  exclusive  regard.  But  no  :  they 
speak  and  act  as  if  they  had  no  real  or  thorough  belief  that 
there  is  a  hereafter,  or  as  if  they  judged  themselves  to  have 
no  individual  concern  in  it.  "  What  shall  we  eat  %  What 
shall  we  drink?  Wherewithal  shall  we  be  clothed  ?"  IIow 
shall  we  get  honour?  How  shall  we  acquire  wealth?  How 
shall  our  time  pass  most  pleasantly  away  ?  How  must  we  be 
qualified  for  this  scene  of  business?  And  how  shall  we  be 
arrayed  for  that  scene  of  gaiety  ? — These  are  the  questions, 
and  the  only  questions  which  they  are  at  pains  either  to  put 
or  to  answer;  and  their  spiritual  and  everlasting  condition  is 
as  much  unheeded,  as  if  they  had  no  eternity  before  them, 
and  had  no  account  to  render. 

The  folly  of  all  this  is  so  obvious,  that  we  could  scarcely 
believe  it  possible,  were  not  the  fart  presented  every  day  and 
every  hour  to  cur  observation.  O  if  there  be  any  now  hear- 
ing me  to  whom  the  description  applies,  let  me  beseech  you, 
were  it  but  for  one  moment,  to  reflect  on  the  infatuation  which 
besets  you.  Suppose  that  within  that  range  to  which  3'ou 
limit  your  concern,  you  possessed  and  enjoyed  every  thing 
that  your  hearts  desired  ;  that  you  had  no  want  unsupplied, 
and  no  wish  unfulfilled  ;  that  every  species  of  evil  were  a 
stranger  to  j'our  lot,  and  every  species  of  good  familiar  to  your 
feelings  and  your  experience  ;  that,  in  short,  the  whole  "world, 
and  the  fulness  thereoP'  were  yours  at  will; — what  in  truth 
have  you  obtained  ?  Why,  it  is  not  too  strong  language  to 
say,  that  you  have  obtained  nothing.  You  and  the  world, 
closely  as  you  are  now  linked  with  it,  and  cordially  as  you 
are  now  attached  to  it,  and  little  as  you  now  think  of  leaving 
it, — you  and  the  world  must  part.  You  must  die,  and  go  into 


another  world — a  world  in  which  a  righteous  judgment  shall 
pass  upon  you,  and  in  which  you  shall  have  an  endless,  un- 
changeable existence  either  of  happiness  or  woe.  Are  you 
prepared  for 'that  world?  Have  you  provided  for  the  dread 
alternative  which  there  awaits  you  ?  And  have  you  any  good 
ground  to  hope  that  you  shall  "  escape  the  wrath  to  come," 
and  be  admitted  into  heaven  !  The  case  supposes  that  you 
have  no  such  prospect,  and  no  such  meetness  ;  and  on  that 
supposition,  what  are  all  the  honours,  and  all  the  treasures, 
and  all  the  joys  of  "  the  life  that  now  is  ?"  We  repeat  it, 
and  you  cannot  in  your  conscience  gainsay  it,  that  they  are 
nothing, — lost  and  forgotten  amidst  the  realities  of  that  eter- 
nal state  of  being,  in  which  they  cannot  secure  for  you  one 
gleaiu  of  comfort,  or  one  ray  of  hope.  Nay,  they  are  worse 
than  nothing ;  for  though  they  pleased,  and  even  enraptured 
you  during  the  short  and  fleeting  hours  of  your  mortal  career, 
they  were  all  the  while  concealing  from  you  the  glories  of 
immortality,  chaining  down  your  ambition  to  the  pursuits  of 
sense  and  sin,  and  deluding  you  to  your  everlasting  ruin. 
What  infatuation,  then,  to  be  taking  no  heed  to  your  future 
well-being,  and  lavishing  all  your  care  and  all  your  anxiety 
on  "  the  things  that  are  seen  and  temporal !" 

Take  the  converse  of  the  supposition  we  have  made,  and 
observe  how  it  brings  you  to  the  same  conclusion.  Suppose 
that  you  had  the  most  moderate  portion  of  worldly  prosperity 
and  indulgence  that  ever  fell  to  the  share  of  the  unfortunate; 
suppose  that  all  the  possessions  of  which  you  are  taking  such 
a  fast  hold,  and  all  the  gratifications  to  which  you  are  so 
much  devoted,  were  to  vanish  from  your  grasp  for  ever;  sup- 
pose that  your  cup  of  terrestrial  bliss  were  dashed  to  the 
ground,  and  there  were  put  into  your  hand,  and  pressed  to 
your  lips,  a  cup  overflowing  with  the  bitter  waters  of  sorrow 
and  adversitj',  which  you  were  compelled  to  drink  to  its  very 
dregs; — what  of  all  this,  if  you  were  "rich  towards  God;" 
if  you  were  travelling  to  the  "  kingdom  that  cannot  be  moved;" 
if  you  were  heirs  of  the  "inheritance  which  is  incorruptible 
and  undefiled,  and  that  fadeth  not  away?"  Your  sorrows  in 
the  one  case  would  as  quickly  pass  away,  as  must  j'our  joys 
in  the  other  case;  and  as  the  departure  of  your  joys  in  the 
other  case  was  but  the  prelude  of  ceaseless  and  unmingled 
misery,  so  the  termination  of  your  sorrows  in  this  case  would 
be  succeeded  by  a  felicity,  perfect  in  its  nature,  boundless  in 
its  extent,  and  endless  in  its  duration.  Only  lay  up  for  your- 
selves an  interest  in  the  substantial  and  undecaying  blessed- 
ness of  the  celestial  paradise ;  and  all  that  this  transitory 
scene  can  visit  you  with,  either  of  pleasure  or  of  pain,  will  be 
"  as  the  small  dust  of  the  balance,  without  weight  and  with- 
out regard."  And  the  very  privations  and  afflictions,  by 
which,  as  worldlings,  you  would  be  bowed  down  to  the  dust, 
and- amidst  the  severest  of  which  you  could  have  no  support 
and  no  consolation,  would  not  only  be  borne  by  you,  as  Chris- 
tians, with  patience  and  resignation,  but  would  serve  by  ele- 
vating your  hearts,  and  purifying  }'our  characters,  to  give  you 
a  larger  capacity,  and  a  diviner  relish,  for  "the  glory  that  is 
to  be  hereafter  revealed."  0  how  foolish,  then,  to  be  eager 
in  every  inquir}',  and  intent  upon  every  employment  that  has 
a  reference,  however  remote,  to  your  connection  with  the 
things  of  time;  and  never  once,  or  seriously,  or  fervently,  to 

lift  up  your  souls"  to  him  "  who  inhabiteth  eternity,"  and 
say  in  tlie  language  of  the  Psalmist,  "  Lord,  who  shall  abide 
in  thy  tabernacle  ?     Who  shall  dwell  in  thy  holy  hill  ?" 

But  there  are  some  who  often  think  of  heaven,  and  often 
speak  of  heaven,  and  often  direct  their  face  towards  heaven, 
and  who  notwithstanding  do  not  attend  to  the  meaning  of  the 
Psalmist's  question,  or  do  not  properly  apply  it,  or  do  not 
sufficiently  act  upon  it.  They  seem  to  be  quite  convinced 
that  there  is  such  a  place  as  heaven,  and  that  every  wise  man 
will  be  desirous  to  reach  it :  and  they  seem  not  only  to  par- 
take of  that  desire,  but  to  be  satisfied  that,  with  respect  to 
them,  it  will  be  ultimately  and  certainly  realised.  And  all 
this,  although  they  do  not  spend  one  serious  thought  on  the 
qualifications  which  heaven  requires  of  every  one  who  would 
inhabit  its  holy  and  happy  mansions.  They  have  inquired 
about  the  reality  of  these  mansions,  and  have  no  doubt  of  be- 
ing at  last  admitted  into  them  :  but  they  never  put  the  ques- 
tion, "  Lord,  icho  shall  abide  in  thy  tabernacle,  ivho  shall 
dwell  in  thy  holy  hill  ?" — Or  they  put  this  question,  and  they 
get  it  answered,  and  they  entertain  correct  and  scriptural  no- 
tions concerning  it,  and  are  just  as  orthodox  on  the  subject  as 
you  could  desire  them  to  be.  But  then  their  knowledge  of  it 
is  altogether  speculative,  or  if  practically  used,  is  made  to  re- 
fer to  every  human  being  but  themselves.  They  look  around 
them,  and  they  decide  with  great  readiness  on  the  future  fate 
of  others — determining  who  shall  finally  be  introduced  into 


LECTURES  ON  PORTIONS  OF  THE  PSALMS. 


heaven,  and  who  shall  finally  be  excluded  from  it :  and  if 
they  refrain  from  passing  surh  specific  sentences  on  their  fel- 
low creatures,  they  also  refrain  most  carefully  from  consider- 
ing how  far  they,  for  their  own  part,  can  look  forward  with 
hope  and  confidence,  as  those  in  whom  there  is  a  personal 
meetiiess  for  the  kingdom  of  God,  by  their  possessing  those 
qualities  to  which  the  promise  of  that  kingdom  is  annexed, 
and  satisfy  their  minds  with  having  an  accurate  acquaintance 
with  the  doctrine,  and  an  unwavering  belief  in  the  doctrine, 
that  they  who  go  to  heaven  must  be  distinguished  by  that 
character  which  is  delineated  and  prescribed  in  the  sacred 
scriptures.  Or  if  they  do  make  this  self-application  of  the 
great  and  important  truth  that  admission  into  heaven  is  a 
privilege  necessarily,  authoritatively,  and  exclusively  bestow- 
ed upon  a  particular  class  or  description  of  men  ;  if  they  are 
persuaded  that  it  is  indispensably  requisite  for  them  to  belong 
to  this  class,  if  they  would  enjoy  that  privilege;  and  if,  un- 
der the  influence  of  this  persuasion,  they  set  thcnisi  Ives  to 
the  work  of  preparation,  and  seek  to  be  adorned  with  that  ex- 
cellence which  shall  constitute  their  fitness  for  eternal  life, — 
still  they  allow  their  proud  reason,  their  corrupt  passions 
their  worldly  interests,  so  to  interfere  with  what  divine  au- 
thority requires  tliem  to  do  and  to  be,  that  there  are  some 
duties  which  they  will  not  perform,  some  vices  which  they 
will  not  abandon,  some  sacrifices  which  they  will  not  make, 
though  hell  be  the  penalty,  and  heaven  the  reward. 

Now  these  are  all  wrong ;  and  their  errors  must  prove  fe- 
tal. Nobody  surely  can  get  to  heaven  merely  by  believing 
that  there  is  such  a  state,  and  desiring  to  be  there,  however 
firm  the  belief,  and  however  intense  the  desire  may  be.  There 
must  be  at  least  superadded  to  this,  some  knowledge  of  that 
character  which  those  must  possess  who  shall  be  admitted 
into  it;  some  concern  felt  upon  that  subject;  some  endeav- 
ours made  to  acquire  distinct  apprehensions  of  it;  and  some 
measure  of  success  in  obtaining  the  requisite  instniction. 
Nor  is  this  by  an)'  means  sulFicient.  To  our  belief  in  heaven 
and  our  ambition  to  enter  it,  we  may  add  the  most  minute  in- 
quiries into  the  character  which  fits  fur  the  ejijoynient  of  it, 
and  the  most  correct  acquaintance  with  all  the  qualities  of 
which  that  character  is  composed, — still  that  can  do  us  no 
good  so  long  as  we  make  use  of  it  for  no  other  purpose  than 
that  of  judging  of  the  future  condition  of  other  men,  and  think 
not  of  its  just  and  individual  application  to  ourselves.  And 
though  we  should  apply  it  to  ourselves,  and  be  satisfied  not 
only  that  a  particular  and  specified  preparation  is  indlspensi- 
ble,  but  that  we  must  have  that  preparation,  still,  if  in  mak- 
ing it,  we  leave  out  what  the  w  onl  or  God  declares  to  be  es- 
sential to  its  completeness  and  its  acceptance,  and  do  nothing 
more  than  aim  at  those  attainments  which  suit  our  own  de- 
praved or  fanciful  views,  there  is  no  ground  on  which  we  can 
consistently  lay  claim  to  heaven,  or  rationally  expect  to  be 
its  inhabitants  at  last.  "  Eternal  life  is  altogether  the  gift  of 
God;"  he  has  intimated  that  it  is  the  portion  of  none  but 
those  who  are  qualified  for  its  exercises  and  its  pleasures  ; 
he  has  fixed  what  these  qualifications  are,  and  has  plainly  re- 
vealed, and  authoritatively  prescribed  them  ;  and  it  is  beyond 
all  controversy  that  we  must  inquire  about  them,  that  we 
must  become  acquainted  with  them,  that  we  must  labour  to 
be  invested  with  them,  that  we  must  actually  have  them,  in 
order  that  we  may  be  among  the  number  of  those  "  who  shall 
abide  in  the  tabernacle  of  the  Lord,  and  dwell  in  his  holy 
hill," — of  those  who  shall  be  the  real  members  of  his  church 
upon  earth,  and  shall  finally  ascend  to  the  place  of  sublime 
and  everlasting  recompense. 


103 


PART  II. 

Having  said  this  much  on  the  question  here  put  by  the 
Psalmist,  let  us  now  attend  to  the  answer  that  he  gives.  "  He 
thatwalketh  uprightly,  and  worketh  righteousness,  and  speak- 
£th  the  truth  in  his  heart.  He  that  backbiteth  not  with  his 
tongue,  nor  doeth  evil  to  his  neighbour,  nortaketh  up  a  reproach 
against  his  neighbour.  In  whoseeyesavile  personiscontemn- 
ed;  but  he  honoureth  them  that  fear  the  Lord;  he  that  swear- 
eth  to  his  own  hurt,  and  changeth  not ;  he  that  putteth  not  out 
his  money  to  usury,  nor  taketh  reward  against  the  innocent." 

VVe  are  evidently  not  to  regard  this  as  a  complete  enumer- 
ation of  the  virtues  which  constitute  a  meetncss  for  heaven. 
A  complete  enumeration  can  only  be  made  by  travelling 
through  the  whole  sacred  volume,  and  collecting  all  the  prin- 
ciples that  are  laid  down  in  its  pages,  and  all  the  precepts 
that  there  are  enjoined  for  the  regulation  of  human  conduct. 
It  is  not  from  detached  passages  of  revelation  that  we   learn 


particularly  and  fully  what  the  Christian  character  is,  but 
trom  its  various  truths,  and  maxims,  and  commandments 
gathered  together,  and  combined  into  one  practical  system. 
•' -f// scripture  is  given  by  inspiration,  and  is  profitable  for 
doctrine,  for  reproof,  for  correction  and  instruction  in  righteous- 
ness, that  the  man  of  God  may  be  perfect,  throughlyYurnish- 
ed  unto  all  good  works."  That  we  may  be  ""perfect,  and 
throughly  furnished  unto  all  good  works,"  we  must  study  the 
whole  of  the  inspired  record,  and  make  ourselves  minutely 
acquainted  with  its  contents.  But  the  Divine  Spirit  has  seen 
proper,  in  describing  those  who  shall  "  enter  into  life,"  to 
mention  sometimes  one  part  of  their  character,  and  sometimes 
another,  to  the  apparent  exclusion  of  the  rest.  Thus,  in  tlie 
twenty-fourth  psalm,  when  it  is  asked,  "  who  shall  ascend  into 
the  hill  of  the  Lord  ?  and  who  shall  stand  in  his  holy  place  1" 
this  answer  is  subjoined,  "  He  that  hath  clean  hands,  and  a 
pure  heart ;  who  hatli  not  lifted  up  his  s.ml  unto  vanity,  nor 
sworn  deceitfully :"— in  which  words  the  acquirements  of  a 
successful  candidate  for  heaven,  are  limited  to  freedom  from 
gross  outward  sins,  and  from  sensual  desires— from  undue  at- 
tachment to  "  the  things  of  the  world,"  and  from  false  and 
fraudulent  oaths.  In  our  Sa^-iour's  account  of  the  general 
judgment,  the  sentence  of  approbation  which  he  will  pronounce 
upon  the  righteous,  who  are  to  go  "  away  into  life  eternal," 
recognizes  no  other  Christian  grace  in  them  as  authorising 
this  glorious  destination,  than  the  exercise  of  charity, — of 
charity  too,  in  its  most  ordinarj'  form, — as  directed  not'to  the 
welfare  of  the  soul,  but  to  the  comfort  of  the  body,  and  to  that 
comfort  as  promoted  and  cared  for  by  the  cheapest,  and  most 
common-place  oflicers  of  humanity.  "  I  was  hungrj',  and  ye 
gave  me  meat ;  I  was  thirsty,  and  ye  gave  me  drink  ;  I  was 
a  stranger,  and  ye  took  me  in ;  naked,  and  ye  clothed  me ;  I 
was  sick,  and  ye  visited  me;  I  was  in  prison,  and  ye  came 
unto  me."  Christ  also,  in  his  sermon  on  the  Mount,  ascribes 
salvation  to  the  possession  of  one  particular  excellence,  with- 
out even  glancing  at  its  connection  with  any  other,  and  with- 
out speaking  of  it  as  forming  a  portion  only  of  a  great  and 
com|)rehcnsive  whole.  Thus  he  says,  "  Blessed  are^the  peace 
makers,  for  they  shall  be  called  the  children  of  God  :  Bless- 
ed are  they  that  mourn,  for  they  shall  be  comforted  :  Blessed 
are  the  poor  in  spirit,  for  theirs  is  the  kingdom  of  heaven." 
The  same  great  reward  is  annexed  to  the  principle  of  faith, 
without  any  express  notice  of  those  acts  of  moral  obedience 
which  are  yet  affirmed  to  be  necessary  for  proving  our  faith  to  be 
a  faith  of  saving  operation  ;  "  Believe  in  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ, 
and  thou  shalt  be  saved;"— And  to  the  sentiment  of  love  to  God, 
without  any  detail  of  those  deeds  of  piety  and  goodness  by 
which  it  is  at  once  evinced  and  perfected — thus  the  things 
are  unimagined,  which  God  "hath  prepared  for  them  that 
ove  him  ;"' — And  even  to  the  verbal  confession  of  Christ  in 
the  world,  without  any  allusion  to  that  practical  submission 
to  his  will,  and  humble  imitation  of  his  example,  by  which 
all  his  disciples  must  necessarily  be  distinguished  ;  as,  "  with  • 
the  mouth  confession  is  made  unto  salvation ;"  and  "  whoso 
confesseth  me  before  men,  him  will  I  also  confess  before  my 
Father  who  is  in  heaven."  And  in  the  passage  before  us, 
though  in  it  a  greater  number  of  virtues  are  particularised 
than  in  most  other  passages  of  scripture,  where  holy  charac- 
ter is  stated  in  connection  with  its  heavenl)'  reward,  yet  it  is 
obvious  that  many  are  altogether  omitted,  and  that  of  those 
which  are  specified,  there  are  some  less  valuable  in  compari- 
son than  others  which  might  have  been  introduced  into  the 
catalogtie.  This,  however,  is  quite  according  to  the  analogy 
of  scripture;  and  we  shall  endeavour  to  show,  in  a  few  par- 
ticulars, that  it  is  rational,  consistent,  and  useful. 

1.  In  theirs/  place,  as  we  have  already  hinted,  it  is  not  in- 
tended that  one  part  of  the  scripture  should  be  understood  and 
acted  upon  independently  of  the  rest.  Its  great  object  is  to 
tell  us  how  we  are  to  prepare  for  heaven;  and  surely  itisboth 
wise  and  requisite,  that  we  learn  this  lesson  in  its  f:ill  mean- 
ing and  extent ;  that  we  direct  our  attention  to  all  the  dispo- 
sitions we  must  cherish,  and  to  all  the  habits  we  must  culti- 
vate, in  order  to  be  ripe  for  glory  ;  that  we  neglect  nothing, 
however  inconsiderable,  which  tlie  wisdom  or  the  holiness  of 
God  has  demanded  of  us  for  that  purpose.  Even  though  all 
the  virtues  required  of  us  were  brought  into  one  list,  and  pre- 
sented to  us  at  one  view,  with  a  single  solitary  exception, 
and  that  this  single  virtue  were  to  be  found  in  the  least  inter- 
esting, and  most  neglected  corner  of  the  Bible,  to  that  corner 
we  must  go  for  it,  and  bring  it  into  its  natural  and  appointed 
fellowship  with  the  rest,  and  give  it  as  firm  a  hold  of  our 
heart,  and  as  fixed  a  place  iu  our  deportment  as  any  of  them. 
And  whyT  For  this  simple  reason,  that  it  stands  within  the 
precincts  of  revelation ;  that  it  is  recommended,  sanctioned, 


126 


CHRISTIAN   LIBRARY. 


and  eTiforced  by  an  authority,  which  it  is  not  competent  for  us 
either  to  question  or  disobey ;  that  it  constitutes  one  of  the 
features  of  that  character,  which  every  obligation  of  gratitude, 
and  every  pros]iect  of  futurity  teach  us  to  maintain  ;  and  that 
if  we  continue  destitute  of  it,  especially  when  warned  of  its 
necessity,  we  are  worse  than  unprepared  for  the  regions  of 
immortality. 

It  is  in  vain  to  say,  that  as  you  find  the  promise  of  eternal 
felicity  appended  to  the  exercise  of  a  single  virtue,  your  exer- 
cise of  that  one  is  perfectly  sufficient,  and  all  others  are  but 
works  of  supererogation.  We  shall  immediately  show  you, 
that  when  you  speak  thus,  you  mistake  the  import  of  Chris- 
tian virtue.  But,  in  the  mean  time,  we  may  observe,  that  so 
long  as  you  admit  the  Bible  to  be  the  directory  of  j'our  faith, 
and  hope,  and  conduct,  it  is  quite  impossible  for  j'ou  to  limit 
your  regard  to  any  single  virtue  whatever,  or  to  any  circum 
scribed  number  of  virtues  that  j'ou  ma}'  choose  to  bring  to- 
gether. The  authority  which  enjoins,  the  love  which  con- 
strains, the  hope  which  animates  to  the  practice  of  one, 
enjoins,  and  constrains,  and  animates  to  the  practice  of  them  all. 
The  moment  that  you  make  a  selection  in  this  respect, — how- 
ever few,  and  however  unimportant  those  may  be  which  you  ex- 
clude,— that  moment  you  cease  to  pursue  heaven  in  the  way 
that  God  has  instituted  ;  and  surely  you  cannot  be^so  bold  as 
to  presume  that  you  shall  bo  able  to  attain  it  in  some  other 
way.  It  is  very  true,  the  scriptures  says,  as  you  have  heard, 
that  charity  shall  prepare  you  for  heaven ;  but  does  not  the 
scripture  say  also,  that  justice,  temperance,  humility,  and  pa- 
tience are  as  much  connected  with  that  destination  as  charity 
is  ]  If  you  dwell  on  those  passages  which  speak  with  com- 
mendation of  visible  and  active  performances  of  duty,  I  would 
remind  j'ou  of  the  passage  which  alfirms,  that  "  the  pure  in 
heart  are  blessed,  for  they  shall  see  God."  You  may  quote 
to  me  the  declarations  which  bear,  that  they  who  "  keep  the 
commandments,"  and  "abound  in  good  works,"  shall  "  en- 
ter into  life ;"  but  I  must  also  quote  the  declarations  which 
affirm,  that  "  without  faith  it  is  impossible  to  please  God," 
— that  "  by  grace  are  ye  saved  through  faith," — and  that 
"  whosoever  believeth  in  Christ,  shall  not  perish,  but  have 
everlasting  life."  And  to  those  who  take  the  opposite  view, 
and  refer  to  the  statements  in  scripture,  which  trace  our  title 
to  the  unfading  inheritance  to  a  simple  belief  in  the  Saviour, 
I  must  proclaim  the  language,  and  the  doctrine  of  this  Psalm, 
■which  most  distinctly  represent  that  inheritance  as  reserved 
for  those  who  "  walk  uprightly,  and  work  righteousness,  and 
speak  the  truth  in  their  heart;  who  backbite  not  with  their 
tongue,  nor  do  evil  to  their  neighbour,  nor  take  up  a  reproach 
against  their  neighbour ;  in  whose  eyes  a  vile  person  is  con- 
temned, but  who  honour  them  that  fear  the  Lord  ;  who  swear 
to  their  own  hurt,  and  change  not;  who  put  not  out  their  mo- 
ney to  usury,  nor  take  reward  against  the  innocent."  Thus, 
though  the  happiness  of  heaven  is  connected  with  the  posses- 
sion of  a  particular  grace,  yet  being  connected  with  the  pos- 
session of  every  other  particular  grace,  they  must  all  be  con- 
sidered as  equally  essential,  and  none  of  them  can  possibly 
be  excluded  from  the  character  of  meetness,  or  the  work  of 
preparation,  for  that  happiness,  v.ithout  opposing  the  autho- 
rity of  God,  and  breaking  in  upon  the  harmony  of  the  Chris- 
tian scheme. 

'2.  But  in  the  second  place,  independently  of  the  explana- 
tion now  given,  the  propriety  of  annexing  the  promise  of 
heaven,  to  a  certain  portion  of  the  Christian  character,  may 
be  illustrated  by  considering  what  that  portion  of  it  truly  and 
necessarily  implies.  It  is  nominally,  but  not  really  insulated. 
It  stands  by  itself  in  the  enunciation  ;  but  it  does  not  stand 
by  itself,  when  traced  to  its  origin,  and  to  its  genuine  effects. 
It  has  a  natural  or  an  instituted  relation  to  every  other  reli- 
gious and  moral  excellence  in  the  Christian  life;  and  what- 
ever portion  it  be,  if  it  belongs  to  pure,  personal,  practical 
Christianity,  the  individual  to  whom  it  adheres,  possesses 
every  other  portion  which  can  be  required  to  constitute  the 
sum  total  of  Christian  deportment. 

Take  the  principle  of  faith  tor  example.  If  your  faith  be 
genuine,  it  is  the  consequence  of  "  the  washing  of  regenera- 
tion, and  renewing  of  the  Holy  Ghost."  But  the  change 
which  that  produces,  affects  the  whole  man,  and  leaves  no 
part  of  him  under  the  reigning  power  of  sin,  but  brings  along 
w  iih  it  a  universal  conformity  to  the  law  of  God.  So  tliat 
possessing  genuine  faith,  you  of  course  possess  every  other 
good  principle  by  which  tlie  heart  ought  to  be  pervaded.  '  And 
tlien  looking  to  the  effects  of  this  faith,  it  "  purifies  the  heart," 
and  as  necessarily  gives  birth,  and  nourishment,  and  perma- 
nency to  practical  holiness  in  him  whom  it  actuates,  as  "  a 
good  tree  bringeth  forth  good  fruit."     .So  that  when  heaven 


is  promised  to  you  who  believe,  it  is  promised  to  you  • 
been  "  born  again,"  and  as  being  "  holy  in  all  mann 


as  having 
been  "  born  again,"  and  as  being  "  holy  in  all  manner  of  con- 
versation," as  well  as  relying  on  the  atonement  and  righte- 
ousness of  Clirist,  the  former  constitutino  your  meetness  for 
heaven,  as  the  latter  realises  your  title  to  it. 

Again  take  the  example  of  love  to  God.  This  affection  is 
"  shed  abroad  in  your  hearts  by  the  power  of  the  Holy  Ghost 
given  unto  you."  But  surely  it  cannot  be  that  the  Holy 
Ghost  should  kindle  up  this  affection  in  your  souls,  and  not  ■ 
kindle  up  every  other  affection  which  might  render  them  a  tem- 
ple fit  for  his  inhabitation.  And  then,  loving  God,  it  follows  by 
necessary  consequence,  that  3-0U  "keep  his  commandments," 
that  you  submit  to  his  will,  thatj-ou  seek  to  promote  his  glory. 
So  that  the  hope  of  seeing  him,  and  enjoying  his  presence  in  hea- 
ven, though  warranted  and  cherished  by  conscious  love  to 
him,  is  connected  with  that  love  as  implanted  by  the  regene- 
rating and  sanctifying  influences  of  the  Spirit,  and  as  con- 
straining you  in  whom  it  dwells,  to  lead  a  life  of  universal 
and  cheerful  devotedness  to  the  work  of  moral  obedience,  and 
of  unfeigned  piety. 

Take  now  an  example  or  two  from  outward  conduct.  It  is 
common  to  speak  with  confidence  of  a  man's  future  fate,  if  he 
was  a  man  of  strict  and  sterling  honesty.  And  we  have  no 
objections  to  join  in  expressing  that  confidence,  provided  you 
give  to  honesty  its  real  and  scriptural  import.  A  man  of  strict 
and  sterling  honesty  does  not  merely  signify  a  man  who  does 
not  steal,  and  does  not  break  his  bargains,  and  does  not  violate 
his  promises.  He  does  not  receive,  and  he  does  not  deserve  the 
title,  if  he  refrains  from  these  things  for  no  other  reason  than 
that  he  is  afraid  of  detection  and  punishment,  of  loosing  his 
worldly  reputation,  and  of  injuring  his  secular  interest.  Were 
this  all  that  could  be  aflirmed  of  him,  you  might  call  him,  in  com- 
mon phraseology,  an  honest  man,  but  all  your  charitable  indul- 
(rencc,  and  all  your  recklessness  of  speech  would  not  allow 
you  to  say,  that  such  honesty  will  carry  him  to  heaven.  And 
why  1  Because  such  honesty  is  mean  and  selfish  in  the  con- 
siderations which  give  rise  to  it,  and  is  quite  consistent  with 
a  character,  in  all  other  respects,  base  and  unworthy.  What 
wc  desiderate  in  this  case  is,  that  the  honesty  be  practised 
from  right  principles  and  motives.  Then  we  may  safely  con- 
nect it  with  eternal  life,  because  then  it  forms  a  part  of  the 
spiritual  life,  and  there  can  be  no  doubt  of  its  being  associated 
in  the  individual,  with  all  the  other  duties  of  Christianity  ;  for 
if  a  man  be  honest,  because  he  fears  God,  and  loves  the  Sa- 
viour, he  must,  from  the  operation  of  these  powerful  and  per- 
manent springs  of  holy  living,  be  distinguished  also  by 
personal  purity,  and  relative  fidelit}',  and  social  benevolence, 
and  divine  piety.  Hence  it  is,  that  in  scripture,  justice  stands 
for  the  whole  of  practical  religion  and  moral  obligation.  The 
true  Christian  is  denominated  the  just  man.  The  just  are  said 
to  "live  by  faith ;"  and  when  we  go  to  heaven,  we  go  to 
"  the  spirits  of  thej»8/  made  perfect." 

Take  another  example  from  the  passage  before  us.  There 
are  various  excellent  qualities  here  enumerated,  of  w'hich  we 
shall  afterwards  give  an  exposition.  But  let  us  select  the 
least  significant  of  them  ;  that  which  says,  that  he  who  is  to 
dwell  in  God's  holy  hill,  "  doeth  no  evil  to  his  neighbour." 
This  is  a  very  negative  virtue,  and  one  to  which  you  would 
not  readily  attach  the  greatest  value;  and  3'et  that  he  who 
doeth  no  evil  to  his  neighbour,  shall  inherit  the  kingdom  of 
heaven,  is  a  scriptural  proposition,  and  indubitably  true. 
And  why'!  Because,  doing  no  ill  to  our  neighbour  is  not  a 
mere  passive  goodness,  proceeding  from  constitutional  indo- 
lence, or  natural  softness,  or  fear  of  giving  oflence,  or  want 
of  opportunities  and  temptations  to  mischief.  But  it  is  a 
branch  of  Christian  love,  for  "  love  worketh  no  evil  to  his 
neigldjour  ;"  and  love,  with  which  this  is  inseparably  united, 
and  from  w-hich  it  directly  flows,  is  a  "  fruit  of  the  Spirit," 
whose  "  fruit  is  in  all  goodness,  and  righteousness,  and  truth ;" 
and  it  stands  united  with  love  to  G^od,  for  "  he  that  loveth 
God,  loveth  his  brother  also;"  and  loving  God,  he  will  not 
only  love  his  brother,  but  he  will  study  to  do  all  those  things 
which  please  God  ;  and  so  extensive  are  the  connections  and 
dependencies  of  this  sentiment,  and  such  an  all  governing 
influence  does  it  exercise,  that  it  is  declared  to  be  "the  bond 
of  perfectness,  and  the  fulfilling  of  the  law-." 

We  shall  just  give  one  instance  more.  Our  Lord  has  told 
us,  that  if  we  "confess  him  before  men,  he  will  confess  us 
before  his  Father  in  heaven."  Now  nobody  can  suppose 
that  any  sort  of  confession  will  answer  the  purpose ;  that  we 
may  confess  what  we  do  not  feel ;  and  that  a  mere  verbal 
and  public  testimony  to  Christ  will  come  up  to  the  meaning 
of  his  requisition,  and  secure  his  open  testimony  to  us  at  the 
last   day.     This  would   be   promising  reward  to  that  very 


LECTURES  ON  PORTIONS  OF  THE  PSALMS. 


12" 


srilimate,  and  searching  standard,  that  you  may  see  how  far 
short  you  are  of  what  God  requires  of  those  that  shall  be 
saved,  and  that  you  may  be  led  to  the  blood  of  atonement  for 
pardon  and  acceptance,  and  to  the  Holy  Spirit  for  the  trans- 
formation of  your  moral  nature,  and  to  the  word  of  God  for 
that  system  of  faith  and  conduct  to  which  every  expectant  of 
immortality  must  conform,  if  he  would  not  be  disappointed 
on  the  ^eat  day  of  the  Lord.  And  we  apply  them  to  such 
of  you  as  have  been  "  brought  nigh  by  the  blood  of  the  cross," 
exhorting  and  beseeching  you,  in  your  life  of  faith,  and  god- 
liness, and  good  works,  to  guard  against  all  partial  contempla- 
tions of  Christian  character.  Let  your  studies  be  directed  to 
all  that  is  revealed  for  your  guidance  and  your  government 
as  followers  of  Christ.  Meditate  deeply  and  habitually  on 
the  spiritual  import,  and  relative  bearings,  of  every  precept 
that  is  criven  you,  and  of  every  grace  that  you  are  required  to 
cultivate.  Beware  of  letting  any  one  virture  stand  as  a 
substitute  or  compensation  for  another.  Look  well  to  the 
state  of  your  hearts;  to  your  principles  and  motives;  to  the 
unitbrmity  and  unreservedness  of  your  obedience.  And  while 
you  have  continual  recoures  to  the  atonement  of  Christ  for 
the  "  remission  of  your  sins,"  have  continual  recourse  also 
by  prayer  to  that  Spirit,  who  will  make  you  meet  for  ••  abiding 
in  the  tabernacle,  and  dwelling  in  the  holy  hill  of  God." 


hj-pocrisy  against  which  he  uttered  so  man3'  dreadful  denun- 
ciations. iSo:  the  confession  to  which  such  a  glorious  and 
encouraging  promise  is  annexed,  necessarily  implies  sinceritj- 
in  him  who  makes  it,  and  is  to  be  recompensed  for  it.  It 
implies  that  Christ,  whom  he  confesses,  is  the  object  of  his 
faith,  and  of  his  aratitude,  and  of  his  reverence,  and  that  he 
confessess  Christ,  just  because  these  regards  for  him  are 
animating  his  heart,  and  influencing  his  deportment.  And 
then  it  is  evident,  that  a  true  confession  of  Christ  carries 
along  with  it,  and  cannot  be  separated  from,  the  various  other 
excellencies  which  make  up  the  aggregate  of  Christain  char- 
acter, and  form  the  qualification  for  eternal  life;  for  not  to 
speak  of  the  renewing  of  the  mind  in  which  the  whole  ori- 
ginates, and  which  brings  the  individual  who  has  experienced 
it  under  total  and  willing  subjection  to  the  Saviour,  we  may 
easily  see  that  since  confession  of  Christ,  is  produced  by 
faith  in  Christ,  this  faith  will  not  merely  produce  that  de- 
claratory eftisct,  but,  being  genuine,  will  produce  all  the 
other  sanctifying  effects  on  the  mind,  and  temper,  and  deport- 
ment of  the  believer,  which  are  its  native  operation,  and 
which  constitute  a  life  of  faith  upon  earth,  and  a  meetness  for 
glory  in  heaven. 

3.  We  observe  in  the  third  place,  that  this  method  of 
stating  the  doctrine  is  attended  with  some  important  advan 
tages.  The  scripture  is  intended  for  habitual  perusal.  If 
we  would  derive  from  it  all  the  practical  benefit  which  it  is 
designed  or  calculated  to  impart,  we  must  read  it  through, 
and  we  must  read  it  again  and  again.  It  must  be  our  regu- 
lar and  unceasing  study.  Now,  had  it  contained  only  one 
detailed  enumeration  of  the  Christian  virtues,  and  had  it  been 
only  with  that  one  that  the  prospect  of  future  hap]>ine?s  was 
connected,  and  had  there  been  nothing  in  the  rest  of  scripture, 
but  general  statements  of  the  Christian  character,  or  general 
allusions  to  it,  accompanied  with  reference  to  the  final  re- 
compense, we  might  indeed  have  become  acquainted,  both 
with  the  recompense  and  the  character,  and  with  the  essen- 
tial bearing  of  the  one  upon  the  other,  but  the  impression 
could  neither  have  been  so  lively,  nor  so  forcible  as  it  is  by 
the  mode  of  teaching  and  inculcating  this  branch  of  the  Gos- 
pel system,  which  the  Spirit  of  God  has  actually  adopted. 
According  to  this  mode,  the  specific  virtues  of  which  the 
Christian  character  is  composed,  are  continually  recurring  to 
our  observation.  They  are  presented  to  us  in  everj'  variety  of 
form  and  aspect  which  can  be  given  to  them  by  precept,  and 
by  fact,  and  by  parable ;  and  in  this  way,  not  only  do  we 
get  a  more  perfect  illustration  of  their  meaning  and  their  ap- 
plication, but  they  are  more  closely  interwoven  with  all  our 
other  knowledge  and  sentiments  respecting  sacred  subjects, 
and  acquire  a  firmer  hold  both  of  our  memories  and  our  affec- 
tions. And  then,  by  being  individually  associated  with  an- 
ticipations of  future  and  eternal  reward,  they  assume  a  char- 
acter of  infinitely  greater  moment  than  they  could  otherwise 
do.  Taken  in  a  state  of  separalion  from  their  appropriate 
recompense  hereafter,  or  taken  collectively  in  a  state  of  union 
with  that  recompense,  our  feeling  of  their  importance  and 
their  obligation,  would  be  comparatively  vague,  and  indistinct, 
and  feeble.  But  coming  in  reiterated  statements  before  us  ; 
pressed  upon  our  attention  one  by  one,  as  well  as  again  and 
again  ;  and  each  of  them  having  the  weighty  sanction  and 
recommendation  of  a  blessed  immortality  attached  to  it, — they 
enforce  upon  our  minds  the  impression  of  their  unspeakable 
consequence  to  every  candidate  for  heaven,  and  constrain  us 
to  an  assiduous  and  faithful  cultivation  of  every  single  virtue 
which  can  adorn  our  character,  or  prepare  us  for  mingling 
with  the  inhabitants  of  heaven.  They  secure  infinitely  bet- 
ter than  any  other  arrangement  could  do,  our  being  "  holy  in 
all  manner  of  conversation;"  our  being  "fruitful  in  every 
good  word  and  work  ;"  our  "  standing  perfect  and  complete 
in  all  the  will  of  God." 

Having  made  these  observations  on  the  propriety  and  use^ 
fulness  of  that  mode  of  connecting  the  promise  of  eternal  life 
with  single  virtues,  and  with  partial  delineations  of  charac- 
ter, which  is  adopted  b)'  the  sacred  writers, — we  would 
shortly  apply  them  for  your  "correction  and  instruction.' 
We  apply  them  to  you  who  "  are  far  off;"  and  we  beseech 
you  to  consider  the  Christian  character,  not  in  that  loose 
and  distant,  and  indefinite  way  in  which  you  have  been  ac- 
customed to  regard  it,  but  in  that  spiritual  sense,  and  con- 
nected view,  in  which  it  is  represented  to  you  in  scripture. 
Do  not  content  yourselves  with  the  semblance  of  any  parti- 
cular virtue  on  which  you  may  have  chosen  to  fix  your  pciu-  manifold  failings  and  transgressions,  studies  at  least  to 
liar  attachment ;  but  attend  to  its  true  intrinsic  meaning,  look  maintain  purity  in  all  his  intentions,  and  integrity  in  all  his 


PART  III. 

Let  us  now  turn  our  attention  for  a  little  to  the  character, 
as  here  pourtrayed,  of  those  "  who  shall  abide  in  the  taber- 
nacle, and  dwell  in  the  holy  hill  of  God."  You  w-ill  observe, 
that  it  does  not  consist  in  mere  profession  of  religion,  how- 
ever orthodox  and  however  llaming  that  profession  of  religion 
may  be.  It  is  moral  practice  that  is  insisteil  on  ; — not  that 
profession  is  either  improper  or  useless ;  it  is  dutiful  and 
indispensable ;  but  it  is  of  so  little  value,  comparatively 
speaking,  that  it  is  not  once  mentioned  or  hinted  at,  while 
all  the  stress  is  laid  on  the  maintainance  of  holy  conduct. 
You  will  also  observe,  tha  tthe  mere  outward  acts  of  virtue 
are  not  rested  in,  as  if  they  were  sufl^icient :  its  internal 
principles  and  operations  are  also  brought  forward  as  no  less 
important  and  necessary^  You  will  observe  still  farther, 
that  the  account  is  not  confined  to  that  mere  negative  worth 
or  harmlessness  on  which  so  many  plume  themselves,  as 
entitling  them  to  the  reputation  and  the  hope  of  Christians. 
That  indeed  is  a  requisite  attainment,  and,  considering  the 
many  temptations  to  active  and  mischievous  sinfulness  with 
which  we  are  beset,  is  an  attainment  of  no  inconsiderable 
difliculty,  and  no  inconsiderable  value.  But  still  it  is  not  so 
valuable  as  to  supersede  the  pursuit  of  positive  excellence, 
the  discharge  of  substantial  duty  ;  and  in  the  passage  before 
us,  we  are  taught  that  while  we  "  do  the  one,"  we  must 
"not  leave  the  other  undone."  And  you  will  observe, 
finally,  that  the  catalogue  of  graces  here  given  is  not  limited 
to  those  that  are  of  a  more  showy  and  striking  kind.  With 
these  we  are  extremely  apt  to  be  satisfied,  or  at  least  to  be 
so  much  enamoured  as  to  neglect  the  humbler  and  less  sig- 
nificant virtues.  But  it  is  plain  from  this,  as  well  as  many 
other  passages  of  scripture,  that  there  is  no  moral  quality  so 
humble  or  so  common-place  as  not  to  merit  and  demand  our 
practical  regard  ;  and  that  while  we  should  make  the  highest 
efforts  of  integrity  and  generosity  which  fall  within  the 
compass  of  our  power,  there  is  no  species  of  good  conduct 
so  obscure,  and  so  little  noticed,  as  to  be  unworthy  of  our 
cordial  attachment,  and  our  diligent  endeavours. 

1.  The  man  who  shall  abide  in  God's  tabernacle,  and 
dwell  in  his  holy  hill,  is  said  to  "  walk  uprightly."  He  is 
not  a  man  of  mere  outward  or  literal  obedience ;  he  obeys 
with  the  heart.  Whatever  he  does  in  conformity  to  the 
enactments  of  the  law,  he  does  "  out  of  a  good  conscience." 
He  acts  from  principle ;  from  respect  for  God's  authority ; 
from  faith  in  the  Redeemer,  and  love  to  him;  from  all  those 
pure  motives  with  which  religion  furnishes  its  votaries,  for 
giving  real  excellence  and  undeviating  uniformity  to  their 
conduct.  He  may  often  and  greatly  come  short  of  the  holi- 
ness to  which  he  aspires ;  but  still  he  aims  at  it  really,  cor- 
dially, and  steadily.  Sincerity  pervades  the  whole  of  his 
deportment.  And  whether  he  is  seen  by  men  or  not,  he 
lives  as  "  an  Israelite  indeed,  in  whom  there  is  no  guile  ;" 
he  "walks  before  God  with  a  perfect  heart;"  and  amidst  his 


to  its  necessary  union  with  all  the  other  duties  of  religion  I 
and  morality,  and  examine  yourselves  by  this  broad,  and  le-] 


ways. 

'Z.  Again  he  cultivates 


ri"htcousnoss  and  truth.     He  is 


12S 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


just  and  honest  in  all  his  dealings  with  his  ft-llow  creatures  ; 
be  respects  all  their  rig-hts  and  privileges  ;  gives  to  every- 
one of  them  his  due ;  withholds  nothing  that  tliey  can  equit- 
ably c-laini  I'roin  him  ;  and  would  I'eel  unhappy  if  he  had 
been  instrumental  in  inflicting  upon  them  the  most  inconsid- 
erable wrong.  The  most  tempting  opportunities  of  fraud 
may  occur ;  interest  may  prompt  him  to  commit  it ;  superior 
skill  and  ingenuity  may  insure  success  in  the  gainful  at- 
tempt ;  detection  may  be  diflicult,  and  punishment  impossi- 
ble. But  he  finds  his  way  through  all  these  snares  and 
allurements,  and  walks  firmly  and  perseveringly-  on  the  plain 
onward  path  of  justice  ;  and  shows  that  he  would  scorn  dis- 
honesty, though  bribed  to  practise  it  by  the  w-ealth  of  a 
world.  And  the  same  regard  to  righteousness  that  he  mani- 
fests in  his  actions,  he  also  manifests  in  his  words.  He 
"  speaketh  the  truth  in  his  licart ;"  he  thinks  what  he  says  ; 
he  believes  what  he  affirms  ;  he  intends  what  he  promises. 
He  not  only  shrinks  back  with  horror  from  the  crime  of 
perjury,  but  disdains  to  have  recourse  to  falsehood  and 
equivocation,  even  when  not  restrained  by  the  awfulness  of 
an  oath.  A  lie  may  he  the  means  of  saving  him  from  many 
a  pang;  or  of  concealing  the  certain  cause  of  much  worldly 
shame  ;  or  of  procuring  for  him  many  desirable  advantages. 
But  he  abhors  the  lie ;  and  rather  than  be  guilty  of  the 
meanness  and  the  sin  which  it  implies,  he  will  endure  any 
suft'erino-,  he  will  expose  himself  to  every  degree  of  obloquy, 
and  will  forego  the  richest  earthly  blessings,  without  one 
feeling  of  reg'ret.  The  God  whom  he  serves  is  "a  just 
God,"  and  the  God  of  truth  ;  and  in  prep.'.ring  for  the  enjoy- 
ment of  communion  with  him  in  heaven,  he  "  worketh 
righteousness,  and  speaketh  the  truth  in  his  heart." 

3.  Another  feature  in  the  character  of  those  who  are  to 
dwell  in  the  holy  hill  of  God  is  the  tenderness  with  which 
they  treat  the  reputation  and  well  being  of  their  neighbour. 
They  may  be  powerfully  tempted  to  do  him  injury  in  these 
respects.  But  these  temptations  they  resist ;  and  in  the 
spirit  of  love  they  refrain  from  every  thing  that  may 
■unnecessarily  subject  him  to  loss  or  suftering.  They 
"  backbite  him  not  with  their  tongue."  They  take  no  plea- 
sure like  malicious  men,  or  like  envious  men,  or  like  re- 
vengeful men,  in  imputing  to  him  faults  which  he  never 
committed,  or  in  proclaiming  and  exaggerating  the  errors 
into  which  he  has  fallen,  or  in  giving  such  representations  of 
him  as  to  mar  bis  promotion  in  the  world,  to  cool  the  alTec- 
tion  of  his  friends,  to  embitter  the  resentment  of  his  enemies, 
or  to  hurl  him  from  the  place  which  he  occupied  i[i  the 
estimation  of  his  brethren  and  of  society.  And  as  they  will 
invent  nothing,  so  they  will  do  nothing  to  bis  prejudice  ; 
nothing  wilfully  or  intentionally  to  work  him  mischief; 
nothing  to  thwart  his  laudable  ambition ;  nothing  to  injure 
his  person  or  his  property;  nothing  to  otTend  and  harrass  his 
feelings;  notliing  to  prevent  or  mislead  him,  or  in  any  way 
to  hurt  his  spiritual  interests.  All  these  things  they  are 
careful  to  avoid,  so  that  neither  with  design  nor  through 
heedlessness  they  may  do  harm  to  the  least  or  the  lowest  of 
their  kind.  And  they  will  not  even  help  to  propagate  the 
slander  which  others  have  created.  They  might,  according 
to  the  spirit  and  custom  of  the  world,  take  up  and  circulate 
the  "  reproach  against  their  neighbour,"  without  feeling  any 
remorse,  or  being  accounted  calumniators,  merely  because 
they  had  not  originated  it.  But  the  people  of  God  act  not,  in 
this  any  more  than  in  other  respects,  according  to  the  spirit 
and  custom  of  the  world.  They  are  actuated  by  the  charity 
which  has  this  among  its  other  excellent  properties,  that  it 
"tliinkethno  evil,  rejoiceth  not  in  iniquity,  and  hopeth  all 
things."  And  under  llie  influence  of  this  divine  principle, 
they  will  not  retail  what  is  calculated  to  blast  the  good  name 
of  another,  and  shelter  themselves  under  the  plea  that  they 
were  only  giving  currency  to  the  fame  which  was  already 
"  ninning  to  and  fro."  They  will  rather  suppress  or  con- 
tradict the  reproach  which  has  met  their  ear,  and  thus  prevent 
it  from  accomplishing  the  wicked  errand  on  which  it  has 
been  sent  abroad.  They  will  recollect  that  "charily  abi- 
deth"  alter  faith  is  turned  into  vision,  and  hope  into  enjoy- 
ment;  that  its  exercise  will  be  one  principal  source  of  their 
happiness  in  the  holy  hill  of  God  ;  and  that  they  will  be  but 
ill  prepared  for  practising  and  relishing  it  in  heaven,  if  ihey 
meet  there  with  those  to  wlnun  they  had  denied  it  upon 
earth.  And,  therefore,  in  the  hope  of  dwelling  in  that  region 
of  love,  and  mingling  with  its  affectionate  inhabitants,  they 
■will,  in  the  conrse  of  their  preparation  for  it,  not  only  abound 
in  good  works,  hut  be  especially  careful  to  do  evil  to  no  man, 
and  not  to  "  take  up  a  reproach  against  their  neighbour." 

4.  But  farther,   tho;e  who  are   to  cuter  heaven  are  here 


distinguished  by  this — that  "in  their  eyes  a  vile  person  is 
contemned,  while  they  honour  them  that  fear  the  Lord." 
Very  dilferent  is  the  manner  in  which  irreligious  and  worldly 
men  bestow  their  regards.  They  look  chiefly,  if  not  solely, 
to  external  circumstances  and  adventitious  distinctions,  and 
are  determined  by  these  in  the  judgments  which  they  form, 
and  the  sentiments  which  they  cherish  concerning  their  fel- 
low-men. If,  on  the  one  hand,  a  man  be  humble  in  station  ; 
if  he  he  poor  in  his  outward  estate  ;  if  he  be  meanly  fed, 
and  clothed,  and  lodged;  if  he  be  without  learning  and 
without  influence, — he  is  the  object  of  their  contempt,  what- 
ever be  the  height  of  his  religious  and  moral  attainments. 
And,  on  the  other  hand,  if  a  man  be  of  high  birth;  if  he  be 
opulent;  if  he  be  invested  with  tMnporal  grandeur;  if  he 
inhabit  a  palace,  and  be  "  clothed  in  purple  and  fine  linen, 
and  fare  sumptuously  every  day  ;"  or  if  he  be  remarkable 
for  his  science  and  his  scholarship,  and  his  literary  fame, — 
they  show  him  every  mark  of  deference  and  respect,  even 
though  he  is  infidel  in  his  principles,  profligate  in  his  morals, 
and  living  "  without  God  in  the  world." 

But  it  is  the  very  reverse  of  this  with  such  as  have  set 
their  faces  Zionward,  and  in  their  journey  thither  are  en- 
lightened and  guided  by  the  Spirit  of  truth.  A  man  may 
have  all  the  personal  accomplishinents,  and  all  the  exterior 
greatness  that  human  wisdom  can  acquire,  or  that  human 
ambition  can  point  to,  yet  they  esteem  him  not  on  these  ac- 
counts. They  know  that  these  by  themselves  are  of  no 
value  in  the  sight  of  God,  and  that  they  cannot  accompany 
their  possessor  to  the  eternal  state.  They,  therefore,  look 
for  the  more  substantial  and  acceptable  and  precious  attain- 
ments of  piety  and  holiness  ;  and  not  finding  these,  but  dis- 
covering in  their  place  a  moral  vileness,  alienation  from  the 
love  of  God,  unbelief  of  the  Saviour,  attachment  to  sin,  base 
affections,  worldly  dispositions,  and  licentious  habits,  they 
contemn  the  person  to  whom  such  unworthiness  cleaves, 
and  by  whom  it  is  cherished.  They  do  not  refuse  him  the 
civil  honour  and  external  respect  to  which  his  situation  in 
society  may  entitle  him  ;  but  they  give  him  not  the  homage 
of  the  heart;  and,  surrounded  as  he  is  by  all  that  is  fitted  to 
captivate  and  dazzle  the  worldly  eye,  they  cannot  lose  sight 
of  his  corruption  and  wickedness ;  and  thinking  of  that  as 
determining  his  claim  to  their  deference,  they  pity  him,  they 
look  down  upon  him,  they  despise  his  character,  they  tes- 
tify against  his  evil  deeds,  and  will  not  allow  their  soul  to 
"  come  into  his  secrets,"  or  their  honour  to  be  "  united  to  his 
assembly."  But  let  a  man  be  as  destitute  and  abject  in  his 
outward  circumstances  as  he  may ;  let  him  be  the  victim  at 
once  of  poverty,  and  disease,  and  neglect ;  let  the  world  in 
their  wisdom  have  settled  it  that  he  shall  be  passed  by  as 
undescr\'ing  of  notice,  and  trampled  on  as  one  who  has  no 
right  to  complain  ;  still  they  are  not  influenced  by  these 
seeming  disadvantages  to  harbour  any  dislike  to  him,  or  to 
treat  him  with  any  contumely.  They  remember  that  Laza- 
rus was  a  beggar,  and  "  laid  at  the  rich  man's  gate  full  of 
sores,"  and  yet  that  when  he  died,  he  "  was  carried  by  the 
angels  to  Abraham's  bosom."  They  reiuember  that  the 
apostles  were  deemed  "  the  oft-scouring  of  all  things,"  and 
were  "despised,"  and  "  persecuted,"  and  "  defamed;"  and 
yet  that  they  were  "  full  of  the  Holy  Ghost"  and  of  spiri- 
tual power,  and  came  at  length  to  "  the  spirits  of  the  just 
made  perfect,  to  Jesus  the  mediator  of  the  new  covenant, 
and  to  God  the  judge  of  all."  They  remember  that  a  greater 
than  the  apostles  was  still  more  lightly  esteemed  than  Laza- 
rus, "  despised  and  rejected  of  men,  had  not  where  to  lay 
his  head,"  and  at  last  expired  under  the  ignominy  of  a 
cross  ;  and  yet  that  all  the  while  he  was  the  Son  of  the  most 
high  God  ;  that  his  very  humiliation  perfected  his  character; 
that  amidst  the  indignities  that  were  heaped  upon  him,  he 
was  triumphing  over  sin  and  hell ;  and  that  he  now  reigns 
on  the  throne  of  glory,  the  dispenser  of  salvation,  and  the 
joy  of  his  redeeiued  people.  And  remembering  these  things 
they  learn  to  penetrate  through  the  guise  of  outward  wretch- 
edness, sad  and  revolting  as  it  maybe;  and  beholding  in 
him  whom  it  covers,  one  "  who  fears  the  Lord,"  whose  heart 
is  devoted  to  the  saviour,  who  is  living  in  faith,  and  purity, 
and  patience,  and  heavenly  mindedness,  and  who  from  his 
hut  of  poverty,  and  his  bed  of  straw,  lifts  up  the  voice  of 
praise  to  the  God  of  his  salvation,  and  darts  the  eye  of  hope 
forward  to  the  unsuflering  kingdom  that  awaits  him ; — he- 
holding  in  him  thus  a  child  of  God,  and  an  heir  of  immor- 
tality, they  honour  him  with  the  unfeigned  tribute  of  their 
approbation  and  their  love;  they  fix  on  him  a  kindly  and 
delighted  eye:  tliey  are  not  afraid  to  minister  to  him  as  "a 
fellow  citizen  with  the  saints  ;"   and  their  souls  glow  with 


LECTURES  ON  PORTIONS  OF  THE  PSALMS. 


129 


cxalled  afledion  towards  him,  as  they  anticipate  the  day 
when  thry  shall  src  him  arrajed  in  the  robe,  and  wearing 
tlie  erown  of  '•  life  eternal."  And  by  thus  nourishino;  in 
tlieir  souls  a  hatred  of  sin  and  a  love  of  holiness,  whatever 
be  the  dress  which  hides  the  deformity  of  the  one,  and  con 
reals  the  beauties  of  the  other,  they  gradually  and  certainly 
fit  themselves  for  "  abiding  in  the  tabernacle  of  the  Lord, 
and  dwelling  in  his  holy  hill." 

5.  Then  comes  the  inviolable  honour  and  unbending  integ- 
rity of  this  character.  "  He  sweareth  to  his  own  hurt,  and 
changelh  not."  He  prefers  a  good  conscience  to  every  thing 
f-lse.°  Relief  from  personal  injury,  and  the  advancement  of 
his  earthly  interests  are  not  prized  by  him  when  they  come 
into  competition  wiih  a  faithful  and  scrupulous  adherence  to 
his  word.  If  he  has  taken  an  oath,  or  what  should  be  the 
same  tbing  with  a  man  of  real  principle,  given  his  solemn 
promise,  in  any  transaction  wliich  he  may  find  it  convenient 
or  profitable  to  have  annulled  and  cancelled, — whatever  he 
the  inconveniences  or  losses  to  which  its  fulfilment  may  sub- 
ject him,  and  even  though  bj'  breaking  it  he  should  "  g-ain  the 
whole  world,"  and  escape  any  penalty  from  the  hand  of  mor- 
tals, yet  he  "  holds  fast  his  righteousness  and  will  not  let  it 
go."  He  keeps  his  oath,  he  adheres  to  his  promise,  in  the 
i'ull  extent  of  its  import  and  design.  He  suffers  for  it;  but 
lie  is  contented  to  suffer,  since  he  has  the  approving  and 
pleasing  testimony  of  his  own  mind  ;  and  he  is  willing  to  en- 
dure any  consequences  that  may  result  from  his  engagement, 
provided  he  keeps  his  "  conscience  void  of  offence  towards 
(Jod  and  men."  He  is  looking  forward  to  heaven  as  the 
dwelling-place  of  the  saints  ;  and  he  cannot  look  forward 
with  comfort  or  satisfaction  to  the  company  of  those  to  whom 
ho  was  bound  by  the  most  sacred  ties,  but  whose  expecta- 
tions he  had  frustrated,  and  whose  interests  he  had  impaired, 
at  the  instigation  of  his  own  selfishness,  and  at  the  expense 
of  his  own  pledged  veracity;  and  still  more,  he  is  looking 
forward  to  heaven  as  the  place  where  he  hopes  to  derive  inef- 
fable enjoyment  from  the  immediate  and  glorious  presence  of 
God,  and  that  is  altogether  inconsistent  with  an  act  which 
involves  in  it  the  violation  of  what  he  had  invoked  God  to 
witness  as  the  God  of  omniscience  and  of  truth,  and  the  breach 
of  that  commandment  which  says,  "  Thou  shall  not  take  the 
name  of  the  Lord  thy  God  in  vain,  for  the  Lord  will  not  hold 
him  guiltless  that  taketh  his  name  in  vain." 

G.  Finally,  "  He  putteth  not  out  his  money  to  usury,  nor 
taketh  reward  against  the  innocent :"  That  is,  he  will  not  in- 
crease his  wealth  by  any  unjust  or  oppressive  means.  He 
will  prosecute  his  worldly  employments  with  becoming  care 
and  diligence.  He  will  not  despise  the  maxim  which  says, 
that  "the  hand  of  the  diligent  maketh  rich."  And  he  will 
receive  with  gratitude,  and  enjoy  with  moderation,  whatever 
his  heavenly  father  is  pleased  to  grant  as  the  fruit  of  his  law- 
ful enterprise,  or  the  reward  of  his  honest  industrj'.  But 
then  be  has  Christian  principle.  Christian  love,  and  Chris- 
tian hope,  to  elevate  him  above  the  world,  to  preserve  him 
amidst  the  debasing  and  selfish  influence  of  its  peculiar  occu- 
pations, and  to  give  hint  the  victory  over  its  most  powerful 
allurements.  He  may  lend  his  money  for  gain,  as  he  may 
endeavour  to  profit  b)'  any  gther  species  of  property;  but  he 
will  not  employ  it  as  an  engine  of  ungenerous  and  aggrandis- 
ing power.  He  will  not  take  advantage  of  the  misfortunes 
and  distresses  of  others  to  exact  from  them  what  they  are  un- 
able to  afford,  and  to  aggravate  their  hardships,  already  suffi- 
ciently severe,  in  order  to  add  to  his  own  treasures,  already 
more  than  adequate  to  all  his  need.  Believing  and  feeling 
that  the  substance  which  providence  has  conferred  upon  him 
is  committed  to  his  stewardship  for  the  good  of  others,  he 
will  not  act  so  inconsistently  with  that  scriptural  doctrine  as 
to  make  his  substance  an  instrument  of  evil  to  them.  He 
will  never  regard  the  liberality  of  his  gifts  to  some,  as  any 
atonement  or  any  compensation  for  his  griping  cruelty  to 
others ;  but  considering  all  that  he  has  a  sacred  trust,  for 
which  he  must  finally  render  an  account,  he  will  refrain  from 
every  attempt  to  increase  it  by  usurious  dealings,  and  will 
rather,  according  to  the  proverbial  phraseology  of  the  Bible, 
be  ready  to  "  lend  to  those  who  would  borrow  of  him,  hoping 
for  nothing  again."  And  as  he  detests  and  avoids  usury,  so 
his  soul  abhors  a  bribe,  nor  will  he  permit  it  to  stain  his 
hand.  Whether  he  be  an  administrator  of  public  justice,  or 
whether-he  be  a  private  individual  who  has  it  in  his  power 
to  do  injury  to  his  fellow  men,  he  will  never  encroach  on  their 
rights,  nor  deal  out  iniquity  to  the  innocent.  No  reward  that 
can  be  offered  will  succeed  in  prevailing  upon  him  to  touch  a 
hair  of  their  head.  He  will  rather  throw  around  them  the 
shield  of  his  protection;  he  will  vindicate  their  character. 
Vol..  H.— R 


and  maintain  their  cause,  and  defend  them  from  every  as- 
sault ;  and  this  he  will  do,  though  detraction  and  malice 
should  be  all  his  recompense,  and  though  an  opposite  con- 
'duct  would  have  secured  for  him  much  of  the  gold  that  per- 
isheth,  the  favour  of  the  powerful,  and  the  countenance  of  the 
great.  He  is  proof  against  all  such  temptations  to  unjust  and 
ungenerous  conduct,  for  he  looks  to  God  as  his  father,  to 
men  as  his  brethren,  and  to  heaven  as  his  home. 

Such,  my  friends,  is  a  very  short  and  imperfect  view  of  the 
character  of  those  who  are  to  dwell  in  the  holy  hill  of  tlie 
Lord,  so  far  as  it  is  here  unfolded.  Let  meexhon  you  to  study 
it ;  to  study  it  minutelj'  and  seriously,  and  with  application  to 
yourselves.  You  must  necessarily  be  distinguished  by  it, 
otherwise  you  cannot  see  the  kingdom  of  heaven.  This  you 
are  assured  of,  and  this  you  profess  to  believe.  Be  persuad- 
ed then  to  cultivate  it  with  unceasing  activity.  Pray,  and 
strive  that  you  may  he  all  which  is  required  of  those  who 
would  enter  the  celestial  abodes ;  that  j-ou  may  have  the  prin- 
ciples, the  temper,  and  the  conduct  that  is  prescribed  to  them 
by  him  who  '*  sits  upon  the  throne ;"  and  that  as  every  day 
brings  you  nearer  the  eternal  world,  every  day  may  find  you 
better  prepared  for  entering  into  the  "  rest  which  remaineth 
for  the  people  of  God."  "  He  that  doth  these  things  shall 
never  be  moved."  He  shall  be  like  Mount  Zion  itself  which 
abideth  for  ever.  Only  build  upon  the  Rock  of  Ages  ;  cling 
to  tlie  might}'  Redeemer ;  live  as  the  citizens  of  heaven, — and 
nothing  shall  then  be  able  to  remove  you  from  your  place,  to 
hurt  your  interests,  or  to  blast  your  hope.  You  are  safe 
amidst  the  buffettings  of  adversity,  and  amidst  the  assaults 
of  temptation,  and  amidst,  the  malice  and  persecution  of  your 
bitterest  and  your  mightiest  foes.  "  All  things  are  yours,  for 
ye  are  Christ's,  and  'Christ  is  God's."  He  "knoweth  them 
that  are  his ;"  and  having  engraven  on  the  tablets  of  your 
hearts,  and  on  the  features  of  your  character,  the  marks  of  his 
true  children,  he  will  keep  you  as  "  the  apple  of  his  eye"  dur- 
ing all  the  time  of  your  sojourning  in  the  wilderness,  and  then 
he  will  put  you  in  possession  of  the  riches,  the  honours,  and 
the  pleasures  of  tlie  promised  land. 


LECTURE  IV. 

'  Pre.ierve  me,  0  God  ■■  fur  in  thee  do  I  put  my  trust.  0  my 
soul,  thou  hml  said  unto  the  I^ird,  Thou  art  my  lAird  ■  my 
goodness  exlendeth  not  to  thee ,-  But  to  the  saints  that  are  in  the 
earth,  and  to  the  cxcelknt,  in  whom  is  aU  my  delight.' — 
Psalm  xvi.  1. — 3. 

The  first  thing  that  David  does  in  this  beautiful  and  inter- 
esting Psalm,  is  to  commend  himself  to  the  protection  of  God, 
as  the  God  in  whom  he  had  placed  his  confidence.  And  this 
is  what  all  of  us  will  do,  who  are  living  under  the  influence  of 
vital  and  experimental  religion.  If  we  have  been  permitted 
to  know  God  as  he  really  is,  and  if  we  have  been  enabled  to 
cherish  towards  him  those  sentiments  which  it  becomes  us 
to  feel,  an  implicit  and  unwavering  affiance  in  him  must  ne- 
cessarily pervade  and  animate  our  breasts.  He  possesses  all 
those  perfections  in  an  infinite  degree,  by  which  such  afliance 
is  created,  and  encouraged,  and  confirmed  ;  he  is  full  of  kind- 
ness to  his  people;  he  is  as  able  as  he  is  willing  to  do  them 
good ;  and  every  promise  that  he  has  made  to  promote  their 
welfare,  he  is  unchangeably  faithful  to  perform.  So  that,  if 
we  be  among  the  number  of  his  people,  we  may  confide  in 
him  with  our  whole  heart,  for  every  communication  of  his 
grace,  and  for  every  exercise  of  his  power,  which  our  varied 
circumstances  may  require.  • 

This  trust  we  will  constantly  repose  in  God,  because  he  is 
constantly  deserving  of  it,  and  because  it  is  constantly  de- 
manded for  our  personal  comfort  and  stability.  But  it  will 
be  especially  active  and  vigorous  when  we  are  exposed  to 
those  peculiar  difficulties  and  dangers  by  which  every  Chris- 
tian is  often  beset  in  the  course  of  his  pilgrimage.  In  such 
seasons,  and  in  such  situations,  we  will  think  much  of  the 
divine  character ;  we  will  contemplate  it  as  it  is  exhibited  to 
our  view  in  the  revelation  of  the  Gospel ;  we  will  meditate  on 
the  great  and  glorious  attributes  by  which  it  is  distinguished  ; 
we  will  listen  to  all  the  assurances  of  mercy,  and  to  all  the 
promises  of  assistance  with  which  it  stands  connected  in  the 
word  of  truth ;  we  will  remember  how  He  to  whom  it  be- 
lonirs,  has  in  the  experience  of  them  that  he  knew  to  be  his, 
verified  every  declaration  thai  he  had  made,  and  redeemed 
every  pledge  that  he  had  given;  and  thus  from  what  we  have 


130 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


'seen  with  our  eyes,'  and  'heard  with  our  ears,' and  'he- 
lieved  with  our  hearts,'  we  will  regard  him  as  our  only  '  re- 
fuge in  the  time  of  trouble,'  and  cling  to  him  as  one  who  is 
'mighty  to  save,'  and  worthy  to  be  '  the  confidence  of  all  the 
ends  of  the  earth.' 

Nor  will  we  rest  satisfied  with  a  mere  consciousness  of  this 
unlimited  reliance  upon  God  ;  we  will  give  it  free  expression 
in  those  cases,  which  are  calculated  to  call  it  forth,  by  applying 
to  him  for  the  help  or  the  deliverance  that  we  need,  in  the 
language  of  devout  and  fervent  supplication.  We  will  be- 
seech him  to  preserve  us  :  to  preserve  us  from  the  temporal 
adversities  that  would  otherwise  distress  and  overwhelm  us ; 
but  above  all  to  preserve  us  from  the  spiritual  calamities  by 
which  our  souls  are  put  in  peril  of  present  discomfort,  and 
'  everlasting  destruction.'  We  w^ill  beseech  him  to  preserve 
us  from  the  workings  of  inward  corruption,  and  from  the 
wiles  of  the  wicked  one,  and  from  the  snares  and  temptations 
of  an  evil  world.  We  will  beseech  him  to  preserve  us  from 
the  sins  that  most  easily  beset  us, — from  avarice,  or  from  sen- 
suality, or  from  worldly  mindedness,  or  from  indifference,  or 
from  sloth.  W'e  w ill  beseech  him  to  preserve  us  from  dis- 
trusting his  providence,  and  from  slighting  his  grace;  from 
Judas's heartless  treachery,  and  from  Peter's  cowardly  denial; 
from  the  unbelief  of  the  Sadducees,  and  from  the  h3'pocrisy, 
and  self-righteousness,  and  bigotry  of  the  Scribes  and  Phari- 
sees;  from  the  iniquity  that  injures  men,  and  from  the 
impiety  that  dishonours  God,  and  from  the  intemperance 
that  degrades  ourselves ;  from  the  indulgences  that  im- 
pair our  love  to  the  Saviour,  and  the  prejudices  and  pur- 
suits that  weaken  our  faith  in  his  merits ;  from  '  the  fear 
of  man,  which  bringeth  a  snare,'  and  from  the  '  fear  of  death,' 
which  makes  us  '  subject  to  bondage  ;  from  the  backsliding 
which  fills  us  with  present  remorse,  and  from  the  apostacy 
which  terminates  in  irretrievable  ruin.  We  will  beseech  him 
to  preserve  us  from  such  evil  as  these ;  and  we  will  enforce 
our  treaty  by  the  argument  here  employed  by  the  Psalmist ; 
'  Preserve  me,  O  God,  for  in  thee  do  I  put  my  trust.'  We  feel 
that  in  ourselves  we  have  no  resource,  and  that  there  is  no 
help  for  us  in  man.  But  we  have  found  in  God  an  all-sufii- 
cient  refuge.  lu  the  exhibition  of  his  character  which  he  has 
aflforded  us,  and  in  the  manifold  declarations  which  he  has  ad- 
dressed to  us  in  his  word,  he  exhorts,  he  encourages,  he  com- 
mands us  to  place  our  sole  dependance  upon  Him,  and  to  flee 
to  him  as  our  '  strong  hold  in  the  day  of  trouble.'  And,  there- 
fore, when  we  cry  to  him  for  preservation  and  deliverance,  it 
is  right  that  we  should  appeal  to  all  that  he  has  said,  and  to 
all  that  he  has  promised  ;  and  plead  the  confidence  which  he 
himself  has  taught  us  to  rest  on  his  mercy  which  never  fail- 
eth,  on  his  wisdom  whose  depth  is  unfathomable,  on  his 
strength  which  is  mighty  and  everlasting,  and  on  his  '  truth 
which  he  has  magnified  above  all  his  name.' 

'O  my  soul,  thou  hast  said  unto  the  Lord,  Thou  art  my 
Lord.'  Here  the  Psalmist  intimates  that  he  had  taken  the 
Lord  to  be  his  Lord ;  and  surely  it  is  impossible  for  any  of 
us  who  are  at  once  acquainted  with  our  duty,  and  our  interest, 
to  make  a  better  or  a  different  choice.  He  is  entitled  to  the 
supremacy  over  us  in  every  respect  in  which  that  supremacy 
can  be  either  exercised  by  him,  or  acknowledged  by  us.  And 
when  we  refuse  him  any  measure  of  homage  or  submission ; 
when  we  do  not  acquiesce  in  his  disposal  of  every  thing  that 
concerns  us ;  when  we  do  not  cheerfully  commit  ourselves 
to  him  to  be  governed  and  treated  according  to  his  sovereign 
pleasure,  we  forget  what  is  due  from  the  creature  to  the  Crea- 
tor, and  are  guilty  of  rebellion  against  tlie  all-perfect  ruler  of 
the  universe.  But  it  is  not  only  our  duty  ;  it  is  also  our  in- 
terest to  take  the  Lord  for  our  Lord.  Surrendering  ourselves 
to  the  dominion  of  any  other  being,  or  asserting  our  own  inde 
pendence,  as  if  we  were  divinities,  we  provoke  the  holy  dis 
pleasure  of  omnipotence,  and  must  sink  under  its  overwhelm- 
ing weight.  But  yielding  implicitly  and  unreservedly  to  God, 
who  is  not  more  the  holder  of  all  authority,  than  he  is  the 
fountain  of  all  good,  we  must  be  safe,  and  we  must  be  happy  ; 
because  in  that  case  there  is  nothing  to  interrupt  the  current 
of  his  favour,  and  his  favour  must  secure  for  every  one  who 
enjoys  it,  guardianship  from  all  evil,  and  the  possession  of 
every  blessing. 

It  is  necessary,  however,  that  in  this  dedication  of  our- 
selves to  God,  the  heart  be  really  and  chiefly  concerned.  It 
is  the  soul  that  must  say  to  him,  '  Thou  art  my  Lord.'  Mere 
language  of  this  sort  is  easily  employed;  and  in  the  estima- 
tion of  those  before  whom  it  is  used,  it  may  have  all  the  tone, 
not  only  of  sincerity,  but  of  fervour,  and  it  may  procure  for  us 
the  reputation  of  personal  and  decided  piety.  But  going  'out 
of  feigned  lips,'  it  can  meet  with  no  acceptance  from  the  God 


of  truth,  and  will  be  more  displeasing  to  him  than  the  absence 
of  all  acknowledgment  of  his  excellence  and  supremacy. 
Whatever  we  say  to  him  ;  whatever  declarations  we  make  of 
dependance  upon  his  bounty,  or  of  submission  to  his  power; 
whatever  pledges  we  utter  of  future  devotedness  to  bis  service 
and  glory  ; — it  must  all  be  the  faithful  expression  of  our  con- 
victions and  our  feelings.  We  must  be  conscious  of  the  vow 
that  we  intimate  in  words  having  its  origin,  and  its  purpose, 
and  its  meaning  within  us.  And  He  to  whom  it  is  offered 
must  see  it  to  be  the  effusion  of  a  sentiment  which  goes  forth 
with  the  full  approbation  of  our  understanding,  and  with  the 
unreserved  consent  of  our  will,  and  with  the  cheerful  tribute 
of  our  affections. 

And,  aware  of  our  aptness  to  forget  what  we  have  resolved 
and  promised  in  reference  to  God,  we  must  frequently  remind 
our  souls,  as  it  were,  of  the  ties  by  which  they  are  voluntari- 
ly and  solemnly  bound  to  him,  and  of  the  consequent  obliga- 
tions which  they  have  to  fulfil.  It  is  of  infinite  importance 
for  us,  both  as  to  comfort  and  improvement,  never  to  lose  sight 
of  the  fact  that  we  are  not  our  own  but  his.  But  there  are 
many  weaknesses  and  corruptions  within  us,  and  there  are 
many  temptations  and  delusions  without  us,  which  tend  either 
to  enfeeble  the  impression  of  that  fact,  or  to  efface  it  altogeth- 
er. And,  therefore,  we  cannot  be  too  careful  to  prevent  it  from 
being  impaired ;  we  cannot  be  too  vigilant  against  the  ap- 
proach or  influence  of  any  thing  that  would  injure  it  in  the 
least  degree ;  we  cannot  be  too  anxious  to  add  to  its  native 
vividness  and  strength ;  and  with  a  jealousy  of  its  fading 
away,  and  with  a  desire  of  increasing  its  practical  effect,  we 
should  often  and  seriously  put  ourselves  in  remembrance  of 
what  we  have  done,  saying,  like  the  Psalmist,  '  O  my  soul, 
thou  hast  said  unto  the  Lord,  thou  art  my  Lord.' 

Here,  however,  there  is  another  evil  to  be  guarded  against. 
When  we  have  consecrated  ourselves  to  God,  and  when  re- 
collecting this,  we  are  active  in  his  service,  the  Pharisaical 
idea  is  apt  to  steal  upon  us,  that  we  have  something  to  boast 
of;  that  our  labours  may  be  beneficial  to  whom  they  are 
rendered  ;  and  that  on  account  of  these,  we  are  entitled  to  his 
favour  and  protection.  There  cannot  be  a  greater  or  more 
pernicious  mistake.  Nothing  that  we  are  capable  of  doing 
can  be  of  advantage  to  God.  It  can  neither  increase  the  sum 
of  his  blessedness,  nor  the  perfection  of  his  character,  nor  tho 
lustre  of  his  glory.  He  is  infinitely  above  us,  and  he  stands 
in  no  need  of  us.  Supreme  in  the  happiness  of  his  being;  un- 
bounded in  the  attributes  of  his  nature  ;  self-existent,  eternal 
and  unchangeable,  he  can  derive  no  benefit  from  our  services, 
even  though  we  had  been  as  sinless  as  the  angels  in  heaven, 
and  as  distinguished  by  wisdom  and  by  strength  as  they  are. 
And  how  much  more  impressively  should  we  feel  the  force  of 
this  statement,  when  we  recollect  the  ignorance,  and  the 
weakness,  and  the  pollution  which  adhere  to  us  amidst  our 
highest  attainments  in  piety  and  virtue  !  The  vilest  thing  on 
earth  may,  of  itself,  or  in  its  combinations,  be  useful  to  the 
mightiest  monarch  that  ever  swayed  a  sceptre,  because  they 
stand  in  the  relation  of  one  creature  to  another  creature.  But 
as  creatures  we  are  removed  at  an  immeasurable  distance 
from  the  Creator,  and  on  this  account,  we  cannot  be  '  profita- 
ble to  our  Maker,  as  he  that  is  wise  and  kind  may  be  profita- 
ble to'  his  neighbour.  Whatever  we  have,  or  whatever  we  do, 
that  is  entitled  to  the  name  of  goodness,  is  the  gift  of  his  own 
bounty,  bestowed  upon  us  that  we  may  have  wherewithal  to 
make  a  practical  acknowledgment  of  our  dependance  upon 
him,  and  to  render  the  homage  which  is  due  to  so  great  and 
gracious  a  God.  And  whether  we  offer  to  him  the  tribute  of 
our  hearts  or  the  praises  of  our  lips,  or  the  labours  of  our  ac- 
tive life,  we  must  still  say  to  him,  'All  things  come  of  thee, 
and  of  thine  own  have  we  given  thee.' 

But  while  our  goodness  extendeth  not  to  God,  so  as  that 
it  can  be  useful  to  him  or  meritorious  in  his  sight,  'it  ex- 
tendeth,' says  the  Psalmist,  '  to  the  saints  that  are  in  the 
earth,  and  to  the  excellent  in  whom  is  all  our  delight.' 
There  are  saints  in  the  earth.  Alienated  as  men  naturally 
are  from  God,  and  pervaded  as  their  general  character  is  by 
moral  transgression,  there  are  those  of  them  to  whom  this 
appellation  may  be  justly  applied.  They  are  saints  ;  they 
are  holy ;  they  love  what  is  holy  in  their  hearts,  and  they 
practise  what  is  holy  in  their  lives.  Their  holiness  indeed 
has  much  imperfection  mixed  with  it,  and  comes  far  short  of 
what  the  divine  law  requires  of  them.  But  still  it  exists  in 
their  principles,  in  their  desires,  in  their  endeavours,  and  in 
their  actual  acquirements ;  and,  therefore,  it  confers  upon 
them  their  leading  and  distinctive  character.  They  are 
saints, — transformed  and  sanctified  by  divine  grace ;  sepa- 
rated from  a  '  world  that  lieth  in  wickedness ;'  made  to  see 


LECTURES  ON  PORTIONS  OF  THE  PSALMS. 


and   to   feel  the  evil  of  sin;    redeemed  from  its  rei.niin<r 
power;  animated  to  struggle  against  its  temptations,  a°nd  to 
deny   themselves   to   lU   indulgences;    taught   to   love   the 
character  of  God,  and  to  obey  his  will,  and  to  take  delight 
m  his  commandments  ;  and  guided  by  his  Spirit  into  a  decid- 
ed, cordial,  habitual,  and  persevering  cultivation  of  those  qua- 
lities of  the  mind  and  conduct  which  constitute  true  holiness. 
Being  thus  saints,  they  are  '  excellent.'     They  may  be 
lightly  esteemed  among  men  ;  they  may  be  made  the  subjects 
of  ridicule  and  reproach ;  they  may  be  accounted  and  treated  as 
the  basest  of  hypocrites.     And  indeed  a  more  striking  and  la- 
mentable proof  that  such  is  actually  the  case,  cannot  easily  be 
conceived  than  this,  that  the  very  term  which  the  Spirit  of  God 
employs  to  designate  them  in  the  Scripture,  is  the  very  terra 
by  which  worldly  men  direct  against  them  their  malignity  and 
their  scorn,  and  by  which  they  hold  them  up  to  general  detesta- 
tion and  contempt.     But  '  it  is  a  small  matter  to  be  thus 
judged  of  men's  judgment;  there  is  one  that  judgeth,  even 
God.'     And   in  his  revealed  word,   while  he    denominates 
them  '  saints,'  he  at  the  same  time  pronounces  them  to  be 
I  excellent.'     And  how  can  they  be  otherwise  than  excellent 
in  the  true  sense  of  that  word  ?     God   is  the  standard   of 
excellence,  and  they  are  like  God.     They  are  renewed  after 
his  image;  they  conform  to  his  will;  they  imitate  his  cha- 
racter ;  they  love  what  he  loves,  and  hate  what  he  hates  ; 
and   though  by  reason  of  natural  and  moral   infirmity  they 
are  frequently  '  overtaken  in  a  fault,'  and  sometimes  fall  into 
grievous  sins,  they  yet  sorrow  for  their  unworthiness  in  his 
sight,  and  according  to  his  appointment,  they  apply  to  the 
blood  of  atonement  for  the  expiation  of  their  guilt,  and  put 
themselves  under  the  sanctifying  and  guiding  influences  of 
the  Spirit  of  all  grace,  and  labour  with  all  Their  heart  and 
with  all  their  strength  to  be  every  thing  which  the  God  of 
truth  and  purity  requires.     Thus  '  approving  \.he  things  that 
are  excellent,'  and  thus  doinf;  the  things  that  are  excellent, 
they  are  the  objects  of  God's  affection,  and  are  honoured 
with  his  favourable  testimony. 

And  while  this  is  the  most  satisfactory  mode  of  demonstratinir 
their  excellence,  it  may  be  also  illustraUd  by  contrasting  them 
with  their  fellow  men.     It  is  neither  their  duty  nor  tliei'  habit 
to  assert  their  own  superiority  by  making  such  a  comparison. 
But  the  comparison  is  stated  in  Scripture,  when  it  is  affirmed 
that  '  the  righteous  is  more  excellent  than  his  neighbour :' 
those  who  have  not  experienced  the  renewal  which  hehasexpe- 
ricnced,  and  do  not  maintain  the  character  which  he  maintains, 
are  plainly  destitute  of  those  properties  which  assimilate  the 
creature  to  his  God,  and  make  him  worthy  of  the  esteem  and  ad- 
miration of  every  holy  intelligence.    Nay  they  are  polluted  and 
degraded  by  qualities  whose  intrinsic  turpitude,  whose  con- 
trariety to  tiie  supreme  will,  and   whose  mischievous  and 
ruinous  effects  expose  them  to  the  divine  condemnation,  and 
alienate  from  them  the  regards  of  the  -wise  and   the  good, 
both  in  heaven  and  on  earth.     That  unregenerated  worid.  of 
which  they  form  a  part,  and  which  so  often  puts  '  good  for 
evil,  and  evil  for  good,'  may  admire  and  applaud  them  for 
the  very  actions  in  which  their  spiritual  debasement  is  em- 
bodied ;  but  this  is  only  an  additional  proof  of  their  degene- 
racy, and  imparts  not  one   tittle  of  worth  to  palIiate°or  to 
redeem  their  essential  demerit.     And  even  the  most  specious 
and  comely  appearance  which  their  deportment  may  be  made 
to  assume, — all  the  decencies,  and  honesties,  and  charities, 
that  may  find  a  place  in  it,  and  all  the  beneficial  influence 
which  may  accidentally  emanate  from  it, — cannot  conceal 
from  us  its  inherent  depravity,  and  its  total  worthlessness, 
when  we  search  into  its  spirit  and  principles,  and  apply  to 
the  determination  of  iU  merits  that  lest  which  is  furnished 
by  the  word  and  the  law  of  God.     But  of  how  much  purer 
and  more  elevated  a  cast  than  this,— how  completely  differ- 
ent from  it,  indeed,  is  the  deportment  of  the  saint !     The 
latter  has  not  only  the  aspect  but  the  reality  of  excellence. 
It  is  excellent  not  merely  in  the  estimation  of  fallible  mor- 
tals, but   in  ihe  judgment  of  a  righteous,  omniscient,  and 
unerring  God.     It  is  excellent  in  the  effects  which  it  pro- 
duces ;   in   the  deeds  of  which  it  consists  ;  in  the  motives 
by  which  it  is  regulated ;  and  in  the  source  from   which  it 
springs.     And  while  the  deportment  of  the  worldling  has 
■worthlessness  for  its  general  character,  and  while  any  por- 
tions of  it  which  seem  to  be  exceptions  to  that  general  cha- 
racter, are  not  so  in   truth,  the  deportment  of  the  saint  is 
pervaded  by  excellence,  both  in  its  spirit  and  in  its  actings, 
and  the  imperfections  by  which  it  is  partially  or  occasionall)- 
tarnished,  are  merely  indications  that  he  whom  it  charac- 
terises, though  raised  from  the  death  of  sin,  and  made  'a 
new  creature,'  and  consecrated  to  the  service  of  his  Maker, 


131 


is  still  iu  a  body  of  corruption,  and  still  in  a  world  of  temp- 
tation and  of  trial. 

The  Psalmist  not  only  asserts  the  excellence  of  the  saints 
but  declares  that  in  them  was  '  all  his  delight.'  And  such 
will  he  the  case  with  us,  if  our  minds  are  actuated  and 
governed  by  right  sentiments.  In  the  first  place,  and  in  the 
highest  measure,  we  will  delight  in  God  as  the  centre  of  all 
perfection,  and  as  the  fountain  of  all  good.  And  in  the  next 
place,  and  in  a  proportionate  degree,  we  will  delight  in  such 
of  his  creatures  as  are  entitled  to  our  complacency  from  the 
resemblance  which  they  bear  to  him,  or  from  their  bein<r 
suitable  to  those  affections  which  he  permits  us  to  cherish" 
Among  these  the  saints  will  hold  a  distinguished  place. 
I  hey  are  adorned  with  all  those  features  of  moral  beauty 
which  are  fitted  to  secure  our  attachment,  and  to  awaken  in 
us  emotions  of  satisfaction  and  pleasure.  These  indeed  are 
possessed  by  the  angels  in  a  much  higher  style  ;  but  though 
we  must  be  gratified:  with  meditating  on  the  existence,  the 
attributes,  the  employments,  and  the  bliss  of  such  exalted 
and  sinless  beings,  we  cannot  delight  in  Ihem  as  we  delicrht 
in  those  of  our  fellow-men,  who  wear  the  same  holy  like- 
ness to  God  which  the;/  wear,  and  do  his  will  upon  earth  as 
thei/  do  It  in  heaven;  who,  while  they  are  thus  clothed  with 
those  graces  of  piety,  and  purity,  and  benevolence,  which 
place  these  celestial  spirits  so  near  the  throne  of  love  are 
still  'bone  of  our  bone  and  flesh  of  our  flesh;'  who  are  the 
subjects  of  that  redeeming  mercy  and  of  that  sanctifi-inff 
graicc,  by  which  they  and  we  are  united  to  one  common  head 
and  in  one  common  hope  ;  and  whose  very  failin<rs  and  errors' 
not  only  fill  them  with  that  penitential  sorrow^which  only 
endears  a  fellow-creature  the  more  to  our  regard,  but  serve 
to  excite  in  us  a  deeper  sympathy  and  a  livelier  interest  in 
their  behalf,  and  thus  to  enhance  the  joy  that  we  feel  when 
we  see  theoi  keeping  themselves  pure  from  '  the  corruption 
that  IS  in  the  worid,'  cultivating  the  habits  of  godliness  and 
virtue,  and  '  beautified  with  the  salvation'  of  th'e  Gospel. 

But  if  we  imitate  the  Psalmist,  we  will  not  simply  delWht 
in  the  saints— in  them  will  be  'all  our  delight.'  We  will 
take  no  delight  in  the  wicked,— in  those  who  have  rebelled 
against  God,  who  have  rejected  the  Saviour,  who  are  con- 
tinuing in  the  pollutions  of  sin.  Even  them,  indeed,  we 
will  not  regard  with  sentiments  of  hatred  or  dislike.  So  far 
as  lliey  are  blind  to  their  own  welfare  and  in  danger  of  per 
dition,  we  will  view  them  with  deep-felt  compassion,  and 
withhold  trom  them  no  expression  of  kindness  and  humanity 
which  their  situation  may  demand  from  us.  Nay,  we  will 
look  with  an  indulgent  eye  on  every  thing  that  is  amiable  in 
their  temper,  and  dispositions,  and  conduct ;  followintr  the 
example  of  our  Hedeemer,  who  is  said  to  have  loved  a  vouna 
man  that  showed  he  had  some  good  thing  in  him,  though  h% 
preferred  the  riches  of  the  worid  to  the  service  of  the  Saviour 
and  thus  evinced  that  he  was  not  of  the  number  of  '  the 
samls.'  But  we  cannot  delight  in  them,  because  they  have 
not  those  principles,  those  affections,  those  substantial  marks 
of  God  s  people,  which  we  have  learnt  to  prize  as  the  only 
legitimate  causes  of  devoted  and  complacent  reaard.  This 
kind  and  this  degree  of  regard  we  will  confine  to"'  the  saints' 
or  'the  excellent  ones  of  the  earth:'  the  outiroino-s  of  our 
hearts  will  be  to  them,  and  to  them  alone.  In  the  contem- 
plation of  their  personal  worth,  we  will  feel  a  pleasure  with 
which  the  most  splendid  endowments,  and  the  most  heroic 
exploits  of  the  ungodly,  can  never  inspire  our  breasts. 
And  from  those  who  are  great,  and  wise,  and  happy  in  this 
worid's  vocabulary,  but  not  in  the  word  of  God,  we  will 
turn  away  to  feast  our  minds,  and  nourish  our  virtue,  amidst  the 
laith,  and  the  patience,  and  the  righteousness  of  the  true 
Christian,— though,  like  his  divine  Master,  whom  he  adores, 
and  who  has  made  him  what  he  is,  he  be  '  despised  and 
rejected  of  men,'  and  '  have  not  where  to  lay  his  head.' 

Now,  it  is  to  the  saints,  who  are  thus  excellent,  and  in 
whom  we  take  delight,  that  our  goodness  extends.  If  we 
have  just  views  of  the  relation  in  which  they  stand  to  God 
and  of  the  character  which  they  maintain  ;  if  we  cherish  to- 
wards them  those  sentiments  of  love  and  admiration  to  which 
their  excellence  entitles  them  ;  if  we  really  rejoice  in  them 
as  God's  children  and  as  our  brethren  in  Christ  Jesus,  it  fol- 
lows as  a  matter  of  course  that  we  will  do  them  trood,  ac- 
cording to  their  need  and  according  to  curability.  'Their cir- 
cumstances are  such  as  to  admit  of  our  services  beina  bene- 
ficial to  them ;  and  these  services,  so  far  as  they  are  "requir- 
ed, we  are  under  indispensable  obligations  to  render  to  the 
full  extent  of  our  capacity.  Feelings  of  attachment  and 
words  of  sympathy  are  well  enough  in  their  own  place  ;  but 
they  are  of  no  avail,  unless  accompanied  with  the  doings  of 


132 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


a  cordial  and  a  practical  benevolence;  and  by  such  doings 
our  treatment  of  the  saints  must  be  habitually  distinguished. 
It  is  incumbent  on  us,  indeed,  to  '  do  good  to  all  men  as  we 
have  opportunity;'  and  he  is  not  a  true  and  enlightened 
Christian  that  is  a  stranger  to  the  exercise  of  this  expanded 
and  universal  charity, — that  does  not  imitate  his  heavenly 
Fatlicr  who  '  makes  his  sun  to  shine  on  the  evil  and  the  good, 
and  his  rain  to  descend  on  the  just  and  on  the  unjust.'  But 
it  is  peculiarly  incumbent  on  us  to  do  good  '  to  them  who  are 
of  the  household  of  faith.'  Between  them  and  us  there  is  a 
spiritual  and  intimate  relationship,  which  not  only  warrants 
but  calls  for  the  exercise  of  a  kindlier  affection  and  the  com- 
munications of  a  richer  liberality,  than  what  can  be  consider- 
ed as  due  to  those  who  are  still  '  far  from  righteousness,'  and 
'  far  from  God.'  And  we  will  be  especially  careful  to  let  our 
goodness  extend  to  them,  when  they  are  suffering  persecution 
on  account  of  their  marked  separation  from  the  world,  and 
their  faithful  adherence  to  the  cause  of  truth  and  duty.  In 
such  a  continorency  we  will  do  what  we  can  to  invigorate  their 
faith,  to  preserve  their  stedfastncss,  to  animate  their  hopes, 
to  comfort  and  encourage  them  in  their  way  to  Sion.  We 
■will  remember  them  in  our  prayers ;  we  will  assist  them  by 
our  counsels  ;  we  will  stimulate  them  bj*  our  example.  And 
while  we  thus  attend  to  their  spiritual  necessities,  we  will 
not  be  unmindful  of  their  temporal  wants  and  circumstances. 
We  will  study  to  protect  them  from  the  violence,  and  to  vin- 
dicate them  froin  the  slanders,  of  unbclievins:  men.  And  by 
countenancing  their  honest  exertions,  ministering  of  our  abun- 
dance to  thern  in  their  times  of  need,  and  consoling  them  when 
they  suffer  from  injury  or  from  neglect,  we  will  endeavour  to 
realise  in  theirexperience  that  maxim  of  the  Bible  which  says 
that  '  godliness  is  profitable  unto  all  things,  having  the  prom- 
ise of  the  life  that  now  is,  as  well  as  of  thatwhicli  is  to  come.' 

All  this  we  will  do,  in  obedience  to  the  claims'of  that  com- 
munity of  faith  and  hope  which  we  hold  with  our  brethren 
in  Christ  Jesus,  and  in  a  wise  adaptation  of  our  conduct  to 
the  exigencies  in  which  their  religious  profession  may  occa- 
sionally place  them  ;  and  we  do  it  from  a  solemn  view  to  the 
account  which  we  have  to  render  at  the  last  day,  and  to  the 
specified  character  which  we  must  have  if  we  would  be  wel- 
comed by  our  Judge  in  these  cheering  words:  'Come  ye 
blessed  of  my  Father,  inherit  the  kingdom  prepared  for  you 
from  the  foundation  of  the  world.'  This  sentence  will  rest 
upon  the  fact  that  those  on  whom  it  is  to  be  pronounced  had 
been  minutely  careful  to  make  their  goodness  extend  to  the 
saints,  and  to  the  excellent  of  the  earth,  whom  Christ  thus 
graciously  condescends  to  identify  with  himself:  '  For  I  was 
an  hungered  and  ye  gave  me  meat;  I  was  thirsty  and  ye  gave 
me  drink ;  I  was  a  stanger  and  ye  took  me  in  ;  naked  and  ye 
clothed  me ;  I  was  sick  and  ye  visited  me ;  I  was  in  prison 
and  ye  came  unto  me.'  '  Inasmuch  as  ye  have  done  it  unto 
one  of  the  least  of  these  my  brethren,  ye  have  done  it  unto 
me.'  Let  all  true  Christians  bear  this  continually  in  mind, 
and  be  determined  by  it  not  only  to  cultivate  tliat  charity 
which  goes  out  in  deeds  of  beneficence  among  all  the  suffer- 
ino'  children  of  Adam,  but  especially  to  cultivate  that  bro- 
therly kindness  which  cares  for  the  poor  afflicted  members  of 
Christ's  body,  and  which,  as  manifested  towards  them,  he 
will  consider  and  reward  as  manifested  towards  himself. 

And  let  those  who  are  in  the  habit  of  ridiculing  and  tra- 
ducing the  disciples  of  Christ,  who  persecute  instead  of  pro- 
tecting them,  and  who  draw  the  weapons  of  their  reproach 
out  of  the  armoury  of  the  divine  word,  attaching  the  nickname 
of  saints  to  such  as,  if  there  be  truth  in  the  Gospel,  God  '  de- 
litihteth  to  honour  ;'  let  those  who  speak  and  act  thus,  if  un- 
susceptible of  generous  feelings,  and  uninfluenced  by  any  re- 
spect for  that  consistency  which,  as  professing  Christians,  it 
becomes  them  to  observe,  be  persuaded  '  by  the  terrors  of  that 
Lord'  whom  they  insult  as  often  as  they  traduce  his  people, 
to  desist  from  their  cruel  and  unhallowed  mockery,  and  to 
adopt  tlie  more  honourable,  the  more  rational,  and  the  safer 
part,  of  throwing  the  shield  of  their  protection  over  those  who 
though  subjected  to  suffering  are  now  'the  sons  of  God,'  and 
will  soon  enter  into  their  heavenly  inheritance.  They  may 
'  reject  this  counsel,'  but  if  they  do,  it  is  '  against  themselves,' 
and  '  veril}'  they  shall  have  tlieir  reward  :'  for  most  assuredly 
a  decree  of  condemnation  will  go  forth  against  them  from  the 
judgment  seat  of  Christ,  since  he  can  annex  to  the  sentence 
which  will  seal  their  fate  for  ever,  '  I  was  an  hungered  and 
ye  gave  me  no  meat ;  I  was  thirsty  and  ye  gave  me  no  drink  ; 
I  was  a  stranger  and  ye  took  me  not  in ;  naked  and  ye  cloth- 
ed me  not;  sick,  and  in  prison,  and  ye  visited  me  not :  Inas- 
much as  ye  did  it  not  to  one  of  the  least  of  these  my  brethren, 
ye  did  it  not  to  me.' — '  And  these  shall  go  away  into  ever- 
lasting punishment,  but  the  righteous  into  life  eternal.' 


LFX'TURE  V. 

•  T/ieir  sorrotvs  shall  be  mu/tiplied  that  hasten  after  another  (liid  .■ 
their  drinh-iiffcrings  of  bhmd  will  I  not  offer,  nor  take  up  their 
names  into  my  lips.  The  Lord  is  the  portion  of  mine  inher- 
itanee  and  of  my  cup  ■■  thou,  maintained  my  lot.  The  lines 
are  fallen  unto  me  in  pleasant  places ;  yea,  I  have  a  goodly 
heritage.  I  will  bless  the  Lord,  icho  hath  give/i  rne  counsel  ; 
my  reins  also  instruct  me  in  the  night-season,^ — Psalm  xvi. 
4—7. 

The  Psalmist  had  declared  his  trust  in  God,  and  upon  that 
ground  applied  for  the  divine  protection  and  support.  He 
had  reminded  himself  of  his  having  taken  the  Lord  for  his 
])ortion,  and  of  his  having  promised  to  be  his  faithful  and  de- 
voted servant.  But  in  the  midst  of  those  happy  and  elevat- 
ed feelings  which  this  was  calculated  to  awaken,  he  did  not 
forget  the  humility  which  it  became  him  to  cherish  and  to 
express.  He  acknowledged  that  all  his  doings,  however  ex- 
cellent they  might  be  in  their  own  nature,  and  however  bene- 
ficial in  their  elfects,  were  utterly  unprofitable  to  his  Maker, 
and  could  merit  no  favour  for  him  from  that  supreme  and  ho- 
ly source.  At  the  same  time  he  acknowledged  that  his  good- 
ness extended  to  his  brethren  of  mankind,  and  especially  to 
the  saints,  or  the  excellent  of  the  earth  ;  that  he  was  under 
obligations  to  promote  their  comfort  and  welfare  by  every 
means  in  his  power;  and  that  to  a  sense  of  duty  there  was 
added  the  more  persuasive  motive  of  the  pleasure  that  he  had 
in  contemplating  their  worth,  in  holding  intercourse  with 
them,  and  in  communicating  to  them  whatever  benefits  he 
was  able  to  confer. 

At  the  beginning  of  the  passage  that  we  have  now  read, 
the  Psalmist  introduces  the  subject  of  idolatry,  and  forms  re- 
specting it  a  worthy  and  decided  resolution.  '  Their  sorrows 
shall  be  multiplied  that  hasten  after  another  God;  their 
drink-offerings  of  blood  will  I  not  offer,  nor  take  up  their 
names  into  my  lips.'  He  here  speaks  of  the  misery  of  such 
as  attach  themselves  to  the  worship  and  service  of  false  gods  : 
'  Their  sorrows  shall  be  multiplied.'  Not  onlj'  shall  tbej'  be 
subjected  to  calamity,  but  their  calamities  shall  be  manifold. 
One  evil  shall  come  upon  them  after  another,  till  there  be 
such  an  accumulation  of  suffering  as  utterly  to  overwhelm 
and  destroy  them.  And  this  arises  from  two  causes.  In  the 
first  place,  the  gods  in  whom  they  have  placed  their  confi- 
dence are  mere  imaginary  beings,  who,  of  course,  can  do 
nothing  for  them,  and  by  their  dependance  upon  them,  they 
are  led  into  many  dangerous  and  fatal  errors.  And,  in  the 
second  place,  by  forsaking  the  true  God,  they  have  forfeited 
all  the  advantages  which  trust  in  him,  and  obedience  to  him 
would  have  certainly  produced  ;  and  by  giving  to  another  the 
glory  which  is  due  to  him  alone,  they  have  provoked  his  holy 
indignation,  and  rendered  it  essential  for  the  honour  of  his 
character  and  his  government,  to  inflict  upon  them  condign 
punishment.  While  they  lose  all  the  satisfaction  and  hap- 
piness which  results  from  believing  the  doctrines,  and  per- 
forming the  duties,  and  cherishing  the  hopes  of  true  religion, 
they  also  incur  all  the  wretchedness  that  is  so  plentifully  en- 
gendered by  the  absurdities,  the  immoralities,  and  abomina- 
tions of  a  false  and  idolatrous  system  of  faith.  And  even 
though  no  visible  judgments,  and  no  penal  consequence  of 
any  magnitude  should  bcfal  them  in  this  world,  it  is  not  pos- 
sible that  having  forsaken  the  true  God  to  hasten  after  another 
god — having  contracted  guilt  so  heinous  and  aggravated  as 
this  implies,  they  should  escape  the  divine  condemnation  in 
the  world  to  come. 

On  account  of  the  sinfulness  and  misery  of  such  conduct, 
the  Psalmist  determined  that  he  should  not  be  chargeable 
with  it.  He  had  too  just  a  horror  at  its  enormity,  and 
too  strong  a  sense  of  its  enmity  to  his  peace  and  safe- 
13^,  to  allow  himself  to  indulge  in  any  of  the  forms  or  prac- 
tices of  idolatry.  He  was" surrounded  with  its  votaries, 
and  many  of  his  people  had  joined  them  ;  but  the  displeasure 
of  heaven  had  been  so  severely  manifested  against  them,  and 
the  threatenings  of  the  law  bore  upon  them  so  expressly  and 
so  awfully,  that  neither  vicinity  nor  example  could  induce 
him  to  partake  of  its  rites,  or  to  give  it  any  portion  of  his 
countenance.  He  would  not  unite  with  the  heathen  in  offer- 
ing their  drink  offerings  of  blood.  Nor  did  he  merely  abstain 
frmn  this  most  expressive  proof  of  attachment  to  their  false 
and  degrading  worship:  he  refused  to  do  or  say  anything 
that  could  be^supposed  indicative  even  of  forbearance  of  in- 
difference towards  it.  He  would  not  so  much  as  take  the 
names  of  their  gods  into  his  lips.     He  would  not  ulter  theit 


LECTURES  ON  PORTIONS  OF  THE  PSALMS. 


133 


names  in  such  a  way  as  to  intimate  any  thing-  like  belief  in 
their  existence,  or  respect  for  their  character;  he  would  not 
speak  of  them  in  any  other  way  than  that  which  might  dis- 
tinctly declare  that  he  denied  their  reality  as  much  as  he 
abhorred  the  services  that  were  paid  to  them,  and  that,  in  his 
view,  those  who  gave  them  homage  were  blinded  in  under- 
standinnr,  depraved  in  heart,  and  lost  to  all  that  was  best,  and 
purest,  and  happiest  in  the  universe. 

You  may  probably  think,  my  friends,  that  all  this  is  inap- 
plicable to  you  ;  and  that  as  you  are  not  liable  to  the  offence 
against  which  the  Psalmist  so  scrupulously  guarded,  it  can 
be  of  no  use  to  inculcate  upon  you  the  sentiments  which  he 
entertained,  and  according  to  which  he  acted.  But  herein 
you  are  mistaken.  It  is  very  true  you  are  in  no  great  danger 
of  becoming  idolaters  in  the  literal  and  original  sense  of  ihe 
word.  But  the  word  has  a  more  general  sense,  which  is 
recognized  in  Scripture,  and  in  which  it  is  frequently  exhibited 
in  human  character,  and  is  the  besetting  sin  of  most  men. 
To  be  guilty  of  idolatry,  it  is  not  necessary  that  you  make  gods 
to  yourselves,  as  the  heathens  did — that  you  deify  the  heroes 
of  your  country — that  you  invest  the  objects  of  nature  with 
the  attributes  of  divinity — and  that  you  build  real  temples, 
and  give  formal  worship  to  these  creatures  of  your  vain  ima- 
ginations. You  may  have  knowledge  and  philosophy  enough 
to  preserve  you  from  such  gross  absurdity;  and  yet  you  may 
be  chargeable  with  the  offence  of  which  the  Psalmist  speaks 
with  such  just  and  decided  abhorrence.  The  substance  of 
the  crime  is  contained  in  your  feeling  and  showing  a  stronger 
attachment  to  some  other  l)eing  than  to  the  Supreme  Being ; 
in  giving  to  something  else  an  influence  over  your  mind  and 
conduct,  greater  than  what  you  allow  to  Ilim  ;  in  recognizing 
in  the  works  of  his  hands  an  excellence  and  a  claim  to  your 
deference  and  submission,  which  by  your  actions,  if  not  by 
your  words,  you  deny  to  exist  in  himself".  This  is  idolatry, 
according  to  the  nature  of  the  case,  and  according  to  the  de- 
clarations of  Scripture. 

It  is  of  no  consequence  what  it  is  to  which  you  thus  pay 
the  homage  and  give  the  glory  which  are  due  to  God  alone. 
Still  it  is  idolatry.  That  to  which  you  are  devoted,  or  to 
which  j'ou  give  the  preference  over  him,  may  be  quite  inno- 
cent in  itself,  and  a  regulated  and  subordinate  alTection  ibr  it 
may  even  constitute  a  virtue  and  a  duty;  and  yet  your  merely 
giving  it  the  preference  involves  you  in  the  guilt  of  idolatry. 
For  that  is  to  '  serve  the  creature  more  than  the  Creator.'  It 
is. to  deprive  God  of  his  supremacy,  and  to  put  another  in 
his  place.  It  may  be  worldly  honours;  it  may  be  power; 
it  may  be  riches ;  it  may  be  pleasure ;  it  may  be  literature 
and  science  ;  it  may  be  parents,  or  children,  or  friends ;  in  all 
these  cases,  if  you  set  your  heart  upon  them  in  such  a  man- 
ner, or  to  such  an  extent  as  to  exclude  God  from  your  regard, 
or  to  give  him  but  a  secondary  station  in  it,  you  arc  charac- 
terized by  idolatry,  and  are  as  liable  to  the  divine  displeasure 
as  are  the  blinded  heathen,  who  literally  bow  down  to  stocks 
and  stones.  It  is  said  of  the  heathen,  that  though  ihey 
originally  '  knew  God,  they  did  not  like  to  retain  God  in 
their  knowledge,  but  changed  the  glory  of  the  incorruptible 
God  into  an  image  made  like  to  corruptible  man,  and  to 
binls,  and  four-footed  beasts,  and  creeping  things;'  and  that 
therefore  he  '  revealed  his  wrath  from  heaven'  against  those 
who  thus  'held  the  truth  in  unrighteousness.'  And  think 
you  that  any  better  character  belongs  to  you,  or  that  any 
better  fate  can  await  you,  if,  knowing  God,  as  he  has  made 
himself  known  in  the  Gospel,  you  do  not  like  to  retain  him 
in  your  alTectious  ;  if,  instead  of  '  loving  him  with  all  your 
heart,  and  soul,  and  strength,  and  mind,'  you  love  him  less 
than  many  of  your  fellow-mortals  ;  if  you  permit  the  gains,  or 
the  amusements,  or  the  vanities  of  this  passing  world,  to 
engross  the  time  that  should  be  occupied,  and  the  efforts 
that  should  be  made,  in  his  worship  and  service ;  it",  in  the 
study  and  admiration  of  any  of  his  works,  yon  forget  the 
tribute  which  you  owe  him  as  the  all-perfect  maker  of  the 
universe,  and  the  bountiful  giver  of  those  very  faculties 
which  fit  you  for  contemplating  and  for  relishing  its  beauties; 
if,  listening  to  the  voice  of  temptation,  you  are  seen  '  going 
after  your  covetousness,'  and  your  sinful  indulgences,  and 
your  vain  fancies,  regardless  of  the  commandment  of  him 
whom  it  is  your  highest  honour  to  obey,  and  who  by  the 
Gospel  of  his  Son  has  'called  you  to  glory  and  to  virtue V 
Think  you,  that  in  acting  and  living  thus,  you  are  not  guilty 
of  idolatry ;  and  that  your  idolatry  is  not  as  heinous  and  ag- 
gravated as  that  of  the  heathen  on  whom  God  is  said  to  have 
'  poured  out  his  fury  V 

You  may  not  be  accustomed  to  view  the  subject  in  this 
light,  but  if  you  think  justly  and  seriously,  if  you  take  Scrip 


ture  for  your  guide,  and  are  to  be  determinded  in  your  judg- 
ment by  its  principles  and  maxims,  I  do  not  see  how  you  can 
view  the  subject  in  any  other  light.  Your  conduct  is  idola- 
trous and  criminal  in  the  eye  of  reason.  When  the  benight- 
ed Gentile  falls  down  and  worships  the  sun  in  his  meridian 
spleridour,  or  the  moon  in  her  midnight  brightness,  this  is 
not  more  offensive  and  revolting  than  the  conduct  of  the  pro- 
fessing Christian,  who  adores  his  gold  in  the  character  of  a 
miser,  or  of  the  professing  Christian,  who  kneels  at  the  shrine 
of  fashion  in  the  character  of  a  man  of  pleasure,  each  of  them 
being  devoted  to  a  false  divinity,  and  neither  of  them  having 
the  true  '  God  in  all  his  thoughts.'  And  in  the  real  spirit 
and  import  of  the  divine  law.  He  who  rules  over  all  must  be 
considered  as  speaking  in  reference  to  both  classes  of  idola- 
ters, when  he  says,  '  Thou  shall  have  no  other  gods  before 
me.'  '  Thou  shalt  not  bow  down  thyself  to  them  nor  serve 
them ;  for  I,  the  Lord  thy  God,  am  a  jealous  God.' 

Beware,  then,  of  the  guilt  of  idolatry,  and  of  the  ven- 
geance which  impends  over  those  who  indulge  in  it.  See 
that  j-ou  not  only  renounce  it  in  general,  but  that  you  keep 
yourselves  free  from  it,  in  all  its  particular  forms;  that  you 
abstiiin  from  it,  not  merely  in  its  grosser  and  more  aggravated 
instances,  but  even  in  those  instances  in  which  it  assumes 
the  aspect  of  cordial  friendship,  of  intellectual  ambition,  of 
universal  philanthropy.  Say  with  the  Psalmist,  'Their 
drink  ofl'erings  of  blood  will  I  not  offer,  nor  take  up  their 
names  into  my  lips.'  Say  with  Ephraim,  '  What  have  I  to 
do  any  more  with  idols'!'  Say  with  the  inhabitants  of  Ju- 
dah,  '  O  Lord  our  God,  other  lords  besides  thee  have  had 
lominion  over  us ;  but  by  thee  only  will  we  make  mention 
of  th}"  name.'  Say  in  the  spirit  and  language  of  every  real 
(Christian, '  Lord,  I  am  thine,  for  thou  l.ast  made  me ;  thou  hast 
preserved  me;  thou  hast  redeemed  me.  Occupy  the  throne 
of  my  heart,  and  reign  there  with  unresisted  and  undivided 
sway.  I  confess  that  1  have  given  too  much  of  my  regard 
to  objects  and  pursuits,  in  which  thou  wert  but  little  acknow- 
ledged, or  not  acknowledged  at  all.  Pardon  my  homage  to 
the  creature  ;  and  help  me  by  thy  grace  to  serve  it  no  more. 
Subdue  me  to  tlij'sclf,  as  alone  worthy  of  all  my  reverence, 
and  all  my  love.  Give  me  to  feel  the  solemn  and  endearing 
obligations  which  I  owe  to  thee,  my  chosen  and  redeeming 
God.  And  make  me  willing,  and  obedient,  and  devoted,  in 
the  day  of  thy  power.' 

It  is  in  conformity  to  the  import  of  the  Psalmist's  resolu- 
tion, which  we  have  been  considering,  that  he  goes  on  to 
say,  as  in  the  fifth  verse,  'The  Lord  is  the  portion  of  mine 
inheritance  and  of  my  cup  :  thou  maiiitaincst  my  lot.'  'The 
Lord  is  the  portion  of  our  inheritance'  in  a  future  life.  Having 
chosen  him  for  our  portion  ;  accountinghis  favour  the  highest 
and  richest  blessing  we  can  possibly  enjoy  ;  and  having  an  in- 
terest in  it  through  faith  in  the  blood  of  atonement  we  can  look 
forward  to  heaven  as  our  best  and  everlasting  abode.  He  has 
secured  it  for  us;  he  has  promised  it  to  us;  he  has  prepared  it 
for  our  reception.  And  how  comfortable,  how  encouraging, 
how  delightful  to  reflect,  that  whatever  be  our  condition  in 
this  world  ;  however  destitute  and  desjiised  we  may  now  be; 
though  we  should  '  snITcr  the  loss  of  all  things'  hero  below, 
there  is  reserved  for  us  on  high  an  'inheritance  which  is 
incorruptible  and  undeliled,  and  that  fadoth  not  away :'  And 
that,  as  '  it  is  the  Father's  good  pleasure  to  give  us  the 
kingdom,'  as  the  expression  of  his  unmerited  bountj-,  the 
gracious  recompence  of  our  labours,  the  appointed  result  of 
our  sulTcringsin  his  service,  so  his  immediate  presence  will 
constitute  at  once  its  happiness,  its  glory,  and  its  stability, 
and  that  from  such  a  bountiful  and  inexhaustible  source  of 
excellence  we  may  confidently  expect  to  derive  every  thing 
that  can  carry  our  nature  to  its  highest  pitch  of  perfection 
and  felicity  !  O  let  us  often  anticipate  heaven  as  the  land 
towards  wl.ich  we  are  travelling;  let  our  ambition  perpe- 
tually point  to  it  as  the  end  '  of  our  high  calling;'  let  our 
hopes  fondly  dwell  on  it  as  the  final  resting  place  from  our 
toils  and  sorrows  ;  and  remembering, that  God,  holy  as  well  as 
good,  is  the  fountain  of  all  its  blessedness,  let  us  not  only 
i)c  comforted  with  the  prospect  of  dwelling  in  it  forever,  but 
also  be  animated  to  prepare  for  it,  by  studying  to  conform  in 
all  things  to  his  righteous  will,  by  leading  a  life  of  faith  on 
the  merits  of  his  Son,  and  'by  purifying  ourselves  even  as 
he  also  is  pure.' 

But  the  Lord  is  not  only  the  portion  of  our  inheritance  in 
a  future  life  ;  he  is  also  the  portion  of  our  cup  in  the  '  life 
that  now  is.'  If  we  are  his  true  people,  we  have  chosen 
him  as  to  every  thing  that  concerns  our  well-being,  and  ho 
has  assured  us  that  he  will  be  '  our  guide  even  until  death.' 
In  all  that  happens  to  us  we.  will  recognize  the  operation  of 


134 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


his  combined  mercy,  and  wisdom,  and  faithfulness.  What- 
ever be  our  lot  we  will  trace  it  to  his  appointment,  and  submit 
it  to  his  management.  Amidst  all  the  vicissitudes  of  life,  we 
will  comfort  our  hearts  with  believing  that  he  rules  over  us  in 
the  exercise  of  infinite  perfection,  that  his  manifold  dealings 
with  us  are  intended  to  promote  our  good,  and  that  if  we  con- 
tinue to  put  our  trust  in  him,  he  '  will  never  leave  nor  forsake 
us,'  till  he  has  placed  us  beyond  the  reach  of  whatever  can 
harass  or  distress  us.  He  may  put  the  cup  of  prosperity  in 
our  hands,  and  we  will  drink  it  with  thanksgiving  and  joy  ; 
regarding  it  as  a  pledge  of  his  rich  beneficence;  lifting  up  our 
souls  in  gratitude  for  his  unmerited  kindness ;  living  to  the 
praise  of  him  who  'filleth  our  mouth  with  good  things,  so 
that  our  youth  is  renewed  like  the  eagle's  ;'  and  feeling  every 
past  expression  of  his  benevolence  as  an  argument  and  a  mo- 
tive for  our  putting  more  confidence  in  him,  and  rendering 
more  obedience  to  him,  and  holding  more  communion  with 
him,  in  all  the  time  of  our  sojourningthat  is  yet  to  come.  And 
when  he  presses  to  our  lips  the  cup  of  adversity,  we  will  drink 
that  also,  with  patience  and  resignation ;  remembering  that 
our  afflictions  are  of  his  ordination  or  by  his  permission  ;  sat- 
isfied that  the  heaviest  of  them  will  not  be  allowed  to  over- 
whelm us,  but  that  all  of  them  are  intended  or  will  be  over- 
ruled for  our  permanent  advantage ;  consoling  ourselves  with 
the  belief  that  they  are  the  discipline  of  our  heavenly  father, 
and  with  the  hope  that  they  will  '  work  out  for  us  an  ex- 
ceeding weight  of  glory;'  and  praying  and  striving  that 
they  may  purify  and  improve  us  here,  and  that  they  may 
issue  in  immortal  joys  hereafter.  Our  confidence  and  our  re- 
joicing is  this,  that  the  Lord  himself  will  maintain  our  lot. 
Whatever  good  we  possess,  whatever  happiness  \vc  enjoy,  it 
may  be  taken  from  us,  if  the  preservation  of  it  be  left  to  our- 
selves. But,  in  the  hands  of  him,  to  whom,  as  our  chosen 
portion,  we  have  committed  our  all,  it  is  perfectly  secure. 
Our  enemies,  in  that  case,  have  no  power  to  deprive  us  of  it, 
be  they  ever  so  numerous,  and  be  they  ever  so  strong.  '  None 
can  pluck  us  out  of  the  hand  of  God'  who  is  'greater  than 
all.'  Nothing  shall  '  ever  be  able  to  separate  us  from  his 
love  which  is  in  Christ.'  He  will  maintain  whatever  he  has 
"wrought  for  us;  and  will  keep  us  'by  his  mighty  power 
through  faith  unto  salvation.'  And  if  this  be  tlie  consequence 
of  having  God  for  our  portion,  how  blessed  are  we  in  having 
made  such  a  choice,  and  in  enjoying  such  a  privilege  !  And 
how  miserable  must  those  be  who,  by  making  the  world  their 
portion,  have  no  security  in  life,  no  peace  at  death,  no  hope 
beyond  the  grave  !  While  we  pity  these  infatuated  mortals, 
and  supplicate  the  God  of  all  grace  in  their  behalf,  let  us  be 
careful  to  'hold  fast  that  which  we  have,'  to  cleave  with  still 
greater  devotedness  to  God,  to  '  set  him  continually  before 
us,'  and  to  take  him  as  our  guide,  our  refuge,  our  consola- 
tion, and  our  '  exceeding  great  reward.' 

'The  lines  are  fallen  unto  me  in  pleasant  places;  yea,  I 
have  a  goodly  heritage.'  This  expresses  the  satisfaction 
which  God's  people  have  with  their  condition.  They  may 
not  be  able  to  say  so  of  their  temporal  circumstances.  They 
are  not  indiSerent  to  the  good  and  evil  of  which,  as  inhabit- 
ants of  this  world,  they  are  called  to  partake.  And  when 
trouble  and  destitution  assail  them,  they  are  not  insensible  to 
the  affliction;  they  will  not  speak  of  it  as  if  all  were  going 
well  and  prosperously  with  them,  and  as  if  they  set  no  value 
on  the  bounties  of  Providence.  They  feel  the  ordinary  calam- 
ities of  life  as  well  as  others.  They  pray  to  be  delivered  from 
them.  And  when  they  obtain  deliverance,  and  the  '  candle 
of  the  Lord  shines  upon  their  head,'  they  acknowledge  the 
boon  with  grateful  and  rejoicing  hearts.  But  then  here  is  the 
peculiarity  of  their  character,  and  their  situation  ;  their  prin- 
cipal concern  is  with  their  ipirituat  circumstances.  And  if 
these  be  right  and  prosperous,  they  care  little  about  their 
bodil)-  and  external  comfort.  God  being  their  portion,  they 
have  nothing  left  to  fear  on  the  one  hand,  or  to  desire  on  the 
other.  Their  souls  being  safe,  and  their  eternal  interests  se- 
cure, every  other  care  is  absorbed  in  the  delightful  persuasion 
that  no  real  injury  can  befal  them,  in  the  blessed  experience 
of  '  the  peace  which  passeth  understanding,'  in  the  animat- 
ing hope  that  is  full  of  immortality.  They  envy  not  tlie 
man  of  the  world  his  sensual  gratifications  and  carnal  mirth. 
They  are  abundantly  satisfied  with  the  communications  of 
God's  love  to  them,  by  which  their  every  want  is  supplied, 
and  by  which  they  are  filled  with  the  'joy  that  no  man  taketh 
from  them.'  When  a  temporal  benefit  comes  to  them,  they 
receive  it,  and  thank  the  bountiful  giver  for  this  additional 
token  of  that  grace  which  has  provided  so  richly  for  their 
eternal  salvation.  And  when  they  are  visited  with  hardships 
and  sutTerings,  they  endure  the  visitation  with  patience,  well 


knowing  that  it  comes  to  them  on  an  errand  of  mercy ;  that  it 
is  no  less  a  token  of  their  father's  love  than  the  other,  and 
that  they  have  great  cause  to  rejoice  even  in  this  their  tribu- 
lation. Reconciled  to  God,  '  walking  in  the  light  of  his  coun- 
tenance,' enjoying  the  consolations  of  his  Spirit,  and  cheered 
with  the  hope  of  his  glory,  surely  they  may  say  without  re- 
serve, in  the  very  midst  of  deep  and  dark  adversity,  that '  the 
lines  are  fallen  unto  them  in  pleasant  places,  and  that  they 
have  a  goodly  heritage.'  In  this  view  it  may  be  justly  said 
of  believers,  that  '  all  things  are  theirs,  whether  the  world,  or 
life,  or  death,  or  things  present,  or  things  to  come ;  all  are 
theirs;  and  they  are  Christ's,  and  Christ  is  God's.' 

Now,  my  friends,  if  such  be  our  spiritual  state,  great  cause 
have  we  '  to  bless  the  Lord  who  hath  given  us  counsel.'  Not 
only  has  he  brought  us  into  '  the  valley  of  vision,'  but  he  has 
enabled  us  to  see  with  a  believing  eye  the  redemption  which 
it  unfolds.  Not  only  has  he  conferred  upon  us  those  exter-  .  , 
nal  privileges  which  we  enjoy  by  the  Gospel  dispensation,  'l 
but  he  has  taught  us  to  improve  them,  and  by  his  blessing  1 
has  rendered  them  effectual  for  our  good.  Not  only  has  he 
made  the  lines  fall  to  us  in  pleasant  places,  and  given  us  a 
goodly  heritage,  but  he  has  counselled  us  to  value  them 
aright,  to  set  up  our  everlasting  rest  in  them,  and  to  seek  from 
them  our  best  comforts  and  our  brightest  happiness.  Had 
we  been  left  to  ourselves,  his  kindness  would  have  been  lav- 
ished on  us  in  vain;  and  we  should  have  been  like  many 
others  who,  though  born  in  aland  of  saving  light,  prefer  walk- 
ing in  the  darkness  of  infidelity  and  sin.  But,  taught  by  his 
Spirit  we  have  had  our  understandings  enlightened  to  see  the 
realities  of  the  Gospel,  and  our  hearts  moved  to  seek  after  an 
interest  in  the  Saviour,  and  '  our  feet  guided  into  the  way  of 
peace'  and  safety.  And  this  being  the  case,  surely  we  can- 
not fail  to  give  thanks  to  him  '  by  whose  grace  it  is  that  we 
are  what  we  are  ;'  to  cherish  towards  him  the  warmest  grati- 
tude of  which  our  souls  are  susceptible,  and  to  '  praise  him 
even  while  we  have  a  being.' 

And  having  been  influenced  and  enabled  by  him  to  '  choose 
the  good  part  which  cannot  be  taken  from  us,'  we  must  he 
careful  to  make  a  right  use  of  the  privilege.  '  Our  reins 
must  instruct  us  in  the  night  seasons.'  We  must  meditate 
on  what  we  have  done  ;  and  in  our  times  of  retirement  and 
solitude,  '  commune  with  our  own  hearts'  on  the  subject,  that 
thus  we  may  be  more  fully  instructed  in  what  we  have  re- 
ceived, and  in  what  we  owe  to  our  merciful  God  ;  that  we 
may  be  encouraged  to  persevere  in  the  choice  which  we  have 
so  wisely  and  happily  made  ;  that  we  may  be  more  thorough- 
ly comforted  by  it  amidst  the  trials  and  distresses  to  which 
we  are  subjected  ;  that  we  may  be  furnished  with  more  ani- 
mating motives  to  thanksgiving  and  praise  ;  that  we  may 
learn  how  needful  we  are  of  the  continuance  of  that  divine 
interposition  which  '  began  the  good  work  in  us  ;'  and  that 
we  may  be  stimulated  to  greater  diligence  in  the  duties  of 
our  holy  vocation,  and  to  greater  earnestness  in  our  applica- 
tions for  the  wisdom  and  the  strength  which  are  necessary  to 
our  abiding  in  the  love  of  God,  anato  our  being  finally  con- 
ducted into  his  heavenly  presence. 


LECTURE  VL 

'  /  have  set  the  Lord  always  before  me  ■■  because  he  is  at  my  right 
hand,  I  shall  not  he  moved.  Therefore  my  heart  is  glad,  and 
my  glory  rejolceth  ;  my  flesh  also  shall  rest  in  hope:  For  thou 
ivilt  not  leave  my  soul  i7i  hell ;  neither  wilt  thou  suffer  thine 
Holy  One  to  see  corruption.  TItou  wilt  show  me  the  path  of 
life :  in  thy  presence  is  fulness  of  joy  ;  at  thy  right  hand  there 
are  pleasures  for  evermore,'' — Psalm  xvi.  8 — end. 

In  the  preceding  part  of  this  Psalm,  we  have  considered 
David  as  speaking  solely  in  his  own  person,  in  reference  to 
his  own  feelings,  his  own  comfort,  and  his  own  conduct.  We 
are  aware,  indeed,  that  by  many  it  is  regarded  as  applicable 
to  the  Messiah;  but  of  this  we  see  no  satisfactory  proof,  and 
we  are  always  unwilling,  when  interpreting  Scripture,  to  in- 
dulge unnecessarily  in  conjecture,  or  to  give  a  construction  to 
the  language  of  the  sacred  writers  which  is  merely  suggested 
by  a  particular  theory,  and  which  is  adopted  not  so  much  to 
express  and  illustrate  the  real  meaning  of  the  passage,  as  to 
render  it  more  evangelical  and  more  interesting  than  it  would 
otherwise  be.  Some  have  treated  the  whole  book  of  Psalms 
as  in  every  the  minutest  part,  more  or  less  prophetical  or  de- 


LECTURES  ON  PORTIONS  OF  THE  PSALMS. 


135 


scriptive  of  the  Saviour ;  wliereas  it  must  be  evident  to  every 
intelligent  reader  of  them,  that  they  often  speak  of  circum- 
stances, and  experience,  and  character,  which  cannot  be  at- 
tached to  the  Saviour  without  violating  the  soundest  and  most 
important  of  those  principles  on  which  we  are  accustomed  to 
ascertain  the  import  of  revelation,  and  introducing  a  mode  of 
determining  the  mind  of  the  Spirit,  which  would  put  every 
thing  at  the  mercy  of  an  ill  regulated  piety,  or  of  a  lively  im- 
agination. The  question  is  not — muy  this,  by  a  little  exer- 
cise of  fancy,  and  a  little  accommodation  of  fact,  and  a  little 
straining  of  phraseology,  be  made  to  intimate  something  con- 
cerning Christ  ^  The  question  is — does  this  truly  speak  of 
Christ,  and  are  we  justified  in  taking  that  view  of  it,  by  the 
context,  or  by  strict  analogy,  or  by  express  'warrant,  or  by 
any  other  legitimate  and  safe  mode  of  judging  in  such  cases  1 

Now,  my  friends,  it  is  in  deference  to  the  rules  and  max- 
ims implied  in  this  statement  that,  when  expounding  the  pre- 
vious portion  of  this  Psalm,  we  considered  it  as  spoken  by 
David  in  reference  to  himself;  and  it  is  in  deference  to  the 
same  rules  and  maxims  that  we  are  to  consider  the  remain- 
der of  the  Psalm  as  spoken  by  him  in  reference  to  tlie  Mes- 
siah, of  whom  he  was  both  a  prophet  and  a  tj'pc.  Not  only 
may  all  the  passage  that  we  have  just  read  be  applied  to  Christ 
without  constraint;  and  not  only  is  there  some  of  it  which  is 
applicable  to  him  alone;  but  we  have  New  Testament  au- 
thority for  making  such  an  application.  The  Apostle  Peter, 
in  his  first  discourse  after  the  effusion  of  the  Spirit  on  the 
day  of  Pentecost,  expressly  quoted  th^se  verses  as  uttered  by 
David,  in  exclusive  reference  to  the  Redeemer;  and,  there- 
fore, in  explaining  and  illustrating  them,  we  are  not  only  en- 
titled, but  bound  to  keep  the  Redeemer  in  onr  eye  as  the  per- 
son from  whom  they  primarily  proceed,  and  towards  whom 
the}'  direct  our  attention. 

Peter,  you  know,  quoted  them  when  addressing  the  Jews 
on  the  subject  of  Christ's  resurrection,  asserting  its  reality, 
and  showing  them  that  it  was  predicted  by  the  Psalmist. 
But  though  that  be  the  main  topic  which  he  employed  them 
for  pressing  on  the  notice  and  belief  of  his  audience,  they 
offer  along  with  this  some  other  topics  to  our  consideration, 
from  all  which,  as  connected  with  liiin,  we  may  derive  many 
appropriate  and  salutary  instructions.  Let  us  meditate  on 
them  for  a  little ;  aud  may  the  Lord  direct  and  bless  our  medi- 
tations '. 

I.  In  the_^r«/  place,  this  passage  reminds  us  of  the  suffer- 
ings of  Christ 

It  is  clear  that  the  types,  the  promises,  and  the  predictions 
of  Christ  which  we  meet  with  in  the  Old  Testament  describe 
him  as  a  suffering  Saviour.  We  often  read  of  him,  indeed, 
as  one  who  was  to  be  great  and  triumphant ;  and  the  language 
in  which  his  greatness  and  his  triumi)hs  are  depicted,  is  so 
frequent,  so  energetic,  and  so  splendid,  that  the  Jews  in  gen- 
eral thought  of  him,  and  expected  him  in  that  and  in  no  other 
character.  But  it  is  impossible  to  peruse  the  accounts  and 
to  look  at  the  representations  of  him  which  are  set  before  us 
in  the  records  and  the  ceremonies  of  the  ancient  dispensation, 
without  perceiving  that  the  Saviour  whom  they  pointed  out 
was  to  appear  in  a  state  of  abasement ;  to  be  '  bruised  and  put 
to  grief,'  and  to  have  a  '  sorrow  like  unto  no  other  sorrow.' 
In  the  book  of  Psalms  we  have  various  affecting  delineations 
of  what  he  was  to  endure  at  the  hands  both  of  God  and  man. 
Of  this  the  twenty-second  Psalm  furnishes  a  remarkable  and 
striking  instance.  And  even  in  the  passage  now  before  us, 
the  same  truth  is  to  be  found— not  indeed  Tn  plain  and  direct 
statement — but  in  obvious  and  necessary  inference.  When 
Christ  says  here  by  the  mouth  of  David  that  'he  would  not 
be  moved,'  and  that 'his  soul  would  not  be  left  in  hell,'  his 
assertions,  of  course,  presuppose  that  he  was  to  be  exposed 
to  such  trials  and  distresses  as  might  endanger  his  stability, 
and  that  he  was  to  die  and  descend  into  the  grave ;  and  when 
he  commits  himself  so  emphatically  to  divine  interposition 
for  support  under  the  former,  and  for  deliverance  from  the 
latter  of  these  evils,  he  distinctly  intimates  that  they  were  of 
no  ordinary  magnitude  and  extent.  And  the  view  of  him 
which  is  thus  given  through  the  medium  of  prophecy,  is  com^ 
pletely  realised  in  his  actual  history.  According  to  that  his 
tory,  he  was  from  his  cradle  to  his  grave,  '  a  man  of  sorrows 
and  acquainted  with  grief.'  He  was  harassed  by  the  malig- 
nity of  men;  he  was  assailed  by  the  malice  of  devils;  he 
was  bereft  of  the  countenance  of  his  heavenly  Father.  lie 
was  deserted  by  friends  and  persecuted  by  foes.  He  was 
so  poor  that  he  'had  not  where  to  lay  his  head.'  He 
was  so  despised  that  the  mighty  and  the  mean  equally  'hid 
their  faces  from  him.'  He  was  so  forlorn  that  when  '  he 
came  to  his  own,  his  own  would  not  receive  him.'     His  body 


was  tortnred ;  his  soul  was  wrung  with  anguish  ;  ignominy 
darkened  his  departing  hour;  and  while  he  expired  amidst 
the  shame  and  tlie  agony  of  a  cross,  he  expired  under  the 
curse  of  holy  and  incensed  omnipotence. 

It  is  painful,  my  friends,  to  contemplate  this  ;  to  see  true 
greatness  humiliated  so  low,  and  warmest  charity  so  ungrate- 
fully requited,  and  immaculate  innocence  plunged  into  such  a 
depth  of  affliction.  Yet  we  are  not  permitted  to  withdraw  or 
turn  away  our  minds  from  the  contemplation,  sad  and  heart- 
rending as  it  is.  As  we  travel  through  the  word  of  truth,  the 
sutferings  of  Christ  are  presented  to  our  observation  at  ever)' 
step;  they  are  set  before  us  in  all  their  variety  and  in  all  their 
aggravations ;  they  are  mixed  up  with  the  most  elevated  and 
cheering  views  that  are  afforded  of  his  exaltation  and  bis  glory. 
When,  amidst  our  meditations  on  his  essential  dignity  and 
blessedness,  we  might  be  apt  to  forget  how  low  he  stooped 
and  how  much  he  bore,  a  glimpse  of  them  is  let  in  upon  us  as 
exhibited  in  the  stable  in  Bethlehem,  the  garden  of  Gethse- 
mane,  or  the  hill  of  Calvary.  The  Evangelists  and  the 
Apostles  dwell  upon  them  as  the  most  striking  features  of 
their  narrative,  and  as  the  most  indispensable  theme  of  their 
preaching.  And  it  is  to  them  that  the  attention  of  his  people 
is  specially  called,  and  by  them  that  their  devotion  is  to  be 
principally  kindled,  in  that  ordinance  which  is  appointed  to 
be  a  commemoration  of  him  even  to  the  end  of  the  world.  In 
this  ordinance  he  does  not  require  you  to  remember  him  as 
one  whose  birth  was  announced  by  a  multitude  of  angels;  in 
whom  were  '  hid  all  the  treasures  of  knowledge  and  of  w is- 
dom ;'  whose  word  was  implicitly  obeyed  by  the  elements  of 
nature,  and  the  spirits  of  darkness;  who  rescued  the  victims 
that  death  was  spoiling  in  the  tomb  ;  who  w  as  acknowledged 
by  '  a  voice  from  the  excellent  glory  ;'  and  at  last  ascended  on 
the  clouds  to  heaven.  He  does  not  require  you  to  remember 
him  at  his  table  as  distinguished  by  these  attributes  of  his 
character,  and  these  glories  of  his  condition.  No ;  he  re- 
quires you  to  remember  him  as  one  who  suffered  and  died. 
'Eat  of  this  bread,  which  is  a  memorial  of  my  broken  body; 
drink  of  this  wine,  which  is  a  memorial  of  my  shed  blood  : 
do  THIS  in  remembrance  of  me:  thus  show  my  death  till  I 

me.' 

And  well  may  such  an  cm])hasis  be  laid  on  the  sufferings 
and  death  of  Christ;  for  this  was  the  instituted  method  of  re- 
demption. He  suffered  and  died  that  he  might  '  take  away 
our  sins  ;'  that  he  might  '  make  reconciliation  for  iniquities  ;' 
that  he  might  '  bring  in  an  everlasting  righteousness.'  Such 
was  the  appointment  of  God  ;  and  unless  that  appointment  had 
taken  effect,  in  Christ  '  humbling  himself  and  becoming  sub- 
ject to  the  suffering  of  death.'  as  an  atoning  sacrifice,  vain  and 
unavailing  with  respect  to  us  would  have  been  all  the  other 
achievements  of  his  mediatorial  enterprise.  All  his  miracles, 
all  his  teaching,  all  his  benevolence,  all  his  example,  all  his 
manifestations  of  divine  excellence  and  divine  perfection, 
would  have  been  utterly  lost  upon  us.  The  justice  of  God 
being  still  unsatisfied,  and  our  guilt  being  still  unexpiated, 
we  must  have  contiimed  under  the  sentence  of  condemnation, 
and  under  the  burden  of  that  sentence  we  must  have  inevita- 
bly^  and  everlastingly  perished.  But  while  the  sufferings  and 
death  of  Christ  deserve  that  prominence  which  is  given  to 
them  in  the  Gospel  record,  on  account  of  their  necessity  to 
the  Gospel  scheme,  their  title  to  it  is  rendered  complete  by 
the  efficacy  which  attends  them  for  answering  their  destined 
purpose.  He  'has  seen  of  the  travail  of  his  soul  and  he  is 
satisfied.'  His  obedience  unto  death  has  fulfilled  all  the  de- 
mands of  that  infinitely  holy  law  which  we  had  transgressed. 
He  has  '  made  peace  by  the  blood  of  his  cross.'  The  perfec- 
tions of  the  divine  character  are  vindicated,  and  the  authority 
of  the  divine  administration  is  maintained;  and  no  harrier, 
therefore,  now  remains  to  hinder  the  divine  mercy  from  pour- 
ing itself  out  on  the  chief  of  sinners.  In  consequence  of  what 
Christ  endured  when  he  gave  himself  as  a  '  propitiation  for 
our  sins,'  God  is  at  once  'just,  and  the  justifier  of  him  who 
believeth  in  Jesus.'  And  he  now  proclaims  from  his  throne 
of  grace,  that  'whosoever  thus  believeth  shall  never  perish, 
but  shall  have  everlasting  life.' 

As  then  the  sufferings  and  death  of  Christ  are  held  out  to 
us  in  Scripture  as  of  such  essential  importance  and  sucli»sav- 
ing  virtue,  let  them  be  the  object  of  our  devout  and  paramount 
regard.  Let  us  recognize  in  them  the  means  which  God  has 
instituted  for  our  deliverance  from  sin  and  misery.  Let  us 
place  our  confidence  in  their  merit  for  the  attainment  of  salva- 
tion and  all  its  blessings.  And  when  we  go  to  the  Lord's 
Table,  where  they  are  brought  to  our  recollection  by  solemn 
and  significant  emblems,  let  our  faith  be  directed  towards 
them  with  peculiar  liveliness  and  power,  and  let  them  be  rest- 


13(5 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


ed  on  by  us  as  the  foundation  of  all  our  hope,  and  applied  to 
as  the  source  of  all  our  joy. 

II.  In  the  second  place,  the  passage  under  review,  affirms 
the  constancy  and  the  cheerfulness  with  which  Christ  was  to 
bear  liis  sorrows  and  to  become  obedient  to  the  death  of  the 
cross.  'I  shall  not  be  moved;'  and  'my  heart  is  glad,  and 
my  glory,'  that  is,  my  tongue,  'rejoicelh.' 

•So  said  David  personating  the  Messiah ;  and  all  this  was 
realised  in  the  Messiah's  actual  deportment.  In  order  to  se- 
cure our  belief  and  dependance  on  his  mediatorial  work,  it  is 
perhaps  enough  for  us  to  know  that  he  finished  it ;  that  he 
did  not  stop  short  in  the  midst  of  it,  but  that  he  brought  it  to 
a  successful  termination  ;  that  he  w^as  rewarded  forits'aecom- 
plishment ;  and  that  it  is  meritorious  to  procure  for  all  who 
trust  in  it  for  forgiveness,  and  acceptance,  and  eternal  life.  But 
that  we  may  cherish  those  sentiments  towards  Christ  which 
it  becomes  us  to  entertain,  we  must  take  a  nearer  view  of  that 
temper  with  which  he  bore  the  heavy  load  of  suffering  which 
was  laid  on  him  for  the  purpose  of  working  out  our  re- 
demption. He  foresaw  every  pang  that  it  was  requisite  for 
him  to  endure  in  order  to  save  sinners,  and  yet  he  scrupled 
not  to  undertake  the  arduous  task,  and  engaged  in  it  with 
alacrity  and  zeal.  As  he  proceeded  to  execute  its  duties,  he 
met  with  numerous  difficulties,  and  dangers,  and  distresses : 
but  he  shrunk  from  none  of  them ;  he  encountered  them  all 
w-ith  undaunted  firmness ;  he  rose  superior  to  them  in  every 
aspect  that  they  assumed,  and  in  every  combination  in  which 
they  assailed  him.  He  never  retreated  from  one  scene  of  trial 
on  which  he  was  called  to  enter.  He  never  was  heard  to  ut- 
ter a  complaint  under  the  multiplied  privations  which  continu- 
ally harassed  him.  '  He  stedfastly  set  his  face  to  go  up  to 
Jerusalen,'  where  he  knew  that  nothing  awaited  him  but  in- 
justice, and  cruelty,  and  death.  He  rebuked  his  disciples 
when  they  thought  it  foul  scorn  that  he  should  submit  to  the 
wrongs  which  he  calmly  foretold.  He  exposed  himself  to  the 
traitor's  artifices,  when  he  might  liave  defeated  them  and 
escaped.  He  was  in  such  agony  that  it  extorted  from  him 
prayers  for  deliverance,  yet  with  the  same  breath  he  declared 
his  entire  acquiescence  in  all  the  sorrows  to  which  he  was 
doomed  by  the  decree  of  heaven.  He  allowed  his  enemies 
to  carry  him  away  to  judgment,  and  to  procure  his  condem- 
nation, and  to  cover  him  with  reproach,  and  to  suspend  him 
on  the  accursed  tree,  though  with  one  frown  he  could  have 
sunk  them  all  in  the  gulf  of  perdition.  He  might  have  come 
down  from  the  cross,  as  the  multitude  impiously  challenged 
him  to  do,  and  erected  on  their  ruin  that  cause  which  they 
were  attempting  to  destroy,  yet  he  patiently  endured  its  an- 
guish, magnanimously  despised  its  shame,  and  struggled  on 
through  all  its  mysterious  and  unspeakable  terrors,  till  he 
could  say  in  the  accents  of  victory,  '  It  is  finished.'  Nor  was 
it  mere  constancy  that  he  exercised  in  those  dark  and  trying 
circumstances  through  which  he  passed.  It  was  moreovc'r 
with  feelings  of  pleasure  and  exultatioa  that  he  ,travelled 
along  the  path  of  sorrow,  and  '  trode  the  wine  press'  of  the 
Father's  wrath.  He  w-as  not  only  contented,  but  he  rejoiced 
to  sufler  as  a  surety  for  guilty  men.  His  humiliation,  and  all 
the  hardships  and  miseries  which  it  implied,  were  the  ap- 
pointments of  God's  will.  He  was  well  aware  that  every 
arrow  of  affliction  which  pierced  him,  from  the  beginning  to 
the  conclusion  of  his  mediatorial  labours  upon  earth,  got  its 
direction,  and  its  power,  and  its  bitterness  from  the  hand  of 
his  heavenly  Father  :  and  yet  all  along,  even  when  they  drunk 
deepest  into  his  soul,  he  looked  up  and  said,  '  To  do  thy  will, 
I  take  delight,  O  my  God  !' 

Such  was  the  constancy  and  such  was  the  cheerfulness 
with  which  our  blessed  Saviour  bore  his  sufierings.  And 
surely  we  cannot  hut  admire  the  character  in  which  this  ex- 
cellence was  so  conspicuously  displayed.  And  if  our  regards 
should  be  proportioned  to  the  extent  and  energy  of  the  virtues 
which  excite  them,  what  must  be  our  admiration  of  the  cha- 
racter of  Christ,  when  we  think  of  the  number,  and  poignancy, 
and  duration  of  his  sorrows,  and  remember  that  he  persevered 
under  their  pressure  with  a  constancy  which  never  wavered 
for  a  moment,  and  with  a  cheerfulness  which  found  its  hap- 
piest exercise  in  the  season  of  his  deepest  adversity  ! 

But  to  our  admiration  ot  his  unequalled  magnanimity,  we 
must  add  the  more  valuable  tribute  of  our  gratitude :  for  it 
was  in  love  to  our  souls  that  his  engagement  to  suffer  and  to 
die  had  its  origin;  and  it  was  by  that  love  to  our  souls  that 
he  was  animated  to  fulfil  his  generous  engagement,  w  ith  the 
unbending  fortitude  and  the  unatTeeted  gladness  which  he 
exhibited  throughout  the  whole  course  of  his  endurance. 
And  if  we  ought  to  love  him  because  he  has  so  loved  us,  O 
how  deep-seated  should    our  allection  be!      How  ardently 


should  it  burn  towards  him  by  whose  compassion  it  has  been 
kindled!  And  how  resolutely  and  stedfastly  should  it  bo 
expressed  in  spite  of  all  the  sacrifices  which  it  may  cost 
us,  and  of  all  the  troubles  and  trials  in  which  it  may  involve 
us! 

And  while  we  admire  the  character  of  Christ,  and  cherish 
gratitude  and  love  to  him  on  account  of  the  constancy  and 
cheerfulness  with  which  he  '  bore  our  griefs  and  carried  our 
sorrows,'  let  him  be  in  this  respect  the  object  of  our  close 
and  habitual  imitation.  As  his  -disciples  we  have  much  evil 
to  meet  with  before  we  'enter into  rest;'  bodily  pain,  worldly 
disappointments,  mental  distress,  spritual  trials,  a  thousand 
things  to  harass  and  afflict  us  in  our  journey  through  this 
vale  of  tears.  Now  let  us  be  like  our  divine  Master,  and  let 
'  none  of  these  things  move  us.'  Let  us  '  bear  our  cross' 
with  patience.  Let  us  be  more  than  patient:  let  our  'heart 
be  glad  and  o\ir  tongue  rejoice'  in  tribulation.  Let  us  '  take 
pleasure  in  infirinities,  in  reproaches,  in  persecutions,  in 
distresses'  with  which  we  may  be  visited  for  our  attach- 
ment to  his  Gospel,  or  our  activity  in  the  cause  of  Christian 
benevolence.  And  let  us  look  well  to  '  Jesus  the  author  and 
the  finisher  of  our  faith,'  as  he  is  held  out  to  us  in  the  Holy 
Scriptures,  giving  himself  to  a  degree  of  suffering  and  to  a 
kind  of  death,  infinitely  more  awful  than  what  we  can  ever 
be  called  to  endure,  that  we  may  catch  some  portion  of  that 
lofty  spirit  which  his  severest  woes  were  unable  to  subdue, 
and  that  we  may  go  back  into  the  world,  better  prepared  to 
sustain  the  burdens  of  life,  and  to  triumph  over  the  fears  and 
the  agonies  of  death. 

III.  Let  us  now  consider  in  the  third  and  Imf  place,  what 
it  was,  according  to  the  language  of  the  Psalmist,  that  sup- 
ported and  cheered  our  Saviour  in  the  midst  of  his  sufferings. 

And,_^)-s7,  he  tells  us  that  he  'set  the  Lord  always  before 
him.'  He  set  the  Lord  always  before  him  as  the  great  ob- 
ject of  his  regard;  to  w-hom  his  utmost  devotedness  was  due, 
and  in  whose  dispensations  it  was  at  once  his  honour,  his 
duty,  and  his  happiness  to  acquiesce.  To  his  will  he  in  every 
thing  submissively  bowed.  To  his  character  he  paid  the 
unlimited  homage  which  perfect  and  uncreated  excellence 
deserved.  To  his  glory  he  felt  that  every  affection  of  the 
heart,  and  every  action  of  the  life  should  be  uniformly  sub- 
servient. And  thus  setting  the  Lord  before  him,  he  was  pre- 
vented from  yielding  to  those  claims  of  self  love  which  might 
otherwise  have  proved  too  powerful  for  him  to  resist.  He 
could  not  have  declined  his  sufferings  at  first,  or  prematurely 
ceased  to  bear  them,  without  opposing  the  divine  will,  which 
he  had  with  authority  as  well  as  in  wisdom  appointed  them  ; 
without  affronting  the  divine  character  whose  brightest  attri- 
butes they  were  intended  to  display;  and  without  obstructing 
the  divine  glory,  which  was  to  be  manifested  equally  in  their 
fitness  and  their  effects.  And  the  boundless  piety  of  Christ, 
being  not  only  hostile  to  all  such  rcgardlessness  of  what  was 
due  to  God,  but  ambitious  of  every  thing  by  which  he  could 
be  honoured  or  in  which  he  could  be  obeyed,  made  him  at 
once  patient  and  delighted  to  bear  the  whole  weight  of  afflic- 
tion that  was  laid  upon  him,  for  accomplishing  God's  pur- 
poses of  mercy  to  our  fallen  race. 

Now  let  us  also  '  set  the  Iiord  always  before  us.'  When  we 
are  visited  with  affliction  of  whatever  kind,  and  in  whatever 
degree,  let  us  remember  that  it  '  does  not  spring  out  of  the 
oTound,'  aiid  that  it  inust  not  be  considered  and  treated  as  an 
evil  which  has  no  connection  with  what  is  good  in  its  origin 
or  in  its  issue.  We  should  recollect  that  it  proceeds,  either 
directly  or  indirectly,  from  the  hand  of  that  great  Being  who 
manages  all  our  lot;  that  it  indicates  the  wisdom,  the  mercy, 
and  the  faithfulness  of  his  dealings  with  us,  and  that  if  it  be 
allowed  to  '  have  its  perfect  work,'  it  will  in  its  final  results 
reflect  honour  on  his  administration,  and  redound  to  the  ad- 
vantage and  happiness  of  our  souls.  And  recollecting  these 
things,  let  us  submit,  without  murmuring,  to  all  the  hard- 
ships of  our  condition,  and  even  '  count  it  all  joy  when  we 
fall  into  divers  trials,  and  tribulations. 

In  the  ne.vf  place,  our  .Saviour  tells  us  that  he  was  supported 
and  cheered  in  the  midst  of  his  sufferings,  by  the  assurance  that 
God  was  '  at  his  right  hand.'  He  was  not  in  a  forlorn  and  help- 
less state — unprotected  against  theassaults  of  his  foes — unsus- 
tained  under  the  weight  of  his  calamities — abandoned  to  the 
feebleness  of  human  wisdom  and  human  strength,  and  left  to 
esources  as  uncertain  as  they  were  inadequate  in  '  the  time 
of  his  need.'  Had  this  been  the  case,  and  had  he  known  it, 
his  heart  would  have  sunk  into  despondency,  the  work  of  re- 
demption would  have  failed  in  his  hands,  and  we  should  have 
liad  no  suffering  obedience — no  atoning  death,  on  which  to 
rely   for  acceptance.     But   far   different  was  his  situation. 


LECTURES  ON  PORTIONS  OF  THE  PSALMS. 


1S7 


Omnipotence  befriended  liim.  The  arm  of  Jehovah  was 
slreteheil  out  for  liis  slay  and  his  deliverance.  His  enemies 
iniljht  be  numerous  ami  strong,  but  there  was  one  to  heJp 
him  mightier  than  them  all.  His  perplexities  might  be  great, 
but  tliey  were  nothing  to  the  scan  of  unerring  wisdom.  His 
anguish  might  be  bitter  and  severe,  but  his  bitterest  and  se- 
verest anguish  must  have  given  way  to  the  consolations  of 
divinity.  His  trials  might  be  round  about  him,  and  within 
him,  and  press  close  and  hard  upon  his  inmost  soul ;  but 
there  was  nearer  to  him  still  than  these  could  be,  that  God 
who  has  the  universe  at  his  command,  and  is  pledged  to 
preserve  his  chosen  from  all  that  would  injure  and  over- 
whelm them.  All  this  the  Saviour  knew.  He  knew  that 
Deity  was  thus  present  with  him,  and  thus  engaged  in  his 
behalf.  He  confided  in  the  great  truth  as  one  which  would  be 
realized  in  every  exigency  of  his  case.  And  fully  convinced 
that  he  had  only  to  trust  and  pray,  in  order  to  experience,  in 
richest  abundance,  the  aid  that  would  uphold  him,  and  the 
comfort  that  would  cheer  him,  and  the  interposition  that 
would  deliver  him  in  all  his  times  of  danger  and  of  need,  he 
'  feared  no  evil'  that  could  possibly  befal  him,  at  any  stage 
of  his  perilous  undertaking.  His  dangers  might  be  imminent, 
and  his  prospects  dark,  and  his  sorrows  multiplied  and  great, 
but  he  cast  himself  on  the  protection  of  the  Almighty,  whose 
servant  he  was,  and  whose  work  he  was  doing;  and  he  re- 
joiced in  the  sense  of  present  safety,  and  in  the  hope  of 
ultimate  triumjih. 

Such  was  our  Saviour's  '  strong  hold  in  the  day  of  trouble ;' 
let  it  also  be  ours.  If  we  be  followers  of  him,  God  is  at  our 
right  hand,  as  he  was  at  his,  and  we  may  warrantably  exer- 
cise the  same  reliance,  and  take  to  ourselves  the  same  en- 
couragement which  sustained  and  animated  him  along  the 
path  of  suffering.  God  is  always  beside  us  to  observe  our 
circumstances,  to  listen  to  our  petitions,  to  guide  us  through 
our  difficulties,  to  soothe  us  in  our  distresses,  to  rescue  us 
out  of  the  hand  of  our  adversaries,  and  to  keep  us  from  falling 
away  in  the  hour  of  temptation  '  from  our  own  stedfastness." 
Is  not  he  possessed  of  every  attribute  to  which  we  would 
appeal  for  comfort  and  for  preservation  1  Has  he  not  prO' 
miscd  to  put  forth  these  attributes  in  our  behalf  as  often  as 
our  situation  requires  their  exercise?  Does  not  the  infinite 
perfection  of  his  nature  insure  the  fulfilment  of  that  gracious 
promise  in  all  its  extent?  And  does  not  the  experience  of 
our  Redeemer,  who  showed  what  we  might  expect,  as  well  as 
exemplified  what  we  ought  to  do,  afford  us  a  practical  and 
satisfactory  demonstration  of  the  faithfulness  with  which  our 
heavenly  Father  will  communicate  to  us  all  that  he  has 
taught  us  to  pray  and  hope  for  in  the  course  of  our  pilgrim- 
age 1  Let  us  then  confide  in  him  without  hesitation  or  re- 
serve. Let  us  bear  upon  our  minds  continually  the  lively 
persuasion  that  wherever  we  are,  and  whatever  we  suffer,  he 
is  present  with  us  in  the  character  of  our  guide,  our  comforter, 
and  our  protector.  Let  us  ask,  according  to  our  necessities, 
that  we  may  receive  what  he  is  both  able  and  willing  to  be- 
stow for  their  relief.  Let  us  lean  upon  him  in  the  exercise 
of  a  faith  which  looks  perpetually  to  his  word,  and  doubts  as 
little  of  its  veracity  as  of  its  kindness.  And  when  the  multitude 
or  the  severity  of  our  trials  would  lead  us  to  despond,  let  us 
think  of  the  conduct  and  the  consolations  of  Christ,  and  re- 
monstrate with  ourselves  for  not  cherishing  the  eonfulence  by 
which  he  was  held  up,  and  say  '  Why  art  thou  cast  down,  O 
my  soul,  and  why  art  thou  disquieted  within  mo?  Hope  thou 
in  God  for  I  shall  yet  praise  him,  who  is  the  health  of  my 
countenance  and  my  God.' 

Lastly,  our  Saviour  informs  us  that  he  was  supported  and 
cheered  by  the  hope  of  a  resurrection  to  life  and  blessedness. 
'My  flesh  also  shall  rest  in  hope.  For  thou  wilt  not  leave  my 
soul  in  hell ;  neither  wilt  thou  suffer  thine  Holy  One  to  see 
corruption.  Thou  wilt  show  nie  the  path  of  life  :  in  thy  pre- 
sence is  fulness  of  joy,  at  thy  right  hand  are  pleasures  for 
evermore.' 

This  was  to  bo  the  determination  and  issue  of  Christ's  suf- 
ferings. They  were,  indeed,  to  '  bring  him  to  death,'  and 
that  death  was  to  be  characterised  by  all  that  was  frightful 
and  distressing.  But  he 'had  hope  in  his  death.'  He  knew 
that  tlie  dominion  of  the  king  of  terrors  was  to  be  destroyed, 
and  that  he  was,  by  returning  from  the  grave,  to  '  become  the 
first  fruits  of  them  that  sleep.'  God  would  '  not  leave  his  soul 
in  hell,'  that  is,  would  not  allow  his  human  spirit  to  remain 
in  the  state  of  the  dead,  and  would  not  permit  his  body, 
which  was  as  free  from  moral  pollution  as  his  soul,  and 
equally  sanctified  willi  it  for  the  work  of  redemption,  to  un- 
dergo in  any  measure  that  process  of  dissolution  which  must 
pass  upon  all  the  sinful  posterity  of  Adam.  Instead  of  suffer- 
Voi,.  II.— S 


ing  him  to  continue  in  the  grave,  he  would  '  show  him  the 
path  of  life ;'  he  would  make  the  darksome  valley  a  way  along 
which  he  would  conduct  him  to  immortality;  and,  'raising 
him  from  the  dead,  would  give  him  glory,' — would  receive 
him  into  his  heavenly  presence  as  a  triumphant  Redeemer, 
and  exalt  him  to  his  right  hand,  that  in  the  fulness  of  ever- 
lasting bliss  he  might  reap  the  reward  of  his  meritorious  suf- 
ferings, and  his  victorious  decease.  Christ  had  this  prospect 
continually  in  his  view.  He  was  well  aware  that  he  should 
speedily  '  rest  from  his  labours'  and  sorrows,  and  that  '  his 
rest  would  be  glorious.'  It  was  '  for  the  joy  set  before  him 
that  he  endured  the  cross  and  despised  the  shame.'  And 
knowing  that  when  he  committed  his  spirit  into  the  hands  of 
his  heavenly  Father,  who  would  keep  what  he  had  thus  com- 
mitted to  him,  and  that  his  body  would  come  forth  from  the 
tomb  unhurt  by  the  power  of  corruption,  and  that  thus  raised 
again  and  'justified  in  the  spirit'  by  his  resurrection,  he  would 
be  '  straightway  glorified  with  the  glory  which  he  had  with 
the  Father  before  the  world  was  ;'  anticipating  such  a  splendid 
and  felicitous  result  as  this,  he  was  resigned  in  sulTerino-,  and 
he  was  brave  in  death,  beyond  all  that  the  generations  of  men 
have  ever  witnessed,  or  will  ever  be  able  to  exhibit. 

But  though  we  can  never  equal  the  fortitude  with  which 
our  Saviour  suffered  and  died,  we  may  humbly  imitate  him  in 
this  as  in  other  departments  of  his  exalted  character.  And, 
indeed,  it  is  our  duty  to  study  this  resemblance  to  him,  and 
to  strive  after  it,  under  the  influence  of  the  same  motives  hy 
which  he  was  actuated.  These  motives,  it  is  true,  we  have 
not  in  that  high  style  and  commanding  power  in  which  they 
presented  themselves  to  his  mind.  Still,  however,  they  form 
a  part  of  our  Christian  privileges,  and  it  becomes  us  to  fix  our 
regards  upon  them,  and  to  surrender  ourselves  freely  to  all  the 
effects  which  they  are  calculated  to  produce  on  our  sentiments 
and  conduct.  If  we  are  united  to  Christ  by  faith,  and  if  we 
are  studying  to  'be  holy  as  he  who  hath  called  us  is  holy;' 
then  we  shall  be  partakers  of  Christ's  resurrection,  of  Christ's 
joy,  of  Christ's  glorj'.  Our  bodies,  indeed,  must  moulder  into 
their  kindred  earth,  and  a  long  period  may  elapse  before  they 
are  recalled  from  their  dreary  abode.  But  the  doctrine  is  true 
and  stable,  that  as  Christ  has  risen  we  shall  rise  also — that 
there  is  '  life  and  immortality'  for  us  beyond  the  grave — that 
there  awaits  us,  in  celestial  companionship  with  him  who  '  is 
the  resurrection  and  the  life,'  a  'fulness  of  joy,  and  pleasures 
for  evermore.'  And  with  this  scene  of  restoration  and  of  hap- 
piness before  us,  why  should  we  grudge  to  suffer,  and  why 
should  we  be  afraid  to  die  ?  Our  sufferings  ma)'  be  severe  and 
protracted,  but  we  suffer  along  with  Christ,  and  suffering  pa- 
tiently along  with  him,  we  shall  also  reign  with  him  in  hea- 
ven ;  and  as  his  sufferings  merited  the  recom|)ense  which  he 
received  in  his  resurrection  from  the  dead,  and  his  exaltation 
to  '  the  right  hand  of  the  majesty  on  high,'  so  our  sufferings 
shall  be  so  sanctified  as  to  qualify  us  for  being  '  children  of 
the  resurrection,'  and  '  heirs  of  the  kingdom'  which  he  has 
secured  for  all  his  faithful  followers.  Death  may  come  upon 
us  unexpectedly,  and  may  come  in  his  most  forbidding  form  ; 
and  the  terrors  of  his  coming  may  be  more  awful  and  ago- 
nising than  our  fearful  imaginations  had  ever  conceived  ;  but 
Christ  also  died,  and  '  by  his  death  overcame  death,'  spoiled 
him  of  his  destroying  power,  and  is  pledged  to  make  every 
believer  a  sharer  in  his  dear  bought  victory,  and  in  his  well- 
earned  triumph.  And  'living  to  the  Lord,  and  dying  in  the 
Lord,'  the  grave,  dark  and  noisome  as  it  is,  is  consecrated  as 
a  resting  place  to  our  mortal  bodies  '  till  the  times  of  restitu- 
tion,' when  he  who  '  lives  for  evermore,  and  has  the  keys  of 
hell  and  death,'  shall  awaken  us  from  our  refreshing  slumbers, 
and  clothe  us  in  the  robe  of  undecaying  beauty,  and  conduct 
us  into  that  region  of  unclouded  light,  and  spotless  purity, 
and  unmingled  bliss,  where  we  shall  dwell  and  be  happy  for 
ever.  And,  destined  to  such  an  award  as  this,  let  us  not  be 
cast  down  by  any  calamities  that  can  hapjien  to  us,  or  be  im- 
moderately alarmed  by  any  dangers  that  can  threaten  us, 
either  during  the  time  of  our  sojourning  in  this  evil  world,  or 
at  the  period  of  our  departure  from  it.  Let  us  cherish  habitu- 
ally the  hope  of  that  eternal  life  which  God  hath  promised  to 
us,  and  which  he  will  assuredly  bestow  upon  us.  Let  us  be- 
ieve  stedfastly,  and  act  holily,  as  it  becomes  those  who  have 
such  a  'high  calling'  and  such  a  glorious  destination.  Let 
our  faith  and  our  hope  derive  new  energy  from  the  eontem- 
|)lation  of  Christ's  death,  by  which  he  at  once  purchased  our 
title  to  immortality,  and  ratified  the  charter  in  which  it  is 
made  over  to  us.  And  then  let  us  go  on  our  Christian  way 
rejoicing,  trusting  in  the  Lord  Jehovah,  and  looking  forward 
to  '  the  glory  that  is  to  be  revealed.'  Thus,  we  shall  be  '  filled 
with  comfort  and  exceeding  joyful  in  all  our  tribulation  ;'  and 


138 


CHRISTIAN    library: 


wlien  tlie  liour  of  our  departure  comes,  we  sihall  take  up  the 
language  of  triumph  aud  say,  '  O  death,  where  is  thy  sting? 
O  grave,  where  is  thy  victory  V  'Tlianks  be  to  God  wliich 
giveth  us  the  victory  through  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ.' 


LECTURE  VIL 

'  Blessed  is  lie  whose  transgression  is  fwglven,  ivhose  sin  is  cover- 
ed. Blessed  is  the  man  unto  ivhom  the  Lord  imputeth  not 
iniquity,  and  in  tvliose  spirit  there  is  no  guile.  When  I  kept 
silence,  my  bones  imxed  old,  through  my  roaring  all  the  day 
long  ■■  Fur  day  and  night  thy  hand  was  heavy  upon  me;  my 
moisture  is  turned  into  the  drought  of  summer.  I  acknow- 
ledge my  sin  unto  thee,  and  mine  iniquity  have  I  not  hid.  I 
said,  I  will  confess  my  transgressions  unto  the  Lord;  and  thou 
forgavest  the  iniquity  nf  my  sin.  Fur  this  shallevery  one  that 
is  godly  pray  unto  thee  in  a  time  when  thou  may  est  be  found  ; 
surely  in  the  Jlouds  uf  great  waters  they  shall  not  come  nigh 
untu  him.  Thuu  art  my  hiding-place ;  thou  shalt  preserve  me 
from  truuble ;  thou  shalt  compass  me  ahuut  ivith  songs  of  de- 
liverance.— Psalm  xxxiii.  1 — 7. 

Part  L 

The  passage  that  we  have  now  read  presents  to  our  notice, 
some  important  and  interesting  particulars.  There  is  first,  the 
uncomfortable  state  of  a  convinced  but  still  impenitent  sinner. 
Secondly,  there  is  the  pardon  of  sin.  Thirdly,  there  is  the 
connection  between  the  pardon  of  sin  and  the  grace  of  repent- 
ance. Fourthly,  there  is  the  happiness  of  such  as  have  re- 
pented and  obtained  pardon.  Fifthly,  there  is  the  disposition 
of  those  who  are  penitent  and  pardoned,  to  engage  in  the  ex- 
ercise of  prayer.  And,  lastly,  there  is  the  securtty  of  God's 
people  in  the  midst  of  danger  and  distress. 

L  First,  we  have  here  represented  to  us  the  uncomfortable 
state  of  those  who  are  convinced  of  sin  but  still  impenitent. 
I  When  I  kept  silence,  my  bones  waxed  old  ;  through  my  roar- 
ing all  the  day  long.  For  day  and  night  thy  hand  was  heavy 
upon  rae :  my  moisture  is  turned  into  the  drought  of  summer. 

This  was  the  sad  experience  of  the  Psalmist  himself.  He 
had  transgressed  God's  law.  This  he  both  knew  and  felt ; 
and  it  brought  along  witli  it  the  pangs  of  remorse.  His  mind 
was  conscious  of  having  offended  the  divine  majesty — of  hav- 
ing incurred  the  divine  displeasure — of  having  done  what  ren- 
dered him  liable  to  the  punishment  threatened  in  the  divine 
law.  But  he  did  not  seek  for  deliverance  from  the  burden  of 
guilt  by  the  confession  of  a  contrite  heart,  and  by  application 
to  the  mercy  of  heaven.  In  both  these  respects' he  '  kept  si- 
lence.' And  the  consequence  was,  that  bis  convictions  of  the 
commission,  and  of  the  evil,  and  of  the  danger  of  sin,  con- 
tinued to  harass  him  as  before.  He  could  find  no  peace. 
Wherever  he  was,  and  with  whatever  he  was  occupied,  '  the 
hand  of  God  was  heavy  upon  him.'  And  this  compunction  of 
soul,  haunting  him  continually,  disturbing  his  midnight  re- 
pose, accompanying  him  through  the  active  employments  of 
the  day,  and  incessantly  troubling  him  with  anxiety  and 
alarm,  so  affected  him,  that  the  vigour  and  freshness  of  youth 
were  exchanged  for  the  debility  and  exhaustion  of  age,  and 
his  'moisture  was  turned  into  the  drought  of  summer.'' 

Thus  was  it  with  the  Psalmist;  and  thus  in  some  measure 
will  it  be  with  all  wlio  attempt  to  stiHe  and  overpower  the 
convictions  of  sin.  They  may  not  be  sensible  of  their  guilt 
as  he  was ;  they  may  not  feel  it  so  acutely  ;  they  may  not  be 
so  much  alive  to  its  impression  ;  and  they  may  not  suffer  from 
it  the  same  degree  of  annoyance  and  misery.  But  still,  if 
they  be  really  convinced  that  sin  attaches  to  them,  and  if  they 
see  in  it  a  forfeiture  of  God's  favour,  and  if  they  read  in  it  the 
sentence  of  God's  wrath,  how  can  it  be  that  they  should  escape 
from  the  anguish  of  a  '  wounded  spirit,'  and  not  be  '  filled  with 
the  terrors  of  the  Lord  V 

When  I  say  this,  1  doubt  not  that  1  speak  in  accordance 
with  what  has  been  actually  experienced  by  some  of  you  now 
hearing  me ;  and,  perhaps  you  are  still  in  the  situation  which 
the  I  salmist  has  so  pathetically  described  as  his  own.  The 
iniquity  that  you  have  done  presses  hard  upon  your  conscience, 
that  iniquity  you  recognise  what  has"  exposed  you  to  the 


In 


indijination  of  tlie  Almighty;  and  the  apprehension  of  his 
wrath,  justly  deserved  and  awfully  threatened,  is  a  perpetual 
source  ot  inquietude  and  sorrow.  You  try  to  forget  it  in  the 
cares  ot  business,  or  to  charm  it  away  by  pleasurable  indul- 
gence, or  to  drive ''     ""'  ""        •■        ' 


gence  ortodrivc  it  olf  by  an  efl-Qrt  of  the  will,  or  to  reason  it  ed  by  him°for  his 
down  by  tlie  sophistries  of  a  carnal  mind.     But  the  endeavourllie  who  passed  it 


IS  fruitless.  The  arrow  sticks  fast  within  you  ;  the  wound 
testers  in  your  very  vitals  ;  and  your  attempts  to  heal  it,  only 
serve  to  render  it  deeper,  and  severer,  and  more  painful  tliaii 
ever.  It  is  a  mercy  that  conscience  is  still  awake— that  it 
does  not  cease  to  remind  you  of  your  wickedness— that  it  is 
not  yet  seared  into  torpid  and  fatal  insensibility.  You  have 
reason  to  bless  God  that  his  voice  thus  speaks  to  you— that 
his  spirit  thus  strives  with  you— that  he  does  not  permit  you 
to  enjoy  any  inward  peace,  or  to  find  rest  to  the  sole  of  your 
foot,  so  long  as  there  is  within  yon  an  impenitent  heart,  and 
an  unforgiven  soul— that  he  unwearicdly  pursues  you  with 
his  admonitions  and  his  warnings,  all  destructive  as  they  aro 
of  your  present  comfort,  till  you  have  abandoned  the  unhappy 
struggle  which  you  are  maintaining  with  your  convictions, 
and  sought  for  relief  to  your  troubled  mind,  where  alone  that 
relief  can  ever  he  found.  And  the  more  effectually  to  per- 
suade you  to  make  no  hesitation,  and  to  lose  no  time  in  be- 
taking yourselves  to  this  refuge,  consider,  we  beseech  you, 
that  the  wretchedness  which  haunts  you  as  transgressors,  in 
society  and  in  solitude,  amidst  care  and  amidst  amusement, 
while  it  intimates  God's  willingness  that  you  should  flee  from 
sin,  both  as  to  its  power  and  its  punishment,  is  but  the  pre- 
sage of  that  unmingled  and  everlasting  wretchedness  which 
awaits  you  in  another  Avorld,  if  you  will  not  listen  to  him  in 
this  the  time  of  your  merciful  visitation ;  and  that  to  persist 
in  keeping  silence,  while  conscience  is  constraining  you  every 
hour  and  every  moment  to  cry  for  forgiveness,  and  to  pour 
forth  your  penitential  acknowledgments' at  the  throne  of  grace, 
and  to  apply  to  the  divine  compassion  for  that  rest  from  your 
sins  which  the  divine  compassion  is  so  ready  to  bestow,  is  to 
aggravate  a  thousand  fold  all  the  perils  and  miseries  of  your 
condition,  and  by  lulling  into  apathy  that  internal  monitor, 
which  now  pleads  with  you  so  urgently  to  flee  equally  from 
your  present  anguish,  and  from  the  '  wrath  to  come,'  is  to  se- 
cure for  yourselves  an  undisturbed  continuance  in  the  path  of 
guilt,  and  an  uninterrupted  passage  to  the  habitations  of  dark- 
ness and  despair. 

And  why  should  you  so  perversely  remain  in  the  state  of 
suffering  to  which  conscious  unworthiness  has  reduced  you? 
You  know  that  deliverance  from  the  evils  by  which  you  are 
distressed  is  not  to  be  obtained  by  the  means  to  which  you 
have  hitherto  had  recourse.  You  know  that  nothing  can  re- 
move them  but  the  assurance  of  a  full  and  free  forgiveness 
from  him  whom  you  have  disobeyed,  and  whose  anger  you 
have  incurred.  And  you  know,  not  only  that  he  is  willing  to 
grant  this  forgiveness,  but  that  he  has  devised  and  executed 
a  plan,  the  whole  purpose  of  which  is  to  accomplish  the  sal- 
vation of  sinners,  and  to  speak  'peace  to  them  that  are  afar 
off".'  Look  vit  this  blessing  as  it  is  represented  to  you  in  the 
Scriptures,  that  you  may  be  satisfied  of  its  sufficiency  to  con- 
stitute your  safety,  and  to  quiet  all  your  alarms. 

II.  The  Psalmist  speaks  ofit  in  three  ways, '  Transgression 
IS  forgiven,'  'sin  is  covered,'  '  the  Lord  imputeth  not  iniquity.' 

I  he  sinner  has  his  transgression  forgiven.  Having  broken 
God's  law,  he  has  become  liable  to  the  punishment  which  the 
law  has  denounced,  and  unless  some  adequate  interposition 
takes  place,  this  awful  punishment  must  be  borne  by  him  be- 
yond tlie  possibility  of  escape.  But  when  he  to  whom  the 
prerogative  of  forgiving  the  sinner  belongs  is  pleased  to  exer- 
cise that  prerogative  in  his  favour,  and  to  pronounce  the  de- 
cree of  forgiveness,  the  punishment  is  wholly  remitted,  his 
obligation  to  suffer  it  is  cancelled,  and  no  power  can  again 
bring  him  into  tlie  condemnation  out  of  which  he  has  thus 
been  authoritatively  and  judicially  released. 

More  than  this,  his  sin  is  said  to  be  covered.  The  substan- 
tial meaning  of  this  expression  is  the  same  as  that  of  the  pre- 
ceding one.  It  conveys  the  idea  of  forgiveness.  But  along 
vvith  that  it  associates  another  idea  which  tends  to  give  it  ad- 
ditional force  as  to  its  effect  on  the  feelings  and  comfort  of 
the  sinner.  His  sin  is  not,  and  cannot  be  concealed  from  the 
eye,  nor  obliterated  from  the  remembrance  of  Him  who  is  as 
omniscient  as  he  is  holy.  But  having  been  forgiven,  its  coii- 
sequences  are  as  effectually  and  completely  done  away  with, 
and  his  condition  as  free  from  obnoxiousness  to  these,  as  if  it 
had  been  literally  hidden  from  the  observation  of  the  Al- 
mighty, or  beyond  the  reach  of  his  knowledge.  Could  we 
suppose  him  not  to  have  seen  it  or  not  to  have  been  acquain- 
ted with  it,  no  anger  could  of  course  have  been  kindled  in  him, 
and  no  penalty  iuliictcd  by  him  on  account  of  it.  And  not  in 
one  degree  more  thoroughly  secure  would  the  sinner  have 
been  in  that  case  from  '  the  curse  of  the  law,'  than  he  is,  now 
that,  though  a  transgressor  in  the  sight  of  God,  and  condemn- 
transgrcssion,  the  sentence  is  recalled,  and 
says  to  him,  'Thy  sins  are  forgiven  thee.' 


LECTURES  ON  PORTIONS  OF  THE  PSALMS. 


139 


And  there  is  still  another  statement  of  more  liberal  import, 
and  more  emphatic  phrase.  It  is  atfirmcd,  that  the  Lord  im- 
putc/h  not  iniijuiti/.  When  God  justifies  the  sinner,  he  does 
not  impute  his  iniquity  to  him — does  not  place  it  to  his  ac- 
count, and  punish  it  in  his  person, — but  regards  his  as  it'  he 
had  not  transgressed, — treats  him  as  one  of  unblameable  right- 
eousness,— bestows  upon  him  those  blessings  which  can  only 
be  bestowed  in  consideration  of  the  divine  law  being  satisfied, 
both  in  its  penal  demands  and  in  its  active  requirements. 
And  why  1  Because  God  has  laid  upon  Christ  all  the  demerit 
of  the  sinner, — because  that  demerit  has  been  expiated  by  the 
sufferings  of  the  surety, — and  because,  in  its  place,  and  by 
the  same  surety,  there  has  been  substituted  an  obedience,  not 
only  perfect  in  itself,  but  equally  authorized  and  accepted  by 
him  wliose  indignation  the  sinner  had  incurred.  The  guilt  of 
tlie  sinner  is  imputed  to  Christ,  who  accordingly  w-as  'made 
a  curse  for  him,'  and  '  sulfered  the  just  for  the  unjust:'  and 
the  righteousness  of  Christ  is  imputed  to  the  sinner,  who  ac- 
cordingly obtains  that  deliverance  from  punishment,  and  that 
restoration  to  favour,  which  God,  in  the  exercise  at  once  of 
his  holiness  and  his  mercj',  confers  as  the  reward  of  right- 
eousness so  perfect  and  so  meritorious.  This  is  the  Gospel 
method  of  salvation  as  unfolded  throughout  the  sacred  wri- 
tings, and  as  referred  to  by  the  Psalmist  in  the  passage  be- 
fore us, — of  which  the  Apostle  Paul  has  given  an  explanation 
in  the  fourth  chapter  of  his  Epistle  to  the  Uomans,  where  he 
quotes  the  very  language  of  Uavid,  in  order  to  illustrate  his 
doctrine  of  justification  by  grace,  through  faith  in  the  imputed 
righteousness  of  Christ. 

III.  Now  the  blessing  of  pardon  as  thus  secured  and  thus 
understood,  is  said  to  confer  happiness  upon  those  who  re- 
ceive it.  ^Blessed  is  he  whose  transgression  is  forgiven, 
whose  sin  is  covered.  Blessed  is  the  man  unto  whom  the 
Lord  imputcth  not  iniquity.' 

Those  only  who  have  experienced  this  blessedness,  can 
rightly  comprehend  its  nature,  and  appreciate  its  extent.  But 
even  for  such  as  have  not  had  that  actual  experience,  it  can- 
not be  dillicult  to  conceive  that  it  is  indisputably  real  and  in- 
calculably great.  Supposing,  in  the  first  place,  that  the  sin- 
ner, when  he  is  pardoned,  were  wholly  ignorant  of  the  change 
that  has  been  efl'ected  in  his  spiritual  condition,  still  he  must, 
beyond  all  controversy,  and  beyond  all  calculation,  be  pro- 
nounced happy :  for  though  not  aware  of  it,  he  is  in  fact  freed 
from  the  condemnation,  which,  had  he  remained  under  it, 
would  have  insured  his  endurance  of  everlasting  misery,  and 
he  is  in  fact  brought  into  a  state  of  reconciliation,  w'hich  must 
ultimately  insure  his  enjoyment  of  everlasting  felicity.  And 
whatever  be  the  period  of  his  continuance  upon  earth,  and 
whatever  be  the  anguish  which  the  consciousness  of  guilt, 
and  the  dread  of  God's  vengeance  may  inflict  upon  him,  the 
time  cannot  be  far  distant  when  this  season  of  distressing  ig- 
norance shall  come  to  an  end,  and  when,  in  tlie  awards  of  the 
judgment  day,  he  shall  know,  and  see,  and  feel,  that  '  the 
anger  of  God  had  been  turned  away'  from  him,  and  that  he 
had  been  invested  with  a  new  title  to  the  kingdom  of  his 
father. 

Such,  however,  is  the  constitution  of  divine  grace  that  the 
blessedness  of  the  pardoned  sinner  is  not  merely  in  reversion 
and  in  prospect :  it  is  in  a  certain  measure  granted  to  him 
even  now.  It  not  only  exists  as  an  attribute  of  his  condition  ; 
but  it  is  present  with  hint  as  a  benefit  which  he  is  conscious 
of  possessing,  and  which  alTords  him  heartfelt  consolation. 
Wiienever  the  Redeemer's  righteousness  is  imputed  to  him 
tor  his  justification,  there  is  simultaneously  wrought  in  him 
that  faith  by  which  he  receives  and  appropriates  the  imputed 
righteousness  of  the  Redeemer,  and  which  imparts  to  him  an 
itiimcdiate  sense  of  safety  similar  to  what  he  would  have  had 
it,  in  the  midst  of  some  temporal  danger,  he  had  taken  a  firm 
and  decided  grasp  of  one  who  was  both  able  and  willing  to 
accomplish  his  deliverance.  He  also  believes  the  testimony 
of  the  word  of  truth,  which  says,  that  whosoever  has  such  a 
faith  is  justified  in  the  sight  of  God  ;  and  the  conclusion 
which  he  is  inevitably  led  to  draw  from  this,  must  more  or 
less  satisfy  him,  that  to  him  '  there  is  no  condemnation,'  and 
that  his  escape  from  it  is  as  certain  as  the  Divine  promise  is 
unequivocal  and  true.  And  the  grace  which  justifies  him, 
and  the  faith  through  which  the  justification  becomes  his, 
operate  such  a  change  on  his  views,  and  principles,  and  tem- 
per, that  there  is  borne  in  upon  him  the  humble  hope,  or  tht 
assured  confidence  of  his  being  the  object  of  God's  pardoning 
mercy.  And,  with  such  an  impression  as  this  prevailing  or 
reigning  in  his  mind,  can  it  be  doubted  or  denied  that  he  is 
blessed  1  Is  it  a  blesse<l  tiling  for  the  rebellious  subject  to 
obtain  the  forgiveness  of  his  sovereign,  and  to  be  restored  to 


all  the  immunities  and  privileges  which  he  had  forfeited  by 
his  criminal  revolt  1  Is  it  a  blessed  thing  for  the  undutiful 
child  to  have  his  ingratitude  and  disobedience  pardoned,  to 
be  re-instated  in  the  affection  of  his  offended  parent,  and  re- 
invested with  a  title  to  the  inheritance  of  which  paternal  dis- 
pleasure had  deprived  him  ?  Is  it  a  blessed  thing  for  us  to 
be  thus  treated  by  those  who  are  creatures  like  ourselves,  and 
limited  in  their  power  of  conferring  good  and  of  inflicting  evil, 
and  whose  favour  and  whose  frown  shall  shortly  terminate  in 
the  grave,  where  they  and  we  must  lie  down  together?  And 
can  it  be  any  thing  but  blessedness — must  it  not  be  blessed- 
ness inexpressibly  and  beyond  comparison  great,  to  be  rescu- 
ed from  the  vengeance,  and  to  be  recalled  to  the  friendship, 
of  that  mighty  Sovereign,  that  everlasting  Father,  whose  ven- 
geance and  whose  friendship  can  not  only  blast  or  nourish 
our  every  earthly  comfort,  but,  what  is  of  infinitely  more  im- 
portance, affect  our  eternal  destinies,  and  either  exalt  us 
to  the  highest  heaven,  or  sink  us  down  to  the  lowest 
hell  ? 

O  how  sadly  do  you  who  are  the  votaries  of  a  sinful  world 
mistake  your  interest  and  your  happiness  !  You  give  your- 
selves up  to  sensual  indulgence,  or  you  accumulate  sordid 
wealth,  or  you  run  from  one  amusement  and  one  gaiety  to  an- 
other, or  you  engage  in  the  busy  and  useful  occupations  of 
life,  or  your  pursuits  are  directed  to  the  objects  of  a  nobler 
ambition,  and  all  your  activities  are  employed  in  the  field  of 
intellectual  research :  You  do  all  this,  and  in  the  midst  of  it 
all,  you  think  yourselves  happy  ;  you  say  that  you  are  happy ; 
you  cannot  see  that  any  thing  more  is  necessary  to  make 
you  happy  ;  you  w-onder  that  we  can  ever  doubt  of  your  be- 
ing happy.  And  yet  we  must  affirm  that  you  labour  under  a 
grievous  delusion,  and  that  in  truth  you  are  not  happy.  We 
are  aware  that  happiness  is  in  one  sense  a  matter  of  feelinof; 
and  that  we  should  in  vain  attempt  to  persuade  you  that  yon 
are  destitute  of  pleasurable  emotions  while  you  are  conscious 
of  having  them.  But  still  we  must  say,  that  you  are  not 
happy. 

\  ou  are  not  happy  in  comparison.  Giving  to  your  peculiar 
enjoyments  all  the  value,  and  variety,  and  sweetness  that  you 
can  justly  claim  for  them,  still  you  would  not  think  of  puttinn- 
them  upon  a  level  with  the  enjoyments  of  those  who  believe 
and  feel  that  he  who  is  the  great  fountain  of  life  and  happi- 
ness has  ceased  to  be  angry  with  them,  and  that  while  he  has 
taken  away  all  their  iniiiuities  and  all  the  displeasure  that  was 
due  on  account  of  them,  be  loves  them  at  the  same  time  so 
freely  and  so  fully  as  to  make  them  heirs  of  his  '  heavenly 
kingdom.'  Even  in  speculation  you  must  allow  this  to  be 
the  case ;  otherwise  you  must  allege  that  there  are  no  deo-rees 
of  happiness,  and  that  the  animal  which  is  merely  sentient 
is  as  happy  as  the  angels  that  dwell  on  high  and  'excel  in 
strength.'  And  if  from  speculation  yon  come  to  experience, 
the  argument  is  all  against  you  ;  for  though  you  may  still  ad- 
here to  your  position  that  you  are  happy  because  you  think 
so,  it  must  be  remembered  that  you  are  practically  acquainted 
with  nothing  more  than  those  gratifications,  which  are  con- 
nected with  present  and  visible  and  created  things,  that  you 
are  ignorant  of  the  delight  arising  from  the  exercises  of  a  mind 
that  is  at  peace  with  God,  and  that  therefore  your  testimony 
and  your  opinion  are  not  to  be  credited  like  the  testimony  and 
the  opinion  of  those  whose  experience  has  embraced  both 
kinds  of  enjoyment;  and  has  there  been  any  one  instance  in 
which  they  have  not  assured  us  that  they  never  knew  what 
happiness  was  till  they  had  become  partakers  of  the  grace  which 
pardons  and  saves  the  guilty  soul,  and  does  not  their  united 
voice  declare  what  David  declared,  when,  from  his  own  per- 
sonal feeling,  he  uttered  and  recorded  the  language  before  us, 
^Blessed  is  he  whose  transgression  is  forgiven,  whose  sin  is 
covered,  and  to  whom  the  Lord  imputcth  not  iniquity  V 

But  again  we  say,  that  if  you  persist  iiialleging  you  are  happy, 
you  are  happy  without  reason.  Supposing  your  pleasures  were 
less  criminal  than  we  fear  they  often  are  ;  supposing  that  they 
were  all  of  the  most  exquisite  and  refined  description  ;' and 
supposing  that  they  were  never  interrupted  by  one  pang  or  one 
disappointment,  to  remind  you  of  their  insufficiency ; — we 
should  nevertheless  assert  that  to  be  satisfied  with  them,  and 
to  count  yourselves  happy  by  means  of  them,  is  irrational 
and  absurd.  For  know  ye  not  that  all  this  while  '  the  wrath 
of  God  is  abiding  upon  you'  on  account  of  your  sins?  Deny 
this,  and  then  your  conduct  becomes  consistent,  though  your 
condition  remains  as  full  of  peril  as  before.  But  if  you  ad- 
mit that  God  governs  the  world  ;  that  you  are  responsible  to 
him  for  your  actions  ;  that  you  have  disobeyed  his  law ;  and 
that  consequently  you  are  involved  in  the  forfeiture  of  his  fa- 
vour and  in  obnoxiousness  to  punishment;  if  you  admit  this, 


140 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


as  most  of  you  profess  to  do — tlien,  in  tliese  circumstances, 
can  you  or  should  you  be  happy?  Though  all  the  sources  of 
indulgence  which  this  world  affords  were  laid  open  to  you, 
and  though  you  had  not  an  earthly  want  unsupplied,  nor  an 
earthly  desire  unfulfilled,  could  all  this  compensate  for  the 
evil  of  being  subject  to  the  curse  of  Almighty  God,  any  more 
than  it  could  be  effectual  in  removing  it  f  Or  would  not 
your  perseverance  in  devoting  your  affections  to  the  gratifica- 
tions of  sense  and  time  rather  tend,  by  aggravating  your  guilt 
in  the  eye  of  offended  heaven,  to  render  your  misery  more  certain 
and  your  folly  more  conspicuous  ?  We  can  conceive  nothing 
more  preposterous  in  the  whole  range  of  human  error,  no  de- 
ception more  gross  and  melancholy,  than  for  a  man  to  imag- 
ine and  to  insist  that  he  is  happy,  because  the  world,  and  its 
perishing  objects,  and  its  unthinking  inhabitants,  are  smiling 
upon  him,  while  yet  the  terrors  of  incensed  omnipotence  and 
of  a  coming  judgment  are  frowning  on  his  fate.  Compared 
with  this,  the  maniac  is  wise,  who,  in  his  dreary  cell,  and 
with  his  crown  of  straw,  fancies  himself  to  be  the  monarch  of 
the  universe  ;  the  slave  is  right  and  noble  who  boasts  of  lib- 
erty, while  he  dances  in  his  chains  ;  and  the  sleeping  out- 
cast is  an  object  of  complacency,  when  he  dreams  that  he  is 
'  rich  and  increased  in  goods,  and  stands  in  need  of  nothing,' 
thoutrh  at  that  very  moment  he  is  in  rags,  and  poverty,  and 
wretchedness,  and  stands  in  need  of  every  thing.  Yes,  my 
friends,  yours  is  a  sad  and  delusive  dream,  when  )'ou  imagine 
and  call  yourselves  happy ;  while,  whatever  may  be  your 
temporal  circumstances,  and  whatever  may  be  your  temporal 
enjoyments,  the  sentence  of  condemnation,  pronounced  upon 
you  by  the  righteous  Judge,  is  yet  unrecalled  ;  while  no  voice 
from  heaven  has  whispered  that  j'our  '  sins  are  forgiven ;' 
while  Divine  justice  still  asserts  and  urges  its  claim  against 
your  guilty  souls ;  and  while,  from  the  very  scene  in  which 
you  are  settintr  up  your  rest,  and  boasting  that  your  wine  and 
your  oil  and  your  mirth  abound,  there  is  '  a  certain  fearful 
looking  for  of  wrath  and  fiery  indignation  to  consume  you.' 

0  that  you  could  be  awaked  from  this  wild  and  fatal  dream, 
and  that  your  eyes  were  open  to  see  the  infatuation  which 
besets  you ! 

From  your  own  case  of  fancied  bliss,  look  to  the  case  of 
those  into  whose  number,  for  your  own  sake,  we  would  fondly 
introduce  you.  They  are  blessed  indeed.  They  not  only  have 
that  inward  feeling  of  happiness  which  you  pretend  to  have  ; 
and  it  is  not  only  from  its  very  nature  profounder  and  more 
satisfying  than  yours, — but  it  can  endure  the  test  of  reflec- 
tion and  examination  ;  it  has  the  approbation  of  their  own 
minds  impartially  sought  for,  and  deliberately  conferred  ; 
and  it  must  commend  itself  to  the  approval  of  every  under- 
standing that  is  capable  of  comparing  one  thing  with  an- 
other, and  of  forming  a  sound  and  unbiassed  judgment  on 
the  operations  of  the  human  heart.  It  does  not  reject  any 
enjoyment  which  God  is  pleased  to  bestow ;  it  is  not  at  va- 
riance with  one  innocent  pleasure  of  life;  and  it  has  no 
natural  alliance  with  a  single  evil  for  the  suffering  of  which 
it  does  not  contain  an]  ample  recompence.  But  it  is  princi- 
pally and  permanently  derived  from  being  delivered  out  of 
the  greatest  calamity,  and  from  being  put  in  possession 
of  the  richest  inheritance,  that  can  enter  into  the  lot  of  an 
immortal  being.  The  more  it  is  considered,  the  more  is  its  ex- 
cellence demonstrated,  and  the  more  is  its  value  felt.  And  it 
has  this  unspeakable  advantage,  that  its  worth  and  its  con- 
tinuance have  no  dependance  on  the  fluctuations  which  belong 
to  all  other  enjoyments,  but  remain  untouched  and  undimin- 
ished, and  are  even  enhanced  and  secured  by  the  crosses, 
and  troubles,  and  disappointments,  which  denude  the  sinner 
and  the  worlding  of  all  their  blessedness,  and  overwhelm 
them  in  misery  and  despair.  O  then,  if  feeling  deceive  j'ou, 
let  the  deception  yield  to  the  dictates  of  reason,  and  act  upon 
the  conviction,  that  if  you  are  happy,  you  ought  not  to  be 
happy,  lying  as  you  are,  under  the  curse  of  God:  and  let  it 
be  the  earnest  desire  of  your  heart  that  you  may  be  happy, 
like  those  whose  situation  the  Psalmist  describes  when  he 
says,  '  Blessed  is  he  whose  transgression  is  forgiven,  whose 
sin  is  covered.  Blessed  is  the  man  to  whom  the  Lord  irn- 
puteth  not  iniquity.' 

And  should  you  still  be  obstinate,  and  content  yourselves 
with  the  enjoyments  that  are  consistent  with  an  unpardoned 
state,  and  go  on  to  live  as  if  you  both  were,  and  had  reason 
to  be,  happy,  let  me  just  conclude  with  hinting  to  you,  that 
if,  on  any  principle  of  reason,  or  propriety,  or  experience, 
you  can  be  called  happy,  you  are  happy  o;i/y  for  a  moment. 

1  allude  not  to  the  uncertainty  which  attaches  to  every  one 
of  your  earthly  pleasures — though  even  that  consideration 
should  not  be  without  its  influence — but  I  refer  to  the  short 


period  during  which  on  any  supposition  they  can  be  yours. 
Multitudes  among  the  generations  that  are  passed,  lived  and 
thought  and  felt  as  you  are  doing;  they  paid  no  regard  to 
the  blessedness  of  which  the  Psalmist  speaks  with  so  much 
emphasis  ;  they  wrapped  themselves  up  in  the  fond  persua- 
sion that  all  was  well  with  them,  and  refused  to  seek  for  any 
other,  or  any  higher  hajipiness  than  what  they  found  in  the 
gratifications  of  a  carnal  mind.  And  where  is  their  happiness 
now?  Did  not  death  'bring  it  to  a  perpetual  end?'  Could 
the  remembrance  of  it  have  any  other  effect  than  that  of  in- 
creasing the  agony  of  that  punishment  to  which  their  unfor- 
given  spirits  were  doomed  when  they  appeared  before  the 
tribunal  of  their  God  ?  And  in  like  manner,  will  not  a  few 
short  years  put  a  final  period  to  your  boasted  felicity  ?  And 
will  not  every  indulgence  to  which  you  now  so  eagerly  de- 
vote yourselves  become  as  if  it  had  never  been  1  And  will 
not  you  then  be  left  to  sink  into  utter  perdition,  under  the 
burden  of  that  guilt  which  now  lies  so  heavy  on  your  souls, 
and  notwithstanding  which  you  have  the  folly  and  the  pre- 
sumption to  rejoice,  as  if  you,  and  you  alone,  were  happy  ? 
O  be  persuaded  but  to  look  forward  a  little  way,  that  you 
may  see  how  short  your  course  of  worldly  enjoyment  is,  and 
how  darkly  and  wretchedly  it  must  terminate.  And  then 
cast  your  eyes  upon  the  path  along  which  the  justified  sinner 
is  pursuing  his  way.  It  looks  to  you  as  if  it  were  through  a 
dreary  wilderness  ;  and  so  it  is.  But  amidst  all  the  sorrows 
and  difficulties  of  that  wilderness,  he  has  the  favour  of  a  for- 
giving and  reconciled  God  to  uphold  and  to  cheer  him ;  to 
be  his  '  pillar  of  cloud  by  day,  and  his  pillar  of  fire  by  night ;' 
to  fill  him  with  a  peace  which  the  world  that  you  serve  can 
neither  give  nor  take  away.  And  his  journey  is  as  short  as 
yours  ;  but  O  how  diffierently  does  it  terminate  !  It  termi- 
nates in  a  land  of  rest,  and  bliss,  and  glory,  where  the  joy 
that  he  now  feels  from  the  sense  of  God's  pardoning  mercy, 
shall  be  freed  from  all  that  impairs  it  here,  and  where  it  shall 
be  such  as  to  afford  the  most  delightful  and  the  only  satisfy- 
ing illustration  of  that  great  truth  which  we  partially  expe- 
rienced upon  earth, — that  'blessed  is  he  whose  trangression 
is  forgiven,  whose  sin  is  covered,  and  to  whom  the  Lord  im- 
puteth  not  iniquity.' 

Let  me  beseech  you  then  to  seek  after  this  happiness  with 
your  whole  heart.  '  Give  no  sleep  to  your  eyes,  nor  slumber 
to  your  eye-lids,'  till  you  have  asked  and  obtained  the  forgive- 
ness of  your  sins.  Apply  for  that  blesssing  through  faith  in  the 
atonement  and  righteousness  of  the  great  Redeemer.  Pray 
that  it  may  be  communicated  to  you  in  'demonstration  of  the 
Spirit,'  so  that  you  may  feel  in  your  experience  that  you 
have  '  obtained  mercy,'  and  be  glad  in  the  possession  and 
enjoyment  of  such  a  privilege.  And  He  who  sent  his  own 
Son  to  be  a  propitiation  for  your  sins,  and  is  now  '  in  him 
reconciling  the  world  to  himself,'  will  lend  a  gracious  ear 
to  your  petition,  and  blot  out  your  iniquities,  and  give  you 
to  partake  of  all  the  blessings  of  the  everlasting  covenant. 


PART  II. 

We  have  considered,  in  the  Jirst  place,  the  uncomfortable 
state  of  a  convinced,  but  still  impenitent  and  unpardoned 
sinner ;  in  the  second  place,  the  blessing  of  pardon  itself;  and, 
in  the  third  place,  the  happiness  of  those  who  have  been  so 
privileged  as  to  obtain  that  blessing. 

IV.  We  come  now,  in  theffjurth  place,  to  consider  repent- 
ance as  connected  with  the  forgiveness  of  sin.  'I  acknow- 
ledged my  sin  unto  thee,  and  mine  iniquity  have  I  not  hid;  I 
said,  I  will  confess  my  transgressions  unto  the  Lord,  and 
thou  forgavest  the  iniquity  of  my  sin.' 

Confession  of  sin  has  no  reference  to  the  idea  of  making 
God  acquainted  with  our  unworthiness.  In  confessing  our 
fmlt  to  a  fellow-creature,  one  principal  part  of  the  act  fre- 
quently consists  in  revealing  to  him  what  he  did  not  know  be- 
fore, and  what  he  would  never  have  known  but  for  our  commu- 
nication. With  God,  however,  the  case  is  entirely  and  ne- 
cessarily different.  He  is  already  intimately  and  perfectly 
aware  of  our  guilt,  of  all  its  extent,  of  all  its  particulars,  and 
of  all  its  aggravations.  Confessing  to  him,  thejefore,  must 
mean  something  else  than  merely  telling  him  of  our  unwor- 
thiness. It  plainly  stands  opposed  to  that  state  of  mind  in 
which  the  transgressor  is  when  he  is  awakened  in  some 
measure  to  sec  his  sinfulness,  but  not  yet  sufficiently  affected 
with  the  sight  to  act  according  to  its  influence  and  tendency.  In 
that  state  lie  is  sensible  that  he  has  committed  many  iniqui- 
ties, and  he  is  so  far  convinced  of  his  demerit  and  his  danger 
as  to  feel  uneasiness  from  it.     But  still  he  labours  to  per- 


LECTURES  ON  PORTIONS  OF  THE  PSALMS. 


141 


suade  himself  that  things  are  not  so  bad  with  hira  as  his 
fears  would  suffgest ;  he  tries  to  believe  that  such  and  such 
actions,  for  which  his  conscience  had  been  upbraidintr  him, 
have,  in  truth,  no  moral  evil  in  them  ;  he  is  ingenious  in 
devising,  and  eager  in  discovering  excuses,  by  which  he  may 
palliate  conduct,  the  ungodly  or  immoral  nature  of  which  he 
cannot  wholly  deny ;  he  will  not  recognize  such  depravity 
in  his  heart  and  life,  as  should  make  him  tremble  for  his 
safety,  and  anxious  to  secure  it;  he  struggles  to  keep  down 
every  rising  of  remorse — to  check  every  feeling  of  anxiety 
and  alarm ;  and  he  strives  to  satisfy  his  mind  that  he  has 
not  been  so  disobedient  to  the  law  of  God,  as  to  subject  him 
to  condemnation  and  punishment.  When,  however,  his  con- 
victions of  sin  become  powerful,  his  sense  of  its  evil  clear 
and  acute,  and  his  consciousness  of  its  burden  too  oppressive 
for  him  to  bear,  he  ceases  to  take  a  partial  or  a  flattering  view 
of  his  spiritual  character.  He  feels  that  when  he  maintains 
his  comparative  innocence  he  is  but  deceiving  himself  with 
a  vain  and  false  imagination.  Bitter  experience  teaches  him 
that  '  there  is  no  peace  to  the  wicked,'  even  when  he  is  most 
resolute  in  speaking  peace  to  his  soul.  All  his  sophistries, 
and  all  his  stout-heartedness,  and  all  his  fond  delusions  are 
overborne  by  the  aspect  which  his  guilt  now  assumes.  And 
instead  of  having  recourse  to  what  might  be  supposed  to  ex- 
tenuate his  offences  or  to  justify  his  conduct,  he  chooses 
rather  to  admit  that  such  an  attempt  is  utterly  hopeless;  he 
does  homage  to  the  truth,  mortifying  and  humiliating  as  it  is, 
that  he  is  nothing  but  a  great  and  miserable  sinner  ;  and  he 
seeks  for  relief  to  his  agitated  or  dejected  spirit  by  a  free,  in- 
genuous, and  unreserved  acknowledgment  that  he  is  charge- 
able with  rebellion  against  God  which  exposes  him  to  divine 
indignation,  and  which  it  is  beyond  his  power  to  expiate. 
He  not  only  sees  the  folly  of  imposing  upon  himself,  by  en- 
deavouring," as  it  were,  to  impose  upon  omniscience;  he  is  not 
only  alive^to  the  double  guiltiness  of  first  sinning,  and  then 
trying  to  think  that  he  has  not  sinned,  or  has  not  sinned  so  as  to 
provoke  God  ;  he  is  not  only  struck  with  the  danger  of  thus 
putting  a  veil  upon  his  iniquities,  and  steeling  himself 
againsl  the  impression  of  that  unalterable  turpitude  which 
belongs  to  them,  and  of  that  coming  ruin  in  which  they  must 
in  this  case  involve  him ;— not  only  do  these  things  affect  him 
deeply,  and  determine  him,  instead  of  struggling  any  longer 
with  his  convictions,  to  yield  altogether  to  their  impulse,  and 
to  allow  them  their  full  play  on  his  feelings  and  his  fears ; 
he  is  also  encouraged  to  cherish  them  by  the  views  which  he 
begins  to  take  of  the  grace  and  mercy  of  Him  against  whom 
he  has  sinned,  and  by  the  assurances  wiiich  are  held  out  to 
him,  that  '  the  blood  of  Christ  cleanseth  from  all  sin,'  and 
that  the  divine  compassion  extends  to  the  chief  of  sinners. 
And,  therefore,  he  pours  out  his  heart  in  unqualified  and  undis- 
guised confession,  pleading  guilty  to  every  offence  which  the 
holy  eye  of  God  has  marked  in  his  deportment,  anxious  that 
in  no  one  instance,  and  in  no  one  degree,  he  should  iridulge 
in  a  mitigated  opinion  of  his  delinquencies,  and  studying  to 
take  the  completest  survey,  and  to  have  the  deepest  sense, 
and  to  make  the  frankest  and  the  fullest  avowal,  of  that  de- 
merit which  adheres  to  him  as  a  hater  and  a  transgressor  of 
tlie  divine  law. 

It  is  quite  evident  that  confession  of  sin  forms  but  a  part  of 
repentance.  It  is  only  one  of  the  steps  which  the  penitent 
takes  in  the  course  of  that  transition  which  he  makes,  or  of 
that  change  which  he  undergoes,  when  he  turns  from  sin  unto 
God.  And  yet  it  obviously  stands  here  for  the  whole  of  re- 
pentance, having  the  blessing  of  forgiveness  and  salvation  an- 
nexed to  it,  and  intimating  the  Psalmist's  return  from  that 
state  of  guilt  into  which  he  had  plunged,  to  the  holy  princi- 
ples and  holy  practice  which  he  had  criminally  abandoned. 
This  is  not  uncommon  in  Scripture.*  We  read  in  another  pas- 
sage besides  this,  that  'if  we  confess  our  sins,  God  is  faithful 
and  just  to  forgive  us  our  sins,  and  to  cleanse  us  from  all  un- 
righteousness.' Such  a  substitution  of  a  part  for  the  whole 
of  repentance,  seems  to  proceed  on  the  same  general  principle, 
according  to  which  we  often  find  a  single  Christian  virtue  put 
for  the  Christian  character  at  large  ;  as  when  our  Saviour  says, 
'  Blessed  are  the  merciful,  for  they  shall  obtain  mercy.'  Here 
mercy  stands  for  every  thing  which  a  good  man  is  required  to 
possess.  And,  when  properly  considered,  such  a  representa- 
tion is  perfectly  correct :  For  the  mercy  here  spoken  of  is 
genuine  mercy, — mercy  wrought  by  the  spirit  of  God,  and 
governed  by  right  and  worthy  motives ;  but  this  being  the 
case,  we  may  be  quite  sure  that  this  grace  will  not  stand 
alone,  but  will  be  accompanied  and  connected  with  every 


■  See  Lectuie  Dl,  Part  U. 


other  grace  that  characterises  a  genuine  disciple  of  Christ. 
The  spirit  of  God  cannot  be  supposed  to  implant  the  senti- 
ment of  mercy,  and  to  leave  the  mind  unfurnished  with  those 
other  excellencies  which  are  equally  becoming,  and  equally 
necessary,  and  without  which  the  persons  whom  it  distin- 
guishes would  not  be  men  of  God,  '  furnished  unto  all  good 
works.'  And  the  motives  which  lead  to  the  cultivation  of 
this  moral  quality,  must,  of  course,  operate  to  the  cultivation 
of  justice,  temperance,  faith,  humility,  and  every  remanent 
virtue  which  goes  to  constitute  that  character  to  the  possess- 
ion of  which  the  promise  of  salvation  is  annexed.  Now,  in 
like  manner,  and  for  a  similar  reason,  confession  of  sin  is  ta- 
ken to  signify  the  whole  of  repentance.  This  confession  is 
not  supposed  to  be  a  mere  verbal  or  formal  acknowledgment 
of  iniquity,  which  is  pcrfectl}'  consistent  with  perseverance  in 
the  iniquity  which  is  confessed.  It  is  understood  to  be  sin- 
cere and  worthy ;  and  that  being  the  case,  it  proceeds  from 
just  and  Scriptural  views  of  sin  ;  it  implies  a  sacred  homage 
to  the  character  and  the  law  of  God  ;it  is  associated  with  godly 
sorrow  and  self-abasement;  it  is  quickened  by  a  believing  re- 
gard to  the  mediation  of  Jesus  ;  and  it  is  succeeded  by  prac- 
tical reformation  and  holy  obedience.  And,  viewed  in  that 
light,  and  in  these  relations,  it  ma}',  with  the  greatest  propri- 
ety, be  spoken  of  as  we  speak  of  repentance  itself,  and  set 
down  as  bringing  along  with  it  the  rich  recompense  which 
divine  benignity  has  been  pleased  to  attach  to  the  exercise  of 
that  comprehensive  grace.  And  we  may  remark  also  a  pecu- 
liar propriety  in  its  being  so  employed  in  the  passage  before 
us.  For  the  Psalmist  had  been  speaking  of  the  misery  that 
he  experienced  in  consequence  of  his  'keeping  silence,'  or  re- 
fusing utterance  and  effect  to  his  convictions  of  sin ;  and  now 
that  his  mind  is  relieved  by  adopting  an  opposite  course,  and 
giving  vent  to  his  feelings  in  an  acknowledgment  dictated  by 
those  full  and  affecting  views  of  his  guilt  which  would  ter- 
minate in  a  thorough  change,  he  very  naturally  ascribes  to  it 
the  substantial  character  and  beneficial  results  connected  with 
repentance.  '  I  acknowledge  my  sin  unto  thee,  and  mine  ini- 
quity have  I  not  hid:  I  said,  I  will  confess  my  transgressions 
unto  the  Lord,  and  thou  forgavest  the  iniquity  of  my  sin.' 

Repentance,  as  expressed  by  confession  of  sin,  is  here  uni- 
ted with  the  blessing  of  forgiveness.  And  this  is  a  union  re- 
cognized and  stated  throughout  the  whole  of  Scripture.  The 
doctrine  of  God's  word  is  plainlj'  and  unequivocally  this, — 
that  while  the  impenitent  must  perish  in  their  sins,  the  truly 
penitent  shall  obtain  the  pardon  of  their  sins,  and  final  admiss- 
ion into  the  kingdom  of  heaven. 

We  must  be  very  careful,  however,  to  entertain  accurate 
notions  of  the  relation  which  these  two  things  hear  to  each 
other.  It  is  not  the  relation  of  cause  and  effect.  You  do  not 
obtain  forgiveness  on  account  of  your  repentance.  It  might 
easily  be  shown,  from  the  nature  of  repentance  itself,  that  it 
could  not  procure  such  a  benefit  by  any  worth  or  virtue  or 
efficacy  of  its  own.  But  I  would  just  remind  you  of  one  es- 
sential truth  in  the  gospel  scheme,  and  in  the  gospel  record ; 
namely,  that  it  is  'through  the  blood  of  Christ  that  ye  have 
redemption,  even  the  forgiveness  of  your  sins.'  It  is  for  the 
sake  of  what  Christ  did  and  suffered,  as  an  atoning  sacrifice, 
that  God  in  his  undeserved  mercy  blots  out  your  iniquities. 
And  any  weight  given  to  your  own  doings  in  the  attainment 
of  this  mighty  boon,  is  just  to  detract  so  much  from  the  riches 
of  divine  grace,  and  from  the  merit  of  the  only  Saviour,  and 
to  evince  a  spirit  which  is  at  once  opposed  to  the  gospel 
method  of  deliverance,  and  most  inconsistent  with  the  primary 
and  essential  elements  of  repentance  itself.  Forgi%'eness  is 
annexed  to  the  exercise  oi faith,  but  neither  is  f.iith  the  cause 
of  your  forgiveness,  nor  the  foundation  on  which  you  can  rest 
either  your  application  for  that  blessing,  or  your  hope  of  re- 
ceiving it.  It  is  nothing  else  than  an  acceptance  of  Him  who 
expiates  your  guilt  by  the  oblation  of  himself,  and  procures  for 
you  by  his  exclusive  merit  the  pardon  that  you  need.  In  its 
proper  exercise,  it  withdraws  your  regards  entirely  from  your- 
selves, and  fixes  them  solely  on  the  atoning  death  and  finish- 
ed work  of  the  Redeemer.  And  as  this  faith  is  a  leading 
principle  in  the  true  penitent,  every  true  penitent  will  lose 
sight  of  all  that  is  in  himself,  and  place  his  confidence  entire- 
ly°in  that  one  sacrifice  by  which  Jesus  Christ  has  taken  away 
the  sins  of  the  world. 

But  still  it  must  not  be  forgotten  that  repentance  is  neces- 
sar>' — absolutely  and  indispensably  necessary  for  you.  It  is 
necessary  for  maintaining  consistency  in  God's  administration 
towards  you — for  nothing  could  be  more  contradictory  to  his 
moral  perfection  than  to  make  provision  for  (he  pardon  of  your 
sin,  and  to  allow  you  to  continue  in  the  love  and  practice  of  it. 
It  is  necessary  to  fit  you  for  enjoying  his  favour  and  friendship 


142 


emu  ST  IAN    LIBRARY. 


upon  e.arlh,  it  being  iinpossililc  I'or  him  to  hold  cornniujiion 
witli  )"oii,  or  for  you  to  have  any  relish  for  his  loving  kind- 
ness, while  you  continued  'enemies  to  him  in  your  minds, 
and  by  wicked  works.'  It  is  necessary  to  qualify  you  for  the 
employments  and  the  blessedness  of  the  heavenly  world,  be- 
cause these  are  so  holy  and  immaculate,  that  an  unconverted 
man  could  nvlthcr  willini;ly  engage  in  the  one,  nor  have  any 
satisfaction  or  complacency  in  the  other.  It  is  necessary  in 
all  these  important  respects;  and  we  cannot  imagine  a  wilder 
or  more  fatal  delusion,  than  for  such  as  have  not  repented  to 
appropriate  to  themselves  the  blessedness  of  those  '  whose 
transgression  is  ibrgiven,  whose  sin  is  covered,  and  to  whom 
the  Lord  imputeth  not  iniipiity.'  AVe  cannot  here  enter  par- 
ticularly into  the  nature  and  process  of  that  repentance  which 
you  must  exercise ;  but  we  would  earnestly  press  upon  you 
the  necessity  of  having  this  evidence  of  your  spiritual  safety; 
and  would  beseech  )'ou  to  try  and  examine  3oursclves  in  or- 
der to  ascertain  whether  you  indeed  possess  it;  and  never  to 
rest  satisfied  till  in  this  respect  'there  is  no  guile  in  your 
heart,'  and  till  you  can  say  with  the  Psalmist,  in  the  full  im- 
port of  his  language,  '  I  acknowledge  my  sin  unto  thee,  and 
mine  iniquity  havelnothid.  Isaid,!  w  ill  confess  my  transgres 
sionsnnto  the  Lord;  and  thou  forgavest  the  iniquity  of  my  sin.' 

V.  We  now  come  to  consider  the  disposition  of  those  who 
are  penitent  and  ])ardoned  to  engage  in  prayer.  '  For  this 
shall  every  one  that  is  godly  pray  unto  thee,  in  a  time  when 
thou  mayesl  be  found.' 

The  true  penitent  may  be  denondnated  godly  during  every 
period  of  his  progress  ;  from  the  iirst  moment  that  he  gets  de- 
cided views  of  the  evil  of  sin,  till  he  comes  to  abound  in 
every  good  word  and  work.  And  at  every  period  of  his  pro- 
gress, he  feels  an  inclination  to  pray.  Nothing  is  more  na- 
tural to  him — nothing  more  requisite  for  him — nothing  more 
beneficial  lu  him.  AV  henever  he  is  thoroughly  convinced  of  sin, 
his  heart  instinctively  ascends  in  snp]dication  to  the  throne 
of  God.  He  is  impressed  with  an  overwhelming  sense  of  ihi 
evil  of  sin,  in  its  contrariety  to  the  divine  law,  and  in  its  ob^ 
noxiousness  to  the  divine  wratli.  His  conscience  tells  him 
that  it  cleaves  to  him,  and  that  it  has  involved  him  in  dishon- 
our and  perdition.  He  is  aware  that  there  is  no  deliverance, 
and  no  safety  for  him  but  what  must  come  from  that  great 
Being  whose  authority  he  has  disol)e)'ed,  and  whose  anger  he 
has  incurred.  He  knows,  also,  that  his  ofl'cnded  Maker  is  as 
compassionate  as  he  is  holy,  and  is  ready  to  foro-ive  all  that 
come  to  him  by  '  the  new  and  living  way'  that  he  has  appoint- 
ed. And  thus,  not  merely  urged  by  his  spiritual  necessities, 
but  encouraged  by  the  divine  willingness  to  supply  them,  he 
looks  up  and  says,  '  God  ho  merciful  to  me  a  sinner.'  He  be- 
seeches God  to  'save  him  from  going  down  to  the  pit' — to 
pardon  his  manifold  iniquities,  and  thus  to  speak  peace  to  his 
guilty  and  troubled  soul. 

Nor  is  he  contented  with  once  offcringup  this  supplication 
He  is  too  strongly  impressed  with  the  magnitude  of  his  guilt 
and  the  iinmincnce  of  his  danger;  lie  thirsts  too  vehemently 
for  the  blessing  that  he  has  implored ;  he  is  too  anxious  and 
fearful  about  falling  short  of  that  which  he  so  greatly  needs 
and  so  devoutly  wishes  for,  to  be  satisfied  with  such  a  rare 
and  short-lived  application  to  the  fountain  of  mercy.  He  coiv 
tinucs  to  ask  for  the  divine  forgiveness  and  favour  with  a  fer 
vour  and  an  importunity,  such  as  ndght  be  expected  in  the 
ease  of  one  who  knew  that,  if  he  succeeded,  eternal  felicity 
would  be  his,  and  that  if  he  failed,  he  must  die,  and  that  for 
ever.  And  while  ho  perseveres  in  petitioning  for  mercy  to 
pardon  him,  he  also  supplicates  '  grace  to  help  him  in  his  time 
of  need.'  He  knows  that  he  is  polluted  as  well  as  guilty  ; 
that  he  must  be  sanctified  as  well  as  justified  ;  that  of  his  own 
strength  be  can  no  more  do  the  former  than  he  can  do  the  lat- 
ter ;  that  both  achievements  must  be  performed  by  'the  n-reat 
power  of  God ;'  and  therefore^  he  prays,  that  while  he  is 
rescne<l  from  the  curse  of  the  law,  he  may  be  also  emancipat- 
ed from  '  the  bondage  of  corruption,'  and  '  created  again  in 
Christ  Jesus  unto  good  works.' 

He  is  aware,  that  though  God  may  have  accorded  to  him 
the  forgiveness  he  has  asked,  yet  that  he  has  amtinued  need 
of  the  pardoning  mercy  be  has  experienced  ;  that  he  is  every 
day  sinning  against  his  Makir  and  Ifedeemer,  and  conse- 
quently is  ill  daily  want  of  that  blessing,  which  can  henceforth 
come  only  from  him  who  at  first  bestowed  it;  and  therefore 
he  ceases  not  to  intreat  it  from  bis  merciful  father  in  heaven ; 
and  amidst  all  the  prayers  that  he  ofiers  up,  be  never  forgets 
to  ask  the  rr]i(atril  forgiveness  of  bis  nqieated  transgressions. 
He  is  also  sc  lu.ihle  that  the  change  which  has  been  commen- 
ced in  his  soul,  can  no  nmre  be  carried  on  and  completed,  than 
it  was  originated,  by  his  own  independent  energies  ;  that  he 


must  have  the  divine  help  to  keep  hiin  from  falling  back  into 
that  state  of  blindness,  and  insensibility,  and  degradation 
from  which  he  has  been  delivered;  that  without  it,  he  would 
cease  even  to  feel  any  desire  for  the  thorough  renewal  and  final 
purification  of  his  character ;  that  every  view  of  the  evil  of  sin 
hich  be  had  obtained,  would  quickly  be  obscured  and  lost; 
that  -.ill  his  good  resolutions  would  be  feeble  and  unavailing; 
that  sin  would  regain  its  mastery  over  his  alTeclions  and  his 
conduct;  that  he  would  assuredly  fall  back  into  that  state  of 
impenitence,  and  unbelief,  and  wickedness,  from  which  he 
was  happily  emerging.  And  therefore  he  prays,  that  '  He 
who  had  begun  the  good  work  in  him,  would  perfect  it  until 
the  day  of  Christ ;'  would  save  him  from  the  corruption  of  his 
own  heart ;  strengthen  in  him  all  the  holy  dispositions  which 
he  had  implanted  ;  fortify  him  against  the  assaults  of  tempta- 
tion, and  the  inroads  of  his  spiritual  enemies ;  carry  forward 
the  process  of  his  sanctification,  and  continue  to  administer  to 
liim  that  direction  and  that  assistance,  that  sufficient  grace  and 
perfect  strength,  which  would  keep  him  from  falling  away, 
and  'preserve  him  blameless  unto  the  coming  of  his  Lord.' 

He  prays  for  these  things.  He  prays  for  them  with  an  ar- 
dour and  an  earnestness,  proportioned  to  the  lively  conviction 
that  he  has  of  their  infinite  importance  and  indispensable  ne- 
cessity. He  prays  for  them  in  the  name  of  that  great  High 
Priest  to  whom  every  true  penitent  in  every  age  has  looked 
as  the  only  foundation  of  hope.  He  prays  under  the  influence 
of  that  encouragement  which  he  draws  from  the  goodness  of 
God  already  vouchsafed  to  himin  opening  his  eyes  to  the  dan- 
ger and  misery  of  his  condition,  and  revealing  himself  to  him 
as  ready  to  forgive,  and  imparting  to  him  some  portion  of  the 
relief  and  blessedness  which  accompany  the  communications 
of  his  pardoning  love.  And  he  prays  '  in  a  time  when  God 
may  be  found.'  He  considers  that  any  delay  in  applying  at 
the  throne  of  grace  would  be  both  idle  and  dangerous — that 
no  season  can  be  more  proper  than  that  in  which  the  hearer 
of  prayer  is  himself  prompting  him,  as  it  were,  to  the  holy 
exercise — that  it  is  when  God,  by  giving  him  an  alfceting 
sense  of  his  guilty  and  helpless  condition,  hedges  him  in  to 
the  attitude  of  devotion,  he  can  with  most  propriety  and  with 
fondest  hope  beseech  him  for  deliverance  from  it— that  as  his 
need  of  pardon,  and  sanctification,  and  all  other  spiritual  bless- 
ings, is  both  urgent  and  certain,  he  would  be  acting  foolishly 
if  he  did  not  supplicate  these  as  often  as  God's  providence 
calls  him,  and  as  often  as  God's  Spirit  stirs  him  up  to  seek 
them — that  life  is  short  in  reference  to  the  great  work  of  pre- 
paration for  eternity,  and  that  he  may  be  suddenly  and  unex- 
pectedly withdrawn  from  the  means  and  opportunities  of 
carrying  it  on.  And,  therefore,  he  prays  to  God  iinw,  which 
is  '  the  accepted  tiine' — 7iuu;  which  is  '  the  day  of  salvation  ;' 
and  has  it  as  one  of  his  most  ardent  petitions,  that  the  spirit 
of  prayer  may  be  kept  alive  in  his  soul,  and  that  he  may  be 
made  as  desirous  to  obtain,  as  God  is  willing  ami  able  to  be- 
stow, '  mercy  to  pardon,  and  grace  to  help  him  in  his  times  of 
need.' 

Are  any  of  ycu,  rn)'  friends,  living  in  neglect  of  prayer? 
Then  be  assured  that  you  are  neither  penitent  nor  pardoned. 
You  must  be  sensible,  if  you  know  any  thing  at  all  of  the 
subject,  that  of  the  real  penitent,  it  cannot  be  more  truly  af- 
firmed that  he  has  repented  than  it  may  be  said,  '  Behold  he 
prayeth.'  The  one  necessarily  leads  to,  and  implies  the  other. 
All  the  discoveries  that  are  made,  all  the  feelings  that  are 
brought  into  operation,  and  all  the  grace  that  is  experien- 
ced throughout  the  process  of  the  sinner's  repentance,  and 
tliroughout  the  life  bj'  which  that  change  is  succeeded,  do 
plaiidy  and  irresistibly  dictate  the  necessity  of  supplication. 
And,  indeed,  one  of  the  very  sins  of  which  he  has  to  repent, 
and  one  consequently  which  he  must  be  understood  to  forsake, 
is  the  neglect  of  this  great  duty.  So  that  it  is  quite  impossi- 
ble that  the  rejieiitance  which  is  '  uitto  salvation'  can  have 
taken  jdace,  if  it  has  not  been  accompanied  with  prayer.  And 
yet  you  do  not  pray  !  You  never  went  to  the  throne  of  grace  ; 
or  if  yon  did,  you  grew  weary  of  the  exercise,  and  have  ceased 
in  a  great  measure,  or  altogether  to  engage  in  it!  And  w-ith 
all  this  you  fiatter  yourselves  that  you  have  repented,  and  that 
you  may  appropriate  to  yourselves  the  blessedness  of  those 
whose  transgression  is  forgiven  !  What  inconsistency  !  What 
presumption  !  What  self-deception  is  there  hcr(! '.  No,  my 
friends,  repentance  and  neglect  of  jirayer  are  quite  incompati- 
ble. Iteiiciitancc  is  not  more  evidenced  to  the  world  around 
iiim  by  the  sanctified  life  of  the  penitent,  than  it  is  evidenced 
to  his  own  mind  by  that  recotirse  to  jirayer  which  it  necessa- 
rily iirompls,  and  w  hich  in  its  turn  is  requisite  for  the  full  ac- 
complishment of  his  return  to  God  and  to  the  way  <A'  salvation. 
He  only  is  the  true  penitent — he  only  is  the  pardoned  peni- 


LECTURES  ON  PORTIONS  OF  THE  PSALMS. 


143 


lonl — lie  only  is  the  c;™"y  penitent — whose  moral  cliangn  is 
n'ltendud  witli,  and  helped  onward  by  snpplication  and  prayer  ; 
who  sees  in  (lod  alone  liis  refuge  and  his  help;  und  who,  ac- 
cording to  God's  appointment,  and  in  the  way  of  his  appoint- 
ment, applies  to  him  for  every  thing  that  he  needs.  This  is 
cliaraeteristic  of  the  people  of  God  ;  and  it  is  on  this  account 
that  we  can  speak  of  them  as  blessed  beyond  all  that  careless 
and  indevoul  and  unconverted  sinners  can  either  experience 
OT  conceive, 

VI.  This  leads  us  to  say  a  few  things  on  the  last  particu- 
lar which  we  proposed  to  consider,  namelj^,  the  security  of 
God's  peo]dc  in  the  midst  of  danger  and  distress.  '  Surely, 
in  the  floods  of  great  waters,  they  shall  not  come  nigh  him. 
Thou  art  my  hiding  place  ;  thou  shalt  preserve  me  from  trou- 
ble ;  Ihou  shalt  compass  me  about  with  sono;s  of  deliverance.' 

This  language  does  not  intimate  that  God's  people  are  to 
be  exempted  from  trials  and  sufferings.  On  the  contrary,  it 
supposes  them  to  be  actually  involved  in  these,  as  well  as  at 
all  limes  liable  to  them.  And,  indeed,  the  history  both  of 
the  Old  and  the  New  Testament  church,  not  to  speak  of  our 
own  observation  and  experience,  may  s-atisfy  us  that  though 
they  have  a  happiness  which  others  know  nothing  of,  and 
cannot  appreciate  till  they  feel  it,  they  are  exposed  to  all  the 
ordinary  calamities  which  afllict  the  lot  of  man — that  tliey 
are  often  visited  with  bereavements  and  sorrows  from  which 
the  men  of  the  world  escape — and  that  they  have  spiritual 
troubles  which  are  peculiar  to  themselves,  and  which  arefre- 
•juoutly  far  severer  and  more  difficult  to  endure  than  the  worst 
of  outward  distresses.  But  herein  is  tlieir  grand  distinction, 
tliattUcy  are  supported,  and  guarded,  and  saved  by  Him  who 
has  all  things  under  his  sovereign  control,  and  who  says  of 
liis  people,  '  He  that  touches  them,  touches  the  apple  of 
mine  ej'e.' 

They  must  pass  through  a  wilderness,  indeed,  where  difii- 
culties  beset  them,  where  dangers  threaten  them,  where  pri- 
vations visit  them,  where  malevolence  pursues  them.  And 
in  many  respects  it  is  more  a  wilderness  to  them  than  it  is  to 
those  who  are  yet '  far  from  God,  and  far  from  righteousness.' 
There  is  one  consideration,  however,  which  takes  away  from 
it,  in  their  case,  all  that  can  render  it  gloomy  or  formidable  to 
such  as  have  to  traverse  its  rugged  paths.  They  are  the  ob- 
jects of  God's  love,  and  from  his  love,  which  must  constitute 
the  safety  and  the  happiness  of  every  creature  that  is  privi- 
leged to  enjoy  it,  nothing  that  can  possibly  happen,  whether  of 
goo<l  or  evil,  is  able  for  one  moment  to  separate  them.  They 
enter  the  wilderness,  blessed  with  the  enjoyment  and  the  as- 
surance of  his  pardoning  mercy,  and  warranted  to  look  to  him 
as  their  reconciled  friend.  They  travel  on  under  his  unerring 
guidance  and  almighty  protection.  And  beyond  it  lies  the 
land  of  promise,  into  which  he  will  ere  long  introduce  them, 
and  for  the  felicity  of  which  the  toils  and  troubles  of  their 
pilgrimage  will  be  overruled  to  prepare  them.  'The  floods 
of  great  waters'  may  surround  the  Christian,  and  to  the  eye 
of  unthinking  men,  and  in  the  apprehensions  of  his  own  timid 
mind,  they  may  be  about  to  overwhelm  him.  But  his  God 
says  to  them  '  Hitherto  shall  ye  come,  but  no  farther;'  and 
lie  reposes  on  that  love  which  'many  waters  cannot  quench, 
and  which  the  floods  cannot  drown.'  God  is  his  '  hiding 
]>lace'  which  he  may  flee  to,  when  perils  menace  him,  into 
which  his  most  powerful  enemies  cannot  follow  him, 
and  where  he  is  -as  secure  from  harm  as  omnipotence  can 
make  him.  God  'preserves  him  from  trouble  ;'  saves  him  from 
every  disappointment,  and  from  every  pain  that  would  injure 
his  essential  interests  ;  blunts  the  edge  of  such  afilictions  as 
are  allowed  to  belal  him,  by  imparting  help  and  consolation 
along  with  them  ;  and  converts  them  into  blessings,  by  mak- 
ing them  subservient  to  his  present  improvement,  and  his 
everlasting  happiness.  And  even  when  he  seems  ready  to 
fall  a  prey  to  the  adversities  which  come  upon  him,  when  all 
things  wear  the  aspect  of  hostility,  and  conspire  to  accom- 
plish his  ruin,  and  when  escape  appears  to  be  liopeless  and 
impossible,  even  then  God  magnifies  his  grace  and  hisiuight 
by  'compassing  him  about  with  songs  of  deliverance,' — not 
only  delivering  him,  but  making  the  deliverance  so  manifest 
to  him  as  to  impress  him  with  the  sense  of  his  divine  inter- 
position, and  to  fill  his  heart  with  gratitude,  and  his  mouth 
with  praise. 

But  though 'even  here — in  this  world  of  sin  and  sorrow — 
which  looks  as  if  it  were  no  resting  place  for  the  Zionward 
traveller,  as  if  it  had  nothing  for  him  but  trials  and  tempta- 
tions and  distresses,  and  as  if  it  would  destroy  him  before  he 
reached  the  place  of  his  ultimate  destination  ;  though  even 
here  he  is  so  much  the  object  of  God's  providential  care  and 
upholding  grace,  that  he  is  always  safe,  and  can  employ  tho 


triimijihant  strains  of  David  on  anotlier  occasion,  '  The  Lord 
is  my  light  and  my  salvation;  whom  shall  1  fear?  the  Lord 
is  the  strength  of  my  life,  of  whom  shall  I  be  afraid  V — yet  it 
is  in  heaven  that  he  expects,  and  it  is  to  hc-aven  that  he  looks 
forward,  for  that  complete  deliverance  from  his  troubles  which 
is  necessary  to  his  perfect  blessedness,  and  which  he  has 
been  taught  to  regard  as  the  sure  and  final  portion  of  every 
one  that  is  pardoned  and  reconciled  to  God.  And  what  are 
all  the  blessings  that  he  can  be  called  on  to  endure  in  this 
scene  of  trial — what  all  the  violence  of  all  his  enemies — what 
all  the  hardships,  and  privations,  and  anguish  that  can  be  at- 
tached to  his  mortal  fate — when  compared  with  the  great  and 
glorious  '  redemption  that  draweth  nigh' — by  which  he  shall 
bo  rescued  at  once  from  all  sin,  and  from  all  misery — by  which 
ho  shall  be  introduced  into  a  world  where  no  enemy  can 
reach  him,  and  where  no  tempter  can  harass  him,  and  where 
no  evil  can  befal  him,  and  where,  in  a  sense  in  which  he 
could  never  use  it,  and  with  a  joy  which  could  never  animate 
him  here,  he  will  take  up  the  song  of  deliverance,  and  say  in 
the  company  of  the  redeemed  on  high, '  Unto  Him  that  loved 
us,  and  ivashcd  us  from  our  sins  in  his  own  blood,  and  hath 
made  us  kings  and  priests  unto  God  and  his  father,  to  him  be 
glory  and  dominion  for  ever  and  ever  I' 

I  trust  ray  friends,  that  such  is  the  experience  felt,  and  that 
such  are  the  anticipations  cherished  by  many  of  those  now 
hearing  me.  The  passage  that  we  have  been  considering  ex- 
presses the  sense  of  safely  and  tho  hope  of  deliverance  with 
which  the  Psalmist  was  favoured.  Then  he  was  in  the  midst 
of  troubles  from  which  he  could  not  extricate  himself,  and  by 
which,  but  for  divine  help,  he  must  have  been  utterly  destroyed. 
It  expresses  what  was  felt  by  all  the  ancient  worthies  both  of 
the  Old  and  New  Testament  church,  when  in  the  Proviilence 
of  God,  they  were  placed  in  similar  circumstances  of  danger 
and  distress.  I  trust  it  is  no  mean  recommendation  of  it 
when  I  tell  you  that  it  was  a  chosen  portion  of  Scripture  with 
our  forefathers,  who,  when  persecuted  for  conscience  sake, 
and  hunted  like  partridges  on  the  mountains,  because  they 
would  not  bend  their  necks  to  the  yoke  of  bondage,  often 
made  the  sequestered  glen  and  the  barren  rock  echo  to  their 
voice  as  they  lifled  it  u])  to  God  in  this  appropriate  and  pa- 
thetic psalm,  and  in  the  notes  of  their  favourite  and  heart- 
touching  melodies,  conveyed  to  his  listening  ear,  the  sorrows 
which  oppressed,  the  consolations  which  supported,  and  the 
hopes  which  cheered  them.  And  well  will  it  be  for  you,  if 
in  every  season  of  calamity  you  can  cherish  that  contidence 
in  the  mercy  of  God,  and  count  upon  that  saving  power  of 
his  which  have  been  the  distinction,  and  the  comfort,  and  the 
rejoicing  of  his  saints  in  every  period  of  his  church — which 
will  continue  to  distinguish  and  uphold  them  in  all  future 
generations — and  which  will  have  their  issue  in  the  purily, 
and  bliss,  and  glory  of  his  unsuft'ering  kingdom. 


LECTURE  VIII. 

Judge  me,  O  God,  and  plead  my  cause,  agauixt  an  ungodhj 
naiitni :  0  dc/irer  me  from  the  deceitful  and  unjust  man. 
For  ttiuu  art  the  God  of  nil/  strength  ■■  luhij  dust  thou  cast 
nie  off?  trhiy  go  I  mourning  because  of  the  oppression  of 
tlie  enemy?  0  send  out  thy  light  and  thy  truth:  let  them 
lead  me,  let  them  bring  nie  unto  thy  holy  hill,  and  to  thy 
tabernacles.  Then  will  I  go  unto  the  altar  of  God,  unto 
God  my  exceeding  joy  ■■  yea,  upon  the  harp  will  J  praise 
thee,  0  God,  my  God.  J^hy  art  Ihou  cast  down,  O  my 
soul?  and  why  art  them  disrjuicted  tvithin  me?  hope  in, 
God;  for  I  shall  yet  praise  him,  who  is  the  health  of  my 
countenance,  and  my  God. — Psalm  xliii. 

It  is  evident,  from  the  tenor  of  this  Psalm,  that  David  was 
in  great  difTiculty  and  distress  when  he  wrote  it.  He  speaks 
of  'an  ungodly  nation'  against  whom  he  required  help — of 
'  the  deceitful  and  unjust  man,'  from  whom  he  needed  to  be  de- 
livered— of'  the  oppression  of  the  enemy'  that  caused  him  to 
go  mourning.  We  should  find  it  difficult,  and  perhaps  might 
lind  it  impossible  to  ascertain,  with  any  degree  of  certainty, 
the  precise  circumstance  to  which  he  alludes ;  but  that  is  no 
bar  to  our  understanding  the  general  import  of  the  passage, 
and  to  our  deriving  from  it  those  salutary  lessons  which  it  is 
do\d)tless  intended  to  teach  us.  We  are  liable  to  aHliclions 
similar  to  those  with  which   the   Psalmist  was  visited,  and 


144 


CHRISTIAN   LIBRARY. 


when  thus  afflicted,  we  cannot  do  betttr  than  look  to  the 
manner  in  wliiclilie  expressed  and  conducted  himself  on  such 
trying  occasions,  that  we  may  learn  how  to  suffer,  and  how 
to  apply  for  consolation  and  deliverance. 

You  will  observe,  my  friends,  that  at  the  very  outset,  and 
all  along,  his  views  are  directed  to  heaven.  He  had  set  his 
heart  upon  God  :  in  him  he  had  placed  his  trust,  and  from 
him  he  expected  all  necessary  aid.  This  was  the  habit- 
ual feeling  and  exercise  of  his  mind.  And  whenever  any 
peculiar  exigency  occurred,  he  had  immediate  recourse  to  that 
Great  Being  in  whom  he  had  been  taught  and  accustomed  to 
hope.  It  was  not  to  himself — it  was  not  to  his  friends — it 
was  not  to  any  mere  created  refuge  that  he  applied ;  it  was  to 
God  in  whom  there  is  all  that  is  good,  and  mighty,  and  faith- 
ful, and  wise ;  who  has  every  object  and  every  event  under 
his  supreme  control ;  and  who  has  promised  that  he  will 
be  with  his  people  in  all  their  times  of  trouble  and  of  danger. 

TMTI  it  was  with  the  Psalmist ;  and  thus  will  it  be  with 
all  of  us  who  are  truly  devout.  We  will  cherish  a  constant 
dependance  upon  God.  It  is  to  his  providence  and  grace  that 
we  will  look  amidst  all  the  vicissitudes  of  life.  And,  as  in 
our  seasons  of  prosperity  we  will  ascribe  to  him  the  bless- 
ings that  we  enjoy,  so  in  our  seasons  of  perplexity  and  dis- 
tress it  is  upon  him  that  we  will  cast  ourselves  for  guidance 
and  comfort.  The  ordinary  means  of  obtaining  these  we 
will  carefully  employ,  whether  they  are  to  be  found  in  our 
own  personal  efforts,  or  in  the  assistance  of  our  fellow-men, 
or  in  the  circumstances  by  which  we  are  surrounded.  W 
will  carefully  employ  these  means,  because  they  are  divinely 
appointed,  and  because  we  cannot  succeed  in  procuring  what 
we  wish  for  without  them.  But  still  we  will  confide  in  the 
blessing  of  God  for  rendering  them  effectual.  We  will  seek 
for  our  solace,  and  our  encouragement,  and  our  support  in 
his  promised  grace  and  almighty  power.  We  will  lift  up 
our  souls  to  Him  in  prayer  and  faith.  And  from  our  know- 
ledge of  his  character,  our  belief  in  his  word,  and  our  experi- 
ence of  his  mercy,  we  will  lean  upon  him  as  our  stay,  and 
rejoice  in  him  as  our  salvation. 

One  reason  why  we  are  so  much  borne  down  by  our  adver- 
sities, is  our  thinking  too  little  of  the  divine  administration,— 
giving  too  much  attention  to  secondary  causes, — regarding 
the  arrangements  of  our  lot  too  much  in  a  state  of  separation 
from  the  unseen  hand  which  regulates  them, — and  viewing 
every  thing  that  befals  us  rather  in  the  effects  which  it  pro- 
duces upon  our  present  feelings  than  in  the  purposes  in  which 
it  originates,  and  in  its  final  and  permanent  results  on  our 
most  important  interests.  O,  if  we  could  only  bring  our- 
selves to  see  the  finger  of  God  in  all  that  hajipens  to  us,-:^to 
believe,  that  whoever  persecutes  us,  and  whatever  annoys 
us,  lie  is  our  never-failing  friend, — to  remember  that  he  calls 
upon  us  to  place  unlimited  confidence  in  his  government  of 
the  world,  and  in  his  dealings  with  his  people, — and  to  build 
our  hopes  of  his  unceasing  protection  and  care  upon  that 
strong  foundation  which  he  has  laid  for  them  in  the  gospel  of 
his  Son — if  we  could  but  bring  ourselves  to  do  this,  we 
should  less  frequently  repine  and  despond  under  the  pressure 
of  calamity;  we  should  assume  a  loftier  tone,  and  expert 
ence  a  more  undisturbed  serenity  amidst  the  disappointments 
and  vexations  of  life;  and  all  the  hardships  to  which  tlie 
malice  of  our  bitterest  foes  could  sul)ject  us,  would  only 
make  us  cling  closer  to  that  arm  which  is  'mighty  to  save,' 
and  drink  deeper  into  those  streams  of  life  and  consolation 
which  ilow  from  the  tlirone  of  a  reconciled  God. 

We  may  not,  my  friends,  have  to  sustain  the  assaults  of 
such  enemies  as  those  with  whom  the  Psalmist  had  to 
struggle.  But  still  we  cannot  expect  to  be  exempted  alto- 
gether from  tribulation;  and  sometimes  it  may  come  upon  us 
in  its  most  aggravated  form.  Tiiore  are  ungodly  men  Avho, 
being  destitute  of  religious  principle,  will  not  scruple  to  in- 
jure us,  when  they  can  thereby  gratify  their  passions  or 
advance  their  worldly  interests.  There  are  deceitful  men, 
who  will  put  on  the  garb  of  friendship,  and  acquire  our  con- 
fidence and  esteem,  and  then  treacherously  cheat  us  out  of 
our  property,  or  our  reputation,  or  our  peace.  There  are 
unjust  men,  wlio,  by  fraud  or  by  violence  would  rob  us  of 
our  dearest  rights  and  most  valuable  i)Ossessions,  and  not 
only  reduce  our  powers  and  opportunities  of  doing  good,  but 
even  diminish  our  means  of  comfortable  subsistence.  And 
there  are  oppressors  who,  taking  advantage  of  our  weakness 
or  dependence,  and  trampling  alike  on  tiie  maxims  of  equity 
and  humanity,  may  exact  from  us  unreasonable  services,  im- 
pose upon  us  iieavy  burdens  and  cruel  restraints,  and  ply  us 
with  insults,  and  harassments,  and  deprivations,  from  which 
we  can  make  no  escape,  and  for  which  we  can  find  no  redress. 


And  what  does  it  become  us  to  do  when  thus  situated  I 
.Shall  we  indulge  in  those  resentful  feelings  which  the  inflic- 
tion of  such  wrongs  is  calculated  to  awaken  in  our  breasts  ? 
No:  that  were  to  cherish  an  unbecoming  spirit,  and  to  add 
the  demerit  of  sin  to  the  evil  of  sufferin°g.  Shall  we  then 
give  way  to  emotions  of  sorrow,  and  act  as  if  our  case  were 
that  of  inevitable  and  hopeless  misery  1  No :  while  God 
reigns,  our  condition  never  can  be  such  as  to  justify  despair. 
Or  sliall  we  be  contented  with  using  every  exertion  to  vindi- 
cate our  character  and  maintain  our  privileges,  and  repel  the 
agoTessions  that  are  made  upon  us  1  No  :  that  would  both 
prove  insufficient  to  its  purpose,  and  be  unsuitable  to  what  we 
know  and  believe  concerning  the  operations  of  a  superintend- 
ing Providence,  and  the  necessity  of  divine  interposition. 
We  know  and  believe  that  there  is  one  who  '  rules  over  the 
inhabitants  of  the  earth,  as  well  as  the  armies  of  heaven,' — 
that  his  sway  is  universal,  perpetual,  and  incontrollable  ;  that 
infinite  perfection  adheres  to  every  part  of  the  dominion  which 
he  exercises — that  all  those  who  love  and  serve  him,  are  the 
objects  of  his  favour,  and  that  his  eye  is  ever  upon  them  for 
good— that,  far  from  beholding  with  indifference  the  severi- 
ties which  are  practised  upon  them  by  wicked  men,  he  then 
takes  a  more  special  and  affectionate  interest  in  their  well- 
being — and  that  he  speaks  in  these  terms  to  them,  when  they 
are  m  circumstances  of  destitution  and  suffering,  '  Call  upon 
me  in  the  day  of  trouble  ;  I  will  deliver  thee,  and  thou  shalt 
glorify  me.'  And  knowing  and  believing  these  things,  we 
cannot  but  go  to  the  throne  of  grace  when  our  foes  rise  up 
against  us,  and  while,  in  the  spirit  of  love  and  of  a  sound 
mind,  we  employ  every  weapon  of  defence,  and  every  means 
of  safety  with  which  God  has  entrusted  us,  it  is  at  once  our 
duty  and  our  privilege  to  commit  our  ways  to  his  guidance, 
and  our  fortunes  to  his  management,  and  to  say  to  him  with 
the  voice  of  earnest  supplication,  'Judge  me,  O  God,  and 
plead  my  cause  against  an  ungodly  nation.  O  deliver  me 
from  the  deceitful  and  unjust  man:  for  thou  art  the  God  of 
my  strength.' 

We  apply  to  God  as  our  Judge — not  that  he  may  decide 
upon  our  personal  merits,  and  give  us  the  award  that  is  justly 
due  to  us  ;  for  this  were  to  court  and  to  secure  the  punishment 
which  our  sins  deserve.  As  guilty  creatures  we  east  ourselves 
upon  his  mercy,  and  though  we  must  look  to  him  as  '  setting 
his  throne  for  judgment,'  yet  we  look  to  him  as  appointing  to 
that  throne  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ  in  whom  we  have  believed 
as  our  Saviour.  But  when  we  apply  to  him  as  our  Judge  in 
the  sense  in  which  the  Psalmist  uses  that  language,  it  is  that 
he  may  judge  between  us  and  those  who  are  inflicting  upon 
us  unmerited  wrongs.  And,  therefore,  in  order  that  we  may 
make  such  an  application  with  propriety,  with  confidence, 
and  with  success,  we  must  be  previously  satisfied  that  we  are 
the  injured  party — that  our  adversaries,  in  vilifying  or  in  mal- 
treating us,  are  not  merely  resenting  the  mischief  which  we 
have  done  to  litem, — but  that  their  cruelty  is  unprovoked,  and 
their  hatred  without  a  cause.  Were  not  this  the  case,  were 
we  chargeable  with  the  same  offences  on  account  of  which  we 
complain  of  others,  did  their  enmity  to  us  proceed  from  our 
enmity  to  them,  and  had  we  indulged  in  the  spirit  or  in  the 
practice  of  a  vindictive  retaliation,  our  appeal  to  God  in  the 
character  oi  Judge  could  only  have  the  effect  of  involving  our- 
selves as  well  as  our  enemies  in  a  sentence  of  condemnation, 
and  of  increasing  our  guilt  by  exhibiting  our  presumption. 
But  if  we  suffer  from  the  wanton  malice  or  unprincipled  self- 
ishness of  our  fellow-men;  if  we  are  innocent  of  what  they 
allege  against  us  as  the  ground  of  their  hostility  ;  and  still 
more,  if  that  hostility  has  been  created  by  our  firm  adherence 
to  truth  and  duty,  or  if  it  appears  in  the  form  of  an  ungrateful 
return  for  kindness  that  has  been  felt,  and  benefits  that  have 
been  bestowed — then  is  it  both  safe  and  becoming  in  us  to 
make  our  reference  to  God's  judicial  character;  and  in  doing 
so,  we  may  rest  assured,  that  having  committed  our  cause  to 
Him  who  is  the  Judge  of  all  the  earth,  and  who  'judges 
righteous  judgment,'  its  determination  will  be  such  as  to  vin- 
dicate our  rights  and  secure  our  final  welfare. 

We  apply  to  God  as  our  Advocate.  '  Plead  my  cause,'  says 
the  Psalmist,  '  against  an  ungodly  nation.'  Those  who  have 
not  the  fear  of  God  before  their  eyes,  may  reproach  us,  and 
wound  us,  and  despoil  us  ;  and  all  our  arguments  and  remon- 
strances may  be  unavailing  to  the  removal  or  the  abatement 
of  their  malevolence  ;  and' every  effort  that  we  make  to  ward 
off  the  injuries  with  which  they  menace  us,  may  only  add  to 
the  bitterness  of  their  malignity  and  to  the  activity  of  their 
evil  speaking  and  their  evil  doing.  But  God  condescends  to 
take  up  our  plea,  and  to  urge  it  home  upon  them  with  an 
energy  which  we  could  not  employ,  and  which  they  cannot  re- 


LECTURES  ON  PORTIONS  OF  THE  PSALMS. 


sist.  And  we  render  a  just  homage  to  those  high  and  o-ra- 
cious  attributes  in  wliich  ho  has  been  pleased  to  reveal  him- 
self to  us,  as  well  as  consult  our  own  personal  ad vanta<re, 
when  we  beseech  him  so  to  manage  and  defend  our  suit  °as 
that  our  enemies  shall  not  be  permitted  to  succeed  in  their 
endeavours,  or  to  triumph  in  their  injustice.  Tluis  prayino- 
to  God,  from  the  firm  conviction  that  he  can,  we  may  also 
pray  to  him  with  the  animating  persuasion  that  he  will,  effec- 
tually take  our  part  against  them  that  trouble  us— that  by  the 
secret  influences  of  his  Spirit  or  the  open  demonstrations  of 
his  providence,  he  will  convert  their  hearts,  or  stop  their 
moutlis,  or  arrest  them  in  their  career  of  mischief— that  in  his 
own  way,  and  at  his  own  time,  but  certainly  and  completely, 
he  will  bring  the  controversy  to  such  an  issue  as  to  show  that 
the  foes  of  his  people,  though  they  may  harass  for  a  season 
cannot  and  shall  not  ultimately  prosper. 

We  apply  to  God  as  our  Deliverer.  '  O  deliver  me  from  the 
deceitful  and  unjust  man.'  Those  wicked  men  into  whose 
hands  we  have  fallen,  and  who  are  attempting  to  make  a  prey 
of  us,  may  overmatch  us  in  cunning  or  in  force ;  and  if 
abandoned  to  our  own  resources,  we  may  become  the  victims 
of  their  malicious  designs,  or  their  violent  assaults.  But  God 
is  made  known  to  us  as  a  Being  on  whom,  in  such  perilous 
and  helpless  circumstances,  we  may  place  unsuspectino-  and 
cheerful  reliance,  for  he  is  our  strength  ;  he  is  strono-  in  wis- 
dom, strong  in  power,  strong  in  all  the  perfections  which  can 
operate  to  rescue  us  from  the  grasp  and  machinations  of  our 
iocs;  and  these  perfections  he  is  pledged  by  his  promises  to 
put  forth  in  our  behalf.  Whatever  be  the  number,  and  the 
artifice,  and  the  might  of  them  that  set  themselves  against  us, 
this  is  our  comfort,  and  this  is  our  refuge,  that  '  the  Lord  God 
omnipotent  reigneth ;'  that  his  everlasting  arm  is  underneath 
and  round  about  us  continually;  that  we  have  free  access  to 
that  throne  on  which  he  sits  as  the  hearer  of  prayer ;  and  that 
il,  trom  the  midst  of  those  perils  into  which  unjust  and  de- 
ceitful men  have  plunged  us,  we  implore  his  merciful  inter- 
position, our  supplications  will  prevail  upon  him  to  '  take  to 
him  his  great  power,'  to  scatter  all  our  enemies,  and  toeman 
cipate  us  from  all  our  fears. 

And  truly,  my  friends,  what  need  we  more  than  that  we 
should  thus  be  privileged  to  confide  in  God  as  our  Judge,  our 
Advocate,  and  our  Deliverer  1  Yet  the  Psalmist  who  seems  to 
have  habitually  looke'd  up  to  God  and  trusted  in  him  as  sus- 
taining these  important  characters,  ventures,  in  a  moment  of 
forgetfulness  and  despondency,  to  utter  this  complaint,  '  Why 
dost  thou  cast  me  off?  Why  go  I  mourning  because  of  the 
oppression  of  the  enemy  V  And  alas  !  it  is  to  be  feared  that 
the  same  discontent  is  felt,  and  the  same  impatience  express- 
ed, by  not  a  few  believers,  in  the  season  of  severe  and  pro- 
tracted calamity.  All  this  is  quite  natural.  If  God  is  almighty 
to  destroy  or  to  subdue  our  enemies,  it  is  difficult  to  perc°eive 
why  they  should  be  allowed  to  disturb  our  peace,  or  to  injure 
our  welfare,  as  if  they  were  stronger  than  He  who  is  for  us; 
and  if,  in  spite  of  all  our  importunate  intreaties  for  deliver- 
ance, we  are  still  exposed  to  their  fiery  assaults,  our  armiment 
being  strengthened  by  feeling,  it  is  not  wonderful  that  in  our 
haste  we  should  be  betrayed  into  that  querulous  lano-uarre 
w-hich  fell  from  the  lips  of  David,  when  under  the  pressure 
of  evils  which  he  had  long  endured,  and  to  which  he  saw  no 
symptons  of  a  speedy  termination.  But  though  all  this  be 
quite  natural,  it  is  both  erroneous  and  sinful.  It  is  erroneous 
because  it  implies  that  the  present  is  a  state  of  unqualified  re- 
tribution ;  that,  because  God  is  possessed  of  infinite  justice 
and  power,  he  must,  therefore,  exercise  them  immediatclv, 
and  to  their  full  extent ;  that  when  we  are  in  dano-er  or  dis- 
tress he  cannot  allow  us  to  continue  in  it,  consistently  with 
his  own  revealed  character  or  with  our  real  welfare.  And  it 
is  sintul,  inasmuch  as  it  is  setting  up  our  imperfect  wisdom 
in  opposition  to  the  unerring  wisdom  of  God,  accusinn-  him  of 
violating  his  promises  and  abandoning  his  people,  and  dicta- 
ting to  him  the  time  and  the  manner  of  bestowino- upon  us  those 
blessings  of  which  we  stand  in  need,  and  for^which  he  has 
instructed  us  to  pray.  Being  thus  erroneous  and  sinful,  let 
us  avoid  such  conduct ;  and  if,  on  any  occasion,  we  are  like 
the  Psalmist,  betrayed  into  it,  let  us  also  like  him,  humbly 
impute  it  to  a  want  of  knowledge  in  our  minds,  and  a  want 
of  grace  in  our  hearts,  and  still  let  us  apply  to  God  in  prayer 
as  he  did,  that  these  wants  may  be  supplied,  and  that  M-e 
maybe  taught  to  see  more  clearly  the  rectitude  of  all  his 
dealings  with  us,  and  enabled  more  submissively  to  acquiesce 
in  all  his  dispensations,  and  more  unreservedly  to  trust  in  his 
faithfulness  and  mercy. 

No  sooner  had  David  vented  his  unreasonable  and  unjusti- 
fiable coinplaint  than  he  ])oured-out  his  soul  in  this  appropri- 
Voi,.  II. — T 


145 


ate  supp  ication,  '  O  send  out  tny  light  and  thy  truth,  let  them 
lead  me.      Let  such  be  the  supplication  of  our  souls  when 
similarly  situated.     Let  us  ask  God  to  lead  us  into  correct 
views  and  correct  teelings,  respecting  his  moral  administra- 
tion.    We  are  naturally  ignorant  of  that  subject;  and  even 
though  we  have  been  made  acquainted  with  it  by  means  of 
the  written  word,  yet  much  imperfection  still  cleaves  to  all 
the  information  we  have  acquired,  and  the  trials  with  which  we 
are  frequently  visited,  are  apt  to  darken  and  perplex  our  un- 
derstandings, when  endeavouring  to  scan  the  divine  procedure 
and  to  reconcile  what  we  experience  of  disappointment  and  of 
suffering  with  what  we  believe  of  the  greatness  and  the  good- 
ness o^  that  Being,  under  whose  government  these  evils  befal 
."ft'o       .f      °"?    °"  ''"""^'fdge  were  as  extensive  and  accu- 
rate on  this  point  as  we  could  desire  it  to  be,  still  that  attain- 
ment would  not  be  suflicient ;  lor  amidst  it  all,  there  is  a 
natural  aversion  to  every  thing  which  afflicts  us  with  pain,  or 
which  frustrates  our  hopes,  or  which  subjects  us  to  the  scorn 
and  the  enmity  of  our  fellow-mortals  ;  and  this  aversion  is  ^ 
strong  and  so  inveterate  as  to  make  us  mutiny  under  such  ca- 
lamities, notwithstanding  their  constituting,  in  our  system  of 
beliel,  a  part  of  God's  ordinances  concernino-  our  lot      And 
therefore,  we  need  a  two-fold  communication  from  heaven  U> 
meet  our  necessities,  and  to  'guide  our  feet  into  the  way  of 
peace  ;   and  for  these  we  must  be  careful  to  pray.     We  roust 
pray  that  God  would  '  send  forth  his  light ;'— that  he  would 
give  us  such  bright  and  realising  conceptions  of  those  attri- 
butes of  his,  which  make  him  worthy  to  be  '  the  confidence  of 
all  the  ends  of  the  earth,'  as  that  we  shall  see  them  operatino- 
in  our  seasons  of  adversity  as  well  as  in  our  seasons  of  pros°- 
perity,  and  shall  recognise  wisdom  and  mercy  in  those  dis- 
pensations which  to  the  carnal  and  unenlightened  eve,  wear 
he  aspect  of  nothing  but  capricious  chance,  or  cruel  and  re- 
cntless  fate.     And  we  must  pray  that  he  would  '  send  forth 
nis  truth;  —that  he  would  hold  out  to  us  such  a  strono-  and 
impressive   manifestation   of  that   feature   of  his   character 
which  tells  us  that  he  is  unchangeably  true  to  all  the  promises 
that  he^has  ever  made,  that  he  would  so  carry  home  this  pe- 
culiar display  of  himself  to  our  conviction  and  our  experience 
as  that  we  should  deem  it  at  once  irrational  and  undutiful  to' 
distrust  him  in  any  thing,  and  that  in  the  gloomiest  and  most 
msheartening  of  his  providences  towards  us,  we  may  clino-to 
his  taithfhlness  '  as  the  anchor  of  our  soul,  both  sure  and  st°ed- 
last,    and  cherish  the  unwavering,  cheering,  delio-htful  con- 
viction that  the  most  formidable  of  our  adversaries  Ihall  never 
prevail  against  us— that  he  will  'make  their  wrath  to  praise 
him     by  making  it  subservient  to  the  good  of  his  people 
while  '  the  remainder  of  that  wrath  he  will  restrain  ;'— that  he 
will  finally  and  wholly  rescue  us  from  whatever  thev  have 
inflicted,  and  from  whatever  they  may  threaten— and  that  all 
that  we  are  doomed  to  suffer  from  their  malice  will  be  over- 
ruled by  him  lor  promoting  our  spiritual  improvement  and 
our  future  happiness. 

But  while  we  beseech  God  so  to  illuminate  our  minds  with 
a  knowledge  of  his  character,  and  so  to  impress  them  with  a 
sense  of  his  laithfulness,  as  that  we  may  be  led  to  a  riaht 
mode  ot  judging,  and  a  right  tone  of  feeling,  respecting  his 
care  0   us  when  we  endure  the  buffetings  and  persecutions  of 
ungodly  men,  we  should  also  pray  for  these  divine  influences 
inrelerence  to  our  engaging  in  the  ordinances  of  relio-ion 
•  Let  them  bring  me  unto  thy  holy  hill,  and  to  thy  tabernacles  ' 
At  all  times,  and  in  all  circumstances,  it  is  both  a  bounden 
duty,  and  a  valuable  privilege  to  wait  upon  God  in  the  exer- 
cises of  his  house.     But  from  the  nature  of  these  exercises- 
Irom  their  tendency  to  instruct,  and  console,  and  encourao-e— 
It  IS  more  especially  incumbent  upon  those  to  eiio-ao-e  in  them 
who  are  in  perplexity  and  distress  by  reason  of  the  harsh  and 
slanderous  and  injurious  usuage  which  they  receive  from  a 
world  lying  in  wickedness.     All  who  in  such  trying  condi- 
tions have  betaken  themselves  to  the  house  of  God.^and  de- 
voutly mingled  in  its  sacred  occupations,  can  bear  testimony 
to  the  comfort  and  the  advantage  which  these  are  calculated 
to  impart  to  the  afflicted,  but  humble  and  sincere  worshipper 
He  finds  in  them  a  support  infinitely  stronger,  and  a  solace- 
ment  infinitely  sweeter  than  any  that  the  mere  worldlino-  has 
ever  found,  when,  visited  by  some  sorrowful  dispensation,  he 
seeks  for  an  assuagement  to  his  grief,  or  a  stay  to  his  deject- 
ed mind,  in  the  secularities  of  a  busy  life,  or  in  the  amuse 
ments  ot  a  gay  one.     The  prayers  that  he  offers  up  in  faith 
—the  sympathies  of  his  Christian  brethren-his  researches 
into  the  oracles  of  truth— his  meditations  on  divine  thino-s— 
and  the  various  topics  to  which  his  attention  is  directed— all 
arc  fitted  to  give  him  a  more  thorough  apprehension  of  the 
divine  character  and  government,  to  reconcile  him  more  effect- 


146 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


ually  to  the  painfulness  of  that  discipline  to  which  he  is 
subjected,  to  awaken  in  him  a  spirit  of  more  patient  endurance 
and  more  heartfelt  submission,  to  procure  for  him  more  abun- 
dant supplies  of  that  grace  which  is  necessary  to  help  him  in 
his  times  of  need,  and  to  send  him  back  to  hjs  scene  of  suf- 
fering, better  prepared  to  encounter  it  with  fortitude,  and  to 
bear  it  with  resignation. 

But,  that  we  may  thus  profit  by  the  services  of  the  sanctu 
ary,  we  must  preface  them  with  prayer  and  supplication.  We 
require,  and  therefore  we  must  ask  the  light  and  truth  of  God 
to  'brino-  us  unto  his  holy  hill  and  to  his  tabernacles' — to  dis- 
pose us  to  make  that  solemn  approach  to  him — to  fit  us  for  a 
right  discharge  of  the  duties  which  it  implies — and  to  make 
it '  a  (rood  thing  for  us  to  draw  near'  to  the  object  of  our  rev- 
erence and  our  love.  And  while  we  pray  for  such  a  blessing 
to  accompany  us,  and  to  rest  upon  us,  and  to  sanctify  all  our 
service,  we  must  take  care  that  our  service  be  a  spiritual  as 
well  as  an  external  service — that  we  do  not  merely  '  go  unto 
the  altar  of  God,'  but  '  unto  God'  himself— that  besides  pass- 
ing through  all  the  '  forms  of  godliness,'  we  study  to  feel 
and  to  cherish  its  animating  power ;  that  while  we  give  a 
visible  demonstration  of  our  respect  for  every  outward  ob- 
servance in  which  we  are  called  to  participate,  it  be  our  main 
concern  to  hold  communion  with  the  father  of  our  spirits ; 
that  we  appear  before  him,  and  think  of  him,  and  address 
ourselves  to  him,  as  the  fountain  of  our  happiness ;  that  we 
recognise  in  him  the  giver  of  an  '  exceeding  joy,'  a  joy  that 
far  exceeds  in  its  nature,  its  degree,  and  its  duration,  the  joy 
that  we  can  derive  from  any  created  source  ;  that  while  en- 
joying the  honour  and  the  privilege  of  engaging  in  his  wor- 
ship, and  experiencing  the  benefits  with  which  his  mercy  has 
thereby  provided  us,  we  lift  up  our  souls  to  him  in  grateful 
adoration ;  that,  in  conformity  to  the  character  of  our  New 
Testament  economy,  we  praise  him  with  our  voices,  as  David 
praised  him  with  his  harp;  that  whatever  be  the  channel 
through  which  our  thanksgivings  are  conveyed,  or  whatever 
be  the  mode  in  which  they  are  expressed,  they  be  the  outgo- 
ings of  devout  and  deep-felt  affection ;  and  that  they  be  offer- 
ed witli  all  the  earnestness  and  ardour  which  should  accom- 
pany the  sacrifices  that  we  present  to  God  as  our  God,  with 
whom  we  have  reconciliation  by  the  blood  of  sprinkling,  who 
will  be  '  our  guide  even  unto  death,'  and  our  '  portion  for 
evermore.'  And  surely,  if  we  thus  pray,  and  if  we  thus  go 
to  the  sanctuary  of  the  Lord,  and  if  we  thus  engage  in  its 
pious  and  holy  oflices,  we  may  well  employ  the  language  of 
self  remonstrance  and  self  encouragement  with  which  David 
concludes  the  Psalm,  '  Why  art  thou  cast  down,  O  my  soul  1 
and  why  art  thou  disquieted  within  me  1  Hope  in  God,  for  I 
shall  yet  praise  him,  who  is  the  health  of  my  countenance  and 
my  God.' 

The  Psalmist  had  formerly,  in  the  spirit  of  despondency, 
complained  that  God  had  cast  him  off,  and  allowed  him  to 
'go  mourning  because  of  the  oppression  of  the  enemy.'  But 
his  mind  now  resumes  a  better  tone  ;  his  views  become  en- 
lightened ;  his  soul  'returns  to  its  rest,'  and  he  blames  himself 
for  being  immoderately  agitated  aijd  dejected  by  what  he  had 
to  suffer,  and  summons  up  all  his  energies  to  place  an  unlim- 
ited and  rejoicing  confidence  in  God,  whom  he  had  been  guil- 
ty of 'charging  foolishly'  with  having  abandoned  him  to  the 
malice  of  his  foes.  To  such  of  you,  my  believing  friends,  as 
have  much  to  harass  and  distress  you,  and  who  in  your  sad 
and  solitary  musings  on  the  hardships  of  your  lot,  are  ready 
to  murmur  or  to  despair ;  even  though  your  path  hitherto  has 
been  only  ruffled  and  thorny,  and  you  have  at  this  moment  a 
cup  of  bitter  sorrow  pressed  to  your  lips,  and  in  the  picture  of 
your  coming  life  there  be  nothing  l)ut  snares,  and  difficulties, 
and  cruel  mockings,  and  multiplied  sufferings  in  the  fore- 
ground, and  nothing  but  darkness  and  desolation  in  the  dis- 
tance ;  even  then  I  would  say  to  you  in  the  words  of  expostu- 
lation, why  are  your  souls  'cast down,  and  why  are  they  dis- 
quieted within  you  V  Do  not  you  'believe  in  GodT  Are  not 
you  convinced  that  all  things  are  at  his  disposal,  and  under 
his  control  1  Is  not  his  character  adorned  with  all  the  ex- 
cellencies which  can  assure  you  of  present  safety  and  eternal 
felicity  1  Has  not  he  promised,  and  is  not  he  faithful  to  per- 
form his  promise,  that  he  '  will  never  leave  you  nor  forsake 
you  V  Cannot  you  trust  that,  armed  as  he  is  with  irresistiljle 
power,  and  clothed  as  he  is  with  unsearchable  wisdom,  and 
full  as  he  is  of  the  richest  and  tenderest  mercy,  he  will  bring 
light  to  you  out  of  the  darkness  by  which  you  are  surround- 
ed, and  good  to  you  out  of  the  manifold  evils  which  beset 
your  path  1  Is  it  not  the  distinct  prediction  of  Christ  that 
'  in  the  world  ye  shall  have  tribulation  V  but  has  he  not  told 
you  that  he  has  '  overcome  the  world,'  and  that  he  will  give 


you  the  victory  over  all  its  terrors'?  Does  not  the  history  of 
the  church  furnish  you  with  many  illustrious  examples  of  the 
divine  interposition  in  behalf  of  persecuted  and  afflicted  be- 
lievers 1  And  is  the  arm  of  your  heavenly  king  now  '  short- 
ened that  it  cannot  save,  or  his  ear  now  heavy  that  it  cannot 
hearl'  Was  Daniel  safe  amidst  the  fierce  lions?  Did  the 
three  children  walk  unhurt  through  the  burning  furnace  ?  Did 
David  escape  from  his  troubles,  though  'all  the  waves  and 
billows  of  adversity  had  gone  over  himV  Was  not  God  him- 
self the  angel  of  their  delfverance  1  And  is  he  not  your  God  ] 
And  will  he  not  also  deliver  you,  '  O  ye  of  little  faith  V  Did 
he  give  up  his  own  dear  Son  to  crucifixion  and  to  death,  that 
he  might  pluck  you  out  of  the  spoiler's  hand  1  And  after  this 
costly  ransoming  of  yoursouls,  and  this  marvellous  exhibition 
of  his  grace  and  strength,  think  you  that  he  either  cannot  or 
will  not  disenthral^you  from  the  power  of  unjust,  deceitlul, 
ungodly,  and  oppressive  men?  Away  all  such  unworthy  sus- 
picions ;  such  groundless  fears  !  '  Hope  in  God.'  Rest  upon 
his  promises,  which  are  all  '  yea  and  amen'  in  Christ  Jesus. 
Take  shelter  in  the  declarations  and  assurances  of  that  cove- 
nant which  he  has  established  with  his  church,  and  which  in 
all  things  is  well  ordered,  sure,  and  everlasting.  Do  this  and 
you  '  shall  yet  praise  him.'  His  goodness  will  yet  be  for  a 
'  song  in  the  house  of  your  pilgrimage.'  And  that  'sadness 
of  the  countenance'  which  has  been  generated  by  your  trials 
and  sorrows,  will  be  found  to  conceal  the  tokens  of  his  fath- 
erly love,  and  by  '  making  your  heart  better,'  will  attune  it  for 
magnifying  in  higher  and  holier  strains,  the  faithfulness  and 
the  salvation  of  him  in  whom  you  have  put  your  trust. 

And  even  though  no  such  gladness  should  ever  fill  your 
bosom  or  pour  from  your  lips,  while  you  travel  through  the 
wilderness — though  you  should  go  'mourning  all  your  days' 
because  of  present  and  pressing  hardships  ;  though,  when  we 
ask  you  to  sing  us  one  of  the  songs  of  Zion,  you  should  re- 
ply, with  the  captive  Israelite  of  old,  '  How  shall  we  sing  the 
Lord's  song  in  a  strange  land ;'  yet  we  still  bid  you  '  hope  in 
God,  for  you  shall  yet  praise  him.'  There  is  a  world  beyond 
this,  where  all  your  sorrows  shall  be  hushed  into  oblivious 
silence — where  the  voice  of  the  oppressor  shall  no  more  be 
heard;  where  you  shall  setup  that  everlasting  'rest  which 
remaineth  for  the  people  of  God  ;'  where  uninterrupted  peace, 
and  holiest  love,  and  unmingled  joy,  shall  pervade  and  ani- 
mate the  countless  multitude  that  '  have  come  through  much 
tribulation,'  and  have  '  entered  into  their  glory  ;'  and  where 
one  theme  of  your  unceasing  gratitude  shall  be  those  very 
afflictions  which,  in  this  dark  and  distant  dwelling,  had  al- 
most overturned  your  faith,  and  almost  plunged  you  into 
despair. 


LECTURE  IX. 

0  Lord  God  of  hosts,  hear  my  prayer  ■•  give  ear,  0  God  of 
Jacob.  Behold,  0  God  our  shield,  and  look  upon  the  face 
of  thine  anointed.  For  a  day  in  thy  courts  is  belter  than 
a  thousand.  I  had  rather  be  a  door-keeper  in  the  house  of 
7ny  God,  than  to  dwell  in  the  tents  of  wickedness.  For  the 
Lord  Gud  is  a  su7i  and  shield  ;  the  Lord  will  give  grace  and 
glory  ■■  no  good  thing  U'ill  He  withhold  from  them  tliat  ivatk 
uprightly.  0  Lord  of  hosts,  blessed  is  the  man  that  Irusteth 
in  thee — Psalm  Ixsxiv.  8 — end. 

It  has  been  the  characteristic  of  good  men  in  every  age 
that  they  have  not  '  restrained  prayer  before  God' — that  they 
have,  on  principle  and  from  feeling,  been  given  to  this  exer- 
cise— that  in  all  their  varied  circumstances  they  have  engaged 
in  it  as  at  once  a  duty  and  a  privilege,  an  expression  ot  piety, 
a  means  of  improvement,  and  a  source  of  consolation.  And 
if  we  be  among  the  number  of  those  who  have  received  '  the 
spirit  of  grace  and  of  supplications,'  we  will  not  only,  under 
the  influence  of  that  spirit,  'make  our  request  known^unto 
God,'  but  we  will  be  anxious  that  they  should  be  heard  with 
acceptance,  and  answered  in  peace  and  mercy.  We  are 
guilty  of  mockery  when  we  ask  that  which  we  do  not  need, 
or  when  we  are  unconcerned  about  the  success  of  the  appli- 
cation that  we  make.  It  becomes  us  to  take  a  lively  interest 
in  every  thing  that  is  requisite  for  promoting  our  real  wel- 
fare; to  depend  for  the  communication  of  it  upon  Him  'from 
whom  cometh  down  every  good  and  perfect  gift'— to  make  it 
the  subject  of  sincere  and  devout  petition  at  the  foot-stool  of 
his  throne — and  to  address  him  with  all  that  earnestness,  and 


LECTURES  ON  PORTIONS  OF  THE  PSALMS. 


14- 


with  all  lliat  solicitude,  which  correspond  with  the  importance 
of  the  blessings  that  we  implore,  and  with  the  character  of 
the  Being  who  is  intreated  to  bestow  them. 

And  as  we  pray  for  the  particular  benefits  which  are 
suited  to  our  particular  situations,  so  we  will  appeal  to 
those  particular  attributes,  by  the  exercise  of  which  we 
may  expect  to  find  an  appropriate  supply  to  our  wants, 
and  an  appropriate  refuge  from  our  distresses.  If  we  are  in- 
volved in  difficulties  which  we  have  no  skill  to  unravel  or  to 
remove,  we  will  of  course  apply  to  God  for  deliverance  ;  but 
we  will  apply  to  him  more  peculiarly  as  a  God  of  wisdom,— 
a  God  whose  wisdom  can  extricate  us  out  of  all  our  perplexi- 
ties, and  render  our  path  plain,  and  our  prospects  clear.  If 
we  are  in  danger  from  the  assault  of  enemies,  whose  hostili- 
ty we  have  no  strength  to  resist  or  subdue,  we  will  of  course 
apply  to  God  for  protection  and  safety ;  but  we  will  apply  to 
him  more  peculiarly  as  a  God  to  whom  '  belongeth  power,' 
power  to  rescue  us  from  every  peril,  and  to  defend  us  against 
every  foe,  and  to  place  us  in  perfect  security.  If  we  arc  con- 
scious of  guilt,  and  fearful  of  condemnation,  we  w  ill  of  course 
apply  to  God  for  forgiveness  ;  but  we  will  apply  to  him  more 
peculiarly  as  a  God  of  mercy,  as  a  God  whose  mercy  may  be 
exercised  in  perfect  consistency  with  his  other  attributes, — 
whose  mercy  will  be  exercised  towards  all  who  apply  for  it 
in  the  appointed  way, — whose  merey  can  pardon  the  deepest 
and  most  aggravated  guilt  of  the  sincere  penitent.  And  if 
we  are  in  distress,  whether  it  be  of  a  temporal  or  of  a  spirit- 
ual kind,  we  will  of  course  apply  to  God  for  support  and 
relief;  but  we  will  apply  to  him  more  peculiarly  as  the  God 
of  consolation, — as  a  God  in  whom  compassions  flow, — who 
is  'atflicted  in  all  our  afflictions,' — and  who  is  both  able  and 
willing  to  comfort  us  amidst  the  various  tribulations  in  which 
we  may  be  involved. 

And  while  we  pray  to  God  for  the  blessings  that  we  need, 
and  while  we  offer  up  our  supplications  with  sincerity  and 
earnestness,  and  while  we  address  God  in  special  reference 
to  those  attributes,  which  correspond  with  the  nature  of  our 
necessities,  we  will  never  forgot,  if  we  have  drawn  our  no- 
tions from  the  Gospel,  and  if  we  have  been  taught  by  the 
Spirit  to  pray,  that  our  petitions  must  depend  for  their  suc- 
cess, not  upon  any  merit  of  our  own,  for,  alas!  we  have 
nothing  of  that  kind  to  plead  before  the  holy  majesty  of  hea- 
ven,— but  upon  the  merit  of  him  whom  God  has  appointed  to 
be  our  Mediator,  and  for  whose  sake  alone,  therefore,  we  can 
expect  to  find  acceptance  when  we  approach  the  divine  pres- 
ence, and  to  get  an  answer  in  peace  when  we  implore  the 
divine  bounty. 

Of  all  this  we  have  an  example  and  a  practical  illustration 
in  the  case  of  the  Psalmist.  He  was  a  man  of  God,  and, 
therefore,  he  was  a  man  of  ])iety  and  prayer.  And  whether 
he  was  in  joy  or  in  sorrow,  he  delighted  to  pour  out  his 
heart  to  that  great  being  to  whom  he  was  indebted  for 
the  one,  and  from  whom  he  expected  support  amidst  the 
otlier.  It  was  particularly  in  seasons  of  diificulty  and  dis- 
tress that  he  had  recourse  to  '  the  throne  of  grace.'  Nor 
was  it  merely  or  chiefly  in  the  time  of  temporal  calami- 
ties— it  was  also  and  chiefly  in  the  time  of  spiritual  depriva- 
tions, that  he  took  refuge  in  devotional  exercises.  Of  this 
we  have  a  remarkable  instance  in  the  passage  before  us. 
The  Psalmist  had,  by  the  rebellion  of  his  son,  and  the  united 
power  and  malice  of  his  enemies,  been  necessitated  to  aban- 
don the  holy  city.  In  this  way  ho  was  prevented  from 
engaging  in  the  public  ordinances  of  religion  on  which  he 
had,  from  principle  and  from  experience,  been  accustomed  to 
set  the  highest  value.  And  considering  it  as  one  of  the  hea- 
viest dispensations  with  which  it  was  possible  for  him  to  be 
visited,  he  is  naturally  most  anxious  to  be  delivered  from  it, 
and  restored  to  privileges  in  the  enjoyment  of  which  he  had 
formerly  been  so  happy,  and  through  the  loss  of  which  he 
had  become  so  miserable  and  forlorn.  In  his  extremity,  he 
calls  upon  God.  He  fervently  intreats  him  to  hear  his 
prayer.  He  reiterates  the  intreaty  that  he  would  lend  an 
attentive  ear  to  the  aspirations  of  his  soul.  And  he  pleads 
with  all  the  urgenc}'  and  iraportunateness  of  one  who  deeply 
feels  his  wretchedness,  and  eagerly  desires  to  have  it  miti- 
gated or  removed. 

He  appeals  to  those  characters  by  which  God  commends 
himself  to  his  people  when  they  are  in  circumstances  of 
destitution  and  aftliclion,  and  when  they  are  crying  to  him 
for  help  and  for  comfort.  He  prays  to  him  as  the  ^Lord  Gud 
of  Hosts,''  who  is  the  supreme  ruler  of  the  universe, — who 
has  every  thingin  it  at  his  uncontrolled  command  and  sovereign 
disposal, — who  '  does  according  to  his  will  in  the  armies  of 
heaven,  and  among  the  inhabitants  of  the  earth,' — and  whose 


arm,  therefore,  is  mighty  to  guard  from  evil  or  to  deliver  out 
of  it  all  who  are  interested  in  his  favour,  and  need  his  aid. 
He  prays  to  him  as  '  the  God  of  Jacob,^  who  had  graciously 
condescended  to  make  a  covenant  with  Jacob  and  his  seed, — 

who  is  faithful  to  fulfil  all  the  promises  of  that  covenant, 

and  one  of  whose  richest  promises  is  that  which  the  Psalmist 
records  in  another  place,  '  Call  upon  me  in  the  day  of  trou- 
ble; I  will  deliver  thee,  and  thou  shalt  glorify  me.'  And  he 
prays  to  him  as  '  God  his  shield;''  who  was  not  only  powerful 
to  accomplish  his  relief,  but  whose  power  was  in  continual 
activity  for  that  purpose;  who  said  to  Abraham  of  old, 
'  Fear  not,  Abraham,  I  am  thy  shield  ;'  who  was  to  be  con- 
sidered as  holding  the  same  language  to  all  the  spiritual  de- 
scendents  of  the  Patriarch ;  and  who,  in  the  time  of  their 
trouble,  would  '  hide  them  in  his  pavilion,  and  in  the  secret 
of  his  tabernacle,'  and  even  when  they  were  at  a  distance 
from  that  tabernacle,  as  the  Psalmist  now  was,  would  still 
stand  between  them  and  all  their  foes,  and  secure  them  acrainst 
every  deadly  assault,  and  every  fatal  catastrophe.  And  then, 
though  he  addresses  God  as  the  Lord  God  of  Hosts,  as  the 
God  of  Jacob,  and  as  God  his  shield,  and  though  he  addresses 
him  in  these  characters  with  the  utmost  degree  of  importu- 
nity, he  does  not  feel  that  he  has  done  enough  to  effectuate 
the  object  at  which  he  aims.  He  directs  his  believing  regards 
to  the  Messiah,  to  him  whom  God  had  '  anointed'  to  be  the 
Saviour  of  sinners,  and  on  account  of  whose  obedience  unto 
death,  typified  by  the  unspotted  sacrifices  under  the  law,  God 
became  propitious  to  those  who  drew  near  to  him ;  and  he 
beseeches  God  to  hear  him,  and  answer  him,  in  consideration 
of  the  appointed  Mediator  in  whom  he  believed,  and  by 
whom  he  had  confidence  and  boldness  to  pray. 

Now,  my  friends,  let  us  imitate  the  example  of  the  Psalm- 
ist. Let  us  be  especially  afflicted  by  the  deprivation  of 
spiritual  benefits,  and  especially  solicitous  to  have  spirit- 
ual benefits  restored  to  us  when  they  happen  to  be  taken 
away.  And  for  this  end,  let  us  address  God  in  prayer ; 
convinced  that  all  our  fortunes  are  in  his  hands,  that  he  alone 
can  comfort  and  assist,  and  rescue  us  when  we  are  so  situated 
as  to  require  interposition,  and  that  devout  and  fervent  appli- 
cations to  him  at  his  throne  of  mercy,  are  the  means  which 
he  himself  has  ordained  and  sanctioned  for  our  obtaining 
from  him  the  blessings  that  we  stand  in  need  of.  Let  us  in 
all  such  approaches  contemplate  him,  and  recognise  him, 
and  a])peal  to  him,  as  possessing  the  peculiar  excellencies 
which  render  him  infinitely  worthy  of  our  dependance,  and 
which  invite  and  encourage  us  to  ask,  and  to  seek,  and  to 
knock  for  the  communications  of  his  grace.  And  while  we 
apply  to  him  as  clothed  with  majesty  and  power,  and  as  un- 
cliangeably  true  to  the  promises  of  his  covenant,  and  as  con- 
tinually holding  forth  the  protection  of  his  providence,  let  us 
apply  to  him  as  the  God  and  Father  of  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ, 
in  whom  alone  it  is  that  we  can  hope  to  find  acceptance,  and 
through  whom  alone  it  is  that  we  can  hope  to  receive  what 
we  supplicate  ;  whose  merits  are  at  once  absolutely  essential, 
and  altogether  sufficient  to  procure  for  us  'mercy  to  pardon, 
and  grace  to  help  in  every  time  of  need.' 

The  Psalmist  explains  the  reason  that  he  had  for  being 
so  urgent  in  praying  to  be  restored  to  the  privilege  from  which 
he  had  been  unjustly  and  cruelly  separated:  it  was  the 
ardent  love  that  he  bore  to  the  house,  and  the  public  ordi- 
nances of  God.  'For  a  day  in  thy  courts  is  better  than  a 
thousand;  I  had  rather  be  a  door-keeper  in  the  house  of  my 
God,  than  to  dwell  in  the  tents  of  wickedness.'  In  the  be- 
ginning of  the  Psalra,  he  had  proclaimed  the  amiableness  of 
God's  tabernacles  considered  in  themselves.  Here  he  looks 
at  the  subject  in  the  way  of  comparison  ;  and  he  states  his 
preference  in  terms  the  most  explicit  and  emphatic.  So  much 
enjoyment  had  he  in  the  services  of  the  sanctuary,  and  such 
important  advantages  did  he  derive  from  them,  and  so  closely 
was  his  engaging  in  them  connected  with  a  principle  of  obe- 
dience to  the  divine  authority,  and  of  regard  for  the  divine 
honour,  that  if  he  could  be  permitted  to  devote  ever  so  short 
a  time  to  them,  tliat  short  time  would  be  far  more  precious  to 
him  than  the  longest  period  spent  in  places  where  God  was 
not  acknowledged,  and  in  exercises  with  which  the  fear  and 
the  love  of  God  were  not  permitted  to  intermingle.  Sin,  he 
saw  and  knew,  had  its  honours,  and  its  pleasures,  and 
its  profits  ;  but  though  he  could  be  allowed  to  inhabit  its 
most  costly  and  Inxurious  palaces,  though  he  could  command 
for  himself  every  desirable  thing  which  it  had  to  bestow,  and 
though  he  had  the  power  of  communicating  these  to  all 
aroimd  him,  he  would  not  think  for  a  moment  of  putting  his 
situation  there  in  competition  with  the  meanest  place  that 
ever  a  saint  occupied,  and  with  the  scantiest  fare  that  ever  a 


14S 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


saint  received,  in  tVie  temple  of  liis  God.  This  was  David's 
deliberate  and  determined  choice ;  a  choice  which  he  often 
expressed  in  the  most  glowing  language  ;  a  choice,  the  deci- 
siveness and  sincerity  of  which  he  uniformly  demonstrated  in 
his  conduct. 

O  how  unlike  to  the  Psalmist,  in  this  respect,  are  many 
professing  Christians  !  We  speak  not  of  those  who  do  not 
acknowledge  the  truth  and  authority  of  revelation.  Living 
visibly,  if  not  avowedly,  'without  God  in  the  world,'  we  can- 
not wonder  that  the  institutions  of  the  Gospel  should  be  view- 
ed by  them  w'ith  dislike,  and  treated  by  them  with  contempt. 
But  we  speak  of  those  who  profess  to  have  faith  in  the  Bible, 
and  to  hope  for  salvation  by  Christ,  and  who  pay  a  certain 
deoree  of  respect  to  religious  ordinances ;  and  we  say  of 
many  of  them,  that  in  their  mouths  the  language  of  the  Psalm- 
ist would  be  mere  pretence,  because  it  is  habitually  contra- 
dicted by  their  conduct.  They  have  evidently  no  liking  to 
the  house  of  God,  and  to  its  services.  Many  and  trivial  are 
their  excuses  for  absence.  When  prevented  from  attending, 
they  feel  no  regret;  and  when  they  do  come,  it  is  with  an  ill- 
concealed  reluctance.  And  then  how  cold  and  unconcerned 
in  their  devotions  !  How  inattentive  are  they  to  the  preach- 
incr  of  the  Gospel  !  How  much  more  interested  in  their  out- 
ward appearance,  and  outward  comfort,  than  in  the  state  of 
their  affections,  and  in  the  improvement  of  their  understand- 
ings and  their  hearts  !  And  how  fretful  and  discontented 
when  the  service  exceeds  by  ever  so  little,  the  very  limited 
period  during  which  they  are  disposed  to  engage  in  it,  or  to 
be  present  at  it,  without  losing  their  patience.  But  follow 
them  into  the  world,  and  observe  the  contrast  which  they  ex- 
hibit. To  the  gay  pleasures,  and  to  the  grave  pursuits  of 
that  world,  they  have  no  aversion.  For  these  they  so  eagerly 
long,  that  the  sacredness  of  the  Sabbath  scarcely  escapes  vio- 
lation. Into  these  they  plunge  with  a  devotedness  of  feeling 
which  all  the  prayers,  and  the  praises,  and  the  instructions 
of  the  sanctuary,  could  never  command.  While  indulging  in 
thera,  how  riuickly  does  their  time  pass  away  !  How  do  they 
murmur  when  any  thing  occurs  to  interrupt  or  to  shorten 
them  !  How  vehemently  do  they  strive  to  prolong  their  du- 
ration, and  to  heighten  their  relish,  and  to  secure  their  per- 
manency !  And  rather  than  forego  them,  how  ready  are  they 
to  renounce  all  that  is  good  in  principle,  and  great  in  charac- 
ter, if  they  render  such  a  sacrifice  indispensable,  and  to  sit 
down  contented  with  the  paltriest  advantages  they  can  afford, 
and  with  the  meanest  gratifications  they  can  give,  to  the  most 
worthless  of  their  slaves  !  In  every  thing  worldly  they  en 
gage  with  all  their  heart;  but  for  the  spiritual  services  of 
God's  house,  they  have  little  or  no  heart  at  all.  And  it 
would  be  a  just  expression  of  their  character,  were  they  to 
invert  the  language  of  the  Psalmist,  and  say,  'A  day  spent 
in  the  occupation  and  indulgences  of  a  worldly  life,  is  better 
than  a  thousand  in  the  courts  of  the  Lord  :  1  had  rather  be 
the  humblest  partaker  of  those  joys  which  are  to  be  found  in 
the  tents  of  wickedness,  than  fill  the  most  honourable  station, 
and  feast  upon  the  richest  blessings,  to  which  I  could  be  in- 
vited in  the  house  of  my  God.' 

O  if  there  be  any  now  hearing  me  to  whom  this  descrip- 
tion justly  applies,  think  how  completely  it  strips  you  of  all 
j'our  pretensions  to  genuine  Christianity.  Neglecting  or  dis- 
liking the  ordinances  of  religion,  what  becomes  of  your  re- 
spect for  the  authority  of  God,  who  has  appointed  these  ordi- 
nances, and  commanded  )'ou  to  observe  them  1  Taking  no 
serious  interest  in  the  pious  and  instructive  exercises  of  the 
sanctuar)',  how  is  it  possible  to  help  concluding  that  the 
truths  of  the  gospel  have  no  value  in  your  estimation,  and 
that  they  are  the  objects  neither  of  your  faith,  nor  of  your 
love  1  Taking  no  pleasure  in  holding  communion  with  your 
God  and  Saviour  in  his  house  below,  where  is  your  prepara- 
tion for  maintaining  that  more  intimate  intercourse  with  him 
in  his  temple  above,  which  is  to  form  one  of  the  highest  hon- 
ours, and  most  delightful  employments  of  those  who  are  to 
be  introduced  into  that  blessed  place?  And  preferring  the 
service  of  the  world  to  the  service  of  him  who  made  you  and 
has  redeemed  you,  upon  what  ground  can  you  expect  that  he 
will  bestow  upon  you  any  reward  at  last,  or  that  he  will  not 
leave  you  to  be  recompensed  by  that  master  to  whom  you 
have  cleaved,  and  whose  '  wages  is  death  V  If  you  know 
any  thing  of  what  true  religion  is,  and  reflect  but  for  a  mo 
ment  on  what  you  are  doing,  you  must  be  sensible  that  so 
long  as  the  ordinances  of  God's  house  are  treated  by  you 
cither  with  indifference  or  dislike,  you  have  no  lot  or  part  in 
the  salvation  of  the  gospel ;  you  are  not  only  destitute  of  one 
thing  which  has  invariably  distinguished  the  people  of  God, 
but  you  are  destitute  of  that  which  indicates  the  want  of  all 


their  essential  principles,  and  all  their  peculiar  affections. 
Let  me  therefore  beseech  you  to  examine  yourselves  by  this 
test;  and  not  to  think  yourselves  safe  till  you  have  been 
brought  to  feel  somewhat  of  that  warm  affection  for  the  wor- 
ship and  service  of  God,  which  animated  the  breast,  and  ac- 
tuated the  conduct  of  the  Psalmist.  Nor  rest  satisfied  with 
low  attainments  in  this  important  grace.  The  more  ardently 
you  love  the  house  of  prayer  and  praise,  the  stronger  will  be 
the  proof  of  your  progress  in  sanctification ;  and  then  that 
devout  attendance  on  the  ordinances  of  the  gospel,  which  will 
necessarily  accompany  your  love  for  them,  must  have  a  pow- 
erful effect  on  the  improvement  of  all  your  Christian  virtues, 
and  lead  you  to  verify  the  statement  in  Scripture,  which  de- 
clares, that  'they  who  wait  upon  the  Lord  shall  mount  up  on 
wings  as  eagles  :  they  shall  run  and  not  be  weary,  they  shall 
walk  and  not  faint.' 

And  you  my  Christian  friends,  who  have  cherished  that 
profound  and  affectionate  attachment  to  the  house  and  ordi- 
nances of  God,  which  was  so  deeply  felt  and  so  rapturously 
expressed  by  the  Psalmist,  will  be  ready  to  bear  your  testi- 
mony along  with  his,  to  the  strong  encouragement  which  hia 
people  have  to  draw  near  to  him  in  his  sanctuary.  Such  is 
his  character,  and  such  are  the  manifestations  he  condescends 
to  make  of  it,  that  it  is  impossible  to  know  him,  and  believe 
in  him,  and  love  him,  without  ardently  desiring  to  dwell  in 
his  courts,  and  faithfully  and  piously  engaging  in  the  institu- 
tions which  are  there  observed,  'The  Lord  God  is  a  sun 
and  shield  ;  the  Lord  will  give  grace  and  glory ;  no  good 
thing  will  he  withhold  from  them  that  walk  upriirhtl)'.'  How 
comprehensive  and  how  satisfying  is  this  representation  of 
him  whom  }'ou  are  called  to  worship  and  to  serve !  And  if 
you  give  credit  to  the  statement,  how  anxious  must  you  be  to 
tread  his  courts,  and  with  what  fervour  and  delight  will  you 
mingle  in  those  ordinances  in  which  he  thus  reveals  himself, 
and  through  which  he  thus  becomes  to  you  all  that  you  need, 
and  all  that  you  can  desire  ! 

He  is  a  Sun  to  enlighten  your  understandings  with  saving 
knowledge,  and  '  to  guide  your  feet  in  the  way  of  peace  ;'  to 
cheer  your  hearts  amidst  the  perplexities  and  discourage- 
ments of  your  earthly  pilgrimage ;  and  to  give  warmth  and 
life  and  activity  to  all  your  powers,  which,  but  for  his  vivify- 
ing influences,  would  become  cold  and  torpid.  And  he  is 
a  Shield  to  defend  you  from  '  the  fiery  darts  of  the  wicked 
one ;'  to  ward  off  the  arrows  of  malice  and  of  scorn  with 
which  ungodly  men  assail  you ;  to  protect  j-ou  not  only  from 
the  evils  which  would  otherwise  overwhelm  you,  but  also 
from  the  petty  injuries  by  which  you  might  be  harassed  and 
depressed  ;  and  to  interpose  between  you  and  your  spiritual 
enemies  with  such  vigilance  and  constancy,  that  they  cannot 
overcome  you,  or  prevent  you  from  being  finally  triumphant 
in  that  arduous  warfare  which  you  are  doomed  to  wage  -with 
them. 

The  Lord  will  give  Grace  ;  grace  to  pardon  your  offences, 
and  deliver  your  conscience  from  the  burden  of  guilt;  grace 
to  purify  your  souls  more  and  more  from  that  moral  defile- 
ment which  naturally  cleaves  to  them ;  grace  to  help  you  in 
all  your  seasons  of  trial  and  of  weakness ;  grace  to  comfort 
you  in  every  disconsolate  hour,  and  to  strengthen  you  for 
every  Christian  duty ;  grace  to  keep  you  stedfast  in  the 
faith  of  Jesus,  and  in  the  obedience  of  his  law,  and  in  the 
hope  of  his  gospel ;  grace  to  insure  your  perseverance  in  the 
path  of  spiritual  life,  and  to  obtain  the  victory  over  the  ter- 
rors and  the  power  of  death.  And  having  thus  given  you 
Grace  here,  he  will  also  give  you  Glory  hereafter.  He  will 
receive  you  into  that  heavenly  kingdom  for  which  he  was 
preparing  you  upon  earth;  a  state  from  which  all  that  is  sin- 
ful, all  that  is  degrading,  and  all  that  is  unliappy,  shall  be 
for  ever  excluded,  and  in  which  you  shall  be  privileged  with 
whatever  is  great  in  intellectual  attainment,  and  perfect  in  ■ 
moral  excellence, — with  whatever  is  splendid  in  honour,  and 
exquisite  in  enjoyment, — with  all  the  fulness  of  God,  and  all 
the  blessedness  of  immortality. 

And  is  there  any  thing  else  of  which  you  feel  your  need, 
and  which  you  do  not  conceive  to  enter  into  these  views  of 
the  divine  beneficence  'i  Then  here  it  is  in  the  assurance 
that  he  '  will  withhold  no  good  thing  from  you.'  There  is 
nothing  which  is  either  necessary  or  conducive  to  your  wel- 
fare, which  his  loving  kindness  will  not  bestow  upon  you  in 
its  proper  measure,  and  in  its  proper  season.  Even  the 
comforts  of  a  present  world  will  be  given,  so  far  as  the  wis- 
dom of  your  heavenly  Father  sees  them  for  your  real  benefit, 
and  farther  than  that  you  could  not  safely  or  dutifully  wish 
to  receive  them.  No  temporal  evil  will  be  permitted  to 
bcfa!  yon,  w'hich  is  not  rnpiisite  for  '  the  trial  of  your  faith' 


LECTURES  ON  PORTIONS  OF  THE  PSALMS. 


149 


and  patience,  and  which  he  will  not  overrule  for  promoting  confidence  in  every  assurance  he  has  ^ven  you  ;  and  act  ss  it 


your  highest  advantage.  No  temporal  blessing  will  be  re- 
fused to  you,  or  t.iken  from  you,  except  where  its  bestowal 
or  its  continuance  is  inconsistent  with  what  you  should  value 
infinitely  more  than  all  that  the  world  can  furnish, — your 
advancement  in  the  work  of  preparation  for  judgment  and 
eternity.  It  is  the  general  fact,  announced  in  Scripture,  and 
confirmed  by  experience,  that  as  the  people  of  God  you  have 
not  only  the  promise  of  'the  life  that  now  is,'  but  the  act- 
ual and  liberal  fulfilment  of  that  promise.  And  all  the 
exceptions  to  it  that  you  maj'  meet  with  in  your  joumeyings 
through  the  wilderness,  all  that  you  suffer  in  these  from 
poverty,  from  sickness,  from  the  loss  of  friends,  from  disap- 
pointments in  business,  from  unmerited  neglect,  from  base 
ingratitude,  or  from  any  other  of  the  privations  and  sorrows 
to  which  humanity  is  liable, — all  these  things  are  but  varied 
expressions  of  the  same  paternal  love  which  cared  for  the 
salvation  of  your  souls ;  many  of  them,  even  while  they 
last  and  operate  in  all  there  bitterness,  will  be  recognised  by 
yon  as  tokens  of  kindness ;  and  there  is  not  one  of  them 
which,  when  looked  back  upon  from  the  land  of  promised 
rest,  and  contemplated  in  the  light  of  celestial  truth,  will 
not  furnish  a  theme  of  gratitude  and  praise,  as  having  fomed 
a  part  of  that  plan  of  grace  by  which  you  were  fitted  and 
matured  for  glory. 

Such,  my  friends,  is  that  God  whom  ye  are  called  to  wor- 
ship in  his  holy  temple — such  is  the  generous  treatment 
which  you  may  expect  from  him — such  is  his  willingness, 
his  ability,  his  sufficiency,  his  promise,  to  be  unto  every  one 
of  you  all  that  is  needful  to  make  you  perfectly  and  for  ever 
happy.  And  will  not  you  give  yourselves  in  the  full  tide  of 
admiration  and  affection,  to  the  service  of  such  a  wise,  and 
merciful,  and  mighty  being'!  Will  not  you  feel  regret  when 
you  lose  an  opportunity  of  approaching  him  in  the  sanctu- 
ary 1  Will  not  you  lament  the  imperfection  and  the  sinful- 
ness which  mix  with  all  your  best  endeavours  to  honour  him 
in  his  'house  of  prayer!'  Will  not  you  labour  more  and 
more  that  you  may  be  disposed  to  engage  in  his  ordinances 
with  heartfelt  devotion,  and  enabled  to  engage  in  them  with 
a  keener  relish  for  the  comforts  which  they  inspire,  and  a 
more  resolute  ambition  for  the  advantages  which  Ihej'  im- 
part? And  will  not  you  pray  and  strive  that  you  maj'  attain 
that  height  of  pious  regard  for  them  which  dictated  the 
strong  and  impassioned  language  of  the  Psalmist,  '  How 
amiable  are  thy  tabernacles,  O  Lord  of  Hosts !  My  soul 
longeth,  yea  even  fainteth  for  the  courts  of  the  Lord  ;  my 
heart  and  my  flesh  crieth  out  for  the  living  God  V 

Remember,  however,  my  friends,  that  the  blessings  pro- 
mised to  them  who  love  and  observe  the  ordinances  of  God, 
are  connected  with  a  certain  prescribed  character.  They  will 
be  given  to  those  only  who  '  walk  uprightly;'  who  have  their 
conduct  both  in  the  sanctuary  and  out  of  it  agreeable  to  the 
divine  will ;  who  '  worship  God  who  is  a  spirit,  in  spirit  and 
in  truth  ;'  who  '  have  their  conversation  in  the  world  in  sim- 
plicity and  godly  sincerity;'  who  are  habitually  and  strenu- 
ously aiming  at  the  possession  of  a  good  conscience,  and  at 
the  cultivation  of  a  holy  life.  You  cannot'otherwise  be  qua! 
ified  for  the  services  of  the  sanctuarj',  or  the  reception  of  spi- 
ritual benefits.  As,  therefore,  you  value  these,  be  careful  to 
'  walk  upriglitly,'  and  remember  for  your  encouragement  that 
it  is  one  manifest  and  appointed  end  of  the  services  of  God's 
house,  to  improve  your  principles  and  dispositions,  and  to 
send  you  back  to  the  world  better  prepared  for  discharging  its 
ordinary  duties,  and  '  keeping  yourselves  unspotted'  from  its 
pollutions.  And  remember  also  that  your  knowledge  of  the 
character  in  which  God  has  represented  himself  to  you  as 
your  sun  and  your  shield,  and  as  giving  grace  and  glory,  and 
withholding  no  good  thing  from  you,  is  calculated  to  produce 
the  same  effect  in  your  heart  and  your  deportment ;  and  that 
especiall}'  the  divine  influences  are  promised  to  comfort,  and 
purify,  and  strengthen  you,  and  to  makej'ou  '  fruitful  in  every 
good  word  and  work.'  Study  then  to  live  and  act  as  the 
people  of  God,  that  you  may  be  fit  worshippers  in  the  temple 
of  God,  and  worthy  receivers  of  the  bounty  of  God  :  and  let 
God's  bounty  he  often  and  affectionately  thought  upon,  and 
let  God's  temple  be  regularly  and  devoutly  attended,  that  you 
may  feel  their  reciprocal  advantage  in  having  your  faith  in- 
vigorated, your  piety  exalted,  your  hatred  of  sin  increased, 
your  love  of  holiness  strengthened,  and  your  whole  character 
brought  to  a  nearer  and  a  nearer  resemblance  to  the  character 
of  him  to  whom  you  owe  all  j'our  comforts  and  all  your  hopes. 
And  finally,  '  put  your  trust  in  the  Lord  ;'  for  it  is  in  this 
case  onl)',  that  you  can  bo  truly  blessed.  Trust  in  him  that 
he  will  perform  all  that  he  has  promised  ;  placo  nidimited 


becomes  those  in  whose  minds  this  affiance  is  lively  and  un- 
wavering. Tlien  shall  ye  be  happy  indeed ;  happy  now  as 
having  the  communications  of  his  love  and  the  hopes  that 
stretch  into  eternity  ;  and  happy  hereafter  in  the  full  and  ever- 
lasting enjoyment  of  all  that  can  constitute  the  felicity  of  a 
rational  and  immortal  being. 


LECTURE  X. 


/fore  the  Lord,  because  he  halh  heard  my  voice  and  my  suppli- 
cations. Because  he  hath  inclined  his  ear  unto  me,  thercfure 
u-ill  I  call  upon  him  as  long  as  I  live.  The  sorroivs  of  death 
compassed  me,  and  the  pains  of  hell  got  hold  upon  me;  I  found 
trouble  and  sorrow.  Then  called  I  upon  the  name  of  the 
Lord ;  0  Lord,  I  beseech  thee,  deliver  my  soul.  Gracious  is 
the  Lord,  and  righteous;  yea,  our  God  is  merciful.  The 
Lord  preservcfh  the  simple :  I  teas  brought  low,  and  he  helped 
me.  Jtetum  unto  thy  rest,  0  my  soul ;  for  the  Lord  hath 
dealt  bountifully  with  thee.  For  thou  hast  delivered  my  soul 
from  death,  mine  eyes  from  tears,  and  my  feet  from  falling. 
I  will  walk  before  the  Lord  in  the  land  of  the  living. — Psalm 
cxvi.  1 — 9. 

There  are  two  motives  which  should  constrain  us  to  love 
God.  In  Ihe ^rst  place,  God  has,  in  his  nature  and  character, 
all  those  qualities  which  are  naturally  fitted  to  awaken  this 
sentiment  in  our  hearts.  And,  in  the  second  place,  these  ami- 
able qualities  have  been  exhibited  in  promoting  our  Avelfare ; 
and  from  a  principle  of  our  moral  constitution,  '  we  love  him, 
because  he  first  loved  ns.'  It  is  to  the  latter  motive  that  the 
Psalmist  here  refers.  '  I  love  the  Lord  because  he  halh  heard 
my  voice  and  my  supplications.'  David  had  asked  the  inter- 
position of  God's  mercy  in  his  behalf.  It  had  been  granted 
to  him  according  to  the  desire  and  petition  of  his  heart.  And 
in  the  benefits  which  he  received,  he  not  only  saw  goodness 
manifested  as  an  attribute  of  Deity,  but  he  felt  it  in  his  own 
personal  experience,  as  goodness  of  which  he  was  the  object, 
and  as  constituting  an  urgent  and  inesistible  claim  on  his  re- 
ciprocal affection.  There  arose,  therefore,  in  his  breast,  and 
there  was  cherished  there,  the  gratitude  and  love  which  he 
owed  to  his  heavenly  father;  and  in  simple  language  he  ac- 
knowledges and  records  at  once  the  feelings  of  which  he  was 
conscious,  and  the  consideration  by  which  they  had  been 
excited. 

The  experience  of  the  Psalmist,  on  this  point,  must  be 
more  or  less  the  experience  of  every  true  Christian.  Every 
true  Christian  habitually  lifts  up  to  God  the  voice  of  suppli- 
cation ;  praying  for  the  various  blessings,  temporal  and  spi- 
ritual, which  his  circumstances  require.  Every  true  Chris- 
tian, praying  '  with  all  praj'er  and  supplication  in  the  spirit,' 
has  the  promise  of  divine  faithfulness  that  he  shall  receive 
according  to  his  need.  And  every  true  Christian  labouring 
to  fulfil  the  first  and  great  commandment,  will  meditate  on  the 
manifold  tokens  of  kindness  which  God  has  shown  him  in 
answer  to  his  applications  at  a  throne  of  grace,  and  yield  to 
the  native  influence  of  that  kindness,  by  cherishing  a  still 
more  cordial,  and  still  more  devoted  attachment  to  the  giver 
of  all  his  mercies. 

My  friends,  if  5-on  are  real  Christians,  it  is  one  of  your 
leading  characteristics,  that  you  continually  look  to  God  as 
the  fountain  of  all  good,  and  that  while  you  regularly  ask 
from  him  in  his  own  appointed  way,  what  is  necessary  for 
j'our  well-being,  in  the  ordinary  course  of  life,  }'ou  ask  from 
liim  with  particular  emphasis  and  importunateness,  those  ben- 
efits which  are  of  the  highest  general  importance,  and  those 
which  are  most  suited  to  your  special  and  unexpected  exigen- 
cies. And  I  am  sure  that,  having  done  so,  you  can  bear  your 
personal  testimony  to  the  truth  of  that  declaration  which  God 
has  addressed  to  every  member  of  his  church,  '  Call  upon  me, 
and  I  will  answer  you.'  It  has  been  your  privilege  and  your 
happiness  to  find,  that  he  provides  for  the  temporal  wants  of 
his  people  with  wisdom  and  liberality ;  that  he  communicates 
in  still  richer  abundance  the  blessings  after  which  their  souls 
are  hungering  and  thirsting ;  that  he  gives  them  grace  and 
glory,  and  withholds  from  them  no  good  thing  which  is  essen- 
tial to  their  comfort,  their  improvement,  their  salvation.  You 
may  have  had  your  seasons  of  mental  dejection  and  distress ; 
anel  you  may  have  been  sometimes  ready  to  cry  cut,  '  hath 


150 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


the  Lord  forgotten  to  be  gracious,  and  will  he  be  favourable 
no  more  1'  but  say,  my  believing  brethren,  if,  when  the  Spirit 
carried  you  to  the  mercy  seat,  and  with  the  faith  which  rests 
on  the  merits  of  your  heavenly  intercessor,  you  there  poured 
forth  the  petitions  of  your  hearts,  these  petitions  were  not  an- 
swered by  God's  appearing  in  mercy  as  a  sun  to  enlighten 
you  in  the  midst  of  your  darkness,  and  as  a  shield  to  protect 
you  from  all  the  dangers  by  which  you  were  afraid  of  being 
overwhelmed  1  And  when  you  liave  been  weighed  down  with 
worldly  cares  and  afflictions,  and  the  wliole  scene  of  human 
life  perhaps  put  on  the  garb  of  melancholy  and  of  woe,  and 
you  have  still  had  recourse  to  prayer,  have  not  you  felt  your 
sorrowful  spirits  visited  with  consolation  ;  and  though  it  may 
be  that  the  bitter  cup  is  still  pressed  to  j'our  lips,  have  not 
you  been  taught  that  it  is  the  hand  of  your  heavenly  father 
which  gives  you  this  cup  to  drink,  and  have  you  not  learned 
that  it  is  in  faithfulness  and  in  compassion  that  he  has  ming- 
led it  for  you,  and  have  not  you  been  enabled  even  to  '  rejoice 
in  the  midst  of  your  tribulation?'  Has  not  this  been  in  one 
degree  or  another  your  comfortable  experience  ]  Has  not  such 
experience  constrained  you  more  and  more  to  love  God  who 
thus  hears  you  when  you  cry  to  him,  and  delivers  you  out  of 
your  distresses,  and  makes  it  'good  for  you  that  you  have 
been  afflicted,'  and  causes  you  to  be  'glad  in  the  light  of  his 
countenance  1'  And  is  not  this  the  language  by  which  you 
at  once  express  your  gratitude,  and  encourage  it,  '  Bless  the 
Lord,  O  my  soul,  and  forget  not  all  his  benefits,  who  forgiveth 
all  thine  ini(iuities;  who  healeth  all  thy  diseases  ;  who  re- 
deemeth  thy  life  from  destruction;  who  crowneth  thee  with 
loving  kindness  and  tender  mercies  ;  who  satisfieth  thy  mouth 
with  good  things,  so  that  thy  youth  is  renewed  like  the 
eagle's.' 

But  the  Psalmist  not  onlj'  declares  his  love  to  God  on  ac- 
count of  God's  goodness  and  mercy  to  him  in  answer  to  his 
prayers,  he  adds,  'Because  he  hath  declined  his  ear  unto  me, 
therefore  will  I  call  upon  him  as  long  as  I  live,'  And  this  is 
precisely  what  all  the  people  of  God  will  do  in  similar  cir- 
cumstances. If  God  has  graciously  condescended  to  grant 
ns  deliverance  and  the  other  blessings  that  we  implored  from 
him,  there  is,  in  tiie  first  place,  laid  upon  us  an  obligation  to 
be  tliankfiil  which  we  shall  never  be  able  to  exhaust;  and,  in 
the  next  place,  there  is  suggested  to  us  a  powerful  encourage- 
ment to  persevere  in  our  supplications,  to  which  a  regard  to 
our  own  welfare  will  determine  us  to  yield.  When  we  think 
of  our  personal  unworthiness  of  an}'  of  the  least  token  of 
God's  mercy  ;  when  we  think  of  our  just  obnoxiousness  to  his 
displeasure  on  account  of  our  manifold  and  aggravated  pro- 
vocations ;  and  when  we  recollect,  that  notwithstanding  all 
this  we  have  been  invited  to  the  throne  of  his  grace,  and  have 
been  allowed  to  make  our  requests  known  to  him,  and  have 
received  what  was  necessary  to  support,  and  comfort,  and 
bless  us,  can  we  ever  cease  to  'sacrifice  the  sacrifices  of 
thanksgiving,  and  to  declare  his  works  with  rejoicing  V 
Supposing  that  we  were  left  to  go  mourning  all  the  remainder 
of  our  earthly  pilgrimage,  still  the  remembrance  of  what  we 
have  already  experienced  of  'the  goodness  of  the  Lord  in  the 
land  of  the  living,'  and  the  hope  which  that  experienced  good- 
ness has  taught  us  to  repose  in  his  continued  favour,  will  not 
only  cheer  ns  as  we  travel  through  the  wilderness,  but  will 
call  forth  all  our  powers  and  afl'ections  to  bless  and  to  mag- 
nify his  holy  name.  And  the  last  breath  that  we  draw  will 
whisper  the  beginning  of  that  song  of  praise  which  we  are  to 
sing  to  our  redeeming  God,  when  we  enter  upon  the  unmin- 
gled  and  eternal  joys  of  the  promised  land. 

But  we  will  not  only  celebrate  the  praises  of  God  so  lono- 
as  we  live,  on  account  of  his  merciful  answer  to  our  pra)'ers  ; 
— having  received  such  an  answer,  we  shall  feel  cncourao-ed 
to  pray  to  him  in  every  succeeding  emergency  of  our  spiritual 
career.  There  is  no  period  when  we  can  expect  to  be  exempt 
from  those  necessities  which  require  the  interposition  of  di- 
vine aid  and  the  communication  of  divine  bounty  ;  and  we  may 
lay  our  account  with  being  sometimes  placed  in  those  circum- 
stances of  peculiar  trial,  danger  or  distress,  which  demand  the 
peculiar  supplies  of  Almighty  grace  to  uphold  and  to  save  us; 
and  our  only  resource  in  such  cases  is  to  be  found  in  earnest, 
believing,  unwearied  prayer.  And  how  ranch  must  we  be 
animated  to  engage  in  thet  exercise,  not  only  by  the  promises 
held  out  to  us  in  the  word  of  God,  but  by  the  fulfilment  of 
these  promises  which  have  actually  taken  place  in  the  his- 
tory of  our  own  lives  !  He  who  heard  and  answered  us  from 
his  holy  hill  when  we  formerly  petitioned  him,  will  not  fail 
to  hear  and  answer  us  en  every  future  occasion  that  we  cast 
ourselves  upon  his  compassion  and  his  power.  He  has  em- 
phatically taught  us  by  his  past  kindness,  to  apply  to  him  and 


to  trust  in  him,  amid  all  the  coming  difficulties  and  hardships 
of  our  Christian  journey.  And  we  will  but  ill  understand  and 
ill  improve  the  lesson,  if  it  does  not  serve  to  keep  alive  in  us 
an  active  spirit  of  prayer  and  supplication,  and  if  it  does  not 
make  us  '  go  boldly  to  the  thisone  of  grace,'  and  ask  with  con- 
fidence, that  we  may  receive  with  freeness,  mercy  and  grace, 
and  every  needful  blessing. 

Having  stated,  in  general,  God's  mercy  to  him,  and  the  ge- 
neral effect  which  it  produced  upon  his  sentiments  and  con- 
duct, the  Psalmist  proceeds  to  take  a  more  particular  view  of 
God's  gracious  dealings  with  him,  and  of  the  impressions 
which  these  made  upon  him,  both  as  to  his  present  feelings 
and  his  resolutions  lor  the  future.  'The  sorrows  of  death 
compassed  me,'  says  he,  '  the  pains  of  hell  got  hold  upon  me ; 
I  found  trouble  and  sorrow.'  He  was  menaced  with  death. 
It  was  not  some  bodily  distemper  which  might  be  easily  and 
speedily  removed.  It  was  not  some  ordinary  calamity  which 
ordinary  fortitude  would  enable  him  to  endure.  It  was  a  dis- 
temper which  seemed  to  be  mortal — it  was  a  calamity  which 
threatened  to  prove  fatal.  The  prospect  of  dissolution  was 
before  him;  and  there  was  something  more  alarming  still — 
something  after  death  which  made  him  shrink  back  from  it  as 
his  worst  enemy,  and  which  filled  him  with  trouble  and 
sorrow. 

It  is  truly  a  fearful  thing  to  die ;  to  go  from  the  place  of 
hope  to  the  place  of  unalterable  retribution  ;  to  leave  this 
world,  in  which,  amidst  all  its  sinfulness,  we  are  still  per- 
mitted to  hear  the  voice  of  divine  mercy,  and  to  pass  into  that 
untried  scene  where  we  must  encounter  all  the  perils  of  a 
righteous  judgment,  and  liave  our  doom  irrevocably  and  ever- 
lastingly fixed.  It  is  the  prerogative  of  faith,  indeed,  to  con- 
vert the  king  of  terrors  into  a  messenger  of  peace — to  shed  a 
cheering  light  along  Uie  dark  valley — and  to  realize  in  the 
most  holy  judge  a  most  compassionate  Saviour.  But  even 
in  those  whose  belief  has  been  heretofore  strong,  and  lively, 
and  influential,  and  who  have  often  said,  under  the  impressions 
of  its  elevating  power — '  O  death  where  is  thy  sting,  O  grave 
where  is  thy  victory  1  To  me  to  live  is  Christ,  and  to  die  is 
gain  ;' — even  in  them,  there  may  be  misgivings  at  the  last  hour, 
and  terrible  apprehensions  of  a  coming  tribunal,  and  a  coming 
eternity.  They  may  be  visited  with  the  compunctions  of  guilt ; 
and  thinking  of  all  their  transgressions  and  all  their  aggrava- 
tions, they  may  be  agitated  with  the  terrors  of  the  Lord,  and 
feel  as  it  were  the  punishment  of  hell  beginning  in  their  souls. 
Melancholy  and  distressing  is  their  situation.  It  is  not  in- 
deed to  be  compared  withfhe  situation  of  those  who  are  not 
only  thus  afraid  to  die,  but  who  have  reason  to  be  thus  afraid  ; 
who  have  sinned,  and  never  repented  ;  who  have  been  ofier- 
ed  a  Saviour,  but  have  not  believed  in  him;  who  are  called  to 
give  in  their  account,  but  have  made  no  prcpraration  for  such 
a  dread  reckoning ;  and  who  either  are  not  aware  of  their 
danger,  or  try  to  banish  it  from  their  thoughts,  or,  roused  to  a 
sense  of  it,  breathe  nothing  but  the  language  of  despair.  The 
situation  of  the  believer  whose  heart  is  icarful  of  dying,  is  not 
indeed  for  a  moment  to  be  compared  with  that  of  the  careless 
and  hardened,  or  the  awakened  and  hopeless  sinner.  Still, 
however,  it  is  one  of  severe  suflering;  and  he  is  frequently 
heard  to  express  the  mental  anguish  which  afflicts  him.  But 
then  there  is  a  refuge  for  him.  To  that  refuge  he  flees.  He 
looks  to  God  as  a  God  rich  in  mercy.  He  relies  upon  the 
mediator  of  the  new  covenant.  He  calls  upon  him  whose  '  ear 
is  open  to  his  cry;'  and  finds  relief  by  committing  himself  to 
him  in  the  earnestness  and  the  confidence  of  prayer;  'then 
called  I  upon  the  name  of  the  Lord;  O  Lord,  I  beseech  thee 
deliver  my  soul.' 

This  prayer  is  short  and  simple,  but  it  is  the  prayer  of  the 
heart  and  the  prayer  of  faith,  and  cannot  fail  to  succeed.  Ho 
who  prefers  it,  asks  the  deliverance  of  the  soul ;  its  deliver- 
ance from  the  guilt  of  sin,  which  would  leave  it  under  the 
sentence  of  condemnation  ;  and  its  deliverance  from  the  pollu- 
tion of  sin,  which  would  disqualily  it  for  the  kingdom  of  hea- 
ven. And  he  does  not  merely  ask  it  as  if  it  were  a  matter  of 
indilTerence  whether  he  obtained  it  or  not.  He  asks  it  as  a 
blessing  of  the  highest;  of  infinite  importance;  as  a  blessing 
ivithout  which  he  must  be  undone ;  as  a  blessing  ivith  which 
his  happiness  is  secure  and  complete.  'O  Lord,  I  beseech  tkee, 
deliver  my  soul.'  Then  again  he  appeals  to  God  as  a  God  of 
mercy  and  of  grace.  '  Gracious  is  the  Lord,  yea  our  God  is 
merciful.'  He  knows  and  feels,  that  were  God  to  deal  justly 
with  him,  instead  of  obtaining-  deliverance,  he  should  receive 
condemnation;  and  theretbre  he  relies  upon  his  mercy.  He 
refers  to  that  as  the  source  of  all  his  expectations;  and  laying 
aside  as  presumptuous  and  vain  every  claim  on  the  ground  of 
personal  deservinjj,  he  looks  and  applies  to  the  free  and  un- 


LECTURES  ON  PORTIONS  OF  THE  PSALMS. 


151 


merited  gnce  of  him  whose  memorial  it  is,  that  he  possesses 
this  endearing  attribute,  and  that  he  delights  in  the  exer- 
cise of  it. 

But  the  believer  does  not  rest  satisfied  with  the  conviction 
of  God's  mercy,  and  with  resting  his  hopes  upon  that  as  if  it 
were  the  only  perfection  in  God  s  character.  He  entertains 
more  worthy  and  consistent  notions  on  the  subject.  He  re- 
gards God,  not  as  his  own  corrupt  nature  would  perversely 
wish  him  to  be  ;  but  as  he  really  is,  and  as  he  has  been  pleas- 
ed to  reveal  himself  to  sinners.  He  regards  him  as  no  less 
holy  than  he  is  merciful.  '  Gracious  is  the  Lord,  and  rig/ile- 
ous.'  And  this  leads  him  not  merely  to  glorify  and  do  hom 
age  to  the  character  of  God,  by  ascribing  to  it  all  its  native 
excellence,  but  to  attend  to  that  provision  which  the  high  and 
holy  One  has  made  for  the  consistent  and  effectual  manifesta- 
tion of  his  love  to  guilty  men.  He  contemplates  the  gospel 
scheme  ;  he  sees  there  the  arrangement  which  supreme  wis- 
dom has  contrived  for  reconciling  the  bestowal  of  mercy  with 
the  demands  of  justice;  and  he  seeks  for  the  deliverance  of 
liis  soul  in  the  way  w'hich  has  been  divinely  appointed ; 
through  faith  in  the  atonement  and  mediation  of  Jesus  Christ, 
which  is  God's  instituted  method  for  a  sinner's  justification. 

Nor  docs  the  believer  rest  even  here.  He  knows  that  while 
he  must  depend  entirely  upon  the  merit  of  Christ  as  the  pro- 
curing cause,  and  upon  the  mercy  of  God  as  the  originating 
cause,  of  his  deliverance,  still  it  is  not  in  any  spirit  that  he 
feels  himself  entitled  to  ask  for  that  boon.  He  does  not  con- 
ceive it  to  be  enough  that  he  makes  use  of  the  mere  words 
and  phrases  of  a  petition,  or  that  he  makes  a  verbal  reference, 
however  decided  and  orthodox,  in  that  petition,  to  the  work 
of  the  Redeemer.  He  knows  that  in  all  this,  in  order  to  its 
beingof  any  weight,  there  must  be  '  simplicity  and  godly  sin- 
cerity;' for  it  is  only  'the  simple^  that  the  Lord  ^preserves.' 
And  therefore  he  studies  to  be  '  without  guile'  before  God,  to 
have  a  single  eye  to  what  God  requires  of  film,  as  well  as  to 
what/ie  is  asking  from  God;  and  conscious  of  being  without 
wisdom  and  without  strength  himself,  he  casts  himself  en- 
tirely and  unreservedly  on  the  divine  protection. 

Now,  the  consequence  of  such  an  application  to  God,  is  the 
attainment  of  that  support  and  deliverance  which  were  im- 
plored. '  I  was  brought  low,  and  the  Lord  helped  mc'  I 
was  brought  so  low  ;  1  was  so  beset  with  danger  and  so  over- 
whelmed with  fear;  I  was  in  such  a  miserable  and  hopeless 
state,  that  not  only  was  there  no  help  for  me  in  man,  but  I 
was  almost  despairing  of  help  from  God.  And  yet  he  has 
disappointed  all  my  fears,  he  has  scattered  all  mine  enemies, 
he  has  '  taken  me  out  of  the  fearful  pit  and  out  of  the  miry 
clay,  and  set  my  feet  upon  a  rock  and  established  my  goings.' 
As  a  poor,  destitute,  and  wretched  man,  '  I  cried  unto  the 
Lord,  and  he  heard  me,  and  delivered  me  out  of  all  my  dis- 
tresses.' I  was  cast  down,  but  he  raised  me  up  :  the  waves 
and  billows  of  adversity  were  threatening  to  swallow  me  up; 
but  he  made  '  the  overflowing  of  the  proud  waters  to  pass  by,' 
and  brought  me  to  the  shore  of  safety  and  of  peace.  His  ever- 
lasting arm  has  rescued  me  from  the  jaws  of  destruction,  and 
now  '  I  fear  no  evil.'  '  Return  unto  thy  rest  O  my  soul,  for 
the  Lord  halh  dealt  bountifully  with  thee.' 

If  our  souls  are  properly  aifectcd  they  will  be  perpetually 
Becking  rest ;  a  rest  in  which  they  can  delight  themselves, 
and  on  whose  permanence  they  can  count  with  certainty. 
And  this  rest  is  no  where  to  be  found  but  in  the  bounty  and 
favour  of  the  Lord.  'The  depth  saitb,  it  is  not  in  me,  and 
the  sea,  it  is  not  in  me.  It  cannot  be  gotten  for  gold.'  All  the 
wealth  of  the  world  cannot  purchase  it.  The  soul  has  wants 
■which  no  human  beneficence  can  supply.  It  has  diseases 
which  no  human  skill  can  heal.  It  has  desires  which  no  hu- 
man power  can  satisfy.  It  has  sorrows  which  no  human  sym- 
pathies can  charm  away.  And  if  left  to  the  resources  cf  cre- 
ated being,  it  is  indeed  '  weary  and  beavj'  laden,'  and  can  re- 
pose neither  in  what  it  has,  nor  in  what  it  expects  to  attain. 
This  is  the  case  in  some  measure  with  every  worldling ;  who, 
though  not  aware,  perhaps,  of  the  cause,  or  not  inclined  to 
have  it  removed,  yet  feels  that  in  all  his  most  eager  pursuits, 
and  in  all  his  choicest  pleasures,  there  is  little  else  than  '  va- 
nity and  vexation  of  spirit.'  But  it  is  more  especiallj'  the 
case  with  the  believer,  who  views  things  in  the  light  of  rea- 
son, and  in  the  light  of  .Scripture,  and  in  the  light  of  eternity ; 
who  sees  in  the  very  best  and  highest  of  earthly  enjoyments 
nothing  that  is  worthy  of  an  immortal  mind — nothing  that  ac- 
commodates itself  to  the  necessities  of  a  guilty  conscience  or 
of  a  depraved  heart ;  nothing  that  can  make  affliction  light, 
death  comforta1)le,  and  futurity  blessed ;  and  who  would, 
therefore,  regard  a  sentence  dooming  hirj)  to  seek  and  to  find 
his  happiness  in  these,  as  a  sentence  dooming  him  to  an  uttir 


exclusion  from  the  rest  which  he  is  so  anxious  to  obtain,  and 
to  the  continued  endurance  of  that  misery  out  of  which  he  is 
so  anxious  to  escape.  But,  blessed  be  God,  while  he  feels 
that  '  this  is  not  his  rest,'  he  knows  where  to  find  it.  He 
'arises  and  departs  out  of  the  land  which  is  polluted,'  and  he 
goes  into  the  land  in  which  the  dominion  of  sin  is  destroyed, 
and  in  which  he  can  lie  down  on  '  the  green  pastures,'  and 
walk  beside  'the  still  waters'  of  divine  grace.  He  sees  the 
ocean  of  a  worldly  and  unsanctified  life  to  be  without  an 
island  on  which  he  may  dwell  securely,  and  without  a  twig 
even  on  which  for  one  moment  he  may  plant  his  foot;  and, 
therefore,  he  returns  to  the  ark  of  safety  and  of  peace.  He 
takes  the  good  and  ever-living  God  for  his  portion ;  and  in  the 
riches  of  hh  bountj'  he  finds  all  that  can  give  '  rest  to  his  soul,' 
amidst  his  most  numerous  troubles  and  his  most  aggravated 
sorrows.  There  is  no  evil  in  his  existing  condition,  and  no 
evil  that  he  can  anticipate,  from  which  he  is  not  emancipated, 
or  under  which  he  is  not  upheld  and  comforted,  by  that  mer- 
ciful and  mighty  being  to  whom  he  has  surrendered  himself 
in  faith  and  in  well-doing.  ^ 

The  Psalmist  here  gives  an  enumeration  of  4he  blessings 
which  he  experienced  from  the  bountiful  dealingof  the  Lord. 
There  is  first,  the  deliverance  of  the  '  soul  from  death.'  '  The 
soul  that  sinneth,  it  shall  die.'  And  having  sinned,  we  are 
justly  and  necessarily  condemned  to  die.  But  as  it  is  impos- 
sible to  describe,  or  even  to  conceive,  all  the  horrors  of  that 
punishment  which  we  have  incurred  by  our  transgression  of 
God's  law,  so  proportionally  awful  must  be  the  convictions 
of  the  awakened  sinner  who  has  in  any  measure  realized  these 
in  his  imagination,  and  is  conscious  of  deserving  them,  and  ia 
impressed  with  the  apprehension  of  suffering  them.  But  if, 
in  the  midst  of  all  these  dangers,  and  all  this  anguish,  we 
have  '  fled  for  refuge  to  lay  hold  on  the  hope  set  before  us,' 
and  have  put  our  trust  in  God's  mercy  as  exhibited  in  the  me- 
diation of  Jesus,  it  is  the  assurance  of  him  'who  cannot  lie,' 
that  our  guilt  is  remitted,  that  we  obtain  reconciliation,  that 
we  become  partakers  of  an  'eternal  redemption.'  And  what 
can  be  wanting  to  give  us  rest  from  the  agitations  of  guilt, 
when  we  hear  that  great  and  gracioHS  being  whose  wrath  we 
had  incurred,  saying  to  us,  son,  'daughter,  be  of  good  cheer, 
thy  sins  are  forgiven  theel'  Surely  this  declaration,  so  full 
of  mercy,  and  so  full  of  meaning,  must  impart  to  ns  that 
'  peace  of  mind  which  passeth  understanding,'  and  fill  us  with 
'a  joy  that  is  unspeakable  and  full  of  glory.' 

But,  besides  delivering  our  souls  from  death,  the  Lord  also 
in  his  bounty  delivers  our  '  eyes  from  tears.'  In  this  sinful 
world,  there  is  no  complete  exemption  from  evil  that  is  either 
promised  to  us,  or  that  can  be  experienced  by  us.  It  abounds 
in  causes  of  mourning,  to  the  operation  of  which  we  must  be 
subjected  in  common  with  all  the  children  of  mortality,  and 
there  are  some  by  which  we  are  iiecnliarly  affected  as  the  dis- 
ciples of  a  holy  and  crucified  Redeemer.  But  though  we  are 
exposed  to  these,  and  must  often  endure  them  in  all  their  va- 
riety, and  in  all  their  weight,  still  being  reconciled  to  God 
through  Christ,  and  consequently  interested  in  all  the  pro- 
mises of  the  well  ordered  covenant,  wc  have  wherewithal  to 
comfort  our  hearts  in  the  darkest  and  most  distressful  hour. 
No  affliction  befals  us  which  is  not  accompanied  with  its  ap- 
propriate consolation.  Even  our  heaviest  calamities  are  re- 
presented and  brought  home  to  us  as  expressions  of  God's 
paternal  love.  And  in  the  gloomiest  vale  of  sorrow,  we  are 
permitted  to  lift  up  the  eye  of  hope  to  that  region  of  uncloud- 
ed sky  and  undisturbed  repose  which  is  reserved  for  the  faith- 
ful ;  and  to  consider  what  we  suffer  now  as  a  preparation  for 
that  blessed  period  longed  for,  though  not  distant,  by  all  the 
afflicted  followers  of  Christ,  when  God  shall  translate  them 
into  his  unsuffering  kingdom,  and  shall  'wipe  away  all  tears 
from  their  eyes.'  With  this  prospect  before  us,  secured  tons 
by  the  word  of  promise,  and  brought  near  by  that  '  faith  which 
is  the  evidence  of  things  not  seen,'  we  may  not  only  '  pos- 
sess our  souls  in  patience,'  but  even  '  rejoice  in  our  tribula- 
tions.' 

And  while  God  delivers  our  souls  from  death,  and  our 
eyes  from  tears,  he  also  delivers  our  '  feet  from  falling.'  If 
we  are  true  believers,  sensible  of  our  obligations  to  God,  and 
desirous  of  final  admission  into  heaven,  we  must  be  perpetu- 
ally concerned  to  maintain  '  a  conscience  void  of  offence,'  and 
to  be  'holy  in  all  manner  of  conversation."  And,  aware  of 
the  miniberless  temptations  that  surround  us,  and  of  our  own 
weakness  and  inability  to  resist  and  overcome  them,  the  fear 
of  falling  a  prey  to  them  must  frequently  harass  and  distress 
us.  But  here  also  a  bountiful  God  has  provided  rest  for  us. 
We  are  assured  by  him  that  his  '  grace  will  be  sufficient  for 
us,  and  that  his  strength  will  be  perfected  in  our  weakness;' 


152 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


that  the  divine  Spirit  is  to  be  given  us  for  our  guidance  and 
sanctification ;  that  Christ  lias  vanquislied  our  spiritual  foes, 
and  that  believing  in  him,  his  victory  becomes  ours.  And 
having  such  an  assurance,  what  reason  have  we  not  merely 
to  exclude  all  despondency  as  to  our  perseverance,  but  even  to 
go  on  our  Christian  way  rejoicing,  humble  indeed  under  a 
sense  of  our  manifold  dangers  and  deficiencies,  but  yet  ani- 
mated by  the  encouraging  truth,  that  we  are  'strong  in  the 
Lord,  and  in  the  power  of  his  might,'  that  even  in  tlie  wil- 
derness we  shall  have  '  rest  from  our  enemies,'  and  that  by  a 
course  of  cheerful  and  universal  obedience,  we  shall  be  ma- 
turing our  meetness  for  enjoying  that  sinless,  and  perfect, 
and  eternal  '  rest  which  remains'  above  '  for  the  people  of 
God  !' 

Now,  what  is  the  practical  result  of  this  experience? 
What  was  it  with  the  Psalmist  T  And  what  should  it  be 
with  us?  'I  will  walk  before  the  Lord,'  says  David,  'in 
the  land  of  the  living.'  This  was  his  resolution,  this  was 
his  endeavour;  and  it  must  be  ours.  We  must  act  with  a 
spirit  of  confidence  in  his  wisdom  and  goodness;  with  un- 
feigned submission  to  his  authority,  with  '  a  single  eye  to  his 
glory,'  with  the  blessed  hope  of  seeing  him  in  heaven.  And 
especially  we  must  act  as  it  becomes  those  who  have  experi- 
enced so  much  of  his  loving  kindness,  recognising  in  this  a 
powerful  motive  for  being  more  active  and  zealous  in  his 
service,  more  anxious  in  promoting  his  lionour  among  our 
fellow-men ;  and  more  careful  to  embrace  every  opportunity 
that  is  offered,  of  showing  to  the  souls  and  bodies  of  others 
that  mercy  which  we  have  received  from  him. 

And  there  must  be  no  delay,  no  remissness,  no  indolence 
in  the  great  duty  of  walking  before  the  Lord.  '  I  will  walk 
before  the  Lord  in  the  hind  of  the  living.''  O  my  friends, 
life  is  short.  We  are  now  in  the  land  of  living  men 
We  shall  ere  long  be  immured  in  the  darkness  and  the  si- 
lence of  the  tomb.  Let  us  '  work  the  works  of  God,  there- 
fore, while  it  is  day ;  the  night  cometh'  soon,  and  it  may 
come  unexpectedly,  '  when  iio  man  can  work.'  '  Whatever 
our  hand  findeth  to  do ;'  whether  it  be  an  exercise  of  faith  in 
the  Redeemer,  or  whether  it  be  an  act  of  repentance  towards 
our  ofi'ended  Maker,  or  whether  it  be  an  application  by  prayer 
at  the  foot-stool  of  mercy,  or  whether  it  be  a  deed  of  justice 
and  reparation  to  some  one  that  we  liave  wronged,  or  whether 
it  be  a  work  of  piety  and  beneficence,  in  behalf  of  the  vi 
tims  of  disease  and  poverty,  '  whatever  our  hand  findeth  to  do, 
let  us  do  it  with  our  might,  for  there  is  no  work,  nor  device, 
nor  knowledge,  nor  wisdom,  in  the  grave,  whither  we  are 
going.' 


LECTURE  XL 

I  believed,  tlicrefare  have  I  spoken:  I  ivas  greatly  afflicted.  I 
said  in  my  haste.  Jilt  men  are  liars,  tl'hat  shall  I  render 
unto  the  Lord  for  all  his  benefits  toward  me.^  I  will  take  the 
cup  (f  salvation,  and  call  upon  the  name  of  the  Lord.     I  will 

.  jmy  my  vows  unto  the  Lord  now  in  the  presence  <f  all  his  peo- 
ple. Preciotts  in  the  sight  of  the  Lord  is  the  death  of  his 
saints.  0  Lord,  truly  I  am  thy  sn-vant,  and  the  son  of  thine 
handoiaid :  thou  hast  loosed  my  bonds.  I  will  offer  to  thee  the 
sacrifice  of  thanksgiving,  and  will  call  upon  the  name  of  the 
Lord.  I  will  pay  my  vovjs  unto  the  Lord  no'o  in  the  jiresence 
of  all  his  people,  in  the  courts  of  the  Lard\  house,  in  the  midst 
of  thee,  U  Jerusalem,  fraise  ye  t/ie  Lurd.~Ps\hM  cxvi.  10 
— END. 

'I  believed,' says  David,  '  therefore  have  I  spoken.'  The 
Apostle  Paul,  in  his  second  epistle  to  the  Corinthians,  quotes 
tliis  language,  and  applies  it  to  himself  and  to  his  fellow  la- 
bourers, as  enduring  affliction,  and  yet  preaching,  and  openly 
declaring  their  attachment  to,  the  truths  on  account  of  which 
tliat  afiliction  was  sullered.  And  hence,  we  may  learn,  ac- 
cording to  the  judgment  of  the  Apostle,  that  the  Psalmist  in- 
timates, in  this  concise  phraseology,  that  lie  was  bold  to  con- 
fess his  reliance  on  the  divine  promises,  even  in  the  midst  of 
all  his  persecutions  and  distress,  and  that  he  was  enabled  to 
manifest  this  boldness  by  the  strength'  and  the  vividness  of 
his  religious  faith. 

The  conduct  of  David  and  of  Paul  was  rational  as  well  as 
pious,  and  it  must  be  our  conduct  if  we  would  be  wise,  and 
consistent,  and  lioly.  Trusting  in  tlie  providence,  and  '  glorj'- 
ing  in  tlie  cross  of  Christ,'  wo  may,  like  many  that  havc'gone 


before  us,  be  exposed  to  ridicule  and  reproach.  Our  under- 
standing may  be  impeached  ;  our  sincerity  may  he  denied  ; 
our  good  name  may  be  traduced,  and  our  worldly  interest  im- 
paired ;  and  we  may  be  beset  with  evils  as  many  and  as  se- 
vere as  those  which  harassed  the  King  of  Israel  and  the 
Apostle  of  the  Gentiles.  But,  amidst  them  all,  we  will  never, 
if  we  are  true  Christians,  be  deterred  nor  diseouraged  from 
confessing  the  Redeemer  of  our  souls,  and  the  God  of  our  sal- 
ation.  We  will  make  this  confession,  when  called  upon  to 
do  so,  even  though  it  should  increase  the  hatred  of  our  ene- 
mies, and  the  severity  of  our  hardships  a  thousand  fold.  And 
we  will  be  the  more  resolute  to  do  this,  not  only  because  it  is 
right  in  itself,  but  because  by  the  noble  testimony  which  we 
thus  give,  of  a  good  conscience,  and  to  a  righteous  cause,  wo 
may  Ije  instrumental  in  awakening,  and  finally  converting  the 
hearts  of  those  who  so  unjustly  vilify  and  oppress  us. 

Nor  my  friends  can  we  possibly  act  otherwise,  if  we  truly 
and  firmly  believe.  Let  us  only  be  convinced  that  '  the 
Lord  reigns,'  and  that  his  word  concerning  his  people  is  as 
true  as  his  purpose  is  merciful,  and  as  his  arm  is  mighty  ;  let 
our  minds  be  influenced  by  realizing  views  of  the  necessity 
and  the  greatness  of  that  deliverance  which  he  has  provided 
for  us,  by  the  meritorious  righteousness  and  atoning  death  of 
his  own  Son  ;  let  our  belief  extend  to  all  that  he  has  spoken 
of  the  compassion  and  the  kindness,  with  which  he  will  re- 
gard us  as  we  journey  along  the  pilgrimage  of  life,  and  travel 
through  '  the  dark  valley  of  death  ;'  let  our  hope  '  enter  into 
that  within  the  vail,'  and  contemplate  whatever  is  great  and 
good  and  happy  in  the  sinless  and  unsuffering  kingdom 
which  is  prepared  for  us  in  heaven ;  and  what  is  there  in 
the  hostility  of  mortal  man ;  what  is  there  in  the  privation 
of  earthy  comfort;  what  is  there  in  the  last  and  deepest  ago- 
nies of  bodily  suffering,  that  should  prevent  us  from  pro- 
claiming in  the  loudest  strains  our  unshaken  trust  in  the 
Lord  Jehovah,  in  the  grace  and  power  of  Jesus,  in  the  virtue 
and  the  faithfulness  of  the  everlasting  covenant?  The  afflic- 
tions to  which  we  are  subjected,  cannot  alter  the  objects  to- 
wards which  our  faith  is  turned :  they  cannot  alter  the 
grounds  upon  which  it  is  established  ;  they  cannot  alter  the 
reasonableness  of  that  connexion  which  subsists  between  the 
principle  itself,  and  the  arguments,  whether  speculative  or 
experimental,  which  have  produced  it ;  they  cannot  alter  these 
things,  and,  therefore,  why  should  our  faith  in  such  circum- 
stances, be  either  enfeebled  or  destroyed  1  Nay,  if  that  faith 
he  genuine  and  enlightened,  it  will  not  merely  brave  the  storms 
of  persecution,  but  will  gather  strength  and  vigour  from 
them.  For  while  he  in  whom  we  believe  gives  us  no  reason 
to  expect  any  exemption  from  the  ills  and  calamities  of 
life,  he  has  even  told  us  that  our  lot  in  consequence  of  our 
Christian  profession,  and  Christian  practice,  may  be  more 
troubled  than  that  of  other  men,  and  that  it  may  happen  that 
every  proof  we  give,  cither  in  word  or  deed,  of  our  devoted- 
ness  to  the  doctrine  of  a  particular  providence,  or  of  a  cruci- 
fied Saviour,  may  be  the  signal  for  opposition,  and  contumely, 
and  scorn.  And,  consequentl}',  when  such  things  befal  us, 
they  give  us  additional  evidence  of  the  truth  of  the  Gospel, 
and  of  the  veracity  of  him  to  whom  we  have  committed  our 
interests.  This  evidence  becomes  the  more  interesting  and 
powerful,  wlien  we  recollect  the  promise  with  which  the  pre- 
diction of  sufl'ering  is  accompanied,  namely,  that  it  will  be  all 
overruled  for  our  ultimate  happiness;  and,  indeed,  that  it  is 
to  operate  as  a  wise  and  intended  means  of  sanctifying  us  for 
the  presence  of  the  blessed  God.  And,  in  this  view  of  the 
subject,  it  surely  becomes  us  to  be  'strong  in  the  faith;'  to 
'  sing  at  once  of  mercy  and  of  judgment;'  to  lilt  up  a  wit- 
nessing voice  to  the  unceasing  and  unchangeable  love  of  him 
under  whose  permission,  or  by  whose  appointment,  we  are  put 
into  the  furnace  of  affliction ;  and  to  tell  the  church  and  the 
world,  in  the  language  of  settled  and  animated  belief,  that  we 
rejoice  in  him  who  suffered  on  Calvary,  and  that  in  spite  of 
all  the  obloquy  that  can  be  heaped  upon  us  by  infidel  and  un- 
godly men,  we  still  cling  to  his  cross  as  '  all  our  salvation 
and  all  our  desire'  'Thus  believing,  we  will  thus  speak.' 

liut,  my  friends,  though  this  be  the  language  of  true  and 
genuine  faith,  we  know  enough  of  the  frailty  of  men,  and  of 
believing  men,  not  to  be  aware  that  believing  men  do  not  uni- 
formly hold  this  language  ;  that  they  sometimes  allow  their 
convictions  to  he  weakened,  or  to  fall  into  a  temporary  slum- 
ber ;  that  when  assailed  by  bitter  provocations,  or  by  unex- 
pected miseries,  they  occasionally  become  uncharitable,  fret- 
ful, and  disconsolate.  In  the  intensity  of  their  feelings  to- 
wards those  who  arc  butthe  instruments  of  what  they  endure, 
they  forget  the  perfection  and  the  character  of  hirn  by  whom 
these  instruments  are  guided  or  restrained.     And  irritated  by 


LECTURES  ON  PORTIONS  OF   THE  PSALMS. 


153 


the  pains  that  they  suffer,  or  perplexed  by  the  difficulties  in 
which  they  are  involved,  they  lose  their  hold  of  that  stay  on 
which  their  souls,  in  less  trjinor  circumstances,  had  securely 
rested  ;  they  speak  and  act  as  if  the  divine  protection  were 
withdrawn,  or,  as  if  their  enemies  were  now  stronger  than 
God  ;  and  look  with  an  evil  eye,  and  pronounce  an  indiscrira- 
inating  'sentence  of  condemnation,  on  all  their  brethren  of 
mankind. 

Of  this  we  have  an  example  in  the  Psalmist.  '  I  was  great- 
ly afflicted.  I  said  in  my  haste,  all  men  are  liars.'  He  had 
been  deserted  by  those  on  whom  he  relied  as  his  friends;  he 
had  been  deceived,  as  well  as  thwarted  and  persecuted  by 
such  as  miorht  have  been  expected  to  stand  by  him,  and  sup- 
port him  in  his  lime  of  need.  But,  not  contented  with  express- 
ing his  indignation  at  the  treachery  and  misconduct  of  these 
individuals,  he  concludes  that  every  other  person  is  actuated 
by  the  same  spirit  of  falsehood  and  deception,  and  involves 
the  good  and  the  bad,  friends  and  foes,  in  one  sweeping  cen- 
sure. And  he  docs  it  in  such  a  way  as  to  show  that  he 
was  thinking  with  more  concern,  about  the  guilt  and  the 
malice  of  his  adversaries,  than  about  the  power  and  the  provi- 
dence of  his  God. 

But  then  he  acknowledges  that  he  did  this  rashly  and  un- 
advisedly. He  did  not  sufficientli"  consider  the  nature  and 
grounds  of  the  sentiment  which  he  uttered.  He  yielded  to 
a  sudden  ebullition  of  temper,  instead  of  having  recourse  to 
the  great  truths  in  which  he  believed,  and  which  would  have 
served  in  this,  as  in  former  cases,  to  fortify  his  courage,  to 
comfort  his  heart,  and  to  guide  his  steps.  And  this  sinful 
conduct  originated  in  the  greatness  of  his  affliction.  His 
affliction  was  so  great  as  to  overwhelm  his  better  principles 
and  feelings,  to  bring  into  action  the  angry  passions  of  his 
nature,  and  to  make  him  speak  as  if  he  had  been  faithless,  as 
well  as  resentful. 

This,  however,  is  not  to  be  vieWed  so  much  in  the  light  of 
an  excuse  for /((/n,  as  of  a  warning  to  us.  We  may  suffer 
greatly  and  grievously  from  the  malice  of  men.  There  may 
be  found  among  our  foes,  these  whom  we  had  befriended, 
who  had  '  eaten  of  our  bread,'  who  had  shared  of  our  bount3-, 
who  had  taught  us  to  confide  in  their  affection  :  And  they 
may  employ  the  very  tokens  of  our  confidence  as  the  weapons 
of  tlieir  malignity.  But  what  is  there  in  all  this  to  justify  us 
in  anathematising  the  whole  of  our  species,  and  in  branding 
with  duplicity  such  as  have  never  done  us  wrong  1  We 
know  not  how  many  hearts  may  be  sympathising  with  us  in 
our  distresses  ;  how  many  voices  are  lifted  up  in  prayer  for 
our  deliverance ;  how  many  hands  are  actively  engaged  in 
our  defence.  And  why  should  a  sense  of  injuries,  however 
unmerited,  and  however  great,  crush  in  our  souls  that  charity 
which  would  make  us  believe  to  be  good  in  our  brethren, 
what  we  do  not  know  to  be  evil  ?  Or  why  should  the  perse- 
cution of  a  few,  or  of  many,  sonr  us  against  the  rest,  and 
alienate  our  affections  from  all  T  Granting,  however,  that 
there  were  a  countless  multitude  against  us,  why  should  we 
give  way  to  the  feelings,  or  why  should  wo  utter  the  lan- 
guage of  disappointment  and  of  querulousness,  when  we 
know  who  is  for  us?  We  '  believe  in  God  ;  we  believe  also 
in  Christ:  Let  not,  therefore,  our  hearts  be  troubled  ;  neither 
let  them  be  afraid.'  Instead  of  the  discontented  and  unbe- 
coming effusion  which  David  poured  forth  in  his  haste  and 
his  forgetfulness,  let  us  adopt  the  tone  of  triumphant  confi- 
dence which  animated  him  on  another  occasion,  when  he  said, 
'The  Lord  is  my  light  and  my  salvation,  whom  shall  I  fear? 
The  Lord  is  the  strength  of  my  life ;  of  whom  shall  I  be 
afraid  1  When  the  wicked,  even  mine  enemies  and  my  foes 
came  upon  me,  to  eat  up  ray  flesh,  they  stumbled  and  fell. 
Though  an  host  should  encamp  against  me,  my  heart  shall 
not  fear ;  though  war  should  rise  up  against,  me,  in  this  will 
I  be  confident.'  But,  sensible  how  weak  we  are,  how-  apt  we 
are  to  be  thrown  off  our  guard,  and  overwhelmed  by  unlookcd 
for  calamities  ;  warned  of  this,  if  not  by  our  own  experience, 
at  least  by  the  experience  of  the  Psalmist,  and  by  the  teach- 
ing of  the  Bible,  let  us  be  vigilant  against  the  influence  of 
such  circumstances  ;  let  us  study  to  live  in  the  habitual  exer- 
cise of  faith  ;  let  us  be  espcciallj'  careful  to  call  forth  its  en 
ergies  in  such  trials  as  that  which  made  David  unmindful  of 
his  trust  in  the  Almighty  ;  let  us  be  continually  employed  in 
nourishing  and  invigorating  it,  by  meditations  on  the  divine 
character,  and  the  divine  promises  ;  and  let  us  pray  earnestly 
that,  in  every  season  of  peril  and  of  perplexity,  it  may  be  made 
strong  b)'  the  might  of  heaven  to  overcome  every  foe,  and  to 
banish  every  fear. 

Notwithstanding  the  sinful  and  uncharitable  despondency 
into  which  the  Psalmist  had  fallen,  the  Lord  had  been  merci 
Vor..  ll.—V 


ful  to  him,  and  delivered  him  out  of  all  his  troubles  :  'set  his 
feet  in  a  large  place,  and  established  liis  soings.'  And, 
strongly  impressed  by  a  sense  of  his  manifold  obligations, 
he  cries  out,  '  what  shall  I  render  unto  the  Lord  for  all  his 
benefits  towards  rnel'  .Such  is  tliefeeling  which  it  becomes 
every  Christian  to  cherish,  and  such  is  the  language  which 
it  becomes  every  Christian  to  employ.  Numerous  are  the 
blessings  which  God  has  conferred  upon  us.  From  the  earli- 
est moment  of  our  existence  until  now,  he  has  watched  over 
us  to  do  us  good.  How  often  has  he  rescued  us  from  pain 
and  danger  !  How  often  has  he  guided  us  in  our  difficulties, 
and  comforted  us  in  our  sorrows  !  How  liberally  has  he 
provided  for  our  ever  returning  wants !  How  abundantly 
has  he  favoured  our  lot  both  with  temporal  mercies,  and  witli 
spiritual  privileges  !  And  how  urrdeserving  have  we  been 
even  of  the  very  least  of  those  benefits  which  we  were  daily 
and  hourly  receiving  from  his  bountiful  hand  !  Surely  then, 
if  gratitude  be  due  to  a  benefactor,  it  becomes  us  to  be  grate- 
ful to  the  Lord  our  God  ;  and  if  our  gratitude  to  a  benelactor 
should  be  enhanced  by  the  generosity  of  the  giver,  and  the 
unwcrthiness  of  the  receiver,  what  a  debt  of  gratitude  do  we 
owe  to  him  whose  loving-kindness  to  us  has  been  equally 
unbounded  and  unmerited  !  Let  us  often  think  of  tlie  pre- 
serving and  redeeming  goodness  of  our  Maker  :  let  us  call  up 
every  thankful  emotion  of  which  our  hearts  are  susceptible ; 
let  every  year,  and  let  every  hour,  as  it  increases  the  weight 
of  our  obligations,  find  us  more  disposed  to  acknowledge  and 
to  fulfil  them  ;  and  let  it  be  our  serious  and  perpetual  inquiry, 
how  we  shall  give  the  most  unequivocal  and  most  suitable 
expression  to  that  gratitude,  which  such  a  rich  experience  of 
the  divine  beneficence  should  awaken  in  our  breasts.  '  What 
shall  we  render  unto  the  Lord  for  all  his  benefits  towards  us  ?' 

'  I  will  take  the  cup  of  salvation,'  says  the  Psalmist,  '  and 
call  upon  the  name  of  the  Lord.'  The  Psalmist,  it  is  proba- 
ble, by  '  the  cup  of  salvation,'  means  the  drink  offerings  ap- 
pointed by  the  law  in  token  of  thankfulness  for  any  deliver- 
ance that  had  been  experienced  ;  or  he  may  refer  to  a  custom 
that  prevailed  among  the  pious  Jews,  of  the  master  of  the 
house  having  at  his  private  meal  a  cup  of  blessing  of  which 
he  drank  first,  and  in  which  his  guests  and  family  pledged 
him, — all  uniting  in  the  act  of  thanksgiring  to  God  with 
which  the  ceremony  was  accompanied.  Whichsoever  of  these 
interpretations  be  the  just  one,  the  instruction  which  it  im- 
parts to  us  is,  that  we  should  adopt  every  appointed  and  every 
proper  method  of  signifying  how  much  we  owe  to  our  heav- 
enly father ;  that  in  the  exercises  of  public  worship  and  of 
domestic  piety,  as  well  as  of  private  devotion,  we  should  not 
fail  to  make  mention  of  our  debt  of  gratitude  ;  that  we  should 
'call  upon  the  name  of  the  Lord,'  praising  him  for  his  works 
of  mercy  and  of  kindness,  and  praying  to  him  for  a  mind  more 
willing  to  make  those  returns  to  which  he  is  entitled,  and 
for  ability  more  ample  to  act  according  to  what  we  feel  in  our 
hearts  and  utter  with  our  lips. 

And  especially  should  we  be  faithful  to  the  vows  that  we 
have  made  in  the  season  of  distress.  It  too  often  happens 
that  these  vows  are  broken  and  forgotten.  Under  the  press- 
ure of  affliction,  and  more  particularly  in  the  prospect  of  its 
terminating  fatallj^,  we  are  apt  to  form  resolutions  and  to 
make  promises  of  amendment,  and  to  say,  that  if  it  pleases 
God  to  spare  us  and  to  deliver  us,  we  will  henceforth  render 
him  a  new  and  a  better  obedience  ;  that  we  will  be  careful  to 
avoid  the  sins  of  our  past  lives,  which  we  now  see  to  have 
been  sinful  far  beyond  what  we  had  ever  conceived  them  in 
the  season  of  health  and  safety  ;  and  that  all  who  shall  here- 
after witness  our  conduct,  shall  behold  it  adorned  with  the 
fruits  of  sincere  penitence,  and  holy  purposes,  and  sanctified 
distresses.  All  this  is  well :  but  alas,  how  often  does  it  all 
vanish  like  the  goodness  of  Ephraim,  which  was  as  'the 
morning  cloud  and  the  early  dew  that  passeth  away !'  How 
often  have  we  risen  from  the  bed  of  sickness,  or  escaped  from 
the  jaws  of  death,  and  thought  little  more,  or  thought  no  more, 
of  the  contrition  that  we  had  felt,  of  the  confessions  that  we 
had  made,  of  the  determinations  that  we  had  formed  to  be 
more  watchful  against  temptation,  and  more  vigorous  in  duty, 
and  more  abundant. in  faith  than  we  had  ever  been  before! 
How  often  have  we  exhibited  the  spectacle  of  emplo)'inor  our 
renovated  health,  our  restored  life,  our  returning  prosperity, 
far  more  for  the  gratification  of  our  own  perverse  dispositions, 
than  for  the  honour  and  the  praise  of  him  by  whom  these  bless- 
ings were  bestowed,  and  to  whom  we  solemnly  covenanted 
them  all  the  rest  of  our  days  !  Brethren,  these  things  ought 
not  so  to  be  ;  and  let  them  not  be  so  with  any  of  us.  But  as 
we  have  vowed  unto  the  Lord,  let  us  be  faithful  to  pay  our 
vows.     Instead  of  coming  short  of  what  might  have  been  ex- 


154 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


pected  from  all  that,  wc  had  felt  and  said  in  the  time  of  trou- 
ble, let  us  laliour  if  possible  to  pro  beyond  it ;  and  sliow  in  the 
confirmed  stedfastness  of  our  faith  and  in  the  growing  purity 
of  our  deportment,  not  only  that  it  was  '  good  Tor  us  to  have 
been  afflicted,' but  that  we  were  sincere  and  decided  in  the 
surrender  which  we  then  made  of  our  future  selves,  and  of 
our  whole  selves,  to  the  glory  of  that  God  whose  mercy  we 
invoked,  and  whose  mercy  we  experienced. 

And  let  us  do  this  'now.'  Delay  in  such  a  case  is  sinful. 
It  is  a  violation  of  the  very  vow  that  was  made  ;  it  is  perse- 
vering in  what  we  know  to  be  wrong,  and  have  promised  to 
forsake.  And  it  is  foolish  as  well  as  sinful ;  for  if  we  do  not 
begin  to  fulfil  our  engagements  when  the  circumstances  which 
induced  them  are  still  fresh  in  our  recollection  and  our  feel- 
ings, how  is  it  to  be  supposed  that  we  shall  afterwards  be 
prevailed  upon  to  begin  the  work,  when  the  pains  of  sick- 
ness, the  ills  of  adversity,  the  apprehensions  of  death,  shall 
have  been  swallowed  up  in  the  cares,  and  the  amusements, 
and  the  fascinations  of  a  world  which  we  have  so  deliberately 
allowed  to  regain  its  ascendancy  ?  Nor  is  it  less  dangerous 
than  it  is  foolish  and  sinful,  to  defer  to  any  future  day  the  ful- 
filment of  our  vows.  The  retrospect  of  every  past  year,  and 
all  which  the  events  of  that  year  have  taught  us,  inculcate  the 
momentous  lesson  which  is  recorded  in  our  Bible,  that '  now 
is  the  accepted  time — tliat  noiv  is  the  day  of  salvation.'  We 
know  not,  and  we  cannot  know,  whether  our  period  of  proba- 
tion shall  be  lengthened  ;  whether  our  present  opportunities 
shall  be  repeated ;  whether  space  shall  lie  granted  us,  not  for 
carrying  our  purposes  into  full  effect,  but  even  for  giving  one 
decisive  proof  that  they  were  cordial  and  sincere.  And,  there- 
fore, our  only  safety  lies  in  beginning  immediately  to  embody 
our  resolutions  and  our  vows  into  our  actual  character,  and  to 
become  all  that  we  intend  to  be,  and  all  that  we  must  be,  as 
the  monuments  of  God's  saving  mercy,  and  as  the  expectants 
of  his  heavenlj'  presence.  We  must  '  pay  our  vows  noiv  in 
the  presence  of  all  God's  people ;'  telling  them  what  great 
things  he  has  done  for  our  souls  and  our  bodies  ;  calling  upon 
them  to  join  us  in  magnifying  his  holy  name ;  and  giving  them 
to  see  our  renewed  anxiety  and  our  improved  exertions  to  con- 
form to  all  his  holy  will.  We  must  do  it,  '  in  the  courts  of 
the  Lord's  house,'  by  a  more  punctual  attendance  on  the  pub- 
lic ordinances  of  his  grace,  and  by  a  more  devout,  more  fer- 
vent, more  consistent  engagement  in  all  the  exercises  and 
services  of  the  sanctuary.  And  we  must  do  it,  as  it  were, 
'in  the  midst  of  Jerusalem.'  We  must  do  it  before  the  world 
as  well  as  before  the  church  ;  in  the  presence  of  God's  ene- 
mies as  well  as  in  the  presence  of  all  his  people.  W  e  are 
not  to  make  an  osteniatious  display  of  God's  merciful  dealings 
with  us  ;  nor  of  the  gratitude  which  we  feel  to  him  on  account 
of  these  ;  nor  of  the  practical  proofs  by  which  that  gratitude 
is  evinced  and  perfected.  But  as  little  are  we  to  be  ashamed 
of  these  things  or  to  conceal  them  from  the  knowledge  and 
observation  of  '  them  that  are  without.'  This  would  neither 
be  honourable  to  God,  nor  would  it  be  just  to  our  own  per- 
sonal feelings  and  consistency ;  nor  would  it  be  any  thing  to- 
wards ungodly  men,  but  a  withholding  from  them  what,  if 
plainly  and  prudently  exhibited,  might  have  the  eftect  of  sub- 
duing their  opposition,  and  calling  them  to  serious  thought. 
Under  the  influence  of  all  these  considerations,  we  must  pay 
our  vows  to  the  Lord  with  unaffected  simplicity  and  undaunt- 
ed boldness  :  believing  it  to  be  at  once  right  and  useful  that 
none  should  be  ignorant  of  the  divine  goodness  to  'them  that 
love  him'  and  put  their  trust  in  him,  and  of  that  tribute  of 
piety  and  righteousness,  which,  as  he  requires  it,  so  the)'  are 
ready  to  yield,  in  token  of  their  gratitude  to  him  who  preserves 
'their  souls  from  death,  their  eyes  from  tears,  and  their  feet 
from  falling.' 

It  is  a  comfortable  and  an  animating  thought,  that,  'pre- 
cious in  the  sight  of  the  Lord,  is  the  death  of  his  saints.'  He 
has  often  permitted  liis  people  to  be  persecuted  unto  the 
death  ;  and  there  is  a  host  of  blessed  martyrs  around  his 
throne.  But  he  gave  them  up  to  the  will  of  their  enemies 
that  they  might  bear  a  more  impressive  witness  to  the  truth, 
than  the  longest  and  most  prosperous  life  could  have  effected  ; 
he  stood  by  them  when  they  were  sufftring  for  his  sake,  and 
spread  a  glory  over  their  last  scene,  brighter  and  more  per- 
manent by  far  than  what  has  ever  accompanied  the  departure 
of  the  proudest  and  most  splendid  of  this  world's  heroes ;  and 
from  the  scaffold  or  tlie  flames,  where  they  perished,  he  has 
wafted  their  spirits  to  the  peculiar  blessedness  of  those  who 
'  have  come  through  much  tribulation.'  And  as  in  these  cases 
he  has  loved  and  honoured  liis  saints  even  in  the  midst  of  ap- 
parent desertion,  so  in  all  circumstances  he  watches  over  them 
for  good.     He  does  not  needlessly  allow  them  to  be  the  vic- 


tims of  human  enmity.  He  does  not  set  so  little  value  on 
their  continuance  in  tlie  world  as  to  eye  their  treatment  in  it, 
or  their  exit  from  it,  with  indifference.  While  they  are  here, 
he  'keeps  them  as  the  apple  of  his  eye,'  and  when  they  go 
hence,  his  Spirit  goes  witli  them  to  place  them  in  their  sainted 
rest,  and  to  give  them  entrance  into  '  the  joy  of  their  Lord.' 
How  anxious,  then,  should  we  be  to  consecrate  to  him  the 
life  which  he  is  so  careful  to  preserve,  and  the  death  which 
he  is  so  gracious  to  embalm !  '  W'hcther  we  live,  let  us  live 
to  the  Lord ;  and  whether  we  die,  let  us  die  to  the  Lord  ;  that 
living  or  dying  we  may  be  the  Lord's.' 

If  we  are  real  Christians,  then  are  we  truly  the  'servants' 
of  God — his  servants  by  our  being  the  children  'of  his  hand- 
maid,' or  born  and  settled  within  the  pale  of  his  church,  and 
inheriting  its  outward  privileges :  and  his  servants  by  his 
having  'loosed  our  bonds,'  and  rescued  us  from  'the  sorrows 
of  death  and  the  pains  of  hell,  which  had  compassed  and 
taken  hold  upon  us.'  Let  us  then  remember  the  obligations, 
and  perform  the  duties  of  that  service  into  which  he  has  call- 
ed US  by  his  grace,  and  to  which  he  has  bound  us  with  the 
chords  of  love.  Let  us  walk  worthy  of  the  spiritual  advan- 
tages and  of  the  temporal  benefits  by  which  he  has  distin- 
guished us.  Remembering  that  we  '  are  not  our  own,  but 
bought  with  a  price,'  even  the  precious  blood  of  Ids  incarnate 
son,  let  us  '  glorify  God  in  our  bodies  and  in  our  spirits  which 
are  his.'  And  let  us  be  animated  to  fidelity,  and  diligence, 
and  constancy,  by  the  assurance  he  has  given  us,  that  he  will 
support  us  under  our  labours,  and  crown  us  at  last  with  a 
great  recompense  of  reward. 


LECTURE  Xn. 

'  Lord,  how  are  they  increased  that  trouble  mc  ?  many  are  they 
that  rise  up  against  me.  Many  there  he  which  say  of  my  smtl, 
There  is  no  help  for  him  in  God.  But  thou,  0  Lord,  art  a 
shield  for  me;  my  glory,  and  the  lifter  up  of  mine  head.  I 
cried  uttto  the  Lord  tvith  my  voice,  and  he  heard  mc  out  of  his 
holy  hill.  I  laid  mc  down  and  slept ;  I  awaked  ■■  for  the  Lord 
sustained  me.  I  will  not  he  afraid  often  thuusamh  of  people 
that  have  set  themselves  against  me  round  about,  .drise,  O 
Lord;  save  me,  0  my  God:  for  thou  hast  smitten  all  mine 
enemies  upon  the  cheek-bone  ;  thou  hast  brohen  the  teeth  of  the 
ungodly.  Salvation  belongeth  unto  the  Lord :  thy  blessing  is 
upon  thy  people.'' — Psalm  iii. 

David's  conduct  in  the  case  of  Uriah  had  justly  provoked 
the  divine  displeasure,  and  God  threatened  to  'raise  up  evil 
against  him  out  of  his  own  house.'  This  threatening  was 
soon  executed.  His  son  Absalom  became  his  foe  ;  contrived 
a  sclieme  for  depriving  him  of  his  crown,  and  of  his  life;  pre- 
vailed upon  his  subjects  to  join  him  in  the  unnatural  rebell- 
ion ;  and  speedily  reduced  him  to  a  state  of  extreme  danger, 
and  of  deep  distress.  There  was  ever)-  thing  in  his  situation 
to  agitate  him  with  alarm,  or  to  sink  him  into  dejection  and 
despair.  His  enemies  were  inveterate  in  their  hostility,  and 
formidable  by  their  numbers.  They  consisted  of  his  own 
people  whom  he  had  ruled  with  equity,  and  treated  with  kind- 
ness and  indulgence.  They  were  headed  and  led  on  by  a 
child  on  whom  he  doated  even  to  weakness,  and  in  whom  he 
trusted  as  he  would  have  trusted  in  himself.  The  object  at 
which  they  aimed  with  determined  purpose  was  his  dethrone- 
ment and  his  death.  And  so  unable  did  he  seem  to  defend 
himself  from  their  assaults,  and  so  inevitably  devoted  to  des- 
truction, that  they  could  not  refrain  from  saj'ing  in  the  lan- 
guage of  mockery  and  exultation,  '  There  is  no  help  for  him 
in  God.' 

In  these  circumstances,  however,  David  was  not  cast  down. 
He  could  not  fail  indeed  to  experience  much  cutting  disap- 
pointment, many  painful  apprehensions,  numerous  hardships 
and  privations.  But  still  he  did  not  give  way  to  despond- 
ency; he  placed  his  confidence,  and  found  his  refuge  in  the 
protection  of  Almighty  God.  On  that  great  and  good  Being 
he  had  hitherto  relied;  and  he  had  known  experimentally  too 
much  of  his  willingness  and  his  ability  to  save,  and  partaken 
too  richly  of  his  precious  promises,  to  suspect  that  he  would 
desert  him  now,  in  the  season  and  under  the  pressure  of  his 
utmost  need.  From  all  tliat  he  had  been  taught  to  believe, 
and  from  all  that  he  had  been  privileged  to  fetl  respecting  the 
ways  of  his  Providence,  he  was  fully  pcrsiiaded  that  light 
would  rise  out  of  darkness,  and  order  out  of  confusion,  and 


LECTURES  ON  PORTIONS  OF  THE  PSALMS. 


155 


safety  out  of  peril.  And  in  the  very  midst  of  his  trials,  se- 
vere and  complicated  as  they  were,  and  menacing  as  was  the 
aspect  which  they  assumed,  he  steadily  addressed  himself  to 
God  as  his  God,  and  stayed  himself  on  the  assurance  that  he 
would  be  '  a  shield'  to  guard  him  from  all  the  attacks  of  his 
adversaries ;  that  he  would  be  his  '  glory,'  his  honour  and  his 
boast,  amid  the  reproaches  they  were  heaping  upon  him,  and 
the  degradation  in  which  they  were  attempting  to  involve 
him ;  and  that  he  would  be  the  '  lifter  up  of  his  head,'  his  de- 
liverer from  those  troubles  by  which,  for  a  time,  he  was  to 
be  harassed,  and  his  restorer  to  that  dignity  and  authority  of 
which,  for  a  time,  he  was  to  be  deprived. 

Thus  was  it  with  David ;  and  thus  must  it  be,  and  thus 
will  it  be,  with  all  who  have  that  deep  and  enlightened  piety 
by  which  he  was  distinguished.  The  time  of  affliction  is  the 
time  for  trying  your  faith  and  your  patience,  for  ascertaining 
your  possession  of  these  virtues,  for  giving  them  a  salutary 
exercise,  for  manifesting  the  energy  and  perfection  which  be- 
long to  them,  and  for  enjoying  the  consolation  which  they  are 
so  well  fitted  to  impart.  And  as  ye  all  have  need  of  them, 
so  you  have  reason  to  be  thankful  that  they  are  warranted  by 
every  view  that  Scripture  gives  you  of  the  character  and  gov- 
ernment of  God,  and  by  every  one  of  his  dealings  with  those 
who  have  made  him  their  '  stronghold  in  the  day  of  trouble.' 
Such  are  his  attributes,  such  are  his  promises,  such  has  been 
the  whole  course  of  his  administration,  that  there  is  no  degree 
of  trust  which  you  may  not  safely  repose  in  him,  and  no  de- 
gree of  resignation  which  you  may  not  cheerfully  yield  to 
him.  It  matters  not  what  your  trials  and  your  sorrows  be ; 
your  support  and  your  solacement  remain  unchangeably  the 
same.  His  assurances  of  protection  and  deliverance  make  no 
distinction  between  the  greatest  and  the  smallest  evils  that 
can  enter  into  your  lot ;  the  infinitude  of  his  perfections  ena- 
bles him  to  perform  all  that  he  has  said  respecting  their  miti- 
gation, or  their  removal ;  and  if  there  be  one  case,  rather  than 
another,  in  which  he  demonstrates  the  facility  wherewith  he 
can  accomplish  these  ends,  it  is  that  in  wliich  the  tribulations 
of  his  servants  have  been  multiplied  even  to  utter  hopeless- 
ness. You  may  not  be  called  to  suffer  what  the  Psalmist 
suffered  ;  but  though  you  were ;  though  like  him  you  had  your 
hearts  pierced  by  the  disobedience  and  undutifulness  of  be- 
loved children ;  though  those  who  had  been  indebted  to  your 
guardianship  and  your  beneficence  had  requited  you  with 
base  ingratitude  ;  though  you  had  met  with  enmity  where  you 
expected  nothing  but  friendship  ;  though  your  foes,  being  of 
your  own  household,  and  of  your  own  kindred,  were  increas- 
ing every  day  in  numbers,  in  maliOTity  andinpower;  though 
they  had  robbed  you  of  your  just  dominion  and  your  dearest 
rights ;  though  they  had  not  only  laid  your  honour  in  the  dust, 
but  were  seeking  to  deprive  you  of  life  itself,  and  to  load  your 
memory  and  your  name  with  unmerited  obloquy  as  the  last 
effort  of  their  hostility,  and  the  last  gratification  of  their  mal- 
ice ;  and  though  to  these  were  added,  every  other  calamity 
with  which  your  mortal  existence  can  be  afflicted,  what  then  1 
Tliese  ate  as  much  within  the  reach  of  God's  sovereign  and 
absolute  control,  as  is  the  most  inconsiderable  evil  that  can 
possibly  befal  you ;  and  in  proportion  to  the  burden  which 
they  lay  upon  you,  and  the  anguish  which  they  occasion  you, 
and  the  dangers  to  which  they  expose  you,  will  be  his  care 
that  you  be  not  overwhelmed  and  ruined  by  them.  If  he  is 
for  you,  this  is  your  comfort,  that  he  is  greater  than  all  that 
can  be  against  you.  Is  it  requisite  for  you  that  he  have  good- 
ness ?  His  goodness  prompts  him  to  compassionate  you  in 
all  your  distresses,  to  send  you  the  help  and  the  relief  that 
you  need,  and  to  visit  you  with  '  a  joy  that  is  unspeakable.' 
Is  it  requisite  for  you  that  he  have  wisdom  !  His  wisdom 
is  such  as  to  fathom  and  to  defeat  the  most  artful  devices  of 
them  that  seek  to  hurt  j'ou  ;  to  extricate  you  from  the  most 
perplexing  difficulties  in  which  you  can  be  involved,  and  to 
make  the  most  untoward  circumstances  and  events  conducive 
to  3'our  highest  advantage.  Is  it  requisite  for  you  that  he 
have  power?  His  power  is  irresistible:  he  has  only  to  say 
30  the  storm  of  persecution  that  rages  around  you,  'peace,  be 
still,'  and  all  its  elements  are  hushed  into  silence ;  he  has  only 
to  will  it,  and  calumny  departs  from  your  reputation,  and  dis- 
ease from  your  body,  and  grief  from  yonr  spirit ;  he  has  only 
to  put  his  everlasting  arm  around  you,  and  you  are  be}''ond 
the  reach  of  woe.  Is  it  requisite  I'or  you  that  he  give  the 
promise  of  gracious  and  mighty  interposition  in  your  behalf! 
This  promise  is  given  by  him  explicitly  and  emphatically;  it 
is  repeated  in  every  various  form  ;  it  has  respect  to  all  the 
circumstances  of  your  pilgrimage,  to  all  the  vicissitudes  of 
your  warfare  ;  and  it  partakes  of  the  truth  and  unchangeable- 
ness  of  the  source  from  which  it  has  proceeded.     Is  it  requi- 


site that  you  have  a  practical  proof  of  its  fulfilment  1  This 
proof  is  to  be  found  in  the  life  of  every  afflicted  saint,  from 
the  beginning  of  the  world  to  the  present  moment ;  they  have 
had  recourse  to  it  in  every  hour  of  trial,  and  it  has  never  fail- 
ed them,  nor  disappointed  them  ;  and  the  Psalmist  speaks  the 
sentiment  of  them  all,  when  he  says  as  the  result  of  his  own 
experience,  '  I  will  extol  thee,  O  Lord,  for  thou  hast  lifted 
me  up,  and  hast  not  made  my  foes  to  rejoice  over  me.  O 
Lord,  my  God,  I  cried  unto  thee,  and  thou  hast  healed  me. 
O  Lord,  thou  hast  brought  up  my  soul  from  the  grave ;  thou 
hast  kept  me  alive,  that  I  should  not  go  down  to  the  pit.' 

But  we  shall  suppose  your  case  to  be  still  more  discour- 
aging than  it  has  been  just  now  represented.  We  shall 
suppose  your  distresses  to  be  the  result  of  your  transgression ; 
not  merely  the  effect  of  sin,  as  all  suffering  may  be  justly 
considered,  but  an  immediate  and  visible  consequence  of 
some  particular  demerit;  a  punishment  inflicted  upon  you 
for  certain  specified  iniquities,  as  was  the  case  with  David 
when  he  composed  this  Psalm  ;  still  I  would  exhort  you  not 
to  despond  or  to  allow  you  confidence  in  God  as  your  God 
to  be  impaired.  Just  cause,  indeed,  would  you  have  for 
despair,  if  having  disobeyed  God,  and  enduring  a  penalty  for 
that  disobedience,  you  yet  hardened  yourselves  against  him, 
and  continued  in  a  state  of  rebellion.  In  that  case  every 
evil  to  which  you  were  subjected  would  be  a  token  of  divine 
vengeance,  and  the  beginning  of  that  more  insupportable  con- 
demnation with  which  the  finally  impenitent  must  be  over- 
whelmed in  a  future  world.  But  your  circumstances  are  to- 
tally different,  if,  like  the  Psalmist,  you  have  become  sensi- 
ble of  your  guilt,  and  have  felt  contrition  and  self-abasement 
on  account  of  it,  and  have  cast  yourselves  upon  God's  cove- 
nanted mercy,  and  have  returned  to  him  with  renewed  affec- 
tion and  devotedness.  Having  done  this,  you  may  be  satisfied 
that  God  will  not  give  you  up  to  destruction ;  that  he  will 
not  permit  the  calamities  with  which  you  are  visited  to  crush 
you ;  that  he  will  not  allow  a  single  pain  to  harass  you  for 
one  moment  longer  than  what  is  requisite  for  the  vindication 
of  his  own  ways,  as  connected  with  your  moral  corruption 
on  the  one  hand,  and  with  the  advancement  of  your  spiritual 
well-being  on  the  other.  He  is  neither  vindictive  nor  relent- 
less. He  has  no  pleasure  in  your  sufferings  or  in  your 
death ;  but  is  rather  willing  that  you  should  come  to  him, 
and  be  forgiven,  and  live.  He  appointed  his  own  Son  to 
'  make  peace  by  the  blood  of  his  cross'  between  you  and  your 
offended  God.  This  end  is  actually  accomplished  in  behalf 
of  all  them  that  believe.  And  looking  up  to  him  in  faith  as 
not  only  full  of  compassion,  but  as  reconciled  to  you,  and  re- 
conciling you  to  himself,  and  '  not  imputing  to  you  your 
trespasses,'  j'ou  have  no  more  to  fear  from  his  indignation. 
That  is  overpast ;  and,  beholding  j'ou  in  the  face  of  Jesus 
Christ,  he  becomes  your  father,  your  protector,  and  your 
friend.  And  being  the  objects  of  his  redeeming  love,  can  you 
suspect  for  a  moment  that  he  will  at  any  time  abandon  you 
to  the  malice  of  your  enemies,  or  leave  you  a  prey  to  the 
difficuties  and  the  dangers  with  which  you  have  to  strugn-le? 
O  no;  you  must  not,  you  cannot  entertain  such  hard  and 
unjust  thoughts  of  'the  Lord  God  merciful  and  gracious.' 
Doubtless  he  hates  sin,  and  can  have  no  complacency  in  those 
who  commit  it.  Doubtless  you  have  provoked  his  displeasure 
by  your  manifold  and  aggravated  transgressions.  Doubtless 
the  supreme  and  holy  ruler  of  the  universe  cannot  clear  the 
guilty,  without  an  adequate  satisfaction  to  the  demands  of 
his  righteous  and  violated  law.  But  this  satisfaction  having 
been  made  by  the  obedience  of  your  divine  surety,  and  your 
interest  in  it  secured  by  the  instrumentality  of  a  true  and  cor- 
dial faith,  there  is  nothing  to  prevent  the  love  of  God  from 
following  the  impulse  of  its  own  inherent  energies,  and  sending 
forth  upon  you  all  the  blessings  that  can  contribute  to  your  safe- 
ty and  your  happiness.  From  the  riches  of  his  grace,  and  the 
promises  of  his  word,  he  is  as  much  pledged  to  do  you  good,  as 
if  you  had  never  swerved  from  the  way  of  his  commandments. 
And  though  you  cannot  be  exempted  from  the  ills  that  are  inci- 
dent to  fallen  humanity ;  and  tliough,  in  the  course  of  his 
Providence,  you  may  have  to  bear  many  a  heavy  burden  and 
to  feel  many  a  bitter  pang ;  and  though  you  may  have  to 
undergo  special  inflictions  of  adversity  in  consequence  of 
special  aberrations  from  the  path  of  dut)',  still  the  Lord  is  on 
your  side ;  he  will  guard  you  in  your  most  perilous  hour ;  he 
will  support  you  under  the  pressure  of  your  severest  trials; 
he  will  ultimately  deliver  you  from  all  your  sorrows ;  and  he 
will  overrule  the  very  chastisements  which  he  lays  upon  you 
for  your  forgetfulness  of  him,  or  your  disobedience  to  him,  as 
the  means  of  bringing  you  nearer  to  himself,  of  elevating 
your  Christaiu  character,  and  of  rendering  you  fitter  for  that 


156 


CHRISTIAN     LIBRARY. 


world  where  you  shall  never  oifend  him,  and  never  be  afflicted 
by  him  any  more. 

Amidst  all  his  sins  and  all  his  sufferings,  the  Psalmist  had 
recourse  to  the-exercises  of  devotion,  lie  retired  into  his  secret 
chambers,  or  he  went  into  tlie  public  sanctuary,  and  address- 
ed himself  to  God  in  praj'er  and  supplication.  This  he  knew 
to  be  his  duty,  and  felt  to  bo  his  privilege ;  and  he  not  only 
exemplifies  the  practice,  but  gives  his  testimony  to  the  divine 
o-Qodness  and  faithfulness  towards  those  who  observe  it, 
when  he  says,  '  I  cried  unto  the  Lord  with  my  voice,  and  he 
heard  me  out  of  his  holy  hill.'  If,  indeed,  we  are  animated 
with  the  spirit  of  real  piety,  and  if  we  have  acquainted  our- 
selves with  God,  with  our  dependance  upon  him,  with  his 
ability  and  readiness  to  save  us,  and  with  the  encouragement 
he  gives  us  to  draw  near  to  him ;  then,  in  all  situations  of 
perplexity,  and  danger,  and  distress,  we  will  be  irresistibly 
carried  to  the  throne  of  his  grace.  That  will  be  our  resort 
in  the  ordinary  course  of  our  lives,  and  in  the  ordinary  events 
of  our  lot;  but  surely  we  will  hasten  to  it,  and  we  will 
dwell  before  it,  and  we  will  plead  at  it,  when  labouring  under 
strong  convictions  of  sin,  or  exposed  to  peculiar  hardships 
and  calamities.  What  else  can  we  do  in  such  circumstances  ; 
in  what  other  way  can  we  consult  our  welfare;  how  can  we 
otherwise  do  homage  to  the  hearer  of  prayer?  The  divine 
character,  as  unfolded  in  the  Scripture,  holds  out  a  broad  in- 
vitation to  every  humble  and  sulfering  worshipper;  and  he  to 
whom  that  character  belongs,  has  expressly  said  to  every 
one  of  his  people,  '  Call  upon  me  in  the  day  of  trouble ;  I 
will  deliver  thee,  and  thou  shalt  glorify  me.''  And  it  is 
nothing  more  than  exercising  that  reverence  which  is  due  to 
the  word  of  truth,  and  yielding  to  that  lesson  which  is  taught 
us  by  universal  experience,  when  we  cry  nnto  God  from  the 
depths,  and  cry  unto  him,  with  the  settled  confidence,  that  he 
will  listen  to  our  petitions,  and  grant  us  according  to  our 
heart's  desire.  To  be  successful,  however,  in  our  applica- 
tion, we  must  be  careful  to  make  it  in  the  appointed  way. 
The  Psalmist  speaks  of  God's  hearing  him  '  out  of  his  holy 
hill.''  His  holy  hill  was  Mount  Zion.  There  the  ark  of  the 
covenant  was  deposited.  That  was  the  ark  of  God's  pres- 
ence ;  from  it  he  was  pleased  to  give  his  answers  to  those 
who  sought  him  by  prayer.  And  Uavid  had  respect  to  this 
institution,  as  originating  in  the  wisdom  and  authority  of  the 
Being  to  whom  he  oifered  up  his  supplications,  and  trusted 
to  it  for  obtaining  the  blessings  which  he  asked.  Now,  in 
like  manner,  ive  must  look  to  God  as  seated  on  a  throne  of 
grace,  made  accessible  to  us  by  the  blood  of  Christ.  He  is 
to  be  approached  only  by  that  '  new  and  living  way'  which 
he  himself  has  appointed.  Every  petition  we  prefer  to  him 
must  be  preferred  in  the  name  of  Jesus,  in  a  dependance  upon 
the  merits  of  his  death,  and  the  efficacy  of  his  intercession. 
If  we  neglect  to  take  refuge  in  this  ark,  when  the  floods  of 
divine  wrath,  and  of  temporal  adversity,  are  sitting  in  upon 
us,  most  assuredly  we  shall  perish  ;  and  all  the  methods  of 
deliverance  we  can  have  recourse  to  will  be  of  no  avail  to  our 
salvation.  But  if,  agreeal)ly  to  God's  revealed  plan  of  mercy, 
we  regard  it  as  the  resting  place  of  our  hopes,  and  seek  to  it 
with  confidence  in  its  sufficiency,  as  well  as  its  necessity, 
to  rescue  us  from  the  surrounding  deluge,  then  the  overflow- 
ing of  the  waters  will  pass  by,  and  we  shall  be  safe  amidst 
the  perils  which  sink  the  unbelieving  and  the  ungodly  into 
perdition.  Relying  on  the  atonement  and  righteousness  of  our 
mighty  Redeemer,  we  may  '  come  with  boldness  to  the  throne 
of  divine  grace,  and  there  implore,'  with  the  expectation  of  re- 
ceiving, '  mercy  to  pardon,  and  grace  to  help  us  in  our  times 
of  need.'  Thus  crying  unto  the  Lord,  and  thus  praying  to 
him  in  faith,  he  will  hear  us,  as  he  heard  Ihe  Psalmist,  out 
of  his  holy  hill.  And  in  answer  to  our  believing  entreaties, 
he  will  impart  to  us  support  and  consolation,  and  deliver- 
ance ;  so  that  though  we  be  '  troubled  on  every  side,  we  shall 
not  be  distressed  ;  though  perplexed,  we  shall  not  be  in  des- 
pair: though  persecuted,  we  shall  not  be  forsaken;  though 
cast  down,  we  shall  not  be  destroj'ed.' 

But  while  the  Psalmist  refers  with  emphasis  to  God's  ex- 
traordinary interpositions  in  liis  behalf,  when  his  foes  increased, 
and  his  situation  was  full  of  danger,  he  does  not  forget  to 
make  mention  of  the  divine  care  exercised  over  him  in  the 
common  habitudes  of  his  life.  '  He  laid  him  down  and  slept ; 
and  he  awaked,  for  the  Lord  sustained  him.'  Habits  of  piety 
in  the  mind,  and  correct  views  of  providence,  will  lead  us  to 
acknowledge  our  obligations  to  our  Heavenly  Father,  even  in 
our  most  tranquil  hours,  and  in  our  least  considerable  mercies. 
It  is  not  only  when  we  come  safe  out  of  the  ensanguined  field, 
or  escape  from  the  dreadful  shipwreck,  or  are  raised  to  unex- 
pected honours  and  affluence,  it  is  not  only  then  that  we 


should  confess  a  present  and'^wonder-working  God,  and  give 
praise  to  him  for  such  striking  manifestations  of  liis  mercy : 
the  wonders  of  his  mercy  and  his  power  are  just  as  real  and 
just  as  worthy  of  praise,  in  our  preservation  from  day  today, 
and  from  hour  to  hour,  when  every  thing  in  our  condition 
looks  so  peaceful  and  secure,  that  we  are  apt  to  think,  we 
need  no  protector,  and  have  no  injury  to  fear.  '  We  laid  us 
down,  and  we  slept ;  and  we  awoke  ;'  but  it  was  '  the  Lord 
that  sustained  us.'  It  was  the  great  '  shepherd  of  Israel  who 
slumbereth  not  nor  sleepeth'  that  watched  over  us  ;  that  al- 
lowed '  no  evil  to  befal  us,  and  no  plague  to  come  nigh  our 
dwelling  ;'  that  kept  our  vital  funetions  in  play  while  we  were 
all  unconscious  and  utterly  helpless ;  and  that  brought  us  in 
health  and  comfort  to  the  light,  and  the  duties,  and  the  privi- 
leges of  another  day.  How  many  of  our  fellow  creatures 
were  there  who,  from  poverty  and  misfortune,  had  no  place 
on  which  to  lay  their  aching  head,  and  stretch  their  wearied 
limbs,  while  we  were  blessed  with  the  sheltering  roof  and  the 
bed  of  repose  !  How  many  have  been  all  night  long  tossing 
with  agony,  or  languishing  in  sickness,  while  we  have  en- 
joyed undisturbed  and  refreshing  sleep  !  How  many  have 
shut  their  eyes  never  to  open  them  again  on  this  world;  while 
we  have  been  permitted  to  continue  in  the  land  of  living  men, 
to  rise  in  the  full  possession  of  all  our  faculties,  and  still  to 
engage  in  our  work  of  preparation  for  eternity.  And  is  not 
all  this  to  he  ascribed  to  him  who  careth  for  us,  even  when 
we  are  incapable  of  remembering  him  1  And  does  it  not  call 
for  our  warm  and  unceasing  gratitude  1  And  should  it  not  be 
daily  acknowledged  in  the  language  of  devout  and  cordial 
thanksgiving  ?  Yes,  my  friends  ;  if  we  are  sensible  of  the  re- 
lation in  which  we  stand  to  God  as  our  constant  preserver, 
and  if  we  feel  as  wo  ought  to  do  under  the  experience  of  his 
minute  and  mighty  guardianship,  we  will  say  with  the  Psalm- 
ist on  another  occasion,  '  My  voice  shalt  thou  hear  in  the 
morning,  O  Lord  ;  in  the  morning  will  I  direct  my  prayer  to 
thee,  and  will  look  up.'  '  Every  day  that  1  rise  I  will  bless 
thee,  and  I  will  praise  thy  name  for  ever  and  ever.' 

And  if  God  is  pleased  to  sustain  us  in  our  midnight  slum- 
bers, and  give  us  the  comforts  of  quiet  and  unbroken  repose, 
even  when  the  storm  of  adversity  is  raging  around  us,  (which 
is  probably  what  David  here  particularly  alludes  to,)  still 
warmer  then  should  be  our  gratitude,  and  still  louder  our  song 
of  praise.  Staying  ourselves  upon  his  grace  and  power,  and 
maintaining  a  good  conscience  towards  him,  we  shall  find  that 
his  loving  kindness  extends  to  all  the  circumstances  of  our 
lot,  and  neglects  nothing  which  is  conducive  to  our  personal 
comfort,  or  our  ultimate  safety.  And  having  seen  what  he 
has  done  for  his  suffering  people  in  this  respect,  or,  it  may  be, 
having  realized  it  in  our  own  case,  let  us  give  glory  to  him 
for  his  goodness  in  the  time  that  is  past,  and  continue  to  trust 
in  him  for  all  the  time  that  is  yet  to  come.  '  Why  should  we 
be  afraid  often  thousands  of  people  that  may  set  themselves 
against  us  round  about  V  They  are  as  nothing  when  they  dare 
to  contend  with  the  Almighty',  by  assaulting  and  persecuting 
his  servants.  He  will  arise  and  t;ike  to  him  his  great  power, 
and  save  us  out  of  their  hands,  and  scatter  them  as  chatl"  be- 
fore the  wind.  He  is  able  to  '  smite  all  our  enemies  upon  the 
cheek-bone,'  so  that  they  shall  no  longer  be  capable  of  harass- 
ing us  with  those  bitter  reproaches,  and  cruel  calumnies  by 
which  they  have  hitherto  endeavoured  to  wound  and  to  destroy 
us.  He  is  able  to  '  break  the  teeth  of  the  ungodly,'  so  tliat 
with  all  their  rancorous  hostility,  and  all  their  demonstrations 
of  malice,  they  shall  not  have  the  power  of  inflicting  upon  us 
any  severe  or  lasting  mischief,  or  of  carrying  into  effect  one 
of  all  the  schemes  which  they  have  laid  for  our  ruin.  He  is 
not  only  able  to  do  these  things  in  our  behalf,  but  he  has  often 
accomplished  tbcm  in  the  history  of  his  persecuted  church. 
They  are  recorded  '  for  our  learning,  that  we,  through  patience 
and  comfort  of  the  Scriptures,  may  have  hope.' 

This  hope,  then,  let  us  cherish  amidst  all  the  vicissitudes 
of  our  life,  and  even  in  the  darkest  hour  of  tribulation.  What- 
ever be  the  evils  that  we  suffer,  and  whatever  be  the  evils 
with  which  we  are  threatened,  let  this  great  truth  be  constant- 
ly remembered,  and  firmly  believed  in,  that  '  salvation  be- 
longeth  unto  the  Lord.'  He  is  mighty  to  save,  let  our  ene- 
mies be  as  formidable,  and  our  circumstances  as  desperate  as 
they  may.  It  is  his  prerogative  to  save  ;  for  there  is  salva- 
tion iu  none  other.  It  is  his  good  pleasure  to  save;  'judg- 
ment is  his  strange  work,'  but  he  takes  delight  in  the  exercise 
of  that  mercy  which  rescues  from  the  pressure  of  calamity, 
and  from  the  jaws  of  death.  And  it  is  his  promise  to  save  ; 
he  has  assured  us  that  ho  will  deliver  ihem  that  put  their  trust 
in  him  out  of  all  their  troubles,  and  tlic  fulfilment  of  this  as- 
surance is  as  certain  as  his  faithfulness  is  unchangeable,  and 


LECTURES  ON  PORTIONS  OF  THE  PSALMS. 


157 


his  strength  omnipotent.  Let  us  only  be  among  the  number 
of  his  people,  and  all  will  be  well  with  us ;  his  blessing  will 
be  upon  us,  and  his  is  a  '  blessing  which  maketh  rich,  and 
addeth  no  sorrow.'  Men  may  revile  us,  our  spiritual  foes 
may  assail  us,  all  external  things  may  seem  to  be  against  us, 
and  not  one  feature  of  our  condition  may  indicate  that  there  is 
any  hopefor  us  ;  but,  being  the  people  of  God,  justified  by  liis 
grace,  sanctified  by  bis  Spirit,  and  devoted  to  him  in  the  af- 
fections of  our  hearts,  and  in  the  obedience  of  our  lives,  we 
shall  be  the  objects  of  his  tender  re^rd  ;  a  regard  which  will 
increase  in  proportion  to  our  necessities  ;  and  being  blessed  of 
God,  we  shall  be  blessed  indeed.  'AH  things  shall  be  ours;' 
whether  prosperity  or  adversity,  joy  or  sorrow,  life  or  death, 
things  presenter  things  to  come.  Every  coming  day  will  find 
ns  enjoying  that  '  peace  of  God  which  passeth  understand- 
ing,' and  which  depends  not  on  the  favour  of  men,  or  on  the 
wealth  of  the  world.  And  at  whatever  time  it  shall  please  our 
Heavenly  Father  to  remove  us,  the  blessedness  which  he  gives 
upon  earth  will  be  exchanged  fur  the  blessedness  which  he 
gives  in  heaven  ;  and  as  a  gracious  recompense  for  all  our  ser- 
vices, and  a  happy  termination  to  all  our  sorrows,  we  shall 
enter  into  the  regions  of  immortality,  and  into  the  felicity  of 
'  the  just  made  perfect.' 


NOTICES  OF  RECENT  PUBLICATIONS. 

The  Journal  of  two  voyages  along  the  coast  of  China,  in  1831 
cn(/1832;  the  first  in  a  Chinese  Junk;  tlic  second  in  the 
British  ship  Lord  Amherst :  with  notices  of  Siam,  Corea,  and 
the  Loo-choo  Islands  ;  and  remarks  on  the  policy,  religion,  He. 
of  China.  By  Charles  Gulzlaff,  New  York ;  John  P.  Haven, 
1833,  Pp.  332,  12mo. 

The  title  indicates  the  nature  of  this  volume  and  will 
awaken  in  many  a  desire  to  become  acquainted  with  its  con- 
tents. The  first  Journal  appeared  sometime  since  in  the 
Chinese  Repository,  a  work  published  at  Canton,  and  from 
thence  was  copied  into  many  of  the  periodicals  of  our  land. 
The  second  is  now  for  the  first  time  offered  to  the  public. 
The  author  is  a  very  remarkable  man.  He  was  born  in  Prus- 
sia, and  received  a  medical  education.  Seven  years  since,  he 
devoted  himself  to  a  Missionary  life  in  the  East.  Since  that 
time,  he  has  been  abundant  in  labours  and  sufferings,  and 
has  been  very  successful  too  in  the  cause  of  his  Master.  He 
appears  to  possess  a  zeal  and  faith  truly  apostolic.  It  is  de- 
lightful to  learn  the  fact,  that  the  religious  prospects  of  Chi- 
na are  brightening,  that  her  millions  arc  accessible  through 
the  medium  of  Tracts  and  the  printed  Word.  Armed  with  these 
weapons,  a  few  such  men  as  Gutzlaff  would  soon  effect  won- 
derful changes  in  the  Celestial  Empire. 

The  Bible  Companion,  designed  fur  the  assistance  of  Bible  classes, 
families,  and  young  students  of  the  Scriptures,  illustrated  with 
maps  and  engravings.  From  the  last  London  edition,  lie- 
vised  and  adapted  to  the  present  times,  with  an  Introduction 
by  Stephen  U.  Tyng,  D.D.,  Hector  of  St.  Paul's  Church, 
Philadelphia.     Edward  C.  Miclke,  1833.    Pp.  1-19,  ISmo. 

The  increasing  study  of  the  Holy  Scriptures  is  one  of  the 
most  interesting  facts  the  age  presents.  The  publication  of 
all  books  tending  to  facilitate  this,  ought  to  be  cordially  wel- 
comed and  sustained.  The  work  before  us  is  one  of  this  de- 
scription. It  contains  in  a  small  space  the  information  that  is 
necessary. to  a  profitable  study  of  the  Bible,  and  will  prove  pe- 
culiarly acceptable  to  those  whose  limited  means  and  circum- 
stances preclude  the  possession  and  study  of  larger  works. 
Its  chief  value  consists  in  the  analysis  which  is  presented  of 
each  book  of  scripture.  On  this  subject  Dr.  Tyng  justly  re- 
marks, "  it  is  amazing  to  an  unpractised  studeut,  what  degree 
of  light  is  thrown  upon  the  doctrinal  statements,  as  well  as 
the  historical  references  found  in  them,  by  a  previous  consid- 
eration of  the  scope  and  design  of  the  work.     Let  one  of  the 


Epistles  be  taken  for  example.  If  it  be  taken  up  and  read,  as 
they  often  are,  as  an  independent  writing,  it  will  be  found,  to 
a  very  great  degree,  unintelligible.  References  will  be  found 
which  cannot  be  explained,  and  assertions  to  the  comprehen- 
sion of  which  there  is  no  key.  And  it  may  be  read  over  many 
times  without  any  distinct  impression  being  made  upon  the 
mind,  or  any  real  information  having  been  derived  from  it.  If 
the  same  W7iting  be  taken  up  again,  after  information  has  been 
obtained  in  regard  to  the  writer,  the  circumstances  under 
which  it  was  written,  the  persons  to  whom  it  was  addressed, 
the  object  and  purpose  for  which  it  was  written,  it  will  ap- 
pear like  another  production.  Difficulties  will  be  cleared  up, 
dark  passages' will  seem  quite  intelligible,  and  the  epistle  will 
give  new  information  and  light,  as  often  as  it  is  considered. 
I  have  seen  a  Bible-class  astonished  and  delighted  at  the 
amount  of  knowledge  in  regard  to  one  of  St.  Paul's  epistles, 
which  a  mere  reference  to  the  circumstances  contained  in  his 
history  in  the  Acts  was  able  to  communicate.  Such  kind  of  in- 
formation is  here  collected  in  a  compact  and  convenient  form, 
and  I  cannot  but  hope,  that  the  publication  of  this  work  will 
be  found  a  real  service  to  the  youthful  readers  of  the  Bible 
among  our  churches." 

Memoir  oftlte  Rev.  George  Burder,  author  of  the  "  Village  Ser- 
mmis,"  and  Secretary  of  the  London  Missionary  Society.  By 
Henry  Foster  Burder,  D.D.  New  York :  Jonathan  Leavitt. 
Boston:  Crocker  and  Brewster,  1833.    Pp.  381,  12mo. 

The  subject  of  this  memoir  was  one  of  the  most  useful  men 
of  the  age.  He  was  bora  in  London  in  1752.  He  began  his 
ministry  among  the  Methodists,  but  did  not  long  remain  in 
connexion  with  them,  at  the  age  of  twenty-six,  he  was  ordain- 
ed to  the  pastoral  office  and  settled  over  an  independent  church 
at  Lancaster.  Five  years  afterwards  he  removed  to  Coventry. 
Here  he  laboured  with  great  faithfulness  for  twenty  years, 
when  he  was  called  to  London  as  secretary  of  the  Missionary 
Society  and  editor  of  the  Evangelical  Magazine.  He  also 
took  the  pastoral  charge  of  the  church  in  which  he  was  bom 
and  baptized.  Here  he  laboured  iucessantlj'  until  his  death 
in  1832.  His  principal  publications,  beside  his  contributions 
to  the  Evangelical  Magazine  are,  "  Early  Piet}',"  a  book  for 
children — his  "  Closet  Companion,"  "  Village  Sermons," 
"  Cottage  Sermons,"  and  "  Sermons  for  the  Aged."  He  also 
published  "A  Series  of  Observations  on  the  Pilgrim's  Pro- 
gress," and  an  abridgment  of  "  Owen  on  the  Spirit."  His 
"Village  Sermons"  have  probably  had  a  wider  circulation 
than  any  other  in  the  language. 

The  life  of  so  useful  and  distinguished  a  man  cannot  but  be 
interesting.  Though  the  volume  before  us  does  not  contain 
much  of  striking  incident,  yet  in  his  diary  and  letters  there  is 
that  amiable  simplicity  of  character,  ardent  piety  and  sound- 
ness of  judgment  manifested,  that  will  richly  reward  the 
reader  for  a  careful,  and  indeed  repeated  perusal. 


Polynesian  Researches,  during  a  residence  of  nearly  eight  years 
in  the  Society  and  Sandwich  Islands.  By  IMlliam  Ellis. 
From  the  latest  London  Edition.  In  four  volumes  l2mo. 
New  York:  J.  &  J.  Harper,  1833. 

The  first  English  edition  of  this  work  appeared  in  1821. 
It  has  since  passed  through  several  editions,  and  is  now  for 
the  first  lime  offered  to  the  American  public.  The  author 
was  for  eight  years  a  Missionary  at  Tahiti.  From  his  daily 
journal,  from  printed  and  manuscript  documents  in  the  pos- 
session of  the  London  Missionary,  Society,  and  from  the  com- 
munications of  various  Missionaries,  the  materials  for  these 
volumes  have  been  drawn.  They  contain  a  brief  but  satis- 
factory history  of  the  origin,  progress,  and  results  of  the 
Missionary  enterprise,  which,  during  the  last  thirty  years. 


158 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


has  transformed  the  barbarous,  cruel,  indolent,  and  idolatrous 
inhabitants  of  Tahiti,  and  the  neighbouring  islands,  into  a 
comparatively  civilized,  humane,  industrious,  and  Christian 
people.  They  also  comprise  a  record  of  the  measures  pur- 
sued by  the  native  governments,  in  changing  the  social 
economy  of  the  people,  and  regulating  their  social  intercourse 
with  foreigners,  in  the  promulgation  of  a  new  civil  code  (a 
translation  of  which  is  given,)  the  establishments  of  courts 
of  justice,  and  the  introduction  of  trial  by  jury.  Besides  in- 
formation on  those  points,  they  furnish  an  account  of  the  in- 
tellectual culture,  Christian  experience,  and  general  conduct 
of  the  converts ;  the  proceeding  of  the  Missionaries  in  the 
several  departments  of  their  duty  ;  the  administration  of  the 
ordinances  of  Christianity;  the  establishment  of  the  first 
churches,  with  their  order  and  discipline  ;  the  advancement 
of  education ;  the  introduction  of  arts ;  the  improvement  in 
morals ;  and  the  progress  of  civilization. 

Scenes  in  our  Parish.  By  a  Country  Parson's  Daughter. 
First  and  second  series.  NeioYork:  Published  by  Harper  U 
Brothers,  1833.     Pp.  260,  12mo. 

This  will  be  a  very  popular  book  among  the  serious  lovers 
of  amusing  literature.  We  are  disposed  to  believe  the  anony 
mous  author  when  she  tells  us  that  she  is  a  country  parson's 
daughter,  and  that  the  scenes  she  describes  are  from  real 
life.  She  evinces  great  vivacity  of  mind,  a  fine  susceptibility 
to  the  beauties  of  nature,  a  heart  to  feel  for  the  sufferings  of 
her  race,  and  a  desire  to  promote  their  highest  interests.  She 
has,  too,  a  delicate  sense  of  the  ludicrous,  and  what  is  re- 
markable for  one  who  has  so  much  poetry  about  her,  a  goodly 
showing  of  strong  common  sense.  Better  than  all,  a  vein 
of  apparently  sinxiere  and  genuine  piety  runs  through  the  book. 

She  is  quite  too  discussive  in  her  habits,  and  deals  too 


much  in  descriptions  of  flowers  and  natural  scenery.  The 
style  is  in  the  main,  chaste  and  unaffected,  and  there  are  not 
infrequent  passages  of  beautiful  simplicity. 

The  author  has  an  almost  hysterical  horror  of  "reform," 
and  her  solicitude  for  the  fate  of  the  establishment,  and  that 
of  the  world  which  she  seems  to  think  dependant  thereon,  is 
sometimes  amusing. 

Exposition  of  Psalm  CXIX.  as  Illustrative  of  the  Character  and 
Exercises  of  Christian  Experience.  By  the  Rev.  Charles  Brid- 
ges, M.  A.  Vicar  nf  Old  Newton,  Suffolk.  First  .1mericanfro>» 
the  sixth  London  edition.  Philadelphia,  George  Latimer  ii  Co. 
1833.     Pp.  360,  12nw. 

Mr.  Bridges  is  one  of  the  most  spiritual  and  popular  writers 
of  which  the  establishment  can  boast.  His  work  on  the 
"  Christian  Ministry,"  has  been  widely  diffused  and  highly 
appreciated,  and  the  exposition  has  passed  through  six  edi- 
tions in  three  years — a  fact  alike  creditable  to  the  author,  and 
to  the  church  which  thus  evinces  an  increasing  demand  for 
sound  evangelical  truth.  The  writer  informs  us  that  this 
Psalm  was  selected  in  consequence  of  its  peculiar  adaptation 
to  Christian  experience,  that  his  main  design  in  its  study  was 
to  furnish  his  own  mind  with  a  correct  standard  of  evangeli- 
cal sincerity  in  the  habitual  scrutiny  of  his  own  heart  and  to 
assist  others  in  that  important  duty.  The  composition  of  the 
work  is  diversified  with  as  much  variety  as  the  nature  of  tho 
subject  will  allow.  The  descriptive  character  of  the  book  will 
be  found  to  be  interspersed  with  matter  of  discussion,  per- 
sonal address,  hints  for  self-inquiry,  and  occasional  supplica- 
tion, with  the  earnest  endeavour  to  cast  the  mind  into  that  me- 
ditative, self-scrutinizing,  devotional  frame,  in  which  the  new 
creature  is  strengthened,  and  increases  and  goes  on  to  per- 
fection. 


A  PORTRAITURE 


MODERN    SCEPTICISM; 


OR, 


A  CAVEAT  AGAINST  LNFIDELITY  : 


INCLODINO 

A  BRIEF  STATEMENT  OF  THE  EVIDENCES  OF  REVEALED  TRrTH.  AND  A  DEFENCE  OF  THE 

CANON  AND  OF  INSPIRATION. 


INTENDED   A3   A    PRESEXT    FOR   THE    VOING. 


15Y  JOHN  MORISON,  D.  D. 

AUTHOR    OF    "  AN    EXPOSITION   OP   THE    BOOK    OF    PSALMS,"  ETC. 


PREFACE. 

As  tlie  forms  of  infidelity  arc  constantly  changing,  it 
becomes  the  duty  of  all  good  men  to  watch  its  versatile  move- 
ments, and  to  endeavour,  according  to  their  several  abilities, 
to  counteract  its  subtle  and  pernicious  influence.  Standing, 
as  we  now  do,  in  the  full  blaze  of  secular  knowledge,  there 
is  the  utmost  danger,  through  the  depravity  of  our  fallen 
nature,  of  our  preferring  the  wisdom  of  man  to  the  wisdom  of 
God  ;  and  if  the  advocates  of  revealed  truth  do  not  rush  into 
llic  field  of  conflict  with  the  enemies  of  human  happiness, 
there  is  reason  to  fear  that  scepticism  will  obtain  a  partial  and 
momentary  triumph  :— I  say  partial  and  momentary,  for  the 
truth  of  Heaven  must  ultimately  prevail,  and  every  power  that 
would  silence  the  voice  of  "  the  living  oracles"  must  at 
last  be  crushed  by  the  omnipotent  energy  of  the  Son  of  God. 
I  am  not  afraid  for  the  ark  of  the  Lord ;  but  I  regard  it  as  a 
solemn  duty  to  contribute  my  aid,  however  humble,  to  the 
defence  of  revealed  truth ;  and  particularly  to  make  my  appeal 
to  that  portion  of  my  fellow  men  who,  either  from  mental 
tendency,  or  association  in  life,  are  peculiarly  exposed  to  the 
desolating  and  pernicious  onset  of  sceptical  opinions. 

I  am  aware  there  is  nothing  novel  or  peculiar  in  the  treatise 
which  I  now  place  on  the  altar  of  the  public;  but  I  am  fuljy 
satisfied  that  the  position  1  have  taken  is  sure,  and  that  the 
sternest  or  the  most  insiduous  infidelity  has  no  honest  argu- 
ment to  oppose  to  the  conclusions  I  have  ventured,  with 
unhesitating  confidence,  to  draw.  I  have  written  with  the 
decision  which  becomes  him  who  feels  he  has  truth,  and  the 
truth  of  Heaven,  on  his  side;  and  I  beseech  no  man,  who 


deigns  to  examine  what  I  have  said,  to  indulge  a  sneer,  while 
conscience  tells  him  that  he  should  offer  up  a  prayer  to  "  the 
Father  of  lights"  for  wisdom  to  guide  his  devious  course,  and, 
above  all,  to  rectify  his  wayward  and  erring  heart. 

If  there  be  any  thing  requiring  distinct  specification  in  the 
plan  of  the  following  work,  it  is  the  order  pursued  in  laying 
down  the  series  of  evidence  in  support  of  the  claims  of  Reve- 
lation. Whether  right  or  wrong,  I  have  wrought  my  way 
from  the  interior  to  the  outworks  ;  and  have  made  my  first 
attack  on  the  citadel  of  the  heart,  by  endeavouring  to  point 
out  the  adaptations  of  Christianity  to  the  known  and  admitted 
condition  of  human  nature.  In  doing  so,  I  flatter  myself  that 
I  have  pursued  a  simpler  and  more  natural  course  than  those 
writers  upon  the  same  important  subject  who  have  placed  an 
almost  exclusive  dependence  upon  external  evidence.  At  the 
same  time,  I  have  not  dared  to  overlook  any  part  of  that  proof 
which  shows  the  Bible  to  be  the  word  of  God. 

In  the  views  I  have  ventured  to  express,  in  reference  to  the 
momentous  subject  of  Inspiration,  I  am  fully  aware  that  I 
have  exposed  myself  to  the  criticisms  of  some  of  my  friends, 
eminent  for  their  piety  and  their  biblical  emdition.  But  this 
I  cannot  help.  I  have  gone  where  truth  led  me  ;  and  I  verily 
believe,  in  the  fullest  sense,  that  the  Scriptures  are— 77,e 
Word  of  God.  Should  any  respectable  individual,  giving  his 
name,  do  me  the  honour  to  controvert  my  views  of  verbal 
inspiration,  I  shall,  if  spared,  endeavour  to  reply  to  his  ani- 
madversions. But  I  will  not  allow  myself  to  be  dragged  into 
the  field  of  controversy  by  any  one  who  treats  this  awful  sub- 
ject v.iih  irreverence.     May  all  my  readers  bo  taught  of  God! 


160 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


PART  FIRST. 
INTRODUCTORY  REMARKS. 


"There  is  no  fear  of  God  befoue  their  eves:"— Such 
is  the  coucluding-  sentence  of  a  description  -n  iiich  strips  lallen 
humanity  of  all  its  boasted  excellence;  which  shows,  by  a 
most  coiivincins:  train  of  reasoning,  that  Jews   and   Gentiles 
are  alike  griilty  before  God  ;  and  which  pictures,  in  vivid 
colours,  the  awful  depravity  into  which  men   sink  without 
the  intervention  and  the  vital  reception  of  the  Gospel  of  peace 
As  the  whole  race  are  involved  in  one  common  apostacy,  there 
is  only  one  remedy  that  meets  their  case,  and  that  remedy  is 
Christianity.     Wherever  this  divine  catholicon  is  embraced, 
it  ultimately  effects  the  cure  of  man's  moral  distempers;  it 
purifies  his  conscience  from  guilt,  by  an  application  of  "  the 
blood  of  sprinkling ;"  it  purities  his  heart  by  the  operation  of  a 
living  faith ;  and  it  purifies  his  life  by  the  all-subduing  influence 
of  motives  which  animate  him  with  the  lo%'e  of  God,  and  with 
the  quenchless  desire  of  being  conformed  to  his  moral  image. 
Wherever  Christianity  is  rejected,  man  remains  the  victim  of 
apostacy,  the  child  of  wrath,  the  sport  of  evil  passions,  and, 
in  the  truest  sense,  "  without  God,  and  without  hope  in  the 
world."     Whether  we  survey  a  state  of  pure  heathenism,* 
or  contemplate  a  condition  of  society  in  which  Christianity 
is  rejected  as  a  fable,  we  behold,  in  either  case,  a  soil  fertile 
in  every  species  of  wickedness  that  can  insult  the  divine 
Majesty,  or  that  can  degrade  and  brutalize  the  human  race. 
Could  we  conceive  of  a  community  wholly  made  up  of  men 
denying  Revelation,  and  wholly  imbued  with  the  principles 
and  feelings  of  modern  deism,  we  should  have  presented  be- 
fore our  minds  a  scene  of  moral  turpitude  and  guilt,  too  fear- 
ful to  admit  of  minute  examination.     In  such  a  community, 
■we  should  see  every  social  tie  dissolved,  every  virtuous  obli 
gation  trampled  upon,  and  all   the  savage  passions  of  the 
human  heart  brought  into  resistless  and  destructive  play.     In 
the  creed  of  an  infidel  there  is  nothing  whatever  to  deter  him 
from  the  basest  actions,  provided  he  can  screen  himself  from 
the  eye  of  public  justice,  and  from  the  scorn  and  derision  of 
his  fellow  men.     He  is  a  man  altoyether  without  principle, 
who  denies  the  legitimate  distinction  between  virtue  and  vice, 
who  resolves  all  human  motive  into  a  principle  of  self-love, 
and  who  is  an  equal  foe  to  the  laws  of  Heaven,  and  to  the 
wise  and  benevolent  institutions  of  men.     A  powerful  writer, 
and  an  acute  observer  of  mankind,  has  said,  that  "  modern  un- 
believers are  Deists  in  theory.   Pagans  in  inclination,  and 
Atheists  in  practice.""!"     They  profess,  indeed,  to  believe  in 
one  supreme  and  uncreated  Intelligence,  infiniteh' benevolent, 
and  infinitely  holy ;  but  they  neither  cultivate  his  benevo- 
lence, nor  imitate  his  purity;  and  as  it  respects  prayer,  and 
praise,  and  the  homage  of  devout  worship,  they  are  as  scorn- 
fully neglectful  of  them  as  if  there  were  no  God,  and  areprac- 
tically  in  that  state  of  total  irreligion,  "which  shows  that  verily 
"There  is  no  fear  of  God  before  their  eyes."     Though  they 
talk  loudly  of  one  God,  and   profess  to  pay  him  homage  in 
the  temple  of  nature,  it  is  most  clear  that  in  escaping  from  the 
fully  and  absurdity  of  the  "  gods  man)'   and  lords  many"  of 
the  heathen,  they  have  plunged   themselves  into   a  state  of 
reckless  scepticism  and  doubt,  which  leaves  every  perfection 
of  the  Deity  undefined,  which  utterly  extinguishes  his  moral 
government,  and  which  renders  even  the  belief  of  his  very  ex- 
istence a  powerless  and  uninfluential  admission. 

By  the  aid  of  Revelation,  indeed,  they  have  wrought  their 
way  out  of  the  Pantheon ;  but,  standing  in  the  full  blaze  of 
celestial  discovery,  they  have  set  themselves  to  blaspheme 
'•  the  only  living  and  true  God."  Ungrateful  return  for  that 
light  which  the  God  of  mercy  has  shed  upon  their  path,  and 
which  was  never  surely  intended  to  heighten  their  guilt,  or  to 
accelerate  their  condemnation ! 

W"hat,  then,  are  we  to  understand  by  modem  infidelity  ? 
Not  surely  that  infidelity  is  a  new  thing  ;  for  since  man  lost 
the  image  of  his  God,  he  has,  in  all  the  periods  of  his  event- 
ful history,  evinced  a  tendency  to  discredit  his  Maker,  and 
even  "  when  he  knew  him,  not  to  glorify  him  as  God."  To 
provide,  in  some  degree,  against  this  tendency,  and  to  pre- 
serve the  successive  revelations  of  Heaven  trom  being  utterly 
lost,  the  Most  High  selected  one  family  as  the  depositaries 


of  his  truth,  and  as  the  ministers  of  his  mercy  to  the  rest  of 
mankind. 

It  would  be  easy  to  show,  by  an  induction  of  facts,  that  it 
was  infidelity,  in  the  days  of  old,  which  paved  the  way  for 
the  abominations  of  polytheism.  Men  first  discredited  and 
opposed  the  true  oracles  of  Heaven,  and  then  they  set  them- 
selves to  serve  God  in  their  own  way,  and  to  proscribe  a  re- 
ligion and  a  worship  for  themselves;  and  because  '  they  did 
not  like  to  retain  God  in  their  knowledge,  God  gave  them 
over  to  a  reprobate  mind,  to  do  those  things  which  are  not 
convenient ;  being  filled  with  all  unrighteousness,  fornifica- 
tion,  wickedness,  covetousness,  maliciousness  ;  full  of  envy, 
murder,  debate,  deceit,  malignity  ;  -whisperers,  back-biters, 
haters  of  God,  despiteful,  proud,  boasters,  inventors  of  evil 
things,  disobedient  to  parents;  without  understanding,  cove- 
nant breakers,  without  natural  affection,  implacable,  unmer- 
ciful;  who  knowing  the  judgment  of  God,  that  they  which 
commit  such  things  are  "worthy  of  death,  not  only  do  the 
same,  hut  have  pleasure  in  them  that  do  them."  It  was  such 
infidelity  as  this,  my  esteemed  reader,  which  prepared  the 
minds  of  mankind  for  all  the  grossness  and  all  the  absurdity  of 
heathenism;  it  was  such  infidelity  as  this  which  obtained  in 
Philistia,  and  Egypt,  and  Canaan  ;  it  was  such  infidelity  as 
this  which  called  forth  the  stupendous  energy  of  Omnipo- 
tence, in  confounding  and  terrifying  those  evil  powers  who 
contemned  the  name  of  Israel's  God,  and  oppressed  the 
chosen  tribes ;  yea,  it  was  such  infidelity  as  this  -which 
prompted  all  the  idolatries  of  the  ancient  church,  who  no 
sooner  forgot  the  Lord  their  God,  than  they  set  themselves 
to  w-orship  the  gods  of  the  nations  among  whom  they  so- 
journed. 

Infidelity  is  no  new  thing.  It  is  a  plant  indigenous  to  the 
sinful  heart  of  man;  it  has  sprung  up  in  every  age ;  it  has 
more  or  less  prevailed  in  every  nation  under  the  whole  face 
of  heaven ;  it  is  the  palpable  exhibition  of  that  secret  and 
deep-rooted  unbelief  which  is  unwilling  to  accredit  any  com- 
munication as  divine  that  does  not  picture  the  Most  High  as 
a  being  altogether  answering  to  the  sinful  imaginings  of  a 
depraved  and  apostate  heart. 

I3y  rnodtni  infidelity,  then,  we  are  simply  to  tmderstand 
those  new  forms,  and  that  new  energy  -which  scepticism  has 
put  on,  in  modern  limes,  and  more  particularly  since  the  era 
of  the  French  revolution ;  by  which  it  has  mightily  dilTused 
itself  among  all  ranks  of  society,  and  has  produced  a  class  of 
writers  capable  of  making  their  appeal  to  each  separate 
branch  of  the  community.  It  is  modern,  because  those  who 
are  yet  in  middle  life  can  remember  the  baneful  period  when 
it  began  to  exert  its  giant  strength,  and  when,  with  a  fiend- 
like daring,  it  aimed  a  deadly  blow  at  the  thrones  of  monarchs 
and  at  the  altars  of  religion.  We  can  remember  all  this,  and 
we  can  trace  in  the  bloody  and  impure  and  ruthless  steps  of 
infidelity,  the  hateful  character  which  belongs  to  it.  It  is 
modern,  for  it  has  decked  itself  forth  in  a  thousand  novel  as- 
pects,— and  at  one  time  'assuming  the  air  of  reason  and  phi- 
losophy;  at  another,  appealing  to  the  most  vulgar  prejudices 
of  the  human  mind  ;  now  weaving  itself  into  the  texture  of 
history,  and  then  clothing  itself  in  the  maxims  of  political 
wisdom ;  in  some  instances,  concealing  itself  beneath  the 
w-itchery  of  a  well-imagined  tale;  and,- in  others,  polluting 
even  the  very  streams  of  salvation,  by  infusing  a  portion  of 
its  deadly  virulence  into  the  theology  of  the  age.* 

It  is  modern,  for  where,  at  any  former  period  in  the  history 
of  the  v"orld,  did  a  thing  so  "worthless  and  abominable  put  on 
such  an  imposingair,  and  give  itself  forth  as  an  angel  of  mercy 
to  the  afllicted  race  %  Though  it  has  taught  men,  that  "  adul- 
tery must  be  practised  if  we  would  obtain  the  advantages  of 
life;  that  female  iiifidelity,  when  known,  is  a  small  thing; 
and,  when  unknown,  nothing  ;"-j"  that  "there  is  no  merit  or 
crime  in  intention  ;":t^  that  "  the  civil  law  is  the  sole  founda- 
tion of  right  and  wrong,  and  that  religion  has  no  obligation 
but  as  enjoined  by  the  magistrate  ;"§  that  "  all  the  morality  of 
our  actions  lies  in  the  judgment  we  ourselves  form  of  them  ;"|| 
"  that  lewdness,"  in  cert-ain  cases  only,  "  resembles  thirst  in 
a  dropsy,  and  inactivity  in  a  lethargy  ;'"ir  that-rirtue  is  "only 
the  love  of  ourselves  ;"**  though  these  are  the  scandalous 
lessons  which  it  has  unblushingly  taught  mankind,  yet  is  it 
loudly  proclaimed  as  the  only  system  calculated  to  model  and 
perfect  humanity;  as  the  last  and  only  refuge  for  the  sorrow- 


■  *  It  may  be  fairly  questioned,  from  the  pr.ictioes  of  all  pag;an  coun- 
tries, -whether  there  be  any  puopU-  in  a  state  of  pure  iieatlienism. 
Tradition  seems  every  wlicro  to  have  spread  some  faint  glimmer- 
ings of  ct-lestial  li^ht. 

\  Kev.  Andrew  Fuller.     Sec  his  Woi-ks,  vol.  i.  page  17. 


'  In  proof  of  this,  sec  Professor  Milman's  History  of  the  ,Ie>\s, 
and  many  otlier  productions  savouring  of  die  geological  school. 
+  Hume.  %  Volney's  Law  of  Nature. 

§  Hobbe's.  II  Kousseau. 

1  Lord  Herbert,  the  father  of  English  Deists. 
*  *  Lord  Dolingbroke. 


A  rORTRAITURE  OF  MODERN  SCEPTICISM. 


161 


ing,  siifTerinir,  and  unhappy  children  of  men !  This  il  is 
which  is  to  rescue  them  from  all  unworthy  prejudices,  which 
is  to  dissipate  the  iiiisis  of  a^res,  whidi  is  to  brin<j  hack  tlie 
golden  period  of  wisdom  and  reason,  which  is  to  convert  the 
whole  eartli  into  a  paradise,  and  which  is  to  make  men  happy 
as  angels  under  its  mild  and  benignant  sway  ! !  There  is  no 
cant  so  disgusting  as  that  of  infidelity.  Though  most  of  its 
advocates  have  been  libertines,  though  its  footsteps  may  be 
traced  in  the  blood  which  it  has  spilt,  though  it  has  trampled 
on  all  the  laws  of  personal  property  and  of  individual  right, 
though  it  pollutes  and  degrades  wherever  it  touches,  yet  are 
its  advocates  ever  aud  anon  boasting  of  its  sublime  virtues, 
and  its  blessed  achievements.  One  thing  we  maj-  be  quite 
sure  of,  that  no  one  will  listen  to  their  vain  and  empty  decla- 
mations till  he  has  lost  a  certain  portion  of  self-esteem,  and 
till  he  wants  to  find  an  excuse  for  his  conduct  in  the  laxness 
and  uncertainty  of  his  belief.  Looking  at  both  the  literarj' 
and  vulgar  part  of  modern  infidels,  we  are  constrained  to  say 
of  them,  in  the  words  of  the  great  apostle,  "There  is  no  fear 
of  God  before  their  e^'cs." 


CHAPTER  I. 

T/ie  views  wlilch  Tiifideh  have  cnlerlaincd  respecting  the  moral 
character  nf  God. 

God  cannot  be  duly  feared,  as  the  proper  object  of  religious 
homage,  where  his  moral  attributes  and  perfections  are  lost 
sight  of.  If  we  disconnect  his  wisdom  and  power  from  his 
holiness  and  goodness  and  justice,  it  is  impossible  to  conceive 
of  him  with  reverence,  or  to  think  of  him  with  complacency. 
In  the  Christian  Scriptures,  God's  natural  attributes  are  inva- 
riably represented  as  the  ministers  of  his  benevolence,  integ- 
rity, and  faithfulness.  They  declare  him  to  be  "  a  God  of 
truth,  and  without  iniquity ;  just  and  right"  in  all  his  ways 
They  proclaim  him  to  be  "  the  Lord,  the  Lord  God,  merciful 
and  gracious,  long-suficring  and  ■abundant  in  goodness  and  in 
truth  ;  keei)ing mercy  for  thousands,  forgiving  iniquity,  trans- 
gression, and  sin,  and  yet  by  no  means  clearing  the  "guilty." 
They  describe  him  as  "  of  purer  eyes  than  to  behold  evil," 
and  tell  us  that  "he  cannot  look  upon  iniquit)'."  They  ex- 
hibit him  as  "  righteous  in  all  his  ways,  and  holy  in  all  his 
works."  They  teach  ns,  that  he  is  "  net  a  God  that  hath 
pleasure  in  wickedness,  neither  shall  evil  dwell  with  him." 
Such  is  the  God  of  Revelation ;  a  Being  infinitely  wise  and 
powerful  indeed,  but  one,  at  the  same  time,  "  glorious  in  ho- 
liness, fearful  in  praises,  and  ever  doing  wonders;"  a  Being 
before  whom  the  highest  orders  nf  created  intelligences  pros- 
trate themselves  and  exclaim,  "  Holy,  holy,  holy,  is  the  Lord 
of  hosts;  the  whole  earth  is  full  of  his  glor}'." 

How  unlike  are  these  descriptions  of  the  eternal  and  immu- 
table God,  to  the  vague,  contradictor}',  and  even  wicked  re- 
presentations of  infidelity.  "  We  cannot,"  says  Lord  Boling- 
broke,  "  ascribe  goodness  and  justice  to  God,  according  to 
our  ideas  of  them,  nor  argue  with  an}' certainty  about  them;" 
and  again,  "  it  is  absurd  to  deduce  moral  obligations  from  the 
moral  attributes  of  God,  or  to  pretend  to  imitate  him  in  those 
attributes."  The  language  held  by  Bolingbroke  is  common 
to  the  infidel  school.  The  entire  moral  cliaracter  of  God  is 
overlooked  by  them,  unless  when  tliey  talk  of  his  mercy. 
which  they  always  do  in  a  manner  totally  inconsistent  with 
the  existence  of  any  such  thing  as  a  moral  government.  Jlercy 
displayed  at  the  awful  risk  of  prostrating  the  claims  of  im- 
mutable holiness,  can  only  be  another  name  for  injustice ; 
and  can  therefore  have  no  atfiuity  to  that  infinitely  benevolent 
Being  who,  in  all  the  distributions  both  of  his  goodness  and 
mercy,  acts  iu  a  manner  worthy  of  himself,  the  source  and 
pattern  of  all  the  rectitude  and  purity  which  exist  throughout 
the  universe. 

"  Tlie  object,"  says  a  distinguished  author,  "  of  the  Chris- 
tian adoration  is  Jehovah,  the  God  of  Israel  ;  whose  charac- 
ter for  holiness,  justice,  and  goodness,  is  displayed  in  the 
doctrines  and  precepts  of  the  gospel,  in  a  more  afiecting  light 
than  by  any  of  the  preceding  dispensations.  But  who  or 
what  is  the  god  of  deists'?  It  is  true  they  have  been  shamed 
out  of  the  polytheism  of  the  heathens.  They  have  reduced 
their  thirty  thousand  deities  into  one,  but  what  is  his  charac- 
ter ?  What  attributes  do  they  ascribe  to  him  1  For  any  thing 
that  appears  in  their  writings,  he  is  as  far  from  the  holy,  the 
just,  anil  the  "ood.  as  those  of  their  heathen  predecessors. 
Vol.  II.— V 


They  enjoy  a  pleasure,  it  fs  allowed,  in  contemplating  the 
productions  of  wisdom  and  power;  but  as  to  holiness,  it  is 
foreign  from  their  inquiries  :  a  holy  God  does  not  appear  to 
be  suited  to  their  wishes."* 

After  tracing  the  conflicting  views  of  modern  infidels,  in  re- 
ference to  the  proper  standard  of  morality,  the  same  powerful 
writer  adds, — "  It  is  worthy  of  notice  that,  amidst  all  the  dis- 
cordance of  these  writers,  they  agree  in  excluding  the  Divine 
Being  from  their  theory  of  morals.  They  think  after  their 
manner  ;  but  '  God  is  not  in  all  their  thoughts.'  In  compar- 
ing the  Christian  doctrine  of  morality,  the  sum  of  which  is 
love,  w  ith  their  atheistical  jargon,  one  seems  to  hear  the  voice 
of  the  Almighty,  saying,  '  who  is  this  that  darkeneth  counsel 
with  words  without  knowledge?  Fear  God,  and  keep  his 
commandments ;  for  this  is  the  whole  of  man.'  '"f 


CHAPTER  IL 


Though  Infidels  profess  to  hold  the  doctrine  of  the  Divine  Exis- 
tence, yet  tluy  refuse  or  neglect  all  religious  worship. 

In  this  feature  of  their  character,  they  are  more  inconsist- 
ent, and  more  irreligious  too,  than  even  pagan  idolaters 
themselves,  who  evince  great  zeal  and  make  many  sacrifices 
in  the  service  of  their  dumb  idols.  One  would  imagine,  that 
if  there  be  one  great  first  cause,  the  Creator  and  upholder  of 
all  things,  the  benignant  source  of  all  the  happiness  which 
creatures  in  any  part  of  the  universe  enjoy;  one  would  im- 
agine, I  say,  that  if  such  a  Being  exists,  he  is  entitled  to  the 
devout  and  spiritual  worship  of  all  his  intelligent  creatures. 
Such  is  the  dictate  even  of  unassisted  reason,  as  has  been 
demonstrated  by  a  reference  to  the  rudest  and  most  bnitalizcd 
portions  of  the  human  race.  How  astounding  then  is  the 
fact,  that  only  in  Christian  countries  can  men  be  found  deny- 
ing the  validity  of  stated  worship  to  the  Deity;  as  if  the 
only  use  to  be  made  of  Revelation  were  to  employ  it  for  the 
horrid  purpose  of  obliterating  all  our  natural  feelings  of  re- 
verence for  his  awful  perfections!  In  the  inspired  volume 
we  learn  that  "  God  is  a  spirit,  and  that  they  who  worship 
him  must  worship  him  in  spirit  and  in  trutli."  This  sup- 
poses the  duty  of  worship,  and  prescribes  the  qualities  by 
which  il  is  to  be  distinguished.  The  language  of  those  who 
know  the  divine  character,  and  who  possess  a  right  spirit, 
will  ever  be,  "  O  come,  let  us  sing  unto  the  Lord  ;  let  us 
make  a  joyful  noise  to  the  rock  of  our  salvation.  Let  us 
come  before  his  presence  with  thanksgiving,  and  make  a  joy- 
ful noise  unto  him  with  psalms.  For  the  Lord  is  a  great 
God,  and  a  great  King  above  all  gods.  O  come,  let  us  wor- 
ship and  bow  down,  let  us  kneel  before  the  Lord  our  Maker; 
for  he  is  our  God,  and  we  are  the  people  of  his  pasture,  and 
the  sheep  of  his  hand."  Men  may  boast  as  they  please  of 
their  belief  in  one  God,  but  if  they  do  him  no  actual  homan-e, 
if  they  have  no  stated  seasons  and  places  of  devotion,  they 
are  in  a  far  worse  condition  than  were  those  benighted  Athe- 
nians, whom  Paul  beheld  prostrate  at  an  altar  dedicated  to 
"  the  unknown  God."  It  is  the  temper,  the  disposition  of 
infidelity,  no  less  than  its  preposterous  creed,  which  dis- 
tances it  from  the  spirit  of  true  worship.  Devotion  cannot 
grow  in  a  soil  on  which  the  inexpressible  levity  of  scepticism 
has  cast  its  withering  blight.  Religious  awe  cannot  be  felt 
in  a  mind  that  has  no  sensible  hold  of  God's  moral  perfec- 
tions. Love  to  God,  drawing  the  soul  forth  in  repeated  and  . 
habitual  acts  of  grateful  adoration,  cannot  dwell  in  a  heart 
where  worldly  lusts  and  enmity  against  the  moral  goveni- 
ment  of  the  Most  High  are  struggling  for  the  mastery. 

The  very  same  thing  which  led  men  of  old  to  forsake  the 
worship  of  the  only  living  and  true  God,  and  to  betake  them- 
selves to  the  abominations  of  idolatr}',  is  that  which  banishes 
from  every  circle  of  infidels  everything  like  the  semblance  of 
religious  homage  to  the  Deit}-.  Is  it  demanded  what  this 
said  thing  is?  I  reply,  in  the  language  of  the  Apostle, 
"they  did  not  like  to  retain  God  in  their  knowledge."  They 
lost  all  delight  in  his  holy  character,  and  hence  they  sought 
relief  for  their  guilty  feelings  in  the  exercise  of  a  religion 
which  corresponded  with  the  dictates  of  their  own  impure 
"learts. 

Deists  are  placed  somewhat  peculiarly.  As  they  are  found 
only  where  Revelation  has  eitlier  completely  banished  the 


Fuller's  Works,  vol.  i.  p.  11.       +  Fuller's  Works,  vol.  i.  p.  2". 


163 


CHRISTIAN    LIERARY. 


grossness  of  idolatry,  or  where,  at  least,  it  has  shed  its  be- 
nignant rays,  they  cannot  for  shame  revel  in  the  impurities 
of  "heathenism;  but  as  they  take  no  delight  whatever  in  the 
character  of  that  one  God  whom  they  profess  to  adore,  they 
live  in  the  habitual  and  avowed  neglect  of  his  worship.  The 
ancestors  of  paganism  forsook  his  worship,  "because  they 
did  not  like  to  retain  him  in  their  thoughts;"  and  for  the 
same  reason  precisely  infidelity  has  no  temple,  no  altar,  no 
sacrifice,  no  avowed,  habitual,  and  well-defined  worship  to 
that  o-lorious  Being,  from  the  near  contemplation  of  whose 
character  it  shrinks  with  instinctive  dislike  and  dread. 

Could  we  see  infidelity  cultivating  the  spirit  of  prayer, 
laying  aside  its  extreme  and  disgusting  levity,  and  evincing 
an  anxiety  to  arrive  at  the  true  knowledge  of  God,  we  should 
beirin  to  hope  on  behalf  of  its  unhappy  victims ;  but  reckless 
as  its  advocates  are  of  all  devotion,  and  leaning  as  they  do  to 
their  own  understanding,  and  evincing  an  utter  contempt  for 
every  thing  sacred,  we  are  compelled  to  look  on  them  as  in 
a  condition  peculiarly  hopeless,  and  must  say  respecting 
them  "There  is  no  fear  of  God  before  their  eyes." 


CHAPTER  III. 

A  hrief  sun'cy  of  the  cliaraclcr  of  that  moriiUly  which  InJidiUty 
inculcates  and  displays. 

All  who  read  the  Bible  attentively,  whatever  they  may 
think  of  its  divine  origin,  must  be  struck  with  the  perfection 
of  its  moral  precepts,  and  especially  with  the  sublime  and 
coo-ent  reasons  which  it  assigns  for  the  performance  of  every 
duty  which  we  owe  both  to  God  and  man.* 

That  monster  of  wickedness,  Thomas  Paine,  whom  no  man 
that  ever  knew  could  trust,  has  said  respecting  the  Bible— 
"  1  feel  for  the  honour  of  my  Creator  in  having  such  a  book 
called  after  his  name."  He  must  surely  have  meant,  that 
he  felt  for  himself,  when  he  discovered  in  the  Bible,  if  he 
ever  read  it,  such  an  array  of  holy  and  benevolent  precepts 
upon  which  it  had  been  his  habitual  practice,  during  a  long 
life,  to  trample  with  proud  disdain! 

The  morality  of  the  Bible  is  not  the  morality  of  mere  de 
corum,  the  garnishing  of  the  outward  man,  the  "making 
clean  the  outside  of  the  cup  and  platter;"  it  is  the  inorality 
of  principle  ;  it  is  the  morality  of  right  dispositions  ;  it  is  the 
morality  of  love  to  God  and  love  to  man.  Infidelity  says, 
" there  is  no  merit  or  crime  in  intention;"  but  Christianity 
says,  that  hatred  is  murder,  that  secret  lust  is  adultery,  and 
that  we  must  "  love  the  Lord  our  God  with  all  our  heart, 
and  strength,  and  mind,  and  our  neighbour  as  ourselves."  It 
prohibits  the  resentment  of  injuries,  and  urges  the  forgiveness 
of  enemies.  It  tells  us  "to  weep  with  them  that  that  weep, 
and  rejoice  with  them  that  rejoice."  It  enforces  every  rela- 
tive duty  by  an  appeal  to  motives  equally  tender  and  sublime, 
and  it  demands  a  personal  sanctity  of  manners,  which  adinits 
of  no  reserve,  and  leaves  room  for  the  indulgence  of  no  single 
habit  of  transgression. 

If  infidelity  were  from  above,  it  would  bear  the  marks  of 
its  celestial  origin.  God  must  be  holy  ;  and  a  religion  suited 
to  his  intelligent  creatures  ought  to  carry  with  it  some  resem- 
blance to  his  moral  nature.  Infidelity  has  no  such  resem- 
blance in  either  theory  or  practice.  In  theory  it  is  an  apology 
for  almost  every  crime  that  disgraces  huiuan  nature  ;  and  in 
the  different  codes  of  its  advocates,  every  species  of  trans- 
gression is  either  defended  or  palliated.  And  what  it  is  in 
theory,  it  is  yet  more  abundantly  in  practice.  Its  leading 
characters  have  been  worthless  beyond  expression.  What 
were  Herbert,  and  Hobbes,  and  Shaftesbury,  and  \Yoolston, 
and  Tindal,  and  Bolingbroke,  but  so  many  notorious  hypo- 
crites, who,  for  a  piece  of  paltry  self-interest,  professed  to 
love  and  reverence  Christianity,  while  they  were  all  the 
while  insidiously  endeavouring  to  lower  its  credit  in  the 
world  1  In  the  long  and  gloomy  catalogue  of  human  delin- 
quents, where  shall  we  find  two  miscreants  such  as  Roches- 
ter and  Wharton  ^  They  were  indeed  a  reproach  to  oui 
common  nature.  Morgan's  dishonest  quotation  of  Scripture 
to  serve  a  purpose,  and  his  miserable  cant  in  professing  him- 
self to  be  a  Christian,  notwithstanding  his  amazing  zeal  to 
subvert  all  the  peculiarities  of  revealed  religion,  speak  vol 


umes  as  to  his  notions  of  morality.  Hume,  the  most  dis- 
honest and  prejudiced  of  all  historians,*  died  as  a  fool  dieth, 
cracking  vulgar  jokes  with  some  of  his  unhappy  companions. f 
Voltaire  so  little  regarded  truth,  that,  in  speaking  in  his 
"  Ignorant  Philosopher"  of  the  tolerative  spirit  of  the  ancient 
Romans,  he  observes,  "they  never  persecuted  a  single  phi- 
'osopher  for  his  opinions  from  the  time  of  Romulus  till  the 
popes  got  possession  of  their  power."  In  this  passage  a 
veil  is  drawn  over  the  massacre  of  thousands  and  tens  of 
thousands  of  unotl'ending  Christians.  In  like  manner,  this 
boasted  friend  of  liberty  and  reason,  when  he  describes  the 
expatriation,  or  cruel  death  of  one  million  of  French  Protest- 
ants, speaks  of  them  as  "  tceuk  and  .obstinate  men.^'  As  these 
Protestants,  not  being  infidels,  were  stripped  of  all  claim  to 
philosophy,  we  suppose  it  was  a  small  matter  to  murder  such 
vulgar  persons  in  cold  blood  !  We  find  this  same  champion 
of  infidelity  requesting  his  friend  D'Alembert  to  tell  for  him  a 
direct  He,  by  denying  that  he  was  the  author  of  the  "  Philoso- 
phical Dictionary."  His  friend  told  the  lie  for  him  ;  and  he 
has  himself  well  described  his  own  character  in  the  following 
words  : — "  Monsieur  Abbe,  I  must  be  read,  no  matter  whether 
I  am  believed  or  not."  Voltaire,  after  all  his  infidelity, 
being  threatened  by  the  authorities,  died  a  Catholic. 

Rousseau  was  profligate  and  immoral  from  his  youth  up. 
"  I  have  been  a  rogue,"  says  he,  "  and  am  so  still  sometimes, 
for  trifles  which  I  had  rather  take  than  ask  for."  He  abjured 
Protestantism  and  became  Catholic  ;  "  for  which,"  says  he, 
"  in  return,  I  was  to  receive  subsistence ;  but,"  he  adds, 
"from  this  interested  conversion,  nothing  remained  but  the 
remembrance  of  my  having  been  both  a  dupe  and  an  apostate." 
After  this,  settling  at  Geneva,  and  finding  that  there  he  was 
denied  the  rights  of  Christian  citizens,  he  renounced  popery 
and  conformed  to  the  religion  of  the  state.  The  life  of  this 
wretched  man  was  one  continued  and  uninterrupted  scene  of 
hypocrisy,  fornication,  seduction,  base  intrigue,  and,  withal, 
constant  violation  of  the  rules  of  honesty.  What  he  said  of 
one  of  the  events  of  horror  which  marked  his  career  may  be 
applied,  with  too  much  truth,  to  his  whole  history — "  Guilty 
without  remorse,  I  soon  became  so  without  measure." 


Sec  the  second  p;u-t  of  this  Treatise,  ch;ip-  i-  sect. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

Hie  practical  effects  of  Infidelity. 

It  is  no  wonder  surely  that  such  a  race  of  men  should  have 
prepared  the  minds  of  their  disciples  for  deeds  of  unusual 
atrocity.  In  a  neighbouring  country,  a  fit  theatre  presented 
itself  for  the  exhibition  of  infidelity  in  its  own  native  colours. 
There  gross  superstition  on  the  one  hand,  and  arbitrary  gov- 
ernment on  the  other,  led  thousands  virtuously  to  sigh  for  na- 
tional deliverance.  With  loud  professions  of  love  of  liberty 
and  self-devoted  patriotism,  infidelity  rushed  into  the  field  of 
conflict;  but  though  she  professed  to  be  an  angel  of  mercy, 
she  soon  proved  herself  to  be  but  a  fiend  of  perdition.  There 
was  no  deed  of  horror  which  she  did  not  perpetrate.  Within 
her  destructive  sphere  life  and  property  ceased  to  have  any 
value  attached  to  them.  The  most  virtuous  citizens  fell 
victims  to  her  insatiable  cruelty.  Personal  aggrandizement 
became  the  sole  object  of  her  ambition  ;  and,  under  the  fair 
pretence  of  philosophy,  of  enlightened  policy,  and  of  regard 
to  the  public  weal,  a  whole  nation  was  laid  in  ruins,  every 
public  institution  was  plundered,  the  state  was  sunk  in 
anarchy  and  confusion,  deeds  of  blood  too  shocking  to  de- 
scribe were  perpetrated,  and  the  church  herself,  already  suf- 
ficiently degraded,  was  made  the  organ  of  propagating  blas- 
phemies the  most  hideous  against  the  God  of  heaven.     "Infi- 

♦  How  can  tlie  guardians  of  the  rising  generation  still  leave 
them  to  tlic  guidance  of  such  a  sycophant  in  politics,  and  such  a 
sceptic  in  religion  > 

t  "  Nothing  but  the  most  frivolous  dissipation  of  tliouglit  can 
makecven  the  inconsiderate  forget  the  supreme  importance  of  every 
thing  wliich  relates  to  the  expectation  of  a  futm-e  existence.  "Whilst 
tlie  'infidel  mocks  at  the  superstitions  of  the  vulgar,  insults  over 
their  credulous  fears,  dieir  childish  errors,  or  fantastic  rites,  it  does 
not  occiu-  to  him  to  observe  tliat  llie  most  preposterous  device  by 
V  hich  the  weakest  devotee  ever  believed  he  was  secm-ing  the  liappi- 

ss  of  a  future  life,  is  more  rational  than  unconcern  about  it.     Upon 


this  sullied,  nothing  is  so  absurd  as  indifference  ;  no  folly  so  con- 
temptible  as   thon!;lit]essness   and    levity." — See    a    work    entilUil 
!\'atiire  of  the  Proof  nf  llic   Clirislinn  Jieliffion,  yc."  by  D. 
A-  M",  p.  4'2- 


pt, 
"  Tiu 
B  Bakci 


A  PORTRAITURE  OF  MODERN  SCEPTICISM. 


1G3 


delity,"  observes  a  spirited  and  ablechroniclerof  these  events, 
"  having  got  possession  of  the  power  of  the  state,  every  nerve 
was  exerted  to  efface  from  the  mind  all  ideas  of  religion  and 
morality.  The  doctrine  ofthe  immortality  of  the  soul,  or  a  future 
state  of  rewards  and  punishments,  so  essential  to  the  preser- 
vation of  order  in  society,  and  to  the  prevention  of  crimes, 
was  publicly  ridiculed,  and  the  people  were  taught  to  believe 
that  death  was  an  everlasting  sleep. 

"They  ordered  the  words  'Temple  of  Reason'  to  be  inscrib- 
ed on  the  churches,  in  contempt  ofthe  doctrine  of  revelation. 
Atheistical  and  licentious  homilies  were  published  in  the 
churches,  instead  of  the  old  service;  and  a  ludicrous  imita- 
tion of  the  Greek  mythology  exhibited  under  the  title  of  '  The 
l{eligion  of  Keason.'  Nay,  they  went  so  far  as  to  dress  up, 
with  the  most  fantastic  decorations,  a  common  strumpet, 
whom  they  blasphemously  styled  '  The  Goddess  of  Reason,' 
and  who  was  carried  to  church  on  the  shoulders  of  some  jaco- 
bins selected  for  the  purpose,  escorted  by  the  national  guards 
and  the  constituted  authorities.  When  they  got  to  the 
church,  the  strumpet  was  placed  on  the  altar  erected  for  the 
purpose,  and  harangued  the  people,  who,  in  return,  profesS' 
ed  the  deepest  adoration  of  her,  and  sung  the  Carmagnole  and 
other  songs  by  way  of  worshipping  her.  This  horrid  scene  ; 
almost  too  horrible  to  relate  ;  was  concluded  by  burning  the 
jirayer-book,  confessional,  and  every  thing  appropriated  to 
the  use  of  public  worship  ;  numbers,  in  the  mean  time,  danced 
round  the  Hames  with  every  appearance  of  frantic  and  infernal 
mirth."  I  might  also  notice  the  ficnd-like  malignity  which 
was  directed  against  the  institution  of  the  Sabbath,  durin<r 
the  reign  of  terror  in  France,  as  if  the  sole  design  ofthatdes 
porate  taction  was  not  only  to  efface  all  reverence  for  the 
Deity  from  the  public  mind,  but  also  to  destroy  every  memo- 
rial of  an  intelligent  creature's  obligation  to  him,  and  every 
symbol  ofthe  existence  of  a  moral  government. 

Let  revolutionary  and  infidel  France  teach  mankind,  by  one 
great  and  effective  lesson,  what  the  enemies  of  Revelation  can 
do  to  heighten  the  standard  of  national  morals,  and  to  render 
inviolable  the  persons  and  properties  of  men.  With  the  page 
of  their  own  infamous  history  before  them,  let  sceptics  of 
every  school  blusli  to  talk  ofthe  benefits  which  their  system 
is  fitted  to  confer  on  the  human  race.  And  let  them  remem- 
ber, that  the  grand  reason  why  the  jjrevalence  of  their  princi 
pies  has  ever  issued  in  the  disruption  of  every  social  and 
moral  tie,  has  been  because  there  was  "no  fear  of  God  before 
their  eyes." 


lies  and  nations  under  heaven,  how  would  it  change  the  face 
of  society  !  how  would  it  stem  the  torrent  of  pride,  ambition, 
and  vain  glory!  how  would  it  cause  wars,  and  rumours  of 
wars,  to  cease  to  the  very  ends  of  the  earth  !  how  would  it 
unite  the  whole  family  of  man  in  one  common  bond  of  brother- 
hood !  how  would  it  banish  injustice,  cruelty,  oppression,  and 
licentiousness  from  the  earth  !  In  proportion  as  Christian 
principles  have  triumphed,  in  that  same  proportion  immorality 
has  disappeared,  and  all  social  virtues  have  been  practised  ; 
and  when  it  is  universal,  which  we  are  assured  it  will  be,  it 
will  bring  moral  health  along  with  it  to  all  the  dwellers  upon 
earth. 

"  Of  all  the  dispositions  and  habits  which  lead  to  political 
prosperity,"  said  the  immortal  Washington,  "religion  and 
morality  are  indispensable  supports.  In  vain  would  Ihat  man 
claim  the  tribute  of  patriotism  who  should  labour  to  subvert 
the  great  pillars  of  human  happiness,  tliose  firmest  props  of 
men  and  citizens.  The  mere  politician,  equally  with  the 
pious  man,  ought  to  respect  and  to  cherish  them.  A  volume 
could  not  trace  all  their  connexions  with  private  and  public 
felicity.  Let  it  be  simply  asked.  Where  is  the  security  for 
property,  for  reputation,  for  life,  if  the  sense  of  religious  obli- 
gation desert  the  oaths  which  are  the  instruments  of  investi- 
gation in  the  courts  of  justice  1  And  let  us  with  caution  in- 
dulge the  supposition  that  morality  can  be  maintained  with- 
out religion.  Whatever  may  be  conceded  to  the  influence  of 
refined  education  on  minds  of  a  peculiar  structure,  reason  and 
experience  both  forbid  us  to  expect  that  national  morality  can 
prevail  in  exclusion  of  religious  principle."* 

In  a  happier  age,  fast  approaching,  Christianity  will  dic- 
tate rules  of  right  government;  it  will  establish  equitable 
principles  of  national  commerce ;  it  will  teach  kings  and  sen- 
ates how  to  rule  in  wisdom  and  love  ;  it  will  remove  the  "Teat 
barriers  to  national  tranquillity  and  national  prosperity  out  of 
the  way,  by  constituting  the  "people  all  righteous,"  and  set- 
ling  up  the  authority  of  God  as  the  best  possible  support  of 
laws  which  accord  with  his  word. 

Infidelity  can  dream  of  no  such  renovation.  Its  past  steps 
may  be  traced  in  blood  and  anarchy;  and  the  prospect  which 
stretches  before  it  is  scarcely  less  appalling.  It  has  no  link 
whereby  to  bind  man  to  man,  because  it  severs  man  from  his 
Maker.  It  is  essentially  heartless  and  cruel.  It  rules  with- 
out God,  and  would  exclude  him  from  his  own  world,  and 
nothing  awaits  it  but  the  exposure  and  infamy  which  must 
sooner  or  later  overtake  all  systems  of  evil. 


CHAPTER  V. 

A  contrasted  view  of  Infidelity  and  Christianity.* 

From  such  scenes  as  these,  how  delightful  to  turn  to  the 
pure,  and  mild,  and  benignant  genius  of  Christianity  !  W'cre 
her  golden  rule,  "  as  ye  would  that  men  should  do  unto  you, 
do  ye  even  so  unto  them"  the  universal  law  of  all  the  I'ami- 


*  The  Bishop  of  Calcutta,  in  his  twenty-sccoiul  lecture  on  llic 
**  Evidences  of  Cliristiaiiity,"  has  finely  contrasted  tlic  eliaraclei*  of 
A'oltaire  wiUi  that  of  the  lion.  Robert  HojK;.  "Now  contrast," 
says  lie,  "  with  this  character,  any  of  tlie  eminent  Chiistians  that 
adon\ed  their  o\\n  country  and  Europe  about  the  same  perioil. 
Take  the  Hon.  RoBiiKT  BoyLE,  of  whom  it  is  iliftioult  to  say  whethci- 
his  piety,  as  a  Christian,  or  his  fame,  as  a  i)hilosoi)hei',  was  most 
remarkable.  Consider  the  compass  ot"  his  mind,  the  solidity  of  his 
judgment,  the  fertility  of  his  pen,  the  purity  of  his  mora'ls,  the 
amiableness  of  his  temper,  his  beniticence  to  the  poor  and  distressed, 
his  uniform  friendships,  his  conscientious  aim  at  truth  in  all  his 
pursuits  and  determinations-  At  an  early  age  he  examined  tlie 
ipiestion  of  the  Christian  religion  to  the  bottom,  on  occasion  ol 
some  distracting  doubts  which  assaulted  his  mind.  Confirmed  in 
the  truth  of  Christianity,  his  whole  life  was  a  comment  on  his  sincer- 
ity. Ho  was  admitted  to  certain  secret  meetings  before  he  had 
reached  mature  years — btit  they  were  graced  and  enlightened  asso- 
ciations— for  canvassing  subjects  of  natural  philosophy,  at  a  time 
wlien  the  civil  wars  suspended  all  academical  studies,  and  they  led 
to  the  formation  of  one  of  the  noblest  establishments  of  his  coun- 
try-''" His  disinterestedness  and  humility  were  such  that  he  refused 
the  provostship  of  Eton,  and  the  honours  of  a  peerage,  that  he  might  de- 
vote his  talents  and  time  and  noble  fortune  to  works  of  public  utility 
and  benevolence-  His  luiiform  rc.gard  to  truth  made  hira  the  exam- 
ple and  admirati■^n  of  his  age-  His  tenderness  of  conscience  led 
him  to  decline  tlic  most  honourable  officef  in  the  scientific  world. 


The,  Royal  Society. 


t  President  of  the  Royal  Society. 


because  he  doubted  about  the  oatlis  prescribed,  and  his  reverence 
for  the  glorious  Creator  induced  him  to  pause  whenever  lie  pro- 
nounced his  name-  From  such  a  student  we  may  expect  tlie  trutli. 
From  such  a  philosopher  we  receive,  with  tiiimixed  pleasure,  '  A 
Treatise  of  t/ie  high  vejieratio/i  ~.Mch  men's  intellect  oiivs  to  God ;'* 
or  a  discourse  '  On  greatness  of  jm'nd promoted  by  Christianity.'  "+ 

The  same  excellent  autlior  fui-nishes  the  following  admirable  con- 
trasts : — 

"  Contrast,  in  point  of  more  benevolence,  the  lives  and  deport- 
ment of  such  an  infidel  as  Rousseau,  and  such  a  Christian  as  Dodd- 
ridge ;  the  one  all  pride,  selfishness,  fury,  caprice,  rage,  gross  sen- 
suality— casting  about  firebrands  and  dcalli — professing  no  rule  of 
morals  but  his  feelings,  .abusing  the  finest  powers  to  tlie  dissemina- 
tion, not  merely  of  objections  against  Chri.stianity,  but  of  the  most 
licentious  and  profligate  principles  ; — Doddrid.ge  all  purity,  mild- 
ness, meekness,  and  love,  ardent  in  his  good  will  to  man,  the  friend 
and  counsellor  of  die  sorrowful  ;  regular,  calm,  consistent ;  dis- 
pensing peace  and  truth  by  his  labours  and  bv  his  writings  ;  living, 
not  for  himself,  hut  for  the  common  good,  to  which  he  sacrificed  his 
health  and  even  life. 

"Or  contrast  such  a  man  as  Volnc}- with  Swartze.  They  both 
visit  distant  lands, — they  are  active  and  indefatigable  in  their  pur- 
suits,— they  acfpiire  celebrity,  and  communicate  respectively  a 
certain  impidse  to  their  widened  circles;  but  the  one,  jaiu.diced  by 
infidelity,  the  sport  of  passion  and  cajiricc,  lost  to  all  argument  and 
ri.glit  feeling,  comes  home  to  diffuse  the  poison  of  unbelief,  to  be  a 
misery  to  himself,  the  plague  and  disturber  of  his  counti-y,  the  daik 
calumniator  of  the  Christian  faith-  The  olber  remains  far  from  his 
native  land  to  preach  tlie  peaceful  doctrine  of  the  gospel  on  llie 
shores  of  India  ;  he  becomes  the  fi-ien<l  and  bi-otlier  of  thoFe  whom 
he  had  never  seen,  and  only  heard  of  as  fellow -creatures, — he  difiu- 
ses  blessings  for  hall'a  century, — he  insures  the  admiration  of  the 
heathen  prince  near  whom  he  resides, — he  becomes  tlie  mediator 
between  contending  ti-ibes  and  nations, — he  establishes  a  reputation 
for  purity,  integrit}-,  disinterestedness,  meekness,  which  compel  all 
around  to  respect  and  love  him, — he  forms  churches, — he  instructs 
children, — he  disperses  the  seeds  of  charity  and  truth,— he  is  the  mo- 
del of  all  llie  virtues  he  enjoins." 


'  Published  in  1085. 


+  Published  in  IGOO. 


*  Washington's  Farewell  Address  to  tlie  people  of  die  United 
States, 


1G4 


CHRISTIAN    L 1 13  R  A  li  Y. 


O,  what  a  world  were  this  if  all  men  were  infidels  !  Tlien, 
indeed,  would  they  soon  destroy  themselves.  Their  vices 
would  bo  such  as  to  anniliilate  all  the  social  sympathies,  and 
to  cause  the  various  elements  of  society  to  rush  together  in 
wild  confusion  and  ruin.  ,     .  .  ^,,-       ■     ■. 

What  cause  of  congratulation  is  it,  that  inhdelity,  in  its 
more  direct  forms,  has  so  little  power  in  this  country  to  mould 
our  national  institutions  !  No  one  who  marks  the  zeal  and 
mali<rnity  of  our  infidel  press,  can  doubt,  for  a  moment,  what 
would  be  the  fate  of  every  honest  and  virtuous  family,  if  in- 
fidels could,  by  any  moans,  acquire  ascendancy.  There  is  a 
o-reat  deal  of  secret  and  avowed  infidelity  in  the  land ;  but, 
blessed  be  God,  our  property,  our  domestic  peace,  our  national 
security  are  not  as  yet  menaced  by  the  irapugners  of  Revela- 
tion. . 

It  is  at  the  same  time  a  mournful  consideration,  that  so 
many  of  the  labouring  classes  of  tlic  community  are  vitiated 
by  the  wretched  dogmas  of  this  school.  It  is  a  distinct  cha- 
racteristic of  modern  infidelity,  that  it  aims  to  subvert  the 
hopes  of  the  poor.  The  writinsrs  of  Mr.  Paine,  combined 
with  other  circumstances,  have  led  to  tliis  feature  in  its  ma- 
lignant history.  The  libertinism  of  sceptics,  till  of  late  years, 
was  regarded'as  the  exclusive  privilege  of  the  educated,  the 
intellectual,  and  the  distinguished  portion  of  mankind.  Now 
it  is  far  otherwise  ;  the  pestilence  has  spread  itself,  and  ope-: 
ratives,  in  every  department  of  trade,  are  plied  by  the  apos- 
tles of  infidelity,  who,  not  content  with  destroying  the  poor 
man's  hopes  of  immortality,  set  themselves  to  lower  all  his 
notions  of  moral  obligation,  to  vitiate  all  his  social  habits,  to 
foster  in  him  the  spirit  of  rebellion  against  all  constituted 
authority,  and  thus,  as  it  were,  to  deck  their  victim  for  the 
day  of  sacrifice.  I  firmly  believe  that  in  London  alone,  to 
say  nothing  of  other  large  populations,  there  are  thousands 
and  tens  of  thousands  lost  to  industry,  to  health,  to  reputa- 
tion, and  to  peace,  outcasts  from  society,  and  terrors  to  the 
community,  who  might  trace  the  utter  W'reck  of  tlieir  charac- 
ters to  their  association  with  companions  of  infidel  senti- 
ments, and  to  their  familiarity  with  the  infidel  press.  It  has 
been  my  lot  as  a  Christian  minister,  more  than  once,  to  con- 
firm these  alTecting  statements  by  tlie  unequivocal  avowals  of 
infidels  themselves,  in  tlie  last  periods  of  human  existence, 
and  also  by  witnessing  in  some,  once  jiromising  characters, 
the  baneful  effects  arising  from  the  adoption  of  infidel  opin- 


CHAPTER  VI. 

Aa  ujfcdiunalc  iqjpeul  tu  those  tcho  have  hem  entangled  in  the 
snares  uf  Infidelity. 

When  I  reflect  how  many  there  are  whose  faith  in  Cliristi- 
auity  has  been  shaken,  and  whose  minds  have  fallen  a  prey 
to  the  wiles  of  scepticism  ;  and,  moreover,  when  I  call  to  re- 
membrance that  so  many  of  the  young  and  promising  rank 
among  the  victims  of  this"  moral  contagion,  I  cannot  but  feel 
an  earaest  desire  to  become  an  instrument  of  good  to  a  por- 
tion of  my  fellow-creatures,  at  once  so  interesting  and  so 
much  exposed.  O  that  God  would  strengthen  me  to  speak 
a  word  to  unhappy  and  deluded  sceptics !  With  all  the  zeal 
for  their  salvation  that  1  can  possibly  give  utterance  to,  \vould 
I  make  my  appeal  to  their  judgments  and  consciences.  Let 
me  bespeak  their  candour.  I  am  conscious  of  no  motive  but 
a  desire  to  honour  God,  and  to  save  their  souls.  Regarding 
them  as  the  victims  of  fatal  error,  I  am  devoutly  anxious  to 
see  them  extricated  from  it.  Their  creed  I  hold  to  be  alike 
gloomy  and  pernicious,  and  I  would  show  them  a  more  ex- 
cellent way,  and  would  introduce  them,  with  a  bounding 
heart,  into  the  light  and  liberty  of  Cliristianity. 

What,  then,  let  me  ask,  has  led  you  to  reject  Christianity  I 
Have  you  carefully  examined  it,  and  found  its  evidence  de- 
fective %  If  so,  where  does  the  difficulty  press  ?  If  you  are 
reallv  pcr))lexed,  ask  counsel  of  some  enlightened  Christian, 
and  iic  will  readily  aid  you  in  disposing  of  the  doubts  and 
misgivings  of  a  niind  really  sincere.  1  believe  a  doubting 
man  may  be  sincere.  There  are  many  volumes  suited  to 
your  state,  and  which  you  might  read  with  the  greatest  pos- 
sible advantage.  Let  me  parUcularly  recommend  to  your  at- 
tentive perusal  "The  Gospel  its  own  Witness,"  by  the  late 
Rev.  Andrew  Fuller;  "Tlie  Evidences  of  Christianity,"  by 
Dr.  Paley  ;  "  A  Short  Method  with  Deists,"  by  Leslie  ;  Dr. 


Chalmers'  worlvs  on  "The  Christian  Revelation,"  and  a  work 
entitled  "  A  Treatise  on  the  Nature  and  Causes  of  Doubt  in 
Religious  Questions." 

But  let  me  deal  honestly  with  you,  as  your  friend.  Have 
you  all  this  su])]iosed  difhculty  about  the  evidence  and  tho 
truth  of  Christianity?  Or  is  your  hesitancy  of  a  very  differ- 
ent order?  Do  j'ou  feel  a  repugnance  to  the  holy  require- 
ments of  Christianity,  and  a  consequent  dread  of  the  judgments 
wliich  it  threatens  ?  And  does  this  prom|)t  in  you  the  bane- 
ful wish,  "O  that  it  might  not  be  true!"  Rciucinbcr  what 
Rochester  said — "A  bad  life  is  the  only  grand  objection  to 
this  book;"  laying  his  hand  emphatically  on  the  Bible.  Has 
not  this  been  very  much  the  case  with  you  ?  You  liave  fallen 
into  sinful  courses — you  have  yielded  to  the  ways  of  the 
world — you  have  gone  with  a  multitude  to  do  evil — you  have 
forsaken  your  better  fellowships — you  have  learnt  to  spend 
your  Sabbaths  in  pleasure,  and  you  have  gradually  become 
more  and  more  careless.  In  this  state  you  have  been  very 
unhappy  at  times;  you  have  thought,  well,  "what  if,  after 
all,  the  Bible  be  true!  What  if,  after  all,  the  wicked  shall 
be  turned  into  hell !"  At  this  juncture,  some  one  further 
advanced  in  scepticism  than  yourself  has  aided  you  in  shak- 
ing off  the  galling  yoke  of  conscience.  He  has  put  some 
infidel  publication  into  your  hand  ;  you  have  read  it ;  it  has 
fallen  in  with  your  previous  wishes  and  habits ;  you  have 
said,  "This  is  the  very  thing  I  wanted  ;"  and  you  have,  at 
last,  learned  to  revile  the  Bible,  to  set  light  by  its  hopes,  and 
to  talk  slanderously  of  its  professors. 

Come  now,  my  friend,  and  let  us  reason  together.  Look 
back  on  the  jirocess.  Why  did  you  so  readily  drink  in  tho 
poison  contained  in  the  infidel  volume  1  Wliy?  because  you 
were  in  a  state  of  mind  very  much  the  opposite  of  that  which 
the  Bible  demands.  But  what  have  you  found,  my  friend, 
in  the  regions  of  scepticism?  You  have  relinquished  the 
hopes  of  Christianity,  by  Christ  Jesus.  What  have  you  ob- 
tained in  their  place?  Amidst  all  your  acquirements,  have 
you  found  peace  of  mind  ?  Will  your  present  character  and 
your  present  religion  sustain  you  in  a  dying  hour?  Multi- 
tudes of  infidels  have  found  their  creed,  at  death,  insufficient 
to  meet  the  awful  catastrophe.  Not  a  single  instance  can 
be  produced,  in  which  a  believer  in  Revelation  was  terrified 
or  dismayed  because  he  had  been  a  Christian.  Many  have 
been  distressed  on  account  of  the  defective  evidence  of  their 
Christianity,  but  none  on  account  of  their  being  Cliristians. 
Does  it  never  occur  to  you,  that  if  Christianity  be  true,  you 
are  undone? — that  if  it  be  false,  he  who  believes  it  can  suffer 
no  injury?*  Who,  let  me  ask  you,  are  your  companions? 
What  are  your  pursuits?  and  what  your  hopes?  I  deeply 
feel  for  you,  while  I  greatly  blame  you.  You  may  have  been 
inadequately  instructed  ;  you  may  have  seen  bad  examples  ; 
you  may  have  witnessed  great  inconsistencies  in  some  of 
the  professors  of  religion.  Granting,  however,  that  all  this 
may  have  been  the  case,  still  the  interests  of  the  soul  are  a 
personal  concern.  No  man  can  stand  in  your  place  when 
you  die.  I  beseech  you,  then,  to  arouse  yourself  from  that 
'ethargy  into  which  */«  and  unbelief,  acting  and  reacting, 
have  conjointly  sunk  you. 

Ask  yourself  this  question,  "  AVhat  makes  me  a  sceptic  ? 
Is  it  because  I  have  examined  for  myself,  and  know  the  Gospel 
to  be  a  fable?  or  is  it  because  that  I  desire  it  may  be  one?" 
And  why  should  you  desire  this?  If  Christianity  does  not 
meet  your  case,  no  other  system  can.  Infidelity  has  not  met 
your  ease;  it  has  not  awakened  hope;  it  has  net  allayed 
despair;  it  has  not  ministered  peace.  No:  it  has  only  stu- 
pified  a  conscience  which  must  yet  awake;  it  has  only  taught 
you  to  put  the  evil  day  far  away ;  it  has  only  blinded  you 
for  a  time  to  the  dread  prospects  of  a  future  and  impending 
eternity. 

Why,  I  ask  again,  should  you  wish  that  Christianity  rnay 
not  be  true  ?  Is  it  because  you  feel  yourself  guilty,  and  shrink 
from  the  condemnation  which  it  threatens  ?  AVell  might  you 
thus  shrink  if  it  did  not  reveal  a  remedy,  as  well  as  disclose 
a  disease  and  point  out  its  consequences.  You  are  guilty — 
yea,  ten  thousand  times  more  guilty  than  you  ever  imagined 
yourself  to  be;  but  what  I  maintain  is,  that  if  yon  turn  away 
the  eye  of  faith  from  that  great  sacrifice  which  Christianity    ^ 


*  "  Inilisnulably,"  said  Lord  Bjrou,  in  a  letter  sent  by  him  to 
the  late  Mrs  Shcpiiard,  "the  firm  believers  m  the  tiosp.-l  have  a 
•Tcat  advantas;e  ocrall  others,  fortius  simple  reatou— that  il  true, 
diej'  «ill  liavu  tlicir  reward  liereal'ter  ;  and  it  llieru  be  no  bereatttr, 
they  can  be  but  %villi  the  ijifulel  in  his  eternal  sleep,  liaMug  bad  the 
assistante  of  an  exalted  hope  tlirougb  life,  without  subsequent  dis- 
appoiiitineiit,  since  (at  the  w  orst,  for  them)  '  out  of  nothing,  notliiny 
ean  arise,' — not  even  sorrow  ■" 


A  PORTRAITURE  OF  MODERN  SCEPTICISM. 


1C5 


reveals,  you  must  sink  lor  ever  beneath  the  pressure  ot"  your 
guilt,  and  with  tliis  superadded  horror,  that  you  perished  at 
the  threshold  of  mere}'. 

Is  it  liecause  you  do  not  love  the  pure  and  holy  demands 
of  Christianity,  that  you  turn  away  from  it?  AVell,  but  is 
not  this,  its  pure  character,  the  proof  of  its  celestial  origin? 
and  if  so,  will  it  avail  you  to  reject  it?  Will  the  holy  life 
it  requires  be  less  obligatory  because  )ou  detonnine  not  to 
pursue  it  ?  \Vill  the  great  Judge  excuse  you  at  last  because 
you  loved  your  sins  more  than  his  revealed  will  ? 

Besides,"  what  is  to  root  cut  unholy  inclinations,  to  correct 
depraved  habits,  to  superinduce  devotion,  and  to  raise  the 
soul  to  Cod  ?  Is  U  not  divine  mtdilalion  on  the  bleaed  word? 
Here  is  that  consecrated  fountain  which,  by  the  grace  of  God, 
shall  quench  your  thirst  of  sin.  Here  you  may  read  of  "the 
new  heart"  till  you  know  by  experience  what  it  is.  Here  is 
a  divine  Deliverer,  whose  "  name  is  called  Jesus,  because  he 
saves  his  people  from  their  sins."  Here  is  a  divine  Sanclificr, 
who  can  "create  within  you  a  clean  heart,  and  renew  within 
you  a  right  spirit."  One  word  more,  and  1  have  done.  Ask 
God  to  teach  you.  Ask  him,  if  the  IJible  be  from  him,  to 
enable  )'on  to  come  to  the  belief  of  it.  .'Vsk  him  to  remove 
your  blindness,  to  allay  your  jirejudiccs,  and,  above  all,  to 
prevent  any  sinful  habit  from  giving  a  bias  to  your  decision. 
Make  no  delay  in  this  work.  If  you  die  a  stranger  to  the 
hopes  of  Christia^iity,  it  had  been  better  for  you  that  you  had 
never  been  born ! 


Sir  Matthew  Hale,  the  Hon.  Hobcrt  Boyle,  Bishop  Buller, 
Dr.  Watts,  Mr.  AVilberiorce,  Dr.  Faley,  Dr.  Beattie,  Dr. 
Chalmers,  and  Robert  Hall  ?  Such  a  pretence,  on  the  pari  of 
any  infidel,  would  be  equally  fatal  to  his  sense  and  candour. 
In  gresp  of  mind,  in  depth  of  erudition,  in  diversitj'  and  ex- 
tent of  science,  the  pledged  advocates  of  the  gospel  have  had 
no  rivals  in  the  republic  of  letters,  or  in  the  ranks  of  scepti- 
cism.* All  who  know  any  thing  of  the  state  of  facts,  must 
concede  this  point,  that  the  sublimcst  exercise  of  reason  is  not 
incompatible  with  the  most  profound  deference  to  the  truth 
and  excellence  of  Kevtdatlon.  It  is  easy  for  some  infidel  de- 
magogue to  vaunt  himself  of  his  great  wisdom  and  learning 
before  an  ignorant  and  vicious  assembly ;  but  let  the  entire 


PART  SECOND. 


THE  TUUTH  AND  EXCKLLIINCE  OF  CIIHIS- 
TIAMTY. 


CHAPIEU  I. 

Tlie  eomparalive  credit  due  to  the  conclusions  of  Sccj>lics  and 
Christians. 

"  For  we  have  not  believed  cunningly  devised  fiiblcs." 

Such,  at  least,  is  the  Christian's  estimate  of  the  stability 
of  his  own  hopes;  and  such  is  tlic  settled  conviction  of  every 
sincere  friend  of  revealed  truth.  When  the  moral  character 
and  habits  of  those  who  profess  their  belief  in  Christianity  is 
tidccn  into  account,  there  can  be  no  hesitation  in  admitting 
that  they  are  strictly  honest  in  the  avowal  of  their  faith,  and 
Ihat  they  do  not  aflcct  to  repose  on  the  Iruth  of  a  system 
which,  after  all,  they  secretly  disbelieve.  That  there  are 
many  false  pretenders  to  the  faith  of  Christ  is  readily  con- 
ceded ;  but  after  the  names  of  all  such  have  been  struck  off 
from  the  list  of  its  genuine  friends,  there  will  yet  remain  a 
multitude  of  honest  men,  far  above  all  s\iS])icion,  who,  in 
life,  and  at  death,  have  ))rofcssed  their  sincere  and  heart-felt 
belief  in  the  religion  of  .Tesus  of  Nazareth.  To  impugn  their 
integrity,  as  men  of  veracity,  would  be  alike  absurd  and  un- 
just. They  are,  beyond  doubt,  entitled  to  all  credit  for  sin- 
cerity, when,  with  the  Bible  in  their  hands,  tliey  exclaim, 
"  We  have  not  followed  cunningly  devised  fables." 

The  great  question  then  is,  are  they  mistaken  in  the  esti- 
mate which  they  have  formed  of  the  Bible?  Are  they  nnder 
the  influence  of  a  delusion,  though  they  fondly  believe  that  they 
have  embraced  the  truth  of  God  !  In  deciding  such  inquiries 
as  these,  several  considerations  naturally  occur  to  the  mind, 
irrespective  even  of  the  direct  evidences  of  the  Christian 
revelation. 

What,  then,  has  been  the  amount  of  inlellecttud  qualifica- 
tion possessed  by  Christians  for  investigating  the  frnth  or 
falsehood  of  their  hopes  1  It  may  be  true,  indeed,  that  the  mass 
of  those  who  have  embraced  the  gospel  have  been  little  ele- 
vated, in  point  of  mind,  above  any  other  equal  portion  of  the 
human  race;  although  it  cannot  be  denied,  that  in  Christian 
countries  the  common  people  are  much  superior  to  their  fel- 
lows in  heathen  lands.  But  be  this  as  it  may,  can  any  one 
affirm  that  among  the  list  of  Christian  advocates  there  are  not 
to  be  found  multitudes  of  men  in  the  highest  degree  qualified 
to  decide  upon  any  question  of  evidence  submilled  to  their 
notice?  Will  it  be  pretended  that  imbecility  of  intellect  ]iro- 
dueed  the  faith  of  such  men  as  Sir  Isaac  Newton,  John  Locke, 


•  The  following;  eloquent  passjifje,  from  a  speech  of  the  late  Lord 
Urskine,  delivered  bv  him  in  llie  Court  of  Kiut;'s  lienih,  on  oct-a- 
bion  of  a  (iroseculioii  for  the  publiealioii  of  Paine*s  '*  Ai;e  of  Hea- 
son,"  may  not  be  unacceptable,  as  lendinj^  to  illustrate  tlie  jiosilion, 
tliat  superiority  of  intellect  has  been  enlisted  on  llie  side  of  Chris- 
tianity : — 

" '  It  seems,  gentlemen,'  said  his  lordsliip,  lliis  is  an  age  of 
reason i  and  the  lime  and  the  person  are  at  las^t  arrived,  that  arc  to 
dissipate  llic  elTors  which  have  overspi-ead  the  past  gi  aeration  of 
ignorance.  The  believers  in  Chi  istianity  are  many,  biu  it  belongs 
to  tliC  few  that  are  wise  to  correct  llieir  credulity.  lieiief  i.s  an  act 
of  reason,  and  siiperior  reason  may,  llierefore,  dicUtte  to  tlie  weak. 

^*ln  ruiuiing  tlie  mind  along  the  list  ot  sincere  and  de\oul  Chris- 
tians, I  cannot  help  lamenting  that  JW'U-ton  had  not  lived  to  this 
<Iav,  10  have  liad  his  sludlow  ness  filled  up  w  itli  the  new  Hood  of 
light. 

**Iiut  the  subject  is  too  awful  for  irony  ;  I  will  speak  jdainly  and 
ilirectly.  Xewlou  was  a  Christian  I — New  ton,  w  hose  mind  burst  foi-th 
from  llie  fetters  cast  by  Nature  upon  our  finite  cuiiceptions.  New- 
ton! whose  science  was  li-uth,  and  tlie  foundation  of  whose  know- 
ledge of  it  was  philosophy  ;  not  those  visionary  and  arrogant  ]>re- 
simiptiuDS  which  too  often  usurp  its  name,  but  pjiilosopliy,  resting 
upon  tlie  basis  of  mathematics,  wliicli,  like;  llgiires,  cannot  lie. 
S\'e~.i't^jn,  who  carried  tlie  line  and  rule  to  the  ullno^l  barriers  of  the 
citeatioii,  anil  e\plorcd  tlie  principles  by  which,  no  doubt,  all  created 
matter  is  held  together  and  exists. 

"  Hut  this  e.vlraordinary  man,  in  the  miglity  reach  of  his  mind, 
overlooked,  perhaps,  llie  errors  w  liich  a  minuter  investigation  of  Uic 
created  things  on  tiiis  eaitli  might  have  taught  him  of  tlie  essence  of 
his  Creator. 

"  What,  then,  shall  be  said  of  the  great  Air.  Uoyle,  who  looked 
into  t!ie  organic  structure  of  all  matter,  e\i-ii  to  llie  brute  inanimate 
substances  wliich  the  fool  treads  on^  Such  a  man  may  be  siippose<l 
10  have  been  ei/natlii  cjualified  with  Air.  Paine  to  *  look  tlirongh 
Natui-e,  up  to  Nutm-e's  God  '  Yet,  the  result  of  all  A/.v  contempla- 
tion was,  tlie  most  coniirmed  and  devout  belief  of  all  wliicli  the  otiier 
lield  in  contempt,  as  despicable  and  drivelling  sui>erslilioii. 

'  But  lliis  error  mijiht,  perhaps,  arise  from  a  w  ant  of  due  atten- 
tion to  llie  foundations  of  human  judgment,  and  Uie  structure  of 
that  miderstanding  wliich  God  has  given  us  for  llie  investigation  of 
Iruth. 

'  Let  Ib.'il  question  be  answered  by  Mr.  Locke,  who  was,  to  the 
highest  pilch  of  devotion  and  adoration,  a  Christian,  .^fr.  Lficke, 
\\  hose  office  was  to  detect  the  errors  of  tliinking,  by  going  up  lo  tlie 
fountains  of  tliouglit,  and  lo  direct  into  the  proper  track  of  reasoning 
llie  devious  mind  of  man,  by  .showing  him  its  whole  process,  from 
ihc  first  perceptions  of  sense  lo  the  lasl  conclusions  of  raliocinalion; 
pulling  a  rein,  besides,  upon  false  opinion,  by  practical  rules  for  the 
conduct  of  human  judgment. 

"But  these  men  were  only  deep  thinkers,  and  lived  in  their 
losets,  unaccustomed  lo  llie  traflic  of  the  world,  and  to  the  laws 
which  practically  regidale  mankind  ! 

"Gentlemen!  in  die  place  \iliere  wc  now  sit  lo  administer  tlic 
ustice  of  this  great  country,  above  a  century  ago,  the  iiever-lo-be- 
forgolten  Sir  .Mattliew  Hale  presided, — whose  faith  in  Christianity 
is  an  exalted  commentary  upon  its  Irulh  anil  reason,  and  whose  life 
was  a  glorious  example  of  its  tVuils  in  man, — administering  human 
justice,  with  a  wisdom  and  purity  drawn  from  the  pure  founUiin  of 
the  Christian  dispensation,  which  has  been,  and  will  be  in  all  ages, 
a  subject  of  tlie  highest  reverence  and  admiration. 

"  But  it  is  said  by  llie  author,  that  the  Cbrislian  fable  is  but  the 
Uilc  of  the  more  ancient  superstitions  of  the  world,  and  may  easily 
be  detected  by  a  proper  understanding  of  die  mylliologies  of  llie 
heathen. 

'Uid.TCft«n  understand  those  mylliologies?  was  he  less  versed 
than  Mr.  Paine  in  the  superstitions  of  tlie  world'  Xo!  lliey  were 
the  subject  of  his  immortal  song,'  and  though  shut  out  from  all 
ecurrence  lo  them,  he  poured  iliem  f'orlli  tVom  the  stores  of  mcmo- 
.'V  rich  with  all  tliat  man  ever  knew,  and  laid  tlicra  in  their  order, 
as  the  illustration  of  that  exalted  faith,  the  unquestionalile  source  of 
that  fervid  e-enius,  which  cast  a  shade  upon  all  llie  odier  works  of 
man.  The  mysterious  incarnation  of  our  blessed  Saviour  (which 
this  work  blasphemes  in  words  so  wholly  unlit  for  the  mouth  of  a 
Christian,  or  for  the  ear  of  a  court  of  justice,  that  I  dare  not,  and 
will  not,  give  ibera  utterance),  Wilton  made  the  grand  conclusion  of 
the  "  Paradise  Lost," — the  rest  from  his  finished  labours, — and  Ihe 
ultimate  hope,  expectation,  and  glory  of  the  world. 

"  '  A  virgin  ii"  His  motlier,  bul  His  sire 

The  Power  of  Uie  Mosl  Hifrli ;  lie  .-hall  ascend 

The  tlirone  hereditary,  and  liouiid  his  reisn 

With  cartli  s  wide  bounds,  His  glory  wiih  tliu  heaven:." 


16G 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


history  of  the  Christian  era  be  appealed  to  as  the  proof,  that 
the  choicest  spirits  in  each  age,  since  the  days  of  tlie  apostles, 
have  been  the  professed  adherents  of  the  gospel.  Christianity, 
then,  has  not  been  subjected  to  the  humiliation  of  being  only 
embraced  by  the  weak  and  ignorant  of  mankind  ;  it  has  called 
forth  the  plaudits  of  the  greatest  men  that  ever  lived,  and  has 
done  more  by  its  own  simple  energy  to  augment  the  genius 
and  to  multiply  the  actjuiremenls  of  the  race,  than  all  other 
systems  of  religion  and  other  causes  combined.* 

But  I  ask  again,  what  have  been  the  moral  qualifications 
possessed  by  Christians  to  enable  them  to  decide  upon  the 
validity  of  their  own  hopes  I  Have  they  been  men,  in  general, 
whose  perceptions  have  been  blunted  and  vitiated  by  an  irre- 
gular and  profligate  life  T  or  has  not  the  very  reverse  of  this  been 
the  case  ■?  If  two  persons  of  equal  intellect,  but  of  extremely 
different  moral  habits,  the  one  devout,  consistent,  benevo- 
lent ;  and  the  other  proud,  self-important,  devoted  to  pleasure, 
should  set  themselves  to  ascertain  the  truth  or  falsehood  of 
any  system  assuming  to  be  a  revelation  from  God;  which 
of  the  two  parties  might  be  expected  to  be  the  more  success- 
ful in  the  investigation,  provided  that  the  assumed  revelation 
were  genuine  ^  It  cannot  surely  be  denied  that  the  advantages 
in  favour  of  the  man  of  correct  moral  feeling  and  habit  would 
be  immense.  Nor  can  it  be  maintained  by  any  one  in  pos- 
session of  sound  reason,  that  a  wrong  slate  of  mind  and  cha- 
racter will  not  materially  influence  the  decisions  of  the 
understanding,  in  reference  to  moral  truth.  Upon  this  prin- 
ciple it  is  that  we  enter  our  earnest  protest  against  the  flimsy 
dogma  of  modern  infidelit}',  tliat  belief  is,  in  all  cases,  a  thing 
strictly  involuntary.  On  the  contrary,  we  submit,  that  in  no 
case  where  belief  is  claimed  on  behalf  of  moral  truth,  can  it 
be  yielded  in  a  state  of  mind  fairly  entitled  to  the  appellation 
involuntary.  That  can  never  be  involuntary  which  may  either 
be  prompted  or  retarded  by  the  state  of  disposition.  Nothing 
is  more  obvious  than  that  men  may  blind  themselves  to  the 
light  of  truth,  anil  slund)le,  as  in  the  dark,  at  noon-day.  But 
who  would  say  that  that  blindness  is  involuntary  which  is 
the  result  of  a  man's  loving  darkness  rather  than  light,  because 
his  deeds  are  evil  1 

Upon  a  full  and  impartial  review  of  the  moral  character  and 
habits  of  those  who  have  truly  embraced  Christianity,  we  are 
disposed  to  abide  by  the  conclusion,  that  their  advantages  for 
reaching  truth  have  been  astonishingly  great.  Compared  with 
the  leading  advocates  of  Deism,  they  stand  on  a  lofty  emi- 
nence, from  which,  with  a  vision  unclouded  hy  the  mists  of 
prejudice  and  crime,  they  can  discern  the  moral  beauty  and 
loveliness  of  that  fair  land  which  opens  to  their  view  in  the 
territory  of  revealed  trutli.f 

If,  then,  the  intellectual  advantages  of  the  Christian  are 
fully  equal  to  those  of  the  infidel,  and  if  his  moral  advantages 
are  far  superior,  to  what  conclusion  must  such  a  fact  conduct 
us  ?  Why,  to  this,  that  the  Christian  is  much  more  likely  to 
be  right  in  embracing  the  gospel,  than  the  sceptic  is  in  reject- 
ing it.  His  judgment  is  not  less  to  be  respected,  and  his  dis- 
positions and  habits  are  more  in  accordance  with  the  dictates 
of  what  even  natural  conscience  and  pure  deism  would  pro- 
nounce to  be  right.  And  do  we  on  this  account  urge  men  to 
receive  Christianity  1  By  no  means.  All  we  demand  is,  that 
they  will  give  it  a  fair  hearing,  and  that  they  will  look  on  it 
with  that  respect  which  will  dispose  them  to  weigh  well  its 
divine  evidence,  and  not  rashly  to  dash  from  their  parched  lips 
the  cup  of  salvation.  We  ask  not  that  men  should  believe 
because  others  have  believed  ;  but  that  they  would  honestly 
inquire  whether  believers  or  sceptics  are  most  worthy  of  imi- 
tation ]  The  careful  investigation  of  this  question  will  gene- 
rate a  state  of  mind  favourable  to  the  claims  of  revelation,  and 
will  prompt  the  reasonable  desire  that  the  gospel  may  be  true. 
I  may  here  premise,  that  no  man  was  ever  in  earnest  to 
find  out  the  truth  of  Christianity  who  did  not  make  conscience 
of  imploring  God's  direction  and  assistance  in  an  inquiry 
upon  which  so  much  depends.  If  Christianity  be  not  a  reve- 
lation from  God,  then  has  none  ever  been  vouchsafed  to  the 
children  of  men  ;  and  if  none  has  ever  been  vouchsafed,  then 
are  the  whole  race  suidc  in  darkness  as  to  the  character  of 
God,  and  the  destinies  of  futurity.     If  Christianity  be  a  reve- 


ation  from  God,  then  is  it  treason  against  Heaven  to  reject 
its  evidence,  or  to  set  light  by  the  remedy  which  it  prescribes 
for  our  fallen  and  guilty  nature.  Under  these  circumstances, 
how  necessary  is  it  to  ask  of  God  that  he  would  lead  us,  his 
erring  children,  into  all  truth,  and  that  he  would  so  far  banish 
every  unholy  prejudice  that  our  minds  may  be  open  to  receive 
whatever  bears  upon  it  the  stamp  of  a  celestial  origin.  It  is 
a  mournful  fact  that  this  spirit  of  devotion  seems  an  utter 
stranger  to  almost  all  writers  of  the  sceptical  class. 
They  boast  of  their  deism,  and  neglect  one  of  its  first  and 
simplest  lessons,  viz.,  the  duty  of  an  intelligent,  but  feeble 
and  dependant  creature  seeking  counsel  of  the  great  and  mer- 
ciful Being  who  formed  him. 


*  "If  !i  map,"  observes  tlic  present  Bishnp  of  Cliestcr,  "could 
trace  tlu-  i-i-al  innneiice  of  tlje  Gospi-1,  it  would  also  delineate  the 
]iroi)Ortion  of  iiiielligcnce  and  active  vii  tuc.  Tlie  measure  of  spi- 
ritual kiioivledi;c  is  also  the  measure  of  tiarbarism  and  of  civiliza- 
tion, of  mental  stuiiiditv,  or  mental  ilUnnination"— £T-«/t7ites, 
iourtli  l-.ilition,  I'Jmo,  pp.  i'27,  4>2S. 

t  "Religion  raH;m(  exist,"  said  Sir  Walter  Scott,  "where  im- 
morality prevails,  anv  more  than  a  liglit  can  burn  where  tlie  air  is 
corrupted."— i//t-  rifS\\ij,„kon,  vol.  i.'  p.  54- 


CHAPTER  II. 

Showing  ihdt  the  evidence  of  Christianity  is  of  such  a  nature 
that  if  admits  of  being  brought  home  individually,  with  con- 
vincing poiver,  to  every  mun''s  bosom. 

It  is  never  to  be  forgotten  that  those  who  are  called  to  ex- 
amine the  divine  pretensions  of  Christianity  are  the  very  per- 
sons interested  in  its  communications.  To  man  it  distinctly 
makes  its  appeal,  and  in  him  it  proposes  to  effect  that  mighty 
renovation  of  which  it  speaks.  .Should  it  be  true,  then,  to  its 
own  assumed  character,  it  will  undoubtedly  verify  its  several 
claims  in  the  personal  consciousness  of  all  its  recipients.  I 
choose  to  begin  here,  because  I  am  satisfied  that  no  man  can 
sit  down  to  investigate  the  truth  of  this  Bible,  who  does  not 
stand  in  need  of  light  on  the  subjects  of  which  it  treats. 
Every  man's  conscience  may  suggest  to  him  that  he  has  of- 
fended against  God,  that  he  has  violated,  in  innumerable  in- 
stances, his  own  sense  of  right  and  wrong,  and  that  there  may 
be  some  fearful  retribution  awaiting  transgressors  in  another 
and  unknown  state  of  existence.  But  whatever  Reason  may 
surmise  on  these  Subjects,  she  has  no  balm  with  which  to 
soothe  an  anguished  conscience,  no  system  of  propitiation  by 
which  to  relieve  a  guilty  and  foreboding  mind,  no  mediator  be- 
tween the  offended  Majesty  of  Heaven  and  his  erring  creatures. 
It  is  Christianity  alone  which  opens  up  a  door  of  hope  to  an 
apostate  race  ;  every  thing  besides  is  utter  conjecture.  Infi- 
dels may  boast  of  the  composure  and  satisfaction  they  feel  in 
contemplating  the  issues  of  the  present  life  ;  but  their  exemp- 
tion from  anxious  dread  is  but  one  instance  out  of  many  in 
which  the  voice  of  conscience  is  silenced  by  that  spirit  of  ut- 
ter and  reckless  scepticism,  which  on  the  one  hand  rejects  a 
mass  of  well-authenticated  evidence,  and  on  the  other  profes- 
ses firm  belief  and  unshaken  confidence  in  its  own  dogmas, 
without  so  much  as  a  title  of  proof  to  support  them. 

The  man,  then,  who  examines  Christianity  in  a  right  spi- 
rit, may  expect  to  perceive,  in  its  intimate  bearing  on  his  own 
case,  that  it  is  of  God.  If  he  is  in  that  state  of  mind  vvhich 
is  suitable  to  a  rational  creature  anxious  to  know  the  will  of 
God,  he  will  find  in  Christianity  what  he  can  discover  no 
where  else.  Is  he  conscious  of  sini  it  reveals  to  him  its  tnie 
character,  traces  it  to  its  source,  and  points  to  its  consequen- 
ces. Is  he  the  subject  of  legitimate  dread  and  apprehension 
in  prospect  of  standing  before  an  offended  God?  it  tells  him 
how  his  guilt  may  be  elfectually  removed,  and  how  the  peace 
of  an  accusinor  conscience  may  be  restored.  Is  he  oppressed 
whenever  he  thinks  of  the  divine  purity,  and  contrasts  it  with 
a  nature  ever  prone  to  evill  it  proposes  to  subject  him  to  a 
healing  and  remedial  process,  by  which  moral  health  is  to  be 
restored  to  his  diseased  soul,  and  by  which  he  is  to  be  taught  to 
delight  in  God,  and  to  aspire  after  his  likeness.  Is  he  mourn- 
fully sensible  of  the  fact,  that  "  all  is  vanity  and  vexation  of 
spirit,"  and  that  nothing  under  the  sun  can  satisfy  the  desires 
of  a  mind  panting  after  immorfality?  it  opens  up  to  his  view 
sources  of  never-ending  delight,  it  brings  him  to  the  very 
fountain  of  all  happiness,  it  shows  him  how  his  loudest  ex- 
jiectations  may  be  realized,  it  tells  him  how  to  delight  in 
God,  and  how  to  draw  near  in  acceptable  worship  to  Him 
whom  angels  adore,  and  before  whom  the  spirits  of  darkness 
flee  in  terror  and  dismay. 

It  becomes  every  man  who  sets  himself  to  the  task  of  ex- 
amining Christianity,  to  fix  his  attention  on  the  following  mo- 
mentous inquiry: — "Is  this  professed  revelation  adapted  to 
my  actual  necessities'!  to  my  fears  and  hopes?  to  the  circum- 
stances by  which  I  am  surrounded!  and  to  the  prospects 
which  stretch  before  ine!"     If,   upon  minute  inquiry,  it  is 


A  PORTRAITURE  OF  MODERN  SCEPTICISM. 


167 


found  to  be  thus  adapted  to  our  fallen  state,  it  will  surely  carrj- 
alono;  with  it  a  striking  demonstration  of  its  divine  origin  ; 
and  if,  upon  actual  experiment,  we  find  that  the  reception  of 
Christianit)'  allays  our  guilty  fears,  gives  peace  to  onr  trou- 
bled consciences,  quenches  the  thirst  of  sin,  inspires  the  hope 
of  immortality,  supplies  motives  for  patient  endurance,  and 
sheds  the  lustre  of  moral  loveliness  and  purity  over  the  cha- 
racter in  whom  it  dwells,  then  may  we  assure  ourselves  of  the 
source  whence  it  sprung,  and  then  may  we  enter,  with  a  full 
heart,  into  the  meaning  of  the  beloved  disciple  when  he  says, 
"  He  that  believeth  on  the  Son  of  God  hath  the  witness  in 
himself."* 

"  I  think,"  said  the  good  and  great  Richard  Baxter,  "  that 
in  the  hearing  and  reading  of  the  Bible,  God's  spirit  often  so 
concurreth,  as  that  the  will  itself  should  be  touched  with  an 
internal  gust  and  savour  of  the  goodness  contained  in  the  doc- 
trine, and  at  the  same  time  the  understanding  with  an  internal 
irradiation,  which  breeds  such  a  certain  apprehension  of  the 
verity  of  it,  as  nature  gives  men  of  natural  principles.  And  I 
am  persuaded  that  this,  increased  by  more  experience  and 
love,  doth  hold  most  Christians  faster  to  Christ  than  naked 
reasonings  could  do.  And  were  it  not  for  this,  unlearned,  ig- 
norant persons  were  still  in  danger  of  apostacy  by  every  sub- 
tle caviller  that  assaults  them.  And  1  believe  that  all  true 
Christians  have  this  kind  of  internal  knowledge  from  a  suit- 
ableness of  the  truth  and  goodness  of  the  gospel  to  their  now 
quickened,  illuminated,  and  sanctified  souls."f 

Let  no  one  venture  to  reject  Christianity,  then,  who  has 
never  made  it  the  subject  of  his  intense  regard,  in  connexion 
with  the  exigencies  which  press  upon  his  own  condition  and 
prospects.  It  can  be  hut  ill  understood  by  the  man  who  has 
never  looked  at  it  in  its  adaptation  to  his  own  case.  It  is  an 
individual,  as  well  as  a  general  remedy  ;  and  the  true  study 
of  Christianity  is  the  examination  of  its  coincidence  with  the 
wants  and  wishes,  the  hopes  and  fears,  which  press  u])on 
every  son  and  daughter  of  Adam.  For  the  want  of  tliis  dose 
inspection  of  the  individual  aim  of  Christianity,  it  is  to  be 
feared  that  thousands  either  reject  it,  or  are  utterly  indilTercnt 
to  it.  But  how  contrary  is  all  this  to  the  spirit  of  true  sci- 
ence, which  rejects  nothing,  and  admits  nothing  but  upon  ac- 
tual experiment. 

Let  Christianity  be  fairly  put  to  the  test ;  let  it  be  taken 
home  with  unhesitating  confidence  to  the  heart;  let  its  divine 
remedies  be  applied  to  the  distempered  mind;  let  its  prolTered 
influence  be  implored;  let  its  true  character  as  a  restorative 
system  be  fully  and  impartially  tried,  and  then,  should  it  af- 
ter all  fail  to  impart  peace,  to  heal  the  malady  of  the  soul,  to 
answer  its  own  professed  designs,  let  it  be  held  up  to  that  ob- 
loquy which  it  deserves. 

But  where  is  the  man  who  ever  betook  himself  to  Christi- 
anity without  finding  it  to  be  the  refuge  of  his  weary  mind! 
Who  could  ever,  upon  actual  trial,  charge  it  with  a  lack  of 
faithfulness  to  its  own  protensionsi  Who  ever  embraced  its 
animating  hopes  without  finding  them  productive  of  peace, 
and  purity,  and  joy?  Who  ever  became  a  true  Christian 
without  feeling  the  self-evidencing  power  of  the  gospel? 
Who  ever  believed  on  the  Son  of  God  without  having  proof, 
in  his  own  mind,  that  the  Bible  is  true?  Who  ever  madeac- 
tual  trial  of  Christianity  without  finding  it  to  be  the  "  wisdom 
of  God,  and  the  power  of  God,"  to  the  salvation  of  his  soul! 
Who  ever  knew  the  truth  as  it  is  in  Jesus  without  beingmade 
free  by  it  from  tlie  thraldom  of  sin  and  the  bondage  of  corrup- 
tion? The  man  who  is  a  genuine  believer  is  as  full)'  con- 
scious as  he  is  of  existence,  that  Christianity  is  no  cunning!)- 
devised  fable.  It  has  established  its  throne  in  the  deep- 
seated  convictions  of  his  heart.  He  has  felt  the  transforma- 
tion it  has  wrought :  "  old  things  are  passed  away  ;  behold, 
all  things  are  become  new."  His  entire  character  has  been 
favourably  afi'ected  by  it.  Upon  his  once  gloomy  path  it  has 
shed  the  light  of  immortality;  it  has  taught  him  to  "rejoice 
even  in  tribulation;"  it  has  changed  all  the  aspects  of  life,  by 
throwing  over  thera  the  hues  of  eternity;  it  has  conferred  on 
him  a  reality  of  happiness  which  the  whole  creation  had  no 
power  of  imparting.  In  his  own  person  he  beholds  a  monu- 
ment of  the  truth  and  excellency  of  Christianity,  which  for- 
bids him  for  ever  to  doubt.  By  other  evidences,  indeed,  his 
faith  is  confirmed;   but  in  his  peace  of  mind,  in  that   "  hope 

*  John  V.  10.  See  also  a  discourse,  by  the  Author,  on  "  the  Ei- 
perimcntal  Evidence  of  Christianiti,',"  included  in  a  voliune  lately 
published  by  ministers  connected  with  the  Monthly  Meeting,  "On 
the  Evidences  of  Christianitv." 

t  See  Baxter's  vc])ly  to  Lord  Herbert,  entitled  "  More  Reasons 
for  the  Christian  Religion,"  12mo,  1672,  pp.  l^f^,  1:'iG. 


which  is  full  of  immortality,"  and  in  the  heavenward  hearing 
of  his  once  earthly  character,  he  is  enabled  to  feel  that  Chris- 
tianity is  no  "cunningly  devised  fable." 

Having  briefly  looked  at  what  may  be  regarded  as  the  ex- 
perimental evidence  which  Christianity  is  capable  of  planting 
in  every  man's  bosom,  we  may  now  advance  to  other  parts  of 
this  momentous  subject. 


CHAPTER  III. 

Containing  a  brief  survey  of  those  Iranehes  of  evidence  tchieJi  it 
in  proper  to  urge  upon  the  attention  of  thofe  who  hare  not  us 
yet  yielded  up  their  minds  to  the  divine  authority  and  trans- 
forming  power  of  the  Goitpel. 

Some  of  those  evidences  may  be  traced  in  the  internal  cha- 
racter of  Christianity  itself,  and  others  in  those  outward  at- 
testations by  which  Divine  Providence  has  demonstrated  the 
fact  of  its  celestial  origin.  As  I  am  fully  convinced  of  the 
self-verifying  power  of  the  religion  of  Jesus  Christ,  I  think  it 
well  to  begin  with  the  first  of  these  branches  of  evidence, 
that  no  one  may,  with  truth,  imagine  that  wc  shrink  from  a 
thorough  investigation  of  the  internal  structure  and  actual  ten- 
dencies of  our  Holy  Faith.* 


BECTION   1. 

The  internal  evidence  of  Christianity. 

When  the  subject  of  internal  evidence  has  at  any  time 
deeply  engaged  my  thoughts,  I  have  proposed  to  myself  the 
following  question  :  "  What  is  the  most  wonderful,  and  at  the 
same  time  the  most  unaccountable,  object  which  presents  it- 
self to  our  notice  in  a  careful  perusal  of  the  New  Testament 
Scriptures  ?"  This  question  has  alw  ays  drawn  forth  one 
simple  answer  :  the  character  of  Jesus  of  Nazareth.  In  exam- 
ining the  internal  evidence  of  Christianity,  look — 

1 .  At  the  moral  character  of  its  Great  Founder.  Let  that 
character  be  fairly  investigated,  and  I  am  greatly  mistaken  if 
it  will  not  breed  a  conviction  that  Christianity  must  he  from 
heaven.  That  such  a  person  lived,  and  suffered,  and  died  in 
the  land  of  Judea,  is  admitted  equally  by  heathen  and  Jewish 
writers,  and  requires  no  formal  proof,  therefore,  to  establish 
the  fact.  Josephus,  Suetonius,  Tacitus,  and  Pliny  the 
Younger,  place  beyond  all  reasonable  doubt  the  fact  of  his 
existence,  and  the  period  of  his  life,  misery,  and  death. 

But  what  an  object  of  astonishment  and  wonder  do  we  be- 
hold in  "  the  man  Christ  Jesus  I"  Trace  the  son  of  Mary 
and  Joseph  from  the  manger  at  Bethlehem  to  the  cross  on 
Cavalry,  and  what  a  combination  do  you  witness  of  all  that 
is  innocent  and  pure  and  benevolent!  Here  is  wisdom  the 
most  profound  in  the  absence  of  all  the  ordinary  means  of  ac- 
quiring it.  Here  is  a  Being  iu  whom  all  the  social  and  rela- 
tive alTections  are  not  only  seen  to  advantage,  but  in  absolute 
perfection.  Here  are  humility  and  dignity  perfectly  com- 
bined ;  the  loftiness  of  moral  excellence,  without  a  single 
approximation  to  the  feeling  of  contempt  for  others.  Here  is 
a  sanctity  of  character  which  never  yielded  to  a  single  tempt- 
ation, and  never  deviated  from  the  path  of  rectitude  in  a  sin- 
gle instance,  combined  at  the  same  time  with  a  condescension 
and  mercy  which  never  spurned  the  miserable,  and  never 
frowned  on  the  trembling  penitent  conscious  of  his  guilt  and 
pleading  for  forgiveness.  Here  is  one  who  never  resented  an 
injury,  and  never  forgot  a  kindness;  who  never  thought  of  an 
enemy,  but  to  bless  him,  or  of  a  faithless  friend,  but  to  pity 


*  1  do  not  think,  judging  from  the  mannci-  in  which  infidels  them- 
selves have  written,  that  tlic  most  successful  method  of  assailing  them 
is  to  begin  witli  a  discussion  of  the  ejclciiial  evidences  of  the  gospel. 
From  their  general  ignorance  of  the  character  of  Revelation  itself,  and 
from  its  marked  adaptation,  vihen  examined, to  produce  conviction  of 
its  divine  origin,  I  rather  hesitate  as  to  die  propriety  of  demanding  llie 
belief  of  a  sceptic  upon  the  mere  j)resentation  of  its  external  cre- 
dentiali  Besides,  there  is  scarcely  any  object  to  be  achieved,  by 
this  mode  of  procedure,  -ivhich  is  not  equally  well  answered  by  the 
mediod  of  arguing  the  truth  of  scripture  from  an  examination  of  its 
own  contents-  Assuredly  the  di\  ii.e  authority  of  the  heavenly  mes- 
sengers may  be  verified  as  nmcb  by  \\  bat  diey  say,  as  by  any  other 
cii-cnmstance  whatsoever  ;  and  if  tlic  real  power  of  cor.iiction  lies 
in  Ibeir  message,  it  seems  but  right  to  try  its  efficacy- 


IGR 


CHRISTIAN   LIBRARY. 


and  forgive  him.  Here  is  one  -wliose  days  -vvero  devoted  to 
ttie  exercises  of  active  benevolence,  and  whose  nights  were 
spent  in  communion  with  liis  God,  who  songht  no  reward  of 
all  his  generosity,  who  wept  tears  of  anouish  over  the  ap- 
proachin°g  fate  of  those  wlio  persecuted  him  at  every  step  of 
his  existence  with  iinahating  cruelty,  and  who  spent  his  last 
breath  in  praying  for  his  guilty  and  relentless  murderers. 
Whence  such  a  character  as  this  1  Was  it  from  earth  or  hea- 
ven? If  from  earth,  then  wliere  can  we  look  for  its  great 
archclypc?  Not,  surely,  in  the  Genlilc  world;  for  it  infinitely 
surpassed  even  the  ideal  models  which  were  laid  down  by  the 
purest  and  most  enlightened  of  its  philosophers.  Not  in  the 
.Fewish  world,  for  even  its  most  cherislied  patriarchs  were 
chargeable  with  innumerable  imperfections  ;  and  in  the  days 
of  Jesus  of  Nazareth,  the  great  body  of  the  nation  were  pe 
culiarly  degraded,  both  as  it  respected  the  acquirements  of 
the  understanding,  and  the  habits  of  the  life  and  conduct. 
Whence,  then,  this  mysterious  and  wonderful  personage; 
this  Being  so  unlike  all  the  generations  of  men  who  had  pre- 
ceded him  or  who  have  followed  after  him,  yet  clothed  in  a 
human  form,  possessed  of  human  sympathies,  and  subject  to 
human  woes  1  No  wonder  that  liousieaii,  in  his  exquisite  and 
well-known  contrast  between  Socrates  and  Christ,  should  feel 
himselfconstrained  to  remark,  that "  the  inventor  of  such  a  per- 
sonage would  be  a  more  astonishing  character  than  the  hero."* 
"Is  it  possible,"  said  he,  speaking  of  the  Bible  and  of  the 
character  of  Christ,  "  is  it  possible  that  a  book,  at  once  so 
simple  and  sublime,  should  be  merely  the  work  of  man?  Is 
it  possible  that  the  sacred  personage,  whose  history  it  con- 
tains, should  himself  be  a  mere  man?  Do  we  find  that  he 
assumed  the  tone  of  an  enthusiast  or  ambitious  sectary? 
What  sweetness,  what  purity  in  his  manner !  ^^  hat  an 
affecting  gracefulness  in  his  delivery  !  What  sidjlimity  in 
his  maxims!  What  profound  wisdom  in  his  discourses! 
\\  hat  presence  of  mind,  what  sublimity,  what  truth  iu  his 
replies  !  How  great  the  command  over  his  passions  !  Where 
is  the  man,  where  is  the  philosopher,  who  could  so  live  and 
so  die  without  weakness  and  without  ostentation?  ^\hen 
Plato  described  his  imaginary  good  man,  loaded  with  all  the 
shame  of  guilt,  yet  meriting  the  highest  rewards  of  virtue,  he 
described  exactly  the  character  of  .Tesus  Christ:  the  resem- 
blance was  so  striking  that  all  the  fathers  perceived  it."  Yet 
this  was  the  strange  and  unlia]ipy  man  who,  through  the 
wickedness  and  pride  of  his  heart,  declared,  "I  cannut  believe 
the  gospel." 

Upon  no  correct  or  rcasonalde  supposition  whatever  but 
that  the  Lord  Jesus  was  tlie  very  person  he  assumed  to  be, 
the  person  whom  the  Christian  I^criptures  describes  him  to 
he,  viz.,  the  Messiah  of  the  Church,  and  "  God  manifest  in 
the  tlesh,"  can  we  account  for  the  solitary  and  awful  gran- 
deur|  of  a  character  "  holy,  harmless,  undefiled,  separate 
from  sinners,  and  made  hitrher  than  the  heavens,"  "  who  did 
no  sin,"  and  "  who  knew  no  sin." 

The  Rev.  Charles  Bridhes,  in  his  excellent  Memoirs  of 
Miss  M.  I.  Graham,  (and  whicli  I  take  the  liberty  of  strong- 
ly recommending  to  the  notice  of  the  young,)  who  had  been 
considerably  tinctured  with  infidelity,  states  that  the  charac- 


*  Works,  vol.  V.  pp.  215— 21 S. 

t  liishop  Sherlock,  in  contrastinj^  tlio  character  of  Jesus  Christ 
Avilli  that  of  Alahomet,  has,  in  one  ol'lhe  most  Ijcautiful  personifica- 
tions in  GUI*  lang:uap;e,  finely  touclieil  tlic  ai'irunient  for  t!ie  truth  of 
Christianit)'  hero  contemjcd  for.  "  (io,"  says  lie,  *'  to  your  Natural 
lleligion  ;  lay  before  Iter  Mahomet  and  his  disciples  arrayed  in 
armour  and  in  blood,  i-idinp:  in  Irinniph  over  the  spoils  of  thousands 
and  tens  of  thousands -who  fell  hy  liis  victorious  sMord  ;  shoM-  iier 
the  cities  winch  he  set  in  ilanies,  llie  countries  -which  lie  l-avnj^cd 
and  destroyed,  and  the  uiiserahle  ilisU-ess  of  all  the  inhabiLints  of 
the  earth.  "NMien  she  has  viewed  him  in  this  scene,  carry  him  into 
his  retii-ements.  Show  her  tlie  prophet's  chanilier,  his  concubines 
and  wives  ;  let  her  see  his  adultery,  and  hear  liim  allesjc  revelation 
and  his  divivie  commission  to  justity  his  lust  and  jiis  oppression. 

*'Wlieii  she  is  tired  with  this  prospect,  tlicn  show  her  the  blessed 
.Tcsus,  liiunble  and  meek,  doing;  i;nod  to  all  the  s(tns  {if  men, patiently 
instructinp:  hnlh  the  ignorant  and  perverse  ;  let  her  see  lliin  in  his 
most  retired  privacy  ;  let  her  follow'  him  to  the  mountain,  and  hear 
his  devotions  and  supplications  to  God.  Carry  her  to  his  table  to 
see  bis  poor  fare,  and  hear  bis  bravenly  discimrse.  Let  her  see 
liiiu  injured,  but  not  provoked  ;  let  her  attend  him  to  the  tribunals, 
and  consider  the  patience  with  which  lie  entlnri-d  the  scofls  and 
l-cproacbes  of  his  enemies.  lA'ad  her  to  his  cross,  and  let  her  v  iew 
him  in  the  agony  of  death,  and  hear  bis  last  prayer  for  bi*pcrse- 
mtnrs — '  Father,  forgive  them,  for  dn-y  know  notw  bat  tliey  do.' 

"When  ]\atural  Religion  has  viewed  both,  ask — wbii'b  is  the 
prophet  of  God '  But  her  answer  we  have  already  had  when  she 
saw  part  of  this  scene  tlirough  the  eyes  of  the  centurion  w  ho  attend- 
ed at  the  cross  ;  by  him  she  spake  "and  said,  '  Truly  ibis  man  was 
tJie  Son  of  God. '  " — See  S/ierluck-^n  Sennons. 


ter  of  Christ,  as  a  proof  of  the  credibility  of  the  Christian 
IJcvelation,  arrested  her  peculiar  attention.  A  minute  scruti- 
ny of  his  spotless  life  was  most  satisfactory  in  its  result. 
"The  ihore,"  said  she,  "1  studied  this  divine  character,  the 
more  I  grew  up,  as  it  were,  into  its  simplicity  ami  holiness, 
the  m.oro  my  understanding  was  enabled  to  shake  oiV  those 
slavish  and  sinful  prejudices  which  had  hindered  me  from  ap- 
preciating its  excellence.  Truly,  his  words  were  dearer  to 
me  than  my  necessary  food.  He  was  my  'AH  in  All.'  I  did 
not  want  to  have  anv  knowledge,  goodness,  or  strength,  inde-. 
pendently  of  him.  1  had  rather  be  '  accepted  in  the  Beloved,' 
than  received  (had  that  been  possible)  upon  the  score  of  my 
own  merits.  I  had  rather  walk  leaning  upon  his  arm  than 
have  a  stock  of  strength  given  me  to  perform  the  journey 
alone.  To  learn,  as  a  fool,  of  Christ,  tliis  was  better  to  me 
than  to  have  the  knowledge  of  an  angel  to  find  out  things 
myself. 

"  Froin  that  moment,"  she  adds,  "  I  ceased  to  stumble  at 
the  doctrines  of  the  cross.  The  doctrines  of  Scripture,  which 
had  before  appeared  to  me  an  inexplicable  mass  of  confusion 
and  contradictions,  were  now  written  on  my  understanding 
with  the  clearness  of  a  sun-beam.  Above  all,  that  once  ab- 
horred doctrine  of  the  Divinity  of  Christ  was  become  exceed- 
ing precious  to  me.  The  external  evidences  of  Christianity, 
though  I  now  perceived  all  their  force,  were  no  longer  neces- 
sary to  my  conviction.  From  that  time,"  she  concludes,  "I 
have  continued  to  'sit  at  the  feet  of  Jesus,  and  to  hear  his 
word,'  taking  him  for  my  teacher  and  guide  iu  things  tem- 
poral as  well  as  spiritual.  He  has  found  iu  me  a  disciple  so 
slow  of  comprehension,  so  prone  to  forget  his  lessons,  and  to 
act  in  opposition  to  his  commands,  that  were  he  not  infinitely 
'meek  and  lowly  of  heart,  he  would  long  ago  have  cast  me 
olf  in  anger;  but  he  still  continues  to  bear  with  me,  and  to 
give  me  '  line  upon  line,  and  precept  upon  precept ;'  and  I  am 
certain  that  he  'will  never  leave  me,  nor  forsake  me,'  for 
though  I  am  variable  and  inconsistent,  '  with  Him  there  is  no 
variableness,  neither  shadow  of  turning.'  " 

Such  was  the  ellcet  produced  upon  this  intelligent  lady's 
mind  by  an  examination  of  the  moral  character  of  the  Lord 
Jesus,  and  I  am  satisfied  that  a  similar  result  will  follow  in 
every  instance  tlic  adoption  of  the  same  course.  At  least  we 
do  claim  from  infidels,  if  they  will  still  contimie  to  reject  the 
truth,  that  they  furnish  us,  upon  their  own  principles,  with 
some  reasonable  account  of  the  source  whence  sprung  the  in- 
elTable  purity  and  benevolence  of  the  Son  of  God.  Till  they 
liavc  accounted  for  his  unequalled  character  they  are  charge- 
able with  the  utmost  levity  and  irrationality  in  persisting  in 
their  unbelief* 

2.  Contemplate,  as  another  internal  evidence  of  the  divine 
origin  of  Chiistianity,  Ihr  rinririillec! siil/limili/  nf  Us  illctlnn. 

Compared  with  the  rich  treasures  of  the  Old  and  New  Tes- 
taiTient  Scriptures,  all  other  compositions  must  retire  into  the 
shade.  Rousseau  must  have  felt  this  conviction  most  pow- 
erfully when  he  made  the  following  reluctant  but  important 
concession  :  "  I  will  confess,"  said  he,  "  that  the  majesty  of 
the  Scriptures  strikes  me  with  admiration,  as  the  purity  of 
the  gospel  hath  its  influence  upon  my  heart.  Peruse  the 
works  of  our  philosophers  with  all  their  pomp  of  diction  ;  how 
mean,  how  contemptible  are  they,  compared  with  the  Scrip- 
tures !" 

The  opinion  of  Rousseau  is  confirmed  by  that  of  men  vastly 
his  superiors  in  learning  and  virtue.  Sir  William  Jones,  than 
whom  (vw  of  the  human  race  have  been  distinguished  by  a 
more  laudable  thirst  after  knowledge,  has  penned  the  follow- 
ing striking,  but  just  culoginm,  on  the  style  and  manner  of 
the  sacred  writers  :  "  The'collection  of  tracts  whicli  we  call, 
from  their  excellence.  The  Scriptures,  contain,  independently 
of  a  divine  origin,  more  true  sublimity,  more  exquisite  beauty, 
purer  morality,  more  important  history,  and  finer  strains  ol 
poetry,  and  eloquence,  than  could  be  collected  within  the  same 
compass  from  all  other  books  that  were  ever  composed  in  any 
age  or  iu  any  idiom.  The  two  parts  of  which  the  Scriiitures 
consist  are  connected  by  a  chain  of  compositions  which  bear 
no  resemblance  in  form  or  stvle  to  any  that  can  be  produced 
from  the  stores  of  Grecian.  Indian,  Persian,  or  even  Arabian 
U  aruiug.  The  antiquity  of  those  compositions  no  man  doubts, 
and  tlurunstrained  application  of  them  to  events  long  subse- 
quent to  their  publication,  is  a  solid  ground  of  belief  that  they 
are  genuine  predictions,  and  consequently  inspirctl." 


»  Sec  a  very  able  Discourse  on  Oie  Character  of  Christ,  as  an 
evidence  of  the  Christian  Kcligion,  by  tlie  Rev.  W.  Walford,  in  a 
volume  lately  published  by  the  Independent  ministers  of  l-onibni  on 
the  Evidences  of  Chiistianity.  Sec  also  the  present  Uidiop  of  Cal- 
cutta's Seventeenth  Lecture  on  tlie  Evidences,  Si;c. 


A  PORTRAITURE  OF  MODERN  SCEPTICISM. 


169 


The  celebrated  Mr.  Addison,  in  discoursing  on  the  same 
subject,  says,  "  After  perusing  the  book  of  Psalms,  let  a  judge 
of  the  beauties  of  poetrj' read  a  literal  translation  of  Horace 
or  Pindar,  and  he  will  find  int  hese  two  last  such  an  absurd- 
ity and  confusion  of  style,  with  such  a  comparative  poverty 
of  imagination,  as  will  make  him  sensible  of  the  vast  supe- 
riority of  Scripture  style." 

If  we  examine  carefully  the  pathetic  story  of  Joseph  and 
his  brethren ;  the  songs  of  Moses  at  the  Red  Sea,  and  on  the 
borders  of  the  promised  land;  the  sublime  narrative  of  the 
giving  of  the  Law  from  Mount  Sinai ;  the  celebrated  prophecy 
of  Balaam ;  the  prayer  of  Solomon  at  the  dedication  of  the 
Temple;  the  visions  of  the  Jewish  prophets,  particularly 
those  of  Isaiah  ;  the  odes  of  Jesse's  son  ;  the  matchless  ser- 
mon on  the  Mount;  the  public  appeals  of  the  apostles  before 
heathen  tribunals ;  and  the  mystic  symbols  of  the  Apocalypse, 
we  cannot  but  be  struck  and  awed  with  the  unrivalled  diction, 
the  surpassing  imagery,  and  the  lofty  conceptions  of  the  in 
spired  writers.  Let  all  the  other  books  of  antiquity  be  pro- 
duced ;  let  the  classic  page  disclose  its  richest  stores  ;  let  the 
entire  mass  of  apocryphal  writings  undergo  the  strictest  scru- 
tiny ;  let  Egypt,  and  Greece,  and  Arabia  bring  forth  tl  e  proud- 
est monuments  of  their  genius  ;  let  the  most  dazzling  passa- 
ges of  the  Koran  be  separated  from  the  mass  of  its  absurdi- 
ties; let  all  ages  and  all  nations  vie  with  the  writers  of  the 
Jewish  and  Christian  Scriptures,  and  it  will  he  seen,  by  a 
judge  of  the  most  inferior  grade,  that  no  argument  can  be  held 
for  a  single  moment  as  to  the  comparative  grandeur  of  the 
book  commonly  called  the  Bible,  that  it  throws  the  whole 
round  of  other  productions  into  the  shade,  and  that  it  is  writ- 
ten altogether  in  a  style  and  manner  which  admits  of  no  suc- 
cessful rival  or  counterfeit. 

•Now,  what  is  the  force  of  this  particular  argument  ■?    Why, 
the  Bible  was  written  by  the  posterity  of  Abraham  ;  a  people 
proverbiiil  for  their  destitution  of  all  mental  refinement,  and 
who,  in  tlipir  secular  history,  have  displayed  a  marked  infe- 
riority to  all  the  other  nations  of  anti(iuily.     The  conclusion 
then  is,  if  the  wonderful  volume  known  by  the  name  of  the 
Bible  was  verily  the  production  of  several  Jews,  "^vho  lived 
in  ditTercnt  ages  of  the  world,  they  must  have  written  under 
a  direction  and  an   impulse  more  than   human ;  they  must 
have  written  under  the  guidance  of  that  Spirit,  to  whom  they 
themselves  trace  their  loftiest  aud  humblest  inspirations.     I 
feel  that  this  conclusion  is  sound  and  rational.     Try  the  Bible 
by  any  other  Jewish  production  of  any  age  whatsoever,  try  it 
by  any  work  that  has  ever  emanated  from  the  |)en  or  the  ge- 
nius of  man,  and  the  feeling  must  rcsistlessly  lake  possession 
of  the  mind,  that  the  words  which  God  speaks,  "They  are 
spirit,  and  they  are  life."     Unlike  every  other  document  that 
has  been  handed  down  from  a  remote  antiquity,  the  volume 
of  inspiration  carries  along  with  it,  in  the  unutterable  dignity 
and  sublimity  which  pervade  all  its  parts,  an  evidence  oY  the 
source  whence  it  sprung;  an  evidence  which  could  not  fail 
to  strike  the  mind  even  of  an  untutored  savage,  who  might 
meet  with  it  accidentally  in  some  vast  desert,  and   who  had 
1(0  living  teacher  to  unfold  to  him  the  character  or  merciful 
designs  of  the  God  whom  it  reveals.     How  can  men  of  taste, 
and  genius,  and  literature,  remain  blind  to  this  argument ! 
The  very  poetry,  the  lofty  and  well  sustained  imagery,  the 
unparalleled  diction  of  the  sacred   volume,  will  rise  up   in 
judgment  against  them,  inasmuch  as  their  dislike  to  the  truths 
of  revelation  has  led  many  of  them  to  overlook   qualities 
which  would  have  commanded  their  profoundest  veneration 
had  they  been  able  to  discern  them  in  a  single  uninspired 
production.     It  may  be  added  here,  that  the  few  infidels  who 
have  written  in  commendation  of  the  style  of  the  inspired 
writers  have  totally  neglected  to  account  for  the  commanding 
and  indubitable  superiority  of  the  Scriptures  to  all  other  com" 
positions.     Upon  any  hypothesis  but  that  of  their  divine  ori 
gin  the  aitempt  must  utterly  fail.     My  only  wish  is,  that 
intelligent  men  would  make  the  honest  effort  to  satisfy  their 
own  convictions  that  the  Bible  might  have  been  written  by 


3.  Let  the  high  standard  of  the  morality  nf  ChrUtiunity  be 
examined  with  impartiality,  and  it  cannot  fail  to  arouse  atten- 
tion to  its  extraordinary  claims.  For  though  the  uncom- 
promising sanctity  of  revealed  truth  is  among  the  chief  reasons 
which  induce  men  to  cavil  at  its  evidence,  and  secretly  to  re- 
ject its  authority,  it  is,  nevertheless,  one  of  the  most  powerful 
and  indubitable  proofs  of  its  proceedings  from  the  fountain  of 
infinite  purity  and  benevolence.* 

On  this  subject  the  celebrated  John  Locke  has  said,  "The 
morality  of  the  gospel  doth  so  far  excel  that  of  all  other  books, 
that  to  give  a  man  full  knowledge  of  true  morality,  I  would 
send  him  to  no  other  book  than  the  New  Testament."  And, 
verily,  if  we  examine  all  the  writings  of  the  most  enlighten- 
ed and  virtuous  of  the  heathen  world,  and  compare  or  rather 
contrast  them  with  the  writings  of  inspiration,  we  shall  he 
fully  satisfied  of  the  accuracy  of  this  great  man's  opinion. 
That  there  are  fine  passages  on  certain  branches  of  morals,  in 
some  of  the  writings  of  pagan  philosophers  and  poets,  we  do 
not  attempt  to  deny ;  hut  the  great  question  is,  what  were 
their  writings  as  a  whole,  and  what  were  the  views  of  moral- 
ity generally  entertained  and  acted  upon  among  their  disci- 
ples ?  Is  it  not  notorious  that  self-raurder,|  that  crimes  which 
admit  of  no  description,:):  that  theft,  that  sacrilege,  that  forni- 
cation, that  adultery,§  that  revenge,  that  pride,  that  dissimu- 
lation in  the  worship  of  the  gods,]|  that  habitual  disregard  of 
the  duty  of  prayer,1  and  that  awful  irreverence  for  the  name 
of  the  Great  Supreme,  are  taught,  with  an  unblushing  effron- 
tery, by  some  of  the  chief  patrons  and  guardians  of  pagan 
morality  1  Who  does  not  know  that  some  of  the  most  bril- 
liant passages,  both  of  the  Greek  and  Latin  classics,  cannot 
be  read  by  ingenious  youth  without  involving  the  risk  of  a 
total  downfal  of  their  morals'!**  We  shall  find  no  counter- 
part, indeed,  to  the  writings  of  heathen  antiquity,  unless  we 
turn  to  the  licentious  and  utterly  reckless  productions  of 
modern  infidelity,  in  w  hich  every  thing  like  disguise  is  laid 
aside,  and  men  are  taught  to  do,  without  restraint,  whatever 
their  own  vile  inclinations  maj-  dictate. 

How  unlike  the  imperfect  and  often  polluted  writintrg  of 
men  is  the  system  of  morality  laid  down  and  detailed  in  the 
several  books  of  the  Old  and  New  Testament!  Let  any 
man  devote  a  reasonable  period  to  the  examination  of  the 
spirit  and  moral  precepts  of  Christianity,  and  he  will  be 
compelled  to  admit  its  unsullied  purity,  its  coincidence  with 
all  our  natural  notions  of  right  and  wrong,  and  its  indubitable 
tendrncj'  to  imjirove  human  intercourse,  and  to  constitute 
mankind  a  community  of  brothers.  Did  all  men  believe  and 
obey  the  dictates  of  Revelation,  what  a  mighty  and  favoura- 
ble revolution  would  he  wrought  in  the  entiri^  frame-work  of 
society  !  What  habit  of  known  evil  does  it  not  proscribe  1 
What  irregular  passion  does  it  not  forbid  ]  What  acknow- 
ledged virtue  does  it  not  enforce  1  What  kindly  or  generous 
affection  does  it  not  inculcate  %  How  lofty  is  its  standard  of 
action  !  Though  self-interest  is  not  and  cannot  be  excluded 
from  a  system  so  adapted  to  the  nature  of  man,  yet  it  is  only 
permitted  to  occupy  a  subordinate  place  in  the  morality  of 
the  gospel.  There  men  are  urged  to  endure  and  act  "as 
seeing  Him  who  is  invisible ;"  there  we  are  commanded  to 
do  no  act  of  beneficence  to  be  seen  of  men  ;  there  the  honour 
of  God  and  the  good  of  others  are  the  objects  at  which  they 
are  called  habitually  to  aim ;  there  the  surface  morality  of 
the  world  is  treated  with  scorn,  and  a  right  state  of  the 
thoughts   and   affections   is   imperatively   demanded ;   there 


*  Loid  Bolingbroke  himself  has  said,  that  "The  gospel  is  in  all 
cases  one  continued  lesson  of  the  strictest  morality,  of  justice,  of  be- 
nevolence, and  of  universal  charity"     Works,  vol-  v.  p.  138. 

f  Seneca  thus  pleads  for  self-murder  :  "If  thy  mind  be  melan- 
choly and  in  misei-y,  thou  mayst  put  a  period  to  this  wretcbed  condi- 
tion ;  wherever  tliou  lookest,  there  is  an  end  to  it.  See  that  precipice! 
there  thou  mayest  have  liberty.  Seest  thou  that  sea,  that  river,  that 
welP  liberty  is  at  die  bottom  of  it ;  iliat  little  tree^  freedom  hangs 
upon  it.  Thy  own  neck,  tby  own  tliroat,  may  be  a  refuge  to  thee 
from  such  servitude  ;  yea,  eveiy  vein  of  thy  body."     Deira,  lib.  iii. 


eira 
such  persons  as  the  Jewish  patriarchs  and  the  Fishermen  ofjcap-  15.  p.  >«■  31'-'-     P'utarcli,  and  Cato,  and  Brutus,  and  Cassius, 
Galilee,  without  any  divine  afflatus  ;  when  such   an   attempt '»"<•  Cicero,  all  a.snee  to  justilV  the  crime  of  self-desti-uclion.     See 

hasbeenmadebythem,  I  am  satisfied  that,  whether  they  are  i'''"'^/'=''''VVf*^-°'..  in  nin»  T  ,»,.f„=  ^ni  !  „  ir.  ,« 
1   A  .„  „„i  .1      II   If-.  .!_  ,      <■  ^-^1  i  Juvenal,  Satvr  11.  ver.  10.     Uiog.  l.aertus,  vol- i.  pp.m.  105,166 

led  to  embrace  tlie  Holy  Scriptures  as  the  word  of  God  or  \  Miii.,,.4  Historv  of  the  Propagation  of  Christianity,  vol  i.  pp' 
not,  they  will  he  compelled  to  admit  the  fact  that,  upon  all  63— 6.i. 

the  canons  of  literary  criticism  ever  admitted,  there  is  nothincr  \  Epictcfus  bids  his  disciples  "  temporise  and  worship  tlie  gods 
whatever  to  warrant  llic  idea  that  the  Bible  has  been  furnished  'after  the  fashion  of  their  country."  Enchiridion,  cap.  38.  p.  m.  56. 
to  mankind  in  the  same  way,  and  on  the  same  principles  as  1  See  A.  Fuller's  Works,  vol-  i.  p.  37. 


Other  documents   of  a   remote   antiquity.     When   men  are 
brought  thus  far  there  is  great  reason  to  "hope  that  they  will 
look  with  some  measure  of  devoutness  and  integrity  at  the 
whole  question  of  Christian  evidence. 
Vol..  II.— W. 


1  Pythagoras  forbids  prayer  to  God,  "because,"  says  he,  "you 
know  not  what  is  convenient." 

•*  Is  it  not  a  hea\y  disgrace  that  in  Christian  countries  so  much 
of  the  time  of  youth  should  be  spent  pouring  over  the  vitiated  pages 
of  the  ancient  classics. 


170 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


meekness,  and  humility,  and  condescension,  arc  represented 
as  tlie  true  path  to  greatness ;  there  haughtiness  and  pride 
are  associated  with  all  that  is  mean  and  worthless  ;  there  an 
assuming  and  lofty  air  is  forhidden  even  in  the  ordinary  in- 
tercourses of  social  life;  there  covetousness  is  branded  as 
idolatry;  hatred  as  murder,  and  hidden  lust  as  adultery; 
there  every  species  of  resentment  is  absolutely  prohibited ; 
there  the  refusal  to  forgive  an  injury  is  described  as  an 
effectual  barrier  in  the  way  of  the  exercise  of  divine  mercy  ; 
there  all  detraction,  all  backbiting,  all  evil  speaking,  all  envy, 
all  malice,  all  circumvention,  are  shown  to  be  inconsistent 
with  the  hope  of  eternal  life,  and  the  state  of  acceptance 
through  a  Redeemer. 

There  is  indeed  one  grand  peculiarity  belonging  to  the 
morality  of  Christianity,  which  distinguishes  it  from  that  of 
every  other  system,  viz  : — the  sublime  and  all-subduing  char- 
acter nf  its  motives.  Many  useful  virtues  were  enjoined  by 
the  Gentile  philosophers,  but  they  had  no  paramount  consid- 
erations by  which  to  ensure  obedience  to  their  own  precepts; 
they  had  no  moral  engine  of  sufficient  power  to  urge  a  sinful 
race  onw-ard  in  the  path  of  obedience.  Hence  their  code  of 
morals  was  almost  a  dead  letter,  little  regarded  by  them- 
selves, and  totally  overlooked  by  the  mass.  But  who  can 
glance  for  a  moment  at  the  morality  of  the  Bible  without 
coming  into  contact  with  those  mighty  and  heart-stirring  con- 
siderauons  which  are  fitted  to  rouse  all  the  sensibilities  of 
human  nature,  and  to  subdue  into  willing  and  grateful  obedi- 
ence the  most  stubborn  and  rebellious  of  the  race?  Let  the 
following  examples  of  the  class  of  motives  referred  to  suffice  : 
"  Hereinis  love,  not  that  we  loved  God,  but  that  he  loved  us, 
and  sent  his  Son  to  be  the  propitiation  for  our  sins."  "Let 
all  bitterness,  and  wrath,  and  anger,  and  clamour,  and  evil- 
speaking,  be  put  away  from  you,  with  all  malice  :  and  be  ye 
kind  one  to  another,  tender-hearted,  forgiving  one  another, 
even  as  Gud  for  Chrisfs  sake  hath  furgivcn  you."  "  Come 
out  from  among  them,  and  be  ye  separate,  saith  the  Lord, 
and  touch  not  the  unclean  thing;  and  I  will  receive  you,  and 
will  be  a  father  unto  you,  and  ye  shall  be  my  sons  and 
daughters,  saith  the  Lord  Almighty."  "  God  so  loved  the 
world,  that  he  giive  his  only  begotten  Son,  that  whosoever 
believeth  in  him  should  not  perish  but  have  everlasting  life." 
"  Beloved,  if  God  so  loved  us,  we  ought  to  love  one  another." 
"  Let  nothing  be  done  through  strife  or  vain-glory  ;  but  in 
lowliness  of  mind  let  each  esteem  other  better  than  them- 
selves." "  Ye  are  bought  with  a  price,  therefore  glorify 
God  in  your  body  and  in  your  spirit,  which  are  his."  "The 
love  of  Christ  constraineth  us  ;  because  we  thus  judge,  that 
if  one  died  for  all,  then  were  all  dead  :  and  that  he  died  for 
all,  that  they  which  live  should  not  henceforth  live  unto 
themselves,  but  unto  him  that  died  for  them  and  that  rose 
again." 

How  mean  and  poverty-stricken  are  the  motives  of  all  other 
systems  when  compared  with  the  religion  of  Christ  Jesus ! 
A  book  which  founds  its  code  of  morals  upon  such  consider- 
ations can  never  surely  be  the  production  of  man.  In  the 
wide  range  of  his  efl'orts  there  is  nothing  analagous.  The  fair 
inference,  therefore,  is,  that  a  greater  than  man  speaks  to  us 
in  the  living  oracles. 

It  may  be  safely  affirmed,  that  if  Christianity  were  cor- 
dially embraced  as  the  religion  of  mankind,  it  would  renovate 
the  entire  fabric  of  society.  It  is  impossible  for  any  one  to 
say  advisedly,  or  with  truth,  that  one  immoral  habit,  or  one 
irregular  thought  or  desire,  receives  a  sanction  from  the  wri- 
tings of  Christ  and  his  apostles.  The  Christian  may  often 
have  reason,  through  the  infirmity  and  corruption  of  his  fallen 
nature,  to  blush  on  account  of  the  verj'  imperfect  manner  in 
which  he  acts  out  his  great  principles ;  he  may  often  have  oc- 
casion to  mourn  that  in  him  the  religion  of  Jesus  has  such  an 
unworthy  representative ;  but  he  can  at  all  times  refer  with 
exultation  and  triumph  to  the  glorious  charter  of  his  hopes ; 
and  while  he  sees  that  "  the  wickedness  of  man  upon  earth 
is  great,"  he  may  unhesitatingly  assure  himself  that  the  tO' 
tal  neglect  or  but  partial  reception  of  Christianity  is  the  sole 
cause  of  the  crime  and  wretchedness  which  abound.  The 
enemies  of  revelation  themselves  being  judges,  what  can  they 
predicate  of  its  probable  tendency  on  the  race  but  unmixed 
good  1  Must  they  not  own  that  all  the  moral  evil  which 
abounds  in  the  earth  is  in  direct  violation  of  the  doctrines  and 
precepts  of  revealed  truth  ]  IMust  they  not,  however  reluct- 
antly, concede,  that  the  principles  of  deism  are  feeble  and 
powerless  as  a  system  of  moral  renovation,  compared  with 
the  high  and  holy  dictates  of  the  Gospel  ?  Who  docs  not  per- 
ceive that  if  a  time  should  ever  arrive  when  all  men  shall  give 
heed  to  the  words  of  Christ,  that  that  wull  be  the  precise  pe- 


riod of  the  world's  deliverance  from  the  cruel  vassalage  of 
sin  ]  "  Men  would  then,"  to  use  the  words  of  an  eminent  di- 
vine, "  universally  do  justice,  speak  truth,  show  mercy,  exer- 
cise mutual  forgiveness,  follow  after  peace,  bridle  their 
appetites  and  passions,  and  lead  sober,  righteous,  and  godly 
lives.  Murders,  wars,  bitter  contentions,  cruel  oppressions, 
and  unrestrained  licentionsness,  would  no  more  desolate  the 
world,  and  till  it  witli  misery  ;  but  righteousness,  goodness, 
and  truth  would  bless  the  earth  with  a  felicity  exceeding  all 
our  present  conceptions.  This  is,  no  doubt,  the  direct  ten- 
dency of  the  scriptural  doctrines,  precepts,  motives,  and 
promises :  nothing  is  wanting  to  remedy  the  state  of  the 
world,  and  to  fit  men  for  the  worship  and  felicity  of  heaven, 
but  that  they  should  believe  and  obey  the  Bible.  And  if  many 
enormous  crimes  have  been  committed  under  the  colour  of 
zeal  for  Christianity,  this  only  proves  the  depravity  of  man's 
heart;  for  the  Scripture,  soberly  understood,  most  expressly 
forbids  such  practices  ;  and  men  do  not  act  thus  because  they 
duly  regard  the  Bible,  but  because  tliey  will  not  believe  and 
obey  it."* 

Now  the  argument  for  the  divine  origin  of  Christianity 
arising  from  its  transcendent  morality,  may  be  viewed  in  va- 
rious lights.  In  the  first  place,  how  comes  it  to  pass,  that  of 
all  the  religions  which  have  sought  to  obtain  the  suftVages  of 
mankind,  that  of  Jesus  of  Nazareth  is  incoinparably  the  most 
pure  and  benevolent  in  its  tendency  1  How  comes  it  to  pass, 
moreover,  that  among  a  rude  people,  such  as  were  the  Jews, 
there  should  have  arisen  a  system  of  faith  and  worship,  which, 
for  grandeur  of  conception  and  sanctity  of  character,  outstrips 
all  the  other  records  of  time  ?  Is  there  not  in  this  very  cir- 
cumstance a  presumption  of  the  highest  order  in  favour  of  the 
divine  origin  of  Christianity  1 

But  supposing,  in  the  second  place,  that  the  apostles  of  ojir 
Lord  were  chargeable  with  the  crime  of  dexterously  imposing 
a  false  religion  upon  mankind,  how  happens  it  that  they  set 
themselves  with  such  zeal  and  ardour  to  oppose  the  preju- 
dices and  preconceived  notions  of  their  countrymen  ?     How 
happens  it  that  they  took  the  very  method  the  least  likely  to 
conciliate  their  good  opinion,  and  to  secure  their  hearty  ap-- 
proval  ?  How  happens  it  that  in  their  system  of  morality  they 
not  only  struck  a  death  blow  at  the  pride  and  hypocrisy  of 
their  own  nation,  but  insisted  on  a  purity  of  heart  and  life 
which  they  knew  must  expose  them  to  the  hatred  and  deri- 
sion of  all  mankind?     Upon  a  mere  human  calculation  they 
adopted  a  method  which  could  only  issue  in  a  perfect  failure. 
Had  they  flattered  the  depravity  of  man;  had  they  introduced 
a  scheme  which  winked  at  any  of  his  corruptions ;  had  they 
imitated  the  subsequent  conduct  of  the  False  Prophet;  had 
thej'  promised  to  their  disciples  a  life  of  ease  and  sensual  in- 
dulgence; had  they  exhibited  in  their  own  history  an  exemp- 
tion from  poverty,  reproach,   persecution,  and  death ;  in  a 
word,  had  there  been  any  one  thing  in  the  scheme  of  doctrine 
they  taught  to  secure  the  esteem  and  to  call  forth  the  appro- 
bation of  a  corrupt  and  vitiated   state  of  society,  we  might 
then  have  been  left  to  suspect  that  they  had  artfully  construct- 
ed a  system  to  suit  the  depraved  taste  of  mankind,  and  to 
raise  themselves  to   notoriety  by  pandering  to  the  vices  of 
human  nature.   But  when  the  very  reverse  of  this  is  the  case ; 
when  the  morality  of  the  Gospel  is  so  lofty  and  unbending  as 
to  surrender  none  of  its  claims  to  meet  the  prejudices  either 
of  Jews  or  Gentiles  ;  when  it  is  so  pre-eminent  as  to  stand 
forth,  in  solitary  grandeur,  amidst  the  religions  of  all  ages  and 
all  nations  ;  when  it  is  found  to  embody  every  quality  which 
is  fitted  to  diffuse  peace,  and  justice,  and  benevolence  among 
mankind;  when  it  is  impossible  to  detect  in  it  a  single  pre- 
cejit  which  would  not  elevate  the  character  of  man  and  aug- 
ment all  his  personal  and  relative  enjoyments,  what  ought 
any  thoughtful  or  considerate  mind  to  conclude  respecting  it, 
but  that  it  is  the  oflspring  of  the  Fountain  of  all  Purity,  and 
that  it  has  been  vouchsafed  by  Him  in  mere)'  to  heal  the  dis- 
tempers and  redress  the  miseries  of  our  fallen  race? 

1  conclude  this  chapter  in  the  words  of  one  who  cannot  be 
suspected  of  any  undue  partiality  to  the  Christian  faith,  of  one 
who,  unhappily  for  himself,  diii  not  allow  the  convictions  of 
his  judgment  to  rule  his  decisions  or  to  form  his  character: 

"The  Gospel,  that  divine  book,  the  only  one  necessary  to 
a  Christian,  and  the  most  useful  of  all  to  the  man  who  may 
not  be  one,  only  requires  reflection  upon  it  to  impress  the 
mind  with  love  for  its  author,  and  resolution  to  fulfil  his  pre- 
cepts. A'irtue  never  spoke  in  gentler  terms;  the  profoundest 
wisdom  was  never  uttered  with  greater  energy  or  more  sim- 
plicity.    It  is  impossible  to  rise  from  the  reading  of  it  with- 


*  Sec  Scott's  Essays,  vol.  ii.  of  his  works,  p.  21. 


A  PORTRAITURE  OF  MODERN  SCEPTICISM. 


171 


out  a  feeling  of  moral  improvptnent.     Look  at  the  books  of' dictates  of  natural  conscience.     The  particular  modifications 
the  philosophers,  with  all  their  pomp;  how  little  they  are  com-  of  divine  perfection  which  are  seen  displayed  in  the  pages  of 


pared  with  this  !  Shall  we  say  that  the  history  of  the  Gos 
pel  is  a  pure  fiction?  This  is  not  the  style  of  fiction  ;  and  the 
history  of  Socrates,  which  nobody  doubts,  rests  upon  less 
evidence  than  that  of  Jesus  Christ.  After  all,  this  is  but 
shifting  the  difficulty;  not  answering  it.  The  supposition, 
that  several  persons  had  united  to  fabricate  this  book,  is  more 
inconceivable  than  that  one  person  should  have  supplied  the 
subject  of  it.  The  spirit  which  it  breathes,  the  morality 
which  it  inculcates  could  never  have  been  the  invention  of 
Jewish  authors ;  and  the  gospel  possesses  characters  of 
truth  so  striking,  so  perfectly  inimitable,  that  the  inventor 
would  be  a  more  astonishing  object  than  the  hero."* 

Let  attention  be  devoted — 

4.  To  the  coincidence  of  Christianity  with  the  character  of  God, 
and  the  actual  condition  of  man."\ 

There  is  a  marked  tendency  in  the  human  mind  to  trace  re- 
sults to  some  adequate  cause.  Hence  our  dissatisfaction  in 
the  mere  perception  of  facts  which,  in  our  present  state  of 
knowledge,  we  cannot  account  for;  and  hence  also  the  rest- 
less effort  made  by  us  to  discover  some  principle  of  causation 
sufficient  to  produce  the  phenomena  beheld.  The  revolutions 
of  the  heavenly  bodies  must  impress  every  one  endowed  witli 
reason  that  there  is  some  niightj'  impulse  to  which  they  are 
all  obedient ;  and  the  feeling  we  have  of  the  existence  of  such 
an  impulse  has  roused  that  inquiry  into  the  laws  of  the  ma- 
terial universe  which  has  led  to  all  the  discoveries  of  modern 
science,  and  which  has  enabled  us  to  trace,  in  the  one  perva- 
ding law  of  gravitation,  the  reason  of  certain  revolutions  and 
appearances,  which  without  such  an  application -of  the  human 
faculties  must  have  been  hid  in  perpetual  obscurity. 

Nor  is  the  tendency  in  man  to  reason  from  effects  to  causes 
the  only  one  discoverable  in  the  examination  of  what  may  be 
called  his  mental  instincts.  It  is  obvious  that  he  is  equally 
prone  to  reason  from  causes  to  effects ;  so  that  when  he  has 
satisfied  himself  as  to  the  existence  of  a  particular  cause,  and 
has  acquired  some  knowledge  of  the  mode  in  which  it  oper- 
ates, he  is  prepared  to  concede  that  other  effects  may  be  at- 
tributed to  it  besides  those  which  he  has  already  discovered, 
provided  they  are  in  no  way  inconsistent  with  the  facts  and 
relations  now  perceived. 

Now,  the  tendencies  thus  described  will  be  found  equally 
to  manifest  themselves  in  reference  to*  mental  and  moral  sci- 
ence, as  in  reference  to  the  phenomena  of  the  material  uni- 
verse. It  is  to  these  laws  of  our  nature  that  we  arc  indebted 
for  many  of  those  inductions  by  which  we  are  enabled  to 
judge  of  the  characters  and  actions  of  men,  and  to  predicate 
what  may  or  may  not  be  reasonable  to  anticipate  in  certain 
given  circumstances. 

Apply  these  general  principles  to  the  investigation  of  the 
subject  in  hand.  The  Bible  is  a  book  professing  to  come 
from  heaven.  Is  it,  tlicn,  a  communication  possessing  any- 
thing in  common  with  our  ordinary  associations?  oris  it  a  book 
so  entirely  new  as  to  furnish  us  with  no  means  of  judging  of 
it  by  the  exercise  of  that  ordinary  tendency  of  our  nature 
which  leads  us  to  judge  of  causes  by  their  effects,  and  of  ef- 
fects by  their  causes!  The  slightest  examination  of  the 
Christian  scheme  will  convince  any  impartial  raind  that  the 
view  of  the  divine  character  and  government  which  it  presents 
is  in  strictest  harmony  with  what  may  be  deduced  from  the 
survey  of  nature,  the  phenomena  of  divine  providence,  and  the 


*  .T.  J.  Rousseau,  vol.  xxxvi.  of  his  works,  p-  36,  Ed.     Paris,  1788 

— iro3. 

"  L'evangile,  ce  divin  livre,  le  seul  necessaire  a  un  chrctien,  ct  le 
phis  utile  de  tous  a  quicoiique  ne  le  serait  pas,  n'a  bcsoiii  que  U'eti-e 
mcditc- pour  porter  dans  I'ame  I'amour  de  sou  auteui-,  et  la  volonte 
tl'accomplir  ses  precepts.  Jamais  la  vertu  n'a  pai-le  un  si  doux  Ian- 
gage;  jamais  la  plus  profondc  sagesse  ne  sVst  exprimee  avec  laiit 
d'enei-gie  i-t  de  simplicile.  On  nVn  quilte  point  la  lecture  sans  se 
sciitir  meillcur  qu'auparavant.  Yoyez  les  livres  des  philosophes 
avec  toute  leiir  pompe:  qu'ils  sont  petits  aupres  de  celui-la!  Dirons 
nons  que  I'histoire  de  le'vangile  est  inventce  a  plaisir?  Ce  n'est  pas 
ainsi  qu'on  invente;  et  les  faits  de  Socratc,  dout  personne  ne  doute, 
sont  moins  altestes  que  ccux  de  Jesus  Christ.  Au  fond,  c'est  reculcr 
la  difficulte  sans  ladetruire.  II  seroit  plus  inconcevable  que  plusieurs 
hommes  d'accord  eusseiit  fabrique  ce  li-\TC,  qu'il  ne  I'est  qu'un  seul 
en  ait  fourni  le  sujet.  Jamais  les  autcurs  Juiss  u'eussunt  trouve  ni 
oc  ton  ni  cetlc  morale;  ct  levangile  a  des  caracteres  de  verite  si 
frappans,  si  parfaitemeiit  inimilablcs,  que  I'invcnteur  en  seroit  plus 
etoniiant  que  le  lieios." — See  Dr.  J-  P-  Smith's  admirable  answer  to 
a  printed  paper  entitled  "  .Manifesto  of  tlie  Christian  Evidence  So- 
cietii.^'' 

t 'The  Author  is  greatly  indilited,  in  this  pint  of  his  essay,  to  a 
work  enliiled  "  Semarks  on  the  Internal  Evidence  for  the  Truth  of, 
Hevealed  JMigiou.'''     By  Thomas  Erskine,  Esq.  Advocate. 


revelation  may  be  to  a  great  extent  new,  but  the  great  ques- 
tion is, — Are  not  these  modifications  such  as  to  fall  in  and 
harmonize  with  all  that  the  reason  of  man  would  suggest  to 
him,  as  suited  to  the  character  of  God  and  the  condition  of 
human  nature?  I  am  satisfied  that  the  discoveries  of  the 
Bible,  though  so  transcendently  glorious,  are,  in  theix  great 
outline,  answerable  to  all  our  natural  conceptions  oftheMost 
High,  as  the  supreme  moral  governor. 

Two  things  seem  necessary  to  authenticate  a  religion  as 
coming  from  GoA,—fir(t,  that  the  facts  and  representations 
which  it  contains  should  be  such  as  to  exhibit  all  that  is  lofty 
in  wisdom,  might)'  in  power,  awful  in  purity,  and  subduing 
in  kindness  ;  and,  seconrf,  that  the  representation  thus  afford- 
ed of  the  divine  character  should,  when  contemplated  and  be- 
lieved by  man,  be  fitted,  by  the  laws  of  his  being,  to  trans- 
form him  into  the  divine  image,  and  to  make  him  a  partaker 
of  the  divine  happiness.  The  very  first  showing  of  Christi- 
anity is  to  this  effect.  It  proposes,  by  an  overwhelming 
manifestation  of  the  character  of  God  in  the  great  scheme  of 
redemption,  to  raise  man  from  his  present  state  of  sin  and  re- 
bellion, and  to  confer  on  him  that  elevated  species  of  bless- 
edness which  arises  from  conformity  to  the  will  of  an  infinitely 
perfect  Being. 

"When,"  says  an  eloquent  wTiter,  "we  read  a  history 
which  authoritatively  claims  to  be  an  exhibition  of  the  charac- 
ter of  God  in  his  dealings  with  men;  if  we  find  in  it  that 
which  fills  and  overflows  our  most  dilated  conceptions  of 
moral  worth  and  loveliness  in  the  Supreme  Being,  and  at  the 
same  time  feel  that  it  is  triumphant  in  every  appeal  that  it 
makes  to  our  consciences  in  its  statements  of  the  obliquity 
and  corruption  of  our  own  hearts,  and  if  our  reason  farther 
discovers  a  system  of  powerful  moral  stimulants,  embodied  in 
the  facts  of  this  history,  which  necessarily  tend  to  produce  in 
the  mind  a  resemblance  to  that  higher  character  which  is  there 
portrayed;  if  we  discern  that  the  spirit  of  this  history  gives 
peace  to  the  conscience  by  the  very  exhibition  which  quickens 
its  sensibility;  that  it  dispels  the  terrors  of  guilt  b)'  the  very 
fact  which  associates  sin  with  the  full  loathing  of  the  heart; 
that  it  combines  in  one  wondrous  and  consistent  whole  our 
most  fearful  forebodings,  and  our  most  splendid  anticipations 
for  futurity,  that  it  inspires  a  pure  and  elevated  and  joyful 
hope  for  eternity  by  those  very  declarations  which  attach  a 
deeper  and  more  interesting  obligation  to  the  discharge  of  the 
minutest  part  of  human  duty,  if  wc  see  that  the  object  of  all 
iis  tendencies  is  the  perfection  of  moral  happiness,  and  that 
these  tendencies  are  naturally  connected  with  the  belief  of  its 
narration ;  if  we  see  all  this  in  the  gospel,  we  may  then  say 
ihat  our  own  eyes  have  seen  its  truth,  and  that  we  need  no 
other  testimony.  We  may  then  well  believe  that  God  has 
been  pleased,  in  pity  to  our  wretchedness,  and  in  condescen- 
sion to  our  feebleness,  to  clothe  the  eternal  laws  which  regu- 
late his  spiritual  government  in  such  form  as  may  be  palpable 
to  our  conceptions,  and  adapted  to  the  urgency  of  our  necess- 
ities."* 

Such  an  interposition  has  the  Eternal  Majesty  of  heaven 
vouchsafed  in  the  revelation  of  mercy  by  Christ  Jesus,  a  re- 
velation which  abounds  in  all  that  is  awful  and  all  that  is 
tender;  which  describes  God  as  the  avenger  of  sin,  and  the 
Saviour  of  the  guilty;  which  exhibits  the  loftiest  claims  of  the 
lawgiver,  and  the  tendercst  attributes  of  compassion  ;  which 
makes  moral  impunity  infinitely  odious  and  detestable,  by  the 
very  means  whereby  it  is  forgiven;  which  points  to  a  guilty 
race  reclaimed  and  saved,  while  the  Glorious  Projector  of  the 
scheme  stands  forth  before  the  intelligent  universe  in  the  inef- 
fable majesty  of  spotless  and  unchangeable  purity. 

Docs  reason  tell  us,  that  as  God  has  seen  fit  to  create  vari- 
ous orders  of  intelligent  creatures,  to  him  they  must  all  be 
accountable,  and  over  them  all  he  must  exercise  the  right  and 
the  control  of  a  moral  governor  ?  Revelation  comes  in  with 
its  direct  and  absolute  assurance  upon  this  point,  resolving  all 
the  doubts  which  sin  had  fostered  in  the  human  mind,  and 
proclaiming  God's  right  to  rule,  his  title  to  obedience,  and 
his  determfnation  to  puni.sh  every  infringement  of  his  right- 
eous uovernment.  Had  the  Bible  said  less  on  this  head,  or 
spoken  a  language  quite  different,  it  would  have  been  at  vari- 
ance with  the  simplest  dictates  of  sound  reason.  If  there  be 
one  God,  the  creator  and  upholder  of  the  universe,  the  foun- 
tain of  all  being,  and  of  all  happiness,  it  follows  b)'  resistless 
consequence,  that  he  is  the  governor  of  the  world  he  has 
made,  and  that  the  laws  by  which  he  governs  must  be  in  ac- 

*  Erskine  on  Litenial  Evidence,  third  edit.,  pp.  18,  19. 


172 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


cordance  with  the  dictates  of  his  own  pure  and  benevolent 
nature.  The  Scriptures  teach  us  distinctly  what  those  prin- 
ciples are ;  but  in  doing  so,  they  do  not  violate  one  of  all  our 
natural  conclusions. 

Does  the  reasonof  man  whisper  to  him,  that  the  Being  who 
made  hira  is  the  constant  inspector  of  his  actions,  and  that  a 
period  may  arrive  when  an  account  will  be  required  of  the 
manner  in  which  he  has  passed  tlie  few  short  years  of  bis 
transitory  existence?  Revelation  does  not  proffer  its  aid  to 
repress  this  natural  and  almost  universal  feeling;  but  to  place 
it  upon  the  sure  basis  of  a  divine  communication,  to  impart  to 
it  the  character  of  an  incontrovertible  truth,  and  to  raise  it  to 
the  potency  of  an  all-pervading  and  all-subduing  motive. 

Does  a  secret  monitor  disturb  man's  inward  repose,  and 
tell  him  that  he  has  sinned  against  his  own  acknowledged 
standard  of  duty,  and  fill  him  with  awful  forebodings  of  judg- 
ment to  come,  and  urge  him  to  many  a  vain  expedient  for 
the  settlement  of  that  score  of  guilt  which  he  knows  he  has 
been  contracting  from  the  earliest  dawnings  of  reason  ?  Reve- 
lation does  not  lift  up  its  voice  to  repress  the  natural  testi- 
mony of  conscience,  but  to  cause  it  to  be  heard  in  yet  louder 
strains  of  condemnation  ;  to  strip  man  of  all  vain  conceit  of 
excellence  which,  in  his  fallen  state,  he  does  not  possess  ;  to 
show,  by  the  pure  standard  of  the  written  law,  how  far  he  has 
departed  from  his  original  integrity  ;  to  present  such  an  image 
of  his  moral  defection  as  shall  cause  him  to  loathe  and  abhor 
himself  in  dust  and  in  ashes  before  God  ;  and  to  teach  him  the 
utter  insufficiency  of  all  human  aid  to  extricate  him  from  that 
state  of  condemnation  and  sin  into  which,  by  rebellion  against 
the  righteous  Lawgiver  of  the  universe,  he  has  sunk. 

Does  the  mind  of  man,  conscious  of  its  own  evil  desert, 
and  no  less  conscious  of  the  blight  which  sin  has  spread  over 
all  the  sources  of  human  enjoyment,  sigh  after  some  hidden 
well-spring  of  life,  some  new  manifestation  of  the  character  of 
God,  which  shall  dart  a  ray  of  mercy  and  hope  across  the 
gloom  of  his  apostacy  ;  some  divine  balm  that  shall  heal  those 
wounds  which  have  been  inflicted  in  his  lacerated  spirit  1 
Yes,  my  beloved  reader,  such  have  been,  and  such  are  the 
wishes  and  aspirations  of  the  guilty  spirit  of  man.  He  has 
departed  from  "  the  fountain  of  living  waters,"  and  the  entire 
range  of  creature  enjoyment  has  proved  but  a  broken  cistern 
to  him.  He  is  not,  indeed,  rightly  alfected  with  the  true  na- 
ture of  his  malady,  nor  does  he  properly  appreciate  the  means 
by  which  his  peace  and  happiness  may  be  restored  ;  but  he  is 
in  that  precise  state  in  which,  if  he  will  open  the  revelation  of 
God,  and  prayerfully  examine  its  contents,  he  will  find  the 
very  blessings  after  which  he  sighs,  and  in  the  application  of 
them,  will  perceive  that  the  Author  of  his  being  is  also  the 
God  of  his  salvation. 

In  the  promise  of  a  Saviour,  divinely  accomplished  in  th 
fulness  of  time,  and  in  the  propitiatory  sacrifice  of  the  cross, 
we  behold  a  scheme  which  hears  along  with  it  indubitable 
proofs  of  its  conformity  to  the  character  of  God,  and  of  its 
adaptation  to  the  guilt  and  necessity  of  man.  It  is  so  fur,  in 
deed,  above  all  his  natural  conceptions  of  a  divine  interposi 
tion,  that  it  may  well  be  styled  "  the  wisdom  of  God  in  a 
mystery;"  but  it  is  at  the  same  time  so  exquisitely  adjusted 
to  his  moral  relations,  and  to  the  moral  catastrophe  in  which 
he  is  involved,' that  he  has  only  to  open  his  eyes  that  he  may 
see,  and  his  heart  that  he  may  feel.  The  problem  of  his  sal- 
vation is  here  solved,  while  the  claims  of  the  moral  governor 
remain  unimpaired.  His  conscience  tells  him  that  he  is  a 
transgressor;  but  it  suggests  no  ettectual  method  of  escape 
from  merited  condemnation.  But  Christianity  points  him  to 
"  the  blood  of  the  Lamb,"  to  the  "  one  offering"  of  Jesus 
Christ,  "  for  the  sins  of  the  people."  He  feels  that  he  is  at 
a  fearful  moral  distance  from  God  ;  but  he  sees  in  the  method 
of  his  reconciliation  the  means  whereby  his  nature  may  be 
reclaimed,  and  learns  that  a  heart  all  rebellion  may  be  drawn 
by  the  mighty  attractions  of  divine  love  into  the  habit  of  cheer- 
ful, unreserved,  and  filial  obedience. 

To  doubt  that  such  a  scheme,  so  perfect  in  its  conformity 
to  all  that  we  connect  with  the  infinitely  pure  Spirit,  and  so 
admirably  adapted  to  the  nature,  condition,  and  prospects  of 
man, — to  doubt  that  such  a  scheme  is  from  heaven,  is  to  do 
violence  to  the  surest  inductions  of  enlightened  reason,  to 
turn  a  deaf  ear  to  the  voice  of  conscience,  and  obstinately  to 
lose  sight  of  a  coincidence  which  distinctly  shows  that  the 
nature  of  man  and  the  means  of  his  redemption  lay  claim  to  a 
common  origin. 

Without  the  provisions  of  the  Bible,  man  is  a  wanderer 
and  an  outcast.  He  beholds,  in  some  measure,  his  responsi- 
bility and  his  guilt;  but  he  has  no  well  defined  prospect  of 
how  it  may  fare  with  him  when  his  body  goes  down  to  the 


dust.  He  feels  that  this  world  is  a  wilderness,  and  all  it^ 
inhabitants  mourners;  but  he  is  unable  to  solace  himself  in 
the  prospect  of  a  blessed  immortality.  He  finds  himself  the 
subject  of  indefinite  forebodings,  and  discovers  nothing  in  the 
wide  range  of  created  nature  that  can  fill  up  the  desires  of  a 
mind  distanced  from  its  native  element ;  but  how  to  impart  a 
fixed  character  to  his  hopes,  and  how  to  satisfy  his  enlaro-ed 
desires,  he  knows  not.  Let  him  turn,  then,  to  the  well- 
springs  of  salvation,  let  him  view  the  character  of  God  as  set 
forth  in  the  doctrine  of  the  gospel,  let  him  examine  for  him- 
self the  great  mystery  of  godliness,  let  him  yield  up  his  whole 
soul  to  the  impression  of  redeeming  love,  let  him  implore  the 
spirit  of  Christ  to  unfold  the  infinite  grace  and  loveliness  of 
his  character,  let  him  bow  down  his  reason  to  the  verities  of 
the  cross  ;  then  will  his  guilt  subside,  his  fears  vanish,  his 
prospects  brighten  ;  then  will  his  soul  glow  with  ardent  love 
to  God,  then  will  the  darkness  which  broods  over  the  scenes 
of  earth  be  scattered  ;  then  will  the  truth  of  revelation  be  felt ; 
then  will  the  self-evidencing  power  of  the  gospel  be  verified  ; 
and  then  will  the  proud  objector  be  converted  into  a  "  little 
child,"  and  the  vain  disputer  into  a  meek  and  humble  disciple 
of  the  Son  of  God. 


Section  II. 
The  external  evidence  of  Chrhliunily. 

By  the  external  evidences  of  Christianity  we  are  to  under- 
stand those  attestations  to  its  divine  origin  which  have  been 
either  directly  vouchsafed  from  heaven,  or  which  may  be  in- 
fallibly traced  in  its  early  success  aiid  in  its  great  mora!  results. 
And  if,  by  an  impartial  survey  of  the  various  topics  connect- 
ed w-ith  internal  evidence,  we  are  compelled  to  admit  the 
presumptuous  boldness  of  those  who  can  disburden  their 
minds  of  all  apprehension  in  rejecting  a  scheme  distinguish- 
ed alike  by  its  grandeur  and  adaptation;  by  a  careful  exam- 
ination oi  external  evidence,  we  are  driven  to  the  conclusion, 
that  the  rejector  of  Revelation  is  at  war  with  omnipotence, 
and  that  he  is  standing  out  against  a  species  of  proof  which 
demands  of  every  intelligent  and  accountable  creature  the 
most  prompt  and  unhesitating  submission.  Such  is  the 
nature  and  such  the  variety  of  external  evidence,  that  it  leaves 
every  man  inexcusable  who  remains  in  secret  or  avowed 
oppositon  to  the  claims  of  the  gospel.  In  treating  of  the  sub- 
ject of  external  evidence  I  begin — 

1.    JVith  Miracles. 

If  the  Bible  be  from  God,  it  must  be  true  in  itself,  irre- 
spective of  all  miraculous  attestation ;  and  if  it  be  not  from 
God,  it  is  equally  clear  that  no  miracle  can  have  been  vouch- 
safed on  its  behalf.  A  miracle  is  an  act  of  Omnipotence,  which 
deviates  from,  or  suspends  the  ordinary  course  of  nature,*  and 
which  is  fitted  to  produce  an  impression  upon  rational  beings 
by  the  very  circuinstances  of  its  singularity  and  its  unac- 
countablenefs.  Such  an  interposition  we  may  assure  our- 
selves would  not  be  granted  in  support  of  any  messenger  not 
from  God,  or  of  any  doctrine  containing  in  it  the  slightest 
shade  of  imposture. 

The  most  inveterate  enemies  of  Revelation  have  been  com- 
pelled to  admit  that  a  miracle  wrought  by  any  being  professing 
to  act  under  the  authority  of  God,  would  be  a  sufficient  evi- 
dence of  the  divinity  of  his  mission.  "  We  know,"  said  a 
Jewish  ruler  to  Christ,  "  that  thou  art  a  teacher  come  from 
God ;  for  no  man  can  do  these  miracles  that  thou  doest, 
except  God  be  with  him."  A  principle  is  here  admitted 
which  it  is  impossible,  consistently  with  sound  reason,  to 
deny;  it  is  this  :  that  a  teacher  working  miracles  furnishes 
indubitable  evidence  that  his  mission  is  from  God.  To  test, 
with  utmost  severity,  the  evidence  of  miraculous  interposi- 
tion in  any  given  instance,  mast  be  an  imperative  duty,  but 
to  withhold  our  assent  to  any  doctrine  after  the  finger  of  Om- 


*  Dr.  S.imuel  Clarke  has  said  tliat  "  A  miracle  is  a  work  effected 
m  a  manner  unusual,  or  difTcrciit  from  the  common  and  regular 
method  of  providence,  Ijy  the  interposition  of  God  himself,  or  of 
some  intelligent  agent  superior  to  man,  for  tlic  proof  or  evidence  of 
some  particular  doctrine,  or  in  attestation  of  llie  authority  of  some 
particular  person."  The  Ucv.  Kichard  A\'atson,  in  his  Tlieological 
Dictionarv,  observes,  tliat  "  A  miracle,  in  tlie  popular  sense,  is  a 
prodigy  o"r  an  extraordinary  event  vifiich  supriscs  us  by  its  novelty. 
In  a  more  accurate  and  philosophic  sense,  a  miracle  is  an  eftect 
w  liich  does  not  folfow  from  any  of  the  regular  laws  of  natiu-e,  or 
wliich  is  inconsistent  «'itl)  some  known  law  of  it,  or  contrary  to  the  set- 
tled conslitntion  and  course  of  diings.  Accordingly,  all  miracles  pre- 
Mippose  an  established  svstcm  of  nature,  within  llie  limits  of  which 
they  operate,  and  with  tjie  order  of  which  they  disagi-ee." 


A  PORTRAITURE  OF  MODERN  SCEPTICISM. 


173 


nipotence  has  inscribed  over  it  its  celestial  origin,  is  to 
trample  reason  in  the  dust,  and  to  set  up  in  its  place  the  most 
inveterate  and  stvipid  prejndice. 

The  question,  then,  is,  did  Christ  and  his  apostles  perform 
the  miracles  attributed  to  them  in  the  books  of  the  New  Tes- 
tament? and  did  they  appeal  to  those  miracles  in  confirma- 
tion of  the  message  thej'  delivered  1  In  reading  the  inimitable 
discourses  of  Christ,  no  one  can  hesitate  for  a  moment  as  to 
the  nature  of  the  appeal  made  by  Him  to  miracles.  "The 
works,"  said  He,  "  which  the  Father  hath  given  me  to  finish, 
the  same  works  that  I  do,  bear  witness  of  me,  that  the 
Father  hath  sent  me."  "  The  works  that  I  do  in  my  Father's 
name,  they  bear  witness  of  me."  "  If  I  do  not  the  works  of 
my  Father,  believe  me  not.  But  if  I  do,  though  )'e  believe 
not  me,  believe  the  works  ;  that  ye  may  know  and  believe 
that  the  Father  is  in  me,  and  I  in  him."  "  Believe  that  I  am 
in  the  Father  and  the  Father  in  me ;  or  else  believe  me  for  the 
very  work's  sake."  Here  miracles  are  assumed,  upon  the 
ordinary  principles  of  reason,  to  be  a  sufficient  evidence  of 
Christ's  mission  from  the  Father  to  every  impartial  and  un- 
biassed mind.  So  unhesitatingly  did  Jesus  ofXazareth  use 
this  argument,  that  when  the  disciples  of  John  came  to  him 
to  inquire  whether  he  was  indeed  the  Christ,  his  only  reply 
was,  "Go  and  show  John  again  those  things  which  ye  do 
liear  and  see:  the  blind  receive  their  sight  and  the  lame  walk, 
the  lepers  are  cleansed,  and  the  deaf  hear,  the  dead  are  raised 
up,  and  the  poor  have  the  Gospel  preached  to  them."  *  And 
when  the  apostles  of  our  Lord  allude,  at  any  time,  to  tlie 
power  by  which  they  perform  their  several  miracles,  they 
invariablj'  refer  to  the  all-potent  charm  of  "that name  which 
is  above  every  name  ;"'  as  when  the  helpless  paralytic  was 
healed  at  the  beautiful  gate  of  the  Temple — "  If  we,  this 
day,"  said  Peter,  "  be  examined  of  the  good  deed  done  to  the 
impotent  man,  by  -what  means  he  is  made  whole ;  be  it 
known  unto  you  all,  and  to  all  the  people  of  Israel,  that  by 
the  name  of  Jesus  Christ  of  Nazareth,  whom  ye  crucified, 
whom  God  raised  from  the  dead,  even  by  him  doth  this  man 
stand  here  before  you  whole." 

The  whole  question  of  miracles,  then,  must  resolve  itself 
into  a  matter  of  fact.  And  the  attempt  of  Hume  and  others 
to  blink  the  fact,  by  assuming  the  insufficency  of  any  testi- 
mony to  transmit  the  knowledge  of  a  miraculous  occurrence, 
is  neither  more  nor  less  than  to  affirm,  that  if  God  should 
at  any  time  see  fit  to  perforin  a  miracle,  in  attestation  of  some 
message  of  mercy  to  a  ruined  race,  he  could  not  adopt  any 
method  by  which  the  certain  evidence  of  its  occurrence  could 
be  preserved  from  age  to  age.f  It  is  not  surely,  the  spirit  of 
sound  philosophy  in  which  any  man  asserts  that  a  miracle  is 
contrary  to  experience.  It  may  not,  indeed,  come  under  the 
head  of  the  ordinary  experience  of  mankind ;  hut  that  it  is 
contrary  to  it  cannot  be  shown.  According  to  our  ordinary 
experience,  bodily  disease,  when  successfully  removed,  is 
subdued  by  the  inlluence  of  certain  human  remedies  which 
God  is  pleased  to  bless.  According  to  the  wonderful  history 
of  the  gospel,  disease  is  often  rebuked  by  a  word,  a  look,  an 
exercise  of  the  secret  will  of  the  miraculous  agent.  But 
what  is  there,  we  ask,  in  these  two  distinct  classes  of  facts 
opposed  to  each  other?  They  may  each,  indeed,  belong  to 
a  distinct  chain  of  causation  ;  they  may  be  totally  independent 
events  ;  they  may  admit  and  require  various  kinds  of  proof;  but 
be  who  says  that  they  arc  contrary  the  one  to  the  other,  utters 
a  sentiment  opposed  to  true  philosophy,  and  commits  his  good 
sense  in  his  zeal  to  overturn  the  evidence  of  the  gospel. 
"  To  pronounce  a  miracle  to  be  false,"  says  a  distinguished 
writer,  "  because  it  is  different  from  experience,  is  only  to 
conclude  against  its  general  existence  from  the  very  circum- 
stance which  constitutes  its  particular  nature  ;  for  if  it  were 
not  different  from  experience,  where  would  be  its  singularity  1 
Or  what  particular  proof  could  be  drawn  from  it  if  it  happen- 
ed according  to  the  ordinary  train  of  human  events,  or  was 
included  in  the  operation  of  the  general  laws  of  nature  1  We 
grant  that  it  does  diller  from  experience;  but  we  do  not  pre- 
sume to  make  our  experience  the  standard  of  the  divine 
conduct."  I 


*  Tlie  last  clause  of  tlils  appeal  is  founded  on  the  ai-gument  foi- 
Christianity  whicli  is  derived  iVom  prophecy,  and  ^\hicli  v,\\\  Le 
glanced  at  in  a  subsequent  part  of  this  treatise.  ]t  was  a  distinct 
part  of  Messiah's  prophetii'.  character  that  when  he  appeared  be 
should  "  preach  glad  tidings  to  the  meek" — that  is,  to  the  poor. — 
Isaiah,  Ixi.  1. 

+  See  "  xV  Dissertation  on  .Miracles,"  8jc.,  bv  George  Campbell, 
D.D. 

\  See  the  Rev.  Richard  Watson's  Theological  Dictionar}',  under 
the  ailicle  **  Miracles." 


We  hear  much  among  infidel  writers  of  the  immutability 
of  the  laws  of  nature;  but  whence  do  they  learn  that  these 
laws  are  never  to  be  infringed  on  by  the  omnipotent  will  of 
the  Infinite  Mind?  It  is  surely  no  proof  that  the  Almighty 
is  a  changeable  being  because  he  either  creates  a  world,  or 
acts  according  to  his  own  infinite  perfections  in  governing  it. 
There  is  often  a  great  deal  of  assumption  in  the  use  of  the 
terms  "  laws  of  nature,"  "  course  of  nature,"  &c.,  as  em- 
ployed by  writers  of  a  sceptical  turn.  If  in  the  use  of  such 
terras  it  were  onlj'  intended  to  assert,  that  the  Most  High 
has  subjected  the  material  universe  to  the  government  of  cer- 
tain great  laws,  which  act  uniformly,  except  when  he  is 
pleased  to  suspend  or  to  counteract  them,  there  could  be  no 
objection  whatever  to  the  phraseology  employed ;  but  when 
they  are  spoken  of  as  a  kind  of  intelligent  and  independent 
power ;  when  they  are  described  as  something  almost  distinct 
from  the  continued  exercise  of  the  divine  behest;  when  they 
are  regarded  as  an  imperative  control,  binding  even  the  will 
of  Deit3'  itself,  they  are  placed  in  an  imposing  light,  to  which 
they  have  no  conceivable  title.  "  Our  knowledge  of  the 
ordinarj'  course  of  things,  though  limited,  is  )"et  real ;  and 
therefore  it  is  essential  to  a  miracle,  both  that  it  differs  from 
that  course,  and  be  accompanied  with  peculiar  and  unequivo- 
cal signs  of  such  difference.  We  have  been  told,  that  the 
course  of  nature  is  fixed  and  unalterable;  and  therefore  it  is 
not  consistent  with  the  immutability  of  God  to  perform  mira- 
cles. But,  surely,  they  who  reason  in  this  manner  beg  the 
point  in  question.  We  have  no  right  to  assume  that  the 
Deity  has  ordained  such  general  laws  as  will  exclude  his 
interposition;  and  we  cannot  suppose  that  he  would  forbear 
to  interfere  where  any  important  end  could  be  answered. 
This  interposition,  though  it  controls,  in  panicular  cases, 
the  energy,  does  not  diminish  the  utility  of  those  laws.  It 
leaves  them  to  fulfil  their  own  proper  purposes,  and  effects 
only  a  distinct  purpose,  for  which  ttiey  were  not  calculated. 
If  the  course  of  nature  implies  the  laws  of  matter  and  motion, 
into  which  the  most  opposite  phenomena  may  be  resolved,  it 
is  certain  that  we  do  not  yet  know  them  in  their  full  extent ; 
and,  therefore,  that  events  which  are  related  by  judicious  and 
disinterested  persons,  and  at  the  same  time  imply  no  gross 
contradiction,  are  possible  in  themselves,  and  capable  of  a 
certain  degree  of  proof.  If  the  course  of  nature  implies  the 
whole  order  of  events  which  God  has  ordained  for  the  govern- 
ment of  the  world,  it  includes  both  his  ordinary  and  extraor- 
dinary dispensations,  and  among  them  miracles  may  have 
their  place  as  a  part  of  the  universal  plan.  It  is,  indeed, 
consistent  with  sound  philosophy,  and  not  inconsistent  with 
pure  religion,  to  acknowledge  that  they  might  be  disposed 
by  the  Supreme  Being  at  the  same  time  with  the  more  ordi- 
nary effects  of  his  power;  that  their  causes  and  occasions 
might  be  arranged  with  the  same  regularity;  and  that  in  re- 
ference chiefly  to  their  concomitant  circumstances  of  persons 
and  time,  to  the  specific  ends  for  which  they  were  employed, 
and  to  our  idea  of  the  immediate  necessity  there  is  for  a 
divine  agent,  miracles  would  differ  from  common  events,  in 
which  the  hand  of  God  acts  as  efficaciouslj",  though  less 
visibly.  On  this  consideration  of  the  subject,  miracles,  in- 
stead of  contradicting  nature,  might  form  a  part  of  it.  But 
what  our  limited  reason  and  scanty  experience  may  compre- 
hend, shouM  never  be  represented  as  a  full  and  exact  view 
of  the  possible  or  actual  varieties  which  exist  in  the  works 
of  God."* 

It  is  daring  and  presumptuous  in  the  extreme  to  attempt, 
by  reasonings  a  priori,  to  set  aside  the  physical  possibility 
of  a  miracle,  or  to  assume  that  human  testimony  is  inadequate 
to  the  task  of  rendering  it  availaljle  to  the  conviction  of  man- 
kind. If  the  argument  a  priori  is  at  all  to  be  admitted  in  a 
question  of  mere  fact,  where  the  senses  were  originally  ap- 
pealed to,  it  were  easy  to  show  that  the  miraculous  attesta- 
tions of  the  gospel  are  entitled  to  all  the  benefits  which  it  can 
possibly  yield.  No  one  can  prove  that  it  is  contrary  to  tlie 
determined  arrangements  of  Divine  Providence  that  miracles 
should  be  wrought ;  no  one  can  assert,  in  the  spirit  of  true 
science,  that  it  may  not  have  been  a  part  of  the  great  scheme 
of  God's  moral  government  thus  to  step  aside  from  the  rule 
of  his  ordinary  procedure;  no  one  can  advisedly  say  that  if 
an  occasion  worthj'  of  miraculous  interposition  should  pre- 
sent itself  to  the  divine  omniscience,  God  would  fail  to  grant 
such  interposition;  no  one  can  seriously  contemplate  the  pro- 
fessed objects  of  Christianity,  or  examine  in  detail  its  wond- 
rous provisions,  without  being  constrained  to  admit,  that  it 


*  See  the  Rev.  Richard  Watson's  Theological  Dictionary,  under 
the  article  "  Miracles." 


174 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


furnishes  an  occasion  worthy  of  some  unusual  etTort  of  om- 
nipotence ;  anJ  no  one  can  calmly  survey  the  miraculous  facts 
recorded  in  the  gospel  history  without  feeling  that  they  are 
admirahly  adapted  to  attest  as  divine  the  several  communi- 
cations to  which  they  helong.  A  priori,  I  should  say,  that 
nothing  is  more  reasonable  than  to  suppose,  first,  that  God 
would  furnish  his  erring  and  sorrowful  children  with  a  reve- 
lation of  his  merciful  designs;  and,  secunj,  that  he  would  so 
attest  that  revelation  with  the  finger  of  omnipotence  as  to 
leave  all  without  excuse  who  did  not  embrace  its  inestimable 
provisions.  If  any  one  is  bold  enough  to  affirm  that  testimony 
is  an  insufficient  medium  for  the  conveyance  of  a  miraculous 
history,  he  should  be  prepared  to  go  the  whole  length  of  his 
extravagant  assumption,  and  to  maintain,  that  no  revelation 
could  at  any  time  be  imparted  hy  God  to  his  creatures,  be- 
cause human  testimony,  the  only  method  of  transmitting  his- 
torio  facts,  was  insuiiicient  to  tlie  task  of  conveying  to  the 
next  and  to  succeeding  generations  the  evidence  of  such  reve- 
lation having  been  imparted.  There  is  no  end  to  vague  con- 
jecture if  it  is  allowed  to  usurp  the  province  of  sound  reason, 
and  to  dictate,  belbre  hand,  what  may  and  what  may  not  be 
proper  in  the  Almighty  to  do.  There  is  no  sure  way  of 
knowing  what  God  may  do,  but  by  ascertaining  what  he  has 
done;  and  tlus  can  only  he  known  through  the  medium  of 
that  testimony,  the  accuracy  of  which  admits  of  being  tested 
by  rules  which  cannot  deceive. 

I  would  state  tlie  argument,  then,  on  behalf  of  the  miracles 
of  the  New  Testament  in  some  such  way  as  the  following  : — 
The  gospel  history  informs  us  that  both  Christ  and  his  apos- 
tles wrought  miracles;  it  shows  us  that  those  miracles  were 
appealed  to  as  evidences  of  their  divine  mission ;  and  it  pre- 
sents every  direct  and  'collateral  mark  of  authenticity  and 
truth  wliieli  can  possibly  belong  to  any  document  of  antiquity. 
It  is  admitted,  on  all  hands,  that  Jesus  of  Nazareth  actually 
lived  and  died  in  .ludea ;  that  his  followers  became  zealous 
and  successful  in  the  propagation  of  his  cause  after  his  death ; 
and  that  they  were  surrounded  by  nmny  inveterate  enemies, 
both  among-  their  own  countrymen  and  the  Gentiles.  In  the 
midst  of  danger,  and  in  opposition  to  all  their  own  worldly 
interests,  they  persevered  even  unto  death.  The  cause  they 
espoused  was  at  all  times  open  to  the  gaze  of  subtle  and 
fierce  enemies,  who  would  have  been  more  than  happy  to 
detect  any  imposture,  and  who  would  have  been  eagle-e3'ed 
to  discover  any  pretension  to  the  exercise  of  the  mighty  power 
of  God  which  was  not  actually  possessed.  The  persecutors 
of  Jesus  of  Nazareth  had  their  attention  drawn  to  his  mira- 
cles, wliich  couKl  no  longer  he  hid  in  a  corner;  and,  unable 
to  account  lor  them,  and  anxious  to  prevent  their  mighty 
eliect,  tliey  attributed  them  to.  satanic  power.  The  cause, 
however,  spread  with  amazing  rapidity,  and  the  death  of  the 
Master  but  added  fresli  enerijy  to  tlie  cause  of  his  disciples. 
For  a  time,  indeed,  through  the  weakness  of  their  faith,  they 
were  filled  with  gloomy  forebodings;  but,  according  to  his 
own  prediction,  their  divine  Leader  rose  from  the  dead;  with 
powers  of  tongues  and  gifts  of  healing  they  went  forth  in  his 
name;  his  resurrection  they  openly  proclaimed  in  the  cit}'  of 
Jerulalem  ;  thousands  of  impenitent  Jews  laid  down  the  wea- 
pons of  their  hostility;  the  miracles  of  Christ  and  his  apos- 
tles were  acknowledged  by  multitudes  as  indubitable  matters 
offaet;  and  their  fame  spread  throughoutthe  whole  world.  Had 
they  been  mere  impostures,  they  would  have  been  speedily 
detected;  on  the  contrary,  however,  they  drew  dow'n  tlie  pe- 
culiar notice  of  heathen  writers,  and  Celsus  himself  finds  no 
better  method  of  disposing  of  them  than  by  absurdly  attrib- 
uting tliem  to  a  skilful  use  of  the  arts  of  magic  on  the  part 
of  Christ's  disciples.* 

The  following  things  are  clear  respecting  Christ's  miracles  : 
T/iei/  were  of  such  a  nature  as  to  surpass  all  efforts  of  human 
power  or  skill.  By  them,  and  with.out  the  intervention  of 
second  causes,  the  blind  received  their  sight,  the  paralytic  in- 
stantly walked,  the  lepers  were  cleansed.  By  them  five 
loaves  and  two  small  fishes  were,  multiplied  so  as  to  become 
food  for  thousands  ;  by  them  simple  water  was  converted  into 
wine ;  by  them  the  stormy  tempest  was  hushed  into  an  im- 
mediate calm;  by  them  tlie  spirits  of  darkness  were  com- 
pelled to  depart  from  those  unhappy  victims  whom  they  had 
been  suffered  to  possess ;  and  by  them,  once  and  again,  the 


•  Justin  aiartyr,  Apol.  I ,  cli.ip.  wwLi.,  assures  us  that  the  early 
apologists  for  Christianity  insisted  more  on  the  argument  from  jiro- 
phet-y  than  from  miracles, because,  m  lien  llic-y  appealed  to  uiiraLlos, 
the  eneinies  of  the  triilli  retorted  upon  them,  by  attributing  the 
entire  miraculous  phenomena  of  the  gospel  to  the'power  of  magic. 
The  :;pologists  were  wrong,  but  the  fact  speaks  \ulumes  as  to  die 
realil)  of  the  miracles  recortied  by  the  Evangelists. 


dead  were  restored  to  life,  and  became  the  resistless  witnesses 
of  a  supernatural  interposition.  Now,  in  all  these  cases,  every 
human  being  was  an  equally  sufficient  judge  ;  from  the  very 
nature  of  the  facts  it  was  impossible  that  any  one  could  be  de- 
ceived ;  the  finger  of  God  was  so  distinctly  palpable,  that 
both  sense  and  reason  combined  to  verify  the  true  nature  of 
the  events. 

Again,  tlic  miracles  of  Christ  were  done  in  public,  at  the 
doors  of  the  Jewish  temple,  in  the  places  of  public  resort, 
when  he  had  been  preaching  to  thousands,  and  when  thou- 
sands were  the  actual  subjects  of  them. 

They  were,  moreover,  of  such  a  nature  that  no  collusion, 
no  magical  art,  no  legerdemain,  no  kind  of  deception,  could 
have  been  practised. 

They  were  wrought  in  the  presence  of  persons  full  of  en- 
mity and  cruel  hatred,  who  would  not  have  failed  to  lay  o])en 
the  entire  imposture,  had  any  existed  ;  but  so  confounded  were 
the  Scribes  and  Pharisees  at  the  sight  of  them,  that  they 
sought  relief  from  their  unhapp}'  impressions,  by  representing 
Jesus  of  Nazareth  as  in  league  with  the  great  spirit  ofdarkness. 

The  accounts  of  these  miracles  were,  soon  after  their  occurr- 
ence, published  to  the  world,  in  the  very  places  where  they 
happened  ;  yet  no  evidence  can  be  adduced  to  show  that  a 
single  contemporary  of  the  Saviour  was  found  bold  enough, 
to  deny  the  fact  of  their  occurrence;  nor  indeed  can  it  he 
shown  that  any  attempt  of  this  kind  w-as  made*  till  long  after 
Christ  had  ascended  to  heaven.  "  Here,  it  inay  be  demand-  • 
ed.  When  could  the  belief  of  such  transactions  have  been  ob- 
truded on  mankind,  if  they  had  never  happened  1  Surely  not 
in  the  age  when  they  were  said  to  have  been  witnessed  by 
tens  of  thousands,  who  were  publicly  challenged  to  deny 
them  if  they  could !  Not  in  any  subsequent  age ;  for  the 
origin  of  Christianity  was  ascribed  to  them,  and  millions  must 
have  been  persuaded  that  they  had  always  believed  those 
thinn-s  of  which  they  had  never  till  that  time  so  much  as 

lieard."t 

Having  offered  the  preceding  remarks  on  the  miracles  of 
Christ,  I  would  just  observe,  that  the  miracles  recorded  in  the 
Old  Testament  Scriptures  belong  to  the  same  great  system  of 
truth,  and  are  supported  by  similar  evidence.  Infidels  have 
spoken  of  the  Patriarchal  and  Mosaic  dispensations  as  if  al- 
together distinct  from  the  religion  of  Christ;  but  this  is  a 
gross  mistake,  as  Christianity  is  the  consummation  of  all 
those  institutions  which  are  embodied  in  the  Jewish  Scrip- 
tures. The  miraculous  fact  of -a  universal  deluge  is  abun- 
dantly confirmed  by  all  the  researches  of  geologists,  and  the 
organic  remains  of  a  former  world  must  leave  those  inexcus- 
able who  reject  the  data  of  revelation.  And  with  regard  to 
the  miraculous  history  of  the  Israelites  in  Egypt,  at  the  Red 
Sea,  in  the  Wilderness,  and  iu  Canaan,  the  facts  of  that  his- 
tory and  the  national  monuments  which,  from  the  earliest 
ao-cs,  were  fixed  on  to  perpetuate  it,  combine  to  relieve  the 
mind  from  the  slightest  suspicion  as  to  its  genuineness. 
"  Can  any  man  of  common  sense  think  that  Moses  and  Aaron 
could  possibly  have  persuaded  the  whole  nation  of  Israel  that 
they  had  witnessed  all  the  plagues  of  Kgypt,  passed  through 
the  Red  Sea  with  the  waters  piled  on  each  side  of  them, 
gathered  the  manna  every  morning,  and  seen  all  the  wonders 
recorded  in  their  history,  had  no  such  events  taken  place  1  If, 
then,  that  generation  eould  not  be  imposed  on,  when  could 
the  belief  of  these  extraordinary  transactions  be  palmed  upon 
the  nation  1  Surely  it  would  have  been  impossible  in  the 
next  age  to  persuade  them  that  their  fathers  had  seen  and  ex- 
perienced such  wonderful  things  when  they  had  never  before 
heard  a  single  word  about  them  in  all  their  lives,  and  when 
an  appeal  must  have  been  made  to  them,  that  these  were 
things  well  known  among  them !  What  credit  could  Iftve 
been  obtained  to  such  a  forgery  at  any  subsequent  period  ? 
It  would  have  been  absolutely  necessary,  in  making  the  at- 
tempt, to  persuade  the  people  that  such  traditions  had  alw"ays 
been  current  among  them ;  that  the  memory  of  them  had  lor 
ages  been  perpetuated  hy  days  and  ordinances,  observed  by 
all  the  nation  ;  and  that 'their  whole  civil  and  religious  estab- 
lishment had  thence  originated  :  and  could  this  possibly  have 
been  clfected  if  they  all  knew  that  no  such  memorials  and 
traditions  had  ever  been  heard  of  anions'  them  !":f 

I  cannot  deny  myself  the  pleasure  of  furnishing  my  readers 
with  a  remarkably  clear  and  beautiful  account  of  the  mira- 


*  The  fable  that  the  disciples  stole  tlie  hody  of  Jesus  will  he  dealt 
with  in  its  own  proper  place;  It  is  evident,  however,  that  no  use 
was  made  of  it  hy  the  Jews  wliere  it  could  have  been  most  a\ailable  ; 
in  fact,  it  was  too  absurd  to  be  gravely  referred  to; 

+  See  the  Uev.  Thomas  Scott's  Works,  vol.  ii.  p.  IG. 

j:  See  the  Kev.  Tliomas  Scott's  Works,  \ol.  ii.  pp.  I'i,  13. 


A  PORTRAITURE  OF  MODERN  SCEPTICISM. 


175 


clesoflhc  Mosaic  dispensation  furnislied  by  the  ingenious 
author  of  "  Theological  Institutes,"  who  has  already  been  re- 
ferred to.* 

"  Out,"  says  he,  "  of  the  numerous  miracles  wrought  by 
the  agency  of  Moses,  we  select,  in  addition  to  those  mention- 
ed in'chap.  ix.,  the  plague  r/ dabk.vess.  Two  circumstances 
are  to  be  noted  in  the  relation  given  of  the  event.  (Exod.  x.) 
It  continued  three  days,  and  it  afflicted  the  Egyptians  only. 
for  "a//  the  children  of  Israel  had  light  in  their  dwellings." 
The  fact  here  mentioned  was  of  the  most  public  kind  ;  and 
had  it  not  taken  place,  every  Egyptian  and  every  Israelite 
could  have  contradicted  the  account.  The  phenomenon  was 
not  produced  by  any  eclipse  of  the  sun,  for  no  eclipse  cf  that 
luminary  can  endure  so  long.  Some  of  the  Roman  writers 
mention  a  darkness  by  day  so  great  that  persons  were  unable 
to  know  each  other;  but  we  have  no  historical  account  of  any 
other  darkness  so  long  continued  as  this,  and  so  intense  that 
the  E.ryptians  "rose  not  up  from  their  places  fur  three  dai/s.''' 
But  it'^any  such  circumstance  had  occurred,  and  a  natural 
cause  could  have  been  assigned  for  it,  yet  even  then  the  mi- 
raculous character  of  this  event  would  remain  unshaken  ;  for 
to  what  but  to  a  supernatural  cause  could  tlic  distinction  made 
between  the  Israelites  and  the  Egyptians  be  attributed,  when 
they  inhabited  a  portion  of  the  same  country,  and  when  their 
neighbourhoods  were  immediately  adjoining?  Here  then  are 
the'characters  of  a  miracle.  The  established  course  of  natu- 
ral causes  and  effects  is  interrupted  by  an  operation  upon  that 
mighty  element,  the  atmosphere.  That  it  was  not  a  chance 
irregularity  in  nature,  is  made  apparent  from  the  effect  follow- 
ino-lhe  volition  of  a  man  acting  in  the  name  of  the  Lord  of 
Nature,  and  from  its  being  restrained  by  that  to  a  certain  part 
of  the  same  country;  'Moses  stretched  out  his  hand,'  and  tlie 
darkness  prevailed,  every  where  but  in- the  dwellings  of  his 
own  people.  The  fact  has  been  established  by  former  argu- 
ments ;  and  the  fact  being  allowed,  the  miracle  follows  of  ne- 
cessity. 

"The  destruction  of  the  first-bohn  of  the  Egyptians  may 
be  next  considered.  Here,  too,  arc  several  circumstances  to 
be  carefully  noted.  This  judgment  was  threatened  in  the  pres- 
ence of  Pharaoh,  before  any  of  the  other  plagues  were  brought 
upon  him  and  his  people.  The  Israelites  also  were  forwarn- 
ed  of  it.  They  were  directed  to  slay  a  lamb,  sprinkle  the  blood 
upon  their  door-posts,  and  prepare  for  their  departure  that 
same  night.  The  stroke  was  inflicted  upon  the  lirst-born  of 
the  Eg/ptians  only,  and  notupon  any  other  part  of  the  family  ; 
it  occurred  in  the  same  house  ;  the  tirst-born  of  the  Israelites 
escaped  without  exception,  and  the  festival  of  the  passover' 
was  from  that  night  instituted  in  remembrance  of  the  event. 
Such  a  festival  could  not  in  the  nature  of  the  tliing_  be  estab- 
lished in  any  subsequent  age,  in  commemoration  of  an  event 
which  never  occurred;  and  if  instituted  at  the  time,  the  event 
must  have  taken  place,  for  by  no  means  could  this  large  body 
of  men  have  been  persuaded  that  their  first-born  had  been 
saved,  and  those  of  the  Egyptians  destroyed,  if  the  facts  had 
not  been  before  their  eyes.  The  history,  therefore,  beina- 
established,  the  nuVaWe  follows  ;  for  the  order  of  nature  is  suf- 
ficiently known  to  warrant  the  conclusion,  that,  if  a  pestilence 
were  to  be  assumed  as  the  ajcnt  of  this  calamity,  an  epidemic 
disease,  however  rapid  amrdestructive,  comes  not  upon  the 
threat  of  a  mortal,  and  makes  no  such  selection  as  the  lirst- 
born  of  every  family. 

"The  miracle  of  dividing  the  waters  of  the  Red  Sea  has 
already  been  mentioned,  but  merits  more  particular  considera- 
tion. In  this  event  we  observe,  as  in  others,  circumstances 
which  exclude  all  possibility  of  mistake  or  collusion.  The 
subject  of  the  miracle  ;  the  witness  of  it  the  host  of  Israel, 
who  passed  through  on  foot,  and  the  Egyptian  nation,  who 
lost  their  king  and  his  whole  army.  The  miraculous  charac- 
ters of  the  event  are  :— the  waters  are  divided  and  stand  up 
on  each  side  ;  the  instrument  is  a  strong  east  wind,  which 
beo-ins  its  operation  upon  the  water,  at  the  strciching-out  of 
the  hand  of  Moses,  and  ceases  at  the  same  signal,  and  that  at 
the  precise  moment  when  the  return  of  the  waters  would  be 
the  most  fatal  to  the  Egyptian  pursuing  army. 

"It  has,  indeed,  been  asked  whether  they  were  not  some 
ledges  of  rocks  where  the  water  was  shallow,  so  that  an  army, 
at  particular  times,  might  pass  over  ;  and  whether  iheEtesioji 
winds,  which  blow  strongly  all  summer  from  the  north-west, 
might  not  blow  so  violently  against  the  sea  as  to  keep  it  back 
'  on  a  heap.'  But  if  there  were  any  force  in  these  ciuestions, 
it  is  plain  that  such  suppositions  would  leave  the  destruction 
of  the  Egyptians  unaccounted  for.     To  show  that  there  is  no 


weight  in  them  at  all,  let  the  place  where  the  passage  of  the 
Red'Sea  was  effected  be  first  noted.  Some  fix  it  near  Sue-, 
at  the  head  of  the  gulf;  but  if  there  was  satisfactory  evidence 
of  this,  it  ought  also  to  betaken  into  the  account  that  formerly 
the  gulf  extended  at  least  twenty-five  miles  north  of  .S'ncr.  the 
first°place  where  it  terminates  at  present.*  But  the  names  of 
places,  as  well  as  tradition,  fix  the  passage  about  ten  hours 
journey  lower  down,  at  Clysma,  or  the  valley  of  Bfsdia.  The 
name  given  by  Moses  to  the  place  where  the  Israelites  en- 
camped before  the  sea  was  divided  was  Filta-hiroth,  which 
signifies  'the  mouth  of  the  ridge,'  or  of  that  chain  of  moun- 
tafns  which  line  the  western  coast  of  the  Red  Sea ;  and  as 
there  is  but  one  mouth  of  that  chain  through  which  an  im- 
mense multitude  of  men,  women,  and  children,  could  possi- 
bly pass  when  flving  from  their  enemies,  there  can  be  no 
doubt  whatever  respecting  the  situalion  of  Pihu-hirolh ;  and 
the  modern  names  of  conspicuous  places  in  its  neighbourhood 
prove  that  those  by  whom  such  names  were  given  believed 
that  this  was  the  place  at  which  the  Israelites  passed  the  sea 
in  safitv,  and  where  Pharaoh  was  drowned.  Thus  we  have 
close  by  Piha-hiroth,  on  the  western  side  of  the  gulf,  a  moun- 
tain called  .itiaka,  which  signifies  deliverance.  On  the 
eastern  coast  opposite  is  a  head-land  called  lins  Musa,  or 
'  the  Cape  of  Moses ;'  somewhat  lower,  Ilurnam  Faraun, 
'  Pharaoh's  Springs  ;'  whilst  at  these  places  ;  the  general 
name  of  the  gulf  ifself  is  BiJir-al-Kolsum,  '  the  Bay  of  Sub- 
mersion,' in  which  there  is  a  whirlpool  Qa\\cA  Birkel  Faraun, 
'  the  Pool  of  Pharaoh.'  This,  then,  was  the  passage  of  the 
Israelites;  and  the  depth  of  the  sea  here  is  stated  by  Bruce, 
who  may  be  consulted  as  to  these  localities,  at  about  fourteen 
fathoms,  and  the  breadth  at  between  three  and  four  leagues. 
But  there  is  no  '  ledge  of  rocks  ;'  and,  as  to  the  'Etesian  wind,' 
the  same  traveller  observes,  '  If  the  Etesian,  blowing  from 
the  north-west  in  summer,  could  keep  the  sea  as  a  wall,  on. 
the  risht,  of  fifty  feet  high,  still  the  difficulty  would  remain 
of  building  the  wall  to  the  left,  or  to  the  north,  li  \.\\e  Etesian 
winds  had'^done  this  once,  tliey  must  have  repeated  it  many 
a  time  before  or  since  from  the  same  causes.'  The  wind 
which  actually  did  blow,  according  to  history,  either  as  an 
instrument  of  dividing  the  waters,  or,  which  is  more  proba- 
ble, as  the  instrument  of  drying  the  ground,  after  the  waters 
were  divided  by  the  immediate  energy  of  the  Divine  power, 
was  not  a  north  wind,  but  an  '  east  wind  ;'  and,  as  Dr.  Hales 
observes,  '  seems  to  be  introduced  by  way  of  anticipation,  to 
exclude  the  natural  agency  which  might  be  afterwards  re- 
sorted to  for  solving  the  miracle  ;  for  it  is  remarkable  that 
the  momoon  in  the  Red  Sea  blows  the  summer-half  of  the 
)-ear  from  tlie  north,  and  the  winter-half  from  the  south,  neither 
of  which  could  produce  the  miracle  in  question.' 

"  The  miraculous  character  of  this  event  is,  therefore,  most 
strongly  marked.  An  expanse  of  water,  and  that  water  a  sea, 
of  from"  nine  to  twelve  miles  broad,  known  to  be  exceedingly 
subject  to  agitations,  is  divided,  and  a  vvall  of  water,  is  form- 
ed on  each  hand,  affording  a  passage  on  dry  land  for  the  Israel- 
ites. The  phenomenon  occurs,  too,  just  as  the  Egyptian 
host  are  on  the  point  of  overtaking  the  fugitives,  and  ceases 
at  the  moment  when  the  latter  reach  the  opposite  shore  in 
safety,  and  when  their  enemies  are  in  the  midst  of  the  pass- 
age, in  the  only  position  in  which  the  closing  of  the  wall_  of 
waters  on  each  side  could  ensure  the  entire  destruclion  of  so 
larcre  a  force ! 

•'  The  falling  of  the  manxa  in  the  wilderness  for  forty  years, 
IS  another  unquestionable  miracle,  and  one  in  which  there 
could  1)0  neither  mistake  on  the  part  of  those  who  were  sus- 
tained by  it,  nor  fraud  on  the  part  of  Moses.  That  this  event 
was  not  produced  by  the  ordinary  course  of  nature,  is  render- 
ed certain  by  the  fact,  that  the  same  wilderness  has  been  trav- 
elled by  individuals,  and  by  large  bodies  of  men,  from  the 
earliest  aws  to  the  present,  but  no  such  supply  of  food  was 
ever  met  with,  except  on  tliis  occasion;  and  its  miraculous 
character  is  further  marked  by  the  following  circumstances  : 
I.  That  it  fell  but  six  days  in  the  week.  3.  That  it  tell  m 
such  proditrious  quantities  as  sustained  three  millions  ol 
souls.  3.  That  there  fell  a  double  quantity  every  Friday,  to 
serve  the  Israelites  for  the  next  day,  which  was  the^r  Sab- 
bath. 4.  That  what  was  gathered  on  the  first  five  days  ol 
the  week  stank  and  bred  worms  if  kept  above  one  day;  but 
that  which  was  gathered  on  Friday  kept  sweet  for  two  days  ; 
and  5.  That  it  continued  falling  while  the  Israelites  remained 
in  the'wilJerness,  but  ceased  as  soon  as  they  came  out  of  it, 
and  <rot  corn  to  eat  in  the  land  of  Canaan.  G.  Let  these  very 
extraordinarv  particulars  be  considered,  and  they  at  once  con- 


*  Theological  Institutes,  vol.  i.  pp.  157 — 161. 


*  Lord  A'^alcntin's  Travels,  vol-  iii.  p.  344, 


176 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


firm  the  fact,  wliilst  they  uneiiuivocally  establish  the  miracle. 
No  people  could  be  deceived  in  these  circumstances;  no  per- 
son could  persuade  them  of  their  truth  if  they  had  not  occurr- 
ed ;  and  the  whole  was  so  clearly  out  of  the  regular  course 
of  nature,  as  to  mark  unequivocally  the  interposition  of  God. 
To  the  majority  of  the  numerous  miracles  recorded  in  the  Old 
Testament,  the  same  remarks  apply,  and  upon  them  the  same 
miraculous  characters  are  as  indubitably  impressed." 

To  tlicse  remarks  I  may  just  add,  that  the  fact  of  the  anti- 
quity, genuineness,  and  uncorrupted  transmission  of  the  books 
both  of  the  Old  and  New  Testament  Scriptures,  is  sustained 
by  an  uninterrupted  chain  of  evidence,  which  could  be  ad- 
duced in  favour  of  no  other  document  of  a  remote  antiquity, 
and  which  ought  to  have  shamed  and  for  ever  silenced  the 
opponeiits  of  revelation.  Even  enemies  themselves  have 
unwittingly  served  the  cause  of  truth  by  adding  to  this  testi- 
mony. Tlie  .lews  are  to  this  day,  and  have  been  through 
every  past  age,  the  eflective  and  unanswerable  defenders  of 
their  own  canon  ;  and  the  enemies  of  Christianity  who  arose 
in  the  second  century  and  downwards,  were  valuable  coad- 
jutors of  the  Christian  apologists,  in  alluding  to  the  alleged 
tacts  of  Christianity',  though  with  a  view  to  refute  them.  It 
would  be  easy  to  show,  not  only  that  the  Christian  fathers, 
notwithstanding  their  many  errors  and  absurdities,  served  the 
cause  of  revelation,  by  proving  the  antiquity,  genuineness, 
and  uncorrupted  character  of  the  sacred  text;  but  that  Clesus, 
and  Porphyry,  and  .Julian,  to  say  nothing  of  the  Roman  his- 
torians, Tacitus  and  .Suetonius,  did  an  immense  service- 
though  they  intended  it  not,  in  endeavouring  to  refute  facts 
which,  if  they  had.  never  existed,  could  not  have  obtained 
currency  in  tlie  world. 

It  is  unreasonable,  then,  in  the  extreme  to  refuse  credit  to 
the  facts  of  Christianit)',  standing  as  they  do  upon  such  an  ir- 
refragable basis.  God  has  spread  over  them  the  shield  of 
omnipotence,  and  he  who  will  not  be  convinced  by  a  well- 
authenticated  testimony  of  miracles  would  not  be  persuaded 
though  one  actually  rose  from  the  dead. 

As  the  resurrection  of  Christ  is  a  fact  of  such  vital  moment 
in  the  argument  connected  with  miracles,  I  shall  devote  to  it 
the  notice  of  a  distinct  discussion,  hoping  thereby  to  condense 
into  very  narrow  limits  the  amount  of  proof  arising  to  Chris- 
tianity from  the  survey  of  its  miraculous  character. 

2,  The  nrgmnent  derived  fruiti  tiie  Hesurrectitfl^  eif  Christ, 
It  must  have  been  remarked  by  every  careful  observer,  that 
there  are  two  distinct  classes  of  miracles  recorded  in  the  gos- 
pel history,  those  which  the  facts  of  Christianity  themselves 
involve,  and  those  which  were  wrought  by  our  Lord  and  his 
apostles  in  confirmation  of  the  message  they  delivered.  The 
necessity,  perhaps,  of  the  latter  class  of  miracles  chiefly  origi- 
nates in  the  first.  A  revelation  of  facts  and  doctriner:  alto- 
gether supernatural  seemed  to  demand  an  attestation  corres- 
ponding to  its  own  nature.  It  is  difliicult,  indeed,  to  con- 
ceive of  the  iilea  of  an  express  and  direct  revelation  from  th 
Infinite  Rliud  without  instantly  associating  it  with  what  is 
miraculous,  and  without  feeling  a  sort  of  intuitive  conviction 
that  it  will  be  supported  with  a  species  of  evidence  answerin 
to  the  wondrous  fircts  which  it  professes  to  disclose.  Most  of 
the  doctrines  of  revelation  far  transcend  the  puny  conceptions 
of  finite  minds,  and  some  of  them  are  of  such  a  sublime  na- 
ture that  they  are  to  be  regarded  rather  as  subjects  of  humble 
belief  than  as  topics  of  querulous  dispute. 

The  resurrection  of  Christ,  in  common  with  his  incarnation, 
his  temptation,  his  transfiguration,  and  his  ascension  to  the 
right  hand  of  power,  is  a  fact  of  a  distinctly  miraculous  cha- 
racter. It  is,  moreover,  a  fact  which  was  divinely  attested  on 
the  day  of  Pentecost,  and,  subsequently  by  indubitable  marks 
of  a  supernatural  interposition. 

For  a  person  to  rise  from  the  dead  is  an  indisputable  maru- 
festation  of  the  mighty  jiower  of  God;  and  if  it  can  be  shown 
that  Christ  actually  rose  from  the  dead,  according  to  his  own 
predictions,  it  must  of  necessity  follow  that  both  the  pre- 
science and  the  omnipotence  of  Deity  were  associated  with  the 
wondrous  event.  RIany  sceptics  have  been  ready  to  admit, 
that  if  the  resurrection  of  Christ  could  be  fully  established 
their  opposition  to  Christianity  must  cease.  It  was  impossi- 
ble for  them  to  concede  less  than  this;  and  the  zealous  eflbrts 
they  have  made  to  repudiate  the  evidence  of  our  Lord's  resur- 
rection sufiiciently  proves  their  anxiety  to  get  rid  of  a  fact 
which,  if  properly  established,  must,  as  by  some  mighty  con- 
vulsion, sliiver  infidelity  to  atoms. 

As  the  doctrine  contended  for  is  of  such  vast  importance  to 
the  full  development  of  the  truth  of  Chrisliaiiitv,  it  is  a  pecu- 
liarly happy  circumstance  that  the  evidence  upon  whicli  it 
stands  is  of  such  a  diversified  and  powerful  kind;  bearing,  as 


it  were,  an  exact  proportion  to  the  commanding  position 
which  it  occupies  in  the  Christian  scheme.  With  the  fact  of 
Christ's  resurrection  from  the  dead,  the  whole  system  of 
Christianity  must  stand  or  fall ;  to  bear  witness  to  this  fact 
the  office  of  apostles  was  mainly  established  ;  upon  its  recep- 
tion our  salvation  vitally  depends ;  and  by  its  all-powerful 
influence  believers  are  inspired  by  the  animating  hope  of 
eternal-  life. 

By  this  event,  also,  Christ  was  "  declared  to  be  the  Son  of 
God  with  power ;"  by  it  the  perfection  of  his  atonement  was 
fully  announced  ;  and  by  it  the  evidence,  pattern,  and  earnest 
of  the  resurrection  of  all  his  followers  were  strikingly  dis- 
played. How  momentous,  then,  upon  the  showing  of  Chris- 
tianity itself,  is  the  doctrine  of  Christ's  resurrection  !  How 
firm  ought  our  faith  to  be  in  the  evidence  by  w  hich  it  is  sup- 
ported !  And  how  cautious  and  thoughtful  ought  he  to  be 
who  ventures  to  treat  it  as  an  imposture  of  human  device! 

In  briefiy  surveying  the  evidence  upon  which  the  doctrine 
of  Christ's  resurrection  rests,  we  are  naturally  led  to  inquire 
whether  his  deatli  actually  took  place  1  Here  no  conceivable 
difficulty  can  arise.  The  fact  is  admitted  both  by  friends  and 
enemies;  and  as  the  Jews  procured  his  crucifixion  and  thirsted 
for  his  blood,  there  can  be  no  reason  to  doubt  that  they  would 
carry  the  infamous  sentence  of  the  law  into  complete  execu- 
tion. Fully  aware  of  his  own  predictions  that  he  would  rise 
again,  they  did  not  sutler  his  body  to  be  removed  from  the 
cross  till  every  symptom  of  life  was  extinct;  and  so  decisive 
were  the  marks  of  dissolution,  that  the  soldiers,  perceiving 
that  he  was  already  dead,  did  not  break  his  legs,  according  to 
ordinarj'  custom,  when  they  wished  to  hasten  the  death  of  a 
particular  culprit ;  but  one  of  their  number  "  pierced  his  side 
with  a  spear,  and  forthwith  came  thereout  blood  and  water." 
Nor  did  Pilate  deliver  up  his  body  to  beburied  till  he  receiv- 
ed direct  assurance  from  the  officers  in  command  that  the  vic- 
tim of  Calvary  had  actually  expired. 

Nor  was  the  place  of  Christ's  burial  less  manifest  than  the 
fact  of  his  death.  No  secrecj'  was  attempted  to  be  practised 
in  this  matter  by  Joseph  of  Arimathea,  or  any  of  the  rest  of 
Christ's  disciples.  The  request,  indeed,  tliat  they,  might  be 
put  in  possession  of  the  body  of  Jesus  was  complied  with; 
but  all  their  movements  were  watched  with  nicest  scrutiny, 
and  a  Roman  watch  of  sixly  soldiers  was  instantly  set  over 
the  place  of  sepulture. 

That  Christ  died,  then,  and  was  buried,  no  one  can  doubt. 
Jews  and  heathens  confirm  the  facts.  Yet  in  a  period  short 
of  three  full  days,  notwithstanding  the  strict  watch  of  a  Ro- 
man guard,  the  body  of  Christ,  by  the  admission  of  the  disci- 
ples and  Phtirisees,  is  removed  from  the  tomb.  A  rumour  of 
the  fact  instantly  spreads,  and  enemies  and  friends  have  each 
their  particular  mode  of  accounting  for  it.  W  hich  account, 
then,  bears  upon  it  the  signature  of  truth;  the  disciples  or  the 
Jews'!  They  cannot  be  both  true,  for  they  are  contradictory. 
The  disciples  say  that  two  women,  Mary  RIagdalen  and  Mary 
the  mother  of  James  and  Salome,  had  repaired  to  the  sepul- 
chre for  the  purpose  of  perfuming  the  body  of  Christ  with 
Kastern  spices,  and  that  an  angel  appeared  to  them,  rolling 
away  the  stone  from  the  door  of  the  sepulchre,  and  inviting 
them,  in  the  language  of  condescension,  to  look  into  the  now 
empty  tomb,  wlicre  their  Lord  had  been  placed  on  the  even- 
ing of  the  crucifixion,  but  from  whence  he  had  now  risen  in 
the  exercise  of  an  omnipotent  power;  it  is  moreover  stated  by 
the  disciples,  that  the  women  received  commission  from  the 
angel  to  announce  the  fact  of  Christ's  resurrection  to  the  rest 
of  his  followers.  From  the  same  source  we  learn,  that  others 
subsequently  repaired  to  the  tomb  and  found  the  body  of 
Christ  removed,  and  only  the  linen  in  w-hich  it  was  wrapped 
left  behind  ;  that  the  fact  of  an  actual  resurrection  was  de- 
monstrated by  the  appearance  of  Christ  to  several  of  his  dis- 
ciples, both  alone  and  in  full  assembly;  that  the  eye  saw  him, 
that  the  hand  touched  him,  that  the  mind  entered  into  fellow- 
ship with  him,  that  some  enjoyed  the  benefit  of  his  conversa- 
tion, partook  of  food  with  him,  listened  to  his  instructions, 
received  his  commands,  and  for  the  space  of  more  than  five 
weeks,  liad  more  or  less  intercourse  with  him;  when,  at  the 
end  of  this  period,  and  after  he  had  given  commission  to  his 
apostles,  he  finally  conducted  his  disciples  to  a  mountain  in 
Galilee,  and  rose  to  his  native  heavens  in  their  admiring  pre- 
sence. 

Such  is  the  account  of  Christ's  resurrection  as  furnished  by 
his  friends.  And  what  is  there  in  the  opposite  scalel  No- 
thing whatever.  It  is,  said,  indeed,  by  the  Sanhedrim,  that 
the  disciples  stole  the  body  of  Jesus  while  the  watch  slept! 
'IMiis  is  verily  all,  in  the  shape  of  fact,  that  the  Jews  ever  at- 
tempted to  oppose  to  the  combined  testimony  of  the  disciples; 


A  PORTRAITURE  OF  MODERN  SCEPTICISM. 


177 


and  it  is  so  utterly  absurd,  that  nothing  but  the  consternation 
occasioned  by  the  astounding  fact  of  the  resurrection  could 
have  tempted  them  to  induce  the  watch,  by  an  act  of  bribery, 
to  make  such  a  statement.  Either  the  watch  were  asleep  or 
awake :  if  awake,  how-  could  an  armed  body  of  sixty  men 
have  allowed  the  disciples  to  rob  the  tomb  of  its  sacred  inhab- 
itant ?  and  if  asleep,  how  could  they  bear  testimony  to  the 
fact  of  the  disciples'  theftl  This  wild  and  extravagant  fab- 
rication, however,  was  speedily  abandoned.  Not  once  is  it 
adverted  to  on  those  trials  of  the  apostles  which  soon  took 
place  at  Jerusalem,  on  account  of  their  bold  and  open  procla- 
mation of  their  Master's  resurrection.  Though  the  apostles 
were  cited  before  that  very  body  who  had  given  currency  to 
the  report  of  the  disciples'  theft,  they  are  not  even  once  taxed 
with  the  crime;  not  a  whisper  escapes  the  lips  of  the  Sanhe- 
drim on  Uic  subject;  not  one  of  all  the  watch  is  brought  forward 
to  confront  the  apostles,  and  to  shame  tliem  out  of  their  ad- 
herence to  the  imposture  of  the  resurrection;  on  the  contrary, 
an  influential  member  of  the  Jewish-  council  advises  forbear- 
ance to  the  witnesses  of  the  resurrection,  and  intimates  even 
the  possibility  of  the  event  itself.  If  the  Sanhedrim  had  had 
the  slightest  belief  of  the  wicked  story  invented,  would  they 
have  adopted  such  a  course?  Undoubtedly  not.  Now  was 
the  time  to  muster  all  their  strong  evidence  against  the  facts 
of  the  resurrection,  and  to  prevent  its  further  currency  among 
the  people;  but  nothing  w  hatever  of  this  kind  is  resorted  to; 
persecution  and  threats  are  the  only  weapons  employed  to 
check  the  rising  doctrine;  and  a  whole  assembly  of  men, 
deeply  involved  in  the  consequences  of  the  resurrection,  not 
only  succumb  to  the  counsel  of  an  individual,  but  apparently 
acquiesce  in  the  hypothetical  admission  that  the  entire  doc- 
trine of  the  apostles  may  yet  prove  itself  to  be  of  God. 

There  is  not,  then,  an  atom  of  contradictory  testimony  to 
the  fact  of  the  resurrection  as  stated  by  the  apostles.  If  we 
reject  their  account,  we  are  left  in  a  state  of  the  wildest  con- 
jecture as  to  w'hat  became  of  the  body  of  Jesus.  Look,  then, 
at  their  testimony,  and  see  if  it  bears  along  with  it  the  cre- 
dentials of  truth.  Upon  a  review  of  the  gospel  history  itself, 
was  there  any  thing  improbable  in  the  occurrence  of  Christ's 
resurrection  1  Did  he  not  again  and  again,  in  the  presence 
of  friends  and  enemies,  predict  the  event,  and  point  to  it  as 
the  great  seal  of  his  mission?  and  did  he  not  furnish  exam- 
ples of  the  same  mighty  power  in  the  resurrection  of  Lazarus, 
and  of  the  widow's  son,  as  well  as  in  many  other  demonstra- 
tions of  his  eternal  power  and  godhead  ?  ISefore  any  one  can 
show  that  the  event  of  Christ's  resurrection  was  one  by  no 
means  to  be  anticipated,  he  must  disprove  the  entire  facts  of 
our  Lord's  history,  and  thereby  subvert  the  testimony  of 
Heathens,  Jews  and  Christians.  The  question  is,  were  the 
apostles  deceived,  or  did  tliey  attempt  to  deceive  others  ? 
The  former  of  these  could  not  have  been  the  case ;  for  they 
had  every  opportunity  of  identifying  their  Lord's  person  which 
could  possibly  be  furnished,  or  which  could  ever  be  regarded, 
by  the  most  scrupulous,  as  necessary.  The  very  doubts  of 
their  own  minds  contributed  to  add  strength  to  the  conviction 
which  they  acquired  of  their  Lord's  identity;  and  for  the 
space  of  full  forty  days,  they  were  enabled,  in  a  succession 
of  interviews,  to  correct  any  sudden  or  erroneous  impression, 
and  to  settle  themselves  in  the  triumphant  belief  that  Christ 
Avas  risen  indeed. 

Nor  was  there  one  sign  of  an  impostor  or  deceiver  attach- 
ing to  these  simple-hearted  witnesses  of  the  resurrection 
There  is  no  attempt  to  furnish  one  uniform  record  of  the 
transaction.  On  the  contrary,  we  have  four  different  ac- 
counts of  the  resurrection,  so  distinct  as  to  show  that  each 
writer  aimed  at  truth,  and  was  under  no  apprehension  of  dis- 
crepancy in  his  statements;  and  yet  so  entirely  harmonious 
that  the  apparent  contradictions  only  tend  to  establish  the 
validity  and  perfect  consistency  of  the  historj-.* 

It  may  be  asked,  moreover,  when  and  where  did  the  apostles 
of  our  Lord  begin  to  proclaim  tlie  fact  of  the  resurrection  ? 
Why,  at  the  very  period  of  its  alleged  occurrence,  and  in  the 
ver)-  city  of  the  crucifixion.  When  they  were  once  convinced 
of  the  glorious  event  themselves,  they  were  bold  as  lions  in 
its  defence,  and  were  not  afraid  to  give  utterance  to  their  con- 
victions in  the  presence  of  those  who  must  have  possessed 
the  best  means  of  detecting  the  imposture,  if  any  such  had 
been  jjractised.  The  most  subtle  and  disputatious  of  the 
Jewish  nation  heard  their  testimony;  malice,  and  wit,  and 
[lower,  were  all  enlisted  against  them ;  but  the  new  doctrine 


prevailed,  and  fresh  instances  of  miraculous  power,  in  the 
gift  of  tongues,  and  in  the  ability  to  heal  all  manner  of  dis- 
eases, accredited  the  apostles  as  the  commissioned  servants 
of  the  Most  High. 

In  all  other  things,"  observes  the  late  Mr.  Scott,  "they 
appeared  simple,  upright,  holy  men;  hut  if  in  this  they  de- 
ceived, the  world  never  yet  produced  a  company  of  such  artful 
and  wicked  impostors,  whose  schemes  were  so  deeply  laid, 
so  admirably  conducted,  and  so  extensively  and  permanently 
successful.  For  they  spent  all  the  rest  of  their  lives  in  pro- 
moting the  religion  of  Jesus,  renouncing  every  earthly  interest, 
facing  all  kinds  of  opposition  and  persecution,  hearing  con- 
tempt and  ignominy,  prepared  habitually  to  seal  their  testi- 
mony with  their  blood,  and  most  of  them  actually  dyino' 
martjrs  in  the  cause,  recommending  it  with  their  latest  breath 
as  worthy  of  universal  acceptation.  It  is  likewise  observable, 
that,  when  thej'  went  forth  to  preach  Christ  as  risen  from  the 
dead,  they  were  manifestly  changed,  in  almost  every  respect, 
from  what  they  before  had  been ;  their  timidity  gave  place  to 
the  most  undaunted  courage ;  their  carnal  prejudices  vanished ; 
their  ambitious  contests  ceased  ;  tlieir  narrow  vie.ws  were  im- 
mensely expanded ;  and  zeal  for  the  honour  of  the  Lord, 
with  love  to  the  souls  of  men,  seem  to  have  engrossed  and 
elevated  all  the  powers  of  their  minds.  A  more  complete 
human  testimony  to  any  event  cannot  be  imagined  ;  for  if  our 
Lord  had  shown  himself  '  openly  to  all  the  people'  of  the 
Jews,  and  their  rulers  had  still  persisted  in  rejecting  him,  it 
would  have  rather  weakened  than  confirmed  the  evidence; 
and,  if  they  had  unanimously  received  liim  as  Messiah,  it 
might  have  excited  in  others  a  suspicion  that  it  was  a  plan 
concerted  for  aggrandizing  the  nation."* 

3.    TTie  argument  derived  from  Prophecy, 

This  is  a  branch  of  Christian  evidence  possessing  extraor- 
dinary power,  and  capable  of  very  extensive  application.  The 
proper  idea  of  prophecy  is  the  furctelling  of  such  future  events 
as  no  human  skill  or  sagacity  could  anticipate,  and  as  nofhin" 
but  the  prescience  of  the  Eternal  could  either  know  or  reveal. 
This  is  the  test  applied  of  old  to  the  false  gods  of  the  heathen ; 
"  Show  us,"  said  .Tehovah  to  their  votaries,  "  what  shall  hap- 
pen; declare  us  things  for  to  come;  show  the  things  that  are 
to  come  hereafter,  that  we  may  know  that  ye  are  gods."  If 
it  can  he  shown  that  the  leading  facts  recorded  in  Scripture 
were  foretold  by  omniscience  long  ere  they  occurred,  it  will 
follow  of  necessity  that  a  revelation  thus  accredited  is  from 
God.  Prophecy  is,  indeed,  a  species  of  miraculous  attesta- 
tion, challenging  the  investigation  of  men  in  every  age,  and 
accumulating  new  materials  of  proof  as  the  revolutions  of 
Divine  Providence  disclose  and  illustrate  the  events  embodied 
in  the  prophetic  testimony. 

The  great  object  and  end  of  the  prophetic  dispensation  was 
evidently  to  testify  "before-hand  the  sulJerings  of  Christ, 
and  the  glory  that  should  follow,"  and  to  this  object  and  end 
all  the  predictions  of  Scripture  might  be  shown  more  or  less 
to  contribute. 

I  shall  begin,  therefore,  with  those  prophecies  which  relate 
more  immediately  to  the  Messiah  ;  and  if  it  should  appear, 
from  a  survey  of  facts,  that  there  were  many  prophecies  ut- 
tered concerning  Him  which  no  human  skill  or  forethouo-ht 
could  have  ventured  to  announce,  and  which  have  realized  a 
minute  and  circumstantial  accomplishment,  it  will  then  fol- 
low, that  they  furnish  a  convincing  testimony  to  his  character 
as  the  Son  of  God,  and  to  his  mission  as  the  Saviour  of  the 
world.  W'e  shall  first  make  the  induction  of  the  prophetic 
testimony,  and  then  inquire  how  far  it  is  probabls  that  the 
prophecies  of  the  Jewish  Scriptures  could  have  induced  the 
followers  of  Jesus  of  Nazareth  to  endeavour,  bv  their  own 
means,  to  bring  about  the  events  predicted;  in  other  words, 
to  produce  a  coincidence  in  the  life  of  Jesus  to  the  anticipa- 
tions of  the  prophets. 

The  minuteness  both  of  the  predictions  and  the  fulfilments 
will,  perhaps,  surprise  those  who  have  not  closely  examined 
this  most  interesting  topic.  In  the  text  referred  to  in  the 
notes,  the  prophecy  and  its  accomplishment  will  be  placed  in 
immediate  contact,  so  that  those  who  wish  to  examine  this 
subject  for  themselves  may  see  how  utterly  impossible  it  was 
for  any  thing  like  chance  or  human  imposture  to  have  fur- 
nished such  an  exquisite  harmony. j- 

When  we  look  at  the  very  first  page  of  man's  apostacy,  we 
find  the  Great  Deliverer  promised,  as  that  seed  of  the  woman 


*  Sec  a  discourse  by  Dr.  J.  P.  Smitli  "On  the  Evidence  of  the 
Ilivine  Origin  of  Cliris'tiaiiity  from  the  Resurrection  of  Jesus,"  in  a 
voliune  of  Lecmres  delivered  at  tlie  niontlily  meetings. 
Vol.  II.— X 


•  See  the  Rev.  Thomas  Scott's  ^A'orks,  vol.  ii.  pp.  15,  16. 

t  See  a  very  able  Discourse  on  "  llie  Oljjecl  and  F.ml  of  tlie  Pro- 
phetic Dispensation,"  by  tlie  late  Aicliibaid  M'Lcan.  Works,  vol. 
iv.  12mo.  p.  283. 


178 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


who  was  to  bruise  the  head  of  the  serpeiit.(«)  This  mysterious 
personage  was  to  be  of  the  seed  of  Abraham. (4)  He  was  to 
belong  to  the  tribe  of  Judah.(r)  He  was  to  be  a  member  of  the 
royal'house  of  David. ((/)  He  was  to  be  born  at  Bethlehem 
Judah,  the  city  of  David. (f)  He  was  to  be  miraculously  con- 
ceived and  born  of  a  virgin. (/)•  He  was  to  be  carried  into 
Egypt  and  called  out  of  it.(ir)  He  was  to  have  Elias,  or 
John  the  Baptist  as  his  foremnner.(/()  He  was  to  confirm  his 
mission  and  doctrine  by  miracles.  (<)  He  was  to  make  a  pub- 
lic though  lowly  entrance  into  Jerusalem,  riding  upon  a  colt, 
the  foal  of  an  ass.(y')  He  was  to  be  rejected  of  his  own  coun- 
trymen the  Jews.(A-)  He  was  to  be  betrayed  by  one  of  his 
disciples.(/)  He  was  to  be  sold  for  thirty  pieces  of  silver.(m") 
He  was  to  be  scourged,  mocked,  and  spit  upon.(«)  He  was 
to  be  nailed  to  the  cross,  by  his  hands  and  his  feet.(o)  He 
was  te  be  numbered  with  the  transgressors. (/))  He  was  to  be 
mocked  and  reviled  while  on  the  cross. (y)  He  was  to  have 
gall  and  vinegar  to  drink. ('')  His  garments  were  to  be  part- 
ed, and  upon  his  vesture  lots  were  to  be  cast.(«)  He  was  to 
be  cut  off  from  the  land  of  the  living  by  a  violent  death. (/) 
He  was  to  be  pierced,  but  not  a  bone  of  him  to  be  broken. (u) 
He  was  to  make  his  grave  with  the  Tich.(r)  He  was  not  to 
see  corruption. (wj)  He  was  to  rise  from  the  dead.(i-)  He  was 
to  ascend  into  heaven,  sit  at  the  right  hand  of  God,  and  pour 
out  the  Holy  Spirit  in  his  various  gifts  upon  men.(y) 

His  divine  dignity  was  also  distinctly  marked  in  the  pro- 
phetic testimony.  According  to  tiie  flesh,  he  was  to  be  of  the 
seed  of  David  ;  but  beyond  this  there  was  a  view  of  his  char- 
acter which  exhibited  liim  in  all  the  glory  of  essential  and 
uncreated  Godhead.  He  was  to  be  called  Immanuel.(r)  He 
was  described  as  the  mighty  God.(Q.a)  He  was  spoken  of  as 
Jehovah  our  righteousness. (i4)  He  was  portrayed  as  the  Son 
of  God. (cc)    He  was  declared  to  be  David's  hoii.{dd) 

Nor  were  the  offices  which  Messiah  was  to  sustain  over- 
looked by  the  omniscient  spirit  of  the  prophetic  dispensation. 
He  was  to  be  a  prophet  like  unto  Moses. (ce)  He  was  to  be  a 
priest  forever,  after  the  order  of  Melchisedec.(_^)  He  was  to 
be  an  anointed  King,  on  Zion's  holy  hill, — that  is,  the  Mes- 
siah and  Sovereign  of  his  church,  (o-g-) 

In  like  manner  the  spiritual  empire  of  the  Son  of  God  is 
portrayed  in  the  prophetic  page.  Its  nature,  its  extent,  its 
duration,  its  blessedness,  its  happy  subjects,  are  all  describ- 
ed.(AA)    And  though  many  of  the  predictions  which  relate  to 


(o)  Compare  Gen.  iii.  15,  with  Luke  i.  29 — 36,  and  Gal.  iv.  4. 

(6)  Com,  Gen.  xxii.  18,   v-ith  Gal.  iii.  16,  IT,  and  Heb.  ii.  16. 

\c)  Com.  Gen.  xlix.  10,  -nilh  Heb.  vii.  14. 

(a)  Com.  1  Sara.  vii.  12 — 17.  Isa.  xi.  1 — 6.  Jer.  xxiii.  5,  6,  with 
Luke  i.  32,  69.    Rom.  i.  3. 

(e)  Com.  Micali  v.  2,  with  Matt.  ii.  1,  5,  6,  and  Luke  ii.  4, 11. 

(  /')  Com.  Isa.  vii.  14,  witli  Matt.  i.  20 — 24. 

I'g-)  Com.  Hos.  xi.  1,  with  Matt.  ii.  13 — 16. 

(h)  Com.  Isa.  xl.  3^  4.  Mai.  iii.  1,  ami  iv.  5,  with  Matt.  iii.  1^-4. 
xvii.  10 — 14.    Luke  i.  17,  vii.  27. 

(j)  Com.  Isa.  xxxT.  5,  6,  witli  Malt.  xi.  3,  7.  John  v.  36,  and  Acts 
ii.  22. 

(/)  Com.  Zech.  ix.  9,  and  Psalms  cxviii.  25,26,  withMatt  %xi.  2 — 
12,  and  John  xii.  12,  19. 

(k)  Com.  Isa.  viii.  14,  15.  xviii.  16,  liii.  3,  and  Psa.  cxviii.  22, 
with  Matt.  xxi.  42 — 15.    John  i.  10,  11,  xii.  37—40,  and  xv.  22 — 26. 

(Z)  Com.  Psa.  .\li.  9,  with  Jolm  xiii.  18. 

(m)  Com.  Zech.  xi.  12,  with  jMatt.  xxv.  14,  15,  and  xxvii.  3 — 11. 

(n)  Com.  Isa.  1,  6,  with  Matt:  xxvi.  67,  6S,  and  xxvii.  26,  32. 


(o)  Com.  Ps.a.  xxii.  16,  witli  Luke  xxiii.  33,  and  John  xix.  17,  18. 

(p)  Com.  Isa.  liii.  12,  witli  Luke  xxii.  37,  and  xxiii.  33. 

(q)  Com.  Psa.  xxii.  7,  8,  with  Matt,  xxvii.  34,  35. 

ir)  Com.  Psa.  Ixix.  21,  with  Matt,  xxvii.  34,  48. 

\s)  Com.  Psa.  xxii.  18,  with  Matt,  xxvii.  35,  and  John  xix.  23, 
24. 

(()  Com.  Isa.  liii.  Dan.  ix.  26,  witli  John  six.  30.    Acts  ii.  23. 

{II)  Com.  Zech.  xii.  10,  Exod.  xii.  46,  Psa.  xxxiv.  20,  witli  John 
xix.  33 — 38. 

(r)  Com.  Isa.  liii.  9,  with  Matt,  xxvii.  57 — 61. 

(70)  Com.  Psa.  xvi.  10,  witli  Acts  ii.  25 — 32,  xiii.  .34,  38. 

ix)  Com.  Psa.  ii.  7,  xvi.  11,  and  Isa.  liii.  S,  with  Acts  ii.  30,  31, 
xiii.  33,  34. 

(i/)  Cora.  Psa.  Ixviii.  18,and  ex.  1.  Joel  ii.  28,  with  Eph.  iv.  8 — 13, 
Mai-k  xvi.  19.  Acts  ii.  33. 

(:)  Cora.  Isa.  vii.  14,  w  ith  Mark  i.  23. 

(aa)  Com.  Isa.  ix.  6,  w  ith  Tit.  ii.  13. 

ibb)  Com.  Jcr. xxxiii.  5,  6,  witli  1  Cor.  i.  30,  31. 

(.cc)  Cora.  2  Sam.  vii.  14.  Psa.  ii.  7, 12,  withKom.  i.  3,4-  Heb. 
1.  S. 

(lid)  Com.  Psa.  ex.  1,  with  Matt.  xxii.  42,  46. 

(ee)  Cora.  Deut.  xviii.  18,  witli  Acts  iii.  22,  24. 

if)  Com.  Ps.a.  ex.  4,  with  Heb.  v.  5,  6,  vii.  viii.  ix.  x. 

iffff)  Com.  Psa.  ii.  6.  Psa.  ii.  2.  Dan.  i.x.  26,  witli  John  xx.  30, 
31.  Acts  ii.  36. 

(Ml  Com.  Psa.  xlv.  6,  7.  Isa.  ix.  6—8,  xi.  1—11.  .vlii.  6,  with 
Gal.  iii.  8.  Heb.  i.  8,9.  Luke  i.  30—34.  Rom.  xiv.  12.  Acts  xiii.  47. 


that  empire  are  not  yet  fnlfilled,  and  though  some  of  them 
will  not  realize  their  accomplishment  till  the  consummation 
of  all  things  ;  yet  enough  has  been  fulfilled  to  show  that 
Christ  and  his  kingdom  are  the  distinct  objects  of  reference, 
and  that  what  is  yet  unaccomplishedshall  ere  long  have  the 
light  of  Divine  Providence  shed  upon  it. 

When  I  look  at  the  number,  minuteness,  and  singular  cha- 
racter of  tlie  prophetic  testimonies  of  the  Jewish  Scriptures  to 
Messiah,  and  compare  them  with  their  exact  and  circumstan- 
tial accomplishment  in  the  person,  office,  and  empire  of  Jesus 
of  Nazaretli,  I  am  equally  astounded  at  the  unbelief  of  Jews 
and  Infidels.  How  can  they  resist  such  a  flood  of  light  1  Upon 
any  conceivable  scheme  of  adjustment,  how  can  they,  in  their 
present  state  of  mind,  account  for  the  predictions  and  their 
fulfilment!  Let  it  be  remembered  that  Christians  did  not 
construct  the  prophecies  ;  they  formed  part  of  a  document  in 
tlie  hands  of  their  bitterest  enemies  ;  and  let  it  be  equally  re- 
membered, that  the  principal  facts  in  the  history  of  the  Son  of 
God  which  verify  the  prophecies,  were  realities  which  the 
most  inveterate  infidels  have  been  compelled  to  admit.  Let 
the  wondrous  coincidence,  then,  be  accounted  for  on  any  other 
principle  but  the  admission  of  a  great  scheme  of  prophecy 
originating  in  the  divine  prescience,  and. intended  to  vindicate 
the  claims  of  a  revelation  which  has  been  vouchsafed  by  God 
to  his  bewildered  and  erring  children. 

I  know  of  no  method  of  evading  the  force  of  the  argument 
derived  from  prophecy,  but  by  the  supposition,  that  the  apos- 
tles of  our  Lord,  finding  in  the  Jewish  Scriptures  a  vast  num- 
ber of  predictive  statements,  concerning  an  illustrious  person- 
age who  was  to  rise  up  in  the  nation  of  Israel,  accommodated 
themselves,  with  their  leader,  to  the  scheme  thus  perceived 
by  them.  But  the  entire  character  and  conduct  of  the  men, 
their  benevolence,  their  contempt  for  every  thing  like  human 
ambition  and  applause,  the  purity  and  integrity  of  their  man- 
ners, their  fearless  exposure  of  themselves  to  persecution  and 
death,  the  total  absence  of  any  thing  like  inferior  motive  to 
sustain  them,  forbids  us,  upon  all  the  ordinary  calculations 
of  human  nature,  to  conceive  of  them  as  heartless  deceivers 
and  villains.  If  they  were  so,  it  may  be  safely  affirmed  that 
they  acted  a  part  the  very  opposite  of  all  the  other  impostors 
that  ever  lived. 

But  supposing  they  were  deceivers,  and  that  they  made 
themselves  agents  to  the  fulfilment  of  the  Jewish  prophecies ; 
let  us  see  how  this  can  be  borne  out  by  the  facts  of  the  case. 
This  inquiry  is  so  well  met  by  the  present  Bishop  of  Chester, 
that  I  cannot  do  a  greater  service  to  my  readers  than  to  quote 
his  own  words  on  the  subject. 

"  It  may  be  thought,"  says  he,  "  that  a  design  like  that  at- 
tributed to  the  followers  of  Jesus  would  be  greatly  assisted 
by  the  prophecies  recorded  in  their  national  Scriptures,  and 
pointing  to  some  remarkable  personage  who  was  expected  to 
appear. 

"  1.  For  example  :  the  time  of  this  appearance  was  fixed 
by  the  prophet  Daniel  at  about  four  hundred  and  ninety  years 
from  his  own  days ;  which  so  closely  corresponded  with  the 
birth  of  Jesus,  that  such  an  event  was  looked  for,  by  'devout 
persons,'  at  the  very  period  when  it  occurred.  This  would  be, 
as  was  before  observed,  a  circumstance  greatly  in  their  fa- 
vour. 

"2.  The  next  thing  to  be  considered  by  the  framer  of  this 
deceit,  would  be  the  place  of  their  leader's  birth.  Jesus  was 
born  at  Bethlehem.  Upon  consulting  their  Scriptures,  they 
would  fiud  this  passage  respecting  Bethlehem  :  'Thou  Beth- 
leliem  Ephratah,  though  thou  be  little  among  the  thousands 
of  Judah,  yet  out  of  thee  shall  he  come  forth  unto  me  that  is 
to  be  the  ruler  in  Israel,  whose  goings  forth  have  been  from 
of  old,  for  everlasting.'  This  would  prove,  beyond  what  could 
be  anticipated,  an  assistance  of  their  design. 

"  3.  It  seemed  to  be  intimated  in  the  prophecies,  that  the 
deliverer  who  was  to  come  should  be  preceded  by  a  forerun- 
ner, who  might  awaken  tlie  attention  of  the  people  to  him. 
For  it  was  written,  '  The  voice  of  him  that  crieth  in  the  wilder- 
ness. Prepare  ye  the  way  of  the  Lord ;  make  straight  in  the 
desert  a  highway  for  our  God.'  And  again,  '  Behold,  I  will 
send  my  messenger,  and  he  shall  prepare  the  way  before  me  ; 
and  the  Lord,  whom  ye  seek,  shall  suddenly  come  into  liis 
temple.'  Now  it  was  notorious  that  a  singular  character, 
John,  called  '  the  Baptist,'  had  appeared  a  short  time  before 
Jesus  began  his  ministry,  pretending  to  be  this  messenger, 
and  nothing  more,  and  directing  his  followers  to  one  who  was 
to  '  come  after  liim.'  This  was  another  coincidence  equally- 
wonderful  and  favourable. 

"  4  Further,  as  to  the  most  important  parts  :  tlie  way  in 
which  Jesus  had  lived,  and  had  been  received,  and  died.    His 


A  PORTRAITURE  OF  MODERN  SCEPTICISM. 


179 


character,  as  represented  in  the  Gospels,  had  been  peculiar  in 
every  respect;  but  especially  remarkable  for  the  union  of 
meekness  and  constancj'  which  it  displayed. 

"  Of  unknown  origin  and  humble  parentage,  he  had  attract- 
ed considerable  notice,  and  many  followers  ;  yet  he  had  not 
been  generally  acknowledged  among  his  countrymen,  and 
those  who  adhered  to  him  were  not  the  great  and  powerful. 
His  life,  upon  the  whole,  was  one  of  trial  and  hardship,  not 
one  of  triumph  and  exaltation.  In  the  end,  he  was  sentenced  to 
death  with  the  notoriously  wicked  ;  and  suffered  a  punish- 
ment, which  even  his  judge  confessed  that  his  conduct  liad 
not  deserved.  Yet,  though  dying  with  malefactors,  he  was 
laid  in  a  rich  and  honourable  tomb. 

"  A  character  answering  this  description  was  portrayed  by 
that  prophet  who  had  always  been  considered  as  most  parti- 
cular in  what  respected  the  future  Messiah. 

"  It  cannot  be  denied  that  the  existence  of  these  ancient 
prophecies  would  be  very  advantageous  to  men  setting  out 
with  the  purpose  in  question.  But  it  is  time  to  ask  in. our 
turn,  how  they  came  to  find  these  prophecies  ready  to  their 
hand  f  prophecies  of  such  a  nature,  tliat  no  man  could  have 
contrived  a  scheme  dependent  upon  them,  because  they  could 
not  command  the  fact  by  which  they  were  to  be  fulfilled 
With  respect  to  the  birth-place,  for  example  :  in  order  that  it 
might  happen  to  be  Bethlehem,  it  was  reijuisite  that  a  gene- 
ral census  should  be  held,  convening  all  the  inhabitants  of 
the  country  to  their  chief  town;  by  which  means  alone  the 
mother  of  Jesus  was  called  away  from  her  usual  residence, 
and  her  infant  born  at  Bethlehem,  instead  of  Nazareth.  The 
preparatory  ministry  of  the  Baptist  was  equally  beyond  the 
control  of  the  disciples.  So  were  the  minute  details  of  inci- 
dents, which  agree  in  a  wonderful  manner  with  the  circum- 
stantial narrative.  The  entrance  of  Jesus  into  Jerusalem,  at 
once  humble  and  triumphant.(a)  The  manner  of  his  death,"  and 
his  own  countrymen  the  cause.  The  peculiar  indignities 
which  he  underwent :  the  very  words  of  mockery  used  against 
liim.(i)  The  price  which  Judas  received  for  his  treachery. 
The  purpose  to  which  that  money  was  applied. (c) 

"  Passages  of  this  nature  could  not  have  been  introduced 
by  the  apostles  into  the  existing  scriptures,  because,  as  their 
countrymen  were  generally  hostile  to  the  design,  such  an  at- 
tempt must  have  proved  fatal  to  their  pretensions.  And  fur- 
ther, because  the  books  among  which  these  scattered  sentences 
are  found,  had  now  been  extensively  diffused  during  a  period 
of  three  hundred  years  in  a  foreign  language,  defyino;  the  im- 
posture of  the  whole  nation,  if  the  whole  nation  hal  concur- 
red in  the  design. 

"  We  are  reduced,  then,  to  the  necessity  of  supposing  that 
the  followers  of  Jesus,  desiring  to  deify  their  teacher,  selected 
from  their  national  Scriptures  these  pointed  allusions  to  cir- 
cumstances like  his,  which  happened  to  be  written  there,  and 
brought  them  forward  to  confirm  his  pretensions. 

"  But  surely  to  ascribe  coincidences  like  these  to  chance, 
to  allege  that  all  these  passages  were  thrown  out  at  random 
in  the  Jewish  Scriptures,  and  that  the  circumstances  of  the 
birth,  and  life,  and  character,  and  death  of  Jesus,  turned  out 
so  as  to  agree  with  them,  is  to  attribute  to  chance  what  never 
did  or  could  take  place  by  chance  ;  and  in  itself  far  more  im- 
probable than  the  event  which  such  a  solution  is  intended  to 
disprove.  For,  allow  to  Jesus  the  authotity  which  he  claims, 
and  every  difficulty  vanishes.  We  should  then  expect  to  find 
prophetic  intimations  of  his  great  purpose,  and  of  the  way  in 
which  it  was  to  be  effected.  We  should  expect  to  find  them, 
too,  just  what  they  are  ;  not  united  and  brought  together  in  a 
way  of  formal  description,  which  could  only  he  a  provision 
for  imposture  ;  but  such  scattered  hints  and  allusions  as,  after 
the  event  has  occurred,  serve  to  show  that  it  was  predicted, 
by  a  comparison  of  the  event  and  the  prophecy. 

"  It  ought  to  be  observed,  in  addition,  that  if  the  disciples 
of  Jesus  had  framed  their  story  and  their  representation  of 
facts,  with  a  view  of  obtaining  this  collateral  support,  they 
would  have  been  more  diligent  and  ostentatious  in  pointing 
out  the  circumstances  of  resemblance.  They  would  have  an- 
ticipated the  labours  of  those  writers  who  have  made  it  their 
business  to  show  the  completion  of  prophecy  in  the  events  re- 
lated in  the  gospels.  But,  on  the  contrary,  they  bring  these 
things  forward  in  an  historical  rather  than  an  argumentative 
way,  and  commonly  leave  the  deductions  which  may  be  drawn 
from  them  to  the  discernment  of  after  times."* 

I  must  be  allowed  to  remark,  before  dismissing  this  branch 


of  evidence,  that  though  the  prophecies  of  the  Old  and  New 
Testaments  chiefly  relate  to  the  Messiah,  and  are  all  so 
constructed  as,  in  their  accomplishment,  to  add  strength  to 
the  evidence  which  confirms  the  Christian  revelation,  they 
are  by  no  means  confined  to  the  delineation  of  his  character 
and  claims.  They  occupy  a  range  most  extensive,  and  carry 
the  mind  over  the  eventful  history  of  the  Jewish  nation,  and 
of  almost  all  the  nations  of  heathen  antiquity.  Let  it  never 
be  forgotten,  that  Nineveh's  predicted  ruin  has  come  upon  it; 
that  Babjlon,  in  all  its  boasted  splendour,  has  been  " swept 
with  the  besom  of  thrmlened  destruction ;"  that  Tyre,  the 
great  port  of  the  ancient  world,  has  become,  according  to  the 
warnings  of  Ezekiel,  a  place  only  for  the  drying  of  fisher- 
men's nets  ;  that  Egypt,  the  mother  of  arts,  has  become  "  the 
basest  of  kingdoms,"  and  has  never  since  been  able  "  to  exalt 
herself  among  the  nations,"  as  if  to  show  that  all  the  events 
of  futurity  are  naked  and  open  to  that  omniscient  Spirit  who 
foretold  her  doom,  and  predicted  her  permanent  humiliation. 

Nor,  in  contemplating  the  great  scheme  of  prophecy,  and 
the  support  which  it  yields  to  the  truth  of  Revelation,  must 
we  lose  sight  of  the  destines  of  the  Jewish  nation.*  In  the 
fearful  destruction  of  Jumsalem  by  the  Roman  army ;  in  the 
dispersion  and  long-continued  peculiarity  of  the  seed  of  Abra- 
ham ;  in  the  contempt,  persecution,  and  infamy  which  they 
have  so  long  endured  ;  in  the  promulgation  of  the  gospel 
among  Gentile  tribes;  in  the  many  and  hateful  corrup- 
tions of  the  religion  of  Jesus  which  have  been  introduced 
through  the  medium  of  Anti-Christian  powers;  and  in  the 
preservation  and  growing  triumphs  of  the  Christian  faith,  we 
have  such  indubitable  fulfilments  of  the  prophetic  record,  that 
he  who  refuses  to  embrace,  as  divine,  the  wondrous  volume 


(a)  Com.  Matt.  xxi.  1,  kc.  with  Zech.  ix.  9. 

[bj  Cora.  Isa.  i.  G.  I's.  xxii.,  Ixix.  20.  with  M.itt.  xxvii. 

(c)  Com.  Ztcli.  xi.  12.  with  Matt.  xxvi.  15.  xxvii.  3,  kc. 

*  "  nie  Evidence  of  Clu'istianity  derivL-d  from  its  Nature  and  I!i 


ception."    By  John  Bird  Sumner,  D.D.,  Lord  Bishop  of  Chester. 
Fourth  Edition.     12mo.  pp.  124 — 133. 

*  "^  The  great  lawgiver  of  the  Jews,'  observes  !Mr.  Home,  (in 
his  Introduction,  vol.  i.  p.  32"),  foretold  that  they  should  be  remov- 
ed into  all  the  kingdoms  of  the  eartli, — scattered  among  all  peo- 
ple from  one  end  of  the  earth,  e^-cn  unto  the  otlier^—find  no  ease  or 
rest, — be  oppressed  and  crushed  alii'ai/s, — be  left  fe^  in  number 
among  f/i/?  fieat/ien, — pine  a-way  in  their  iju't^uiti/  in  their  enemies'* 
land, — and  become  an  astonishment,  a  proverb,  and  a  bye-ivord  vnto 
all  nations.  These  predictions  were  literally  fultilled  during  tlieir 
subjection  to  the  Chaldeans  and  Romans  ;  and,  in  later  times,  in  all 
the  nations  where  tliey  have  been  dispersed.  Closes  foretold  Uiat 
their  enemies  would  besiege  and  take  their  cities  ;  and  this  pro- 
pliecy  was  fulfilled  by  Sliishak,  King  of  Eg\-pt ;  Shalmaneser,  King 
of  Assyria  ;  Nebuchadnezzar,  Antiochus,  Epiplianes,  Sosius,  and 
Herod  ;  and  finally  by  Titus.  Moses  foretold  that  such  grievous 
famines  should  prevail  during  those  sieges,  tliat  they  should  eat 
the  flesh  of  their  sons  and  daughters.  This  prediction  was  fulfilled 
about  six  hundi-ed  years  after  die  time  of  Moses,  ■«  hen  Samaria  was 
bijsicged  by  the  King  of  Syria  ;  also,  about  nine  hundred  years 
after  that  time,  among  the  Jews,  during  tlie  siege  of  Jerusalem,  be- 
fore the  Babylonish  captivity  ;  and  finally,  fifteen  hundred  years 
after,  at  llie  siege  of  Jerusalem  by  the  Komans.  Though  tlie  He- 
brews were  to  be  as  the  stars  of  heaven  for  multitude,  Moses 
predicted  tliat  they  should  be  few  in  number,  and  liis  prophecy  was 
fidfilled  :  for,  in  the  last  siege  of  Jerusalem,  Josephus  tells  us  lliat 
ifinite  multitude  perished  by  famine  ;  and  he  compute's  the 
total  number  who  perished  by  it,  and  by  the  war  in  .Jerusalem,  and 
other  parts  of  Judea,  at  ojie  million  two  hundred  and  forty  tliousaiid 
four  hundred  and  ninety,  hesides  ninely-idne  thousand  two  hundred 
who  were  made  prisoners,  ayid  sold  unto  their  etiemies  for  bondmen 
and  bondivomen  ,•  and  after  tiieir  last  overtln-ow  by  Hath-ian,  many 
thousands  of  ihem  were  sold  ;  and  those  for  whom  purchasers 
could  not  be  found  (Moses  foretold  that  jio  man  -I'Oitld  Inry  them) 
were  transported  into  Egypt,  where  they  perished  by  shipwreck  or 
famine,  or  were  massacred  by  tlic  inhabitants.  Since  the  destruc- 
tion of  Jerusalem,  they  have  been  scattered  among  all  nations ; 
among  whom  they  have  found  no  ease,  nor  haz'e  the  soles  rf  their  feet 
had  rest ;  tliey  have  been  oppressed  and  spoiled  evermore,  especially 
in  the  East,  where  the  tyranny  exercised  over  tjieni  is  so  severe,  as 
to  aflbrd  a  literal  fulfilment  of  the  prediction  of  Closes, — lliy  life 
shidl  hang  in  doubt  before  thee,  and  thou  shaltfear  day  and  rJght, 
and  shall  have  no  assurance  of  thy  life.  Yet,  notwithstanding  all 
their  oppressions,  tliey  have  still  continued  a  separate  people,  with- 
out incorporating  willi  the  nations  i  ami  they  hui'e  become  an  as- 
totdshment  and  a  bye-word  among  all  the  nations  w  hitlier  they  have 
been  carried  since  their  punishment  has  been  inflicted.  The  verv 
name  of  a  Jew  has  been  used  as  a  term  of  peculiar  reproach  anil 
infamy.  Finally,  it  was  foretold,  that  their  plagues  should  be  won- 
derful, even  great  plagues,  and  of  long  continuance.  And  have 
not  their  plagues  continued  more  llian  seventeen  hundred  years? 
In  comparison  of  them,  their  former  captivities  were  very  short ; 
dui-ing  their  captivity  in  Chaldea,  Ezekiel  and  Daniel  prophesied  ; 
but  now  they  have  no  true  prophet' to  foretell  the  end  of  tlieir  calam- 
ities. AVbat  nation  has  suffered  so  ranch,  and  yet  endured  so  long.' 
"Wliat  nation  has  subsisted  as  a  distinct  people  in  their  own  countrv 
so  long  as  die  Jews  have  done  in  tlieir  dispersion  into  all  countries'* 
And  what  a  STA^rixo  miu-iclk  is  tlius  exhibited  to  the  world  in 
live  fidfilnient,  at  this  very  time,  of  prophecies  delivered  consiftbr- 
ably  more  than  tliree  thousand  years  ago!  AVbat  a  permanent 
attcstat.oii  is  it  to  the  divine  legation  of  Moses  I" 


ISO 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


of  which  it  forms  such  a  distinguished  part,  sins  against  all 
the  laws  of  moral  evidence,  and,  at  the  same  time,  risks 
his  eternal  salvation  by  rejecting  the  council  of  God  against 
himself. 

4 .  The  evidence  of  Christ  ianiiy  derived  from  a  correct  estimate 
of  lis  early  success. 

It  would  be  most  inconclusive  to  infer  the  supernatural 
origin  of  Christianity  from  the  mere  fact  of  its  success  ;  inas- 
mucli  as.-  some  of  the  greatest  impostures  the  world  ever 
knew  have  obtained,  for  many  ages,  a  most  powerful  and 
extensive  dominion  over  the  human  mind.  The  early  preva- 
lence of  the  gospel  is,  in  itself,  no  decisive  proof  of  its  divine 
origin.  Ere  it  can  be  regarded  as  such,  a  number  of  circum- 
stances must  combine  with  the  fact  of  its  success,  which 
admit  of  no  just  or  rational  solution  but  .the  admission  of  the 
finger  of  God.  The  question  then  is,  did  such  circumstances 
evince  themselves  in  the  early  triumphs  of  Christianity  1 
And,  if  they  did,  wherein  did  they  consist?  and  how  do  they 
admit  of  being  exhibited  in  the  shape  of  a  conclusive  argu- 
ment for  the  truth  and  divinity  of  the  gospel  ? 

It  is  then  a  fact  that  Jesus  of  Nazareth  was  put  to  death 
in  the  reign  of  Tiberius,  by  the  order  of  Pontius  Pilate,  his 
Procurator.*  It  is  a  fact  that  as  early  as  the  time  of  Clau- 
dius, who  died  within  twenty  years  of  the  crucifixion,  the 
religious  assemblies  of  the  Christians  were  proscribed  under 
open  pretext  that  they  were  withdrawing  men  from  the  wor- 
ship of  the  gods.f  It  is  a  fact,  lliat  in  the  reign  of  Nero, 
the  followers  of  Christ  endured  persecutions  of  the  most  fear- 
ful kind,  and  that  this  wicked  despot  endeavoured  to  fix  upon 
them  the  stigma  of  burning  Rome,  though  it  was  justly  and 
loudly  charged  on  himself. |:  It  is  a  fact  that  Pliny  the  younger, 
a  Proconsul  under  the  Emperor  Trajan,  who  was  contempo- 
rary with  Ignatius,  and  who  flourished  about  seventy-five 
years  after  the  death  of  Christ,  describes  the  Christian  assem- 
blies in  Bithynia  and  Pontus  as  consisting  of  "avast  multi- 
tude"§  of  all  ages  and  s:xes,  and  speaks  of  Christianity  as 


*  Sec  Tacitus,  Anal.  xv.  44.         +  See  Suetonius  in  Claud.  25. 

i  See  Tacitus,  as  above.  I  give  Paley's  translation.  "  But 
neither  these  exertions,  nor  his  largesses  to  the  people,  nor  his 
offerings  to  the  gods,  did  a^vay  tlic  iufanious  imputation  under  which 
Nero  Liy,  of  having  ordered  the  city  to  be  set  on  fire.  To  put  an 
end  therefore  to  tliis  report,  he  laid  the  guilt  and  inflicted  tlie  most 
cruel  i)uuishments  upon  a  set  of  people  who  were  held  iu  abiior- 
rence  tor  their  crimes,  and  called  by  the  vulgar,  Christians.  The 
founder  of  that  name  was  Christ,  who  sutlered  death  in  the  reign 
of  Tiberius,  under  his  Procurator,  Pontius  Pilate.  The  pernicious 
superstition,  thus  checked  for  a  while,  broke  out  again,  and  spread 
not  only  over  Judea,  v\here  the  evil  originated,  but  Uu-ough  Kome 
also,  whither  every  thing  bad  upon  earth  finds  its  way,  and  is  prac- 
tised. Some  who  confessed  their  sect  v  ere  first  seized  ;  and  alV'r- 
wards,  by  tlieir  information,  a  vast  multitude  were  apprehended, 
who  were  convicted,  not  so  much  of  the  crime  of  burning  Kome,  as 
of  hatred  to  mankind.  Their  sufterings  and  their  execution  were 
aggravated  by  insult  and  mockeiy,  for  souie  were  disguised  in  the 
skins  of  wild  beasts  aud^worried  to  death  by  dogs,  some  were  cruci- 
fied, and  otliers  were  wrapt  in  pitched  shirts,  and  set  on  fire  when 
the  flays  closed,  that  they  might  serve  as  lights  to  illuminate  the 
night.  Nero  lent  his  own  gardens  for  these  executions ;  and 
exhibited  at  the  same  time  a  mock  Circensian  entertainment,  heiu^ 
a  spectator  of  the  whole  in  the  dress  of  a  charioteer,  sometimes 
mingling  with  the  croud  on  foot,  and  sometimes  viewing  the  spec- 
tacle from  his  car.  This  conduct  made  the  sufferers  pitied  ;  and 
Uiough  they  were  criminals,  and  deserving  the  severest  punishments, 
yet  tliey  were  considered  as  sacrificed,  not  so  much  out  of  regard  to 
the  public  good,  as  to  gratify  the  cruelty  of  one  man." 

§  ''  Ingens  multitudo,"  a  vast  multitude,  is  the  historian's  expres- 
sion. I  insert  the  whole  letter  accoi-ding  to  IVIilner's  translation, 
though  he  has  not  preserved  tlie  fidl  force  of  the  original  iu  his 
rendering  of  this  exi)rcssion. 

' '  C'.  Plhii/  to  Trajan,  Emperor- 

"  Health. — It  is  my  usual  custom,  Sir,  to  refer  all  things  of 
which  I  harboiu"  any  doubts  to  you.  For  who  can  better  direct  my 
judgment  in  its  hesitation,  or  instruct  my  understanding  in  its 
ignorance  ?  I  never  had  the  fortune  to  be  present  at  any  examina- 
tion of  Christians  before  I  came  into  this  province.  I  am,  there- 
fore, at  a  loss  to  determine  v\hat  is  the  usual  object  either  of  inquiry 
or  of  punishment,-  and  to  what  length  eidier  of  them  i%-to  be  carried. 
It  has  also  been  wid\  me  a  question  very  problematical,  whetlier 
any  distinction  shoidd  be  made  between  the  young  and  the  old,  the 
tender  and  the- robust; — whetlier  any  room  should  be  given  for 
repentance,  or  the  guilt  of  Clu-istianity  once  incurred  is  not  to  be 
expiated  by  the  most  unequivocal  retraction ; — whetlier  the  name 
itself,  abstracted  from  any  ilagitiousness  of  conduct,  or  the  crimes 
connected  with  the  name,  be  the  object  of  punishment-  In  the 
mean  time,  this  has  been  my  niediod,  with  i-cspect  to  tho.se  who 
were  brought  before  me  as  Christians.  I  asked  tlieni  whether  they 
were  Christians  :  it"  they  pleaded  guilty,  I  interrogated  them  twice 
afresh,  with  a' menace  of  capital  punishment.  In  case  of  obstinate 
per5e\erance,  I  ordered  tliein  to  be  executed.  For  of  this  I  had 
no  doubt,  wliatevcr  was  the  nature  of  their  religion,  that  a  sullen 
and  obstinate  inllexibility  called  for  the  vengeance  of  the  raagis- 


an  inveterate  superstition  which  had  spread  itself,  not  only 
through  cities,  but  over  villages  and  the  whole  country.*  It 
is  a  fact,  that  Christian  churches  were  established  in  every 
province  of  the  Roman  cmiiire  within  a  very  brief  period  of 
the  death  of  Christ,f  and  tiiat  thousands  and  tens  of  thou- 
sands of  new  converts  maintained,  with  unshaken  confidence, 
their  adherence  to  the  facts  and  promises  of  the  gospel  amidst 
the  heaviest  persecutions  and  calamities  that  ever  befel  mor-' 
tals  in  this  vale  of  tears.  It  is  a  fact  that  the  first  propaga- 
tors of  Christianity  were  only  fishermen  of  Galilee,  and  that 
they  sought  and  obtained  no  aid  from  human  power  iu  the 
prosecution  of  their  extraordinary  undertaking.  It  is  a  fact, 
that  the  experiment  of  Christianity  was  made  in  one  of  the 
most  enlightened  and  refined  periods  in  the  history  of  the 
world,  and  on  a  theatre  which  laid  it  open  to  the  scrutiny  and 
detection  of  all  Greece  and  Rome.  It  is  a  fact,  that  the  first 
messengers  of  the  cross  entered  into  no  compromise  with 

ti-ate.  Some  where  infected  with  the  same  madness  whom,  on 
account  of  tlieir  privilege  of  citizenship,  I  reserved  to  be  sent  to 
Rome  to  be  referred  to  your  ti-ibunal.  In  tlie  course  of  this  busi- 
ness, informations  pourin.g  in,  as  is  usual  when  they  are  encouraged, 
more  cases  occurred.  An  anonymous  libel  was  exhibited  witli  a 
caUilogue  of  names  of  persons,  who  yet  declared  that  tlicy  were  not 
Christians  then,  or  ever  had  been  ;  and  they  repeated  after  me  an 
invocation  of  the  gods  and  of  your  image,  which,  for  this  purpose, 
I  had  ordered  to  be  brought  with  the  images  of  the  deities  ;■ — they 
performed  sacred  rites  v\  ith  wine  and  frankincense,  and  execrated 
Clirist :  none  of  which  tilings,  I  am  told,  a  real  Christian  can  ever 
be  compelled  to  do.  On  tliis  accovnit  I  dismissed  tliem.  0.tliers, 
named  by  an  informer,  first  afiirmcd,  and  then  denied  the  charge  of 
Christianity ;  declaring  that  tliey  had  been  Christians,  but  had 
ceased  to  be  so  ;  some  three  years  ago,  otliers  still  longer,  some 
even  twenty  years  ago.  All  of  them  worshipped  your  image  and 
the  statues  of  the  gods,  and  also  execrated  Christ.  And  this  was 
the  account  v\hich  they  gave  of  the  nature  of  tlie  religion  tliey  once 
had  professed,  whether  it  deserves  the  name  of  crime  or  eri'or  ; — 
namely,  that  they  were  accustomed,  on  a  stated  day,  to  meet  before 
day-light,  and  to  repeat  among  themselves  an  hymn  to  Christ  as  to  a 
god,  and  to  bind  Oiemselves  by  an  oath,  with  an  obligation  of  not 
commiting  any  wickedness,  but,  on  the  conti-ary,  of  abstaining  from 
thefts,  robberies,  and  adulteries  ; — also  of  not  violating  their  pro- 
mise, or  denying  a  pledge  ; — after  wliich,  it  was  tlieir  custom  to 
separate,  and  meet  again  at  a  promiscuous  harmless  meal,  from 
which  last  practice'  they  however  desisted  after  the  publication  of 
my  edict,  in  which,  agreeably  to  your  orders,  I  forbade  any  socie- 
ties of  that  sort  ;  on  which  account,  I  judged  it  the  more  necessary 
to  inquire,  bt  touture,  from  two  females,  who  were  said  to  be 
deaconesses,  what  is  the  real  truth.  But  nothing  could  I  collect, 
except  ij  depraved  and  excessive  superstition.  Deferring,  tliere- 
fore,  any  further  investigation,  I  determined  to  consult  you  ;  for 
the  numlier  of  culprits  is  so  great,  as  to  call  for  serious  consulUi- 
tion.  Many  persons  are  informed  against,  of  every  age,  and  botli 
sexes  ;  and  more  still  will  be  in  the  same  situation.  '  Tiie  contagion 
of  the  superstition  hath  spread,  not  only  through  cities,  but  even 
villages  and  the  country.  Not  that  I  think  it  impossible  to  check 
and  to  correct  it.  The  success  of  my  endeavours  hitherto  forbids 
such  desponding  thoughts  ;  lor  tlie  temples,  once  almost  desolate, 
begin  to  be  frequented,  and  the  sacred  solemnities,  which  had  long 
been  intermitted,  are  now  attended  afresh  ;  and  tlie  sacrificial  vic- 
tims are  now  sold  everywhere,  which  once  could  scarce  find  a  pur- 
cha.ser.  "Whence  I  conclude,  lliat  many  might  be  reclaimetl  were 
the  hope  of  impunity,  on  repentance,  absolutely  confirmed." 
The  Emperor  Trnjan^s  rcphf  to  PUny. 

"  You  have  done  perfectly  right,  my  dear  Pliny,  in  the  inquiiy 
which  you  have  made  concerning  Christians.  For  truly  no  one 
general  rule  can  be  laid  down  \^hich  will  apply  itself  to  all  cases. 
These  people  must  not  be  sought  after:  if  they  are  brought  before 
you  and  convicted,  let  them  be  capitally  punished,  yet  with  this 
restriction,  tliat  if  any  renounce  Christianity,  and  evidence  his 
sincerity  by  supplicating  our  gods,  however  suspected  he  may  be 
for  the  past,  he  shall  obtain  pardon  for  tlie  future,  on  his  repent- 
ance. But  anonymous  libels  in  no  case  ought  to  be  attended  to  ; 
ibr  the  jirecedent  would  be  of  the  worst  sort,  and  perfectly  incon- 
gruous to  the  maxims  of  my  government." 

*  See  Plin.  Epist.  Lib.  x.  Kp.  91. 

t  "  The  rapidity  and  extent  of  die  propagation  of  the  gospel  were 
such  as  to  prove  its  divine  origin.  On  the  very  first  day  of  its  pro- 
mulgation, three  thousand  were  converted  ;  these  soon  increased  to 
five  thousand.  Multitudes,  both  of  men  and  women,  u  ere  after- 
wards daily  added  to  the  new  religion.  Before  the  end  of  thirty 
years,  the  gospel  had  spread  tlirough  Judea,  Galilee,  Samaria, 
alniost  all  tile  numerous  districts  of  Lesser  Asia  ;  tlirough  Greece, 
and  die  Islands  of  the  JEgcan  Sea,  and  the  sea-co.ast  of  Africa,  and 
had  passed  on  to  the  capital  of  Itjily.  Great  multitvidcs  believed  at 
Antioch  in  Svria,  at  Joppa,  Ephcsus,  Corinth,  Thessalonica,  Bera:a, 
lconium,Derbe,  Antioch  in  Pisidia,  at  Lydda  and  Saron.  Converts 
also,  are  mentioned  at  Tyre,  Cicsarea,  Troas,  Athens,  Pbilippi, 
Lystra,  Damascus.  Thus  far  the  sacred  narrative  conducts  us.  The 
religion  being  thus  widely  diff'used,  the  New  Testament  carries 
us  no  further.  But  all  ecclesiastical  and  profane  history  concurs  in 
describing  the  rapid  progress  of  the  new  doctrine.  Tacitus,  Sueto- 
nius, Juvenal,  Plinv,  Martial,  Marcus  Anrelius,  sufficiently  testify 
the  propagation  of  Cliristianity." — Soe  Bishop  Wilson's  Evidences, 
vol.  i.  p.  250,  12mo. 


A  PORTRAITURE  OF  MODERN  SCEPTIC ISiM. 


ISl 


llie  vicpsand  corruptions  of  mankind,  but  that  they  denounced 
every  system  of  evil,  and  soutjht  only  to  win  men's  applause 
by  bringing  them  to  perceive  and  acknowledge  the  exquisite 
loveliness  of  truth,  and  b}^  teaching  them  to  submit  to  a  course 
of  religious  and  moral  discipline,  which  made  them  kind 
and  forgiving,  peaceful  and  holy.  It  is  a  fact,  that  the  doc- 
trine taught  by  the  Apostles  of  Jesus  of  Nazareth  was,  in 
many  respects,  new;  that  it  proclaimed  facts  of  a  strictly 
miraculous  nature ;  that  it  sternly  opposed  every  existing 
system  of  religion  ;  that  it  rebuked  and  condemned  those 
vices  and  depraved  habits  which  \mivcrsally  prevailed  ;  that, 
nevertheless,  it  rapidly  spread,  and  that  in  less  than  three 
centuries  it  subverted  the  religion  of  pagan  Rome,  and  es- 
tablished itself  on  the  throne  of  the  Caesars. 

Had  Christianity  been  adapted  to  the  depraved  inclinations 
of  the  human  heart;  bad  it  flattered  men's  pride,  ambition, 
and  vain-glory  ;  had  it  promised  or  secured  worldly  honour 
and  prosperity;  bad  it  been  hailed  by  the  great  and  noble  of 
mankind ;  had  it  been  supported  by  human  power,  and  de- 
fended by  the  swords  and  shields  of  the  earth  ;  had  conquer- 
ing armies  been  its  heralds,  and  the  spoils  of  enemies  its  re- 
wards ;  its  success  would  then  have  been  no  mystery,  and  its 
triumphs  would  then  have  afforded  no  proof  of  supernatural 
interference.  But  if  the  reverse  of  all  this  was  the  case; 
if  Christianity  had  nothing  in  it  to  pamper  human  corruption  ; 
nothing  to  administer  to  the  pride  of  the  human  heart;  nothing 
to  present  to  its  disciples  in  the  shape  of  worldlj'  allurement; 
nothing  to  draw  around  it  men  of  high  renown  ;  nothing  of 
power  to. terrify  or  subdue;  .notliing  to  support  the  courage 
of  its  professors  but  the  testimony  of  a  good  conscience  and 
the  hopes  of  a  better  life  ;  what  shall  be  said  if  after  all  it 
triumphed  ?  Yes,  if  while  it  opposes  itself  to  all  the  world  it 
prevail,  what  shall  be  said  ?  if  in  the  absence  of  all  the  ordi- 
nary causes  and  weapons  of  success  it  prevail,  what  shall  be 
said  I  Let  us  look  at  the  facts  of  this  case,  and  impartially 
determine  if  there  was  any  thing  merely  human  in  the  ori- 
ginal agencies  of  Christianity  to  account  for  the  results  which 
followed  their  employment.  The  results  are  these  :  the 
whole  Roman  empire,  in  a  few  short  years,  was  pervaded  by 
the  gospel ;  multitudes  of  Jews  and  Pagans  were  won  over 
to  the  sincere  belief  of  the  facts  of  Christianity;  the  very 
aspects  and  institutions  of  society  were  completely  changed 
and  re-modelled  by  the  new  doctrine ; — the  flames  of  perse- 
cutidh  were  borne  with  exemplary  fortitude,  patience,  and 
forgiveness ;  the  cause  triumphed  by  means  of  its  very  disas- 
ters ;  and  the  power  which  attempted  to  crush  it  at  last 
yielded  to  its  mysterious  influence. 

Such  are  the  results;  and  what  are  the  apparent  agencies  by 
which  they  were  effected?  The  doctrine  of  one  who  was 
crucified  at  Jerusalem  between  two  thieves,  the  preaching  of 
a  few  illiterate  fishermen  of  (jalilee,  and  the  exemplary  zeal 
and  consistency  of  those  who  ranked  themselves  as  the  disci- 
ples of  the  cross. 

If,  then,  the  agencies  of  Christianity  were  merely  humaii, 
or  if  they  were  nothing  more  than  a  system  of  deliberately 
adjusted  imposture,  how  comes  it  to  pass  that  there  was  so 
little  in  the  apparent  process  to  account  for  the  effect  producedl 
If  all  was  of  man,  how  did  it  happen  that  he  constructed  a 
scheme  in  the  very  teeth  of  human  prejudicel  and,  more  than 
this,  how  did  it  happen  that  a  scheme  so  constructed  obtained 
a  footing  among  mankind?  Was  it  so  easy  a  thing  to  subvert 
Jewish  prejudice,  in  the  very  city  of  Jerusalem,  and  to  silence 
the  oracles  of  heathenism  where  they  had  ruled  with  despotic 
sway,  that  twelve  fishermen,  just  quitting  their  nets,  and  de- 
termining to  become  the  founders  of  a  new  religion,  shouldbe 
deemed  equal  to  the  task?  Let  such  a  case  be  imagined  to 
take  place  in  our  own  age  and  nation.  For  if  Christianity  be 
not  from  heaven,  nothing  forbids  the  success  of  such  another 
experiment  on  the  credulity  of  mankind  now  any  more  than 
formerly.  But  does  any  one  in  his  sober  senses  believe  that 
it  would  succeed,  or  that  it  would  produce  even  any  conside- 
rable impression?  We  have  had,  it  is  true,  occasional  excite- 
ment produced  by  certain  extravagant  persons,  but  their  par- 
'  tial  success  has  mainly  depended  upon  their  appeal  to  the  ge- 
neral data  of  Christianity,  and  upon  their  professed  adherence 
to  its  cardinal  doctrines.  We  might  challenge  all  the  philo- 
sophers who  ever  lived  to  invent  or  to  proi>agate  any  impos- 
ture answering  to  the  character  of  Christianity.  The  thing  is 
impossible.  Its  facts  and  its  success  are  solitary  examples  in 
the  history  of  our  world.  Paganism  and  llie  religion  of  the 
False  Prophet  have  nothing  in  common  with  them.*     The 


former  accumulated  its  materials  by  a  progressive  departure 
from  all  right  notions  of  the  moral  character  of  God,  and  by  its 
marked  coincidence  with  every  thing  base  and  polluted  in  hu- 
man nature;  and  the  latter  was  ]iropagated  at  the  edge  of  the 
sword,  and  amidst  all  those  promises  of  sensual  indulgence 
which  are  so  grateful  to  a  nature  prone  to  the  love  of  sin. — 
But  Christianity  stood  forth  in  the  spotless  purity  of  its  divino 
Author,  and  refused  to  own  any  as  its  true  disciples  who  re- 
mained under  the  dominion  of  their  crimes.  It  assailed  men 
with  none  of  the  weapons  of  human  power,  but  made  its  tri- 
umphant appeal  to  the  understanding  and  the  heart.  It  boast- 
ed of  no  earthly  patronage;  but  went  forth  in  a  secret  and  hid- 
den power,  which  was  "  mighty  to  the  pulling  down  of  strong 
holds."  All  weakness  in  its  exterior  agencies,  it  became 
"the  wisdom  of  God,  and  the  power  of  God  to  the  salvation" 
of  thousands  and  tens  of  thousands  who  embraced  its  merci- 
ful provisions.  It  changed  the  very  face  of  society,  and  ef- 
fected revolutions  in  the  manners,  customs,  and  laws  of  man- 
kind, which  all  other  systems  had  failed  to  achieve.  It  is  un- 
philosophical  in  the  highest  degree  to  trace  its  early  preva- 
lence to  the  mere  influence  of  ordinary  and  secondary  causes. 
There  is  no  problem  of  the  world's  history  bearing  the  least 
resemblance  to  it.  The  experience  of  mankind  supplies  no  il- 
lustration of  any  thing  like  the  successes  of  Christianity  spring- 
ing from  mere  human  instrumentality,  whether  well  or  ill  di- 
rected. Must  men  then  acknowledge  a  miracle  in  their  zeal 
to  get  rid  of  a  miraculous  history?  This  is  indeed  very  pre- 
posterous; but  it  is  nevertheless  the  condition  to  which  those 
reduce  themselves  who  would  attempt  to  account  for  the 
mighty  revolution  produced  by  Christianity  upon  mere  natu- 
ral principles.  They  discard  the  doctrine  of  miracles,  they 
repudiate  the  testimony  by  which  the  miraculous  facts  of  the 
Gospel  are  handed  down  to  mankind;  but  they  call  upon  their 
disciples  to  believe,  without  a  title  of  evidence,  that  the  fish- 
ermen of  Galilee  could  have  done  all  that  they  did,  and  that 
Christianity  could  have  gained  all  its  conquests,  without  the 
slightest  aid  from  heaven,  nay,  though  imposture  and  decep- 
tion were  written  on  the  entire  undertaking.  We  demand  of 
them  an  illustrative  example,  and  we  are  sure  that  they  can- 
not produce  it.  In  the  absence,  then,  of  all  experience  to 
gnide  our  course,  and  in  opposition  to  all  enlightened  calcu- 
lations of  what  human  agency  can  effect,  in  certain  given  in- 
stances, we  are  called  upon  by  infidels  to  believe  that  the 
early  successes  of  Christianity  might  be  traced  to  the  opera- 
tion of  secondary  causes.*  To  the  mind  of  any  unprejudiced 
person,  this  will  present  all  the  startling  difficulty  of  a  mira- 
cle, without  any  of  that  credible  testimony  by  which  alone  a 
miracle  can  be  shown  to  have  taken  place. 

It  is  nothing  short  of  an  insult  ofiered  to  my  understanding, 
first  to  point  mo  to  the  great  moral  and  intellectual  revolution 
which  was  produced  by  Christianity,  within  a  very  short  pe- 
riod of  the  death  of  its  founder,  and  then  to  assign  as  its  sole 
cause,  the  zeal,  energy,  and  talent  of  the  fishermen  of  Gali- 
lee; and  the  credulity,  love  of  novelty,  and  versatility  which 
obtain  among  mankind. 

Upon  evei^y  sceptical  theory,  the  early  triumphs  of  the  gos- 
pel are  not  only  unaccounted  for,  but  totally  unaccountable. 
.Such  a  change  was   never  wrought  by  mere  human  means. 


*  "  No  religion,  purely  as  a  religion,"  observes  Dr.  Wilson,  the 
present  Bishop  of  Calcutta,  "  was  ever  propagated  but  the  Christian. 


lleatbenism  \\as  never  a  matter  of  dissemination  or  conversion.  It 
had  no  crecif,  no  origin  distinct  from  llie  corrupt  ti-accs  of  a  remote 
fab\dous  antiqiuty.  ix  was  a  creature  of  human  mould,  contrived  for 
the  sake  of  human  legislation.  Tlie  Greeks  and  Romans  imposed  it 
not  on  their  suljject  nations.  Mabomedanisui  v.as  the  triumpli  of  the 
sword.  Conciuest,  not  religious  failli,  was  its  manifest  obj  ect;  rapine, 
violence,  and  bloodslied  were  its  credentials. 

■  No  religion  was  ever  attempted  to  be  spread  through  the  world 
l)v  the  means  of  instruction  and  persuasion,  witli  an  aulhoritj'  of  its 
own,  but  Christianity.  The  idea  never  came  into  the  mind  of  rpan 
to  propagate  a  religion  having  for  its  set  design  and  exclusive  object 
the  enlightening  of  mankind  witli  a  doctrine  professedly  divine,  till 
Christianity  said  to  her  disciples,  "Go  ye  into  all  the  world,  and 
preach  the  Gospel  to  every  creature."  See  "  the  Evidences  of  Cliris- 
tianity  stated,  8jc.  kc,"  in  two  vols.  12mo.  Second  edition,  pp.  259, 
200. 

*  The  reader  will  perceive  that  the  author  has  not  taken  any  dis- 
tinct notice  of  Gibbon's  attempt  to  ti-aee  the  success  of  Clu-istianity  to 
the  influence  of  second  causes.  The  reason  is  simply  tins,  that  he 
deemed  it  better  to  pursue  the  argument  widiout  encumbering  it  by 
any  specific  reference  to  the  special  pleadings  and  inconclusive  rea- 
soiiiiigs  of  that  great  but  unhappy  day.  Tlie  objections,  however, 
have  iieen  met,  tliough  they  liave  not  been  alluded  to;  and,  indeed, 
it  is  a  matter  of  just  surprise  that  arguments  so  weak  and  futile 
slionld  have  ever  been  raised  to  the  notoriety  of  a  grave  refutalinn. 
Those  who  wish  to  see  this  sceptical  philosopher  exhibited  in  liis 
proper  light,  are  recommended  to  read  the  I!cv.  A.  Reed's  discourse 
on  "The  Evidence  of  Revelation  derived  from  the  success  of  the 
Gospel."  See  Note,  p.  182. 


182 


CHRISTIAN   LIBRARY. 


The  entire  experience  of  the  race,  and  all  the  great  facts  of 
history,  combine  to  show  the  utter  irrationality  of  sujiposing 
that  a  few  obscure  fislirrmcn  and  nriechanics  could  have  baf- 
fled all  the  wisdom  of  the  wise,  brought  to  nothing  the  coun- 
sel of  the  prudent,  and  levelled  in  the  dust  the  mightiest 
fabrics  of  superstition  and  vice. 

But  when  we  admit  the  doctrine  of  a  supernatural  influ- 
ence, according  to  the  distinct  announcements  of  Christianity 
itself,  we  are  reminded  of  a  cause  adequate  to  produce  the 
effects  witnessed.  Then  we  wonder  not  that  the  weakest  in- 
struments should  prevail,  that  disaster  should  lead  to  triumph, 
and  that  the  blood  of  the  martyrs  should  he  the  seed  of  the 
church.  If  the  mighty  power  of  God  was  with  the  apostles, 
no  wonder  that  thousands  and  tens  of  thousands  should  be- 
come obedient  to  their  message.  If  the  i;uickening  energy  of 
tlie  living  .Spirit  was  seen,  on  the  one  hand,  in  external  signs 
and  wonders,  rendering  all  gainsayers  inexcusable  ;  and,  on 
tlie  other,  in  inward,  powerful,  and  all-subduing  movements 
of  the  heart  and  conscience,  what  wonder  was  it  if  the  con- 
gregated multitudes  of  Pcntecoste  trembled,  repented,  and 
turned  to  God  ;  and  if  the  Pagan  world  responded  to  the  mighty 
and  gracious  impulse  1  By  the  nature  of  the  facts  to  be  ac- 
counted for,  then,  no  less  than  by  the  actual  data  of  Christi- 
anity, are  we  driven  to  the  conclusion,  that  there  was  an  in- 
terior and  hidden  but  all  controlling  power,  which  accompa- 
nied and  rendered  effectual  the  first  propagation  of  Christian- 
ity, which  has  watched  over  it  from  age  to  age,  and  which 
occasions  all  its  success  and  all  its  blessed  influence  in  the 
day  in  which  we  live.  I  conclude  this  branch  of  evidence  in 
the  language  of  an  eloquent  living  author  : — "  Here  is  a  re- 
ligious system,  denominated  Christian,  which  enters  the 
world  at  a  most  inauspicious  period,  supposing  it  to  be  an 
imposture.  It  has  not  one  principle  in  common  with  the  re- 
ligions which  then  prevailed.  It  is  attempted  to  be  propa- 
gated by  a  few-  persons  who  are  signally  disqualified  for  the 
undertaking,  and  are  hated  of  all  nations.  It  is  opposed,  from 
the  very  first,  by  Jew  and  Gentile,  and  chiefly  by  those  who 
had  most  power  and  influence  in  their  hands.  Moreover,  this 
religion  is  hostile  to  human  opinion,  human  prejudice,  human 
interest,  human  nature  ;  and  this  is  apparent  from  the  admit- 
ted nature  of  man  and  the  avowed  principles  of  the  gospel,  as 
well  as  from  the  facts,  that  when  men  have  been  induced  to 
adopt  the  Christian  name,  they  have  remained  at  enmity  to 
the  Christian  faith,  and  that  there  has  been,  in  every  age,  a 
jiredominant  disposition  to  misunderstand  and  misrepresent, 
to  pervert  and  degrade  it.  Yet  has  this  religion  been  propa- 
gated over  the  earth  with  a  facility  altogether  unparalleled  by 
any  art  or  science.  Yet  has  it  found  a  place  for  itself  in  ma- 
ny a  mind  and  country,  to  which  the  simplest  mathematical 
demonstrations  are  at  this  moment  unsolved  problems. 

"  What  is  the  conclusion  ?  It  is — it  must  be  this — that  the 
religion  of  Christ  could  not  have  been  propagated  by  any 
earthly  pmoer — that  it  could  not  have  been  propagated  by  any 
mere  external  age7ici/  of  Providence — that  it  could  have  been 
propagated  only  by  a  spiritual  and  supernatural  influence  ad- 
dressed to  the  perceptions  and  afieetions  of  men, — and  there- 
fore that  the  religion  of  Christ  is  divine,  and  its  propagation 
through  all  ages  is  a  distinct,  independent,  and  speaking 

EVIDENCE  of  its  divinity."* 

5.  The  Evidence  derived  from  asurvty  of  the  moral  and  social 
henefits  conferred  on  niankind  by  Christianity 

This  branch  of  evidence  may  be  treated,  like  the  prece- 
ding one,  as  a  question  simply  of  fact.  For  if  it  can  be  shown 
that  Christianity  has  done  more  than  all  other  causes  com- 
bined to  augment  the  resources  of  man's  present  enjoyment ; 
if  it  can  be  shown  that  it  has  heightened,  to  an  almost  incon- 
ceivable degree,  all  the  social  virtues  ;  if  it  can  be  shown  that 
human  nature  has  risen  to  an  nnheard-of  elevation  under  its 
benign  auspices,  it  will  follow,  as  bj'  resistless  consequence, 
after  all  the  fruitless  experiments  of  Greece  and  Rome,  that  it 
owes  its  origin  to  the  Fountain  of  all  wisdom  and  benevo- 
lence. 

It  is  a  fact,  then,  that  "  the  world  by  wisdom"  never  re- 
formed itself.  For  the  space  of  four  thousand  years  efl^ort  af- 
ter effort  was  made,  but  without  avail,  to  reduce  mankind  to 
some  standard  of  obedience,  and  to  rescue  them  from  the  do- 
minion of  selfishness  and  crime.  This  process  of  renovation 
was  attempted  in  the  fairest  portions  of  the  globe,  and  amidst 
all  the  advantages  of  the  highest  intellectual  cultivation.     It 


*  See  a  Discourse  by  the  Rev.  A.  Rccd,  on  "  The  Evidences  of 
Revelation  derived  froiii  the  success  of  tlic  Gospel,"  in  a  Volume  en- 
titled "  Lectures  on  sonu-  of  the  Principal  Evidences  of  Kcvclation 
deliviTcd  at  the  Montlilv  Meetings,kc."  pp.  223,  226. 


was  tried  in  the  heart  of  Europe  and  Asia,  when  philosophy 
and  arts  had  reached  their  greatest  eminence,  and  when  the 
human  mind  had  been  nurtured  in  the  schools  to  prodigious 
greatness.  In  a  thousand  forms  the  task  of  bettering  man's 
moral  condition  had  been  tried,  but  without  even  the  shadow 
of  success.  Many  of  the  precepts,  indeed,  of  the  heathen 
philosophers  were  good  ;  but  the  motives  urged  by  them  were 
sometimes  absurd,  often  vicious,  and  always  powerless  upon 
the  great  mass  of  the  people.  Their  own  standard  of  morals, 
in  not  a  few  instances,  was  glaringly  defective  ;  and  as  it  res- 
pected the  community  at  large,  the  theories  of  the  schools  did 
not  so  much  as  reach  even  the  outward  ear. 

In  all  their  pomp  and  magnificence,  when  poetry,  and 
painting,  and  statuary,  and  arms,  and  empire  had  reached 
the  very  zenith  of  their  glory,  Greece  and  Rome  were  as  little 
purged  from  crime  and  moral  degradation  as  were  the  savage 
hoards  of  the  north,  who,  in  wild  fury,  broke  in  upon  the 
empress  of  the  world's  destiny.  The  extreme  of  refinement, 
and  the  extreme  of  moral  turpitude,  met  on  the  same  theatre, 
and  in  the  same  actors.  A  base  and  monstrous  idolatry  every 
where  prevailed,  and  every  where  associated  itself  with  crimes 
which  are  reserved  in  Christian  countries  for  the  worst  of 
men,  and  for  the  most  hidden  recesses  of  the  basest  and  most 
degraded  of  mankind.  "It  is  a  shame  even  to  speak  of  those 
things  which  were  done  of  them  in  secret."  The  very  tem- 
ples of  the  gods  were  the  dwelling-places  of  sin.  There 
virgin  innocence  was  sacrificed  at  the  shrine  of  the  most 
scandalous  lusts ;  there  human  victims  were  immolated  upon 
the  blood-stained  altars  of  a  vile  and  unmeaning  idolatry; 
and  there  every  species  of  impurity  and  heartless  crueltj'  re- 
ceived the  sanction  of  a  priesthood  whose  hands  reeked  with 
blood,  and  whose  hearts  were  steeped  in  impenitence  and 
covetous  desire. 

It  is  a  fact,  too,  that  all  other  nations  have  shown  the  same 
propensities,  and  have  been  distinguished  by  the  same  moral 
habits  as  Greece  and  Rome.  It  might  have  been  supposed, 
indeed,  that  they  would  have  been  much  more  vicious ;  and  that 
in  proportion  as  they  receded  from  the  schools  of  philosoph}^ 
and  from  the  sphere  of  the  arts,  they  would  put  on  a  hue  of 
pollution  far  deeper  and  more  hideous.  This,  however,  is  by 
no  means  the  case.  The  crimes  of  classic  antiquity  have  never 
been  exceeded  in  the  African  hoard,  or  in  the  Polynesian  wild. 
Idolatry,  human  sacrifTce,  polygamy,  female  degradation, 
have  everywhere  abounded  in  heathen  lands;  whila  there 
stands  not  upon  the  record  of  this  world's  history  one  solitary 
instance  of  a  nation  rising,  by  its  own  energy,  from  the  wor- 
ship of  false  gods,  or  from  the  moral  debasement  and  crimes 
which  it  uniformly  involves. 

It  is  a  fact,  too,  that  Christianity  did  operate,  and  still 
continues  to  operate,  a  wondrous  change  upon  the  state  of 
society.  This  change  it  produced,  at  first,  by  means  the 
most  unlikely.  By  preaching  salvation  through  the  cross  of 
Christ,  the  first  heralds  of  Messiah's  kingdom,  though  in- 
dividuals comparatively  obscure,  brought  about  a  revolution 
of  public  opinion  and  of  outward  manners  such  as  had  never 
been  the  result  of  any  preceding  attempt  to  enlighten  and  to 
purify  mankind.  In  all  the  heathen  provinces  of  the  Roman 
empire,  and  in  the  very  capital  itself,  idolatry  was  every 
where  laid  aside  or  proscribed.  The  oracles  of  paganism 
were  silenced  by  the  living  oracles  of  God ;  and  the  horrid 
practices  of  the  temples  and  the  groves  were  exchanged  for 
the  decent  solemnities  of  Christian  worship,  and  for  the 
sober  and  virtuous  habits  of  Christian  citizens.  At  Athens, 
and  Corinth,  and  Ephesus,  and,  indeed,  all  the  chief  cities 
of  heathen  antiquity,  the  doctrine  of  Christ  was  the  instru- 
ment of  changing  and  remodelling  the  whole  frame-work  of 
society.  Wherever  it  reached,  it  meliorated  human  life;  and 
wherever  it  was  actually  embraced,  it  ennobled  and  purified 
individual  character.  The  limits  of  Christianity  have  been, 
from  its  first  propagation  to  the  present  moment,  the  boundary 
wall  beyond  which  idolatry  has  not  dared,  in  its  direct  forms, 
to  pass.  It  has  raised  the  standard  of  public  morals  above 
the  most  favoured  models  of  pagan  antiquity,  not  excepting 
those  even  of  the  far-famed  kingdoms  of  .Sparta  and  .SjTa- 
cuse.  Where  Christianity  has  waved  her  triumphant  banner, 
she  has  given  birth  to  a  state  of  things  altogether  new.  The 
worship  of  dumb  idols*  in  every  palpable  shape,  she  has  ut- 
terly abolished  ;  the  cruel  and  bloody  rites  which  were  prac- 
tised for  ages  and  generations  under  the  auspices  of  the  gods 
of  heathenism,  have  been  laid  aside  at  her  enlightened  and 


•  The  idolatry  of  tlie  Church  of  Rome,  though  practised  under  tlic 
Christian  name,  is  of  common  origin  with  that  of  the  Pantheon,  and 
can  be  no  less  hateful  in  tlie  sight  of  God. 


A  PORTRAITURE  OF  MODERN  SCEPTICISM. 


18.1 


benevolent  call ;  the  shameless,  and  eren  murderous,  sports 
of  the  Colisseum  she  has  frowned  into  total  annihilation  ;  the 
destruction  of  slaves  and  of  female  children  finds  no  sanction 
where  her  voice  of  mercy  Is  distinctly  heard  ;  the  deprecia- 
tion of  the  rights  vhich  belong  to  woman  is  nowhere  counte- 
nanced beneath  the  mild  sway  of  the  gospel ;  the  abominations 
of  polygamy  and  capricious  divorce  are  but  little  felt  in  any 
Christian  state  ;  the  vassalage  of  domestic  slavery  has  ceased 
to  foster  tyranny  on  the  one  hand,  and  ignoble  baseness  on 
the  other;*  the  direful  practice  of  private  assassination, f  by 
the  dagger  or  by  the  poisoned  bowl,  finds  no  advocates  in 
countries  upon  which  the  religion  of  Christ  has  exerted  its 
beneficial  tendency;  the  horrors  of  war,  great  as  they  must 
ever  be,  are  mitigated  in  a  tenfold  degree  under  the  generous 
dictation  of  the  gospel ;  the  poor,  the  aged  and  the  afflicted 
are  treated  with  a  degree  of  consideration  in  Christian  couii- 
tries  altogether  unknown  in  pagan  lands  ;  and  all  the  rights 
of  property  and  of  personal  safety  are  guaranteed,  with  a  de- 
gree of  precision,  in  nations  blessed  with  the  light  of  re- 
vealed truth,  to  which  Rome,  in  all  tlie  glory  of  empire,  never 
attained. 

.  All  this  is  matter  of  fact,  which  no  one  who  wishes  his 
understanding  to  be  respected  will  venture  for  a  moment  to 
deny.  So  palpably,  indeed,  is  it  such,  that  the  traveller, 
blind-folded,  may  be  able  to  tell  when  he  passes  from  Chris- 
tian territories  into  pagan  lands.  The  heathen  world  was 
one  vast  theatre  of  crime,  relieved,  indeed,  by  here  and  there 
some  heroic  example  of  virtuous  conduct,  but  sunk  as  a  whole 
into  the  abyss  of  moral  putridity  and  vice.  But  when  Chris- 
tianity arose  in  the  East,  like  some  bright  and  glorious  lumi- 
nary, it  dispelled  the  darkness  of  the  pagan  world,  and,  in  little 
more  than  two  centuries  from  the  time  of  its  first  publication, 
it  shivered  to  atoms  the  whole  system  of  idol  worship,  recon- 
structed the  entire  fabric  of  society,  introduced  new  maxims 
of  government  and  of  personal  conduct,  changed  the  manners 
and  habits  of  mankind,  drove  vice  from"  its  ancient  lurking 
places,  shut  the  temples  of  the  gods,  abolished  the  sacrifices 
of  an  idolatrous  priesthood,  and  made  the  hopes  and  fears  of 
immortality  the  governing  principles  of  thousands  and  tens  of 
thousands  of  the  human  race. 

Whence,  then,  sprung  the  power  of  a  triumph  so  great, 
so  speedy,  and  so  benignant'! — a  triumph  which  proclaimed 
peace  on  earth,  and  good  will  to  men ;  a  triumph  bloodless 
and  serene ;  a  triumph  which  delivered  such  a  large  portion 
of  the  human  race  from  the  vassalage  of  the  most  cruel  and 
abominable  idolatries;  a  triumph  which  issued  in  a  meliora- 
tion in  all  the  social  relations  of  man  which  the  wisdom  of 
this  world  could  never  produce  1  Whence,  I  ask,  sprung  the 
power  of  such  a  triumph^  Not  from  man  assuredly;  for  it 
was  unlike  all  the  other  manifestations  of  his  mental  charac- 
ter; and  it  was  followed  by  such  benign  and  holy  results  that 
it  stood  solitary  and  alone  upon  the  page  of  this  world's 
history.  Nor  was  there  any  thing  whatever  in  its  origin  to 
indicate  the  wisdom  of  man.  Had  man  constructed  a  scheme 
of  moral  renovation,  it  would  have  been  introduced  to  the  no- 
tice of  his  fellow-creatures  in  a  way  very  different  from  that 
in  which  Christianity  began  its  auspicious  career.  Let  two 
considerations  then  fully  possess  the  mind,  and  it  will  be 
impossible  to  resist  the  conclusion,  that  Christianity  is  from 
heaven.  In  the  first  place,  recollect  that  of  all  agencies  that 
could  be  contemplated,  the  first  heralds  of  the  cross  were  the 
least  likely  to  succeed  in  the  proposed  undertaking  of  con- 
verting the  world  ;  and,  in  the  second  place,  bear  in  mind,  as 
a  matter  of  fact,  that  in  spite  of  prejudice,  in  spite  of  a  huge 
system  of  idolatry,  in  spite  of  all  interest  and  power  and 
terror,  they  did  succeed  in  such  manner  as  never  before  had 
been  known;  and  in  doing  so  changed  the  whole  face  of  so- 
ciety, purifted  all  the  springs  of  human  action,  established 

•  In  nncient  Attica  lliere  were  450,000  inlialiitants,  out  of  wliich 
population  only  40,0OU  are  said  to  have  been  IVee.  It  is  a  dreadful 
blot  upon  the  character  of  this  country,  that  still  she  permits  ei^-ht 
hundred  thousand  Briti^i  subjects  to  be  bought  and  sold,  in  the  colo- 
iiies,  at  the  will  of  their  masters.  Christians  should  combine,  as 
such,  and  seek  the  immediate  removal  from  the  land  of  this  cryin* 
sin.  Alas  !  that  any  of  the  American  states  should  be  found,  to  this 
day,  engaged  in  the  slave  traffic!  Surely  the  word  liherty  must 
freeze  upon  the  tongues  of  such  Americans,  and  sui-cly  Christianitj- 
itself  can  be  known  among  tliem  only  as  a  name! 

t  It  was  no  uncommon  tiling  for  a  Roman  prxtor  to  convict,  in  one 
short  season,  in  Italy,  three  or  four  thousand  individuals  for  tlie  crime 
of  private  assassination  ^  and  among  these,  husbands  were  often  con- 
demned for  the  secret  murder  of  their  wives  in  order  to  obtain  tlieir 
dowry  ;  and  wives  for  the  murder  of  tlieir  husbands  in  order  to  se- 
cure a  union  to  the  miscreants  who  had  seduced  diera  from  the  paths 
of  virtxie. 


the  reign  of  peace  and  happiness,  drove  idolatry  from  the 
high  places  of  the  earth,  and  to  the  full  extent  of  their  triumph, 
paved  the  way  for  the  realization  of  another  paradise. 

The  power  which  scattered  so  much  darkness,  and  which 
spread  so  much  light ;  which  wrought  a  change  on  mankind 
so  pure  and  beneficial ;  which  diffused  such  a  mass  of  happi- 
ness, and  checked  sufli  a  mighty  current  of  misery  ;  which, 
like  an  electric  shock*  blasted  and  withered  all  the  ancient 
fabrics  of  idolatry,  and  on  their  ruins  erected  a  system  of  doc- 
trine and  a  form  of  worship  which  promised  and  yielded  peace 
and  joy  and  happiness  to  all  the  dwellers  upon  earth,  such  a 
power  as  this  could  only  have  emanated  from  that  throne  from 
which  issued  originally  the  high  behests  of  creation. 

And,  O  !  if  a  triumph  which  can  yet  only  be  regarded  as 
partial,  affords  such  intimation  of  the  benevolent  interposition 
of  the  Infinite  Mind,  what  an  evidence  of  the  divine  origin  of 
Christianity  will  be. supplied  to  mankind  when  its  moral 
transformations  are  complete,  when  all  nations  are  subjected 
to  its  righteous  sway,  when  its  disciples  shall  drink  more 
deeply  into  its  pure  and  benignant  spirit,  when  tliat  blessed 
influence  which  is  now  partial  shall  be  universal,  and  when 
the  church  of  the  living  God,  vocal  with  his  praise,  shall  re- 
flect with  sweetest  lustre  the  radiance  of  his  moral  image. 

Great  as  were  the  first  triumphs  of  the  gospel,  there  can  be 
no  doubt  but- that  greater  triumphs  yet  await  its  peaceful 
heralds.  In  the  morning  of  its  strength  it  subdued  the  Ro- 
man empire,  and  stood  confessed  the  prevailing  religion  of  the 
civilized  world ;  but  the  time  is  fast  approaching  when  it  shall 
he  proclaimed  the  religion  of  the  whole  earth,  and  when  the 
mighty  changes  it  shall  work  in  the  opinions,  manners,  and 
hopes  of  mankind,  shall  compel  the  most  thoughtless  of  a  re- 
bellious race  to  exclaim,  "  this  is  the  finger  of  God  !"  Then 
when  "the  people  shall  be  all  righteous,"  and  when  the 
Spirit  of  God  shall  he  "  poured  out  upon  all  flesh,"  shall  it, 
be  seen  that  Christianity  is  the  balm  of  bleeding  hearts,  the 
parent  of  peace  and  good  will,  and  the  angel  of  God's  mercy 
to  heal  all  the  miseries  and  vices  of  an  apostate  race. 


CHAPTER  IV. 
On  the  Transmission  of  the  Sacred  JJooliS. 

Though  Christianity  be  a  divine  religion,  it  may  be  possi- 
ble, in  the  lapse  of  ages,  that  the  record  which  discloses  its 
leading  doctrines  and  facts  has  undergone  some  serious  mu- 
tilation. Is  this  or  is  it  not  the  case  ?  This  is  an  important 
inquiry,  and  it  admits  of  an  easy  and  satisfactory  reply ;  a  re- 
ply which  must  carry  conviction  to  every  candid  mind  as  to 
the  genuineness,  authenticit}',  and  incorruptness  of  the  Sacred 
Books. 

That  they  were  written  by  the  men  whose  names  they  bear 
is  a  thing  quite  as  well  established  as  that  the  jEneid  was 
composed  by  Viro-il,  the  Iliad  by  Homer,  and  the  Cyropaedia 
by  Xenophon.  The  verj'  literary  character  of  the  Old  and 
New  Testament  Scriptures  \vould  go  far  to  prove  that  they 
are  genuine  productions.  They  exhibit  a  diversity  of  style, 
which  shows  that  they  were  written  by  various  authors,  and 
they  display  an  idiomatic  peculiarity  corresponding  to  the 
ages  and  circumstances  in  which  they  were  written.  Thus, 
ill  the  Pantateuch  we  meet  with  a  slight  mixture  of  Egyptian 
words,  as  might  be  expected  if  I\Ioses  was  the  writer ;  while 
in  the  books  of  Ezra,  Nehemiah,  and  Esther,  there  is  a  con- 
siderable infusion  of  Chaldee  and  Persian,  connecting  them 
beyond  all  reasonable  doubt  with  a  period  in  Jewish  history 
subsequent  to  the  Babylonish  captivity.  If,  moreover,  we 
turn  to  the  New  Testament,  we  find  its  several  parts  written 
n  a  species  of  Greek  partaking  largely  of  Hebrew,  Chaldee, 
Syriac,  and  Latin  words  and  phrases,  a  circutristance  exactly 
answering  to  all  that  might  have  been  anticipated  upon  the 
supposition  that  men  in  the  precise  condition  of  the  Evan- 
gelists and  Apostles  had  furnished  their  contents. 

Nor  is  it  within  the  range  of  probability  to  imagine  for  a  mo- 
ment that  the  sacred  books  are  forgeries.  If  they  arc,  then 
they  must  have  been  palmed  upon  the  world  by  persons  whose 
imposture  could  not  be  detected.  But  how  could  this  occur 
in  the  matter  of  giving  currency  to  the  records  of  a  public 
faith"!  Take,  for  Tnstance,  the  Books  of  the  Old  Testament 
Scriptures.  Iftheyaronot  genuine  productions,  I  ask  who 
were  the  parties  concerned  in  the  iniquitous  forgery^  It 
could  not  be  the  men  of  heathen  antiquity,  for  they  were  im- 


184 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


perfectly  acquainted  with  the  national  peculiarities  and  rites 
of  the  Hebrews  ;  and  were  not  likely,  moreover,  to  stamp  the 
seal  of  their  approbation  upon  records  which  accredited  the 
posterity  of  Abraham  as  God's  peculiar  people,  and  condemn- 
ed the  whole  Gentile  world  as  sunk  in  a  state  of  idolatry  and 
crime.  It  could  not  be  the  followers  of  Christ,  for  it  is  mat- 
ter of  undoubted  historical  certainty  that  the.  Scriptures  of  the 
Jews  existed  many  centuries  before  tli*  Christian  name  was 
ever  heard  of.  It  could  not  be  the  Jews  themselves,  for  never 
was  there  a  more  uncompromising  exposure  of  the  crimes, 
idolatries,  and  lighteous  chastisements  of  a  rebellious  and 
guilty  nation  than  that  which  the)'  contain. 

If  we  look  at  the  New  Testament,  it  is  equally  unreasona- 
ble to  suppose  that  it  is  not  a  genuine  production,  and  that  it 
was  not  actually  written  by  the  men  to  whom  it  is  attributed. 
Unbelieving  Jews  and  Gentiles  were  happily,  in  this  instance, 
the  guardians  of  revelation ;  for  as  they  were  equally  opposed 
to  the  doctrine  of  Him  whom  they  had  combined  to  crucify, 
and  as  they  were  both  zealous  in  persecuting  all  who  ranked 
themselves  as  his  humble  and  devoted  followers,  it  stands  to 
reason,  that  if  the  records  of  the  Christian  faith  had  not  been 
genuine  narratives  uf  facts,  furnished  by  the  very  men  who 
assume  to  be  the  writers,  the  dishonest  elfort  would  have  been 
detected  and  exposed,  and  the  whole  world,  and  all  succeed- 
ing generations,  would  have  been  warned  against  the  iniqui- 
tous attempt  to  originate  a  history  not  founded  in  fact. 

The  genuineness  of  the  Books  of  Scripture  was  never  called 
in  question  by  friends  or  enemies.  From  the  earliest  periods 
of  the  Jewish  history  downwards,  the  Hebrews  regarded  their 
sacred  liooks  as  their  peculiar  treasure,  and  associated 
them  all  with  their  several  authors  and  ages;  and,  in  like 
manner,  the  Christians,  from  the  apostolic  age  to  tlie  present 
moment,  have  had  a  regular  succession  of  writers,  who  have 
quoted  and  authenticated,  in  various  ways,  the  Books  which 
compose  the  New  Testament  canon.  It  is  an  interesting  fact 
that  Cclsus,  and  Porphyry,  and  Julian,  and  an  endless  race 
of  heretics,  combine  with  the  apostolic  and  Christian  fathers, 
Barnabas,  Clement,  Ignatius,  Polycarp,  Justin  Martyr,  Ter- 
tuUian,  Origen,  and  Eusebius,  in  accrediting  the  Books  of 
Scripture  as  genuine  productions.  The  most  inveterate  op- 
ponents of  revelation  have  been  compelled  to  admit  the  fact 
that  the  Bible  is  no  forgery. 

Nor  is  there  the  slightest  reason  to  suspect  that  the  Scrip- 
lures  have  undergone  any  material  alteration,  or  that  they  arc 
not  now  in  the  same  condition  in  which  they  were  when  they 
came  from  Moses  and  the  prophets,  the  evangelists  and  apos- 
tles. To  say  that  the  original  Hebrew  and  Greek  manu- 
scripts of  the  Bible,  or  that  the  ancient  versions  and  transla- 
tions, had  not  been  deviated  from  in  a  single  particular,  wouUl 
be  to  assume  a  position  too  lofty.  In  the  process  of  trans- 
cribing some  thousands  of  copies,  before  the  art  of  printing 
was  discovered,  letters  and  syllables,  and  even  words,  without 
the  intervention  of  a  miracle,  must  have  beeu  left  out.  But 
that  there  has  been  any  serious  or  fraudulent  omission  or  in- 
terpolation, or  that  any  one  doctrine  has  been  added  or  sub 
tracted,  cannot  be  shown  by  any  enemy  of  revelation,  and 
need  not  be  apprehended  by  any  humblo-miuded  or  unlettered 
Christian. 

As  it  respects  the  Old  Testament  Scriptures,  it  is  a  well 
established  fact  that  the  Jews  were  their  faitliful  guardians. 
They  were  often  employed,  indeed,  in  the  act  of  transcribing 
them,  but  so  strict  were  they  in  comparing  the  copies  with 
the  originals,  that  they  numbered  both  the  words  and  letters. 
That  the  Jews  never  altered  their  sacred  Books  is  triumphant- 
ly proved  by  the  fact  tliat  neither  their  own  prophets  nor 
Jesus  Christ,  though  they  laid  many  a  heavy  charge  at  their 
door,  ever  once  intimated  tliat  they  were  guilty  of  such  muti- 
lation. The  Great  Teacher,  indeed,  told  them,  with  the  ut- 
most fidelity,  that  they  had  made  void  "The  commandment 
of  God  by  their  traditions,"  but  he  never  insinuates  that  they 
had  corr\ipted  the  Sacred  Books.  "It  is  one  of  the  wonders 
of  providence,  that  God,  for  the  preservation  of  these  books, 
Bliould  make  use  of  that  scru])ulous,  and  I  miglit  say,  almost 
superstitious,  care  that  was  among  those  Jews  whose  oflice  it 
was  to  keep  the  Books  of  the  Old  Testament."*     Among  ihe 


*  See  John  Howe's  Lectures  on  the  oracles  of  God.  Works,  one 
vol.  iniiierial  octavo,  just  pnhlishi-il,  p.  lO'S.  The  whole  passage 
referreil  to  is  as  follows:  "It  was  known  they  used  to  count  all  tlie 
letters  of  the  Old  Testament,  that  they  niigh't  be  sure  never  to  miss 
a  letter.  Attain,  in  transcril>ing  copies,  (wliicli  was  (requent,)  every 
copy  was  al\iays  examined  by  an  appointed  nnmljer  of  their  wise 
men,  as  they  termed  tliim.  Further,  if  any  copy  should  have  been 
found,  upon  examination,  to  liave  four  or  five  fanlls  in  if,  in  one  copy 
of  the  whole  Old  TesUiment,  that  book  was  presently  adjudged  to  be 


onclhmisund  one  hundred  and/ifli/  manuscripts  and  versions  of 
the  Old  Testament  which  are  still  extant,  there  is  an  essen- 
tial agreement,  an  agreement  nrost  wonderful  and  striking, 
showing,  beyond  all  conjecture  ordoirbt,  the  uncorrupted  pre- 
servation of  these  precious  records. 

Nor  is  the  protection  less  manifest  which  has  been  spread 
over  the  books  of  the  New  Testament.  The  early  multipli- 
cation of  copies,  together  with  the  several  translations  into 
foreign  tongues,  rendered  any  serious  deviation  from  the  ori- 
ginal manuscripts  utterly  impossible.  Besides,  in  the  course 
of  one  century  from  the  period  of  Christ's  resurrection,  the 
gospel  was  spread  over  the  greater  part  of  the  Lesser  Asia, 
and  over  many  portions  of  Africa  and  Europe;  so  that  if  any 
of  the  early  Christians,  in  any  particular  district  of  the  world, 
had  attempted  to  alter  or  mutilate  the  sacred  books,  it  would 
have  been  impossible  that  they  should  have  escaped  detection 
among  the  many  disciples  of  Christ  spread  over  other  sections 
of  the  globe. 

The  early  heresis,  too,  which  sprung  up  among  the  profess- 
ed followers  of  Jesus,  rendered  the  corruption  of  the  sacred 
books  next  to  an  impossibility.     "That  passage  of  the  apos- 
tle," observes  the  immortal  Howe,  "  is  not  greatly  enough 
pondered  according  to  the  weightiness  of  the  expression,  that 
t/iere  must  he  hcrema.     This  great  use  that  hath  been  of  the 
divisions  in  Christian' churches,  is  not,  it  may  be,  considered 
as  it  should  be  by  many.     But  nothing  can  carry  a  clearer 
evidence  and  demonstration  with  it  than  that,  because  of  those 
divisions,  any  depravation  of  the  said  records  (that  is,  any 
material,  general,  successful,  continued  depravation)  is  alto- 
buried  in  tlie  grave  of  one  or  other  of  their  wise  men.     And,  lastly, 
for  those  books  that,  upon  examination,  were  found  to  be  ptmctually 
true,  it  was  very  plain  from  the  history  of  those  times,  that  tliere 
was  the  greatest  reverence  paid  to  them  imaginable.     Tlicy  never 
used  to  touch  those  perfect  copies  (taking  thera  into  tlieir  hands) 
ithout  kissing  them  solemnly,  nor  to  lay  them  down  again  without 
lemn  kissing  of  tJiem,     They  were  never  used  to  sit  upon  tlie  place 
w  here  one  of  tliosc  books  were  wont  to  lie  laid.     If  one  of  tliem  by 
casualty  fell  to  tlie  groimd,  they  appointed  a  solemn  fast  to  be  kept 
for  it,  as  an  ill-boding  tiling,  that  such  a  tiling  sliould  liap])en.     So 
that  it  is  most  plain  that  these  keepers  of  the  Books  of  tlie  Old  Tes- 
tament could  never  have  it  in  design  to  corrupt  any  of  them  ;  but  it 
was  that  which  tiiey  did  abhor  above  all  things.     And  it  was  a  prin- 
ciple (as  I'hilo  tells  us,  and  Josephus  much  to  tlic  same  purjiose)  in- 
stilled into  the  youth  of  that  nation,  and  even  those  of  tiie  best  qua- 
lity, that  they  should  run  the  utmost  hazard,  and  incur  a  thousand 
deaths,  rather  than  they   shotdd  suffer  any  alteration   or   diminu- 
tion of  tliose  books,  or  that  any  of  tliem  should  be  lost  in  any  other 
way.     And  then,  besides  all  this  scrupulous  care  of  tlie  keepers  of 
the  books  of  the  Old  Testament  (with  which  a  design  of  corrupting 
w  ould  no  way  consist),  we  may  add,  that  the  thing  itself  was  after- 
wards impossible.     If  they  would  belbre,  wlien  it  was  in  tlieir  own 
hands,  tiiey  could^but  afterwards,  if  they  would,  they  could  not;  be- 
cause that  in  Clirist  and  his  apostles'  days,  a  great  number  of  them 
were  converted  to  the  Clirislian  faith, who  knew  all  tlie  Books  of  the 
Obi  Testament  as  \\  ell  as  tliemselves.     Therefore,  it  was  impossible 
now  for  tlie  Infidel  Jews,  tliose  that  were  not  converted,  to  make  any 
aUeratiou  but  it  must  he  presently  spied  and  exclaimed  against; 
therefore   it  was  a  vain  thing  for  any  to  attempt  it,  after  so  many 
were  converted  to   the  Cliristian  religion.    And   tliereupon  we  may 
fui-lher  add,  tliat  the  testimonies  that  were  contained  in  these  books 
against  themselves,  and  with  which  contained  in  them  they  are  trans- 
mitted to  us,  do   show  tliat  they  never  went  about  to  cori-upt  tliem. 
The  many  testimonies   against   idolatry  contained  in  these  books, 
whereljy  \lteir  forefathers  from  age  to  age,  for  many  ages,  were  wit- 
nessed against,  w  ould  have  induced  them  to  expunge  all  things  that 
were  therein  contained  against  idolati'y  (so  tender  were  they  of  tlieir 
reputation),  if  there  liad  not  been  a  great  awe  upon  tlieirminds  never 
to  attempt  the  corrupting  or   the  alteration  of  any  tiling  in  those 
Iiooks.     The  wickedness  of  their  forefathers  was,  in  these  books,  so 
highly  remonstrated  against,  in  respect  of  the  testimonies  they  so  of- 
ten gave  against  their  idolatry,  and  yet  these  hooks  we  find  in  tlieir 
own  hands,  with  tliese  testimonies  in  them,  against  the  Jews  and 
tlieir  forefatliers,  for  many  foregoing  ages,  through  sundry  times  and 
divers  intervals,  though  we  do  not  find  after  the  second -temple  that 
people  relapsed  into  lliat  crime.     And  tlien  there  is  the  fullest  testi- 
mony against  their  iniidelit}'  in  these  books  tliatcan  be.     "Who  w  ould 
not  wonder  that  these  books  should  come  out  of  tlie  hands  of  the 
Jews,  with  these  testimonies,  in  the  great  cbntroversy  bet^veen  tlic 
Christians  and  them'  that  is, of  Cliiist  being  the  Messi.ah,  in  which 
you  have  so  pmictual  assertions  against  them  that  iiotliing  can  be 
more.     Those  many  testimonies  that  do  concern  the  Messiali,  par- 
ticularly lliat  famous  jiropbecy,  Unit  tlie  sceptre  should  not  depart 
from  Judah  till  Siiilo  sliould  come,  and  those  numerous  presages  in 
many  of  the  latter  [irophets,  (Isaiah  especially,  and  sundry  oljiers,) 
make  it  one  of  the  greatest  wonders  of  Providence  that  such  a  book 
should  come,  w  ith  these  things  in  it,  out  of  men's  hands,  against 
whom  they  ai-e  a  continual  remonstrance.     But,  however,  this  proves 
that  they  did  never  design  any  alteration;  either  they  saw  it  impos- 
siljle  for  one  while,  and  before  that,  tliey  bad  no  inclination  or  in- 
ducement that  would  be  prevailing  with  them  to  go  about  it,  tliat  is, 
tliat  there  should  be  au  alteration  w  ith  design." 


A  PORTRAITURE  OF  MODERN  SCEPTICISM. 


1S5 


grelher  impossible ;  because  the  one  party  would  be  continu- 
ally declaiming  and  crying  out  against  the  other;  and  then 
how  would  it  be  espiea  1"* 

Indeed,  it  may  be  safely  affirmed,  that  the  Christians  were 
never  charged  by  their  bitterest  enemies  with  the  crime  of 
mutilating  their  Scriptures,  aijd  that  these  sacred  records  have 
siiffeied  less  from  transcribers,  copyists,  and  translators,  than 
any  other  documents  of  a  remote  antiquity. 

"  It  is  true,  that  in  translations,  persons  have  laboured  to 
serve  their  own  purjjoses,  by  translating  this  way  afld  that,  as 
they  thought  fit.  But  for  alteration  of  copies,  that  is  what 
never  entered  into  the  mind  of  any  body  to  attempt;  which  is 
a  thing  so  easily  spied  out,  that  nothing  is  more  so;  and  so 
must  needs  blast  and  dissever  the  cause  and  interest  of  that 
party  it  was  designed  to  serve,  and  therefore  could  never  be. 
And  the  impossibility  of  any  such  alteration  it  is  easy  for  any 
man  that  useth  his  understanding  to  apprehend  from  a  similar 
instance.  And  thus,  do  but  take  anj'  one  people  that  are  un- 
der the  same  government,  and  that  have  thsir  laws,  by  which 
they  are  governed,  digested  into  some  system  or  other ;  as,  for 
instance,  our  statute  book  ;  why,  suppose  very  ill-minded 
men  in  the  nation  should  have  a  design  to  corrupt  and  alter 
the  statute-book,  every  one  would  see  it  to  be  impossible. 
Which  way  would  they  go  to  work  to  impose  a  false  statute 
book  upon  a  nation,  wherein  every  man's  right  and  property  is 
concerned  ?  And  if  any  such  should  have  such  a  design, 
they  would  soon  give  it  up,  as  finding  it  impossible,  and  a 
thing  not  to  be  done,  and  therefore  a  vain  thing  to  attempt. 
But  the  difficulty  is  a  thousand  times  greater  of  making  de- 
signed alteration  of  those  sacred  books  and  records  tliat  are 
spread  so  unspeakably  further  than  a  nation,  and  wherein  the 
concernments  of  all  that  have  them  in  their  hands  are  recorded, 
not  temporal  only,  but  eternal.  Here  is  their  all  for  eternity, 
another  world  !  So  that  it  must  be  altogether  impossible  that 
there  could  have  been  such  a  thing  etfected  ;  and  therefore  it 
is  the  most  unlikely  thing  that  such  a  matter  should  ever  be 
attempted.  And  then,  I  say,  if  there  be  that  plain  evidence, 
that  for  that  reason  these  books  must  be  the  same,  that  they 
cannot  have  been  altered  with  design,  and  consetiuently  not 
materially,  then  it  were  the  most  unreasonable  thing  in  all  the 
world  to  expect  that  God  could  confirm  it  to  us  otherwise  than 
he  hath  done,  or  that  the  nature  of  the  thing  doth  admit  of  it ; 
because,  otherwise  there  must  have  been  miracles  wrought  for 
every  one  to  see  and  take  notice  of,  nay,  that  would  alto- 
gether loose  the  usefulness  and  significancy  of  miracles  them- 
selves, because  it  would  make  miracles  so  common  in  such  a 
case.  If  every  man  must  have  a  miracle  to  prove  to  him  this 
is  God's  word,  it  would  take  off  that  particular  thing  for 
which  they  are  only  significant  with  men,  that  is,  because 
they  are  rare  and  extraordinary  things,  and  then  they  would 
cease  to  be  so.  It  might  as  well  be  expected  that  every  man 
should  have  a  Bible  reached  him  down  by  an  invisible  hand 
from  heaven,  as  that  there  should  be  a  miracle  wrought  to  prove 
to  him  that  this  was  the  same  book  that  was  so  and  so  con- 
firmed and  sealed  in  our  Saviour's  and  his  apostles'  time. — 
And  therefore  I  reckon  that,  upon  the  grounds  that  liave  been 
laid,  it  is  very  plain  both  that  these  books  that  were  extant 
undcrthe  name  of  Scriptures  in  our  Saviour's  and  hisapostles' 
time,  were  of  divine  authority,  and  that  the  books  that  we 
now  have  in  our  hands,  are  the  same  with  those  books,  and 
therefore  are  of  divine  authority."! 

It  is,  then,  a  most  animating  consideration,  that,  by  a  vari- 
ety of  striking  providences,  it  hath  pleased  Almighty  God  to 
preserve  to  us  unmutilated  and  uncorruptcd  the  very  record 
which  the  first  Christians  held  to  be  divine,  and  upon  the 
doclrincs  and  principles  of  which  they  were  read}-,  in  the 
midst,  of  the  greatest  dangers,  to  repose  their  eternal  all.  It 
is  highly  consolatory  to  those  who  have  but  little  time  and 
few  advantages  for  research  to  be  informed,  upon  the  most 
indubitable  evidence,  that  in  their  English  Bibles  they  have 
the  same  precious  document  which  was  read  in  the  first  as- 
semblies of  the  Christian  church  ;  and  that,  in  the  multipli- 
cation of  manuscripts  and  translations,  no  serious  or  import- 
ant alteration  lias  been  obtruded  into  the  sacred  text.  For 
tliis  fact  let  the  humble  and  devout  Christian  bless  God  ;  and, 
in  the  contemplation  of  it,  let  the  rejecter  of  Revelation  pause 
and  tremble,  lest  peradventure  he  should  be  found  fighting 
against  God. 

Let  this  chapter  be  fairly  weighed  in  connexion  with  what 
has  been  previously  advanced  on  the  subject  of  the  evidences 
of  our  holy  faith,  and  let.  him  wlio  sliU  doulits  say  v.'ithin 


himself-— "Wlierefore  do  I  doubt?"  To  such  a  solemn  in- 
terrouator)',  conscience  may  perhaps  supply  the  ready  and 
faithful  response, — "  How  can  you  but  doubt,  while  sin  is 
blinding  your  perceptions  and  hardening  your  heart  ?" 


CHAPTER  y. 
On  the  Inspiration  of  the  Holy  Scriptures. 


Having  glanced  at  the  evidence  which  supports  the  conclu- 
sion that  the  Bible  is  a  Revelation  from  God,  and  having, 
moreover,  ascertained  that  the  books  of  Scripture  have  been 
transmitted  to  us  in  a  pure  and  unadulterated  form,  it  may 
now  be  proper  to  inquire  into  the  true  nature  of  inspiration, 
and  to  endeavour  to  determine  to  what  extent  the  sacred  volume 
is  entitled  to  the  high  and  distinctive  appellation  of — "  the 
WORD  or  God." 

The  importance  of  this  question  is  very  great,  for  upon  its 
answer  must  depend  the  degree  of  deference  which  is  due  to 
the  Scriptures  as  an  authoritative  communication  from  Hea- 
ven. It  is  a  question  which  carmot  be  decided,  I  presume,  by 
any  arguments  a  priori,  but  by  a  direct  appeal  to  the  testimo- 
ny of  the  infallible  word.  The  real  nature  of  inspiration,  as 
belonging  to  the  writers  of  Scripture,  is  a  doctrine  purely  of 
Revelation  ;  and  the  only  duty  of  a  sincere  inquirer  in  refer- 
ence to  it  must  be  simply  this,  to  ascertain  for  himself  what 
is  predicated  or  announced  concerning  it  in  the  word  of  God. 
With  this  conviction  on  my  mind,  1  shall  not  trouble  my 
readers  with  any  lengthened  details  of  what  others  have  ad- 
vanced on  the  subject  of  inspiration,  but  shall  come  almost 
immediately  to  the  point  in  hand,  viz.,  the  doctrine  of  Scrip- 
ture, as  to  the  manner  in  which  it  was  imparted, 

I  must  just  be  allowed,  however,  to  premise,  that  writers 
of  the  Socinian  creed  have  so  relaxed  their  notions  of  inspira- 
tion as  to  talk  even  of  the  inconclusive  reasonings  of  apostles ; 
and  that  others,  not  of  this  pernicious  creed,  have  spoken  and 
written  about  degrees  and  kinds  of  inspiration  until  they  have 
inadvertently  weakened,  on  their  own  minds,  and  on  the 
minds  of  others,  the  authority  of  God  in  the  Scriptures.  I 
would  have  all  such  writers  remember,  that  these  modified 
views  of  inspiration  are  of  modern  date,  and  that  for  full  six- 
teen hundred  years  they  were  unknown  in  the  church  of 
Christ.  "  Many  considerable  writers  on  the  evidences  of 
Christianity,  of  late,  have  satisfied  themselves  with  proving 
its  divine  authority  generally,  but  have  tacitly,  and  most  in- 
consistently, given  up  or  denied  the  infallibility  of  the  books 
in  which  it  is  recorded.  They  speak  of  authenticity,  veracity, 
credibility;  but  not  inspiration.  Some  have  limited  the  as- 
sistance of  the  Spirit  to  the  prophetical  parts.  Others  have 
extended  it  to  the  doctrinal,  but  excluded  the  historical. 
Whilst  many  have  lowered  the  whole  notion  of  inspiration 
to  a  mere  aid  occasionally  afforded  to  the  sacred  penmen. 
Thus  the  impression  left  on  the  minds  of  their  readers  has 
been,  that  the  Bible  is  authentic  indeed,  and  credible,  and 
contains  a  revelation  from  God  ;  but  that  it  was  indited  by 
good  and  pious  men  only,  with  little  more  of  accuracy  than 
would  belong  to  them  as  faithful  historians.  An  intermix- 
ture of  human  infirmity  and  error  is  thus  by  no  means  exclud- 
ed ;  and  the  scriptures  are  considered  as  the  work  of  fallible 
writers,  doing  their  best,  and  entitled  in  all  their  main  state- 
ments to  full  belief,  but  not  under  that  immediate  and  plenary 
inlluence  of  the  Holy  Spirit,  which  renders  all  they  say  con- 
cerning religion,  the  unerring  word  of  God."* 

Most  ruinous  to  the  souls  of  men  must  be  such  views  of 
the  blessed  word  of  God,  and  most  derogatory  are  tliey  to 
that  Spirit,  who  has  not  given  so  much  as  a  shadow  of  coun- 
tenance, in  the  sacred  books,  to  such  vague  and  sceptical 
notions.  We  ought  to  be  jealous,  not  only  of  such  latitudi- 
narian  views  of  inspiration,  but  also  of  every  approach  to 
them.  For  my  own  part,  after  much  deliberation,  and  I  trust 
careful  and  unprejudiced  examination  of  the  arguments  of  op- 
ponents, I  have  come  to  the  conclusion,  not  only  that  the 
ideas  contained  in  scripture  were  conveyed  by  the  Spirit  to 
the  minds  of  inspired  men,  but  that  they  were  supernaturally 
guided  in  their  diction  and  in  their  writings.  I  shall  not, 
however,  bring  this  theory  to  the  word  of  God,  to  seek  coun- 
tenance for  it  tliere ;  but  shall  rather  call  the  attention  of  my 


*  Howe's  Works,  in  one  vol.,  p.  107C. 
Vol.  II.— V. 


+  Ibid. 


*  Si:e  Bishop  AVilson's  Lectures  on  "  The  Evidences,"  kc.  12mo, 
vol.  i.  p.  314. 


186 


CHRISTIAN     LIBRARY. 


readers  to  the  word  of  God  itself,  that  they  may  thence  gather 
the  true  notion  of  inspiration. 

I  begin,  then,  with  that  part  of  scripture  whicli  was  in- 
cluded°in  the  Jewish  canon,  and  which  is  known  by  the  name 
of  the  Old  Testament.  And  if  it  can  be  shown  that  the  inr 
fallible  Teacher,  whose  divine  mission  has  already  been  clearly 
established,  fully  accredits  the  divine  authority,  and  the  in- 
fallible character  of  tliat  document,  considered  as  a  whole, 
and  without  a  single  recognised  (ixception,  an  important  step 
will  have  been  gained  towards  ascertaining  the  perfection  of 
the  Jewish  canon,  and  also  the  real  nature  and  extent  of  in- 
spiration. 

At  an  early  stage  in  his  public  ministry,  the  Messiah  an- 
nounced, to  an  immense  assembly  of  his  countrymen,  his 
views  and  determinations  respecting  their  ancient  Scriptures : 
"Think  not,"  said  he,  "  that  I  am  come  to  destroy  the  Law 
and  the  Prophets :  1  am  not  come  to  destroy,  but  to  fulfil. 
For  verily  I  say  unto  you,  till  heaven  and  earth  pass,  one  jot 
or  one  tittle  shall  in  no  wise  pass  from  the  law,  till  all  be 
fulfilled."  Every  attentive  reader  of  the  New  Testament 
must  have  discovered  that  the  phrase  "  the  law  and  the  pro- 
phets" denotes  the  sacred  books  of  the  Jews;  and  every  un- 
prejudiced reader  must  perceive  that  the  Saviour  in  tliis  decla- 
ration recognises  them  as  an  infallible  standard,  by  which  he 
was  willing  that  his  own  pretensions  should  be  rigidly  tried. 

On  another  occasion  he  charges  those  who  reject  him  with 
not  having  the  word  of  God  abiding  in  them,  because  they 
believed  not  in  him  whom  God  the  Father  had  sent  to  them  ; 
and  then  he  immediately  adds—"  Search  the  Scriptures ;  for 
in  them  ye  have  eternal  life ;  and  they  are  they  which  testify 
of  me."  "  Do  not  think  that  I  will  accuse  you  to  the  Father : 
there  is  one  that  accuseth  you,  even  Moses,  in  whom  ye 
trust.  For  had  ye  believed  Moses,  ye  would  have  believed 
me :  for  he  wrote  of  me."  Here  are  several  things  to  be 
noticed.  In  the  first  place,  the  Scriptures  of  the  Jews,  w-hich 
did  not  abide  in  them  through  their  unbelief,  are  distinctly  re- 
cognised as  the  word  of  God.  In  the  second  place,  they  are 
appealed  to  as  a  testimony  from  God  concerning  Christ,  ren- 
dering all  those  Jews  inexcusable  who  rejected  him.  And,  in 
the  third  place,  they  are  spoken  of  emphatically  as  the  wri- 
tings, evidently  including  them  all,  and  leaving  no  room  to 
dispute  the  divine  origin  of  their  diction  any  more  than  the 
doctrines  they  contained. 

On  many  occasions,  Jesus  spake  of  the  sacred  books  of  the 
Jews  as  divinely  authoritative  writings.  "  He  that  believeth 
on  me,  as  the  Scripture  hath  said,  out  of  his  belly  shall  flow 
rivers  of  living  water."  "  If  he  called  them  gods,  unto  whom 
the  word  of  God  came,  and  the  Scripture  cannot  be  broken  ; 
say  ye  of  him  whom  the  Father  hath  sanctified,  and  sent  into 
the  world,  Thou  blasphemest ;  because  I  said,  I  am  the  Son 
of  God."  "  Jesus  saith  unto  them,  did  ye  never  read  in  the 
Scriptures,  the  stone  which  the  builders  rejected,  the  same  is 
become  the  head  of  the  corner  :  this  is  the  Lord's  doing,  and 
it  is  marvellous  in  our  eyes  V  "  Jesus  answered  and  said 
unto  them,  ye  do  err,  not  knowing  the  Scriptures. "  "  Think- 
est  thou  that  I  cannot  now  pray  to  my  Father,  and  he  shall 
presently  give  me  more  than  twelve  legions  of  angels  1  But 
how  then  shall  ilie  Scriptures  be  fulfilled,  that  thus  it  must 
bel"  "I  was  daily  with  you  in  the  temple  teaching,  and 
ye  took  me  not :  but  l/ic  Scriplures  must  be  fulfilled."  Now 
what  are  we  to  gather  from  this  species  of  reference'?  Why, 
two  things— first,  that  tliere  is  not  the  shadow  ofa  doubt  upon 
the  inspiration  of  any  part  of  a  document  to  which  the  infal- 
lible Teacher  made  such  implicit  and  authoritative  allusion; 
and,  second,  tliat  simply  considered  as  zeritings,  the  hooks  thus 
relerred  to  are  the  product  of  God's  immediate  inspiration. 
Where  is  there  any  thing  like  a  surmise  that  there  is  not  as 
much  authority  in  the  luritiugs  as  in  the  thougttts  and  ideas 
which  they  convey  I 

To  the  testimony  of  our  Lord  may  be  added  that  of  his 
Apostles,  who  bore  his  coinmission,  and  who  wrought  stu- 
pendous miracles  in  his  name.  "  All  Scripture,"  said  Paul 
to  Timothy,  "  is  given  by  inspiration  of  God,  and  is  profitable 
for  doctrine,  for  reproof,  for  correction,  for  instruction  in 
righteousness,  &c."  Now,  granting  that  the  rendering  of 
Grotius,  "  alldirinehj  inspired  Scripture  is  even  profitable,  £Jc." 
is  the  correct  one,  it  is  perfectly  clear  that  the  context  main- 
ly, if  not  exclusivelj',  restricts  the  Apostle's  declaration  to 
the  Old  Testament  Scriptures, — those  sacred  writings  which 
Timothy  had  known  from  his  infancy.  The  whole  Scripture, 
in  the  knowledge  of  which  this  young  evangelist  had  been 
trained,  is  here  said  to  bo  given  by  inspiration  of  God  ;  that 
is,  breathed  by  liim  into  the  minds  of  those  holy  men  who 


were  divinely  and  infallibly  gifted  to  hand  it  forth  to  the 
churcli. 

The  Apostle  Peter,  when  speaking  of  the  ofRce  and  end  of 
prophecy,  as  "  a  light  that  shineth  in  a  dark  place,"  asserts, 
that  "  no  prophecy  of  the  Scripture  is  of  any  private  interpre- 
tation. For  the  prophecy  came,  not  in  old  time  by  the  will  of 
man  ;  but  holy  men  of  God  spake  as  they  were  moved  by  the 
Holy  Ghost."  I  cannot  help  thinking  that  an  unprejudiced 
expositor  would  regard  this  as  a  distinct  affirmation  of  the  in- 
spiration of  tiie  prophecies,  both  as  it  respects  their  matter 
and  manner.  As  to  their  matter,  they  were  not  the  result  of 
any  private  impulse;*  and  as  to  their  manner,  "holy  men 
spukc  as  they  were  moved  by  the  Holy  Ghost."  The  pro- 
phets are  also  represented,  by  the  same  Apostle,  as  "  search- 
ing what,  or  what  manner  of  time  the  Spirit  of  Christ,  which 
was  in  them,  did  signify,  when  it  testified  before-hand  the 
sufferings  of  Christ,  and  the  glory  that  should  follow."  From 
this  passage  it  is  plain  that  the  prophets  did  not  always,  nor 
even  frequently,  understand  the  import  of  their  own  predic- 
tions ;  from  which  it  may  be  inferred,  with  indubitable  cer- 
tainty,'that  the  words  in  which  they  were  couched,  no  less 
than  the  thoughts  which  they  contained,  were  imparted  by  the 
Spirit  of  God  ;  for  surely  they  could  not  have  been  trusted 
witli  the  diction  and  verbiage  of  a  communication  which  con- 
fessedly they  did  not  understand. 

It  is  upon  this  same  principle  that  we  find  the  Old  Testa- 
ment Scriptures  styled  "  the  Oracles  of  God,"  and  "tlie 
lively  oracles;"  to  indicate,  doubtless,  that  they  were  given 
forth  by  God  hiiusclf.  Henee  the  following  expressions — 
"  Now  all  this  was  done,  that  it  might  be  fulfilled  which  was 
spoken  oftlie  Lord,  by  the  prophet."  "  How  then  dotli  David, 
in  spirit,  call  him  Lord  V  "  For  David  himself  saith  by  the 
Holy  Ghost."  "  As  he  spalce  by  the  mouth  of  his  holy  pro- 
phets, whicli  have  been  since  the  world  began."  "  \\  liieh 
the  Holy  Ghost  spake  by  the  mouth  of  David."  "He  saith 
(that  is  God)  also  in  another  Psalm,  thou  shalt  not  sutler 
thine  Holy  One  to  see  corruption."  "  Well  spake  the  Holy 
Ghost,  by  Ksaias  the  prophet,  unto  our  fathers."  "  Wherefore, 
as  tlie  Holy  G/wst  saith,  to-day  if  you  will  hear  his  voice." 

Now  all  this  corresponds  with  what  we  find  in  the  Old 
Testament  Scriptures  themselves.  Take  the  case  of  Moses, 
the  great  prophet  and  lawgiver  of  Israel,  and  the  inspired 
author  of  the  Pentateuch.  When  he  was  commanded  to  go 
to  Pharaoh,  and  to  lead  forth  the  people  of  Israel,  he  entreat- 
ed that  he  might  be  excused  from  the  performance  of  a  task 
for  which  he  deemed  himself  so  utterly  unqualified.  His 
sense  of  weakness  was,  in  a  high  degree,  proper;  but  his  re- 
fusal to  go,  when  God  had  assured  him  that  he  would  be 
"  with  him,"  evinced  great  w'ant  of  faith.  God  reproved 
him  for  his  sinful  timidity,  and  said  to  hiiu,  "  Wlio  hath 
made  man's  mouth  1  or  who  maketh  the  dumb,  or  deaf,  or 
the  seeing,  or  the  blind  1  have  not  I  the  Lord  ?  Now,  there- 
fore, go,  a7id  I  ivill  be  with  Ihy  mouth,  and  teach  thee  what  thou 
shalt  say."  The  leader  of  Israel  again  repeats  his  difficulty, 
and  again  receives  a  similar  reply.  At  last  his  scruples  are 
overcome  by  the  feeling  of  supernatural  aid,  and  ever  after  his 
addresses  to  tlie  chosen  tribes  are  couched  in  terms  indicative 
of  their  immediate  divine  origin — "  Thus  saith  the  Lord," — 
"These  are  the  words  which  the  Lord  hath  commanded,  that 
ye  should  do  them."  Had  he  not  been  conscious  that  the 
inspiration  under  which  he  wrote  extended  to  iiis  words  as 
well  as  thoughts,  would  he  have  adopted  the  phraseology 
attributed  to  him  in  the  following  passages  ? — "  Ye  shall  not 
add  unto  the  word  which  I  coiumand  you,  neither  shall  ye 
diminish  aught  from  it,  that  ye  may  keep  these  commandments 
of  the  Lord  your  God  wliich  I  command  you."  "And  these 
words  which  I  command  thee  this  day  shall  be  in  thine  heart, 
and  thou  shalt  teach  tliem'  diligently  unto  thy  children." 
"Therefore  shall  ye  lay  up  these  my  words  in  your  heart  and 
in  you  soul,  and  hind  them  for  a  sign  upon  your  head  that 
they  may  be  as  frontlets  between  your  e3'es.  And  j'e  shall 
teach  them  to  your  children,  speaking  of  them  when  thou 
sittest  in  thine  house,  and  when  thou  walkest  by  the  way, 
when  thou  liest  down,  and  when  thou  risest  up.     And  thou 


*  Dr.  Doddi-klgc's  par.iphrase  is  as  follows  : — "  A'oo-t'm^-  tliis 
first,  as  a  matter  of  chief  importance,  ilial  no  propliecy  of  Scripture 
'is  of  private  impulse,"  or  oi-i,cinal  :  "For  propliecy  u'as  not  bronglit 
of  old  to  tiie  minds  of  those  that  uttered  it  tii/  tlie  wilt  of  man  ;  they 
I'nuhl  not  n'Oi-k  tlicmselves  up  to  tlie  attainment  of  tliis  extraoi-di- 
narv  gift,  nor  divinely  foretell  what  tliey  tliemselves  desired,  and 
w  hcnuvei-  they  pleased  ;  but  lioly  men  of  God,  whom  he  honoured 
M  ith  that  imp'ortiint  work,  shake  [as  tlie'y  were]  home  on  by  the  Holy 
Spirit ;  and  they  were  only  liis  organs  in  declaring  to  the  people  what 
he  was  disposed  to  suggest  to  them." 


A  PORTRAITURE  OF  MODERN  SCEPTICISM. 


187 


shall  write  tliem  upon  the  door  posts  of  thine  house,  and 
upon  thy  gates." 

In  like  manner  all  the  prophets  represent  their  entire  com- 
munications as  from  God ;  they  all  address  themselves  to 
the  people,  "  Thus  sailh  the  Lord,"  and  some  of  them,  as  in 
the  case  of  Elijah  to  Ahab,  personate  the  Diety,  and  utter  his 
threatenings  as  if  they  were  their  own :  "  Behold  I  will  bring 
evil  upon  thee,  and  will  take  away  thy  posterity;"  this  was 
the  voice,  indeed,  of  Elijah,  but  the  speaker  was  God. 
Hence  the  word  of  the  Lord  is  said  again  and  again  to  come 
to  the  prophets,  and  the  sweet  Psalmist  of  Israel  saj's,  "  The 
spirit  of  the  Lord  spake  by  me,  and  his  word  was  in  my 
tongue." 

It  may,  indeed,  be  said  that,  though  in  the  prophetical  and 
doctrinal  parts  of  the  Old  Testament  Scriptures  the  sacred 
writers  were  under  the  influence  of  a  full  and  verbal  inspira- 
tion, this  could  not  be  necessary  in  furnishing  the  historical 
parts  of  the  word  of  God.  Now,  this  is  a  distinction  which 
is  never  once  made,  to  the  best  of  my  recollection,  in  the  in- 
spired volume  itself;  and  when  the  vast  importance  of  the 
chronological  and  historical  details  of  Scripture  is  taken  into 
account,  in  the  relations  which  they  bear  to  the  transcendent 
scheme  of  human  redemption,  I  think  it  will  be  regarded  as 
futile  and  dangerous.  Upon  the  whole,  I  am  satisfied  that 
there  is  no  solid  foundation  for  any  theory  of  the  inspiration 
of  the  Old  Testament  Scriptures  which  does  not  consider  all 
their  several  parts  as  ^vritten  under  the  immediate  teaching  of 
the  Holy  Ghost,  both  as  to  sentiment  and  diction. 

Nor  is  the  complete  inspiration  of  the  apostles  and  writers 
of  the  New  Testament  less  satisfactorily  demonstrated  than 
is  that  of  Moses  and  the  prophets.  Such  full  inspiration 
they  eminently  needed,  in  order  to  the  faithful  execution  of 
their  responsible  task.  They  were  to  be  employed  in  raising 
up  disciples  to  their  risen  Lord,  and  as  the  historians  of  his 
life  and  death ;  and  as  the  authoritative  counsellors  of  his 
church  in  all  ages,  they  needed  "an  unction  from  the  Holy 
One."  We  find  accordingly  that  such  unction  and  such  in- 
fallible guidance  as  were  necessarj'  were  distinctly  promised 
to  them.  Twelve  men  were  selected  as  the  heralds  of  his 
kingdom,  who  enjoyed  his  familiar  intercourse,  and  were  in 
every  way  qualified  for  bearing  witness  to  his  doctrine,  mira- 
cles, suflerings,  death,  and  resurrection.  "  Go  ye,"  said 
Christ  to  his  chosen  band,  "and  teach  all  nations,  baptizing 
them  in  the  name  of  the  Father,  and  of  the  Son,  and  of  the 
Holy  Ghost;  teaching  them  to  observe  all  things  whatsoever 
I  have  commanded  you ;  and,  lo,  I  am  wilh  you  alway,  even 
unto  the  end  of  the  world.''''  When,  during  his  own  per- 
sonal ministry,  he  sent  them  forth  to  visit  the  cities  of  Israel, 
he  gave  them  this  miraculous  assurance, — "  But  when  they 
deliver  you  up  take  no  thought  how  or  what  ye  shall 
speak ;  for  it  shall  be  given  you  in  that  same  hour  what  ye 
shall  speak.  For  it  is  not  ye-  that  speak,  but  the  Spirit  of 
your  Father  which  speaketh  in  you."  And  when  our  blessed 
Lord  was  about  to  ascend  up  on  hicrh  and  to  leave  his  apos- 
tles and  disciples,  he  delivered  to  them  the  following  ani- 
mating promises : — "  And  I  will  pray  the  Father,  and  he  will 
give  you  another  Comforter,  that  he  may  abide  with  you  for 
ever;  even  the  Spirit  of  Truth,  whom  the  world  cannot 
receive,  because  it  seeth  him  not,  neither  knoweth  him.  But 
ye  know  hini,  for  he  dwelleth  with  you,  and  shall  he  in  you. 
The  Comforter,  which  is  the  Holy  Ghost,  whom  the  Father 
will  send  in  my  name,  he  shall  teach  you  all  things,  and 
bring  all  things  to  your  remembrance,  whatsoever  1  have  said 
unto  you.  I  have  yet  many  things  to  say  unto  you,  but  ye 
cannot  bear  them  now.  Howbeit,  when  He,  the  Spirit  of 
Tnith,  is  come,  he  will  guide  you  into  all  truth ;  for  he  shall 
not  speak  of  himself,  but  whatsoever  he  shall  hear  that  shall 
he  speak  ;  and  he  will  show  you  things  to  come."  "  Here," 
observes  an  eminent  writer,  "  are  all  the  degrees  of  inspira- 
tion which  we  have  seen  to  be  necessary  for  the  apostles ;  the 
Spirit  was  to  bring  to  their  remembrance  what  they  had 
heard ;  to  guide  them  into  the  truth,  which  they  were  not 
then  able  to  bear ;  and  to  show  them  things  to  come ;  and 
all  this  they  were  to  derive,  not  from  occasionalillapses,  but 
from  the  peqietual  inhabitation  of  the  Spirit."* 

Hence  we  find  that  the  apostles  laid  claim  to  that  inspira- 
tion which  their  divine  Master  had  so  distinctly  promised. 
"  We  shall  not  find,"  as  the  above  writer  well  observes,  "  that 
claim  formally  advanced  in  the  gospels.  This  omission  has 
somctiines  been  regarded  by  those  superficial  critics,  whose 
prejudices  seem  to  account  for  their  haste,  as  an  objection 


against  the  existence  of  inspiration.  But  if  vou  attend  to  the 
reason  of  the  omission,  you  will  perceive  that'll  is  only  an 
instance  of  that  delicate  propriety  which  pervades  all  the 
New  Testament  The  gospels  are  the  record  of  the  great 
facts  which  vouch  the  truth  of  Christianity.  These  facts  are 
to  be  received  upon  the  testimony  of  men  who  had  been  eye- 
witnesses of  them.  The  foundation  of  the  Christian  faith 
being  laid  in  an  assent  to  these  facts,  it  would  have  been  pre- 
posterous to  have  introduced  in  support  of  them  that  infiuenco 
of  the  Sg^irit  which  preserved  the  minds  of  the  apostles  from 
error.  ^  i  or  there  can  he  no  proof  oj"  the  inspiration  of  the 
apostles  unless  the  truth  of  the  facts  be  previously  admitted. 
The  apostles,  therefore,  bring  forward  the  evidence  of  Chris- 
tianity in  Its  natural  order  when  they  speak  in  the  <rospels 
as  the  companions  and  eye-witnesses  of  Jesus,  claimino-  that 
credit  which  is  due  to  honest  men  who  had  the  best  onnortu- 
nities  of  knowing  what  they  declared.  This  is  the  lanlruage 
ol  St.  John;  "  Many  other  signs  did  Jesus  in  the  presence  "of 
his  disciples.  But  these  are  written  that  ye  may  believe; 
and  this  is  the  disciple  which  lestifieth  these  things."* 

\^hen  the  following  circumstances,  then,  are^aken  into 
account,  the  absence  of  any  formal  announcement  of  inspira- 
tion in  the  gospels  is  no  barrier  in  the  way  of  admiftino-  their 
full  claim  to  this  high  distinction.  In  the /«/ jo/oce°  there 
was  an  assistance  promised  by  our  Lord,  ere  he  left  his  dis- 
ciples, which,  from  its  very  form,  must  have  been  partly  at 
least  intended  to  qualify  his  disciples  for  the  task  of  record- 
ing the  history  of  his  earthly  sojourn.  By  that  assistance 
they  were  to  have  "all  things  whatsoever  the  Lord  said  to 
them  brought  to  their  remembrance ;"  they  were  to  be  con- 
ducted "  into  all  truth  ;"  they  were  to  be  shown  the  "  things 
to  come;"  and  Christ  was  to  be  with  them  always. 

In  the  second  place,  we  find  that  no  distinction  whatever  is 
made,  by  Christ,  between  the  authority  of  those  whom  he 
accredited  and  his  own.  "  He  that  heareth  you,  heareth  me  ; 
and  he  that  despiseth  you,  despiseth  me ;  and  he  that  de- 
spiseth  me,  despiseth  him  that  sent  me."  This  is  the 
language  which  equally  accredits  the  gospelst  and  the  epis- 
tles, and  which  renders  it  a  high  affront  to  the  Son  of  God  to 
cavil  at  any  thing  contained  in  the  one  or  the  other. 

In  the  third  place,  we  find  the  apostles  placino-  their  own 
communications  on  a  level  with  those  of  prophets  and  in- 
spired men  of  old.  "That  ye  may  be  mindful,"  said  the 
apostle  Peter,  "  of  the  words  which  were  spoken  before  by 
the  holy  prophets,  and  of  the  commandments  of  us  the  apos- 
tles of  the  Lord  and  Saviour."  Hence  the  lan<Tua<re  of  the 
great  apostle  of  the  Gentiles:  "Paul,  an  apostle  of  Jesus 
Uirist,  by  the  will"  or  "  commandment  of  God  :"  "  Paul,  an 
apostle,  not  of  men,  neither  by  man,  but  by  Jesus  Christ,  and 
God  the  Father,  who  raised  him  from  the  dead.  I  neither 
received  the  gospel  of  man,  neither  was  I  taught  it  but  by 
the  revelation  of  Jesus  Christ.  When  it  pleased  God,  who 
separated  me  from  my  mother's  womb,  and  called  me  by  his 
grace  to  reveal  his  Son  in  me,  that  I  might  preach  him  among 
the  heathen,  immediately  I  conferred  not  with  flesh  and  blood'', 
neither  went  I  up  to  Jerusalem  to  them  which  were  apostles 
before,  but  I  went  into  Arabia.":j: 

In  the  most  unequivocal  forms  that  can  be  adopted,  the 
apostles  assert  their  inspiration  in  their  epistolary  correspond- 
ence. "  Now,"  said  Paul,  "  we  have  received  not  the  spirit 
of  the  world,  but  the  spirit  which  is  of  God  ;  that  we  might 
know  the  things  which  are  freely  given  us  of  God,  which 
things  also  we  speak,  not  in  the  words  which  man's  wisdom 
teacheth,  but  which  the  Holy  Ghost  teacheth."  "  If  any  man 
think  himself  to  be  a  prophet,  or  spiritual,  let  him  acknowledge 
that  the  things  that  I  write  unto  you  are  the  eomniaiidmenls 
of  the  Lord."  "  For  this  cause,  also,  thank  we  God  without 
ceasing,  because  when  ye  received  the  word  of  God  which  ye 


*  Sec  the  Rev.  Rithard  AV'atson's  Theological  Dictionaiy,  under 
tlic  iiiticle  " Inspiiation." 


*  See  Watson's  Theological  Dictionarj-,  on  the  aiticle  "  Inspira- 
tion." 

+  It  may  be  said,  indeed,  that  Mark  and  Luke  were  not  apostles, 
and  that,  therefore,  the  infallible  assistance  promised  to  such  dis- 
tinguished servants  of  the  chmcli  did  not  belong  to  tlieui.  In  reply 
to  tills,  it  may  be  stated,  that  early  general -tradition  places  Mark 
among  those  seventy  disciples  whom  Christ  sent  out  through  the 
land  of  Israel  w  itli  miraculous  endowments  and  a  promise  of  super- 
natm-al  aid  ;  and  awards  to  his  gospel  a  place  among  the  canonical 
books  of  the  New  Testament ;  and  tliat  Luke,  who  appears  to  have 
written  his  gospel  first,  (tliough  several  iminspired  accoimts  of  the 
histon-  of  Christ  obtained  before,  Luke  i.  1.)  was  the  contempox-ary 
and  intimate  companion  of  Paul,  (Col.  iv.  1-i.)  who,  it  is  universally 
conceded,  examined  and  approved  his  gospel,  sUimping  it  w  ith  apos- 
tolic audiority,  and  thereby  ushering  it  into  the  chtirch  of  Christ 
with  the  full  credentials  of  canonicaland  inspired  scripture. 

t  Gal.  i.  1,  12,  15 — 17,  compared  witli  Acts  xx\  i.  12 — 18. 


ISS 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


heard  of  us,  ye  received  it  not  as  the  word  of  men,  but,  as  it  is  in 
trutl,,  the  word  of  God."  "  We  are  of  God,"  said  tiie  apostle 
John ;  "  lie  that  knoweth  God,  heareth  us :  he  that  is  not  of  God, 
heareth  not  us."  And,  speaking  of  the  New  Testament  Church, 
Paul  declares  that  it  is  "  built  upon  the  foundation  of  the  apos- 
tles and  prophets,  Jesus  Christ  being  the  chief  corner  stone. 
Such  a  form  of  expression  must  have  been  blasphemous  m  the 
extreme,  if  the  writings  and  the  authority  of  the  apostles  did 
not  stand  upon  an  equal  footing  with  the  writings  and  the 
authority  of  the  prophets.  In  all  the  passages  which  demon- 
trate  the  inspiration  of  the  word  of  Ciod,  there  is  not  one,  as 
far  as  I  remember,  that  limits  the  divine  afflatus  to  the  senti- 
ments conveyed  ;  and,  on  the  other  hand,  there  are  several 
texts  which  extend  it,  beyond  all  reasonable  doubt,  to  the 
words  which  the  speakers  employ  :*  the  conclusion  I  draw 
from  this  is,  that  the  distinction  between  mental  and  vcrhul 
inspiration  is  altogether  of  man's  devising,  and  that  the  only 
safe  way  of  receiving  the  entire  Scriptures  is  to  regard  both 
their  sentiment  and  their  language  as  "  the  word  of  God." 
There  may  be  difficulties  to  some  minds  in  this  view.  But 
what  view  of  truth  is  without  difficulty  ?  If  we  believe  no- 
thing till  we  get  rid  of  all  difficulty,  we  shall  verily  soon  be 
in  the  condition  of  believing  nothing. 

Some  have  said,  if  inspiration  be  plenary  and  verbal,  \\ovi 
can  the  difference  of  stylo  among  the  several  writers  of  Scrip- 
ture be  accounted  for?  My  reply  is,  that  the  Spirit  of  God 
was  as  capable  of  influencing  the  mind  of  a  prophet  or  an 
apostle  in  coincidence  with  his  own  taste,  predilections,  and 
education,  as  in  opposition  to  them.  If  the  inspiration  is  ad- 
mitted at  all,  there  need,  therefore,  be  no  doubt  or  jierplexity 
here.  I  may  just  add,  however,  and  though  there  is  a  strik- 
ing varieJy  in  the  diction  of  the  inspired  writers,  there  is,  at 
the  same  time,  an  inexpressible  peculiarity  attaching  to  the 
books  of  Scripture  at  large,  which  distinguishes  them  from 
all  apocryphal  and  uninspired  productions  in  the  several  ages 
to  which  they  belong.  Tlio  individuality  of  the  writers  is  in- 
deed preserved;  but  the  individuality  of  the  divine  agency  is 
not  less  conspicuous.  "  Is  it  not  evident,"  observes  an  eminent 
divine,  "  that  God  may  exercise  a  perfect  superintendency 
over  inspired  writers  as  to  the  language  they  shall  use,  and 
yet  that  each  one  of  them  shall  write  in  his  own  style,  and  in 
all  respects  according  to  his  own  taste  1  May  not  God  give 
such  aid  to  his  servants,  that,  while  using  their  own  style, 
they  will  certainly  be  secured  against  all  mistakes,  and  ex- 
hibit the  truth  with  perfect  propriety  1  It  is  unquestionable 
that  Isaiah,  and  St.  Paul,  and  St.  John  might  be  under  the 
entire  direction  of  the  Holy  Spirit,  even  as  to  language  ;  and, 
at  the  same  time,  that  each  one  of  them  might  write  in  his 
own  manner;  and  that  the  peculiar  manner  of  each  might  be 
adapted  to  answer  an  important  end  ;  and  that  the  variety  of 
style  thus  introduced  into  the  sacred  volume  might  be  suited 
to  excite  a  livelier  interest  in  the  minds  of  men,  and  to  se- 
cure to  them  a  far  greater  amount  of  good  than  could  over 
have  been  derived  from  any  one  mode  of  writing. 

"If  we  should  admit  that  the  divine  superintendence  and 
guidance  afforded  to  the  inspired  writers  had  had  no  relation 
at  all  to  the  manner  in  which  they  exhibited  either  doctrines 
or  facts,  how  easily  might  we  be  disturbed  with  doubts  in 
"  regard  to  the  propriety  of  some  of  their  representations  1  We 
should  most  certainly  consider  them  as  liable  to  all  the  inad- 
vertencies and  mistakes  to  which  uninspired  men  are  com- 
monly liable  ;  and  we  should  think  ourselves  perfectly  justified 
in  undertaking  to  charge  them  with  real  errors  and  faults  as 
to  style,  and  to  show  how  their  language  might  have  been 
improved  ;  and,  in  short,  to  treat  their  writings  just  as  we 
treat  the  writings  of  Sliakspeare  and  Addison.  '  Here,'  we 
mio-ht  say,  'Paul  was  unfortunate  in  the  choice  of  words; 
and  here  his  language  does  not  express  the  ideas  which  he 
must  have  intended  to  convey.'  '  Here  the  style  of  St.  John 
was  inadvertent;  and  here  it  was  faidty  ;  and  here  it  would 
have  been  more  agreeable  to  the  nature  of  the  subject,  and 
would  have  more  accurately  expressed  the  truth,  had  it  been 
altered  thus.'  If  the  language  of  the  sacred  writers  did  not 
in  any  way  come  under  the  inspiration  of  the  Holy  Spirit,  and 
if  they  were  left,  just  as  other  writers  are,  to  their  own  un- 
aided faculties  in  regard  to  every  thing  which  pertained  to  the 
manner  of  writing,  then,  evidently,  we  might  use  the  same 
freedom  in  animadverting  upon  their  style  as  upon  the  style 


of  other  writers.  I5ut  who  could  treat  the  volume  of  insj)ira- 
tion  in  this  manner  without  impiety  and  profaneness?  And 
rather  than  make  any  a])proach  to  this,  who  would  not  choose 
to  go  to  an  excess,  if  there  could  be  an  excess,  in  reverence 
for  the  word  of  God."* 

To  these  excellent  remarks  I  would  add,  that  he  who  ob- 
jects to  the  doctrine  of  verbal  inspiration  on  account  of  the 
variety  nf  style  which  obtains  among  the  sacred  writers,  might, 
on  the  same  principle,  object  to  mental  inspiration  on  account 
of  the  variety  of  tlwitght  by  which  they  are  equally  dis- 
tinguished. 

it  is  in  receiving  "all  vScripture  as  given  by  inspiration  of 
God"  that  the  mind  finds  repose  from  those  endless  suspicions 
which  must  assail  llmse  who  regard  the  Bible  as  tlie  word  of 
God  as  to  duelrinc,  but  the  word  of  man  as  to  the  channel  of 
conveyance. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

Some  popular  uhject  tuns  tu  the  full  inspiration  if  the  Ihdy  Scrlp- 
turcs.\ 

1.  It  has  been  objected,  that  if  the  inspiration  of  the  Scrip- 
tures be  plenary  and  verbal,  it  will  then  follow,  that  the  im- 
proper and  wicked  sayings  of  bad  men,  and  even  devils,  which 
are  introduced  in  Scripture,  must  lay  claim  to  an  immediate 
inspiration.  The  auswer  to  this  very  flimsy  difficulty  is  sim- 
ply this, — that  though,  in  such  cases,  the  Holy  Spirit  dicta- 
ted to  inspired  men  the  very  words  which  were  uttered  by  the 
sinful  agents  referred  to,  he  dictated  them  not  as  his,  but 
theirs. 

2.  It  has  been  objected,  that,  as  the  inspired  writers  were 
thoroughly  acquainted  with  many  things  of  which  they  wrote, 
they  could  not  in  such  matters  require  any  immediate  afllatus 
from  the  Holy  Spirit,  and  that  therefore  such  a  redundant  in- 
fluence would  not  have  been  vouchsafed  by  that  infinitely 
wise  Being  who  never  lavishes  his  supernatural  bestowments. 
To  this  I  reply,  that  the  authority  of  a  messenger  must  cease 
when  he  acts  merely  in  his  own  name,  and  gives  forth  that 
only  which  comes  within  the  range  of  his  ovrn  personal 
knowledge,  without  reference  to  the  express  dictation  of  the 
power  by  which  he  is  delegated.  On  this  principle,  a  writer 
of  Scripture  recording  that  which  was  simply  the  result  of 
his  own  knowledge,  is  a  contradiction  in  terms  ;  inasmuch  as 
he  must  cease  to  be  the  medium  of  an  infallible  record  the 
moment  that  he  is  thrown,  in  a  single  instance,  on  his  own 
unaided  resources  : — that  is  not  Holy  Scripture  which  is  not 
given  by  inspiration  of  God. 

3.  To  the  full  view  of  inspiration  here  contended  for,  it  has 
been  objected,  that  some  things  are  introduced  by  the  inspired 
writers  of  too  trifling  a  nature  to  be  the  subject  of  a  direct 
communication  from  God.  As,  for  instance,  when  Paul  says 
to  his  son  Timothy — "  Drink  no  longer  water,  but  use  a  little 
wine  for  thy  stomach's  sake,  and  thine  often  infirmities  ;"  or 
as  elsewhere,  when  the  same  apostle  says — "The  cloak  that 
I  left  at  Troas  with  Carpus,  when  thou  comest,  bring  with 
thee,  and  the  books,  but  especially  the  parchments."  It  is 
assumed,  by  objectors  to  the  full  inspiration  of  such  texts, 
that  they  are  below  the  standard  of  a  divine  communication, 
and  that  therefore  they  were  the  simple  unaided  dictates  of 
the  apostle's  own  mind.  Could  we  see  no  design  couched 
in  them  worthy  of  God,  this  would  be  a  most  irreverent  way 
of  dealing  with  any  part  of  a  book  which  gives  no  counte- 
nance to  the  idea  of  one  part  being  more  inspired  than  another. 
"The  question  is  not  at  all  whether  the  Apostle  Paul  needed 
inspiration  to  enable  him  to  give  such  directions,  but  whether 
it  was  without  inspiration  that  these  doctrines  form  a  partof 
a  hook,  all  of  which'comes  to  us  as  the  word  of  God,  and  in- 
spired by  him.  There  are  many  parts  of  Scripture  that  might 
have  been  written  without  inspiration  ;  but  the  question  is, 
were  the  sacred  writers  left  without  inspiration  to  select 
what  they  would  put  into  this  book,  and  what  they  would 
keep  out  of  it?  If  so,  then  the  book  is  theirs,  not  God's.  Be- 
sides, if  it  be  thought  absurd  to  suppose  that  there  is  any  in- 


"^  Take  nil  those  pni-ls  of  the  Prophets  and  the  Pentateucli  wliich 
begin  \vitli,  "Thus  saitli  llie  liOrd  ;"  and  also  such  parts  of  the  pro- 
phetic annouiicenieiits  as  were  unintelligible  to  the  proplicls  them- 
selves. Dan.  xii.  7 — 9.  In  the  New  Testament,  see  also  John  xiv. 
16,  17,  -2f>.  xiv.  12,  13.  Luke  .vii.  li.  Matt.  .\.  19,  '20.  .  1  Cof.  ii. 
13.    2Pet.i.  iil. 


*  Di*.  Woods,  on  Inspiration. 

t  I  cannot  hilt  strongly  recommend  to  my  readers  a  work  which  I 
have  fountl  of  great  use  to  myself  on  this  suhject,  hy  Uobert  Haldane, 
Esq.,  entitled,"  The  Books  of  the  Uld  and  New  Testiimenis  proved 
to  he  canonical,  and  tlieir  vcrhiJ  iuspiration  maintained  and  estab- 
lished, &c."  12mo. 


A  PORTRAITURE  OF  MODERN  SCEPTICISM. 


189 


spiration  in  the  direction  wliich  tlie  apostle  gave  about  his 
cloak  and  his  books,  it  may  very  naturally  be  thought  that  as 
little  inspiration  was  necessary  to  tell  us  how  often  he  had 
received  forty  stripes  save  one ;  that  he  had  fought  with  wild 
beasts  at  Ephesus  ;  that  he  had  undersrone  an  endless  variety 
of  perils;  that  he  had  been  let  down  over  the  wall  of  Damas- 
cus in  a  basket,  and  put  into  the  stocks  at  Philippi.  Of  all 
these,  and  man)'  other  similar  instances,  it  may  be  said,  that 
these  are  cases  in  which,  as  it  would  be  absurd  to  suppose 
any  inspiration,  so  it  was  unnecessary  to  disavow  it.  \\  c 
shall  thus  get  quit  of  the  whole  account  of  the  sufferings  of 
the  apostles.  The  apostle  says,  that  "  all  Scripture  is  given 
by  inspiration  of  God,  and  is  profitable,"  &c.  If  there  be 
many  passages,  or  any  passages,  in  which  it  would  be  absurd 
to  suppose  any  inspiration,  or  which  is  not  proHtable,  then  he 
is  guilty  of  stating  what  is  not  true."* 

Besides  this  general  defence  of  the  full  inspiration  of  the 
passages  in  question,  they  admit  of  a  [more  specific  support. 
Take  the  first  of  them,  viz  : — Paul's  counsel  to  Timothy  res- 
pecting the  use  of  wine.  Does  not  the  exhortation  in  ques- 
tion stand  in  the  midst  of  a  group  of  precepts,  the  most  sol- 
emn and  weighty  that  can  be  couceived  oft  Who,  then,  can 
prove  to  me,  that  the  apostle  was  under  inspiration  in  deliv- 
ering them,  if  not  in  delivering  it?  And  was  it  altogether  un- 
worthy of  the  Holy  Spirit  to  dictate  to  Paul  such  an  injunc- 
tion for  the  use  of  Timothy,  when  the  preservation  of  his 
health,  and  his  continued  labours  and  usefulness  in  the  church 
might  depend  upon  it  ?  Besides,  does  not  the  very  permis- 
sion to  Timothy  of  a  '■  little  wine"  inculcate  the  doctrine  of 
temperance,  especially  upon  all  the  ministers  of  Jesus  Christ  ? 
As  to  the  second  passage,  we  may  fairly  assume,  with 
Orotius  and  Erasmus,  the  poverty  of  Paul,  but  not  surely  the 
absence  of  inspiration.  "See,"  said  Grotius,  "the  poverty 
of  so  great  an  apostle,  who  considered  so  small  a  matter,  left 
at  such  a  distance,  to  be  a  loss  to  him  !"  "  Behold,"  said 
Erasmus,  "  the  apostle's  household  furniture,  a  cloak  to  de- 
fend him  from  the  rain,  and  a  few  books!"  With  regard  to 
the  "  books  or  parchments,"  unless  we  knew  what  they  were, 
it  would  be  the  height  of  presumption  to  affirm  that  the  re- 
quest which  relates  to  them  was  uninspired. 

i.  I  shall  only  notice  one  su))position  more,  viz.,  that  the 
writers  of  Scripture  sometimes  intimate  themselves  that  they 
are  not  speaking  by  inspiration  of  God.  Now,  before  refer- 
ring to  the  instances  in  question,  I  would  here  take  leave  to 
observe,  that  should  it  even  appear,  in  certain  given  cases, 
that  inspired  men  do  disavow  the  immediate  dictation  of  the 
Holy  Spirit,  all  that  can  be  fairly  gathered  from  this  factwill 
be,  that  on  all  other  occasions,  not  thus  limited,  they  spake 
under  his  immediate  guidance.  In  reference  to  cWtain  delica- 
cies belonging  to  the  marriage  compact,  the  apostle  thus  ex- 
presses himself  in  his  first  Epistle  to  the  Corinthians: — "I 
speak  this  by  permission,  and  not  of  command."  Now  who 
perijiitted  Paul  to  lay  down  the  rules  referred  tol  Whj',  un- 
questionably, the  Spirit  of  God.  AVhat  is  meant,  then? 
That  Paul  spake  by  inspiration,  hut  that  there  was  no  express 
command  from  the  Lord  on  the  subject.     As  at  the  10th  verse 

*  Mr.  C.-uew,  as  quoted  by  AD".  Haldanc. 


of  the  same  chapter: — ••  Into  the  nuirriLd,"  said  Paul,  "I 
command,  yet  not  I,  hut  the  Lord,  Let  not  the  wife  depart 
from  her  husband."  The  meaning  is,  that  upon  this  particu- 
lar Christ  had  issued  his  own  mandate ;  nevertheless  Paul 
gave  command  by  the  Spirit  of  Christ.  "To  the  rest,"  said 
he,  "  speakl,  not  the  Lord."  That  is,  the  remaining  coun- 
sels of  the  apostle  were  such  as  the  great  master  had  left  no 
express  injunction  about,  but  which  were  nevertheless  en- 
trusted to  him  by  the  Spirit.  At  the  •25th  verse  of  the  same 
chapter  the  apostle  has  the  following  expression :  "  Now, 
concerning  virgins,  I  have  no  commandment  of  the  Lord  ;  yet 
I  give  my  judgment  as  one  tTiat  hath  obtained  mercy  of  the 
Lord  to  be  faithful."  The  thought  is  the  same  here  as  in 
the  former  instances.  Though  no  express  command  had  been 
given  by  Christ,  on  the  subject  treated  of,  yet  the  apostle,  as 
one  of  his  inspired  servants,  had  received  that  grace  which 
qualified  him  for  a  full  development  of  the  divine  will,  in  all 
those  things  to  which  the  personal  ministry  of  Christ  had 
not  been  directed. 

In  the  last  verse  of  the  chapter  the  apostle  adds — "  And  I 
think,  also,  that  I  have  the  mind  of  Christ;"  an  expression 
which  some  of  the  most  eminent  critics  have  shown  not  to 
indicate  an  uncertain  opinion,  but  full  conviction  and  uidiesi- 
tating  knowledge,  as  in  John  v.  39. 

But  supposing  all  the  above  passages,  and  some  others 
which  might  be  quoted,  to  be  instances  in  which  the  apostle 
spake  without  the  immediate  guidance  of  inspiration, — a  thino- 
which  I  caimot  admit  for  a  moment, — it  is  clear  that  he  must 
have  acted  under  inspiration  in  apprising  the  church  that  the 
Spirit  did  not  inlluence  him  in  such  communications  ;  so  that 
nothing  can  be  derived  from  the  objection  against  the  imme- 
diate and  full  inspiration  of  other  parts  of  the  word  of  God  ; 
hut  on  the  contrary,  it  would  rather  go  to  the  conclusion,  that 
nothing  short  of  an  apostolic  denial  of  such  inspiration  can 
justify  any  man  in  hesitating  about  the  immediate  divine  au- 
thority of  a  single  portion  of  the  word  of  God. 


CONCLUSION. 

From  the  whole  of  the  preceding  remarks,  we  may  infer 
the  paramount  duty  of  entire  and  unreserved  Submission  to 
the  authority  of  God  in  the  written  word.  Our  reason,  oar 
conscience,  our  atfections,  are  all  called  to  surrender  them- 
selves to  the  heavenly  vision.  In  this  inestimable  volume 
God  speaks  to  us  upon  subjects  of  the  highest  interest;  and, 
refusing  to  listen  to  his  voice,  we  seal  our  own  unhappy 
doom.  "  Hear  ye  the  word  of  the  Lord,"  is  the  message  ad- 
dressed to  all  who  possess  the  sacred  boon  ;  and  he  who  by 
prejudice  or  sin  excludes  himself  from  the  benefits  of  this 
message,  which  reveals  the  only  method  of  salvation,  is 
chargeal)le  with  a  degree  of  rashness  and  folly  which  eternity 
itself  will  but  fully  disclose.  Let  the  prayer  of  each  one  who 
reads  this  little  treatise  be — "  Open  thou  mine  eyes,  that  I 
may  behold  wonderful  things  contained  in  thy  law  !" 


A   MEMOIR 


OF 


ISS    MARY    JANE    GRAHAM 


LATE  OF  STOKE  FLEMING,  DEVON. 


BY 


THE    REV.  CHARLES   BRIDGES,   M.  A. 

VICAR   OF   OLD    NEWTON,   SUFFOLK. 


CHAPTER  L 

Ihr  Early  Life. 

"The  works  of  tho  Lord  are  great;  smiu^ht  out  of  all  than 
that  have  pleasure  therein.''''  Elevated,  indeed,  is  the  Cliris- 
tian's  pleasure  in  "  seeking  out  the  great  works"  of  creation. 
But  it  is  the  work  of  "  Redemption,"  which  mainly  attracts 
his  delighted  contemplation;  as  the  mirror  in  which  the 
glory  of  his  God  and  Saviour  is  liiost  fully  unveiled  before 
him.  The  "new  creation"  on  the  heart  of  man  is  one  grand 
division  of  this  perfect  work  of  God  ;  and  often  does  its  dis- 
play of  "  the  beauties  of  holiness"  constrain  the  world  to  a 
reluctant  acknowledgment,  and  excite  the  Church  to  joyful 
adoration — "  What  hath  God  wrought !"  For  not  only  will 
the  Redeemer's  glory  be  manifested  in  his  saints  at  the  bliss- 
ful era  of  his  coming;  not  only  will  they  then  be  seen  as  the 
"jewels"  of  his  everlasting  crown ;  hut  even  now  are  they 
"  the  glory  of  his  inheritance,"  set  forth  for  the  conviction  of 
the  world,  "  that  they  may  see,  and  know,  and  consider,  and 
understand  together,  that  the  hand  of  the  Lord  hath  done  this, 
and  that  the  Holy  One  of  Israel  has  created  it."  It  is  the  ob- 
ject of  the  following  sketch  to  bring  forth  to  view  one  of  these 
striking  manifestations  of  Divine  power  and  grace,  and  to  il- 
lustrate, in  connexion  with  this  memorial,  some  of  those  edi- 
fying and  instructive  lessons  which  it  will  be  seen  to  present 
before  us. 

Mary  Jane  Graham  was  horn  in  London,  April  11,  1803. 
Her  father  was  engaged  in  a  respectable  business,  from  which 
he  retired  a  few  j-ears  before  his  daughter's  death  (and  chiefly 
from  regard  to  her  delicate  health,)  to  the  village  of  Stoke 
Fleming,  near  Dartmouth,  Devon.  She  appears  to  have  been 
the  subject  of  early  religious  convictions.  Al  the  age  of  seven 
she  had  acquired  those  habits  of  secret  prayer,  which  rnay  be 
considered  a  favourable  mark  of  Divine  influence  upon  her 
soul.  But  we  will  give  the  history  of  this  era  of  her  life  in 
her  own  words.  To  a  friend,  who  had  evinced  some  incre- 
dulity of  the  genuineness  or  permanency  of  early  impressions 
of  religion,  she  thus  writes: 

3Iareh  20,  1S37. 
'You  appear,  my  dear  friend,  to  think  very  early  piety  too 
wonderful  a  thing  to  be  true.  It  is  wonderful,  so  wonderful 
that,  when  David  was  contemplating  the  starry  firmament,  he 
was  drawn  for  a  moment  from  his  meditation  on  the  wonders 
he  there  beheld,  by  the  still  greater  wonder  of  "  God's  ordain- 
ing strength  out  of  the  mouths  of  babes  and  sucklings."  But 
David's  wonder  and  yours  were  of  a  very  different  nature;  he 
wondered  and  adored.  Jesus,  too,  that  "  man  of  sorrows,"  once 
"rejoiced   in  spirit,"  because  God   "had   hid  these  things 


from  the  wise  and  prudent,  and  revealed  them  unto  babes. 
Even  so,  Father  ;  for  it  seemed  good  in  thy  sight."  'Even 
so,  Lord  Jesus;  in  thy  rejoicing  will  I  too  rejoice;  let  the 
world  think  me  a  fool  or  an  enthusiast,  or  beside  myself,  as 
they  thought  Thee.'  The  story  of  '  Little  Henry  and  his 
Bearer,'  to  which  I  believe  you  allude,  I  have  been  assured  by 

Miss ,  is  every  word  of  it  true.     Do  not  then  bring  upon 

yourself  the  dreadful  sin  of  limiting  the  power  of  the  Holy 
One  of  Israel.  Jesus  has  said,  "Suffer  little  children  to 
come ;"  and  they  will  come,  if  He  calls  them.  As  facts  are 
the  strongest  of  all  proofs,  bear  with  me  a  little  longer,  while 
I  tell  you  briefly  the  history  of  a  child,  for  the  truth  of  which 
I  can  vouch.  I  knew  a  little  girl,  about  sixteen  j'ears  and  a 
half  ago.  She  was  much  like  other  children,  as  full  of  sin 
and  vanity  as  ever  she  could  hold ;  and  her  parents  had  not 
as  yet  takci  much  pains  to  talk  to  her  about  religion.  So  she 
went  on  in  the  way  of  her  own  evil  heart,  and  thought  her- 
self a  very  good  little  girl,  because  she  said  her  prayers  every 
night  and  morning,  and  was  not  more  passionate,  vi'ilful,  and 
perverse,  than  most  of  her  young  companions.  The  God  of 
love  did  not  think  this  sinful  child  too  j-oung  to  learn  of  Je- 
sus. He  so  ordered  it  about  the  time  I  am  speaking  of,  when 
she  was  just  seven  years  old,  that  she  was  led  by  a  pious  ser- 
vant into  some  almshouses  belonging  to  Rowland  Hill,  who 
had  just  been  preaching  at  them.  The  servant  and  an  aged 
woman  entered  into  a  long  conversation  together,  to  which 
the  little  girl  listened,  and  wondered  what  could  make  them 
like  to  talk  about  such  things.  But  at  the  close  of  it,  the  old 
woman  took  the  child  affectionately  by  the  hand,  and  said  to 
her,  'My  dear  child,  make  the  Lord  Jesus  your  friend  now 
that  you  are  so  young ;  and  when  }-ou  come  to  be  as  old  as  I 
am,  He'll  never  leave  you  nor  forsake  you.'  God  the  Spirit 
sent  these  simple  words  to  the  poor  sinful  child's  heart.  She 
walked  home  in  silence  by  her  nurse's  side,  thinking  how 
she  could  get  Jesus  to  be  her  friend.  Then  she  remembered 
how  often  she  had  slighted  this  dear  Saviour;  how  she  had 
read  of  Him  in  the  Bible,  and  been  wearied  of  the  subject : 
how  she  had  heard  the  minister  preach  Jesus,  and  wished  the 
long  dry  sermon  over ;  how  she  had  said  pra3-ers  to  Him  with- 
out minding  what  she  said;  how  she  had  passed  days,  weeks, 
and  months,  without  thirlking  of  Him;  how  she  had  loved 
her  play,  her  books,  and  her  toys,  and  her  play-fellows — all, 
all  better  than  Jesus.  Then  the  Holy  Spirit  convinced  her 
of  sin.  She  saw  that  no  one  good  thing  dwelt  in  her,  and 
that  she  deserved  to  be  cast  away  from  God  for  ever.  Would 
Jesus  love  her  now  ^  Would  he  ever  forgive  her  1  She  feared 
not ;  but  she  would  trj'.  She  would  make  herself  very  good, 
and  then,  perhaps,  Jesus  would  be  her  friend.  But  the  more 
this  little  girl  tried  to  be  good,  the  more  her  naughty  heart 
got  the  better  of  her;  for  she  was  trying  in  her  own  strength. 
She  was  led  to  give  up  tr3'ing  in  that  way;  and  many  long  nights 


MEMOIR  OF  MARY  JANE  GRAHAM. 


191 


did  she  spend  in  praying-  "with  strong  crying  and  tears"  to 
Jesus,  that  He  would  teacli  her  how  to  get  her  sins  pardoned, 
and  make  her  fit  to  have  Him  for  her  friend.  Let  me  mention 
it  for  the  encouragement  of  those  who  seek  Jesus,  that  He 
did  not  disdain  to  listen  to  the  prayers  of  this  little  child.  He 
put  it  into  her  heart  to  read  the  Bible,  of  which,  though  she 
understood  not  all,  yet  she  gathered  enough  to  give  her  some 
comfort.  One  day  her  attention  was  fixed  on  these  words, 
"The  Lamb  of  God,  which  taketh  away  the  sin  of  the 
world."  Now  something  that  could  take  away  sin  was  just 
what  this  little  girl  wanted  ;  and  she  asked  her  father  to  tell 
her  who  this  Lamb  of  God  was.  He  explained  the  precious 
verse.  But  who  can  describe  the  raptures  which  filled  the 
bosom  of  this  little  child,  when  made  to  comprehend  that  the 
"  blood  of  Jesus  cleanseth  from  all  sin."  Now  she  fled  to 
Jesus  indeed.  Now  she  knew  that  He  had  loved  her,  and 
given  himself  for  her;  now  the  Spirit  of  God,  who  often 
"chooseth  the  weak  and  foolish  things  of  the  world,  to  con- 
found the  wise  and  mighty,"  "shed  abroad  the  love  of  God 
in  the  heart"  of  a  weak  and  foolish  child,  and  "filled  her  with 
peace  and  joy  in  believing."  She  had  no  one  to  whom  she 
could  talk  to  of  these  things.  But  she  held  sweet  converse 
with  her  reconciled  God  and  Father;  and  gladly  would  she 
have  quitted  this  life  to  go  and  dwell  with  Jesns.  Since  then 
she  has  spent  nearly  seventeen  years  of  mingled  happiness 
and  pain.  But  she  has  had  Jesus  for  her  friend;  and  He  never 
has,  and  never  will,  forsake  her.  She  has  forsaken  Him 
more  than  once  for  a  season,  and  turned  to  follow  the  vain 
things  of  the  world.  But  her  Shepherd's  eye  has  been  over 
her  in  her  wanderings,  and  He  has  never  suffered  her  rjuite  to 
depart  from  Him.  To  this  day  her  vain  and  treacherous 
heart  is  continually  leading  her  to  provoke  her  heavenly 
Friend.  Ho  "'visits  her  transgressions  with  the  rod,  and 
her  iniquity  with  stripes;"  but  He  has  sworn  never  to  "  take 
His  loving-kinjncss  from  her,  nor  to  suffer  His  faithfulness 
to  fail."  She  is  constrained  to  acknowledge,  that  during  all 
this  time  she  has  never  done  one  thing  that  could  merit  God's 
favour.  Free-grace,  free-merc}^  are  all  her  song:  "It  is  of 
the  Lord's  mercy  she  has  not  long  ago  been  consumed." 
She  is  quite  sure  she  could  never  have  changed  her  own 
heart.  No;  God  has  begun  the  good  work  in  her,  and  he 
must  carry  it  on;  and  from  first  to  last,  let  glory  be  ascribed 
to  Him,  and  let  her  take  shame  and  confusion  to  herself.  At 
this  moment  she  desires  to  live,  if  she  may  be  made  the 
means  of  converting  one  sinner  to  Jesus ;  but  if  not,  she 
would  rather  "  depart  and  be  with  Christ,  which  is  far  better." 
She  is  far  from  despising  earthly  blessings.  Every  morsel 
she  puts  into  her  mouth,  the  very  air  she  breathes,  is  made 
sweet  and  refreshing  by  the  loving  hand  that  sends  it.  Once 
there  was  a  curse  on  all  her  earthly  blessings.  But  now 
"  Christ  hath  redeemed  her  from  the  curse  of  the  law,  being 
made  a  curse  for  her."  She  would  give  it  as  her  living  ex- 
perience, and  leave  it  when  she  goes  hence  as  her  dying  tes- 
timony, that  there  is  nothing  worth  living  for  except  to  know 
Him,  and  see  others  come  to  Him,  and  wash  their  guilty 
souls  in  the  blood  of  the  Lamb.  God  has  given  her  the  bless- 
ing of  seeing  a  happy  change  take  place  in  some  of  the  dear 
companions  of  her  cliildhood  and  youth.  She  waits  upon 
Him  for  the  salvation  of  the  rest ;  and  there  is  no  one  whom 
she  longs  after  more  ardently  in  the  Lord,  than  that  dear  and 
valued  iriend  of  her  earliest  days,  to  whom  this  letter  is  ad 
dressed  ;  and  to  whom  she  wishes  every  spiritual  blessing, 
that  God  the  Father,  God  the  Son,  and  God  the  Holy  Ghost, 
can  bestow  now  and  for  evermore!     Amen  and  Amen!' 

Some  apparent  discrepancy  may  be  observed  between  tjiis 
exquisitely  beautiful  and  natural  letter,  and  her  published  ac- 
count of  this  important  crisis.*  Her  apprehensions  of  Divine 
truth,  as  expressed  in  her  letter,  were  indeed  clear  and  en- 
livening  far  beyond  the  average  spiritual  capacity  of  children. 
Yet  her  '  view  of  many  of  the  doctrines  of  Christianit)',' 
which  she  afterwards  so  fully  developed  and  so  richly  en 
joyed,  were  at  this  time  '  very  indistinct.'  Doubtless  also 
much  of  natural  feeling  and  excitement  was  mingled  witl 
these  early  impressions  of  religion ;  while  what  was  of  a 
spiritual  character,  as  she  afterwards  discovered,  was  not  suf- 
ficiently grounded  upon  that  sense  of  universal  guilt  and  help- 
lessness which  prostrates  the  sinner  at  the  foot  of  the  cross, 
simply  dependant  upon  a  free  salvation.  This  superficial 
cast  of  impression,  wilhout  invalidating  the  reality  of  a  Divi 
change,  will  account  for  the  instability  which  marked  her 
early  course  in  the  ways  of  God.  From  her  own  history  we  learn 


*  Tost  of  Truth.     By  Marv  Jane  Graham.     Thi.s  very  vahiahle 
work  has  just  been  republished  by  J.  AVhctham,  Philadelphia- — Kd. 


that  she  '  was  enabled  to  walk  with  God  in  sincerity  and 
without  any  considerable  declension  during  the  greater  part 
of  her  childhood,  and  the  commencement  of  a  riper  age.'  Af- 
ter this  period,  however,  '  more  than  once,'  as  her  letter  in- 
forms us,  she  '  forsook'  her  Heavenly  Friend,  '  turned  to 
follow  the  vain  things  of  the  world,'  and  "  wenton  frowardly 
in  the  way  of  her  own  heart"—"  leaning  to  her  own  under- 
standing," and  led  captive  in  her  own  folly. 

Of  this  period  future  notice  will  be  given.  l\Ieanwhile  we 
revert  to  her  early  years  as  spent  under  thereof  of  her  parents 
or  at  school.  Herparents  considered  her  virtues  as  those  of 
every  day,  and  not  merely  called  forth  on  particular  occasions. 
She  was  a  most  amiable,  affectionate,  and  dutiful  child,  sel- 
dom needing  correction,  tender-hearted  when  told  of  her 
faults,  and  by  her  general  kindness  of  disposition  attaching  all 
the  members  of  the  household  to  herself.  She  was  remarka- 
bly free  from  selfishness ;  always  ready  to  yield  to  her  coiii- 
panions,  even  to  deprive  herself  of  what  she  valued.  Her  lit- 
tle pocket  money  was  generally  reserved  for  some  object  of 
distress,  or  for  some  token  of  affection  to  a  friend. 

Her  quickness  of  mind  was  a  subject  of  early  observation. 
Her  reading  was  chiefly  obtained  by  attending  to  the  lessons 
which  were  given  to  her  brother,  then  preparing  for  school. 
She  was  seldom  seen  without  a  book  in  hand,  and  seemed 
never  so  happy  as  when  employing  herself  in  the  improve- 
ment of  her  mind.  Yet  this  thoughtful  cast  of  character  was 
by  no  means  tinged  with  unnatural  gloom.  In  all  the  harm- 
less games  of  childhood  none  of  her  companions  excelled  her 
in  playful  activity;*  while  in  the  midst  of  her  cheerful  tem- 
perament, it  was  abundantly  evident  that  the  main  concern  of 
religion  was  uppermost  in  her  mind.  'I  recollect,' her  cou- 
sin writes,  'that  when  we  were  quite  little  children,  she 
made  some  attempt  to  talk  to  me  about  religion;  once  espe- 
cially, when  we  were  sitting  behind  the  curtain  in  the  drawing- 
room  at .  I  did  not  like  the  subject,  and  therefore  walked 

away  and  joined  my  more  worldly-minded  companions.' 

Her  school  career  commenced  soon  after  she  was  seven 
years  old.  She  was  however  shortly  removed,  from  ill  health, 
and  again,  about  the  age  of  ten,  sent  to  a  school  of  a  different 
kind.  Many  of  her  companions  who  survived  her  will  pro- 
bably long  preserve  the  remembrance  of  her  peculiar  kindness 
and  gentleness  of  spirit,  combined  with  her  superior  powers. 
One  of  them  remarks  her  great  carefulness  to  screen,  as  far 
as  it  was  lawful  to  do  so,  the  faults  of  her  fellows,  and  her 
anxiety  to  plead  for  them  when  in  disgrace :  and  so  powerful 
was  her  advocacy,  that  her  preceptress  was  constrained  to 
remove  out  of  her  way,  when  her  judgment  compelled  her  to 
persevere  in  her  discipline.  In  all  the  school  difficulties,  she 
was  the  constant  resource,  ever  ready  and  willing  to  assist, 
without  any  assumption  upon  the  ground  of  her  acknowledged 
superiority.  One  trait  of  peculiar  loveliness  was  here  exhibi- 
ted, (the  spirit  of  which  was  marked  on  various  occasions  in 
after  life,)  in  her  consideration  of  any  of  her  companions  who 
from  any  unfavourable  causes  might  appear  to  be  neglected. 
Those  were  the  objects  of  her  particular  notice,  and  with  them 
she  shared  all  her  little  indulgences. 

Her  religious  impressions  appear  to  have  been  cherished 
!)y  the  familiar  exhortations  of  the  husband  of  her  perceptress, 
and  by  devotional  exercises  with  those  of  her  companions 
who  were  living  under  the  practical  influence  of  their  Chris- 
tian instructions.  To  one  of  them  she  proposed  to  learn  every 
day  a  portion  of  Scripture  in  private,  and  to  repeat  it  to  each- 
other  when  they  retired  to  rest.  At  this  time  she  committed 
to  memory  the  whole  of  the  Prophecy  of  Isaiah,  besides  other 
portions  of  the  sacred  Volume. 

At  the  age  of  twelve  her  delicate  health  again  occasioned 
her  removal  from  school.  Her  illness  lasted  for  about  two 
months,  during  which  time,  when  confined  upon  the  sofa,  she 
committed  to  memory  the  whole  Book  of  Psalms.  Indeed 
her  powers  of  memory  were  of  an  extraordinary  order.  She 
was  much  delighted  with  Milton's  Paradise  Lost,  and  had 
learnt  the  greater  part,  if  not  the  whole,  of  that  magnificent 
poem.  For  many  successive  mornings  she  repeated  to  her 
lather  most  correctly  upwards  of  three  hundred  lines  each 
morning.  Upon  her  recovery  from  illness  she  passed  several 
months  with  a  careful  servant  by  the  seaside.  vSo  instinctive 
were  her  habits  of  active  usefulness,  that  she  employed  her- 
self, though  only  in  her  thirteenth  year,  in  collecting  a  few 
children  for  the  purpose  of  instruction,  and  in  distributing 
tracts.     In  returning  home  to  her  parents,  she  enjoyed  with 

*  One  of  her  early  friends  liowevcr  remarks,  that  her  games  and 
manner  of  amusing  partook  more  of  imagination  and  of  liilent  than 
those  of  tl^e  gencraliTy  of  children. 


192 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


them  the  rich  and  responsible  privilege  of  the  ministry  of  the 
late  Rev.  Samuel  Crowther,  Vicar  of  Christ  Church,  New- 
gate Street;  an  eminent  "watchman  of  Epliraim,  now  with 
his  God."  Under  his  faithful  and  afiectionate  instruction  she 
was  brought  to  the  ordinance  of  Confirmation  about  the  age 
of  sixteen,  and  publicly  '-joined  herself  to  the  Lord  in  a  per- 
petual covenant  never  to  be  forgotten." 

These  interesting  materials  of  Miss  Graliara's  early  life  may 
suggest  a  few  prolitable  remarks. 

L'et  Christian  parents  be  excited  to  an  immediate  and  per- 
severing discharge  of  their  anxious  responsibilities.  Early 
impressions  are  of  the  highest  moment  in  reference  to  the  fu- 
ture course  of  their  children.  Let  them  be  prayed  for,  expected, 
cherished.  They  cannot  be  too  early  or  too  urgent  in  present- 
ino-  (after  the  example  of  the  believing  parents  of  old)  the 
petition  of  the  Angel  of  the  covenant;  "How  shall  we  order 
the  child,  and  how  shall  we  do  unto  him  V  They  can  scarce- 
ly fix  the  precious  seed  too  soon  into  the  fresh  soil.  The  pure 
simplicity  of  the  rudiments  of  the  Gospel  is  specially  suited 
to  the  dawn  of  infant  intelligence ;  and  well  would  it  be,  if 
our  children  should  never  be  able  to  recur  in  after  life  to  the 
time  when  these  vital  truths  were  first  presented  to  their 
minds.  The  child's  intellect  opens  faster  than  is  commonly 
considered.  The  first  impressions  often  retain  a  firm  and  per- 
manent grasp  through  life.  And  abundantly  has  the  experi- 
ence of  the  Church  testified,  that  early  piety  is  eminent 
piety.* 

It  may  appear  suspicious,  that  so  little  shade  is  discovera- 
ble upon  the  records  of  Miss  Graham's  childhood.  But  de 
fects  cannot  be  noticed,  where  they  were  not  observed 
Probably  our  own  sphere  of  observation,  if  not  our  immediate 
circle,  is  not  wholly  unfurnished  with  similar  cases,  sufficient 
to  preclude  an  unwarranted  incredulity.  And  indeed  these 
instances  often  afford  the  most  striking  illustrations  of  the 
total  depravity  of  the  fall.  For  while  Miss  Graham  was  in 
the  estimation  of  her  parents  all  that  their  fond  hearts  could 
wish,  what  was  she  in  the  sight  of  God  !  Self-knowledge 
under  Divine  teaching  soon  discovered  to  her,  that  under  tins 
attractive  garb  was  hid  the  mighty  principle  of  alienation  of 
heart  fronrCod.  There  was  no  natural  preparation  for  heav- 
enly influence.  It  was  only  a  more  lovely  appearance  of  the 
death  that  reigned  within.  Her  subsequent  expressions  there- 
fore of  self-abhorrence  were  not  the  ebullitions  of  a  false 
humility,  or  of  misguided  fanaticism,  but  the  genuine  con- 
viction of  the  Spirit  of  God  upon  her  heart. 

The  subject  of  our  history  suggests  also  the  importance  of 
an  early  excitement  of  the  principles  of  active  usefulness. 
No  doubt  Miss  Graham's  habits  of  early  activity  had  an  im- 
portant influence  in  maturing  her  character  for  the  high  privi- 
ieo-e  of  devoting  herself  to  the  interests  of  her  fellow  creatures. 
It  was  Cotton  Mather's  practice  to  endeavour  to  enlarge  the 
minds  of  his  children,  by  engaging  them  daily  in  some 
'  Essay  to  do  good.'  He  encouraged  and  commended  them, 
when  he  saw  them  take  pleasure  in  it,  and  never  failed  to 
show  them  that  a  backvrardness  would  subject  them  to  his 
displeasure.  This  example  cannot  be  too  strongly  inculcated. 
To  give  to  children  an  object  beyond  themselves,  would  tend 
much  to  counteract  the  natural  principle  of  selfishness,  so 
banel'ul  to  their  personal  happiness,  and  to  their  intellectual, 
moral  and  spiritual  improvement. 


CHAPTER  II. 

Her  Rchipsc  into  Infidelity. 

Ahout  the  age  of  seventeen.  Miss  Graham's  mind  underwent 
a  most  extraordinary  revolution.  She  icll,  for  a  few  months, 
from  the  heavenly  atmosphere  of  comnumion  with  God,  into 
the  dark  and  dreary  regions  of  infidelity.  Allusion  has  al- 
ready been  made  to' this  afllicting  circfunstance,  in  her  letter, 
But  for  a  most  interesting  and  graphic  detail,  the  reader  must 


be  referred  to  her  own  published  account;  some  digest  of 
which  will  here  be  given,  in  order  to  connect  the  thread  of 
hir  history,  and  to  exhibit  a  clear  view  of  one  of  the  most 
important  eras  in  her  life. 

Miss  Graham's  mind  opened  in  a  metaphysical  form,  un- 
favourable to  a  simple  reception  of  truth.  And  this,  con- 
nected with  a  defective  apprehension  of  her  lost  estate,  induced 
a  spirit  of  self-dependence,  one  of  the  most  subtle  and  suc- 
cessful hindrances  to  the  Christian  life.*  Thus  was  the 
way  opened  to  a  secret  habit  of  backsliding  from  God.  The 
foolish  vanities  of  the  world  for  awhile  captivated  her  heart; 
and  her  manners  were  remarked  to  be  like  any  other  thought- 
less girls  of  her  own  age.  From  frivolity  she  sought  refuge 
in  her  more  solid  intellectual  pursuits.  All  sources  of  self- 
gratification  within  her  power  were  resorted  to  with  the  fruit- 
less attempt  of  obtaining  peace  in  a  course  of  departure  from 
God.  Wearied  at  length  with  disappointment,  this  prodig-.d 
child  "  began  to  be  in  want;"  and  many  a  wishful  eye  did 
she  cast  towards  the  rich  provision  of  her  father's  forsaken 
house.  In  turning,  however,  to  religion  for  comfort,  she 
found,  to  use  her  own  words;  'Alas!  I  had  no  religion:  I 
had  refused  to  give  glory  to  the  Lord  my  God;  now  ray  feet 
were  left  to  stumble  upon  the  dark  mountains.' 

The  doctrine  of  the  Divinity  of  Christ  had  often  been  to 
her  (as  to  many  other  minds  cast  in  the  same  mould),  an  oc- 
casion of  perplexity.  Now  it  was  "a  stone  of  stumbling, 
and  a  rock  of  offence."  Though  repeated  examination  had 
fully  satisfied  her  that  it  was  the  truth  of  the  Bible,  yet  so 
repulsive  was  it  to  her  proud  heart,  that  she  was  led  from 
thence  to  question  the  truth  of  the  Bible  itself.  '  I  suspected,' 
said  she,  '  that  a  system  of  religion,  which  involved  such 
apparent  absurdities,  could  not  possibly  come  from  God. 
Determined  to  sift  the  matter  to  the  utmost,  I  eagerly  ac- 
quainted myself  with  the  arguments  for  and  against  Chris- 
tianity. My  understanding  was  convinced  that  the  Scriptures 
were  divine.  But  my  heart  refused  to  receive  the  conviction. 
The  more  my  reason  was  compelled  to  assent  to  their  truth, 
the  more  I  secretly  disliked  the  doctrines  of  the  Bible.' 

Continued  resistance  to  convictions  was  the  natural  and 
melancholy  result  of  this  inquiry.  She  determined  to  lay  the 
subject  aside  for  a  while,  still  '  persuading  herself  that  there 
must  be  flaws  in  the  evidence  of  so  strange  a  history,'  which 
only  her  want  of  luaturity  of  judgment,  prevented  her  from 
discovering,  Those  early  religious  impressions,  that  usually 
form  a  bulwark  against  infidelity,  in  her  case  proved  a  stum- 
bling-block to  her  faith.  Ignorant  of  the  native  bias  of  her 
heart  against  the  Gospel,  she  considered  them  as  the  effect 
of  prejudice,  before  her  mind  had  been  intelligibly  informed 
or  exercised.  She  now,  therefore,  determined  to  burst  her 
chains,  and  to  think  and  examine  for  herself. 

Hitherto  she  had  confined  her  perplexities  within  her  own 
bosom;  partlj' dreading  the  influence  of  external  bias,  and 
partly  fearing  to  infuse  into  another's  mind  doubts  eoncern- 
mcr  a  book,  wliich,  she  could  not  conceal  from  herself,  might 
after  all  be  true.  She  endeavoured  now  to  strengthen  her 
mind  by  pursuing  a  course  of  intellectual  study,  with  the  di- 
rect design  of  preserving  herself  from  becoming  a  dupe^to 
cunningly  devised  fables."  And  here  she  did  not  fail  sub- 
sequently to  acknowledge  the  special  forbearance  and  wisdom 
of  her  heavenly  Father.  Justly  might  he  have  deprived  her 
of  that  reason,  which  she  had  so  presumptuously  set  up  in 
his  own  place.  Yet  was  he  pleased  to  overrule  this  way- 
wardness of  his  child  as  an  ultimate  means  of  her  restoration, 
in  applying  her  course  of  mental  discipline  to  the  effectual 
discovery  of  the  fallacies  with  which  she  was  now  deluded. 

The  immediate  effect  however  of  these  studies  was  deci- 
dedly injurious.  Their  absorbing  interest  diverted  her  mind 
from  the  main  subject  of  inquiry ;  while  they  proved  also  a 
temporary  refuge  against  the  uneasy  disturbance  of  her  con- 
science. Even  her  intervals  of  reflection  were  too  easily 
soothed  by  the  indefinite  postponement  of  the  great  concern 
to  "a  more   convenient  season."      Occasional  convictions 


*  '  Barker's  Parent's  Monitor'  gives  an  useful  digest  of  informa- 
tion, well  calculated  to  guide  llic  instructor,  and  to  encourage  the 
diligence  and  patient  ijeisevcranee  of  parental  faith.  The  principles 
of  Christian  Education  are  brought  out  widi  much  simplicity  and 
practical  detail  in  the  valuablcand  well-knowiMvorks  of  Mrs.  Hoare 
and  Mr.  Babington,  which  cannot  be  too  iiiglUy  recommended.  Per 
haps  die  most  fidl  and  interesting  illustration  of  these  principles  will 
be  found  in  the  Biographies  of  the  Henry  Family,  (Life  of  P.  k  M. 
Henry,  and  Mrs.  Savage)  by  Mr.  Williams,  of  Slu'cwsbiuy. 


»  She  alludes  to  an  injmy,  wliich  her  own  mind,  in  common  (as 
she  conceives)  witli  many  otjicrs,  had  received  from  adopting  Dod- 
dridge's form  of  covenanting  widi  God.  (Rise  and  Progress,  chapter 
wii.J  This  was  in  her  Uiirteendi  year.  Let  it  however  be  remembered, 
diat,  though  this  mode  of  dedic.'itionmay  have  frequently  ministered 
to  a  legal  spirit,  yet  it  by  no  means  necessarily  partakes  of  an  un- 
evangelical  character.  "  This  "  subscribing  of  the  hand  unto  tlic 
Lord","  lias  been  found  by  many  eminent  Christians,  (as,  for  exam- 
ple, in  Philip  Henry's  family)  to  be  a  cord  of  love,  not  a  yoke  of 
hon'da"e.  Allusion  is  probably  made  to  it  as  an  acceptable  ordi- 
nance in  die  service  of  die  Gospel. — Isaiah  xliv.  3 — 5. 


MEMOIR  OF  MARY  JANE  GRAHAM. 


193 


■were   indeed    felt,  but  without  any  permanent  or  practical 
influ(?ncc. 

'I'liroiictli  tlie  Divine  mercy  this  state  of  infatuation  did  not 
prove  of  long  duration.  After  a  few  months'  captivity,  she 
was  brought,  though  not  without  severe  conflict  of  mind,  to 
the  full  light  and  liberty  of  scriptural  truth.*  The  conviction 
of  the  being  of  a  God,  in  her  darkest  moments  had  never 
wholly  forsaken  her.  A  few  hours'  contemplation  of  the 
starrj'  heavens  darted  into  her  mind  a  piercing  reflection  upon 
her  stupidity  and  ingratitude,  in  what  she  justly  called  an 
'unnatural  and  parricidal  attempt  to  banish  God  from  his 
own  creation,  to  depose  him  from  his  natural  supremacy  over 
her  heart.'  Her  whole  life  now  appeared  to  her  (what  in- 
deed the  Scriptures  declare  it  to  be)  one  continued  act  of  sin 
and  folly.  Her  convictions  however  of  sin,  being  wholly 
unconnected  with  any  discovery  of  the  way  of  forgiveness, 
naturally  tended  to  despondency.  Every  fresh  sense  of  the 
corruption  of  her  heart  and  of  the  unsullied  purity  of  the  Di- 
vine character,  brought  with  it  a  corresponding  sense  of  guilt. 
She  could  expect  therefore  nothing  hut  punishment  propor- 
tioned to  the  infinite  sinfulness  of  her  otfence.  She  could 
not  conceive  the  consistency  of  her  forgiveness  with  the  claim 
of  Divine  justice;  and  the  alternative  of  her  eternal  punish- 
ment seemed  even  less  dreadful  than  the  supposition  of  any 
inconsistency  in  Him,  who.  in  her  view,  was  the  Perfection 
of  Holiness.  'I  had  acquired,'  she  remarked,  'such  a  per- 
ception of  the  beauty  of  holiness,  that  the  thought  of  an  un- 
holy God  was  worse  than  hell  to  me.  I  felt  that  I  had  rather 
God  should  pour  out  on  me  all  tlie  vials  of  his  wrath,  than 


she  was  enabled  to  "  believe  unto  righteousness."  The  cha- 
racter of  Christ,  as  a  proof  of  the  credibility  of  the  Christian 
revelation,  arrested  her  particular  attention.  A  minute  scru- 
tiny of  His  spotless  life  was  most  satisfactory  in  its  result.* 
'  The  more,' said  she, 'I  studied  this  Divine  character,  the 
more  I  grew  up  as  it  were  into  its  simplicity  and  holiness, 
the  more  my  understanding  was  enabled  to  shake  off  those 
slavish  and  sinful  prejudices,  which  had  hindered  me  from 
appreciating  its  excellence.  Truly  his  words  were  dearer  to 
me  "  than  my  necessary  food."  He  was  my  "  All  in  all." 
I  did  not  want  to  have  any  knowledge,  goodness,  or  stren^h, 
independently  of  him.  I  had  rather  be  "accepted  in  the  Be- 
loved," than  received  (had  that  been  possible)  upon  the  score 
my  own  merits.  1  had  rather  walk,  leaning  upon  his  arm, 
than  have  a  stock  of  strength  given  me  to  perform  the  jour- 
ney alone.  To  learn,  as  a  fool,  of  Christ;  this  was  betterto 
me  than  to  have  the  knowledge  of  an  angel  to  find  out  things 
for  myself.' 

After  her  recovery  from  this  fearful  snare  of  Satan,  she  was 
mercifully  preserved  from  "  turning  again  to  folly,"  and  led 
forth  in  "  the  path  of  the  just,"  with  increasing  light,  strength, 
and  establishment.  '  From  that  moment,'  she  adds,  '  I  ceas- 
ed to  stumble  at  the  doctrines  of  the  cross.  The  doctrines  of 
Scripture,  which  had  before  appeared  to  me  an  inexplica- 
ble mass  of  confusion  and  contradictions,  were  now  written 
on  my  understanding  with  the  clearness  of  a  sunbeam,  .\bove 
all,  that  once  abhorred  doctrine  of  the  Divinity  of  Christ  was 
becoming  exceeding  precious  to  me.  The  external  evidences 
of  Christianity,  though  I  now  perceived  all  their  force,  were 

From  that  time,'  she 


that,  carried  away  by  an  unworthy  softness  and  weakness,  no  longer  necessary  to  my  conviction.  From  that  time,' she 
he  should  forgive,  and  thereby  encourage  sin.  To  undergo  concludes,  'I  have  continued  to  "sit  at  the  feet  of  Jesus,  and 
eternal  punishment  was  horrible.     To  "acknowledge  an  un-  to  hear  his  word  ;"  taking  him  for  my  Teacher  and  Guide  in 


holy  (Jod  was  more  horrible.' 

As  her  last  expedient,  her  despised  Bible  was  brought  to 
mind.  And  'how  different' — she  observes — '  was  the  tem- 
]>er  of  mind,  in  which  I  now  addressed  myself  to  its  perusal, 
from  that  in  which  I  had  read  it  in  the  commencement  of  my 
disbelief  of  Christianity  !  I  was  no  longer  a  proud  sophist, 
triumphing  in  the  strength  and  penetration  of  human  reason, 
and  in  the  comprehensiveness  of  human  knowledge.  The 
contemplation  of  my  own  ignorance,  weakness,  and  wicked- 
ness, had  laid  my  priJo  in  the  dust.  My  eyes  were  opened 
to  view  myself  as  I  really  was — depraved  and  blinded  in  my 
reason,  judgment,  and  understanding.  And  this  is  the  pro- 
cess, which  must  take  place  in  the  soul  of  every  man,  before 
he  can  pursue  the  search  after  truth  in  a  right  spirit 

Her  interest  was  early  directed  to  the  promises  of  Divine 
teaching  to  the  sincere  inquirer  after  truth.  Their  suitable- 
ness fixed  her  attention.  Their  freeness  encouraged  her 
heart.  "  Ask,  and  it  shall  be  given  you  ;  seek,  and  ye  shall 
find.  He  giveth  his  Holy  Spirit  to  them  that  ask  him" — 
especially  arrested  her.  She  determined  to  make  trial  of 
them,  conceiving  that  their  fulfilment  in  her  own  case  would 
be  a  '  Test  nf  Ihe  Truth''  of  the  bcjol.;  which  held  them  forth 
fur  her  acceptance.  Though  hindered  at  first  by  a  sense  of 
unworthiness,  she  ventured  to  apply  ;  justly  considering,  that 
whatever  might  be  her  apprehensions  of  her  own  demerit, 
yet  a  state  of  submission  and  desire  could  not  bo  so  displeas- 
ing to  God,  as  one  of  carelessness  and  rebellion.  But  the 
description  of  this  anxious  crisis  must  he  given  in  her  own 
striking  words.  'Impelled  by  these  reflections — fearful  and 
uncertain,  but  with  uncontrolable,  unutterable  longings,  1 
directed  my  applications  '  To  the  itnlcnnwn  God.''  O  my  Re 
decmcr '.  the  first  breathinnrs  of  my  soul  were  not  uttered  in 
thy  name!  I  rushed  into  the  presence  of  my  Judge  without 
a  mediator.  But  doubtless  even  then  Thy  comeliness  was 
thrown  over  the  deformity  of  my  soul  ;  and  the  eye  of  my 
Father  beheld  me  with  pity,  for  thy  dear  name's  sake,  ^ly 
prayer  ascended  up  to  heaven,  fraorant  with  the  incense  of 
thy  merits;  though  the  poor  wretch  who  offered  it  thought  to 
please  (ind  by  leaving  thee  out  of  it. 

In  this  jirostration  of  soul,  she  continued  "  watching  daily 
at  her  Lord's  gates,  waiting  at  the  posts  of  his  doors."  It 
need  scarcely  be  added,  she  did  not  seek  in  vain.  The  Divine 
character  now  appeared  before  her,  not,  as  before,  in  its  con- 
suming holiness;  but  in  the  combined  glory  of  holiness  and 
love.  Her  apprehensions  of  sin,  of  Christ,  and  of  the  whole 
system  of  Christian  trutli,  were  now  irradiated  with  heavenly 
light;  and  with  simplicity,  and  godly  sincerity"  of  "  heart," 

•  It  may  be  remai-ked,  tliat  severe  providential  afflictions  about 
this  period  concurred  with  the  exercises  of  her  oivn  mind,  to  awaken 
liir  niiiid  to  this  self-abasing  recoUectipn  of  her  fearful  departure 
from  God. 

Vol..  II.-Z 


things  temporal  as  well  as  spiritual.  He  has  found  in  me  a 
disciple  so  slow  of  comprehension,  so  prone  to  forget  his  les- 
sons and  to  act  in  opposition  to  his  commands,  that  were  he 
not  infinitely  "  meek  and  lowly  in  heart,"  he  would  long  ago 
have  cast  me  off  in  anger.  But  he  still  continues  to  bear 
w  ith  me,  and  to  give  me  "  line  upon  line,  and  precept  upon 
precept."  And  1  am  certain,  that  he  "will  never  leave  me, 
nor  forsake  me  ;"  for,  though  I  am  variable  and  inconstant, 
"  with  him  there  is  no  variableness,  neither  shadow  of  turn- 

The  v\  riter  cannot  hut  hope,  that  at  this  awful  crisis,  when 
a  moral  pestilence  (far  more  dreadful  than  the  late  providen- 
tial visitation)  is  stalking  through  the  land,  the  preceding 
narrative  may  suggest  seasonable  caution,  conviction,  and 
encouragement  to  some,  especially  of  his  young  readers. 
Let  them  mark  the  connexion  of  the  first  principles  of  infidel- 
it}',  with  the  exercise  of  the  undtmtanding,  and  with  the  state 
of  the  heart. 

Fride  of  intellect  in  Miss  Graham's  case,  was  evidently  one 
main  cause  of  her  departure  from  God.  When  her  mind  left 
the  strong-hold  of  faith,  her  scriptural  light,  which  could  only 
be  apprehended  through  spiritual  optics,  became  obscured, 
until  she  was  gradually  left  to  the  Egyptian  darkness  of  her 
own  understanding.  And  this  we  apprehend  to  be  a  very 
usual  commencement  of  an  infidel  course,  upon  principles 
equally  opposed  to  reason  and  to  revelation.  Man,  in  his 
prurient  desire  to  pass  the  bounds  of  revelation,  forgets  that 
while  "  the  things  that  are  revealed  belong  to  us  and  to  our 
children,"  the  "  secret  things"  are  no  less  the  property  of 
God.     As  he  has,  therefore,  reserved  them  for  himself,  this 


*  This  is  not  a  solitary  instance  of  impression  from  the  contem- 
plation of  the  cliaractcr  of  Clirist.  Even  Mr.  Chubb  must  have  felt 
some  conviction,  when  he  describes  his  life  'as  a  beautiful  picture 
ofhuman  nature  in  its  native  purity  and  simplicity  ;  and  sliowing  at 
once  what  excellent  creatures  nicMi  uould  lie,  when  under  the  inllu- 
enccand  power  of  that  gospel  which  he  preached  unto  them.'  Cfrue 
Gospel,  p.  56.)  Rousseau's  exiiuisitc  contrast  between  Socrates  and 
Christ  is  well  known,  concluding  witli  the  remarkable  acknowledg- 
ment respecting  llie  latter: — 'I'be  inventor  of  snch  a  personage 
would  be  a  move  astonishing  character  than  the  hero.'  Yet  could 
this  man's  heart  resist  tlie  clear  conviction  ofhisjudgiuent — '  lean- 
not' — he  subjoins — '  belinv  the  Gospel.''  His  Confessions,  however, 
clearly  trace  his  unbelief  to  its  proper  cause — Ihe  love  of  sin.  See 
John  iii.  19,  '20, — a  text  which  throws  more  light  upon  the  secret 
springs  of  infidelity,  than  m  hole  volumes  diat  ha\  e  been  w  ritten  upon 
the  subject. 

+  Test  of  Truth,  pp.  112 — 11".  The  extracts  given  from  this  in- 
teresting little  w  ork,  will  be  sufficient  to  commend  it  to  the  read- 
er's attention,  as  tlie  production  of  an  author  of  no  common  power, 
and  deeply  imbued  with  tlie  glowing  principles  of  the  Gospel.  It 
will  remind  the  reader  of  some  of  Mr.  Scott's  painful  exercises  of 
mind  described  in  his  '  Force  of  'I'ruth'  and  of  the  argument  so  suc- 
cessfully handled  by  Bishop  Burnet  in  bis  disputotions  with  Lord 
Rochester, 


194 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


"  intrusion  into  tlie  tilings  which  we  have  not  seen,"  and  can- 
not see,  is  the  unhallowed  indulgence  of  a  "  fleshly  mind." 
The  extent  and  precise  boundaries  of  revelation  are  determi- 
ned by  infinite  wisdom  ;  and  could  we  discern  them  with  a 
single  eye,  they  would  be  found  equally  ilhistrative  of  a  high 
regard  to  the  happiness  of  man.  A  more  expanded  view  un- 
der present  circumstances  would  only  increase  instead  of 
clearing  up  our  ditficulties.  The  eye  would  wander  over  the 
field  of  infinite  space  with  a  disproportioned  power  of  percep- 
tion. Tlie  objects,  therefore,  would  be  less  distinctly  appre- 
hended ;  and  the  result  would  leave  us  more  restless  and  dis- 
satisfied, while  the  happy  influence  of  humility,  simplicity, 
and  faith  had  been  wholly  disregarded.  If  we  have  not  the 
whole  view  before  us,  let  it  suthce,  that  we  have  all  that  is 
needful  for  our  happiness  and  present  duty.  The  attempt  to 
supply  what  we  conceive  to  be  wanting- by  the  conjectural 
effort  of  reason,  would  be  to  subject  "vain  man"  to  his  Ma- 
ker's merited  rebuke — "  Who  is  this  that  darkeneth  counsel 
by  words  without  knowledge  V  Every  step  of  advance  be- 
yond the  Divine  record  is  fraught  with  danger  and  uncer- 
tainty. "  In  God's  light"  alone  "  can  we  see  light."  The 
intellectual  "  light  that  is  in  us,"  when  applied  by  the  pride 
of  man  to  the  contents  of  revelation — "is  darkness  ;  and  how 
great  is  that  darkness !"  Simple  faith,  therefore,  however 
mistaken  or  despised,  may  justly  be  deemed  the  highest  act 
of  reason ;  while  rational  religion,  '  falsely  so  called,'  may 
easily  be  proved  to  be  of  all  schemes  the  most  irrational.* 

We  would  add  a  few  words  upon  tlie  cunnexkm  of  infidelity 
with  the  state  uf  the  heart.  We  are  not  exclusively  intellect- 
ual beings.  The  affections  so  materially  influence  the  judg- 
ment, as  often  to  incapacitate  it  for  the  accurate  discerrtment 
of  truth.  The  natural  bias  of  the  heart  is  to  sin,  and  conse- 
quently to  infidelity,  the  excuse  and  covering  for  sin.  The 
point  at  issue  is,  wiielher  men  shall  remain  the  servants  of 
sin,  or  become  the  servants  of  God  ;  whether  they  shall  be 
degraded  as  sensual  beings,  or  raised  to  the  elevation  of  in- 
telligent or  spiritual  existence.  Now,  as  the  Gospel  stands 
in  the  way  of  natural  indulgence,  it  must  be  removed.  So 
that  if  a  course  of  infidel  reading,  or  intercourse  with  scoffers, 
has  not  furnished  the  necessary  arguments,  they  must  be 
invented  from  the  man's  own  heart.  The  danger  of  infidelity 
is  not,  therefore,  confined  to  the  ungodly  and  profane.  Every 
unconverted  man  must  secretly  wish  the  Bible  to  be  untrue; 
and  under  this  bias  he  will  (except  restrained  by  an  Almighty 
power)  endeavour  to  prove  it  untrue.  A  wrong  state  of 
heart,  as  with  Miss  Graham,  gives  the  power  and  advantage 
to  this  active  and  malignant  principle.  In  her  early  state  of 
child-like  simplicity  she  would  have  been  safe.  But  the 
"fulfilment  ol  the  desires  of  the  mind,"  probably  more  than 
of  "  the  flesh,"  combined  with  ignorance  "  of  Satan's  de- 
vices," brought  her  into  his  snare;  and  she  w-as  "taken 
captive  bj'  him  at  his  will."  Depending  upon  the  teaching 
of  the  Spirit  of  God,  our  "path"  in  Divine  knowledge  will 
be  "as  the  shining  light,  that  shineth  more  and  more  unto 
the  perfect  day."     And  'whenever'  (as  an  original  and  pow- 


*  Tlie  writer  cannot  forbear  to  add  some  admirable  remarks  from 
an  unpublished  manuscript  of  .Miss  Graham's  shortly  to  be  noticed 
'  It  is  true  that  faitli  compels  our  assent  to  many  tilings  beyond  the 
reach  of  reason,  even  of  llie  renewed  reason,  liut  this  implicit  cre- 
dence is  itself  tlie  highest  and  noblest  exercise  of  the  understanding. 
It  is  a  reasonable  assent  to  the  testimony  of  One,  in  ivhom  we  repose 
unlimited  coniideuce,  because  we  have  reasonable  grounds  for  con- 
cluding Him  to  be  infinitely  wiser  than  ourselves.  An  exercise  of 
the  I'eason  is  presupposed,  whereby  we  are  assured  that  tlie  Bible  is 
God's  testimony  ;  and  an  act  of  the  Understanding,  -H-hereby,  having 
obtained  this  assurance,  we  infer,  that  every  word  of  the  liibic  must 
he  true.  The  Divine  philosophy  of  faith,  then,  sets  out  upon  these 
two  propositions.  The  first — an  assurance,  founded  in  reason,  that 
the  Bible  is  the  i-evelation  of  God-  The  second — an  inference, 
equally  founded  in  reason,  that  every  word  of  the  Bible  is  ti-ue  ;  and 
must  therefore  be  taken  in  preference  to  all  die  deductions  of  our 
own  reason,  which  may  or  may  not  be  true.  Neither  of  tliese  pro- 
positions is  shaken  by  the  fact,  that  tlie  Bible  contains  many  things 
which  we  do  not  understand  ;  or  in  other  words,  that  God  may  know 
many  things  which  we  do  not  know  ;  that  many  things  may  appear 
to  his  infinitely  holy  and  unclouded  understanding,  in  a  very  difier- 
cnt  light,  from  that  in  which  they  are  viewed  by  our  narrow  and 
prejudiced  minds.  When  the  first  proposition  is  once  proved  to  the 
entire  satisfaction  of  the  mind,  the  second  must  follow  of  course. 
Then  faitli,  an  implicit,  childlike  faith,  becomes  the  only  rational 
mode  of  proceeding.  Every  departure  from  this  faitli  is  a  departure 
from  reason  ;  an  insult  to  the  understanding  ;  a  violation  of  com- 
mon sense.  And  that  we  do  make  such  departures,  only  tends  to 
prove,  that  while  Uic  renewed  understanding  "  consents  to  the  law 
of  God  that  it  is  holy,  just,  and  good  ;"  "  the  law  of  sin,"  which  is 
yet  working  "  in  our  members,"  occasionallv  beclouds  and  perverts 
it. 


erful  writer  remarks)  'he  opens  the  Scriptures,  that  samo 
light  that  discovers  the  meaning,  will  not  fail  to  alTect  and 
make  our  hearts  burn  within  us  with  the  sense  of  Divine  liglit, 
authority,  and  power.  Of  this  the  experience  of  the  people 
of  God,  as  they  grow  in  knowledge,  furnishes  them  daily 
with  new  instances ;  and  therefore  they  do  not  stumble  at 
the  want  of  the  present  sense  of  that  light,  but  are  quickened 
to  diligence,  excited  to  frequent  cries  for  opening  of  their 
eyes,  that  they  may  understand  the  wonders,  that  by  the 
knowledge  cf  other  parts  of  the  Word,  they  are  induced 
to  believe  couched  in  those  parts,  wiiich  yet  they  knew 
not.' 

One  further  remark  suggests  itself  from  this  interesting 
record  to  avoid  unnecessary  distress  and  misconception.  Let 
not  Miss  Graham's  vivid  portraiture  of  her  own  feelings  and 
views  be  considered  as  a  general  standard,  as  if  the  same  in- 
tensity of  mental  exercise,  and  clearness  of  spiritual  per- 
ception were  the  exclusive  evidences  of  a  sound  conversion 
of  heart  to  God.  Self-renunciation,  diligent  investigation  of 
Divine  truth,  and  a  conscientious  improvement  of  the  light 
vouchsafed,  are  indeed  indispensable  marks  of  Christian  sin- 
cerity. Yet  while  the  enjoyment  of  our  high  privileges  will 
vary  in  proportion  to  the  energy  of  these  holy  principles,  the 
measure  cf  their  infiuenee  is  almost  indefinitely  diversified 
within  the  precincts  of  the  true  church  of  God.  It  may  also 
be  important  to  observe,  that  many  of  Miss  Graham's  most 
painful  trials  (such  as  her  intellectual  pride)  arose  out  of  the 
peculiar  form  of  her  natural  character.  No  sympathy  there- 
fore can  be  expected  or  need  be  desired  in  minds  cast  in  a 
difiereut  mould  ;  and  any  effort  to  excite  or  encourage  it,  for 
the  purpose  of  establishing  an  ideal  connexion  with  this  ob- 
ject of  attraction,  (which  would  probably  be  unaccompanied 
with  a  desire  to  imitate  the  spiritual  excellences  of  tlie  pro- 
posed model)  can  only  originate  in  deceit,  and  tend  to  self- 
delusion. 


CHAPTER  III. 

General  sketch  of  Jtfiss    Graham^  life;    her  views  uf  study  ; 
extensive  attainments  ;    and  active  devotedness  to  God. 

Miss  Graham  (continued  to  reside  in  London  for  some  time 
after  her  deliverance  from  that  awful  delusion,  into  which 
she  had  been  permitted  to  fall.  The  remembrance,  however, 
of  this  temporary  apostacy  was  "  ever  before  her"  with  all 
that  holy  shame  and  self-abasement,  which  attaches  to  the 
"  purified"  conscience  of  the  pardoned  sinner;  humbling  her 
in  the  dust,  while  yet  faith,  hope,  love,  peace,  and  joy,  were 
the  dominant  principles  in  her  soul.  Deeply  also  did  she 
feel  the  constraint  of  the  command  given  by  anticipation  to  a 
backsliding  apostle  ;  "  When  thou  art  converted,  strengthen 
thy  brethren."  It  was  the  great  object  of  her  '  Test  of  Truth,' 
to  set  forth  her  own  case  as  a  beacon  of  warning,  an  example 
of  encouragement,  and  a  monument  of  Divine  grace,  for  the 
special  use  of  those  who  might  be  brought  into  the  same 
seductive  atmosphere  of  temptation.  There  is  reason  to  be- 
lieve, that  her  work  in  its  original  form  produced  its  measure 
of  conviction  upon  her  principal  correspondent;  and  we  may 
confidently  expect,  that,  in  a  wider  circulation,  an  answer  to 
her  prayers  for  a  Divine  blessing  upon  it  will  be  abundantly 
manifested.  During  her  residence  in  London,  the  ministry 
of  the  Rev.  Watts  Wilkinson,  and  a  deep  study  of  the  sacred 
volume,  were  the  ordained  means  of  advancing  her  knowledge 
and  experience  of  Scriptural  truth.  Her  intellectual  habits 
were  a  source  of  much  gratification  to  her  ;  and  mainly  con- 
tributed, under  the  blessing  of  God,  to  form  her  character  into 
a  mould  of  solid  and  permanent  usefulness.  It  is  however 
delightful  to  observe  her  Christian  simplicity  and  watchful- 
ness, to  subordinate  these  valuable  enjoyments  to  the  primary 
object  of  the  glory  of  God.  Of  this  the  following  prayer, 
found  among  her  papers,  will  furnish  an  interesting  and  edify- 
ing illustration. 

'  Before  study  of  any  kind,  remember  that  it  is  but  lost 
labour,  except  the  Lord  bless  it. 

Summary  of  things  to  be  sought  of  God  before  study. 
'I  desire  to  thank  Thee,  my  God  and  Father  in   Christ 
.Tesus,  for  this  and  every   other  opportunity  of  improvement 
Thou  hast  given  me.     May  the  opportunity  Thou  hast  given 


MEMOIR  OF  MARY  JANE  GRAHAM. 


193 


me  be  blest  of  Thee  !  Enable  rae  to  receive  it  with  thanks- 
wiving,  and  sanctify  it  to  me  by  the  Word  of  God  and  prayer. 
O  let  me  know  nothing  but  Jesus  Christ  and  Him  crucified  ; 
and  other  things ju*/  m  fur  as  may  be  for  my  good  and  thy 
trlory,  and  no  further.  I  would  mourn  before  Thee  the  base 
Tngratitude  with  which  I  have  hitherto  abused  my  time  and 
tafents,  by  loving  thy  gifts  more  than  Thee,  and  seeking 
rnvself,  not  Thee,'in  them.  Now  I  bring  all  my  things  to 
Thee ;  for  they  are  not  mine,  but  thine  ou-n.  Take  that  ac- 
cursed thins;,  self,  nut  vf  them  all,  and  condescend  to  use  them 
for  thy  glory.  I  thank  Thee,  that  the  meanest  employinent 
is  acceptable  in  thy  sight,  when  done  in  the  name  of  the 
Lord  Jesus.  IMay  I  set  about  this,  in  IFis  name,  and  in  His 
strength,  and  to  His  glory!  May  I  not  once  seek  my  own 
things  in  it,  but  the  things  thai  are  Jesus  Christ's  !  Let  me 
no  longer  lean  to  my  own  understanding;  but  may  I  so  ac- 
knowledcre  Thee  in  all  my  ways,  that  Thou  mayest  establish 
my  thoughts,  and  direct  my  paths  !  Suffer  me  not  to  be  wise 
in  my  own  conceit,  nor  vainly  puffed  up  in  my  fleshly  mind. 
IMake  me  to  lean  from  mine  own  wisdom.  De  Thou  my 
wisdom.  Holy  Lord  God  the  Spirit!  who  divides!  unto 
every  man  severally  as  Thou  wilt,  bless  such  nf  my  studies, 
and  in  such  a  degree  as  may  be  most  to  thy  glory.  If  it  be 
thy  will,  prepare  me  by  them  for  the  work  to  which  I  desire 
thou  wouldst  call  and  separate  me.*  I  commit  this  work,  to 
which  I  would  devote  myself,  into  thy  hands.  Prosper  it  or 
not  as  Thou  seest  good.  Thy  will  be  done  respecting  it, 
only  take  all  self-seeking  out  of  it ;  get  thyself  glory.  Lord,  in 
all  that  I  do;  and  keep  me  from  ever  wishing  to  rob  Thee  of 
thy  glory.  Lord,  if  thou  wilt  bless  me  abundantly,  grant 
that  Tn  whatever  Thou  givest  me,  I  may  remember  I  have 
received  it,  and  not  glory  as  if  I  had  not  received  it.  I  set 
myself  to  this  employment  in  the  name  of  Jesus  :  may  I  have 
fellowship  with  Him  in  it!  Let  it  not  become  a  snare  to 
me;  but  may  the  Lord  who  is  my  confidence,  preserve  my 
foot  from  being  taken  in  this  net,  which  has  so  often  en- 
tangled me  ! 

'O  Thou  Glorifier  of  Jesus!  take  of  the  things  that  are 
His,  and  show  them  unto  me,  and  unto  all  Thy  people,  with 
such  light  and  power,  that  our  wills,  desires,  and  affections 
may  be^quite  swallowed  up  in  His  love.  Let  us  have  no  will 
but  Thy  most  holy  will.  Convince  us  that  all  things  else  are 
mere  dross  and  dung,  in  comparison  with  that  most  excellent 
knowledge  of  our  dear  Lord  and  Saviour  Jesus  Christ,  which 
do  thou  give  us  every  day  more  abundantly,  making  us  to 
know  the  love  of  Christ  which  passeth  knowledge.  Even 
so.  Holy  Spirit,  for  the  sake  of  thy  great  mercies  in  Christ 
Jesus,  to  whom  with  Thee  and  the  Father,  be  all  the  honour, 
all  the  praise,  and  all  the  glory,  now  and  for  ever.    Amen.' 

In  the  same  spirit,  an  extract  from  a  letter  to  a  young 
friend  engaged  in  the  work  of  tuition,  gives  the  following 
sensible  advice,  with  a  modest  reference  to  her  own  case. 

March  22,  1827. 
■  '  You  ask  mc  whether  I  think  study  is  wrong.  I  think,  on 
the  contrary,  if  we  study  with  a  view  to  the  glory  of  God,  it 
becomes  a  duty  to  do  so.  If  we  study  merely  to  please  our- 
selves, I  think  it  is  wrong.  Your  situation  seems  to  render 
study  necessary;  and  when  we  reflect,  how  few  of  those  who 
are  engaged  in  teaching  are  truly  pious,  it  ouglit  to  stir  us  up 
to  the  best  improvement  of  our  time  and  talents.  The  love  of 
study  and  mental  amusements  has  been  my  great  snare,  and 
has  so  very  often  led  me  astray,  that  1  have  been  tempted  to 
trive  it  up  altogether.  I  feel  thankful  to  God,  that  whenever 
1  have  begun  to  make  some  progress  in  my  favourite  study, 
he  has  thwarted  my  attempt  to  excel  by  some  seasonable  in- 
terruption, a  fit  of  illness  or  some  domestic  trial.  But  when 
1  think  how  very  useful  a  moderate  degree  of  mental  cultiva- 
tion may  make  me,  and  particularly  that  it  seems  the  way  of 
usefulness  most  suitable  to  me,  if  I  should  recover  my 
strength,  I  mean  to  resume  it  as  soon  as  I  can  ;  and  I  hope  in 
Christ,  through  whose  goodness  every  opportunity  of  im 
provement  is  given,  that  he  will  not  suffer  tiiese  opportunities 
to  become  hindrances  to  my  advancement  in  the  knowledge  of 
him.  Let  us  pray  to  be  taught  to  feel,  that  all  earthly  know- 
ledge is  mere  dross  and  dung,  in  comparison  with  the  most 
excellent  knowledge  of  our  Lord  and  Saviour  Jesus  Christ; 
and  then  I  trust  we  may  pursue,  without  abusing  it,  only  tak- 
ing care  never  to  neglect  any  present  duty,  or  any  spiritual 
duty  for  it.' 


*  This  was  a  jilan,  wliich  lav  vei-y  near  her  heai-t,  for  the  gratui- 
tous instmctiou  of  the  childreii  of  .Vlissionaries,  and  of  Christians  in 
reduced  circumstances,  with  a  view  to  qualify  them  for  the  situation 
of  teachers. 


But  we  will  here  give  some  large  extracts  from  an  unpub- 
lished Treatise  '  On  the  Intellectual,  Moral,  and  Religious 
uses  of  Mathematical  Science,'  as  conveying  her  full  and 
matured  views  upon  this  important  subject.* 

Speaking  of  study  generally,  she  marks  with  accurate  dis- 
crimination the  different  principles  of  the  worldly  and  the 
Christian  student. 

'  Many  and  varied  are  the  motives  hy  which  the  ■worldly 
student  is  actuated.  But  his  views  all  centre  in  some  way 
or  other  in  his  own  person.  Self-gratification,  self-advance- 
ment, self-interest,  are  mingled  with  them  all.  The  Chris- 
tian student  is  also  variously  influenced.  But  he  has  learned 
to  transfer  all  his  actions  to  another  centre.  The  glory  of  his 
reconciled  God  is  the  point  on  which  they  all  turn,  the  com- 
pass by  which  they  are  all  directed.  The  outward  conduct 
of  the  two  characters  may  present  many  points  of  similarity. 
Their  inward  intentions  are  totally  and  irreconcilably  differ- 
ent. The  intrinsic  excellence  of  science,  its  ennobling  influ- 
ence upon  the  mind,  the  delights  that  are  to  he  enjoyed  in  the 
pursuit  of  it,  and  the  benefits  that  are  to  be  reaped  in  its  at- 
tainment ; — these  are  objects  common  to  the  man  of  the  world, 
and  to  the  religious  man.  But  mark  wherein  the  difference 
consists.  With  the  former  they  are  primary  objects  of  con- 
sideration ;  the  latter  beholds  them  only  in  a  secondary  point 
of  view.  The  Christian  student  is  far  from  despising  the  ad- 
vantages of  study.  He  has  felt  what  it  is  to  thirst  after 
knowTedge,  and  possesses  a  keen  relish  for  the  pleasures  of 
intellect.  But  he  puts  all  these  considerations  away  from 
him,  till  he  has  answered  a  question  of  higher  importance. 
His  first  inquiry  is— 'How  shall  I  study  for  God?  How 
shall  I  render  my  acquirements  subservient  to  his  glory  V 
If  he  cannot  answer  the  question  to  his  complete  satisfaction, 
the  uneasy  recurrence  of  it  will  prove  a  continual  drawback 
to  the  spirited  and  successful  prosecution  of  his  studies.' 

Upon  a  very  prevalent  misconception  upon  this  subject, 
she  gives  the  following  just  remarks, — 

'  It  has  been  too  much  the  practice  with  a  well-meaning 
but  injudicious  portion  of  the  religious  world,  to  decry  human 
learning,  as  if  it  were  a  thing  absolutely  unchristian  and  per- 
niciousT  They  attack  it  in  the  gross,  and  apply  to  it  all  that 
the  Scripture  has  said  concerning  "  the  wisdom  of  this  world." 
They  appear  to  forget  that  these  censures  apply  not  to  the 
use,  but  to  the  abuse,  of  human  learning.  Those  who  "lean 
to  their  own  understanding,"  who  are  "  wise  in  their  own  con- 
ceits," who  set  human  wisdom  in  the  place  of  the  Holy 
Ghost's  teaching — these  are  the  wise  and  learned,  of  whom 
the  Scripture  afiirms,  that  the  things  of  the  kingdom  are  hid 
from  their  eyes.     But  the  description  was  never  meant  for  the 

•  We  subjoin  an  analysis  of  this  manuscript,  which  will  give  some 
view  of  the  extent,  general  accuracy,  and  spiritual  character  ofMiss 
Graliam's  mind.  Introduction.  CiiirTEnI.  The  Usefulness  of  Malli- 
ematics  in  learning  to  Reason  ;  Groundwork  of  Mathematical  Sci- 
ences ;  Art  of  Stating  a  Question  ;  Modes  of  Demonstration ;  An- 
alvsis  ;  Connexion  ;  Art  of  Simplifying  Processes ;  Intermediate 
Principles.  Chapteh  H.  The  Beneficial  influence  of  Mathematics 
upon  some  parts  of  the  Intellectual  and  Moral  Character  ;  Atten- 
tion ;  Abstraction  ;  Penctraliveness  .anil  Invention  ;  Arrangement  ; 
Moral  Habits  of  Mind.  Chaiteii  HI.  The  UisadvanUigts  ofMatb- 
ematical  Studies  ;  Engrossing  attention  of  the  Pursuit;  Contempt 
or  Mistrust  of  other  Evidence";  Effect  on  the  Imaginative  Faculties. 
GHAPTF.n  r\'.  The  Advantages  of  Mathematical  Science,  and  of  the 
Cultivation  of  Reason  in  general,  considered  in  a  religious  point  ot 
view.  Chaptkr  A".  A  review  of  llie  UisadvanUiges  and  Tempta- 
tions to  which  the  Religious  Student  is  Exposed.  In  the  Introduc- 
tion she  specifies  the  persons  for  whom  she  primarily  wrote — '  those 
who,  in  tlic  ardour  of  tlieir  pursuit  after  human  learning,  arc  not  uii- 
miiiilul  of  its  immeasurable  inferiority  to  "  the  wisdom  wbidi  is 
from  above."  To  them,'  she  remarks,  '  study  of  every  kind  pre- 
sents considerations  of  higher  import  ib.an  even  the  intellectual  ben- 
efits that  are  reaped  from''it.  The  inU-oduction  ol  religion  into  secu- 
lar matters  is  too  often  censured  as  impertinent  and  unseasonable  ; 
and  manv  will  think  it  wholly  out  of  place  i.i  a  work  professedly  on 
science.'  I  can  onlv  replv,''shc  adds,  '  by  tlic  simple  contcssion, 
that  I  should  grieve' to  be  'acquainted  witli  that  science,  whicli  might 
not,  under  God,  forward  in  some  way  or  otlier  the  grand  object  ot 
mv  existence.  "  Thou  shall  teach  them  diligently  to  thy  children, 
and  shalt  talk  of  Uiem,  when  thou  sittest  in  thine  house,  and  when 
thou  walkest  bv  the  wav,  and  when  thou  liest  down,  and  when  thou 
risest  up."  (De'ut.  vi.  7.')  These  are  the  commands  of  God  concern- 
ing the  momentous  truths  of  Scripture.  They  leave  us  very  little 
time  for  science,  independent  of  retigiou.  Evei7  believer  in  the  Bible 
will  endeavour  to  act  in  the  spirit  of  these  words.  He  will  consider 
that  time  as  lost,  which  is  spent  without  reg;ird  to  eternitj'  ;  and  that 
learning  as  useless,  which  he  cannot  employ  in  subservience  to  hea- 
venly knowledge.'  This  valuable  manuscript  w  as  written  about  two 
year's  before  her  death.  She  had'intended,  during  her  last  illness,  to 
"have  revised  it  for  publication.  But  increasing  weakness,  and  the 
overwhelming  impression  of  the  near  prospect  of  eternity,  compelled 
:her  to  relinquish  her  design. 


196 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


discouragement  of  those  who  pursue  human  study  in  a  simple, 
child-like  dependence  upon  God.  It  sometimes  happens,  that 
the  young  convert,  full  of  religious  zeal,  and  possessed  with 
some  vague  and  ill-defined  notions  of  the  worthless  ensnar- 
ing nature  of  human  learning,  is  led  by  a  mistaken  sense  of 
duty  either  entirely  to  abandon  it,  or  greatly  to  slacken  his 
efforts  in  the  attainment  of  it,  and  so  to  shut  himself  out  from 
a  wide  field  of  future  usefulness.' 

Upon  the  lawfulness  of  study  she  draws  the  line  with  great 
precision  and  Christian  simplicity. 

'  Does  the  time' — she  asks — '  you  now  devote  to  study, 
break  in  upon  any  known  and  immediate  call  of  duty  1  If  it 
does,  your  way  is  clearly  pointed  out.  Av  prospect  of  future 
Sood  can  justify  you  in  the  neglect  of  present  duty.  Your  stu- 
dies must,  according  to  circumstances,  be  wliolly  abandoned, 
or  laid  aside,  till  you  can  resume  tliem  without  feeling  that 
conscience  is  drawing  }'ou  another  way.  Perhaps  you  are 
ready  to  exclaim,  that  "this  is  a  hard  saying."  You  cannot 
contentedly  resign  or  postponeyour  hopes  of  mental  improve- 
ment. Still  less  can  3'ou  consent  to  hazard  the  loss  of  all 
that  you  have  already  acquired.  Suffer  me  to  remind  you  of 
two  points  of  view,  in  which  it  imports  you  to  consider  this 
question. 

'I  readily  admit,  that  the  studies  of  worldly  men  may  be 
successful,  notwithstanding  the  evil  spirit  in  which  they  are 
prosecuted.  "  They  have  their  reward."  But  nothing  that  you 
do  can  prosper,  without  tlie  divine  blessing.  This  must  be 
the  crownof  your  undertakings,  or  you  labour  in  vain.  Ifj'ou 
know  any  thing  of  the  spirit  of  prayer,  you  make  it  your  con- 
stant request,  that  all  your  doings  may  prosppr,  as  far  as  they 
will  promote  the  glory  of  God,  and  no  further.  In  answer 
then,  to  your  own  petition,  God  must  withhold  his  blessing 
from  j'our  most  laudable  employments,  if  they  do  not  lie  in 
the  direct  path  of  duty.  On  tbis  account  you  have  no  rational 
prospect  of  success.  If  you  do  succeed,  be  assured  that  some 
root  of  bitterness  will  spring  up  from  the  verj'  accomplish- 
ment of  your  purposes.  To  continue  your  studies,  therefore, 
nnder  existing  circumstances,  would  be  to  subject  yourself  to 
certain  vexation  and  disappointment. 

'  On  the  other  hand,  I  would  remind  you,'that  if  you  simply 
attend  to  your  duty,  and  resolutely  forego  the  most  beloved 
pursuits  the  moment  they  come  into  competition  with  it,  there 
is  no  fear  that  you  should  lose  any  thing  by  such  conduct. 
He  who  made  and  who  preserves  your  intellectual  faculties, 
can  surely  enable  them  to  retain  anything  that  will  be  really 
useful  to  you.  Your  small  stock  of  knowledge  will,  with  his 
blessing,  carry  you  further  than  the  acquisition  of  the  whole 
circle  of  human  science  could  do  without  it.  We  may  affirm 
of  intellectual  gains,  no  less  than  of  those  which  are  gross  and 
tanoible,  that  '•  a  little  that  a  righteous  man  hath  is  better 
than  the  riches  of  many  wicked."  ^\eare  commanded  to 
"  be  careful  for  nothing,  but  in  every  thing  to  make  our  re- 
quests known  unto  God."  You  may  therefore,  in  faith,  com- 
mit your  studies  and  acquirements  to  Him.  You  may  freely 
ask,  and  confidently  expect,  that  he  will  take  care  of  them  for 
you,  and  return  them  to  you,  whenever  they  shall  be  wanted 
for  his  service.' 

The  lawfulness  of  study  being  proved,  its  expediency,  im- 
portance, and  responsibility,  are  next  considered. 

'  But  perhaps  the  contrary-to  all  this  is  your  case.  You 
feel  that  you  can  devote  a  certain  portion  of  your  time  to  study, 
without  infringing  upon  any  prior  and  more  imperious  de- 
mand of  duty.  If  it  be  thus  with  you,  your  studies  are  un- 
doubtedly lawful.  It  only  remains  to  inquire,  how  far  they 
may  be  expedient  for  you. 

'  Of  this,  you  must  yourself  he  the  best  judge.  It  must  de- 
pend on  a  variety  of  circumstances,  the  particular  bent  of 
your  talent ;  the  opportunities  of  improvement  which  lie  with- 
in your  reach  ;  j-our  present  situation,  or  your  future  pros- 
pects in  life.  Let  us  suppose  that  all  or  any  of  these  comljine 
in  such  a  degree,  as  to  give  you  reason  to  hope  that  your 
studies  may  open  a  door  of  usefulness.  I  shall  endeavour  to 
convince  you,  that  no  fancied  dread  of  the  snares  and  tempta- 
tions attendant  upon  human  learning  ought  to  deter  you  from 
the  pursuit  of  it.  In  your  case  the  acquisition  of  knowledge 
is  not  merely  a  permitted  employment,  but  a  positive  dut)'. 
God  has  made  nothing  in  vain.  He  has  given  us  nothing, 
which  we  may  not  use  to  his  glor}'.  This  we  admit  without 
reluctance  in  reference  to  every  minor  blessing,  with  which 
his  bounty  has  enriched  us.  We  acknowledge,  that  our  health, 
time,  riches,  influence,  are  all  entrusted  to  us  for  God's  ser- 
vice, and  capable  of  being  used  to  his  glory.  But  do  not  they 
make  a  strange  exception  to  this  general  admission,  who  so 
roundly  assert  the  utter  inefficiency  of  human  reasoning,  and 


of  human  learning  1  If  so  many  things,  which  we  possess  in 
common  with  unlielievers,  may  yet  be  legitimately  improved 
to  the  glory  of  God,  why  is  the  understanding  to  be  excepted? 
Why  must  that  best  and  fairest  of  God's  common  gifts  be  suf- 
fered to  lie  waste,  only  because  it  is  a  common  one  1  None 
can  deprecate  more  earnestly  than  I  do  the  idea,  that  the  un- 
assisted light  of  human  reason  can  ever  make  us  wise  unto 
salvation.  But  shall  we  therefore  say,  that  the  reason  takes 
no  part  whatever  in  our  reception  of  truth  1  Remember,  that 
he  who  gives  you  spiritual  teaching  is  the  very  same,  who 
gave  you  this  human  understanding.  He  gave  you  not  the 
former  to  supersede  and  overpower,  but  to  guide  and  enlighten, 
the  latter.  Both  are  alike  his  gifts ;  and  though  the  one  is 
inferior  to  the  other,  and  useless  without  its  aid,  yet  we  must 
neither  neglect  nor  despise  it.  Nothing  that  he  gives  can  he 
worthless.  So  much  for  reason  itself.  And  as  for  those  parta 
of  human  learning,  which  contribute  to  strengthen  and  im- 
prove this  faculty,  they  also  are  given  ly  God ;  means  which 
he  has  adapted  to  the  fulfilment  of  no  ignoble  purpose.  We 
are  just  as  much  bound  to  use  those  instruments,  which  Pro- 
vidence has  placed  within  our  reach  for  the  cultivation  of  onr 
understandings,  as  we  are  bound  to  attend  to  the  culture  of 
our  fields.  Nay,  unless  we  deny  that  our  minds  are  better 
things  than  onr  fields,  we  are  more  called  upon  to  encourage 
the  growth  of  the  former  than  of  the  latter.  If  God  has  given 
you  superior  faculties,  and  the  means  of  improving  them,  there 
cannot  be  a  more  manifest  token,  that  he  intends  they  should 
be  improved.  The  parable  of  the  talents  is  never  more  fairly 
exemplified,  than  when,  in  the  way  of  duty,  we  go  and  trado 
with  the  natural  abilities  which  our  Divine  Master  has  distri- 
buted to  us,  till  we  can  bring  them  back  to  him  with  the  grateful 
acknowledgment,  "  Lord,  thy  pound  hath  gained  ten  pounds." 

'  If  then  you  are  possessed  of  superior  powers  of  mind,  re- 
member, that  the  source  from  whence  they  emanate  is  divine. 
Esteem  the  gift  very  highly  for  the  Giver's  sake;  and  seek 
to  b>ing  it  to  that  perfection,  of  which  he  has  made  it  sus- 
ceptible. Use  your  talents,  as  not  abusing  them.  Keep  them 
in  the  dependent,  subordinate  station  which  they  are  intended 
to  occupy.  Expect  not  from  them  more  than  they  are  cajia- 
ble  of  performing.  But  expect  something  from  them.  Do 
something  with  them.  Cannot  you  find  any  use  for  them  1 
Take  them  to  God.  He  has  large  fields  for  their  employment. 
There  is  ample  room  in  his  vineyard.  Pray  that  he  would 
send  you  forth  to  labour  in  some  way  or  other  in  that  plente- 
ous harvest,  whose  labourers  are  so  few.  There  is  nothing  so 
sweet  as  this  simple  committal  of  your  way  to  one,  who  is 
infinitely  able  to  guide  and  protect  you  in  it.  "  In  all  thy 
ways  acknowledge  him,  and  he  shall  direct  thy  paths." 
Then  they  become  paths  of  usefulness  indeed.  The  most 
brilliant  fanc}',  the  profoundest  judgment,  clearest  understand- 
ing, the  most  extensive  learning,  are  in  themselves  less  than 
nothing.  But  intreat  the  blessing  of  God  upon  them  ;  and  you 
shall  find  the}'  will  be  worth  just  so  much  as  he  pleases.  The 
infidel  exerts  the  whole  force  of  his  understanding,  blinded  as 
it  is  by  the  god  of  this  world,  in  opposing  the  doctrine  of  tlie 
cross.  Let  yours,  iUumined  b}'  a  beam  from  the  fountain  of 
light,  be  no  less  unequivocally  devoted  to  the  service  of  the 
cross.  Think  not  the  time  lost  that  you  spend  in  study,  if 
you  are  studying  in  and  for  God.  Do  not  say  ;  '  I  will  lay 
aside  the  vanity  of  human  learning,  and  trust  only  to  the  di- 
vine teaching  for  powers  of  sound  argument  and  appropriate 
expression.'  You  might  with  equal  justice  say,  '  I  will  aban- 
don the  superfluous  toil  of  ploughing  my  lands,  and  confide  in 
Providence  for  a  plentiful  crop.'  It  is  true  in  both  these  cases 
that  the  increase  cometh  from  God  only  ;  hut  it  is  no  less  true, 
that  he  will  have  the  planting  and  the  wafcrino-  to  be  ours. 
God  will  not  help  you,  if  yon  refuse  to  help  yourself.  The 
trust  of  the  slothful  is  an  impious  and  a  foolhardy  trust.  His 
mind,  like  his  vineyard,  shall  be  grown  over  with  weeds. 

'In  intellectual,  as  well  as  in  spiritual  gifts,  "the  Spirit 
divideth  unto  every  man  severally  as  he  will."  Thus  we  read, 
that  "  Bezaleel  was  filled  with  the  Spirit  of  God,  in  all  man- 
ner of  workmanship,  to  work  all  manner  of  work,  of  the  en- 
graver, and  of  the  cunning  workman,  and  of  the  embroiderer." 
And  ifthesemeaner  talents  come  directly  from  him,  how  much 
more  the  nobler  properties  of  the  understanding  !  Are  you  iu' 
debted  to  his  bounty  for  the  possession  of  a  piercing  and  com- 
manding intellect,  and  strong  powers  of  reason  ?  I  am  sure  he 
did  not  give  them  to  you  for  nothing?  Why  fold  that  napkin 
round  them  1  It  is  your  I^ord's  treasure.  Wliat  possible  right 
have  you  to  "bury  it  in  the  earth  ?"  Do  what  you  will  with 
your  own,  if  indeed  you  can  find  any  thing  which  is  your  own. 
But  beware  how  you  trifle  with  wliat  is  his.  He  is  coming, 
and  will  expect  to  "  receive  it  with  usury." 


MEMOIR  OF  MARY  JANE  GRAHAIM. 


197 


'  Consider,  had  those  powers  of  mind  belonged  to  you  as 
the  bondman  of  Satan,  how  would  you  have  toiled  to  perfect 
them  for  his  service !  How  much  mischief  would  you  have 
contrived  to  do  witli  them!  And  shall  "the  Lord's  freeman" 
take  no  pains  to  improve  his  talents  in  his  Redeemer's  cause  1 
Shall  no  good  be  done  with  them,  now  that  they  are  Christ's  ^ 
It  is  in  truth  a  strange  doctrine,  that  they  must  lie  dormant, 
because  Satan  has  no  longer  any  claim  upon  their  exertion. 

'  \\  hy  is  it,  that  we  have  such  a  dread  of  calling  in  the  aid 
of  our  reasoning  powers  1  Is  it  not,  because  we  look  upon  rea- 
son as  something  of  our  own?  If  we  reason  in  faith,  is  it  not 
the  Spirit  of  our  Father  speaking  within  us,  just  as  mudi  as 
in  any  other  mode  of  addressing  the  unconverted  ?  If  we  em- 
ploy human  means  only  so  far  as  we  have  the  warrant  of 
Scripture,  of  past  experience,  and  of  present  providences;  if 
we  cultivate  our  faculties  in  the  humblest  and  simplest  de- 
pendence upon  God  ;  surely  this  is  neither  making  flesli  our 
arm,  nor  "  leaning  to  our  own  understanding."  ' 

Some  difficulties  connected  with  study  are  then  discussed 
in  interesting  connexion  with  Christian  principles. 

'  I  cannot  but  attribute  many  of  the  difficulties  which  per- 
plex and  obstruct  the  Christian  student,  to  his  not  studying 
sufficiently  in  faith.  We  do  not  pursue  our  intellectual  con- 
templations in  the  same  simple,  child-like  dependence,  which 
we  are  sometimes  enabled  to  carry  into  our  oilier  duties.  We 
make  study  an  employment  too  entirely  secular.  We  are  apt 
to  consider  it  as  something  wholly  apart  from  religion.  It  is 
one  of  those  subjects,  upon  which  we  do  not  permit  ourselves 
to  converse  freely  with  our  heavenly  Father.  To  apply  to 
him  at  every  step  for  counsel  and  assistance,  would  convey 
to  us  an  idea  of  presumption.  We  are  afraid  to  trifle  with  the 
majesty  of  God,  by  expecting  that  he  will  take  an  interest  in 
the  mere  earthly  improvement  of  the  intellect.  That  he  both 
gave  us  this  intellect,  and  bestowed  on  us  the  means  of  its 
cultivation,  is  admitted  by  us  beyond  the  possibility  of  a 
doubt.  We  adore  the  bounty  which  has  adorned  and  enrich- 
ed us.  But  we  hesitate  to  believe  in  a  condescension,  which 
shall  stoop  to  notice  the  petty  progress  of  each  minute  portion 
of  this  intellect,  and  make  its  daily  and  hourly  advancement 
the  object  of  benevolent  concern.  I  would  not,  my  beloved 
fellow  Christians,  utter  one  single  expression,  which  might 
impair  your  veneration  for  the  Divine  Majesty.  But  in  this 
timid  reserve  I  perceive  no  marks  of  genuine  veneration. 
Your  privilege  is  to  draw  near  to  God  with  the  tender  rever- 
ence, the  sacred  familiarity,  of  a  beloved  child.  To  shrink 
from  his  presence  with  the  retiring  fearfulness  of  a  slave,  is 
to  dishonour  the  scripture  representation  of  his  attributes 
And  in  which  of  your  earthly  affairs  can  you  hope  that  the  be- 
nevolence of  your  Father  will  be  interested,  if  not  in  the  cul- 
tivation of  your  reason?  It  is  the  gift,  b)'  which  he  has 
distinguished  you  from  the  rest  of  his  earthly  creation.  It  is 
that,  which  stamps  you  with  the  impress  of  Divinity,  which 
tells  you,  )'ou  are  born  to  immortality.  The  immensity  of 
condescension  by  which  the  Most  High  bends  his  regard  to 
any  of  our  paltry  concerns,  is  indeed  beyond  conception,  as  it 
is  beyond  praise.  But  if,  where  all  is  so  unworthy,  I  might 
dare  to  mention  one  thing  as  less  unworthy  of  his  notice,  it 
would  be  the  progress  of  the  mind.  We  "are  fearfully  and 
wonderfully  made."  But  our  intellectual  faculties  are  the 
surpassing  wonder,  the  crowningexcellence  of  God's  creation. 
The  countless  worlds  that  are  scattered  over  the  infinity  of 
space,  declare  the  glory  of  God.  The  magnificence  which 
created,  the  strength  which  upholds,  the  wisdom  which  gov- 
erns the  mighty  system,  afford  inexhaustible  matter  of  won- 
der and  adoration.  But  the  intellect,  which  is  able  to  reflect 
upon  all  this,  is  something  far  more  admirable,  in  which  the 
glory  of  God  is  more  greatly  conspicuous.  The  original  for- 
mation of  reason  is  not,  however,  more  wonderful,  than  the 
improvement  of  which  it  is  capable.  A  man  of  a  highly  cul- 
tivated understanding  appears  altogether  abeingof  a  dillerent 
order  from  one  wholly  destitute  of  the  advantages  of  educa- 
tion. Reason,  as  it  is  the  noblest  of  our  faculties,  so  it  is  the 
most  capable  of  being  conducted  to  a  high  degree  of  perfection. 
And  God  is  glorified  in  the  perfection  of  his  works.  When 
therefore  you  cannot  confidently  look  for  communion  with 
God  in  the  exercises  of  your  understanding;  when  you  are 
afraid  to  expect  his  co-operation  in  the  use  of  the  meanest  of 
those  human  aids  which  he  has  given  you  for  its  improvement, 
it  can  oidy  be  accounted  for  in  two  ways.  This  hesitation 
proceeds  either  from  the  absence  of  a  religious  motive,  or  from 
an  infirmity  of  faith.  If  you  have  no  decidedly  religious  mo- 
tive for  your  studies,  I  do  not  see  how,  with  any  colour  of 
propriety,  you  can  devote  yourself  to  them  at  all.  I  am  not 
surprised  to  hear,  that  doubts  and  difficulties  throng  your  path. 


But  if  you  are  seeking  to  cultivate  your  understanding  with  a 
single  eye  to  God's  glory,  you  may  so  conduct  each  one  of 
your  literary  employments  as  to  enjoy  his  presence  all  the 
time  you  are  engaged  in  it.  You  may  draw  near  to  God, 
even  in  your  studious  hours.  He  will  not  despise  any  thin"' 
that  you  do  for  him.  His  love  accepts  your  worthless  .ser- 
vices with  as  much  complacency  as  the  princely  obedience  of 
an  angel.  I  repeat  it;  to  study  in  faith,  in  a  humble,  simple, 
child-tike  faitli,  removes  every  perplexity  and  temptation  inci- 
dent to  its  pursuit.  Your  employments  will  then  cease  to 
appear  altogether  secular.  Cultivating  your  reason  as  God'a 
gift,  and  assured,  that  he  beholds  not  with  indifference  your 
feeble  attempts  to  glorify  him  in  this  greatest  wonder  of  his 
creative  power;  its  commonest  exercises  will  become  in  a 
measure  sacred  as  the  exercises  of  relio-ion.  Spiritual  im- 
provement, with  no  lingering  step,  will  accompany  your 
intellectual  progress.  "Holiness  to  the  Lord"  will  be  written 
upon  the  most  trivial  of  your  studies.' 

The  influence  of  a  vain-glorious  spirit,  as  the  canker  upon 
this  holy  principle  of  faithris  pointedly  illustrated. 

'  When  once  the  thought  of  what  men  will  say  of  us  is 
permitted  to  mingle  with  our  studies,  all  spiritual  comfort  in 
them  is  at  an  end.  Our  faith  must  necessarily  languish.  It 
can  no  longer  be  a  living  faith,  an  active  principle.  "  How 
can  ye  believe,  which  receive  honour  one  of  another?"  was 
the  severe  rebuke  of  Jesus  to  the  vain-glorious  Pharisees. 
When  I  observe  a  Christian  delighted  with  the  homage  that 
is  paid  to  his  eloquence,  his  judgment,  or  his  taste,  should 
he  tell  me,  that  his  "  love  is  not  waxing  cold,"  that  his  faitli 
is  as  strong  as  when  none  but  God  cared  for  his  obscure 
name,  I  should  be  beyond  measure  astonished  at  such  a  cir- 
cumstaiice,  if  indeed  I  could  credit  its  reality.  But  in  truth, 
the  assertion  only  proves  that  the  man's  heart  must  be  al- 
ready "  hardened  through  the  deceitfulncss  of  sin;"  or  that 
he  has  never  known  what  true  faith  is,  for  "  how  can  he  be- 
lieve," so  long  as  he  is  "  receiving  honour  from  men  ?"  ' 

The  snare  of  self-indulgence  connected  with  study,  is  most 
profitably  treated. 

'  I  have  all  along  supposed,  that  you  are  studying  with  a 
view  to  the  benefit  of  others,  rather  than  to  your  own  gratifi- 
cation. Yet  even  in  this  case  self-indulgence  may  insinuate 
itself  into  your  pursuits.  If  you  possess  a  talent  for  them, 
they  will  prove  so  attractive  to  you,  that  you  will  become 
attached  to  them  for  their  own  sake.  You  will  be  tempted 
to  prolong  your  pleasing  employments,  and  suffer  them  grad- 
ually to  steal  something  from  the  time  appointed  for  other 
duties.  VVe  have  already  ionel:ed  upon  the  absorbing  nature 
of  our  mathematical  studies,  and  the  intellectual  disadvantages 
which  ensue  from  giving  way  to  their  silent  encroachments. 
These,  however,  are  of  small  moment,  when  compared  with 
their  corroding  influence  upon  our  spiritual  enjoyment.  Aa 
excessive  fondness  for  these  abstruse  meditations,  a  habit  of 
indulging  in  thein  for  their  own  sake,  will  be  as  a  worm  at 
the  root  of  our  communion  with  God.  A  lamentable  declen- 
sion from  his  ways,  will  he  the  prob-able  consequence.  By 
insensible  degrees  the  thoughts  of  our  literary  pursuits  will 
begin  to  mingle  with  our  serious  meditations.  Then  the 
hour  of  study  will  break  in  upon  the  hour  of  prayer,  and  per- 
haps in  time  may  totally  interrupt  or  supersede  it.  Who  can 
tell  the  train  of  evils  which  will  follow  such  an  intermission 
of  our  spiritual  watchfulness  !  When  prayer  is  omitted,  study 
is  unsanctified.  Every  selfish  motive  has  free  permission  to 
enter;  nay,  is  invited,  as  it  were,  to  take  possession  of  the 
heart,  whose  sentinel  has  thus  deserted  his  post.  And  with 
what  impertinent  excuses  do  we  entertain  conscience  all  the 
time!  'I  am  just  now  so  occupied,  that  I  am  scarcely  in 
frame  for  prayer.  Were  I  to  attempt  it,  I  should  find  it  im- 
possible to  disengage  my  thoughts  from  the  busy,  perplexing 
reflections  which  have  taken  fast  hold  of  thein.  AVhen  I  have 
followed  out  these  investigations  to  some  satisfactory  con- 
clusion; when  I  have  considered  this  or  that  point  a  little 
more  fully;  when  I  have  conquered  this  difficulty,  or  corrected 
that  mistake,  then  my  mind  will  be  in  a  placid  uninterrupted 
frame.  Then  shall  be  my  hour  of  prayer.  I  shall  then  be- 
take myself  to  my  spiritual  duties  with  tranquillit)^  and  de- 
light ;  whereas  now  they  would  be  a  weariness,  a  formality.' 
Thus  the  hour  of  prayer  is  put  off  to  "  a  more  convenient 
season."  Our  contemplations  detain  us  longer  than  we  had 
anticipated.  The  evening  shades  thicken  round  us;  still  we 
are  deeply  engaged  in  our  inquiry  ;  still  unsatisfied  with  the 
result.  Midnight  surprises  us  at  our  labours;  and  at  last  the 
lateness  of  the  hour  warns  us  to  repose,  before  we  have  found 
time  to  pray.  A  sense  of  languor  and  drowsiness,  the  natural 
result  of  our  intense  mental  exertions,  either  quite  prevents 


198 


CHRISTIAN   LIBRARY. 


our  devotions,  or  compels  lis  to  insult  God  with  a  praj-er 
from  which  the  lieart  is  absent.  We  retire  to  rest  with  the 
painful  feeling  that  we  have  lost  a  day.  For  every  Christian 
must  be  sensible,  that  he  cannot  rob  God  of  his  portion  of  the 
da3%  without  robbinir  himself  of  the  whole.  Still  the  deceit- 
fulness  of  sin  will  follow  us  with  a  lying  consolation.  '  It  is 
but  one  day;  to-morrow  I  shall  awake  refreshed,  and  my  first 
thoughts  shall  he  with  God.'  Let  us  not  silence  conscience 
withthis  deceitful  plea.  If  I  am  not  greatly  mistaken,  this 
one  lost  day  is  the  forerunner  of  many  more.  Our  foot  has 
begun  to  slide,  our  steps  to  decline.  To  a  heart  prone  to 
depart  from  God,  this  retrograde  motion  is  natural  and  easy, 
while  tlie  effort  to  regain  a  forward  progress  is  immensely 
difficult.  The  sin  to  which  we  have  yielded  to-day,  will 
revisit  us  to-morrow  with  more  urgent  solicitations.  Self, 
having  obtained  the  indulgence  of  one  day,  will  plead  hard 
for  another.  To  make  no  more  than  one  deviation  from  the 
straijht  path,  is  infinitely  more  difficult  than  not  to  deviate 
from  it  at  all.  "The  backslider  in  heart  shall  be  filled  with 
his  own  ways."  Perhaps  the  very  circumstance  of  having 
a  religions  motive  for  study,  may  then  he  used  by  us  as  a 
cloak  to  hide  our  defection.  'All  my  pursuits  are  designed 
to  fit  me  for  engaging  in  God's  service.  I  cannot  therefore 
go  very  much  out  of  the  way  of  duty,  by  devoting  to  them  a 
little  more  time  than  prudence  might  otherwise  have  dictated. 
My  present  diligence  will  one  day  be  turned  to  account  in  the 
cause  of  religion;  it  cannot  therefore  be  wholly  misplaced.' 
Thus,  in  the  plenitude  of  self-indulgence,  we  can  talk  to  our- 
selves about  cur  zeal  for  tbe  Lord  Hosts.  Our  conduct  re- 
sembles that  of  the  priests,  who  "  olfered  polluted  bread  upon 
the  altar,  and  then  said,  '  Wherein  have  we  polluted  theeV  " 
If  we  w^ould  oiler  an}'  acceptable  service  to  God,  it  must  not 
be  thus  defiled  with  self.  "  PLith  the  Lord  as  great  delight 
in"  our  worthiest  pursuits,  "as  in  obeying  the  voice  of  the 
Lordi"  We  are  told  that  "to  obey  is  better  than  sacrifice, 
and  to  hearken  than  the  fat  of  rams."  Our  poor  worthless 
attempts  in  the  cause  of  our  Redeemer  can  be  of  no  value,  but 
as  they  are  accepted  by  God  through  his  intercession.  How 
foolish  then  to  imagine  that  we  can  succeed,  while  we  ne- 
glect thus  ollering  them  to  God  in  frequent  and  faithful 
prayers !  If  we  will  work  in  our  own  strength,  we  inust  expect 
to  be  left  to  such  success  as  our  own  strength  is  able  to 
ensure. 

'  Do  you,  upon  serious  reflection,  perceive  that  you  are  now 
yielding  in  an}'  way  to  this  self-indulgent  temper?  Let  me 
earnestly  recomnieud  a  temporary  cessation,  if  possible,  from 
the  employments  that  have  ensnared  you.  A  month,  a  week, 
in  some  cases  even  a  day,  rescued  from  your  too  fondly  cher- 
ished occupations,  and  devoted  to  earnest  prayer  for  future 
preservation  and  direction,  may  enable  you  to  resume  them 
without  danger.  But,  as  you  value  your  peace  and  spiritu- 
ality of  mind,  beware  of  returning  to  them,  till  you  experience 
so  much  sweetness  in  heavenly  ihings,  as  to  make  the  very 
best  of  earthly  things  appear  trifling  and  insipid  in  the  com- 
parison. The  memory  of  Henry  Martyn  is  sacred  to  every 
Christian  student.  The  rule  by  which  he  regulated  his  lite- 
rary pursuits,  deserves  to  be  called  the  golden  rule  of  study. 
Let  us  carry  it  into  all  the  parts  of  human  learning.  It  will 
strip  them  of  every  excessive  and  ensnaring  attraction.  'So 
deep,'  says  his  biographer,  '  was  Ids  veneration  for  the  word 
of  God,  tliat  when  a  suspicion  arose  in  his  nund,  that  any 
other  book  he  luiuht  be  studying  was  -about  to  gain  an  undue 
influence  over  his  mind,  he  instantly  laid  it  aside;  nor  would 
he  resume  it,  till  he  had  telt  and  realized  the  paramount  ex- 
cellence of  the  Divine  oracles.' 

She  adverts  to  what  she  had  said  above,  as  suggesting  a 
safe-guard  against  some  temptations  of  self-suluciency  and 
self-dependence. 

'The  only  effectual  remedy  I  have  met  with,  is  to  consider 
human  reason  and  spiritual  teaching  in  one  respect  exactly  in 
the  same  point  of  view:  I  mean,  as  both  freely  bestowed  by 
God,  to  be  increased,  continued,  or  suspended,  at  his  plea- 
sure. I  would  consider  every  little  improvement  in  my  stu- 
dies; the  smallest  extension  of  my  intellectual  powers;  the 
least  ray  of  light  that  shines  in  upon  my  natural  reason,  when 
engaged  in  the  commonest  earthly  speculations;  all  these  I 
would  consider  as  coming  just  as  directly  and  absolutely  from 
the  Spirit  of  my  God,  as  1  do  those  sacred  influences  which 
inform  and  comfort  my  spiritual  existence.  Ceasing  to  look 
upon  reason  as  our  own,  we  should  cease  to  lean  upon  it  with 
a  misplaced  confidence.  What  we  expect  from  it  would  be 
expected  fronr  the  God  to  whom  it  belongs,  not  from  our- 
selves, who  have  no  right  in  it.  The  only  way  to  preclude 
'all  glorying  and  trusting  in  our  own  things,  is,  to  have  nothing 


of  our  own.  Then,  when  all  is  God's,  we  can  neither  confide 
too  much,  nor  expect  too  largely.  Thus  David  acted.  He 
said,  "  I  will  not  trust  in  my  bow,  neither  shall  my  sword 
save  me."  Did  he  therefore  resign  the  use  of  the  sword  and 
of  the  bowl  No:  but  he  ascribed  the  strength  which  moved 
his  arm  in  wielding  them  to  God;  "It  is  God  that  girdeth 
me  with  strength ;"  "  He  teacheth  my  hands  to  war,  and  my 
lingers  to  fight."  There  is  nothing  so  reasonable  or  so  delight- 
ful as  this  unreserved  ascription  of  all  our  intellectual  powers 
to  "  God  our  INIaker,  who  teacheth  us  more  than  the  beasts 
of  the  earth,  and  maketh  us  wiser  than  the  fowls  of  heaven." 
He  who  thus  realizes  the  property  of  God  in  his  reasoning 
faculties,  may  without  arrogance  indulge  in  anticipation  of 
their  usefulness,  which  to  a  weaker  faith,  would  seem  the 
height  of  presuiuption.  It  is  not  that  he  esteems  the  instru- 
ment too  highly;  but  that,  viewing  it  as  God's  instrument,  he 
can  set  no  bounds  to  its  efficiency.  He  does  not  imagine 
that  his  own  arm  can  bring  victory.  But  through  God  he 
knows  he  shall  do  valiantly.  He  enters  deeply  into  the 
prophet's  feelings;  "  I  cannot  speak,  for  I  am  a  child."  But 
the  answer  of  the  Lord  is  graven  upon  his  memory ;  "  What- 
sover  I  command  thee  thou  shalt  speak."  He  is  ready  to 
exclaim  with  Moses,  "  Who  am  I,  that  I  should  go  upon  the 
Lord's  errand?  I  am  slow  of  speech,  and  of  a  slow  tongue." 
But  his  diffidence  vanishes  before  the  firm  assurance  that 
God  "  will  be  with  his  mouth,  and  teach  him  what  to  say." 
To  cultivate  our  reasoning  powers  with  this  absolute  hope- 
lessness of  their  single  efficacy,  and  these  large  expectations 
from  them  as  instruments  in  the  hand  of  God,  is  to  bring  a 
certain  blessing  upon  all  that  we  do  with  them.  Hope 
nothing  from  yourself  Think  nothing  too  great  to  hojje 
from  the  bounty  of  your  God.  A  firm  adherence  to  this  simple 
rule  would  enable  you  to  bring  your  reason  to  the  highest 
degree  of  perfection ;  for  God  will  honour  those  who  thus 
honour  him.  "  Cease  then  from  your  own  wisdom."  "Trust 
in  the  Lord  with  all  your  heart,  and  lean  not  to  your  own  un- 
derstanding." Sure  I  am  that  if  your  trust  be  thus  in  the 
Lord,  he  will  teach  you  "excellent  things  in  counsels  and 
knowledge."  You  shall  both  "  know  the  certainty  of  the 
words  of  truth,"  and  be  able  to  "answer  the  words  of  truth 
to  them  that  send  unto  you."  '  Again,  '  It  is  the  perfection  of 
intellectual  enjoyment  to  receive  reason  entirely  as  the  gift 
of  our  God,  and  every  improvement  of  it,  as  a  fresh  token  of 
his  love.  Every  thing  is  good,  must  be  good,  if  wc  view  it 
in  this  light.  How  shall  it  not  be  good,  if  it  comes  directly 
from  o\ir  Father's  hand?  How  shall  it  not  be  very  good,  if 
sanctioned  by  our  Father's  blessing?  You  know  that  "  a  gift 
is  as  a  precious  stone  in  the  eyes  of  him  that  hath  it;  whither- 
soever it  turneth,  it  prospereth."  And  then,  "  the  blessing 
of  the  Lord,  it  maketh  rich ;  and  ho  addeth  no  sorrow  with 
it."  The  poorest  trifle  becomes  valuable,  if  it  be  the  gift  of 
love.  But  reason  is  itself  a  precious  stone,  a  costly  gem. 
When  reeeiied  as  a  gift  it  becomes  a  charmed  stone,  a  talis- 
man to  shield  from  harm,  and  to  ensure  prosperity.  Only- 
acknowledge  all  your  earthly  acquirements  in  this  light,  and 
you  shall  find,  that,  whichever  way  you  turn  them,  success 
shall  attend  your  endeavours.  Regard  every  one  of  your 
mental  faculties  as  given  to  you  by  creating  love.  Rejoice 
in  the  gift,  because  redeeming  love  has  restored  it  to  you 
with  a  seven-fold  blessing.  Here  is  a  shield  of  love,  if  the 
shield  of  faith  appear  insufficient  for  your  defence.  For  will 
not  you  earnestly  guard  against  the  abuse  of  a  thing  so  given 
and  so  blessed?' 

Her  encouragement  and  advice  in  the  resistance  of  self-in- 
dulgent temptations  is  truly  excellent. 

'  It  is  encouraging  to  reflect,  that  if  "  you  are  Christ's,  all 
things  are  yours."  Whatever  talents  he  has  given -you  are 
yours,  freely  to  use  and  improve.  They  are  abo  /{is  ;  therefore 
you  may  confidently  expect,  that  he  will  get  glory  to  himself  out 
of  them.  And  this,  if  1  mistake  not,  is  your  wish.  Your  ac- 
quirements are  of  no  value  in  your  eyes,  except  as  you  can 
use  them  for  Christ.  Begin  then  and  end  all  yourstudics  with 
him.  Seek  to  find  communion  with  God  in  everyone  of  them. 
"Do  all  in  the  name  of  the  Lord  Jesus,  and  to  the  glory  of 
God."  The  curse  which  clings  to  the  best  of  earthly  things, 
and  which  once  shed  its  baneful  influence  en  all  your  intel- 
lectual faculties,  is  now  taken  away  in  Christ  Jesus.  Once 
perhaps  your  talents  might  have  made  you  a  splendid  mis- 
chief, a  brilliant  pest  to  society.  Now  if  .you  use  them  in 
faith,  they  shall  be  an  instrument  of  healing  and  of  blessing.' 
The  following  closing  remarks  place  the  b-alance  between 
inlellectual  and  Christian  wisdom  with  admirable  clearness 
and  beauty. 

'On  the  whole,  in  attempting  to  decide  upon  the  true  raer- 


MEMOIR  OF  MAnV  JANE  GRAHA>r. 


199 


its  of  human  learninsr,  my  readers  will  not  acquit  me  of  the 
charore  of  iiiconsisteoey,  unless  they  bear  in  mind  the  two- 
fold principle  upon  which  my  assertions  are  founded,  and 
from  which  I  hope  I  shall  not  appear  to  have  deviated.  On  the 
one  hand,  I  conceive  that  to  enlarge  and  strengthen,  to  culti- 
vate and  refine,  to  enrich  and  beautify  the  intellect,  is  of  all 
the  objects  of  mere  earthly   attainment,   incomparably   the 


To  Cliristian  professors,  whose  habits  and  pleasures  are 
found  in  the  field  of  intellect,  we  cannot  but  observe,  how  much 
they  may  learn  from  this  highly-gifted  saint,  of  thai  "  sim- 
plicilj-  and  godly  sincerity,"'  that  careful  inspection  of  mo- 
tives, that  watchful  subordination  i.f  natural  indulgence  to  the 
supreme  object  of  the  glory  of  God.  which  can  alone  exclude 
the  blast  of  Divine  jealousy  from  these  legitimate  sources  of 
most  worthy.  Viewing  study  in  this  light,  I  cannot  butjenjoyment.  All  her  views  of  science  were  received  through 
speak  in  its  favour  with  some  degree  of  liveliness  and  pas-  a  spiritual  medium,  and  elevated  her  soul  to  the  hallowed  at- 
sion,  as  one  who  has  tasted,  though  very  slightly,  of  the  bene-  mosphere  of  communion  with  her  God.  The  spirit  of  prayer 
fits  which  flow  from  it.  On  the  other  hand,  when  I  compare  was  the  constant  guard  upon  her  intellectual  studies.  Never 
this  best  of  earthly  things  with  the  lowest   and   meanest  ofldid  she  enter  upon  the  daily  course  of  tuition  with  her  young 


heavenly  attainments,  it  sinks  ineffably  in  my  esteem ;  no 
longer  possessing  any  intrinsic  worth,  but  valuable  only  from 


cousin  without  earnestly  imploring  the  blessing  of  her  heavenly 
Father.     AVe  have  already  seen  a  specimen  of  her  spirit  of 


its  subserviency  to  these   higher  objects.     Considering  it,  supplication  on  this  interesting  subject,  upon  which  it  would 


therefore,  in  this  point  of  view,  1  am  exceedingly  fearful  of 
overrating  its  cllicacy.  I  am  led  to  speak  of  it  with  the  cau- 
tion due  to  a  pursuit,  which  is  equallj-  capable  of  becoming  a 
singular  blessing,  or  an  extraordinary  snare.  Thus  when  I 
weigli  intellectual  cultivation  in  any  earthly  balance,  I  cannot 
but  adjudge  to  it  a  decided  superiority.  But  when  I  place  it 
in  the  balance  of  the  sanctuary,  I  perceive  that  it  has  no  weight 
at  all,  but  what  it  derives  from  the  blessing  of  God  on  ac- 
companying circumstances.  By  affixing  to  liuman  learning 
any  independent  value,  we  take  from  it  that  which  it  really 
has;  for  though  exceedinglj'  useful  as  a  submissive  attendant 
upon  divine  knowledge,  it  can  do  us  nothing  but  harm,  if  we 
permit  its  entrance  as  a  dominating  usurper. 

'  We  should  be  le;;s  apt  to  set  our  hearts  upon  the  pleasure 
of  intellect,  if  we  reflected  how  much  they  partake  of  the  eva- 
nescent nature  of  all  earthly  enjoyments.  \Vhen  this  little  mo- 
ment which  we  call  life  is  fled,  of  what  itse  shall  our  studies 
be  to  us?  Our  enlarged  faculties  will  then  discern  in  an  in- 
stant more  than  a  thousand  lives  of  intense  application  would 
now  enable  us  to  discern.  Our  earthly  pursuits  and  attach- 
ments are  among  those  "childish  things,  which  we  shall  put 
away,"  when  we  arrive  at  man's  estate.  The  very  best  and 
wisest  of  them  are  but  the  '^  summi  amorcs  pucrorum,qui  una 
cum  prxlexta  pinienlur,"  While,  however,  we  are  in  this 
fleeting  state  of  existence,  we  must  not  despise  tliosc  tempo- 
rary delights  and  assistances,  which  the  goodness  of  God  has 
so  wonderfully  adapted  to  our  imperfection ;  nor  need  wc  fear 
to  avail  ourselves  of  them  with  due  moderation,  and  in  a  sim- 
ple dependence  upon  God's  blessing.  But  never  let  it  be 
said  of  the  Christian,  that  he  is  so  much  absorbed  in  "  things 
temporal,"  as  to  neglect,  for  one  moment,  "the  things  which 
are  eternal."  ' 

The  intrinsic  excellence  of  these  remarks  render  an  apology 
for  their  introduction  needless.  The  high  and  general  im- 
portance of  the  subject,  the  full  development  of  its  true  prin- 
ciples, the  solid  and  expanded  views,  and,  above  all,  the 
Christian  wisdom,  spiritual  simplicit)',  and  unction  which 
pervade  the  discussion,  will  commend  it  to  the  profitable  at- 
tention of  every  intelligent  reader.  The  treatise  itself  (the 
writer  here  speaks  from  more  competent  judgment  than  his 
own)  might  probably  be  considered  by  men  of  science,  as  not 
formed  upon  the  more  approved  system  of  mathematical  study; 
and,  though  displaying  much  power  and  clearness  of  mind,  is 
occasionally  inaccurate  in  definition  and  lllustntion.  The 
practical  and  excursive  remarks  (judging  from  the  preceding 
extracts,  and  some  others  hereafter  to  be  adduced)  will  how- 
ever be  generally  considered  to  possess  no  common  \'alue 

The  writer  has  been  induced  to  extract  so  largely  from 
this  Instructive  manuscript,  chiefly  with  a  view  to  two  impor- 
tant classes  of  persons  in  the  present  day.  In  this  era  of  re- 
ligious excitement  the  minds  of  a  large  mass  are  at  work,  in- 
quiring, or  rather  speculating,  in  a  feverish  state  of  restless- 
ness and  perplexity.  Their  feelings  are  interested,  animated, 
and  more  or  less  intensely  occupied  with  the  engrossing  sub- 
jects now  brought  before  the  church.  Yet  often — among  the 
young  especiall}- — whether  from  defect  of  education  or  of 
mental  cultivation,  their  judgments  have  little  power  of  dis- 
crimination ;  their  principles  are  confined;  and  their  profess- 
ion mainly  characterized  b)'  spiritual  dissipation,  which  ex- 
poses them  to  the  besetting  snares  of  a  disputatious  temper, 
self-conceit,  and  self-delusion.  To  such  we  would  strongly 
recommend  the  principles,  obligations,  and  advantages  of 
Christian  study,  which  iMiss  Graham  has  so  admirably  laid 
out  l;efore  them.  The  solid  influence  of  these  intellectual 
habits  upon  her  own  character,  furnishes  the  most  satisfactory 
illustration  of  their  importance.  So  far  from  diverting  her  at- 
tention from  the  supreme  concerns  of  eternity,  they  enabled 
her,  through  Divine  teaching,  the  more  steadily  to  concentrate 
her  interest  in  habitual,  ciiliveni[ig,  and  practical  contemplation. 


be  well  for  the  student  to  meditate,  till  his  heart  becomes 
deeply  imbued  with  its  simple  spirituality  and  enlargement. 
How  delightful  again  is  the  pattern  set  forth  in  one  of  her  let- 
ters !  Speaking  of  some  perplexities  relative  to  the  pursuing 
of  her  studies,  she  adds — 'I  am  now  resolved,  God  helping 
me,  to  give  this  week  to  prayer,  presenting  each  of  my  stu- 
dies to  Jesus,  that  he  may  prosper  and  sanctifj*  it  by  his  Spi- 
rit, take  from  it  all  self-love,  and  cause  me  In  all  mj'  employ- 
ments, eveii  in  the  least,  to  aim  at  his  glory,  and  to  labour  in 
his  name.  Join  with  me  in  this  prayer.'  Not  less  instruc- 
tive is  the  practical  spirit  that  pervaded  her  studies.  Nothing 
was  done  for  self-indulgence.  Her  pursuits  were  only  val- 
uable in  proportion  as  they  were  consecrated.  In  every 
thing,  to  her  to  live  was  Christ.  Nothing  besides  seemed 
worthy  the  name  of  life.  Nothing  seemed  to  command  her 
interest  independent  of  this  great  object.  To  a  correspondent, 
who  had  inquired  her  sentiments  relative  to  the  cultivation  of 
her  mind,  she  writes — '  I  think  it  may  be  done,  with  a  prayer 
lowever,  and  a  resolution,  that  all  that  we  do  shall  one  day 
be  employed  in  the  service  of  Christ.  I  think  the  only  thing 
is,  never  to  lose  sight  of  this  great  object.  And  to  this  end  I 
know  no  other  means  than  that  of  making  it  a  subject  of 
prayer.  I  have  often  been  prevented  from  praying  for  suc- 
cess in  study,  because  I  thought  it  was  better  only  to  mention 
spiritual  wants  at  the  throne  of  grace.  But  I  now  think,  that 
after  having  asked  a  blessing  upon  our  common  occupations, 
we  are  less  likel)'  to  forget  the  end,  which  alone  can  enable 
us  to  follow  them  without  danger.'  Apart  from  this  holy 
simpllclly  of  principle,  (which  is  the  exclusive  character  of 
the  Christian  Student,)  •  learning' — as  Mr.  Baxter  tersely  re- 
marks,— 'Is  but  the  pleasing  of  the  fancy  in  the  knowledge  of 
unnecessary  things.'  Intellectual  pleasures  will  be  purchased 
at  the  fearful  expense  of  the  loss  of  heavenly  communion  with 
God.  In  the  cultivation  of  this  spirit,  we  shall  be  enabled  to 
honour  our  God,  and  to  receive  his  needful  aid  in  literary  as 
well  as  in  religious  pursuits.  The  solid  advantages  of  study 
indeed  will  be  safely  enjoyed,  and  therefore  will  become  a 
medium,  by  which  the  Divine  glory  will  be  displayed,  and  the 
presence  of  our  God  will  be  realized  with  a  higher  zest  and  a 
more  abiding  influence. 

But  in  returning  to  Miss  Graham,  we  may  add,  that  her 
studies  were  not  confined  to  the  severer  branches  of  know- 
ledge. She  had  cultivated  an  acquaintance  with  the  Roman 
classics  with  considerable  success.*     In  the  field  of  modern 


*  To  one  of  her  correspondents  she  recommends  the  study  of  the 
Latin  Granmiar,  as  the  means  of  a  clcai*  understanding  of  '  lliat  no- 
ble language,'  and  of  '  ennobling  the  iulelleet  by  the  reading  of  the 
poets  and  historians  of  that  language.'  Two  otlier  advantages  she 
notices — that  of  a  more  distinct  and  enlarged  acquaintance  witli  our 
own  '  language,  in  great  part  <leduced  from  the  Latin,' and  that  of 
forming  a  good  style,  adding — 'that  the  English  style  of  a  person 
wcU-iiislructed  in  Latin  acquires  gi-cat  richness  and  fertility  from 
the  number  of  classical  and  cnergL'tic  words  of  whicli  it  is  com- 
posed.' AVhile  liowevcr  in  her  manuscript  she  points  out  die  sub- 
stantial advantages  of  this  instructive  field  of  intellect,  she  does  not 
fail  to  advert  to  the  restriction,  whicli  sound  Christian  judgment  is 
consti'aincd  t^-.  impose  upon  an  indiscriminate  indulgence.  'If,'  she 
observes, '  we  cultivate  classic  litcratui-e  with  a  view  only  to  increase 
our  fund  of  critical  knowledge,  we  shall  miss  many  of  the  benefits, 
w  hich  we  might  have  derived  from  pui'suing  it  w  ith  a  more  valuable 
and  extensive  design.  The  true  ends  of  that  fascinating  study  are 
to  impart  chasteness  and  elegance  to  the  style,  to  enrich  the  mind 
with  manly  sentiments,  beiiutiful  images,  and  poetical  associations.' 
She  elsewhere  rccommencls  the  cultivation  of  this  field  of  literature 
as  'a  corrective  to'  what  she  calls  'the  cold  and  jejune  expression, 
which  marks  the  style  of  the  mere  mathematician.  I  acknowledge,' 
she  adds,  'the  Christian  objections,  that  are  urged,  not  without 
weight,  a.gainst  the  study  of  the  ancient  authors.  I  am  only  advo- 
cating thcin  under  proper  restrictions,  and  with  due  moderation. 
Thus  guarded  fi-om  abuse,  let  them  walk  hand  in  hand  w  ith  the 
more  abstruse  sciences.  They  w  ill  mutually  aid  and  correct  each 
other.     A  high  degree  of  classic  elegance  is  consistent  with  strong- 


200 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


Vilerature  and  taste,  she  was  perfectly  familiar  with  the 
French,  Italian,  and  Spanish  languages.  For  the  first  two, 
she  had  proper  masters.  The  last  she  learnt  from  a  Castilian, 
■who  was  introduced  to  her  fatlier's  house,  in  exchange  for 
teaching  him  lier  own  language.  In  order  to  improve  herself 
in  the  knowledge  of  the  languages,  she  made  considerahle 
use  of  them  in  mutual  correspondence  with  her  young  friends. 
For  the  same  purpose  she  translated  Goldsmith's  Vicar  of 
Wakefield  (a  work  not  congenial  to  her  taste,  but  selectei' 
as  a  good  specimen  of  English  style)  into  French,  Latin 
and  Spanish,  and  commenced  an  Italian  version.  She  rnadi 
a  similar  use  of  Gil  Bias,  to  perfect  herself  in  the  Spanish 
language  for  an  important  object,  which  will  shortly  be  no- 
ticed at  length.  She  appears,  however,  to  have  ultimately 
relinquished  this  work  for  a  reason  equally  characteristic  of 
her  good  sense  and  Christian  simplicity,  'Should  I  become, 
she  writes  to  her  correspondent,  '  perfect  mistress  of  the 
pleasing  and  pregnant  style  of  Gil  Bias  (of  which  I  intend  to 
write  at  least  two  volumes,)  it  would  be  almost  too  light  for 
the  serious  subject  on  which  I  wish  to  write.'  In  the  same 
spirit  the  project  even  of  these  two  volumes  seem  to  have 
been  quickly  laid  aside.  The  next  week  she  writes  to  th 
same  correspondent :  '  I  told  you  that  1  had  begun  to  write  Gil 
Bias  very  diligently.  But  yesterday  I  tliought  of  the  folly 
of  thus  employing  myself  about  a  work  in  which  I  wished 
Christ  to  do  all.  1  am  therefore  determined  to  give  the  re- 
mainder of  this  week  and  the  following  to  reading  the  Bible 
with  prayer. 

The  best  English  writers  were  familiar  to  her,  especially 
the  standard  works  connected  with  ihe  philosophy  of  the  mind 
She  appears  to  have  made  herself  thoroughly  acquainted  with 
the  principles  of  Locke.  She  speaks  in  one  of  her  letters  of 
reading  his  important  Essay  on  the  Conduct  of  the  Under- 
standing for  the  twentieth  time  with  renewed  interest,  and 
recommends  to  her  correspondent  the  study  of  this  work  with 
great  earnestness,  as  the  means  of  giving  her  an  increased 
thirst  for  pursuits  purely  intellectual.  Stewart  was  read  with 
much  improvement  to  herself.  Butler's  Analogy  was  also  upon 
her  first  shelf  The  following  letter  to  her  cousin  gives  a 
lively  and  intelligent  view  of  her  interest  in  these  valuable 
writers. 

Hastings,  July  26,  1823. 

'I  am  very  glad  that  you  like  Butler  ;  I  found,  as  you  do, 
not  orjly  that  he  is  humble  himself,  but  that  he  inspires  his 
readers  with  sentiments  of  humilit)-.  He  shows  them  the 
littleness  of  human  reason,  and  how  weak  it  is  where  it  wi 
not  submit  to  the  light  of  revelation.  I  will  tell  you  the 
good  Stewart  has  done  me.  I  have  long  felt  that  all  the  ef 
forts  I  have  made  to  obtain  true  knowledge  have  been  almost 
useless.  Stewart  has  shown  me  the  reason  of  this.  It  is 
because  I  have  always  allowed  the  greatest  confusion  in  mv 
ideas.  I  have  never  arranged  them.  He  has  shown  me 
that  my  mind  is  like  a  large  sack  filled  with  rubbish  of  all 
kinds,  and  where  perhaps  something  that  is  useful  may  be 
found,  but  all  is  packed  together  in  so  confused  a  manner, 
that  whosoever  sought  for  it  would  be  seeking  a  needle  in  a 
bundle  of  hay.  I  am  almost  in  despair;  liowever  I  am  re- 
solved to  make  ever}'  eftort  to  arrange  a  little  better  the 
confused  mass,  and  1  am  more  than  ever  convinced,  that 
the  only  sure  way  of  having  the  head  filled  with  clear  and 
well-defined  ideas  is  to  accustom  oneself  tu  put  one's  thoughts 
upon  paper.  1  must  tell  you  a  resolution  which  I  desire  to 
execute :  it  is  to  write  down  from  time  to  time  all  the  new 
ideas  and  facts,  whether  original  nr  acquired  by  reading  or 
conversation,  which  I  have  gained.  B)'  doing  this  we  should 
know  the  progress  which  our  minds  make ;  and  we  shoud 
not  forget,  as  we  now  do,  the  ideas  which  pass  through  the 
mind  without  making  any  impression,  but  which  might  be 
very  useful  if  gathered  together,  and  reserved  to  a  proper 
occasion.' 

Her  acquaintance  with  the  Greek  language  only  extended 
to  the  reading  of  the  Greek  Testament.  The  further  progress 
in  this  department  of  literature  was  hindered  by  her  applica- 
tion to  other  studies  necessary  for  the  superintendance  of  the 
education  of  her  cousin.  She  was  proposing  to  commence 
the  study  of  Hebrew,  but  increasing  indisposition  precluded 
her  from  engaging  in  any  new  branch  of  study  that  excited 
her  interest  and  exercised  her  habits  of  application. 


poMcrs  of  sound  argumeiitallon.  The  combitjation  forms  a  style  of 
reasoning  as  pleasing  as  it  is  convincing.  The  simplicity  of  a 
mathematical  stjle  is  thus  kept  from  degenerating  into  poverty,  and 
its  cautious  correctness  is  not  pcriuitled  to  stiffen  into  a  frozen 
Bterility' 


Rliss  Graham  studied  the  theory  of  music  with  much  aV 
tention,  and  wrote  a  short  but  correct  development  of  its 
principles*  for  the  use  of  a  young  cousin,  then  preparing  for 
the  situation  of  governess,  and  whom,  as  we  have  before 
hinted,  she  had  in  part  educated  for  this  important  sphere  with 
anxious  pains  and  interest.  Apart  from  this  object,  she  would 
not  probably  have  devoted  so  large  a  portion  of  her  valua- 
ble time  to  this  study,  as  it  was  a  matter  of  frequent  concern 
to  her  to  observe  the  preporulerance  given  to  this  elen-ant 
and  fascinating  science  above  the  more  solid  and  useful  ac- 
complishments. 

In  some  of  her  lively  exercises  of  mind  she  took  up  the 
subject  of  Chemistry  with  great  delight,  making longextracts 
from  the  books  which  she  had  read,  and  going  over  every 
part  till  she  thoroughly  understood  it.  Without  having  any 
more  definite  object  for  this  study,  she  felt  that  some  absorb- 
ing occupation  of  this  character  was  necessary  to  beguile  the 
long  and  wearisome  hours  of  sickness.  For  the  same  object 
Botany  also  attracted  her  attention.  Thus  with  various  and 
successive  occupations  her  mind  was  always  maintained  in 
active,  intelligent,  and  profitable  exercise.  A  striking  fea- 
ture of  her  character  (one  which  entered  into  her  recreations 
equally  with  her  studies,  and  which  formed  the  basis  of  her 
high  mental  superiority)  was  a  total  concentration  of  every 
power  of  thought  and  feeling,  in  the  object  of  pursuit  imme- 
diately before  her.j"  Indeed,  as  her  father  observes,  'she 
followed  Solomon's  advice  in  every  thing  she  undertook. 
"  Whatsoever  thine  hand  findeth  to  do,  do  it  with  thy 
might!"  ' 

Her  peculiar  singleness  of  aim  preserved  her  in  the  midst 
of  her  intellectual  employments  from  the  baneful  influence  of 
self-indulgence,  and  stimulated  her  to  apply  her  literary  pur- 
suits to  valuable  practical  purposes.  Her  great  object  in  the 
study  of  the  Spanish  language,  was  to  obtain  a  medium  of 
communication  with  the  Spanish  refugees.  The  discovery  of  a 
strong  tincture  of  infidelity  among  them,  combined,  with  the 
recollection  of  her  own  fall,  to  excite  a  compassionate,  earnest, 
and  sympathizing  concern  on  their  behalf.  The  second  part 
of  '  The  Test  of  Truth'  opens  with  an  exquisitely  touching 
view  of  her  feelings  on  this  painful  subject.  Indeed  the  work 
contains  the  substance  of  her  cominunications  with  some  of 
those  interesting  but  unhappy  men.  It  was  sent  to  them,  with 
much  and  earnest  prayer,  upon  the  eve  of  their  departure  from 
England.  She  had  intended  to  have  translated  some  of  the 
most  striking  extracts  from  Paley  and  other  writers  upon  the 
Evidences  of  Christianity,  and  in  one  of  her  letters  she  men- 
tions having  no  less  than  eleven  English  volumes  before  her 
mind  for  this  purpose.  Finding,  however,  that  Paley  had 
been  translated,  she  purchased  the  work,  and  sent  it  to  her 
Spanish  friends  with  her  own. 

The  following  notices  will  give  an  interesting  view  of  the 
exercises  of  her  mind  and  faith  strongly  called  out  towards 
these  objects  of  her  compassion,  after  she  was  removed  from 
immediate  intercourse  with  them. 

Sept.  8,  1825. 
'  As  to  my  Spanish,  we  have  been  so  busy  about  the  schools, 
that  I  have  not  been  able  to  do  much.  But  I  find  a  delightful 
confidence  thatthis  book,  havingbeen  the  suggestion  of  Christ, 
and  belonging  to  him,  and  not  to  me,  will  be  blessed  by  hina. 
I  have  read  one  part  of  '  Las  Ruinas,':j:  and  in  reading  it  I  was 
struck  with  the  reflection,  that  the  best  answer  would  be  a 
continual  reference  to  the  word  of  God.  I  thought  there- 
fore of  placing  my  observations  on  the  blank  pages,  and  of 


*  A  Letter  to  a  young  Piano  Forte  player. 

f  One  of  her  letters  gives  a  graphical  picture  of  this  remarkable 
concentration  of  mind. 

PImnoutluJIay  10,  1825. 

'MHien  the  fui*y  of  learning  takes  possession  of  me,  1  cannot  think 
of  any  thing  else.  If  I  am  seized  with  a  fit  for  studying  any  parti- 
cular thing,  X  cannot  give  my  mind  to  any  other  studies,  however 
much  I  usually  delight  in  them.  I  now  wish  to  study  Spanish  and 
Music.  But  I  am  so  carried  away  with  my  ancient  mania  for 
Matliematics,  that,  although  my  head  aches,  and  I  cannot  think  with- 
out  inconvenience  of  any  thing,  I  am  perpetually  puzzling  my  hrains 
to  resolve  questions  which  will  never  he  of  any  use  to  me.  It  is 
said,  that  every  thing  is  given  for  some  good.  I  cannot  imagine  why 
I  have  been  endued  «  ith  this  invincible  propensity-  to  a  study,  w  hich 
is  always  diverting  me  from  more  useful  anil  feminine  occupations.' 
This  letter,  it  will  be  remarked,  was  written  several  years  before 
her  Treatise  on  Mathematical  Study,  and  before  the  important  in- 
tellectual and  moral  benefit  of  that  study,  which  her  Treatise  so 
fully  develops,  had  opened  to  her  mind. 

:t '^'olney's  Kuins  of  Palmyra,  translated  into  the  Spanish — an  in. 
fidel  -nork  of  much  authority  with  her  Spanish  friends. 


MEMOIR  OF  MARY  JANE  GRAHAM. 


201 


iillinor  the  margin  of  the  printed  paper  with  references.  I  be- 
seech you  to  pray,  that  if  I  be  not  a  fit  instrument  for  the  con- 
version of  the  souls  of  these  poor  Spanish  exiles,  the  Holy 
Spirit  would  be  pleased  to  raise  up  some  other.' 

Miss  Graham  obtained  a  copy  of  the  book,  interleaved 
with  blank  paper  for  the  insertion  of  her  remarks.  She  did 
not  however  complete  this  task,  thinkina  that  the  simple  ar 
{Tument  of  '  The  Test  of  Truth'  was  better  adapted  for  her 
purpose. 


.9pril  9,  1827. 

'  Last  week  my  blessed  Master  gave  me  the  power  of  writ- 
ing in  his  name  to  the  poor  Spaniards.  I  have  written  three 
slic-cts  in  English.  But  as  I  have  not  studied  Spanish  for  a 
long  time,  I  find  myself  in  some  difficulty,  and  must  give 
this  week  to  the  language.  Next  week  1  hope  to  translate 
what  I  have  written,  and  to  send  it  to  you  ;  if  you  will  oblige 
rne  by  seeing  it  put  into  their  hands.  My  faith  in  seeing 
them  converted  to  God  increases  every  day.  At  present, 
"  the  strong  man  armed  keepeth  his  palace,  and  his  goods 
are  at  peace."  "  But  I  have  a  confidence  given  me  from  hea- 
ven, that  I  shall  see  the  "  stronger  than  he,"  who  will  con 
c]uer  him,  and  "  take  from  him  all  his  armour  wherein  he 
trusted."  I  may  not  perhaps  see  this  while  I  am  here  ;  but 
1  shall  not  rejoice  the  less,  because  1  sec  it  in  heaven.' 

About  a  month  afterwards,  we  find  her  mind  deeply  exer- 
cised upon  this  work  of  labour  and  love. 

May  5,  1827. 

'I  wrote  the  Spanish  book  in  the  name  of  Jesus,  and  in  the 
belief  that  he  would  give  me  a  spirit  and  a  wisdom,  which  by 
nature  I  do  not  possess.  I  Aorf  a  strong  faith  in  the  promises 
of  God  to  manifest  himself  in  his  own  time  to  his  own  elect. 
But  in  the  way  of  preparing  to  send  it,  my  faith  vanishes,  and 
I  have  now  only  "  an  evil  heart  of  unbelief."*  To  say  to  all 
tlie  bones  in  the  church-yard  at  Stoke,  "  O  ye  dry  bones,  hear 
the  word  of  the  Lord," — would  almost  seem  to  me  easier 
than  to  say  tlie  same  tiling  to  souls  dead  in  infidelity.  How- 
ever, I  feel  that  I  have  courage  even  for  this,  since  "  Jesus  is 
the  resurrection  and  the  life,"  because  all  the  glory  will  be  to 
him  alone;  and  because  he  has  assured  me,  that  having  con- 
fided mj'self  to  him,  my  expectations  can  never  be  disappoint- 
ed.' 

The  next  letter  was  sent  some  months  afterwards,  with 
'The  Test  of  Truth,'  and  Taley's  Evidences.' 

Dec.  20, 1827. 

'I  send  you  Paley,  which  pleases  me  very  much,  with  the 
letter,  in  which,  without  entering  upon  any  argument  about 
the  Evidencos,  &c.  I  have  leant  upon  the  simple  proposition, 
that  God  having  promised  in  the  Scriptures  to  give  his  Spi- 
rit to  whoever  asks  it  with  sincerity,  must  either  keep  his 
promise,  or  not  be  God ;  and  I  have  endeavoured  to  show 
them,  that  according  to  their  own  principles  they  are  without 
excuse,  if  they  neglect  to  seek  their  Creator  in  this  manner. 
But  if  even  now  it  do  not  succeed,  it  has  been  a  blessing  to 
me  ;  it  has  been  the  cause  of  many  prayers,  of  many  sweet 
moments  of  communion  with  Jesus.  I  cannot  therefore  but 
hope,  that  in  the  time  and  manner  which  please  him,  m}' 
prayers  will  l)0  answered.  I  recommend  these  unhajipy  peo- 
ple to  you.  Pray  for  them  often  and  fervently;  possibly 
amongst  them  may  be  found  some  of  those  who  were  "cho- 
sen before  the  foundation  of  the  world."  ' 

In  another  letter  formerly  quoted,  after  having  begged  her 
friend  to  join  with  her  in  prayer  for  a  blessing  upon  her  stu- 
dies, she  added  in  conclusion — 'And  pray  for  me,  that  I  may 
have  something  to  say  to  those  poor  Spaniards,  and  that  my 
love  for  ihcm  may  not  grow  cold.' 

The  full  result  of  her  prayers  and  "  trials  of  faith"  on  be- 
half of  her  Spanish  friends,  is  among  the  secrets  which  "the 
day  will  declare."  Meanwhile,  what  Christian  can  fail  to  be 
invigorated  by  this  exhibition  of  prayer,  faith,  self-denial,  and 
patient  hope  in  the  work  of  our  Divine  IMaster  % 

Allusion  has  been  already  made  to  a  disinterested  ]irojcct 
which  she  had  formed  of  devoting  herself  to  the  work  of  tu- 
ition. To  her  cousin,  she  writes  as  if  her  heart  was  full  of 
it — '  I  think  of  it  day  and  night.  The  opportunity  of  my  ill- 
ness appears  to  me  excellent  for  preparing  myself  for  my 
plan,  if  the  ability  for  pulting  if  into  execution  should  be  grant- 


*  Tills  book  was  'The  Test  of  Truth.'  Her  care  and  anxiety  for 
tliem  extendi^d  to  lliPir  temporal  as  \icJI  as  their  spiritual  distresses. 
As  a  token  of  afiVctionatc  sympalliv,  as  well  as  some  acknow  Icd^-c- 
inent  for  valnalile  instruction  rttcivcd,  slie  f:;Iadly  ap]>ropriatc-d  tlii- 
proceeds  of  licr  Musical  Tract  to  the  fund  raised  for  their  relief- 
Vol.  IL— 2  A 


ed  7ne.'  Her  gracious  Lord  however  was  pleased  to  accept 
her  in  the  desire,  not  in  the  performance  of  her  work.  Pro- 
tracted indisposition  hindered  her  from  giving  any  definite 
shape  or  execution  to  the  plan,  which  only  remains  on  record, 
as  one  among  the  many  instances  of  the  ceaseless  activity 
with  which  her  energies  were  employed  in  the  service  of  her 
Redeemer,  and  of  his  Church. 

It  is  natural  to  expect  to  see  her  a  "  fellow-worker  with 
God,"  in  the  daily  course  of  active  devotedness.  She  was  a 
constant  visiter  of  the  poor  in  the  most  miserable  abodes,  un- 
der circumstances  trying  to  her  delicate  frame  and  tender  spi- 
rit. For  some  time  she  took  a  daily  and  somewhat  distant 
walk  through  an  uninviting  part  of  the  city,  to  spend  an  hour 
with  a  dyingyoungwoman,  whose  case  had  deeply  interested 
her,  and  to  whom  there  is  every  reason  to  believe  that  she 
was  found  the  blessed  messenger  of  life  and  salvation.  Her 
sympathy  was  much  called  out  by  the  temporal  wants  of  the 
poor.  Much  of  her  leisure  time  was  employed  in  workino- for 
their  benefit.  A  large  chest  of  useful  articles  of  clolhino-°vas 
constantly  kept  in  her  own  room,  while  the  opportunities  of  dis- 
tribution were  always  improved  as  means  of  spiritual  instruc- 
tion to  the  objects  of  her  consideration.  Her  Sabbaths  were 
entirely  devoted  to  the  service  of  God.  She  became  a  teacher 
in  the  Christ  Church  Sunday  School,  and  though  she  was 
often  exhausted  at  the  close  of  the  day  by  the  continued  ex- 
citement of  her  exertions,  yet  she  ever  counted  her  toil  in  the 
work  of  Christ  to  be  her  highest  privilege  and  delight. 

Upon  her  removal  from  London,  the  interest  of  her  intel- 
lectual mind  continued  to  be  called  forth  in  the  employment 
of  a  village  sphere.  A  deep  and  abiding  constraint  of  re- 
deeming love  regulated  every  mental  eftbrt.  Though  she 
diligently  improved  her  retirement  in  adding  to  her  already 
well-furnished  storehouse ;  yet  she  chiefly  regarded  it  as  the 
means  of  secretly  recruiting  her  strength  for  the  service  of 
God.  Hers  was  not  the  mind  to  repose  luxuriously  in  '  the 
Castle  of  Indolence.'  Hers  was  not  the  soul  that  could  rest 
even  in  spiritual  self-indulgence,  insensible  to  the  urgent  calls 
of  active  duty.  Even  her  delicate  health  was  not  sufl'ered  to 
preclude  her  from  the  self-denying  exercise  of  Christian  de- 
votedness. During  the  first  summer  of  her  country  residence, 
she  regularly  attended  at  the  parish  workhouse  at  seven 
o'clock,  to  explain  the  scriptures  to  the  poor  previous  to  the 
commencement  of  their  daily  labour.  This  however,  like 
every  other  "  labour  of  love,"  was  an  exercise  of  her  faith 
and  conflict  with  the  great  enemy.  She  mentions  to  her  cou- 
sin the  repugnance,  which  at  one  time  she  found  to  this  work, 
and  her  yielding  to  the  temptation  of  deferring  it  from  day  to 
day.  \  et  it  was  not  long  before  she  found  the  victory  of 
faith  overinertion;  and  gladly  did  she  give  the  praise  to  Him, 
who  enabled  her  to  make  a  successful  eftbrt;  'I  told  them  of 
my  intention'  she  writes  '  to  go  every  morning  to  pray  with 
them,  and  read  the  word  of  God.  My  Saviour  removed  every 
ditficulty  out  of  the^way,  and  caused  the  women  to  receive  me 
with  the  greatest  civility. 

The  children  of  the  parish  were  the  objects  of  constant 
solicitude.  She  wrote  a  few  simple  addresses  for  their  use. 
She  drew  out  also  questions  upon  the  parables  and  miracles 
for  the  assistance  of  the  Sunday  School  Teachers  ;  and,  when 
prevented  by  indisposition  from  attending  the  school,  she  as- 
sembled the  children  at  her  own  house  for  Scriptural  instruc- 
tion. The  young  women  also  in  the  parish  occupied  a  large 
share  of  her  anxious  interest;  and,  finding  them  unwilling  to 
assemble  at  the  same  time  and  place  with  the  children,  she 
appropriated  a  separate  evening  for  their  instruction.  She 
was,  as  might  be  supposed,  a  constant  cottage  visiter.  The 
following  beautiful  extract  from  her  mathematical  manuscript 
will  show  the  high  and  consecrated  spirit  with  which  she 
connected  this  humble  ministration  with  her  intellectual  plea- 
sures. Warning  her  Christian  student  of  the  dangerous  snare 
of  self-complacency,*  she  inquires  of  him — 


*  Her  remaiks  upon  sclf-coniplacency  are  so  just  and  searching, 
that  llie  writer  is  tempted  to  add  iliem  iu  a  note- 

"  Self-coiiiplacency  is  anodier  of  tliose  temptations,  to  which  tlic 
studc-ut  is  peculiarly  exposed.  He  may  so  fardisU-ust  his  own  heart, 
as  to  alist;du  from  '  doing  any  thing  through  sU'ife  or  vain  glory. '  He 
may  keep  out  of  the  n  ay  ot  human  praise.  And  yet  Uiere  may  be 
ail  in-ward  comjilacency,a  proud  consciousness  of  superiority,  equally 
destructive  to  his  growth  in  grace.  He  '  thinks  of  himself  more 
highly  than  he  ought  to  tliink.'  He  com-ts  not  the  Ureatli  of  applause: 
hut  he  drinks  in  the  intoxicating  vapour  of  self-gratulatiou  and  es- 
teem. There  are  some  men,  in  whom  pride  stitles  the  impulses  of 
vanity.  If  they  seem  to  care  little  what  others  think  of  them,  it  is 
because  they  think  so  well  of  themselves.  Their  own  opinion  needs 
no  confirmation.  Tiu-ir  solitary  plaudit  is  so  abundantly  satisfac- 
tory, that  the  buzz  of  admiring  multitudes  would  he  a  superfluous 


202 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


'  Do  you  ever  experience  this  proud  internal  consciousness 
of  superior  genius  or  learning  ?  God  has  placed  a  ready  an- 
tidote witliiii  your  reach.  The  abode  of  learned  leisure  is 
seldom  far  from  tlie  luuuble  dwellinn-  of  some  unlettered 
Christian.  Thither  lei  your  steps  be  directed.  "  Take  sweet 
counsel  with  your  poor  uneducated  l)rolher."  There  you  will 
find  the  man  whom  our  "  Kinu;  deliffhtelh  to  honour."  His 
mean  chamber,  graced  w  itli  one  well-worn  book,  is  as  "  the 
house  of  God,  and  the  very  gate  of  lieaven."  Observe  how 
far  the  simplicity  of  his  faith,  and  the  iervour  of  his  love,  ex- 
ceed any  thing  you  can  find  in  your  own  experience,  cankered 
as  it  is  with  intellectual  pride.  God  has  taught  him  many 
lessons,  of  which  all  your  learning  has  left  you  ignorant. 
Make  him  your  instructor  in  Sjiiritual  things.  lie  is  a  slran- 
orer  to  the  names  of  your  favourite  ])oets  and  orators.  But  he 
is  very  familiar  with  "  the  sweet  psalmist  of  Israel."  He  can 
give  you  rich  portions  of  the  elo(]ucnce  of  one,  who  "spake 
as  never  man  spake."  He  can  neither  "  tell  you  the  number 
of  the  stars,  nor  call  them  all  by  their  names."  But  he  will 
discourse  excellently  concerning  "  the  starof  Bethleliera.".He 
is  unable  to  attempt  the  solution  of  a  ditiicnlt  problem.  But 
he  can  enter  into  some  of  those  deep  things  of  God's  law, 
which  to  an  unhumbled  heart,  are  dark  and  mysterious.  He 
will  not  talk  to  you  "in  the  words  which  man's  wisdom 
teacheth ;"  but  oh  !  what  sweet  and  simple  expressions  of 
divinelove  are  those  "which  llie  Holy  Ghost  has  taught  him  !'' 
He  "  knows  nothing  but  Christ  crucified  ;"  but  this  is  the  ex 
cellent  knowledge,  to  which  all  other  knowledge  is  foolish 
ness.  He  has  "  the  fear  of  the  Lord  ;  that  is  wisdom.  He 
departs  from  evil  ;  that  is  understanding.''  When  your  soul 
is  refreshed  bv  this  simple  and  lowly  communion  witli  one  of 
the  meanest  of  God's  saints,  return  to  your  learned  retire- 
ment. Look  over  your  intellectual  possessions.  Choose  out 
the  brightest  jewel  in  your  literary  cabinet.  Place  it  by  the 
side  of  "  the  meek  and  quiet  spirit"  of  this  obscure  Christian. 
Determine  which  is  the  "  ornament  of  greater  price."  Cora- 
pare  the  boasted  treasures  of  your  mind  with  the  spiritual 
riches  of  your  illiterate  brother.  Kun  over  the  whole  cata- 
logue. Let  not  one  be  omitted;  the  depth  of  your  under- 
standing, the  strength  of  your  reasonings,  the  brilliancy  of 
your  fancy  ;  the  fire  of  your  eloquence.  Be  proud  of  them. 
Glory  in  them.  You  cannot.  They  dwindle  into  insignifi- 
cance. They  appear  to  yon  "  as  a  drop  of  a  bucket,  as  the 
small  dust  of  the  balance."  ' 

The  following  letter  gives  a  beautiful  illustration  of  the 
truly  Christian  spirit,  with  which  she  inculcated  upon  lier 
friends  the  responsibilitv  of  persevering  elTort  in  the  work  of 
God: 

Sloke.  Jtigust  4,  1825. 
'I  think  that  visiting  the  poor  is  an  excellent  help  to  spir- 
ituality of  mind,  because  it  shows  us  our  own  weakness,  when 
we  lose  sight  for  a  moment  of  the  strength  of  Christ.  It  also 
brings  to  light  many  secret  corruptions,  of  which  we  were 
before  ignorant.     I  am  very  anxious  to  hear  about  the  Infant 

School.     Do  not  be  discouraged  by  the  cold  answers  of . 

Rather  pray  for  them,  that  more  faith  may  be  given  to  them, 
and  a  spirit  of  love  for  the  souls  that  are  perishing  around 
them.  Such  a  prayer  otlered  in  faith  by  one  Christian  for 
another  will  bring  down  a  blessing  upon  both.     I  am  very 

sorry  that  I  was  angry  with ,  instead  of  praying  for  her. 

I  do  not  think  that  Christians  pray  enough  for  each  other. 
Perhaps  the  Lord  is  proving  your  faith  and  love  by  making 
you  wait  in  this  cause.  If  it  be  so,  do  not  doubt  his  power  to 
carry  you  through  all  you  undertake  in  his  name.  From  the 
mouth  of  the  children  for  whom  you  are  interested,  he  will 
cause  his  praises  to  be  sounded.  Do  "  not"  then,  "  be  weary 
in  well-doing."  If  you  have  not  already  begun,  let  me  advise 
you  not  to  begin,  till  j'ou  have  given  a  special  time  to  the 
scriptures  and  to  prayer.  I  desire  all  our  undertakings  to  be 
"  sanctified  by  the  word  of  God  and  prayer."  '  Then  refer- 
ring to  her  own  intention  of  setting  apart  the  next  week  for 
spiritual  exercises  in  reference  to  her  Spanish  communica- 
tions— she  adds — '  I  thought  perhaps  that  you  would  give 
next  week  to  these  things,  and  that  it  would  be  delightful  to 
me  to  remember,  that  we  were  both  thus  employed  at  the 
same  time.     But  if  you  cannot  do  this,  pray  at  the  time  fixed 


by  us,  that  I  may  have  grace  and  faith  to  pass  these  days  in 
dedicating  myself  to  this  work,  and  that  we  may  both  of  us 
in  all  that  we  do  be  delivered  from  a  self-seeking  spirit,  and 
may  take  every  step  with  our  eyes  fixed  upon  "the  cross  of 
Jesus.  I  am  afraid  of  annoying  you  by  this  mode  of  speak- 
ing of  these  things.  But  if  you  knew  liow  full  my  heart  is 
of  tenderness,  while  I  write,  you  would  pardon  the  importu- 
nity, with  which  I  beseech  j-ou  to  give  yourself  entirely  and 
without  reserve  into  the  hands  of  Christ.  He  can  give  yon 
from  the  treasures  of  his  grace  all  the  zeal,  love,  and  warmth 
which  you  need.  All  is  ours  already  by  virtue  of  his  blood. 
Let  us  make  use  of  it.  Let  us  go  to  him  in  holy  boldness, 
and  ask  for  all  the  grace  which  he  is  so  readv  to  give. — Psalm 
Ixxxi.  10.' 

The  pressure,  however,  of  increasing  illness  constrained 
her  to  relinquish  her  own  habits  of  personal  activity  for  some 
time  previous  to  her  death.  It  was  her  appointed  dispensa- 
tion rather  to  suITer,  than  to  do,  her  heavenly  Father's  will; 
while  her  solitary  hours  were  cheered  by  the  contemplation 
of  the  glorious  prospects  opening  now  upon  her  view — ^^  luok- 
ing  for  the  mercy  of  her  Lord  Jesus  Christ  unto  eternal  life.'" 


addition.  Can  anj-  thing  like  this  be  found  in  the  disciple  of  Jesus  ? 
Yes — for  the  law  of  sin  still  dwells  in  his  members.  Neither  this 
sin,  nor  any  other,  shall  be  permitted  to  liave  dominion.  (Rom.  vi. 
14.)  Bat  its  assaults  will  sometimes  vex  and  discompose  him.  He 
■will  be  tempted,  according  to  the  natural  bent  of  his  character,'  to 
seek  the  applause  of  oUiers,  or  to  rest  in  Ids  own. 


CHAPTER  IV. 
Further  Extracts  from  her  Writings  and  Correspondence. 

It  is  not  to  he  expected,  that  the  quiet  tenor  of  Miss  Gra- 
ham's habits  in  a  retired  village  could  furnish  much  variety 
of  incident  or  detail.  We  shall,  however,  abundantly  com- 
pensate for  this  deficiency  by  a  more  full  exhibition  of  her 
fine,  powerful  and  spiritual  mind,  as  illustrated  in  her  writ- 
ings and  correspondence. 

But  this  department  of  our  work  is  too  large  to  be  compre- 
hended in  one  mass.  We  will  therefore  set  it  forth  in  several 
distinct  divisions,  and  give  her  sentiments  upon  the  funda- 
mental doctrines  of  the  Gospel ;  upon  subjects  of  interesting 
theological  discussion;  upon  some  points  of  moment  con- 
nected with  Christian  experience  and  profession;  and  upon 
miscellaneous  subjects. 

1 .  Her  views  of  the  great  doctrines  of  the  Gospel. 

Her  apprehensions  and  statements  of  the  grand  funda- 
mentals of  the  Christian  faith,  were  erainentlj'  Scriptural. 

On  the  humbling  doctrine  of  original  sin,  she  justly  remarks 
in  a  posthumous  work  : 

'  It  is  the  ver)'  first  lesson  in  the  school  of  Christ:  and  it  is 
only  by  being  well  rooted  and  grounded  in  these  first  principles, 
that  we  can  hope  to  go  on  to  perfection.  The  doctrine  is 
written  in  Scripture  as  with  a  sun-beam.  If  we  do  not  feel 
some  conviction  of  it  in  our  own  hearts,  it  aflords  a  sad  proof 
that  we  still  belong  to  that  "  generation  that  are  pure  in  their 
own  eyes,  and  yet  is  not  washed  from  their  filthiness."  ' 

After  adducing  some  of  the  most  convincing  Scriptural 
evidence,  she  proceeds  forcibly  to  illustrate  the  subject  by  the 
case  of  infants. 

'  Would  we  know  the  reason  of  this  indelible  pollution, 
which  fallen  man  has  transmitted  to  his  latest  descendants! 
let  that  given  by  Scripture  suffice  :  "  Who  can  bring  a  clean 
thing  out  of  an  unclean?  not  one."  But  is  not  the  new-born 
babe  innocent?  yes,  from  the  commission  of  actual  sin;  but 
not  from  the  pollution  of  a  nature  altogether  sinful :  for  "  who 
can  bring  a  clean  thing  out  of  an  unclean  ?"  "Death  passed 
upon  all  men,  for  that  all  have  sinned."  Why  then  is  death 
so  often  commissioned  to  snatch  away  the  babe  in  the  first 
hour  of  its  existence?  why,  but  because  that  babe  is  a  sinful 
creature  ?  Sin,  that  root  of  bitterness,  has  already  shot  its 
fibres  into  the  inmost  soul.  That  infant  "born  of  the  flesh, 
is  flesh  ;"  and  "as  such  cannot  please  God" — cannot  bring 
forth  any  other  than  the  accursed  fruits  of  the  flesh.  As 
surely  as  the  cockatrice's  egg  will  hatch  into  a  viper,  so 
surely  will  the  babe  born  of  unclean  parents  be  itself  un- 
clean ;  so  surely  it  will  be  "  by  nature  a  child  of  wrath,  even 
as  others."  And  therefore  it  is  as  the  Apostle  tells  us,  that 
"  Death  reigneth  over  all,  eve7i  over  them  that  have  not  sinned 
after  the  similitude  of  Muni's  transgression.''''  1  entertain  not 
a  doubt  that  these  little  ones  are  redeemed  by  the  blood  of 
Jesus :  but  that  they  need  redemption,  that  they  are  sinners, 
"children  of  wrath  by  nature;"  of  this  truth  I  am  equally 
well  assured  ;  and  every  little  mound  in  the  churchyard  seems 
to  have  a  voice  that  tells  me  so.' 

Then,  after  citing  our  Church's  recognition  of  this  doctrine 


MEMOIR  OF  MARY  JANE  GRAHAM. 


203 


in  the  Ordinance  of  Infant  Baptism,  she  returns  to  her  Scrip- 
tural jromiil  of  arjrument. 

'Tlie  Holy  Ghost  has  instructed  the  AposOe  to  give  us 
such  a  full  comment  upon  the  spiritual  death  we  all  die  in 
Adam,  that  we  cannot  too  often  read  and  pray  over  the  follow- 
ing- passages,  Rom.  v.   12,  '21.     1  Cor.  xv.  21,  22,  45,  49 


Maker.  He  would  prefer  God's  ■will  and  pleasure  to  his 
own.  '-The  honour  that  cometh  from  God  only"  would  be 
dearer  to  him  than  the  most  splendid  tribute  of  human  ap- 
plause. Is  any  thing  like  this  to  be  found  in  man  before  his 
reception  of  Divine  grace?  No.  He  "lives  without  God 
in  the  world  :"  chooses  his  own  will  and  pleasure,  and  seeks 


Epii.  iv.  22,  21.  Col.  iii.  9,  10.  There  are  many  others,  his  own  glory.  He  is  utterly  selfish;  therefore  he  is  utterly 
in  which  our  nature  in  Adam  is  spoken  of,  in  eontradistinc-' fallen. 

tioa  to  the  new  and  holy  nature  we  receive  in  Christ  Jesus.  |  '  We  find  then  that  the  doctrine  of  man's  partial  depravity  in- 
>So  essential  is  a  rifht  understanding  of  this  truth,  that  until  jvolves  absurd  consequences.  Itleadstoconclusions  whichare 
we  receive  it,  many  of  the  most  beautiful  parts  of  the  Church!  wholly  at  variance  with  fact.  These  reflections  bring  us 
service  must  appear  just  as  unintelligible  to  us  as  if  they ;  back  to  the  Scripture  statement.  We  admit  that  the  heart  of 
were  written  in  an  unknown  language.  Nay,  worse  than  j  man  may  yet  be  the  seat  of  many  noble  and  tender  affections 
unintelli'''ible;  they  must  seem  extremely  foolish  and  ridicu-  /uu-orrf.?  his  fellow-men.  But  in  regard  io  God,  we  declare  his 
lous.  How  absurd  (to  an  understanding  not  convinced  of  aflTections  to  be  alienated,  his  understanding  darkened,  his 
the  original  defilement  of  our  nature)  must  it  appear  to  talk  j  will  depraved.  "There  is  none  that  understandeth  ;  there  is 
of  remitting  an  infant's  sins;  of  causing  the  old  Adam  to  be  none  that  seeketh  after  God.  They  are  all  gone  aside;  they 
buried,  and^his  carnal  affections  to  die  in  him  ;  while  all  the  are  altogether  become  filthy ;  there  is  none  that  doeth  good, 
time  the  hearer  thinks  that  the  infant  as  yet  has  no  sins,  no|no,  not  one."  ' 


carnal  alTcctions;  while  tlie  very  existence  of  the  old  Adam 
or  original  sin  is  doubted  by  him  !' 

The  second  records  of  Christian  experience  furnish  full  con- 
firmation of  her  humiliating  statement. 

'  Oh !  what  an  unmeaning  heap  of  words,'  she  exclaims, 
'  has  been  handed  down  to  us  in  the  law  of  Moses,  the  Psalms 


Tlie  utter  helplef^ness  of  man  she  adduces  with  great  clear- 
ness and  power  to  prove,  that  the  work  of  grace,  from  its 
earliest  commencement  to  its  final  consummation,  is  "  all  of 
God." 

'  Grace  will  be  given' — she  observes — '  to  all  who  dili- 
gently seek  for  it.     But,  if  we  attend  to  the  Scripture  account 


of  David,  the  confessions  of  Ezra,  Nehemiah,  Job,  Daniel,  |  of  every  man,  woman,  and  child  by  nature,  we  shall  find  that 
Jeremiah  and  the  rest  of  God's  saints,  if  that  evil  nature] Ihis  seeking  also  is  the  (ffect  fnlloii-ing  upon  grare  received ; 
which  caused  them  to  groan  did  not  really  exist!     Above  not  the  eause producing  it.     By  this  I  mean  to  say,  that  the 


all,  what  shall  we  make  of  Romans  iii.  and  vii.1  What  shall 
we  understand  by  the  conflict  between  the  flesh  and  the  Spirit, 
between  the  old  man  and  the  new  man,  between  the  carnal 
and  spiritual  affections?     Was  St.  Paul  dreaming,  when  he 


very  act  of  seeking  grace  proves  that  ice  have  received  grace 
already ;  and  that  the  very  ability  to  seek,  is  itself  the  free 
gift  of  God's  sovereign  grace.  If  "every  thought  of  man's 
heart  is  evil,  and  that  rotilinualli/,'"  surely  it  is  not  out  of  that 


said,  "I  know  that  in  me,  that  is,  in  my  flesh,  dwelleth  no  heart  that  the  first  desire  of  any  good  thing  can  spring.     If, 


good  thing  1"  Was  lie  beside  himself,  when  he  declared, 
"that  he  found  in  himself  a  law,  that  when  he  would  do 
good,  evil  was  present  with  him'!"  that,  though  by  Divine 
grace  he  had  learnt  "to  delight  in  the  law  of  God  after  the 
inward  man,  yet  still  he  saw  another  law  in  his  members, 
warring  against  the  law  of  his  mind,  and  bringing  him  into 
captivity  to  the  law  of  sin  which  was  in  his  members  V  The 
apostle  of  the  Gentiles,  "  who  laboured  more  abundantly  than 
they  all ;"  he,  who  "  had  been  caught  up  to  the  third  heaven, 
and  heard  unspeakable  words  which  it  was  not  lawful  for 
liim  to  utter"  amongst  sinful  men;  he,  who  "counted  all 
things  but  dung,  that  he  might  win  Christ;"  he,  who  was 
"  ready,  not  only  to  be  bound,  but  also  to  die  for  the  name  of 
the  Lord  Jrsus ;"  this  chosen  vessel  of  mercy,  full  of  zeal 
and  full  of  love,  and  under  the  immediate  inspiration  of  the 
lliihj  Ghost,  so  groaned  under  the  burden  of  the  orijjinal  cor- 
ruption of  his  nature,  "  the  law  of  sin  warring  in  his  mem 


by  nature,  "  there  is  none  that  sreketh  after  God,"  whence  can 
the  first  attempt  to  seek  him  arise,  but  from  free  grace  draw- 
ing us  contrary  to  nature  1  Freely  must  grace  be  given  to 
enable  us  to  seek  at  first ;  and  freely  must  it  be  continued,  to 
enable  us  to  go  on  seeking.  I  know  that  none  shall  sec/e  the 
Lord  in  vain  ;  none  who  come  shall  be  cast  out ;  none  who  4c- 
lieve  shall  come  short  of  everlasting  life  ;  none  who  choose  the 
better  part  shall  have  it  taken  from  them;  but  then  none  can 
seek  the  Lord,  unless  he  first  seek  them.  None  can  come,  except 
it  be  given  him  of  the  Father ; — none  can  believe,  save  as  many 
as  are  orrf'riiifrf  to  eternal  life;  none  can  choose  Christ,  except 
he  first  choose  them.  If  again  we  consider  the  magnitude  of 
the  change  which  must  take  place  in  every  sinner's  heart  be- 
fore he  can  truly  and  earnestly  seek  God.  we  shall  be  con- 
vinced that  no  part  of  it  is  properly  his  own.  He  must  "  bo 
born  again  ;"  must  "  become  a  new  crealure;  oW  things  must 
pass  away,  all  things  must  become  new."  he  must  "pass 


hers,"  that  he  was  compelled  to  cry  out,  "  O  wretched  man  from  death  unto  life;"  "from  darkness  to  light — from  tlio 


that  I  am,  who  shall  deliver  me  from  the  body  of  this  death  1" 
And  from  the  time  of  Paul  there  has  never  been  a  real  Chris- 
tian, who  has  not  often  felt  himself  constrained  to  adopt  his 
language,  and  to  say  in  the  anguish  of  his  soul,  "Who  shall 
deliver  me  from  the  body  of  this  death  1"  The  remedy,  as  is 
usual  in  Scripture,  follows  close  upon  the  complaint:  "I 
thank  God  through  Jesus  Christ  our  Lord.'" 

From  her  mathematical  manuscript  we  extract  the  follow- 
ing method  of  proof  of  the  total  depravity  of  man.  In  speaking 
of  the  three  modes  of  demonstration.  Inference,  Coincidence,! 


power  of  Satan  unto  God  ;" — "  from  going  about  to  establish 
his  own  righteousness,  to  submit  himself  to  the  rijrhteousness 
of  God  ;"  and  this,  to  a  proud  carnal  heart,  is  the  most  diffi- 
cult of  all.  And  who  is  sufficient  for  these  things?  Who 
but  He,  that  first  formed  us  in  the  womb,  can  cause  us  to  be 
born  again  of  the  Spirit  V  Who  but  He,  that  originally  cre- 
ated us,  is  able  to  "  create  us  anew  in  Christ  Jes\is  V  Wlio 
but  the  giver  of  natural  life  can  give  spiritual  life;  "and 
quicken  those  that  were  dead  in  trespasses  and  sins  ?" 
'  When  the  Lord  of  life  stood  h}'  the  grave  of  Lazarus,  and 


and  Rcducliii  ad  absurdum,  she  thus  applies  the  last  mode  to  |  said — "  Lazarus,  come  forth  ;  and  he  that  was  dead,  instantly 
the  subject  alluded  to:  "If  man  be  not  utterly  depraved,  he  came  forth  ;"  who  would  say,  that  this  act  of  lifting  himself 
must  be  in  one  of  these  two  states,  either  perfectly  good,  I  up  was  the  cause  of  his  coming  to  life;  and  not  rather,  that 
without  any  mixture  of  sin  ;  or  good,  with  soine  admixture' his  coming  to  life  was  the  cause  of  his  being  able  to  lift  him- 
of  evil  and  imperfection.  The  first  of  these  suppositions  car- 1  self  up  i  It  is  thus,  when  Jesus  by  his  word  and  Spirit  says 
ries  its  own  absurdity  upon  the  face  of  it.  The  second  is|to  the  heart  of  a  sinner — "Awake,  thou  that  sleepest,  and 
plausible,  and  more  generally  received.  Yet  it  is  not  diffi-.arise  from  the  dead,  and  Christ  shall  give  thee  light."  In- 
cult  to  prove,  that  if  man  had  any  remaining  good  in  him,  stantly  that  de;ul  soul  arises,  and  its  first  act  is  seeking,  or 
that  is,  towards  God,  he  could  not  possibly  be  the  creature,  prayer ;  hut  this  same  act  of  seeking  is  the  effect  of  spiritual 
that  he  now  is.  There  could  not  be  that  carelessness  about  life,  not  the  cause.  We  pray  because  we  arc  alive,  not  that  we 
his  eternal  welfare,  that  dendness  to  spiritual  things,  which  |ni«.y  l'~e.  We  cannot  quicken  ourselves  when  dead  in  sin, 
we  perceive  in  every  individual,  whose  heart  has  not  been'any  more  than  we  can  bring  a  dead  body  to  life.  But  when 
renewed  by  Divine  grace.  Man  would  not  love  pleasure  more  /es"s  has  quickened  us,  we  shall  as  surely  perform  all  those 
than  God.  He  would  not  prefer  "the  things  which  are  seen  actions,  which  demonstrate  the  soul  to  he  spiritually  alive, 
and  temporal"  to  "  the  things  that  are  not  seen  and  eternal."  as  a  dead  bodj-  when  raised  by  divine  power,  will  surely  per- 
He  would  not  trifle  with  sin.  He  would  not  sneer  at  holi-  form  all  the  functions  of  a  living  person.  Grace,  great  grace, 
ness.     He  would  not  habitually  neglect  to  ]iray.  ,  must  be  infused,  to  enable  us  to  seek  at  all;  and  he  who 

'All  these  things  are  utterly  incompatible  with  the  h}'-  first  gave  grace  to  seek,  will  give  more  grace  in  answer  to 
pothesis,  that  man  is  only  partially  fallen  from  God.  The  that  seeking,  thus  fulfilling  that  precious  Scripture,  which 
very  least  spark  of  innate  godliness  would  imply  a  restless  saith — "To  him  that  hath,  shall  lie  given."  We  neither  be- 
dissatisfaction  in  what  is  evil;  an  importunate  longing  to 'g-irt  nor  ran-)/ on  the  work  of  grace  in  our  own  hearts.  "Jesus 
1)0  freed  from  it.  The  man  in  whom  such  a  spark  of  good-|is  the  author  and  finisher,''''  the  .llpha  and  Omega  "of  our 
ness  existed  would  breathe  after  lost  communion  with  hisjfaith."  From  the  first  spark  of  grace  that  faintly  glimmers 


204 


CHRISTIAN     LIBRARY. 


upon  us  here,  to  the  full  blaze  of  glory  which  shall  burst  upon 
us  in  heaven  ;  all,  all  is  his  doing  i  it  is  he  that  made  us  alive 
(spiritually,)  not  we  ourselves.  It  is  God  who  bolh  begiiis 
the  good  work  in  us,  and  also  will  "  perform  it  unto  the  day 
of  Jesus  Christ."' 

Then  after  having  confirmed  her  statement  by  the  strong 
and  unequivocal  language  of  the  Church,  she  proceeds  to 
exhibit  in  connexion  with  it,  the  perfect  frceness  of  Divine 
grace. 

'  It  is  absolutely  necessary  to  a  clear  and  full  view  of  this 
doctrine,  that  we  ascribe  to  the/rce,  sovereign  and  unmeriled 
grace  of  God,  the  first  desire  after  him  that  ever  arose  in  our 
hearts,  as  well  as  the  fulfilling  of  that  desire  when  expressed 
in  prayer.  We  must  be  convinced  that  nothing  in  the  work 
of  salvalion  is  our  own,  but  only  the  gift  of  God's  love  to  us 
in  Christ  Jesus.  Christ  died  for  us  when  we  were  enemies. 
The  benefits  of  his  death  are  applied  to  us,  for  the  purpose  of 
reconciling  us,  not  in  consequence  of  our  making  any  ad- 
vances towards  being  reconciled.  He  "  died  for  the  tingodli/,^'' 
for  those  "  who  were  imthout  strength,''''  without  strength 
to  come  to  him ;  without  strength  to  form  so  much  as  a 
■wish  to  come  to  Him.  The  desire  to  come  is  given  for  his  sake  ■• 
the  ability  to  come  is  given  fm-  His  sake  ■■  the  acccptatice  on 
coming  is  an  acceptance  for  the  beloved  sake  of  this  beloved 
Saviour,  "  without  whom  we  can  do  nothing."  Those  who 
say — '  Grace  will  be  given  if  we  ask  ;  but  then  asking  must 
precede  ox  procure  the  given  grace' — are  in  eifect  robbing  God 
of  much  of  the  glory  due  unto  his  name.  For  the  power  and 
the  inclination  to  ask  are  of  themselves  a  part  of  the  free  gift 
of  God's  grace  to  us  in  Christ  Jesus.  They  are  the  beginning 
of  God's  work  in  the  heart;  and  to  say,  that  we  begin  this 
work,  is  no  other  than  to  say  that  we  can  create  ourselves 
anew  in  Christ  Jesus.  I  will  venture  to  aflirm,  that  if  God 
waited  to  give  us  his  grace  till  we  asked  him  for  it  of  our  own 
accord,  we  should  go  without  it  to  all  eternity. 

'  The  great  source  of  error  on  this  head,  even  amongst  seri- 
ous people,  is,  that  they  cannot  bring  themselves  to  think 
they  have  notliing  of  their  own  in  the  work  of  salvation. 
Therefore  it  is,  that,  when  constrained  to  acknowledge  that 
the  grace  given  them  when  they  seek,  is  from  God  only  ;  their 
self-righteousness  betakes  itself  to  another  strong  hold;  and 
we  find  them  laying  claim  to  their  asking  and  seeking,  as  if 
that  at  least  was  the  effort  of  their  own  will,  the  spontaneous 
act  of  their  own  power.  This  is  just  as  if  one  should  take 
a  dead  person  by  the  hand,  breathe  life  into  him,  and  lift 
him  up  upon  his  feet ;  and  that  person  should  make  a  show 
of  acknowledgment  to  his  benefactor,  by  allowing  to  that 
benefactor  the  praise  of  lifting  him  up  after  he  was  alive,  and 
keeping  him  alive  ever  since,  and  yet  should  maintain,  that 
the  first  breath  of  all  c?ime  into  h'im  by  his  own  spontaneous 
act,  by  the  efl^ort  of  his  own  unassisted  power.  The  absurd- 
ity of  such  an  assertion  with  regard  to  tem))oral  life,  would 
strike  us  at  once ;  but  we  are  not  so  struck  with  it  in  refer- 
ence to  spiritual  life  ;  and  the  reason  is  this, — when  we  speak 
of  a  corpse,  we  know  what  we  speak  about, — there  it  lies  be- 
fore our  eyes,  incapable  of  breathing,  moving,  speaking.  We 
perfectly  know  what  we  mean,  when  we  say  that  a  dead  body 
cannot  raise  itself  to  life.  But  when  we  speak  of  a  soul  "  dead 
in  trespasses  and  sins,"  we  too  often  use  the  phrase,  merely 
because  we  find  it  in  the  Scriptures;  without  the  slightest 
conception  of  the  awful  reality  expressed  by  it.  Nor  is  it  till 
■we  have  ourselves  in  some  measure  "passed  from  death  unto 
life,"  that  we  begin  to  perceive  the  dreadful  and  close  analo- 
gy which  really  exists  between  the  two  states  of  natural  and 
.spiritual  death.  If  God  were  to  come  to  an  unconverted  per- 
son with  the  question — not— "Can  these  dry  bones" — but 
Can  these  dead  souls — "live  !"  he  would  be  apt  to  reply — 
AVhy  not'!  What  should  hinder  them  from  raising  them- 
selves up,  and  breathing  the  breath  of  spiritual  life  1  But 
when  God  has  quickened  us  from  our  own  death  in  tres- 
passes and  sins,  our  e3'es  are  opened  to  see  what  spiritual 
death  really  is,  and  then  we  learn  with  trembling  awe  to  reply, 
"  Lord,  thou  knowest."  This  is  thy  work.  It  is  thou  that 
must  make  us  alive,  and  not  we  ourselves. 

'  Since  then  men  are  universally  disposed  to  "  go  about 
establishing  their  own  righteousness,"  how  carefully  ought 
we  to  close  up  every  avenue  through  which  this  besetting 
sin  might  gain  admittance,  and  rob  us  of  our  peace,  by  lead- 
ing us  to  rob  Christ  of  his  praise  !  Many  are  the  'W'indings 
of  our  own  treacherous  hearts  ;  many  are  the  devices  of  Sa- 
tan, by  which  he  would  tempt  us  to  ascribe  to  our  own 
strength  what  Cod  has  done  for  us  of  his  mere  mercy.  Nor 
let  us  think  that  a  mistake  here  can  be  of  triiling  importance. 
God  is  very  jealous  for  his  great  name ;  and  ho  has  declared, 


that  "  if  we  will  not  lay  it  to  heart,  to  give  glory  to  his  name, 
he  will  send  a  curse  upon  us,  and  will  even  curse  our  bless- 
ings." Many  and  glorious  are  the  crowns  which  adorn  the  sa- 
cred head  of  Immanucl ;  letusnottry  to  pluck  thence  thebriglit- 
est  and  fairest  of  them  all,  for  well  does  it  become  this  King 
of  kings.  When  we  reach  heaven,  and  receive  the  crown  of 
glory,  we  shall  be  ready  enough  to  cast  that  at  his  feet,  and 
to  say,  Thou  onli/  art  worthy.  Let  us  do  the  same  with  the 
crown  of  grace  here  ;  for  surely  we  have  as  little  right  to  ar- 
rogate the  one  to  ourselves  as  the  other.' 

These  Scriptural  statements  of  man's  total  corruption  are 
well  connected  with  the  calk  of  the  Gospel;  not  as  implying 
man's  natural  free-will  and  power  to  turn  to  God ;  but  as  dis- 
playing the  riches  of  Divine  grace,  as  stamping  the  mark  of 
guilt  upon  the  moral  inability  of  the  sinner,  and  setting  forth 
the  means  by  which  the  Lord  accomplishes  the  purposes  of 
his  everlasting  love.  In  tlie  valley  of  dry  bones,  to  which 
Miss  Graham  has  just  alluded,  the  prophet  was  commanded 
to  "  call  the  things  that  be  not,  as  though  they  were."  The 
almighty  power  of  God  gave  eifect  to  the  feeble  voice  of  his 
servant.  He  fails  not  to  manifest  the  same  Divine  power  in 
the  resurrection  of  souls  under  the  ministration  of  his  Gospel ; 
while  the  sovereignty  of  his  grace  is  not  less  apparent  in 
"  quicketfing  whom  he  will." 

Perhaps,  however,  Miss  Graham  may  be  considered  some- 
what defective  in  an  exhibition  of  the  free  invitations  of  the 
Gospel.  Many  exclusive  writers*  deem  it  unnecessary  to  ad- 
dress the  language  of  pleading  love  and  urgent  remonstrance, 
where  the  want  of  inclination  opposes  a  moral  barrier  to  its 
success.  Hut  this  is  to  obscure  the  riches  of  the  grace  of  God 
by  the  narrow  and  perverted  reasoning  of  man.  Our  Lord's 
personal  ministry  was  in  no  ■way  restrained  by  his  perfect 
knowledge  of  the  Divine  purpose  or  of  human  inability. 
Though  the  objects  of  electing  love  were  individually  known 
to  him,  yet  his  gracious  offers  ■were  as  general,  as  if  no  coun- 
sel had  been  fixed  in  the  eternal  mind,  or  as  if  he  were  unac- 
quainted with  its  restricted  object  and  end.  Though  he  most 
decisively  declared  man's  total  inability  to  come  to  him 
irrespective  of  the  sovereign  application  of  Almighty  power; 
yet  "  his  bands  of  love"  were  "  the  cords  of  a  man;"  suited 
to  "  draw"  him  as  a  rational  and  responsible  creature.  The 
freeness  of  Divine  mercy,  not  the  secret  decree  of  the  Divine 
will,  was  the  ground  and  rule  of  his  patient  procedure.  He 
spoke  the  glad  tidings  to  the  unbelieving  Jews,  "  that  they 
might  be  saved."  He  complains  of  them  most  tenderly,  that 
"  they  -ivould  not  come  to  him,  that  they  might  have  life.''''  He 
connected  his  declaration  of  the  purpose  of  God  with  a  full 
and  faithlul  invitation  to  sinners.  He  offered  himself  inde- 
finitely to  large  and  mixed  assemblies  as  the  provision  for  the 
salvation  of  the  whole  world.  He  extended  the  commission 
of  his  Gospel  "  to  every  creature,''''  and  closed  the  special  reev- 
lation  of  the  future  history  of  the  church,  with  the  same  wide- 
ly-extended embrace  of  inestimable  mercy.  Where  then  is 
the  sinner  that  is  excluded  from  the  responsibility  of  believing 
the  testimony  1  Or  where  is  he  that  is  shut  out  from  the  en- 
couragement of  its  free  and  large  invitations'! 

Turning  from  Miss  Graham's  writings  to  her  correspond- 
ence, ■we  find  her  views  of  the  Gospel  to  be  equally  clear  and 
encouraging. 

The  following  letter  gives  a  distinct  view  of  the  ground  of 
our  acceptance  with  God  : 

February  15,  1828. 

'  Dearest .     Join  with  me  in  admiring  the  mercy  of 

our  God.  "  For  if  when  we  were  enemies  we  were  reconciled 
unto  God  by  the  death  of  his  Son,  much  more  being  reconciled, 
we  shall  be  saved  by  His  Life."  "If  we  confess  our  sins, 
God  is" — not  merciful  and  cornpussionate,  but  "faithful  and 
~ust  to  forgive  us  our  sins."  For  since  "  Christ  once  suffer- 
ed, the  just  for  the  imjust;"  since  He  "bore  our  sins  in  his 
own  body  on  the  tree  ;"  if  we  believe  on  Him,  and  lay  hold  on 
his  salvation,  justice  itself  cannot  but  acquit  us.  It  cannot 
be,  that  Jesus  should  lay  down  His  life,  and  that  then  God 
should  require  ours.  It  cannot  be,  that,  when  Jesus  has  paid 
the  dreadful  debt  to  the  very  uttermost  farthing,  wo  should  be 
called  upon  to  pay  it  once  again.  No.  As  God  is  a  faith- 
ful God,  He  must  fulfil  the  promises  He  has  made,  that  not 
one  of  all  those  who  come  to  Him  through  Jesus,  shall  ever 


*  Miss  Graham,  however,  must  not  be  confounded  with  writers  of 
this  class.  If  Ihtre  was  an  omission  in  her  statements,  there  was  no 
defect  ill  lier  system.  Her  piivate  correspondence  abounds  ivitli  die 
most  fervid  appeals  to  Uie  unconverted,  and  tlic  most  unrestricted 
offers  of  tlie  Gospel.  See  the  letters  in  Chapter  v.  adduced  as  illus- 
trative of  her  '  compassionate  concern  for  the  unconverted.' 


MEMOIR  OF  MARY  JANE  GRAHAM. 


205 


perish.  As  He  is  a  just  God,  He  will  not  punish  us  and  our 
Surety  too;  will  not  demand  a  twice-told  reckoning.  If  in- 
deed the  atonement  of  Jesus  were  not  perfect ;  if  He  had  not 
suffered  all,  not  paid  all,  we  might  tremble.  But  Almiorhty 
Justice  declared  itself  satisfied,  when  our  Surety  was  released 
from  the  prison  of  the  tomb,  when  he  sat  down  on  the  right 
hand  of  God,  and  look  possession  in  our  name  of  the  inherit- 
ance He  had  purchased  for  us ;  and  therefore  it  is  said,  that 
He  "  was  delivered  for  our  offences,  and  was  raised  again  for 
our  justification."  By  His  death  He  laid  down  the  price  of 
our  salvation ;  by  His  rising  again  He  declared  that  the  price 
was  accepud,  the  salvation  complete.  And  this  seems  to  me 
the  great  display  of  God's  wisdom  in  the  cross  of  Christ,  that 
the  Just  should  be  able  to  justify  the  unguilty  without  devia- 
ting one  tittle  from  His  justice  ;  "  that  He  should  be  just,  and 
yet  the  Juslifier  of  him  which  believeth  on  Jesus." 

We  extract  an  illustration  of  this  subject  from  her  manu- 
script, equally  beautiful  and  just.  In  defining  the  principle  of 
analysis  to  be,  taking  to  pieces  a  train  of  argument,  and  ex- 
amining the  soundness  of  its  component  parts,  she  gives  the 
following  Scriptural  example,  '  "  Christ  crucified,  the  wisdom 
of  God,  and  the  power  of  God."  '  (1  Cor.  i.  23,  21.)  What 
an  overwhelming  multitude  of  reflections  crowd  upon  the  se- 
rious mind  at  the  bare  mention  of  these  words  !  But  in  proving 
the  doctrine  to  unbelievers,  how  many  concurrent  circum- 
stances must  be  separately  and  distinctly  unfolded.'  It  is 
alleged  to  be  incompatible  both  with  "  the  wisdom  and  power 
of  God,"  that  he  should  be  constrained  to  glorify  one  of  his 
attributes  at  the  expense  of  another.  We  must  therefore  con- 
sider each  attribute  apart  from  the  rest,  and  show  how  each 
is  glorified  in  the  doctrine  of  the  cross.  Each  part  of  the  argu- 
ment must  be  unfolded.  Each  link  of  the  wondrous  chain 
must  be  distinctly  separated.  We  may  olFer  them  succes- 
sively to  tlie  unbeliever,  and  challenge  his  strictest  scrutinj- 
to  delect  a  single  break.  If  only  one  link  be  imperfect,  the 
whole  chain  must  give  way.  All  the  hopes  which  hang  upoit 
it  must  perish.  But  the  more  closely  we  examine  it,  the  more 
complete  will  be  our  satisfaction.  I  have  adduced  this  doctrine 
in  illustration  of  my  meaning,  because  I  know  of  none  which 
involves  a  greater  number  of  considerations.  In  Maclaurin's 
sermon  on  the  (Ilory  of  the  Cross,  we  have  a  most  perfect 
specimen  of  this  kind  of  analysis.' 

But  we  find  these  two  things  inseparably  united  in  Scrip- 
ture, holiness  and  salvation,  as  I  saw  it  well  expressed  in 
some  little  work  I  was  reading  the  other  day  :  '  No  salvation 
by  works;  and  yet  no  salvation  u-illiout  works.'  "Christ 
hath  God  exalted  to  be  a  Prince  and  a  Saviour,  to  give  repent- 
ance and  remission  of  sins."  If  then  wc  follow  and  obey 
Him  not  as  our  Prince,  He  is  as  yet  no  Saviour  to  us.  If  He 
had  not  given  us  repentance,  we  must  not  suppose  that  he  has 

given  us  remission.  But,  dear ,  let  us  bear  in  mind,  that 

both  are  gifts.  Repentance  is  as  much  'dgift,  and  as  little  a 
meih,  as pardun.  I  fear  1  have  been  very  tedious;  but  the 
subject  has  led  me  farther  than  I  intended.  We  are  sinners 
seeking  a  common  Saviour  ;  and  therefore  I  trust  that  nothing 
we  can  say  of  Him,  can  be  wearisome.' 

The  practical  view  of  this  statement  is  more  fully  develop- 
ed in  a  subsequent  letter  to  the  same  correspondent ;  one  of 
the  last  she  ever  wrote ; 

September,  1830. 

'  Far  from  tliinking  it  presumption  to  write  as  you  have 
done,  my  dear  friend,  I  think  we  ought  not  to  be  ashamed  of 
owning  what  God  has  done  lor  onr  souls.  We  know  that  it 
is  solely  "  by  the  grace  of  God,"  His  free,  unmerited  favour, 
that  we  "  are  what  we  are  ;"  and  that  in  our  lips,  and  above 
all,  in  our  lives,  we  are  bound  to  show,  that  '•  the  grace  of 
God  was  not  bestowed  upon  us  in  vain." 

'  Dear ,  it  has  indeed  pleased  God  to  "  call  us  to  His 

kingdom  and  glory;"  let  us  (in  His  strength)  "  walk  worthy 
of  the  high  vocation  wherewith  we  are  called."  "  Let  us  ex- 
hort one  another  daily,  while  it  is  called  to-day  ;  let  us  pro- 
voke one  another  to  love^and  good  works;"  and  above  all,  let 
us  pray  for  one  another,  and  that  fervently  and  unceasingly. 
We  have  need  not  only  to  pray,  but  to  "  watch  unto  prayer  ,■" 
for  it  is  only  as  long  as  we  maintain  this  watchful  spirit,  that 
we  can  hope  to  enjoy  any  of  the  comforts  of  religion.  Let  me 
intreat  you,  not  as  one  whose  freedom  from  these  sins  gives 
her  a  right  to  exhort  others  ;  but  as  one  who  has  herself  felt 
by  mournful  experience  what  "an  evil  and  bitter  thing  it  is" 
to  depart  from  the  God  of  our  salvation;  as  a  backslider, 
whose  backslidings  have  been  healed  by  the  inexpressible 
mercy  of  a  long-suffering  God  ;  let  me  most  earnestly  and  af- 
fectionately entreat  you  to  guard  against  the  least  declension 


from  holiness;  the  least  relaxation  in  that  close  and  humble 
walking  with  God,  which  alone  can  keep  you  peaceful  and 
happy.  Works  cannot  justify  us  before  God;  but  we  arc  said 
to  be  justified  by  works  in  one  part  of  scripture  ;  that  is,  they 
are  the  only  evidence  of  our  justification  that  we  can  offer  to 
our  fellow-creatures.  "  Ye  shall  know  them  by  their  fruits." 
And  what  are  "the  fruits  of  the  Spirit?"  Forgive  me,  if  I 
record  them  here.  The  description  is  so  lovely,  that  we  can- 
not remind  one  another  of  it  too  often :  "  The  fruit  of  the 
Spirit  is  love,  joy,  peace,  long-suffering,  gentleness,  goodness, 
faith,  meekness,  temperance;  against  such  there  is  no  law. 
And  they  that  are  Christ's,  have  crucified  the  flesh  with  the 
affections  and  lusts."     Let   us   examine   ourselves   by  this, 

dearest .     Let  us  see  whether  we  bring  forth  tltis  fruit, 

and  whether  we  "  bring  forth  mucit  fruit,  so  shall  tec  be  I/is 
rfije(/*/«."  My  course  is  perhaps  almost  ended.  1  have  rea- 
son to  hope,  that  it  will  not  be  very  long,  ere  I  enter  into 
that  rest  which  Jesus  has  purchased  for  me  with  His  blood. 
Oh  !  that  I  h^d  walked  more  to  His  glory,  "  who  loved  me, 
and  gave  Himself  for  me  !"  But  your  course  (as  a  Christian) 
is  but  lately  begun,  and  may,  if  the  Lord  please,  be  continued 
for  many  years.  O  then  let  it  be  indeed  "  the  path  of  the  just, 
which  is  as  the  shining  light,  that  shineth  more  and  more 
unto  the  perlect  day."  "  Be  thou  an  example  of  the  believers, 
in  word,  in  conversation,  in  charity,  in  faith,  in  purity.  Love 
not  the  world,  neither  the  things  that  are  in  the  world.  Be 
clothed  with  humility ;"  for  as  you  are  of  an  humble  and 
"  contrite  spirit,  and  tremble  at  God's  word,"  so  will  "  the 
High  and  Lofty  One  who  inhabiteth  eternity,"  delight  to  dwell 
in  your  heart,  lo  bless  you  with  His  refreshing  aud  sanctify- 
ing presence.  And  now,  dearest  — : — ,  "  may  the  very  God 
of  peace  sanctify  you  wholly  ;  and  I  pray  God,  your  whole 
body,  and  soul,  and  spirit,  be  preserved  blameless  unto  the 
coming  of  Jesus  Christ."  To  Him  may  we  with  one  heart 
and  voice,  give  glory  both  now  and  for  evermore!    Amen.' 

The  following  letter,  however,  carefully  separates  the  fruit  of 
lailh  from  any  ground  of  dependence.  The  application  of  the 
subject  for  Christian  consolation  will  be  interesting. 

Sloke,Feb.  21,  1827. 
'  The  chapter  you  mention,  (Matt,  xxv.)  is  particularly  de- 
lightful as  holding  out  a  lovely  picture  of  the  people  of  Christ. 
But  let  us  mark,  that  it  is  not  the  action,  but  the  motive,  which 
meets  with  such  high  commendation.  It  is  not  said — Ye  fed 
the  hunm-,  gave  drink  to  the  thirsty,  &c.,  but  "I  was  hun- 

fry,  and  ye  gave  mc  meal ;  I  was  thirsty,  and  ye  gave  me 
rink  ;  inasmuch  as  ye  did  it  to  one  of  the  least  of  these,  ye 
did  it  unto  me."  And  this  appears  to  be  the  grand  differ- 
ence between  Christians  and  worldly  people.  Tlic  Christian 
does  every  thing  as  i(?i/o  Chrint — in  His  name,  in  His  strength, 
and  to  His  glory.  Tlie  worldling  may,  and  often  does,  out  of 
natural  benevolence  or  ostentation,  feed  the  hungry,  or  clothe 
the  naked  ;  but  he  does  it  not  unto  Jesus,  but  to  please  him- 
self, to  gratify  natural  feeling,  to  appear  well  in  the  sight  of 
others,  to  gain  a  stock  of  merit  enough  to  buy  heaven,  or  at 
least  to  help  out  what  may  be  wanting  in  the  merit  of  Christ. 
These  are  his  best  motives :  Talk  to  him  of  doing  good 
works,  because  you  are  saved,  and  not  that  you  may  be  saved; 
and  you  are  talking  of  a  thing  which  never, entered  his  nar- 
row heart,  and  which  never  will  enter  it,  till  it  is  enlarged  by 
the  grace  of  Christ.  But  let  us  beg  of  God,  to  give  us  this 
motive,  and  right  actions  will  naturally  follow.  It  will,  as 
some  one  expresses  it,  'like  the  spring  of  a -watch,  soon  set 
all  the  wheels  of  our  souls  a-going.'  I  cannot  leave  this 
chapter  without  sharing  with  you  the  comfort  I  have  derived 
from  it  in  another  point  of  view.  Does  Jesus  say — '  I  was 
hungry,  and  ye  gave  me  meatl'&c.  Is  lie  then  hungry, 
when  we  are  hungry  %  Does  He  faint,  when  we  arc  thirsty, 
and  languish,  when  W'e  are  "sick  and  in  prison."  And  think 
you,  He  will  not  much  more  sympathize  with  our  sjuritual 
necessities.  When  we  hunger  for  the  bread  of  life,  and 
thirst  for  living  water;  when  we  are  sensible  that  our  guilty 
souls  stand  "naked"  before  him;  when  we  feel  ourselves 
ick"  of  that  worst  disease,  sin  ;  and  in  bondage  to  Satan, 
that  most  hard  master,  will  not  He  then  sympathize  with  us? 
And  his  pity  will  not  be  a  vain  empty  pity.  He  will  not 
only  sympathize,  but  relieve.  He  will  feed,  and  nourish,  and 
clothe,  and  heal,  and  deliver  us.  Nor  will  he  bo  content 
with  this.  But  the  same  pity  he  feels  for  us,  he  will  teach  us 
to  feel  for  others ;  so  that  we  shall  be  such  characters  as  He 
describes  the  "  blessed  of  the  Father"  to  be.  Only  let  us 
trust  Him  for  all  this,  and  continually  importune  him  for  it ; 
for  his  promises  are  all  addressed  to  those  who  trust,  and 
ask,  and  seek,  and  knock.' 


206 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


The  freeness  and  fulness  of  the  gospel  are  delightfully  ap- 
plied, to  counteract  the  subtle  influence  of  self-righteousness. 

September  28, 1825. 

'You  tell  me,  my  beloved  friend,  that  you  have  lately  suf- 
fered vi^orldly  thoughts  to  engross  too  much  of  your  time,  and 
that  you  have  found  little  comfort  in  prayer.  Will  you  let 
me  tell  you  what  seems  to  me  to  be  the  cause  of  this ;  at 
least  as  far  as  I  can  judge  from  my  own  experience  ? 

'You  want  a  mote  simple  and  entire  dependence  on  what 
Christ  has  done  for  you  ;  and  will  do  in  you  :  you  want  to  be 
doing  something  yourself,  when  He  has  done  all  ;  you  would 
repent  and  pray  earnestl)' ;  and  then  you  think  Christ  would 
forgive  you.  I  do  not  know  whether  I  am  right  with  regard 
to  your  feelings  ;  but  this  at  least  has  sometimes  been  my 

own  case;  but  in  fact,  my  dear ,  it  was  for  sinners  who 

cannot  repent,  who  cunnut  pray,  that  the  Saviour  came  to  die. 
Uepentance  is  His  gift — His  free  gift — as  well  as  pardon; 
and  it  is  only  when  we  are  willing  to  come  to  Him — poor, 
empty,  and  miserable  as  we  are — that  He  delights  in  "filling 
us  with  good  things."  I  think  I  have  not  clearly  explained 
myself;  but  I  will  try  to  give  you  an  instance  of  what  I  mean. 

'I  used  to  be  often  doubting  whether  I  was  one  of  Christ's 
people  or  not.  Now  this  one  text  satisfied  all  my  doubts. — 
"All  that  the  Father  giveth  me  shall  come  to  me  ;  and  him 
that  Cometh  to  me  I  will  in  no  wise  cast  out."  From  this  it 
seems  there  is  but  one  question — 'Am  I  willing  to  come  to 
Christ]'  If  so,  tlien  I  am  one  of  those  whom  "the  Father 
hath  given  Him;"  if  so,  then  will  he  never,  never  cast  me 
out ;  and  if  so,  then  is  God  the  Father,  then  is  God  the  Son, 
engaged  by  an  immutable  promise,  by  unchangeable  faithful- 
ness, to  bring  me — a  feeble  worm  of  the  earth — a  sinner  by 
nature  and  practice — yes,  even  to  bring  me  safe  home  to 
glory.  Am  I  willing!  O  my  dear  friend,  I  doubt  not  your 
heart  is  answering  to  mine ;  Yes,  Lord,  thou  knowest  that  I 
am  willing  to  come  unto  thee.  "To  whom  should  I  go  ?"  for 
there  is  '-none  in  Heaven  or  in  earth  tliat  I  desire  beside 
thee!"  Again,  with  regard  to  the  love  of  the  world, — that 
great  enemy  to  the  Christian  life — I  used  to  think,  how  shall 
I  overcome  if!  Now,  I  look  simply  to  Jesus,  who  has  said 
"Be  of  good  cheer;  I  have  overcome  tlie  world."  He  has 
overcome  it  for  us,  and  will  overcome  it  in  us.  For  how  can 
wo  love  that  world,  which  crucified  our  Lord  and  Saviour. — 
How  can  we  give  way  to  that  "  love  of  the  world,"  w-hich 
will  deprive  us  of  "the  love  of  the  Father?"     Believe  me, 

my  dear ,  there  is  not  a  sin,  however  deeply  rooted  in  the 

heart,  from  which  we  may  not  be  delivered  by  simply  looking 
to  Jesus,  and  pleading  with  him  his  precious  promises.  To 
this  end,  "let  the  word  of  Christ  dwell  richly  in  us  with  all 
wisdom  ;"  let  us  "hide  his  word  in  our  hearts,"  and  we  shall 
lind  it  will  preserve  us  from  "  sinning  against  him."  "The 
love  of  the  world,"  accompanied  as  it  always  must  be  by 
lukewarmness  in  heavenly  things,  is  indeed  a  great  sin,  and 
will,  as  far  as  we  indulge  in  it,  be  as  a  cloud  between  us  and 
the  Father;  for,  "know  ye  not  that  the  friendship  of  the  world 
is  enmity  with  God  V  But  then  we  need  not  be  discouraged  ; 
for  though  we  never  can  overcome  it  in  our  own  strength, 
we  have  a  promise  thatthe  "  strength  of  the  Lord  Jesus  shall 
be  made  perfect  in  our  weakness."  "  Of  his  fulness,  we  re- 
ceive grace  for  grace."  Dost  thou  want  grace  every  moment 
to  keep  thee  from  falling'! — "My  grace  is  sufficient  for  thee." 
Wouldest  thou  have  wisdom!  "Christ  is  made  unto  us 
wisdom."  "  God  giveth  to  all  liberally,  and  upbraideth  not." 
Wouldest  thou  have  peace  1  There  is  "peace  and  joy  for 
thee  in  believing."  Thy  Saviour  is  "  the  Prince  of  Peace," 
Wouldest  thou  be  preserved  unto  the  end?  "The  Lord  is 
fiithful,  who  shall  stablish  you,  and  keep  you  from  evil." 
Finall}-,  do  we  seek  for  direction  in  every  step  of  our  path 
through  life?  Let  us  feed  on  those  precious  promises.  Isa. 
XXX.  21,  and  xlviii.  17.  Thus,  my  dear  friend,  we  may  go  on, 
"  with  joy  drawing  water  out  of  the  wells  of  salvation  ;"  and 
WBiflre  then  constrained  to  cry  out  with  Jeremiah  "  Thy  words 
were  found,  and  I  did  eat  them;  and  thy  w'ord  was  unto  me 
the  joy  and  rejoicing  of  mine  heart."  I  fear  that  I  have  al- 
ready taken  too  much  time  upon  this;  but  it  has  pleased  God, 
ill  my  afflictions,  to  make  Christ,  and  the  word  of  Christ,  so 
imspeakably  precious  to  me,  that  my  heart  will  not  rest,  till  I 
have  called  on  my  dear  friend  to  live  in  consistency  with  her 
privileges  as  a  child  of  God,  and  to  "rejoice  in  the  Lord  al- 
ways." ' 

And  again, 

&ptcmlcr  17,  1827. 
'  I  have  read  your  letter  again  and  again  with  deepest  in- 


terest. 1  grieve  to  find,  that  you  do  not  gain  any  sensible 
comfort  in  the  path  of  religion.  You  seem  to  think  yourself 
going  backward,  rather  than  forward.  But  may  not  this  be, 
because  you  see  daily  more  of  the  vanity  and  wickedness  of 
your  own  heart,  and  of  the  wretchedness  of  your  very  best 
performances?  Ifso.  areyou  not  making  the  best  possible 
progress!  And  while  perhaps  in  reality  you  are  less  con- 
formed to  the  world,  less  bent  upon  earthly  things  than  you 
were  a  few  months  ago ;  your  more  enlightened  views  of  the 
spiritual  nature  of  God's  law,  and  the  holy  strictness  of  its 
requirements,  may  make  you  see  more  worldliness  and  sin  in 
every  thing  you  do,  than  j'ou  were  capable  of  perceiving, 
when  you  first  began  the  study  of  your  own  heart.  For,  be- 
lieve me,  the  further  we  "come  up  froin  this  wilderness, 
leaning  upon  our  beloved,"  the  more  clearly  we  shall  see, 
that  not  one  step  can  be  taken  in  our  own  strength  ;  and  every 
time  we  begin  to  think  we  are  a  little  stronger,  and  may 
venture  to  stir  a  few  steps  alone,  we  shall  be  left  to  stumble 
and  fall,  till  he  again  upholds  us  with  his  hand.  We  want 
to  be  something  in  ourselves,  to  have  something  that  we  can 
call  our  own,  something  to  look  at,  and  to  rest  upon  as  such : 
when,  alas  !  we  are  nothing,  have  nothing  ;  but  what  comes 
to  us  from  the  fulness  of  Jesus,  As  long  as  we  look  into  our 
own  hearts  for  any  source  of  comfort,  we  must  inevitably  bo 
disappointed.  If  we  look  at  "our  righteousness,  they  are 
but  as  filthy  rags,"  "  the  covering  is  narrower  than  that  a 
man  can  wrap  himself  in  it."  But  if  we  cast  these  filthy 
rags  from  us  and  look  to  the  righteousness  of  Jesus,  then  we 
have  a  spotless  robe ;  an  ample  covering  for  oifr  naked  and 
defiled  souls.  I  cannot  help  thinking,  my  beloved  friend, 
that  your  sadness  proceeds  from  thinking  too  much  of  your- 
self, and  too  little  of  Jesus.  You  brood  upon  your  own  sin 
and  misery,  till  you  forget  "The  Lord  your  righteousness." 
You  are  deeply  sensible  of  your  own  weakness,  but  dwell 
too  little  on  the  sweet  assurance,  that  you  "  can  do  all  things 
through  Christ  which  strengtheneth  you."  You  lament  j'our 
own  folly ;  but  is  not  Jesus  made  wisdom  to  you !  your  own 
insufficienc}' ;  but  "in  Jesus  dwells"  there  not  "all  the  ful- 
ness of  the  Godhead  bodily  V  and  may  not  you  be  "complete 
in  him  1"  Yet  let  us  not  cease  to  look  at  ourselves  to  make 
us  humble ;  but  let  us  look  to  Jesus  to  make  us  happy ;  and 
when  we  look  at  him,  let  us  remember,  that  be  is  our  Jesus, 
our  Saviour,  and  that  will  make  us  more  happy.  Let  me 
give  you  a  text,  which  I  have  sometimes  found  to  be  a  sovereign 
remedy  against  all  those  fears,  which  a  view  of  our  own  sin- 
fulness is  apt  to  excite  :  "The  name  of  the  Lord  is  a  strono- 
tower;  the  righteous  runneth  into  it,  and  is  safe."  Here  is 
comfort ;  here  is  safety.  M3'  dear  friend,  1  have  as  much 
sin  and  weakness  and  folly,  to  lament  as  3-ou  can  possibly 
have ;  and  if  it  does  not  make  me  as  miserable  as  it  does  you, 
it  is  simply  because,  whenever  I  am  frightened  and  tormented 
by  the  accusations  of  conscience,  I  "run  into  this  strong 
tower,  and  am  safe."  You  too  are  safe,  for  have  you  not 
taken  refuge  there  ?  Why  then  will  you  not  openyoureyes, 
and  behold  how  "the  name  of  the  Lord,  as  a  strong  tower," 
compasses  you  on  every  side,  so  that  you  are  quite  out  of  the 
reach  of  every  enemy;  Jesus  is  our  "hiding  place  and  our 
shield."  If  we  fear  Satan,  he  will  soon  "  bruise  Satan  under 
our  feet."  If  we  fear  the  world,  Jesus  "has  overcome  the 
world."  If  we  fear  the  treachery  of  our  own  deceitful  hearts 
let  us  put  those  hearts  into  the  hands  of  Jesus;  he  shall  turn 
them  "  as  the  rivers  of  water,  whithersoever  he  will.  Nor  is 
he  only  thus  strong  to  defend  us,  but  rich  to  supply  all  our 
need.  If  we  want  repentance,  Jesus  is  exalted  to  give  re- 
pentance. If  we  want  faith,  "  it  is  given  us  on  the  behalf 
of  Christ  to  believe."  If  we  want  holiness,  '•  Jesus  is  made 
of  God  sanclification  unto  us."  If  we  want  peace,  '•  the  peace 
of  God  shall  keep  our  hearts  and  minds  through  Christ 
Jesus."  In  short,  let  our  sins,  and  fears,  and  wants  be  ever 
so  great,  they  need  not  drive  us  to  despair,  as  long  as  .Tesus 
lives  and  "  is  able  to  save  to  the  uttermost."  IVe  are  corn- 
pkte  in  him.  Well  then  might  David  say,  "They  th^t ktioiu 
thy  name  will  put  their  trust  in  thee;"  well  might  Solomon 
say  :  "  Thy  name  is  as  ointment  poured  forth  ;"  and  Isaiah : 
"His 'name  shall  be  called  \A  onderful."  But,  mj'  dear 
friend,  jce  have  an  interest  in  this  precious  name;  jcc  may 
draw  near  to  the  Father  of  mercies  in  this  name,  and  he  tcill 
deny  us  nothina;.  Then  shall  we  give  way  to  gloomy  doubts 
and  forebodings  any  more?  Alas!  I  know  how  little  all 
these  reflections  weigh  with  us,  unless  the  Spirit  of  God 
bring  them  home  with  light  and  power  to  our  hearts.  Even 
while  I  am  talking  to  you,  my  own  heart  is  so  little  affected, 
that  I  am  ashamed  to  go  on;  but  I  speak  rather  as  I  would 
feel,  than  as  I  do  feel.' 


MEMOIR  OF  MARY  JANE  GRAHAM. 


507 


be  gcnerallylbrcaks  offin  an  extacy  of  admiration,  cxclaimincr — "How  un- 
racter.     Herlseaicliable  are  liis  judgments,  and  bis  ways  past  finding;  out  1" 


Tlie  above  slateincnu  of  Divine  tnith  will  be 
admitted  to  be  of  a  Scriptual  and  decided  character  ,     i,  .     .       .  _    . 

exhibition  of  the  humblintr  doctrines  of  the  Gospel  brings  no!  we  need  not  wonder,  if  our  shallow  understandings  are  inca' 
occasion  for  despondency  ;  while  it  commends  to  the  awaken-  pable  of  fathoming,  our  limited  capacities  of  eomprehc-ding, 
ed  sinner  the  simple  glory  of  a  free  salvation.  Nor  does  her  our  low  minds  of  reaching  tliem.  M  e  nnist  be  satisfied  with 
view  of  gratuitous  acceptance  lose  a  particle  of  its  evangelical  I  believing  tliat  it  is  even  so,  because  "sc  it  seemed  good  in 
clearness  by  the  connected  display  of  its  fruitful ness..  The  I  our  Father's  sight,"  whatever  it  may  appear  in  ours.  This 
man  thoroughly  bumbled  by  the  doctrines  of  the  grace  ofj  reason,  which  appeared  satisfactory- to  our  Saviour,  may  sure- 
God,  will  delight  in  holiness  as  the  track  of  communion  wiih  My  satisfy  us;  or  if  not,  he  has  vouchsafed  an  assurance, 
his  God,  and  the  path-way  to  heaven  ;  while  his  sense  of 
continued  defilement  will  preserve  him  from  self-righteous- 
ness, deepen  bis  self-abasement,  and  establish  his  faith  in  the 
simplicity  of  Christ. 

Her  connected  apprehensions  of  what  are  called  the  higher 
doctrines  of  the  gospel  with  the  whole  system,  arc  well 
stated  by  the  beloved  brother,  whose  liigh  previlege  it  was  to 
attend  her  during  her  last  illness. 

'.She  had  received,'  he  observes,  'the  Gospel  as  a  dispen- 
sation of  pure  grace.  fSlie  delighted  to  speak  in  a  liulij  jnan- 
jier  of  God's  electing  love.  She  "  knew  her  election,"  and 
rejoiced  in  a  sense  of  her  high  privilege.  The  reception  of 
this  blessed  doctrine  produced  in  her  soul  deep  liuinilili/. 
greUitude,  and  love.  She  well  knew,  that  it  was  God  "  wlio 
had  made  her  to  differ"  from  a  "  world  that  lielh  in  wicked- 
ness ;"  and  she  could  say  from  her  heart:  "  Not  unto  us,  O 
Lord,  not  unto  us,  but  unto  thy  name  give  glor)',  for  tb}' 
mercy  and  for  thy  truth's  sake."  She  was  so  deeply  con- 
vinced froin  the  word  of  God,  from  all  around  her,  and  from 
her  own  heart,  of  the  deep  depravity  of  human  nature,  of 
the  utter  helplessness  of  man  to  do,  think,  or  say  any  thing 
that  is  spiritually  good,  that  she  saw  no  other  method, 
whereby  a  sinful  creature  could  be  saved,  but  from  the  com- 
bined offices  of  the  Holy  Trinity;  from  the  election  of  the 
Father,  the  redemption  of  the  Son,  and  the  sanclification  of 
the  Spirit.' 

A  single  extract  from  her  publication  will  fully  corroborate 
this  testimony.  The  beauty  of  her  language  will  justif}'  the 
length  of  the  i)uotation. 

'Thus  it  is,  that  while  the  doctrine  of  predestination  is 
death  to  those  who  iveary  themselves  in  presumptuous  dis- 
putings  and  reasonings  about  it,  there  alwaj's  have  been 
and  will  be  a  happy  (c\v,  v.  ho,  limnbly  and  sincerely  feeding 
upon  it,  receiving  all  that  the  Scripture  tells  them  concern- 
ing it,  and  desiring  to  know  no  further,  find  it  health  and 
peace  to  their  souls.  It  lays  them  very  low  at  the  feet  of 
their  Redeemer;  brings  down  the  high  swelling  of  their 
pride  and  self-esteem,  pulls  away  from  under  them  all  those 
broken  reeds  upon  which  they  had  been  used  to  lean,  self- 
righteousness,  self-will,  self-dependence  :  and  leaves  to  them 
no  one  prop  on  which  to  lean  for  support :  v.-hilst  "coming  up 
out  of  this  wilderness,"  but  the  arm  of,  "their  Beloved;" 
that  everlasting  arm,  which  will  surely  conduct  them  to 
glory.  When  that  arm  becomes  shortened  that  it  cannot 
save,  or  weak  that  it  cannot  support;  when  the  arm  of  Jesus 
fails  and  is  weary  ;  then  they  will  begin  to  look  around  for 
some  other  stay,  but  not  till  then.  Or  when  they  can  discover 
in  themselves  one  single  good  thing  which  Jesus  did  not  put 
there:  one  reason  v.hy  he  should  visit  them  with  such 
amazing  love;  tlien  they  will  conclude  that  his  love  took  its 
rise  from  theirs ;  not  ilieirs  from  His.  But  they  never  will 
discover  one  such  thing,  so  long  as  the  Spirit  of  God  illu- 
mines their  heart,  and  brings  to  light  its  immense  depravity 
and  worthlessness.  Therefore  as  God's  love  could  not  have 
been  excited  by  any  thing  in  them,  they  believe  it  to  be  an 
eternal  love  :  that  they  were  called  in  time,  because  they 
were  chosen  from  eternity  ;  and  that  the  name  of  Jesus  is  now 
engraven  as  a  seal  upon  their  hearts,  because  their  names 
were  written  on  his  heart  before  ever  the  world  was.  And 
when  their  thoughts  stretched  forward  to  the  end  of  this  pil- 
grimage, and  they  rejoice  in  the  view  of  the  mansions  pre- 
pared for  them  in  their  Father's  house,  the  crown  of  that  re- 
joicifig  is  this  :  "We  got  not  the  land  in  possession  by  our 
own  strength,  neither  did  our  own  arm  save  us;  but  thy  right 
hand,  and  thine  arm,  and  the  light  of  thy  countenance,  because 
iliou  hadil  a  fuvmir  unto  us."  "Thus  thej' rejoice  in  Christ 
Jesus,  and  have  no  confidence  in  the  flesh ;"  for  "  God  is 


which  may  well  serve  to  repress  present  inquiry  into  things 
too  high  for  us — "  W'ir.n  I  do,  thou  knowest  i:ot  now,  hut 
thou  shalt  know  hereafter." 

'That  these  things  are  so,  I  believe,  because  I  find  them 
amongst  the  "revealed  things,  which  belong  to  us  and  our 
children  forever."  How  or  why  they  are  so,  I  desire  not  too 
closely  to  inquire,  lest  I  should  ihtrude  into  the  "  secret  things, 
which  belong  unto  the  Lord  our  God."  O  that  he  would  give 
unto  every  one  of  us  that  humble  and  teachable  Spirit,  with 
which  a  little  ignorant  child  is  content  to  receive  his  father's 
lessons,  without  rudely  commenting  upon  his  father's  \yays, 
or  rashly  intruding  into  his  father's  secrets !  This  one  thing 
we  know ;  and  with  this  we  may  be  satisfied  ;  that  "  the 
Judge  of  all  the  earth  cannot  hut  do  right."  But  it  were  pre- 
posterous to  expect  that  he  should  always  do  thai  which  is 
right  in  our  eyes,  so  long  as  our  notions  of  right  and  wrong 
are  so  utterly  confused  and  perverted  as  they  have  been  ever 
since  the  fall.  He  himself  tells  us  that  "the  Lord  seeth  not 
as  ntan  seeth  :"  and  that  "  that  which  is  higiily  esteemed 
among  men  is  abomination  in  the  sight  of  God."  It  cannot 
be,  so  long  as  '•  his  wavs  are  equal,  and  ours  unequal,"  that 
his  righteous  dealings  should  be  in  exact  accordance  with  our 
unrighteous  views  and  sentiments.  Instead  then  of  wearying 
ourselves  with  impotent  atteiupts  to  bring  down  his  will  and 
counsel  to  the  level  of  our  ideas,  our  far  wiser  way  will  be 
to  submit  o>ir  thoughts  and  ideas  to  his  will,  assured  that  it 
is  holy,  just,  and  good.'  She  then  proceeds  to  defend  the 
doctrine  at  some  length,  and  with  considerable  ability,  from 
the  usual  objections  of  charging  God  with  injustice,  and  of 
encouraging  licentiousness,  arrogance,  and  despondency  in 
man. 

The  writer  has  indulged  himself  with  this  large  extent  of 
]uctation,  as  the  best  means  of  introducing  Miss  Graham's 
work  from  the  comparative  obscurity  of  an  anonyinous  publi- 
cation, into  that  more  general  acceptance,  which,  in  his  own, 
and,  he  presumes  he  may  add,  in  his  reader's  judgment,  it 
well  deserves.  It  would  be  too  much  to  anticipate  a  univer- 
sal concurrence  in  all  her  statements.  Yet  from  the  peculiar 
unction  and  richness  of  her  theology,  and  its  entire  freedom 
from  speculation  and  controversy,  they  cannot  be  read  by  the 
serious  reader  without  spiritual  profit.  The  more  mysterious 
doctrines  (as  will  be  seen  from  the  last  quotation)  are  hand- 
led in  a  holy,  practical  spirit,  eminently  calculated  to  soften 
prejudice,  to  prostrate  the  soul  in  humble  thankfulness,  and 
to  enlarge  the  Christian's  joy  in  God.  It  is  indeed  one  of  the 
many  painful  results  from  the  harsh,  crude,  and  abstract  state- 
ments too  often  givi-n  of  these  doctrines  ;  that  they  have  con- 
tributed unjustly  to  discredit  the  more  sober  Scriptural  decla- 
rations, which,  when  cast,  like  Miss  Graham's,  into  the  mould 
of  our  Seventeenth  Article,  are  justly  pronounced  by  our 
Church  to  be  '  full  of  sweet,  pleasant,  and  unspeakable  com- 
fort to  godly  ]iersons.' 

On  such  deep  and  humbling  subjects,  the  writer  would  not 
presume  to  set  up  his  judgment  as  the  rule  of  faith  for  the 
Church.  Yet  he  has  felt  a  caution  necessary  for  his  own 
mind,  which  he  ventures  therefore  to  suggest  to  his  brethren. 
Let  us  take  care,  lest  the  irreconcilableness  of  these  doctrines 
with  our  apprehensions  of  the  Divine  character,  rather  than  a 
defect  of  their  Scriptural  evidence,  should  influence  our  re- 
jection of  them.  Is  there  no  danger,  lest  a  predisposing  bias 
in  the  search  for  this  evidence,  should  obscure  that  single- 
ness of  eye,  which  is  the  only  medium  for  the  reception  of 
heavenly  light  1  The  admission  of  these  doctrines,  indeed, 
as  the  result  of  disputation  or  argument,  could  only  issue  in 
a  fearful  proportion  of  that  "  knowledge  which  puU'elh  up," 
combined  with  a  total  absence  of  the  "love  that  edifieth." 
But  the  child-like  reception  of  them  as  revealed  in  the  Holy 


the  glory  of  tlieir  strength;  and  in  his  favour  their  horn  is' Scriptures,  will  be  (as  we  have  just  hinted),  eminently  fruit- 
exalted."  ful  in  humiliation,  love,  privilege,  and  devotedness.  After 
'I  cannot  pretend  to  meet  the  objections,  or  to  refute  the|all,  however,  we  must  remember — "A  man  can  receive  no- 
cavils  commonly  raised,  when  this  doctrine  of  election  is  thing,  except  it  be  given  him  from  heaven."  This  sacred 
made  the  subject  of  discussion;  for  I  did  not  learn  it  in  the  I  aphorism  lays  the  only  substantial  basis  of  the  true  faith  of 
way  of  carnal  reasonings,  but  by  simply  taking  the  Scriptures  the  Gospel,  while  the  light  reflected  upon  the  steady  course  of 
as  I  found  them,  and  as  the  Spirit  of  God  enabled  me  to  re-  Christian  consistency,  though  it  will  not  clear  up  every  diffi- 
ceive  them.     If  St.   Paul,  after  descanting  on  this  subjr.ot,|cnltv,  will  enlarge  our  discovery  of  the  Divine  goodness  to 


X 


208 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


man,  and  assure  to  our  minds  the  uncliangeableness  of  God, 
as  the  ground  of  that  "  strong  consolation,"  which  "  the  heirs 
of  promise",  are  fully  warranted  to  enjoy. 

2.   On  suhjccts  of  Theolugicul  Viscussiun. 

The  first  question  is  closely  connected  with  some  of  the 
subjects  of  the  last  section.  It  states  her  views  of  the  coiisis- 
fency  of  conditional  promises  icifk  a  free  salvatimi. 

'  As  to  the  promises' — ■Miss  Graham  observes — 'I  do  not 
say,  that  they  are  unconditional  cither;  but  I  do  say,  that  the 
conditions  on  which  they  depend  are  such  as  guilty  man  is 
altocrether  incapable  of  performing.  I  do  say  that  .lesus  as 
our  Surety,  has  performed  all  these  fur  us,  and  hy  his  Spirit 
will  perform  them  all  in  us.  Through  his  perfect  atonement 
we  escape  the  threatenings  ;  through  his  unspotted  obedience 
we  become  "  heirs  of  the  promises" — lieirs  of  eternal  life. 
For  if  the  blame  of  our  sins  has  been  imputed  to  Him,  then 
has  the  merit  of  His  righteousness  been  imputed  to  us.  "If 
he  has  been  made  sin  for  us,  then  have  we  been  made  the 
righteousness  of  God  in  him."  And  because  the  promises 
are  ours  for  his  sake,  therefore  the  conditions  of  them  are 
worked  in  us  by  his  free  Spirit;  "  for  it  is  not  we  who  live 
the  life  of  faith,  but  Christ  that  livelh  in  us." 

'  One  of  the  sweetest  promises,  >ipon  which  the  mind  of 
every  Christian  rests  with  unspeakable  delight,  runs  thus  : 
"Him  that  cometh  unto  me,  I  will  in  no  wise  cast  out." 
Here  is  a  eonclition,  "  Him  tliat  cometh;"  and  3.  promise — "I 
will  not  cast  out."  But  who  are  those  that  come  to  Jesus'! 
"  All  that  the  Father  giveth  me  shall  come  to  me."  "No 
man  can  come  to  me,  except  the  Father  which  hath  sent  me, 
draw  him."  "  No  man  can  come  to  me,  except  it  were  given 
to  him  of  my  Father."  How  distinct])'  are  we  here  told,  that 
the  same  free  mercy,  which  promises  to  receive  us  when  tve 
come,  must  be  put  forth  to  ma/ce  us  come ;  or  we  7ievcr  should 
come.'  ■  The  promise  will  surely  be  fulfilled  to  all  who  obey 
the  condition ;  but  none  can  obey  the  condition,  save  those  to 
whom  it  is  given.^ 

'  Every  condition  necessary  to  salvation' — she  remarks — 
'  is  fulfilled  in  us,  not  by  any  efforts  of  our  own,  but  by  our 
"  receiving"  continually  "  grace  for  grace  out  of  the  fulness 
of  Jesus."  '  In  confirmation  of  her  argument,  she  adduces 
the  Christian  graces  (repentance,  faith,  love,)  as  required  of 
its,  but  7jct  wrought  in  lis.  Thus  she  concludes  the  discus- 
sion— '  The  great  question  then  about  tlie  promises  seems  to 
he,  not  so  much  whether  they  are  conditional,  as  whether  God 
looks  to  Christ,  or  to  us,  for  the  performance  of  those  condi- 
tions. If  to  Christ,  the  burden  is  laid  upon  "  one  that  is 
mighty  .-"  if  to  us,  then  we  are  undone  ;  '  for  the  condition  of 
man  after  the  fall  is  such,  that  he  cannot  turn  and  prepare 
himself,  by  his  own  natural  strength  and  good  works,  to  faith 
and  calling  upon  God  :  wherefore  we  have  no  power  to  do 
good  works  pleasant  and  acceptable  to  God,  without  the  trrace 
of  God  by  Christ  preventing  us,  that  we  may  have  a  good  will, 
and  ivorking  with  its,  when  we  have  that  good  will.' 

This  statement  is  confessedly  strong  and  uncompromising; 
yet  it  is  in  the  writer's  apprehension,  neither  unguarded,  un- 
scriptural,  or  discouraging.  It  assumes  with  our  church  the 
Scriptural  point,  tmt  of  the  weakness,  but  of  the  titter  helpless- 
ness of  man.  It  connects  the  freeness  of  the  Gospel  with  the 
sovereign  purpose  and  Almighty  grace  of  God.  Thus  man 
and  God  are  each  in  his  proper  place  ;  man  in  the  dust ;  God 
on  tlie  throne.  The  humble  and  intelligent  believer  will  ac- 
knowledge of  every  act  of  faith  and  obedience  to  the  end  of 
his  course — "  Thou  also  hast  wrought  alt  our  wor/cs  in  </s." 
Nor  will  he  hesitite  to  trace  all  these  works  to  Me  '^goodplea- 
.-.Kre"  of  his  God  as  the  first  cause. 

The  opposite  statement  may  be  easily  proved  to  be  most 
discouraging.  The  free  invitations  of  the  Gospel  are  uncon- 
nected with  an  entire  dependence  upon  Divine  grace  to  ena- 
ble the  sinner  to  accept  tbom.  Conscions  inabilit)'  is  there- 
fore left  without  any  power  to  act  upon  it.  The  sinner  is 
either  blinded  in  self-delusion,  or  hardened  in  despondency. 
On  the  other  hand  his  helplessness  is  taught  to  depend  upon 
the  Sovereign  pleasure  of  a  God  of  love  ;  and  he  '•  works  out 
his  salvation  with  fear  and  trembling,"  indeed,  but  with  con- 
fident hope  of  perseverance. 

The  unscriptural  use  of  the  term  condition  with  many  theo- 
logians— OS  if  man  could  of  himself  perform  the  work  of  his 
solralion — has  brought  it  into  disrepute.  Ye^t  in  Miss  Gra- 
ham's view  conditional  ju'omises  idtimately  resolve  them- 
selves into  absolute  unconditional  love.  The  duties  of  Chris- 
tian obediLiice — the  Divinely  appointed  means  of  enjoying  the 
promises— do  not  depend  upon  any  thing  to  he  fullilled  by  us. 
They  constitute  a  part  of  the  engagements  of  the  Evangelical 
.covenant,  by  which  the  Lord  fulfils  the  demands  of  his  law 


by  the  Almighty  power  of  his  grace.  Miss  Graham  with 
many  excellent  men  would  altogether  abolish  the  use  of  the 
term,  at  least  as  applied  to  us.  But  it  has  been  allowed  by 
many  of  our  most  orthodox  Divines,  whose  statements  cannot 
justly  be  accused  of  iid'ringing  upon  the  freeness  of  the  Gos- 
pel. It  would  be  difficult  to  substitute  any  other  theolotrical 
term, -that  would  express  the  sense  of  many  important  decla- 
rations of  Scripture  with  equal  precision  and  appropriateness. 
Let  it  be  understood  to  impi)' — not  what  is  meritorious,  but 
what  is  necessary  in  the  economy  of  the  Gospel — not  an  effi- 
cient cause,  but  an  indispensable  requisite.  Is  it  not  then 
needless  scrupulosity  to  exchange  a  convenient  term  of  expli- 
cation for  feeble  circumlocution  1  And  may  there  not  be  some 
danger,  lest  in  our  anxiety  to  preserve  the  freeness  of  Scrip- 
tural statement,  we  unconsciously  become  fettered  in  the 
bonds  of  human  systems  1 

Her  letter  upon  the  nature  and  degree  of  explicit  faith  neces- 
sary for  acceptance  with  God  is  highly  interesting. 

'The  question  you  propose  about  prayer,  does  not  appear 
to  me  to  admit  of  a  doubt.  Ought  there  not  to  be  in  every 
prayer  a  reference  to  the  intercession  of  Christ?  Will  the 
earnestness  and  sincerity  of  a  prayer  avail  without  it  ?  Doubt- 
less, my  dear  friend,  there  ought  to  be  this  reference:  nor 
can  a  believer  in  Jesus  imagine  a  prayer  without  it.  But  when 
an  unhelievfr  first  begins  to  long  after  the  knowledge  of  God, 
the  intercession  of  Christ  may  be  a  part  of  that  knowledge, 
respecting  which  he  is  in  utter  darkness.  Shall  the  earnest 
and  sincere  petition  which  he  offers  under  such  circumstances 
be  disregarded  ?  Is  not  the  intercession  of  Christ  going  on 
for  him  as  surely  as  if  he  knew  of  it  1  And  is  not  this  poor 
ignorant  prayer  the  first  fruits  of  this  intercession  7  And  will 
not  the  Father  accept  it  for  the  sake  of  his  beloved  Son,  though 
the  siimer  as  yet  knows  not  how  to  offer  it  in  his  name? 
Certain  I  am,  that  the  person  who  thus  begins  to  seek  after 
the  Lord  with  his  ichole  Iteart,  will  ere  long  have  Jesus  re- 
vealed in  his  soul;  and  the/i  he  will  seek  in  the  name  of  Jesus. 
Tlie  most  signal  answer  I  ever  received  to  prayer,  was  at 
a  time  when  1  was  so  bewildered  in  the  labyrinth  of  infidelity, 
that  I  actually  should  have  feared  to  have  been  guilty  of  blas- 
phemy, had  I  ])rayed  in  the  name  of  Jesus.  In  sincerity  and 
earnestness  I  prayed  to  be  taught,  whether  Jesus  Christ  was 
an  impostor  or  not ;  and  for  the  sake  of  that  precious  Saviour, 
whom  I  thus  insultingly  doubted,  my  prayer  was  answered. 

But  our  experience  is  of  little  value,  unless  itagreeS  with 
Scripture.  I  think  the  Bible  is  very  clear  upon  this  head, 
and  therefore  I  venture  to  speak  so  confidently.  I  will  men- 
tion two  or  three  texts.  "  He  that  cometh  to  God  must 
believe  that  he  is,  and  that  he  is  a  rewarder  of  them  that 
diligentl)'  seek  him."  Is  not  this  a  description  of  the  degree 
of  laith  and  knowledge,  which  is  necessary  before  a  person 
can  come  and  praj-  to  God  in  an  acceptable  manner?  And  is 
not  this  the  sum  of  it,  that  he  must  believe  that  there  is  a 
God,  and  that,  if  lie  diligently  seeks  this  God,  he  shall  be 
rewarded  by  finding  the  object  of  his  search?  There  is  not 
a  word  about,  '  He  that  cometh  to  God  must  believe  and  pray 
through  the  intercession  of  Christ ;'  though  no  doubt  the  per- 
son who  believes  so  far  as  is  mentioned  in  the  text,  will  soon 
believe  God  in  Christ,  as  he  is  revealed  in  the  Gospel.  So 
then,  if  a  Pagan  or  IMahomedan  in  the  darkest  corner  of  the 
earth,  or  an  infidel  in  this  country,  were  to  begin  to  seek  God 
diligently,  from  the  mere  "  belief  that  he  is,  and  that  he  is  a 
rewarder  of  them  that  diligently  seek  him,"  upon  the  warrant 
of  this  text  I  should  have  no  doubt  of  his  acceptance.*  Again, 
"  If  any  mauAvill  (or  wishes  to)  do  the  will  of  God,  he  shall 
know  of  the  doctrine,  whether  it  be  of  God,  or  whether  I  speak 
of  myself."  Here  is  the  case- supposed  of  a  man,  who,  so 
far  from  praying  in  the  name  of  Jesus,  is  not  yet  convinced. 


*  This  text  m.iy,  doulitless,  be  accommodated  for  intelligent  and 
MaiTaiilcd  tucouraj;en^ent  in  the  case  liei-e  presented  to  us.  Yet  il 
mav  be  questiodcd  w  liullier  Aliss  Graham's  exposition  include;^  the 
wiiole  substance  of  the  Apostle's  mind.  Tiie  faith  of  Cain  in  bring- 
in»  his  offering  probably  a(bnittcd  tlie  nalied  belief  of  die  existence 
of  God,  and  of  liis  bounty  to  tliose  tliat  inquired  after  liira.  The 
rVposttc's  definition,  however,  stands  in  immediate  connexion  with 
llie  faidi  of  Abet  and  Enoch,  (ver.  4,  5.)  -nbich  implied  access  to 
liud,  and  comnumiou  « ilh  liim  tlirougli  an  accept;ible  medium. 
Indeed,  tlie  true  I'aiUi  in  God's  existence  seems  necessarify  to  sup- 
pose some  relation  to  liim.  See  Gen.  xvii.  1.  Kxod.  iii.  14.  The 
very  expectation  of  reward  to  sinners  deserving  condemnation,  must, 
in  a  rigliteous  government,  lie  grounded  upon  some  appreliension, 
liowever  obscure,  of  a  way  of  iitvourable  acceptance.  Ifie  desire 
and  act  of  seeking  also  suijposes  some  rule  to  direct  om-  padi  and 
w  arrant  our  liope ;  a  rule  founded  upon  some  new  relation  between 
God  and  bis  creatmvs,  liy  wliicli  merited  judgment  is  averted,  and 

mcrcv  rejoicetli  against  judgment." 


MEMOIR  OF  MARY  JANE  (J  RAH  AM. 


209 


wlictlier  his  doctrines  are  Divine,  or  whether  he  is  a  mere 
pretender,  " xpta/ang  of  himstlf."  ^Vliat  then  is  the  prepara- 
tion required  !  He  wishes  to  do  tlie  will  of  God.  He  would 
gladly  worship  God  aright,  and  submit  to  his  will  in  all 
thinjrs.  Yet  he  cannot  pray  at  first  with  any  reference  to  the 
intercession  of  Jesus,  r  or  he  would  think  it  sinful  to  do  so, 
as  long  as  he  knows  not  "  whether  the  doctrine  he  of  God,  or 
whether  Jesus  Christ  spake  of  himself."  Yet  this  man — we 
have  the  word  of  Jesus  for  it — "shall  know  of  the  doctrine." 
Consider  also  the  free  and  generous  promise  of  Christ,  that 
"  our  heavenly  Father  will  give  the  Holy  Spirit,  to  them  that 
ask  him."  Suppose  yourself  to  have  hccn  in  the  state  of 
mind  of  the  text  just  mentioned,  and  to  have  heard  this  gra- 
cious ■promise.  Would  you  have  thought  of  any  intercession, 
of  anything  Ijeyond.  asking?  And  you  would  probably  have 
asked  ;  "  0  my  heavenly  Father,  give  me  thy  Spirit  to  teach 
me  whether  this  man  is  sent  by  thee,  or  whether  he  speaks 
of  himself."  Suppose  for  a  moment  (God  forbid  that  any 
one  should  suppose  it  in  reality!)  that,  after  having  oflered 
this  prayer  sincerely,  earnestly,  perseveringly,  you  were  at 
last  suffered  to  perish  for  lack  of  knowledge;  that  the  Holy 
Spirit  for  which  you  asked  was  not  given,  becaiue  you  asked 
it  not  (and  how  could  youl)  in  the  name  of  Jesus,  the  pro- 
mise would  seem  to  carry  with  it  a  want  of  sincerity,  as  hav- 
ing a  condition  attached  to  it,  which  was  concealed  from  you, 
and  which  the  ver)-  nature  of  your  petition  incapacitated  you 
from  performing,  until  further  knowledge  was  given.  ]  be- 
lieve, that  when  Christ  said,  "Ask,  and  it  shall  be  given 
you,"  he  meant  what  he  said,  in  the  literal  sense  of  the  word. 
It  is  remarkable,  that  asking  in  the  name  of  Christ,  was  a 
doctrine  not  revealed  to  the  disciples,  till  shortly  before  his 
death,  though  they  must  often  have  prayed  before,  and  that 
with  acceptance.  The  Lord's  prayer  also  contains  no  expras 
reference  to  this  doctrine,  though  doubtless.every  Christian 
in  his  heart,  offers  it  in  the  one  name,  through  which  he  looks 
for  acceptance.  Let  us  take  the  text  above  mentioned,  to  an 
assembly  of  Indians.  Let  us  say  to  them,  '  You  know  not 
what  to  think  of  our  doctrine  concerning  Jesus.  You  would 
take  him  for  your  Lord  and  your  God,  if  you  were  sure  that 
all  we  isay  about  him  is  true.  Wo  will  tell  you  how  to  find 
this  out.  There  is  a  promise  in  the  book,  out  of  which  we 
preach  to  you,  that  God  "will  give  the  Holy  Spirit  to  them 
that  ask  him."  The  Holy  Spirit  is  given  to  teach  you  about 
Jesus.  If  you  will  ask  for  this  teaching,  you  shall  have  it ; 
and  then  you  shall  know  what  to  think  of  our  doctrine.'  They 
ask.  \a  the  name  of  Jesus  they  cannot  ask.  For  the  very 
point  in  question,  the  verj*  thing  which  they  ask  God  to  teach 
them  is,  whether  the  name  of  Jesus  is  of  any  avail  or  not. 
They  are  impelled  to  ask  by  a  "belief  that  there  is  a.  God, 
and  that  he  is  a  rewarder  of  them  that  diligently  seek  him." 
Will  the  promise  be  made  good  to  them  or  not?  Or  will  this 
failing  to  pray  in  a  manner  in  which  they  do  not  believe 
(that  is,  to  act  contrary  to  the  reason  which  God  himself  has 
lighted  up  within  tliem)  annul  the  engagement  by  which  God 
has  bound  himself,  that  all  that  ask  should  havel  Oh!  no. 
This  is  prayer;  and  it  is  praying  with  precisely  that  degree 
of  "  faith,  without  jvhich  it  is  impossible  to  please  God." 
"To  every  one  that  hath,  thus  much  shall  be  given,  and  he 
ehall  have  abundance;"  he  shall  be  rich  in  faith.  And  this 
is  as  true  to  my  mind,  as  clear  as  any  of  the  proihises  of  God 
can  be.  You  say, '  Must  faith  be  acting  at  the  liiue!'  1  think 
the  degree  of  faith  mentioned  in  Heb.  xi.  0,  must.  Yet  even 
this,  we  know,  may  be  a  trembling  faith,  such  as,  "//'Mow 
canM  do  any  thing.  Lord,  I  believe  :  help  thou  nune  unbelief." 
But,  "  the  day  of  small  things,"  the  first  prayers  of  a  hitherto 
unbelieving  sinner  have  something  in  them  unspeakably  in- 
teresting. And  it  is  so  delightful  to  feel,  that  the  very  least 
of  the  "small  things"  comes  from  God,  and  implies  pardon 
and  heaven,  and  all  those  great  things  which  "eye  hath  not 
seen,  nor  ear  heard,"  that  we  cannot  dwell  upon  them  with- 
out transport.  This  is  that  "faith  which  is  as  a  grain  of 
mustard  seed."  Wrapped  within  its  minute,  dry,  and  un- 
sightly husk  is  the  emhi-yo  of  the  future  tree,  which  shall 
expand  and  "  llourish  in  the  courts  of  our  God."  Oh  !  what  a 
God  of  wonders  !  As  we  cannot  look  into  the  hearts  of  others, 
it  is  hard  to  know  when  the  prayer  is  earnest  and  sincere. 
]!ut  if  we  could  discern  this,  we  might  look  at  such  a  prayer 
W'itli  the  same  confident  assurance  that  showers  of  blessings 
would  follow  it,  as  Elijah  knew  that  there  would  be  "abund- 
ance of  rain,"  tliough  there  W'as  nothing  to  be  seen  but  a  little 
eloud  like  a  man's  hand.' 

This  letter  involves  a  question  of  much  interest  and  no 

small  difficulty.     Miss   Graham's  sympathy  with  the  case 

su])posed,  enabled  her  to  fix  a  conscious  grasp  upon  the  sub- 

Voi,.  H.— 2  B 


ject,  and  to  speak  directly  to  the  point  with  much  force  and 
clearness.  The  instance  of  the  penitent  N'ineviies  ignorant 
of  the  medium  of  acceptance  might  have  been  added  to  her 
Scripture  illustrations  of  the  argument.  And  we  can  scarce- 
ly doubt  that  the  cry  to  a  Supreme  Being — '  Ens  entium,  nis- 
erire  mcP — "  seeking  the  Lord,  if  haply  they  might  feel  after 
him,  and  find  him" — may  have  proved  the  first  dawn  of  light 
and  love  to  some  awakened  conscience  in  a  benighted  world. 

No  other  way  to  God  than  b}'  Christ  is  here  supposed, 
though  an  unconscious  approach  through  him  is  admitted. 
For  ourselves,  however,  who  have  been  made  acquainted  with 
his  precious  name,  no  obligation  is  more  important,  no  privi- 
lege more  delightful,  than  the  constant  dependence  upon  it  in 
every  step  of  access  to  God.  It  covers  all  guilt,  defilement, 
ignorance,  and  infirmities.  It  assures  our  confidence  in  Uie 
presence  ofa  God  of  inflexible  justice  and  unspotted  holiness. 
Our  persons  and  services,  in  themselves  most  unsuited  to  his 
awful  majesty,  are  presented  through  this  medium  clothed 
with  divine  beauty,  and  commended  in  his  sight  as  "  a  sweet- 
smelling  savour."  A  clear  knowledge  of  the  person  of  Christ 
is  therefore  necessary  as  the  basis  of  Christian  confidence. 
The  exercise  of  this  confidence  will  be — not  to  apprehend  him 
separately  either  as  God  or  man,  but  to  make  his  mtircpersmi 
the  object  of  our  trust.  This  intelligent  and  spiritual  worship 
is  as  superior  to  mere  external  scrv'ice,  a^he  blood  of  the  Son 
of  God,  by  which  we  are  brought  into  the  capacity  for  it,  is 
to  the  vile  and  corruptible  things  of  earth. 

The  question  under  consideration  however  requires  a  wise 
mixture  of  decision  and  forbearance  to  determine  its  precise 
limits.  While  insisting  upon  the  importance  of  a  clear  ap- 
prehension of  Divine  Truth,  we  would  present  the  full  Scrip- 
tural encouragement  to  souls  emerging  out  of  darkness  with 
a  simple  desire  to  know  the  light;  seeking  the  truth,  yet 
knowing  not  where  to  find  it.  Let  them  wait  in  the  twilight 
for  the  dawning  day,  humbly,  prayerfully,  earnestly.  Sin- 
cerity in  the  diligent  and  persevering  habit  of  faith  will  not 
be  left  in  darkness.  On  the  other  hand  it  must  be  remem- 
bered, that  the  influence  of  the  Holy  Spirit,  needful  for  every 
act  of  faith  and  prayer,  stands  in  ordinary  conjunction  with 
revealed  tnith.  Let  us  be  aware  therefore,  lest  by  broad 
statements  we  lose  sight  of  the  great  fundamentals  of  the 
Gospel,  and  forget  "that  there  is  none  other  name  than  Christ 
under  heaven  given  among  men,  whereby  we  must  be  saved," 
and  that  "life  eternal"  consists  in  the  knowledge  of  him. 
Let  us  also  carefully  connect  the  general  promises  of  the  early 
dispensation  of  the  Gospel,  with  the  inoW  full  and  clear  light 
subsequently  vouchsafed.  The  direction  to  which  Miss  Gra- 
ham refers — "Ask,  seek,  and  knock" — must  ever  be  linked 
with  the  name  of  Christ.     His  name  is  our  only  warrant  to 

ask."  Himself  is  the  only  waj'  to  "  seek  :"  the  onlj'  door 
at  which  we  can  "  knock"'  with  any  well-grounded  hope  of 
acceptance.  In  the  neglect  of  this  theology,  we  should  at- 
tempt to  open  a  way  to  heaven  without  "  entering  in  by  the 
door."  We  should  admit  the  unscriptural  supposition  of 
pleasing  God  "without  faith."  We  should  endeavour  to 
maintain  our  complete  acceptance  with  God  without  the  con- 
tinued application  of  "the  blood  of  s]irinklino."  'Take 
heed' — said  the  excellent  Dr.  Owen — 'lest,  while  we  en- 
deavour to  invent  new  ways  to  heaven  for  others,  by  so  do- 
ing, we  lose  the  true  way  ourselves.' 

Miss  Graham's  discussion  of  the  subject,  in  connexion  with 
the  experience  of  the  intelligent  Christian,  is  most  satisfac- 
tory and  edifying. 

'  I  think  I  now  quite  understand  you  about  prayer.  My 
reason  for  speaking  of  the  beninninirs  only  of  prayer  was,  that 
I  thought  no  confirmed  Christian  could  possibly  pray  with- 
out a  reference  to  the  mediation  of  Christ  Jesus.  But  your 
observation,  that  we  may  pray  without  immediately  referring 
to  it,  or  even  thinking  directly  of  it,  is  very  just,  as  in  the  case 
you  mention  of  ejaculatory  prayer.  But  I  would  ask  j'ou,  my 
dearest  friend,  is  it  not  an  understood  matter  between  us  and 
our  heavenly  Father,  that  we  are  to  have  all  things  in  the 
name  of  Jesus  1  Would  we,  (/  ivc  could,  receive  even  the 
least  of  our  blessings  through  any  other  medium^  Is  it  not 
the  very  joy  of  our  hearts  to  have  every  thing,  and  do  every 
thing  through  Christ ;  to  believe  that  the  Father  loves  us  for 
his  sake  ;  accepts  us  in  him;  hears.our  prayers,  not  because 
they  are  ours,  but  because  he  offers  them  for  us  ?  And  is 
this  fixed,  settled,  deep-rooted  feeling  less,  when  in  ejacula- 
tory prayer  there  is  no  immediuie  reference  to  his  mediation, 
than  in  our  larger  devotions,  when  we  stop  to  make  out  our 
title  more  fully,  and  to  dwell  upon  it  more  largely  1  It  is 
delightful  and  profitable  to  do  this  ;  but  yet  I  think  the  in- 
tention of  our  hearts  is  the  same  in  both  cases.     If  vou  were 


210 


CHRISTIAN  LIBRARY. 


asked  after  one  of  these  short  prayers'—'  How  do  J'ou  expect 
or  -wish  it  to  be  heard  V  would  you  not  rcpl}' — '  In  the  one 
name  of  my  Beloved  1'  And  would  not  the  heaven  of  hea- 
vens seem  less  desirable  of  attainment,  if  by  any  possibility 
vre  could  possess  it  in  our  own  name,  instead  of  the  security 
of  Jesus  having;  entered  before  us  and  for  us  ?  I  hope  I  am 
not  wrong,  and  I  am  sure  I  would  not  object  to  repeating  as 
often  as  possible  to  ourselves  and  to  others  our  entire  reliance 
upon  his  name.  But  I  think,  that  when  his  mediation  has 
become  the  very  life  and  food  of  our  souls,  we  need  not  torment 
ourselves  with  the  fear,  that  such  or  such  a  prayer  will  not  be 
answered,  because  I  did  not  think  of  making  formal  mention 
of  the  ground  on  whicli  I  asked.  Let  me  rather  saj- — '  God 
knows  that  I  would  not,  if  I  might,  have  it  answered  in  any 
other  way.  He  knows  what  I  mean  and  constantly  desire  ; 
and,  if  through  infirmity  I  may  have  expressed  myself  amiss 
or  deficiently,  infinite  love  will  not  misunderstand  me."  If 
you  think  I  have  taken  a  wrong  view,  tell  me,  my  dear  friend. 
But  I  am  confirmed  in  it  by  this  circumstance.  When  I  am 
in  a  truly  spiritual  state,  the  mediation  of  Christ  is  (as  it 
were)  so  worked  up  into  my  being,  that  I  am  often,  (except 
in  stated  prayers)  not  conscious  of  a  direct  reference  to  it  at 
one  time  more  than  at  another.  Yet  I  think  my  mind  never 
loses  the  idea.  It  is  perpetually  resting  upon  this  sure  an- 
chor of  hope.  Buf  when  I  am  in  a  cold  and  careless  state, 
(as  at  the  present  time)  I  lean  upon  it  with  an  unstable  faith. 
I  am  therefore  much  more  often  conscious  of  a  direct  reference 
to  it.  The  shortest  of  my  prayers  have  a  sort  of  formality 
about  them,  from  the  cold  repeated  reference  of  the  name  of  my 
Saviour.  I  do  not  know  whether  this  is  your  case.  I  had  rather 
have  the  thing  so  constantly  in  m)'  heart,  that  I  scarcely  stop 
explicitl)'  to  allude  to  it,  than  lose  the  consciousness  of  it  so 
often,  (as  I  now  do)  that  I  am  obliged  to  remind  myself  of  it, 
in  order  to  plead  it  with  God.  But  I  think  that  in  all  sincere 
ejaculations  there  is  an  inward,  though  perhaps  almost  un- 
conscious, feeling  of  repose  and  delight  in  his  name,  through 
which  alone  we  desire  to  have  acceptance  with  the  Father. 
I  fear  I  have  not  expressed  my  meaning  intelligibly.  I  have 
sent,  as  you  desired,  my  thoughts  without  reserve ;  though  1 
know  too  little  of  the  spirit  and  power  of  prayer  to  qualify 
me  to  give  my  sentiments  on  so  important  a  subject.' 

The  following  letter  on  Pruyer  to  the  Holy  Spirit,  evinces 
much  thought  and  spirituality. 

'  I  feel  very  incompetent  to  give  you  any  opinion  on  the 
point  you  mention  about  the  Holy  Spirit.  Yet  I  have  no 
doubt  whatever  in  uty  own  mind,  that  it  is  both  right  and  de- 
sirable to  pray  to  him  separately  and  distinctly.  I  should  be 
very  much  afraid,  that  the  contrary  opinion  would  gradually 
tend  to  undermine  our  faith  in  the  Personality  of  the  Holy 
Spirit ;  unless  indeed  it  is  meant  by  this,  that  we  are  to  pray 
to  the  Tri-une  God  only,  and  not  either  to  the  Father,  the 
Son,  or  the  Spirit,  considered  as  separate  Persons.  I  have 
no  doubt,  as  you  say,  that  when  we  pray  to  the  Fatlier,  we 
do  worship  this  Trinity  in  Unity ;  and  ])erhaps  this  is  the 
most  proper  way  of  addressing  our  usual  petitions.  But  it 
appears  to  me,  that  separate  addresses  are  permitted,  if  not 
sanctioned  in  Scripture.  And  what  I  would  earnestly  con- 
tend for,  (but  that  I  fear  I  may  be  meddling  "  with  things  too 
high  for  me,"')  is  this — If  the  Father  and  the  Son  may  be 
separately  addressed  ;  then,  not  to  allow  of  a  separate  address 
to  the  Spirit,  is  to  rob  him  in  some  measure  of  his  equal 
glory,  and  to  do  away  with  his  Personality.  I  do  not  at  this 
moment  recollect  any  direct  instances  of  pra)'er  to  the  Holy 
Ghost  in  the  Bible,  though  I  think  that  there  are  many,  in 
which  he  would  appear  to  be  the  person  addressed.  But  if 
Prayer  comprehend  adoration  and  thanksgiving,  we  often  ad 
dress  him  separately  in  the  Liturgy,  when  we  say—'  Glory 
be  to  the  Father,  and  to  the  Son,  and  to  the  Holy  Ghost,' — 
a  form  of  words,  in  which  we  imitate  the  Seraphim  before 
the  Throne,  who  cry — "  Holy,  holy,  holy,  is  the  Lord  of 
Hosts  :  the  whole  earth  is  full  of  his  glory."  The  same  sep- 
arate act  of  worship  is  surely  implied,  when  the  four  beasts, 
who  rest  not  day  and  night,  adore  the  Almight}-,  saying — 
"  Holy,  holy,  holy,  Lord  God  Almighty,  which  was,  and  is, 
and  is  to  come."  Jesus  commanded  to  "  baptize  in  the  name 
of  the  Father,  and  of  the  Son,  and  of  the  Holy  Ghost."  Here 
again  a  separate  act  of  worship  seems  to  be  implied.  By 
baptizing  in  the  name  of  each  Person  of  the  Holy  Trinit)"-, 
distinctly  and  separately  repeated,  I  cannot  but  understand, 
that  we  separately  invoke  each  of  them  to  jicrform  their  cove- 
nanted part  in  the  redemption  of  the  baptized  ])erson.  But  I 
think,  that  it  rtiay  at  once  decide  the  question,  that  -we  are 
said  to  be  "the  temple  of  the  Holy  Ghost;"  and  why  he 
should  come  and  dwell  in  this  temple,  except  to  receive  our 


acts  of  worship,  I  do  not  see.  Besides,  all  his  offices  invite 
us  to  pray  to  him.  He  is  our  Comforter;  and  this  warrants 
us  to  ask  him  for  comfort.  It  is  his  work  to  "  shed  abroad 
the  love  of  God  in  our  hearts  ;"  to  cause  us  to  "abound  in 
hope ;"  and  to  "  take  of  Christ's  and  show  to  us."  But 
surely  "  for  all  these  things  he  will  be  inquired  of  by  us,  to 
do  them  for  us."  I  had  almost  forgotten  to  mention  that 
beautiful  prayer.  Numb.  vi.  24 — 20,  which  I  have  always 
considered  as  a  separate  invocation  of  the  Persons  of  the  Sa- 
cred Trinity.  May  "  the  fellowship  of  the  Holy  Ghost"  be 
with  us  ;  and  may  he  fulfil  his  sacred  office  in  teaching  us 
what  to  pray  for,  and  how  to  pray." 

This  question  has  exercised  the  minds  of  many  sincere 
Christians.  Perhaps  an  endeavour  to  present  it  in  hs  full 
Scriptural  light  will  not  be  unacceptable.  The  exclusive  claim 
of  the  only  true  God  to  the  worship  of  his  creatures  is  one  of 
the  first  principles  of  right  reason  and  of  religion.  Upon  this 
eternal  and  unchangeable  ground  our  Lord  denied  to  Satan 
the  worship  which  he  demanded  of  him.  We  may  remark 
therefore  tipon  the  general  subject,  that  the  proofs  of  the  Per- 
sonality and  Deity  of  the-Holy  Spirit  are  so  decisive  (though 
obviously  this  is  not  the  place  for  their  production,)  that  only 
scrupulosity  of  mind  and  judgment  could  refrain  the  honour 
of  Divine  worship  on  account  of  the  withholding  of  a  more 
explicit  revelation.  The  Divine  nature — 7iot  the  distinct  Per- 
sonality— is  the  proper  and  necessary  ground  of  worship. 
Each  person  therefore  in  the  vSacred  Trinity  possesses  equal 
and  unalienable  claims — not  as  a  person  hut  as  God — to  the 
trust,  love,  subjection,  invocation,  and  every  form  and  act  of 
worship  from  the  creatures  of  God.  The  Holy  Spirit,  there- 
fore, '  with  the  Father  and  the  Son,  together  is  worshipped 
and  glorified.' 

Js  to  the  detail  of  the  question,  the  worship  of  heaven  as 
Miss  Graham  observes,  appears  to  be  given  to  him.  At  least 
he  is  never  mentioned  among  the  universal  chorus  of  wor- 
shippers ;  which  {considering  his  Personality")  is  some  nega- 
tive testimony  on  this  point.  He  is  represented  as  "  pro- 
ceeding out  of  the  throne,"  being  not  only  "  before,"  but  "  in 
the  midst  of  the  throne  ;"  his  "  seven  eyes"  marking  his 
omniscience:  his  sevenfold  influence,  his  Divine  perl-ections. 
The  thrice-repeated  invocation  of  the  heavenly  host,  while  it 
proves  his  distinct  Personality,  in  the  undivided  Trinity,  evi- 
dently includes  his  worship.  "The  Lord  sitting  upon  his 
throne,"  and  worshipped  with  most  solemn  and  impressive 
adoration,  sent  by  his  oum  authority,  and  spalce  by  his  own 
mouth,  that  commission  to  the  Prophet,  which  an  apostle  de- 
clares to  have  been  delivered  to  him  by  the  Holy  Ghost. 

The  worship  of  the  earth  commences  at  the  visible  entrance 
into  the  church  of  God.  The  very  first  act  of  Christian  wor- 
ship in  the  administration  of  baptism  is  not  only,  as  Miss 
Graham  observes,  a  separate  invocation  of  the  Holy  Spirit, 
but  also  a  dedication  of  the  baptized  person  to  his  service. 
For  as  the  administration  of  this  seal  of  the  covenant  in  the 
name  of  the  Holy  Ghost  is  a  direct  acknowledgment  of  this 
Divine  Person  as  conjointly  with  the  Father  and  the  Son,  our 
covenant  God  ;  so  it  necessarily  implies  also  the  reciprocal 
obligations  of  faith,  obedience,  and  worship.  "  The  commu- 
nion" or  "  fellowsliip  of  the  Spirit"  (one  of  the  most  enli- 
vening privileges  of  the  Gospel)  must  also,  like  the  "  fellow- 
ship with  the  Father  and  the  Son,"  be  maintained  by  prayer 
in  the  large  acceptation  of  the  term.  For  how  else,  but  in 
worship,  can  a  creature  hold  communion  with  his  God.  This 
worship  St.  John  scrupled  not  to  give  to  the  Holy  Spirit  in 
supplicating  from  him,  conjointly  with  the  Father  and  the 
Son,  a  large  supply  of  spiritual  blessings  upon  the  Church  of 
God. 

In  Christian  experieyxce,  the  offices  of  the  Holy  Spirit — as 
Miss  Graham  remarks — when  connected  ti-ith  his  Divine  Person- 
ality, naturally  imply  supplication.  In  reference  to  one  of 
these  offices.  Scripture  parallelism,  together  with  the  marked 
distinction  of  the  Sacred  Persons,  exhibits  St.  Paul  probably 
on  more  than  one  occasion  invoking  the  Holy  Spirit  as  the 
"  God  that  heareth  prayer."  Nor  indeed  can  we  conceive  of 
his  presence  in  us  as  his  temple,  without  all  the  devotional 
exercises  of  reverence  and  praise  for  his  condescending  love.  • 

The  part  which  the  Holy  Spirit  ynaintaiiu  in  the  adminisirn- 
tion  of  the  church,  shows  that  his  claim  to  immediate  worship 
was  fully  acknowledged.  It  was  after  a  day  of  public  and 
special  supplication,  that  he  directed  by  his  own  authority  the 
consecration  of  ministers  to  his  immediate  service.  To  whom 
then,  may  we  ask,  had  the  prayers  of  the  church  been  spe- 
cially addressed,  but  to  Himself,  who  was  manifestly  the  ob- 
ject, as  well  as  the  author  of  their  consecration  1  And  to 
whom  did  the  worship  resulting  from  this  consecration  be- 


MEMOIR  OF  MARY  JANE  GRAHAM. 


211 


long,  but  to  Him,  who  was  the  direct  source  and  fountain  of 
it  ?  We  need  again  only  advert  to  his  acknowledged  power 
in  the  ordination  of  the  ministers  of  the  church,  and  to  the 
exercise  of  his  sovereignty  in  the  appointment  and  restraint  of 
their  several  spheres  of  labour,  and  in  the  distribution  of  His 
gifts,  as  a  clear  and  scriptural  warrant  for  the  direct  mode  of 
address  to  Him  employed  in  the  Consecration  services  of  our 
church. 

The  Christian  investigator  of  the  early  Ecclesiastical  Rec- 
ords will  observe  with  delight  this  Divine  worship  fully  per- 
vading the  rituals  of  the  Primitive  churches.*  Our  own 
church,  closely  following  her  sacred  exemplar,  has  not  con- 
fined this  adoration  of  the  Holy  fSpirit  to  her  more  exclusive 
Ministerial  services.  How  often  has  the  introduction  of  it 
into  her  Litany  elevated  the  faith,  and  refreshed  the  spirits  of 
her  sincere  worshippers  !  The  frequent  repetition  of  the  dox- 
ology  in  her  Liturgical  exercises,  is  in  the  true  spirit  of  the 
heavenly  worship  ;  and  it  may  be  a  matter  of  just  surprise, 
thatany  oneof  those  who  have  constantly  and  joyfully  united  in 
this  public  ascription  of  praise  to  the  blessed  .Spirit,  should  be 
exercised  with  scruples  as  to  the  Scriptural  ground  of  the  pri- 
vate duty  and  privilege  of  prayer  to  the  same  Divine  person. 

Miss  Graham  considered,  and  with  some  justice,  that  many 
Christians  are  defective  in  rendering  due  and  equal  honour  to 
the  Holy  Spirit.  Her  own  views  of  his  personality  were  re- 
markably clear.  '  I  feel' — said  she  on  one  occasion — ' "  the 
love  of  the  Spirit,"  as  distinct  from  the  manifestation  of  the  hve 
of  Christ  to  ray  so\i\.  Is  this  wrong?'  Then  she  added — 'I 
think  I  can  account  for  the  feeling;  as  1  have  made  it  a  maV 
ter  of  special  prayer,  that  I  might  have  clearer  views  of  the 
Holy  Spirit.'  She  was  accustomed  (as  we  have  already  seen) 
to  address  Him  in  direct  and  probably  frequent  supplication. 
The  Spiritual  life  indeed  of  the  Christian  is  much  employed 
in  his  reverential  service.  As  "the  sin  against  the  Holy 
'  Ghost''  (whatever  that  might  be)  included  a  wilful  rejection 
of  his  faith,  honour,  and  worsliip  ;  so  does  ever}'  sin  of 
"  grieving"  our  Divine  Comforter,  and  "  resisting"  his  holy 
influence  partake,  according  to  its  measure,  of  the  same  char- 
acter. The  antecedent  obligation  is  therefore,  sufliciently  ob- 
vious. The  Being  against  whom  sin  is  committed,  must  be 
the  worthy  object  of  religious  honour  and  service.  All  the 
exercises  therefore  of  contrition  and  self-abasement  on  account 
of  sin,  ar6  our  humiliating  but  ready  acknowledgments  of  the 
claim  of  the  Holy  Spirit  to  cur  dutiful  obedience  and  worship. 
A  full,  distinct,  and  frequent  confession,  however,  of  our 
equal  dependence  upon  his  power  and  love  is  a  primary  obli- 
gation, and  will  result  in  a  large  supply  of  his  heavenly  grace, 
strength,  and  consolation. 

Should  some  of  the  minor  particles  of  illustration  he  thought 
to  possess  little  0/  no  positive  weight,  they  may  yet  derive 
force  and  clearness  from  their  connexion  with  more  decisive 
grounds  oF  evidence.  From  the  main,  points,  however,  and 
from  the  whole  view  of  the  question,  sufficient  wanant  may 
be  deduced  to  satisfy  perplexed  and  unsettled  inquirers,  and 
to  quicken  even  the  most  intelligent  servant  of  God  to  amcre 
habitual  acknowledgment  of  his  Anty,  and  enjoyment  of  his 
privilege  in  communion  with  the  Holy  Ghost.  If  a  more  ex 
plicit  testimony  still  be  demanded,  we  must  recur  to  first 
principles,  never  more  valuable  than  on  these  subjects.  " // 
is  Ufit/cn."  What  is  written  is  sufficient.  What  is  with- 
hold is  l)cst  withheld.  Jlan  would  be  "  wise  above  what  is 
written."  Had  more  been  revealed,  more  would  still  have 
been  desired;  and  the  appetite  for  what  is  beyond  human  re- 
search would  have  been  more  excited,  not  only  without  prac- 
tical benefit,  but  to  the  great  detriment  of  Scriptural  knowledge. 
Enough  is  given  both  in  substance  and  clearness  to  direct  and 
encourage  our  supplications  to  the  Divine  Spirit  for  a  full  sup- 
ply of  his  heavenly  influence.  But  in  this  and  every  other 
approach  to  the  doctrine  of  the  Trinity,  many  questions  must 
arise,  and  must  remain  unanswered.  All  that  belongs  to  the 
inner  sanctuary  of  the  essence  of  the  ever-blessed  Tri-une 
God,  is  equally  above  conception  and  expression.  The  Scrip- 
tures inform  us  of  his  nature,  but  they  do  not  reason  about  it. 
A  divinely-guarded  and  sacred  veil  covers  him  from  our 
view.  And  much  thought  upon  this  deep  subject  of  Deity — 
irrespective  of,  and  beyond,  the  sacred  boundaries — either  iU' 
volves  us  in  the  labyrinth  of  metaphysics,  or  sinks  us  into 
the  gross,  low,  and  familiar  views  of  an  opposite  school 
Our  inquiries  into  this   subject  must  be  conducted  with  the 


*  Hurrifin's  valuable  sermons  nn  llie  Di^  iiiity  of  the  Holy  Spirit, 
and  Dps.  lierriman's  ami  ^^'atc^•land's  Sc-rmoiis  on  the  Trinitarian 
Controversy,  give  a  condensed  and  &atisI'actory  body  of  evidence  on 
tliis  subject. 


deepest  caution  and  the  most  profound  humility.  All  that 
belongs  to  God's  own  revelation  of  himself,  must  be  received 
with  unfeigned  submission  and  contentment.  To  seek  for 
"access  through  Christ  by  the  Spirit  unto  the  Father,"  is  the 
rubric  for  Christian  worship  :  and  in  a  strict  attention  to  this 
Scriptural  directory,  every  act,  thought,  and  desire  of  prayer 
will  become  a  means  of  communion  with  each  of  the  Sacred 
Persons  in  the  Divine  essence,  "without  difierence  or  in- 
equality." At  the  same  time,  as  our  minds  are  drawn  to  a 
separate  contemplation  of  them  (especially  as  seeking  those 
blessings  which  belong  to  their  respective  offices  in  the  econo- 
my of  grace)  an  immediate  address  to  either  of  them  is  fully 
warranted ;  always  however  remembering  that,  whichever 
person  be  the  object  of  worship,  the  mediation  of  Christ  is  the 
only  way  of  access,  the  only  plea  for  acceptance. 

Advertinof  now  to  topics  of  more  general  interest,  we  trans- 
cribe from  Miss  Graham's  manuscript,  a  few  remarks  upon 
the  subject  of  Infidelity  as  a  fearful  characteristic  of  the  present 
day.  They  will  be  found  to  possess  the  usual  marks  of  her 
sound,  reflecting.  Christian  mind.  Speaking  of  the  import- 
ance of  mathematical  study  as  furnishing  armour  and  discip- 
line suitable  to  the  present  crisis,  she  remarks — 

'  Intelligent  Christians  arc  especially  called  upon  to  set 
themselves  in  strong  array  against  the  gathering  forces  of  in- 
fidelity. This  last  enemy  of  Christianity  is  filling  up  his 
ranks  from  all  classes  of  the  community.  The  active  dili- 
gence of  his  malignity  naturally  reminds  us  of  the  prediction 
— "The  devil  is  come  down  to  you,  having  great  wrath,  be- 
cause he  knoweth  that  he  hath  hut  a  short  time."  ' 

The  deceitful  and  superficial  character  of  the  arguments 
emploj'cd  by  the  great  adversary  is  well  exposed.  '  They 
generally  consist,'  she  observes,  'of  a  confused  mass  of  ob- 
jections, apparently  formidable  from  their  very  indistinctness. 
Like  objects  seen  through  a  fog,  the  superficial  observer  sup- 
poses them  to  be  larger  than  they  really  are.  But  let  us  dis- 
entangle the  artful  confusion  of  words  and  ideas.  Let  us  set 
apart  each  argument  for  separate  and  minute  scrutiny.  Let 
us  analyze  the  boasted  reasonings  of  the  infidel  philosophy. 
We  shall  find  that  they  maj'  be  classed  under  two  heads — 
Assertions  which  are  true,  but  no  way  to  the  purpose ;  "and 
assertions  which  are  to  the  purpose,  but  they  are  not  true. 
These  form  the  materials  of  every  plausible  argument  against 
Christianity.  By  this  mixture  of  untrue  and  irrelevant  mat- 
ter with  that  which  is  true  and  pertinent,  the  understandings 
of  the  self-conceited  and  unwary  are  subverted.  Strictly  speak- 
ing, no  assertion  can  be  to  the  purpose  which  is  not  true. 
But  it  may  be  of  such  apparently  pertinent  application,  as  to 
lead  us  to  examine  less  closely  into  its  truth.  On  the  other 
hand,  if  it  be  undeniably  true,  we  sometimes  forget  to  inquire 
(especially  when  many  arguments  of  this  kind  are  artfully  in- 
terwoven together)  whether  it  has  any  connexion  with  the 
subject  in  hand.' 

In  reference  to  the  eflTorts  necessary  to  resist  this  mighty 
spirit,  she  justly  inculcates  the  importance  of  a  w  ell-fumished 
and  well-disciplined  mind,  enabling  us  to  meet  the  infidel 
upon  his  own  ground  of  reason,  and  to  fight  him  with  his  own 
sword. 

'  Whenever,'  she  observes,  '  "  the  enemy  thus  comes  in 
like  a  flood,  the  Spirit  of  the  Lord  will  lift  up  a  standard 
against  him."  He,  who  in  his  purpose  of  inscrutable  wis- 
dom suflers  these  "  scoffers  to  come  in  the  last  age,  "  will  not 
fail  to  raise  up  men  in  his  Church  well-fitted  to  resist  them. 
These  champions  of  the  cross  inust  be  men  "  strong  in  the 
faith,"  and  "  filled  with  the  Holy  Ghost."  But,  judging  from 
the  inslrriments  which  the  Lord  has  employed  in  times  past 
for  his  (Church,  we  are  led  to  expect  that  they  will  be  learned 
in  all  the  wisdom  of  their  enemies — in  earthly  as  well  as 
heavenly  wisdom.  To  oppose  the  subtleties  of  Arians,  an 
acute  and  powerful  reasoner  was  raised  up  in  the  person  of 
Athanasius.  A  wise  and  learned  Augustine  was  provided  to 
quell  the  dreadful  heresy  of  Pelagius.  Luther,  Calvin,  Me- 
lancthon,  and  almost  all  the  eminent  Reformers,  were  men  of 
profound  erudition,  and  strong  powers  of  arsumentation. 
"  God  hath  chosen  the  foolish  things  of  the  world  to  confound 
the  wise  ;"  anti  he  could,  now,  and  perhaps  may,  see  fit  to 
correct  the  progress  of  infidelity  by  means  of  "  unlearned 
men."  Yet  when  we  look  back  upon  the  instruments  which 
he  has  heretofore  raised  up,  and  consider  the  many  advanta- 
ges of  human  learning  which  he  has  placed  within  our  reach, 
it  seems  evidently  cur  duty  to  use  those  means  to  the  utmost; 
at  least  until  the  Lord  shall  give  us  some  clear  indication  of 
a  more  excellent  and  acceptable  way.  "  Out  of  the  mouths 
of  babes  and  sucklings  our  God  ordaincth  strength."  Let  us 
then  seek  to  obtain  the  spirit  and  temper  of  a  little  child.  But 


212 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


let  us  never  forget,  that,  while  "  in  malice  we  are  children,"  it 
behoves  us  •'  in  understanding  to  be  men."  ' 

She  thus,  happily  brings  a  Scriptural  illustration  to  bear 
upon  her  subject. 

'  David  with  a  sling  and  a  stone  .fought  Goliath  and  con- 
quered. This  time  he  wanted  no  other  weapon,  for  God  had 
appointed  him  no  other.  But  when  on  a  future  occasion  he 
was  sore  pressed  by  his  enemies,  he  went  into  the  temple  of 
the  Lord,  and  demanded  the  sword  of  that  same  Goliath. 
"There  is  none,",  said  he,  "  like  that ;  give  it  me."  Why 
should  he  choose  a  weapon,  which  he  had  seen  fall  powerless 
from  the  hand  of  the  uncircumcised  Philistine  1  Because  he 
knew  that  in  the  grasp  of  the  circumcised  David  it  would  do 
goodly  service.  The  hand,  not  the  weapon,  had  been  in  fault. 
Thus  may  we,  if  called  by  the  leadings  of  Providence,  avail 
ourselves  of  human  means,  and  meet  our  adversaries  hand  to 
hand,  with  their  own  weapons.  Only  let  us  use  David's  cau- 
tion. Let  us  not  take  the  sword  of  the  Philistine,  till  it  has 
been  consecrated  in  the  temple  of  the  Lord.' 

The  present  face  of  the  times  in  the  judgment  of  all  intel- 
ligent observers  seerns  strongly  to  mark  an  impending  crisis, 
as  if  the  "  Israel"  of  God  "  and  the  Philistines  were  putting 
the  battle  in  array,  army  against  army."  We  know  on  whicli 
side  the  victory  is  secured.  Yet  the  conflict  will  doubtless 
be  severe.  Let  the  servants  of  God  gird  themselves  for  "  the 
good  fight  of  faith,"  with  the  whole  armour  of  God.  This  is 
no  time  for  slumber  or  inaction.  A  religion  taken  upon  trust, 
"  received  by  tradition  from  our  fathers,"  provides  no  re- 
source in  the  hour  of  trial.  A  "  faith  standing  not  upon  the 
wisdorh  of  man,  but  upon  the  power  of  God" — will  be  a  de- 
fence, a  stay,  a  ground  of  unfailing  hope  and  consolation. 

But  on  this  subject  we  will  give  Miss  Graham's  own  words 
ina  letter  to  her  cousin  without  date.  It  will  be  found  to  be 
a  refreshing  specimen  of  her  mode  of  treating  subjects  which 
have  lately  been  found  so  fruitful  in  speculation,  in  a  practi- 
cal and  edifying  application. 

April,  1827. 
'  Amongst  the  reflections  which  I  have  made  upon  the 
Millennium,  there  are  two  which  occupy  my  mind  very  much. 
I  thought  of  them  the  whole  of  one  day ;  one  was  founded 
upon  this  text — "And  some  of  them  of  understanding  shall 
fall,  to  try  them,  and  to  purge,  and  to  make- them  white,  even 
to  the  time  of  the  end,  because  it  is  yet  a  time  appointed." 
Does  not  one  shudder  with  horror  in  anticipating  the  fulfil- 
ment of  this  prophecy  %  Who  can  need  purifying  more  than 
we  do  %  Who  can  say  that  these  words  are  not  addressed  to 
us  ?  How  dreadful  to  fall  in  that  time  when  the  Saviour  is 
about  to  appear  !  to  fall  in  the  very  moment  when  our  song 
of  triumph  should  begin  !  to  fall  in  the  very  midst  of  enemies, 
of  persecutions,  of  infidelities,  in  that  time  when  "the  devil 
will  have  great  wrath,  because  he  knoweth  that  he  will  have 
but  a  short  time"  to  trouble  the  faithful.  But  I  think  that 
perhaps  God  has  inspired  me  with  this  fear,  that  1  may  pray 
against  so  fatal  an  event ;  and  this  is  my  reason  for  communi- 
cating it  to  you.  When  I  was  almost  overw-helmed  with  this 
reflection,  these  sweet  words  came  to  my  heart,  and  made  me 
think  of  you, — "  Two  are  better  than  one."  Since  in  this  in- 
stance the  Scriptures  and  our  hearts  agree,  I  beseech  you  not 
to  separate  yourself  from  me.  Let  us  love  each  other  always, 
and  pray  for  each  other,  that  we  may  not  fall.  But  if  unhap- 
pily one  of  us  should  fall,  may  the  other  be  ready  to  raise  her 
up  again.  If  I  should  fall  either  into  the  love  of  the  world, 
or  into  infidelity,  or  into  any  other  sin,  do  not  give  me  up. 
Do-  not  thiuk  I  am  a  hypocrite.  Think  that  it  is  to  "  purify 
and  to  try  me  ;"  and  pray,  that  if  you  fall,  I  may  act  in  the 
same  way  towards  j'ou.  But  in  the  midst  of  the  thoughts 
which  these  sad  ideas  gave  me,  these  words  came  for  my  en- 
couragement,— "  They  that  arc  with  the  Lamb  are  called,  and 
chosen,  and  faithiul."  You  know  how  precious  these  words 
have  been  to  me.  But  I  now  saw  them  in  a  new  point  of 
view.  They  appeared  to  me  a  plain  promise  introduced  ex- 
actly at  that  time  to  console  the  saints  under  their  difficulties, 
by  assuring  them  that  they  will  be  a  little  troop,  "called, 
chosen,  and  faithful,"  aijainst  whom  no  enemtes  will  be  able 
to  prevail  :  that  they  will  have  a  degree  of  faith  proportioned 
to  their  sufferings  and  necessities.  In  short,  in  describing  the 
character  of  this  elect  band,  I  wish  to  believe,  that  it  des- 
cribes what  we  shall  be  found,  if  we  arrive  at  that  period.  If 
already  we  are  "  called  and  chosen,"  shall  we  not  then  be 
"  faithful  V  Let  us  plead  this  promise.  It  speaks  to  me  like 
a  voice  from  heaven.  It  answers  every  fear,  every  uncer- 
tainty. \\  ould  (ifMl  choose  and  call  soldiers  who  would  be 
unfaithful  to  him  1     Will  not  our  Captain  teach  us  to  follow 


him  whenever  he  will  have  us  to  go  1  W" hen  I  say  to  my- 
self, 'Poor  and  feeble  creature,  what  will  you  do  in  that  time 
of  distress  and  temptation  "i  Faith,  which  cannot  resist  a  sin- 
gle vain  thought,  how  will  you  resist  the  united  efforts  of  the 
world,  the  devil,  and  a  wicked  heart  %'  Then  I  answer,  '  Yes ; 
but  has  not  God  said,  that  the  saints  in  that  day  shall  be  . 
"faithful  and  chosen"  by  Himself,  who  cannot  choose  amiss? 
Rest  upon  his  word;  if  he  sees  thatj-ou  are  not  fit  to  fight  in 
the  battle  of  that  great  day,  He  will  not  call  you  to  it;  and 
if  he  call  you  to  it,  it  is  his  part  to  give  you  the  fidelity  which 
will  be  so  necessary.' 

Miss  Graham's  remarks  cni  the  subject  of  Prophecy  will  be 
interesting,  and  furnish  occasion  for  some  observations  suited 
to  the  present  time.  Having  insisted  upon  the  importance  of 
mathematical  study  in  reference  to  the  progress  of  infidelity, 
she  applies  the  same  train  of  reasoning  to  the  excttemait  lo 
the  study  nf  Prophecy,  which  she  justly  remarks  to  be  one  of 
the  prominent  characteristics  of  our  day. 

'  There  is  yet  another  subject,'  she  observes,  which,  though 
at  present 'but  partially  considered,  bids  fair,  ere  long,  to  en- 
gross the  attention  ef  the  Christian  world.  I  allude  to  the 
study  of  prophecy.  "Seek  ye  out  of  the  book  of  the  Lord, 
and  read,"  is  the  Divine  command;  "  no  one  of  these  shall 
fail,  none  shall  want  her  mate."  I  am  particularly  led  to  ad- 
vert to  it  in  this  place,  because  I  have  heard  with  inexpressi- 
ble pleasure,  that  these  inquiries  have  already  been  useful  in  . 
thinning  the  ranks  of  infidelity.  The  inducements  of  this 
study-  are  indeed  greater  than  in  anj'  former  age  of  the  church. 
The  coincidence  between  prophecy  and  its  fulfilment  is  in 
these  latter  days  grandly  conspicuous.  It  is  such,  that  "he 
who  runs  may  read."  The  winding  up  of  the  whole  seems  to 
be  near  at  hand.  The  last  prophecy  must  ere  long,  find  "  her 
mate,"  in  the  last  event  of  humanity.  Prediction  is  almost 
swallowed  up  in  accomplishment.  Happy  are  those,  who. 
with  reason  enlightened  by  a  ray  of  divine  intelligence,  can 
trace  the  wonderful  coincidence,  which  subsists  between  what 
God  has  foretold,  and  what  he  has  done;  whose  thoughts 
stretch  forward  in  awful,  yet  fearless  anticipation  of  what 
God  is  about  to  do  ! 

'  But  to  attempt  any  discussion  of  the  views  that  are  held 
upon  this  subject,  would  be  foreign  to  the  purpose  of  this 
little  treatise.  If  we  would  enter  fully  into  the  prophetic  writ- 
ings, we  must,  like  Daniel,  "  set  our  faces  unto  the  Lord  God, 
to  Seek  by  prayer  and  supplication."  My  object  is  to  hint  to 
the  youthful  student,  who  may  probably  be  hereafter  engaged 
in  this  most  interesting  contemplation,  the  extreme  import- 
ance of  having  his  imagination  under  the  strictest  discipline 
of  reason.  If  ever  the  "  spirit  of  a  sound  mind"  was  neces- 
sary, it  is  so  in  the  investigation  of  the  future  prophecies.  A 
more  than  mathematical  accuracy  of  defiilition,  of  statement, 
and  of  argument,  should  be  carried  into  all  that  is  said  or  writ- 
ten upon  this  subject.  When  I  consider  the  extraordinary 
spirit  of  inquiry  that  is  now  beginning  to  spread ;  when  1 
think  I  perceive  that  these  inquiries  are  not  only  justified  by 
Scripture,  but  are  themselves  a  part  of  prophetic  fulfilment ; 
and  when  I  joyfully  anticipate  that  "  many  shall  run  to  and 
fro"  on  this  subject,  "  and  knowledge  shall  be"  wonderfully 
"  increased  ;"  it  is  at  such  times  that  I  most  deeply  feel  the 
importance  of  intreating  the  young  Christian  diligently  to 
cultivate,  in  a  spirit  of  prayer  and  faith,  all  those  parts  of 
education,  which  especially  tend  to  impart  soundness,  pene- 
trativeness,  and  energy  to  his  reasoning  powers.' 

Whatever  may  be  thought  of  the  somewhat  novel  connec- 
tion of  prophecy  with  mathematical  study,  it  would  have  been 
well  for  some  of  our  modern  interpreters  to  have  disciplined 
their  minds  to  the  principles  of  this  more  severe  science. 
Much  crude  and  dogmatical  statement  would  have  been  re- 
strained, many  painful  absurdities  would  have  been  excluded, 
and  much  perplexity  spared  to  the  path  of  the  sincere,  but 
unfurnished  inquirer.  The  prophetic  study  is  indeed,  as  Miss 
Graham  observes,  one  of  the  characteristics  of  our  day.  The 
church  is  awakened  to  the  full  and  dutiful  acknowledgment 
of  her  Lord's  command;  ^^  Search  the  Scriptures."  ludeed, 
apart  from  the  authority  of  this  express  command,  the  univer- 
sal "  spirit  of  prophecy,"  as  "  the  testimony  of  Jesus,"  while 
it  furnishes  the  true  key  of  interpretation,  gives  it  an  impera- 
tive claim  upon  our  attention  and  regard.  The  succession  of 
events  most  deeply  interesting  and  solemnly  instructive  passing 
before  us  through  the  medium  of  the  daily  press,  also  strong- 
ly marks  our  immediate  and  personal  concern  in  this  Scriptu- 
ral research. 

Many  Christians  are  unduly  repelled  by  the  diflicultics  and 
uncertainty  which  confessedly  belong  to  the  subject.  But 
"  the  prophets,"  though  they  could  not  understand,  felt  it 


MEMOIR  OF  MARY  JANE  GRAHAM. 


213 


their  duty  and  privilege  to  "  search."  "  We  have  also  tho 
more  sure  word  of  prophecy,"  with  the  injunction  that  "  we 
do  well  that  we  take  heed  to  it,"  and  with  a  special  and  most 
encouraging  promise  to  stimulate  our  investigation. 

The  precise  extent  of  the  claim  of  this  study  must  how"ever 
be  variously  estimated.  In  all  cases,  indeed,  the  considera- 
tion of  fulfilled  prophecy  is  a  componetit  of  Christian  evidence 
to  our  own  minds,  and  will  furnish  the  "  answer,  tliat  wc 
should  be  ready  always  to  give  to  every  man  that  asketh  us  a 
reason  of  the  hope  that  is  in  us,  with  meekness  and  fear." 
The  study  of  unfulfilled  prophecy  ;  if  it  be  a  general  duty,  is 
not  in  all  cases  the  immediate  duty.  It  must  be  subordinated 
to  the  primary  concern  of  a  personal  interest  in  the  Gospel. 
To  a  mind  awakened  to  serious  inquiry  on  its  own  state,  yet 
but  slightly  tinctured  with  conviction,  and  imperfectly  direct- 
ed to  the  Saviour,  the  presentment  of  the  claims  of  unfulfilled 
prophecy  for  consideration  is  a  most  mischievous  evil.  The 
soul  is  diverted  from  the  main  object  of  contemplation  and 
pursuit.  A  speculative  taste  is  gratified  in  the  place  of  the  prac- 
tical influence  of  the  tniths  of  the  Gospel.  This  "  ignorance 
of  Satan's  devices"  enables  him  to  get  advantage,  if  not  to  the 
rpin  of  the  soul ;  yet  to  the  "  corruption  of  the  mind  from  the 
simplicity  that  is  in  Christ."  And  indeed  under  all  circum- 
stances, attention  to  prophecy  must  be  regulated,  in  some  de- 
gree at  least,  by  the  leisure,  opjiortunities,  and  advantages 
severally  belonging  to  us ;  not  failing  to  pay  due  regard  to 
Scriptural  proportion,  as  well  as  to  imperative  obligation. 
That  exclusive  study,  which  occupies  the  place  of  Christ 
crucified  in  doctrine,  and  forms  a  substitute  for  the  various 
exercises  of  experimental  and  practical  habits  ;  is  greatly  to  be 
deprecated.  Besides  the  evils  with  the  j-oung  inquirer  just 
adverted  to,  it  keeps  out  of  sight  many  important  subject  of 
obligation  and  interest  included  in  the  sacred  canon.  It  has 
originated  many  of  the  schisms  now  unhappily  dividing  the 
Church,  by  the  substitution  of  "doublfnl  disputation"  for 
substantial  truth,  greatly  to  the  hindrance  of  Christian  privi- 
lege, devotedness,  and  consistency. 

Admitting,  however,  the  general  importance  of  this  study, 
the  temper  in  which  it  is  to  be  conducted  is  a  matter  of  ihe 
first  moment.  The  instance  of  Daniel  produced  by  Miss 
Graham,  exhibits  the  finest  specimen  of  the  Prophetic  Inter- 
preter or  Student.  Such  diligence  of  research  in  prostration 
of  soul,  accompanied  with  such  sanctit}',  humility,  faith,  and 
perseverance,  will  under  the  most  unfavourable  circumstances 
of  external  destitution  be  honoured  of  God.  The  exercise  of 
these  holy  graces  will  form  a  safe-guard  against  the  delusive 
influence  of  human  speculations,  and  will  enable  us  to  im- 
prove the  results  of  Divine  teaching  for  the  high  purposes  for 
which  they  were  vouchsafed.  The  investigation  of  prophecy 
■will  thus  become  a  cheering  support  to  us  in  the  anticipation 
of  trials,  and  a  quickening  stimulus  to  the  discharge  of  our 
immediate  responsibilities. 

The  warranted  expectation  however  of  human  help  may 
probably  have  been  overrated.  Though  in  this,  more  than 
in  any  other  age  "  manj'  have  run  to  and  fro" — yet  it  may  be 
doubted  how  far  Miss  Graham's  hopes  have  been  realized  by 
an  increase  of  "  knowledge"  commensurate  with  the  extent 
of  research.  The  march  of  Christian  intellect  has  been  in 
most  cases  retarded  by  a  defect  of  spiritual  or  intellectual 
qualifications.  Some  of  the  more  elaborate  and  practised 
■writers  want  that  unction  and  spirituality,  which  evidence  a 
mind  Divinely-instructed  for  this  "search  into  the  deep  things 
of  God ;"  and  this  deficiency  of  the  stamj)  of  heavenly  influ- 
ence, materially  weakens  our  confidence  in  the  results  from 
their  subsidiary  intellectual  advantages.  Other  writers  of  a 
more  decided  evangelical  school  are  too  sparinsxh'  furnished 
with  those  resources  of  erudition  and  intelligence,  which  doubt- 
less were  intended  to  reflect  valuable,  though  subordinate, 
light  upon  the  prophetic  page.  Some  again  of  the  same 
school,  have  taken  up  crude  and  indigested  views — the  result 
of  imagination,  impulse,  or  excitement,  rather  than  of  matured 
judgment  and  consideration ;  while  the  dogmatism  and  self- 
sufficiency  of  others  give  no  proof  of  Divine  suggestion,  and 
offer  no  satisfaction  to  the  inquiring  mind.  There  is  probably 
no  accredited  writer  in  the  various  prophetic  schools,  who  has 
not  contributed  his  quantum  in  clearing  up  difficulties,  and 
throwing  light  upon  some  department  of  the  subject.  Yet  it 
may  be  doubted  whether  a  connected  and  comprehensive 
scheme  of  the  Divine  system  has  yet  been  satisfactorily  de- 
veloped ;*and  in  the  different  schemes  that  have  been  pro- 
posed, much  Christian  discernment  is  required  to  separate  in 
them  what  is  solidly  establishf il,  from  what  is  unsubstan- 
tial and  speculative.  Human  helps  must  therefore  under  all 
circumstances  be    subsidiary — not   primary.      God's    book 


must  ever  maintain  its  own  supreme  place.  The  scattered 
rays  reflected  from  different  parts  of  its  prophetic  system 
(such  as  the  comparison  of  the  Books  of  Daniel  and  John) 
and  centering  in  one  point,  will  often  furnish  a  strong  and 
clear  light  for  the  direction  and  encouragement  of  the  Chris- 
tian student.  We  feel  therefore  great  confidence  in  recom- 
mending a  Berean  search  of  the  scriptures  as  the  ground-work 
of  prophetic  investigation  ;  not  omitting  to  avail  ourselves  of 
the  industrj-and  intelligence  of  accredited  writers  for  the  expan- 
sion of  our  views,  and  the  elucidation  of  our  difficulties;  but 
at  the  same  time  exercising  our  judgment  in  dependence  upon 
our  heavenly  Teacher,  again  to  compare  the  exposition  of 
their  systems  with  the  light  of  the  sacred  book.  lu  this  pro- 
cess of  inquiry  we  are  persuaded,  that  "  the  wise  shall  under- 
stand," (even  though  they  be  "way-faring  fools")  as  far  as 
is  consistent  with  the  Divine  will,  and  necessary  for  their 
duty  aiid  comfort ;  and  for  the  rest  they  may  well  be  content 
to  wait  for  the  full  splendour  of  the  light  of  the  heavenly  word. 

May  the  writer  without  presumption  be  allowed  to  suggest 
a  few  hints  relative  to  the  clear  interpretation  and  profitable 
study  of  prophecy  ? 

1 .  Let  the  special  need  of  Divine  influence  be  primarily 
considered.  Far  be  it  from  the  writer  to  underrate'the  intel- 
lectual qualifications.  He  is  well  aware  of  the  treasures  of 
erudition,  that  have  been  effectively  applied  to  this  most  im- 
portant subject.  He  would  have  the  whole  field  of  prophecy 
traversed  with  all  the  mind  and  research  that  can  be  brought 
to  bear  upon  it.  But  he  cannot  forget  that  the  teaching  wis- 
dom belongs  to  God  ;  and  that  it  is  the  irradiation  of  his  holy 
light,  which  can  alone  illumine  the  dark  places  in  this,  tons, 
uncertain  track.  Let  the  interpreter  duly  weigh  his  special 
and  weighty  responsibilities.  How  large  a  portion  of  the 
grace  and  "  wisdom  that  is  from  above,"  does  he  need,  to 
induce  that  waiting  spirit  so  acceptable  to  God  ;  to  restrain 
the  rising  of  dogmatism,  spiritual  self-will  and  conceit;  to 
repress  "private  interpretations,"  so  inconsistent  with  the 
comprehensiveness  of  scripture  prophecy ;  to  guard  against 
giving  his  own  mind  in  the  professed  desire  only  to  interpret 
the  mind  of  God  ;  to  take  an  entire  view  of  the  whole  range 
of  prophcc3',  instead  of  contracting  his  interest  to  a  few 
favourite  points ;  to  forbear  with  the  decided  views  of  his 
opponents;  readily  to  retract  his  indigested  opinions,  and  to 
yield  his  prejudices  to  the  influence  of  more  correct  and  en- 
larged apprehensions;  habitually  to  connect  every  view  with 
the  glory  of  his  Saviour,  and  the  extension  of  his  kino-dom ! 
These  are  confessedly  responsibilities  of  no  ordinary  moment. 
They  forbid  trifling  with  the  subject,  as  if  its  clear  light  were 
revealed  by  some  momentary  inspiration;  they  realize  the 
urgent  need  of  "  the  Spirit  of  wisdom  and  revelation,"  to 
"  enlighten  the  eyes  of  the  understanding  ;"  and  they  incul- 
cate a  habit  of  dependence,  supplication,  seriousness,  and 
that  reverence,  which  Lord  Bacon  so  justly  describes  as  in- 
dispensable to  the  profitable  consideration  of  the  subject.  In 
the  defect  of  this  spirit,  successive  systems  of  prophecy  have 
been  ingeniously  ■woven ;  the  interpreters  "  come  totrether," 
and  bring  before  the  church  their  several  hypotheses  and  con- 
clusions; and  "every  one,"  as  at  Corinth,  "hath  a  doc- 
trine, hath  a  tongue,  hath  a  revelation,  hath  an  interpre- 
tation." It  cannot  be  doubted,  but  this  defect  of  Chris- 
tian simplicity  is  one  main  cause  of  the  indeterminate 
apprehension  of  the  subject.  Who  does  not  see  how  need- 
ful is  "singleness  of  eye,"  the  gift  of  God,  to  reflect  light 
upon  the  mind ;  while  an  "  evil  eye,"  alfected  with  some 
natural  bias,  leads  us  in  the  review  of  the  results  of  human 
ingenuity  to  exclaim,  "  How  great  is  this  darkness  !" 

'2.  Let  a  forbearing  spirit  be  inculcated  in  this  research. 
The  importance  of  this  spirit  in  an  intellectual  view  is  suffi- 
ciently obvious,  as  a  guard  from  tho  prevalent  evils  of  self- 
conceit.  Its  influence  in  every  department  of  sacred  truth  ; 
espcchiUt/  in  ihe  field  nf  prophecy  ;  is  of  yet  higher  moment. 
The  writer's  own  studies  in  this  field  have  brought  him  to 
the  fixed  conclusion ;  that  many  of  the  controverted  points 
(those,  for  example,  connected  with  our  Lord's  second  Ad- 
vent.) are  embarrassed  with  difficulties  on  both  sides,  suffi- 
cient to  preserve  wise  and  humble  men  from  dogmatizing  on 
either  part ;  and  to  excite  mutual  respect  and  forbearance, 
rather  than  what  we  are  too  often  constrained  to  see — 
"  brethren  grudging  one  against  another."  The  event  indeed 
is  a  doctrine  of  faith,  absolutely  certain.  The  time  and  cir- 
cumstantials being  imperfectly  revealed,  are  matters  of  for- 
bearance; on  which  all,  even  the  most  sober,  interpreters 
have  been  constrained  in  the  course  of  investigation,  in  some 
points  of  more  or  less  moment,  to  retract,  modify,  or  restate 
their  views.     Indeed,  prophecy,  according  to  the  Scriptural 


214 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


definition,  is  "a  light  that  shineth  in  a  dark  place,"  yet  not 
surely  the  litrht  of  "perfect  day;"  and  well  would  it  be  for 
us,  if  the  confession  of  our  isruorance  would  find  vent  in  the 
Apostle's  adoring  contemplation ;  "  How  unsearchable  are 
his  judgments  !  and  his  ways  past  finding  out !"  We  may 
indeed  justly  expect  clearer  light  to  dawn  upon  us,  as  the 
consummation  of  the  grand  events  draws  on.  Meanwhile 
we  must  combine  diligent  study  with  cautious  application 
We  must  be  content  for  the  most  part  with  the  statement  of 
general  views  and  results.  If  the  events  are  clear,  the  time, 
mode,  and  means  of  their  accomplishment  are  often  undefined. 
We  are  assured,  that  none  of  the  Divine  predictions  can  fall 
to  the  ground  ;  that  the  events  contemplated  in  them  are  the 
fruit  of  the  Lord's  superintending  love  to  his  church,  and 
that  they  will  all  issue  in  the  final  advancement  of  his  own 
glory.  In  this  recollection  it  is  most  suitable  to  cultivate 
that  truly  Christian  spirit  of  patient  expectancy  which  in 
child-like  humility,  not  in  slumbering  indolence,  is  content  to 
leave  to  the  Lord  the  unfolding  of  his  ow-n  purposes. 

The  writer  may  be  permitted  to  observe,  that  a  less  deter- 
minate fixing  of  dates  of  the  several  prophetic  eras  ofiers 
large  room  for  the  exercise  of  this  forbearing  spirit.  Prophets 
with  all. their  warranted  confidence  were  modest.  Tliey 
never  spoke  without  a  clear  commission :  ".  Thus  saith  the 
Lord.''''  Interpreters  of  prophecy  are  not  always  so  modest. 
The  confident  mode  of  calculation  which  is  sometimes  adopt- 
ed, might.lead  us  to  suppose  not  only  that  the  several  periods 
but  also  that  tlieir  commencing  points,  were,  like  Daniel's 
weeks,  absolutely  revealed.  To  a  iew  of  the  most  important 
eras,  dates  more  or  less  probable,  but  not  absoluicly  decisive, 
may  be  assigned;  and  in  periods  of  less  moment,  experience 
has  fully  shown,  how  unsatisfactory  all  attempts  to  fix  the 
precise  periods  of  events  have  proved  and  are  likely  to 
prove.  Our  Lord,  while  he  reproved  listless  indiflerence  to 
"the  signs  of  the  times,"  rebuked  with  no  less  decision  this 
presumptuous  interference  with  his  Sovereign  prerogative. 
'If  ever,' as  Miss  Graham  admirably  observes,  '"the  spirit 
of  a  sound  mind"  is  necessary,  it  is  so  in  the  investigation  of 
the  future  prophecies.'  Wise  and  holy  men  of  God  will  learn 
to  speak  with  caution  and  reserve  upon  subjects  obscurely  re- 
vealed. General  views  are  sufficient  for  the  ground  and  en- 
couragement of  faith.  And  the  cloud  that  still  covers  this 
mystic  history  of  futurity,  abundantly  shows,  that  the  end  of 
prophecy  was  not  to  make  us  prophets;  but  to  "  set  us  upon 
our  watch-tower,"  as  diligent  and  humble  inquirers,  seek- 
ing to  "have  imderstanding  of  the  signs  of  the  times,  that 
we  might  know  what  Israel  ought  to  do,"  and  to  expect. 

Indeed  this  designed  darkness  subserves  various  and  im- 
portant uses.  It  furnishes  a  needful  and  wholesome  check 
upon  human  speculation.  Had  the  Great  Author  of  prophecy 
intended  it  as  the  rule  of  life,  he  would  doubtless  have  writ- 
ten it  with  a  sun-beam.  In  its  present  mode  and  character 
of  revelation  it  is  however  admirably  suited;  not  indeed  to 
indulge  unwarrantable  curiosity,  but  to  exercise  our  faith,  to 
call  forth  our  Christian  graces,  to  enliven  our  hopes,  to 
quicken  our  anticipation  of  the  ultimate  triumph  of  the  king- 
dom of  Christ;  and  meanwhile  that  we  should  mark  with 
soberness  the  gradual  development  of  progress  towards  this 
glorious  consummation.  It  is  far  more  profitable;  instead  of 
making  a  framework  for  ourselves ;  to  be  looking  in  the  Lord's 
best  time  for  that  clear  refiection  of  light  in  the  fulfilment  of 
prophecy,  which  will  awe  even  the  most  inconsiderate  to 
conviction.  "This  is  the  finger  of  God.  What  hath  God 
wrought  V 

3.  Let  the  subject  be  ever  considered  as  a  practical  study. 
It  is  a  sign  of  an  unhealthy  excited  temperament,  if  the 
prophetic  parts  of  scripture  be  more  interesting  than  the  pre- 
ceptive, that  is,  if  we  are  more  conversant  with  matters  of 
uncertain  interpretation,  than  with  the  subjects  that  relate  to 
our  immediate  duty.  If  the  prophetic  study  be  dissociated 
from  its  practical  character  and  consequences,  our  prepossess- 
ed fancy  is  far  more  likely  to  give  the  interpretation  than  the 
Divine  .Spirit.  The  blessing  belongs  to  those  that  "  keep  the 
tilings  that  are  written  in  the  words  of  this  prophecy."  The 
fruit  of  Daniel's  research  was  that  which  is  most  specially 
needed  at  the  present  eventful  moment :  intercession  for  the 
church  and  for  the  land  ;  Habakkiik  went  to  his  watch-tower, 
not  to  speculate  in  idle  curiosity,  but,  as  wc  have  before 
hinted,  to  be  in  readiness  to  hear  the  valuable  lessons  of  reproof 
and  instruction  that  were  designed  for  him.  Supposing  that 
the  period  of  accomplishment"  is  far  distant,  yet  there  is  a 
large  preparatory  work  of  prayer,  exertion,  and  Christian  de- 
votedness,  urgently  pressing  upon  us.  And  far  better  shall 
we  be  employed  in  girding  ourselves  to  the  discharge  of  the 


practical  obligations  of  prophecy,  than  in  minutely  tracing 
out  the  conjectured  period  and  mode  of  its  fulfilment,  and  in 
attempting  to  narrow  its  wide  and  comprehensive  sphere  by 
uncertain  application  to  the  little  particularities  of  our  own 
time  and  place.  Is  there  no  danger  while  fixing  the  dates 
and  describing  the  circumstantials  of  the  grand  coming  events, 
lest  we  forget  that  every  page  of  prophecy  is  a  direct  per- 
sonal revelation  to  our  own  souls,  and  lest  we  too  slightly 
regard  those  clearest  predictions  of  the  sacred  page ;  the 
promises  of  God  to  his  people,  and  his  threatenings  to  the  . 
unbelieving  world  % 

How  much  has  been  lost  to  the  church  by  a  speculative  con- 
templation of  the  prophetic  view  of  the  doctrine  of  our  Lord's 
second  advent !  If,  instead  ai  filling  up  (from  the  resources 
of  imagination  more  than  froni  the  substance  of  Scripture)  the 
outlines,  the  faith  of  the  church  had  been  singly  fixed  upon 
the  glory  of  this  consummating  event,  and  intensely  exercised 
in  the  glow  of  expectancy,  how  different  would  have  been  her 
aspect  at  the  present  moment !  What  a  bond  of  union  would 
have  subsisted  among  her  members  !  What  an  atmosphere  of 
love  would  have  pervaded  her  territory !  What  a  spring  of 
holy  consecration  would  have  been  in  extended  activitj'!  It 
ill  becomes  servants,  looking  for  the  return  of  their  absent 
lord,  to  spend  themselves  in  discussing  the  mode  and  circum- 
stantials of  his  coming,  when  they  might  be  far  .more  suitably 
employed  in  preparing  the  house  for  his  reception,  and  in  rea- 
diness to  give  an  immediate  answer  to  his  welcome  knock. 

The  obscurity  that  hangs  over  the  precise  ])eriod  of  our 
Lord's  coming  is  indeed  a  most  wise  and  gracious  dispensa- 
tion to  invigorate  the  church  in  every  age  with  the  high  pri- 
vilege and  obligation  of  looking  for  this  trium])hant  crisis. 
W  hatever  views  therefore  tend  to  divert  the  attention  from  the 
present  duties  connected  with  this  anticipation,  are  the  un- 
scriptnral  delusions  of  man's  conceit.  This  spirit  of  constant 
expectancy  may  be  considered  as  the  perfecting  feature  of  the 
Christian  character.  It  concentrates  all  the  practical  and 
animating  exercises  of  the  Gospel.  What  an  encouragement 
does  it  supply  to  the  assurance  of  faith  !  What  a  stimulus  to- 
activity,  devotedness,  abounding  love,  heavenly  conversation, 
sobrietrj' of  spirit,  re-ad iness  of  habit,  and  watchful  prepara- 
tion for  eternity  !  What  support  does  it  furnish  in  the  hour  of 
trial,  whether  from  the  immediate  visitations  of  God,  or  tha 
persecuting  enmity  of  man  !  Wliat  materials  does  it  give  for 
personal  edification,  compassionate  labours  for  the  unconvert- 
ed, and  mutual  exhortation  and  comibrt  in  the  church  of  God  ! 
How  cheering  is  the;  prospect  which  it  holds  out  of  complete 
transformation  into  the  image  of  our  beloved  Lord!  What 
patient  hope  and  joyful  anticipation  does  it  bring  into  the 
waiting  soul!  So  eminently  practical — so  richly  consolatory — 
is  the  believing  and  habitual  contemplation  of  the  coming  of 
our  Lord !  Indeed  when  we  realize  the  hope  of  body  and 
soul  at  this  blissful  era  being  equal  participants  of  the  eternal 
redemption — the  happiness  of  every  member  of  the  body  con- 
summated in  the  complete  glorification  of  the  whole  body — and 
the  church,  "  filled  with  all  the  fulness  of  God,"  presenting 
to  the  universe  the  entire  "fulness  of  Him,  that  filleth  all  in 
all" — we  may  well  conceive,  that  never  was  an  event  so  joy- 
ful known  on  earth  since  the  fall  of  man.  We  wonder  not 
that  "  the  whole  creation,"  now  "  groaning  and  travailing  to- 
gether in  pain"  under  the  ruins  of  sin — should  then  be  awaken- 
ed to  joyful  exultation  in  its  "deliverance  from  the  bondage 
of  corruption  into  the  glorious  liberty  of  the  children  of  God." 

This  scriptural  privilege  of  expectancy  was  however  incul- 
cated upon  the  church,  while  the  event  which  it  contemplated 
could  only  be  seen  through  the  long  vista  of  some  thousand 
years.  It  does  not  therefore  necessarily  imply  the  approach  of 
the  grand  crisis.  Yet  the  view  which  has  just  been  given  of 
it,  includes  all  the  essential  principles  of  sanctifieation  and  of 
happiness.  W"e  cannot  therefore  but  see  sufficient  reason 
for  the  large  space  which  it  occupies  in  the  enforcement  of 
Christian  obligation,  and  the  prospects  of  Christian  hope. 
Our  Divine  Saviour  is  brought  eternally  near  to  bis  people. 
His  perfect  likeness  is  the  immediate  consequence  of  his  vi- 
sion.   His  glory  is  their  everlasting  joy. 

It  is  painful  to  retlect,  that  a  speculative  Study  of  prophecy 
should  have  so  materially  injured  the  influence  of  those  pros- 
pects of  the  church  upon  her  present  duties  and  privileges. 
The  minute  descriptive  details,  that  have  been  sometimes  con- 
nected with  the  coming  of  Christ  in  his  kingdom  (not  to 
speak  of  their  doublt'ul  scriptural  authority,  and  their  closer 
alliance  to  earth  than  to  heaven)  have  a  strong  tendency  to  re- 
press a  spiritual  contemplation  of  this  great  event.  Even  the 
iletails  given  in  tho  prophetic  books  are  much  under  the  veil. 
Interpreters  expound  them  according  to  the  principles  of  their 


MEMOIR  OF  MARY  JANE  GRAHAM. 


215 


different  systems  ;  and  alter  all  their  diligence  and  labour, 
mnch  is  left  unexplained,  or  resting  upon  conjectural  support. 
In  these  things  the  writer  is  content  to  "walk  by  faith,  not 
by  sight."  AH  that  is  necessary'is  revealed.  We  shall  be 
as  happy  as  God  can  make  us.  As  to  any  precise  knowledge 
"  it  ■  doth  not  yet  appear  what  we  shall  be."  And  such 
knowledge  we  want  not.  It  exhibits  a  far  more  enlarged  ex- 
pectancy'to  be  assured,  that  it  will  be  something  that  we  nei- 
ther know  nor  can  know — interminable  bliss  without  sin,  and 
with  Christ.  Our  happiness  centres  in  the  certainty  and 
glory,  not  in  the  circumstantials,  of  the  event.  And  surely 
the  "  shaking  of  earth  and  heaven,"  which  seems  to  be  at 
hand,  will  quicken  the  cry  for  our  expected  Lord — '  Come 
quickly.  Take  to  thyself  the  kingdom,  and  reign  with  all  thy 
saints.'  The  waiting  Christian,  in  these  times  of  special 
trial  of  the  church,  "lifts  up  his  head  full  of  joy  and  expec- 
tation. Faith  overcomes  the  tremendous  thought  of  wrath 
and  judgment,  as  the  harbingers  of  his  coming;  and  still  the 
cry  is  re-echoed  to  the  solemn  declaration, — "Surely  I  come 
quickly  :  Amen.     Even  so,  come,  Lord  Jesns." 

3.   On  Christian  Experience  and  Practical  Religion. 

]SIiss  Graham's  correspondence,  flowing  in  an  easy  and  na- 
tural strain,  will  be  generally  interesting.  Even  where  no 
striking  features  are  visible,  an  affectionate  earnestness,  ten- 
der sympathy,  and  a  direct  application  of  the  first  principles 
of  theGospel  to  the  several  cases  of  her  friends  cannot  fail  of 
being  observed. 

The  following  letter  appears  to  have  been  written  to  a 
friend,  newly  awakened  to  concern  for  her  eternal  interests. 

Nov.  18.26. 
'I  fancy  that  you  have  for  some  time  past  felt  a  conviction 
that  religion  is  something  more  than  you  used  to  think  it, 
more  than  the  world  in  general  seem  to  think  it.  But  yet, 
perhaps,  you  do  not  see  very  clearly,  what  more  it  is  that  re- 
ligion requires  of  you.  You  see,  that  there  is  nothing  in  this 
vain  world  capable  of  satisfying  the  desires  of  your  immortal 
spirit;  but  you  do  not  clearly  comprehend  what  there  is  in 
religion  to  satisfy  all  our  desires.  You  seek  the  Lord;  but 
you  do  not  yet  feel  as  if  you  had  found  Him.  Y°"  probably 
spend  much  time  in  reading  the  scriptures  ;  but  sometimes 
they  seem  obscure  and  unintelligible,  sometimes  dry  and  un- 
interesting. You  often  pray  ;  but  do  not  always  find  either 
comfort  or  sweetness  in  prayer.  Sometimes  you  feel  as  if 
you  could  give  up  every  earthly  enjoyment  for  one  glimpse 
of  that  "love  of  Christ  which  paeseth  knowledge;"  and  at 
other  times  it  seems  to  you  very  foolish  and  unreasonable  to 
pretend  to  more  religion  than  other  people.  This  is  what 
many  feel,  who  are  beginning  to  be  very  anxious  about  re- 
ligion. I  cannot  help  indulging  a  strong  hope,  that  you  will 
soon  find  in  the  love  of  Jesus  all  that  you  want  to  make  you 
happy  ;  only  let  me  beg  of  you  to  seek  him  simply,  under 
the  conviction  that  we  can  neither  do  nor  think  any  thing 
good  without  Him ;  that  "  every  thought  is  evil,  only  evil, 
and  that  continually;"  and  that,  while  we  continue  in  this 
state,  we  cannot  undsrstand  the  things  of  the  Spirit  of  God, 
because  they  will  appear  "  foolishness  to  us."  The  change 
which  every  person  must  undergo,  before  they  can  truly  re- 
ceive Christ  as  their  Saviour,  is  described  in  terras  no  less 
striking — "  Ye  must  be  born  again."  "  If  any  man  be  in 
Christ  Jesus,  he  is  a  new  creature;  old  things  are  passed 
away  ;  behold  !  all  things  are  become  new  !"  In  other  parts 
it  is  described  as  a  change  from  death  unto  life,  "from  dark- 
ness to  light,  from  the  power  of  Satan  to  God."  But  I  will 
not  multiply  instances.  Surely  such  a  change  as  this  cannot 
be  the  cold,  worldly,  heartless  religion,  with  which  the  gene- 
rality of  people  sit  down  satisfied  !  Surely  it  is  a  change  we 
have  no  power  to  make  in  ourselves.  When  God  "  breathed 
into  man's  nostrils  the  breath  of  life,"  it  was  a  wonderful  act 
of  his  creating  power.  But  when  he  breathes  S])iritual  life 
into  the  soul  of  one  "  dead  in  tressjTasses  and  sins,"  this 
seems  more  wonderful;  and  yet  this  is  what  we  vainly  think 
we  can  do  ourselves.  But  if  we  can  he  once  convinced,  that 
we  are  so  utterly  worthless  and  sinful,  that  none  but  Christ 
can  save  us,  then  we  shall  go  to  Him  for  every  thing.  If  we 
want  repentance,  wisdom,  holiness,  salvation,  all  these  are 
His  to  give  ;  He  promises  to  give  them  to  every  one  that  asks 
Him.  O  be  much  in  prayer  to  this  precious  Saviour !  He 
has  declared,  that  none  shall  seek  Him  in  vain.  Those  who 
leave  off  trusting  in  themselves,  and  cling  with  a  single  and 
flndivided  heart  to  the  cross  of  Christ,  and  "  count  every 
thing  else  but  loss,  so  they  may  win  Cfirist  and  be  found  in 
Him" — what  words  can  describe  their  blessedness !  How 
true  it  is,  that  those  who  seek  happiness  in  any  thing  except 


Christ  Jesus,  are  "  hewing  out  to  themselves  broken  cisterns 
that  can  hold  no  water  !"  Come  then,  my  most  dearly  loved 
friend,  come  with  me  to  "  the  fountain  of  living  waters" — 
come  to  Him  who  has  said — "If  any  man  thirst,  let  him 
come  to  me,  and  drink" — as  if  he  had  said — 'If  there  be  any 
poor  sinner,  who  has  begun  to  find  out  that  the  pleasures  of 
this  world  cannot  quench  his  thirst  after  happiness,  if  he 
long  for  something  less  vain  and  empty  and  unsatisfying,  let 
him  come  unto  me.'  Do  you  desire  to  give  yourself  to  Christ, 
to  make  him  your  all  in  all  1  Then  let  not  any  fears  or  mis- 
givings keep  you  away  from  him,  for  he  "  wails  to  be  gra- 
cious" to  you.  Your  sins  need  not  keep  you  away  ;  for  he 
came  to  call  sinners.  He  calls  Himself  the  friend  of  sinners; 
and  indeed,  till  you  are  taught  by  His  Spirit,  how  exceeding- 
ly sinful  you  are,  you  cannot  prize  Him  as  you  ought.  Let 
me  intreat  you  often  to  dwell  on  the  "  precious  promises"  of 
Scripture.  Remember,  that  "  in  Him  all  the  promises  are  yea 
and  amen  ;"  and  ifwe  plead  in  His  name  for  the  fulfilment,  the 
truth  and  faithfulness  of  God  (who  cannot  lie)  stand  engaged 
to  perform  them  for  us.  There  is  one  in  particular  which  seems 
to  me  full  of  encouragement;  it  describes  so  fully  the  slate  of 
heart  we  want,  and  promises  to  give  what  it  describes  to  those 
who  inquire  of  the  Lord.     See  Ezek.  xxxvi.  25 — 37.' 

The  next  letter  is  of  a  later  date,  and  implies  a  more  dis- 
tinct advance  of  Christian  knowledge  in  her  friend. 

'  Let  me  use  the  privilege  of  friendship,  and  entreat  you  to 
look  less  at  the  dark  side  cf  your  prospects,  and  more  at  the 
unspeakable  mercies  with  which  God  has  favoured  you;  par^ 
ticularly  that  he  has  given  you  the  greatest  blessing  he  has  to 
give,  in  calling  yoa  to  become  his  reconciled  child  by  faith  in 
Christ  Jesus.  And  having  given  you  an  interest  in  his  Son, 
"shall  he  not  with  him  freely  give  you  all  thingsl" — all 
things  that  are  good  fdV  you,  my  dear  friend.  If  therefore 
your  wishes  are  not  satisfied,  it  must  be  because  it  is  not  for 
your  good  to  satisfy  them.  Your  lot  has  been  chosen  out  for 
you  by  one,  who  is  infinitely  wise  and  kind,  as  the  very  best 
ibr  your  present  and  eternal  happiness,  and  "  He  doeth  all 
things  well."  You  will  ultimately  find  peace  in  religion;  I 
am  sure  you  will ;  and  in  the  mean  time  is  it  not  a  blessing, 
that  you  are  not  permitted  to  take  up  your  rest  here,  and  find 
Ihe  false  destroying  peace,  wWch  so  many  experience  in 
worldly  enjoyments^  What  if  you  were  to  ask  God  in 
Christ's  name  for  the  fulfilment  of  such  a  promise  as  this — 
"  Behold  I  will  bring  in  health  and  cure,  and  I  will  heal  him, 
and  will  reveal  unto  him  the  abundance  of  peace  and  of  truth" 
would  he  deny  youl  Considering  that  no  promise  of  Scripture 
"is  of  private  interpretation" — not  meant  for  one  part  of  the 
church,  or  one  age  of  it,  but  for  the  whole  flock  of  Christ 
nov;,  and  every  member  of  it,  and  therefore  for  you — consider- 
ing too,  "  that  all  the  promises  of  God  are  yea  and  amen  to  us 
in  Christ  Jesus  ;"  and  that  Christ  himself  has  said — "  If  ye 
shall  ask  any  thing  in  my  name,  I  icill giveit  you" — what  en- 
couragement have  we  to  take  these  promises  to  God  in  pray- 
er, to  wrestle  with  him,  and  declare  with  holy  confidence — "  I 
will  not  let  thee  go,  except  thou  bless  me  !"  Oh  !  he  would 
bless  you  ;  and  his  "  blessing  maketh  rich,  and  he  addeth  no 
sorrow  with  it."  My  dear  friend,  you  must  come  to  God  thus, 
and  "  give  him  no  rest,"  till  he  grant  you  the  promised  bless- 
ing. You  must  not  take  a  denial.  May  the  Spirit  of  prayer 
be  abundantly  poured  out  upon  you !  It  is  our  privilege  to 
take  our  sins  and  sorrows,  and  cast  them  upon  Christ :  he  has 
already  borne  their  agonizing  weight;  why  should  we  groan 
underthem?  "  Cast  thy  burden  upon  the  Lord."  Would  that 
I  could  actas  I  advise  I  But  I  fall  very,  very  far  short.  Even 
my  desires  after  this  state  of  mind  are  miserably  faint  and  cold ; 
but  let  us  both  take  comfort  in  the  reflection,  that  we  are 
accepted  in  Christ;  "complete  in  him;"  beloved,  not  for  our 
deserving,  but  for  his ;  and  his  are  "  the  same  yesterday,  to- 
day, and  for  ever."  When  we  fail,  Christ  remains  the  same  ; 
and  it  is  for  the  sake  of  what  he  has  done,  that  God  \yill  accept 
us  ;  not  for  any  thin|  we  can  do ;  or  we  might  indeed  go 
mourning  all  the  day  long.' 

These  letters  mark  the  general  tone  of  Miss  Graham's  cor- 
respondence in  affectionate  counsel  and  scriptural  encourage- 
ment. The  case  to  which  they  primarily  refer  is  among  the 
most  difficult  and  delicate  within  the  compass  of  Christian 
instruction.  No  service  is  more  valuable  to  the  sincere  but  un- 
intelligent inquirer  than  to  enter  into  his  case  with  tenderness, 
forbearance,  and  anxious  consideration  of  his  difficulties. 
Vague  and  ill-defined  direclions  throw  little  light  upon  his 
path.  Even  the  primary  and  immediate  counsel,  guiding  him 
to  the  Saviour  of  sinners,  needs  a  present  and  particular  appli- 
cation to  his  individual  state.  His  difficulties  will  indeed 
vary  according  to  his  simplicity,  sincerity,  and  earnestness. 


216 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


But  under  all  circumstances,  the  instant  duty  of  believing  in 
Christ  must  be  inculcated.  No  deficiency  of  spiritual  appre- 
hensions must  be  allowed  to  hinder  immediate  attention  to 
"  this  work  ol'God."*  The  Gospel  was  not  intended  to  answer 
the  question — "What  shall  1  do,  that  I  may  inherit  eternal 
life  V  But  it  aflbrds  a  satisfactory  reply  to  a  question  more 
nearly  interesting-  to  the  condition  of  a  sinner — "  How  can 
man  be  just  witlf  God  !"  It  opens  hry  the  instrumentality  of 
faith  a  free,  immediate,  universally  accessible  way  to  favour- 
able acceptance  with  our  olVended  God.  No  perplexing  course 
of  prejvaratory  discipline  is  required.  All  are  invited  without 
limitation,  without  delay.  Infinite  mercy  and  grace  are  pro- 
vided for  infinite  need.  Only  tliose  that  feel  will  ask  ;  and  all 
that  ask  shall  have.  Thus  a  sense  of  sin  is  the  prerequisite, 
without  which  no  man  will  come  (for  "  the  whole  need  not  the 
physician;")  but  it  is  no  part  of  the  warrant  to  come.  The 
(Scripture  has  no  where  prescribed  any  uniform  rule,  or  mea- 
sured out  the  precise  extent  of  necessary  conviction.  All  con- 
stitutions are  not  formed  alike;  and  therefore  pungency  is  no 
certain  proof  of  sincerity.  Man}'  are  brought  without  a  process 
of  painful  exercise  to  a  simple  and  clear  reception  of  the  truth. 
The  soul  is  as  welcome  to  Christ  at  the  first  moment  of 
invitation  as  at  any  successive  period  ;  and  protracted  conflict 
manifests  only  the  stubborn  power  of  unbelief;  a  sin,  which 
the  Spirit  of  God  will  not  fail  to  apply  as  matter  of  humil- 
iating conviction.  To  insist  therefore  upon  a  determined 
measure  or  intensity  of  well-defined  conviction  as  a  prepara- 
tion of  faith,  is  an  infringement  upon  the  freeness  and  simpli- 
city of  the  Gospel.  The  law  also,  as  the  instrument  to  pro- 
duce this  conviction,  must  be  used  in  immediate  connection 
with  Christ.  lie  is  the  life ;  and  if  he  be  not  set  forth  at 
the  commencement,  there  will  be  only  the  temporary  and  UU' 
satisfactory  change  from  a  state  of  Indifterence  to  a  state  of 
bondage,  without  any  effective  principle  of  holiness  or  of  privi- 
lege, and  the  man  will  be  satisfied  without  that  entire  simpli- 
city of  faith  and  self-dedication  so  indispensable  to  salvation. 
Even  in  the  exhibition  of  Christ,  the  mind  of  the  inquirer 
must  be  diverted  from  a  too  minute  and  anxious  analysis  of  its 
own  exercises  of  faith  to  a  fixed  contemplation  of  the  glorious 
Person  presented  to  view.  The  emphasis'  of  the  invitation 
is,  "Look — Come  untu  nit."  The  first  sensation  of  rest 
will  bo  connected  not  with  a  precise  knowledge  of  our  own 
feelings,  but  with  an  entire  dependence  upon  the  work  of 
Christ.  Though  self-examination  is  intimately  connected 
with  the  prosperity  and  advance  of  the  Christain  life;  yet  it 
must  never  be  employed  to  originate  our  peace  and  liope  in 
the  Gospel ;  but  to  ascertain  the  reality  of  our  hope  ;  to  detect 
false  confidence  and  backsliding;  to  bring  to  us  the  warrant- 
ed enjo)'ment  of  "  the  tcstimon}-  of  our  consciences,"  in  regard 
to  the  consistency  of  our  profession ;  and  to  mark  our  progress 
in  knowledge,  experience,  and  practical  dcvoteduess.  One 
further  point,  connecl-ed  with  the  case  of  the  inquirer  is  of 
indispensable  moment.  He  may  be  assured  that  there  is  no 
indeliuitely  future  period  ;  no  "  day  of  the  Lord's  power"  more 
favourable  for  his  acceptance  than  the  present;  and  tliat  no 
deficiency  of  knowledge  can  acquit  him  of  the  obligation  of 
an  instant  surrender  of  himself  to  God.  This  very  moment 
the  Lord  demands  his  unreserved  faith,  and  his  whole  lieart ; 
and  every  delay  brings  a  fresh  charge  of  guilt,  widens  the 
distance,  and  increases  the  difficult}'. 


*  John  vi.  23,  29.  This  instant  duty  of  l^clievinc;  is  however  ques- 
tioned by  some  of  our  modern  religionists — either  as  seeming  to 
imply  a  natural  power  to  believe,  or  as  inconsistent  with  the  manl- 
iest iiialiility  to  believe  v'ilhout  a  divine  principle.  But  our  Lord 
inculcated  the  duly  upon  the  unbelieving  multitude  in  this  jiassage  iu 
answer  to  dieir  professed  inquiry  ujton  the  sidiject  of  duty.  He  sul)- 
sequently  eiiforced  it  upon  the  same  class  of  hearers  [John  \ii.  .JO, 
■\vith  3*,  40.)  Besides — as  sin  is  tlie  neglect  or  resistaiu-e  of  obliga- 
tion, if  t'aitli  be  not  the  duty  of  the  unconverted,  unbelief  is  not  their 
sin — consequently — not  w  hat  the  Gospel  repeatedly  declares  it  to  he 
— the  primary  ground  of  tlieir  condemnation  (John  iii.  IS,  It',  \ii. 
48.  xvi.  S,  9.  2 'riiess.  ii.  lU,  11.)  This  system  of  measuring  dut\ 
by  ability,  and  of  admitting  inability  to  cancel  obligation,  equally 
annuls  evei'y  bond  of  love  and  obedience,  by  v  hicb  man  is  connected 
■with  his  God,  but  for  which  be  is  no  less  incapacitated  than  for  the 
spiritual  exercise  of  faith.  It  argues  also  a  forgetfulness  of  the  just- 
ice of  the  divine  requirements,  aiul  of  the  resi)onsibility  ol'  that  sinful 
inclination,  which  constitutes  the  pi-inciple  of  bis  impotencv  to  com- 
iily  AviiJi  them.  'l"he  commission  of  the  Gospel  is  an  universal  call 
ijodi  to  rcpenumco  and  faith  (Mark  i.  15.  .\\i.  l.i,  16.  Acts.vvii.  30.) 
Tlie  cross  of  (Jlu-lst  is  held  up  to  the  whole  w  orld.  (Isaiidi  xlv.  22.) 
The  Holy  S])irit  employs  its  awakening  and  attractive  influence  as 
the  means  of  quickening  sinners  to  lite.  (Jobn  xii.  32.)  Thus  the 
grace  of  God  is  glorified,  while  the  urdjclief  of  man  excluiles  him 
from  the  free  justification  of  the  Gospel,  and  consequently  lea^eii 
him  ^vithout  cvtusc. 


The  following  letter,  written  about  two  months  before  her 
death,  gives  an  interesting  view  of  her  own  search  after  truth, 
and  marks  a  discriminating  apprehension  of  the  Gospel. 

Sloli-e  Fleming,  Oct.  1830. 

I  am  grieved  that  you  should  for  a  moment  imagine  that 

I  think  our  dear must  be  lost,  because  she  does  not 

subscribe  to  the  doctrines  of  Calvin.  I  do  not  myself  so  much 
as  know  what  all  Calvin's  doctrines  are,  or  whether  I  should 
subscribe  to  them  myself.  I  have  read  one  book  of  Calvin's, 
inany  parts  of  which  pleased  me  much,  I  mean  his  Institutes, 
which  Bishop  Horsley  says  ought  to  be  in  every  clergyman's 
library.  Further  than  this  I  know  nothing  of  Calvin,  or  his 
opinions.  I  certainly  did  not  form  one  single  opinion  from 
his  book,  for  I  had  formed  all  my  opinions  long  before  from 
the  Bible.  You  may  remember  my  telling  you  that  some 
years  ago  1  declined  greatly,  almost  entirely  (inwardly)  from 
the  ways  of  God,  and  in  my  breast  was  an  infidel,  a  disbe- 
liever in  the  truths  of  the  Bible.  When  the  Lord  brought  me 
out  of  that  dreadful  state,  and  established  my  faith  in  his 
word,  I  determined  to  take  that  word  alone  for  my  guide.  I 
road  nothing  else  for  between  three  and  four  mouths,  and  the 
Lord  helped  me  to  pray  over  every  word  that  I  read.  At  that 
time,  and  from  that  reading,  all  my  religious  opinions  were 
formed,  and  I  have  not  changed  one  of  them  since.     I  knew 

nothing  then  of  Calvin.     I  have  said  so  much,  dear , 

because  I  think  it  a  very  wicked  thing  to  do,  as  you  seem  to 
think  I  do,  to  call  Calvin  or  any  man  "  master  on  earth,"  or 
to  make  any  human  writer  our  guide  in  spiritual  things. 
Christ  only  should  he  our  master,  and  his  word  our  guide, 
and  his  Spirit  our  teacher;  and  that  Holy  Spirit  will  be  given 
to  us  if  we  ask  for  it.  But  I  suppose  by  the  doctrines  of 
Calvin  you  meant  the  doctrine  of  predestination,  which  Cal- 
vin, in  common  with  many  other  of  God's  saints,  believed 
and  preached.  My  belief  and  settled  opinion  about  predes- 
tination, you  will  find  expressed  more  clearly  than  any  words 
of  mine  can  do  in  .lohn  vi.  37,  39,  G5.  Rom.  viii.  28 — 30. 
Rom.  ix.  Eph.  i.  3— 6,  11.  2  Thess.  ii.  13,  14.  2  Tira.  i.  9, 
10.  Titus  i.  1,  2.  1  Peter  i.  2—5.  1  John  iv.  19.  Rev.  xvii. 
8.  .lohn  XV.  IG.  I  also  join  in  every  word  of  the  17th  Article 
of  our  church  ;  so  much  so,  that  if  asked  my  opinion  about 
predestination,  I  should  give  it  in  thope  very  words,  from  the 
impossibility  of  finding  any  others,  which  in  so  short  a  space 
expressed  my  meaning  so  well.  But  this  article  is  only  of 
human  authority,  therefore  1  should  bring  forward  the  ])roof 
from  the  Scriptures  of  that  God  who  cannot  lie.  I  have  just 
given  you  a  few  texts  as  they  struck  me.  They  are,  I  believe, 
enough  for  luy  present  purpose:  but  detached  texts  lose  much 
of  their  power:  it  is  the  whole  sense  of  the  whole  Bible  that 
should  determine  us;  and  since  " the  natural  man  recciveth 
not  the  things  of  the  Spirit  of  God,  (for  they  are  foolishness 
to  him),"  let  us  pray  to  become  spiritual,  "  that  we  may  know 
the  things  that  arc  freely  given  us  of  God."  The  above  texts 
will  give  you  an  idea  of  my  opinion.  Indeed  some  of  them 
are  exceedingly  plain,  and  strong,  and  full,  in  their  account 
of  the  doctrine.  I  endeavour  to  receive  them  as  a  little  child, 
in  their  plain  literal  meaning. 

'  But  to  return  to  our  dear ;  I  think  the  doctrine  of 

election  essential  to  the  comfort  and  consistency  of  our  walk 
with  God:  because  I  deem  it  essential  to  receive  the  whole 
Bible,  and  everj'  truth  contained  in  every  part  of  the  Bible 
without  partiality  or  gainsaying.  But  I  do  notconsidera  be- 
lief in  the  doctrine  essentially  necessary  to  salvation.  I  do 
consider  a  simple  trust  in  the  atonement  and  righteousness  of, 
.lesus  Christ  as  aljsolulcli/  necessary  to  salvation.     If  then, 

dearest ,  your  beloved  friend  and  mine  too,  (for  I  do  most 

sincerely  love  her)  possesses  this  simple  reliance  on  the  death 
and  obedience  of  Christ  for  salvation,  doubt  not  that  she  will 
be  saved ;  though  she  may  not  yet  have  been  able  to  receive 
those  high  and  humbling  doctriites  which  very  few  Christians 
do  receive  in  the  commencement  of  their  course,  and  which 
some  cannot  to  the  verj'  end  thoroughly  embrace.  Man}', 
however,  I  think  embrace  the  actual  doctrine,  though  they 
cannot  bear  the  words  predestination,  election,  &c.  A  strange 
dislike,  since  bolh  words  happen  to  be  taken  from  scripture. 

My  beloved would  have  been   quite  distressed,  liad  I 

supported  the  doctrine  of  predestination  in  my  conversations 
with  her  tinder  the  name  of  predcstinutimi ;  and  yet  we  often 
conversed  on  the  thing  itself  and  subjects  connected  with  it; 
nor  did  I  find  her  ideas  differ  greatly  from  mine.  "Other 
foundation  can  no  man  lay  than  that  is  laid,  Jesus  Christ.'^ 
All  who  are  built  on  this  foundation,  who  are  thus  founded 
on  the  Rock  of  Ages,  must  be  secure.  "  Believe  on  the  Lord 
Jesus  Christ,  and  thou  shall  be  saved."'   Acts  xvi.  31,  ^:c. 


MEMOIR  OF  MARY  JANE  GRAIL^I. 


217 


"He  that  believeth  on  the  Son  liuth  everlasting  life;  and  he  [palsy,  till  he  could  take  up  his  bed  and  walk,  before  they 
that  believeth  not  the  Son,  shall  not  see  life ;  hut  the  wrath  nf  would  come  to  Jesus  to  be  healed  %     The  first  chapter  of 


God  abidelh  on  him.^'  John  iii.  3G.     See  also  John  iii.  15,  lli, 
18.  V.  21.    vi.  lO,-!?.    xi.  25,  26,  &c.' 

The  two  next  fetters  are  of  the  class  of  those  which  were 
formerlj-  adduced  in  illustration  of  her  clear  apprehensions  of 
Scriptural  truth.  The  first  letter  introduces  some  incidental 
notices  of  interest.  It  seems  to  have  been  written  to  the  cor- 
respondent, whom  she  had  formerly  addressed  on  the  subject 
of  Christian  study. 

,  Stoke  Fleming,  Jan.  4,  1827. 

'  ISIy  own  dear  Friend, 

'  Every  letter  I  receive  from  you  gives  me  fresh  cause  for 
thankfulness,  and  increases  my  hope,  that  you  have  learnt  of 
Him  who  teacheth,  and  will  certainly  never  leave  you  till  he 
has  given  you  that  "joy  and  peace  in  believing,"  which  all 
His  children  sooner  or  later  experience.  I  trust  that  the  love 
of  my  God  to  you  will  be  a  constant  source  of  thanksgiving 
and  self-abasement  to  me  ;  for  Oh  !  what  thanks  can  I  render 
to  Him,  for  the  love  with  which  He  is  now  calling  you  out 
of  the  kingdom  of  darkness  into  the  kingdom  of  His  dear 
Son  ?  And  how  can  I  ever  be  sufficiently  humbled,  when  I 
reflect  how  unfaithfully  and  inconsistently  I  have  acted 
towards  you  1  One  instance  in  particular  is  now  fresh  in  my 
memory.  You  once  asked  me  to  ^vrite  to  you  ;  and  I  put  it 
off  from  day  to  day,  till  at  last,  I  wickedly  persuaded  myself 
that  I  could  not  do  it  at  all.  I  hope  you  will  forgive  this 
cruel  neglect,  "as  God  for  Christ's  sake  has  forgiven  me;" 
and  that  we  shall  be  enabled  henceforth,  to  love  and  help  one 
another  in  His  strength,  and  for  his  sake. 

'Dear  ,  how  can  you  say  that  I  am  your   dearest 

friend,  and  only  comforter  'i  ]  glory  in  the  thought,  that  you 
have  a  Friend,  whose,  love  is  stronger  than  death,  and  a  Com- 
forter, who  is  able  to  make^'ou  rejoice  with  joy  unspeakable; 
and  to  whose  blessing  and  influence  we  must  refer  it,  that 
such  poor,  helpless,  and  sinful  creatures  as  we  are,  can  ever 
be  of  the  slightest  use  in  helping  or  comforting  each  other.  1 
know  you  long  to  call  Jesus  your  friend,  and  the  Holy  Spirit 
your  Comforter ;  and  where  does  this  longing  come  from  1 
Not  surely  from  your  own  evil  heart;  for  from  that  corrupt 
source  can  proceed  nothing  but  hatred  or  indiflercnce  to  God 
and  His  ways.  Besides,  it  is  a  feeling  you  once  knew  no- 
thing of.  Believe  me — rather  believe  the  Scriptures  when 
they  say— that  every  desire  of  the  sout  after  God,  is  inspired 
by  Himself,  and  is  the  fruit  of  His  own  free  love  in  Christ 
Jesus — "  I  have  loved  thee  with  an  everlasting  love  ;  therefore 
with  loving  kindness  have  I  drawn  thee."  "  Ye  have  not 
chosen  me,  but  I  have  chosen  you."  "  No  man  can  come  to 
me,  except  the  Father  which  hath  sent  me  draw  him."  "  All 
that  the  Father  givetli  me  shall  come  to  me  ;  and  him  that 
Cometh  to  me,  I  will  in  no  wise  east  out."  Now,  do  you  not 
feel  yourself  drawn  towards  (iod  1  Does  not  your  heart  some- 
times choose  Christ  in  preference  to  every  earthly  blessing  f 
Do  you  not  come  to  Christ  in  prayer,  beseeching  Him  to  re- 
ceive you  ■?  And  do  not  the  texts  I  have  mentioned,  with  a 
thousand  others  of  the  same  import,  warrant  the  inference — 
that  you  "  come"  to  Christ,  because  "  the  Father  has  given 
you  to  Christ,"  and  draws  you  to  Him  ;  that  He  "  draws  you 
with  loving  kindness,  because  he  has  loved  you  with  an  ever- 
lasting love  ;"  and  finally,  that  He  will  "  never  cast  you 
outT'  Uy  dear  friend,  I  would  not,  indeed  I  would  not,  flat- 
ter you  with  a  false  hope.  I  know  of  nothing  so  melancholy 
as  the  way  in  which  the  world  say — "  Peace,  peace,  to  them- 
fielves,  when  there  is  no  peace" — no  rational  ground  of  hope 
But  the  hope  of  a  soul  convinced  of  sin,  renouncincr  all  trust 
in  its  own  righteousness,  and  casting  itself  on  the  mercy  of 
Jesus,  cannot  be  a  vain  or  presumptuous  hope ;  because  it  is 
founded  on  the  word  of  God.  You  say,  you  feel  so  wicked 
and  so  worthless,  that  you  dare  not  hope.  Now  till  you  felt 
yourself  to  be  both  exceedingly  wicked  and  worthless,  you 
could  not  be  a  fit  object  of  Christ's  grace,  who  says — "They 
that  be  whole  need  not  a  physician,  but  they  that'  are  sick." 
"I  came  not  to  call  the  righteous,  but  sinners  to  repentance." 
I  know  that  many,  when  they  first  come  to  a  sense  of  their 
own  sinfulness,  think  somithing  in  this  way:  'Christ  will 
never  receive  so  vile  a  sinner  as  I  am;  I  must  repent,  and 
pray  and  try  to  make  myself  a  little  better;  and  then  per- 
liaps  I  may  deserve  his  favour.'  Alas!  they  know  not  that 
repentance  and  prayer  are  his  free  gifts,  and  instead  of  pray- 
ing for  the  pardon  we  receive,  are  themselves  a  part  of  it. 
Would  it  not  have  been  as  reasonable  for  the  leper  to  have 
waited,  till  he  could  cleanse  himself  from  his  leprosy ;  the 
blind  man,  until  his  sight  was  improved  :  or  the  sick  "of  th 
Vol.  it.— 3  C 


Romans,  from  tlie  18th  to  the  .'i2d  verse  gives  an  awful  de- 
scription of  the  state  of  every  man's  heart  by  nature;  and 
though  education  and  the  restraints  of  civilized  society  have 
prevented  the  breaking  out  of  sin  in  the  dreadful  and  open 
way  in  which  it  was  indulged  among  the  heathen,  still  I 
think  every  person  awakened  to  a  sense  of  sin,  will  perceive 
in  it,  as  in  a  glass,  their  own  image ;  at  least  they  will  ac- 
knowledge, that  the  seed  of  every  sin  is  in  their  heart, 
especially  that  most  unnatural  and  truly  diabolical  sin,  of "  wor- 
shipping and  serving  the  creature  more  than  the  Creator." 
And  lest  we  should  imagine  that  living  in  a  country  where 
God  is  known,  and  joining  in  acts  of  outward  relinion  can 
make  the  heart  really  better,  till  it  is  converted  to  God ;  the 
Apostle  goes  on,  in  the  second  and  third  chapters,  to  prove 
that  the  Jew  is  no  better  than  the  Gentile  ;  that  "  there  is  no 
diflerence;  every  mouth  must  be  stopped,  and  all  the  world 
become  guilty  before  God."  And  it  is  immediately  after 
having  given  us  such  an  awful  view  of  our  state,  in  the  sight 
of  God,  that  he  goes  on  to  hold  out  free  and  unconditional 
salvation,  to  all  who  simply  trust  in  the  death  and  righteous- 
ness of  Christ.  But  I  doubt  not,  you  will  soon  perceive  to 
your  comfort,  how  very  free  the  oilers  of  grace  in  the  gospel 
are.  I  cannot  forbear  mentioning  ona  more  instance  ;  it  is  in 
the  parable  of  the  two  debtors  in  the  seventh  of  Luke — "And 
when  they  had  nothing  to  pay,  \\e  frankly  forgave  them  all." 
It  is  when  we  are  brought  to  this  feeling,  that  we  "  have  no- 
thing to  pay,"  that  our  hearts  are  in  a  fit  state  to  receive  with 
eagerness  and  delight  the  "  frank  forgiveness"  of  our  Saviour; 
then  we  give  Him  all  the  glory  of  it.  Surely  you  and  I  feel 
ourselves  to  be  in  the  situation  of  the  debtor  who  owed  most. 
\\  e  have  nothing  to  pay  ;  and  sometimes  I  think  I  can  even 
rejoice  in  this  extremity  of  poverty  ;  since  it  hides  pride  and 
boasting  from  me,  ^d  makes  the  mercy  of  God  appear  so 
divinely  infinite.  I  do  not  know,  that  you  have  any  reason 
for  fancying  that  you  shall  die  yountr ;  but  though  the  thoughts 
of  death  are  useful  to  all,  and  delightful  to  those  whose  sins 
are  forgiven  for  Jesus'  sake;  I  think  we  ought  rather  to  be 
willing  to  live  as  long  as  our  heavenly  Father  pleases,  in 
hopes  of  being  the  means  of  bringing  others  to  him. 

'  I  am  glad  you  like  your  pupils  so  much.  I  feel  incom- 
petent to  give  you  any  advice  about  them:  I  believe  the  orreat 
thing  is  to  pray  much  for  them,  that  they  may  have  that  grace, 
which  alone  can  make  the  Sabbath  adelight.  We  should 
alse  pray  with  them,  and  let  them  see  that  we  are  very  anx- 
ious about  their  salvation,  and  that,  though  we  attach  much 
importance  to  their  progress  in  other  things,  we  look  upon 
them  all  as  nothing  in  comparison  with  the  knowledge  of 
Christ.  Children  sometimes  take  much  pleasure  in  answer- 
ing a  few  simple  questions  on  a  chapter  they  have  read ;  and 
in  this  way  very  little  children  may  be  made  to  comprehend  a 
great  deal.  Many  of  the  parables,  types,  and  emblems  in 
Scripture  a,re  particularly  adapted  to  their  capacities,  and 
aflbrd  them  great  delight.  I  have  seen  a  little  child,  who 
would  have  been  tired  to  death  with  a  serious  discourse,  listen 
for  a  long  time  with  unwearied  attention,  whilst  being  told  in 
its  own  childish  language,  how  Christ  compared  himself  to  a 
vine,  and  his  people  to  living  branches;  or  how  Christ  as  the 
good  Shepherd,  "gathers  the  lambs  with  His  arms,  and  car- 
ries them  in  His  bosom."  While  explaining  these  things, 
they  should  be  taught  the  text  or  texts  referred  to ;  that  so  a 
portion  of  God's  own  word  may  be  fixed  on  their  hearts.  I 
think,  however,  there  is  nothing  more  important  than  to  stop 
as  soon  as  the  attention  of  our  little  hearers  seem  to  tire. 
Sometimes  the  eldest  may  be  set  to  teach  the  youngest  some 
verse,or  hymn.  Scripture  prints  also  form  a  very  good  re- 
source for  Sunday  employment.  Children  are  so  artless, 
that  we  can  soon  perceive  what  pleases  them  most ;  and  what- 
ever kind  of  religious  conversation  or  employment  seems 
particularly  to  interest  them,  should  be  brought  out  on  Sunday, 
to  make  it  as  pleasant  a  day  as  possible  to  them. 

'  I  hardly  know  how  to  say  a  word  against  Jeremy  Taylor; 
he  is  a  great  favourite  of  mine ;  but  I  cannot  help  thinkinij  his 
views  of  the  doctrine  of  Christianitj'  savour  too  much  of  mo- 
nastic severity,  and  too  little  of  the  simplicity  which  is  in 
Christ  Jesus.  The  times  he  wrote  in  may  account  for  these 
inconsistencies  in  the  writings  of  so  holy  a  man;  but  1  think 
they  are  calculated  to  increase  the  melancholy  of  any  one  who 
is  unhappy  about  religion;  because  there  is  something  so  ob- 
scure and  confused  in  his  ideas  upon  many  importjuit  points. 

I  must  now,  my  dear ,  bid  you  farewell ;  I  need  not 

tell  you  what  pleasure  it  gives  me  to  hear  from  you  ;  nor  how 
earnestly  I  wish,  that  you  may  find  the  peace  and  comfort 


218 

you  are  seekino-.  My  earnest  prayer  is  that  the  promised 
"  .S])irit  of  trutli"'  may  be  with  you,  to  "  guide  you  into  all 
truth."  The  weaknesses  you  own  to  me  arc  exactly  wliat  I 
have  felt,  and-  do  fee!  myself;  but  God  will  overcome  them 
for  us,  and  enable  us  to  '-  bring  every  thought  into  subjection 
to  the  obedience  of  Christ."  I  am  sometimes  afraid,  that 
my  using  so  much  Scripture  language,  may  appear  like  cant 
or  affectation  to  you ;  but  I  do  it,  because,  when  I  express 
myself  in  the  sense,  and  as  much  as  possible  in  the  words, 
of  Scripture,  I  have  less  fear  of  misleading  you,  or  of  mixing 
my  own  earthly  ideas  with  the  pure  and  heavenly  truths  on 
wliich  we  are  conversing.' 

Again —   . 

Sfoke,  Jan.  22,  1827. 

'  Though  I  have  not  yet  heard  of  you,  1  am  sure  that  all  things 
are  going  on  well  witli  you,  since  the  very  God  of  love  is  he- 
come  your  God,  and  will  be  j'our  Father  and  guide  for  ever. 
May  you  know  more  and  more  every  day  of  his  forgiving 
love,  and  be  led  to  feel  that  you  are  with  Jesus,  "  who  has 
loved  you,  and  washed  you  from  your  sins  in  his  own  blood  !" 

0  my  dear  friend,  my  heart  is  full  of  joy,  when  I  think  that 
the  Lord  has  taught  you  to  seek  happiness  in  Him.  "Bless- 
ed are  they  that  hunger  and  thirst  after  righteousness" — says 
this  precious  Saviour — "/ar  Ihcy  shall  bcfdled.''''  Therefore 
from  his  own  words  I  have  a  warrant  to  call  j'ou  "  blessed 
and  if  he  has  given  you  himself,  I  care  not  what  else  he 
takes  from  you  ;  knowing,  as  1  do,  that  you  can  want  nothing 
that  is  good  for  you,  while  the  Lord  of  life  and  glory  is  yours. 
What  a  blessed  prospect  lies  before  you  !  Tlie  same  Spirit, 
that  has  been  showing  you  the  vanity  and  sinfulness  of  your 
own  heart,  w  ill  not  stop  short  there.  No  :  He  will  "  guide 
you  into  all  truth;  He  will  take  of  the  things  of  Christ,  and 
show  them  unto  you  :"  He  will  "  shed  abroad  the  love  of 
God  in  your  heart:"  He  will,  in  His  own  time,  "fill  you 
with  joy  and  peace  in  believing;"  He  .will  bring  you  on 
'•from  strength  to  strength,"  and  "from  glor}'  to  glory,"  till 
at  length  He  removes  you  hence,  to  that  heaven,  where  you 
shall  see  Christ  as  He  is,  be  like  Him,  and  dwell  with  Him 
for  ever.  Now  you  have  nothing  to  do  but  to  live  upon  the 
fulness  of  Jesus,  casting  aw-ay  your  own  righteousness,  which 
is  no  better  than  filthy  rags :  your  own  strength,  which  is 
mere  weakness ;  and  3'our  own  wisdom,  which  is  foolishness 
with  God.  You  must  put  forth  the  hand  of  faith,  and  lay 
hold  of  the  righteousness  of  Jesus,  which  He  offers  you  as 
His  free  gift,  Rom.  v;  15,  21 — His  strength,  which  is  suffi- 
cient for  you.     2  Cor.  xii.  9,  10.  Eph.  vi.  10.  Phil.  iv.  13. 

1  John  iv.  4 — and  his  wisdom,  which  is  also  freely  yours  for 
Christ's  sake.  1  Cor.  i.  30.  Onl)^  go  on  asking  him  for 
more,  more,  still  more  of  his  precious  love.  He  cannot  deny 
it  you  ;  for  he  has  said,  "  that  whatsoever  ye  shall  ask  in  his 
name,  he  will  give  you."  You  cannot  ask  too  much ;  for 
think  of  the  great  things  the  apostles  asked,  Eph.  iii.  14 — 19. 
yet  he  concludes  all  by  saying,  "  Unto  him  that  is  able  In  do 
exceeding  abundanlli/  above  all  that  ice  ask  or  thhilc."     Dear 


CHRISTIAN     LIBRARY. 


-,"is  not  ours  "a  happy  lot  I  "If  God  be  for  us,  who 
can  be  against  us"!  Who  shall  lay  any  thing  to  the  charge 
of  God's^edect?  It  is  God  that  justifieth  :  who  is  he  that 
condemneth?  It  is  Christ  that  died;  yea,  rather,  that  is  risen 
again ;  who  is  even  at  the  right  hand  of  God ;  who  also 
maketh  intercession  for  vs."  Here  is  our  anchor  of  hope — 
Christ  died;  Christ  is  risen;  Christ  intercedes.  When 
Satan,  or  our  own  evil  conscience  accuses  us,  we  are  too  apt 
to  look  for  comfort  to  something  in  ourselves.  In  this  we 
shall  always  be  disappointed ;  if  we  look  to  Christ,  we  never 
shall.  May  he  teach  us  by  his  own  Spirit  how  to  live  hy 
faith  in  him.  I  long  to  hear  from  you,  and  to  know  whether 
you  have  yet  been  able  to  find  peace  in  God.  This  precious 
gift  will,  I  knoV,  be  bestowed  upon  you.  Do  tell  me  all  you 
feel,  and  let  me  often  have  a  letter  from  you;  for,  believe  me, 
scarcely  any  thing  can  afford  me  greater  pleasure. 

'  I  pray  that  your  communications  may  always  bring  me 
the  happy  news,  that  you  are  more  and  more  devoted  to  our 
dearest  Lord,  in  whom,  may  we,  my  dearest  friend,  become 
daily  more  united.  There  is  a  common  friendship  which  is 
very  delightful ;  but  there  is  a  communion  of  spirit,  peculiar 
to  those  who  love  the  Lord  'Jesus ;  and  this  is  what  I  trust 
He  will  grant  to  us  ;  for  it  will  last,  when  common  friendship 
has  been  long  withered  by  the  hand  of  death.  May  you  be 
blessed  with  every  spiritual  blessing,  and  rooted  and  ground- 
ed in  love.     This  is  the  prayer  of,  &c.' 

The  next  letter  exhibits  accurate  discrimination,  and  a  high 
standard  of  Christian  Experience. 

'I  was  mucji  interested,  my  dearest  friend,  in  what  you 


said  about  mingling  earthly  with  heavenly  feeling.     It  is  a 
difficult  question,  and  one  which  I  am  sure  I  am  not  fit  to  an- 
swer.    Only  I  think,  we  may  in  some  degree  know  whether 
our  love  is  of  the  right  kind  or  not,  by  askino-  ourselves  whe- 
ther it  really  is  God  that  we  love  in  our  friends,  and  in  our 
communion  with  them  :  whether  we  love  those  that  are  in 
Christ,  incomparably  more  than  those  who  are  not  in  him ; 
and  whether  after  all  we  could  give  up  the  society  of  the  very 
best  and  dearest  of  them  all,  rather  than  lose  one  particle  of 
God's  favour.     Surely  we  may  love  our  friends,  and  that  most 
dearly,  for  God  requires  it  of  us  ;  but  then  "  he  that-  loveth 
father  or  mother  lywre  than  him,  is  not  worthj'  of  him."  Love 
to  our  friends  seems  the  purest  earthly  feeling.     Yet  I  think, 
if  we  find  ourselves  enjoying  devotion  in  its  social  privileges, 
more  than  in  personal  communion  with  God,  our  devotion 
cannot  have  been  altogether  of  a  spiritual  character.     But 
while  we  lament  over  the  weakness  and  inconsistency,  which 
spoil  our  holiest  actions,  and  defile  the  sweetest  afl'ections 
God  has  given  us,  let  us  take  comfort  in  the  thought,  that 
"  we  have  not  an  high  priest,  who  cannot  be  touched  with  a 
feeling  of  our  infirmities."     "He  knoweth  our  frame,  he  re- 
membereth  that  we  are  dust;"  and  (what  should  raise  our 
gratitude  to  the  highest  pitch)  he  himself  has  been  made 
dust,  like  unto  our  miserable  dust  in  all  things,  except  sin, 
on  purpose  that  he  might  be  able  to  "  have  compassion  on  the 
ignorant,  and  on  those  who  are  out  of  the  way."     There  is 
such  a  clear  view  given  to  us  in  the  Epistle  to  th'e  Hebrews 
of  the  twofold  nature  of  the  Lord  Jesus,  that  I  derive  unspeak- 
able comfort  from  studying  it.     Scarcely  any  book  makes  me 
see  so  clearly  that  he  is  the  Lord  God,  "  dwelling  in  light  in- 
accessible, whom  no  man  hath  seen  or  can  see ;"  and  yet  that 
he  is  "  bone  of  my  bone,  and  flesh  of  my  flesh  ;"  able  to  enter 
into  my  feelings,  to  pity  my  weaknesses,  and  to  sympathize 
with  me  in  my  temptations.     O  if  we  could  but  dwell  upon 
this  wonder  more  !  it  is  "  the  wisdom  of  God,  and  the  power 
of  God."     "  Angels  desire  to  look  into  it ;"   "  the  spirits  of 
the  just"  are  for  ever  learning  more  about  it ;  and  I  kiiow  of 
nothing  so  likely  to  make  the  souls  of  God's  people  here  like 
those  who  are  above,  as  the  continual  contemplation  of  this 
marvellous  love  of  God,  in  manifesting  himself  in  the  flesh. 
Dear  !M.,  how  soon  we  shall  see  him  lace  to  face,  "  whom 
having  not  seen  we  love !"     Let  us  seek  to  become  intimate- 
ly acquainted  with  him  here.     Let  us  be  often  conversing 
with  him,  and  always  near  to  him,  that  he  may  not  have  to 
say  to  us ;  "I  never  knew  you."     He  will  never  say  this  to 
us;  but  our  w-atchful  enemy  may  in  some  dark  hour  suggest 
such  a  thing  to  us ;  and  then  how  delightful  to  be  able  to 
refute  such  a  suggestion,  bj'  the  memory  of  all  the  intimate 
communion  we  have  enjoyed  with  Jesus;  to  be  able  to  appeal 
to  this  dearest  friend  himself,  that  so  far  from  never  having 
known  him,  we  have  known,  desired,  loved  nothing  else  in 
comparison  of  him.     Would  that  this  were  my  case  now ! 
But  I  feel  as  far  away  from   Jesus,  as  if  he  were  quite  a 
stranger  to  my  soul.     I\Iy  heart  seems  but  to  backslide  ;  and 
I  cannot  help  continually  thinking  of  that  bitter  complaint  of 
Job's :  "  O  that  I  were  as  in  months  past,  as  in  the  days 
when  God  preserved  me ;  when  his  candle  shined  upon  my 
head,  and  when  by  his  light  I  w'alked  through  darkness." 
Still  I  know  that  God  "  will  heal  mj'  backsliding,  and  love 
me  freely ;"  for  though  I  am  changed,  "  he  changes  not." 
But  how  strange  it  is,  that  our  hearts  should  ever  be  so  alien- 
ated from  God,  after  having  once  known  how  sweet  it  is  to 
love  him !     Surely  the  character  of  long-suffering,  so  often 
given  to  God  in  the  Scripture,  has  never  been  manifested  by 
any  one  in  so  many  instances  as  to  me.     Let  us  not  forget, 
dearest  !\I — ,  to  pray  for  one  another,  "  that  our  hearts  may 
l)e  knit  together  in  love,  and  unto  all  riches  of  the  full  assur- 
ance of  understanding,"  that  we  may  daily  increase  in  the 
"  knowledge  of  him,  whom  to  know  is  lite  eternal." 

The  interesting  tone  of  Christian  simplicity  which  the  fol- 
lowing letter  breathes,  is  worthy  of  remark. 

.liigust  4,  1825. 
'  You  will  perhaps  be  surprised  to  receive  a  letter  so  soon 
after  my  last.  But  I  feel  this  morning  an  irresistible  wish  to 
write  to  you,  to  which  I  was  moved  whilst  praying  for  you; 
and  in  the  strength  of  Jesus  I  will  speak  to  you  only  of  him. 
Perhaps  I  shall lo-day  receive  a  letter  from  you  :  I  shall  be 
very  glad,  because  I  am  so  anxious  to  know  that  you  have 
'evoted  yourself  in  the  fullest  manner  to  him,  who  gave  up 

is  life  for  you.     My  dear ,  I  do  not  know  wliether  you 

are  feeling  with  me  ;  but  it  is  a  cheering  hope  to  me,  that  I, 
who  have  so  often  encouraged  you  in  the  greatest  sin  which 
a  redeemed  soul  can  commit;  that  of  indillerence  to  the  ser- 


MEMOIR  OF  MARY  JANE  GRAH.AJNI. 


219 


vice  and  love  of  the  Redeemer  may  now  be  an  instrument 
in  his  hands  to  animate  you  to  very  different  feelings.  We 
have  given  way  to  a  very  unfaithful  spirit  in  our  fears, 
and  in  our  repugnance  to  speali  in  his  name.  Let  us  only 
believe,  that  when  he  grants  us  the  inestimable  privilege  of 
carrying  to  any  one  the  blessed  news  of  his  gospel ;  "  it  is 
not  we  that  S])eak,  but  the  Spirit  of  our  Father  which  speali 
eth  in  us."  This  feeling  that  we  are  nothing,  but  that  he 
is  every  thing  in  us,  would  give  us  a  confidence  full  of  joy, 
and  at  the  same  time  without  pride.  It  is  indeed  the  height 
of  happiness  to  follow  him  like  a  little  child,  to  live  in  Christ 
and  out  of  ourselves.  Oh  !  had  I  but  a  constant  sight  of  his 
love  !  but  he  "  is  faithful,  who  will  stablish  us,  and  keep  us 
from  evil."  Let  us  confide  in  him  ;  let  us  tell  him  that  we 
are  not  able  to  move  a  single  step  towards  him,  that  we  can- 
not love  him,  nor  believe  in  his  name.  His  goodness  will 
allure  us,  his  power  preserves  us,  his  strength  will  be  ^iven 
us  in  exchange  for  our  weakness,  and  we  shall  find  an  inde- 
scribable delight  in  being  able  to  do  all  in  Christ.' 

To  her  cousin  she  writes  in  this  affectionate  and  encour- 
aging strain : — 

Kovemler  27,  1827. 

'  Let  me  tell  you,  my  dear  friend,  how  sincerely  and  affec- 
tionately I  sympathize  with  you  in  the  feelings  you  express 
with  regard  to  the  most  important  of  all  subjects.  My  dear- 
est cousin,  go  on  seeking.  There  are  pleasures,  rivers  of 
pleasures,  whereof  the  true  Christian  drinks  with  unspeaka- 
ble delight;  and  in  his  own  time  Jesus,  the  good  Shepherd, 
will  lead  you  to  these  fountains  of  living  water.  Already 
he,  who  "called  his  own  sheep  by  name,  and  leadeth  them 
out"  from  the  world  of  sin,  has  called  you  by  his  own  word, 
speaking  to  your  soul.  Do  but  be  willing,  as  Levi,  "  to  rise 
up,  leave  all,  and  follow  him  ;"  and  you  will  find  that  he 
will  lead  you  in  the  pleasant  and  peaceful  way.  For  every 
vain  pleasure  that  he  calls  upon  you  to  give  up,  he  will 
give  a  thousand  solid  and  real  pleasures,  which  it  hath  not 
entered  into  tlic  worldling's  heart  to  conceive.' 

The  next  letter,  written  to  her  cousin,  marks  the  instuction, 
obligation,  and  encouragement  connected  with  thd  hour  of 
"  trouble,"  that  time  "  to  which  man  is  born,"  and,  when  to 
the  unhumbled  and  unsanctified  mind,  the  resources  of  the 
world  often  aggravate  suffering,  instead  of  contributing  sup- 
port. 

'March  20,  1825. 
'  Our  meeting,  my  dear  friend,  must  be  deferred  to  a  future 
time,  if  ever  it  lakes  place  in  tliis  world.  But  there  is  another 
meeting,  to  which  we  may  safely  look  forward,  if  we  are  the 
children  of  God  through  Christ  Jesus;  and  this  will  be  in 
the  presence  of  our  best  and  dearest  friend,  who  so  loved  us, 
as  to  "  purchase  ns  with  his  own  blood."  How  happy,  how 
very  hapjiy  it  would  make  me,  to  know  that  my  much-loved 
cousin  was  making  it  the  grand  object  of  her  life  to  seek  for 
salvation  through  the  all-sullicient  Saviour;  and  that  we 
were  united,  not  only  by  the  strong  ties  of  relationship  and 
affection,  but  also  by  that  bond  of  the  Spirit,  which  makes  all 
the  redeemed  people  of  Christ  to  be  of  one  heart  and  one  soul ! 
Let  us  pray  for  this  one  thing,  to  be  devoted  to  the  Lord 
Jesus;  it  is  heaven  begun  on  earth.  The  severe  trial  with 
which  it  has  pleased  our  gracious  God  to.  afflict  us,  has  given 
us  an  additional  reason  to  write  vanity  upon  all  human  hopes 
and  expectations :  and  I  hope  I  may  say,  that  it  has  driven  us 
to  seek  for  comfort  in  those  things  which  alone  can  give  any 
real  rclitf  to  a  mind  under  the  pressure  of  grief.  Painful 
indeed  it  is  to  speak  about  any  thing,  which  brings  with  it 
such  afflicting  recollections.  Yet  1  feel,  that  I  cannot  and 
must  not  leave  it  till  1  have  entreated  you,  my  beloved  friend, 
to  join  me  in  seeking  a  "friend  that  sticketh  closer  than  a 
brother,"  whom  no  length  of  time,  or  adverse  circumstances 
can  take  from  us.  Into  his  gracious  ear  we  may  pour  all  our 
complaints  ;  "  in  all  our  afflictions  he  will  be  afflicted."  And 
one  glimpse  of  his  love  will  enable  ue  to  rejoice  in  the  midst 
of  tribulation.  But  there  is  one  condition  :  "  Give  me  thine 
heart."  He  must  have  all  or  none.  A  divided  heart  he  will 
not  accept.  A  heart  that  indulges  in  any  one  sin,  that  cleaves 
to  any  one  worldly  vanit}',  can  never  be  the  residence  of  his 
pure  Spirit;  he  must  have  the  whole  heart;  every  thought, 
ever)^  faculty,  every  affection  must  centre  in  him.  And  who 
is  able  to  perform  this  condition  1  I  am  sure  neither  you  nor 
lean;  for  we  are  carnal,  and  "the  carnal  heart  is  cnmitj' 
against  God."  Well  then,  my  dear- ,  let  us  shnply  be- 
lieve on  him  to  effect  all  this  for  us.  Let  us  come  to  him  as 
sinners;  for  "His  blood  cleanseth  frotn  all  sin."     Let  us 


come  as  ^VTetched,  and  poor,  and  blind  ;  and  he  "will  fill  our 
minds  with  joy  and  peace  in  believing,"  will  give  us  "  gold 
tried  in  the  fire,  that  we  may  be  rich,"  and  will  cause  his 
Spirit  to  shine  into  our  dark  hearts,  "  to  give  the  light  of  the 
knowledge  of  the  glory  of  God  in  the  face  of  Jesus  Christ." 
True,  we  cannot  love  him  of  ourselves  ;  but  he  can  compel 
even  our  hearts  to  love  him.  O  may  he  reveal  himself  to  your 
soul,  and  give  you  such  discoveries  of  his  amazing  love,  as 
may  constrain  you  to  make  him  your  "all  in  all." 

In  another  letter  on  the  same  subject,  we  find  her  taking 
her  chair  by  the  side  of  her  afflicted  friend,  and,  like  a  true 
daughter  of  consolation,  "  comforting  her  with  the  same  com- 
fort, wherewith  she  herself  had  been  comforted  of  God." 

January  18<A,  1828. 

'  yij  very  dear  Friend, 

'A  letter  from informed  me  of  the  very  heavy  trial 

you  have  sustained.  I  did  not  like  immediately  to  intrude 
upon  your  feelings ;  and  since  then,  illness  has  prevented  my 
writing.  How  I  have  longed  to  be  with  j'ou,  and  share  your 
grief,  though  I  am  sensible  of  my  inability  to  afford  you  any 
consolation.  But  I  could  at  least  have  mingled  my  feelings 
with  yours,  and  told  you,  what  however  you  need  not  be  told, 
that  your  losses  and  afflictions  must  ever  be  in  a  measure 
mine.  My  beloved  friend,  would  that  in  partaking  as  I  most 
sincerely  do,  of  your  sorrow,  I  could  in  any  way  lighten  or 
alleviate  it !  But  I  rejoice  in  the  thought,  that  faith  has  uni- 
ted you  to  one,  who  is  the  God  of  comfort ;  and  his  Spirit  is 
the  Comforter.  May  he  shed  abundantly  of  his  precious  influ- 
ence into  your  heart  and  your  dear  sister's  at  this  trying  time  ! 
May  he  "  lift  up  the  light  of  his  countenance  upon  you  both  ! 
and  that  will  turn  your  mourning  into  gladness.  Perhaps 
this  bereavement  will  lead  you  nearer  to  Jesus ;  for  we  have 
an  unfailing  promise,  that  "  all  things  shall  work  together  for 
our  good."  "  Whom  the  Lord  loveth  he  chasteneth,  even  as  a 
father  the  son  in  w/ium  he  dclighlelh  ■■  as  many  as  I  love,  I  re- 
buke and  chasten."  And  then  how  sweet  to  be  assured,  that 
'  in  all  our  afflictions  he  is  afflicted,"  that  in  all  our  troubles 
he  is  near  to  help ;  that  in  all  our  bereavements  he  is  ready 
to  fill  up  with  himself  the  painful  dreary  void,  which  is  made 
in  our  hearts.  My  beloved  friend,  I  do  not  say  these  things 
to  you,  "  because  you  know  them  not,  but  rather  because  you 
know  them,"  and  are,  I  trust,  at  this  time  living  upon  them. 
How  vain  were  it  to  speak  to  you  of  earthly  comfort  under 
the  heavy  loss  you  have  sustained !  But  tliis  is  the  very 
time,  when  God's  children  often  drink  deepest  of  heavenly 
consolation;  and  I  trust  it  is  thus  with  my  precious  friend. 
I  know  that  our  heavenly  Father  has  afflicted  you  in  very 
faithfulness;  and  though  for  the  present  your  chastisement 
must  seem  "  grievous"  indeed  to  you,  yet  hereafter  it  shall 
bring  forth  in  you  "  the  peaceable  fruits  of  righteousness." 
In  the  mean  time  may  you  be  taught  to  la)'  hold  on  the  gra- 
cious invitation  to  "call  upon  God  in  the  time  of  trouble!" 
-Make  David's  words  your  own — "  From  the  end  of  the  earth 
will  I  cry  unto  thee,  when  my  heart  is  overwhelmed;  lead 
me  to  the  rock  that  is  higher  than  I."  "  What  tiine  I  am 
afraid,  I  will  trust  in  thee."  "  My  soul  trustelh  in  thee,  and 
in  the  shadow  of  thy  wings  will!  make  my  refuge,  until  these 
calamities  be  overpast."  "  In  the  day  of  my  trouble  I  will 
call  upon  thee ;  fur  thou  ivilt  answer  me."  And  may  you,  my 
dear  friend,  be  able  to  apply  to  yourself  the  words  of  our  God 
— "Behold,  I  have  refined  thee,  but  not  with  silver:  I  have 
chosen  thee  in  the  furnace  of  affliction."  "  I,  even  I,  am  he 
that  comforteth  you — as  one  whom  his  mother  comlbrteth,  so 
will  I  comfort  you."  "  In  a  Utile  wrath  I  hid  my  face  from 
thee  fur  a  moment ;  but  with  everlasting  kindness  will  I  have 
mercy  on  thee,  saith  the  Lord  thy  Redeemer."  I  would  not 
obtrude  mv  own  words  on  you  upon  an  occasion  like  this. 
But  I  may'hope  that  the  Spirit  of  truth  will  bless  his  \yords 
to  your  comfort ;  so  I  fear  not  to  tire  you  with  the  repetition, 
for  they  are  always  new — "  O  God,  thou  art  my  God."  __  Here 
is  a  balm  for  every  wound  ;  yes,  he  is  your  God.  W^isdom 
and  tenderness  shall  form  the  basis  of  all  his  dealings  towards 
you  ;  and  he,  who  is  so  wise  and  so  tender,  is  engaged  to  do 
you  nothing  but  good  all  the  days  of  your  life.  I  did  not 
mean  to  have  written  so  much,  knowing  that  even  the  sympa- 
thy of  friendship  may  sometimes  he  an  interruption  to  our 
own  feelings.  But  I  now  leave  off,  begging  you  to  accept  the 
warmest  affection  of,  &c.' 

How  delightful  is  the  confidence  which  Miss  Graham  here 
expresses  in  the  support  of  the  simple  word  of  God  in  the  • 
hour  of  affliction !     Though  her  letter  affords  some  of  her 
own  beautiful  thoughts,  j'et  her  main  effort  is  perceptible 
throughout ;  not  to  strain  her  mind  to  force  out  something 


220 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


original  or  striking,  but  to  bring  forward  the  encouraging 
promises  of  Scripture,  as  far  more  powerful  than  the  product 
of  her  own  thought.      This  is  honuitring  the  woi-d  of  God. 

The  next  letter  relates  personally  to  liersclf,  and  gives  a 
lively  description  of  her  state  of  mind,  with  a  happy  transi- 
tion from  her  own  playful  spirit,  to  a  more  serious  and  edifying 
strain. 

April,  1827. 

'I  am  sure  that  1  am  very  old  for  my  age.  It  is  not  com- 
mon at  twenty-four,  to  live  upon  the  past  as  I  do ;  most  peo- 
ple would  rather  feed  upon  pleasant  liopes  of  the  future,  but 
that  is  a  thing  I  never  do  without  trembling.  It  is  not  that  I 
have  the  least  doubt  of  every  thing  being  ordered  for  my  hap- 
piness ;  but  I  dread  passing  my  life  in  this  painful  uncertainty, 
and  I  think  this  requires  more  faith  than  to  pass  it  in  the 
most  severe  affliction.  Besides,  I  am  afraid  of  living  in  a 
kind  of  tertian  fever ;  for  either  I  am  very  hot  or  very  cold. 
I  am  incapable  of  an  equal  temperament  in  any  thing.  A 
person  who  knows  me  this  month,  would  not  know  me  the 
next.  I  do  not  know  myself;  God  knows  me  ;  he  knows 
all  my  weakness,  all  my  vanity ;  however,  all  this  does  not 
cause  him  to  forsake  me.  When  I  stray,  he  seeks  me;  when 
1  return,  he  receives  rae  with  tenderness;  when  I  doubt,  he 
assures  me;  when  I  am  unhappy,  he  consoles  me.  Surely 
he  can  give  me  strength  to  devote  myself  wholly  to  him,  and 
not  to  turn  away  again  from  his  ways.' 

Another  letter  atfords  a  beautiful  illustration  of  her  spirit- 
uality of  mind  connected  witli  tlie  recollection  of  her  literary 
pursuits. 

Chtidlelgh,  Sept.  1827. 

'  You  are  then  at ,  where  you  lead  a  very  pleasant  life, 

but  where  you  are  not  happy,  because  he  who  is  your  happi- 
ness no  longer  cheers  you  with  his  presence.  I  also  am  very 
gay.  I  am  here  to  my  heart's  content;  and  I  am  not  happy, 
because  I  cannot  find  my  God — my  beloved.  I  find  that  we 
"  are  the  salt  of  the  earth  ;"  but  that  tliis  "  salt  has  lost  its 
savour,  and  is  no  longer  good  for  any  thing,  but  to  be  thrown 
away  and  trodden  under  foot  of  men."  But  the  infinite  com- 
passion of  Jesus  will  not  suffer  it  to  be  so  with  us,  and  there- 
fore he  causes  us  to  feel  incessantly  bitter  inquietudes,  which 
will  not  suffer  us  to  rest  without  returning  to  him.  In  the 
meantime  we  are  both  in  a  new  place,  which  we  shall  per- 
haps never  see  again.  Shall  we  quit  this  place  without  leav- 
ing there  some  savour  of  the  name  of  Jesus  Christ)  It  is 
delightful  to  be  able  to  create  recollections  as  exquisite  as 
those  awakened  by  the  beautiful  images  of  Petrarch  and 
Tasso.  But  it  is  much  more  delightful  to  remember  every 
place,  where  we  have  seen  some  soul  converted  to  God ;  this 
recollection  will  solace  us  at  a  time  when  all  the  delights  of 
our  Tasso  will  appear  but  a  vain  dream.  I  do  not  say  this, 
because  I  feel  as  I  speak.  I  see  it  in  my  understanding,  but 
it  does  not  reach  to  my  heart.  However,  I  speak,  because  I 
desire  to  feel  it,  and  that  you  should  feel  it  too.  I  wish  to 
love  Tasso,  and  other  studies,  only  for  the  love  of  God,  and 
to  give  all  to  his  service.  But  I  love  them  too  much  for  my- 
self; and  yet  I  do  not  think  it  would  be  right  to  give  them 
up,  since  they  may  one  day  be  of  use  to  me.' 

We  will  now  present  a  few  letters,  which  will  introduce 
us  to  a  nearer  view  of  the  exercises  of  her  own  mind.  She 
appears  to  have  been  deeply  harassed,  in  common  with  the 
great  Apostle,  with  that  painful  conflict,  which  his  own  in- 
spired pen  has  so  graphically  described  in  Rom.  vii. — a  cliap- 
ter,  which — though  unintelligible  to  the  world,  and  even  to 
the  merely  external  professors  of  the  gospel — unfolds  more 
or  less  of  the  secret  history  of  every  Christian's  heart.  The 
following  letter,  of  an  early  date,  marks  her  mind  exercised 
in  the  painful  sense  of  her  own  deficiencies,  while  anxiously 
engaged  in  the  pursuit  of  that  knowledge,  which  was  the 
basis  of  all  that  was  valuable,  both  in  her  intellectual  and 
spiritual  character.  ' 

June,  1823. 
'  No — I  have  not  yet  regained  my  peace  of  mind.  It  is  a 
guest  which  will  not  dwell  in  a  soul  so  weak  and  vain  as 
mine.  I  have  again  read  a  passage  in  Mason.  But  I  find, 
that  although  self-knowledge  is  the  most  excellent  kind  of 
wisdom  a  man  can  possess,  yet  there  is  a  sort  of  self-know- 
ledge, which  only  debases  and  hardens  the  soul  ;  and  this  is 
jBxactly  the  kind  with  which  1  am  furnished.  And  whilst 
true  self-knowledge  introduces  order  and  light  into  the  soul, 
as  when  the  sun  enlightens  the  earth ;  the  self-knowledge 
which  I  possess  rather  resembles  the  lightning  which  shines 


for  a  moment,  and  shows  all  the  desolation  which  the  storm 
has  produced,  and  which  itself  increases  the  desolation.  To 
know  oneself  miserable,  but  not  to  be  willing  to  use  the 
means  of  being  happy;  to  know  oneself  a  sinner,  but  to  flee 
from  and  abandon  the  Saviour  of  sinners,  has  been  a  true  de- 
scription of  my  feelings." 

To  her  cousin  she  expresses  some  grounds  of  thankful 
recollection  for  Christians,  who  are  called  in  "  the  days  of 
their  youth"  to  the  service  of  their  God  and  Saviour. 

'  My  dearest  , 

'  I  seem  to  have  so  much  to  say  to  you,  that  I  scarcely  know 
where  to  begin.  I  am  not  now  afraid  of  indulging  in  a  little 
effusion  of  my  feelings  to  you,  as  they  begin  to  sit  less  heavy 
upon  my  heart.  I  begin  to  feel  a  sort  of  assurance,  that  it 
will  ere  long  be  "  with  me  as  in  months  past,  when  the  can- 
dle of  the  Lord  shined  upon  my  head."  Yet  I  cannot  tell 
you  that  I  enjoy  any  thing  of  really  spiritual  feeling.  Oh ! 
that  has  been  too  long  stifled  to  awake  at  once  to  anything 

like  life  and  vigour.*     Dear ,  let  us  be  more  careful  than 

we  have  hitherto  been,  not  to  quench  the  spark  of  Divine  life 
in  our  hearts,  not  to  suffer  the  love  of  the  world  to  enter 
where  the  Holy  Spirit  has  deigned  to  erect  a  temple  to  Him- 
self. I  must  tell  you  the  thought  which  struck  me  yesterday, 
and  roused  me  more  effectually  than  any  thing  for  some  time 
past  has  done.  It  was  a  sense  of  the  blessedness  of  being 
called  in  our  youth  to  the  knowledge  of  God,  now  that  our 
feelings  are  fresh,  and  our  habits  unformed  ;  before  we  have 
entered  into  the  pleasures,  company,  and  temptations  of  the 
world.  It  seems  as  though  we  had  through  the  mercy  of  our 
Saviour,  been  turned  into  the  broad  path  of  destruction  while 
yet  upon  the  threshold — before  we  could  have  a  long  and 
weary  way  of  sin  to  retrace.  Are  not  these  mercies,  which 
call  for  our  warmest  gratitude  ?  Shall  I  tell  you  another 
light,  which  then  struck  me  more  forcibly  than  I  had  ever  felt 
it  before'!  Is  it  not  a  blessing  to  have  been  enabled  to  enter 
decidedly  upon  a  life  of  religion,  before  we  had  formed  any 
connexion  contrary  to  ill  Now  every  thing  seems  open  be- 
fore us.  The  narrow  path  has  been  for  us  divested  of  half  its 
difficulties;  and  great  will  be  our  sin  and  misery,  if  we  walk 
not  in  it  with  a  cheerful  devoted  resolve,  that  every  future  step 
may  be  for  his  glory,  who  first  led  us  into  it.' 

The  next  letter  displays  the  jealous  though  exquisite  en- 
joyment of  her  sources  of  legitimate  pleasure  in  the  work  of 
God. 

Hastings,  July  1823. 

'  I  am  no  longer  sad,  unless  a  pleasure  too  profound  for 
laughter  or  gayety  can  be  called  sadness.  There  are  times 
when  I  feel  unhappy,  because  I  am  so  happy — because  I  can 
derive  such  exquisite  enjoyment  from  objects  which  pass 
away  in  a  moment,  whilst  the  things  of  eternal  duration  make 
only  a  light  and  free  impression  on  my  soul.  I  cannot  bow- 
ever  forbid  myself  from  enjoying  the  delights,  which  here  pre- 
sent themselves  every  minute  to  my  mind ;  and  you  must 
pardon  me  if  I  fatigue  you  with  many  absurdities.' 

The  foUowingallusion  to  her  early  attainments  cannot  fail  of 
interesting  the  reader. 

'  There  are  periods  in  the  life  of  every  person,  which  have 
respect  only  to  the  intellect,  but  which  affect  however  all  the 
rest  of  the  life,  and  to  which  may  be  traced  up  almost  all  the 
intellectual  qualities  which  that  person  possesses.  It  ap- 
pears to  me,  that  the  period  to  which  ray  mind  recurs  with 
the  greatest  pleasure  is  that,  when  I  began  to  learn  Milton  as 
a  simple  act  of  memory.  What  a  low  and  unworthy  motive  ! 
However,  when  my  soul  began  to  open,  to  understand  a  little 
his  noble  ideas,  so  entirea  change  was  made  in  my  inclinations 
and  taste,  that  I  can  hardly  believe  myself  to  be  the  same  per- 
son.' 


*  The  writer  feels  it  right  to  notice  tliis  sentence  as  a  subtle  form 
of  legality,  very  prevalent  witJi  young;  Christians,  and  not  unknown 
to  exercised  Clu'istians  in  a  liigher  stage  of  maturity.  The  chastise- 
ment of  the  rod  is  indeed  numbered  among  the  rich  provisions  of  tlie 
Everlasting  Covenant ;  and  usually  the  Lord  makes  the  backslidings 
of  his  chihlren  the  instruments  of  hts  salutary  correction.  [Jer.  ii. 
19.]  But  let  us  never  seem  to  dictate  to  him  the  mode  of  liis  disci- 
pline, and  especially  let  us  not  limit  the  absohrte  and  unbomided 
freedom  of  the  gosp'el,  which  opens  the  iL-aij  of  immediate  and  com- 
plete acceptance  to  those  who  deserve  a  more  protracted  banishment 
from  his  favour.  The  expectation  of  an  indefinitely  distant  return 
paralyzes  the  present  cftbrt ;  while  the  freencss  of  merry  opens  the 
door  of  instant  liope  for  the  most  hopeless.  [Isa.  xliii.  23,  25,]  and 
indeed  produces  the  constraining  motive  to  the  first  step  of  penitence. 
[Ib.xliv.  22.] 


MEMOIR  OF  MARY  JANE  GRAHAM. 


221 


The  next  letter  gives  a  profitable  application  of  Scripture, 
together  with  an  interesting  train  of  remark. 

June,  1823. 

'  One  text  of  Scripture  has  lately  dwelt  much  upon  my 
mind,  and  seemed  like  a  sentence  of  condemnation  upon  my 
woridly-mindedness  and  inconsistency.  It  is  that  short  but 
expressive  description  of  the  conversion  from  sin — "  And  he 
rose  up,  and  left  all,  and  followed  him."  Oh  !  what  a  warn- 
ino;,  and  yet  by  me  unheeded  warning !  does  it  seem  to  rise 
and  shake  off  these  fetters  of  sloth  and  inactivity — to  leave 
all,  even  the  dearest  friends,  the  most  deeply-rooted  habits, 
which  can  come  in  the  way  of  this  grand  end,  and  to  follow 
Jesus  through  affliction  and  difficulties,  in  all  the  meek  sim- 
plicity and  lowly  dependence  of  a  little  child.  May  he  give 
us  strength  thus  to  follow  his  loved  footsteps  !  May  he°en- 
able  us  to  walk  hand  iu  hand,  mutually  encouraging  and  sup- 
porting each  other,  till  we  come  to  the  presence^ofTiis  glorj-, 
there  to  abide  for  ever !  I  well  know  the  feeling  you  mention 
with  regard  to  another  world.  Rut  when  thinking  of  this,  I 
am  unfortunately  apt  to  reverse  it,  and  to  consider Ihe  past  as 
a  painful  dream,  and  the  present  something  too  disagreeable 
to  be  real ;  while  I  look  forward  to  future  hopes  and  schemes, 
till  the  dreams  of  my  imagination  assume  the  shape  of  de- 
lightful realities:  and  in  stretching  forward  to  them,  I  for- 
get, that  it  is  only  in  the  sober  and  continual  routine  of  pre- 
sent duties,  that  I  can  hope  to  attain  those  delio-htful  expec- 
tations.' ° 

Her  seasons  of  prayer  appear  to  have  been,  in  common 
with  all  Christians,  times  of  severe  conflict.  The  followino- 
extract,  after  alluding  to  the  blots  that  too  often  deform  the 
profession  of  the  Gospel,  alludes  to  this  point  > 

Torquay,  April  12,  1825. 

'  How  many  ways  there  are  of  dishonouring  the  Christian 
profession  !  some  by  ill  humour ;  we  by  coldness;  some  by 
immoderate  zeal  ;  others  by  the  fear  of  man.  Oh  !  my  dear 
friend,  let  us  seek  to  ornament  our  profession  ;  let  us  seek  in 
the  unlimited  compassion  of  our  good'Shepherd  pardon  for  our 
past  extreme  lukewarmness,  and  Divine  strength  to  shake  oil 
the  drowsiness  which  oppresses  us.  Not  only  the  prayers 
which  I  olfer  for  myself,  but  those  which  I  offer  up  for  you, 
seem  to  be  covered  with  a  cloud,  through  w^uch  they  cannot 
penetrate.  My  prayers  did  1  say  ?  I  do  not  pray— I  am 
trightened  when  I  think  of  the  state  in  which  I  am.  If  you 
are  in  a  more  spiritual  frame,  when  at  the  feet  of  the  Saviour, 
remember  her  who  is  gone  so  far  away.' 

To  another  of  her  correspondents  she  thus  writes. 


April  30,  1837. 
'  I  can  hardly  tell  you  what  a  strange  state  I  am  in— one 
minute  longing  after  holiness  so  intensely,  that  I  feel  as  if  I 
should  die  if  Idid  not  get  it:  the  next  so  full  of  vain  thoughts, 
that  I  hardly  know  what  real  spiritual  holiness  is.  I  never 
had  such  clear  views  of  the  extreme  depravity  of  my  heart 
and  life.  Every  day  I  learn  something  new  about  my  helpless- 
ness, blindness,  and  dreadful  wickedness.  Butthouo-h  I  can 
spread  these  things  before   God  in   prayer,  I  canno?  mourn 

over  them ;  or  if  1  do,  it  is  from  a  sense  of  my  misery not 

from  a  view  of  him  whom  I  have  pierced.  \Vell !  I  know 
this  hardness  of  heart  is  a  part  of  the  complaint  under  which 
I  groan,  and  which  will  be  removed  by  the  great  Physician. 
But  I  am  sometimes  confounded  by  the  seemintrjy  contrary 
answers  I  receive  to  prayer,  though  in  the  end  I  feel  the 
deahngs  of  God  with  me  to  have  been  wise  and  just.  For 
instance;  after  having  prayed  much  for  a  sense  of  sin,  I  seem 
to  have  been  left  to  the  power  of  it.  I  feel  left  to  strive  with 
a  great  enemy,  who  tramples  me  with  the  greatest  ease  under 
his  teet.  Let  me  not  unjustly  murnmr  against  my  dearest 
and  wisest  Saviour.  For  he  leaves  me  not  lono-  at  the  mercy 
of  my  cruel  adversary,  but  appears  on  my  behaff  often  when  I 
have  the  least  expectation  of  it.  One  thing  distresses  me 
very  much.  It  is  so  strange.  I  have  for  some  time  past 
scarcely  ever  enjoyed  a  spiritual  sabbath.  I  often  enjoy  a 
sabbath  on  week  days;  but  when  Sunday  comes  (I  mean  the 
last  three  or  four)  all  my  spiritual  feelings  go;  religion  seems 
the  dullest  thing  in  the  worid,  and  vain  thoughts  the  pleasant- 
est ;  I  cannot  tell  you  how  the  comfort  of  the°day  is  destroyed. 
It  was  the  case  the  whole  of  yesterday  till  quite  night,  wheii 
the  accidental  opening  upon  this  little  verse  of  Toplady's 
brouglit  back  the  loveliness  of  Christ  to  my  thouchts  with 
such  sweetness,  and  tilled  me  with  such  longino-s  after  him 
that-lor  some  time  I  could  not  sleep  :  ° 


Less  than  thyself  will  not  suffice, 

My  comfort  to  restore  ; 
More  than  thyself  I  cannot  crave, 

And  thou  canst  give  no  more. 

0  to  be  "filled  with  all  the  fulness  of  God!"  to  have 
"  Christ  dwelling  in  our  hearts  by  faith  !"  to  be  temples  of 
the  Holy  Ghost !  To  inow  that  this  is  mine  ;  and  yet  for 
want  of  faith  I  so  often  make  my  heart  as  a  cage  of  unclean 
birds.  My  dearest  friend,  I  have  chosen  this"verse  for  my 
portiori,  my  treasure  in  this  worid  and  the  next.  I  recom- 
mend it  to  you  ;  and  I  know  God  will  give  it  to  us,  and  abun- 
dantly fulfil  our  wishes  above  all  that  we  can  ask  or  think— 
Ezek.  xliv.  28.  What  a  glorious  portion !  Hard  as  my 
heart  is,  and  blind  as  my  eyes  are,  I  see  and  feel  a  little  of  its 
excellency :  but  then  so  often  my  soul  forgets  her  joy,  looks 
back  upon  the  worid,  and  shrinks  from  the  choice,  which  a 
few  minutes  before  seemed  so  unutterably  desirable.' 

At  another  time  she  writes  in  the  same  strain. 

T   ,  .  ,  J'%  15,  18-37. 

'I  think  I  would  give  up  every  prospect  of  worldly  happi- 
ness that  I  have,  or  ever  can  have,  to  have  these  vain  thouabts 
crucified  and  nailed  to  the  cross  of  Jesus  ;  and  yet  often," the 
more  I  want  to  be  delivered  from  them,  the  more  obstinately 

1  cleave  to  them,  and  I  am  so  tired  of  praying  against  them. 
But  the  everlasting  covenant  fills  me  with  hope  and  comfort, 
"  I  will  put  my  fear  in  their  hearts,  that  they  shall  not  depart 
from  me.  I  will  put  my  law  in  their  inward  parts,  and  write 
it  in  their  hearts."  ' 

The  next  letter  shortly  afterwards  is  of  a  similar  character. 
The  spirit  of  tender  carefulness  that  marks  the  closimr  al- 
lusion is  worthy  of  special  remark  :  ° 

Stoke,  June  2,  1827. 
'  I  never  wanted  something  to  awaken  and  alarm  me  so 
much  as  I  do  now.  I  think  I  could  be  content  to  liave  some 
very  great  affliction,  if  it  would  but  restore  mc  to  communion 
with  CJod.  I  told  you  how  much  vain  thoughts  had  tempted 
and  annoyed  me.  When  I  last  wrote  to  you,  I  felt  confident 
of  being  soon  made '.'more  than  conqueror  through  him  that 
loved  me."  But  I  have  lately  left  off  striving  against  them  ; 
and  now  having  turned  "  the  house  of  prayer  into  a  den  of 
thieves,"  I  know  not  how  to  cast  them  out  again.  Oh  !  \hat 
.lesus  himself  would  drive  them  from  his  temple,  though  it  be 

with  a    scourge.     With  regard  to  ,  I  feel  it  more  and 

more  my  duty  to  send  my  letter.  But  what  I  have  written 
has  been  given  to  me,  and  I  am  afraid  to  finish  it,  lest  I  should 
in  my  worldly  and  unbelieving  frame,  mix  somcthino-  of  my 
own  with  it.'  ° 

Yet  her  deep  self-abasing  apprehensions  were  not — except, 
possibly,  at  seasons  of  temptation- tinctured  with  desponden- 
cy. From  the  tone  of  many  of  the  preceding  letters  it  is  evi- 
dent, that  she  knew  the  fulness  of  her  resources  in  the  pro- 
mises of  the  Gospel:  and  in  her  prostrate  humiliation  of  soul 
she  did  not  cease  to  plead  them  to  the  uttermost  of  her  war- 
ranted expectations.     Thus  she  writes  to  her  friend  : 

' and  I,  and  all  took  the  sacrament  yesterday.     I  never 

felt  so  much — "  the  remembrance  of  these  our  misdoings  is 
grievous  ;  the  burden  of  them  is  intolerable."  Is  it  not  great 
and  free  love,  which  has  made  that  a  burden  tons,  which  was 
once  our  delight ;  and  that  intolerable,  which  we  once  drank 
up  like  water  1  But  what  puzzles  ami  alarms  me  is,  that  it 
should  be  sometimes  intolerable,  and  yet  not  forsaken;  and 
sometimes  at  the  moment  when  I  feel  it  to  be  intolerable,  the 
struggle  to  give  it  up  is  more  intolerable.  The  only  thing 
that  makes  me  feel  a  holi/  hatred  of  sin,  is  the  thought,  that, 
even  when  it  seems  sweetest  to  me,  the  eye  of  Jesus  beholds 
it  as  an  evil  and  a  bitter  thing;  and  I  shall  soon  look  upon  it 
as  he  does.  It  is  "that  abominable  thing  which  he  hates." 
It  is  that  abominable  thing  which  my  wretched  abominable 
heart  loves.  But  then  I  do  hate  myself  for  loving  it :  and  I 
do  not  know  any  thing  I  would  not  thank  God  for  deprivino- 
mc  of,  if  it  would  tend  to  make  me  see  sin  as  he  does.  I  know 
this  is  the  way  you  feel.  Then  let  us  take  comfort  in  the 
thought  that  Jesus  has  done  something  for  us,  and  to  us  who 
have  (though  so  little)  more  will  be  given.  "Open  thy 
mouth  wide,  and  I  will  fill  it ;"  this  often  gives  me  comfort, 
(as  indeed  the  whole  of  the  eighty-first  Psalm  does  :)  butthen 
we  can  no  more  open  our  mouths  than  we  can  fill  them. 
God  must  open  them  wide,  and  fill  them  too.  I  feel  so  much 
comfort  in  thinking  that  we  cannot  open  our  mouths  too  wide; 
we  cannot  be  too  grwdy  of  heavenly  food,  nor  too  grasping  of 
heavenly  riches.     It  is  not  piesumption,  but  faith  and  humil- 


223 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


ity,  to  expect  that  God  for  Christ's  sake  will  fill  our  earthen 
vessels  with  an  eminent  measure  of  his  heavenly  treasures  ; 
and  the  greatest  eminence  in  Cliristian  grace  is  to  lose  sight 
of  self,  to  be  willing  to  be  least  of  all — to  be  nothing,  and  to 
look  upon  others  as  nothing,  except  as  they  are  in  Christ,  and 
to  look  upon  Christ  as  every  thing.  But  oh,  how  far  am  I 
from  this !  Yet  I  do  not  despair,  1  have  had  glimpses  of  it. 
I  trust  it  shall  one  day  be  the  settled  temper  of  both  of  our 
souls.  Pray  for  me,  and  pray  that  1  may  be  enabled  to  pray 
for  you.' 

The  darkness  and  conflicts  of  her  mind,  were  dotibtless 
much  increased  by  the  active  power  of  the  enemy  operating 
upon  her  enervated  health.  It  is  delightful,  however,  to 
mark  the  cheering  irradiations  of  sunshine  breaking  in  upon 
her,  as  marked  in  the  following  letter. 

Novemler  21,  1826. 

'  !My  beloved  Friend, 

'I  can  almost  say  in  the  words  of  Scripture  which  you 
love,  that  the  winter  of  my  soul  is  gone,  and  that  the  sweet 
season  of  the  springing  of  flowers,  and  of  the  singing  of  the 
birds  is  come,  and  that  the  voice  of  the  celestial  dove  makes 
itself  heard.  I  again  begin  to  know  what  it  is  to  walk,  "as 
seeing  him,  who  is  invisible."  But  do  not  suppose  that  I  am 
in  a  very  spiritual  state.  But  the  least  ray  of  the  light  of  his 
countenance  appears  immense,  after  so  many  weeks  passed  in 
darkness  and  rebellion.  Oh !  my ,  let  us  exert  every  ef- 
fort to  find  again  the  lover  and  the  beloved  of  our  souls.  Who 
knows  but  Ids  ovrn  time  may  come,  in  which  he  will  fully  re- 
veal himself  to  us  1  Let  us  pray  for  each  other,  that  we  may 
be  wholly  separated  from  the  world  and  from  ourselves,  and 
more  closely  united  to  Jesus,  in  whose  strength  we  shall  be 
able  to  do  all  things.  I  cannot  feel  that  deep  repentance  that 
I  ought  to  feel  for  my  repeated  transgressions.  But  even  in 
this  1  see  the  Divine  love,  because  every  strong  emotion  af- 
fects my  Iieahh.' 

Her  views  of  the  power  of  faith  in  prayer  were  most  enli- 
vening. '  I  never  pray'  said  she  one  day  to  a  dear  friend 
'  without  a  promise.'  On  that  promise  she  was  enabled  to  rely 
with  entire  confidence.  Referring  to  the  fulness  and  power  of 
the  Apostle's  prayer,  Eph.  i.  17,  18,  and  to  that  sublime 
doxolotry,  chap.  iii.  20,  21,  she  added,  '^Yhat■a  prayer  was 
this  .'  How  conijirehensive  !  How  much  are  we  encouraged  to 
ask  for!  ^Vhy  tben  do  we  receive  so  little,  but  because  our 
hearts  are  not  sufficiently  enlarged  1  We  are  wanting  in  faith. 
We  do  not  expect  enough  from  God.  Wc  are  straitened  in 
ourselves.  We  are  not  straitened  in  God.  How  much  more 
should  we  receive,  if  we  "  continued  instant  in  prayer,"'  and 
"  prayed  without  ceasing."  Wc  arc  like  the  king  of  Israel, 
who,  when  commanded  by  Elisha  to  smite  on  the  ground, 
provoked  the  wrath  of  the  man  of  God,  by  smiting  only  thrice, 
and  then  staying.  Whereas,  had  he  smitten  five  or  six  times, 
he  would  not  only  have  gained  a  temporarj'  advantage  over 
his  eiiemies,  but  would  have  ulterlj'  destroyed  tbem.  Thus 
in  our  prayers  we  are  contented  with  small  success.  We  do 
not  continue  enough  in  the  exercise.  Even  when  our  hearts 
have  been  somewhat  enlarged,  we  have  been  tto  ready  to  de- 
sist, and  rest  satisfied  without  persevering,  till  we  had  received 
yet  larger  supplies  of  Divine  grace.' 

To  another  friend  she  wrote  in  the  same  enlarged  spirit  of 
Christian  expectancy : — 

May  15,  1827. 

'  I  see  something  of  the  love  of  Christ",  which  I  would  not 
lose  for_  worlds.  But  neither  do  you  or  I  see  half  that  maj'  be 
seen  of  it  even  in  this  world,  if  ue  ask  in  faith.  Only  let  us 
not  be  afraid  of  expecting  too  much.  Let  us  stretch  our 
prayers  and  expectations  to  the  very  uttermost  of  what  "  we 
can  ask  or  think ;"  and  as  sure  as  God  is  truth,  we  shall  re- 
ceive "  exceeding  abundantly  above  all  that  we  can  ask  or 
think."     We  shall  receive  all  that  .Icsus  can  ask  or  think.' 

Her  views  of  Christian  assurance,  as  set  forth  in  the  fol- 
lowing letter,  were  clear  and  scriptural. 

July  4,  1827. 
'  ^I}'  mind  is  in  a  state  of  declension  and  deadness  to  spir- 
itual things,  which  is  the  more  awful  to  me,  from  having  en- 
joyed much  communion  with  God  a  few  weeks  ago.  I  know 
not  how  to  describe  this  state  better  than  by  saying,  that 
prayer  seems  to  be  my  burden  ;  and  evil  thoughts  my  element ; 
and  that,  instead  of  maintaining  a' continued  conflict  against 
this  inclination,  I  feel  a  kind  of  obstinate  hardened  disposi- 
tion in  my  mind,  leading  me  to  yield  rather  to  Satan  than  to 
God.     But  even  during  all  this  time,  my  evidence  of  being  a 


child  of  God,  though  not  brought  with  any  realizing  sweet- 
ness to  my  heart,  yet  remains  quite  clear  and  unclouded  to 
my  understanding.  But  my  evidence  is  this — not  that  I  am 
now  in  a  spiritual  frame  of  mind  (though  that  would  be  a 
delightful  confirmation  of  it) — but  that — let  my  state  be  what 
it  will, — still  I  cannot  forget,  that  I  have  cast  myself  a  thou- 
sand and  a  thousand  times  upon  the  mercy  of  God  in  Christ 
Jesus.  I  have  committed  my  soul  to  him  ;  and,  though  I  am 
unfaithful  and  unbelieving,  yet  I  know  that  he  abideth  ever 
faithful,  to  keep  that  which  has  once  been  committed  to  him. 
Besides — I  have  told  him  again  and  again — and  that  with  ago- 
nizing earnestness, — what  a  weak  backsliding  heart  I  have 
entrusted  to  his  care;  and  that,  if  he  does  not  hold  me  up,  I 
shall  fall.  And  now  can  I  think  that  he  has  forgotten  all  my 
prayer  for  keeping,  and  all  his  promises  of  keeping  me,  and 
that  he  means  to  let  me  fall  for  ever  1  Oh  !  I  cannot  think 
so.  I  cling  to  my  assurance,  and  cannot  but  think,  that  as 
Christ — and  Christ  alone — is  the  foundation  of  it,  it  must  be 
well-founded.  I  must  think  (I  would  say  it  with  reverence) 
that  God  would  cease  to  be  "a  faithful  Creator,"  if  he  could 
give  up  a  soul  that  has  been  so  often  confined  to  his  keeping. 
There  is  one  verse,  that  in  the  darkest  and  coldest  seasons 
comes  with  comfort  to  my  mind.  I  know  that  I  have  often 
asked  my  Heavenly  Father  for  bread.  Shall  I  thiidv  he  has 
given  mc  a  stone  V  I  have  asked  him  for  the  Spirit  of  truth. 
Shall  I  think  he  has  put  me  off  with  the  spirit  of  delusion? 

This  letter  illustrates  the  true  character  of  Christian  con- 
fidence, as  exclusively  based  upon  the  word  of  God.  It  is 
independent  of  external  excitement.  It  is  the  reliance  of  faith 
upon  the  immutable  engagements  of  Divine  faithfulness. 
JIuch  that  passes  under  this  name  is  the  assurance  of  feeling, 
rather  than  of  faith.  The  consolations  of  the  gospel  are  be- 
lieved, nnt  because  they  arc  declared,  but  because  they  are  felt. 
Hence,  when  the  comfort  is  lost,  the  ground  of  confidence  is 
destroyed.  This,  however,  is  an  inversion  of  the  Scriptural 
rule — walking  by  sight,  not  by  faith — unlike  a  tried  saint  of 
old,  who,  when  "  walking  in  darkness,  and  having  no  light," 
had  learnt  to  "  stay  himself  upon  his  God" — "  Though  he 
slay  me,  yet  will  I  trustln  him." 

Any  encouragement  however  to  be  drawn  from  a  past  opera- 
tion of  faith  must  be  carefully  connected  with  its  present  ex- 
ercise. Its  first  effort  indeed  linked  the  Christian's  heart  in  in- 
dissoluble union  with  his  Saviour.  •  Yet  the  principle  must  not 
be  confined  to  a  single  act,  by  which  at  some  former  time  he 
came  to  Christ.  It  is  rather  the  continued  habit  of  the  soul, 
by  which  he  is  ^^ coming'''  to  Christ  in  constant  motion.  In 
liiss  Graham's  case,  the  earnestness  and  intensity  of  her 
mind  clearly  marked  the  active  though  unconscious  inflfience 
of  the  habit  of  faith,  even  while  her  recollection  was  fixed — 
perhaps  too  exclusively — upon  some  former  and  determinate 
exercise. 

But  was  Miss  Graham  warranted  in  her  strong  assurance, 
in  a  state  of  conscious  and  acknowledged  backsliding  1 
When  we  consider  the  character  of  her  religion — sflf-sus- 
picious,  jealous  of  declension,  earnestly  longing  for  communion 
with  God,  content  with  no  ordinary  measure  of  conformity  to 
the  Divine  image,  we  shall  not  be  disposed  to  accuse  her  of 
presumption,  or  of  a  loose  and  careless  profession.  Hers 
was  not  a  paralyzing  securitj' — a  self-indulgent  repose — but  an 
habitual  quickness  of  spiritual  discernment,  and  dutiful  watch- 
fulness. It  was  probably  her  intense  solicitude  for  higher 
conformity  to  her  Lord,  that  induced  her,  like  holy  Bradford, 
to  pass  this  severe  judgment  upon  herself,  in  the  deep  con- 
sciousness of  her  infinite  distance  from  the  ultimate  point  of 
attainment,  and  her  sometimes  apparent  contrariety  to  it. 
Iniquity  felt  and  iniquity  allowed,  are  essentially  different. 
When  allowed,  the  soul  is  benumbed  and  blinded  in  compar- 
ative unconsciousness.  When  hated,  the  sensibility  of  its 
defilements  is  so  keen,  and  the  apprehensions  of  its  guilt  so 
afflicting,  that  even  in  a  state  of  conscious  acceptance,  the 
soul  is  constrained  to  "  write  bitter  things"  against  itself. 
The  prostrate  humiliating  confessions  of  that  holy  saint  of 
the  Reformation  just  alluded  to,  in  no  degree  hindered  the 
peaceful  rest  of  his  soul  upon  the  engagements  of  the  faith- 
fulness and  love  of  his  God. 

We  could  not  indeed  but  strongly  discountenance  an  assur- 
ed confidence  in  a  state  of  open  sin,  or  in  any  habitually  al- 
lowed inconsistency  with  a  Christian  profession.  Yet  we 
are  persuaded  that  "a  personal  assurance  has  often  proved  the 
only  chain  of  love  that  has  restrained  the  backslider  from 
total  apostacy — from  saying — "  There  is  no  hope— for  I  have 
loved  strangers,  and  after  them  will  1  go."  Often  too  has  it 
been  the  appointed  means  of  conviction  and  recovery  from 
backsliding.     A  realized*sense  of  a  Father's  love  in  the  ten- 


MEMOIR  OF  MARY  JANE  GRAHAM. 


derness  and  wisdom  of  merited  chastening  has  pierced  many 
a  rebellious  cliild  with  contrite  sorrow,  and  has  brought  him 
back  to  his  Father's  feet  with  simplicitj',  gratitude  and  con- 
fidence. He  is  humbled  and  encouraged  under  the  most  dis- 
tressing consciousness  of  backsliding  by  the  remembrance, 
that  the  principle  and  warrant  of  assurance  is  not  in  himself, 
and  that  his  ground  of  confidence  is  •nchangeably  the  same. 
'  I  see,'  said  5liss  Graham  on  one  occasion,  '  that  God  is  my 
God  in  covenant.  He  is  unchangeable,  though  I  continually 
vary.' 

The  duty  and  importance  of  an  elevated  enjoyment  of 
scriptural  privilege,  are  delightfully  inculcated  in  the  follow- 
ing letter. 

'  What  a  privilege  (she  observes,  speaking  cf  a  blessed 

saint  now  in  heaven),  has  Mrs.. to  be  walking  so  closely 

with' God,  and  enjoying  so  much  of  his  presence!     "Oh! 
that  I"  thus  always  "  knew  where  I  might  find  him,  that  I 
might  come  even  to  his  seat !"     But  I  never  had  so  little  of 
his  presence  as  now,  and  if  it  sometimes  returns  for  a  moment, 
the  emotions  of  my  mind  seem  almost  more  than  I  can  bear, 
so  that  I  dread,  even  while  I  long  for,  their  recurrence.     The 
true  remedy  for  all  this  would  be,  that  settled  quiet  peace, 
which  is  the  effect  of  the  righteousness  of  Christ.     But  this 
I  want  faith  to  lay  hold  of  as  my  own.     I  have  been  surprised 
lately  at   the   slighting  and  almost  suspicion,  with  which 
friends  appear  to  look  upon  spiritual  peace  and  joy,  as  if  it 
were  rather  a  snare  to  be  guarded  against,  than  a  privilege  to 
be  sought  after.     Yet  surely — "  Rejoice  in  the  Lord  ahvaj-s, 
and  again  I  say,  rdjoice,"  is  as  much  a  command  as — "  Thou 
shall  not  kill — Thou  shalt  not  steal."     And  I  know  nothing 
except  this  "joy   of  the  Lord,"  which  is  said  to  be  "our 
strength,"  that  can  so  Jill  the  heart,  as  to  leave  no  room  for 
rejoicing  in  self  or  in  the  world.     And  do  you  not  think,  that 
the  more  of  this  holy  joy  is  "  shed  abroad  in  the  heart,"  the 
more  godly  sorrow  will  dwell  there  1     At  least  I  find  it  to  be 
so.     They  seem  to  me  to  be  inseparable  companions  in  our 
experience  on  earth.     Were  I  to  mention  the  sweetest  ingre- 
dient in  the  cup  of  joy  or  sorrow  (I  scarcely  know  which  to 
call  it),  that  we  are  permitted  to  taste  of  here  ;  it  would  be 
the  melting  of  the  heart,  which  springs  from  that  immeasura- 
ble unworlhiness,  which  gives  us  some  faint  conception  how 
low  Christ  has  stooped  1o  save  us !     Why  then  should  it  be 
thought  presumptuous  to  desire  an  abundant  measure  of  the 
very  thing  which  we  are  commanded  to  have  ?     W' hy  should 
this  desire  for  "  the  peace  of  God  which  passeth  all  under- 
standing," be  construed  into  a  dependence  upon  frames  and 
feelings  1 

'  Sometimes  I  think  we  might  have  almost  as  much  joy 
as  there  is  in  heaven,  if  we  had  but  a  holy  boldness  to  ask 
for  it,  and  to  receive.  We  are  not  straitened  in  Christ;  "  but 
we  are  straitened  in  our  own  bowels;"  so  that,  because  joy 
is  an  undeserved  guest  in  a  heart  defiled  by  sin,  we  dare  not 
receive  it  as  a  lawful  guest,  though  this  heart  has  been 
cleansed  with  the  l>lood  of  Jesus.  But  what  will  it  be,  my 
dearest  friend,  to  open  our  e3'es  upon  that  world,  where  "per- 
fect love  casteth  out  fear"  for  ever!  I  try  to  conceive  it 
sometimes,  but  I  caimot.  Tivere  is  nothing  I  find  so  difficult, 
as  to  imagine  entire  deliverance  from  the  spirit  of  bondage. 
W'hat  will  it  be,  to  be  "face  to  face"  with  Christ;  to  "see 
him  as  he  is;"  to  "see  the  King  in  his  beauty,"  in  "His 
own  glory,  in  his  Father's  glory;"  and  yet  to  look  upon  him 
without  fear .'  We  had  need  have  these  earthly  tabernacles 
taken  down  first;  as  they  never  could  sustain  it.  And  yet 
this  is  that  death,  at  which  even  renewed  human  nature 
shrinks;  though,  if  we  could  view  it  aright,  it  is  but  the 
shutting  out  of  fear,  and  the  letting  in  ol  perfect  love  for 
ever.' 

It  is  indeed  to  be  feared,  as  Miss  Graham  has  observed, 
that  there  is  a  class  of  professors  among  us,  who  depreciate 
the  glowing  exercises  of  Christian  feeling.  Their  religion  is 
rather  of  an  intellectual,  than  of  a  spiritual  character.  The}- 
reason,  explain,  demonstrate,  vindicate.  But  they  are  cau- 
tious of  extremes.  They  realise  the  seriousness,  importance, 
and  restraints  of  the  gospel,  rather  than  its  high  privileges 
and  constraining  obligations.  The  exercise  of  their  judg- 
ments, from  this  defect  of  a  deep  influence  of  spiritual  reli- 
gion, materially  checks  the  healthful  and  animating  glow  of 
their  affections.  Their  views  of  the  fundamental  doctrines 
are  generally  orthodox,  and  the}'  maintain  a  correct  external 
deportment.  But  they  appear  to  have  a  scanty  enjoyment  of 
that  new-created  taste  .and  element  of  pleasure,  which  is  con- 
nected with  the  revelation  of  the  glory  of  God  to  the  soul. 
They  seem  to  he  little  conversant  with  the  varied  exercises 
of  a  devotional  habit  -of  mind — such  as  holy  delight  in  com- 


munion with  God,  livel}'  contemplation  of  the  Saviour,  spir- 
itual meditation  and  etijoyment  of  the  sacred  word,  and 
heavenly  aspiration  of  soul.  Their  ordinary  Christian  con- 
versation is  restrained  from  that  intimate»and  free  communi- 
cation of  spiritual  sj-mpathies,  which  infuses  mutual  warmth, 
refreshment,  and  energy  in  the  endeavour,  like  Jonathan  and 
David,  "to  strengthen  each  other's  hands  in  God;"  to  unite 
in  a  closer  intercourse  with  our  Divine  Saviour,  and  to  invio--  ' 
orate  our  purposes  of  consecration  to  his  service. 

Such  persons  seem  too  little  to  consider  the  strong  and  im- 
portant connexion  of  religion  with  the  affections.  Butit  is 
only  their  lively  and  powerful  exercise  that  is  at  all  propor- 
tioned to  the  vast  expanse  and  grandeur  of  the  subject.  We 
find,  therefore,  religion  in  heaven,  where  it  exists  in  the  most 
refined  purity  and  perfection,  is  much  engaged  in  the  delight- 
ful affections  of  joy  and  love,  and  in  the  fervent  expressions 
of  these-feelings  in  everlasting  praise.  The  scriptural  exhi- 
bition ofjreligion  in  the  records  of  the  most  eminent  servants 
of  God,  and  in  the  rich  display  of  the  promises  of  Christ,  is 
of  the  same  glowing  character. 

The  religion  of  the  "  man  after  God's  heart"  was  a  religion 
of  the  affections.  Every  natural  alTcetion  of  his  soul  was 
filled  with  God.  In  his  book  of  Psalms,  written  with  the 
pen  of  inspiration  for  the  public  use  of  the  church,  we  behold 
him — not  describing  the  proper  individualities  of  his  own  ex- 
perience; but  leading  the  worship  of  the  universal  church  in 
the  expression  of  deep  humiliation,  holy  admiration,  fervent 
love  and  joy  in  his  God,  earnest  thirstings  and  pantings  for 
his  presence,  delight , in  his  ordinances,  devout  acknowledg- 
ments for  his  unbounded  mercy,  and  exulting  triumph  in  his 
faithful  love.  The  book  of  Canticles  also — however  we  may 
refrain  from  a  minute  consideration  of  some  of  its  imagery — 
exhibits  those  vigorous  exercises  of  spiritual  afTeclions,  which 
are  consonant  to  the  experience  of  the  lively  Christian,  and 
which  excite  in  him  no  common  measure  of  admiring,  trust- 
ing, and  grateful  love  to  his  Divine  Saviour.  The  corres- 
ponding New  Testament  development  of  Christian  privilege 
embraces  those  high  and  heavenly  blessings,  which  draw  out 
the  affections  of  the  soul  into  exciting  employment — such  as 
"  peace  with  God,"  constant  "  access"  to  his  presence  and 
favour;  rejoicing  in  hope  of  his  glory;  glorying  in  tribula- 
tions, as  the  path-way  thither ;  "  the  love  of  God,  shed  abroad 
in  the  heart;  and  the  enjoyment  of  God  through  our  Lord 
Jesus  Christ;"  all  of  which  are  presented  to  us  in  a  single 
view,  as  our  present  portion  and  source  of  happiness. 

If  therefore  we  acknowledge  the  gospel  in  its  faith  and  ob- 
ligations, while  defectivel)'  apprehending  and  estimating  its 
privileges — if  our  judgment  has  been  informed  and  establish- 
ed without  a  full  and  habitual  exercise  of  the  affections,  we 
stand  convicted  of  an  imperfect  reception  of  Christ,  and  of 
possessing  only  a  partial  interest  in  his  unspeakably  rich  en- 
joyments. The  class  of  professors,  to  whom  we  more  imme- 
diately allude,  are  little  aware  of  the  extent  of  loss  to  their 
own  souls,  or  of  evil  to  the  church,  from  their  neglect  of  seat- 
ing religion  more  deeply  and  powerfully  in  their  affections. 
Tlie  spiritual  tone  of  their  religion  is  materially  deteriorated. 
The  refreshing  influences  of  the  oi'dinances  is  weakened. 
The  Holy  Comforter  is  restrained  in  his  intimate  communion 
with  their  souls.  A  want  of  tender  sensibility  for  the  most 
part  characterizes  their  profession.  The  careless  but  discern- 
ing world  mark  no  perceptible  elevation  of  heavenly  charac- 
ter, and  are  led  to  think  that  the  promised  privileges  of  the 
Gospel  are  a  delusive  paradise.  And  professors  of  their  own 
class  gladly  take  shelter  under  this  lower  standard  of  the 
cross,  as  a  respectable  Evangelical  religion,  precluding  them 
from  many  inconvenient  sacrifices,  to  which  a  more  decided 
exhibition  of  Christian  devotedness  might  have  subjected 
them. 

This  restraint  upon  the  affections,  brings  us  therefore  into 
a  lower  atmosphere  of  the  gospel,  unvisited  with  the  full 
power  of  its  holy  influence.  Ttiis  ma^'  readily  account  for 
that  conformity  to  the  principles,  habits,  and  converstition  of 
the  world,  which  to  a  considerable  extent  is  connected  with 
an  Evangelical  profession.  The  enlivening  power  of  faith, 
operating  through  the  medium  of  the  affections,  would  secure  a 
triumphant  victory  in  every  form  of  worldly  conflict,  and  en- 
able the  disciples  of  Jesus  boldh'  to  confess  their  Master's 
name,  to  glory  in  his  cross,  and  to  delight  in  his  service. 
But  this  is  the  "one  thing"  that  is  too  often  "lacking:"  and 
for  which,  as  a  principle  of  entire  consecration  to  Christ,  no 
substitute  can  be  found. 

Let  us  not  however,  while  insisting  upon  the  connexion  of 
the  gospel  upon  the  allections,  be  supposed  to  advocate  a  re- 
igion  of  impulse  or  sensation.     We  are  aware  that  excited 


224 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


feelings  are  no  proof  of  holy  affections.  ?.Iiicli  tliat  passes 
under  the  name  of  religious  feeling-,  is  the  ebb  and  flow  of 
the  animal  emotions,  wholly  unconnected  with  the  spiritual 
principle.  Those,  emotions  alone  are  of  Divine  origin,  on 
which  practical  holiness  are  engrafted  ;  and  which  are  not 
souglit  for  the  pleasurable  excitement  of  the  moment,  but  as 
a  medium  for  the  exercise  of  heavenly  affections,  and  for  the 
exhibition  of  self-denying  obedience.  .We  remefliber  also, 
that  the  first  excitement  of  a  religions  feeling,  is  very  differ- 
ent from  that  feeling  as  a  fixed  habit  of  the  mind  under  the 
controul  of  a  sound  judgment.  The  exampte  of  the  primitive 
Christians  lead  us  to  combine  intelligence  and  energy  with 
feeling,  and  tlierefore  to  suspect  the  most  delightful  emotions, 
which  do  not  bring  the  steady  light  from  lieaven  into  the 
daily  path,  which  do  not  communicate  vigour,  activity,  and 
decision  to  tlie  character,  and  that  are  not  connected  with  a 
dedication  of  the  whole  man  to  the  service  of  God.  Religion 
is  tlie  dominant  practical  principle  in  the  soul;  anJ  its  prac- 
tical results  are  the  legitimate  evidence  of  the  genuineness  of 
the  principle.  Any  encouragement  from  the  past  exercise  of 
the  affections,  irrespective  of  their  present  practical  injluence, 
must  therefore  be  discountenanced.  And  even  this  influence 
satisfactorily  ascertained  must  be  controlled  by  the  dictates 
of  a  spiritually  enlightened  judgment.  We  would  call  the 
judgment  into  constant  exercise,  under  the  influence  of  Chris- 
tian motives.  We  would  regulate  "the  Spirit  of  love,"  un- 
der the  controul  of  "  the  Spirit  of  a  sound  mind."  We  would 
have  "  love"  al\va3's  to  "  abound  in  knowledge  and  in  all 
judgment."  Only  let  it  "  abound  yet  more  and  more.''^  Let  it 
not  be  chilled,  damped,  fettered.  Let  us  guard  against  that 
frosty  elevation  of  intellect,  which  seems  to  regard  reli- 
gion as  an  Alpine  plant,  the  growth  only  of  a  cold  climate. 
Let  us  not  separate  it  from  that  exciting  glow  of  lo^fe,  in 
which  we  are  quickened  to  a  sense  of  our  obligations,  sus- 
tained under  our  daily  trials,  and  are  raised  in  our  present 
privileges  and  prospective  anticipations  above  the  baneful  in- 
fluence of  "  the  course"  and  spirit  "  of  this  world." 

Constitutional  causes  must  however  be  well  considered — 
while  insisting  upon  the  strong  influence  of  religion  upon  the 
afi'ections.  Intellectual  character  is  not  always  embued  with 
natural  sensibilities ;  while  on  the  other  band  a  sympathetic 
tone  of  character  is  easily  excited.  It  is  obvious  that  both 
these  require  larger  measures  of  Divine  influence — the  one, 
that  the  man  may  enter  into  the  delight  of  Christian  feeling 
— the  other,  that  natural  tenderness  may  be  braced  up  to  firm- 
ness and  stability  :  in  both  cases — that  they  may  judge  each 
other  charitabl)-.  But  "Me  love  of  God  must  be  shed  abroad 
in  our  hearts  by  the  Holy  Ghost"  or  we  are  not,  we  cannot  be. 
Christians. 

We  would  beg  however  shortly  to  advert  to  depreciation  of 
scriptural  privilege  of  a  verj'  different  character.  There  are 
some  who  stand  even  upon  lower  ground  than  intellectual 
professors.  They  are  satisfied  with  a  small  portion  of  spirit- 
ual enjoyment,  and  even  that  this  modicum  should  be  occa- 
sional, not  constant.  They  have  no  conception  of  any  internal 
religion  answering  to  the  wrestling  vigilance,  b}'  which  "  the 
kingdom  of  heaven  is  taken  b)'  force."  The  warmth  of  first 
impressions  subsides  as  a  matter  of  course  ;  not  however  into 
a  matured  and  solid  eflectiveness,  but  into  luke-warmness 
and  inertion.  If  they  be  the  children  of  God  in  a  Laodicean 
state,  they  will  probably  be  roused  by  sharp  afllictions,  to  a 
zealous  and  penitent  profession  of  their  Blasters  name,  and 
by  this  wise  and  loving  dispensation,  be  quickened  to  hear 
the  voice  of  their  Lord,  and  introduced  into  the  full  enjo}-- 
ment  of  communion  with  him.  It  is  however  evident,  tliat 
every  form  of  the  indulgence  of  sloth,  every  allowance  of  un- 
belief, and  the  influence  of  obscure  apprehension  of  the  o-os- 
pel,  operate  prejudicially  to  the  interests  of  the  church  and  of 
true  religion.  For  tlius  religion  is  presented  to  the  world  in 
a  false  and  unattractive  garb.  The  standard  of  holiness  is 
lowered  in  the  defect  of  that  enlivening  sense  of  redeeming 
love,  which  conciliates,  engages,  and  captivates  the  hearf. 
Little  is  known  of  that  support  of  the  promises  of  God,  which 
over-balances  all  difficulties,  real  and  apparent,  and  adds 
more  to  the  enjoyment  of  life,  than  suffering  can  take  away. 
This  evil  will  be  generally  traced,  except  in  cases  of  moral 
delinquenc)'  or  constitutional  weakness,  to  the  secret  root  of 
self-righteousness.  The  simplicity  of  faith  in  the  contempla- 
tion of  its  great  object  is  obscured  by  an  undue  and  unevan- 
gelical  dependence  upon  evidences.-  These,  though  they  hare 
their  legitimate  use  as  the  confirmation  of  our  hope,  must  have 
no  connexion  with  its  foundation.  \Ki\en  the  perception  of 
clear  evidence  is  deficient  (as  in  times  of  tem]itation  espe- 
cially is  often  the  case),  faith,  leaning  upon  his  ever-chano-- 


ing  support,  becomes  uncertain,  unsettled,  and  unfruitful. 
VV  hereas  under  the  darkest  destitution  of  internal  sources  of 
comfort,  the  offer,  invitation,  encouragement,  and  promise  of 
the  gospel,  addressed  to  sinners  is  an  unfailing  and  sufiicient 
warrant,  such  as  nothing  in  ourselves  can  make  more  com- 
plete. Let  then  faith  be  distinctly  and  explicitly  exer- 
cised. Let  clear  apprjliensions  of  the  ground  of  comfort  be 
diligently  sought.  Let  the  testimony  of  the  word,  not  the 
feelings  of  our  heart,  be  the  foundation  of  our  hope.  Let 
Christ  be  regarded  as  the  only  fountain  of  life,  light  and  con- 
solation. Thus  will  "  Grace  and  peace  be  multiplied  unto  us 
through  the  knowledge  of  God,  and  of  Jesus  our  Lord." 

We  close  this  section  with  giving  at  some  length,  and  with 
interesting  variety  of  illustration,  Miss  Greham's  sentiments 
upon  Conformity  to  the  Jl'orld ;  a  subject  of  vital  moment  to 
the  integritj',  consistency,  .and  fruitfulness  of  the  Christian 
profession. 

The  first  letter  commences  with  a  few  remarks,  not  imme- 
diately relevant  to  the  subject,  but  which  will  be  read  with 
interest. 

■     ■  Stohe,  Feb.  21,  1827. 

'It  seems  to  me  that  all  the  Lord's  dealings  with  liis  re- 
deemed children  speak  this  language — "  Cease  ye  from  man." 
Put  not  your  trust  in  any  earthly  comforter.  Lean  not  on 
any  arm  but  the  arm  of  your  Beloved.  "  For  the  hearts  of 
the  people"  of  this  world  "are  full  of  idols."  Self  is  the  great 
idol,  that  is  loved  and  honoured  more  than  God.  Then  comes 
a  multitude  of  lesser  things,  all  subservient  to  this  one;  and 
if  some  little  corner  in  the  heart  is  reserved  for  God,  or  if 
the  shadow  of  a  throne  is  set  up,  where  he  may  sit  on  solemn 
occasions,  at  the  pleasure  of  the  great  idol,  tlien  they  think 
all  is  going  on  well;  and  God  loved  as  much  as  he  could 
reasonably  expect  to  he  loved  by  creatures  who  have  such  a 
press  of  business  on  their  hands.  But,  m}'  beloved  friend,  we 
may  not  do  so.  God  has  purchased  us  for  bis  own  inheritance, 
will  have  our  whole  heart  and  our  whole  dependence  ;  and 
though  we  must  rejoice  in  the  friends  he  gives  us,  yet  we 
must  not  think  we  cannot  do  without  them  ;  or  that  we  should 
go  on  better,  if  we  had  more  of  their  help.  Christ  is  all- 
sufficient,  and  teaches,  comforts,  and  reproves  in  his  own 
tiiue  and  way,  and  by  his  own  means,  without  any  need  of 
our  direction.  In  looking  back  to  every  event  of  my  life, 
since  I  have  known  something  of  the  grace  of  God,  I  find 
that  there  never  has  been  any  thing  on  which  I  very  much 
depended,  but  God  has  straightway  removed  or  embittered 
that  thing,  or  in  some  way  made  it  useless  to  me,  till  I  re- 
turned to  place  my  whole  dependence  on  him.  But  let  us 
not  accuse  our  dearest  Lord  of  acting  unkindly  towards  us  in 
sending  these  disappointments  ;  for  he  only  takes  away  other 
helps  and  preps,  to  make  rooin  for  himself'.  He  loves  us 
too  well  to  suffer  any  rival  in  our  affections. 

'  1  have  read  your  letter  over  and  over,  and  scarcely  know 
how  to  answer  it,  or  what  to  make  of  it.  O  that  you  had 
some  better  counseller  than  I !  for  I  know  not  how  to  advise 
you.  I  fear  lest  you  should  think  me  strict  and  gloomy,  if  I 
tell  3'ou  all  I  think  ;  but  I  will  tell  j'ou,  since  you  desire  it; 
and  I  know  that  God  is  able  and  willing  too  to  give  you  joys 
so  much  superior  to  every  worldly  amusement,  that  you  will 
wonder  you  could  ever  think  them  worth  a  thought.  I  must 
say  then,  that  the  world  and  worldl}'  amusements,  appear  to 
me  quite  inconsistent  with  the  character  of  a  real  Christian  ; 
and  that  we  never  can  enjoy  happy  converse  w'ith  God  till  we 
give  them  up.  The  Christian  is  described  in  the  Scriptures, 
as  "the  temple  of  the  living  God."  Now  where  the  holy 
God  takes  up  his  abode,  surely  that  heart  must  be  sanctified 
and  set  apart  from  every  common  use,  wholly  devoted  to  his 
service.  But  can  God  and  the  world  reign  in  the  same  heart, 
or  as  it  were  reign  by  turns  1  Shall  we  admit  the  Lord  of 
glory  in  the  morning,  and  shut  him  out  in  the  evening,  while 
we  are  going  to  a  ball  or  a  play  ?  for  we  may  be  well  assured  he 
will  not  go  with  us  there.  The  spirit  of  the  world,  which 
reigns  in  such  places,  is  quite  opposite  to  his  Spirit;  and 
"the  friendship  of  the  world,"  which  is  there  sought,  "is 
enmity  with  God."  I  know  this  would  be  called  uncharita- 
ble ;  but  I  do  not  wish  to  be  more  charitable  than  the  Bible : 
and  surely  experience  proves  it  to  be  true ;  for  go  into  any 
ftshionable  assembly  whatever,  and  there  begin  to  speak 
of  those  things  of  which  we  ought  to  talk,  "  when  we  are 
sitting  in  the  house,  and  when  we  walk  by  the  way,  and 
when  we  lie  down,  and  when  we  rise  up;"  and  see  if  polite- 
ness itself  can  suppress  a  smile  at  your  strange  and  unwarrant- 
able impertinence,  in  forcing  the  attention  of  the  company  to 
subjects,  wluch  they  are  met  for  the  very  purpose  of  forgetting. 


MEMOIR  OF  MARY  JANE  GRAHAM. 


225 


No,  my  dear  fripnd,  that  cannot  be  a  proper  place  for  a  Chris-ltliau  conqueror"  in  tliy  miulit  I  Thou  hast  "given  thyself 
tian,  where  religion  is  the  tiling  that  must  nut  be  named ;  and 
where  even  something  in  our  hearts  will  tell  us,  that  such 
subjects  are  out  of  place.  Neither  can  you  say,  your  own 
heart  may  be  as  well  employed  there  as  elsewhere ;  for  the 
very  sweetest  meditation  on  heavenly  things  (if  we  coUld 
thus  meditate  in  the  midst  of  vanity)  would  be  spoiled  by 
the  thought,  that  there  were  none  who  enjoyed  like  communion 
with  ourselves ;  and  we  should  soon  have  to  "  seek  with 
Joseph  a  place  to  weep  in,"  to  weep  over  our  companions 
and  friends,  who  are  thus  "  feeding  on  ashes,"  delighting 
themselves  in  things  which  cannot  profit.  The  fact  is,  when 
Christians  are  at  a  place  of  worldly  amusement  (if  Christians 
are  to  be  found  who  will  venture  themselves  so  unguardedly 
into  Satan's  strong  places,)  they  must  either  have  heavenly 
thoughts  (and  then  the  amusement  would  appear  so- vapid, 
disgusting,  and  uninteresting,  that  they  would  never  be 
al)U'  to  stay  it  out :)  or  else,  if  the  amusement  is  an  amuse- 
ment to  them,  it  fills  their  hearts  with  a  crowd  of  vain 
thoughts,  sliuts  out  Christ,  and  lets  in  self  and  the  world,  and 
so  prepares  room  for  doubts,  and  fears,  and  much  bitter  repent- 
ance, before  the  Spirit  will  again  shine  upon  a  heart  which 
has  so  wantonly  despised  his  grace. 

But  many  will  saj- — 'AH  this  may  take  place  if  we  stay  at 
home;'  our  worldly  hearts  may  let  in  many  intruders  there; 
and  we  may  be  compelled  to  own,  that  we  should  have  been 
as  well  at  any  place  of  public  resort,  as  in  our  own  room, 
with  no  one  to  talk  to  but  our  own  heart.  This,  I  confess,  is 
our  shame  and  misery,  that  we  are  so  often  entangled  in  vain 
and  worldly  thoughts.  Uut  surely  it  does  but  make  the  argu- 
ment stronger  against  indulging  in  any  thing  which  tends  to 
foment  such  thoughts.  If  we  arc  so  weak,  why  go  into 
temptation,  against  which  the  strongest  have  not  been  able 
to  stand  i  We  may  fall  into  a  worldly  frame  of  mind  in  the 
absence  of  any  worldly  pleasures;  but,  because  we  have  got 
a  cruel  enemy  within,  shall  we  go  and  expose  ourselves  to 
the  attacks  of  the  enemy  without !  Let  us  at  least  have  the 
comfort  of  not  having  gone  in  quest  of  our  misery.  Tempta- 
tions enough  will  come  to  us  ;  let  us  not  gfl  to  them.  Uesides 
it  seems  lo  me  but  mocking  our  Father  which  is  in  heaven, 
to  say  one  hour — "Lead  us  not  into  temptation" — when  we 
Tiave  coolly  made  up  our  mind  to  rush  into  it  the  next.  From 
the  evil  of  such  a  temptation,  can  we  hope  that  he  will  deli- 
ver usi  Let  me  draw  vour  attention  to  the  sweet  precept  of 
our  Lord — "  Let  your  loins  be  girded  about,  and  your  lights 
burning;  and  ye  yourselves  like  unto  men  that  wait  for  their 
Lord,  when  he  will  return  from  the  wedding;  that  when  he 
Cometh  and  knocketh,  they  may  open  to  him  immediately  !" 

Now,  dear ,  1  am  sure  you  would  not  choose,  that  your 

Lord  should  come  for  you,  while  engaged  in  worldly  amuse 
nicnis ;  nor  would  you  .feel,  that  he  found  you  watching;  nor 
would  you  be  ready  to  "open/mmcrf/o/t/y,"  but  would  rather 
ask  time  to  collect  your  scattered  thoughts,  and  trLn  your 
wasted  lamp.  If  we  were  to  ask  the  blessed  in  heaven,  or 
the  tormented  in  hell,  what  they  think  of  such  employments, 
would  not  the  one  smile  with  pity  at  the  question,  and  the 
other  exclaim  with  rage — '  O  that  1  had  but  one  of  those 
hours  yon  are  thus  throwing  away  !  You  should  see  whether 

I  would  let  the  precious  moments  pass  in  such  vanities  as 

these!'     Forgive  me,  if  I  have  said  too  much.     Iruleed  I 

should  tremble  for  you,  going-  into  such  a  difficult  situation, 

if  I  did  not  know,  that  God  can  take  as  much  care  of  you 

there,  as  in  a  more  retired  place. 

'  I  do  earnestly  desire,  that  the  blessing  of  a  single  eye  and 

undivided  heart  may  he  yours.     There  is  no  comfort  in  being 

an   undecided  Christian;  and  Christ  himself  has  declared 

that  such  a  character  is  hateful  to  him.     But  this  will  not  be 

the  case  with  you  :  He  who  has  helped  you  thus  far,  will  go 

on  leading  you  by  the  hand,  till  he  has  brought  you  to  glory. 

You  ask  me — '  How  we  are  to  wean  our  hearts  from  the 

world  !'     I  know  no  other  answer,  but  that  w  hich  the  Scrip- 
ture gives.     A  believing  view  of  Jesus  must  make  the  world 

look  dark  -.ind  insignificant:  and  whenever  we  begin  to  love 

it  tuo  much,  we  have  only  to  apply  to  him,  who  has  said  to 

us — "Be  of  good  cheer;   I  have  overcome  the  world;"  and 

his  mighty  power  shall  be  put  forth  to  enable  us  to  overcome 

it  also.     I  used  to  make  many  resolutions  against  a  worldly 

spirit,  and  try  many  ways  to  break  myself  of  it;   and  these 

resolutions  were  repeatedly  broken;  but  now  I  have  but  one 

way ;  I  try  to  take  my  heart  to  Jesus,  believing  that  the  vic- 
tory is  already  mine  for  his  sake.     '  Lord,  thou  hast  promised 

that  "  sin  sh-all   not  have  dominion  over  me."     Thou  hast 

said,  that  every  one  that  is  "born  of  thee  overcometh  the 

world."     Fulfil  thy  gracious  promise,  and  make  me  "  more 
Vol.  n.— S  D 


for  my  sins,  that  thou  miohlcst  deliver  me  from  this  present 
world;"  and  wilt  thou  now  leave  me  to  be  taken  captive  by 

this  eyil  world  !     O  dear ,  the  faithful  God  tnust  become 

like  ifnto  lying,  promise-breaking  man,  before  he  can  refiise 
to  help  his  servants,  who  thus  cast  themselves  on  his  word 
of  promise;  and  disclaim  all  wisdom,  strength,  and  goodness 
but  his.  The  world  and  the  things  of  the  world,  as  "  a  strong 
man  armed,  who  keepeth  his  goods  in  peace,"  must  continue 
to  have  possession  of  our  hearts,  till  Christ,  who  is  "  stronger 
than"  the  world,  break  in,  and  claims  the  house  of  the  strong 
man,  as  a  mansion  for  his  Spirit  to  dwell  in.  Cast  yourself 
then  without  fear  upon  the  free  mercy  of  God  in  Christ  Jesus. 
The  more  worldly  and  wicked  you  feel  yourself  to  be,  the 
more  he  is  concerned  to  show  his  power  and  faithfulness  in 
saying  you  from  your  worldliness  and  wickedness.' 

The  next  letter  upon  the  same  subject  was  written  shortly 
afterwards  to  another  correspondent,  whom  she  regarded  with 
the  most  lively  affection,  as  having  been  made  instrumental 
in  communicating  to  her  soul  the  knowledge  and  love  of  her 
Saviour. 

March  22,  1827. 
'  Yon  mnst,  I  think,  have  misunderstood  my  meaning  about 
worldly  company  and  amusements.  Let  us  but  have  a  right 
motive  for  doing  so,  atid  1  think  we  may  safely  go  into  any 
company  whatever.  The  word  of  God  affords  us  two  valu- 
able rules  for  all  our  actions,  and  if  we  could  set  them  always 
before  our  eyes,  1  believe  we  should  seldom  be  at  a  loss  as  to 
the  conduct  we  ought  to  pursue.  "  Whether  therefore  ye 
eat,  or  drink,  or  whatsoever  ye  do,  do  all  to  the  ^lory  of  God. 
And — whatsoever  ye  do  in  word  or  dced,(/o  all  in  the  name  of 
the  Lord  Jesus,  giving  thanks  to  God  and  the  Father  by  him." 
Let  us  then  always  ask  ourselves,  before  we  set  about  any 
study,  or  employment,  or  enter  into  any  company — 'Am  I 
doing  this  "  to  the  glory  of  God  ?"  Is  it  my  sole,  or  at  least 
my  principal  motive?  Can  I  "do  it  in  the  name  of  the  Lord 
Jesus  V  Can  I  boldly  say — it  is  such  an  action  as  he  would 
approve  of]  And  can  I  look  up  to  him  all  the  time  I  am  do- 
ing it,  for  his  sanction  and  blessing!'  If  you  can  answer 
this  question  satisfactorily,  the  action,  whatever  it  be,  must 
be  right;  and  there  can  be  no  danger  attending  the  perform- 
ance of  it.  If,  on  the  contrary,  your  mind  recoils  from  even 
asking  such  a  question,  be  assured  there  is  something  wrong 
in  it,  and  that  you  would  do  well  to  give  it  up.  It  is  a  hard 
lesson  to  our  carnal  hearts,  but  one  which  the  love  of  Jesus  can 
make  easy  to  us  ;  that  from  the  moment  we  take  refuge  at  the 
cross  of  Jesus,  and  are  "washed  from  our  sins  in  his  blood — 
from  that  happy  moment  we  are  "no  longer  our  own,"  and 
must  make  it  our  one  business  to  "glorify  God  in  our  body 
and  spirit,  which  are  God's."  This  seems  to  me  the  great 
and  marked  distinction  between  the  Christian  and  the  world- 
ling. The  one  lives  to  himself;  the  other  "to  him  who  died 
for  him  and  rose  again."  The  one  consults  his  own  pleasure, 
ease,  and  safety,  "  leans  to  his  own  understanding,"  and  seeks 
his  own  glory.  The  other  prays  that  his  will  may  be  quite 
swallowed  up  in  the  will  of  Jesus,  "  ceases  from  his  own 
wisdom,"  and  makes  "  Christ  his  wisdom."  He  no  longer 
"  receives  the  honour  which  comclh  of  man ;"  but  desires 
that  Christ,  the  Author  of  all  his  good  things,  may  have  all 
the  glory  of  them.  His  fleshy  nature,  or — as  St.  Paul  calls 
it,  the  old  man — strives  hard  against  this,  and  would  lead 
him  to  please  and  honour  himself  again  ;  and  this  is  the  great 
conflict  between  the  flesh  and  the  spirit,  which  makes  the 
Christian  life  so  truly  called  a  warfare.  This  conflict  has 
already  begun  in  you,  my  dearest  friend,  and  will  never  cease, 
till  death  takes  you  from  sense  and  self,  to  where  you  shall 
see  Jesus  as  he  is,  and  wonder  that  you  could  ever  prefer  any 
thing  to  him.  No  wonder  you  find  it  a  hard  and  strange 
conflict.  Parting  with  self-seeking,  self-honouring  and-self- 
righteousness,  is  far  more  painful,  than  cutting  ofl"  a  right 
hand,  or  plucking  out  a  right  eye.  "  ^Vith  man  indeed  this 
is  impossible;  but  with"  Jesus  "all  things  are  possible." 
Taking  this  consideration  with  us  then,  that  Christ — not  self 
— is  to  be  the  end  of  all  our  actions,  and  that  "  whether  we 
eat,  or  drink,"  or  speak,  or  go  in  or  out,  or  are  alone  or  in 
compan}',  engaged  in  study  or  recreation,  we  must  "do  all 
to  the  glory  of  God,"  and  "  in  the  name  of  the  Lord  Jesus" — 
I  think  it  will  give  us  a  very  different  view  of  our  duty  as  to 
worldly  company  and  employments,  from  any  that  worldly 
wisdom  or  policj'  can  give  us. 

It  cannot  be,  however,  for  the  glory  of  God,  that  we  should 
show  ourselves  morose  and  unsociable.  The  friends  and  re- 
lations we  have  arc  his  gifts,  and  therefore  must  not  be  des- 


OOfi 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


pised  or  neglected.  Besides,  we  ought  to  bear  in  mind,  that 
the  redeemed  of  Clirist  are  "  tlie  salt  of  the  earth,"  "  a  pe- 
culiar people,"  created  anew  in  Christ  Jesus  fortheverj'  pur- 
pose of  "  showing  forth  his  praises  ;"  and  how  can  we  dolhis, 
if  we  shut  ourselves  out  altogether  from  the  world  ?  It  is 
false  humility,  which  makes  us  say — '  I  can  never  do  any 
good,' — for  the  meaner  the  instrument,  the  more  is  the  glory 
of  God  displayed  in  doing  good  with  it ;  and  as  it  is  all  God's 
doing  and  not  ours,  we  have  no  reason  to  be  proud  of  it,  but 
rather  to  he  abased  at  the  sight  of  our  own  unfitness.  I  own 
to  you,  that  I  consider  it  the  greatest  blessing  to  a  worldly 
family  to  have  but  one  Christian  among  them  '(thouo-h  I 
know  they  think  it  a  sad  interruption ;)  for  who  can  tell' but 
God  may  hear  the  prayers  and  tears  of  that  one,  and  make 
him  or  her  the  messenger  of  peace  to  the  rest?  Thus  far 
then,  I  think  it  must  be  right  to  go  into  worldly  company,  in 
the  discharge  of  relative  duties  nut  plainlij  inconsistent  with 
the  word  of  God ;  or  to  avail  ourselves  of  any  providential 
opportunities  of  Christian  usefulness.  Let  us  however  be 
careful,  that  our  own  spiritual  state  is  not  affected  by  it ;  for 
we  can  never  be  required  to  enter  into  any  thing  to  the'hurt 
of  our  own  souls.  But  on  the  other  hand,  my  d'ear  friend,  I 
think,  if  we  really  love  Christ,  this  occasional  mixin<r  wi'th 
worldly  cornpany  will  be  rather  a  sacrifice  than  a  pleasure  to 
us.  For  think,  what  it  is  to  go  amongst  worldly  people  "  in 
the  name  of  the  Lord  Jesus,"  and  "  to\\\e  glory  of  our  God." 
Even  if  we  do  not  feel  ourselves  called  on  to  speak  to  them 
directly  on  the  subject;  still,  if  we  keep  this  aim  in  view,  in 
how  many  little  things  must  we  show  that  our  sentiments  are 
opposite  to  theirs!  and  if  they  know  that  we  profess  religion, 
we  may  be  almost  sure,  that  they  view  us  with  secret  dis- 
like and  contempt;  for  "the  carnal  heart  is"  and  always 
will  be  "  enmity  against  God"  and  his  people.  I  have  sel- 
dom been  into  worldly  company,  without  feeling  either  very 
uncomfortable  all  the  time  I  was  in  it,  or  very'unhappy  as 
soon  as  I  came  out  of  it ;  for  if  God  enabled  me  to  keep  his 
glory  in  view,  the  sight  of  so  many  souls  perishing  in  a  vain 
confidence  of  their  own  safety ;  the  sense  of  my  iTiability  to 
speak  properly  to  them  ;  the  consciousness  that  in  many  cases 
at  least  they  would  gladly  have  dispensed  with  my  company, 
all  these  things  could  not  but  make  me  uncomfo'rtable— /jo? 
unhappy ;  becaiise,  supposing  that  I  was  in  the  clear  path  of 
duty— ia  the  midst  of  vain  company  and  sad  reflections,  I 
could  still  hold  communion  with  Jesus.     But  when  I  lost 

sight  of  this  great  end,  O  dear ,  I  wish  I  could  point  to 

you  the  anguish  I  have  endured,  that  you  might  avoid  dis- 
honouring your  Saviour  as  I  have  done!  Very,  very  often 
this  has  been  my  wretched  case  : — '  What  will  people  think 
of  me,  if  I  set  up  to  be  so  much  better  than  others  V  This 
ensnaring  question  has  often  made  me  put  on  a  levity  of  sen- 
timent and  manner,  which  I  did  not  at  first  feel,  but  which, 
persisted  in,  has  become  real ;  and  I  have  been  in  heart  as 
well  as  in  appearance,  the  worldliest  of  the  worldly.  And 
when  even  I  have  returned  home,  God  has  often  seen  fit  to 
visit  this  sin,  by  leaving  me  still  to  backslide  in  heart,  and  to 
be  "filled  with  my  own  ways  ;"  and  when  I  have  come  to 
myself,  (for  he  has  never  quite  left  me,  nor  ever  will,)  how 
cau  I  describe  the  bitterness  of  thinking,  that  I  had  done  dis- 
honour to  the  cause  of  my  only  friend,  Tost  the  sweet  sense  of 
his  redeeming  love,  missed  many  opportunities  of  saying  a 
word  which  he  might  have  blessed,  and  by  my  light  and  fool- 
ish conduct  given  occasion  to  the  world  to  think,  that  reli- 
gion was  a  thing  in  word  only,  not  in  power ! 

'  I  have  told  you  my  experience ;  but  I  believe  it  is  more 
or  less  what  every  Christian  feels  ;  only  few  have  been  so 
very  guilty  in  this  respect  as  I  have.  Even  now,  though  I 
know,  that  all  these  sins  are  washed  away  in  my  Redeemer's 
blood,  I  cannot  reflect  without  the  deepest  self-abhorrence  on 
the  vain  and  foolish  conduct  I  often  indulged  in  at ,  par- 
ticularly the  sin  of  evil  speaking,  which  I  gave  way  to  there 
more  than  any  where.  I  might  add  that  of  sabbath-breaking. 
Do  not  think  that  I  mean  to  lay  it  to  their  charge ;  O  no,  I 
only  mean,  that  by  going  into  the  society  of  worldly  people, 
if  I  may  so  say,  without  my  armour  on,  I  became  as  vain  as 
they  ;  and  much  more  sinful ;  because  I  sinned  against  light 
and  grace.  Surely  then,  if  we  consider  these  drawbacks, 
worldly  people  will  not  be  our  chosen  companions  ;  and  we 
shall  go  among  them  when  we  do,  as  a  duty  rather  than  a 
pleasure. 

'  With  regard  to  the  theatre,  and  amusements  of  this  kind, 
Christians  must  have  little  to  do,  if  they  can  find  time  for 
them.  But  if  they  could  find  time,  I  confess  I  am  at  a  loss 
to  see  what  business  they  can  find  there.  Are  not  the  senti- 
ments usually  uttered  in  such  places  quite  in  opposition  to  the 


pecepts  of  God's  word  ?  Are  not  pride,  vain  glory,  self-de- 
struction, liatrcd,  dissipation,  unlawful  attachments  held  up 
to  our  admiration  in  many  theatrical  compositions,  considered 
as  trivial  faults  in  most  of  them,  and  detested  upon  risht  prin- 
ciples in  none  ■!  You  profess  as  a  Christian  to  make  Jesus 
your  happiness.  What  can  you  find  here  to  bring  yon  into 
communion  with  him  t  You  profess  to  make  his  glory  your 
aim.  Can  you  then  sit  with  complacency,  and  hear  a  com- 
pany of  your  fellow-creatures,  with  immortal  souls,  uttering 
sentiments  which  only  tend  to  make  them  despise  Christ 

and  his  ways  ^     But  1  will  leave  the  subject,  dear ,  only 

adding,  that  I  do  not  wish  you  to  give  up  this  amusement 
from  what  I  say,  but  from  the  settled  conviction  of  your  own 
mind,  after  prayer  for  Divine  teaching.  If  then  you  find, 
that  you  can  neither  "  do  it  to  the  glory  of  God,  or  in  the 
name  of  Jesus,"  I  will  not  try  to  dissuade  you  from  it.  I 
was  once  induced  to  attend  '  Matthews  at  Home,'  and  shall 
never  forget  the  sensation  I  felt,  when  he  told  us  how  his  fa- 
ther, who  was  a  good  kind  of  man,  but  too  religious,  had  tried 
to  keep  him  from  coming  on  the  stage.  When  I  looked 
round,  and  saw  the  merriment  expressed  in  every  face,  I  could 
not  help  saying  to  myself,  '  This  is  no  place  for  me ;  there 
are  no  lovers  of  Christ  here;  for  "  charity  rejoiceth  not  in  in- 
iquity," as  these  poor  deluded  people  are  doing.' 

'And  now,  my  dearest  friend,  I  have  proposed  many  pri- 
vations to  you ;  and  what  have  I  to  offer  you  in  return "! 
Nothing  but  the  love  of  Jesus;  nay,  that  is  yours  already; 
for  if  you  are  enabled  to  give  these  things  up,  it  will  be — not 
that  he  may  love  you,  but  because  he  has  loved  you.  The 
blessed  spirits  above  want  nothing  else  to  make  them  happy; 
and  we  soon  hope  to  taste  their  happiness ;  but  if  it  cannot 
make  us  happy  here,  then  heaven  itself  would  not  make  us 
happy.  O  let  us  pray  for  this  love.  Let  us  cast  off  the  spi- 
rit of  bondage,  and  not  come  to  God  as  slaves  who  must  serve 
him  ;  but  as  his  redeemed  children,  who  love  to  serve  him,  and 
who  find  his  "  service  perfect  freedom."  Let  us  pray  that 
more  of  "  the  love  of  God  may  be  shed  abroad  in  our  hearts." 
Let  us  beseech  the  Holy  Ghost  to  "  take  of  the  things  of 
Jesus,  and  show  them  to  us."  Let  us  study  all  the  sweet 
relations,  in  which  he  has  revealed  himself  to  us  in  the  Scrip- 
tures, Father,  brother,  friend,  husband,  lover.  Here  is  per- 
petual and  rational  study  for  us  ;  and  the  more  we  follow  it, 
the  sweeter  we  shall  find  it.  It  is  but  a  little  ray  of  this  love 
that  as  yet  has  warmed  my  heart;  yet  I  can  tell  you,  dearest 
and  most  beloved  friend,  that  it  is  worth  renouncing  ten 
thousand  worlds  for.  The  Lord  Jesus  has  sometimes  drawn 
near  to  me  with  such  unspeakable  sweetness,  that  I  have 
thought  all  the  lovely  relations  of  life,  father,  husband,  friend, 
had  no  beauty  in  them,  except  as  they  served  to  shadow  forth 
the  immense  love  of  our  reconciled  God  in  Him,  and  the  near 
and  intimate  communion  to  which  he  admits  his  chosen  and 
redeemed  people.  O  my  friend,  he  has  chosen  you  !  What 
a  wonder  of  love  is  here  !  He  has  redeemed  j'ou,  at  the 
price  of  his  own  precious  blood,  "  from  this  evil  world." 
Will  you  linger  in  it  any  longer  1  God  forbid  !  May  the 
Spirit  of  God  "  fill  you  with  such  peace  and  joy  in  believing," 
as  may  make  the  world  and  the  things  of  it  appear  to  you  in 
their  true  light !  Kemember,  this  is  not  your  home.  We  are 
"  strangers  and  pilgrims"  here.  Let  not  the  world  see,  that 
the  joys  of  the  love  of  Christ,  and  communion  with  him,  are 
not  enough  to  occupy  us,  without  having  recourse  to  the  many 
vain  and  trifling  ways  they  have  invented  of  killing  time,  and 
driving  eternity  out  of  their  thoughts.  If  we  want  strength, 
there  is  fulness  of  strength  and  grace  treasured  up  for  us  in 
Jesus  ;  and  we  have  only  to  seek  it  by  earnest  prayeri  I 
wish  you  would  pray  for  more  experience  of  his  love  to  you. 
This  would  convince  j'ou  more  than  all  the  arguments  in  the 
world  of  the  vanity  of  every  thing,  which  can  tend  to  divert 
3'our  mind  from  him.  In  seeking  his  love  may  you  be  able 
to  say  with  Jacob — "I  will  not  let  thee  go,  except  thou  bless 
me."  I  shall  look  for  your  next  very  anxiously.  Do  not  let 
the  words  '  aflfected,'  '  precise,'  '  hypocrite,'  '  enthusiast,' 
•fool,'  'madman,'  and  many  other  epithets,  which  perhaps 
you  will  hear  lavished  upon  the  followers  of  the  Lamb,  dis- 
courage you  from  making  his  cause  and  people  yoiu  own.  I 
cannot  but  remind  you — that  "  all  who  will  live  godly  in 
Christ  Jesus,  must  suffer  persecution."  Not  perhaps  open 
persecution  now,  but  ridicule,  dislike,  sneering,  either  open  or 
secret  must  be  your  lot,  if  you  determine  to  "  be  not  con- 
formed to  this  world."  We  must  not  think  it  hard,  or  be 
angry  or  disheartened,  if  these  things  come  upon  us;  for  our 
Master  was  "  a  scorn  and  a  derision  to  all  around  him." 

'  Do  not  cease  to  love  me,  and  think  of  me  always,  dearest 
,  as  your  most  affectionately  and  entirely  attached. 


WEiMOIR  OF  MARY  JANE  GRAHAM. 


227 


'  P.  S.  I  earnestly  join  in  your  wish,  that  this  may  he  the 
commencement  of  a  new  and  blessed  period  of  your  life. 
May  every  future  year  see  us  walking  more  closely  and  more 
humbly  with  God.' 

In  a  third  letter  to  her  cousin  about  a  month  subsequent, 
she  again  reverts  to  her  Scriptural  Rules. 

^pril  20,  1S27. 
'  I  feel  exceedingly  at  a  loss,  my  dear  friend,  how  to  an- 
swer your  interesting  question — "  What  is  the  meaning  of 
giving  up  the  world  V  For  I  do  not  consider,  that  giving  up 
the  world  consists  in  renouncing  its  amusements,  its  com- 
pjmy,  its  pursuits,  so  much  as  in  putting  oif  its  temper  and 
spirit,  that  we  may  put  on  the  spirit  and  temper  that  was  in 
Christ  Jesus.  When  the  spirit  of  the  world  is  thus  ex- 
changed for  the  spirit  of  Christ,  the  amusements  and  gaieties 
of  the  world,  must  (not  perhaps  all  at  once,  but  gradually 
and  surely)  come  to  be  extremely  vain  and  unsatisfying  in 
our  opinion.  For  though  the  word  "communion  with  God" 
is  considered  as  the  mere  creation  of  an  enthusiastrc  imagina- 
tion, yet  if  we  will  allow  the  Scriptures  to  be  true,  we  must 
allow  that  there  is  such  a  thing  as  "holdin'g  fellowship  with 
the  Father  and  the  Son,"  as  "  walking  with  God"  day  by 
day  "in  perfect  peace,"  as  "  having  Christ  living  in  lis," 
and  "his  Holy  Spirit  abiding  in  us;"  for  by  this,  and  by  this 
only  can  we  know  that  we  are  in  Christ,  even  by  his  Spirit 
which  abideth  in  us.  Now  let  us  suppose  a  person  enjoying 
— not  the  flights  of  a  false  and  self-seeking  devotion — but 
real,  sober,  scriptural  converse  with  God,  and  that  daily; 
must  not  this  be  a  happiness  superior  to  any  the  w-orld  can 
give  I  See  what  David  thought  of  it — >"  As  the  hart  panteth 
after  the  water-brooks,  so  panteth  my  soul  after  thee,  O  God. 
My  soul  thirstcth  for  God,  for  the  living  God  :  Thou,  O  Lord 
God,  art  the  thing  that  I  long  for.  Whom  have  I  in  heaven 
tut  thee?  and  there  is  none  upon  earth  I  desire  besides  thee. 
My  .soul  breaketh  for  the  longing  that  it  hath  unto  thy  judg- 
ments at  all  times.  In  God  is  my  salvation  and  my  glory ; 
the  rock  of  my  strength,  and  my  refuge  is  in  God.  My  soul 
shall  be  satisfied  as  with  marrow  and  fatness,  and  my  mouth 
shall  praise  thee  with  joyful  lips,  when  I  remember  thee," 
&c.  &c.  And  so  in  a  thousand  songs  of  love  has  David  left 
on  record  what  he  tliought  of  "communion  with  God." 
What  must  have  been  Job's  view  of  the  subject,  when  he 
said — "  My  friends  scorn  me,  but  mine  eye  poureth  out  tears 
unto  God.  O  that  I  knew  where  I  might  find  him !  that  I 
might  come  even  to  his  seat !  1  would  order  my  cause  before 
him,  and  fill  my  moutli  with  arguments  !" — Isaiah's — when 
he  said,  "  O  Lord,  the  desire  of  our  soul  is  unto  thy  name, 
and  to  the  remembrance  of  thee  !  With  my  soul  have  I  de- 
sired thee  in  the  night ;  yea,  with  my  spirit  within  me  will  I 
seek  thee  early !"  But  I  need  not  multiply  proofs  of  what 
seems  to  need  no  proof — that  communion  with  his  Creator  is 
the  best,  and  noblest,  and  happiest  thing  of  which  a  creature 
is  capable.  Then  will  not  they  who  enjoy  this  communion, 
very  carefully  avoid  whatever  may  tend  to  rob  them  of  it  ? 
They  will  soon  find  that  converse  with  the  world  {unless  as 
far  as  duty  or  nccessily  lead  them  to  it)  is  not  compatible  with 
converse  with  God  :  for  if  they  conform  to  this  world's  habits 
and  opinions,  they  deprive  themselves  of  all  scriptural  claim 
to  hope  that  God  dwells  in  them,  and  they  in  him.  But  if 
on  the  contrary,  they  are  "  transformed  in  the  spirit  of  their 
minds,"  they  will  soon  find  tliat  the  world  will  dislike  or 
ridicule  them.  But  until  we  are  delivered  from  the  spirit  of 
the  world,  I  cannot  see  how  we  can  reasonably  be  expected 
to  see  any  harm  whatever  in  the  customs  of  the  world.  Let 
the  world  that  dwells  and  rules  within  be  deposed,  and  the 
world  without  will  soon   lose  its  undue  influence  over  us. 

But,  dearest ,let  us  "  stick  to"  the  Scriptures  as  our  rule 

and  standard  in  everj'  thing,  (thus  our  doubts  upon  every  sub 
ject  will  he  quickly  satisfied) ;  and  let  us  study  them  with 
prayer,  that  he.  "  who  commanded  the  light  to  shine  out  of 
dafkness,  would  shine  into  our  dark  hearts,  to  give  them  the 
knowledge  of  the  glory"  of  the  gospel  of  God.  We  shall  not 
ask  in  vain;  for  "  God  giveth  wisdom  liberally,  and  without 
upbraidintr."  May  he  give  you  that  "wisdom  which  is  from 
above;"  since  not  all  the  wisdom  of  this  world  can  find  out 
God.  There  are  in  the  sacred  word  two  rules,  which,  if  kept 
in  view,  might  be  a  lamp  to  guide  our  feet  in  the  darkest  and 
most  perplexing  moments — "  Whether  ye  eat,  or  drink,  or 
whatsoever  ye  do,  do  alt  to  the  glory  of  God."  "  Whatever  ye 
do,  in  word  or  deed,  do  all  in"  the  name  of  the  Lord  Jesus." 
Now  in  going  to  a  ball,  or  a  play,  merely  to  indulge  my  own 
vanity,  or  gratify  my  own  inclination,  I  could  not  say — I  am 
"doing  this  to  the  glory  of  God" — I  could  not  set  about  it 


"  in  the  name  of  the  Lord  Jesus ;"  therefore  as  a  Christian, 
I  think  I  have  no  right  to  do  it  at  all.  But  if  any  one  could 
go  to  the  glory  of  God,  I  cannot  dispute  their  right  to  going. 
In  visiting  my  friends,  and  spending  a  little  intercourse  in 
social  converse  with  them,  I  have  no  feeling  of  this  kind  to 
draw  me  back;  for  God  has  given  us  our  friends,  and  there- 
fore requires  us  to  be  active  in  every  social  duty ;  and  reli- 
gion has  done  little  for  us,  if  it  has  taught  us  to  be  more  mo- 
rose and  unsociable ;  for  the  very  soul  of  religion  is  to  live 
not  to  ourselves,  but  to  others.  Still  I  think  as  far  as  we 
can,  we  should  choose  our  friends  rather  among  the  friends 
of  God,  than  among  the  friends  and  followers  of  the  world. 
You  mention  music; — so  far  from  thinking  it  w^ong  in  all 
cases,  I  think  in  my  own,  it  is  absolutely  a  religious  duty  to 
pursue  music,  as  far  as  my  health  will  permit;  and  I  think 
the  same  with  regard  to  you.  But  supposing  we  had  no 
particular  object  in  studying  it,  still  I  think  that  music,  as 
afl'ording  a  pleasing  and  innocent  source  of  amusement  to 
ourselves  and  others,  cannot  be  considered  wrong,  though  I 
should  think  it  wrong  to  give  more  than  a  very  moderate  time 
to  it,  or  to  let  it  encroach  upon  any  other  duty.  For  a  real 
Christian — to  say  the  least  of  it — has  so  great  a  work  in 
hand ;  so  many  really  important  and  interesting  objects 
daily  solicit  his  attention,  excite  his  energies,  and  set  every 
faculty  of  soul  and  body  to  work ;  that  he  or  she  can  have 
very  little  time  to  throw  away  upon  mere  amusements.  I 
have  given  you  my  opinion  as  well  as  I  can,  bacause  you 
asked  me,  not  because  I  wish  or  expect  you  to  be  guided  by 
it;  for  I  am  persuaded,  that  if  you  continue  searching  the 
Bible  with  earnest  prayer,  God  himself  will  lead  you  into 
every  good  and  pleasant  way.  I  have  known  many  religious 
people,  who  have  not  seen  the  necessity  of  separating  them- 
selves entirely  from  the  world  at  first ;  but  I  never  knew  any 
one  who  did  not  see  it  at  last.  Let  me  then  close  this  subject, 
dearest ,  by  calling  to  your  remembrance  that  encourag- 
ing invitation  in  Corinthians:  "Wherefore  come  out  from 
among  them,  and  be  ye  separate,  saith  the  Lord,  and  touch  not 
the  unclean  thing;  and  I  will  receive  you,  and  will  be  a  Fa- 
ther unto  you,  and  ye  shall  be  my  sons  and  daughters,  saith 
the  Lord  Almighty." 

These  letters  will,  we  think,  be  admitted  to  discuss  this 
important  subject  with  much  Christian  wisdom  and  spiritu- 
ality. Here  are  no  harsh  sweeping  denunciations,  but  a 
plain  reference  to  the  rules  of  Christ ;  to  the  general  princi- 
ples, taste,  and  spirit  of  the  gospel ;  and  to  the  test  of  eon- 
science  and  experience.  Two  particulars  are  worthy  of  spe- 
cial remark — her  principle,  and  herfules. 

Her  principle  is  the  superior  attractiveness  of  the  gospel, 
as  the  only  elfectual  opposition  to  a  worldly  spirit — 'A  be- 
lieving view  of  Christ' — as  she  justly  observed — '  must  make 
the  world  look  dark  and  insignificant.'  The  merchantman 
would  never  have  suffered  his  "  goodly  pearls"  to  be  snatch- 
ed from  him  ;  but  the  first  sight  of  "  the  pearl  of  great  price" 
was  sufficient  inducement  to  him  gladly  to  relinquish  them. 
The  apostle  would  never  have  yielded  up  his  good  name  in 
the  church  with  all  his  other  sources  of  gain  to  the  persua- 
sive power  of  argument.  But  "  the  excellency  of  the  know- 
ledge of  Christ  Jesus  his  Lord"  once  manifested  to  his  soul, 
made  what  before  was  his  all,  now  "  loss" — yea — "  dung" 
in  his  sight.  Thus  in  every  case,  simple  faith  is  tlie  princi- 
ple of  Christian  decision. 

It  is  often  a  ground  of  self-delusive  complaint — '  If  we 
were  less  entangled  with  the  world,  we  should  reach  to  far 
higher  attainments  in  the  excellency  of  this  heavenly  know- 
ledge.' This  is  doubtless  a  trnth.  Yet  the  converse  is  per- 
haps the  most  accurate  and  important  statement.  It  is  because 
we  know  so  little  of  Christ,  that  we  are  so  much  entangled 
with  the  world.  Here  we  have  the  radical  principle  of  the 
evil  laid  open.  General  and  superficial  views  of  ourglofious 
Saviour  offer  but  a  feeble  resistance  to  the  mighty,  subtle, 
and  incessant  operation  of  a  worldly  spirit.  Deep,  self-abas- 
ing, and  spiritual  apprehensions  of  the  gospel  must  be  perse- 
veringly  sought  for,  and  maintained  in  constant  exercise 
under  Divine  teaching  and  grace.  To  the  heart  thus  attracted 
to  Christ  by  the  active  contemplation  of  faith — the  world  in 
its  most  alluring  forms,  will  ever  be  a  crucified  object,  an 
object  of  shame  and  revulsion.  And  if  this  heaveidy  con- 
templation be  followed  out  in  all  his  relations  to  us  of  infinite 
tenderness  and  love,  how  will  it  cover  us  with  shame,  that  a 
moment  should  ever  have  been  found  for  an)'  other  object  of 
paramount  desire,  affection,  and  interest !  We  must  however 
carry  this  powerful  principle  of  faith  into  all  the  particulars 
of  practical  application.  We  must  not  forget  the  supreme 
authority  of  the  Scriptural  commands  for  non-conformity  to 


22S 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


the  world  ;  nor  must  we  refrain  from  rebuking  wliatever  ap- 
pears to  us  in  detail,  to  be  inconsistent  with  these  commands. 
But  except  our  remonstrances  are  grounded  upon  the  full  and 
clear  principles  of  the  gospel,  we  shall — instead  of  "laying 
the  axe  to  the  root  of  the  tree" — only  prune  the  branches  for 
more  luxuriant  fruitfulness.  The  worldly  taste  may  be  re- 
strained— but  not  subjugated  ;  and  the  heart,  if  it  be  even 
partially  drawn  from  the  world,  will  be  turned  to  self-righteous- 
ness, not  to  Christ. 

./is  to  Miss  Grahmii's  rules,  it  is  a  vain  attempt  to  fix  pre- 
cise limits  to  every  particular  act.  Yet  the  Scriptural  rules 
■which  she  has  adduced,  may  be  brought  to  bear  upon  every 
difficulty ;  and  if  the  application  of  them  will  not  make  us 
infallibly  right,  it  will  at  least  preserve  us  from  being  mate- 
rially wrong.  The  force  of  relative  obligation  as  an  ordi- 
nance of  God  is  in  clear  conformity  with  these  rules,  and  as 
such  is  strongly  inculcated  by  ]\Iiss  Graham  ;  while  at  the 
same  time  it  is  never  made  an  excuse  fojr  overstepping  the 
line  of  demarcation,  and  always  placed  in  connection  with 
faithfulness  and  decision  of  conduct.  The  point  of  worldly 
conformity  commences,  and  the  habit  of  it  is  strengthened,  in 
the  neglect  of  Christian  simplicity  of  profession.  Either 
these  rules  are  not  spiritually  apprehended,  or  they  are  not 
conscientiously  regarded,  or  there  is  a  want  of  intelligent  ca- 
pacity to  apply  them.  Many  young  inquirers  of  unformed 
habits  and  unexercised  profession  have  lost  their  slight  im- 
pressions of  religion  in  an  unguarded  association  with  the 
world.  And  how  many  more  established  professors  have  by 
unspiritual  habits  become  unconsciously  conformed  to  the 
taste,  maxims,  or  society  of  the  world,  even  while  they  have 
"escaped  its"  external  "pollutions."  We  would  earnestly 
recommend  the  application  of  these  rules  to  every  step  and 
point  of  contact  with  the  world.  Let  them  be  the  test  for 
the  daily  "  trial  of  our  spirit."  Let  us  cultivate  that  tender 
susceptibility  of  conscience,  which  impressed  this  devoted 
child  of  God  with  poignant  sorrow  and  humiliation  in  a  sin- 
gle instance  of  overstepping  the  boundary,  or  neglecting  the 
rule,  of  her  Christian  profession.  We  are  persuaded  that 
this  habit  of  mind  diligently  cherished,  would  issue  in  the 
conviction,  that  the  points  of  necessary  or  hopeful  intercourse 
with  the  world,  are  not  so  frequent  as  were  imagined  ;  that 
the  rational  pleasure  of  its  society  ill  compensates  for  the 
painful  loss  that  is  felt  in  the  secret  retirement;  that  posi- 
tive evil  belongs  to  unnecessary  communication  with  it;  and 
that  increasing  circumspection  is  needed  even  in  the  path  of 
duty.  The  responsibility  of  maintaining  our  profession  will 
be  more  deeply  felt;  andii  path  of  retreat  sought  for,  where 
that  profession  seems  to  be  impracticable.  We  shall  walk 
not  by  expediency,  but  by  rule.  Self-indulgence  will  yield 
to  the  dictates  of  conscience,  and  double-mindedness  to  the 
simplicity  of  the  gospel.  "The  eye  being  thus  single,  the 
whole  body. will  be  full  of  liglit."  Religion  will  assume  a 
ditlerent  caste..  It  will  be  marked  by  a  holy  and  heavenly 
stamp.  It  will  be — not  a  system  of  restraints — but  a  religion 
of  privilege. — the  strictness  of  its  rules  wholly  divested  of 
moroseness,  and  forming  an  eflFeetual  safeguard  of  its  con- 
sistency and  fruitfulness.  Thus  God  will  be  seen  in  his 
true  character,  as  "  having  pleasure  in  the  prosperity  of  his 
servant,"  who  needs  not  to  be  beholden  to  the  world  for  that 
happiness,  which  it  promises  to  its  votaries  in  substance,  but 
gives  only  in  shadow  and  delusion. 

The  length  and  seriousness  of  this  important  discussion 
may  be  happily  relieved  by  a  sprightly  eHbrt  of  Miss  Gra- 
ham's imagination,  bearing  immediately  upon  our  subject.  It 
w-as  written  impromptu  in  her  friend's  manuscript  book. 
The  picture  was  probably  suggested  by  her  residence  on  the 
sea-side. 

.      ■  February,  1830. 

"Thy  people  shall  be  iny  people." — Rulli  i.  IG.  'I  have 
sometimes  thought,  that  the  Christian,  who  willingly  casts  his 
lot  amongst  those  to  whom  the  doctrine  of  the  cross  is  foolish- 
ness, and  sits  down  in  the  world  as  if  he  were  of  the  world,  is 
like  the  foolish  little  bird  that  should  build  its  nest  in  the  mast 
of  some  tall  ship.  At  first  it  seems  a  place  of  security  and  peace ; 
but  soon  the  vessel  looses  from  its  anchor,  and  the  little  song- 
ster is  borne  away  it  knows  not  whither.  The  trees  and  flowery 
hedges,  and  bright  sunny  meadows,  are  fast  going  out  of 
sight.  Fain  would  the  poor  bird  spread  its  wings  and  re- 
gain them;  but  how  can  it  leave  its  nestlings,  its  treasures, 
which  it  has  confided  to  that  strange  and  troubled  dwelling! 
No,  no ;  its  all  is  launched  into  the  deep  ;  and  with  anxious 
constant  care  it  must  hover  round  the  dear  nest,  and  seek  for 
strange  and  scanty  food  for  its  young.  And  at  first  the  vessel 
may  glide  smoolly  on,  whiJe  (he  wind  gently  plays  with  its 


sails,  and  the  sun  lights  them  up  to  a  snowy  whiteness,  and 
the  gilded  waves  break  in  sparkles  round  the  stately  prow. 
Then  the  little  visitant  pours  forth  its  sweet  song,  and  glad- 
dens the  saHor's  heart  by  the  fond  tale  it  tells  him  of  happi- 
ness and  home.  Yet  all  the  while  it  is  only  lamenting  its 
desolation,  and  pining  after  the  pleasant  haunts  in  the  green 
wood,  and  the  dear  companions,  by  whom  its  notes  were  an- 
swered from  bush  to  bush,  till  the  very  boughs  waved  in  joy 
to  their  merry  strains.  But  O  !  poor  bird,  if  a  storm  arise, 
how  wilt  thou  flutter  round  thy  nestlings,  and  tremble  lest 
they  should  be  swept  away  by  the  pitiless  waves,  or  chilled 
into  death  by  the  piercing  winds  !  Yes,  little  trembler,  thou 
hast  placed  thyself  and  thine  offspring  in  a  perilous  situation  ; 
nor  is  it  thou  that  canst  save  them,  but  thy  Father  and  ours, 
without  whom  not  so  much  as  a  sparrow  falleth  to  the 
ground.  He  it  was  that  took  care  of  thee,  when  thou  wast 
safely  lodged  in  thine  own  leafy  branches  ;  and  he  can  take 
care  of  thee  now,  can  teach  the  rude  sailor  to  respect  thy 
helplessness,  and  hush  the  stormy  winds,  that  they  ruffle  not 
a  feather  "of  thy  wing.  And  thus.  Christian,  if  thou  hast 
wilfully  withdrawn  thyself  from  the  shadow  of  that  tree, 
which  spreads  forth  its  branches  for  all  the  fowls  of  heaven 
to  dwell  in  ;  if  thou  hast  made  thee  a  home  away  from  the 
Lord's  people;  many  a  bitter  hour  of  loneliness  and  desola- 
tion shall  thou  have,  while  thou  art  "singing  the  Lord's 
song,  in  a  strange  land.  Thou  shalt  rue  thy  folly,  and  be 
humbled  for  it.  Yet  be  not  utterly  cast  down,  but  still  trust 
in  thy  God,  who  will  not  fail  to  rebuke  and  chasten,  but  will 
never  leave  tliee  nor  forsake  thee.' 

4.  Her  sentimenis  upon  miscellaneous  subjccfs. 

Vi'e  now  conclude  this  long  series  of  quotation,  with  some 
extracts  of  a  more  miscellaneous  character. 

It  is  delightful  to  observe  all  her  views  of  science,  extensive 
and  accurate  as  they  were,  to  have  been  received  and  enjoycij 
through  a  heavenly  medium'.  Whichever  way  she  looked  in 
this  wide  expanse,  her  eye  was  transfixed  in  the  contempla- 
tion of  the  unsearchable  mysteries  of  redeeming  love.  We 
may  instance  the  following  sketch  of  Christian  Astronomy — 
extracted  from  her  manuscript.  Speaking  of  the  withering 
influence  of  Mathematics  upon  the  pleasures  of  the  imagina- 
tion, and  having  (as  we  have  already  seen)  suggested  the 
study  of  classical  literature,  as  furnishing  some  antidote  for 
this  evil,  she  further  adds  on  this  point: 

'  It  is  scarcely  possible  to  pursue  mathematics  to  any  ex- 
tent, without  being  led  by  them  into  some  of  those  sciences, 
of  which  they  form  the  vestibule.  Astronomy,  for  instance, 
presents  a  field  for  the  largest  and  noblest  exercises  of  the 
imagination.  The  stars,  'the  poetry  of  heaven,'  afford  not 
only  perpetual  employment  for  the  reason,  but  unbounded 
scope  to  the  fancy.  The  objects  of  astronomical  study  dis- 
play a  sublimity,  which  exalts  the  imagination  ;  a  mystery 
which  humbles  the  intellect,  a  wisdom  which  enlarges  every 
faculty  of  the  soul,  and  a  loveliness  which  soothes  every 
feeling  of  the  heart.  They  have,  like  their  Divine  Author, 
"  heights,  depths,  and  breadths" — unfathomable — inscrutable. 
Here  we  may  soar,  as  upon  the  wings  of  angelic  intelligence. 
Here  we  may  expatiate,  till  our  minds  are  lost  in  infinity. 
But  with  what  unutterable  astonishment  does  the  Christian 
astronomer  gaze  upon  the  innumerable  host!  He  is  con- 
scious that  God  is  all  around  him.  His  mind  is  possessed 
by  one  idea — the  presence,  the  iminense,  the  all-pervading 
presence  of  the  God  who  made  and  upholds  all  these.  For 
an  instant  he  forgets  his  own  littleness,  and  becomes  vast 
as  the  objects  of  his  contemplation;  for  there  are  moments 
when  the  human  soul  seems  to  expand  into  something  of  its 
original  grandeur.  But  the  humbling  consciousness  returns, 
as  soon  as  his  full  heart  will  give  him  leave  to  think,  and 
he  shrinks  into  insignificance.  It  is  nothing  to  be  the  least, 
the  meanest  of  the  creatures  of  God.  But  to  be  a  fallen-crea- 
ture— this  bows  him  to  the  dust.  Sin  has  made  him  an 
outcast  from  the  beautiful  creation,  an  alien  from  the  creating 
God.     An  holy  God  is  on  every  side  ;  and  be  is  not  holy. 

'  But  yet  his  thilling  awe  is  cheered  with  joy,  hope,  and 
love.  "The  day-star  arises  in  his  heart;"  and  now  every 
other  star  has  a  voice,  "a  still  small  voice;  and  tells  a  tale 
of  love,  which  the  angels  delight  to  hear :  a  mystery,  "which 
the  angels  desire  to  look  into." 

'  He"  who  made  us  is  "  the  God  of  thy  salvation."  He  is 
"  thy  Beloved  and  thy  Friend."  Thus  hath  the  God  who 
made  the  heavens,  who  ordained  the  moon  and  the  stars,  been 
mindful  of  man,  visited  him  in  his  low  estate,  and  "crowned 
him  with  glory  and- honour."  ' 

"Praise  him,  ye  heavens  of  heavens.  Praise  him,  all  ye 
stars  of  light."     Christians!  you  can  ".sing   praises  with 

•i 


MEMOIR  OF  MARY  JANE  GRAHAM. 


229 


understanding."     All  ye  that  love  the  Lord,  praise  the  name 
of  the  Lord.     "Praise  the  Lord,  O  my  soul." 

While  this  sublime  science  has  been  perverted  (as  in  the 
French  school  of  philosophy)  for  man's  contemptuous  rejec- 
tion of  his  Maker,  it  is  most  refreshing  to  observe  the  magni- 
ficent illustrations,  by  which  "  the  heavens,"  viewed  through 
the  medium  of  Christian  philosophy,  "declare  the  glory  of 
God."  In  this  field  of  elevated  contemplation  the  eye  of 
faith  "leads  us  up  from  nature,"  not  only  "  to  nature's  God," 
but  to  the  Christian's  God — the  God  of  his  salvation.  Here 
■we  discover  what  the  "e3'e"  of  reason  "has  not  seen,  nor 
hath  car  heard,  nor  hath  it  entered  into  the  heart  of  man,"  un- 
taught by  God.  If,  as  our  poet  of  the  Night  has  decided, 
'  an  undevout  astronomer  is  mad,'  even  the  derotit  man  of 
science  is  not  in  the  full  possession  of  his  faculties,  nor  in  the 
enjoyment  of  the  clear  perception  of  the  objects  of  his  delitjht- 
ed  observation,  except  he  has  been  instructed  in  the  higher 
school  of  Divine  science,  and  enabled  to  trace  in  the  Maker 
of  the  starry  frame  his  God  and  Saviour — his  faithful,  un- 
changeable. Almighty  friend. 

We  pass  to  another  field  of  science  of  more  general  inter- 
est. Miss  Graham's  Musical  Tract,  already  referred  to, 
will,  it  is  believed,  be  found  to  give  an  accurate  sketch  of  the 
principles  of  its  own  department  of  the  science.  Its  style  is 
buoyant  with  life,  beauty,  and  power.  It  occasionally  mounts 
almost  to  the  magnificent  prose  of  John  Milton  or  Jeremy 
Taylor.     Take  the  following  as  a  specimen  : 

Speaking  to  her  young  pupil  of  the  importance  of  practis- 
ing, she  sends  her  to  the  woods  and  groves  for  a  stimulating 
example  of  industry. 

'I  can  tell  you  that  the  little  musicians  of  the  grove  do  not 
attain  their  wild  and  delicate  modulations  without  practice. 
W  hen  I  lay  in  bed  last  summer,  unable  to  speak  or  move  for 
many  hours  in  the  day,  the  song  of  the  birds  furnished  me 
with  an  inexhaustible  source  of  amusing  observation.  I  could 
not  but  feel  grateful  to  the  melodious  little  creatures,  who  be- 
guiled me  of  half  ifiy  pain,  and  made  the  weary  hours  of  sick- 
ness fly  away  upon  wings  as  light  as  their  own.  As  if  led 
by  an  instinctive  sympathy,  numbers  of  blackbirds  and 
thrushes  came  to  build  their  nests  round  our  garden  ;  and  the 
woodpigeons,  which  had  been  silent  the  year  before,  renewed 
their  soft  notes  in  the  high  trees  by  the  parsonage  lawn. 
However,  they  were  shy,  and  I  thought  my  self  fortunate,  if  puce 
or  twice  in  the  day  their  gentle  cooing  found  its  way  to  my  ear. 
But  there  was  one  thrush,  whoso  notes  I  soon  learned  to  dis- 
tinguish from  all  the  other  thrushes;  inilced  his  skill  seemed 
to  exceed  theirs  as  much  as  Cordoba's*  exceeds  yours  or 
mine.  Every  morning  I  listened  for  his  voice,  which  was 
sure  to  precede  the  matins  of  all  the  other  birds.  In  the  day 
time,  his  brilliant  tones  were  mingled  and  almost  lost  in  tlic 
general  melody;  but  as  soon  as  the  sun  was  preparing  to  set, 
when  the  blackbirds  had  eitlier  sung  themselves  to  sleep,  or 
were  flown  olf  to  keep  np  their  festivities  elsewhere,  then  was 
my  thrush's  practising  time.  He  was  kind  enough  to  select 
a  tree  not  far  from  my  window,  while  the  other  thrushes 
placed  themselves  at  a  respectful  distance,  and  edged  in  a 
note  here  and  there  as  they  could.  He  opened  the  rehearsal 
with  a  number  of  wild  trills  and  calls,  which  I  could  not  well 
understand  ;  only  they  were  very  sweet  and  cheering  to  me ; 
and  he  would  pause  between  each,  till  a  soft  response  was 
heard  from  some  distant  bough.  But  wlien  he  had  fixed  upon 
a  little  cadence  which  pleased  him,  it  became  a  more  serious 
business.  Strange  to  say,  I  could  always  tell  when  this 
would  be  ;  for  what  pleased  me  particularly  was  sure  to  please 
him ;  so  true  is  it  that  nature  has  given  the  same  perception 
of  melody  to  man  and  to  birds.  He  would  chant  it  over  in  a 
low-  tone  two  or  three  times,  as  if  to  make  himself  sure  of  it; 
then  he  carolled  it  out  with  triumphant  glee ;  then  stopped 
short  on  a  sudden,  as  much  as  to  say  to  his  rivals — '  Which 
of  you  can  imitate  my  strains?'  Their  notes  sounded  most 
sweet  at  various  distances  during  these  little  intervals  ;  but 
they  seemed  conscious  of  their  inferiority  to  my  favourite,  who 
would  suddenly  break  out  into  the  very  same  melody,  upon 
which  he  had  doubtless  been  musing  all  the  while,  enriching 
it  by  some  little  note  or  trill,  the  wildest  and  most  touch 
ing  that  ever  came  into  a  thrush's  heart.  I  needed  neither 
concert  nor  music-master,  while  I  could  listen  to  the  untaught, 
but  not  unpremeditated,  harmony  of  this  original  professor; 
nor  could  I  quarrel  with  the  sickness  which  had  been  the 
means  of  developing  another  link  in  that  mysterious  chain 


*  All  eminent  nmsical  professor  among;  the  Spanish  refugees,  to 
■svhom  she  expresses  herself  indebted  for  much  valuable  insti"uction. 


which  binds  me  to  the  rest  of  creation,  by  opening  my  ear  and 
ray  heart  more  than  ever  to  the  language  of  universal  nature. 
But  I  often  wished  to  have  you  with  me,  that  you  might 
hear  how  much  pains  the  birds  are  at  to  charm  us  with  their 
warbling.  It  is  pretty  also  to  hear  the  young  birds  com- 
mence their  small  and  faultering  strains,  which  orow  clearer 
and  louder,  till  they  are  no  longer  to  be  distinguished  from 
the  rest.  True,  it  is  their  profession,  and  we  have  many 
other  things  to'  think  of;  but  what  time  we  do  give  to  the 
study  of  music,  we  should  give  it  with  our  hearts,  as  they 
do.' 

For  effective  playing  she  gives  the  following  sensible  rules, 
interspersing  them  with  her  own  happy  illustrations: 

'  I  have  told  you  that  to  play  a  piece  etfectively  you  must 
comprehend  it  well.  You  must  also  feel  it  deeply.  It  is 
impossible  to  excite  lively  emotions  in  another's  breast,  while 
your  own  remains  untouched.  There  are  two  rules,  which 
may  assist  you  to  attain  quick  perceptions  of  what  is  correct 
and  beautiful ;  and  (with  the  help  of  the  mechanical  rules  I 
have  given  you)  to  bring  those  perceptions  out  in  your  own 
performance.  The  first  is,  to  cultivate  a  cunitant  liabit  of  list- 
eninii  to  natural  sounds.  Every  thing  in  nature  has  a  melody 
which  goes  to  the  heart,  and  from  which  wc  may  gain  some 
new  and  delightful  ideas.  I  have  called  your  attention  to 
the  song  of  birds.  Then  there  is  the  bleating  of  flocks,  and 
the  lowing  of  distant  herds,  and  the  busy  hum  of  insects. 
.\bove  all,  the  modulations  of  the  human  voice  alTord  us  a 
perpetual  source  of  observation.  From  thence  we  may 
gather  the  expression  of  every  stormy  passion  which  agitates, 
and  every  tender  aflcction  which  sooths  the  heart.  Nor  can 
we  listen  to  the  fairy  tones  of  children,  their  light-hearted 
carols,  their  bursts  of  tiny  merriment,  their  mimic  griefs,  and 
simply  told  stories,  w  ithout  imbibing  some  new  and  charm- 
ing comliinations  of  harmonious  expression.  If  music  brings 
no  lovely  thoughts  and  associations  to  your  mind,  you  are 
learning  it  to  very  little  purpose.  If  it  does,  an  intimate  ac- 
quaintance with  the  music  of  nature  will  invest  the  express- 
ion of  those  thoughts  with  a  grace  and  refinement,  which 
the  most  persevering  practice  will  fail  to  impart.  Take  les- 
sons of  the  winds  and  of  the  waters,  and  of  the  trees;  of  all 
animate  and  inanimate  nature.  So  shall  the  very  spirit  of 
sweet  sound  and  expression  enter  into  your  bosom,  and  lie 
there,  ready  to  pour  itself  forth  upon  the  otherwise  low  and 
mechanical  music,  which  the  pressure  of  your  hands  produces 
on  the  instrument.  One  of  Handel's  finest  pieces  is  said  to 
have  been  suggested  by  the  labour  of  a  blacksmith  at  his 
anvil ;  so  successfully  did  he  watch  for  the  harmony,  that 
lies  wrapped  up  in  the  commonest  sounds. 

'  The  next  rule  I  shall  give  i/ou,  is  to  listen  attentieely  toskil- 
f II I  performers ;  noticing  particularly  what  emotions  are  ex- 
cited ill  your  mind  by  every  passage ;  and  by  what  means 
they  contrive  to  produce  the  elTect  which  pleases  you.  The 
gratification  we  derive  from  listening  to  music,  is  similar  to 
that  which  poetry  imparts  to  us.  Both  these  delightful  arts 
call- into  being  a  thousand  beautiful  imaginations,  tender  feel- 
ings, and  passionate  impulses.  But  in  reading  poetry,  we  are 
delighted  with  the  thoughts  of  another  person ;  and  though 
a  beautiful  idea  will  give  us  new  pleasure  every  lime  we  re- 
cur to  it,  still  this  pleasure  is  little  varied,  and  depends  on 
the  conformation  of  the  poet's  mind,  rather  than  of  our  own. 
The  delights  of  music  are  of  own  creation.  We  become  for 
the  time  poets  ourselves,  and  enjoy  the  high  privilege  of  in- 
venting, combining,  and  diversifying,  at  pleasure,  the  images 
which  harmonious  sounds  raise  in  our  minds.  The  selfsame 
melody  may  be  repeated  a  hundred  times,  and  inspire  each 
time  a  train  of  thought  different  from  the  last.  Sometimes 
it  will  call  forth  all  the  hidden  stores  of  memory — absent 
friends,  voices  long  silent  in  the  tomb,  lovely  scenes,  pleasant 
walks,  and  happy  hours,  come  back  to  us  in  all  their  fresh- 
ness and  reality.  Then  the  future  opens  its  dreary  prospect, 
gilded  by  hope,  and  chastened  by  a  mournful  tenderness. 
The  exile  is  restored  in  glad  anticipation  to  his  country;  the 
prodigal  sobs  out  his  penitence  on  his  father's  bosom ;  the 
child  of  affliction  is  safely  lodged  in  that  mansion  where 
sorrow  and  crying  are  unknown.  Sometimes  the  past  is  for- 
gotten, the  future  unheeded,  tlie  mind  wrapped  up  in  the 
present  consciousness  of  sublimity  or  beaut}'.  Forms  of 
delicate  loveliness,  things  such  as  dreams  are  made  of,  float 
before  the  mental  vision,  shaped  into  something  of  a  walking 
distinctness.  Thoughts  too  noble  to  last,  high  and  holy  re- 
solves, gushings  of  tenderness,  alternately  possess  our 
minds,  with  emotions  all  equally  diflcrent,  and  equally  de- 
lightful. The  pcctical  inspiration  of  Alfieri  seldom  ca"!-- 
upon  him,  but  when  he  was  under  the  influe>-' 


230 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


Haydn's  symphonies  were  all  composed  so  as  to  shadow 
forth  some  simple  and  affecting  story,  by  which  the  author 
excited  and  varied  his  own  feelings,  and  wrought  them  up  to 
that  pitch  of  solemn  pathos,  or  animated  gayety,  which  to 
this  day  inspires  all  who  hear  his  music  with  corresponding 
emotions.' 

The  Christian  tone  and  descriptive  beauty  of  the  conclud- 
ing paragraphs  will  be  generally  admired.  They  are  in  the 
style  of  her  favourite  writer,  Jeremy  Taylor. ' 

'  The  expression  of  sacred  music  comprehends  every  emo- 
tion that  can  agitate  the  human  heart,  and  must  be  felt  rather 
than  described.  The  subdued  tones  of  awful  adoration;  the 
impassioned  fervour  of  desire ;  the  humility  of  prayer ;  the 
wailing  of  penitential  sorrow;  the  glad  notes  of  thanksgiv- 
ing; and  the  loud  chorus  of  praise;  all  these  have  their  own 
peculiar  utterance,  and  must  be  pervaded  by  a  depth  and 
solemnity  which  shall  distinguish  them  from  the  meaner  af- 
fections of  humanity. 

'lam  fearful  of  touching  too  lightly  upon  this  hallowed 
subject.  Many  young  persons,  when  their  feelings  are  ex- 
cited by  sacred  music,  imagine  themselves  to  be  bettered  by 
such  feelings,  and  to  be  under  the  influence  of  genuine  reli- 
gious sentiments.  But  if  the  plain  majesty  of  the  word  of 
God  does  not  suffice  to  kindle  an  equal  fervour  within  us, 
when  we  are  reading  it  silently  and  alone;  we  may  be  sure 
that  the  emotions  excited  by  the  lovely  songs  and  pleasant 
instruments  of  men  are  the  mere  ebullitions  of  natural  feel- 
ing, and  have  nothing  to  do  with  religion..  Those  who  would 
sing  the  praises  of  the  Lord,  must  "sing  them  with  under- 
standing." The  undying  torch  of  truth  must  be  lighted  up 
in  that  faculty,  before  it  can  set  the  heart  in  a  flame.  There 
exists  not  a  more  dangerous  delusion, -^iian  to  mistake  the 
feverish  excitement  of  the  imagination  for  the  cheerful  and 
steady  glow  of  a  rational  devotion. 

'  But  while  I  so  anxiously  gtiard  you  against  this  pernicious 
error,  do  not  for  a  moment  suppose,  that  I  would  shut  you 
out  from  the  privilege  which  all  creation  enjoys,  of  sounding 
its  Maker's  praise.  Oh !  there  is  a  harmony  in  nature,  in- 
conceivably attuned  to  one  glad  purpose!  Everything  in 
the  universe  has  a  voice,  with  which  it  joins  in  the  tribute  of 
thanksgiving.  The  whispers  of  the  wind  playing  with  the 
summer  foliage,  and  its  fitful  meanings  through  the  autumnal 
branches  ;  the  broken  murmur  of  the  stream,  the  louder  gush- 
ing of  the  waterfall,  and  the  wild  roar  of  the  cataract,  all 
speak  the  praises  of  God  to  our  hearts.  Who  can  sit  by  the 
sea-side,  when  every  wave  lies  hushed  in  adoration,  or  falls 
upon  the  shore  in  subdued  and  awful  cadence,  without  drink- 
ing in  unutterable  thoughts  of  the  majesty  of  God  ?  The  loud 
hosannas  of  Ocean  in  the  storm,  and  the  praises  of  God  on 
the  whirlwind,  awaken  us  to  the  same  lesson  ;  and  every  peal 
of  the  thunder  is  an  hallelujah  to  the  Lord  of  Hosts.  •  Oh! 
there  is  a  harmony  in  nature !  The  voice  of  every  creature 
tells  us  of  the  goodness  of  God.  It  comes  to  us  in  the  song 
of  the  birds;  the  deep,  delicious,  tones  in  which  the  wood- 
dove  breathes  out  its  happiness  ;  the  gracefully  melting  des- 
cant of  the  nightingale;  the  joyous,  thrilling  melody  of  the 
lark;  the  throstle's  "wild  warbling,  and  the  blackbird's  tender 
whistle;  the  soft  piping  of  the  bulfinch;  the  gay  carol  of  the 
wren ;  the  sprightly  call  of  the  goldfinch ;  and  the  gentle 
twittering  of  the  swallow.  Even  now,  when  every  other 
bird  is  silent,  little  robin  is  pouring  out  his  sweetest  of  all 
sweet  notes  upon  yonder  rose-hush  ;  and  so  distinctly  does  he 
thank  God,  who  made  the  berries  to  grow  for  him  upon  the 
hawtliorn  and  mountain-ash,  and  who  has  put  it  into  the  heart 
of  man  to  love  him,  and  strew  crumbs  for  him  when  the  ber- 
ries fail,  that  my  soul,  too  often  insensible  to  its  own  mercies, 
is  warmed  into  gratitude  for  his.  The  very  insect  tribe  have 
entered  into  a  covenant,  that  God  shall  at  no  season  of  the 
year  be  without  a  witness  amongst  them  to  his  praise.  For 
when  the  hum  of  the  bees  and  the  chirping  of  the  grasshopper 
have  ceased  to  enliven  us,  and  the  gnat  has  laid  by  his  horn, 
then  the  little  cricket  wakens  into  life  and  song,  and  gladdens 
our  hearth  with  the  same  story  till  the  winter  is  past.  And 
so  all  nature  praises  God,  and  is  never  weary.  If  then  you 
are  able  "  to  makelnelody  in  your  heart  to  the  Lord,"  let  your 
hand  and  your  voice  make  melody  too;  and  let  the  faculty 
which  infinite  benevolence  lias  created  for  your  enjoyment, 
be  converted,  as  all  your  otlier  faculties  should  be,  into  the 
Instrument  of  praise.  To  know  that  you  make  this  worthiest 
use  of  your  musical  acciuircinents  will  indeed  rejoice  the 
heart  of  your  aflcctionnte  Friend  and  Cousin, 

Mary. 

The  following  exercise  throws  out  some  additional  thoughts) 


upon  the  connexion  of  poetry  and  music  alluded  to  in  her 
tract.  It  was  written  in  the  form  of  a  letter  to  her  cousin, 
for  the  Italian  master  then  in  attendance  upon  them.  As  she 
wrote  Italian  with  considerable  spirit,  and  took  some  pains 
with  the  composition,  it  may  have  slightly  suffered  in  a  trans- 
lation. 

1824. 
'  My  dear  Friend — Yesterday  I  was  told  of  an  observation 
you  had  made  in  the  conversazione  of  Mr.  B.,  (where  unfor- 
tunately I  could  not  meet  you,)  and  as  I  do  not  agree  with 
you  upon  the  interesting  subject  then  discussed,  I  will  make 
it  the  subject  of  this  letter,  begging  you  to  excuse  all  the  dul- 
ness,  which  you  will  certainly  find  in  my  composition.  Is  it 
possible,  that  you  have  conceived  so  low  an  opinion  of  the 
pleasures  derived  from  harmony,  that  they  do  not  appear  to 
you  worthy  of  being  compared  with  those  of  poetry  "i  I  can- 
not let  you  rest  in  this  opinion.  Allow  me  to  impart  to  my 
friend  some  of  the  delight  which  I  find  in  this  enchanting 
art !  Not  that  I  wish  to  say  a  word  against  poetry — that 
purest  and  most  sublime  delight  of  the  human  mind.  Too 
dear  to  me  are  its  sweet  illusions,  in  which  the  usual  sense 
of  the  ills  of  the  present  life  is  lost,  whilst  the  soul  lives  in  a 
world  properly  her  own,  and  sports  with  beings  created  and 
adorned  by  herself.  My  intention  is  only  to  show  you  that 
the  pleasures  derived  from  music  are  not  inftrior  to  those  of 
poetry,  that  both  proceed  from  the  same  source,  and  mutually 
assist  and  heighten  each  other.  You  will  perhaps  remind 
me  of  the  great  antiquity  of  poetry,  and  that  from  the  most 
remote  ages  it  has  been  the  solace  of  the  wounded  heart. 
But  this  I  cannot  yield  to  you.  Indeed  it  appears  to  me,  that 
music  had  an  earlier  birth,  and  was  the  mother  of  poetry.  A 
shepherd  one  day  discovered  the  flute,  whicli  nature  has 
formed  in  the  waving  reed.  Applying  it  to  his  lips,  he  is 
struck  with  the  beautiful  sounds  which  issue  from  it,  and  he 
endeavours  to  imitate  them  with  his  voice,  in  simple  songs 
celebrating  the  beauties  of  his  shepherdess.  By  degrees 
the  cadences  of  the  harmony  suggest  to  him  the  idea  of  rhyme 
and  mrtre,  and  thus  these  two  beautiful  arts  are  formed  toge- 
ther, with  so  perfect  a  sympathy  between  them,  that  the  one 
cannot  be  outraged  without  the  other  also  suffering.  Let  U3 
however  leave  this  discussion  upon  the  origin  of  these  arts, 
(for  it  would  be  tiresome  ibr  us  to  search  into  the  records  of 
past  ages,)  and  turn  our  attention  to  what  is  more  interesting, 
the  effects  which  in  every -Age  they  have  produced  on  the  heart. 
I  wish  to  search  a  little  into  your  motives  for  giving  to  poetry 
so  vast  a  superiority ;  and  the  secret  spring  appears  to  me  to 
he  this.  The  charms  of  harmony  cause  a  pleasure  percepti- 
ble to  the  senses,  and  for  its  enjoyment  require  a  certain  phy- 
sical conformation,  a  fine  and  exact  ear,  and  other  things, 
which  seem  to  have  a  connection  with  the  material  part  of 
man.  You  have  therefore  persuaded  yoursell',  that  it  is  a 
thintr  delightful  indeed  to  the  senses,  but  which  has  little  in- 
fluence upon  the  mind  and  upon  the  heart.  I  flatter  myself 
that  I  shall  be  able  to  convince  you  of  the  injustice  of  this 
idea.  Not  only  does  music  give  us  many  ideas,  but  they  are 
of  the  same  description  with  those  inspired  by  poetry,  and 
sometimes  even  more  delightful  to  the  soul.  I  allow  that  the 
sweet  harmony  enters  by  the  ear.  But  thence  it  diffuses  it- 
self through  every  part  of  the  mind.  It  moves  every  passion, 
softens  every  affection,  and  creates  a  thousand  delightful  im- 
aginations, a  thousand  divine  projects,  which  excite  to  all 
that  is  noble  in  resolve,  and  worthy  in  art.  If  I  might  draw 
a  distinction  between  music  and  poetry,  I  should  say,  that 
the  former  brings  us  pleasure  of  a  higher  degree ;  the  latter 
of  a  longer  duration.  Equally  do  they  inspire  soft  affections 
and  noble  ideas.'  Then,  after  following  the  s_ame  train  of 
thought  and  imagination  as  in  her  Musical  Tract,  she  adds  in 
her  fervent  glow — '  And  shall  not  a  science,  capable  of  pro- 
ducing these  sentiiuents,  be  reckoned  among  tlie  noblest  de- 
lights of  the  human  mind  1  I  have  not  time  to  continue  this 
interesting  subject.  But  I  cannot  conclude  without  observ- 
ing, that  the  poets  themselves  owe  their  finest  ideas  to  music. 
Do  you  recollect  the  power  which  it  had  over  the  mind  of 
our  favourite  Alfieri !  He  could  scarcely  compose  without 
its  help.  Many  of  his  noble  tragedies  were  conceived  ai  the 
Opera.  But  do  thou,  divine  Petrarch,  come  to  my  help,  and 
show  her  who  admires  thee  so  much,  that  without  the  music 
of  nature,  the  song  of  birds,  the  murmur  of  the  stream,  thou 
wouldest  not  have  been  able  to  enchant  her  with  thy  delicious 
rhymes.  With  these  beautiful  verses  I  conclude  my  letter,^ 
already  too  long,  entreating  you  to  yield  to  his  representation 
of  the  effect  of  fine  sounds'upon  the  mind. 

'  Sc  laiiiontar  angelli,  o  verdi  fronile,'  &c. 


MEMOIR  OF  MARY  JANE  GRAHAM. 


231 


'  You  know  the  rest.  I  have  only  time  to  say,  that  1  am 
always 

'  Your  very  affectionate 

'  Maby.' 

Without  pronouncing  upon  the  contending  claims,  (which 
probably  may  still  be  a  matter  of  dispute,)  the  exercise  is  not 
unworthy  of  the  intellectual  character  of  the  writer,  and  is 
specially  interesting,  as  a  burst  of  that  '  vehemence  approach- 
ing to  ecstacy,'  whicli,  as  Mr.  Cecil  keenly  observed — '  the 
world  will  allow  on  almost  every  subject,  but  that  which, 
above  all  others,  will  justify  it.'  If,  however.  Miss  Graham 
seems  here  to  contend  for  the  precedence  of  music,  she  was 
no  less  warm  a  votary  of  poetry.  Though  she  was  no  poet 
herself,  and  never  till  the  close  of  her  last  illness  did  she  ex- 
ercise even  a  rhyming  propensity,  yet  her  perception  of  the 
true  genius  of  the  science  was  lively  and  accurate,  and  her 
enjoyment  of  its  delights  proportionate.  We  have  already 
seen  her  high  zest  for  Milton.  Wordsworth  was  among  her 
chief  modern  favourites  ;  and  even  Lord  Byron  detained  her 
for  awhile  the  victim  of  his  fascinating  enchantment.  We 
subjoin  a  letter  of  a  very  early  date,  descriptive  of  her  feel- 
ings, with  much  discrimination  of  taste,  and  with  all  the  glow 
of  her  characteristic  enthusiasm. 

July  15,  1822. 

'I  have  not  seen  the  Fourth  Canto  of  Childe  Harold.  I 
am  ashamed  to  say  that  I  like  Manfred.  Diabolical  as  the 
sentiments  of  it  are  in  many  parts,  yet  there  are  some  passages 
of  such  exquisite' beautj'  and  sublimity,  that  it  seems  as  if  a 
human  pen  could  scarcely  have  traced  them.  All  the  time  1 
was  reading  it,  I  felt  I  was  doing  something  wrong,  yet  I 
read  some  of  it  over  and  over  again,  particularly  the  part 
where  Manfred  is  upon  the  point  of  dashing  himself  over  the 
precipice.  The  description  of  darkness  did  not  please  me. 
I  thought  it  rather  horrible  than  sublime.  But  I  am  just 
now  in  love  with  another  poet,  who  is  as  fond  of  clothing  his 
pictures  with  the  sunny  radiance  of  happiness  and  benevo- 
lence, as  Lord  Byron  is  of  spreading  over  his  darkness  and 
desolation.  If  you  have  read  any  of  his  trifling  poems,  you 
will  smile  when  I  mention  Wordsworth.  But  some  of  his 
poems  are  so  beautiful !  We  have  just  now  been  reading 
the  Excursion.  It  is  tiresome  in  many  parts.  •  But  every 
now  and  then  you  meet  with  something  so  strikingly  fine,  or 
so  unutterably  tender,  that  it  is  impossible  to  go  on.  You 
must  lay  down  the  book  till  the  ferment  it  occasions  has 
subsided.' 

Should  Miss  Graham's  delight  in  Lord  Byron's  writings 
be  a  matter  of  surprise,  it  may  be  observed,  that  her  letter 
distinctly  records  the  rebuke  of  conscience  in  her  moments 
of  self-indulgence;  and  we  doubt  not  but  her  inattention  to 
this  rebuke  subjected  her  to  the  secret  frown  of  her  jealous 
God.  We  may  also  add  that  shortly  after  the  date  of  this 
letter,  she  readily  made  the  sacrifice  of  her  taste  (which  to 
her  fervid  mind  required  no  ordinary  effort)  in  the  total  relin- 
quishment of  this  source  of  deleterious  pleasure.  Whatever 
weifjht  may  attach  to  her  judgment  will  therefore  decidedly 
be  found  on  the  side  of  self-denial,  not  of  self-gratification. 
Indeed  familiarity  with  works  of  poison,  whatever  be  their 
literary  charms,  seems  inconsistent,  not  only  with  Christian 
simplicity — but  with  a  common  regard  to  our  personal  wel- 
fare. To  a  pure  mind  we  might  have  supposed  that  a  rich 
and  splendid  fancy  would  be  spoiled  of  all  its  attraction  by 
its  frequent  connexion  with  licentious  profaneness  and  im- 
piety— moral  deformities  sufficient  to  cast  the  most  exquisite 
beauties  of  power  and  genius  into  the  shade ;  and  the  con- 
templation of  which  must  be  injurious  to  the  best  sensibilities 
of  ouruature.  Even  the  instruction  resultingfrom  the  unveiled 
features  of  human  depravity  is  obtained — if  at  all — at  consid- 
erable hazard.  For  let  it  be  remembered — as  Miss  Graham 
has  shown — that  the  direct  influence  of  poetry  plays  upon  the 
passions,  and  thus  tends  to  produce  a  corresponding  habit  of 
the  mind.  The  evil  propensities  therefore  pourtrayed  by  this 
master-mind  with  such  awful  exactness,  and  embracing  every 
form  of  malignity  than  can  darken  the  heart  of  man,  naturally 
excite  the  working  of  those  passions,  which  it  is  the  grand 
design  of  the  gospel  of  Jesus  Christ  to  restrain  and  mortify 
Whether  therefore  the  infidel  poison  acts  with  vindictive  ae 
tivity,  or  with  searching  subtlety,  its  pervading  influence  is 
equally  to  he  dreaded.  We  believe  that  many  Christians, 
especially  in  moments  of  temptation,  are  reaping  the  hitter 
fruit  of  former  indulgence ;  and  we  are  persuaded  that  none 
will  ultimately  have  reason  to  regret  the  sacrifice  of  the  high 
pleasures  of  taste  to  the  far  higher  claims  of  their  own  spirit- 
ual interests. 


We  add  one  further  quotation  from  Miss  Graham's  manu- 
script upon  a  subject  not  wholly  unconnected  with  the  pre- 
ceding— works  of  imagination  in  a  more  legitimate,  though 
still  a  questionable,  form — Religious  Kovcli.  Observing,  that 
'  the  taste  of  the  serious  public  is  lamentably  vitiated' — she 
adds, 

'  The  press  teems  with  religious  novels,  from  the  long 
eventful  story  to  the  ephemeral  trifles  which  eke  out  the 
patres  of  the  spruce  magazine.  The  greater  part  of  these  are 
feeble  to  a  degree  that  would  render  them  harmless,  were 
there  not  a  large  proportion  of  readers,  whose  sickly  appetite 
hankers  after  such  unwholesome  food.  A  few  of  them,  I 
own,  stand  out  from  the  rest,  and  compel  our  admiration. 
Yet  1  must  be  permitted  to  say,  that  the  very  interest  excited 
by  these  superior  productions  increases  their  bad  tendency. 
How  strange  a  medley  of  sensations  agitates  the  heart,  that 
is  fluttering  between  the  emotions  excited  b)'  the  well-pic- 
tured charms  of  religion,  and  the  love-scene  that  is  better 
pictured  still !  How  shall  the  j'oung  and  inexperienced  dis- 
tinguish between  earthly  and  heavenly  feelings  !  How  shall 
they  determine  whether  their  agitation  arises  out  of  romance 
or  religion ;  a  heated  imagination,  or  a  heart  warmed  with 
divine  love? 

'  I  cannot  conceive  the  use  or  propriety  of  introducing  this 
kind  of  sentimental  narrative  into  works  professedly  of  a  reli- 
gious nature.  Truth  is  not  adorned  but  disguised,  by  being 
thus  tricked  out  in  false  glitter  and  tinsel  ornament.  There 
are  but  two  classes  of  readers ;  the  converted,  and  the  uncon- 
verted. Those  of  the  former  description  would  derive  more 
benefit  and  pleasure  too  from  praying  over  one  verse  of  the 
Bible,  than  from  reading  a  whole  library  of  the  above-men- 
tioned performances.  They  will  neither  assist  hiin  to  under- 
stand the  word  of  truth  himself,  nor  to  explain  it  to  others. 
It  may  be  truly  affirmed  of  the  decided  Christian,  that  for 
his  own  sake,  the  less  he  reads  besides  the  Bible,  the  better. 
But  for  the  sake  of  his  fellow-men,  his  reading  must  be  more 
extensive.  He  must  seek  to  enlarge  and  confirm  his  general 
knowledge ;  must  be  prepared  to  meet  inquiry,  to  cope  with 
prejudice  and  error;  to  recommend  the  cause  of  religion;  to 
"  become,"  with  the  Apostle,  "  all  things  to  all  men."  It  is 
not,  however,  by  giving  his  time  to  the  works  in  question, 
that  he  will  attain  this  desirable  object.  His  mental  charac- 
ter will  only  be  deteriorated  by  their  enervating  influence. 
They  will  tend  to  impair  both  the  inclination  and  capacity  for 
solid  intellectual  exertion.  It  has  been  urged  in  their  de- 
fence, that  they  will  open  to  him  a  more  extended  view  of 
human  nature.  But  tliis  will  be  much  more  effectually  ob- 
tained'by  comparing  the  Scripture  statement  with  his  own 
daily  experience  and  observation.  Another  argument  in  their 
favour  is,  that  they  afford  an  useful  key  to  the  character  and 
manners  of  society.  These,  however,  for  the  most  part,  are 
sketched  with  no  very  skilful  hand.  They  might  with  greater 
accuracy  and  less  expense  of  time,  be  collected  from  some  of 
the  master-pieces  of  authors  not  professedly  religious.  In 
short,  considering  that  the  Christian  part  of  the  community 
has  so  much  to  do,  and  so  short  a  space  to  do  it  in,  it  must 
ever  be  matter  of  regret,  that  so  large  a  proportion  of  their 
time  and  talent  should  be  expended  in  making  idlers  and  cas- 
tle-builders. 

But  we  turn  our  regard  to  the  careless  and  gay.  We  are 
called  upon  to  observe  the  effect  of  these  publications  upon 
their  minds.  We  are  reminded,  that  many  young  persons  of 
lively  imagination  and  warm  feelings,  wlio  would  scarcely 
look  into  a  serious  book,  may  be  tempted  to  peruse  these 
lighter  Works,  and  derive  benefit  from  the  perusal.  I  admit 
the  first  part  of  this  projiosition,  hut  deny  the  conclusion  that 
is  drawn  from  it,  except  in  a  iew,  a  very  few  instances,  which 
are  to  be  regarded  rather  as  exceptions  than  as  a  general  rule. 
Rare,  however,  as  these  instances  are,  they  are  by  no  means 
to  be  despised.  They  indicate  that  every  narrative  of  this 
description  must  not  be  included  in  one  sweeping  condemna- 
tion, nor  pronounced  entirely  useless,  since  the  sovereign 
grace  of  Gcd  will  occasionally  use  even  them  for  its  purpose. 
But  they  do  not  prove  the  necessity  of  sending  fortli  such  im- 
mense shoals  of  these  productions,  that  one  would  think  they 
were  designed  to  supersede  and  swallow  up  every  other.  A 
few  would  answer  the  purpose  just  as  well.  Even  while  I 
concede  thus  much,  I  am  inclined  to  ask — '  Do  you  not  in  a 
measure  create  the  taste,  to  which  you  profess  only  to  accom- 
modate yourselves]  Will  not  this  indisposition  to  all  solid 
and  valuable  reading  be  exceedingly  encouraged  by  your  in- 
dulgent connivance  V  I  much  doubt  both  the  lawfulness 
and  expediency  of  this  mode  of  decoying  people  into  reli- 
gion. I  fear  that  the  quantity  of  good  which  flows  from  it  is 
greatly  overbalanced  by  the  quantity  of  evil. 


232 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


The  religion  inspired  by  such  reading  is  of  a  doubtful  na- 
ture. There  is  more  of  earth  in  it  than  of  heaven.  A  young 
person,  whose  tears  flow  over  a  professed  novel,  is  in  no 
danger  of  mistaking  tlie  excitement  of  feeling  for  the  fervour 
of  devotion.  Not°so  with  these  ambiguous  compositions. 
Romance  and  Religion  are  so  allied,  that  we  may  suppose  the 
latter  to  be  embraced,  when  in  effect  her  presence  is  only  tol- 
erated for  the  sake  of  her  fiiscinaiing  companion.  Dressed 
in  the  sober  garb  of  truth,  she  will  too  probably  be  rejected 
by  those  who  permitted  her  to  court  them  under  the  be- 
witchiniT  veil  of  fiction.  And  is  it  for  the  sake  of  exciting 
this  spurious  devotion,  that  we  run  the  hazard  of  destroying 
the  correct  and  simple  feeling  of  the  rising  generation,  and  en- 
courage the  prevalence  of  a  style  of  writing  which  can  never 
rise  into  genuine  sublimity,  nor  fix  itself  upon  a  basis  of  na- 
tive solidity  and  strength  ^ 

This  extract  will  be  generally  admitted  to  mark  consider- 
able power  of  writing  and  of  thought.  The  subject  demands 
much  accuracy  of  discrimination  to  place  it  in  its  true  light. 
To  proscribe  works  of  imagination  in  the  mass  would  include  a 
much  wider  sweep  of  condemnation  than  novels  religious  or 
irreligious.  It  would  banish  form  our  reading  much  that  is 
not  merely  purely  innocent,  but  intrinsically  valuable ;  and 
seal  up  the  fountain  of  much  elegant  and  instructive  litera- 
ture. We  might  indeed  adduce  Dr.  Chalmer's  writings  for 
the  proof,  that  the  corruption  is  in  the  application — not  in  the 
faculty — of  the  iniaginatioEi,  which  was  given,  like  every 
other  faculty,  for  the  service  of  God  and  of  his  church.  But 
an  infinitely  higher  authority  meets  us  in  the  Divine  parables 
of  our  Great  Teacher,  immediately  acting  upon  this  most  val- 
uable faculty  for  the  illustr.ition  and  enforcement  of  his  im- 
portant truths.  And  this  example  is  the  more  to  our  purpose, 
as  fixing  the  limit  and  direction,  as  well  as  legitimating  the 
employment  of  fiction.  The  imagination  is  placed  in  imme- 
diate contact  with  plain  and  sober  truth  ;  while  it  derives  its 
primary  intere.st,  not  from  its  own  representations,  but  from 
the  truth  which  it  was  intended  to  exhibit. 

With  all  these  allowances,  however,  the  general  introduc- 
tion of  fiction  into  the  cause  of  truth,  is,  as  Miss  Graham 
observes,  of  very  doubtful  benefit;  or,  even  admitting  the 
prospect  of  usefulness  to  be  more  determinate,  it  has  proceed- 
ed very  far  beyond  the  necessity  of  the  case.  IMinds  formed 
for  effective  usefulness  need  to  be  conversant  with  the  solidi- 
ty of  truth,  not  with  the  visionary  atmosphere  of  fiction ; 
while  the  indulgence  of  this  artificial  character  fosters  a  bane- 
ful spirit  of  excitement;  generates  a  distaste  for  well-regulated 
studies;  creates  a  taste  for  moral  reading  of  a  more  detrimen- 
tal character ;  weakens  the  habits  of  self-controul,  so  essential 
to  the  strengthening  of  the  intellectual  and  moral  principles  ; 
and  brings  a  habit  of  sentimentalism  into  the  religious  profess- 
ion, in  the  stead  of  simple  and  practical  spirituality. 

The  most  effectual  remedy  against  this  existing  and  un- 
fruitful indulgence,  is  to  fill  up  the  time  with  those  solid 
pursuits  which  leave  no  room,  while  they  mortify  the  taste, 
for  works  of  doubtful  utility;  and  to  bring  our  intellectual 
recreations  to  the  test  of  ihe  Scriptural  rule,  which  Miss  Gra- 
ham on  a  former  occasion  so  justly  inculcated,  for  the  proof 
of  the  legitimacy  of  our  principles  and  enjoyments:  "  Whether 
ye  eat,  or  drink,  or  wliutfotvcr  ye  do,  do  all  to  tlie  glory  of 
God." 

We  conclude  this  selection  from  Miss  Graham's  writings 
and  correspondence,  with  an  abstract  of '  Letters  on  the  Duties 
of  a  Governess,'  a  scries  of  which  she  had  contemplated  for 
the  use  of  her  young  cousin,  then  looking  forward  to  this  im- 
portant and  m.ost  responsible  situation.  .She  commeficed  her 
plan  during  her  last  illness,  and  with  great  difficulty  wrote 
two  letters  in  pencil  from  herdyingbed.  Though  too  incom- 
plete in  thought  and  style  for  publication,  yet  her  manuscript 
will  alTord  some  interesting  illustration  of  Christian  principle, 
and  many  valuable  suggestions  of  general  instruction  f>r  the 
use  of  those  young  persons,  who  are  now  filling,  or  who  are 
prospectively  anticipating,  this  interesting  stmion  in  the  do- 
mestic economy. 

These  letters  appear  to  have  been  one  of  Miss  Graham's 
last  efforts  for  one,  whoso  best  interests  formed  one  of  her 
most  tender  ties  to  life.  After  commencing  with  the  most 
affectionate  expression  of  her  deep-toned  anxiety  for  her, 
she  thus  proceeds  to  remind  her  of  her  Christian  responsi- 
bility. 

'The  great  wish  of  my  licart  for  you,'  she  writes,  'is,  not 
that  you  may  be  a  very  learned  or  accomplished  governess, 
(though  these  are  highly  valuable  considerations  in  their 
place,)  but,  that,  possessing  as  large  a  measure  of  these, 
things  as  your  means  and  abilities  will  allow,  you  may  be 
trulq  and  dteidtdly  a  Christian  governess.     For,  oh  !  my  dear- 


est -: ,  your''s  is  a  charge  of  souls.     The  spiritual  welfare  of 

your  pupils  is  subordinalely  committed  to  your  care;  and 
at  your  liands  will  the  neglect  of  this  solemn  trust  be  re- 
quired.' 

In  this  first  preparatory  letter  she  is  chiefly  occupied  in 
inculcating  upon  her  cousin  the  Christian  principle  of  failh 
in  Christ,  in  all  its  detailed  application  to  the  circumstan- 
ces, trials,  and  encouragements  of  the  situation  of  a  gov- 
erness. 

'I  can  only  ofler  my  advice  to  you  as  a  Christian.  I  know 
but  of  two  states  to  which  children  can  be  brought  up  ;  for 
heaven  or  for  liell ;  for  time  or  for  eternity.  I  am  departing 
out  of  time;  and  knowing  that  for  you  and  them  too,  time 
soon  shall  be  no  more,  I  dare  not  go  upon  any  system  but 
one  fitting  for  souls  born  for  immortality.  Every  word  then 
that  I  write,  must  be  on  the  supposition,  that  the  glory  of 
God,  and  the  eternal  happiness  of  your  pupils,  are  your  first 
aim ;  and  that  every  other  object,  however  jiraiseworthy  in 
itself,  is  only  secondary  and  subservient  to  this  one  grand 
object  of  a  Christian  teacher's  existence. 

'I  exhort  you  to  enter  upon  the  new  and  arduous  duties  of 
your  situation,  "  looking  to  Jcstis."  Remember  that  he  is  "  the 
author  and  finisher  of  your  faith  ;"  that  you  cannot  stir  one 
step  w  ithout  his  aid  ;  and  the  moment  you  begin  to  look  off 
from  him  to  any  other  object,  that  moment  will  your  steps 
begin  to  slide.  Fix  your  eyes  then  steadily  upon  hira.  "As 
the  ejes  of  servants  look  unto  the  hand  of  their  masters,  and 
as  the  cj'es  of  a  maiden  unto  the  hand  of  her  mistress,  so  let 
your  eyes  be  upon  the  Lord  j'our  God,"  in  all  times,  in  all 
places,  and  in  all  circumstances. 

'  And  first,  I  earnestly  recomtnend  you  to  "  look  unto  Jesus," 
ill  your  choice  of  a  situation.  Pray  constantly  for  Divine  as- 
sistance and  direction  on  this  most  important  subject.  This 
implies  that  )"ou  intend  to  seek  for  a  situation  among  God's 
people ;  for  I  suppose  you  will  hardly  ask  God  to  give  you 
any  other.  You  may  deem  it  unlikely  that  you  should  obtain 
a  situation  in  so  limited  a  sphere.  But  your  dying  friend 
would  remind  you:  "The  God,  who  has  led  me  all  my  life 
long,"  never  forsook  me  upon  any  occasion,  when  I  put  my 
trust  in  him.  The  word  of  truth  assures  you,  that  "  He  has 
never  forsaken  any,  who  jiut  their  trust  in  him."  Nor  will 
he  forsake  you,  if  you  commit  yoiirvvay  to  him  on  this  im- 
portant occasion.  From  Abraham's  time  until  now,  the 
Christian's  motto  has  ever  been  :  "The  Lord  will  provide." 
Onl}'  "  rest  in  the  Lord,  and  wait  patiently  for  him  ;  fret  not 
thyself  in  any  wise  to  do  evil.  In  all  thy  ways  acknowledge 
him,  and  he  shall  direct  thy  paths."     I  charge  it  upon  you, 

beloved ,  as  my  dying,  earnest  wish,  that  )'ou  take  every 

pro])er  means  to  obtain  a  situation  among  decided  Christians; 
and  that,  as  fur  us  it  may  lie  in  your  power,  (for  I  know"  thatit 
may  not  be  always  possible  for  you  to  direct  your  own  conduct,) 
you  join  yourself  to  those  who  "  are  not  of  the  world,"  and 
to  no  others.  An  established  Christian  might  go  in  faith 
under  the  clear  guidance  of  providence,  into  a  worldly  or 
irreligious  family;  and  (if  the  parent  would  allow  of  her  in- 
terference) she  might  be  made  a  blessing  to  the  whole  family. 
But  such  a  step,  wilfully  taken,  would  be  a  serious,  perhaps 
a  fatal,  injury  to  an  undecided  Christian.  In  a  vast  multitude 
of  cases,  the  natural  consequence  oi^  choosing  a  lot  among  the 
children  of  this  world  has  been,  that  indecision  in  religion 
has  become  indifierenco  ;  indifference  has  terminated  in  aver- 
sion ;  and  the  wretched  professor  has  shown  herself  openly 
on  the  side  of  the  world,  tormented  with  the  sting  of  her 
former  convictions,  and  vainly  contrasting  her  worldly  mirth 
with  "  the  voice  of  rejoicing  and  salvation,"  which  she  had 
heard  "  in  the  tabernacles  of  the  righteous." 

'  On  the  other  hand,  a  situation  in  a  truly  Christian  family 
will  cover  you  from  many  worldly  temptations,  and  afford 
you  many  important  opportunities  of  marking  the  beauty  and 
happiness  of  religion.  Under  a  kind  Christian  motlier,  j'ou 
may  be  directed  and  encouraged  in  extensive  usefulness  to 
your  pupils;  while  at  the  same  time  you  arc  receiving  valu- 
able advantages  for  your  own  mind.  Under  all  circumstan- 
ces, be  assured  that  you  will  find  the  blessing  of  taking  this 
first  great  step  of  your  life — "  looking  unto  Jesus." 

'  "  Look  unto  Jesns"  also  for  strength  to  perform  the  duties 
of  your  situation.  These  you  will  find  to  be  many  and  ar- 
duous, such  as  in  your  owii  strength  you  can  never  rightly 
perform.  The  more  correct  and  cnlaro-ed  your  view  of  those 
duties,  the  more  readily  you  will  sink  under  them,  unless  yon 
can  "  be  strong  in  the  Lord,  and  in  the  power  of  his  might." 
But  remember  you  "  can  do  all  things  through  Christ  which 
strengtheneth  ypu."  His  "  grace  is  sufficient  for  you  ;"  and 
his  encouragement  is — "  Ask,  and  it  shall  be  given  you." 
Let  a  sense  of  your  continual  need  stir  you  up  coustaatN  »••> 


MEMOIR  OF  MARY  JANE  GRAHAM. 


233 


apply  toliim  for  his  aid,  not  only  in  your  spiritual  duties,  but 
in  your  teaching,  in  your  studies,  in  the  very  least  and  mean- 
est of  your  employments.  Thus  "  out  of  weakness  you  will  be 
made  strong."  You  will  not  soon  "  be  weary  in  well-doing'; 
for  they  that  wait  on  the  Lord  shall  renew  their  strength." 

'  Look  to  him  for  counsel  in  the  difficulties  of  j'our  situation. 
Remember  that  he  is  not  only  your  strength,  but  your  "  wis- 
dom." When  your  path  is  so  intricate  and  perplexed,  that 
j'ou  know  not  which  way  to  turn, then  ask  the  Lord  to  "lead 
you  in  a  plain  path,"  to  "  order  your  steps  in  his  word."  In 
ever)'  little  as  well  as  in  every  great  perjjlexity,  follow  David's 
rule  to  '•  inquire  of  the  Lord."  The  advice  of  friends  is  ever 
to  be  sought  and  valued;  but  that  of  the  kindest  and  wisest 
may  sometimes  be  insufficient  or  erroneous,  or  given  in  a  harsh 
injudicious  manner.  But  the  Lord  giveth  not  only  advice, 
but  "  wisdom,  liberall)'  and  without  upbraiding." 

'  "  Look  nnto  Jesus"  for  comfort  and  encouragement  in  the 
trials  and  disappointments  of  your  situation.  The  life  of  a 
governess  is  peculiarly  subject  to  little  daily  crosses  and 
vexations.  These,  as  well  as  greater  ones,  are  to  be  borne,  by 
laying  them  upon  Jesus.  No  burden  is  too  great  or  too  little 
to  be  cast  upon  the  Lord.  A  cheerful  looking  unto  Jesus,  an 
assurance  that  he  ever  loveth  and  ever  careth  for  us,  will 
bear  us  through  many  petty  annoyances,  which  sometimes 
wear  health  and  spirits  much  more  than  real  and  great  griev- 
ances. 

'  Lastly,  "  Look  unto  Jesxts^''  for  a  certain  reward  upon  your 
labour.  You  have  a  promise — "Train  up  a  child  in  the  way 
he  should  go,  and,  when  he  is  old,  he  will  not  depart  from  it." 
Ask  for  patient  earnest  faith,  to  plead  this  promise  importu- 
nately, incessantly  with  him.  "  All  the  promises  of  God  are 
yea  and  amen  to  us  in  Christ  Jesus;"  and  while  we  pray  for, 
we  ought  to  expect  their  fulfilment.  "  He  is  faithful  that 
promised."  The  great  .Sower  will  assuredly  watch  over  the 
seed  that  is  sown  in  faith,  and  will  bring  it  to  perfection. 
You  may  labour  day  after  day  for  the  souls  of  the  children 
under  your  care,  and  yet  see  them  as  careless  and  unconcerned 
as  ever;  but  look  steadily  unto  Jesus  ;  tarry  contentedly  the 
Lord's  leisure;  "  ior  in  due  time  you  shall  reap,  if  you  faint 
not."' 

In  her  second  letter  she  enters  into  a  detail  of  some  of  the 
pleasures  and  discomforts  of  the  life  of  a  governess.  Under 
the  former  head  she  remarks  : — 

'The  life  of  a  governess,  however  dull  and  monotonous  it 
may  sometimes  be  thought,  has  many  pleasures  of  a  very  re- 
fined and  superior  nature.  Among  the  first  of  these  I  reckon 
the  usefulness  and  importance  of  titc  task  in  which  she  is  daily 
engaged.  Compare  the  recollections  of  a  daj'  spent  to  some 
valuable  purpose,  with  the  reflections  which  follow  one  that 
has  been  frittered  away  in  trifling  and  vanit}',  or  absorbed  in 
selfish  gratifications  ;  and  you  will  see  at  once,  if  you  know  it 
not  already,  how  great  the  pleasure  of  usefulness  must  be  to 
every  rational  thinking  being.  But  to  the  Christian,  this  is 
not  only  pleasing  "but  necessary.  It  is  his  pleasure  and  de- 
light to  lay  himself  out  for  the  glory  of  God,  and  the  good  of 
Ills  fellow-creatures.  For  this  he  is  content  to  "  wait  all  the 
days  of  his  appointed  time ;"  and  much  as  he  longs  for  the 
pleasures<hat  are  prepared  for  him  above ;  yet  if  his  abiding 
in  the  flesh  be  needful  for  the  sake  of  one  living  being,  he 
would  not  "depart,"  even  "to  be  with  Christ."  I  know  of 
no  employment  in  which  a  Christian  woman  can  be  more 
profitably  engaged,  than  in  watching  over  the  spiritual  and 
mental  improvement  of  children.  The  young  beings  entrust- 
ed to  her  care  may  form  the  comfort  and  delight  of  parents, 
brethren,  husband,  friends,  children.  They  may  grow  up  to 
be  happy  in  themselves,  and  blessings  to  society.  Above  all, 
they  may  be  so  many  "jewels"  added  to  the  Redeemer's 
crown,  and  may  themselves  "  turn  many  souls  unto  right- 
eousness." To  be  the  instrument,  (under  God,)  of  the  small- 
est particle  of  this  good,  must  be  inexpressible  delight. 

'  Nothing  invigorates  our  progress  so  much  as  encouraging 
prospects  of  success.  This  is  the  undoubted  privilege  of  a 
teacher  of  j'outh.  Not  to  speak  of  those  promises  of  God, 
mentioned  in  my  last  letter,  and  which  of  themselves  suffice 
to  make  us  "against  hope  to  believe  in  hope;"  the  human 
probabilities  of  moral  and  intellectual  improvement,  from 
which  God  permits  us  to  draw  encouragement,  are  most  en- 
livening, 'i'o  reform  the  manners,  to  eradicate  the  prejudices, 
to  correct  the  tempers,  of  those  whom  age  has  matured,  and 
set  as  it  were  in  the  form  which  they  must  afterwards  retain, 
is  indeed  a  most  difficult  task.  But  with  the  young,  where 
we  have  to  form  instead  of  to  reform,  to  prevent  rather  than 
to  eradicate :  patient  instruction,  and  unremitting  watchful- 
VoL-  II.— -3  E 


ness  will  in  ordinary  cases  succeed  to  a  very  considerable 
degree.  And  though  divine  grace  only  can  subdue  their  evil 
tempers  and  dispositions,  human  means  may  do  much  to- 
wards retraining  that  outward  violence,  which  so  often  makes 
young  people  not  only  wretched  in  themselves,  but  an  occa- 
sion of  sorrow  to  all  connected  with  them.  The  same  advan- 
tase  is  connected  with  Christian  grace  and  improvement. 
The  minister  preaches  with  holy  earnestness  to  his  adult  con- 
gregation :  but  it  is  to  the  young  of  his  flock,  not  yet  hardened 
in  sin  or  in  worldly  habits,  that  he  turns  with  peculiar  hope 
and  encouragement.  To  this  comparatively  tender  and  unoc- 
cupied soil,  he  consigns  the  seed,  in  the  cheerful  confidence 
that  it  will  spring  up,  and  bring  forth  fruit  to  perfection. 
These  are  the  hopeful  beings  with  whom  you  will  have  to 
deal ;  and  as  youth  is  the  season  of  hope  and  expectation,  so  is 
your  task  peculiarly  one  of  hope  and  glad  anticipations. 

In  the  attachment  of  her  pupils,  a  kind  governess  finds 
another  perpetual  source  of  pleasure.  This  you  are  almost 
sure  to  obtain  bj'  a  habit  of  considerate  and  affectionate  inter- 
course with  them,  especially  if  they  come  under  your  care  at 
an  early  age.  It  is  delightful  te  be  beloved  by  those,  whom 
we  have  thus  bound  to  us  by  the  cords  of  gratitude  and  love. 
For  the  justness  and  clearness  of  most  of  their  notions;  for 
their  ability  to  discern  what  is  good,  and  to  enjoy  what  is  de- 
lightful and  intellectual ;  for  all  their  knowledge  and  many  of 
their  pleasures,  your  pupils  will  probably  (if  you  conduct 
yourself  according  to  my  hopes)  be  indebted  to  you.  They 
will  scarcely  ever  fail  to  manifest  warm  attachment  to  one, 
who  has  so  many  claims  on  their  gratitude.  They  must  love 
their  faithful  adviser,  their  kind  and  intelligent  teacher,  their 
cheerful  entertaining  companion,  and  their  affectionate  and 
sympathizing  friend. 

The  improvement  of  your  own  mind  is  also  a  source  of  in- 
expressible delight.  A  conscientious  governess  will  be  per- 
petually and  delightfully  improving  herself.  While  explain- 
ing subjects  to  her  pupils,  her  own  views  become  clearer ; 
while  she  is  teaching  them  facts  or  words,  her  own  recollec- 
tion of  them  is  refreshed  and  strengthened.  The  arrange- 
ment of  herknowledge  for  the  use  of  her  pupils  is  of  the  high- 
est advantage  to  herself.  She  must  learn  to  think  clearly, 
that  she  may  be  able  to  express  her  meaning  clearly  to  her 
young  and  ignorant  auditors;  and  if  her  own  acquaintance 
with  the  subject  be  obscure,  imperfect,  or  superficial,  the  at- 
tempt to  teach  will  soon  discover  it  to  her,  and  compel  her  to 
correct  it.  Thus  her  previously  acquired  knowledge  will  be 
more  solid  and  permanent,  while  she  will  be  continually  add- 
ing to  its  store.  Often  she  may  not  be  able  readily  to  answer 
her  pupils'  questions.  Further  researches  therefore  on  her 
part  are  necessary ;  and  thus  the  demands  of  her  teaching 
stimulate  to  perpetual  increase  of  her  attainments. 

I  mention  one  more  privilege  connected  with  the  life  of  a 
governess.  Next  to  the  improvement  of  her  own  mind,  and 
indeed  because  of  the  improvement  that  it  yields  to  her  own 
mind,  is  the  pleasure  of  gaining  an  insight  into  the  minds  of 
others,  into  the  human  mind  in  general.  In  cultivating  a 
flower  garden  there  are  few  pleasures  equal  to  that  of  watch- 
ing the  tender  buds,  as  they  unfold  one  by  one  their  beauteous 
petals.  How  delightful  is  it  to  admire  the  wisdom  of  .God, 
who  teaches  them  to  peep  in  due  season  from  their  mantle  of 
green  ;  bids  the  sun  to  clothe  them  in  all  the  colours  of  the 
rainbow;  and  endues  them  with  shapes  so  varied  and  so  per- 
fect, that  the  little  flower  has  been  the  joy  and  solace  of  man's 
breast  in  every  age  !  But  what  is  this  to  the  pleasure  of 
watching  the  mind  of  a  little  child,  as  those  faculties  which 
lay  wrapped  within  its  tiny  folds,  begin  gradually  to  expand, 
each  in  its  order ;  every  day  witnessing  the  drawing  forth  of 
some  new  idea,  or  the  unfolding  of  some  latent  power  ?  And 
at  a  later  age  to  watch  those  powers  and  faculties,  as  tliey 
daily  improve  and  strengthen  :  to  see  the  unformed  and  un- 
taught child,  grow  up  before  your  e3'es  into  the  graceful,  re- 
fined, and  intellectual  woman  ;  to  mark  every  step  by  which 
it  is  effected,  and  to  be  yourself  employed  as  an  instrument  in 
effecting  it ;  all  this  is  a  source  of  such  continual  and  ever 
varying  delight,  that  to  my  mind  it  amply  compensates  for 
the  tediousness  and  fatigue  of  teaching.  And  then  there  is 
the  pleasure  of  watching,  not  only  different  faculties,  but  dif- 
ferent minds;  of  comparing  their  several  degrees  of  develop- 
ment, and  the  peculiar  combination  of  faculties,  which  con- 
stitutes the  formation  of  each  peculiar  turn  of  mental  tempe- 
rament, 'i  ou  may  probably  find  among  your  pupils  many 
instances  of  this  endless  variety ;  the  more  quick  and  ready 
mind  ;  the  lively  and  imaginative  ;  the  clear  and  decided  ; 
the  solid  and  steady ;  the  strong,  the  deep,  the  energetic,  the 


894 


CHRISTIAN     LIBRARY. 


inquiring,  the  contemplative.  You  will  find  that  each  of  these 
will  develop  itself  in  a  peculiar  manner,  and  put  forth  their 
several  powers  and  faculties  with  different  degrees  of  vigour 
and  perfection.  As  an  intelligent  gardener,  in  order  that  his 
different  flowers  may  open  and  expand  to  perfection,  exposes 
them  to  every  degree  of  air  and  heat,  and  treats  them  with 
every  variety  of  soil  ;  so  will  you  tind  the  most  varied  modes 
of  treatment  necessary  in  assisting  the  development  of  your 
mental  blossoms,  and  in  contending  with  the  defects  peculiar 
to  each.  These  will  be  gradually  suggested  to  you  by  expe- 
rience ;  and  will  assist  you  much  in  combating  the  defects  in 
your  own  mind,  which  the  course  of  your  teaching  in  a 
watchful  habit  of  self-inspection  will  bring  before  you.  And 
as  the  child  is  but  the  copy  of  the  man,  you  will  thus  be  better 
enabled  to  discern  the  intellectual  beauties  and  defects  of 
those  with  whom  you  converse.  The  dull  prosy  cease  to  be 
wearisome,  while  we  are  busily  employed  in  inquiring  into 
the  causes  of  their  imperfections,  how  they  might  have  been, 
or  might  still  be  corrected. 

'  The  advantages  you  will  gain  in  watching  the  tempers  and 
dispositions  of  your  pupils  will  be  yet  more  valuable  and  im- 
portant. This,  however,  is  a  less  pleasing  task.  The  fall  of 
man,  though  it  has  made  shipwreck  of  every  mental  faculty, 
has  still  left  the  wreck  as  it  were,  the  sadly  obscured  and  mu- 
tilated remains  of  what  Avas  once  so  noble  and  beautiful. 
But  our  tempers  and  dispositions  it  has  totally  perverted. 
To  study  the  varieties  of  the  natural  heart,  is  but  to  study 
selfishness  and  pride,  in  all  the  various  forms  of  virtue  and 
vice,  which  they  have  assumed  for  the  delusion  and  destruc- 
tion of  mankind.  Yet,  the  high  importance  of  this  study, 
with  the  word  of  God  for  our  guide,  will  fully  compensate  for 
its  painful  disappointments.  If  God  gives  me  life  and 
strength,  I  shall  again  have  occasion  to  touch  on  these  points ; 
I  will,  therefore,  leave  them  now,  and  proceed  to  some  of  the 
disadvantages  connected  with  a  governess'  situation  ; — tiot  to 
discourage  you,  but  to  prepare  you,  if  I  can,  in  some  cases  to 
avoid,  in  others  to  meet  them  cheerfully.' 

Her  exhibition  of  the  discomforts  of  the  life  of  a  governess 
shows  much  good  sense  and  knowledge  of  character  in  the 
true  spirit  of  Christian  sympathy.  The  most  delightful 
characteristic,  however,  is  the  habitual  bent  of  her  mind,  ever 
turning,  like  the  magnetic  needle,  to  the  point  of  attraction. 
Thus,  in  the  first  inconvenience  that  she  mentions,  the  sepa- 
ration of  the  governess  from  her  own  domestic  circle — slie 
naturally  draws  out  an  application,  which  seems  to  say  with 
the  church  of  old — "  Saw  ye  him  whom  my  soul  loveth  1" 
'  The  grievance'  as  she  justly  observes,  'is  often  lighter  than 
is  anticipated.  Strangers  cannot  live  long  in  the  same  house 
without  ceasing  to  be  strangers ;  and  where  there  is  a  due 
proportion  of  encouraging  kindness  on  the  one  hand,  and  of 
respectful  confidence  on  the  other;  friendship  will  soon  take 
place  of  strangeness  and  reserve.  This  is  particularly  the 
case,  where  both  parties  are  sincere  Christians.  The  love  of 
their  common  Lord  begets  such  feelings  of  union  and  sympa- 
thy between  them,  that  the  hand  of  fellowship  is  soon  held 
forth  and  accepted,  as  if  they  had  long  known  and  loved 
each  other.  They  know  so  much  about  each  other,  of 
which  the  rest  of  the  world  is  ignorant;  they  feel  themselves 
so  much  of  "  strangers  and  pilgrims  upon  earth,"  that  they 
cannot  but  rejoice  at  meeting  with  a  fellow-sojourner,  who, 
like  themselves,  "has  no  continuing  city,  but  seeks  that  bet- 
ter country,"  to  which  their  own  steps  are  directed.  Added  to 
this  general  feeling  amongst  the  Lord's  people,  the  Christian 
mother  may  surely  be  expected  to  receive  with  peculiar  in- 
terest and  affection,  the  young  person,  whom  she  has  engaged 
to  assist  her  in  bringing  up  for  God  those  dear  objects  of  her 
love,  for  whose  temporal  and  spiritual  welfare  she  cries  unto 
him  night  and  day.  Even  should  you  fail  of  obtaining  this 
privilege;  should  your  employers  be  ever  so  cold  and  distant; 
still  the  affections  of  your  pupils  conciliated  to  you  by  afi'ec- 
tionate  and  judicious  treatment,  will  be  objects  of  incessant 
interest  to  fill  up  the  void  in  your  heart,  in  the  consciousness  of 
loving  and  being  beloved.  And  I  think  that  a  teacher  of  youth 
thus  blessed  and  encouraged  will  seldom  be  inclined  to  reckon 
her  condition  very  desolate  or  forlorn.  But  even  should  this 
comfort  be  denied  you  (a  misfortune  I  hope  and  trust  very 
unlikely  to  happen  in  your  case),  1  have  to  remind  you  of 
another  source  of  consolation,  which  can  never  fail  or  disap- 
point you.  If  you  now  give  yourself  to  Jesus,  you  can  never 
be  wholly  amongst  strangers;  for  your  best,  dearest  friend — 
one  who  is  "born  for  adversity,  who  sticketh  closer  than  a 
brother" — is  with  you,  yea,  and  has  promised  to  be  "  with 
you  to  the  end  of  the  world."  And  oh  !  what  a  friend  and 
comforter  is   Jesus!      How  abundant    in    loving-kindness! 


How  tender  in  sympathy !  How  rich  in  counsel  !  How 
"meek  and  lowly  in  reproof!  How  wise  to  direct !  How 
might}'  to  help  !  How  slow  to  anger  !  How  ready  to  for- 
give !     What  a  faithful,  luifailing,  promise-keeping  friend  !' 

Against  'the  feeling  of  afflictive  solitariness,'  a  measure 
of  which  under  the  most  favourable  circumstances  must  be- 
long to  absence  from  the  happy  family  circle — she  suo-o-ests 
the  following  alleviating  considerations.  The  Christian 
turn  which  she  gives  to  the  first  suggestion  is  exquisitely 
beautiful : 

'  Think  first,  what  a  common  privation  it  is.  Almost  every 
family  disperses,  as  the  younger  part  arrive  at  maturity. 
One  son  perhaps  remains  at  home  to  support  his  father's  de- 
clining years,  and  to  fill  his  place  when  he  shall  be  no  more. 
The  others  betake  themselves  to  distant  parts,  and  are  often 
content  to  look  forward  to  a  reunion  in  ten,  twenty,  or  thirty 
years.  The  daughters  probably  marry,  and  accompanj'  their 
husbands  to  remote  situations,  from  whence  they  return  once 
in  a  few  months  or  years,  to  visit  the  still  dear  party  at  home. 
This  you  will  say  is  an  unfair  comparison.  For  the  happy 
young  wife  goes  with  her  husband,  who  is  more  to  her  than 
all  the  friends  of  home ;  and  she  is  soon  settled  in  a  new 
home;  and  surrounded  by  a  family  and  friends  still  dearer 

to  her  than  those  she  has  left.    True,  my  dear ;  and  this 

is  what  I  wish  you  to  bear  upon  your  mind  in  every  trial 
you  may  have  to  encounter.  The  happy  wife  misses  not  the 
home  of  her  youth  ;  because,  wherever  she  goes,  she  carries 
with  her,  that  which  is  better  to  her  than  home  ;  and  her 
pleasures  now  are  superior  to  those  she  has  relinquished. 
And  thus  the  devoted  Christian  ;  whether  married  or  unmar- 
ried, has  with  her  wherever  she  goes,  the  cheering  presence 
of  one,  who  is  far  dearer  to  her  than  husband,  parents,  bro- 
thers, sisters,  or  friends.  She  has  made  her  home  in  the 
bosom  of  her  God  and  Saviour.  Thither  she  flies  for  sym- 
pathy and  direction.  In  that  kind  bosom  she  can  pour  forth 
her  joys  and  sorrows,  far  better  than  to  the  tenderest  relatives 
or  friends.  She  has  nothing  "in  heaven  besides  her  God, 
nor  on  earth  any  she  desires  in  comparison  of  him."  She 
must  feel  as  a  stranger  even  in  her  own  home,  if  it  be  com- 
posed of  such  as  know  not  the  name  of  Jesus  ;  and  wherever 
that  beloved  name  is  known  and  esteemed,  there  she  is  happy 
and  at  home.  Go  where  she  will,  she  cannot  journey  to  the 
place  where  God  is  not ;  go  where  she  will,  she  is  still 
drawing  near  to  that  home,  on  which  her  thoughts  and  affec- 
tions are  fixed.' 

Another  ground  of  alleviation  it  very  pointedly  and  sensi- 
bly set  forth. 

'This  painful  separation  from  home,  is  in  reality  (under 
present  circumstances)  the  best  and  happiest  thing  for  you. 
Were  two  situations  equally  eligible  to  present  themselves, 
and  were  I  asked  to  assist  you  in  your  choice,  assuredly  the 
one  near  home  would  not  be  the  object  of  rny  preference.  A 
continual  recurrence  to  the  comforts  and  liberty  of  home, 
makes  everj'  little  restraint  and  discomfort  of  a  situation 
doubly  irksome  and  annoying.  The  poor  governess,  who 
has  the  misnamed  privilege  of  perpetual  access  to  her  home, 
returns  from  it  in  no  very  favourable  mood  to  a  place,  where 
she  cannot  (at  least  at  first)  be  loved,  caressed,  ani  appreci- 
ated, as  amongst  her  own  friends.  It  is  but  too  natural,  that  she 
should  consider  every  little  departure  from  the  unlimited  and 
perhaps  injudicious  indulgence' which  she  has  just  experi- 
enced, as  an  actual  deviation  from  the  law  of  kindness  and 
equity;  that  she  should  magnify  every  real  or  fancied  slight 
into  contempt,  every  expression  of  disapproval  into  a  harsh 
reproof,  and  every  degree  of  strictness  in  requirement,  into 
an  unreasonable  exaction.  Soon  the  very  nearness  of  her 
home  tempts  hersteps  thither  again.  There  the  well-filled 
budget  of  petty  trials  and  vexations,  which  few  young  per- 
son have  the  wisdom  to  conceal  within  their  own  bosoms,  or  to 
tell  to  none  but  God,  is  emptied  out  before  partial  relatives, 
who  hear  but  one  side  of  the  story,  and  are  too  apt  to  take  it 
for  granted,  that  there  is  no  other  way  of  telling  it.  They 
cannot  refuse  to  syinpathize  and  console;  and  while  they  are 
wondering  that  such  an  attention  was  omitted,  such  a  fault 
found,  or  such  a  duty  exacted,  the}'  little  suspect  themselves 
to  be  the  cause  of  the  forlorn  and  disconsolate  state  of  their 
dear  relation.  Nor  does  the  evil  end  here.  Her  mind,  divi- 
ded between  her  pupils  and  home,  cannot  fully  and  affection- 
ately employ  all  its  energies  in  the  service  of  the  former. 
Too  often  will  her  absent  looks  and  languid  attention  betray 
the  fact  so  injurious  for  pupils  to  discover,  that  her  mind  can 
wander  as  well  as  theirs;  and  that  their  improvement  and  en- 
tertainment are  objects  which  soon  slide  out  of  her  thoughts, 
when  occupied  by  subjects  of  more  pleasant  contemplation. 


MEMOIR  OF  MARY  JANE  GRAHAM. 


235 


Jy'or  have  I  yet  maJe  the  obvious  remark,  that  the  time  lost 
in  these  frequent  visits,  however  short,  inust  deprive  her  of 
many  opportunities  of  private  improvement ;  and  thus  prove 
in  the  end  extremely  detrimental  both  to  herself  and  her 
younger  charge.  From  these  considerations,  a  moderate 
distance  from  home  is  far  preferable,  from  whence  at  stated 
and  proper  intervals  you  are  permitted  to  revisit  your  friends. 
And  I  think  that  such  reflections  as  these  might  enable  us  to 
bear  the  discomforts  even  of  a  long  separation  from  home, 
not  merely  with  patience,  but  with  thankfulness. 

'  1  cannot  quit  this  subject  without  strongly  cautioning 
you,  not  too  hastily  to  accuse  the  parents  of  your  pupils  of 
being  unkind  or  unreasonable,  because  they  are  not  willing 
to  grant  you  leave  of  absence  whenever  you  think  fit  to  ask 
it.  They,  perhaps,  with  more  justice,  may  think  the  unrea- 
sonableness to  be  all  on  your  side.  It  is  both  right  and  na- 
tural that  they  should  anxiously  desire  the  improvement  of 
their  children  in  every  branch  of  instruction,  to  which  their 
attention  has  been  directed ;  and  they  know  that  this  is  only 
to  be  attained  by  a  steady  course  of  persevering  application. 
They  know  that  every  interruption  to  this  course  must  have 
a  pernicious  effect,  by  weakening  habits  newly  formed,  and 
permitting  old  and  bad  habits  to  revive;  by  unsettling  the 
mind  in  all  its  pursuits,  and  blotting  out  much  of  what  has 
been  already  learned.  If,  therefore,  they  oppose  your  ab- 
sence, it  is  because  they  value  your  services  too  much,  to 
part  with  them  lightly,  or  without  suflTicient  cause.  There 
are  few  cases  in  which  you  ought  not  to  submit  to  their  deci- 
sion. But  the  best  way  to  prevent  any  future  misunderstand- 
ing or  disappointment,  is  to  make  some  arrangement  before 
you  enter  upon  your  situation.' 

The  frequent  change  of  situation,  or  the  liability  to  this 
change,  is  well  pointed  out  as  a  serious  evil  attending  the 
life  of  a  governess. 

'Her  duties' — it  is  observed — 'are  becoming  easy  and  de- 
lightful to  lier;  she  is  beginning  to  rejoice  in  the  growing 
attachment  of  her  pupils ;  she  feels  that  she  can  look  round 
on  their  little  faces  with  a  degree  of  maternal  affection;  when 
some  unexpected  cause  induces  or  compels  her  to  relinquish 
her  situation.  She  has  long  been  employed  in  clearing  away 
the  rubbish:  in  laying  the  foundation ;  and  in  collecting  and 
arranging  the  materials  of  hor  intended  superstructure,  which 
was  beginning  to  rise  with  a  daily  increasing  order  and  sym- 
metry. This  state  of  things  miglit  probably  appear  rude  and 
unfinished  to  the  eye  of  others ,  but  it  was  full  of  hope  and 
interest  to  her,  who  had  been  watching  its  progress  from  day 
to  day,  and  confidently  awaiting  the  happ}',  though  distant, 
completion  of  her  labours.  Her  work  must  now  pass  into 
the  hands  of  another,  who  neither  witnessed  its  commence- 
ment, nor  can  be  aware  of  many  important  points  connected 
with  its  progress.  The  new  teacher,  however,  succeeds  to 
all  the  benefits  of  that  preparatory  drudgery,  witli  which  her 
predecessor  had  hoped  to  pave  the  way  for  her  own  future 
exertions.  It  seldom  happens,  that  the  children  are  not  seri' 
ously  injured  by  this  change  of  system.  Tlie  very  act  of 
changing  has  a  tendency  to  unsettle  the  mind.  The  new 
comer's  manners,  her  new  modes  of  expression,  and  new  sys- 
tem of  teaching,  must  render  her  at  first  less  intelligible  to 
them,  than  the  familiar  voice  to  which  they  have  been  accus- 
tomed ;  and  till  this  disadvantage  is  conquered,  her  services 
must  prove  less  effective.  Besides,  too  often  the  new  govern 
ess,  confident  of  the  superiority  of  hor  own  methods  of  in- 
struction, hastily  puts  aside  the  rules  and  arrangements  of  her 
predecessor — not  because  they  are  not  good — but  as  if  they 
could  not  be  good,  because  they  were  not  her  own.  Then 
the  children  also  are  discouraged  and  thrown  back  in  many 
of  their  studies,  that  they  may  be  grounded  in  them  on  the 
new  system.  Perhaps  ere  long  another  change  is  determined 
— a  new  teacher  comes — and  the  best  methods  are  displaced 
by  others  that  are  newer  and  better  still.  The  result  of  this 
broken  and  interrupted  education  will  be  a  sort  of  clumsy 
patchwork,  made  up  of  a  medley  of  fine  and  coarse  mate- 
rials, ill-contrived,  ill-assorted,  and  loosely  put  together. 
These  are  some  of  the  real  injuries  inflicted  on  children  by 
the  frequent  change  of  demestic  administration. 

'  My  chief  concern,  however,  is  with  the  governess.  In 
addition  to  these  mortifying  circumstances,  she  is  again 
thrown  upon  the  world.  She  must  once  more  take  up  her  abode 
amongst  strangers:  her  pupils  are  again  unfamiliar  to  her;  she 
must  study  their  tempers  ;  conciliate  their  affections;  examine 
and  arrange  their  present  acquirements :  in  sliort,  she  must  en- 
counter anew  every  former  difficulty.  And  when  all  this  is 
eflected,  and  things  begin  to  glidesmoothly  on,  another  change, 
another  losa  of  time  and  labour  may  yet  bo  in  prospect  for  her. 


The  web  may  be  again  unravelled  ;  the  stone,  that  had  beca 
heaved  half-way  up  the  mountain,  may  roll  down  again  to 
its  very  foot.  I  have  dwelt  strongly  on  the  evils  relulting 
from  a  frequent  change  of  situation — not  by  way  of  dIscouraCT(> 
ment,  but  of  warning.  lam  persuaded  that  in  a  large  major- 
ity of  cases,  young  people  might  and  would  retain  their 
engagement  in  one  family  much  longer  than  they  do,  if  only 
they  would  calmly  sit  down,  and  count  the  serious  cost  both 
to  themselves  and  to  their  pupils  (to  which  I  have  alluded)  in 
relinquishing  it.' 

It  would  be  difficult  in  all  cases  to  determine  what  might 
be  deemed  a  sufficient  reason  for  relinquishing  a  situation. 
A  few  decidedly  insufficient  motives  are  accurately  speci- 
fied. 

'  I  need  scarcely  suggest,  that  a  trifling  increase  of  salary 
would  be  an  insufficient  reason  for  quitting  a  tolerably  com- 
fortable situation.  Circumstances,  sueh°as  some  uro-ent 
family  call  upon  your  assistance,  might  indeed  render  a  change 
not  only  excusable  but  praiseworthy.  But  without  an  imper- 
ative call,  it  will  be  equally  your  interest  and  happiness  to 
retain  your  station.  I  consider  the  governess,  who  will 
abandon  her  young  charge  for  the  mere  sake  of  a  little  paltry 
emolument,  much  in  the  same  light  with  the  minister,  who 
will  leave  his  larger  flock,  for  the  same  base  motive  of  "filthy 
lucre,"  without  any  clear  providential  call.  This  abandon- 
ment of  present  and  certain  usefulness  for  the  sake  of  some- 
thing new  and  uncertain,  whether  dictated  by  the  love  of 
gain,  or  the  love  of  novelty,  is  not  only  sinful  but  imprudent. 
You  are  now  more  or  less  comfortably  settled.  You  know 
not  how  many  discomforts  may  await  you  in  anew  situation. 
You  leave  those,  who  probably  are  becoming  attached  to 
you,  for  those  who  at  present  neither  know  nor  care  any  thimr 
about  you.  This  is  not  the  way  to  lay  up  friends  against 
the  time  of  sickness,  distress,  or  age.  The  plain  path  of  duty 
is  always  the  path  of  prudence.  Here  only  can  you  ■  expect 
the  "blessing  of  the  Lord,  which  maketh  rich  ;  and  he  addttk 
no  sorrow  to  it."  When  however  any  tempting  offer  occurs, 
the  love  of  gain  so  common  to  all,  the  love  of  "novelty  so  in- 
herent in  young  minds,  and  the  persuasions  of  older  sordid 
friends,  are  too  likely  to  prevail  with  a  young  person,  who  is 
not  enabled  to  hold  fast  her  integrity,  by  working  with  a  sin- 
gle eye  to  the  service  of  Christ. 

'Nor  do  I  think,  that  any  trifling  inconvenience  should  in- 
duce you  to  reliniiuish  an  engagement,  which  holds  out  to  you 
a  fair  prospect  of  usefulness.  Every  situation  has  its  trials 
and  privations ;  and  it  is  better,  if  possible,  to  put  up  with 
those  which  already  fall  to  your  share,  than  to  run  the  risk  of 
incurring  others  which  may  be  worse.  Besides,  these  petty 
hardships  are  always  most  severely  felt  at  first.  After  a  time 
they  wear  off,  and  at  length  cease  to  occasion  any  considera- 
ble uneasiness.  When  the  temper  of  either  parents  or  chil- 
dren is  a  trial  to  you;  when  the  parents,  through  pride, 
avarice,  or  inconsideration,  fail  in  a  proper  attention  to  your 
comforts;  when  the  extreme  retirement  or  excessive  bustle 

of  your  situation  makes  it  very  unpleasant  to  yon,  &c in 

these,  and  many  other  similar  cases,  I  should  advise  you  to 
make  as  light  of  the  evil  as  you  can,  and  to  bear  with  it  as 
long  as  it  can  possibly  be  borne  with. 

'  Again — kt  not  any  sudden  Jit  of  despo7idency  induce  you 
to  give  up  yoiir  situation.  There  are  few  teachers  who  cannot 
recollect  a  time  when  every  thing  seemed  to  go  wrono-  with 
them — '  No  children  ever  repaid  the  trouble  bestow^ed  on 
them  so  little ;  no  situation  ever  possessed  so  few  advantages ; 
no  parents  were  ever  so  exacting  and  dissatisfied.  In  any 
other  family  they  should  succeed  better;  here  they  can 
neither  do  justice  to  their  pupils  nor  to  themselves.'  Such 
feelings,  which  may  be  expected  to  arise  in  times  of  difficul- 
ty and  discouragement,  mark  something  very  wrong  in  your 
own  heart,  that  casts  a  shade  upon  all  the  objects  around  you  : 
something  that  needs,  not  the  indulgent  experiment  of  chancre 
of  situation,  but  a  special  course  of  self-examination,  watch- 
fulness, and  prayer,  to  restore  a  healthful  tone  of  energy, 
cheerfulness,  and  satisfaction  to  your  mind. 

'  I  need  scarcely  observe,  that  no  (iffence,  real  or  fancied, 
except  the  former  be  of  a  very  clear  and  aggravated  character, 
eould  justify  you  in  quitting  a  family  in  which  you  may  have 
probably  received  much  kindness,  and  may  receive  much 
more.  A  governess  must  expect  to  be  told  of  her  faults,  and 
ought  to  be  thankful  for  such  information  as  may  lead  to  their 
correction.  Christians  indeed  too  often  perform  the  difficult 
office  of  reproof  in  a  very  harsh  and  grating  manner;  forget- 
ting that  the  reproof  of  "  the  righteous  sho'uld  be  like  excel- 
lent oil,"  not  to  "  break,"  but  to  heal,  the  wounded  spirit. 
Yet  the  harshness,  with  which  a  censure  may  be  given,  forms 


236 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


no  excuse  for  a  defect  of  Christmn  meekness  and  love  in  re- 
ceiving it.  "  Be  not  hasty  in  thy  spirit  to  be  angry  ;"  but 
remember  that  "  a  soft  answer  turneth  away  wrath."  Indulge 
not  that  sensitive  temper,  which  is  always  looking  out  for  some 
ground  of  offence,  over  vphich  it  can  brood,  till  it  bursts  out 
into  open  discontent ;  which  bristles  up  at  every  liglit  and 
uncruarded  expression,  and  is  always  on  the  defensive,  even 
when  no  intentional  slight  could  have  been  conceived.  You 
will  never  long  retain  a  situation  without  a  forbearing  spirit 
in  respect  to  many  little  things,  which  are  grating  to  a  proud 
and  self-conceited  temper.  Good  sense  and  experience  will 
indeed  help  to  depress  this  baneful  temper.  For  we  can  scarce 
ly  so  far  shut  our  eyes  to  the  passing  world  around  us,  as  to 
fail  in  discovering,  that  the  good  opinion  we  may  have  formed 
of  ourselves  is  ill-warranted  by  the  general  estimation  in 
which  we  are  held  ;  that  we  must  expect  our  full  share  of  in- 
convenience and  neglect.  But  true  Christian  humility  can 
alone  conquer  the  evil,  by  "  bringing  into  captivity  every  high 
thought  to  the  obedience  of  Christ."  The  spirit  and  temper 
of  which  we  have  been  speaking  is  ever  ready  to  take  fire  at 
the  least  provocation,  or  even  without  provocation.  It  exacts 
not  only  due  respect,  but  much  more  than,  if  it  knew  itself,  it 
would  find  to  be  its  due.  It  can  hear  with  nothing  ;  it  can 
endure  nothing.  But  do  you  follow  after  that  "  charity 
which  sufi'ereth  long  and  is  kind  ;  is  not  puffed  up ;  doth  not 
behave  itself  unseemly  ;  sceketh  not  her  own  ;  is  not  easily 
provoked  ;   beareth  all  things." 

'To  sum  up  what  I  have  said  in  a  few  words — when  you 
have  taken  up  your  abode  in  a  family,  and  have  fairly  sat 
down  to  the  performance  of  your  duties,  remember  that  you 
are  in  the  station  to  which  God  in  his  providence  has  called 
you ;  and  that  nothing  hut  a  clear  and  explicit  call  of  duty  or 
necessity  can  justify  you  in  quitting  it. 

'The  causes  that  might  induce  your  employers  to  dissolve 
the  engagement  (in  which  case  you  can  have  no  alternative) 
very  materially  depend  upon,  yourself.  Under  any  ground, 
just  or  unjust,  of  their  dissa/isfuction  with  you,  endeavour  in  a 
spirit  of  prayer  to  sift  every  part  of  your  conduct,  and  particu- 
larly the  part  censured,  to  the  very  bottom.  Put  yourself  in 
their  place.  Make  everj^  allowance  for  the  feelings  of  an 
anxious  parent ;  and  consider  what  might  fairly  be  expected 
from  you,  and  how  far  you  iiave  answered  those  expectations. 
Under  any  error  discovered,  be  not  asliamed  to  confess  your 
fault  with  all  candour  and  humility,  and  (in  a  higher  strength 
than  your  own)  to  promise  amendment.  To  retain  your 
situation  by  this  "voluntary  humility"  will  be  truly  honour- 
able in  the  eyes  of  Christians,  who  know  that  "he  thathura- 
hleth  himself  shall  be  exalted."  But  supposing  that,  after 
sincere  self-examination,  yoa  cannot  acknowledge  the  justice 
of  the  censure,  still,  as  a  Christian,  strive  to  conciliate.  Do 
not  get  warm  or  angry  in  your  own  justification;  mildly  pro- 
fess your  freedom  from  any  intentional  oflence  or  omission ; 
and  declare  your  readiness  to  redouble  your  efforts  to  give  sat- 
isfaction. 

'  Should  incompetency  be  alleged  against  you,  I  should  advise 
you,  rather  than  give  up  your  engagement  in  despair  or  in 
offence,  to  endeavour  by  redoubled  diligence  and  application, 
especially  in  the  particular  ground  of  complaint,  to  redeem 
and  establish  your  chtiracter.  Christian  gentleness  and  hu- 
mility to  explain  and  conciliate,  and  a  willingness  to  correct 
errors,  and  to  supply  omission,  will  in  many  cases  restore 
satisfaction  and  confidence  in  the  minds  of  your  employers, 

'  Should  however — not  any  fault  or  caprice  on  either  side — 
but  some  unavoidable  domestic  necessity,  dissolve  the  connec- 
tion, in  this  casemany  mitigating  circumstances  will  present 
themselves  to  your  mind.  In  the  first  place — "  //  is  th 
Lord ;^^  and  not  one  of  his  appointments  or  disappointments 
is  without  some  wise  and  gracious  purpose.  In  the  next 
place — all  painful  feeling  of  responsibility  for  any  evil  that 
may  result  from  the  change,  is  entirely  removed.  And  thus 
supported  by  a  sense  of  God's  blessing,  and  a  clear  con- 
science, you  may  look  cheerfully  forward  to  your  new  desti- 
nation, hoping  to  gain  new  friends  without  losing  the  old.' 

The  writer  has  been  induced  to  riuote  so  largelyfrom  these 
letters,  because  he  is  not  aware  of  any  work,  that  enters  into 
the  detail  of  the  principles,  characteristics,  and  sympathies  of 
the  life  of  a  governess.  Had  Miss  Graham  been  permitted 
to  complete  iier  design,  licr  accurate  and  observant  mind 
would  probably  have  produced  a  valuable  manual  for  this  in- 
teresting and  important  class  of  societj'.  In  the  defect  liow- 
ever  of  an  entire  system  of  instruction,  tlie  preceding  hints 
will  he  found  to  suggest  much  sensible  instruction  nearlj' 
connected  with  their  comfort  and  usefulness. 

An  even  balance  must,  indeed,  be  preserved  in  the  adjusts 


ment  of  this  important  part  of  domestic  economy.  If  the 
generality  of  instrnctors  are  too  flimsily  furnished  for  their 
great  task,  perhaps  it  may  be  also  said,  that  the  generality  of 
their  employers  are  too  niggardly.  Though  Miss  Graham 
rightly  inculcates  upon  her  young  governess  not  to  consider 
stipend  a  primary  matter,  yet  it  is  a  part  of  Christian  obliga- 
tion to  elevate  her  in  a  high  rank  above  the  menials  of  the 
house,  and  to  consider  the  claims  of  aged  parents  or  poor  re- 
lations that  often  inconveniently  press  upon  her.  Tlie  same 
inconsiderate  selfishness,  and  formal  pride  on  the  part  of  the 
parents,  materially  hinder  the  defective  usefulness  of  the 
family  instructors.  It  fosters  in  them  a  discontented  spirit 
in  tlie  contrast  with  the  tender  sympathies  of  their  own  home. 
Their  insulated  station  in  the  family  throws  them  in  irksome 
solitude  upon  their  own  resources ;  contracts  tlicir  social  affec- 
tions ;  and  paralyses  tliat  affectionate  interest  in  their  charge, 
which  is  the  soul  and  energy  of  a  fruitful  system  of  instruc- 
tion. Whereas  a  considerate  tenderness  would  return  to  the 
parents  an  abundant  recompense,  in  raising  up  for  their  chil- 
dren valuable  friends  m  the  persons  of  their  instructors — 
attached  to  their  interests  beyond  the  prospects  of  sordid  gain 
— w-ise,  anxious,  and  sympathizing  counsellors  to  the  end  of 
life. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  disposition  in  the  employers  to  in- 
corporate the  instructor,  as  far  as  is  consistent  with  her  sta- 
tion, into  the  family  circle,  is  too  often  restrained  by  hindrances, 
over  which  they  have  no  controul — even  where  a  well-fur- 
nished mind,  and  general  consistency  of  conduct  would  have 
made  her  society  an  important  consideration.  Yet  a  want  of 
knowledge  or  respect  for  the  regulations  of  decorum — defect 
of  manners — forgctfulness  of  the  due  reserve  connected  with 
her  situation — pedantic  tone  of  conversation — vanity  of  dress 
— self-importance — a  disputatious  spirit — a  love  of  authority 
— aflect-ation,  or  studied  eccentricity  of  behaviour — these  or 
some  other  failure  in  the  domestic  graces — repfel  the  exercise 
of  kindly  confidence,  and  produce  a  natural,  and  in  some  de- 
gree a  necessary,  distance  in  the  deportment  of  the  parents. 

Let  each  side  form  their  mutual  behaviour  upon  Scriptural 
rules.  Let  the  one  practise  the  injunction  of  love — "  What- 
soever ye  would  that  men  should  do  unto  you,  do  ye  even  so 
to  them."  Let  the  other  "be  clothed  with  humility,"  and 
be  found  in  the  daily  observance  of  "  whatsoever  things  are 
pure,  whatsoever  things  are  lovely,  whatsoever  things  are  of 
good  report."  Thus  Christian  regard  and  happiness  will  be 
reciprocally  diffused,  without  any  compromise  of  their  several 
obligations. 


CHAPTER  V. 

Different  views  and  features  in  Miss  Gruhani's  character. 

The  retired  and  uniform  habits  of  Miss  Graham's  life 
scarcely  allow  of  a  detailed  illustration  of  her  natural  charac- 
ter. That  singular  freedom  from  selfishness,  remarked  in  her 
early  history,  appears  to  have  been,  by  the  common  consent 
of  all  her  intelligent  friends,  a  most  prominent  feature  through- 
out life.  One  of  her  j'oung  companions,  whose  subsequent 
opportunities  of  observation  give  weight  to  her  testimony, 
thus  confirms  the  general  remark  on  this  point. — 'The  situa- 
tion which  I  have  filled  for  some  years  (in  tuition)  has  of 
course  brought  under  my  notice  the  various  dispositions  and 
peculiar  tempers  of  children  in  general.  From  necessity, 
[lartly,  I  have  studied  them.  But  I  have  never  met  with  one, 
w  ho  ill  any  degree  answered  my  recollections  of  Mary  Gra- 
ham. Warm  and  susceptible  in  her  affections,  she  was  ten- 
der to  those  of  others  ;  nor  did  she  ever  suflcr  any  regret  or 
disappointment  in  her  own  mind  to  interfere  with  the  com- 
fort or  pleasure  of  her  companions.'  The  testimony  of  her 
young  cousin  is  to  the  same  purport.  '  I  never  saw  any  one 
so  devoid  of  selfishness,  or  who  took  so  warm  an  interest  in 
the  happiness  of  her  fellow-creatures.  Tliere  was  not  one  of 
my  amusements  or  childish  sorrows  in  which  she  would  not 
lake  her  share.  As  I  grew  up,  her  kindness  in  this  respect 
increased.'  This  lovely  trait  was  combined  with  a  sweet- 
ness and  gentleness  of  disposition,  and,  being  moulded  under 
the  influence  of  Divine  grace,  attracted  the  regard  even  of  the 
thoughtless  and  unobservant.  Indeed  her  young  friend  first 
alluded  to  does  not  hesitate  to  assert — '  My  earliest  remem- 
brance of  her  is  connected  with  feelings  of  respect,  which,  I 
think  I  may  say,  I  have  scarcely  felt  in  a  stronger  degree  for 
any  one  I  have  since  known.' 


MEMOIR  OF  MARY  JANE  GRAHAM. 


237 


We  have  already  given  her  parents'  account  of  her  relatire 
character  under  their  own  roof.  In  its  wider  sphere  of  opera- 
tion it  may  however  be  added,  that  her  natural  affection  was 
enlarged  in  no  common  degree  to  all  that  belonged  to  her, 
and  manifested  in  the  most  important  and  practical  mode  of 
constant  prayer  and  effort  for  the  salvation  of  their  souls. 
She  sometimes  spent  a  great  part  of  the  night  in  earnest  and 
persevering  intercession;  and  on  one  occasion  was  known, 
after  she  had  retired  to  rest,  to  arise  from  her  bed  to  employ 
herself  in  special  prayer,  in  behalf  of  her  only  brother  who 
died  in  America  about  this  time,  and  for  whom  she  never 
ceased  to  cherish  the  hope,  that  her  prayers  were  heard  with 
acceptance. 

The  following  letter  full  enforces  the  claims  of  natural 
affection  upon  the  basis  of  the  high  principles  of  the  gospel. 
In  quickening  her  friend  to  a  self-denying  effort  in  this  path 
of  duty,  she  writes — 


Stohe,  Jan.  2,  1827. 

'My  dear  ,  "freely  we  have  received,  freely  let  us 

give."     If  it  does  take  up  half-a-day  once  or  twice  a  month 

to  go  to  ,  surely  God,  who  gave  all  your  days,  has  a 

right  to  expect  you  should  spend  them  in  whatever  service 
he  will  pnt  upon  you;  and  by  making  these  individuals  your 
near  relations,  he  has  given  thema  claim  upon  you.  Jesus 
made  himself  as  our  brother,  that  sucked  the  breasts  of  our 
mother,  on  purpose  to  give  us  an  everlasting  claim  to  all  that  he 
can  do  for  us;  and  surely  those  whom  he  has  given  us  as 
near  relations,  have  for  his  sake,  a  claim  upon  all  that  we  can 
do  for  them.  The  more  unpleasant  the  task,  the  more  con- 
trary to  flesh  and  blood,  the  more  reason  we  have  to  hope 
that  we  are  not  following  our  own  fancy,  nor  working  to 
please  ourselves,  but  really  following  the  example  of  Jesus, 
who,  "came  not  to  do  his  own  will."  At  the  same  time,  if 
after  pra3'er,  j'ou  really  do  not  feel  called  upon  to  do  some- 
thing for  them,  and  that  speedily  and  perseveringly ;  and  if 
you  do  not  think  you  are  guilty  of  great  unfaithfulness,  and 
selfishness  in  neglecting  it,  I  will  not  mention  the  subject  agaiii 
to  you ;  for  I  am  persuaded  you  will  be  taught  of  God,  and 
faith  will  be  given  you,  if  the  Lord  intends  to  make  use  of 
you  to  do  them  good.  My  great  desire  is  that,  we  may  be 
always  faithful  to  one  another,  "  provoking  one  another  to 
good  works." 

In  another  letter  to  the  same  correspondent,  she  throws 
out  a  valuable  hint  of  encouragement  relative  to  a  difficulty, 
which  is  often  painfully  felt  in  this  course  of  obligation. 

'  I  often  think,  dear ,  that  if  we  could  feel  and  carry  in 

our  memory  those  encouraging  words  of  our  Saviour,  "It  is 
not  ye  that  speak,  but  the  Spirit  of  your  Father,  which  speak- 
eth  in  you," — we  should  no  longer  suffer  false  shame  to  hin- 
der us  from  earnestly  pressing  the  subject  of  the  gospel  upon 
those  who  are  dear  to  us.  Jlay  not  we,  as  well  as  the  In- 
spired Apostles,  hope  for  the  indwelling  guidance  of  that 
Spirit,  who  shall  strengthen  us  in  all  utterance  and  in 
knowledge?' 

One  main  feature  of  her  intellcdunl  character  was  the  ar- 
dour, steadiness,  and  concentration  of  mind,  with  which  she 
pursued  every  object  of  interest.  This  indeed  distinguished 
her  earliest  and  most  unbended  habits.  Her  youthful  games 
were  marked  with  the  same  intensity  of  feeling  which  she 
subsequently  applied  to  her  more  important  objects.  She 
engaged  in  games  of  imagination,  as  one  of  her  companions 
remarks,  with  all  the  earnestness  of  reality,  and  acted  a  ficti- 
tious character  with  an  expression,  that  proved  her  to  be 
totally  absorbed  in  it.  Thus  it  was  with  reading  or  with  work. 
No  efforts  or  entreaties  could  avail  to  divert  her  mind  from 
the  object  which  was  then  engaging  her  attention  to  any  other 
employment  or  recreation.  In  the  occupations  of  after-life, 
whether  it  was  music,  the  languages,  mathematics,  or  chemis 
try,  it  was  still  the  same  warmth  and  fixedness  of  mind.  The 
early  dawn  notunfrequently  found  her  (after  she  had  girded  on 
her  C  hristian  annour)  deeply  engaged  in  her  studies.  The  spirit 
and  result  of  her  investigations  often  entered  into  her  com- 
mon conversation,  whenever  she  met  w  ith  a  kindred  mind — 
not  however  in  any  display  of  pedantry,  (than  which  nothing 
was  more  removed  from  her  temper,)  but  in  the  natural  flow 
of  her  spirits,  and  with  a  lively  endeavour  to  communicate  a 
reciprocal  interest.  The  simplicity  and  elastic  spring  of  her 
mind  was  also  remarkably  illustrated  in  her  peculiar  faculty 
of  drawing  out  the  meutal  resources  of  those  with  whom  she 
conversed  ;  so  that,  though  they  could  not  but  be  sensible  of 
her  great  superiority,  yet  they  appeared  to  themselves  often 
to  possess  a  greater  strength  of  mind,  and  variety  of  concep- 
tion, than  they  had  before  been  conscious  of.     Perhaps  how- 


ever the  completeness  of  her  intellectual  character  appearrj 
in  the  well-regulated  application  of  her  mental  powers.  To 
subjects  of  taste — such  as  music  and  poetrj- — she  brought  a 
glow  of  feeling,  and  of  imagination,  that  quickens  the  pulse 
of  her  readers,  and  plays  upon  the  passions  with  an  irresisti- 
ble charm.  On  the  other  hand,  matters  of  a  graver  cast,  such 
as  the  highly  valuable  discussions  of  her  JIathematical  Manu- 
script, are  drawn  out  with  the  sober  accuracy  of  a  reflecting 
and  discriminating  judgment.  The  illustrations  that  have 
been  given  of  her  musical  excitement  might  almost  lead  us 
to  suppose  that  this  was  the  atmosphere  in  which  she  lived, 
and  that  she  could  breathe  in  no  other;  yet  was  this  fervid 
enthusiasm  disciplined  by  the  apprehension  of  the  prepon- 
derance of  this  indulgent  taste  above  more  solid  pursuits. 
Thus  w  as  her  fine  imagination  furnished  with  a  proportionate 
counterpoise  in  the  master-principle  of  her  ever  active  mind. 
As  to  her  Christian  character — this  highest  style  of  man — 
that  energy  of  feeling  and  industry  of  habit,  which  gave  the 
impulse  to  her  intellectual  studies,  no  less  strongly  marked  the 
temperament  of  her  religion.  Though  she  had  a  clear  per- 
ception that  the  blessing  she  sought  was  a  free  gift,  yet  she 
expected  the  attainment  of  it,  like  that  of  every  important  ob- 
ject of  pursuit,  only  in  the  constant,  use  of  the  appointed 
means.  She  was  therefore  led  to  cherish  the  principles  of 
her  Christian  profession,  in  a  spirit  of  earnest  and  prayerful 
searching  of  the  Scriptures  and  thus  was  she  enabled  to  ex- 
hibit the  graces  of  the  gospel  in  lovely  combination  and 
practical  exercise. 

In  giving,  however,  a  detailed  sketch  of  Miss  Graham's 
spiritual  character,  we  would  premise,  that  it  was  marked  by 
that  variation  of  feeling,  which  is  so  often  alluded  to  in  her 
correspondence,  and  which,  though  common  to  all  cases  of 
Christian  experience,  her  remarkable  elevation  of  spirituality 
rendered  more  visible  than  in  most  other  cases.  The  ditVer- 
ence  of  her  feelings  was  often  discernible  in  her  countenance. 
On  some  seasons  it  was  irradiated  with  a  peculiar  expression 
of  heavenly  feature.  She  was  manifestly  filled  with  the  love 
of  God,  and  "  out  of  the  abundance  of  her  heart  her  mouth 
would  speak.  At  other  times  it  was  with  difficulty  that  she 
could  be  induced  to  converse  upon  religious  subjects;  and  she 
would  turn  from  them  to  enter  upon  topics  exclusively  intel- 
lectual. But  this  view  of  her  cliaracter  cannot  better  be  do- 
scribed  than  in  the  language  of  her  most  intimate  and  confi- 
dential friend. 

'  I  did  not  notice  any  infirmity  in  her  Christian  character, 
except  the  one  she  herself  often  mentions — inequalil y .  ■  The 
difference  in  spiritual  feeling  was  more  visible  in  her  than  in 
anj'  other  Christians  I  have  known.  When  in  a  state  of 
warm  feeling,  she  was  more  entirely  engrossed  by  the  subject 
than  any  one  I  ever  met  w  ith.  Nothing  else  could  interest 
her.  When  her  mind  was  less  under  the  influence  of  hea- 
venly things,  the  difference  was  obvious.  I  do  not  mean  by 
her  giving  way  to  any  sinful  temper  or  feeling,  but  by  her 
conversing  with  pleasure  and  interest  upon  merely  earthly 
things.  Nor  do  I  think  that  at  these  times  she  sunk  much, 
if  at  all,  below  the  usual  standard.  Ordinarily  she  rose,  I 
should  think,  above  it.' 

The  general  tone,  however,  of  her  habit,  both  contemplative 
and  active,  manifested  the  habitual  operation  of  a  high  mea- 
sure of  Divine  influence;  while  her  occasional  depressions 
seem  not  to  have  sunk  her  below  the  ordinary  level,  and  were 
doubtless  connected  with  those  exercises  of  humiliation  de- 
scribed in  her  correspondence,  which  will  find  their  response 
in  the  hearts  of  many  of  her  readers. 

We  now  proceed  to  the  chief  objectof  this  work,  a  detailed 
development  of  the  most  prominent  features  of  Miss  Gra- 
ham's Christian  character. 

In  a  compassionate  concern  for  the  unconverted,  she  had 
deeply  imbibed  the  spirit  of  her  beloved  Master.  'I  see,'  as 
she  writes  to  a  friend,  '  more  need  than  ever  to  pray,  not  only 
for  the  souls  of  others,  but  for  a  s])irit  of  love  to  souls,  and  for 
a  sense  of  their  inestimable  value.'  She  had  diligently  im- 
proved the  opportunities  of  her  health,  in  pleading  with  the 
careless  and  unbelieving,  and  in  every  exercise  of  tender 
anxiety  on  their  behalf.  In  the  chamber  of  pain  and  sickness, 
their  awful  condition  intensely  occupied  her  mind  ;  and  the 
ong  and  "  wearisome  nights  appointed"  her,  were  often  en- 
gaged in  intercession  for  their  souls. 

When  first  I  visited  her' — observed  the  dear  brother  who 
was  the  privileged  attendant  upon  her  sick  bed — '  hearino-  of 
a  poor  woman  in  a  dangerous  state,  and  unconcerned  about 
her  eternal  interests,  she  eagerly  inquired  of  me  respecting 
her  soul,  and  begged  me  most  earnestly  to  pray  for  her.  She 
spoke  with  a  peculiar  interest,  as  if  she  felt  what  it  was  for  a 


238 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


soul  to  bo  lost.  Indeed  her  minister  expresses  himsell'  to 
have  been  continually  strnck  with  her  deep  tone  of  anxiety 
on  the  state  of  the  parish.  If  she  heard  of  any  that  were 
awakened  from  a  fearful  state  of  stupidity  and  death,  it  was 
always  with  the  most  lively  expression  of  delight.  Often  was 
she  known  to  shed  tears  of  joy  upon  any  symptom  of  hope  and 
encouragement  respecting  them  that  were  brought  before  her. 
She  felt  the  responsibility  of  every  opportunity  of  addressing 
her  fellow-sinners,  whether  rich  or  poor,  upon  the  inunensely 
momentous  concerus  of  eternity  ;  and  when  unable  to  seek 
after  them,  she  longed  to  bring  them  into  her  sick  room, 
within  the  reach  of  her  solemn  and  affectionate  exhortations; 
though  a  restless  night  was  the  expected  consequence  of 
this  ardent  excitement.  It  was  her  great  desire  to  bring  her 
whole  family,  all  her  friends  and  neighbours,  to  Christ  and  to 
heaven  with  her.  Though  sutfering  under  excruciating  pain, 
and  her  "  sonl  breaking  out  with  longing  desires"  for  a  sight 
of  Christ  in  his  glory  :  yet,  when  speaking  of  the  perishing 
state  of  sinners,  she  would  say — '  Oh  !  I  would  gladly  live  a 
hundred  years,  if  I  might  be  the  means  of  saving  one  soul.' 
Shortly  before  her  death,  when  in  a  state  of  great  exbaustion, 
she  begged  her  minister  to  pray  for  an  infidel,  who  had  an 
opportunity  of  seeing  her  '  Test  of  Truth,'  as  it  passed  through 
the  press — '  Weak  as  the  work  is' — she  said  in  her  deep  hu- 
mility— '  it  may  prove  a  blessing  to  his  soul.' 

A  few  extracts  from  her  correspondence  will  afford  striking 
illustration  of  the  deep  feeling  of  her  Christian  responsibility 
and  love.  The  first  letter  relates  to  an  unhapjiy  female,  who 
had  been  brought  under  her  notice.  Being  unable  personally 
to  attend  to  her  case,  she  thus  warmly  enforces  it  upon  her 
friend,  who  was,  jointly  with  herself,  interested  in  it. 

Dec.  18,  18-!7. 

'  My  chief  reason  for  writing  to-day  is,  that  this  poor 
wretched  girl  dwells  upon  my  mind.  You  make  good  refiec- 
tious,  but  these  very  reflections  ought  to  lead  us  to  do  some- 
tliing  for  her.  She  must  be  very  young;  and  if  we  do  not 
make  an  eflort  to  save  her  from  destruction,  I  think  that  we 
shall  indeed  have  much  to  answer  for.  Her  not  belonging  to 
us,  ought  to  be  no  excuse  for  our  not  concerning  ourselves 
about  her.  For  does  she  not  belong  to  the  large  family  of  lost 
sinners  to  which  we  once  belonged'!  And  may  we  not  be 
the  means  of  removing  her  thence,  into  the  family  of  saved 
sinners,  of  which  God's  mercy  has  made  us  members  !  I 
cannot  rest  till  something  is  tried.  So  young,  and  so  brought 
up,  what  better  could  be  expected  from  her  %  What  should 
we  have  been  under  her  disadvantages  %  1  tremble  even  to 
think  of  it ;  and  for  very  thankfulness  we  ought  to  leave 
nothing  untried  to  save  her.  She  has  been  also  brought  under 
our  notice  by  a  peculiar  providence,  which  is,  1  think,  a  call 
to  the  work.' 

To  this  wretched  object  of  distress,  she  addressed  a  letter 
full  of  tender  and  awakening  exhortations.  To  her  great  con- 
cern, however,  this  messenger  of  mercy  never  reached  the 
hands  of  her  for  whom  it  was  intended,  and  who  was  soon  af- 
terwards transported.  Shortly  afterwards  she  again  stimu- 
lates her  friend  to  this  work  of  love,  with  the  solenm  impulse 
connected  with  the  concerns  of  a  never-dying  soul. 

Jan.  II,  18-28. 

'I  beseech  you  to  reflect,  that  on  one  hand  this  girl  may  be 
a  subject  of  regret  to  you  upon  a  bed  of  death.  On  the  other 
liand,  she  may  be  to  yon  a  "crown  of  rejoicing  in  the  day  of 
the  Lord  Jesus."  ' 

The  fervour  that  pervades  the  following  letter,  is  deeply  af- 
fecting. 

March  18,  1828. 
'But  why  should  I  say  I  have  nothing  to  write  about'!  I 
am  really  ashamed  of  the  folly  of  the  last  sentence,  and  of  the 
frivolous  temper  which  dictated  it.  Yes,  my  dear  friend,  if 
we  love  the  Lord  Jesus,  we  have  always  a  subject  of  the  deep- 
est interest — enough  to  employ  our  tongue  and  our  pen,  both 
morning,  noon,  and  night.  I  would  fain  make  him  the  sub- 
ject of  ourcominunication  here,  as  I  trust  he  will  be  the  theme 
of  our  songs  and  praises  in  heaven  ;  and  firmly  believing,  as 
1  do,  that  there  is  neither  praise  nor  lasting  joy  for  those,  who 
place  their  happiness  in  any  thing  short  ot'loving  him  ;  can  I 
do  otherwise  than  tell  you  how  very  earnestly  I  wish,  that 
you  may  be  led  Ijy  his  grace  to  make  him   your  all  in   all  ! 

May  his  Holy  Spirit  lead  us,  my  dear  M ;  for  in  short,  all 

are  sinners,  by  nature  as  well  as  by  practice,  altogether  alien- 
ated from  God,  to  whom  we  can  only  bo  "  made  nigh  by  the 
blood  of  Jesus."     Do  not  let  us  deceive  ourselves  in  so  im- 


portant a  subject.  If  we  are  walking  in  the  same  way  with 
the  world  around  us,  we  are  not  walking  in  the  narrow  way 
which  leads  to  life  ;  nor  can  we  be  the  followers  of  that  Sa- 
viour, "  who  gave  himself  for  us,  that  He  might  deliver  us 
from  this  evil  world."  There  is  a  peace  which  the  world 
knowcth  not  of,  and  a  joy  in  which  all  its  boasted  pleasures 
arc  but  vanity.  This  is  the  peace  and  the  joy,  which  I  would 
intreat  you  to  seek  after.  But  you  will  say  to  me — '  Why  do 
you  recommend  it!  and  why  are  you  so  uncharitable  as  to 
suppose  I  do  not  possess  it  already!'  It  is  because  I  know 
what  a  great  and  entire  change  it  requires  in  the  whole  heart 
and  character.  I  am  sensible,  that  such  is  the  utter  sinfulness 
of  ray  own  heart,  that  nothing  but  a  Divine  influence  could 
have  led  me  to  see  any  thing  in  Christ  crucified  that  was  worth 
giving  up  all  the  world  for.  And  may  not  the  same  Divine 
power  snatch  you  as  a  brand  from  the  burning,  and  lead  you 
to  the  cross  of  Jesus  for  pardon  and  salvation  !  This  is  the 
hope  that  induces  me  to  venture  upon  writing  to  you  so  freely  ; 
and  the  very  affectionate  interest  I  feel  in  every  thing  relating 
to  you,  must  plead  my  excuse,  if,  when  I  speak  of  a  thing  on 
which  your  eternity  depends,  I  speak  in  the  strong  language 
which  my  anxiety  suggests  to  me.' 

Some  misconception  of  her  correspondent  gave  rise  to  the 
next  letter. 

'  Your  letter  occasioned  me  much  pain,  and — I  will  add — 
perplexity.  I  could  not  conceive  from  what  par|  of  mine  you 
had  discovered,  that  I  thought  holiness  unnecessary  to  a 
Christian.  My  dear  friend,  I  know  (for  God  has  said),  that 
"  without  hsliness  no  man  shall  see  the  Lord  :"  but  I  know 
(for  God  has  said  it  too),  that  we  cannot  be  holy  of  ourselves: 
"we  are  not  sufficient  of  ourselves  to  think  any  thing  as  of 
ourselves;"  and,  "without  me" — saith  Christ— "  ye  can  do 
nothing."  As  this  is  not  a  matter  of  little  importance,  but 
one  of  life  and  death,  let  me  most  earnestly  and  affectionately 
entreat  you  to  make  it  the  subject  of  unceasing  prayer.  "  If 
any  man  lack  wisdom,  let  him  (ink  of  God,  who  giveth  to  all 
men  liberally."  "  Ask,  and  ye  shall  have."  The  Scripture 
abounds  with  promises  to  those  who  make  it  the  business  of 
their  lives  to  seek  God.  Allow  me  to  mention  one  more, 
which  always  fills  my  mind  with  comfort  and  peace : — 
"  Then  shall  ye  call  upon  me,  and  ye  shall  go  and  pray  unto 
nic,  and  I  will  hearken  unto  you.  And  ye  shall  seek  me, 
and  find  me,  when  ye  shall  starch  for  me  with  all  your  heart.'''' 
1  have  mentioned  this  way  of  prayer  to  you,  because  I  believe 
we  might  write  about  these  things  for  ever,  without  coming 
nearer  to  the  truth.  Prayer  is  the  way  of  God's  appointment; 
and  I  never  knew  any  one  who  really  prayed  earnestly  and 
perseveringly  for  Divine  teaching,  that  was  not  brought  at 
length  heartily  to  subscribe  to  what  are  called  evangelical 
doctrines.  The  Scriptures  take  away  all  hope  of  our  under- 
standing these_  things  of  ourselves,  when  they  tell  us,  that 
"the  natural  man  receiveth  not  the  things  of  the  Spirit  of 
God,  for  they  are  foolishness  unto  him."  Foolish  indeed 
does  the  doctrine  of  the  cross  appear  to  the  heart  untaught  by 
the  Spirit  of  God  ;  but  let  the  heart  be  once  taught  to  receive 
it,  and  it  beholds  in  it,  "  the  power  and  wisdom  of  God ;" 
and  a  person  thus  taught  will  feel  constrained  to  make  it  his 
great  desire,  endeavour,  and  prayer,  that  others  may  learn  it 
loo.  Therefore  if  I  could  write  volumes  to  you,  the  little 
word  "  pray"  should  be  the  burden  of  them  all.  By  prayer 
I  do  not  mean  that  cold  thing,  which  worldly  people  call 
prayer;  I  mean  such  an  effort,  as  a  man  dying  with  hunger, 
would  use  to  beg  for  food  ;  I  mean  begging  as  for  one's  life, 
being  able  to  say  as  David  did — "There  is  nothing  in  heaven, 

or  in  earth  that  I  desire  beside  thee."     Dear ,  I  feel 

that  I  have  spoken  to  you  with  great  freedom  and  plainness; 
I  cannot  help  it.  If  I  saw  a  friend  on  the  brink  of  a  precipice, 
I  would  try  to  pull  her  away  from  it.  I  know  that  all  who 
trust  in  any  thing  but  Christ  for  pardon  and  salvation,  are  on 
the  brink  of  eternal  destruction ;  and  can  I  rest,  when  any 
whom  I  love  are  in  this  state.  I  know,  too,  that  unless  God 
is  pleased  to  bless  what  I  have  said,  you  will  only  think  me 
a  fool  for  my  pains  :  but  this  is  of  little  consequence.  Before 
"another  letter  can  pass  between  us,  one  or  both  of  us  may 
have  entered  into  eternity,  when  every  man's  foundation  that 
he  trusted  in,  will  be  tried  ;  and  it  will  be  seen  how  miserably 
mistaken  are  those,  who  build  upiik  the  sand,  upon  their  ow^ii 
imperfect  righteousness :  while  those  alone  who  build  upon 
the  Rock  of  Ages  will  be  safe.  May  you  be  one  of  those ! 
may  you  flee  for  refuge  to  Christ  Jesus!  trust  him  for  every 
thing,  follow  him  in  every  thing:  take  him  alone  for  your 
guide  and  teacher,  and  cease  to  "  lean  unto  your  own  under- 
standing." ' 

The  next  letter  contains  a  faithful  and  aflTectionate  appeal 


MEMOIR  OF  MARY  JANE  GRAHAM. 


S39 


made  to  a  beloved  relative  under  afflietion.  It  cannot  tail  o' 
interesting  the  reader,  as  a  specimen  of  that  natural  aflcction, 
which  we  have  before  noticed  under  the  constraining  influence 
of  the  principles  of  the  gospel. 

Mv.  26,  1829. 

'  How  very  sorry  your  letter  has  made  us  !  I  can  conceive 
nothing  more  heart-breaking  than  the  situation  j'ou  are  now 

all  in.      I  intreat  you  most  earnestly,   my  dearest ,  to 

seek  comfort  in  earnest  prayer,  for  your  dear  afflicted ,  and 

to  tr)'  by  every  means  in  your  power  to  lead  him  to  the  same 
source  of  comfort.  I  know  he  cannot  now  bear  to  have  much 
said  to  him  ;  but  a  verse  occasionally  read  to  him,  or  a  short 
and  affectionate  prayer  offered  up  with  him,  might  bo  blessed 
by  our  merciful  God  to  his  eternal  good.  I  will  endeavour 
to  join  my  prayers  with  yours  ;  if  it  should  please  God  to  lead 
him  to  the  source  of  all  peace,  you  may  one  day  look  back 
with  joy  upon  this  affliction.  May  it  lead  j'ou  all  to  flee  more 
earnestly  for  refuge  to  the  hope  that  is  set  before  you  !     Tell 

my  dear with  my  most  affectionate  love,  that  I  beseech 

him  to  think  of,  and  to  pray  over  these  words — "  Cume  unto 
me,  all  yc  that  are  weary  and  heavy  laden,  and  I  will  give  you 
rest."  Surely  he  may  look  upon  this  invitation  as  peculiarly 
addressed  to  himself.     If  ever  there  was  one  weary  and  heavy 

laden  in  mind  and  body,  it  is :  O  let  me  implore  him  to 

accept  the  offer,  which  infinite  mercy  holds  out  to  him  :  let 
him  cast  his  weary  soul  upon  the  love  of  Jesus;  let  him  take 
all  his  sins  and  sorrows,  and  spread  them  at  the  feet  of  one 
who  is  willing  to  forgive,  mighty  to  save,  a  present  help  in 
every  time  of  trouble,  to  every  one,  without  ejcception,  who  is 
willing  to  be  forgiven,  helped,  saved,  and  abundantly  com- 
forted with  the  comfort  which  springs  from  his  love,  and  which 
is,  like  himself,  infinite  and  eternal. 

'O  my  dear  ,  with  whom  I  have  enjoyed  so  many 

happy  hours,  which  will  never  fade  from  my  memory  ;  from 
whom  I  have  received  such  repeated  acts  of  kindness;  and 
whom  I  love  more  as  a  parent  than  any  other  relation,  suffer 
me  to  speak  very  earnestly  to  you ;  and  take  my  words,  I  en- 
treat you,  as  kindly  and  affectionately  as  they  are  meant.  I 
cannot  but  long  and  pray,  that  you  may  "  be  comforted  with 
the  consolation  wherewith  I  myself  have  been  comforted  of 

God."     I  have  tried  it,  dearest ;  and  I  have  tried  the 

cornfort  which  the  world  has  to  give;  and  I  have  found  the 
one  deep,  and  satisfactory,  and  lasting;  and  the  other  vain, 
and  empty,  and  transitory.  You  are,  as  I  am,  a  sinner,  a 
miserable  sinner;  and,  unless  you  flee  to  Jesus  for  refuge,  you 
cannot  escape  the  wrath  of  God,  which  is  revealed  against 
all  sin.  You  have  lived  in  the  neglect  of  these  things,  and 
have  cared  too  little  what  would  become  of  your  soul.  But 
is  this  any  reason  for  despair,  or  even  for  discouragement? 
Oh  !  no.  Christ  still  invites — naj',  even  beseeches — you  to 
come  to  him ;  and  tells  )'0u  in  his  word,  that  he  is  perfectly 
willing,  and  perfectly  "  able  to  save  all  that  come  unto  God 
by  him."  The  greatness  of  our  sins  need  not  prevent  us  ;  for 
his  "blood  cleanseth  from  all  sin  :"  he  died  for  sinners,  even 
the  chief  oi  sinners.  Our  ignorance  need  not  dishearten  us; 
for  "  he  tcacheth  sinners  in  the  way."  O  come  unto  this  "  meek 
and  lowly,'"  this  strong  and  mighty.  Saviour !  He  is  too 
meek  and  gentle  to  reject,  and  too  strong  and  faithful  to  dis- 
appoint, any  that  come. 

'Dear ,myheartis  full.     AVhat  can  I  say  to  induce  you 

to  seek  peace  and  happiness  in  the  pardon  of  your  sins 
through  Jesus  Christ!  It  is  but  asking  you  to  be  full  of  hap- 
piness and  joy  ;  for  thus  I  know  it  will  be  with  J'ou,  if  you 
take  the  God  of  all  comfort  for  your  God.  And  do  but  think, 
how  wonderful  and  unspeakable  his  condescension  in  oflerino- 
to  be  our  God,  and  friend,  and  father,  "  for  ever  and  ever,  our 
guide  even  until  death,"  our  "everlasting  portion  and  reward." 
Only  think,  how  dreadful,  that  he  should  be  willing  to  save 
us,  and  we  unwilling  to  give  ourselves  up  to  be  saved  and 
blessed  by  him !  Can  this  be  your  case  1  It  must  not — it 
must  not  be  so  with  you.  You  cannot  reject  the  invitations 
of  the  gospel,  and  say  to  God,  who  beseeches  you  to  be  recon- 
ciled to  him — '  No — I  will  not  be  reconciled  ;  I  will  not  pray 
to  the  God  of  my  salvation.'  I  am  sure  the  thought  strikes 
you  with  horror.  You  cannot  rightly  seek  God  without  the 
aid  of  the  Holy  Spirit ;  but  you  will  receive  this  aid  upon 
asking;  for  "  God  will  give  his  Holy  Spirit  to  tliem  that  ask 
him.''''  May  he  both  teach  you  to  pray,  and  hear  and  answer 
your  prayer !  May  he  relieve  your  suffering  bod)',  if  it  be 
his  will,  and  comfort  your  distressed  soul.     Amen  and  amen. 

If  my  dear can  bear  thus  much  read  to  him,  you  will 

show  it,  or  read  it  to  him  ;  and  let  us  both  pray,  that  he  may 
know  and  feel  the  joy  of  being  united  to  Christ." 


To  another  friend  she  wrote  from  her  sick  bed,  nearly  in  the 
same  strain. 

'  I  lie  here  sometimes,  and  think  what  a  poor  useless  crea- 
ture I  am.  Hut  if  I  might  be  made  the  happy  means  of  in- 
ducing mj'  dear  and  kind  friend  to  cast  himself,  and  all  his 
sorrows,  and  sins,  and  uneasiness,  at  the  feet  of  the  Savionr 
of  sinners,  then  I  should  think  I  had  indeed  lived  to  some 
purpose.  I  have  often  wanted  to  write  to  you  ;  but  the  fear 
that  you  would  think  me  unkind  or  assuming  in  intruding  my 
thoughts  upon  you,  has  jirevented  me.  But  what  a  foolisli 
and  wicked  fear  this  was,  when  the  salvation  of  your  pre- 
cious soul  was  in  question !     Yes,  my  dear ,   I  will 

frankly  own  to  j-ou,  that  the  sickness  of  your  body,  distress- 
ing as  it  is  to  me,  afllicts  me  not  half  so  much  as  the  sickness 
of  your  soul.  I  greatly  fear  that  you  have  not  yet  found 
peace  in  the  pardon  of  your  sins  through  Jesus  Christ.  I 
write  to  you  as  a  sinner,  saved  by  God's  grace,  to  a  sinner, 
whom  the  grace  of  God,  and  that  alone,  can  save.  1  would 
not  be  so  cruelly  heartless  as  to  flatter  you,  and  to  say, 
"  peace,  peace,  while  there  is  no  peace."  But  I  do  know 
that  there  is  pardon  and  peace  too,  for  every  one,  who  feeling 
his  sins  to  be  many  and  grievous,  flies  to  Jesus  Christ  for 
refuge ;  and  it  is  thus  that  1  conjure  you  to  fly  to  him. 

'  0  my  dear ,  how  long  has  this  gracious  Saviour  been 

knocking  at  the  door  of  your  heart !  By  his  Scriptures, 
which  you  have  read ;  by  the  sermons  and  religious  books 
that  have  come  into  your  hands ;  by  the  secret  strivings  of  his 
Spirit  with  your  heart  and  conscience ;  by  the  afflictions 
wherewith  he  was  afflicted,  and  still  afflicts  you  ;  by  all  these 
tlijngs  he  knocks,  he  sues  for  admission.  He  will  not  Jet 
you  rest  till  you  open  the  door;  and  why !  because  he  loves 
you;  he  would  make  you  happy  in  this  world,  and  liap])y  for 
ever.  He  would  be  to  you  a  friend,  on  whom  you  might 
safely  lean ;  on  whose  constant  love  you  might  safely  con- 
fide ;  one  who  would  never  leave  nor  forsake  you ;  never  be 
•weary  of  nor  slight  you;  never  for  one  moment  be  unable  or 
unwilling  to  listen  to  you,  bless  you,  and  relieve  you. 

'Such  a  friend  as  Jesus  Christ  to  all  those  who  fly  to  him 
for  salvation.  May  he  be  your  friend  and  Saviour  for  ever ! 
This  is  the  sincere  prayer  of, 

'M.  J.  G.'^ 

TTie  tenderness  and  consideration  with  which  she  etiforced 
these  supremely  important  subjects  upon  her  young  friends,  is 
noticed  by  those  who  were  experimentally  acquainted  with 
it.  Her  gentleness  and  self-command  were  often  put  to  the 
test  by  the  coldness,  petulance,  or  dislike  with  which  her 
exhortations  were  received.  But  there  was  no  reproach  or 
upbraiding  on  her  part — no  anger  or  contempt  on  account  of 
the  foolish  things  that  were  said ;  nor  did  she  ever  show  the 
less  interest  in  promoting  amusements  more  after  the  heart 
of  her  companions.  She  was  known  sometimes  to  weep  in 
tenderness,  when  a  fault  was  confessed  to  her — but  never  at 
that  time  to  reprove.  Sometimes  her  humility  and  afiection- 
ate  delicacy  would  rebuke  the  carelessness  of  her  friend,  by 
the  acknowledsment  of  her  own  coldness  and  neglect.  Thus 
she  would  lead  her  more  thoughtless  companion  to  unite  with 
herself  in  supplication  for  pardon  and  grace.  So  truly  was 
she  a  "fellow-worker  with  her  God,"  in  "drawing  with  the 
bands  of  love." 

Connected  with  this  was  her  tender  and  Christian  faithful- 
ness in  giving  reproof,  where  she  considered  it  to  be  needed. 
The  following  is  an  instructive  specimen  of  the  mode  and 
spirit,  in  which  this  high  obligation  will  be  most  efl'ectually 
discharged.  After  giving  a  slight  sketch  of  some  of  the 
leading  doctrines  of  the  gospel,  she  brings  them  home  in  a 
direct  and  close  application  to  the  conscieiice  of  her  friend. 

'  And  now,  beloved ,  let  me  turn  from  every  other  con- 
sideration to  yourself,  and  the  state  of  your  own  mind.  For 
you  have  rightly  judged  that  I  cannot  think  that  the  state  of 
your  — — ,  or  any  other  person  ought  to  have  the  least  influ- 
ence in  preventing  you  from  seeking  the  salvation  of  your 
own  soul.  The  question  is  not,  what  do  others  do  to  be 
saved  1  But  "  what  must  I  do  to  be  saved  V  You  tell  me 
that  I  am  severe.  Indeed  I  would  not  willingly  be  so.  A 
miserable  Sinner  m3'self,  saved  only  by  the  free  mercy  of 
God,  what  right  have  I  to  be  severe  upon  others  1  But  I  am 
"affectionately  desirous  of  you"  iu  the  Lord  Jesus;  and  there- 
fore, as  my  beloved  friend,  I  warn  you.  I  fail  in  my  duty  to 
you,  unless  I  tell  you  the  truth.  It  may  seem  harsh  to  ap- 
pear to  have  any  doubt  of  your  state;  but  it  is  kinder  to  lead 
you  to  examine  now,  than  to  leave  you  to  the  bare  possibility 
of  finding  yourself  deceived  when  it  is  too  late.  If  then  what 
I  am  now  going  to  say,  should  seem  to  ^ou  more  severe  than 


240 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


ever,  I  entreat  you,  dearest ,  to  fornive  me  for  the  sake 

of  the  motive  wliich  impels  me  to  do  so.  Consider  that  I  am 
not  now  speaking  of  any  trifling  thing.  The  more  I  love  you, 
the  more  impossible  I  find  it  to  stand  upon  ceremony,  while 
I  am  trembling:-  tor  your  soul.  IMy  fears  then  about  your  state 
are  not  exeiled  bv  wbal  I  have  heard.  Had  you  become  a 
very  decided  and 'devoted  Cliristiaii,  I  think  1  should  have 
heard  of  it  from  many  quarters.  In  some  it  would  have  been 
noticed  with  delisjht;  in  otiiers,  with  wonder;  in  others, 
with  dislike  and  disapprobation.  Cut  rny  fears  are  drawn 
chiefly  from  the  querulous  and  worldly  strain,  in  which  most 
of  your  letters  to  me  are  written.  I  know  tliat  "  if  you  have 
not  the  Spirit  of  Christ,  you  arc  none  of  his."  This  spirit 
must  be  known  by  its  fruits.  "  And  the  fruits  of  the  Spirit 
are  love,  joy,  peace,  long-sutfering,  gentleness,  goodness,  faith, 
meekness,  temperance."  Now  I  look  earnestly,  anxiously, 
for  some  of  these  fruits.  I  look  for  some  sign  that  "  the  love 
of  God  is  shed  abroad  in  your  heart  by  the  Holy  Ghost 
which  is  given  to  you."  This  love  would  show  itself  in  love 
to  others ;  in  love  even  to  your  enemies,  if  you  had  any. 
But  I  fear  you  are  indulging  in  feelings  little  short  of  hatred 
to  more  than  one  of  your  fellow-creatures.  I  fear  that  wrath, 
strife,  disputations,  envyings,  jealousies,  are  too  often  more 
predominant  in  your  heart  than  love. — Again,  I  look  for  some 
evidence  of  that  "joy  and  peace  in  believing,"  that  "peace 
and  joy  in  the  Holy  Ghost,"  which  form  so  great  a  part  of 
the  "kingdom  of  God"  within  us.  Even  mourning  Chris- 
tians must  sometimes  feci  a  little  of  this  in  their  hearts.  But 
sure  I  am,  that  if  "the  peace  of  God  which  passeth  all  un- 
derstanding, did  keep  your  heart  and  mind  in  Christ  Jesus," 
you  could  not  be  so  much  fretted  and  discomposed  by  the 
petty  discontents,  and  trials,  and  otfences  of  a  world,  whose 
frowns  and  whose  smiles  )'ou  would  feel  to  be  equally  be- 
neath j'our  regard. 

'  You  would  remember  that  your  lot  has  been  chosen  for 
you  by  a  wise  and  loving  Father,  and  that  the  most  vexatious 
events  in  it  happen  by  his  permission,  and  for  your  good. 

Whenever  we  feel  inclined   to  murmur,  dear ,  at  "  our 

light  afflictions,"  let  us  think  of  those  faithful  servants  of 
God,  who  "  had  trial  of  cruel  mockings,  and  scourgings,  yea, 
moreover  of  bonds  and  imprisonments;  who  were  stoned, 
were  sawn  asunder,  were  tempted,  were  slain  with  the  sword, 
who  wandered  about  in  sheep  skins  and  goat  skins,  being 
destitute,  afflicted,  tormented."  Vet  these  "destitute,  af- 
flicted, tormented,"  ones,  "  in  patience  possessed  their  souls." 
"  The  peace  of  God  kept  their  hearts  and  minds ;"  and  shall 
it  not  keep  ours,  in  our  comparatively  no-sufferings  I  Now 
if  these  "fruits  of  the  Spirit,  love,  joy,  peace,"  flourish  in 
the  heart,  they  must  show  themselves  to  be  there  :  and  if  the 
contrary  dispositions — anger,  dissatisfaction,  restlessness, 
appear  in  their  stead,  it  proves  either  that  "  we  have  not  the 
Spirit  of  Christ,  and  therefore  are  none  of  his;"  or  else  that 
•we  have  "  grieved  that  Hol)^  Sj)irit,"  and  caused  him  for  a 
time  to  withdraw  his  sacred  influences.  In  either  case  we 
ought  not  to  rest,  till  we  have  sought  and  obtained  that 
"  godly  sorrow,"  for  sin,  "  which  worketh  repentance  unto 
salvation  not  to  be  repented  of."  Where  we  may  apply  for 
this  repentance,  we  are  told  in  Acts  v.  31.  I  will  go  on  no 
longer  in  enumerating  these  fruits  of  the  Spirit;  for  my 
business  is  not  to  judge  you,  but  to  lead  you  to  judge  and  ex- 
amine yourself.  This  I  earnestly  entreat  you  to  do,  "  that 
you  may  not  be  judged  of  the  Lord."     And  should  you  now, 

dearest ,  feel  oll'endcd  with  me,  it  will  give  me  the  less 

uneasiness — both  because  I  know  that  you  will  not  in  the 
end  love  me  the  less  for  having  faithfully  discharged  my 
conscience  towards  you  before  I  die ;  and  because  1  know 
that  you  will  view  it  in  a  very  different  light  at  our  next 
meeting,  which  will,  I  hope  and  trust,  be  around  the  throne 
of  God  and  the  Lamb.' 

Her  lore  tohcr  Saviour  mnst  have  been  already  prominently 
remarked  by  every  intelligent  reader.  vShe  lived  much  in 
distinct,  deep,  and  fixed  contemplation  of  him.  Those  parts 
of  .Scriptures  were  especially  valuable,  that  brought  her  into 
closer  contact  with  the  subject  nearest  her  heart — tlic  love  of 
tVovV.  Tbe  book  of  Canticles  was  therefore  to  her  "a  gar- 
den of  delights."  Her  pure  and  spiritual  mind  enabled  her  to 
study  this  holy  book  with  the  liveliest  and  most  profitable  in- 
terest. IMany  Christians,  in  an  over-scrupulous  delicacy  and 
unscriptnral  taste,  seem  almost  to  have  proscribed  this  portion 
of  the  sacred  canon  from  their  private  meditation.  The  book 
indeed  is  an  exposition  of  the  heavenly  privilege  of  commu- 
nion with  our  Divine  Saviour.  It  can  only  therefore  be  un- 
derstood by  those  who  can  say — "Truly  our  fellowship  is 
with  the  Father,  and  with  his  Son  .Tesus  Cbrist."     The  peru- 


sal of  it  moreover  must  be  admitted  to  require  a  peeidiar 
abstraction  from  earthly  things.  But  the  Christian's  heart 
under  divine  teaching,  will  be  a  spiritual  interpreter  of  it ; 
and  whenever  it  is  approached  with  reverence,  simplicity,  and 
sanctity,  it  will  tend  much  to  the  enkindling  of  holy  affec- 
tions in  the  endearing  contemplation  of  condescendino-  love; 
in  a  self-abasing  sense  of  backslidings ;  in  a  heavenly  enjoy- 
ment of  the  presence  of  the  Lord  ;  in  commending  his  person 
to  all  around  us ;  in  a  panting  desire  for  a  closer  communion 
with  him;  and  in  a  joyous  anticipation  of  his  coming. 

But  Miss  Graham's  love  to  her  Saviour  was  not  confined  to 
spiritual  contemplation.  It  was  a  principle  of  incessant  ac- 
tivity, directing  her  daily  Christian  habit  (to  use  her  own 
beautiful  language  to  one  of  her  correspondents),  to  '  watch 
with  the  eye  of  love  every  intimation  of  his  will,  every  lead- 
ing of  his  Spirit.'  Such  is  the  difference  between  specu- 
lating upon  religion,  and  feeling  it — when  the  heart  has 
"  tasted  that  the  Lord  is  gracious" — when  the  man  is  made — 
"  a  new  creature" — when  his  eyes  have  been  opened  to  behold 
the  beauty  of  his  Saviour — and  he  is  anxiously  cultivating 
every  temper  of  the  gospel,  in  which  he  may  live  above  the 
world,  and  walk  with  Christ. 

ISIiss  Graham's  happy  anticipations  of  eternity  were  con- 
nected with  this  love  to  her  Saviour.  That  which  gave,  in 
her  eyes,  emphasis  and  perfection  to  eternal  bliss  was — that 
it  is  all  Christ — that  the  "  Lamb  is  the  light"  of  the  heavenly 
city.  Thus  we  find  her  writing  a  new  year's  congratulation 
to  a  dear  friend  in  the  heart-stirring  remembrance — that  "  nov/ 
is  our  salvation  nearer  than  when  we  believed." 

Stolce,Jan.  1,  1827. 

'  This  time  last  year  we  were  together.  Does  it  seem  as  if 
a  year  had  passed  since  then  ?  Another  year  of  sin  on  our 
part,  and  of  mercy  free  and  uninterrupted  on  the  part  of  our 
Jesus !  There  is  something  very  sweet  in  the  thought  that 
we  are  a  year  nearer  to  his  bosom  ;  that  every  year  will  pass 
as  swiftly  as  the  last,  till  he  calls  us  to  himself;  and  that 
nothing  can  happen  next  year,  or  any  following  year,  which 
can  possibly  separate  us  one  single  moment  from  his  love. 
Perhaps  this  time  next  year  we  may  be  like  him,  "  seeing 
him  as  he  is,"  joining  in  a  song  new  indeed  to  our  tongues, 
because  it  will  be  a  triumphant  song,  and  a  holy  and  an  ever- 
lasting song.' 

Her  love  of  prayer  formed  one  of  the  main  features  of  her 
eharaeter.  Every  habit  of  her  mind  appeared  to  flow  in  the 
si)irit  and  atmosphere  of  prayer.  The  playful  exercise  of  her 
youth  were  in  this  sanctified  temperament.  When  her  cousin 
visited  her,  the  day  was  usually  commenced  with  a  chapter 
from  her  favourite  IJible,  accompanied  with  prayer,  that  they 
might  both  love  and  serve  him,  of  whom  that  book  testified. 
This  service  performed,  she  instantly  turned  all  the  warmth 
and  animation  of  her  affectionate  temper,  and  all  the  powers 
of  her  highly-gifted  mind  to  the  amusement  of  her  compan- 
ion. We  have  already  noticed  the  connexion  of  this  habit 
with  her  intellectual  employments,  whether  indulging  lier  own 
gratifications,  or  superintending  the  instruction  of  her  cousin. 
Hers  was  not  the  unsanctified  study,  which  is  glitter,  not 
gold.  All  was  consecrated  to  the  supreme  object  of  life,  and 
directed  to  this  object  by  the  constant  influence  of  that  prin- 
ciple, which  ennobles  earthly  occupations,  and  stamps  them 
with  a  heavenly  glory.  The  occasional  visits  of  her  young 
friends  found  her  in  the  same  spiritual  habit.  '  Seldom,'  as 
one  other  schoolfellows  has  recorded,  '  did  I  enter  her  little 
room,  but  she  proposed  the  reading  of  the  Bible,  and  would 
pour  out  her  soul  before  her  God  with  holy  fers'our  and  sim- 
plicity.' Her  public  exercises  of  Christian  dcvotedness  were 
conducted  in  the  same  spirit.  When  engaged  in  the  work  of 
Sunday  School  tuition,  she  had  her  set  times  of  prayer  with 
her  young  cousin  (who  was  at  that  time  associated  with  her) 
for  themselves,  their  fellow-labourers,  and  their  responsible 
charge  ;  and  frequently  she  would  offer  distinct  and  separate 
supplication  for  each  child  in  their  classes.  Her  reponsibility 
rs  a  member  cf  the  ransomed  family  of  God,  led  her  (as  we 
find  from  a  letter  shortly  to  be  adduced)  in  the  true  spirit  of 
sympathy  to  devote  an  hour  every  evening  mainly  to  the  sub- 
ject of  intercessory  prayer.  Besides  these  constant  occasions, 
she  set  apart  special  times  for  secret  dedication  and  communion 
vAth  God.  New-year's-day  and  birthdays  were  among  these 
privileged  seasons.  It  was  one  of  her  favourite  plans  to  set 
apart  occasionally  a  certain  time  exclusively  for  prayer  and 
Scripture  reading;  and  for  this  purpose  all  her  other  employ- 
ments were  removed  from  her  sight.  This  was  her  prepara- 
tion for  any  special  engagement  that  was  jirospectively  before 
her;  and  this  course  she  recommended  to  her  friends  with 


MEMOIR  OF  MARY  JANE  GRAHAM. 


241 


beneficial  effect.  AnoUier  custom  of  somewhat  similar  charac- 
ter (and  one  that  is  happily  making  advance  throughout  the 
church  in  our  day)  was  to  prevail  upon  her  confidential 
friends  to  set  apart  definite  hours,  when  distant  friends  could 
meet  together  in  one  heart  and  one  soul  at  the  throne  of  their 
common  Lord.  Thus  in  the  most  extensive  meaning  of  the 
Scriptural  precept,  she  might  be  said  to  "  pray  without  ceas- 
ing ;"  and,  like  the  man  after  God's  heart,  "  to  give  herself 
unto  prayer." 

Love  to  the  whole  word  of  God  was  also  a  prominent  fea- 
ture in  her  character.  Indication  of  this  holy  pleasurable 
taste  were  visible  in  her  childhood,  in  the  large  portions  which 
6he  committed  to  memory.  In  an  early  excursion  with  one 
of  her  young  friends,  we  find  her  reproaching  herself  for  the 
small  proportion  of  time  which  she  had  consecrated  to  the 
study  of  this  precious  volume.  Whatever  might  be  the 
ground  for  this  self-accusation,  it  was  however  intended  as  a 
hint  to  her  less  thoughtful  companion,  and  to  introduce  before 
her  a  plan  that  might  be  useful  to  them  both — that  of  repeat- 
ing portions  of  Scripture  to  each  other  when  they  met.  Thus 
she  made  her  own  self-condemnation  the  vehicle  of  instruc- 
tion to  her  friend.  Generally  speaking,  she  read  the  Sacred 
Book  as  a  pleasure,  not  as  a  task.  It  seemed  to  be  her  constant 
food  and  studj".  She  did  indeed  "  esteem  the  words  of  God's 
mouth  more  than  her  necessary  food."  They  "  were  found, 
and  she  did  eat  them ;  and  they  were  to  her  as  the  joy  and 
rejoicing  of  her  heart."  They  were  to  her  what  Melanch- 
ton  calls  '  that  sacred  manna  of  the  soul,  to  which  St.  Paul 
alludes,  when  he  speaks  of  spiritually  discerning'  the  sacred 
pages.  Often  under  protracted  bodily  and  spiritual  trials,  the 
promises  were  to  her  "  as  cold  waters  to  a  thirsty  soul ;"  yea, 
as  "  life  from  the  dead."  So  eager  was  her  appetite  for  this 
heavenly  manna,  that,  not  satisfied  with  her  own  gathering, 
she  was  always  longing  to  feed  upon  the  fruits  of  tlie  industry 
of  her  friends.  Thus  we  have  found  her  intreating  her  con 
fidcntial  correspondent  to  communicate  to  her  any  additional 
and  interesting  light  which  had  been  found  in  the  course  of 
lior  Scriptural  research.  Even  in  those  seasons  of  special 
consecration  just  alluded  to,  when  she  found  her  mind  indis- 
posed for  spiritual  reading,  she  would  still  cleave  exclusively 
to  the  Scriptures,  and  give  up  her  time  and  mind  to  learnin;; 
large  portions  of  tliis  holy  book.  It  was  her  practice  to  read 
through  different  books  of  Scripture  with  a  close  and  perse 
vering  habit  of  meditation  and  prayer,  always  keeping  in  mind 
her  Master's  stimulating  motive  to  the  search — "  For  they 
are  they  which  testify  of  me."  Hence  she  was  delighted  in 
the  course  of  her  study  of  the  Book  of  Proverbs  to  have 
Christ  so  much  and  so  frequently  brought  before  her  mind  ;  a 
recollection  of  great  moment  for  the  spiritual  discernment  of 
the  Divine  wisdom  treasured  up  in  this  store-house  of  practi- 
cal instruction.  The  encouraging  promise  held  out  to  diligent 
investigators  of  the  Sacred  Volume  on  one  occasion  fixed  her 
in  intense  meditation  for  upwards  of  two  hours.  She  appear- 
ed to  be  lost  in  astonishment  and  gratitude  at  the  condescen- 
sion and  kindness  of  God,  in  givini;  a  promise  so  rich,  so  free, 
so  encouraging.  She  grasped  it,  as  if  determined  not  to  let 
it  go.  She  frequently  employed  herself  in  the  profitable  ex- 
ercise of  "comparing  spiritual  things  with  sidritual" — Scrip- 
ture with  itself;  thus  making  God  his  own  interpreter. 
Much  light  and  heavenly  unction  she  conceived  herself  to 
have  obtained  by  this  means,  which  were  manifested  to  ethers, 
unconsciously  to  herself,  in  her  striking  remarks  and  apt  il- 
lustrations of  passages  presented  to  her.  The  tvlwleness  of  her 
study  already  noticed  is  worthy  of  careful  consideration. 
There  was  no  exclusive  regard  or  undue  prominence  given  to 
portions  of  the  sacred  book.  "  All"  was  regarded  as  "  given 
by  inspiration  of  God,"  and  therefore  profitable  for  the  speci- 
fic purposes  for  which  it  was  written,  and  which  it  is  the  ex- 
ercise of  prayer  and  diligence  to  investigate. 

But  we  will  state  her  admirable  views  of  the  temper  re- 
quisite for  the  study  of  the  Sacred  Book  in  her  own  words. 

'  We  shall  never' — she  remarks — '  become  perfectly  recon- 
ciled to  all  parts  of  the  word  of  God,  until  He  himself  be- 
stows on  us  the  spirit  and  temper  of  a  little  child,  to  receive, 
without  murmuring  or  disputings  or  carnal  reasonings,  what- 
soever Je/iova/i  the  lipirit  is  pleased  to  say  to  us.  That  Spi- 
rit alone  can  take  away  the  evil  heart  of  unbelief,  which  pre- 
vents us  from  embracing  the  whole  counsel  of  God,  as  re- 
vealed in  his  word.  It  is  he  that  must  open  our  hearts  to 
attend  to  ull  the  things  written  in  his  law.  Then  we  shall 
perceive  a  connection  and  a  harmony  between  every  part  and 
every  doctrine  of  the  Scriptures,  which  will  fill  us  with  ever- 
increasing  wonder  and  delight.' 
Vol.  II.— 2  F 


Her  childlike  simplicity  was  the  spirit  of  the  most  pro- 
found revereuce.  It  is  most  edifying  to  remark  her  humble 
adoring  search  into  "  the  deep  things  of  God,"  as  contrasted 
with  the  unhallowed  boldness  with  which  these  unfathom- 
able depths  are  too  often  explored.  After  noticing  objections 
to  her  views  of  the  doctrine  of  election,  she  checks  herself — 

'  But  I  stop  ;  "  he  that  reproveth  God,  let  him  answer  it." 
All  these  mysteries  can  be  accounted  for  only  by  referring 
them  to  the  inscrutable  mystery  of  God's  predestination.  To 
the  eye  of  carnal  reason  they  lie  involved  in  the  thickest  ob- 
scurity ;  but  the  eye  of  faith  sees  in  them  no  darkness  at  all. 
For  faith,  instead  of  vainly  striving  to  pull  these  things  down 
to  the  level  of  reason,  soars  far  above  reason  ;  resolves  every 
difficulty  into  the  gracious  u-ill  or  wine  permission  of  God,  and 
seeks  to  know  no  further.  How  many  things  arc  there  which 
I  know  not,  nor  "  can  by"  any  "  searching  find  out  to  perfec- 
fection  !"  But  Jesus  knows  them  all.  With  this  assurance  I 
sit  down  fully  satisfied.  He  will  teach  them  to  me  hereafter, 
as  I  am  able  to  bear  it.  In  the  meantime  "  I  will  trust,  and 
not  be  afraid."  All  tliat  my  God  says  to  me  I  will  implicitly 
believe,  for  I  know  that  "  every  word  of  God  is  pure."  "  All 
the  words  of  his  mouth  are  in  righteousness :  there  is  nothing 
froward  or  perverse  in  them :  they  are  all  plain  to  him  that 
understandeth,  and  right  to  them  that  find  knowledge." 
\\  hen  I  come  to  see  God  as  he  is,  and  to  "  know  even  as 
also  I  am  known,"  I  shall  find  that  all  these  mysteries  of 
his  word  and  will  were  only  'dark  with  excessive  light.'  In 
the  meantime,  till  I  have  the  eagle  eye  that  can  gaze  undaz- 
zled  at  his  glories,  I  will  view  them  at  humble  distance 
through  the  glass  of  faith  which  he  has  given  me  for  this 
purpose ;  nor  will  I  dare  to  repine,  because  I  can  only  see 
them  in  a  glass  darkly.  Thus  faith  removes  every  objection, 
stills  every  murmur,  and  silences  every  doubtful  thought.' 

This  "  irombling  at  God's  word,"  is  the  spirit  which  our 
Lord  "delighteth  to  honour"  with  special  manifestations  of 
his  favour.  "The  secret  of  the  Lord  is  with  them  that  fear 
him;  and  he  will  show  them  his  covenant."  This  temper 
will  stimulate  to  an  earnest  and  diligent  search ;  while  it 
will  repress  a  presumptuous  intrusion.  It  will  lead  to  the  re- 
ception of  every  truth  uport  this  formal  reason — that  it  is  the 
word  of  God.  Every  truth,  though  it  should  not  be  considered 
of  equal  importance,  must  be  regarded  with  equal  reverence; 
never  fogetting  that  God  is  the  author  of  every  particle  of  reve- 
'ation.  Therefore  to  reject  any  one  'jot  or  little  of  it' — as 
Dr.  Owen  has  excellently  observed — '  is  a  sufficient  demon- 
stration, that  no  one  jot  or  tittle  of  it  is  received  as  it  ought. 
Upon  whatever  this  title  and  inscription  is — 'The  word  of 
Jehovah' — there  must  we  stoop  and  bow  down  our  souls 
before  it,  and  captivate  our  understandings  to  the  obedience 
of  faith." 

Her  love  for  the  ordinances  of  God — is  worthy  of  special 
remark.  And  this  indeed  is  the  pulse  of  the  soul — not  at- 
tendance on  them,  but  deliwht  in  them — fellowship  with  the 
panting  desires  of  the  holy  Psalmist — when  he  envied  even 
the  birds  who  inhabited  the  pinnacles  of  the  temple,  and 
the  priests  who  were  always  employed  in  its  service ;  and 
for  himself  counted  "  a  day  spent  in  God's  courts  better  than 
a  thousand"  spent  elsewhere.  The  house  of  God  had  been 
to  her  in  the  time  of  health  "  the  gate  of  heaven."  In  her 
time  of  affliction,  ministers  and  ordinances  were  to  her  "  wells 
of  salvation,"  from  whence  she  "  drew  water  with  joy." 
"  Beautiful"  in  her  eyes  "  were  the  feet  of  him  that  bringeth 
good  tidings,  that  publisheth  peace."  She  loved  the  mes- 
sengers of  the  gospel  "  for  their  work's  sake,"  and  for  their 
Master's  sake.  She  always  expressed  the  deepest  anxiety  to 
receive  through  them  "  a  message  from  God"-  to  her  soul. 
'  Pray  before,  as  well  as  after  your  visit' — was  her  solemn 
entreaty  to  her  beloved  minister. 

We  must  not  forget  to  mention  her  "  love  to  the  brethren" 
— that  conscious  and  unequivocal  mark  of  a  transition  "  from 
death  unto  life."  She  longed  to  see,  converse,  and  enjoy 
fellowship  with  all,  who  bore  the  image  of  her  Lord ;  and 
whether  absent  or  present,  she  seemed  to  hold  communion 
with  them.  Speaking  of  an  absent  friend,  who  appeared  to 
enjoy  a  deep  sense  of  '  the  love  of  God  upon  her  heart' — she 
said — 'I  long  to  see  her,  that  she  ma)'  impart  to  me  some 
spiritual  gift.'  On  this  subject  she  appears  to  have  been 
drawn  out  with  remarkable  warmth  and  liveliness  of  Chris- 
tian feeling  in  her  correspondence  with  her  friends.  To  one 
of  them  she  wrote  thus — '  It  is  a  great  honour  for  us,  who 
have  been  made  partakers  of  the  tempter's  work,  to  be  made 
partakers  of  the  Saviour — for  us  who  have  been  made  a  curse, 
to  be  made  a  blessing.     But  when  I  write  to  you  in  this 


242 


CHRISTIAN   LIBRARY. 


way,  it  is  not  so  much  because  I  feel  it,  as  because  I  want 
to  feel  it,  and  desire  to  be  made  tbe  instrument  of  "  stirriiig 
up  tliis  gift  of  God  ill  you.'' ' 

What  reader  but  must  long  to  imbibe  the  blessed  spirit  of 
tlio  two  follovvin!>'  letters? 


.Qpril  9,  1S27. 

'  I  intreat  yon  to  think  more  of  the  privileoe  of  Intercession, 
and  to  make  move  use  of  it  than  ever.  1  find  an  indescrib- 
able delight  in  using  these  words — "Our  Father" — and  in 
praising,  confessing,  and  praying  for  myself  as  one  of  this 
large  family— in  praying  for  myself  as  one  with  them,  and 
in  feeling  their  joys  and  sorrows  as  my  own.  And  indeed  if 
we  wish  above  all  things  that  the  name  of  Jesus  be  glorified, 
is  it  not  glorified  in  the  spirituality  of  others  as  much  as  in 
our  own  ?  And  if  we  wish  to  be  one  with  Jesus,  should  we 
not  be  also  one  with  his  elect  1  Tell  me  your  difficulties  and 
necessities,  that  1  may  present  tliem  to  Jesus  with  my  own. 
I  do  not  say  this,  because  1  think  that  I  have  the  strength  to 
do  it.  But  Jesus,  our  God  and  our  Lord  (who  is  with  me 
whilst  I  write,  and  who  will  be  with  yon  whilst  you  read  this 
letter)  has  said  to  you  and  to  me — "My  grace  is  sufficient 
for  you."  'Oh  Lord  Jesus!  see  what  1  have  written,  and 
show  that  I  do  not  expect  too  much  from  thee.  Cause  ever}' 
aflection  of  ours  to  be  absorbed  in  thee;  and  maj'  all  thy 
sheep  love  thee  above  all,  and  love  one  another  as  thou  hast 
loved  them !'  Say— Amen  to  this  prayer.  And  if  you  wish 
to  know  what  to  ask  fur  me,  ask  that  a  spirit  of  perfect  love, 
"  which  seeketh  not  her  own,"  may  be  given  me.' 

Again,  about  a  month  after,  to  the  same — 

May  5,  1837. 

'  I  beseech  you  to  seek  earnestly  "  the  communion  of 
saints."  This  is  the  only  progress  1  have  made  in  the  Di- 
vine life.  I  have  received  as  a  most  precious  and  unmerited 
gift  the  power  of  feeling  the  things  of  the  flock  of  Christ 
as  if  they  were  my  own.  You  cannot  Imagine  the  happiness 
of  this  feeling.  Tbe  means  through  which  llie  Father  has 
given  it  to  me,  has  been  the  Lord's  prayer.  1  dedicate  (not 
always,  because  I  am  so  light  ahd  unstable,  but  generally) 
an  hour  every  evening  to  prayer,  and  principally  to  interces- 
sion. I  generally  begin  with  tbe  thanks  due  to  God,  for  hav- 
ing made  himself  known  to  us  as  our  Father,  for  all  that  he 
has  done  for  every  one  of  his  sheep  on  that  day.  It  is  im- 
possible for  me  to  tell  you  the  great  delight  of  thus  mixing 
myself  up  with  the  people  of  Christ,  and  of  considering  their 
benefits  as  my  own.  The  thought  which  transports  me  the 
most,  is  that  of  how  many  souls  have  been  perhaps  this  day 
joined  to  the  church  !  how  many  succoured  under  temptation  ! 
how  many  recovered  from  their  backslidings  !  how  many 
filled  with  consolation  !  how  many  transported  by  death  into 
the  bosom  of  Christ!  It  delights  me  much  also  to  consider 
that  all  the  elect,  who  are  not  yet  converted,  have  been  and 
will  be  preserved,  till  they  are  called  by  the  Divine  Spirit  I 
then  try  to  pray  for  that  sweet  "  we,"  and  to  think  of  the  ne^ 
cessities  of  my  Christian  friends.  Besides,  I  have  a  list  of 
unconverted  persons  for  whom  I  wish  to  pray.  I  do  rntreat 
you  to  study  with  prayer  the  thirteenth  chapter  of  1st  Corinth- 
ians. I  am  most  anxious  that  you  should  enjoy  this  happi- 
ness;  and  if  you  ask,  you  will  do  so.' 

In  the  next  letter  we  find  her  mind  exercised  upon  this  in- 
teresting subject. 

'  It  seemed  to  me  when  I  last  wrote  to  you,  that  the  law 
of  love  to  the  brethren  was  engraven  on  my  heart.  But 
I  feel  little  of  it  now.  It  was  like  writing  on  sand.  Oh  ! 
that  all  the  flock  of  Christ  bad  more,  very  much  more,  of  this 
law.  O  that  thirteenth  of  Corinthians!  Do  read  and  pray 
over  it.  There  is  love — such  love  as  we  want — the  whole 
law  ■svritten  in  our  hearts.  I  wish  the  Lord  would  give  me 
to  say  something  to  stir  you  up  to  pray  more  for  love ;  and 
then,  when  you  are  quite  full  of  love,  that  he  would  make 
you  the  means  of  conveying  it  to  me.  I  would  have  you 
pray  over  1  John  iv.  16 — 21.  as  well  as  1  Cor.  xiii.  We 
must  first  "  know  and  believe  the  love  which  God  hath  to- 
wards us."     That  will  make  us  love.' 

To  another  beloved  friend  she  expresses  herself  with  simi- 
lar warmth  and  intensity. 

'How  shall  I,  who  am  so  full  of  sin,  think  to  say  any 
thing  that  may  be  useful  to  you,  my  dear  friend  ?  Yet  per- 
haps, "the  comfort,  wherewith  I  have  been  comforted  of 
God,"  in  trying  to  spread  your  sorrows  before  him,  may  be 
communicated  to  your  soul,  while  I  am  telling  you  of  it ;  for 
— blessed  be  Jesus — wo  are  all  one — members  of  the  same 


body.  "It  Is  given  ns  in  behalf  of  Christ  to  sufler"  and  re- 
joice with  one  another.  When  I  was  trying  to  pray,  I  en- 
deavoured to  think  of  a  verse,  which  I  might  plead  with 
(.'od,  and  which  might  encourage  myself.  The  Lord  put 
this  into  my  heart — "  Neither  pray  I  for  these  alone,  but  for 
them  also,  which  sliall  believe  on  me  through  their  word — 
{for  lis  ;)  (hat  they  all  may  be  one;  as  thou.  Father,  art  in 
mc,  and  I  In  thee.  Unit  Ihey  idso  i,ioy  be  one  l,i  us."  But  oh  ! 
the  comfort  that  filled  my  soul,  when  I  thought  Jesus  had 
lifted  up  this  prayer  for  you  long  before  you  were  born  !  that 
he  has  liad  it  in  his  heart  for  yon  (^and  for  me  too,  and  all 
God's  people,  who  all  need  it  as  much)  ever  since!  that  he 
is  praying  the  same  thing  for  us  now  !  and  finally,  tliat  '■'■the 
Fulher  hearclh  hha  ahrtiys.'"  Therefore,  the  Father  has 
heard,  does  hear,  and  will  hear,  this  most  gracious  petition, 
which  the  I/ord  Jesus  offered  in  the  midst  of  liis  disciples, 
and  which  God  the  Spirit  brought  to  their  remembrance  for 
our  encouragement — "that  we  all  may  be  one,  as  be  is  one 
with  the  Father."  Yes — and  we  all  shall  be  one,  though 
Satan  and  all  bis  angels  conspire  to  divide  us.  lie  can  no 
more  separate  us  from  the  love  of  one  anotiier,  than  he  "can 
separate  us  from  the  love  of  Christ."  Truly,  we  have  fel- 
lowship one  with  another;  and  "we  know  that  we  have 
passed  from  death  unto  life,  because  we  love  the  brethren." 
May  3'ou  be  enabled  to  use  more  boldness  at  ihe  throne  of 
grace,  to  "draw  near  in  full  assurance  of  faith,"  and  claim 
what  Jesus,  u-ho  eannnt.  cn/c  i,i  vuiu,  has  asked  of  the  Father 
for  3'ou — a  full  and  abiding  enjoyment  of  that  love  to  the 
brethren — that  fellowship — that  oneness  with  the  saints, 
which  is  just  as  much  yours  as  Christ  is  yours  !  It  is  a  part 
of  your  purchased  jiossessioa  ;  and  nothing  can  keep  you  out 
of  your  right,  but  your  own  want  of  faith  to  plead  that  right 
with  a  God,  who  is  more  ready  to  give  than  we  to  ask.' 

Would  that  these  enlivening  sentiments  of  Christian  love 
were  universally  dilTused!  Our  Lord's  wonderful  prayer  on 
this  subject  is  indeed,  as  Miss  Graham  observes,  an  answer- 
ed prayer — that  Is,  in  its  incipient  and  progressive  results. 
Yet,  it  is  only  a  specimen  of  that  intercession,  with  which  he 
has  pledged  himself,  that  "for  Zion's  sake  be  will  not  hold 
bis  peace,  and  for  Jerusalem's  sake  he  will  not  rest,"  until 
his  Father  shall  make  his  "Jerusalem  a  praise  in  the  earth." 
The  plenary  blessing  is  yet  in  store  for  us.  We  want  in- 
creased exertion  and  expectancy  as  a  means  of  preparation 
for  it.  We  want  to  change  our  indolent  antlci])atlon  of  this 
union  perfected  in  heaven  for  the  immediate  personal  exer- 
cises of  faith,  patience,  forbearance,  and  humilitj-,  by  which 

our  hearts  may  be  knit  together  in  love,"  even  in  the  midst 
of  the  incessant  conflicts  of  the  church;  and  we  shall  then 
be  ready  to  help  each  other's  labours,  and  hail  each  other's 
success. 

The  present  aspect  of  the  church  is  indeed  most  afflicting. 
We  would  not  narrow  the  necessary  breach  between  the 
church  and  the  world  by  any  compromise  of  principle  or  of 
conscience.  But  how  painful  is  it  to  "  see  the  breaches  of 
the  city  of  David,  that  they  are  many!"  When  will  our 
Zion  appear  in  "  the  perfeclion  of  lieauty  V — as  "  a  city  com- 
pact together  !"  "For  the  divisions  of"  nne  tribe  in  Israel 
"  there  were  great  searchings  of  heart."  How  careful,  there- 
fore, ought  the  scrutiny  to  be,  when  the  evil  spirit  appears  to 
be  spreading  throughout  the  whole  camp  !  It  is  not  an  ideal 
prospect  that  we  picture  to  our  imagination — hut  that  "good 
and  pleasant  sight"  to  behold  of  "brethren  dwelling  together 
in  unity."  Such  was  the  church  in  her  primitive  glory, 
when  "tbe  whole  multitude  of  them  that  believed  were  of 
one  heart  and  of  one  soul" — when  'the  church' — as  Chrysos- 
tom  observes — 'was  a  little  heaven.' 

jT/iC  mutires  to  altempl,  os  fur  us  in  us  lieSftke  restoration  of 
this  glory  to  the  church  are  most  constraining — such  as  fellow- 
ship with  the  spirit  and  prayer  of  our  glorious  Head — his 
honour  in  the  world  exalted  h}'  this  heavenly  spectacle — the 
Church  in  every  part  "edifying  itself  in  love" — the  Chris- 
tian profession  established — and  the  consoling  privileges  of 
the  gospel  manifested  and  enjoyed. 

7  he  strength  to  promote  this  union  in  the  Church  will  be 
found  in  deep  self-abasement  and  wrestling  intercession  with 
our  God.  Let  us  enter  in  the  spirit  of  the  earnest  pleadings 
of  the  "man  after  God's  heart"  for  his  people.  "O  God, 
thou  hast  east  us  off;  thou  hast  scattered  us  ;  thou  hast  been 
displeased;  O  turn  thyself  to  us  again.  Thou  hast  made  the 
earth  to  tremble;  thou  bast  broken  it;  heal  the  breaches 
thereof,  for  it  sliaketh."  Impossible  that  "  the  Lord  should" 
long  "  be  angry  against  the  prayer  of  his  people  !" 

The  Scriptural  rules  for  maintaining  this  union  are  most 


IMEMOIR  OF  MARY  JANE  GRAHAM. 


243 


simple  and  explicit "  Whcreunto  we  have  already  atUiined, 

let  us  walk  by  the  same  rule;  let  us  mind  the  same  thing." 
"  Him  that  is  weak  in  the  faith,  receive" — not  cast  olT. 
"  We  that  are  stronfr  oupfht  to  hear  the  infirmities  of  the  weak, 
and  not  to  please  ourselves."  These  rules  are  enforced  by 
the  example,  no  less  than  by  the  authority  of  our  gracious 
Head,  and  directed  to  the  highest  end — '-Receive  ye  one 
another,  as  Chri.it  ahn  rcccirdh  ua,  to  t/ie  gluri/  of  Gud."^ 
Great  indeed  is  the  difficulty  of  holding  conscientious  differ- 
ences in  brotherly  love.  We  arc  too  apt  to  magnify  the  points 
of  difference,  while  the  due  proportion  of  the  points  of  agree- 
ment is  somewhat  obscured.  \\  e  are  more  ready  to  dispute 
upon  the  points  of  controversy,  than  to  strengthen  each  other 
in  l)rotherly  communion  upon  the  principles  of  Christian  love 
and  unity.  Thus  our  inordinate  love  of  our  own  opinions 
It  ads  us  to  press  Ihem  beyond  their  legitimate  bounds,  and 
even  beyond  our  sober  intentions;  and  from  this  defect  of 
connecting  humility  aud  forbearance  with  faith,  many  schisms 
arise  in  the  body. 

Would  that  there  were  among  us  one  heart  and  one  pur- 
pose, to  exalt  our  Divine  Master — to  let  every  name  be  lost 
in  bis — to  desire  no  name  to  bo  great  but  his!  But  the 
canker  of  the  church  is  that  party  spirit — more  or  less  com- 
mon to  all — which  unites  the  several  communities  upon  their 
own  private  grounds,  instead  of  forming  a  rallying  point  for 
the  whole  bod)'.  A  tame  compromise  of  conscience  is  indeed 
greatly  to  be  deprecated.  Vet,  unless  private  selfishness, 
(sometimes  cloaking  itself  under  the  garb  of  conscience,)  and 
])arty  Shibboletlis  be  merged  in  Christian  love,  no  holy 
brotherly  communion  can  exist.  We  do  not  expect  brother 
to  yield  to  brother,  but  each  to  submit  bis  conscience  to  his 
great  Head — eacli  member  to  grow  up  into  him,  and  to  recol- 
lect, that  he  has  some  individual  sentiment  to  forbear,  from  a 
considerate  regard  to  the  unity  of  the  body.  It  seems  to  be 
forgotten,  that  Divine  truth  in  all  its  parts  and  cojmections  is 
fully  revealed  to  none — that  the  degrees  of  attiiinmcnt  in 
Scrij)tural  knowledge  arc  indefinitely  varied — that  every  dif- 
ference in  religion  is  not  a  different  religion — that  there  is  a 
want  of  perfection  and  singleness  in  the  clearest  eye,  that  is 
an  inlet  for  the  partial  introduction  of  darkness — and  that  all 
of  us  are,  more  or  less,  criminally  warped  by  the  school  in 
which  we  have  been  trained,  by  the  atmosphere  in  which  we 
live,  or  by  the  difference  of  our  own  tempers  and  habits  of 
thinking.  Hence  it  is  evident,  that  a  sincere  reception  of  the 
first  principles  of  the  gospel  lays  a  solid  basis;  and  that  in 
lesser  points  "  forbearing  one  another  in  love,"  is  the  only 
satisfactory  means  of  "keeping  the  unity  of  the  Spirit  in  the 
bond  of  peace."  Indeed,  '  substantial  harmony,  combined 
with  circumstantial  variety,'  (as  Palcy  remarks  of  the  evi- 
dence of  testimony)  is  the  only  practicable  catholicity;  and 
to  attempt  a  more  entire  agreement  in  detail  would  be  a  cer- 
tain breach  in  tlie  concord  of  the  universal  church.  Yet, 
though  unity  of  opinion  is  impracticable,  unity  of  faith  is  to 
be  constantly  aimed  at ;  and  this  may  be  consistent  with  a 
great  diversity  of  individual  character,  and  even  with  many 
shades  of  doctrinal  differences. 

Hut  let  us  not  be  "ignorant  of  Satan's  devices."  Too 
successfully  does  he  succeed  by  division  among  the  friends 
of  Christ,  to  prevent  the  united  assault  upon  his  own  kingdom. 
Let  us  descend  from  our  lesser  disputes  to  the  field  of  the 
confiict  between  the  great  powers  of  light  and  darkness.  Let 
us  "come  to  the  help  of  the  Lord — to  the  help  of  the  Lord 
against  the  mighty."  The  voice  of  God  to  his  Church  is — 
'■'■Love  tlie  truth  and  peace.'''  We  love  neither,  if  we  love  not 
both.  If,  in  the  professed  cause  of  "  truth"  we  tear  the  con- 
sciences of  our  brethren,  and  wound  the  "peace"  of  the 
Cluirch,  perhaps  we  may  expect  one  common  storm,  one 
uniting  bond  of  suffering — to  lie  the  Lord's  appointed  means 
of  humbling  and  chastising  his  Church,  and  accomplishing 
his  gracious  purposes  by  the  instruments  of  his  loving  cor- 
rection. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

Her  illness  and  death. 

The  period  of  her  illness  embraces  a  large  portion  of  what 
in  her  case,  as  her  father  observes,  'might  be  not  untruly 
called,  "  that  long  disease — her  life."  '  From  her  childhood, 
her  health  was  very  delicate ;  and  the  long  illness  which  oc- 


casioned her  leaving  school,  left  a  debility  in  her  constitution, 
from  which  she  sutTered  more  or  less  to  the  end  of  life. 
Violent  pains  in  her  head,  chest,  and  side,  appeared  however 
to  be  the  commencement  of  that  disease,  which  gradually  de- 
veloped a  fatal  character.  For  some  years  she  was  indeed 
able  to  exert  herself,  too  often  much  beyond  her  streno-th, 
both  in  bodily  and  mental  activity.  She  continued  her  intel- 
lectual studies  with  her  usual  vigour,  till  about  a  year  after 
her  settlement  in  Devon,  when  increasing  illness  constrained 
her  to  send  her  young  pnpi!  to  school,  and  she  was  never  af- 
terwards enabled,  though  she  much  wished  it,  to  resume  the 
care  of  her  education.  From  that  time  she  became  a  decided 
invalid,  and,  except  in  the  year  18-27,  when  she  changed  the 
scene  for  the  benefit  of  her  health,  she  never  moved  "beyond 
the  garden,  and  on'y  two  or  three  limes  ventured  into  the 
outward  air.*  For  the  last  two  years  she  was  entirely  con- 
fined to  her  room,  and  unable  to  be  dressed.  During  the 
whole  of  this  period,  her  anxious  mother  slept  jn  her  chamber, 
watching  over  her  with  the  most  unremitting  tenderness. 
She  generally  kept  her  bed,  till  within  the  last  seven  orejo-ht 
months,  when  a  violent  cough,  and  spasms  in  the  heart,  pre- 
vented a  reclining  position,  except  when  she  was  compelled 
to  return  to  it  by  fainting  and  exhaustion.  The  only  resource 
was  a  chair  well  supported  wilh  pillows,  in  which  she  sat  up 
day  and  niglit,  and  from  which  the  assistance  of  three  per- 
sons was  required  to  remove  her  during  the  last  icw  weeks 
of  her  life.  She  ap])eared  however  to  suffer  less  from  de- 
bility thau  many  invalids.  For  thcugh  she  was  wholly 
unable  to  stand,  yet  a  change  of  medical  regimen  appeared  to 
give  her  temporary  relief  from  distressing  helplessness. 

In  this  state  of  wearisome  languor  and  pain,  her  mind 
however  was  always  vigorous  and  full  of  energy.  She  never 
seemed  to  know  au  idle  moment.  Durijig  the  whole  period 
of  confinement  to  her  bed,  she  was  always  surrounded  with 
books,  or  other  objects  that  engaged  her  attention.  It  was 
her  habit  to  have  her  table  placed  by  her  bed-side  every  nifht 
wilh  her  books  and  writing  materials,  that  she  might  com- 
mence her  operations  wilh  the  earliest  dawn  of  light.  Her 
beloved  Bible  was  always  under  her  pillow,  the  first  thing 
in  her  hand  in  the  morning,  and  the  last  at  night.  Subordi- 
nate to  this  object  of  supreme  interest,  her  diligence  and  per- 
severance in  study  were  most  remarkable.  When  reminded 
that  such  intense  application  must  be  injurious  to  her  health, 
she  always  replied,  that  she  considered  these  diversified 
sources  of  interest  as  among  her  greatest  temporal  blessings, 
in  diverting  her  mind  and  attention  from  her  bodily  ailments. 
Her  studies  in  the  sick  room  were  as  varied  as  in  the  time  of 
health.  Sometimes  the  languages  were  Uikou  U)).  At  other 
limes  the  more  engrossing  study  of  mathematics  fixed  her 
mind.  This  in  its  turn  was  exchanged  for  chemistry  or 
botany.  Occasionally,  when  her  mind  was  less  equal  to 
exertion,  she  would  amuse  herself  with  lighter  employments. 
In  the  spring  of  her  last  year,  she  attempted  to  dry  flowers 
which  her  parents  procured  for  her,  wilh  the  intention  of 
forming  an  herbarium.  But  increasing  indisposition  frus- 
trated this  ])lan.  Culling  out  paper  was  also  a  favourite 
amusement,  in  which  she  early  excelled.  Her  skilful  use  of 
the  scissors  had  attracted  in  her  young  days  the  admiration 
and  interest  of  her  school-fellows.  She  was  also  a  beautiful 
neller,  and  sent  a  number  of  purses  to  a  bazaar,  to  be  sold 
for  the  bcnclit  of  her  dear  Spanish  friends,  which  produced 
upwards  of  three  pounds  to  their  fund.  Thus  in  these  vari- 
ous employments  did  her  mind  mainlaiu  its  ceaseless  activity, 
both  iu  intellectual  indulgence,  and  in  all  the  exercises 
of  practical  devotedness.  JVo  opportunity  of  usefulness 
appeared  to  be  forgotten.  When  detained  from  the  house 
of  God  by  her  protracted  indisposition,  her  time  and  in- 
terest were  employed  in  explaining  the  Scriptures  to  the 
servant  who  was  necessarilj'  occupied  in  attendance  upon 
her;  and  in  one  instance  it  was  hoped,  as  well  as  in  a  former 
case  of  much  earlier  date,  that  her  simple  and  spiritual  in- 
structions iu  the  household  were  applied  with  Divine  unction 
and  sovereign  grace  to  the  heart. 

As,  however,  her  illness  evidently  approached  its  termina- 
tion, her  employments  assumed  a  character  more  exclusively 
spiritual.     She  was  occupied  in  girding  up  her  loins,  and 


'  Of  one  of  these  times  the  following  memorandum  occurs  in  a 
letter  to  her  cousin.  '  To-day,  I  know  not  how,  all  my  illness  seems 
to  have  disappeared,  arid  I  feel  much  better,  so  that  1  have  been  out 
in  the  garden  the  second  time  since  you  left  me.  Ah!  how  delight- 
t'ul  the  weatber  was  :  wbat  pleasiu-e  I  fc-It  in  breathing  the  fresh  air, 
in  seeing  tbe  trees  which  begin  to  bud,  the  spring-flowers  w  hich  are 
appearing,  and  in  hearing  the  song  6f  the  birds,  who  seem  to  rejoice 
no  less  tliau  myself  iu  tliis  new  season.' 


244 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


triraminrj  lier  lamp,  in  constant  and  delighted  expectation  of 
her  Lord's  immediate  coming'. 

And  now  it  was,  tliat  the  Christian  graces  which  had  been 
matured  in  the  school  of  affliction,  and  under  the  inflnence  of 
habitual  communion  with  her  God,  displayed  more  manifestly 
their  holiness,  beauty,  and  consolation.  This  was  (as  an 
excellent  clergyman  before  adverted  to  wrote  to  her  father) 
the  fiery  chariot,  her  vehicle  to  heaven,  in  which — the  more 
it  shook  her  mortal  frame,  until  it  left  it  all  behind — the 
stronger  and  more  full  of  faith  and  triumph  in  Christ  Jesus 
she  grew  in  her  immortal  spirit.' 

A  detailed  account  of  this  last  period  of  her  mortal  career 
will,  it  is  presumed,  be  found  generally  interesting.  In 
these  solemn  seasons  is  every  feature  more  accurately  de- 
fined ;  while  the  colouring  is  heightened  by  the  impressive 
manifestation  of  the  love  and  faithfulness  of  our  God  and 
Saviour. 

To  the  last,  her  habits  of  active  employment  were  predom- 
inant. Her  thoughts  and  time  were  much  occupied  in  pre- 
paring her  two  small,  but  valuable,  works  for  publication  ; 
and  she  continued  to  correct  the  proof  sheets  of  them  as 
they  were  sent  to  her,  till  within  a  few  days  of  her  death. 
At  first  her  mind  was  divided  between  the  completion  of  her 
projected  Series  of  Letters  to  a  Governess,  and  the  work — 
On  the  Freeness  of  Divine  Grace.  But  mature  deliberation 
decided  her  in  favour  of  the  latter,  as  being  calculated  for 
more  extensive  usefulness.  She  was  indefatigable  also  in 
her  correspondence  with  her  friends,  upon  the  principle  of 
duty,  in  using  every  opportunity  of  setting  forth  the  grand 
and  inviting  subject  of  the  gospel  to  her  fellow-sinners.  She 
continued  to  write  even  after  she  was  unable  to  use  her  pen, 
and  when  having  had  just  power  to  direct  a  pencil,  her  wrist 
had  been  bound  up  to  give  her  a  little  strength.  The  follow- 
ing extracts  form  her  letters,  during  this  solemn  season  of 
daily  expectancy,  .marks  the  character  of  her  mind.  We 
select  an  illustration  at  some  length  of  the  intense  anxiety, 
with  which  she  regarded  the  spiritual  interest  of  those  that 
were  dear  to  her,  and  of  the  earnest,  awakening,  and  yet 
encouraging  application  of  the  privileges  of  the  gospel,  to 
fix  tliem  to  an  entire  devotedness  to  their  eternal  concerns. 

Stolie  Fleming,  Sept.  28,  1830. 

' "  Behold  what  manner  of  love  the  Father  hath  bestowed 
upon  us,  that  we  should  be  called  the  children  of  God?" 
This  love  should  be  enough  for  us.  Come  pain,  sickness, 
poverty,  affliction;  and  still  the  Christian  must  rejoice,  when 
he  considers  "  what  manner  of  love  the  Father  has  bestowed 
on  him."  Reconciled  to  God;  redeemed  by  tUirist  Jesus; 
sanctified,  taught,  and  comforted  by  the  Spirit;  what  is  there 
in  the  world  that  can  rob  him  of  his  joy  ^  "  Who  shall  sepa- 
rate him  from  the  love  of  Christ."  And  as  long  as  he  has 
this  love,  how  shall  he  not  "rejoice  with  joy  unspeakable, 
and  full  of  glory  V 

'  My  dear ,  I  would  stir  up  your  heart  to  make  this  joy 

your  joy.  O  that  my  God  would  give  me  words  of  power 
and  persuasion,  and  send  them  by  his  Spirit  to  your  heart! 
"Awake  thou  that  sleepest;"  awake,  awake.  Time  is  pass- 
ing— eternity  is  at  hand.  Thou  must  soon  receive  a  crown 
of  glory,  or  "cover  thyself  with  thine  own  confusion  as  with 
a  mantle."  "  Behold  now  is  the  accepted  time.  Seek  the 
Lord  now  while  he  may  be  found,  call  upon  him  now  while 
he  is  near.  Draw  nigh  unto  God,  and  he  will  draw  nigh 
unto  you."  O  let  me  remind  )'ou,  not  in  a  spirit  of  reproof, 
but  of  the  most  anxious,  earnest  affection,  how  long  "  the 
goodness  of  God  has  been  leading  you  to  repentance."  I 
believe  it  is  now  ten  years,  or  nearly  so,  since  we  w-ere  con- 
firmed together.  Then  you  seemed  resolved  to  make  the 
Lord  indeed  your  God ;  to  be  no  longer  "  conformed  to  this 
world,"  but  to  "  come  out  from  the  world,  and  be  separate;" 
to  walk  as  "  a  stranger  and  pilgrim  upon  earth."  Often  since 
then  have  you  appeared  to  be  affected  by  the  same  feelings 
and  desires.  The  time  you  spent  with  me  here  was  marked 
by  one  blessed  season,  during  which  the  word  of  God  seemed 
to  be  your  delight;  prayer  to  God  your  chief  comfort;  and 
you  expressed  your  entire  renouncement  of  your  own  righte- 
ousness, and  a  simple  trust  in  the  atonement  and  righteous- 
ness of  God  your  Saviour.  Recall  that  precious  time  to  your 
mind,  my  beloved  friend.  You  were  then  beginning  to  be 
happy.  Liquire  how  it  was,  that,  instead  of  "  going  from 
strength  to  strength,"  from  "glory  to  glory,"  from  faith  to 
faith,"  you  relapsed  so  soon  into  your  old  uncomfortable  state 
of  mind,  and  have  since  found  so  little  comfort  in  religion. 
Remember  that  now,  even  now,  Christ  is  willing  to  receive 
you,  to  give  you  strength  and  peace,  grace  and  glory;  that 


he  is  able  to  save  to  the  uttermost,  and  more  willing  to  give 
than  you  to  ask,  more  ready  to  hear  than  you  to  pray.  Con- 
sider what  an  awful  thing  it  is,  to  go  on  for  many  years, 
"  halting  between  two  opinions  ;"  knowing  your  Lord's  will 
and  not  doing  it:  visited  by  repeated  convictions,  yet  those 
convictions  producing  no  decided  appearance  of  conversion. 
Consider  all  these  things,  and  again  I  say  unto  you.  Awake, 
awake !  May  God  of  his  infinite  goodness  arouse  you  to  a 
sense  of  the  importance  of  eternal  things !  May  he  enable 
you  to  wait  upon  him  in  incessant  and  importunate  prayer, 
till  he  has  "  blessed  you,"  as  he  is  most  willing  to  do,  "  with 
all  spiritual  blessings  in  Christ  Jesus." 

When  you  come  to  die,  all  the  trifles  which  now  vex  and 
disquiet  you,  will  seem  less  than  a  drop  of  a  bucket,  than  the 
small  dust  of  the  balance.  But  the  concerns  of  your  soul,  of 
what  immense  importance  will  they  appear !  Why  should 
they  not  now  assume  their  real  weight  and  value  in  your 
eyes?  Death  may  either  snatch  you  away  suddenly,  or  be 
preceded  by  such  violent  illness,  as  to  render  you  incapable 
of  reflection.  At  such  a  time,  how  delightful  will  it  be  to 
be  able  to  lean  upon  Christ,  as  an  old  friend,  not  to  seek  him 

as  a  new  one  !     O  my  dear ,  you  must  find  time  to  die, 

why  will  you  not  find  time  to  prepare  for  death.  You  must 
shortly  be  in  Heaven  or  in  Hell !  must  feel  the  happy  con- 
sequence of  being  pardoned  and  accepted  in  Christ,  or  the 
dreadful  consequence  of  remaining  in  a  state  of  guilt  and 
condemnation.  "There  is  now  no  condemnation  to  those 
that  are  in  Christ  Jesus;  who  walk  not  after  the  flesh,  but 
after  the  Spirit,"  who  "  mind  not  the  things  of  the  flesh,  but 
the  things  of  the  Spirit,  who  "  look  not  at  the  things  which  are 
seen  and  temporal,  but  at  the  things  which  are  unseen  ami  eter- 
nal," who  "  live  not  to  themselves,  but  to  him  who  died  for 
them,  and  rose  again,"  who  have  "  their  conversation,  their 
treasure,  their  heart,  in  Heaven." 

'  Examine  yourself,  my  beloved ,  whether  you  answer 

to  this  character.  I  can  write  no  more  now,  but  as  long  as 
I  continue  in  the  flesh,  I  hope  I  shall  not  cease  from  time  to 
time  to  remind  you  of  these  things,  to  beseech  you  to  give 
yourself  to  Christ. 

'  My  health  continues  much  as  when last  wrote.     1 

sufler  much  at  night,  as  I  can  never  lie  down  in  bed,  but  am 
obliged  to  be  propped  upright  in  an  easy  chair.  But  they 
do  not  seem  to  consider  me  now  in  any  immediate  danger, 
and  if  no  sudden  attack  takes  place,  they  seem  to  expect  that 
I  shall  live  over  the  winter,  or  even  some  time  longer.  All 
this  is  very  uncertain ;  but  I  hope  that  I  am  willing  to  wait  . 
till  my  Saviour's  time  is  come  to  call  me  home  to  himself. 
He  doeth  all  things  well,  and  I  may  truly  say,  that  he  has 
"made  all  my  bed  in  my  sickness."  "  His  comforts  delight  my 
soul ,"  and  "  in  the  night  his  song  is  with  me,  and  my  prayer 
to  the  God  of  my  life  is" — "  Precious  Saviour  !  Tender 
Father !   Thou  wilt  cast  out  none  that  come  to  thee." 

The  following  letter,  written  in  the  immediate  prospect  of 
eternity,  is  valuable  as  an  exhibition  of  those  views  of  the 
gospel,  which  will  alone  stay  the  soul  in  perfect  peace  at  that 
awful  juncture.  It  is  salvation,  rich,  Jree,  full,  finished — not 
a  matter  of  uncertainty,  dependant  upon  our  own  efforts  or 
righteousness ;  but  ordained,  wrought  out,  and  applied  by 
God — not  connected  with  faith,  repentance,  and  love,  as  our 
previous  fitness  for  the  reception  of  it,  but  including  these 
graces  as  component  parts  of  the  inestimable  gift,  "  afore 
prepared  of  God,  that  we  should  walk  in  them." 

July  5,  1830. 
'  I  find,  my  beloved  friend,  that  in  death  no  past  good  works, 
no  holy  endeavours  or  desires  can  give  the  least  comfort,  ex- 
cept as  evidences  that  we  have  been  accepted  for  Christ's 
sake.  My  sole  confidence  is — that  I  have  cast  my  poor  guilty 
soul  entirely,  and  without  reserve,  on  the  free  mercy  of  God 
in  Christ  Jesus  ;  casting  far  from  me  every  other  hope.  My 
good  works — where  are  they  1  I  can  remember  none.  They 
are  too  poor  to  think  of  without  the  profoundest  humiliation. 
My  desires  and  endeavours — O  my  dear  friend,  I  feel  I  should 
insult  my  holy  God,  by  even  naming  them.  They  are,  in- 
deed, "  coverings  too  narrow  for  any  one  to  wrap  themselves 
in,"  at  the  moment  of  entering  into  the  presence  of  God. 
But  my  Saviour  hath  cloihed  me  with  his  own  perfect  right- 
eousness, and  I  wrap  myself  round  in  it  with  unspeakable 
feelings  of  security.  I  examine  it  on  every  side,  and  find  it 
"  perfect  and  entire,  warning  nothing."  I  am  not  afraid  in 
this  my  wedding  garment,  to  appear  even  before  the  King  of 
kings.  I  think  I  hear  my  Saviour  perpetually  saying  to  me 
— "  Not  for  thy  sake  do  I  this,  be  it  known  unto  thee;  be 
ashamed   and  confounded  for  thine  own  ways,"     A  sinful 


MEMOIR  OF  MARY  JANE  GRAHAAf. 


245 


worm.  May  Jehovah,  my  Righteousness,  my  Tower  and 
Strength,  my  Rock  of  defence,  my  Sun  and  my  Shield,  my 
complete  Salvation — O  may  be  be  your  God  and  Guide,  for 
ever  and  ever.' 

Slie  was  usually  favoured  throughout  the'  last  months  of 
her  life  with  a  remarkable  sense  of  the  Divine  presence. 
During  times  of  extreme  agony,  '  Christ,'  she  said  '  is  with 
me,  "touched  with  the  feeling  of  mine  infirmities."  Her 
intercourse  with  God  at  this  solemn  season,  while  it  was 
most  intimate,  was  j'et  most  hallowed.  One  evening,  after  a 
day  of  great  bodily  suffering,  her  cousin  went  into  her  cham- 
ber to  take  leave  of  her  for  the  night.  The  room  was  dark- 
ened, and  perfectly  (juiet;  and  the  state  of  her  soul  seemed 
to  accord  with  the  outer  tranquillity.  She  said — '  I  can 
scarcely  speak  to  you.  The  sense  I  have  of  the  presence  of 
God  is  so  powerful,  that  it  almost  overcomes  me.  He  has  of- 
ten manifested  himself  to  me;  but  never  in  such  a  manner  as 
this  night.  Indeed  I  feel  ready  to  exclaim  with  Job — "  I 
have  heard  of  thee  by  the  hearing  of  the  ear  ;  but  now  mine 
eye  seeth  thee."  She  said  very  little  more,  being  evidently 
too  deeply  impressed  to  converse;  but — her  cousin  adds — 'I 
shall  never  forget  that  night.' 

Yet  this  sacredncss  of  feeling  was  mingled  Vfiih  cheerful 
delight.  It  was  truly  Hooker's  '  reverend  gaiety' — '  Oh  !' 
said  she  one  day  to  a  friend,  '  he  gives  me  to  speak  to  him 
"  face  to  face ;"  and  sometimes,  when  1  am  so  weak  that  I 
cannot  utter  words,  his  "  Spirit  helpeth  my  infirmities,  and 
maketh  intercession  for  me  with  groanings  that  cannot  be  ut- 
tered." I  love  to  feel  my  weakness,  that  I  may  experience 
"  his  strength  made  perfect  in  weakness."  I  delight  to  lie 
low  before  him.' 

She  loved  to  speak  of  the  character  of  God.  Her  mind 
appeared  to  be  much  expanded  in  the  contemplation  of  his 
unsearchable  nature  and  glorious  perfections.  '  How  delight- 
ful' she  observed  on  one  occasion,  '  to  think  that  "  God  is 
light,  and  in  Him  is  no  darkness  at  all."  All  his  dispensa- 
tions are  light ;  and  though  now  they  seem  dark  to  us,  here- 
after, all  clouds  will  be  dispelled.' 

Her  desires  for  a  clear  and  full  knowledge  of  God  were 
most  intense.  '  What' — she  exclaimed  one  day — '  are  ten 
thousand  worlds  compared  with  one  ray  of  the  knowledge  of 
(iod  '.'  The  ardour  of  her  soul,  unsatisfied  with  former  mani- 
festations, was  continually  stretched  out  for  higher  and  deeper 
views  of  the  Divine  glory.  She  was  not  afraid  lo  offer  that 
prayer,  which  seems  scarcely  befitting  an  archangel's  lips, 
and  which  only  the  clear  warrant  of  the  gospel  preserves 
from  the  stamp  of  presumption.  "I  beseech  thee;  show  me 
thy  glory."  Often  did  she  iutrcat  her  minister  to  pray,  that 
more  might  be  revealed  to  her  in  this  world.  Nor  was  the 
petition  unheard.  For,  in  reply  to  her  dear  mother's  question 
a  day  or  two  before  her  death,  her  answer  was,  '  I  could  not 
feel  happier.' 

The  concentration  of  all  her  thoughts  upon  eternity  was  pe- 
culiarly striking  and  edifying  to  those  around  her.  This  main 
concern  for  the  last  few  mouths  of  her  life  absorbed  her  en- 
tire interest.  Nothing  unconnected  with  it  seemed  to  possess 
any  claim  upon  her  attention.  The  engrossing  delights  of 
intellectual  study  were  relinquished  for  ever.  She  had  no  en- 
joyment of  any  train  of  conversation,  except  that  which  direct- 
ly led  her  mind  and  contemplation  heavenward.  Communion 
with  God  was  the  one  object  of  her  desire.  The  word  of  God 
now  occupied  her  whole  attention.  All  other  books — even  her 
favourite  authors — Romainc,  Leighton,  Milncr — sccrned  com- 
paratively uninteresting.  This  lieavenly  absorption  of  mind 
is  finely  depicted  in  the  following  short  extract  from  one  of 
her  late  letters  to  a  friend : 


Slokc  Fleming,  Oct.  1,  1830 

'  My  dear ,  knowing  that  my  life  hangs  upon  a  thread, 

I  dare  not  delay  answering  your  letter :  I  pray  God  to  enable 
me  to  speak  the  truth  to  you  in  love,  and  to  dispose  you  not 
to  think  me  "your  enemy,  because  I  tell  you  the  truth." 
But  I  must,  as  long  as  I  continue  to  live,  continue  to  urge  you 
on  the  subject  of  religion.  I  speak  not  now  willingly  on 
any  other  subject ;  I  desire  to  have  no  more  to  do  with  earthly 
things,  but  to  turn  my  whole  joj'ful  expectation  to  that  bless- 
ed Saviour,  whom  1  believe  I  shall  soon  see  face  to  face, 
through  that  infinite  undeserved  love  and  kindness  of  his, 
which  has  taught  me  to  put  my  whole  trust  in  hiin  for 
salvation.' 

Connected  with  this  feature,  we  may  add,  that  she  seemed 
so  perfectly  weaned  from  the  world  as  scarcely  to  have  an 
earthly  wish^  Several  times  she  took  leave  of  her  beloved 
relatives. 


months  before  her  death,  she  writes — '  I  have  not  one  earthly 
care  or  wish  ;  for  even  my  cares  for  her  are  now  all  cast  upon 
God,  whose  tender  love  will,  I  trust,  lead  her  all  her  life  long, 
as  it  has  led  me.  She  is  going  one  way,  and  I  shall  soon 
depart  in  another  way  ;  but  I  would  wait  patiently.  One  day 
earnestly  recommending  a  friend  to  "cast  all  her  care  upon 
God" — she  gave  the  same  expression  of  her  mind — 'I  have 
no  earthly  cares — no  earthly  wish.  But'  added  she — 'I  have 
spiritual  cares — spiritual  wants;  but  I  cast  even  them  all 
upon  God.'  Christ  and  eternity  filled  up  the  whole  vacuum, 
and  left  nothing  else  to  be  desired. 

Resignation  to  the  will  of  God  was  prominently  marked 
during  her  illness,  and  was  to  her  the  source  of  much  heavenly 
enjoyment.  After  meditating  upon  her  Saviour's  words — 
">Iy  meat  is  to  do  the  will  of  him  that  sent  me," — she  ob- 
served,— 'Though  I  cannot  now  do  the  will  of  my  heavenly 
Father,  I  can  suffer  his  will.'  She  looked  forward  with  great 
calmness  to  a  protracted  life  of  suffering,  when  the  medical 
attendant  gave  his  judgment,  that  she  might  probably  live 
for  many  years,  but  would  never  regain  her  health.  As  she 
was  naturally  of  an  energetic  disposition,  ardent  in  forming 
and  executing  her  plans,  this  state  of  acquiescence  to  so  inac- 
tive a  life  appeared  manifestly  to  be  the  effect  of  Divine  grace. 
Once  indeed  she  remarked  with  tears,  that  the  prospect  of 
lying  on  that  bed  for  many  years — of  seeing  her  friends  die 
around  her,  and  those  whom  she  loved  remove  away  (alluding 
to  the  anticipated  removal  of  the  Rector's  family,  which,  how- 
ever, she  did  not  live  to  see)  was  a  melancholy  thought. 
But  the  passing  cloud  was  soon  dissipated,  and  she  regained 
her  usual  cheerfulness. 

The  same  warm  temper  of  love  to  the  Lord's  people  that 
had  distinguished  her  general  profession  was  ruling  to  the 
last.  Even  in  her  state  of  distressing  weakness,  she  could 
not  be  satisfied  without  seeing  some  of  them  round  her  bed, 
that  she  might  enjoy  sensible  communion  with  them.  How- 
ever weak  they  might  be  in  faith,  or  low  in  condition,  her 
heart  was  fervently  drawn  out  in  union  with  them.  In  re- 
ferring to  some  refreshing  intercourse  with  two  eminent 
Christians — she  observed — '  How  good  my  gracious  God  is 
in  thus  sending  his  saints  to  commune  with  me  upon  those  deep 
and  precious  things  which  now  form  my  only  consolation — my 
"joy  and  the  rejoicing  of  my  heart."  But' — added  she — ac- 
knowledging the  supremacy  of  her  heavenly  Friend — 'after  all, 
his  presence  is  the  only  unfailing  source  of  happiness.  "  Willi 
him  is  the  fountain  of  life;  in  his  light  shall  we  sec  light."' 

The  expressions  of  her  deep  luimilil)-,  were  ])eculiarly 
striking  during  her  illness.  All  her  attainments  in  the 
Christian  life  were  never  thought  of,  but  as  dross  iind  dung. 
Her  sense  of  unprofitableness  kept  hcrlowin  the  dust,  while 
the  recollections  of  fiiith,  exercised  in  habitual  application  to 
the  blood  of  her  Redeemer,  upheld  her  from  despondency. 
When  her  minister  ventured  to  express  the  advantage  which 
his  own  soul  had  derived  from  attendance  upon  her,  she  ex- 
claimed with  vehemence — '  How  should  sueh  a  dearj  dog  as  I 
am,  be  of  any  useV  She  sometimes  seemed,  as  if  she  could 
scarcelj'  conceive  the  possibility  of  being  the  Lord's  instru- 
ment for  the  good  of  his  people,  while  at  the  same  time  she 
continued  to  employ  her  every  power  of  body  and  mind  in 
their  service. 

This  self-abasing  apprehension  was,  however,  combined 
wilh  ardent  gratitude  to  God  as  the  author,  and  to  her  friends 
as  the  channel,  of  all  her  mercies.  Every  attention,  every 
act  of  kindness  from  her  parents  and  nurses,  excited  the  most 
lively  emotions  of  thankfulness.  Speaking  one  day  of  the 
kindness  of  her  nurses,  her  minister  observed, — 'But  oh! 
how  kind,  how  much  kinder  is  Christ.''  '  Yes'— she  replied — 
'  but  even  all  this  kindness  of  the  creature  flows  to  mc  through 
his  love,  his  kindness.'  Thus  did  all  her  earthly  comforts  re- 
ceive a  double  relish — thus  also  were  her  bitterest  trials 
sweetened  by  being  traced  up  to  their  Divine  source,  and  by 
flowing  into  her  soul  through  the  delightful  channel  of  the 
mediation  of  her  Saviour. 

The  same  flood  that  bad  nourished  her  througlujut  her  jour- 
ney, continued  to  supply  strength  and  vigour  ibr  the  last  ef- 
forts. Her  Bible  was  more  invaluable  than  ever  to  her.  It 
was  her  constant  practice  before  she  went  to  rest,  to  repeat  a 
text  to  her  beloved  mother,  and  to  require  one  in  return — as- 
signing as  a  reason,  that  she  might  have  them  to  think  upon 
after  she  was  gone.*   She  pursued  the  same  habit  of  Scriptural 


•  A  few  months  befoi-e  luT  iKiUh,  she  presented  lici'  little  Bible 
to  her  mother,  having  obtained   IVom  her  the  assurance,  that  she 

-    —   -^  would  read  a  chapter  every  day  with  prayer.     In  order  to  keep  this 

In  parting  with  her   young  cousin   about   three  promise  in  mind,  if  the  precious  treasure  was  at  any  time  out  of 


246 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


repetition  with  her  aiTectionate  cousin— tlie  constant  altendanl 
upon  the  last  months  of  her  illness — adiling  to  it  the  privilege 
of  social  prayer,  except  when  attacks  of  illness  prevented  Tt. 
"Ask,  and  ye  shall  receive,  that  your  joy  may  be  full" — 
was  her  favourite  text  to  the  last. 

As  in  health,  so  especially  in  her  last  sickness,  she  had 
great  delight  in  communion  with  the  Holy  Spirit.  She  used 
to  address  her  prayers  much  to  him,  thought  of  his  person- 
ality, and  found  the  contemplation  of  it  most  refreshino-  to 
her_  soul.  She  would  often  speak  with  comfort  of  her  expe- 
perience  of  his  distinct  influence  upon  her  heart. 

Hymns  were  also  a  source  of  much  refreshment  to  her 
soul.  She  used  to  repeat  many  to  herself,  especially  during 
the  night,  and  was  thankful  to  the  last  to  have  them  repealed 
to  her.  The  last  that  her  cousin  read  to  lier  two  days  before 
her  death,  was  one  by  Sladame  de  Flenry,  beginning-, 

'  Ye  angels,  who  stand  round  the  lhi-one,'*kc. 

and  Gambold's  beautiful  hymn, 

'  That  I  am  tbine,  my  Lord  and  God,'  &c. 

was  a  great  favourite.  Cowper  and  Toplady  also,  were  a 
source  of  great  delight  to  her. 

She  expressed  to  her  minister  her  strong  desire  to  receive 
the  sacrament,  the  mention  of  which  had  been  refrained  by 
her  friends  on  account  of  her  great  weakness  and  sudden  at- 
tacks of  violent  pain.  She  feared,  however,  that  she  had  too 
long  neglected  it,  and  could  not  be  satisfied  without  the  re- 
freshment of  this  holy  ordinance.  When  speaking  of  it  be- 
fore the  administration — she  said — 'Oh!  I  desfre  a  full 
communion.  I  long  to  see  as  many  as  possible  of  the  dear 
children  of  God  to  partake  with  me  of  this  blessed  ordinance.' 
Slie  expected,  as  she  was  justly  warranted  to  do,  a  rich  bless- 
ing in  the  fullilmeut  of  the  last  command  of  her  dying  Lord. 
Nor  was  she  disai)|)ointed.  Twice  she  received  lhe° sacred 
emblems  from  the  hands  of  the  venerable  rector  of  the  parish 
(since  departed  to  his  rest);  and  in  the  following  aiTectin<r 
letter  written  in  pencil  with  great  difhcully  immediately  after 
one  of  these  occasions,  she  expressed  to  him  her  grateful  ac- 
knowledgment of  the  consolations  which  he  had  instru- 
menlally  imparted  to  her  soul. 


prospect  of  eternity  was  entirely  divested  of  its  terrors,  and 
beamed  with  the  bright  anticipation  of  everlasting  joy.  We 
may  take  the  following  glowing  view  of  her  liop'es  given  for 
the  conviction  of  one  of  lier  young  friends. 


'My  dear  Sir: — 1  thank  you  very  affectionately  for  the 
comfort  I  have  received  to-day  through  your  means.  When 
1  saw  you,  I  regretted  that  I  could  not  tell  you  so  myself. 
But  it  is  the  Lord,  who  hath  both  dulled  your  power  of  hear- 
ing, and  weakened  my  power  of  speaking;  and  he  does  it 
with  both  of  us,  to  warn  us  gently,  tliat  these  frail  bodies 
must  soon  be  quite  taken  to  pieces,  and  lie  till  we  a'-e  "clothed 
upon"  with  "a  body  like  unto  his  glorious  body."  It  will 
give  you  pleasure  to  know,  that,  whHe  you  administered  the 
bread  and  wine,  I  was  enabled  to  cast  my  whole  soul  as  a 
miserable  smner  on  the  free  mercies  of  him,  who  died  that 
we  might  live;  and  to  rejoice  in  the  thought  of  our  meetino- 
ere  long,  through  the  same  free  grace,  at  the  raarriaae  sup"- 
per  of  the  Lamb.  ^       ' 

_  '1  wish  to  write  these  few  lines  to  explain  my  own  feel- 
ings to  you.  For  my  dear  mamma,  in  her  anxious  love,  so 
much  fears  my  seeing  one,  to  whom  she  thinks  1  could  not 
talk  without  exertion,  that  I  fear  it  has  never  been  properly 
explained  to  you,  that  though  I  feel  unable  to  talk  to  you,  1 
should  be  most  happy  to  listen  to  you. 

'Accept,  my  dear  sir,  the  Christian  love  and  thanks  of  your 
truly  and  gratefully  attached, 

'Marv  Graham.' 

The  support  which  was  vouchsafed  to  her  in  the  midst  of 
her  intense  bodily  sufferings,  was  such  as  mio-ht  have  been 
expected  from  the  known  and  tried  faithfulness" of  her  God. 
Such  was  her  enjoyments  at  some  seasons  of  agony— that  her 
'  pains,'  as  she  said  on  one  occasion,  "  were  sweeter  than 
honey  or  the  honey  comb."  At  one  of  her  times  of  distress 
she  remarked—'  1  am  a  child  lying  in  the  arms  of  Christ,  and 
he  treats  me  with  more  than  a  mother's  tenderness.'  Truly 
indeed,  was  she  "  strengthened  with  all  might,  accordino-  to 
the  glorious  power  of  God,  unto  all  patience  and  long-sufler- 
Jng  with  joyfulness." 

It  is  almost  needless  to  add  as  the  concluding  article  of 
detail—that  the  sting  of  death  was  removed  from  her. 

It  IS  not  death  to  me'— she  would  say—'  Jesus  hath  tasted 
death  for  me,  and  hath  drunk  up  all  its  bitterness.'     The 


Is  nm'mblT'''  ''.'"•fr"^  =''''  *"<"• '"'  '  Y""  ^"osv,  dearest  moAer,  it 
IS  not  mine  now  ;  but  do  j  ou  read  it  to  me  v.  liile  I  am  here.' 


Mug.  7,  1830. 
'I  am  going  to  mention  a  sentence  in  your  letter  which 
grieved  me  ;  not  as  it  regards  myself,  but  as  it  leads  me  to 
fear,  that  you  are  not  fully  ac(iuaintcd  with  those  thino-s, 
which  can  afford  real  and  solid  satisfaction  on  a  near  view 
of  death.  Vou  speak  of  feeling  satisfaction  in  death,  as  it 
affords  a  cessation  from  all  pain.  Dearest ,  did  you  re- 
member at  the  time,  that  death  is  something  more  than  a  ces- 
sation 1 — that  it  is  an  entrance  into  an  eternal  world,  and  that  to 
those  who  have  "  washed  their  robes,  and  made  tliem  white 
in  the  blood  of  the  Lamb,"  this  is  an  entrance  into  eternal 
glorj'.  Bear  with  me,  while  I  toll  you  from  my  own  actual 
experience,  what  it  is  that  ransomed  sinners  rejoice  in  at  the 
approach  of  death.  I  have  stood  lately  more  than  once  on 
the  very  brink  of  eternity,  and  thought  myself  on  the  point 
of  taking  the  awful  step.  Tiiis  niak-es  heaven  and  earth, 
temporal  and  eternal  things,  appear  in  their  strong  and  true 
point  of  contrast.  And  now  that  I  am  called  back  to  the 
things  of  time  for  a  little  longer,  if  1  can  be  of  the  least  use 
to  one  of  my  fellow-sinners  and  sufferers  here,  I  shall  not  re- 
gret the  delay.  It  is  not  Ihe  cessation  from  pain,  that  can 
make  Christians  view  the  approach  of  death  with  satisfac- 
tion. For,  believe  me,  they  have  not  one  pain  too  many.  Not 
that  they  love  pain,  or  are  not  glad  to  be  freed  from  it,  when 
the  Lord  pleases.  Cut  they  know  that  every  one  of  their 
sufferings  is  necessary  and  good  for  them,  and  that  they  come 
from  the  hand  of  a  kind  aiul  tender  Father.  They  are  willino- 
to  hear  as  much  pain  as  his  love  sees  fit  to  indict.  'I'heir 
pains  are  very  sweet  to  them,  as  they  come  from  him.     And, 

0  dearest ,  could  you  know  how  he  "strengthens  them 

upon  tlie  bed  of  languishing,  and  how  he  makes  all  their  bed 
in  their  sickness ;"  you  would  almost  envy  them  even  their 
pains,  sweetened  as  they  are  by  "  the  peace  of  God  which 
passelh  all  understanding  !"  Wherein  do  they  rejoice  ?  In 
the  hope  of  being  "  for  ever  with  the  Lord  !"  of  seeing  him, 
"  whom  having  not  seen,  they  have  loved  ;  in  whom,  though 
now  they  see  him  not,  yet  believing,  tliey  rejoice  with  joy  un- 
speakable and  full  of  glory."  Oh  !  to  behold  tliis  "  ICing  in 
his  beauty"  and  beholding,  to  be  transformed  into  his  glori- 
ous likeness  !  and  then  to  cease  from  sin  !  tliis  is  the  blessed 
cessation  after  wliich  real  Christians  pant.  To  love  their 
holy  and  reconciled  God  without  any  coldness  or  unfaithful- 
ness ;  to  oflend  him  no  more  by  one  unholy,  or  rebellious,  or 
selfish  or  unbelieving  thought;  to  be  pure  as  he  is  pure;  to 
be  "  without  spot,  or  wrinkle,  or  any  such  thing;"  and  then 
to  praise  him,  to  give  him  glory,  to  cast  our  blood-bought 
crowns  at  his  feet,  through  the  countless  ages  of  eternity! 

Pra}-,  my  beloved ,  that  in  the  hour  of  death  you  may  be 

so  filled  with  these  causes  of  joy,  that  the  mere  escape  from 
a  few  bodily  pains  may  seem  not  worthy  to  be  mentioned  in 
the  comparison.  The  Bible  tells  you,  that  "except  yuu  be 
Lorn  agciia,  you  cannot  see  the  kingdom  of  God,"  and  that 
"  if  any  man  be  in  Christ  Jesus,  he  is  a  new  cnuiure,  old 
//lings  /lUi'C  passed  away,  behold,  u/l  iliings  are  become  new.'^ 
Examine,  I  beseech  you,  whether  you  have  undergone  that 
mighty  change  in  all  your  views,  tempers,  and  sentiments, 
which  these  expressions  imply.  If  you  die  without  being 
born  again,  and  made  a  new  creature  in  Christ  Jesus,  I  shall 
never  meet  you  in  heaven  ;  for  God,  who  cannot  lie,  hath  said 
it.  But  pray,  pray,  O  pray  to  him,  that  he  would  thus  con- 
vert your  heart.  He  will  hear  and  answer  you.  There  is 
nothing  else  worth  living  for,  but  that,  living  or  dying,  you 
may  be  the  Lord's.     May  this  be  your  happy  case.' 

Slie  would  sometimes  speak  of  herself  as  a  disembodied 
spirit,  as  if  she  realized  in  the  fullest  perception  and  assur- 
ance, her  entrance  into  the  world  of  blessedness.  Her  fre- 
quent reference  to  her  departure  was  in  calm  composure — 
like  making  preparation  for  a  short  journey,  or  a  temporary 
absence.  At  other  times  it  was  in  joyful  hope.  On  one  oc- 
casion— six  months  before  her  death — when  she  was  thought 
to  be  dying,  she  unexpectedly  revived,  and,  seeing  her 
weeping  friends  around  her,  asked  her  dear  mother  why  they 
were  all  in  tears — adding  with  great  animation — '  Do  you 
think  that  I  shall  be  with  Jesus  to-morrow  V  At  another  of 
these  times,  she  exclaimed — '  If  the  Lord  should  come  and 
take  me  this  night — but,  oh !  that  is  too  much  to  hope  for.' 
After  a  violent  attack  of  coughing  and  spasm,  a  friend  ob- 
served— '  I  fear  you  suffer  much.'     '  Oh,  no  ! — she  replied — 

1  delight  to  feel  the  pins  of  the  tabernacle  taking  out."   She 


MEMOIR  OF  MARY  JANE  GRAHAM. 


247 


burst  into  tears,  when  a  physician  who  occasionally  saw  her,  ney-comb  ;  but  to  the  hiingrv  soul  every  bitter  ihinij  is  swept.' 
informed  her,  that  the  disease  had  not  made  the  progress'At  these  limes  of  "needful  heaviness,  throu'ih  iii:iiiifold 
he  had   supposed.     This,   however,   was  but  a  momentary  [temptations,"  while  "walking-  in  darkness,  and  havintr  no 


feeling.     For,   upon  her  mother's  remindinjr  her — that  she 
was  only  not  quite  so  near  home  as  slie  had  expected,  she 
replied — 'Oh,    no!    this  is  wrong  ;'  dried  up  her  tears,  and 
returned  to  )icr  usual  serenity   and   cIieQffulness.     Writing 
to  one  of  her  friends  in  reference  to  a  beloved  saint,  who 
had   died    in  the   triumph   of  the  gospel — she   remarked — 
'  Well;  I  fhjiU  have  one  friend  more  to  welcome  me,  when 
the  Lord's   time   shall   come   to   "administer"  to   me  also 
"  an  entrance  into  his   everlasting   kingdom."     Oh,   bless- 
ed   hope!    happy    sinners    saved    by   the   blood    of  Jesus.' 
Then  she  adds  this  alTeclionate  exhortation — '  Oh,  my  dear, 
my  beloved  friend,  I  charge  you    so  to   devote  yourself  to 
the  Lord,  that  "  the  full   assurance  of  hope"  may  cheer  you 
now,  and  at  the  liour  of  death.'     Upon  receiving  the  intel- 
ligence of  the  sudden  death  of  another  Christian  friend — she 
exclaimed — '  I  have  heard  the  good  news.     She  has  rent  the 
veil  at  once.     iMine  is  taking  down  piece  by  piece.     Uy  and 
by  I  shall  find  a  chink  larie  enough  to  get  out  of;  like  a  bird 
confined  in  a  cage,  and  fluttering  about  to  extricate  itself  in 
vain,  till  at  last,  the  door  being  open,  the  happy  prisoner 
■wings  its  flight  towards  heaven.'     There  might  probably  be 
an  occasional  mixture  of  infirmity  in  these  intense  desires  for 
her  home.     It  is  indeed  the  dictate  of  Christian  wisdom  to 
prefer  the  gain  of  death.     But  it  is  equally  the  part  of  ChriS' 
tian  obedience  to  embrace  the  ser\ice  of  life  ;  and  the  desire 
to  depart,  so  for  as  it  is  not  subjugated  to  the  readiness  to 
wait,  partakes  of  the  nature  of  self-will  more  than  of  holy  af- 
fections.    Generally,  however,  the  ardency   of  her  desires 
appeared  to  be  subdued  to  a  resignation  to  the  Divine  will. 
Thus  in  reference  to  her  dissolution  she  writes  to  the  aged 
minister  who,  during  her  residence  in  London,  had  been  the 
means  of  communicating  established   peace  to  her   soul — 
'  Blessed  be  my  all-suflicicnt  Saviour,  that,  accepted  in  hitn, 
a  few  months  more  or  Ipss  can  make  no  great  diflference; 
"Neither  life  nor  death  can  separate  us  from   his  love."' 
On  one  occasion,  after  expressing  her  earnest  longing  to  de- 
part, she  checked  herself,  and  aiided — 'But  I  am  willing  to 
sit  here  a  hundred  or  a  thousand  years,  if  it  be  the  will  of  God.' 
Her  mind  maintained  its  vigorous  character  in  the  midst 
of  her  protracted  suflerings.     The  subjects  of  hrr  conversa- 
tion were   usually  of  a  highly  interesting  character.     She 
would  often  speak  with  considerable  clearness  combined  with 
deep  humility  of  the  more  mysterious  parts  of  Revelation 
such  as  the  distinct  persons  of  the  Holy  Trinity;  the  Person 
and  glory  of  Christ;  the  ministry  of  angels;   the  state  of 
separate  spirits ;  the  prospects  of  the  church  of  Christ.     It  is 
much  to  be  regretted  that  no  particular  details  of  these  con- 
versations are  preserved.     The  resurrection  and  future  glory 
of  the  body  were  favourite  subjects  with  h(  r.     She  delighted 
to  dwell  upon  1  Cor.  xv.     '  What  a  wonderful  change' — she 
observed    on   one  occasion — 'takes   ]d;ice  in   nature  in  the 
acorn ;  which  from  so  small  and  insignificant  a  seed  after- 
warils  expands  and  grows  into  a  noble  tree,  the  glory  of  the 
forest !     What  a  remarkable  transformation  also  is  that  of  the 
caterpillar ;  which,  after  having  been  changed  into  apparently 
dead  matter,  at  the  appointed  \iine  bursts  its  shell,  and  be- 
comes a  beautiful  winged   insect!     Had  we  not  witnessed 
such  changes,  we  should  not  have  believed  them  possible. 
But  haying  seen  them  in  nature,  shall  we  doubt  the  possi- 
bility of  that  great  change,  which  will  take  place  at  the  resur- 
rection day,  when  "this  vile  body  shall  be  fashioned  like 
unto  the  glorious  body"  of  our  Lord? 

For  a  short  time,  however,  before  her  death,  the  enemy  was 
permitted  to  harass  her  soul,  and  her  lively  apprehensions  of 
the  go?pel  were  occasionally  obscured.  At  one  of  these  times 
she  said  to  her  minister,  '  Christ  is  not  so  precious  to  me  as 
he  deserves.'  '  No,'  it  was  replied,  '  he  is  so  to  none. 
'But'  she  added,  'he  "feeds  me  with  food  convenient  for 
me,"  though  I  do  not  experience  those  spiritual  enjoyments  I 
so  ardently  long  for.'  Of  a  distressing  season  of  temptation 
which  happened  about  this  time,  her  minister  writes,  '  I  shall 
never  forget  the  state  of  her  mind.  It  seemed  as  if  "a  hor- 
ror of  great  darkness  had  fallen  upon  her."  '  Oh'  she  said, 
'  I  cannot  pray ;  I  can  only  utter  words.  It  is  mere  wind.' 
She  earnestly  called  upon  me  to  strengthen  her,  by  repeating 
the  promises  of  the  gospel.  God  at  that  time  seemed  to  give 
me  words.  For  when  1  scarcely  knew  what  to  say,  words  of 
effectual  consolation  were  put  into  my  mouth.  Once  in  her 
impatience  to  hear  the  word,  she  exclaimed,  '  Oh  !  say  some- 
thing to  me  from  God — whether  a  word  of  comfort  or  re- 
proof.' I  think  of  thatproverb,  "  The  full  soul  loatheth  the  ho- 


light,"  she  was,  however,  manifestly  enabled  to  "trust  in 
the  name  of  the  Lord,  and  to  stay  upon  her  God."  She  could 
not  enjoy  the  full  manifestation  of  her  God,  which  she  had 
known  in  times  ]iast — '  Vet,  though'  she  said,  'I  cannot  love 
God  with  that  warmlh  which  I  so  earnestly  desire,  I  can  act 
faith  upon  Him.'  She  complained  much  of  deadness  in 
prayer.  Yet  her  faith  Avas  in  exercise,  upholding  her  soul 
upon  the  sure  word  of  promise,  that  her  I.ord  would  return  to 
her  in  his  owu  best  time.  SJie  would  at  such  seasons  cheer 
her  soul  by  repeating  suita!)le  promises.  "  When  the  poor 
and  needy  seek  for  water,  and  there  is  none,  and  their  tomrue 
taileth  them  for  thirst,  I  the  Lord  will  hear  them;  I  the  God 
of  Jacob  will  not  forsake  them."  On  this  encouraging  pro- 
mise she  rested  in  oneof  her  seasons  of  distress  and  desertion. 
At  another  lime  she  would  say — "Rejoice  not  against  me,  O 
mine  enemy:  when  I  fall,  I  shall  arise  :  when  f  sit  in  dark- 
ness, the  Lord  shall  be  a  light  unto  me."  And  again — "  The 
Lord  my  God  shall  enlighten  my  darkness."  At  these  limes 
of  trial,  the  book  of  Canticles  was  much  upon  her  mind." 
"  By  night  I  sought  my  Beloved,  but  I  found  him  not."  Then 
she  added,  '  but  I  sought  not  in  vain.'  She  appeared  at  this 
tin\e  much  enlivened  in  speak'ngof  her  Saviour  as  represented 
under  the  figure  of  the  bridegroom.  '  He  loves  us  to  such  a 
degree,  that  he  seeks  after  us,  he  desires,  he  delights  in  us, 
all  which  is  to  be  seen  in  this  wonderful  portion  of  Scripture.' 
At  another  of  these  limes  she  remarked,  that  often  in  the  ex- 
perience of  the  Lord's  servants,  a  season  of  darkness  had  pre- 
ceded some  S|)ccial  manifestation  of  his  love.  'J'hus,  as  she 
observed,  'Jacob  wrestled  «  u-hole  night ,-  and  it  was  not  until 
the  break  of  day  that  the  angel  revealed  himself.  Thus  for  a 
while  our  Lord  seemed  to  disregard  the  cry  of  the  Canaanitish 
woman  ;  but  "  the  trial  of  her  faith  was"  eventually  "  found 
to  praise,  and  honour,  and  glory."  Thus  also  the  disconso- 
late state  of  the  disciples  in  their  journey  to  Kinmaus  was  the 
prelude  and  harbinger  of  a  blessed  display  of  their  Master's 
light  and  love.' 

The  dark  clouds  which  "  for  a  small  moment"  had  been 
permitted  to  spread  themselves  over  her  soul,  were  however 
shortly  dispelled;  and  "at  evening  time  it  was  light."  Her 
extreme  weakness  indeed  prevented  her  utterance;  but  the 
few  words  that  could  be  gathered  from  her,  were  descriptive 
of  the  peace  and  joy  that  reigned  within.  'My  weakness' 
she  said,  '  reposes  on  his  strength — my  folly  on  his  wisdom.' 
When  her  minister,  in  allusion  to  her  late  painful  exercises, 
observed,  '  God  was  "  leading  her  hy  Ihe  rigid  way  to  the  city 
of  habitation"'— she  replied — 'Oh!  yes-^but  liow  dilTerent 
is  the  case  of  those,  who  "  wander  in  the  wilderness  iti  a  soli- 
tary v.ay,  and  find  no  ci/i/  In  dwell  in !"  '  In  the  last  visit  of 
this  beloved  attendant — 'God' — she  said  to  him — 'is  the 
rock  of  my  salvation.'  Then  speaking  of  her  being  detained 
in  her  earthly  tabernacle — she  added — '  It  is  a  comfort  to 
think  that  "  Christ  has  the  keys  of  death  and  of  hell."  All 
is  well.  May  God  be  with  you,  during  the  remainder  of 
your  pilgrimage !  I  can  only  lie  as  an  infant  in  the  hands  of 
God.' 

Her  bodily  sufferings  at  the  last  period  were  most  severe, 
arising  from  a  complication  of  diseases.  Her  lungs,  which 
had  been  supposed  to  be  sound,  were  discovered  after  her 
death  to  be  fatally  diseased.  Her  heart  also  was  found  to  be 
enlarged.  Her  weakness  and  inability  to  recline  for  so  many 
weeks,  produced  dropsy  in  her  feet  and  legs.  This  was, 
however,  from  lime  to  time  relieved  by  incision.  Her  life 
terminated  at  last  by  a  rapid  mortification  in  one  of  her  legs. 
The  last  day  of  her  life  was  a  day  of  intense  agony.  She 
was  obliged  to  take  doses  of  opium,  which  before,  she  could 
not  touch,  so  that  the  day  and  night,  till  she  expired,  were 
passed  in  a  doze,  or  in  the  most  violent  suffering.  A  few 
words  only  were  preserved  at  this  affecting  crisis.  A  day  or 
two  before  her  death,  she  cried — '  Come,  Lord  Jesus  ;  come 
quickly;  "nevertheless  not  my  will,  but  thine  be  done.'" 
At  another  time,  speaking  of  "the  glory  that  shall  be  reveal- 
ed"— she  exclaimed — "  Eye  hath  not  seen,  nor  ear  heard  ; 
neither  have  entered  into  the  heart  of  man,  the  things  which 
God  hath  prepared  for  them  that  love  him."  Alluding  to 
those  who  watched  by  her  side,  she  said — '  What  a  comfort 
that  we  are  not  watching  alone.  "  He  that  keepeth  Israel, 
shall  neither  slumber  nor  sleep."  Then  again,  shortly  after, 
I  know  whom  I  have  believed."  Then  again,  in  a  moment 
of  excruciating  suffering  to  her  mother,  '  Pray  for  me,  that 
my  patience  may  not  fail  me  at  the  last.'  The  Inst  words  she 
was  heard  to  utter  before  hcrdcnth  in  a  moment  of  deep  agony, 


24  S 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


were,  '  I  am  oomo  into  deep  waters ;  O  God  my  rock,  "  hold 
thou  me  up,  and  I  shall  be  safe."  The  next  morning,  on 
Friday,  December  10,  1S30,  without  a  sigh  or  struggle,  she 
entered  into  her  eternal  rest. 

Thus  upheld  by  the  good  hope  of  the  gospel— thus  having 
displayed  in  lovely  concord  the  diversitied  graces  of  the 
Christian  profession — thus  having  been  abundantly  refreshed 
by  the  consolations  of  Christ,  tliis  blessed  sufferer,  this  ran- 
somed sinner,  this  victorious  believer,  fell  asleep  in  the  arms  of 
her  Saviour  and  her  God.  She  heard,  and  gladly  obeyed  the 
call  of  her  Lord — •  "  Come  up  hither."  Lay  down  the  cross, 
and  take  the  crown.' 

"  Tu  him  that  uva-comdh  uill  I  grant  to  sit  with  me  in  my 
throne,  even  as  I  also  overcame,  and  set  down  with  my  father  in 
his  throne.^' 


CHAPTER  Vn. 


REMARKS. 


The  writer,  in  bringing  this  interesting  sketch  to  a  close, 
ventures  to  crave  further  indulgence  of  his  reader  in  drawing 
out  a  faw  points  of  important  and  suitable  application. 

First,  The  i-evicw  of  Miss  Grahuni's  puinful,  though  tempo- 
rary, apostacy  murks  the  great  mtunent  if  being  well-grounded 
in  the  elementary  principles  of  the  Gospel.  A  tew  hints  may 
be  here  suggested  to  the  infpiirinff  and  serious  mind.  First, 
'  ihe  danger  of  a  cavilling  temper.  Here  lurks  the  first  rising 
of  the  spirit  of  infidelity.  Miss  Graham's  natural  character 
was  especially  open  to  this  temptation.  Indeed  this  is  the 
fleshly  indulgence  of  every  intellectual  mind  undisciplined 
by  the  principles  of  the  Gospel.  It  gratifies  the  love  of  dis- 
tinction. It  is  the  worship  of  self,  that  worst  idol,  that  most 
subtle  enemy  of  vital  religion.  "  Fain  man  would  be  wise, 
thougli  man  be  born  like  a  wild  ass's  colt,"  is  the  Divine  and 
pointed  illustration  of  the  folly  and  littleness  of  this  natural 
principle  of  the  heart.  Solid  satisfaction  and  rest  in  the 
Scriptural  revelation  will  only  be  found  in  cultivating  what 
Calvin  calls — 'a  kind  of  learned  ignorance,"  a  well-instructed 
contentment  to  be  ignorant  of  what  God  has  forcborne  to  de- 
clare. Bnt  to  begin  with  the  speculative  instead  of  the  prac- 
tical trutlis  of  Revelation,  and  to  insist  upon  an  explanation 
of  its  dilhcnlties  as  a  pre-requisite  to  the  acknowledgment  of 
its  authority,  and  personal  application  of  its  truths — this 
spirit  resists  faith,. the  appointed  medium  of  Divine  light ;  and 
thus  gives  to  infidelity  all  its  force,  and  leaves  the  heart  the 
unconscious  victim  of  its  own  delusions.  The  more  we  are 
disentangled  from  speculative  inquiries,  and  occupied  in  tht 
piirsuit  of  Scriptural  truth,  the  more  settled  will  be  our  con 
viction  of  the  genuineness  of  the  testimony,  and  onr  conse 
quent  enjoyment  of  its  privileges.  Let  us  not  therefore  trifle 
with  temptation,  by  suffering  the  objections  of  a  cavilling  in- 
fidelity to  "  lodge  within  us."  Let  us  instantl}'  bring  them 
to  the  test  of  conscience,  "to  the  law  and  to  the  testimony," 
Thus  let  us  "  resist  the  devil,  and  he  will  flee  from  us." 

Secondly,  We  u-uuld  inculcate  an  implicit  filth  in  the  Divine 
Hecord.  And  here  we  trace  the  source  of  all  the  sin  and 
misery  that  have  deluged  the  world  for  nearly  six  thousand 
3'ears.  God's  unchangeable  declaration,  "  Thou  shalt  surely 
die,"  was  diluted  to  an  uncertaint}'.  Thus  when  confidence 
in  the  word  of  God  was  weakened,  Satan's  lie  easil}'  pre- 
vailed. On  the  other  hand,  how  fully  did  Bliss  Graham's 
unreserved  reliance  on  the  ])romise,  "Ask,  and  it  shall  be 
given  )'ou,"  recover  her  fine  mind  to  its  true  position ;  en- 
trenched upon  the  supreme  authority  of  Scripture;  prostrate 
in  a  sense  of  her  ignorance;  honouring  her  God,  and  honoured 
by  him,  in  a  trembling  reverential  submission  to  his  word. 
How  many  cavilling  questions  arise  in  the  defect  of  this 
spirit!  The  difliculties  which  cannot  be  presently  explained 
are  considered  reasonable  grounds  for  unbelief.  Man,  under 
the  pretence  uf  a  desire  to  satisfy  his  doubts,  rebels  against 
what  he  does  not  understand,  and  begins  to  "  repl)-  against 
God."  Bnt  in  fact  we  want  not  more  light,  but  more  hu 
mility.  Herein  consists  the  important  difierence  between  the 
caviller  and  the  sincere  inquirer.  The  one  qnestions,  specu- 
lates, arid  is  dissatisfied.  The  other  in  the  consciousness  of 
his  "blindness,"  is  willing  to  be  "brought  by  a  way  that  he 
knew  not,  and  to  be  led  in  paths  that  he  had  not  known. 
He  follows  under  the  guidance  of    '  " 


implicit  faith.  He  asks  not,  "  How  can  these  things  be  V 
but,  "Thus  saith  the  Lord,"  determines  all  his  difficulties 
without  gainsaying.  And  this  practical  acknowledgment  of 
the  supremacy  of  Scripture  is  the  just  demand  of  God.  We 
must  not,  according  to  the  principles  of  neology,  degrade  the 
authority  of  his  word,  by  subjecting  it  to  trial  at  the  bar  of 
reason.  We  must  not  descend  from  our  high  vantage  posi- 
tion of  faith,  to  th*e  lower  ground  of  disputation.  This  inver- 
sion of  the  respective  ofiices  of  reason  and  faith  casts  down 
God  from  his  throne,  and  turns  our  light  into  darkness.  Rea- 
son must  indeed  be  exercised  in  examining  the  credentials  of 
the  revelation;  for  to  receive  an  unauthenticated  testimony  is 
credulity,  not  faith  :  and  scepticism  is  less  culpable  than  be- 
lief. But  the  credentials  being  once  established,  we  are 
bound  to  receive  its  contents  with  the  most  implicit  submis- 
sion. Having  once,  therefore,  admitted  the  Divine  claim  of 
Scripture,  we  must  yield  to  it  our  unreserved  homage.  The 
question  is  not,  "What  thinkest  thou'!"  but  "  How  readest 
thoul"  This  is  the  humility  of  faith,  the  child-like  spirit  of 
the  Gospel,  the  evidence  of  the  conversion  of  the  heart  to 
God.  "Whosoever  shall"  thus  "  humble  himself  as  a  little 
child,  the  same  is  greatest  in  the  kingdom  of  lieaven." — 
The  enriching  light  of  Divine  teaching  dispels  many  difficul- 
ties of  the  reasoning  mind.  "  If  the  eye  be  single,  the  whole 
body  shall  be  full  of  light."  "  Sitting  with  Mary  at  Jesus' 
feet,"  and  "  learning  of  our  meek  and  lowly"  teacher,  we 
"  shall  find,"  instead  of  uncertainty,  confusion  and  wretched- 
ness, "rest  unto  our  souls." 

Thirdly,    M'e  would  impress  the  importance  of  a  solid  ex- 
perience of  the  power  of  the  gospel  upon  thv  heart.     When 
the  objections  against  Christianity  are  fairly  answered,  the 
main  hindrance  to  its  reception  yet  remains.     There  is  a 
strong  connection  between  the  speculative  principle  of  infi- 
delity, and  the  "  evil  heart  of  unbelief."     L'nbelief  is  the  dis- 
ease— not  of  the  understanding — but  of  the  heart.    It  compre- 
hends the  "  fulfilling  of  the  desires  of  the  flesh  and  of  the 
mind."     In  the  one  case  it  is  the  love  of  sin  resisting  the 
holiness  of  the  gospel.     In  the  other  case  it  is  (as  we  have 
just  illustrated  the  subject)  the  unsubdued  pride  of  the  heart 
rejecting  the  humility  of  the  gospel.     A  full  and  practical 
reception  of  the  truth  of  God  is  therefore  a  powerful  defence 
against  the  subtle  and  encroaching  enemy.     It  was  a  defect 
in  this  point,  that  exposed  Miss  Graham  to  the  baneful  influ- 
ence of  her  investigating  mind.     Her  early  principles  of  re- 
ligion, though  sincere,  were  not  inwrought  in  her  soul  in 
deep  and  permanent  influence.    This  unfixed  character  formed 
therefore  an  ineflective  safeguard  in  the  atmosphere  of  powerful 
ttmptation.     Her  neglect  of  prayer  threw  her  off  for  a  while 
from  her  dependence  upon  God.     Her  doubts  thickened  upon 
her.     The  strength  of  her  soul  was  paralyzed.     The  enemy 
was  at  the  door,  and  took  advantage  of  her  loss  of  inward 
perception  to  gain  a  temporary  ascendancy.     However  strong 
and   satisfactor)'  is  the  external  evidence  of  the  gospel;  yet 
we  want  tlie  apprehension  and  proof  of  its  adaptation  to  our 
necessities  to  endear  and  establish  it  to  us  in  all  the  strength 
of  sensible   demonstration.     When  "  the  gospel   comes  in 
power,  and  in  the    Holy  Ghost,"  then  does  it  come  with 
much  assurance.     "  He  that  believeth  hath  the  witness  in 
himself."     The  transforming  power  of  the  gospel  into  the 
Divine  image  is  the  most  decisive  evidence  of  its  Divine  ori- 
gin ;  and  this  is  an  evidence  which  is  always  present  with 
us — connected  wilh  all  our  Christian  habits  of  thought  and 
practical   life — and   accumulating   in   weight   of  testimony, 
in    every   successive    instance    of   its    efficacy   throughout 
the  worlil.     The   unbeliever  therefore  (for  this  is   the  real 
character  of  the  merely  nominal  professor  of  the  Bible)  enters 
into  conflict  with  the  infidel  at  very  serious  disadvantage. 
He  ma}'  probably  be  inferior  to  his  opponent  in  power  of 
reasoning,  and  subtlety  of  argumentation.     He  may  be  un- 
furnished with  a  distributive  view  of  the  historical  evidence 
of  the  gospel,  to  repel  the  attacks  that  are  made  upon  it; 
and,  being  unable  to  strengthen  his  points  by  the  demonstra- 
ble evidence  of  his  own  senses,  he  is  in  great  danger  of  being 
shaken  from  the  first  principles  of  his  faith.     Or  even  sup- 
posing him  to  be  on  equal  terms  with  his  ■ndversary^well- 
fm-nished  with  an  outward  coat  of  armour;  yet  if  his  interior 
be  not  defended  by  "  the  whole  armour  of  God,"  the  poisoned 
arrows  may  find  an  entrance  into  his  inmost  soul.     If  he  be 
ignorant  ol  the  spiritual  blessings  of  the  gospel,  he  can  have 
but  a  very  imperfect  conviction  of  the  importance  of  its  prin- 
ciples.    They  hang  loosely  about  him.     There  is  a  want  of 
euersry  in  the  grasp   to  -''hold  them  fast ;"'    and  not  being 
•  grounded  and  settled  in  the  faith,"  never  having  had  a  real 


5, -.  the  Spirit  of  Truth,  like      ,, - 

Abraham  under  the  direction  of  Providence,  step  hy  step  inlpossession  of  "the  hope  of  the  gospel,"  he  cannot  be  secure 


MEMOIR  OF  MARY  JANE  GR.\HAM. 


249 


against  beiiiw  "moved  away  from"  the  profession  of  it.  His]  perfection,  attain  «^east  equal  communion  with  their  God, 
indecision  is  the  first  step  to  apostacy,  and,  should  it  proceed  to 
this  ultimate  point,  it  is  only  his  just  punishment  for  neglect- 
ing to  walk  closely  and  humbly  with  his  God.  It  is  there- 
fore most  difficult  for  him  to  keep  the  field  at  all  points  against 
the  infidel  upon  the  low  ground  of  external  argument.  For 
though  we  protest  against  the  supposition  of  any  vulnerable, 
or  even  debateable  points  on  the  side  of  Christianity  ;  yet  the 
strength  of  the  infidel  side,  as  we  have  just  hinted,  bears 
upon  his  opponent  with  mighty  influence  connected  with  the 
appetites  of  his  own  heart.  Thus  man  becomes  not  only  a 
rebel  against  his  God,  but  a  traitor  to  himself,  and  the  mur- 
derer of  his  own  happiness.  Living,  therefore,  without 
prayer — we  should  assay  to  go  to  tlie  intellectual  conflict 
Willi  armour  that  we  have  not  proved,  and  therefore  that 
would  render  us  but  uncertain  protection,  linexerciscd  in 
Christian  faith,  we  cast  away  the  ordy  "  shield,  whereby  we 
could  quench  the  fiery  darts  of  the  wicked  one."^  In  propor- 
tion to  Ihe  practical  influence  of  tlie  ])rinciples  of  the  gospel 
will  be  our  intelligent  conviction  of  their  Divine  origin.  A 
lioly  taste  will  enable  us  to  receive  the  evidence  of  Christian 
truth.  In  every  step  of  spiritual  religion  will  the  invisible 
realities  of  the  gospel  be  embodied  and  appropriated.  Thf 
light  to  discover  their  external  evidence  will  be  thus  increased 
by  the  removal  of  a  counteracting  internal  bias ;  and  the  be- 
liever, retreating  in  a  heavenly  atmosphere  of  communion 
with  God,  will  be  little  disturbed  by  speculative  doubts — 
"Thou  art  my  hiding-place  and  my  shield ;  I  hope  in  thy 
word." 

Lastly,  let  the  mind  he  informed,  expanded,  strengthened 
in  its  positions  by  an  intelligent  acquaintance  with  some  of 
our  most  valuable  treatises  upon  the  evidences  of  Christianity 
— those  most  especially,  tliat  connect  the  testimony  of  internal 
perception  with  external  proof.  'I'hus  covered  at  all  points 
of  intellectual  or  spiritual  warfare  "  with  the  armour  of 
righteousness  on  the  right  hand  and  on  the  left" — the  simple- 
minded  Christian  will  "  be  ready  always  to  give  an  answer 
to  every  man  that  asketh  him  a  reason  of  the  hope  that  is  in 
him  \^•ith  meekness  and  fear." 

II.  W'e  would  mark  from  this  Memoir  the  high  importance 
of  a  settled  profession  of  the  gospel.  We  have  already  seen 
the  rich  and  matured  character  of  Miss  Graham's  doctrinal 
sentiments,  llers  was  not  the  religion  of  feeling,  (though 
her  feelings  were  powerfully  engaged,)  but  of  solid  intelli- 
gent conviction.  There  was  no  excitement  of  impulse  or 
imagination,  no  love  of  novelty,  but  a  contentment  in  solid. 
Scriptural,  and  practical  views  of  Divine  truth.  Here  was  a 
ground-work  for  that  steady  consistency  of  Christian  profess- 
ion, in  which  she  was  enabled  to  serve  her  God  and  Saviour 
with  acceptance  and  usefulness.  It  would  be  a  painful  in- 
vestigation to  trace  the  various  causes  and  symptoms  of  that 
unsettled  aspect  of  religion,  which  the  present  state  of  the 
church  so  largely  exhibits.  Too  often  we  find  the  profession 
to  be  of  a  superficial,  and  therefore  of  an  uuinfluential  character. 
A  susceptible  temperament  opens  the  door  to  self-delnsion. 
The  religion  of  the  imagination  is  substituted  for  the  religion 
of  the  heart.  Sentimentalism  captivates  the  mind  by  a  sort  of 
confused  ideal  sublimity.  Unorganized  excitement  is  mis- 
taken for  solid  practical  principle.  Kxternal  separation  from 
the  world  is  identified  with  the  spiritual  love  of  holiness.  A 
habit  of  serious  thought  and  partial  reformation  is  commenced 
without  any  defined  motive  or  object.  Hence,  when  the  tem- 
porary impulse  has  subsided,  the  baseless  fabric  resting  upon 
it  begins  to  shake.  The  religion  of  novelty  and  interest  be- 
comes irksome  drudgery,  without  any  spring  of  activity  or 
privilege.  The  peace  and  joy,  which  had  been  anticipated  as 
the  immediate  result  of  a  certain  train  of  feelings,  ends  in  dis- 
appointment; and  the  "goodness"  which  had  no  connexion 
with  tenderness  of  heart,  humility,  and  faith,  "passes  away 
as  the  morning  cloud,  and  the  early  dew."  The  man  who 
liad  been  living  upon  notions,  doctrines,  and  feelings — not 
ui)on  realities — sinks  down  into  the  character  of  a  dry.  heart- 
less professor,  with  no  genuine  response  to  the  vitality  of 
godliness. 

Of  others  again  we  would  speak  with  special  tenderness 
while  we  are  constrained  to  consider  them  as  wanderers  from 
"  the  old  paths,"  where  the  church  of  God  has  hitherto  found 
"  rest,"  refreshment,  and  establishment.  But  we  cannot  view 
without  the  deepest  concern  the  attempt  now  made  by  true 
disciples  of  Christ  (for  such  undoubtedly  are  many  of  those 
to  whom  we  allude)  to  degrade  the  Son  of  God  to  a  sinful 
panioipation  and  sympathy  with  our  nature.  A\  e  feel  bound 
to  protest  against  that  'great  truth,'  now  for  the  first  time 
opened  to  the  church — that  believers  i»  this  life  of  sin  and  im- 
Voi..  II.— 2  G 


and  participation  of  Divine  influence  with  their  heavenly  Sa- 
viour. Thus  is  the  child  of  fallen  Adam  complete  in  liimself, 
not  in  his  Saviour.  He  needs  no  exercise  of  contrition,  no 
application  to  the  blood  of  the  atonement  for  his  daily  defi- 
ciencies, no  High  Priest  to  "  bear  the  iniquities  of  his  holy 
things."  The  plenary  baptism  of  the  Spirit  precludes  the 
need'  of  an  atoning  and  interceding  Saviour  for  present  de- 
ficiencies and  defilemenu,  and  perfects  what  is  called  an  ho- 
liness in  the  flesh,  an  inherent  righteousness,  which  blots  out 
the  character  of  sinners,  and  obscures  the  glory  of  the  right- 
eousness of  the  Redeemer,  as  the  exclusive  ground  of  justifi- 
fication  before  God. 

If  we  look  for  the  external  seal  of  these  anti-scriptural 
doctrines,  it  will  be  found  in  the  exhibition  of  certain  tongues 
(dissimilar  from  the  primitive  manifestations,  because  un- 
known, and  therefore  unfruitful  to  the  church)  connected 
with  impulses  of  an  extraordinary  character,  both  of  which 
have  been  confessed  by  some  of  the  most  accredited  subjects 
to  have  been  the  offspring  of  delusion.  Does  not  all  this 
seem  to  invest  the  Apostolic  caution  almost  with  the  charac- 
ter of  prophecy — "  1  fear,  lest  by  any  means,  as  the  serpent 
beguiled  Eve  through  his  subtlely,  so  your  mind  should  be 
con-upted  from  the  simplicity  that  is  in  Christ?"  That 
these  doctrines  come  not  from  Christ  is  manifest  from  their 
obvious  tendency  to  exalt  self,  and  to  stain  the  unspotted 
holiness  of  our  Divine  Saviour.  That  they  are  not  the  fruit 
of  the  unction  of  the  Spirit,  is  equally  clear  from  their  re- 
sults, in  obscuring  the  light  and  authority  of  Scripture  by 
some  super-induced  credentails,  and  thus  confounding  "  the 
spirit  of  truth"  in  the  word,  and  "  the  spirit  of  error"  in  the 
new  revelation.  That  as  novelties  they  have  no  stability, 
we  are  encouraged  to  believe  from  the  gracious  deliverance 
that  has  been  manifested  to  some,  who  were  fast  bound  un- 
der their  seductive  influence;  while  those  who  are  yet  be- 
guiled claim  (though  jierhaps  they  may  not  thank  us  for 
putting  forth  the  claim)  our  Christian  sympathy,  forbearance, 
and  prayer. 

What  are  wanted  on  all  sides  as  the  basis  of  an  estab- 
lished ))rofession,  are — First,  t/rokcnnesx  und  contrition  nf 
heart.  Here,  as  wc  before  observed.  Miss  Graham's  defi- 
ciency exposed  her  to  "  the  snare  of  the  devil."  Not  being 
deeply  impressed  with  the  sense  of  her  own  vilcness,  she 
could  not  lie  low  enough  before  her  God  to  receive  his  pure 
and  heavenly  licfht  in  her  soul.  He  was  therefore  pleased  to 
humble  her  thoroughly,  till  he  had  brought  her  to  his  feet; 
that  happiest,  lowest,  yet  most  exalted  place  for  a  redeemed 
sinner.  What  .lob  learnt  in  his  prostrate  frame  of  humilia- 
tion, made  all  the  former  attainments  of  this  "perfect  man" 
of  God  appear  as  nothing  in  his  eyes.  And  indeed  there  is 
much  to  be  acquired  in  a  self-abasing  walk  with  God,  and  in 
a  well-digested  study  of  our  hearts,  before  there  can  be  any 
capacity  for  receiving  a  Scriptural  apprehension  of  the  doc- 
trines, that  are  the  matter  of  present  controversy  in  the 
church.  The  decided  views  on  these  subjects,  that  are 
sometimes  received  at  an  early,  and  perhaps  uncertain,  stage 
of  the  Christian  profession,  have  been  probably  obtained  un- 
der the  influence  of  excitement,  rather  than  from  Divine 
teaching — from  an  implicit  submission  to  some  professed 
leader  in  the  church,  rather  than  from  a  simple  exercised 
study  of  the  sacred  volume.  In  the  spirit  of  brokenness  of 
heart  this  deluding  power  of  excitement  is  subjugated  to  a 
chastened  temper  of  tenderness  and  self-distrust.  One  want 
absorbs  every  faculty  and  desire  of  the  soul.  There  is  no 
temptation  to  linger  by  the  way  in  busy  idleness  amid  the 
attractions  of  novelty.  Tlieru  is  a  careful  guard  against  all 
entanglements  of  disputation,  that  might,  by  diverting  the 
mind  "from  the  main  object  of  pursuit,  palsy  the  spiritual 
affections,  and  pervert  even  the  word  of  God  to  an  occasion 
of  erasing  instead  of  fixing  permanent  impressions  upon  the 
heart.  In  this  spirit  of  ''simplicity  and  godly  sincerity," 
the  mind  will  gradually  he  enalded  to  receive  Scriptural 
statements,  that  before  it  had  been  unable  to  comi)rehend ; 
and  will  grasp,  with  an  intelligent  habit  of  faith,  the  fulness 
of  Divine  truth  in  all  its  hap)iy  and  practical  influence. 

Connected  with  this  temper,  spiritual  apprehensions  of 
Christ  are  of  the  utmost  moment.  This  was  the  main  prin- 
ciple of  Miss  Graham's  steadiness  of  profession.  She  was 
accustomed,  as  we  have  before  noticed,  to  '■^consider  Christ.'" 
Hers  were  not  transient  glances  at  the  glorious  object  of 
faith.  Her  religion  was  characterized  bj'  a  contemplative 
habit  of  connecting  every  pari  of  the  Christian  system  with 
Christ.  And  in  this  great  subject,  the  most  intellectual 
mind  will  find  full  emploj'.     Unfalhomahle  depths,  after  a 


250 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY, 


long  life  of  research,  will  yet  remniii  to  be  explored.  Here 
we  may  ajvance  with  deeper  intensity  of  interest  at  every 
successive  step,  until  the  whole  soul  is  "  filled  with  all  the 
fulness  of  God !"  A  mind  sustained  aiid  invigorated  by 
these  sublime  contemplations,  will  lose  its  speculative  taste ; 
will  try  "doubtful  disputations"  by  their  reference  to  this 
grand  subject;  and,  while  enlarging  to  the  utmost  its  com- 
pass of  sacred  truth,  will  be  drawn  off  from  uncertain  doc- 
trines to  those  that  are  evidently  Scriptural  in  their  character, 
clear  in  their  lisfht,  fruitful  in  privilege,  holy  in  influence. 
"Not"  being  altogether  "ignorant  of  Nalan's  devices,"  the 
Christian  will  readily  trace  to  its  proper  source  all  diverging 
from  tliis  concentrating  point,  and  will  steadily  guard  against 
this  baneful  "corruption  from  the  simplicity  that  is  in 
Christ."  And  thus  living  by  faith,  lie  will  live  upon  the 
vitality  of  the  gospel.  The  unfolding  of  Christ  makes  holi- 
ness at  once  practicable  and  precious.  His  principles,  as 
they  expand  in  knowledge,  will  become  more  j)ractical  in  re- 
sults; while  these  results  will  reciprocally  exercise  his  prin- 
ciples in  a  more  lively  and  delightful  glow  of  Divine  light. 

For  the  cultivation  of  this  spiritual  contemplation,  habits 
of  retirement  seem  to  be  of  importance.  Leaving  the  time, 
measure,  and  rules  to  every  man's  judgment  and  conscience, 
and  being  fully  aware  that  a  difference  of  character  generates 
in  this  particular  a  diversity  in  the  operation  of  Divine  grace 


again  the  subjects  revolve  before  the  mind,  but  w  illiout  re- 
search. The  difference  is  inconceivable  between  the  act  of 
reading,  and  the  habit  of  meditation  and  search  in  the  sacred 
volume.  If  the  mind  does  not  ponder  often  upon  Scripture, 
no  definite  views  will  be  obtained ;  no  profitable  instruction 
drawn  out  from  it.  Whereas  a  spiritually  reflecting  mind 
will  extract  rich  meaning  from  its  apparently  difficult  and 
barren  portions.  JJeing  made  the  subject  of  thought,  and 
formed  into  materials  for  prayer,  Scripture  knowledo-e  be- 
comes of  a  more  heavenly  character;  and  meditation  upon  a 
single  passage  becomes  more  fruitful  than  the  general  reading 
of  large  portions  of  the  sacred  book.  Perliaps  there  is  no 
precept  more  intimately  connected  with  Christian  establish- 
ment, than  thai  which  has  been  indirectly  adverted  to — '^  Let 
ihe  U'lird  (if  ('lirlut  dwell  in  you  richly  in  nil  ivimhiin.^''  Let 
there  be  no  part  of  us,  where  the  word  does  not  dwell.  Let 
there  be  no  part  of  the  word,  that  does  not  dwell  in  us.  Here 
is  a  new  world  of  hcavenl}'  light,  where  the  intellect  is  called 
forth  into  its  full  exorcise.  Here  the  soul  is  refreshed,  and 
the  heart  is  moulded  under  the  influence  of  Divine  wisdom ; 
and  hence  stability  of  our  profession  "in  the  simplicity  of 
Christ." 

We  would  venture  to  add  a  few  words  upon  the  high  res- 
ponsibility of  cultivating  "the  spirit  of  a  sound  mind."  The 
liigh  estimate  which  the  apostle  formed  of  this  faculty  may 


— we  cannot  forbear  inculcating  the  general  subject  as  appli-  be  seen  in  his  placing  it  among  the  special  gifts  for  the  work 
cable  to  the  several  departments  of  the  church.  Doubtless  of  the  ministr)',  and  in  his  prayers  for  his  own  son  in  the 
Miss  Graham  drew-  much  advantage  from  her  retired  habits  faith,  and  for  his  beloved  flock,  that  they  might  maintain  it 


to  exercise  her  mind  in  heavenly  contemplation.  .  Probably 
much  of  the  defective  standard  of  attainment  and  privilege 
in  the  present  day  tna}'  be  traced  to  the  neglect  of  the  habits 
now  adverted  to.  Christians  actively  engaged  in  the  service 
of  God  may  be  ensnared  by  the  very  activity  of  their  en- 
gagements. Those  of  a  more  quiet  and  collected  tempera- 
ment, will  connect  their  "times  of  refreshing  from  the  pre- 
sence of  the  Lord" — their  most  solid,  stable,  invigorating 
comfort — with  the  cultivation  of  this  habit.  Those  who 
are  enabled  still  to  maintain  the  freshness  of  their  early 
impressions,  feel  their  need  of  this  advantage,  and  mourn 
over  the  deprivation  of  it  as  a  loss,  for  which  no  Christian 
societj- — however  refined,  elevated,  or  holy — can  compensate. 
All  who  realize  the  difficulties  of  their  dailj-  path,  and  the 
weariness  that  belongs  to  incessant  watchfulness  and  conflict, 
must  feel ;  that  as  the  body  cannot  be  sustained  without 
sleep,  so  neither  can  the  soul  thrive  without  the  aelirc  rest — 
60  to  speak — of  retirement  with  God.  A  recollected  habit  of 
mind — shutting  out  the  world,  and  calling  home  our  thoughts 
to  Christ  and  eternit}- — is  indispensable  to  give  life  and  spi- 
rituality to  our  religion,  to  bring  the  one  object  of  faith  into 
fixed  contemplation,  and  the  more  enlivening  prospects  of 
eternity  into  more  constant  influence. 

Need  we  further  suggest  the  incalculable  importance  of  a 
deep  and  spiritual  study  of  the  word  of  God,  in  connection 
with  an  established  profession  of  the  gospel  ^  Miss  Gra- 
ham's exclusive  study  of  the  word  after  the  period  of  her  re- 
covery from  infidelity — ('the  Lord  helping  her  to  pray  over 
every  word  she  read')  must  have  been  productive  of  a  rich 
harvest  to  her  soul.  And  indeed  the  general  supremacy  and 
entireness  of  this  sacred  study  throughout  life  was  a  main 
source  of  her  mature  apprehension  of  the  .doctrines  of  Christ 
May  not  a  partial  study  of  Scripture  explain  the  difficult^' — 
why  sincere  Christians — praying  for  the  promised  "guidance 
of  the  Holy  Spirit  into  ail  truth^' — should  yet  be  left  under 
the  influence  of  error?  Do  they  heartily  desire  to  be  guided 
into  all  truth — into  practical  as  well  as  doctrinal — into  hum 
bling  as  well  as  the  more  exciting — truths  1  Is  every  part  of 
the  holy  book,  after  the  example  of  this  devoted  saint,  hon- 
oured as  the  word  of  God — carefully  explored,  and  earnestly 
prayed  overl  The  promise  supposes  a  diligent  search  of  the 
whole  field  of  Divine  truth,  and  the  neglect  of  any  part  of 
this  field  shuts  us  out  from  the  sphere  of  the  jiromise.  Per- 
haps also  a  superficial  study  of  "the  word  of  Christ" — even 
when  the  whole  surface  is  surveyed — is  one  of  the  most 
prominent  causes  of  slight  profession  in  the  present  day.  It 
too  often  lodges  onl)- — not  "dwells"  with  us ;  or  it  dwells 
with  us — not  in  us;  or  the  "riches"  of  the  treasure-house  are 
too  little  regarded  ;  or  Christian  "wisdom"  is  little  exercised 
in  the  application  of  its  contents  to  our  several  emergencies. 
In  some  cases  we  mark  a  disproportionate  attention  to  the 
externals  of  scripture,  which  betrays  a  criminal  indilTerence  to 
its  spiritual  excellences.  The  holy  simplicity  of  study  is  de- 
teriorated. The  mind  is  contented  to  feed  upon  husks,  while 
the  heavenly  pleasures  connected  with  the  internal  study  of 
tiie  sacred  volume  are  untouched  and  unknown.     With  others 


in  constant  exercise.  His  own  example  proves,  that — instead 
of  a  sound  judgment  cooling  the  fervour  of  zeal  (as  it  is  some- 
times supposed  to  do) — it  increases  its  effect  by  directing  its 
movements.  Indeed  a  weakness  in  this  point  brings  with  it 
many  hindrances  to  a  settled  consistency  of  profession.  A 
luxuriant  imagination  often  obscures  the  well-regulated  and 
implicit  exercise  of  faith.  The  truth  is  often  clothed  with 
adventitious  attractions.  It  is  not  received  simply  as  of  God. 
There  is  a  want  of  clear  perfection  and  determined  grasp  of 
the  points  presented  to  view.  Again,  an  excited  tempera- 
ment without  a  staid  judgment,  opens  many  avenues  of  delu- 
sion. This  is  a  matter  of  frequent  notice  in  the  cases  of  a 
defective  religious  education,  or  of  late  conversion;  or  in  a 
rapid  transition  from  the  cares  of  business  or  the  warfare  of 
the  camp,  to  the  heated  atmospheres  which  are  now  to  be 
found  in  the  church.  The  dazzling  brightness  of  truth  break- 
ing in  upon  unfurnished  minds,  and  often  upon  palpable 
darkness,  overpowers  the  faculty  of  discrimination.  The 
overturn  of  their  former  opinions  has  destroj-ed  confidence  in 
their  own  conclusions  ;  and  together  with  their  old  prejudices, 
their  intellectual  stability  is  swept  awa}'. 

In  another  direction,  also,  lively  alTections  and  weak  judg- 
ment give  a  wrong  bias  to  the  character.     The  Christian  un- 
der an  enlivening  sense  of  the  Saviour's  love  is  ready  to  em- 
brace any  new  view  or  doctrine,  which  he  conceives  calcu- 
lated to  honour  and  exalt  him.     Now  a  controlling  power  is 
as  necessary  for  the  healthful  regularity  of  the  mind,  as  an  in- 
vigorating principle.     Opiniative  decision  is  too  often  mis- 
taken for  spiritual  principle.     We  want  the  influence  of  "  the 
wisdom  from  above,"  not  only  to  open  to  our  minds  expanded 
and  attractive  views  of  truth,  but  to  enable  us  to  atfix  to  every 
part  its  just  proportion — that  no  favourite  doctrines  be  sulfer- 
ed  to  absorb  our  interest,  or  be  raised  to  an  undue  impor- 
tance— that  essential  points  may  have  their  preponderance 
over  those  of  a  more  doubtful  character — that  every  step  of 
our  progress  may  present  to  us  a  more  complete  view  of  the 
harmony  of  the  system.     The  multitude  of  excursions  in  the 
theoloo'ical  field,  without  and  beyond  the  rule  of  revelation, 
are  an  evidence  of  that  wandering  of  the  mind  from  reality, 
and  that  triumph  of  imagination  over  truth,  that  denotes  a 
mind  not  in  the  full  possession  of  its  own  powers.     But  let 
us  in  another  track  be  careful  that  the  sublime  contemplation 
of  the  gospel  does  not  pamper  a  prurient  curiosity :  but  rather 
that  it  gives  a  more  settled  character  to  our  faith,  and  a  wise 
and  active  direction   to   our  practice.     Let  us  watch,  also 
under  the  exercise  of  this  sound  mind,  that  the  fear  of  uncer- 
tain doctrines  does  not  quench  the  ardour  of  Scriptural  inves- 
tigation— that  we  continue  our  research   "  unto  all  the  riches 
of  the  full  assurance  of  understanding," — that  we  go  on  as 
long  as  there  is  one  point  of  the  sacred  book  unexplored — 
"  forgetting  the  things  that  are  behind,  and  reaching  forth  unto 
those  things  that  are  before." 

We  cannot  but  remark,  how  frequently  a  defect  of  sound- 
ness of  mind  is  connected  ■with  unsteadiness  ot  Christian  pro- 
fession. And  indeed  in  all  cases,  important  talents  of  in- 
fluence are  wasted,  and  valuable  spheres  of  usefulness  are 


MEMOIR  OF  MARY  JANE  GRAHAM. 


251 


contracted,  hy  this  evil.  What  servant  of  God,  therefore, 
conscious  alike  of  his  responsibility  and  weakness,  will  not 
present  his  frequent  and  earnest  petition  to  the  throne  of 
erace,  "  Teach  me  good  judgment  and  knowledge  I"  These 
inestimable  blessings  are  not  the  exclusive  accomplishments 
of  highly-gifted  intellects.  The  believer,  weak  in  natural  in- 
telligence, but  simple  in  dependence  upon  his  God,  will  be 
not  only  guided,  but  established  in  the  truth,  even  in  the 
midst  of  abounding  errors.  He  will  be  taught  "not  to  be- 
lieve every  spirit,  but  to  try  the  spirits,  whether  they  be  of 
God."  He  will  he  led  to  "  try  the  things  that  diffur"  in  the 
church — tiot  by  the  holiness  of  their  several  iwofexsors,  (which — 
even  if  it  were  more  perfectly  apprehended — is  not  the  de- 
cisive Test  of  Truth,)  but  by  "the  law  and  the  testimony ;" 
being  assured,  "that  if  they  speak  not  according  to  this 
word" — though  they  be  "  angels  of  light" — "  there  is  no  light 
in  them." 

HI.  The  memoir  before  us  may  also  point  out  the  ground 
and  blessedness  of  Scriptural  enjoyment.  Miss  Graham's  full 
reception  of  the  high  principles  of  the  gospel  made  Christian 
devotedness  a  privilege,  and  Christian  resignation  the  path  of 
peace.  Her  clear  views  of  sovereign  grace ;  her  tender  spi- 
rit of  assured  confidence ;  and  the  briglit  beaming  rays  of  her 
hope  of  glory,  were  sources  of  incessant  energy  and  heavenly 
cheerfulness.  The  spiritual  atmosphere  in  which  she  lived, 
communicated  life  to  her  fainting  spirit.  Her  heart  received 
a  new  bent,  and  found  a  new  home  in  the  bosom  of  her  God. 
The  staid  sobriety  of  her  character,  the  happiness  she  found 
in  entire  consecration  of  herself  to  God ;  her  quiet  composure 
of  mind  in  the  chamber  of  suffering;  the  overcoming  strength 
and  vigour  sustaining  her  soul  in  joy  fulness;  abundantly 
proved,  that  she  had  not  embraced  an  ('mpty  cloud,  that  she 
had  not  canght  a  shadow  under  the  delusion  of  enjoying  God; 
but  that  God  was  indeed  the  rest  and  ])ortion  of  her  soul. 

But  what,  on  the  other  hand,  is  the  portion — what  the  pros- 
pect of  the  man  (whether  destitute  of  the  profession  of  the 
gospel,  or  holding  it  in  delusion),  who  lives  "  without  God 
in  the  world  ^  He  must  raise  his  "  altar,"  if  he  thinks  of 
worship  at  all  for  the  quieting  of  conscience — "To  the  un- 
known (iod."  He  makes  to  himself  a  God  after  his  own 
fancy,  his  own  heart ;  and  it  proves  to  be  an  infinite  nothing. 
Hecannot  know  his  Creator.*  He  cannot  therefore  enjoy  him. 
For  want  of  this  knowledge  and  enjoyment,  he  dooms  him- 
self to  everlasting  misery.  He  will  not  rest  in  God.  He 
cannot  rest  in  any  thing  short  of  God.  If  ever  there  was  a 
remedy  designed  for  man,  hearing  the  character  of  Divine 
love,  it  is  the  gospel  of  Jesus,  opening  an  uncreated  source  as 
alone  sufficient  to  cjuench  the  thirst  of  immortal  souls,  "Ho! 
every  one  that  thirstclh,  come  )'e  to  the  waters,  and  he  that 
hath  no  money  ;  come  ye,  buy,  and  eat ;  yea,  come,  buy  wine 
and  milk,  without  money  and  without  price.  Wherefore  do 
ye  spend  money  for  that  which  is  not  bread  1  and  your  labour 
for  that  which  satisfieth  not?  hearken  diligently  unto  me,  and 
eat  ye  that  which  is  good,  and  lot  your  soul  delight  itself  in 
fatness.  Incline  your  ear,  and  come  unto  me:  hear,  and 
your  soul  shall  live." 

Let  us  hear  the  breathings  of  the  holy  and  seraphic  IJaxter, 
after  this  soul-satisfying  portion.  '  In  thee  I  expect  my  true 
felicity  and  content.  To  know  thee,  and  love  thee,  and  de-; 
light  in  thee,  must  be  my  blessedness,  or  I  must  have  none.  ^ 

•  Sec  Miss  Graham's  striking  and  original  thoughts  on  this  subject 
in  the  latter  part  of  the  Test  of  Truth.  I 


The  little  tastes  of  this  sweetness,  which  my  thirsty  soul 
halh  had,  do  tell  rac  that  there  is  no  other  read  joy.  I  feel 
that  thou  hast  made  my  mind  to  know  thee,  my  heart  to  love 
thee,  my  tongue  to  praise  thee,  and  all  that  I  am  and  have  to 
serve  thee.  And  even  in  the  panting  languishing  desires  and 
motions  of  my  soul,  I  find  that  thou,  and  only  thou,  art  its 
resting  place ;  and  though  love  do  now  but  search,  and  pray, 
and  cry,  and  weep,  and  is  reaching  upward,  but  cannot  reach 
the  glorious  light,  the  blessed  knowledge,  the  perfect  love, 
for  which  it  longeth  ;  yet  by  its  eye,  its  aim,  its  motions,  its 
moans,  its  groans,  I  know  its  meaning,  where  it  would  be,  and 
I  know  its  end.  My  displaced  soul  will  never  be  well,  till  it 
come  near  to  thee,  till  it  know  thee  better,  till  it  love  thee 
more.  Wert  thou  to  be  found  in  the  most  solitary  desert,  it 
would  seek  thee ;  or  in  the  uttermost  parts  of  the  eartli,  it 
would  make  after  thee.  Thy  presence  makes  a  crowd  a 
church ;  thy  converse  makcth  a  closet,  or  solitary  wood  or 
field,  to  be  akin  to  the  angelical  choir.  The  creature  were 
dead,  if  thou  wert  not  its  life ;  and  ugly,  if  thou  wert  not  its 
beauty ;  and  insignificant,  if  thou  wert  not  its  sense.  The 
soul  is  deformed,  which  is  without  thine  image;  and  lifeless 
which  liveth  not  in  love  to  thee,  if  love  be  not  its  pulse,  and 
prayer  and  praise  its  constant  breath.  The  mind  is  unlearned, 
which  readeth  not  thy  name  on  all  the  world.  He  dreameth, 
who  doth  not  live  to  thee.  Oh !  let  me  have  no  other  por- 
tion !  no  reason,  no  love,  no  life,  but  what  is  devoted  to  thee, 
employed  on  thee,  and  for  thee  here,  and  shall  be  perfected  in 
Thee,  the  only  perfect,  final  object  for  evermore.  Upon  the 
holy  altar,  erected  by  thy  Son,  and  by  his  hands,  and  his  me- 
diation, I  humbly  devote  and  offer  to  thee  this  heart.  Oh ! 
that  I  could  say  with  greater  feeling — this  Jlatnin^,  loving, 
longing  heart !  But  the  sacred  fire  which  must  kindle  on  my 
sacrifice,  must  come  from  thee.  It  will  not  else  ascend  unto 
thee.  Let  it  consume  this  dross,  so  the  nobler  part  may  know 
its  home.  All  that  I  can  say  to  commend  it  to  thine  accept- 
ance, is,  that  I  hope  it  is  washed  in  precious  blood,  and  that 
there  is  something  in  it  that  is  thine  own.  It  still  looketh 
toward  thee,  and  groaneth  to  thee,  and  followeth  after  thee, 
and  will  be  content  with  gold,  and  mirth,  and  honour,  and 
such  inferior  fooleries  no  more.  It  lieth  at  thy  door,  and  will 
be  entertained,  or  perish.  Though  alas  !  it  loves  thee  not  as 
it  would.  I  boldly  say,  it  longs  to  love  thee.  It  loves  to 
love  thee.  It  seeks,  it  craves  no  greater  blessedness  than  per- 
fect, endless,  mutual  love.  It  is  vowed  to  thee,  even  to  thee 
alone,  and  will  never  take  up  with  shadows  more;  but  is 
resolved  to  lie  down  in  sorrow  and  despair,  if  thou  wilt  not 
be  its  rest  and  joy.  It  hateth  itself  for  loving  thee  no  more, 
accounting  no  want,  deformity,  shame,  or  pain,  so  great  and 
grievous  a  calamity.' 

Christians  !  You,  like  this  holy  man  of  God,  have  made 
trial  of  this  portion  ;  and  you  alone  are  competent  to  speak  of 
it.  You  can  bear  testimony  that  the  knowledge  and  enjoy- 
ment of  God,  coming  to  us  through  Christ,  our  Head,  our 
All,  is  unspeakable  bliss.  It  fills  the  most  enlarged  appetite 
of  the  soul.  It  fixes  our  hovering  thoughts  and  restless  an- 
ticipations. It  perfects  all  our  desires  in  holy  delight  and 
joy.  It  is  the  triumph  of  everlasting  love  over  all  the  wretch- 
edness, wants,  and  guilt  of  man.  It  gives  supreme  enjoy- 
ment in  life,  hope  in  death,  a  portion  for  eternity. 

"  Jdw)n  have  I  in  heaven  but  thee  ?  and  there  is  none  upon 
earth  that  I  desire  beside  thee.  My  Jlcsh  and  my  heart  faikth  : 
but  God  ii  the  strength  of  my  heart,  and  my  portion  for  ci-er." 


THE 


PERSONALITY  AND  OFFICE 


CHRISTIAN    COMFORTER 


ASSERTED  AND  EXPLAINED, 


A  COURSE  OF  SERMONS  ON  JOHN  XVI.  7,  PREACHED  BEFORE  THE  UNIVERSITY  OF 

OXFORD,  AT  THE  LECTURE  FOUNDED  BY  THE  LATE  REV.  JOHN 

BAMPTON,  M.A.,   CANON   OF  SALISBURY. 

/ 

BY  THE  LATE  RIGHT  REV.  REGINALD  HEBER, 

BISHOP  OF  CALCUTTA. 


Extract  from  the  last  Will  and  Testament  of  the  late  Rev,  John 

Bampton,  Canon  of  Salishury. 

"1  give  and  bequeath  my  Lands   and  Estates  to  the 

Chancellor,  Masters,  and  Scholars  of  the  University  of  Ox- 
ford for  ever,  to  have  and  to  hold  all  and  singular  the  said 
Lands  or  Estates  upon  trust,  and  to  tlie  intents  and  purposes 
herein-after  mentioned  ;  that  is  to  say,  I  will  and  appoint  that 
the  Vice-Chancellor  of  the  University  of  Oxford  for  the  time 
being  shall  take  and  receive  all  the  rents,  issues  and  profits 
thereof,  and  (after  all  taxes,  reparations,  and  necessary  de- 
ductions made)  that  he  pay  all  the  remainder  to  the  endow- 
ment of  eight  Divinity  Lecture  Sermons,  to  be  established 
for  ever  in  the  said  University,  and  to  be  performed  in  the 
manner  following  : 

"I  direct  and  appoint,  that,  upon  the  first  Tuesday  in 
Easter  Term,  a  Lecturer  be  yearly  chosen  by  the  Heads  of 
Colleges  only,  and  by  no  others,  in  the  room  adjoining  to 
the  Printing-House,  between  the  hours  often  in  the  morning 
and  two  in  the  afternoon,  to  preach  eight  Divinity  Lecture 
Sermons,  the  year  following,  at  St.  Mary's  in  Oxford,  between 
the  commencement  of  the  last  month  in  Lent  Term,  and  the 
end  of  the  third  week  in  Act  Term. 

"  Also  I  direct  and  appoint,  that  the  eight  Divinity  Lec- 
ture Sermons  shall  be  preached  upon  either  of  the  following 
subjects — to  confirm  and  establish  the  Christian  Faith,  and 
to  confute  all  heretics  and  schismatics — upon  the  divine  au- 
thority of  the  holy  Scriptures — upon  the  authority  of  the 
writings  of  the  primitive  Fathers,  as  to  the  faith  and  prac- 
tice of  the  primitive  Church — upon  the  Divinity  of  our  Lord 
and  Saviour  Jesus  Christ — upon  the  Divinity  of  the  Holy 


Ghost — upon  the  Articles  of  the  Christian  Faith,  as  compre- 
hended in  the  Apostles'  and  Nicene  Creeds. 

"Also  I  direct,  that  thirty  copies  of  the  eight  Divinity 
Lecture  Sermons  shall  be  always  printed,  within  two  months 
after  they  are  preached,  and  one  copy  shall  be  given  to  the 
Chancellor  of  the  University,  and  one  copy  to  the  Head  of 
every  College,  and  one  copy  to  the  Mayor  of  the  city  of  Ox- 
ford, and  one  copy  to  be  put  into  the  Bodleian  Library ;  and 
the  expence  of  printing  them  shall  be  paid  out  of  the  revenue 
of  the  Land  or  Estates  given  for  establishing  the  Divinity 
Lecture  Sermons  ;  and  the  preacher  shall  not  be  paid,  nor  be 
entitled  to  the  revenue,  before  they  are  printed." 


LECTURE  I. 

Nevertheless  I  tell  you  the  truth  ;  it  is  expedient  for  you  that  I  go 
away  :  for  if  I  go  not  away,  tlic  Comforter  will  not  come  uuto  you  j 
but  if  I  depart,  I  will  send  him  unto  you John  xvi.  7. 

This  was  the  prominent  topic  of  consolation  and  encourage- 
ment among  those  which  our  Saviour  suggested  for  the  sup- 
port of  his  earthly  friends  under  the  impending  affliction  of  his 
own  departure  from  the  world  ;  and  it  is  evident,  that  a  more 
than  common  interest  belongs  to  expressions  thus  awful  in 
themselves,  and  pronounced  on  so  awful  an  occasion. 

Had  Jesus  of  Nazareth  been  no  more  than  a  human  teacher 
of  virtue  and  philosophy,  adorned  as  he  was  with  every 
good  and  perfect  gift  to  which  our  nature  had  previously  as- 
pired in  vain,  we  should  have  attended,  doubtless,  with  affec- 
tionate and  reverential  curiosity,  to  the  latest  instructions  of 
matchless  wisdom,  the  concluding  result  of  a  life,  in  every 


IIEBER'S  BAMPTOxN  LECTURES. 


25i 


stage  of  its  career,  disting-uished  by  more  than  human  purit)'. 
The  words  of  dying  men  have,  mostly,  willing  auditors. 
The  universal  prejudice  of  mankind  (and  what  is  an  univer- 
sal prejudice  but  the  voice  of  human  nature  ?)  ascribes  to  the 
instructions  of  Death  a  something  like  divinity  ;  and  he  who 
was  wise  and  just  amid  the  struggle  of  contending  passions 
and  the  confusion  of  worldly  cares,  may  address  his  disciples 
with  still  greater  eSect  and  authority  when  those  passions 
and  those  cares  are  gone  by  for  ever.  He  who  is  himself  to 
reap  no  benefit  from  fraud  can  hardly  be  suspected  of  inten- 
tional deception ;  he,  from  whom  the  world  is  receding, 
may  discern,  in  that  remoter  prospect,  the  perfect  proportions 
of  its  general  form  and  value,  which  (while  the  mass  was 
nearer  to  his  eye)  were  lost  iu  the  minuter  detail  of  its  parts, 
or  obscured  by  the  intervening  breath  of  admiration  of  ca- 
lumny. 

Nor  can  it  be  denied,  that  we  naturally  affix  a  greater  value 
on  that  wisdom  and  friendship  of  which  we  are  no  longer  to 
enjoy  the  protection  ;  that  we  cling  with  peculiar  fondness  to 
whatever  is  the  last  of  its  kind,  and  that  the  recollection  of 
the  past  and  the  fear  of  what  may  follow,  conspire,  under 
circumstances  like  these,  to  stamp  the  present  with  a  tenfold 
interest  and  importance. 

But  there  is  yet  another  and  a  peculiar  reason  why  the 
latest  revelations  of  Jesus  have,  of  all  other  truths,  the 
strongest  claim  to  our  attention. 

A  prophet  of  the  most  High,  (for  as  such  he  is  acknow- 
ledged even  by  those  of  his  followers  who  think  most  meanly  of 
his  person  and  nature,)  and  the  greatest  of  all  to  whom  the 
name  of  prophet  has  been  at  any  time  applied  ;  we  cannot 
inquire,  without  the  strongest  and  most  reverential  curiosity, 
what  truth  that  was  which  he  reserved  to  be  the  last  of  his 
discoveries  to  mankind  ;  which,  as  the  most  important  feature 
of  his  commission,  he  deferred  to  communicate  till  the  com' 
munication  would  be  most  awful  and  impressive, — till  it 
would  be  remembered  W'ith  the  greatest  accuracy,  and  its 
consolation  would  be  most  required. 

This  discovery  was  the  promise  of  the  Comforter,  and  this 
promise  he  introduces  with  a  solemnity  of  asseveration  which 
might  seem  almost  unnecessary,  if  it  were  not  obviously  and 
admirably  calculated  to  excite  in  his  followers'  attention  the 
most  profound,  the  most  implicit  and  submissive  faith. 

"  I  tell  you  the  truth,"  are  his  words  to  whom  falsehood 
was  unknown,  "  I  tell  you  the  truth  ;  it  is  expedient  for  you 
that  I  go  away  :  for  if  I  go  not  away,  the  Comforter  will 
not  come ;  but  if  1  depart,  I  will  send  him  unto  you." 

The  value  of  this  boon  we  may  in  some  measure  estimate 
by  the  intensity  of  the  loss  which  it  was  designed  to  repair, 
the  departure  of  our  Saviour  from  the  world.  "  Vidisse 
Christum  in  carne"  was,  in  the  opinion  of  Augustin,  the 
height  of  mortal  hap])iness  ;  that  must  have  been  no  common 
blessing  which  could  dry  the  tears  of  the  children  of  the 
l)ride-chamber  when  the  Bridegroom  had  been  so  recently 
taken  from  them:  nor  is  the  epoch  of  our  Saviour's  decease 
any  otherwise  described  by  the  Prophets  or  by  Christ  him- 
self, than  as  a  season  of  desolation  and  mourning  to  all. 

"I  will  smite  the  Shepherd,"  said  God,  "and  the  sheep 
shall  be  scattered."  "  When  the  Bridegroom  is  taken  from 
them,"  were  the  words  of  Christ  while  on  earth,  "  then  shall 
they  fast  in  those  days."  "  Ye  shall  weep  and  lament,  but 
the  world  shall  rejoice,  and  ye  shall  be  sorrowful." 

And  for  such  a  sorrow  they  had,  doubtless,  ample  cause  : 
the  time  was  coming,  wherein  whosoever  killed  them  should 
think  he  rendered  an  acceptable  service  to  God  ;  a  period  of 
trouble  was  to  follow  the  Jdessiah's  removal,  "  such  as  never 
was,  since  there  was  a  nation,  until  that  time."  "  When 
the  father  was  to  be  against  the  son  and  the  son  against  the 
father,"  and  "when  a  man's  foes  were  to  be  they  of  his  own 
household." 

And  into  this  bad  world,  these  times  of  cruelty  and  moral 
convulsion,  they  were  sent  out  as  sheep  among  wolves,  with- 
out his  guardianship  who  was  their  only  Shepherd,  under 
whose  guidance  they  had  hitherto  lacked  nothing.  We" 
might  it  be,  that,  when  he  had  announced  to  them  his  ap- 
proaching departure,  their  hearts  were  filled  with  sorrow, 
when  Jesus  himself  had  wept  in  pity  for  the  evils  which 
were  coming  on  the  world  ! 

Nor  was  this  painful  sense  of  their  loss  and  of  their  orphan 
and  destitute  condition  to  be  removed,  though  it  might  be 
rendered  less  intolerable,  by  the  knowledge  of  their  Master's 
triumph  over  the  gates  of  death. 

For,  though  assured,  by  this  means,  of  his  happiness  and 
glory  ;  assured  that  they  %vere  the  objects  still  of  his  invisi 
ble  affection  and  favour,  the  friends  whom  he  had  loved  on 


earth,  and  for  whom  he  now,  in  heaven,  interceded ;  yet  the 
withdrawing  of  his  visible  presence,  the  cessation  of  his  con- 
verse, the  cheerless  void  which  occupied  the  place  of  all 
which  had  constituted  the  former  grace  and  glory  of  their  sect, 
— were  suflicient  to  justify  in  minds  of  firmer  texture  than 
those  which  the  Apostles  appear  to  have  possessed,  the 
greatest  imaginable  degree  of  grief,  ofanxiety,  of  ap])rehension, 
of  despair.  Accustomed  to  such  a  Teacher,  how  could  his 
place  be  supplied  amcng  men  1  Deserted  by  such  a  Guardian, 
how  could  they  hope  for  safety  from  the  world,  from  the 
devil,  from  themselves  I  When  that  smile  was  withdrawn,  in 
which  innocence  and  childhood  loved  to  repose;  that  majes- 
jestic  countenance,  before  which  guilt  sank  down  abashed, 
and  hypocrisy  dropped  her  saintly  mantle  ;  that  voice  which 
neither  the  spirits  of  hell,  nor  the  deaf  and  boisterous  ele- 
ments could  disobey  or  sustain;  what  occupation,  what  am- 
bition could  have  a  zest  for  those  who  had  been  accustomed 
to  the  service  of  such  a  Master?  On  what  could  their  thoughts 
repose  when  the  centre  of  tlieir  aflections  was  gone?  and 
how  weak  and  unavailing  would  the  consolation  have  been  to 
trace  his  footsteps  in  those  cities  where  his  power  had  been 
displayed  ;  to  visit,  in  mournful  pilgrimage,  the  scenes  where 
they  had  eaten  and  drank  in  his  presence;  the  paths  by 
which  they  had  walked  to  the  house  of  God  in  company  ? 
"  Let  us  also  go  that  we  may  die  with  our  Lord"  had  been,  on 
a  former  occasion,  the  sentiment  of  one  among  their  number; 
and,  if  the  desire  of  death  were  ever  either  justifiable  or  natu- 
ral, it  must  surely  have  been  both  the  one  and  the  other  in  the 
Messiah's  surviving  followers. 

But  from  this  state  of  depression  the  coming  of  the  Para- 
clete was  to  set  them  free;  from  this  depth  of  bitterness  he 
was  to  arouse  their  spirits  to  the  lofty  destinies  of  their  ap- 
pointed mission  and  ministry;  their  sorrow  was  to  be  turned 
into  jo}-,  and  their  joy  neither  persecution,  nor  affliction,  nor 
poverty,  was  thenceforth  to  take  awaj'.  Nay,  more  than  this, 
the  loss  of  Christ  was  to  be  their  eventual  gain:  not  only 
does  the  Messiah  comfort  them  by  the  hope  that  they  were 
to  be  no  losers  by  his  departure;  the  compensation  which  he 
promised  was  to  be  such  as  should  overflow  in  their  favour; 
and,  on  this  account  alone,  and  abstracted  from  that  other 
consideration  of  the  remission  of  sin  by  his  blood,  (of  which 
our  Lord  himself,  for  reasons  which  may  be  hereafter  shown, 
but  seldom  spake,  and  sp.ake  in  the  obscurity  of  parables,)  it 
was  expedient  for  them  that  Christ  should  go  away. 

Nor,  though  this  would  be  amply  sufficient  to  excite  cur 
ardent  curiosity,  does  the  importance  of  the  inquiry  terminate 
with  the  consolation  which  the  Paraclete  atVorded  to  those 
with  whom  Christ  had  sojourned  in  the  world,  and  who  re- 
gretted him  as  a  visible  Benefactor.  An  accurate  compre- 
hension of  the  expressions  employed  b}'  our  Lord  is  necessary 
to  the  comprehension  of  that  entire  system  of  salvation  which 
it  was  his  errand  to  accomplish  and  secure;  necessary  to  our 
faith,  inasmuch  as  from  hence,  in  no  small  degree,  the  grounds 
of  our  fiiitli  are  derived ;  necessar}'  to  our  love  and  gratitude, 
inasmuch  as  from  hence  we  learn  the  full  weight  of  that  mercy 
which  we  have  obtained  from  our  Maker  and  Redeemer.  By 
ascertaining  the  fulfilment  of  the  promise  we  may  be  en- 
couraged to  a  holy  confidence  in  our  Christian  warfare,  and 
schooled  to  a  submissive  dependance  on  that  power  and  those 
iierits,  through  which  alone  such  assistance  is  accorded.  By 
fixing  the  extent  and  character  of  God's  help  we  may  be  pre- 
vented, on  the  other  hand,  from  an  unauthorized  reliance  on 
his  influence  in  points  to  which  that  influence  was  never  in- 
tended to  apply;  we  may  obtain  a  sufficient  canon  to  measure 
the  opposite  statements  of  irreligion  and  enthusiasm ;  to  de- 
tect the  extravagant  claims  of  the  last,  and  the  unreasonable 
cavils  of  the  former ;  and  to  decide,  with  somewhat  more  ex- 
actness than  has  hitherto  been  attempted,  in  what  respects 
the  promise  applies  to  the  universal  Christian  world,  and  in 
what,  more  especially,  to  the  earliest  teachers  of  Christianity. 

It  is  my  intention,  therefore,  in  the  following  Lectures,  to 
discuss,  to  the  best  of  my  power,  the  nature  and  office  of  the 
Comforter  promised  by  our  Lord,  and  the  benefits  which  the 
apostles  in  particular,  or,  in  general,  the  great  body  of  be- 
lievers in  Christ,  were  authorized  by  that  promise,  to  expect 
through  his  means.  And  1  am  the  rather  induced  to  under- 
take this  arduous  inquiry,  because,  though  the  importance  of 
the  questions  which  it  involves  has  been  at  all  times  ac- 
knowledged and  by  all ;  yet  has  the  attention  of  theologians 
been,  perhaps,  less  occupied  by  this,  than  by  any  other  spe- 
cific discussion. 

Those  mighty  champions  of  English  and  Christian  ortho- 
doxy, who,  in  the  demonstration  of  our  Lord's  Divinity  and 
of  the  atonement  of  sin  by  his  blood,  have  left  behind  them 


254 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


labours  %yhich  no  sophistry  can  shake,  no  talents  hope  to 
rival,  have  been  contented,  for  the  most  part,  to  refer  inci- 
dentally and  sliiihtly  to  the  being  and  functions  of  the  third 
Person  in  the  Trinity,  as  if  He,  by  whom  we  are  sanctified 
to  life  eternal,  were  of  less  moment  to  Christians  than  He, 
by  whom  we  are  created  and  redeemed ;  or,  as  if  the  exist- 
ence of  the  Holy  Ghost  wore  not  exposed  to  the  same,  or 
even  ruder  assailants  than  have  denied  the  Godhead  of  the 
Son. 

Nor,  of  the  few  whose  inquiries  are  professedly  directed 
to  the  assertion  of  the  being  and  elucidation  of  the'  office  of 
the  Holy  Ghost,  is  there  any  one  who  has  embraced  so  copious 
a  view  of  the  subject  as  to  deny  to  succeeding  labourers  the 
hope  of  advantage  in  discussing  its  subordinate  branches. 
With  much  of  natural  acuteness,  and  a  style  which,  though 
unpolished,  is  seldom  wearisome,  Clagitt  had  too  little  learn, 
ing  to  be  ever  profound,  and  too  much  rashness  to  be  always 
orthodox.  Where  he  exposes  the  inconsistency  of  the  Puritan 
arguments,  his  work  is  not  without  a  certain  share  of  useful- 
ness ;  but  for  the  purposes  of  general  edification  we  may 
search  his  pages  in  vain ;  nor  would  he  have  preserved  so 
long  the  share  of  reputation  which  he  holds,  if  it  had  not 
been  for  the  circumstance  that  he  was  Owen's  principal  an 
tagonist.  Ridley,  whose  talents  and  acquirements  have  not 
been  rewarded  with  the  fame  to  which,  far  more  than  Clagitt, 
he  is  entitled,  has  erred,  nevertheless,  in  the  injudicious  ap- 
plication of  heathen  traditions;  and  both  Clagitt  and  Ridley 
have  altogether  neglected  the  consideration  of  the  office  of 
God's  Spirit  as  the  peculiar  Comforter  of  Christians. 

With  those  who  arc  not  members  of  our  English  Church 
"  Dr.  Owen's  voluminous  work  on  the  Spirit  is  held  in  high 
estimation;  and,  in  default  of  others,  has  been  often  recom- 
mended to  the  perusal,  not  of  dissenters  onl)',  but  of  the 
younger  clergy  themselves.  But  in  Owen,  though  his  learn- 
ing and  piety  were,  doubtless,  great,  and  though  few  have 
excelled  him  in  the  enviable  talent  of  expressing  and  exciting 
devotional  feelings,  yet  have  his  peculiar  sentiments  and  po- 
litical situation  communicated  a  tinge  to  the  general  character 
of  his  volume,  unfavourable  alike  to  rational  belief  and  to 
religions  charity.  His  arrangement  is  lucid  ;  his  language 
not  inelef;:ant ;  and  his  manner  of  treating  the  subject  is  at 
least  sufficiently  copious.  But,  as  he  has  most  of  the  merits, 
so  has  he  all  the  imperfections  characteristic  of  his  age  and 
party;  a  deep  and  various  but  ill-digested  reading;  a  tedious- 
ness  of  argument,  unhappily  not  incompatible  with  a  fre- 
quent precipitancy  of  conclusion  ;  a  querulous  and  censorious 
tone  in  speaking  of  all  who  difier  from  him  in  opinion  ;  while 
his  attempt  to  reconcile  the  Calvanistic  doctrine  of  irresistible 
grace  with  the  conditional  promises  of  the  gospel,  may  be 
placed,  perhaps,  among  the  most  unfortunate  specimens  of 
reasoning  which  have  ever  found  readers  or  admirers.* 

Of  recent  authors,  where  blame  would  be  invidious,  and 
■where  it  would  seem  presumptuous  to  bestow  commendation, 
1  may  be  excused  from  saying  more  than  that  the  plan  of  the 
present  Lectures  will  be  found  to  dilTer  materially  from  any 
with  which  I  am  yet  acquainted.  There  is  another,  how 
ever,  and  a  greater  name  than  all  whom  I  have  noticed,  whose 
Doctrine  of  Grace  (those  parts  at  least  which  belong  not  to 
temporary  fanaticism  and  factions  best  forgotten,)  must  ever 
be  accounted,  so  far  as  its  subject  extends,  in  the  number  of 
those  works  which  are  the  property  of  every  age  and  country, 
and  of  which,  though  succeeding  critics  may  detect  the  hu- 
man blemishes,  the  vigour  and  originality  will  remain,  per- 
haps, unrivalled. 

JBut,  on  the  Personality  and  Deity  of  the  Holy  Ghost,  the 
genius  of  Warburton  is  silent;  and  that  occasional  rashness, 
which  is  the  attendant  curse  on  conscious  power,  has  des- 
troyed, in  his  writings,  that  uniform  and  wary  accuracy  which 
alone  can  so  far  occupy  the  ground  as  to  preclude  the  ne- 
cessity of  additional  illustration  or  inquirj-.  On  ground  like 
this,  indeed,  (the  most  fertile,  perhaps,  in  tares,  and  the  most 
liable  to  invasion  of  anj'  in  the  Evangelical  heritage,)  our 
labours  can  never  be  superfluous  ;  nor  are  they  to  be  despised, 
who  bear,  with  whatever  strength  or  fortune,  their  efforts  and 
offerings  to  the  common  stock  of  knowledge  and  virtue  ;  who, 
following  the  path  of  more  illustrious  adventurers,  beat  down, 
as  they  revive,  the  h3'dra  heads  of  sophistry ;  whose  occupa- 


*  By  a  portion  of  our  pati-ons,  the  sentiments  contained  in  tliis 
nn<l  some  otlier  paragraps  in  iTiese  Lcctines,  will  not  be  approved  ; 
but  as  tlle  main  design  ol'  the  work  is  tlie  vindiiation  of  truths  in 
whicli  all  evangelical  Cbrislians  agree,  we  shall  not,  we  trnst,  in 
consequenee  of  its  selection,  incur  tlie  charge  of  forgettini;  our 
pledge  to  "  carefully  avoid  sectariaiii?ni." — Eil.  C'li.  Lib. 


tion  it  is  to  eradicate  those  weeds  of  error  which  aspire  to 
wreathe  their  poisonous  tendrils  round  the  fairest  pillars  of 
the  sanctuary,  and  to  chase  those  obscene  birds  of  darkness 
and  rapine,  which  from  time  return  to  scream  and  nestle  in 
the  shadow  of  the  altar  of  God. 

It  has  been  urged,  however,  (and  it  is  an  objection  which, 
doubtless,  would  apply,  if  to  any  theological  subject  what- 
ever, to  one  which,  like  the  present,  confessedly  involves  the 
most  mysterious  topics  of  Christianity),  it  has  been  urged  on 
grave  authoritj',  that  the  painful  examination  of  religious  mys- 
teries is  at  once  unnecessary  and  unwise;  that,  while  open 
infidelity  and  open  irreligion  assail,  with  more  than  menaces, 
that  faith  and  tliose  morals  in  which  we  are  all  agreed  who 
assume  the  name  of  Christians,  it  is  safer  and  better  to  forget 
our  internal  feuds  in  the  common  daijger  of  the  great  confed- 
eracy. It  is  urged  that  the  churchman,  neglecting  the  out- 
works of  his  peculiar  system,  should  concentrate  his  efforts 
to  the  maintenance  of  those  points  which  are  really  essential 
to  salvation  ;  that  he  will  find  sufficient  employment  in  con- 
ciliating infidels  to  adopt  these  necessary  features  without 
the  additional  disgust  of  mystery  ;  that  to  vanquish  the  vices 
of  Christians  is  a  nobler  and  easier  task  than  that  of  confuting 
their  heresies;  and  that,  if  the  heart  be  insensible  to  the  mo- 
rality of  the  gospel,  it  is  to  little  purpose  to  inform  the  head 
with  the  refinements  of  polemical  divinity. 

It  is  to  this  eflect  that  Ogden  reasons  in  his  Tenth  Sermon 
on  the  Articles  of  the  Christian  Faith;  and  the  doctrine 
is  so  favourable  to  the  indiflerence  of  some  and  the  indolence 
of  others,  that  we  need  not  wonder  that  a  very  numerous  pro- 
portion of  the  world  should  regard  with  contempt,  or  dislike, 
or  pit}',  whatever  eflbrts  are  made  to  understand  or  assert  the 
more  intricate  passages  of  .Scripture. 

Those  who  are  engrossed  in  other  cares,  and  those  to  whom 
all  care  is  hateful,  are  alike  unwilling  to  embark  in  discus- 
sions which  involve  in  their  very  preliminaries  an  obligation 
to  patience  and  to  toil ;  and  the  caution  of  the  grave  and  the 
ridicule  of  the  gay  will  often  join  their  strength  to  bring  us 
back  from  these  thorny  labyrinths  into  the  safe  and  beaten 
common  places  of  that  general  morality,  of  which  the  inhe- 
rent beauty  attests  its  divine  original,  and  which  commands 
the  assent  and  admiration  of  every  reasonable  being. 

Beauty  and  strength,  however,  are  not  synonymous;  and 
it  may,  perhaps,  be  doubted,  whether  (to  enforce  those  rules 
of  action  which  we  are  called  on  in  our  practical  discourses 
to  recommend)  it  be  not  necessary  to  deduce  their  obligation 
from  those  very  mysterious  truths  whose  discussion  is  thus 
interdicted.  The  Almighty  himself  is  a  better  judge  than 
any  one  of  his  creatures,  what  propositions  respecting  his 
own  essence  and  his  intercourse  v.ith  men,  are  advisable  or 
necessary  for  men  to  know.  If  we  have  really  an)'  means  of 
ascertaining  his  intentions  in  these  respects,  it  must  be  by 
the  observation  of  what  truths  are  revealed  in  Scripture; 
nor  has  our  Maker  ever  shown  himself  so  prodigal  of  the  tree 
of  knowledge,  as  to  induce  us  to  believe  that  any  thing  is 
thus  revealed  which  it  does  not  greatly  concern  us  to  ex- 
amine. 

The  assumption,  then,  on  which  the  whole  of  those  argu- 
ments proceed,  which  seek  to  deter  us  from  all  discussion  of 
the  Christian  mysteries,  in  itself  is,  apparently,  such  as  no 
system  can  safely  repose  on.  For,  if  it  be  shown  that  the 
knowledge  of  such  truths  is  important  to  man,  (and  their  im- 
portance may  be  fairlj'  inferred  from  the  circumstance  that 
God  has  thought  lit  to  make  them  know  to  his  creatures),  if 
this  importance  be  demonstrated,  it  must  follow  that,  on  this 
ground  alone,  it  is  our  duty  to  state  them  fully  and  fairly  to 
mankind,  without  perplexing  ourselves  farther  as  to  their  ab- 
solute necessit}',  or  attempting  to  decide  how  far  or  in  what 
manner  the  ignorant  or  incredulous  may  be  saved  or  punished. 
To  us  these  truths  are  revealed,  for  we  acknowledge  them ; 
and,  if  they  are  parts  of  that  revelation  of  winch  we  are,  pro- 
fessedly, God's  messengers  to  the  world,  it  remains  to  be 
shown  on  what  pretence  we  conceive  ourselves  at  liberty  to 
intercept  or  suppress  any  part  of  our  commission  ;  what  right 
we  can  plead  to  establish  a  distinction  which  God  has,  cer- 
tainly, not  appointed  between  esoteric  and  exoteric  Christi- 
anity. 

We  are  told,  indeed,  that  it  is  incumbent  on  Christians  of 
all  classes  and  denominations  to  sink  their  minor  differences 
in  the  common  and  glorious  defence  of  those  hading  truths  of 
revelation  in  which  all  acknowledge  themselves  concerned, 
and  which  infidelity  has  attacked  with  a  violence  which  calls 
on  the  united  efforts  of  all  to  repel. 

If  there  be  any  meaning  in  this  assertion,  it  must  be  that, 
until  the  opposers  of  Revealed  Religion  in  general  are  an- 


HEBER'S  BAMPTON  LECTURES. 


255 


swered,  it  is  unwise  and  unchristian  to  enter  into  the  discus- 
sion ofanj'  topic  on  which  all  Christians  are  not  agreed.  And 
for  this  restriction,  (which,  if  it  be  allowed  at  the  present 
moment,  must,  to  all  human  appearance,  continue  in  force  till 
the  final  victory  of  Christ  in  the  valley  of  Armageddon),  for 
this  restriction  two  reasons  are  alleged ;  the  first,  that  the 
defence  of  universal  Christianity  is  more  necessary  than  the 
detail  of  its  subordinate  features ;  the  second,  that  the 
heathen  and  infidel  arc  scandalized  by  our  divisions,  and  that 
we  cannot  make  converts  to  a  religion  of  which  the  leading 
tenets  are,  even  with  ourselves,  the  subject  of  doubt  and  di; 
putation. 

But  unless  it  can  be  proved,  that  the  service  of  no  single 
labourer  can  he  spared,  even  a  moment,  from  defending  the 
boundarj'  of  the  common  vineyard,  though  it  be  to  root  out 
the  tares  which  threaten  to  make  that  vineyard  little  worth 
defending;  unless  a  necessity  can  be  shown  that  every  ser- 
mon which  we  preach,  and  every  essay  which  we  publish, 
should  be  devoted  to  the  confutation  of  deism,  this  argument 
can  hardly  be  considered  as  w-orth  a  serious  answer. 

We  do  not  consider  ourselves  as  called  upon  to  settle  the 
precedence  of  duties  of  which,  as  we  contend,  neither  the  one 
nor  the  other  should  be  neglected.  We  do  not  pretend  to 
derogate  from  the  merited  honours  of  those  illustrious  vindi- 
cators of  our  common  faith,  within  whose  scope  and  compass 
it  did  not  fall  to  notice  the  shades  of  difterence  which  unfor- 
tunately prevail  among  the  professed  disciples  of  our  Mes- 
siah. 

But  this  we  do  maintain,  and  we  maintain  it,  as  we  appre- 
hend, on  every  principle  both  of  reason  and  revelation,  that 
he  who  honestly  and  earnestly,  and  in  the  spirit  of  Christian 
meekness,  contends  for  any  single  circumstance  of  revealed 
religion,  is  as  laudably  though  not  so  conspicuously  diligent 
in  his  master's  service,  as  those  superior  spirits  whose  wis- 
dom and  experience  have  battled  with  the  rage  of  the  pagan 
dragon,  or  unravelled  the  serpentine  wiles  of  atheistic  seduc' 
tion. 

But  further  :  the  argument  which  is  thus  deduced,  a  majore 
ct  inslant'iiire  perirulii,  requires  the  supposition  of  a  case, 
which,  if  it  be  nut  impossible  in  itself,  has  never  been  for  a 
moment  jiossiblc  since  the  first  promulgation  of  Christianity  ; 
that  the  individual  to  whom  it  is  applied  is  the  solitary  dc 
fender  of  our  common  faith,  and  of  his  own  peculiar  confess 
ion.  It  supposes  that  the  deist  and  atheist  have  never  3'et 
received  a  sufficient  answer  to  their  objections;  that  if  we, 
unfit  as  we  may  conceive  ourselves  for  such  a  struggle,  do 
not  buckle  on  our  armour  for  this  particular  quarrel,  and  to  the 
neglect  of  every  other  .Scriptural  inquiry,  we  shall  find,  like  the 
warriors  of  A\,  that  our  successes  in  other  quarters  have 
only  served  to  draw  us  farther  from  the  defence  of  our  cita- 
del ;  that,  while  we  chase  the  sociuian  on  one  side,  the  more 
formidable  deist  advances  on  tlie  other;  and  that  we  shall 
be  called,  ere  long,  from  the  exultation  of  fancied  victory,  by 
the  crash  of  falling  towers,  and  the  smoke  of  our  expiring 
temple. 

Yet,  surely,  that  vanity  is  little  short  of  ludicrous,  which 
supposes  itself,  like  Elijah,  alone  in  an  apostate  world,  or 
which  apprehends  that,  because  Quintus  or  Titius  is  enga- 
ged in  a  subordinate  skirmish,  no  watchmen  are  left  upon  the 
walls  of  Sion.  There  are,  (Jod  be  praised,  many  thousands 
besides  ourselves  in  Israel  who  have  never  bowed  the  knee 
to  Baal ;  and  while  we  are  occupied  in  the  assertion  of  any 
portion  of  divine  truth,  we  may  trust  without  difliculty  to 
the  Lord  of  all,  that  defenders  will  not  be  wanting  to  the 
general  interests  of  his  cause. 

was  the  answer  of  Hector  to  the  proposal  of  Andromache, 
that  he  should  concentrate  his  forces  to  the  defence  of  what 
was  most  valuable  in  Ilium ;  and  their  apprehensions,  who 
suppose  that  in  the  din  of  controversy  the  Seaman  gate  will 
be  taken  by  surprise,  have  more  of  feminine  weakness  than 
of  that  soldierly  watchfulness,  which  is  content  to  maintain 
with  unshaken  courage  the  post  allotted  to  his  particular 
care,  and  commits  the  rest  to  that  great  Captain  of  liis  salva- 
tion whose  eye  embraces  every  part  and  region  of  the  battle. 
The  second  assertion,  that  it  is  best  to  be  silent  on  the 
subordinate  features  of  dilTerence  among  Christians,  lest  the 
heathen  or  the  infidel  should  hesitate  to  listen  even  to  those 
positions  in  which  we  are  all  agreed,  may  be  sufiiciently 
answered  by  the  admission,  that,  in  controversy  wilii  the 
heathen,  we  by  no  means  recommend  an  undue  or  unseason- 
able protrusion  of  controverted  |)oints;  and  that  it  may  be, 
doubtless,  wise  to  establish  firmly  the  elements  of  t'hristi- 


anity,  before  we  call  on  our  convert  to  agree  with  us  in  th 
consequences  which,  according  to  our  opinion,  those  element 
involve.  But  though  the  .being  of  a  God,  the  truth  of  the 
Mosaic  history,  the  miracles  of  Christ,  his  death  and  resur- 
rection, are  positions  which  arc  primarily  necessary  to  the 
profession  of  Christianity,  yet  are  they  first  in  sviceession, 
not  first  in  consequence ;  first  as  the  foundation  of  the  rest, 
not  first  as  of  more  practical  importance  than  that  superstruct- 
ure for  whose  sake  the  foundation  itself,  in  fact,  is  laid. 

And,  though  it  may  be  inexpedient  to  introduce  such 
topics  out  of  their  place,  it  would  be  a  lamentable  want  both 
of  candour  and  courage  to  deny  them  when  imputed  to  us; 
or,  when  called  on  to  give  an  account  of  our  fiith,  to  soften 
away  its  peculiaraliiies  for  the  sake  of  cheating  mankind 
into  a  nominal  Christianity.  All  which  is  implied  in  .St. 
Paul's  expression  of  tnil/i  for  babes  in  C/irisl,  is  no  more  than 
the  necessity  of  advancing  first  the  simplest  propositions  in 
a  chain  of  argument;  and  the  same  St.  I'aul,  who,  of  all 
men,  had  a  spirit  most  truly  catholic,  and  whose  converts 
were  of  all  Christian  teachers  the  most  numerous,  was  not 
more  active  in  extending  the  limits  of  the  faith,  than  in 
repressing  the  domestic  errors  of  those  who  had  already  em- 
braced it. 

What  is,  indeed,  (we  may  reasonably  inquire,)  what  is  the 
practice  which  these  zealots  for  universal  Christianilj'  recom- 
mend to  the  several  sects  who  call  themselves  by  the  name 
of  Jesus?  The  suppression,  on  one  part  and  on  the  other,  of 
truths  which  we  severally  believe  to  be  divine ;  the  admission 
of  practices  or  opinions  which  our  hearts  regard  as  contrary 
to  the  gospel  which  we  profess  to  teach !  And  of  such  a 
sacrifice  what  is  to  be  the  object  or  the  end?  To  impose  on 
a  few  ignorant  deists,  (if  any  deists  are  indeed  so  ignorant 
as  to  be  thus  imposed  on,)  by  the  appearance  of  a  false  unan- 
imity among  ourselves,  and  to  recommend  to  their  accept- 
ance, as  the  common  faith  of  Christians,  a  mutilated  and  dis- 
figured reliijion,  deprived  of  every  peculiar  feature  which  can 
distinguish  it  from  natural  deism,  every  discovery  of  God's 
will  or  nature  which  could  furnish  an  adequate  motive  for  the 
preaching  or  sufferings  of  his  Son  ! 

It  may  seem,  then,  if  it  be  truly  asserted,  (which,  however, 
has  never  yet  been  proved.)  that  unbelievers  are  chiefly  de- 
terred from  Christianity  by  the  mysterious  features  of  our 
system — it  may  seem  the  best  and  wisest  (as  it  is  surely  the 
most  candid)  method  of  addressing  them,  instead  of  softening 
down  those  obnoxious  truths,  which  are  not  less  true  because 
the}'  are  obnoxious,  to  state  with  calmness  and  sincerity  the 
grounds  on  which  we  ourselves  have  been  induced  to  believe 
them. 

The  result  of  such  a  statement  must  be  committed  to  that 
God  who  will  not  suffer  his  altars  to  be  approached  with  un- 
hallowed fire;  in  whose  c}'es  deceit  is  no  more  a  justifiable 
method  of  conversion  than  violence;  who  rejects  alike  the 
forgery  of  pretended  miracle  and  the  dissimulation  of  pretend- 
ed candour;  and  who  has  pronounced  an  equal  curse  against 
those  who  add  to  and  those  who  take  away  from  the  words  of 
his  book,  the  system  of  his  revelation  ! 

Not  even,  therefore,  for  the  sake  of  converting  an  unbe- 
iever,  not  for  the  sake  of  saving  a  soul,  (if  it  were  possible 
that  a  soul  should  by  this  ineans  be  saved,)  is  it  lawful  to 
dissemble  our  faith.  Still  less,  however,  can  their  cowardice 
or  indolence  expect  a  pardon,  who,  for  the  sake  of  repose,  or 
in  the  hope  of  popularity,  are  content  to  purchase  the  forbear- 
ance of  their  adversaries  by  the  abandonment  of  doctrines 
which  thej'  still  believe  to  be  true,  and  desert  what  the)'  are 
apt  to  term  the  outworks  of  Christianity,  for  the  sake,  as 
they  tell  us,  of  defending  its  citadel  more  effectually.  Such 
men  it  may,  perhaps,  be  useful  to  remind,  that  concession,  as 
a  sign  of  weakness,  is  in  worldly  affairs  regarded  as  an  in- 
centive to  fresh  assault;  and  that  to  press  hard  on  the  heels 
of  a  retiring  adversary  is  a  maxim  as  well  in  polemics  as  in 
war.  But  in  fact  we  can  pretend  no  right  to  compromise  or. 
suppress  any  single  circumstance  of  that  which  is  in  Scripture 
impressively  denominated  "  the  entire  counsel  of  God,"'  and 
it  is  our  duty  to  contend  earnestly  for  the  whole  of  that  truth 
which  was  originall)'  delivered  to  the  saints. 

Let  nie  not,  however,  be  mistaken.  There  is  an  unanimity 
to  which  every  Christian  is  bound,  (and  of  which  that  holy 
and  honourable  name  is  the  pledge  and  only  boundary,)  the 
unanimity  of  good  oflices  and  affection.  Where  our  best  en- 
deavours fail  to  prevent  religious  disunion,  where  diflerence 
is  unavoidable,  it  is  in  our  power,  at  least,  to  dilTer  charitably. 
If  we  Cannot  pray  together,  we  may,  at  least,  do  good  in 
company;  and  our  reverence  for  those  common  principles 
whose  truth  we  acknowledge,  though,  in  our  opinion,  they  do 


256 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


not  constitute  the  whole  of  that  truth  which  is  in  Christ,  will 
lead  us  to  rejoice  in  their  dilTusion,  however  and  by  whomso- 
ever accomplished.  Where  disunion  is  needless,  we  cannot 
be  too  catholic;  hut  to  sacrifice  on  the  altar  pf  pretended 
liberality  those  distinctive  circumstances  from  which  our  in- 
dividual hope  is  drawn;  to  weaken  the  hands  of  those  who 
think  with  us,  and  to  confirm  by  our  example  the  rest  in  their 
deadly  error;  this  is  a  conduct  more  criminal  than  the  worship 
of  Naainan  in  the  house  of  Kimmon,  inasmuch  as  our  know- 
ledge is  more  perfect  than  that  of  the  Syrian  chief,  and  the 
mercy  which  we  have  received  is  greater. 

It  has  been  objected,  lastly,  that  the  time  which  we  bestow 
on  these  abstruser  subjects  is  far  more  than  commensurate  to 
their  practical  importance  and  utility;  that  morality  suffers 
while  we  concentrate  all  our  force  for  the  expulsion  of  error; 
and  that  the  heads  of  our  disciples  are  engrossed  with  barren 
mysteries,  while  their  hearts  are  hardened  or  unimproved. 

This  argument,  it  is  plain,  proceeds  on  an  assumption  no 
less  preposterous  than  that  which  I  have  already  noticed.  It 
is  assumed,  that  there  are  no  preachers  of  the  gospel  besides 
him  who  now  enlarges  on  its  mysteries,  or  tliat  it  is  his  un- 
varying practice  to  confine  himself  to  doctrinal  discussions, 
without  ever  insisting  on  those  moral  inferences  to  which 
every  doctrine  of  genuine  Christianity,  will,  if  properly  dis- 
cussed, conduct  him. 

For,  so  far  is  the  assertion  incorrect,  that  a  contemplation 
of  the  mysteries  of  Christianity  is  unfavourable  to  the  Chris- 
tian character,  that,  if  it  be  more  philosophical  and  more  effica- 
cious to  furnish  motives  than  rules  for  conduct;  if  it  be  possible 
to  purify  the  passions  by  employing  them  on  the  worthiest 
objects,  and  by  contemplation  of  the  Divine  perfections  to 
raise  the  soul,  in  some  sort,  to  the  Deity ;  no  surer  way  can 
be  found  to  improve  and  strengthen  the  spiritual  part  of  our 
nature,  than  the  gratification  of  that  natural  and  laudable  curi- 
osity after  things  unseen,  by  which  the  soul  of  man,  as  if 
conscious  of  her  future  destiny,  delights  to  expatiate,  so  far 
as  advance  is  possible,  in  those  lioundless  fields  of  inquiry 
which  are  connected  with  the  ways  and  attributes  of  the  Al- 
mighty, the  secrets  of  his  government,  and  his  intercourse 
with  our  intellectual  being. 

Such  inquiries,  conducted  with  becoming  modesty,  may  be 
expected  at  once  to  elevate  and  to  humble  the  soul;  to  elevate 
her  powers  by  exercising  them  on  the  noblest  objects ;  to 
humble  her  self-estimation  by  the  sense  of  those  narrow  limits 
which  must  confine  her  hardiest  flight,  by  the  comparison 
eternally  presented  to  her  notice,  between  finite  and  infinite 
■wisdom. 

Spiritual  pride,  indeed,  and  metaphysical  pedantry  can 
only  arise  from,  and  are  certain  symptoms  of,  speculations 
not  carried  sufficiently  far,  inquiry  too  soon  contented.  They 
who  skim  tlie  surface  may  tliink  that  all  is  known  to  them'; 
but  he  who  strives  to  sound  the  depths  of  ocean  may  receive, 
it  is  true,  a  rich  repayment  of  his  time  and  labour;  but  must 
desist  at  last  with  a  feeling  very  different  from  pride.  Our 
finite  successes  shriidc  into  nothing  when  brought  in  contact 
with  immensity,  and  we  cannot  rejoice  that  we  have  pene- 
trated so  far  without  recognizing  the  weakness  which  has 
prevented  our  proceeding  farther. 

Yet  is  not  the  sense  of  weakness  which  we  experience 
in  such  an  inquiry  in  itself  either  painful  or  degrading.  The 
excellencies  of  a  beloved  object  ma}'  be  contemplated  not  only 
with  wonder,  but  delight;  the  lustre  of  a  benefactor  is  re- 
flected on  those  who  are  the  objects  of  liis  beneficence,  and 
we  ourselves  become  in  some  short  identified  with  that  great- 
ness and  L'lory  which  is  exerted  in  our  protection  and  iuippi- 
ness.  'I'he  more  we  are  sensible  of  the  intercourse  between 
God  and  his  creatures,  the  stronger  may  our  faith  be  expect- 
ed to  become,  our  gratitude  the  more  lively.  We  shall  feel 
ourselves  elevated  the  more  above  earthly  wants  or  wishes; 
and  that  which  ]diilosophy  vainly  boasted  to  perform,  will  be 
the  daily  and  hourly  effect  of  religious  meditation. 

15ut,  though  the  advantages  of  a  continued  contemplation 
of  the  Deity  be  thus  conspicuous,  it  must  not  be  dissem- 
bled that  those  polemical  discussions,  by  which  we  guard 
and  vindicate  the  distincter  features  of  that  faith  on  which  the 
Christian  delights  to  dwell,  are  rough  with  the  thorns  of  hu- 
man passion,  anil  beset  with  the  rocks  and  precipices  of 
earthly  pride.  The  chicane  of  argument;  the  boast  of  vic- 
tory; the  pertinacious  rejoinder  of  unacknowledged  discomfi- 
ture ;  the  ]iersonal  dislike  which  transfers  to  our  adversary 
that  detestation  which  should  be  confined  to  his  doctrine; 
ambition  lurking  under  the  cloak  of  zeal,  and  vanity  not  la- 
bouring for  the  cause  of  truth,  but  declaiming  in  the  hope  of 
triunijdi ;  these  are  some  few  of  the  fiends  which  have  con- 


tin\ied  to  haunt  the  mansion  of  religious  controversy  from  the 
days  of  Tertullian  down  to  those  of  Calvin,  from  lilarcion  to 
Servetus,  and  from  .lerome  to  Bellarmine. 

Nor  need  we  wonder  that  portals  occupied  by  such  a  <rar- 
rison  should  be  seldom  and  reluctantly  trodden  by  those  who 
have  been  permitted  to  wander  amid  the  bowers  of  philoso- 
phy, to  trace  in  the  works  of  nature  the  evidence  of  almighty 
goodness;  or  whose  warfare  has  been  carried  on  with  the 
common  enemies  of  the  Christian  name,  not  those  who  differ 
only  in  their  interpretation  of  the  divine  authorities  to  which 
both  we  and  they  look  up  with  equal  reverence. 

What  is  necessary,  however,  must  sometimes  be  under- 
gone ;  and  the  safety  of  our  brethren,  no  less  than  the  same 
authority  and  example  of  the  apostles,  calls  on  us  to  observe 
the  errors  of  our  misguided  friends  with  as  keen  attention 
as  the  open  malice  of  our  enemies;  to  repress  the  domestic 
seditions  of  the  Christian  church,  as  well  as  to  labour  in  the 
extension  and  progress  of  her  empire. 

Nor  must  it  be  forgotten,  that  to  unreasonable  violence,  or 
uncharitable  imputations,  religious  discussion  is  not  more  ne- 
cessarily liable  than  any  other  question  in  which  the  happi- 
ness or  interests  of  mankind  are  deeply  involved.  The  sys- 
tems of  philosophy,  the  inventions  of  medicine,  are  in  our  own 
times  debated  with  as  much  of  acrimony  as  the  abstrusest 
doctrines  of  religion.  The  senate  and  the  bar  have  had  their 
bigots  and  fanatics  as  fiery  as  ever  disgraced  the  altar  ;  and 
examples  have  not  been  wanting  in  the  more  illustrious  ad- 
vocates of  our  own  and  foreign  churches,  which  have  demon- 
strated that  zeal  and  wrath  are  not  always  inseparable,  and 
that  it  is  possible  to  defend  the  truths  of  Christianity  or  the 
sacred  institutions  of  our  ancestors,  without  forfeiting  that 
charity  which  is  to  religion  what  the  ark  of  the  covenant  was 
of  old  to  the  Temple  of  God. 

And  to  this  effect  the  following  canons  will,  perhaps,  be 
found  to  contribute. 

First,  That  a  perspicuous  distinction  be  made,  both  in  the 
statement  of  our  subject  and  the  degree  of  earnestness  with 
which  we  pvirsue  its  investigation,  between  truths  which  are 
really  divine  and  eternal,  and  those  institutions  which  are 
only  of  human  authority,  or,  at  most,  of  temporary  expediency. 

Secondly,  That  no  opinion  be  imputed  to  our  adversary 
which  he  himself  disclaims,  not  even  if  such  opinion  should 
appear  to  be  fairly  dedueible  from  premises  which  he  ac- 
knowledges. 

For,  though  the  argument  ah  nhsurdo  be  a  very  powerful 
and  legitimate  instrument  in  the  war  of  words  ;  and  though 
it  is  not  only  useful  but  charitable  to  point  out  to  our  breth- 
ren and  to  the  world  the  natural  consequences  of  an  erroneous 
doctrine  :  yet,  if  such  consequences  be  disclaimed  by  our  an- 
tagonist, we  have  a  right  indeed  to  argue  from  bis  inconsist- 
ency against  his  ability  to  guide  the  faith  of  other  men  ;  but 
we  have  no  right  to  accuse  him  of  insincerit}',  or  to  maintain 
that,  because  our  inference  is  logical,  he  must  necessarily 
see  it  in  the  same  light  with  ourselves.  \\'e  may  caution 
his  followers  against  the  blindness  of  their  guide,  but  it  is 
more  reasonable,  as  well  as  more  Christian,  to  believe  that 
his  blindness  is  real,  than  affected. 

Thirdly,  It  is  fitting  that  we  never  advance  an  argument  to 
convince  or  confute  our  antagonist,  of  the  force  of  which  we 
are  not  ourselves  well  satisfied.  Even  as  worldly  advocates 
such  a  practice  is  unwise,  since  the  unsoundness  of  a  single 
pillar  ma)'  subvert  the  noblest  temple;  and  since  one  detected 
sophism  will  do  more  injury  to  our  cause  than  many  good  ar- 
guments can  repair,  llut  the  practice  is  distinguished  from 
absolute  falsehood  by  shades  so  nearly  imperceptible,  that 
we  may  be  very  sure  the  cause  of  divine  truth  can  neither 
require  nor  tolerate  so  weak  and  disgraceful  an  auxiliary. 
This  rule  will  naturally  extend  to  the  exclusion  of  all  those 
vulgar  arts  of  controvers}-,  those  arguments  expressly  and 
solely  intended  to  captivate  the  multitude,  those  inapplicable 
citations  of  Scripture,  and  those  ajipeals  to  human  prejudice 
or  passion  which,  unhappily,  occupy  too  large  a  space  in  al- 
most every  controversy  which  has  arisen  since  the  time  of  the 
apostles. 

But  the  offence  is  yet  more  flagrant  when  we  descend  to  the 
retailing  of  uncertain  and  offensive  rumours;  when  we  refer 
to  documents  of  which  the  falsehood  has  been  already  proved, 
or  which  we  cannot  but  ourselves  confess  to  be  unsupported 
by  ade(iuate  evidence. 

Of  such  misconduct  a  lamentable  instance  is  afforded  by  a 
man  no  less  renowned  and  admirable  than  the  great  Aiigus- 
tine  himself,  who  is  uotashamed,in  his  dispute  with  Faustus, 
to  take  advantage  of  the  popular  slanders  against  the  follow- 
ers of  Manes,  tliough  his  own  experience  (for  he  had  himself 


HEBER'S  BAMPTON  LECTURES. 


257 


been  of  the  sect)  was  sufficient  to  detect  their  falsehood.  Andlthe  superstitions  of  Greece  and  Syria,  he  proclaimed  hinv 
;„  loto,  timoa    iti-jt  .i-o  mr,-,r   nmit    thnao  rlirlor   <-liar<rp<i  tn  Sflf  holdlv  thfi  succcssor  and  substltulc  of  the  Messiah:  anc 


in  later  times,  that  we  may  omit  those  darker  charges  to 
which  particular  sects  have  been  rashly  exposed,  (charges 
which  the  most  positive  testimony  alone  can  justif}',  and 
which  it  was,  a  priori,  in  the  highest  degree  improbable  that 
any  Christian  sect  could  deserve  ;)  in  later  times  the  Roman- 
ists have,  in  spite  of  repeated  and  satisfactory  answers,  con- 
tinued to  urge  against  our  church  the  romance  of  Parker's 
consecration,  while  we  ourselves  are  not  altogether  guiltless 
of  falsely  imputing  to  their  public  formularies  the  sysfrmafic 
omission  of  that  commandment  which  we  make  the  second  in 
the  Decalogue. 

Nor  is  theimpropriety  of  these  doubtful  charges  diminished, 
if  they  are  advanced  on  the  authority  of  others,  while  we  cau- 
tiously abstain  from  expressing  any  opinion  of  our  own  as  to 
their  truth  or  falsehood.  If  we  believe  them,  why  hesitate, 
with  becoming  firmness,  to  avow  our  conviction  to  the  world  1 
If  we  do  not  believe  them,  why  are  they  advanced  at  all  ^ 
Why,  if  it  be  not  in  the  hope  that  our  hearers  may  be  con- 
vinced by  those  arguments  which  have  failed  to  convince  our- 
selves; that  they  may  be  induced  to  lean  their  confidence  on 
that  broken  reed  of  which  our  keener  eyes  cannot  but  detect 
the  insecurity  ? 

Lastly,  If  wedesire  to  avoid  that  bitterness  of  spirit  which 
the  obstinacy  of  a  defeated,  or  the  triumph  of  a  more  artful 
opponent  is  likely  to  kindle  in  our  breasts,  it  is  necessary  to 
impress  the  mind  with  a  thorough  conviction  of  the  very  tri- 
fling importance  of  any  single  controversy  in  determining  the 
faith  of  Christendom ;  the  very  small  effect  which  our  la- 
hours,  even  if  most  successful,  might  reasonably  hope  to  pro- 
duce on  the  opinions  of  the  world ;  and  the  firm  reliance 
which  our  faith  should  teach  us  in  the  ultimate  triumph  of 
true  religion,  though  ourselves  may  not  be  among  the  appoint- 
ed instruments  by  whose  toils  that  triumph  is  to  be  purchased 
If  with  these  impressions  and  resolutions  we  enter  on  the 
defence  of  truth,  nothing  else  remains  but  a  constant  and  stu 
dious  comparison  of  our  several  positions  with  the  final  an 
thority  of  Scripture,  and  an  earnest  and  continual  prayer  to 
God  thathe  vfould  preserve  in  our  hearts  and  our  recollections 
those  sacred  principles,  and  that  heavenly  temper,  without 
which  it  may  be  possible  to  cast  out  devils  in  the  name  of 
the  Lord,  and  yet  to  find  ourselves  hereafter  among  those  of 
whom  that  gracious  Lord  will  be  ashamed  in  the  presence  of 
his  Father  of  the  holy  angels. 

With  these  preliminary  observations  I  now  proceed  to  in- 
vestigate the  promise  which,  in  the  words  prefixed  to  this 
discourse,  our  Saviour  communicated  to  his  disciples ;  in 
which  discussion,  it  should  seem,  the  following  questions  are 
naturally  and  necessaril}'  involved. 

It  may,  first,  be  demanded,  who  was  that  Comforter  whom 
Jesus  thus  engages  to  send  1 

Secondly,  Whether  the  promise  of  his  aid  v.'ere  confined 
to  the  apostles  only,  or  whether  all  believers  in  Christ  in  that 
and  every  succeeding  age  of  the  church  have  reason  to  believe 
themselves  included  ? 

Thirdly,  Wherein  that  aid  should  consist  which  was  thus 
graciously  promised  by  our  Lord  ! 

Of  these  inquiries,  the  first,  or  that  which  respects  the  per- 
son of  the  Paraclete,  would,  at  certain  periods  of  ecclesiasti- 
cal history,  have  been  attended  with  ditTicullies  which  have 
long  since  ceased  to  operate,  in  proportion  as  the  errors  from 
which  they  arose  have  disappeared  from  the  face  of  Christi- 
anity, or  have  so  far  purified  themselves  from  their  original 
grossness  as  to  assume  a  less  offensive  form,  and  a  malig- 
nancy less  perilous. 

Of  those  false  Christs  whose  coming  our  Saviour  foretold, 
there  were  some,  it  is  said,  who  availed  themselves  of  the 
character  of  the  expected  Paraclete  to  destroy  or  supersede  that 
religion  which  the  apostles  had  ditfused  through  the  world  ; 
who  advanced  against  Christianity  under  the  name  of  its  ap 
pointed  defenders,  and  assumed  to  themselves  the  impious 
power  of  explaining  and  amending  that  system  of  mercy  and  of 
power  which,  as  the  final  dispensation  of  his  will,  had  been 
confirmed  by  God  through  innumerable  signs  and  miracles. 

Even  in  the  life-time  of  the  apostles,  and  in  those  regions 
which,  durino'  our  Saviour's  abode  on  earth,  had  been  dis- 
tinguished by  his  personal  presence,  the  magician  Simon 
(ubether  he  were  the  same  Samaritan  whose  name  is  men- 
tioned in  the  Acts  of  the  Apostles,  is  nothing  to  my  present 
purpose)  aspired  to  perform  that  part  during  the  golden  age  of 
Christianity,  which  in  the  days  of  its  corruption  the  arch-im- 
jioster,  Mohammed,  too  successfidly  attempted;  and  while 
lie  preached,  as  a  more  perfect  gospel  than  that  of  Jesus, 
a  wild  and  fanciful  compound  of  evangelical  truth,  with  of  the  world. 
Vol.  II.— 2  11  ' 


self  boldly  the  successor  and  substitute  of  the  Messiah  ;  and 
applied  to  his  own  person,  according  to  some  authorities, 
(but,  if  we  fellow  others,  to  that  of  his  confederate  and  mis- 
tress, Helena,)  the  character  of  the  Incarnate  Paraclete. 

The  Heresiarch  Manes  was,  in  like  manner,  accused,  and 
Montanus,  doubtless,  accused  with  justice,  of  assuming  the 
same  lofty  title;  nor  did  the  followers  of  Mohammed  omit  to 
apply  to  their  master  so  convenient  an  assertion  of  that  Jesus 
whom  he  acknowledged  to  have  been  the  greatest  among  the 
prophets  and  saints  of  the  Most  High. 

Against  all  such  claims,  however,  our  Saviour  has  himself 
provided,  by  inserting  a  clause  in  explanation  of  his  promise 
which  effectually  precludes  all  possibility  of  perverting  his 
expressions  to  a  mortal  prophet  or  a  second  incarnation  of  the 
Deity.  That  clause,  I  mean,  where  he  defines  the  novel  term 
of  Paraclete  by  one  which  was  familiar  already  to  his  disci- 
ples and  their  countrymen  :  the  Holy  Ghost,  or  Spirit  of  God. 
The  Comforter,  which  is  the  Holy  Ghost,  whom  the  Father 
will  send  in  my  name." 

A  title  this,  which  we  evidently  cannot,  with  any  degree 
of  propriety,  apply  to  a  human  or  corporeal  teacher;  but  it  is 
also  as  evident,  on  the  face  of  the  assertion,  and  according  to 
its  literal  tenor,  that  not  only  a  spiritual  effect  or  influence, 
but  an  intelligent  and  personal  agent  is  intended,  by  whom 
those  graces  were  to  be  dispensed  which  should  entitle  him 
to  the  name  of  Comforter. 

It  is,  therefore,  in  the  first  place  concluded,  that  the  Holy 
Ghost  is  an  existence  or  an  intelligent  person. 

But,  secondly,  there  are  many  passages  of  Scripture  in 
which  the  person  thus  designated  is  adorned  with  the  most 
striking  and  tremendous  attributes  of  Deity.  He  is  spoken 
of  as  omnipresent,  as  all-knowing;  to  lie  to  him  is  to  lie  to 
God ;  to  blaspheme  him  is  a  crime  the  most  awful  in  its  guilt 
and  consequences  of  which  human  nature  is  capable;  and  the 
inspiration  of  the  prophets,  which  is  in  some  passages  of 
.Scripture  imputed  to  the  Holy  Ghost,  is,  in  others,  ascribed 
to  the  Almighty.  Hence,  therefore,  it  is  argued  that  the 
Comforter  is  also  God. 

Thirdly,  we  read  in  the  same  clause  of  our  Saviour's  pro- 
mise which  identifies  the  Comforter  with  the  Holy  Ghost, 
tliat  this  Divine  and  Almighty  Person  was  to  he  sent  by  the 
Father  in  the  name  of  his  Son.  And,  as  the  Person  sent  is, 
according  to  the  necessary  tenor  of  the  expression,  distinct 
from  the  sender,  we  deduce  from  hence  the  third  particular  of 
our  belief  respecting  his  nature,  that  he  is  a  Person  distinct 
from  God  the  Father. 

But,  fourthly,  as  the  unity  of  the  Divine  Essence  is  a  truth 
so  strongly  and  repeatedly  disclosed  in  Scripture  that  we 
cannot  deny  it  without  at  once  renouncing  the  entire  volume 
of  God's  Revelation,  we  conclude  that  the  Holy  Ghost,  no 
less  than  the  Word  or  Son  of  God,  is,  in  some  mysterious 
manner,  at  once  distinct  from,  and  united  with,  the  Father; 
and  that  in  these  Hypostases  or  Persons,  the  one  Almighty 
Spirit  inseparably  and  eternally  resides. 

What  further  grounds  we  have  to  confirm  us  in  these  opin- 
ions, or  how  far  our  religious  antagonists  have  succeeded  in 
establishing  a  different  interpretation,  must  be  the  subject  of 
the  following  discourses;  in  wliich  each  of  those  deductions 
from  Scripture  which  compose,  on  this  article  of  our  faith, 
the  ordinary  confession  of  Christians,  shall,  in  their  turns,  bo 
discussed  and  asserted. 


LECTURE  II. 

Xcvcrtheless,  I  tell  you  the  trutli ;  it  is  expedient  for  you  tliat  I  go 
a'way,  for  if  I  go  not  a-svay,  the  Comforter  will  not  come  unto  you; 
but  if  I  depart,  I  v.\\i  send  him  unto  you. — John  xvi-  7. 

It  was  asserted  in  my  former  sermon  on  these  words  of 
Christ,  that  in  the  name  and  character  of  a  Comforter, 
Teacher,  or  Advocate,  (in  whichever  sense  we  choose  to 
understand  the  original  word  na^n>t>.»Tic.)  not  only  an  effect 
but  an  agent  is  implied,  by  whom  the  comfort,  instruction, 
or  protection,  was  to  be  conferred  on  those  who  were  its 
objects.  It  was  not  consolation  which  Christ  undertook  to 
send  to  his  disciples,  but  a  person  who  should  console  them; 
it  was  not  security,  but  a  guardian;  and  one  who  should  de- 
fend their  cause  and  his  own  amid  the  storms  and  calumnies 


258 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


This  was  tlie  sense,  nn  doulit,  in  which  those  impostors 
understootl  the  promiso,  wlio  tlicmsclyes,  as  we  have  already 
seen,  assnmed  the  name  and  character  of  him  whom  Jesus 
foretold ;  and  this,  as  our  antagonists  are  compelled  to  ac- 
knowledge, is  the  obvious,  at  least,  and  literal  meaning  of 
the  expression. 

If  the  letter,  then,  of  God's  word,  were  to  decide  onr  pre- 
sent question,  that  question  would  he  thus  far  decided  already. 
It  miffht  still,  indeed,  admit  of  doubt,  (for  it  is  a  doubt  which 
belono-s  to  a  different  period  of  the  inquir}',)  to  what  rank  in 
the  scale  of  spiritual  existence  the  Paraclete  is  to  be  referred. 
The  Sabellian  who  identifies  his  Person  with  that  of  the 
Almighty  Father,  the  Arian  and  Mohammedan  who  regard 
him  as  a  created  Intelligpnce,  micrht  still  advance  their  sepa- 
rate claims  on  onr  attention,  and  each  support  his  own  hy- 
pothesis as  to  the  nature  of  the  person  intended.  But  that 
the  Holy  Spirit  was,  in  the  language  of  schools,  an  ens,  not 
an  accident;  an  agent,  not  an  action;  an  actual  being,  not  a 
quality  or  mode  of  existence;  would  remain  in  the  number  of 
those  truths  of  which  the  application  indeed  may  vary,  but 
of  which  the  reality  is  placed  by  common  consent  beyond  the 
reach  of  argument  or  cavil. 

Accordingly,  those  Christian  sects  who  deny  the  Spirit's 
personality,  are  compelled  to  understand  the  Scripture  in  a 
manner  which  I  have  too  good  an  opinion  of  their  critical 
powers  to  apprehend  that  they  would  employ  in  the  interpre- 
tation of  any  other  work  whatever,  and  to  resolve  tliose  ex- 
pressions, however  simple  in  themselves,  which  speak  of 
him  as  a  real  existence,  into  the  airy  vehicles  of  eastern 
ornament  and  allegory.  And  this  resource  is  rendered  ne- 
cessary, not  by  the  present  text  alone,  but  by  many  other 
passages  in  Scripture,  in  which  actions  and  properties  are 
ascribed  to  the  Spirit  of  God,  altogether  inapplicable  to  a 
virtue  or  quality. 

For  as  the  only  two  classes  of  existence,  of  which  we  have 
any  conception,  are  those  of  matter  and  mind,  so  whatever  is 
capable  of  action  or  passion  must  belong  to  one  or  other  of 
these  grand  divisions  of  being.  Qualities,  in  fact,  and  influ- 
ences, and  powers,  as  they  are,  properly,  only  modes  in  which 
one  being  makes  an  impression  on  another,  or  itself  receives 
one;  so  they  have,  in  themselves,  no  real  existence  at  all, 
nor  can  they  be  asserted  either  to  do  or  sutler  any  thing,  ex- 
cept by  that  common  but  improper  form  of  expression  which 
speaks  of  an  accident  as  if  it  were  itself  an  essence,  and  de- 
scribes the  manner  in  which  an  efl'ect  is  produced  by  terms 
which  can  only,  in  fact,  apply  either  to  the  agent  or  the 
recipient. 

Thus,  when  I  say  that  darkness  is  coming  on,  I  must  not 
be  understood  as  intending  that  the  accident  of  darkness  is 
capable  of  motion  in  itself,  but  I  mean  to  ascribe  motion  to 
some  real  existence,  whose  absence  or  presence  deprives  mj' 
eyes  of  the  power  of  discerning  objects.  If  I  speak  again  of 
power  beino'  given,  I  do  not  mean  that  power  in  itself  can  be 
touched  or  divided;  but  I  mean  that  some  alteration  has  taken 
place  in  my  body  or  my  mind,  whereby  I  am  enabled  to  perform 
what  surpassed  my  previous  faculties.  And  thus,  whatever 
name  the  scholars  of  Socinus  think  fit  to  bestow  on  the  Com- 
forter promised  by  our  Lord,  yet  if  purity,  motion,  power,  re- 
sistance, if  doing  or  suffering  be  predicted  (and  predicted  they 
doubtless  are)  of  the  Spirit  of  God  in  Scripture,  they  must,  I 
repeat,  ascribe  these  accidents  to  some  real  existence  material 
or  spiritual,  or  else  they  must  maintain  that  our  Saviour  and 
his  apostles  have  clothed  an  abstract  idea  under  the  form  of 
an  allegorical  personage. 

That  the  Holy  Ghost  is  no  material  substance  it  may  seein, 
perhaps,  a  waste  of  time  to  prove,  inasmuch  as  I  am  not 
aware  that  it  has  been  seriously  maintained  by  any  one.  The 
■wildest  anlhropomorphist,  the  most  detennined  organic  phi- 
losopher, will  allow,  I  apprehend,  that  the  expressions  used 
in  Scripture  can  apply,  if  literally  taken,  to  no  other  than  a 
being  sentient  and  intelligent,  which  sense  and  intelligence, 
define  them  in  what  maniier  we  please,  afford  a  sulficient  dis- 
tinction from  insensible  or  merely  animal  existence  for  the 
purpose  of  onr  present  argument. 

To  prevent,  however,  any  future  refinement  of  the  patrons 
of  mechanism  and  irritation,  I  may  be  allowed  to  remind  my 
hearers  that  will,  moreover,  and  affection,  and  choice,  and 
authority  are  ascribed,  in  Scripture,  to  the  Spirit  of  God,  no 
less  than  the  power  of  producing  an  impression  on  the  bodies 
or  minds  of  men.  Tlie  apostles  a|ipointed,  by  their  own 
avowal,  such  laws  as  "seemed  good  unto  the  Holy  Ghost;" 
while  onr  Saviour,  in  the  sentence  which  I  have  chosen  for 
my  text,  and  in  the  general  tonour  of  his  other  expressions 
when  speaking  of  the  pion-.ised   paraclete,  speaks,  it  will  be 


found,  of  iiiM,  not  of  it, — of  a  person,  not  a  thing  or  inani- 
mate substance.  '•  I  will  send,"  are  his  words  m  the  pro- 
mise which  has  given  occasion  to  these  discourses,  "I  will 
send  HIM  unto  you" — '=r£>4M  atTON  Trfi;  CjuS.;.  Kai  ix9-J.v 
Usiv«,  (does  our  Lord  proceed  with  an  accuracy  of  express- 
ion of  which  the  slightest  knowledge  of  Greek  is  sufficient 
to  make  us  sensible,)  'E\^~v  ix.uvot  iMy^wrov  Ki<rfAov."  "  When 
HE  Cometh,  he  "  will  reprove  the  world."  But,  more  than  all, 
in  a  sentence  almost  immediately  following,  (as  if  to  exclude 
all  such  material  or  degrading  notions  as  might  be  prompted 
by  the  material  nature  of  that  wind  or  breath  by  a  comparison 
with  which  the  operations  of  the  Holy  Ghost  are  illustrated), 
we  find  again  the  masculine  pronoun  employed,  though 
coupled  with  a  neuter  substantive.  The  words,  which  are 
rendered  in  our  translation,  "  when  he  the  Spirit  of  Truth 
shall  come,"  are,  in  the  original,  "iruv  ii  ix^n  U'uvoc  to 
ni'S^^i  T»> 'AxaS-uac."  EKEIN02  TO  HNETMa!  How  can  this 
be  explained,  unless  we  admit  that,  under  the  name  of  Wind, 
an  intelligent  person,  not  a  material  substance,  was  sha- 
dowed by  the  Son  of  God  ? 

After  this  it  may  seem,  perhaps,  superfluous  to  urge  on 
your  attention,  that  it  would  be  absurd  and  utmatural  to  as- 
sert of  a  bodily  and  insensible  agent,  that  "  as  he  was  to 
hear,  so  he  should  speak  ;"  that  such  an  agent  could  with  no 
propriety  be  supposed  to  appoint  overseers  in  the  churches  of 
Asia  or  Achaia  ;  that  Ananias  could  not  with  reason  be  ac- 
cused of  attempting  to  deceive  an  afllatns  or  stimulus ;  nor 
could  our  sins  be  said  to  grieve  a  being  incapable  alike  of 
pleasure  or  pain. 

I  believe,  indeed,  (and  iny  opinion  is  not  shaken  by  any 
thing  which  has  been  advanced  to  show  the  uncertain  mean- 
ing of  the  word  nil  '"  '''e  Old  Testament,  and  of  rrNETMA 
in  the  New),  I  believe  that  the  instances  are  very  few  indeed 
which  can  be  found  of  this  supposed  uncertaint}'.  It  is 
possible,  and  barely  possible,  that  the  celebrated  passage  in 
the  first  chapter  of  Genesis  naay  admit  of  application  to  a 
material  agent.  But,  with  this  exception,  no  instance  has 
been  shown,  either  in  the  Law  or  the  Prophets,  where  the 
context  makes  it  probable  that  by  Q"n7S  nn  or  iJ'npn  nn  a 
physical  motion  of  the  air  is  signified.  Nor,  in  the  writings 
of  the  later  covenant  can  we  find,  as  Athanasius  has  well 
observed,  any  single  passage  in  which  TO  riNETMA  TOT 
0EOT  is  not  sufficiently  distinguished  from  any  material  aflda- 
tus  whatever. 

Accordingly,  of  two  hypotheses,  either  one  or  the  other 
must  necessarily  be  adopted  ;  and  if  we  do  not  acknowledge 
God's  Spirit  to  l)e  a  sensible  and  intelligent  person,  we  must 
resolve  him  into  a  metaphor. 

But,  in  all  expressions  not  professedly  parabolical,  it  is,  a 
priori,  likely  that  the  literal  and  obvious,  not  the  metaphori- 
cal meaning  is  that  meaning  which  the  words  are  intended  to 
convey.  Were  it  otherwise,  the  use  of  language  would  be, 
in  no  small  degree,  overthrown,  and  the  dictates  of  departed 
wisdom  and  the  revelations  of  a  merciful  God  would  sink  into 
a  jargon  of  unmeaning  sounds,  cr,  at  least,  be  degraded  from 
a  rule  of  morals  and  of  faith  into  a  field  for  the  perverse  and 
unprofitable  ingenuity  of  the  lovers  of  enigma  and  allegory. 

Nor  is  it  possible  that  our  learned  adversaries  can  require, 
in  such  a  case,  to  be  reminded,  that  they  have,  of  all  men, 
least  right  to  depart  from  the  literal  and  obvious  sense  of 
Scripture,  who  themselves  profess  to  strip  religion  of  its 
mysteries,  and  to  restore  or  reduce  the  gospel  of  Christ  to  its 
primitive  and  intelligible  simplicit}-. 

But,  if  this  projected  reformation  be  only  a  return  to  the 
forgotten  error  of  an  inlcrnal  sense  in  Scripture,  if  the  plain- 
ness anticipated  be  the  plainness  of  a  riddle,  and  if  we  are 
called  on  to  acquiesce  in  an  interpretation  of  the  Sacred  Vol- 
ume as  forced,  though  not  so  edifying,  as  the  devout  refine- 
ments of  Jerome,  the  splendid  dreams  of  Origen,  or  the  wild 
but  not  uninteresting  phrenzy  of  Emanuel  Swedenborg;  but 
small  are  the  gains  which  the  multitude  have  reaped  from  the 
translation  and  dispersion  of  the  Bible;  nor  will  the  tyranny 
long  exercised  by  the  knowledge  of  the  few  over  the  I'ailh  of 
the  many  be  less  extensive  or  less  absolute,  whether  the 
words  of  life  be  in  an  unknown  tongue,  or  in  a  style  which 
is,  to  the  vulgar,  in  every  language,  unintelligible. 

If  it  be  granted,  however,  which  even  a  Socinian  will  not 
deny,  that  the  volume  from  which  our  hopes  of  salvation  are 
drawn  is  something  more  than  a  mere  chain  of  allegories  ; 
that  there  are  some  facts,  at  least,  in  Scrijjture,  simply  nar- 
rated, and,  at  least,  some  few-  assertions  to  be  taken  literally; 
it  may  be  reasonably  required  that,  before  we  concede  to  our 
antag'onists  the  I'act  that  any  particular  passage  is  to  be  un- 
derstood in  a  figurative  meaning,  they  shall  prove  to  us  first. 


HEBER'S  BAiMPTON  LECTURES. 


259 


that  the  circumstances  under  which  the  disputed  expression 
occurs  are  such  as  to  make  a  recourse  to  allegory  probable; 
and  secondly,  that  the  expression  itself  has  those  usual  marks 
by  which,  in  every  rational  composition,  such  figures  of, 
speech  are  distinffuishable. 

The  motives  are  four,  and  four  only,  which  can  induce  a 
reasonable  man  to  depart  from  that  sreneral  propriety  of  lan- 
guage, to  violate  which,  without  sufficient  reason,  is  a  trans- 
gression at  once  against  good  sense  and  natural  feeling;  and 
these  motives  are  as  follow: 

First,  if  he  desires  to  perplex  the  judgment  and  to  tax  the 
ingenuity  of  his  readers  or  auditors  :  Secondly,  if  a  future 
event  is  to  be  dimly  shadowed,  which  it  would  be  inconve- 
nient to  express  beforehand  with  too  much  precision  :  Third- 
ly, if  a  disagreeable  truth  is  to  be  cloaked  under  a  less  offen- 
sive form  :  and.  Fourthly,  if  an  apt  illustration  of  the  subject 
implied  is  afforded  bv  the  outward  circumstances  of  the  fable, 
or  allegory,  or  metaphor. 

The  first  of  these  motives  is  tliat  harmless  love  of  supe- 
riority, which,  from  the  time  of  Sampson  downwards,  has 
vented  itself  in  Irani  questions  and  enigmas, — but  which, 
however  harmless,  the  gravity  of  our  Saviour's  character,  no 
less  than  the  peculiar  solemnity  of  his  discourse  and  the 
mournful  occasion  on  which  it  was  delivered,  must  effectually 
prevent  us  from  expecting  to  find  in  his  gracious  promise  of 
a  Comforter. 

Of  the  remaining  three,  the  first  had  been  answered  on 
former  occasions  by  the  several  figures  under  which  our 
Lord  described,  beforehand,  his  death  and  its  painful  circum- 
stances ;  the  second  by  those  various  comparisons  of  the 
vineyard,  the  fig-tree,  the  entrusted  talents,  which  he  em- 
ployed to  reprove  his  countrymen  for  their  impenitence  and 
spiritual  pride:  and,  of  the  last,  an  instance  may  be  found  in 
his  manner  of  instituting  the  Kucharist,  where,  by  bestowing 
on  the  bread  and  wine  the  name  of  his  body  and  blood,  he 
exemplified  in  them  his  own  approaching  sufferings. 

But,  in  the  promise  now  under  consideration,  if  it  be  still 
regarded  as  allegorical,  not  one  of  all  those  ends  is  answered, 
for  which  only  we  can  suppose  that  allegory  would  be  em- 
ployed by  the  wise  and  holy  Jesus.  There  was  no  necessity 
lor  conci^aling,  nor  did,  in  fact,  our  Lord  conceal  from  his 
disci|)lcs  the  nature  of  the  comfort  which  they  were  to  receive; 
no  reproof  was  softened,  no  aptness  of  illustration  obtained 
by  attributing  such  celestial  favours  to  the  distribution  of  an 
imaginary  agent,  and  we  must,  therefore,  continue  slow  to 
believe  that  the  agent  introduced  is  imaginary. 

\V  ith  still  more  reason,  however,  we  may  require  our 
learned  antagonists  to  point  out  to  our  attention  in  the  tenour 
of  our  Saviour's  discourse  some  one  or  more  of  those  charac- 
ters and  notices,  the  want  of  which  must  render  any  figura- 
tive expression  whatever,  (I  will  not  say  enigmatical,  for  to 
enigmas  themselves  these  principles  apply,)  but  altogether 
fallacious  or  unmeaning. 

They  are  notices  like  these,  indeed,  wliicli,  however  con- 
veyed, afford,  in  fact,  the  only  difference  between  fiction  and 
falsehood;  between  a  parable  and  a  lie;  between  the  forged 
adventures  of  an  imposter  and  the  imaginary  incidents  of  a 
romance;  between  an  incorrect  and  unnatural  description  of 
objects  and  events,  and  the  elegant  illustration  of  those 
events  and  objects  by  the  use  of  metaphor  or  allegory. 

I  do  not  mean  that  it  is  always  necessary  that  the  author 
or  orator  should  introduce  his  illustrations  with  a  definite 
preface  that  lie  is  about  to  speak  in  parables;  that  he  should 
jirefix  to  his  flowers  of  language  the  formal  title  of  enigma 
or  metaphor;  or  guard  us,  with  the  fantastic  caution  of  the 
Enthusiast  of  Geneva,  against  believing  that  fishes  can 
speak,  or  that  the  trees  of  the  wood  can  assemble  to  elect 
their  monarch.  The  same  notice  is  more  elegantly,  and  as 
elTectually  given,  first,  when  the  circumstance  related  would 
be  trifling  or  out  of  place  in  our  present  discourse,  unless  it 
had  some  deeper  meaning  than  our  outward  words  inipl}', 
and,  secondly,  when  tlie  assertion,  if  literally  understood, 
would  be  in  itself  absurd  or  impossible. 

iiy  the  first  of  these  marks,  when  our  Lord  had  shadowed 
out  to  his  countrymen  their  own  impenitence  and  final  ruin, 
the  Jews  were  able  to  perceive  that  the  tale  of  the  fig-tree 
was  spoken  against  themselves.  By  the  guidance  of  the 
second,  we  readily  understand  that,  when  Christ  gave  th 
name  of  his  own  blood  to  that  fluid  which  the  apostles  well 
knew  to  be  ordinary  wine,  he  could  only  mean  that  his  blood 
should  in  like  manner  be  poured  out  or  spilt.  And  it  is  on 
the  same  identical  principle  of  the  impossibility  of  a  literal 
meaning,  that  we  understand  and  employ  the  figure  of  jier- 
sonification,  whereby  abstract  qualities  are  represented  under 


circumstances  which  can  properly  belong  to  real  existence 
alone;  whereby  virtue  is  described  as  a  celestial  nymph,  and 
nstice  equipped  with  her  balance,  her  fillet,  and  her  sword. 
But  for  these  distinctive  marks  of  allegory,  we  may  in  the 
present  instance  inquire  in  vain.  There  is  nothing  cither  tri- 
fling or  impossible  in  the  literal  sense  of  our  Saviour's  ex- 
pression, and  it  is  difficult,  therefore,  to  show,  on  what  prin- 
ciples of  criticism  or  common  sense  the  apostles  could 
have  understood  their  Master  any  otherwise  than  liter- 
ally. 

But,  further,  the  personification  of  an  abstract  quality, 
(since  it  is  in  this  manner  that  our  learned  antagonists 
desire  to  understand  the  term  of  Holy  Ghost  or  Spirit  of 
God,)  is  only  then  cither  proper  or  intelligible,  when  the 
name  assigned  to  the  imaginary  person  is  the  known  and  con- 
stituted representative  of  the  species  which  we  desire  to  com- 
prise; as  justice  is  the  abstract  term  for  a  succession  of  just 
actions;  temperance  and  mercy  for  repeated  conquests  over 
our  animal  inclinations  and  continual  gentle  affections ;  and 
virtue,  in  general,  for  that  habit  or  disposition  of  mind  which 
produces  all  the  several  actions  of  justice,  temperance,  and 
mercy. 

When,  therefore,  we  speak  of  virtue  as  a  celestial  nymph, 
and  when  we  dress  out  justice  in  that  garb  which  she  worn 
in  the  ancient  pantheon,  our  hearers  arc  well  aware  that  nei- 
ther corporeal  beauty  nor  material  weapons  can,  any  other- 
wise than  figuratively,  be  possessed  by  cither  the  one  or  the 
other. 

But  if  an  abstract  idea  be  personified  under  any  other  name 
than  that  which  conventionally  and  usually  represents  it;  if 
I  speak  of  the  avvful  beauty  of  Arete,  or  menace  my  audi- 
tors with  the  sword  of  Themis,  it  is  impossible  that  those, 
who  are  not  apprised  that  Arete  and  Themis  imply  in  CJreek 
what  virtue  and  justice  do  in  our  own  language,  should  under- 
stand by  my  expressions  any  other  than  real  individuals,  of 
whom  the  one  is  literally  stately  and  fair,  and  the  other  so 
armed  as  I  described  her.  No  one,  therefore,  in  his  right 
mind,  if  he  did  not  really  desire  to  deceive,  would  make  use 
of  similar  expressions,  or  employ  a  name  to  represent  an  ab- 
stract idea,  of  which  that  name  was  not  the  proper  represent- 
ative. But  no  series  of  actions,  no  moral  or  physical  quality 
can  be  instanced  which  the  Holy  Ghost  can  be  said  to  repre- 
sent. He  may  he  the  giver  of  virtue,  but  he  is  not  virtue 
itself;  he  may  dispense  either  wisdom,  or  goodness,  or 
power,  but  however  he  may,  in  himself,  be  strong,  or  good,  or 
wise,  his  name  is  not  synonymous  with  any  one  of  these 
several  accidents  or  habits.  If  the  term  of  Holy  Spirit  do 
not  represent  a  person,  it  will  be  difficult  to  say  of  what  idea 
it  is  the  proper  or  natural  sign,  and  it  is  most  natural  there- 
fore, and  most  reasonable  to  suppose,  that  a  person  was 
thereby  intended. 

But  this  probability  is  still  further  increased,  if  the  effects 
described  be  attributed  to  an  agent,  which,  according  to  the 
preconceived  opinion  of  my  hearers,  and  in  the  conventional 
meaning  of  the  word,  is  a  real  existence  or  intelligence,  and 
competent,  without  any  figure  at  all,  to  produce  the  pheno- 
mena ascribed  to  it. 

Had  Socrates,  when  speaking  of  that  invisible  monitor  by 
whose  dictates  he  professed  to  be  guided,  described  it  under 
the  name  of  his  prudence,  his  foresight,  or  his  conscience; 
(though  he  still  might  have  imputed  to  it  the  actions  of  a 
preceptor  of  a  friend  ;)  it  would  have  then  been  clearly  under- 
stood that  his  language  was  metaphorical,  and  that  by  the 
imaginary  personage  of  prudence,  conscience,  or  foresight,  he 
meant  only  to  express  a  natural  process  of  his  intellectual  fac- 
ulties. 

But,  when  Socrates  declared  himself  to  have  received  ad- 
vice and  intelligence  from  a  friendly  demon,  his  countrymen 
must  have  understood,  (and  he,  doubtless,  intended  that  they 
should  so  understand  him,)  that  he  was  attended  by  one  of 
those  beings  superior  to  man,  whom,  under  the  name  of  De- 
mon, they  were  accustomed  from  their  infancy  to  fear,  to  pro- 
pitiate, to  adore. 

Li  like  manner,  if  we  had  read  in  the  book  of  kings,  that 
the  disobedient  prophet  was  overtaken,  in  his  return  from 
Bethel  to  Jerusalem,  by  destruction  sent  from  God,  we  might, 
certainly,  have  understood  the  words  send  and  ovcrtahe  to  be 
poetical  ornaments  only,  and  have  interpreted  the  story  by  the 
simple  circumstance  that  the  prophet  had  died  on  his  journey. 
But  when  we  are  told  by  the  sacred  historian  that  a  lion  was 
sent  to  destroy  him,  that  would  be  a  strange  hypothesis  in- 
deed which  should  maintain,  that  the  whole  is  an  allegorical 
description  of  an  apoplexy  or  a  stroke  of  the  sun,  and  that  the 
animal  called  a  lion  was  entirely  unconcerned  in  the  slaughter- 


260 


CHRISTIAN  LIBRARY. 


But,  in  the  present  instance,  and  with  those  Jews  and  Jew- 
ish Greeks  to  whom  the  sospel  was  first  delivered,  the  name 
of  Spirit,  it  is  aclaiowledged  by  all,  was  no  less  appropiale  to 
aparticular  class  of  animals  than  with  us  the  names  of  lion,  or 
man,  or  eagle.  It  meant,  we  know,  like  the  demon  of  the 
Greeks,  a  race  of  sentientand  intelligent  beings,  and,  though 
it  included  in  its  wildest  range  the  whole  sweep  of  immortal 
and  immaterial  existence  from  the  Almighty  to  the  human 
soul,  it  was  most  generally  used  to  designate  the  inhabitants 
of  the  invisible  world. 

It  is  little  to  our  present  purpose  to  inquire  how  far  the 
above  application  of  the  word  nn  (of  which  the  Hellenis- 
tic iTirvi/jia  is  a  translation)  was  an  essential  or  primitive  fea- 
ture of  the  Jewisli  thcolog}' ;  whether  its  meaning  were  orig- 
inally confined  to  breath,  or  air,  or  acuteness  of  intellect ;  or 
whether,  as  is  surely  more  probable,  the  suspicion  of  invisible 
was  coeval  with  the  knowledge  of  visible  existence,  and  the 
most  subtile  substance  which  was  obnoxious  to  sense,  was 
naturally  employed  to  designate  that  still  purer  mode  of  being 
which  was  only  perceptible  by  their  fears.  But,  whether  the 
doctrine  of  Spirits  were  primitive  or  no,  or  whatever  degree  of 
antiquity  we  assign  to  its  prevalence ;  whether  it  went  up 
with  Moses  from  Egypt,  or  passed  with  Ezra  from  Babylon  ; 
in  the  time  of  Christ  we  know  the  name  was  used  to  express 
a  real  or  fancied  personage,  of  ])ower  and  knowledge  excell- 
ing those  of  man  ;  of  wisdom  more  refined  as  being  unshack- 
led by  sensual  imperfections;  of  strength  not  less  to  be  dread- 
ed because  the  arm  which  sinotewas  unseen. 

It  was  the  denial  of  such  a  race  which  divided  the  Saddu- 
cees  from  the  great  majority  of  their  countrj'men ;  it  was  to 
their  agency  that  the  Jews  were  accustomed  to  ascribe  every 
phenomenon  of  nature,  and  every  accident  which  befel  the 
body  or  the  mind,  and  our  Saviour  himself,  when  he  returned 
from  the  dead,  was  apprehended  to  belong  to  their  nvmiber. 

But,  to  such  a  being,  all  the  actions  which  Christ  ascribed 
to  his  promised  Comforter  were  strictl}'  and  peculiarly  appro- 
priate. The  guardianship  of  a  Spirit  was  perl'ectly  intelligible 
to  those  who  believed  in  tutelary  Genii :  that  a  person  of  this 
kind  might  dwell  with  them  and  be  in  them  was  the  universal 
faith  or  superstition  of  the  East;  and  to  the  actual  illapses  or 
inhabitation  of  such  good  or  evil  intelligences,  the  ravings  of 
madness,  and  the  lofty  strains  of  prophecy,  were  imputed  by 
the  cominon  voice  of  antiquity.  The  Sibyll  was  supposed,  at 
the  time  of  inspiration,  to  labour  with  a  present  Deity.  It 
was  not  the  Damsel  of  Philippi,  but  the  Pythonic  demon 
within  her,  who  recognized  in  Paul  and  his  companions  the 
servants  of  the  Most  High  God;  and  when  the  fiend  was 
cast  out,  or  the  Divinity  had  retired,  the  power  of  the  pro- 
phetess was  gone. 

It  was  not  then,  by  any  communicated  energ}',  but  by  their 
actual  presence  and  prompting,  that  the  beings  of  the  invisible 
world  were  supposed  to  give  to  man  either  supernatural 
knowledge  or  supernatural  power.  Had  our  Saviour  men- 
aced his  disciples  with  a  visitation  of  the  evil  spirit,  we  are 
sure  that  they  would  have  understood  him  literally  ;  the  spi- 
rits of  fear,  of  infirmity,  of  dumbness,  were  all,  in  the  mytho- 
logy of  the  Rabbins,  supposed  to  be  real  personages;  nor  has 
any  adequate  reason  as  yet  been  assigned,  why  their  notion 
of  the  spirit  of  truth  should  vary  from  this  general  analogy. 

It  is  said  that  the  jNIessiah  conformed  his  expressions  to  the 
usual  language  of  the  time,  withont  heeding  whether  the 
notions  which  that  language  implied  were,  in  themselves, 
philosophical  or  accurate  1  That,  as  he  was  content  to  as- 
cribe, in  contradiction  to  the  truth,  and  in  compliance  with 
popular  superstition,  corporeal  disease  to  an  incorporeal 
agent;  he  was  content,  in  like  manner,  to  express  supernatu- 
ral gifts  under  the  name  of  a  visiting  or  protecting  spirit  1 
The  first  of  these  suppositions,  if  it  be  not  altogether  blas- 
phemous, is,  at  best,  of  a  questionable  character;  nor  will 
those,  who  believe  the  Lord  Jesus  to  have  been,  himself,  all 
wisdom  and  truth,  be  inclined  to  allow,  that,  under  any  cir- 
cumstances whatever,  he  would  have  lent  his  sanction  to  a 
false  notion  of  the  manner  in  which  his  Father  governs  the 
world.  But  the  conduct  ascribed  to  him  in  the  second  part  of 
this  hypothesis  is  more,  far  more,  than  a  simple  acquiescence 
in  error.  The  wisest  and  best  of  men  may  sulVer,  under  par- 
ticular circumstances,  a  mistaken  opinion  to  pass  unexplained; 
but  that  man  is  neither  wise  nor  good  who,  in  making  a 
promise,  unnecessarily  employs  such  terms  as  are  likely  to 
deceive  his  hearers.  Jesus  might,  surely,  have  engaged  to 
endue  his  disciples  with  supernatural  power  or  celestial 
knowledge,  without  the  introduction  of  any  fabulous  ma- 
chinery. "  My  Father,"  he  might  have  said,  "  when  I  am 
laken  away,  will  bcstcxw  on  you  such  internal  comfort  and 


such  outward  marks  of  his  favour,  that  ye  shall  have  little 
reason  to  regret  my  departure  from  the  world.  Ye  are  heirs 
to  my  miraculous  powers,  and  shall,  with  a  commission  de- 
rived from  me,  and  in  a  field  of  utility  far  more  extensive  than 
that  in  which  I  have  laboured,  succeed  me  as  teachers  of 
righteousness."  This  he  might  have  told  them  on  Socinian 
principles,  but  how  diflerent  are  such  expressions  from  those 
of  "  the  Father  shall  send  you  another  comforter," — "  the 
Spirit  of  Truth,  who  is  with  you,  and  shall  be  in  you."  "If 
I  go  not  away,  the  comforter  will  not  come ;  but  if  I  depart, 
I  will  send  him  unto  you." 

It  has  been  objected,  however,  that  the  Holy  Ghost,  or 
Spirit  of  God,  was  understood  by  the  Jews  themselves  in  a 
ditferent  sense  from  that  which  they  applied  to  the  term  of 
Spirit  in  general ;  that  it  was  a  customary  and  conventional 
figure  to  express  a  particular  operation  of  God's  grace,  and 
was  strictly  synonymous,  in  the  usage  of  the  ancient  syna- 
gogne,  with  the  modern  term  of  inspiration.  And,  in  aid 
of  this  opinion,  two  passages  have  been  frequently  cited  : 
the  one  of  St.  Jerome,  where,  after  accusing  Lactautius  of 
denying  the  personality  of  the  Holy  Ghost,  he  calls  such  de- 
nial a  Jewish  heresy;  the  other  of  Maimonides,  who  defines 
that  Spirit  by  which  the  prophets  spake,  to  be  "an  intellect- 
ual power  communicated  to  them  by  God." 

But  that  these  passages  are  sufficient  for  the  purpose  of  our 
antasfonists,  the  following  reasons  may  induce  us  to  do  more 
than  doubt. 

The  meaning  of  Jerome  was  possibly  no  other  than,  under 
the  name  of  a  Jewish  error,  to  stiginatize  the  peculiar  doc- 
trine of  a  single  sect,  and  to  tax  his  antagonist  with  Saddu- 
cism.  And  it  may  be  also  worthy  of  notice,  that,  if  Jerome 
had  no  better  foundation  for  his  charge  against  the  Jews  than 
he  had  for  that  which  he  has  brought  against  Lactantius,  the 
synagogue  of  his  time  was,  in  this  instance,  but  a  very  little 
way  removed  from  the  kingdom  of  God.  Lactantius,  though 
that  particular  work  be  lost  to  which  his  accuser  chiefly  re- 
fers, has  left  enough  behind  him  to  evince  the  grossness  of 
the  calumny  ;  and,  though  he  ascribe,  in  common,  as  may  be 
hereafter  shown,  with  many  others  of  undoubted  orthodoxy, 
the  name  of  Spirit  both  to  God  in  general,  and,  more  par- 
ticularly, to  the  vSon  of  God  in  his  pre-existent  majesty  ;  he 
distinguishes,  nevertheless,  in  his  description  of  the  Saviour's 
baptism,  the  Spirit,  peculiarly  so  called,  both  from  the  Father 
and  the  Son.  Nor  have  any  of  the  ancient  Christians  more 
happily  illustrated  the  dilTerenee  between  the  accidents  of 
material  existence,  and  the  eternal  and  intelligent  einanations 
of  an  eternal  intelligence,  than  this  pious  and  eloquent  cham- 
pion of  the  faith,  whom,  on  the  accusation  of  one  whose 
warmth  too  often  rendered  him  unjust  and  uncharitable,  the 
orthodox  have,  without  inquiry,  been  ready  to  fling  into  the 
hands  of  a  party  at  least  sufficiently  anxious  to  obtain  any 
illustrious  accession  to  their  number. 

If  we  should  concede,  however,  to  the  assertion  of  Jerome 
and  the  similar  testimony  of  Epiphanius,  that  the  majority 
of  the  Jewish  nation  did  really,  in  their  time,  deny  the  Per- 
sonality of  the  Holy  Ghost, — yet  will  not  the  prevalence  of 
such  an  opinion  in  the  fourth  century  after  Christ,  he  regard- 
ed as  a  sufficient  evidence  of  the  original  doctrines  ot  the 
synagogue.  Those  doctrines  may  be  naturallj'  supposed,  in 
the  course  of  twelve  generations  of  mutual  bitterness,  to  have 
receded  considerably  from  the  ancient  confession  in  every 
point  which  favoured  or  resembled  the  tenets  of  their  Chris- 
tian rivals.  And  the  more  recent,  and  therefore  less  forcible 
authority  of  Maimonides  is  liable  to  the  further  objection, 
that  this  ingenious  writer  has  evinced  himself  in  several  in- 
stances disposed  to  depart  from  the  usual  tenor  of  Rabbinical 
orthodoxy.  Disgusted  with  the  legends  of  his  countrymen, 
and  anxious  to  obviate  the  discredit  which  their  dreaming 
commentators  had  thrown  even  on  the  Law  of  Moses  itself, 
the  system  which  he  has  embodied  in  the  More  Nevochim, 
is,  throughout,  a  sort  of  freethinking  Judaisin,  as  much  at 
variance  with  the  general  confession  of  those  whose  cause 
he  pleads,  as  the  works  of  Crellius  and  Socinus  with  the  pre- 
vailing tenets  of  Christendom. 

And  that,  in  fact,  no  small  number  at  least  of  the  more 
learned  Jews,  even  so  late  as  the  fourth  century  after  Christ, 
acknowledged  the  Spirit  of  God  as  a  distinct  and  intelligent 
being,  is  shown  by  the  positive  assertion  of  Eusebius,  (who 
quotes  the  Hebrew  doctors  as  assigning  him  a  local  habita- 
tion in  the  region  of  the  air;)  by  the  fact  which  will  be  here- 
after more  minutely  proved,  that  the  Christians  of  the  circum- 
cision, however  in  other  respects  heretical,  in  the  Personality 
of  the  Holy  Ghost  agreed  with  the  Gentile  Churches;  and 
above   all,  by  very   mimcrous  passages  in    the  Rabbinical 


HEBER'S  HAMPTON  LECTURES. 


261 


works  llirmselvcs,  which  speak  of  him  in  terms  altogether 
inapplieal)le  to  a  virtue  or  abstraction  only.  Tiy  these  wri 
ters  the  Holy  Ghost  is  expressly  opposed  to  him,  whom  we 
know  the  Jews  regarded  as  a  person,  the  spirit  or  power  of 
evil;  he  is  said  to  dwell  in  the  hearts  of  men  as  another  and 
a  belter  soul ;  he  is  called  a  Holy  Gnest  who  honours  the 
Sabbath  with  his  presence;  we  find  him  described  in  their 
usual  jaru-on  as  the  Spirit  of  the  Window  whereby  God's 
glory  is  revealed,  and  the  Spirit  by  whom  the  dead  are  raised. 

And,  as  it  cannot  be  said  that  our  souls  are  enlightened 
and  our  bodies  raised  by  the  same  or  a  similar  operation  ;  as 
the  acts  described  are  distinct,  the  Spirit  by  which  they  are 
effected  must,  plainly,  be  an  Agent,  not  a  process;  a  Dispen- 
ser of  various  graces,  not  any  single  grace  personified. 

It  is  needless,  therefore,  to  refer  to  the  4";^"  or  '«  of  Pliilo, 
and  the  Binah  of  the  Cabbalists,  to  ascertain  the  ancient 
creed.  It  is  true,  indeed,  that  these  Hebrew  testimonies  fall 
very  short  of  that  standard  of  knowledge  which  the  Christian 
Church  has  attained  ;  and  that  the  rank  of  the  Holy  Spirit, 
and  his  union  with  the  Deity,  were  imperfectly,  if  at  all, 
comprehended,  by  the  Jews  of  afly  sect  or  era.  But,  neither 
can  this  admission  be  allowed  to  militate  against  the  truth  or 
importance  of  this  article  of  the  Catholic  faith,  without  aban- 
doning at  the  same  time  the  resurrection  of  the  dead,  and  all 
those  other  features  of  our  religion,  which  it  was  a  part,  at 
least,  of  the  Messiah's  office,  to  reveal,  or  assert,  or  ex- 
plain. 

The  illumination,  in  fact,  of  the  moral  creation  of  God, 
during  the  course  of  his  dealings  with  mankind,  has,  like  the 
advances  of  the  physical  day,  been  gradually  and  slowly  pro- 
gressive. The  darkness  of  ignorance  has  been  dispelled  by 
a  process  almost  similar  to  that  which  cliases  every  morning 
tlie  darkness  of  ni<rlit  from  a  part  of  the  creation ;  and  the 
leading  truths  which  almighty  wisdom  has  thought  fit  to  re- 
veal to  mankind  have  been  enveloped,  at  first,  amid  the 
clouds  of  type  and  mystery ;  in  promises  which  might  sharpen 
the  attention  of  the  soul,  and  in  shadows  which  might  soften 
to  her  eyes  the  too  sudden  glare  of  wonder  and  miracle. 

At  first,  with  the  first  men  and  early  Patriarchs,  we  are 
introduced  to  the  thin  dawn  and  twilight  of  lievelation ;  the 
covenant  taught  by  the  mystery  of  the  serpent's  head,  and  by 
the  institution  of  bloody  sacrifices.  Then  came  the  dawn  of 
day,  but  faint  and  cloudy  still  with  ceremonies  and  allegory 
and  Christ  appeared  afar  otT,  and  reflected  from  the  face  of 
Moses.  Still  it  grew  lighter  and  more  light  as,  to  successive 
generations,  successive  Prophets  announced,  with  increased 
precision,  the  approach  of  the  destined  IMessiah  ;  till,  bear- 
ing in  himself  the  full  brightness  of  the  Godhead  bodily, 
with  healing  on  his  wings,  the  sun  of  righteousness  arose  ! 

True  it  is,  that  of  the  glorious  prospect  which  the  Chris- 
tian day-spring  opened  to  mankind,  the  component  features 
were  not  new,  though  a  new  splendour  encircled  them ;  the 
roses  of  Sharon  and  the  trees  of  Paradise  were  not  then 
first  planted,  though  their  beauties  were  then  first  discerni- 
ble ;  and  the  mountain  of  God's  help  had  stood  for  ages, 
though  its  form  was  indistinct  before. 

When  the  secret  of  a  knot  is  unravelled  in  our  presence, 
we  wonder  that  what  is  now  so  plain  should  have  so  long 
escaped  discovery;  and  thus,  we  are  told,  did  the  hearts  of 
the  disciples  burn  within  them,  when  they  found  that  all  the 
mysteries  of  the  new  covenant  had  been  originally  contained 
in  the  old,  in  those  ceremonies  which  had  occupied  their 
hourly  attention,  those  prophecies  which  had  been  read  to 
them  every  Sabbath  day. 

But,  till  the  knot  is  untied,  its  artifice  is  still  an  enigma ; 
till  the  problem  is  solved,  its  component  parts  appear  irrecon- 
cilable :  the  mystery  of  the  triune  Godhead,  though  it  be 
implied,  is  not  expressly  revealed  in  the  scriptures  of  the 
former  covenant;  nor  can  we  expect  from  those  Jews  who  so 
erroneously  estimated  the  character  of  their  Messiah,  any 
accurate  idea  of  the  yet  more  mysterious  Comforter.  It  is 
enough  for  the  purpose  of  our  present  argument  to  have 
shown  that,  among  the  countrymen  of  Christ,  the  Holy 
Ghost  was  not  considered  as  a  merely  abstract  notion;  that 
the  spirit,  which  God  caused  to  dwell  with  his  saints,  was 
believed,  like  other  spirits,  to  be  a  real  and  sentient  exist- 
ence; and  tiiat  no  reason,  therefore,  remains,  which  could  in- 
duce the  disciples  to  understand  their  Master's  simple  lan- 
guage in  a  figurative  or  parabolical  meaning.  It  is  almost 
needless  to  add  that  it  is,  therefore,  highly  improbable,  that 
such  a  meaning  was  intended  by  one  whose  object  was,  not 
to  perplex  and  deceive,  but  to  confirm,  to  enlighten,  to  con- 
sole. 

And  this  probability  will  beaugnvcnted  in  a  tenfold  pro- 


portion, if  it  shall  appear  on  inquiry,  (as  it  will.  I  appri  hend, 
appear  to  all  who  inquire  with  sufiic  lent  candour  and  dili- 
gence,) that,  of  those  believers  for  whose  use,  in  every  age 
of  the  world,  the  promise  of  our  Lord  was,  apparently,  in- 
tended, the  great  majority  have,  in  every  age,  adhered  to  the 
literal  interpretation. 

If  of  a  numerous  assemblj',  the  major  part  misconceive 
the  pur|iort  of  an  oration,  the  mistake  will  he,  in  common 
life,  attributed  to  a  wilful  or  involuntary  defect  of  clearness 
in  the  orator;  he  will  be  supposed  to  have  pur|)osely  con- 
cealed his  meaning  from  the  passions  and  prejudices  of  the 
vulgar,  or  to  have  failed  from  natural  infirmity  in  producing 
that  effect  on  their  understandings  which  was  the  ostensible 
object  of  his  endeavours. 

But  neither  mysticism  nor  weakness  can,  without  the 
wildest  impiety,  be  imputed  by  any  Christian  sect  to  our 
common  Master.  He  came  to  give  light  to  mankind,  and  he 
would  employ,  we  may  be  sure,  in  that  glorious  mission,  the 
means  which  were  best  adapted  to  his  end.  The  manner, 
then,  in  which  the  majority  of  the  Christian  church  have, 
in  everj'  age,  agreed  to  understand  any  expression  of  their 
Lord,  (though  this  agreement  will  be  no  absolute  proof  that 
their  interpretation  is  true,)  yet  will  it  certainly  go  a  consid- 
erable way  to  i)ersuado  a  candid  man  that  it  is  so. 

And  the  presumption  of  its  trutli  will  be  stronger  still,  if 
we  find  that,  in  tliis  majority  of  believers,  those  ages  are 
included  which  come  nearest  to  the  time  of  the  apostles, — 
and  that  in  antiquity,  no  less  than  universalil}',  it  has  the 
advantage  over  the  opposite  opinion. 

For,  though  nothing,  doubtless,  of  divine  authority,  (and 
no  authority  can  be  absolutely  conclnsive  which  is  not  di- 
vine,) be  ascribed  to  those  remoter  periods :  yet,  as  every 
stream,  in  proportion  to  its  length,  is  exposed  to  adulteration; 
and  as  every  machine  gathers  rust  by  the  very  act  of  contin- 
uance; so  is  it  reasonable  to  compare,  as  far  as  possible,  our 
own  opinions  with  the  opinions  of  those  ages,  when  the  very 
youth  of  Christianity  exempted  her  from  some  of  those  cor- 
ruptions which  are  tiie  attendant  curse  on  time.  But,  in  the 
weight  of  antiquit)',  no  less  than  of  numbers,  the  orthodox 
lay  claim  to  victory. 

To  such  a  claim,  however,  two  leading  objections  have 
been  made :  the  first,  that  the  ancient  Christian  writers  were 
incompetent  judges  of  scripture;  the  second,  that  those  wri- 
ters to  whom  we  appeal  were  the  favourers  of  a  small,  though 
learned  party,  who  were  themselves  the  corrupters  of  that 
faith  which  was  primitive,  and,  till  their  success,  universal ; 
and  who  brought  from  Alexandria,  among  other  Platonic  ab- 
surdities, the  doctrine  far  which  I  now  contend. 

These  objections  are  neither  of  them  new,  and  each  has 
been  already  answered.  So  old  they  are,  indeed,  and  have 
been  so  often  refuted,  that  the  time  might  seem  but  wasted 
which  is  spent  in  their  discussion,  were  it  not  needful,  that 
so  long  as  they  are  urged  they  should  not  be  urged  unno- 
ticed ;  lest  the  pertinacity  of  our  antagonists  should  assume 
the  garb  of  victory,  and  they  should  pretend,  at  length,  to 
the  triumphant  possession  of  that  field  on  which  a  superior 
arm  has  long  since  laid  them  breathless. 

The  accuracy  or  intelligence  of  the  ancient  fiithers  as  inter- 
preters of  Scri|)ture,  I  am  little  concerned  to  vindicate.  As 
divines  they  were  little  better,  and  as  critics,  too  often  con- 
siderably worse,  than  many  among  the  moderns,  who  must 
never  hope  to  be  referred  to  in  the  schisms  of  contending 
nations.  But  it  is  not  as  expounders  of  the  gospel,  hut  as 
historians  of  public  opinion,  that  the  theological  writers  of 
former  ages  are  chiefly  entitled  to  our  respectful  notice. 
Were  their  original  observations  less  valuable  than  they  are, 
(and  it  is  vain  to  deny,  to  many  at  least,  among  their  number, 
tiie  praise  of  natural  acuteness,  of  extensive  learning,  and  in- 
defatigable diligence,)  yet,  as  contemporary  witnesses  to  the 
ancient  faith  of  the  churches  of  Christ,  the  dates  at  which 
they  flourished  must  alwa3's  give  importance  to  their  decis- 
ion ;  as  in  a  question  of  prescription  we  are  accustoined  to 
refer  to  the  evidence  of  the  oldest  neighbour,  though  that 
neighbour  have  no  other  quality  but  age,  which  can  induce  us 
to  pay  a  deference  to  his  opinions. 

It  is  proved,  then,  in  answer  to  the  first  objection,  that,  to 
our  present  purpose,  the  early  Christian  writers  are  not  in- 
competent authority ;  since  they  are  not  adduced  to  decide 
whether  the  doctrine  under  examination  be  absolutely  true  or 
false,  but  only  whether  it  was  really  the  prevalent  opinion  in 
those  ages  with  which  they  were.best  acquainted. 

To  the  second  objection,  which  refers  the  introduction  of 
those  opinions  which  we  cull  orthodox  to  the  commencement 
of  the  second  century  from  Christ,  and  to  the  labours  of  Jus- 


262 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


tin,  IrcriEEus,  and  TerUillian,  we  may  first  reply,  that  this  hy- 
pothesis is  directly  contrary  to  the  witness  of  such  primitive, 
or,  as  they  are  usually  called,  apostolic  writers,  as  liave 
transmitted  any  portion  of  their  work  to  posterity.  The  pass- 
ages are  well  known  which  have  been  produced  from  these 
venerable  relics  in  affirmation  of  the  divinity  of  our  Lord 
.Tesus  Christ.  It  is  more  to  my  present  purpose  to  observe, 
that,  on  the  personality  of  the  Holy  Ghost,  their  testimony  is 
equally  decisive. 

Hermas,  whom  St.  Paul  salutes  by  name  in  his  Epistle  to 
the  Romans,  opposes  in  his  "  Shepherd"  the  Spirit  of  God  to 
the  evil  demon,  in  terms  which  can  only  suit  the  opposition 
of  one  real  person  to  another.  The  work  of  Hermas  is,  in- 
deed, confessedly  allegorical ;  yet  is  it,  apparently,  to  an  at- 
tentive reader,  no  difficult  task  to  distinguish  in  what  parts 
he  is  speaking  by  a  figure,  and  in  what  expressing  his  own 
serious  conviction ;  and  when  the  good  or  evil  genius  is 
spoken  of,  we  have  no  reason  to  believe  that  he  is  not  in  ear 
nest,  or  that  any  other  individuals  are  intended  than  Satan 
and  the  Spirit  of  God. 

Bat,  whatever  doubts  may  exist  as  to  the  meaning  of  Hermas 
none  can  be  entertained  as  to  that  of  Clement,  the  felloW' 
labourer  of  the  same  great  apostle  ;  who,  as  quoted  by  Basil 
no  less  than  in  that  epistle  which  only  now  exists  in  the  Sy 
riac  translation,  but  of  which  Wetstein,  no  incompetent  judge, 
so  strongly  urges  the  autlienticity,  attributes  life,  and  anxiety, 
and  active  agency  to  the  Holy  Ghost,  in  the  same  manner  as 
to  the  Father  and  the  Son. 

Ignatius,  in  like  manner,  in  his  Kpistle  to  the  Magnesians, 
(a  work  which  has  stood  the  severest  test  of  criticism,)  de- 
scribes the  apostles  as  rendering  a  like  obedience  to  all  the 
several  persons  of  the  Trinity.  And  the  blessed  Polycarp,  in 
his  expiring  prayer,  as  preserved  by  those  brethren  of  the 
Churcii  of  Smyrna  who  attended  his  captivity  and  wept  around 
the  flames  of  his  martyrdom,  gives  glory  to  the  Holy  Ghost 
in  almost  the  very  words  of  our  present  doxology. 

This  form  of  praise,  indeed,  which  was  recognized  by  Dio- 
nysus of  Alexandria  as  the  ancient  order  of  Christian  invo- 
cation; which  concluded  the  hymn  of  the  martyr  Athenogenes; 
and  that  yet  more  ancient  Canticle  ik  'iTrix-J-^via.,  which  was 
in  the  fifth  century  of  universal  and  immemorial  usage  among 
the  meaner  Christians;  is  in  itself  an  illustrious  evidence  of 
the  ancient  opinion  of  the  church,  and  may  prove  that  in  the 
earliest  times,  as  now,  the  unlearned  majority  were  orthodox. 
It  was,  we  learn  from  Basil,  a  pious  and  popular  custom  to 
return  thanks  in  this  form  to  the  three  persons  of  the  Godhead 
by  name,  when  first  the  lamp  was  lighted  in  the  evening. 
Now,  to  customs  of  this  sort,  when  they  are  universal,  and 
above  all,  perhaps,  when  they  are  confined  to  the  uninstructed 
and  the  poor,  we  can  hardly  ever  err  in  imputing  a  very  high 
degree  of  antiquity.  For  an  unwritten  prayer  to  grow  into 
general  usage  may  require,  as  it  should  seem,  the  lapse  of 
more  than  a  single  century;  and  those  of  our  order,  whose 
duty  has  thrown  them  among  the  peasantry  of  the  remoter 
provinces,  will  have  had  ample  occasion  to  observe  their  te- 
nacity of  ancient  customs.  In  the  hymns,  the  legends,  and 
the  artless  devotions  of  our  Kuglish  poor,  it  is  often  not  im- 
possible to  trace  the  relics  of  superstitions  long  since  passed 
away,  of  Pagan  and  Roman  Catholic  prejudices  ;  but  seldom, 
indeed,  can  we  find  a  form  of  recent  introduction  among  those 
habitual  ejaculations  of  prayer  or  praise,  which  lull  poverty 
to  rest  on  her  rugged  couch,  or  welcome  in  the  hard  ajid 
wholesome  repast  of  labour.  In  a  cottage  famil}'  tlie  religious 
instruction  of  the  young  invariably  devolves  on  the  aged  ;  tlic 
child  is  taught  by  his  grandmother  the  same  words  which  she 
licrself  had,  in  like  manner,  learned  during  her  infancy  ;  and 
thus,  from  year  to  year,  the  same  address  goes  on,  acquirina: 
an  additional  sanctity  in  each  successive  generation.  It  will 
not  be  pretended  by  our  learned  antagonists,  that  the  use  of 
tlie  Doxology  can  possibly  have  been  of  Pagan  origin  ;  and 
they  will  be  perplexed,  I  apprehend,  to  assign  to  a  custom 
which,  in  the  days  of  Basil,  was  popular  and  immemorial,  a 
less  tlian  apostolic  antiquity. 

But,  be  that  as  it  may,  the  sentiment  which  it  conve3'S  is 
the  same,  as  we  have  seen,  which,  amid  the  smoke  and  ashes 
of  martyrdom,  could  raise  the  hopes  and  inspire  the  courage 
of  the  last  surviving  disciple  of  the  last  apostle,  the  beloved 
hearer  of  him  who  was  himself  the  beloved  of  the  Lord.  If 
Polycarp  were  mistaken,  who  shall  ho)ic  in  these  latter  days 
to  unriddle  an  evangelist's  meaning^  If  St.  John  himself 
had  erroneously  expounded  the  promise  of  his  friend,  we  may 
well  close  the  volume  of  Scripture  in  despair,  till  the  lion  of 
the  tribe  of  .Tudah  shall  reluru  to  open  its  seals. 

j\'or  are  the  testimonies  of  the  Apostolic  Fathers,  whether 


relating  to  the  divinity  of  the  Son,  of  the  Personality  of  the 
Holy  Ghost,  of  a  nature  which  allords  even  the  slightest  in- 
ternal reason  to  suspect  interpolation  or  imposture.  Tlieyare 
either  pious  ejaculations  under  circumstances  wherein  the 
soul  of  man  would  naturally  revert  to  prayer  ;  or  they  are  ar- 
guments or  illustrations  connected  with  the  discourse  which 
contains  them,  and,  therefore,  not  to  be  excluded  without  in- 
jur}' to  its  general  texture.  And,  above  all,  the  comparative 
vagueness  of  their  expression  may  prove  them  to  have  pro- 
ceeded from  devout  and  simple  minds,  while  incidentally 
speaking  of  truths  which  it  was  not  their  immediate  business 
to  defend.  The  hand  of  interpolation  would  have  been  coarser 
and  more  decisive;  and,  if  the  object  had  been  to  enforce  the 
Trinitarian  opinions,  the  expressions  employed,  we  may  be 
sure,  would  have  been  far  more  technically  orthodox.  The 
moderate  tone  and  general  nature  of  those  passages  where  the 
Triune  Godhead  is  implied,  may  convince  us  at  once  that  the 
text  is  not  in  these  instances  corrupted,  and  may  induce  us 
also  to  believe  that  those  tenets  had  been  hitherto  very  little 
questioned,  which  are  mentioned  thus  unguardedly. 

If,  then,  we  should  admit  the  assertion  to  be  accurate,  that 
a  majority  of  Christians  were,  in  the  days  of  Justin  and  Ter- 
tuUian,  averse  from  the  orthodox  doctrine,  we  might  rather 
conclude  that  a  departure  from  ancient  principles  had  taken 
place  among  the  more  ignorant  believers,  than  that,  in  the 
second  century,  those  doctrines  were  new  to  Christian  ears, 
uhich  had  been  taught  in  the  church  by  Clement  and  Igna- 
tius and  Polycarp. 

In  truth,  however,  those  passages  of  Justin  and  Tertullian, 
which  have  been  advanced  with  much  parade  of  learning  and 
no  little  scorn  of  those  who  have  ventured  to  explain  them 
differently,  may  be  proved,  on  a  candid  inquiry,  to  apply  to 
purposes  far  diti'erent  from  that  for  which  they  are  ordinarily 
cited,  and,  instead  of  convicting  the  orthodox  doctrine  of 
novelty,  are,  on  the  other  hand,  very  strongly  in  its  favour. 

Tertullian  complains  in  his  treatise  against  Praxeas,  that 
certain  Christians,  whom  he  grants  to  be  the  majority  of  the 
church,  though  he  at  the  same  time  objects  to  them,  that  they 
were,  "  simplices,  imprudentes  et  idiota;,"  having  been  con- 
verted from  the  worship  of  many  false  divinities  to  that  of  the 
one  true  God,  and  not  understanding  how  this  unity  was  to 
be  believed  together  with  the  trinitarian  distinction  of  per- 
sons, were  alarmed  at  the  thoughts  of  such  distinction.  And 
hence  it  is  inferred  (to  use  the  words  of  one,  who,  if  not  the 
most  distinguished,  is  at  least  the  most  forward  of  the  modern 
apostles  of  unitarianism,)  that,  ^'the  majority  of  Chrislians, 
being  plain  unlearned  men,  zealous  for  tlie  divine  unity,  tcarmli/ 
resisted  the  trinitarian  doctrine  which  some  philosophic  Chris- 
tians were  then  endeavouring  to  introduce." 

It  is  impossible  not  to  regret  that  this  ingenious  person, 
no  less  than  several  greater  names  on  both  sides  of  the  con- 
troversy, have  referred  to  Tertullian  for  the  purpose  of  contro- 
versy only,  and  have,  therefore,  regarded  the  present  passage 
as  distinct  and  insulated,  not  only  from  the  general  purpose 
of  that  work  to  which  it  belongs,  but  from  the  immediate  and 
necessary  context.  To  this  we  owe  those  idle  verbal  criticisms 
on  the  insignificant  word  "  idiota',"  and  the  application  of 
those  rules  of  language  and  propriety  to  the  fiery  presbyter  of 
Carthage,  which  would  have  been  ajiplicable,  perhaps,  to  a 
Roman  of  the  Augustan  age.  But  if,  instead  of  tearing  in 
pieces  a  detached  expression,  we  refer  to  the  work  itself,  we 
shall  find  that  Tertulliijn  was  not  complaining  of  the  difli- 
culty  which  he  experienced  in  introducing  a  new  doctrine 
into  the  church,  but  that  he  was  deploring  the  progTess 
which  a  recent  (a  very  recent)  error  was  making  in  the  west 
of  Christendom. 

Far  from  complaining  that  those  opinions  which  were  ad- 
verse to  a  taith  in  the  trinity,  were  the  result  of  deeply  rooted 
prejudice,  lie  speaks  of  them  as  "  a  novelty  of  yesterday,"  and 
reminds  his  fellow-Christians  that  this,  "like  every  former 
heresy,  may  be  confuted  on  the  simple  princijilc,  that  what- 
ever has  been  from  the  beginning  is  true."  Now,  without 
discussing  the  truth  or  falsehood  of  his  principle,  it  is  evident, 
that  the  simple  fact  of  his  adducing  such  a  rule  of  faith  is  al- 
together inconsistent  with  the  conduct  of  one  who  was  labour- 
ing either  to  corrupt  or  reform  an  ancient  opinion,  or  who 
had  offended  the  ears  of  the  church  by  the  introduction  of 
philosophical  novelties.  His  language  is  that  of  the  jealous 
asserter  of  antiquity,  the  strenuous  guardian  of  established 
doctrines:  it  is  (and  in  their  contest  with  heretics,  this  is  the 
almost  uniform  characteristic  of  the  Catholic  party)  the  de- 
fender, not  the  assailant,  who  addresses  us.  But,  if  a  Pro- 
testant in  Rome,  or  a  Socinian  in  England,  were  endeavour- 
ing to  disseminate  his  tenets  among  the  people,   he  would 


HEBER'S  BAMPTON  LECTURES. 


263 


not,  Ave  may  be  sure,  exhort  his  hearers  to  stand  on  their 
ancient  paths,  and  beware  of  new-fangled  teachers ; — his 
arguments  would  be  directed  against  the  folly  of  inveterate 
prejudice,  and  he  would  urge  the  necessity  and  reasonableness 
of  judging  for  ourselves,  without  regard  to  the  canons  and 
precedents  of  our  fdliblc  predecessors.  Tertullian  has  been 
called  by  Mr.  Belsham  a  philosophic  Christian:  but  he  must 
have  been  an  idiot  iu  the  strictest  modern  meaning  of  the 
term,  to  have  spoken  as  we  find  him  speaking,  had  not  the 
doctrine  of  the  trinity  been  already  in  prescriptive  possession 
of  the  minds  of  men. 

What,  then,  is  the  meaning  of  his  complaint^  Exactly 
that  which  every  jealous  supporter  of  established  doctrines 
brings  forward,  with  whatever  reason,  on  the  appearance  of  a 
new  religion, — the  progress  which  it  makes  among  the  vulgar. 
And  this  progress,  exaggerated,  as  usual,  in  such  cases,  by 
his  fears  and  jealousies,  he  ascribes,  with  sufficient  candour, 
to  the  inherent  and  admitted  difficulties  of  the  established 
creed,  and  the  consecjucnt  eagerness  with  which  the  lower 
orders  flocked  to  a  preacher  who  professed,  like  Praxi  as,  to 
vindicate  the  unity  of  God,  and  to  reconcile,  as  he  undert6ok 
to  do,  that  attribute  with  the  divinity  of  the  Lord  Jesus. 

For,  let  not  the  modern  Unitarian  expect  to  find  in  I'raxeas 
or  Noetus  a  precursor  of  Socinus  or  Priestley;  or  anticipate, 
from  the  transient  success  of  the  ancient  heretics,  an  abun- 
dant harvest  of  converts  to  the  modern  reformation  !  What- 
ever were  the  opinions  of  iSabellius,  (of  which  our  accounts 
are  too  contradictory  to  enable  us  to  form  any  adequate  judg- 
ment,) the  doctrines  of  Praxeas  are  sufficiently  known,  and 
have  no  parallel,  perhaps,  in  modern  error,  except  the  visions 
of  Emanuel  tSwedenborg.  He  taught,  indeed,  one  only  per- 
son in  the  Godhead;  but  he  taught  that  this  person  was  no 
other  than  that  God  who  was,  at  once,  the  Creator,  the  Re- 
deemer, and  the  Comforter  of  mankind  ;  who  was  born  of  a 
virgin,  crucified  under  Pontius  Pilate,  and  afterwards  de- 
scended in  a  shower  of  fire  on  the  apostles  in  the  day  of  Pen- 
tecost. In  other  words,  he  united  the  several  offices  of  the 
trinity  in  the  single  person  of  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ. 

To  that  Unitarianism,  which,  as  described  by  Mr.  Belsham 
himself,  would  rob  us  of  every  rational  ground  of  confidence 
in  the  mercy  of  heaven;  which  casts  on  us  again  the  burthen 
of  those  iniquities,  under  -which  the  whole  creation  hath 
groaned  and  travailed ;  which  reduces  the  Messiah  to  an 
earthly  prophet,  of  whom  we  are  ignorant  whether  he  is  in 
Heaven  or  no,  to  whom  we  owe  no  gratitude  for  favours  now 
received,  from  whom  we  have  nothing  to  hope  or  to  fear, — 
to  that  Unitarianism  the  Christians  of  Rome  and  Africa  were, 
in  the  age  of  Tertullian,  strangers.  The  tenets  of  Xoetus  and 
Praxeas  I  am  far  from  being  inclined  either  to  believe  or  de- 
fend ;  their  inconsistency  I  shall  have  occasion,  in  the  course 
of  these  lectures,  to  expose:  but  thus  much  may,  at  least,  be 
urged  in  favour  of  their  comparative  innocence,  that  the  foun- 
tain of  salvation  is  not,  by  their  means,  rendered  dry ;  and 
that,  while  they  strangely  confound  the  person  of  the  Re- 
deemer with  those  of  the  Father  and  the  Comforter,  they 
leave  us,  nevertheless,  the  consolation  of  an  almighty  Sa- 
viour, and  an  all-sufficient  sacrifice  for  sin. 

The  complaint,  then,  of  Tertullian,  cannot,  if  rightly  un- 
derstood, be  regarded  as  adverse  to  the  antiquity  or  univer- 
sality of  those  opinions  for  whose  orthodoxy  I  now  am 
pleading.  And  the  words  of  Justin,  in  which  he  admits  that 
some  revered  the  virtues  of  Christ,  who  refused  to  believe 
that  the  Supreme  Being  should  be  born  of  a  woman,  and 
suffer  by  a  shameful  death,  will  be  found,  on  examination  of 
their  context,  and  the  occasion  on  which  they  were  spoken, 
altogether  as  little  favourable  to  the  system  of  our  antagonists. 

Justin,  it  will  be  recollected,  having  already  nearly  worsted 
his  Jewish  adversary  on  the  point  that  Jesus  was  the  expected 
Messiah,  the  rabbin,  as  usually  happens  with  the  weaker 
party,  diverts  the  argument  to  that  which  had  only  incident- 
ally become  a  question,  our  Lord's  pre-existencc  and  divinity. 
Jsstin,  therefore,  reminds  him,  as  any  disputant  would  in 
such  a  case  have  done,  that  the  Deit)'  of  Jesus  was  not  the 
point  under  immediate  discussion ;  that,  on  whichever  side 
the  truth  might  lie  as  to  the  peculiar  tenets  which  Justin 
himself  maintained  on  this  mysterious  subject,  Trypbo  was 
not  therefore  justified  in  resisting  the  arguments  drawn  from 
the  ancient  prophets,  to  prove  the  general  fact  of  our  Saviour's 
mission  from  God.  "There  are  some,"  he  continues,  "I  do 
not  think  them  right  in  such  their  opinion,  but  there  are  some 
who  allow  that  Jesus  is  the  Christ,  though  they  deny  his 
miraculous  incarnation.  We  may,  then,  discuss  the  first  of 
these  questions  distinctly  from  the  other,  since  there  is.  in 
fact,  no  necessary  connexion  between  the  proposition,  that 


Jesus  was  a  prophet  sent  from  God,  and  that  he  was  an  eter- 
nal and  almighty  Person  incarnate." 

That  this  is  the  general  tendency  of  Justin's  argument,  our 
antagonists  themselves  will  not,  I  apprehend,  deny :  nor,  from 
such  a  statement  can  it  by  any  means  appear,  either  that 
Justin  thought  (which  we  know  from  bis  strong  expressions 
elsewhere  he  certainly  did  not  think)  tlie  doctrine  of  the 
Trinity  unimportant  to  Christianity,  or  that  the  persons  whom 
he  mentions  as  holding  opinions  adverse  to  that  doctrine 
were,  in  his  time,  the  majority-  of  Christians.  Whatever, 
indeed,  were  their  number,  it  is  apparent  that  those  individ- 
uals denied  not  only  the  Divinity  of  Christ,  but  his  birth  from 
a  virgin,  and  that  tlicy  must  therefore  have  differed  not  from 
Justin  only,  and  the  orthodox  Christians  of  later  times,  but 
from  Socinus  and  Crellius  themselves.  And  though  the 
modern  Unitarians  have  made  so  large  advances  on  the  scep- 
ticism of  their  more  cautious  and  more  learned  predecessors, 
yet  have  (aw  of  them,  as  yet,  attained  so  lofty  a  pitch  of  free- 
thinking  as  to  reject  the  authority  of  St.  Alatthew  and  St. 
Luke,  and  to  degrade  our  Saviour  to  the  mortal  son  of  Joseph 
the  carpenter. 

But,  further,  it  is  apparent,  that  it  was  the  interest  of  Justin, 
so  far  as  the  success  of  his  argument  was  concerned,  to  as- 
sign as  much  of  weight  as  could  with  truth  be  assigned  to 
the  number  and  authority  of  these  dissidents,  since  we  find 
him  urging  their  example  on  Trypho.  He  calls  them,  how- 
ever, T/m?  not  :Ts/.>.ac,  far  less  faxsi'^vi^  or  ^>.«'cTi;; — "certain," 
that  is,  not  "many  persons."  And  the  force  of  the  word  t/kc 
is  so  far  opposed  to  the  notion  of  any  considerable  number, 
that  it  is  known  to  be  almost  equivalent  to  Ixiyji,  "a  few." 

Justin  repeats,  however,  and  repeats  it  with  considerable 
earnestness,  that  he  himself  was  far  from  assenting  to  an 
opinion  so  degrading  to  the  Lord  whom  he  worshipped  ;  and 
he  concludes  by  declaring,  as  our  antagonists  themselves  un- 
derstand the  following  sentence,  that  he  should  continue  in 
his  present  sentiments,  even  though  the  majority  of  Chris- 
tians should  maintain  the  contrary. 

According  to  their  own  interpretation,  then,  the  sentence 
is  obviously  hypothetical ;  "  In  case  it  should  so  happen,"  he 
is  made  to  say,  "  that  the  majority  of  Christians  should  em- 
brace such  an  opinion,  even  in  that  case  1  would  not  assent 
to  it."  The  Syrian  martyr,  then,  might  rather  seem  to  con- 
template the  future  possibility  of  encroaching  heresy,  than  to 
acknowledge  that  tenets  similar  to  those  of  Socinus  and  Dr. 
Priestley  were,  at  that  time,  the  prevailing  sentiment  of  the 
church. 

It  may  be  doubted,  however,  with  reason,  -whether  the 
words  themselves  of  Justin  be  capable  of  that  renderino- 
which  Thirl  by  and  Waterland  have  given  tliein,  and  which 
only,  though  those  learned  men  contemplated  no  such  conse- 
quence as  ))OSsiblc,  can  be  applied  to  support  the  Socinian  hy- 
pothesis. The  sentence,  &/?  w  truvri^t^u^i  «J'"  dv  --sr/.ti^Tji  TiuTX 
/x:t  S:ia^<,vTi;  fjVi/si', — which  AVaterland  translates,  "whom 
I  assent  not  to,  no  not  though  there  were  ever  so  many  con- 
curring to  tell  me  so," — is  convicted  by  such  a  renderino-  of 
a  solecism  of  the  most  obvious  kind,  inasmuch  as  ^uyrii-i/Axi, 
a  verb  in  the  indicative  mood,  can  with  no  propriety  be  placed 
in  opposition  to  t'lTntv  in  the  optative.  If  Justin,  then,  had 
desired  to  express  the  sentiment  which  they  impute  to  him, 
his  words,  if  he  had  spoken  good  Greek,  would  not  have  been 
si;  (T  5-i>VTi5-ij«W ^tf'  uv  si^i/E/,  but  Sic  tt  0-vvTi-^itynv^  »fV  av 

But  though  the  language  of  the  Syrian  martyr  is  doubtless 
far  from  classical,  yet  will  not  it  be  easy  to  find  in  his  works 
any  similar  instance  of  contempt  for  the  rules  of  grammar; 
nor  can  that  be  considered  as  judicious  criticism,  which, 
whether  for  the  sake  of  avoiding  a  fancied  tameness  of  ex- 
pression, or  of  serving  the  ends  of  a  sect,  will  adopt  an  un- 
grammatical  sense,  when  another  may  be  obtained  without 
violating  any  principle  of  diction.  The  particle  aw  is,  in  the 
present  passage,  plainly,  not  disjunctive,  but  expletive;  and 
the  only  sense  of  which  the  words  arc  capable,  is  one  di- 
rectly adverse  to  that  which  the  Socinians  would  have  them 
convey, — an  assurance,  namely,  that  there  were  nut  many 
who,  in  the  days  of  Justin,  disbelieved  our  S-aviour's  Deity. 

"Quibiis — neque  ipse  assentior,  nee  multi  sane  hsc  mihi 
opinione  ducti  dixerint." 

And  that  this  is  the  proper  rendering  is  apparent,  if  we 
consider,  that  in  the  days  of  Justin,  and  little  more  than  a 
century  from  the  death  of  our  Lord,  it  is  contrary  to  all  evi- 
dence to  suppose  that  the  authority  of  the  church  was  carried 
to  a  height  so  pontifical,  as  iliat  even  a  question  could  sug- 
gest itself  of  a  man's  submitting  his  faith  to  the  decision  of 


264 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


the  rnajoritj^  or  of  g-uiding  iiis  conscience  in  a  point  of  sach 
imjiortiince  by  any  but  the  Avrittcn  or  traditional  words  of 
inspiration.  Tlie  words  wliich  follow,  therefore,  and  wliicli 
have  been  sometimes  supposed  to  be  the  reason  given  by  the 
Syrian  martyr,  for  dissenting  from  the  usual  doctrine  of  the 
church,  are,  in  truth,  no  more  than  the  reason  why  the  uni- 
versal church  were  so  earnest  to  inculcate  those  opinions 
vhich  were  a  stumbling-block  in  tlie  way  of  Tryplio's  eon- 
version,  but  which,  as  received  from  the  Deity  himself,  their 
principles  would  neither  allow  them  to  suppress  nor  to  com- 
promise.    'ETe/(f/(  ffx  dv^-^ioTrU'jtc  S-Sar^^'J-tyt  ni^s>^i6o-y.id-u^  v7r^  o^tu 

That  the  Son.  indeed,  and  the  Holy  Ghost,  were,  as  well 
as  the  Father,  adored  in  the  days  of  Justin,  by  the  great  body 
of  Christians,  we  learn  from  Justin  himself,  in  a  treatise, 
wlicre,  of  all  others,  a  mis-statement  of  their  opinions  in  this 
respect  would  have  been  most  wicked  and  most  useless, — 
his  Second  Apology  for  the  Christians;  a  work  wherein  he 
justifies  the  great  body  of  believers  from  the  charges  of 
atheism  and  superstition  brought  against  them  by  their  Pagan 
enemies;  and  wherein  he  professes  to  give  an  accurate  ex- 
position of  those  doctrines  which  they  really  believed  and 
maintained. 

Now  I  am  convinced,  that  in  those  numerous  apologies 
and  (to  use  a  word  which  has,  during  these  fev,-  last  years, 
become  jiopular  and  almost  technical)  those  "  portraitures," 
which  the  advocates  of  different  sects  have,  in  our  times,  sent 
forth  in  commendation  or  defence  of  tlieir  respective  tenets, 
no  instance  can  be  found  in  which  ther  Apologist  has  ventured 
to  ascribe,  as  an  article  of  faith,  to  the  universal  sect,  those 
opinions  which  were  confined  to  a  small  though  learned  part 
of  it.  Not  even  where  the  tenet  was  of  a  popular  character, 
and  likely  to  conciliate  the  good  will  of  those  for  whose 
pferusnl  the  Apology  was  intended,  would  such  a  conduct  be 
hazarded.  There  are  Quakers  who  dress  themselves  like 
other  men ;  but  would  any  of  these,  in  controversy  with  an 
Episcopalian,  maintain  that  this  harmless  conformity  to  the 
world  was  the  general  opinion  and  practice  of  the  society  for 
whom  he  was  pleadingl  There  are  Protestants  who  rever- 
ence the  Episcopal  institution  as  of  primitive  and  apostolical 
appointment;  but  should  I,  or  any  other  Protestant  who  holds 
this  opinion,  maintain,  in  a  friendly  conference  with  a  Ro- 
manist, that  the  universal  body  of  Reformed  and  Lutheran 
churches  in  this  respect  agreed  with  me?  Still  stronger, 
however,  does  the  case  become,  when  the  tenet  in  question 
has  been  the  subject  of  derision  or  persecution;  when  it  is 
esteeuird  the  most  offensive  peculiarity  of  the  sect,  and  that 
from  which  their  enemies  have  taken  most  occasion  to  accuse 
them  of  blasphemy  or  madness.  The  doctrines  of  material- 
ism and  necessity  have  been  maintained,  we  know,  by  many  of 
the  leading  members  of  that  sect  which  chiefly,  in  the  present 
age,  opposes  the  opinion  of  a  Trinity;  yet  how  explicitly  do 
their  ingenious  supporters  disclaim  both  materialism  and  ne- 
cessity as  essential  or  universal  doctrines  of  the  infant  church; 
how  strongly  are  we  assured,  tliat,  whatever  be  the  notions 
of  individuals  on  these  important  subjects,  such  notions  are 
neit*her  taught  nor  received  by  the  majority  of  freethiiddng 
Christians. 

But  the  divinity  of  a  crucified  Man  was  a  doctrine  more 
revolting  to  the  Clreeks  and  Romans  than  the  materialism  of 
Priestley  to  the  majority  of  modern  believers:  the  injurious 
manner  in  which  the  influence  of  the  Holy  Ghost  and  the 
notion  of  a  Trinity  in  Unity  were  derided  by  the  Heathen,  is 
apparent  from  the  few  ancient  libels  against  our  faith  which 
have  descended  to  the  present  generation.  It  was  incumbent, 
therefore,  on  the  Apologist  of  Christianity  to  show,  that  those 
opinions  (whether  he  himself  adopted  them  or  no,)  were  the 
opinions  of  a  small  party  only  ;  that  they  were  points  on  which 
the  church  permitted  every  man  to  think  as  he  pleased;  and 
that  ignorance  only  or  malignity  could  visit  their  supposed 
im]picty  on  the  universal  body  of  Christians. 

Such  would,  such  necessarily  must  have  been  the  conduct 
of  the  eloiiucnt  and  (our  adversaries  themselves  being  judges) 
the  lumest  and  ciindid  Justin,  were  the  Unitarians  correct 
in  their  hypclhesis,  that  their  present  opinions  were,  in  his 
time,  those  of  a  great  majorit)-  in  the  Christian  world.  Uut 
how  different  is  the  declaration  of  faitli  which,  not  in  his 
own  name  only,  but  as  defender  of  the  Catholic  religion,  he 
advances  in  his  Second  Apology  ! 

"  In  gods  like  these,"  (he  is  speakipg  of  the  Pagan  dei- 
ties,) "  we  own  ourselves  to  he  unbelievers;  but  not  in  the 
most  true  and  faultless  God,  and  Father  of  justice  and  p\i- 
rity,  and  all  oilier  virtues.     Him,  and  the  Son  who  came  to 


teach  this  Gospel  to  us,  and  the  Prophetic  Spirit,  we  with  a 
true  and  reasonable  service  worship  and  adore!" 

Such,  in  the  days  of  the  elder  Antoninus,  and  barely  half 
a  century  from  the  death  of  St.  John,  was  the  confession  of 
the  Greek  and  ■^.YJ'iac  Churches.  Forty  j'ears  later,  we 
have  seen,  on  t^Ue^uthority  of  Tcrtullian,  that  a  belief  in  the 
Trinity  was  the  predominant  and  prescriptive  creed  of  the 
Christians  in  Western  Africa;  nor  can  we  better  sum  up  the 
result  of  these  testimonies  than  in  the  words  of  Irena?us,  who 
was  contemporary  both  with  Justin  and  Tcrtullian  and  Poly- 
carp  himself,  and  who,  as  a  native  of  Syria  and  a  Gallic 
bishop,  was  enabled  to  speak  with  greater  certainty  of  the 
predominant  opinions  in  the  Eastern  as  well  as  the  Western 
world. 

"  This  doctrine,"  lie  tells  us,  after  a  clear  and  copious  ex- 
position of  all  those  points  for  which  the  orthodox  are  now 
contending,  "  this  doctrine  and  this  faith  the  Church,  though 
scattered  through  the  earth,  has  received,  and  guards  as  if 
her  members  were  one  single  family-.  This  she  believes  as 
with  one  single  heart;  this  as  with  one  single  voice  she 
proclaims  and  teaches,  and  delivers  to  her  progeny.  There 
are  many  languages  in  the  world,  but  the  tenour  of  our  tradi- 
tion is  the  same.  The  Churches  in  Germany  believe  and 
teach  no  otherwise ;  nor  in  Spain,  nor  in  Gaul,  nor  in  the 
East,  nor  in  Egypt,  nor  in  Lybia,  nor  those  which  are  in  the 
midst  of  the  world,  and  in  the  central  provinces  of  Italy. 
But  as  all  the  world  is  enlightened  by  the  self-same  sun,  so 
does  the  doctrine  of  truth  shine  every  where,  and  enlighten  all 
who  desire  to  come  to  it.  Nor  will  the  most  eloquent  of  our 
Christian  teachers  add  to  this  tradition,  nor  the  weakest  in 
the  Gospel  diminish  aught  from  it.  For  when  the  faith  is 
one,  neither  can  an  eloquent  exposition  add  to  its  doctrines, 
nor  the  briefest  statement  detract  from  them." 

It  may  seeiu,  then,  that  little  either  of  modesty  or  learning 
is  shown  in  the  assertion  of  the  same  surviving  chief  of 
Unitarianism  whom  I  have  already  quoted,  that  one  hundred 
and  twenty  years  after  Christ,  "  the  majority  of  Christians, 
being  ])lain  and  unlearned  men,  warmly  resisted  the  Trinita- 
rian doctrine."  And  not  only  will  this  supposed  majority 
dwindle  down  into  a  comparatively  small  proportion,  so 
small,  indeed,  as  to  have  been  alike  unworth}'  the  mention  or 
knowledge  of  the  defenders  of  the  Church  and  its  persecu- 
tors, so  siuall  as  to  have  been  unknown  to  Pliny  and  unno- 
ticed by  Justin,  but  of  that  proportion  the  tenets  may,  perhaps, 
appear  to  have  been  such  as  will  by  no  means  furnish  a  pre- 
cedent to  the  modern  Unitarian  confession. 

This  inquir}',  however,  must  be  deferred  to  a  future  Sun- 
day, when  I  propose  to  examine  the  probable  source  of  those 
opinions  which  are  peculiar  to  orthodoxy,  no  less  than  the 
recorded  doctrines  of  those  who,  in  the  first  and  second 
centuries  after  Christ,  dissented  from  the  majority  of  their 
brethren. 


LECTURE  III. 

I  tell  you  the  ti'utli;  it  is  expedient  for  jou  tliat  I  go  away,  for  if  I 
go  not  away,  the  Comforter  Avill  not  come  \mto  vou;  but  if  I  de- 
part, I  will  seud  him  uulo  you. — John  xvi  7. 

I  have  shown  in  a  former  liCcture,  and  shown,  in  part, 
from  those  very  authorities  to  which  our  adversaries  chiefly 
appeal,  that,  in  the  second  century  of  the  vulgar  a;ra,  and  less 
than  one  hundred  years  from  the  resurrection  of  Jesus  Christ, 
the  doctrine  of  a  Trinity  of  persons  in  the  Godhead  (in  which 
doctrine  the  Personality  of  the  Spirit  of  God  is  completely 
and  necessarily  included)  was  too  widely  diffused  and  too 
firmly  seated  in  the  churches  both  of  the  East  and  West,  to 
have  been,  as  our  antagonists  pretend,  a  heresy  of  recent  in- 
troduction. 

But  neither  can  it  be  urged  with  any  show  of  likelihood, 
that  tiiis  opinion,  or  the  other  features  of  that  faith  which  we 
call  Catholic  and  orthodox,  were  derived  from  that  little  band 
of  philosophical  converts  whom  Christianity  received,  in 
those  early  aijcs,  from  the  Platonic  school  of  Alexandria. 
The  mixture  of  tliat  leaven  with  the  church,  if  it  ever  took 
|!lace  at  all,  must,  doubtless,  then  have  been  of  a  date  too  re- 
cent to  produce  the  effects  which  we  have  contemplated  ;  and 
the  scanty  infusion  of  learning,  which  was  at  no  time  suftl- 
'cicnt  to  rescue  her  from  the  imputation  of  barbarism,  can 
ihardly  have  bceu  an  ally  so  dangerous  as  it  is  sometimes 


HEBER'S  BA]\IPTOX  LECTURES. 


265 


represented,  to  the  primitive  simplicity  of  religion.  In  eccle-l  lioly  thinors  and  beings  like  himself  could  issue.  The  ligW 
siastieal  history  the  Platnnists  are  conspicuous,  because  the  I  itself  and  the  inhabitants  of  light  were  all  alike  his  offspring  ; 
share  of  knowledge  which  they  possessed  is  advantageously  all  which,  on  earth,  was  virtuous  or  fair,  or  wise,  was  only 


contrasted  with  the  general  ignorance  of  contemporary  be 
lievers ;  hut  that  very  ignorance  would  present  an  effectual 
barrier  against  the  extension  of  their  influence  in  the  church 


so  far  fair  and  wise  and  virtuous  as  it  emanated  from  his  per- 
fection; and  the  time  was  anticipated  when  the  final  triumph 
of  holiness  and  wisdom  sliould  be  no  longer  delayed  ;  and 


A  jealousy  of  carnal  learning  and  inetaphysical  refinement  when  the  God  of  goodness  should  destroy  or  conquer  all 
has  been,  in  every  age,  the  usual  characteristic  of  men  in 'by  which  his  gracious  designs  had  been  hitherto  opposed  or 
that  situation  of  life,  and  with  those  means  of  information,' impeded. 


which  ^ve  maj' reasonably  ascribe  to  the  primitive  ministers 
of  the  gospel;  nor  is  it  likely  that  the  poor  and  simple 
bishops  of  Gaul,  of  Pontus,  or  of  Spain,  should  purchase  the 
costly  manuscrijits,  or  attend  to  the  airy  reveries,  of  an  East- 
ern or  Egyptian  philosopher. 

The  ])Ower  of  making  proselytes  on  a  rapid  or  extensive  sys- 
tem is  seldom,  indeed,  possessed  by  the  recluse,  the  studious, 
or  the  refined.  The  habits  of  science  are  unfavourable  to  that 
activity  which  is  the  leading  characteristic  of  the  religious 
no  less  than  the  political  reformer;  and  while  Clemens  or 
Pantaenus  or  Origen  were  wearing  out  their  days  and  nights 
in  the  composition  of  elaborate  volumes,  which  few  would 
read  at  all,  and  still  fewer  would  read  with  unqualified  as- 
sent, the  banners  of  Christ  were  triumphantly  carried  through 
the  world  by  those  honesi-STrd-nnlearned  missionaries,  whose 
qualifications  were  confined  to  the  courage  of  an  ardent  faith, 
and  the  untaught  eloquence  of  feeling. 

It  is  a  problem,  indeed,  which  the  present  is  not  the  place 
to  solve,  to  what  extent  the  learning  of  a  rising  sect  may  con- 
tribute to  its  progress  in  the  world.  That  some  of  its  pro- 
fessors should  be  raised.  b_v  their  acquirements,  above  the 
ordinary  level  of  mankiiul,  is  a  circumstance  which  may, 
doubtless,  raise  the  general  party  in  their  0H"n  estimation,  and 
in  the  estimation  of  other  men  ;  it  ma}'  fling  a  grace  and  dif- 
nitj'  over  the  adoption  of  their  creed,  and  redeem  their  con- 
verts from  those  formidable  imputations  of  enthusiasm  or 
vulgarity  by  which  every  rising  sect  has,  to  a  certain  extent, 
been  assailed.  But  learning  to  a  rising  sect  is  less  a  weapon 
than  an  ornament.  The  plume  of  the  soldier,  and  the  other 
pageantry  of  war,  may  illustrate,  indeed,  his  triumph;  but 
it  is  by  the  sword,  not  by  the  crest,  that  his  triumph  must 
first  have  been  purchased :  and  it  is  by  unlearned  zeal  and 
unpolished  energy  only,  that  a  new  opinion,  or  an  infant  state, 
can  hope  to  conquer. 

It  rnaj-  be  doubted,  perhaps,  whether  the  students  of  Alex- 
andria would  have  even  desired  to  extend  their  peculiar  tenets 
beyond  the  narrow  bounds  of  Platonism.  It  is  certain  that 
thev  were  neither  qualified  by  their  numbers  nor  their  per- 
sonal resources  to  extend  a  new  opinion,  in  so  short  a  space 
of  time,  through  the  numerous  and  scattered  communities  of 
the  faithful. 

And  though  some  learned  converts  from  the  Platonic  sect 
have,  doubtless,  adorned  Christianity  with  some  of  the  no- 
blest monuments  of  genius  and  piety  which  our  religion  has 
to  show  ;  yet  is  it  by  no  means  true  that  a  general  approxima- 
tion took  place  between  the  tenets  of  the  academy  and  the 
gosjiel,  or  that  any  considerable  influx  of  learning  or  talent 
■was  derived  to  the  latter  from  the  former.  There  was  too 
much  of  interested  monopoly,  too  much  of  priestcraft  among 
the  latter  Plalonists,  to  allow  them  to  discover  trnth  or  merit 
beyond  the  limits  of  their  sect ;  and  the  examples  of  Apuleius, 
Jamblichus,  aiid  Apollonius  of  Tyana,  may  prove  that  their 
leaders  were  more  inclined  to  pretend  to  divinity  themselves 
than  to  acknowledge  the  divinity  of  Jesus.  And  the  follow- 
ing short  review  of  the  leading  tenets  of  the  modern  Platonic, 
or,  as  it  is  called,  the  Pythagorean  philosophy,  may  convince 
lis,  that  their  system  can  by  no  means  be  regarded  as  the 
parent  of  that  which  we  now  profess ;  and  that  much  of 
prayer  and  more  of  grace  was  needful  before  a  pajran  philoso- 
pher could  subdue  his  pride  to  the  standard  of  the  orthodox 
confession. 

The  leading  question  which,  at  the  particular  time  of 
which  I  am  speaking,  divided  the  opinions  and  occupied  the 
attention  of  the  educated  part  of  mankind,  was  the  nature  and 
origin  of  evil;  a  problem  which  the  eastern  Jlagi  and  the 
Alexandrian  Platonists  alike  undertook  to  solve  by  the  bril- 
liant but  unsubstantial  theory  of  two  opposing  principles,  to 


]3ut  though  their  notions  of  the  deity  were  thus  pious  and 
reasonable;  and  though,  in  some  obscure  expressions  of  their 
master,  we  may  trace  a  yet  nearer  approach  to  the  truth,  in 
the  adumbration  of  a  Threefold  existence  in  the  Godhead  :  yet 
did  they  not,  in  practice,  honour  him  as  God  of  whose  es- 
sence they  had  so  clear  a  knowledge  ;  and,  by  a  prudent  con- 
formity with  the  superstition  of  the  tiines,  thej'  paid  a  willing 
reverence  to  the  gods  and  idols  of  their  ancestors,  as  vice- 
gerents of  the  One  Supreme,  and  as  those  to  whom  he  had 
committed  all  care  of  that  mortality  which  was  beneath  his 
own  attention. 

Their  opinions  as  to  the  material  principle  were  of  a  nature 
still  less  conformable  to  religion  or  to  reason.  They  did  not, 
indeed,  at  the  time  of  which  I  am  speaking,  (it  is,  perhaps,  a 
vulgar  error  to  suppose  they  ever  did),  ascribe  to  any  thing 
evil  or  material  either  the  name  or  characteristics  of  Deity. 
But  to  matter  they  nevertheless  imputed  an  eternal  being,  a 
perception  of  pleasure  and  of  pain,  and  a  blind  and  stubborn 
instinct  of  self-preservation,  which,  inasmuch  as  its  very  ex- 
istence was  impure  and  opposed  to  the  spiritual  life,  was 
exerted  always  in  afflicting  or  debasing  those  spiritual  crea- 
tures which  were  entangled  in  the  vortex  of  its  influence. 

Of  the  evil  demons,  to  whose  agency  no  small  proportion 
of  the  natural  and  moral  phenomena  of  the  present  life  were 
ascribed,  two  different  opinions  were  held.  Some  there  were 
who  supposed  them  to  be  human  souls  or  lieavenlj'  spirits, 
who  by  intercourse  with  matter  had  depraved  their  habits  and 
affections  :  by  others  they  were  regarded  as  exhalations  from 
the  more  fiery  and  vivacious  particles  of  matter  itself;  a  little 
elevated,  indeed,  above  the  lion  or  serpent  of  the  visible 
world,  but  to  be  controlled,  like  their  brother  monsters  of  the 
forest  or  the  fen,  with  menaces,  or  flattery,  or  food  ;  to  be 
bound  by  exorcism  and  allured  or  chased  by  odours. 

But,  whatever  were  their  differences  in  these  and  other  cir- 
cumstances of  superstitious  detail,  in  one  leading  principle  the 
several  parties  agreed  ;  that  matter  was,  in  itself,  incurably 
corrupt,  the  origin  of  all  moral  evil ;  that  "the  drop  of  hea- 
venly dew"  (for  so  Synesius  calls  the  soul)  was  degraded 
and  enslaved  by  its  confinement  in  this  earthly  cistern  ;  that 
the  thoughts  and  wishes  of  the  sage  were  capable  of  only  one 
direction  ;  and  that  his  spirit  coveted  incessantly  to  exhale 
once  more  to  that  region  whence  she  had  descended. 

From  this  opinion,  when  applied  to  practice,  two  very  op- 
posjie  systems  took  their  rise.  The  professors  of  the  one, 
regarding  the  bod}"  as  an  obstinate  and  malicious  slave,  en- 
joined their  followers  to  macerate  him  with  abstinence,  and 
to  punish  him  with  stripes  and  chains ;  while  the  defenders 
of  the  other,  detached  from  the  world,  and  occupied  without 
ceasing  in  the  contemplation  of  the  Divine  Essence,  professed 
to  abandon  the  outward  man  to  the  guidance  of  his  own  in- 
stinct or  passion,  as  one  in  whose  sensual  pursuits  the  soul 
had  neither  interest  nor  responsibility,  and  whose  brutish 
gambols  were  beneath  the  notice  of  a  pure  and  abstracted 
spirit. 

It  is  evident,  however,  that  these  previous  notions  would 
conduct  the  Platonists  to  conclusions  directly  at  variance 
with  those  peculiar  opinions  of  which  the  introduction  has 
been  ignorantly  ascribed  to  their  influence. 

I.  As  the  reduction  of  matter  into  form  was  regarded  as  an 
office  unworthy  the  immediate  hand  of  God  ;  and  as  the  im- 
perfections which  they  found  or  fancied  in  the  visible 
world  made  them  still  more  unwilling  to  ascribe  its  fabric  to 
the  AUgood  and  Allwise;  they  were  accustomed  to  refer  this 
work  to  a  subaltern,  perhaps  an  evil,  agent,  whom  their 
hatred  of  the  Jews  induced  them  readily  to  identify  with  the 
Jehovah  of  that  unpopular  nation. 

II.  Having  assumed  as  a  principle  the  utter  impurity  of 


whose  slriitigles  they  ascribed  that  chequered  face  of  creation,  I  matter  and  all  its  accidents,  the  union  of  the  soul  with  the 


of  which  the  acknowledged  beauties  and  apparent  faults  for- 
bade them  to  ascribe  the  whole  to  either  a  good  or  evil  foun- 
tain. 

Of  these  two  warring  powers,  this  perfect  and  living  light, 
this  deadly  and  impenetrable  darkness  ;  this  unaltered  boun- 
ty, and  this  wickedness  uatameable ;  the  first  was  God,  the 
pure,  the  perfect  unity,  fri>m  whose  creation  only  pure  and 
Vol.  II 2  I  ' 


body  of  man  was  regarded  as  a  crime  in  itself,  or  as  the 
p\inishraent  of  former  offences.  They  absolutely,  therefore,, 
refused  to  believe  that  a  pure  and  perfect  Being  could  subject 
itself  to  an  union  so  unnatural ;  that  the  Divine  nature  could 
become  incarnate,  and  as  incarnate,  so  susceptible  of  hunger, 
of  thirst,  of  bodily  infirmities,  and  death. 

Lastly,  they  denied  altogether  that  the  body  once  deceased 


A  . 


266 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


could  be  raised  to  happiness  or  glory ;  much  more  that  a 
person  clothed  with  such  an  incumbrance  could  be  admitted 
into  the  presence  or  entlironed  at  the  rignt  hand  of  God. 

They  were  principles  like  these  which  produced,  in  Por- 
phyry, the  most  formidable  antagonist  whom  Christianity 
ever  encountered;  they  were  these  which  raised  the  empiric 
ApoUonius  to  his  subsequent  faliulous  eminence;  which  are 
sometimes  supposed  to  have  withdrawn  the  great  Ammonius 
from  the  communion  in  which  he  was  educated  ;  which  se- 
duced the  acute  but  pedantic  Julian  to  the  forgotten  super- 
stition of  his  ancestors;  and  which  kept  Synesius,  beneath 
the  mantle  of  episcopacy,  more  than  half  a  Pagan  still. 

Among  those  few  Platonists,  indeed,  who  embraced  a  nom- 
inal Christianity,  the  same  preconceptions  led  them  for  the 
most  part  to  join  any  sect  of  Christians,  rather  than  those 
whose  tenets  I  am  now  defending;  to  deny,  with  the  Docets, 
the  bodily  existence  of  Christ;  or  to  degrade  him,  with  the 
followers  of  Carpocrates,  into  a  merely  human  philosopher. 
And,  while  almost  all  the  heresies  which  distracted  the 
church  during  the  three  first  centuries  are  deducible  from 
Platonic  principles,  the  small  number  of  philosophers  who 
embraced  the  Catholic  faith  were  rather  orthodox  in  spite  of 
their  Platonism,  than  conducted  by  Platonisra  to  orthodoxy. 
The  words  of  Tertullian  are  well  known,  in  which  he  calls 
the  great  master  of  the  Academy,  "  the  seasoner  of  all  her- 
esies ;"  and  the  contumely  to  which  Origen  himself  was 
exposed  in  the  ancient  churcli  may  prove,  that  the  allegiance 
of  the  Alexandrian  school  to  Christianity  was  at  no  time 
free  from  suspicion  among  the  more  rigid  and  less  learned 
believers. 

But  if  the  Platonists  had  really  sufficient  influence  with 
the  Christian  world  to  infect,  as  our  antagonists  maintain, 
their  faith  with  the  doctrine  of  the  Trinity,  why,  it  may  h 
asked,  was  the  contagion  limited  to  this  one  peculiar  opinion 

Were  tlie  ceremonies  of  magic  or  the  notion  of  tlie  metemp- 
sychosis less  likely  to  seduce  an  ignorant  multitude  than  a 
speculation  as  to  the  manner  of  tlie  Divine  existence ;  or 
were  they  more  at  variance  with  the  spirit  of  Christianity 
than,  if  we  believe  our  antagonists,  the  adoration  of  the  Holy 
Ghost  and  the  Son?  Or  how  can  we  believe  that  the  Pla- 
tonist,  viho,  to  gain  admission  into  the  Church,  had  renounced 
his  more  obvious  peculiarities,  should  have  raked  out,  Irom 
the  darkness  of  the  Timajus  and  the  Parmcnides.  a  doctrine 
which,  far  from  being  a  conspicuous  tenet  of  the  Academy, 
was  hardly  known,  it  may  be  thought,  to  its  students,  till  it 
W'as  quoted  against  them  by  the  Christians? 

That  a  doctrine,  however,  may  be  found  in  the  works  of 
Plato  which  bears  a  resemblance,  though  an  imperfect  one, 
to  the  Catholic  faith  of  one  Divine  Being  displayed  in  three 
Hypostases,  is  a  truth  acknowledged  by  all.  And  thouo-li 
the  above  considerations  may  prove,  that  the  Christians  can- 
not have  borrowed  it  from  the  Academy,  tlie  Socinians  may 
do  well  to  reflect,  whether  that  opinion,  which  was  espoused 
by  the  deepest  thinkers  of  the  ancient  world,  can  be,  in  itself, 
so  repugnant  to  natural  reason  or  natural  religion  as  its  oppo- 
nents would  have  us  believe. 

But,  not  only  is  it  highly  improbable  that  the  orthodox 
opinion  should  have  been  introduced  into  Christianity  by  the 
Platonist,  it  may  be  sliown,  that  we  must,  on  every  rule  of 
likelihood  (and  independently  of  those  proofs  which  it  is  in 
our  power  to  produce  from  the  Apostolic  writings,)  assign  its 
introduction  to  the  Apostles  themselves. 

For,  first,  we  have  already  seen  the  confidence  with  which 
Justin  and  Ireiiajus  and  Tertullian  appeal  to  Apostolic  tradi- 
tion and  authority. 

To  the  general  weakness  of  such  appeals  in  themselves  I 
must  not  be  supposed  insensible  :  I  am  far  from  denying  that, 
in  the  space  of  half  a  century,  many  actions  or  assertions  mitrht 
be  fathered  on  the  Apostles,  of  wliich  the  Apostles  were  afto- 
gether  guiltless.  But  though  Apostolic  tradition  be  not  alone 
sufficient  to  establish  tlie  truth  of  any  particular  doctrine,  yet, 
from  the  frequency  of  these  appeals  two  facts  will  necessarily 
follow  ;  1st,  That  the  orthodox  regarded  the  Apostles  as  the 
original  founders  of  their  sect;  and,  2dly,  That  they  acknow- 
ledged no  interruption  in  the  tradition  of  the  Church  ;  no  sub- 
sequent loss  and  revival  of  the  Apostolic  tenets. 

But  as  every  innovation  must  have  had  its  beginning,  every 
religious  sect  its  heresiarch,  so  will  it  also  be  "allowed,  that 
the  doctrine  of  the  Trinity  (if  it  were  indeed  an  innovation 
and  a  heresy,)  must  needs  have  been  introduced,  if  the  Apos- 
tles were  still  alive,  in  opposition  to  their  authority;  if  after 
their  decease,  in  opposition  to  the  general  sense  of  that 
Church  which  they  had  established. 

Is  it  not  plain,   however,  from   the  common  custom  and 


common  sense  of  mankind,  that  a  sect  would  hold  in  honour, 
as  their  teacher  and  spiritual  father,  that  person  from  whom 
tliey  had  received  their  peculiar  opinions,  not  those  by  whose 
authority  such  opinions  had  been  originally  opposed  and  an- 
athematized ?  Do  the  Calvinists  call  themselves  after  the 
name  of  Luther,  or  will  the  Protestants  appeal  to  the  tradi- 
tional sentiments  of  Bellarmine  ?  Is  it  Ali  or  Omar  whom 
the  Sunnites  reverence?  and  if  Cerinthus  or  Carpocrates  had 
superceded  in  the  Church  the  authority  of  Peter  and  John, 
would  the  latter  or  tlie  former  names  have  stood  conspicuous 
in  the  Christian  rubric,  and  assumed,  in  our  temples  and  our 
manuals  of  devotion,  the  attitude  and  halo  of  sanctity? 
Would  not  the  Gospel  of  Leuce  have  in  such  a  case  sup- 
planted that  of  Luke  ?  and  would  not  those  who,  sixty  years 
afterwards,  professed  the  same  opinions,  (instead  of  appeal- 
ing to  the  real  or  pretended  sentiments  of  those  Apostles 
from  whom  they  had  revolted,)  have  told  us  of  his  triumphant 
zeal  who  had  extricated,  from  the  mists  of  Jewish  error,  that 
genuine  religion  which  the  original  followers  of  Jesus  had 
obscured  or  betrayed  ? 

For  those  whom  we  call  Apostles  or  Evangelists  the  here- 
tical sects  had  no  such  implicit  reverence.  St.  Paul  was 
styled  Apostate  by  the  Ebionites;  and  in  like  manner,  be- 
yond a  doubt,  would  the  Trinitarians  have  proceeded,  had 
the}'  derived  their  origin  from  any  of  those  whom  the  twelve 
had  delivered  to  Satan. 

"  But  the  heresy,"  it  will  be  said,  "  is  the  error  of  a  later 
period;  and  the  last  of  the  Apostles  had  gone  to  his  reward 
before  Christ  was  worshipped  as  a  God,  or  the  Holy  Ghost 
revered  as  a  distinct  intelligence." 

I  will  not  now  remind  our  learned  antagonists,  that  not 
only  had  these  doctrines  been  taught  by  Clemens,  Ignatius, 
and  Polycarp,  but  that  in  the  days  of  Justin  and  Irenseus 
they  were  the  prevailing  and  prescriptive  opinions  of  Chris- 
tendom. I  will  not  ask  them  to  calculate  what  time  is  needful 
to  disperse  an  idolatrous  creed  (for  such  they  esteem  it) 
through  the  many  thousand  LInitarian  churches  which  must 
have  arisen,  during  the  lifetime  of  the  apostles,  in  every  re- 
gion of  the  empire.  But  whenever  the  innovation  was 
effected,  it  must,  doubtless,  have  had  a  beorinning;  and  if 
that  beginning  had  been  opposed  by  the  scholars  and  imme- 
diate successors  of  the  twelve,  supported  by  their  recent  au- 
thorilj',  the  apostles,  it  is  plain,  would  not  have  been  held  in 
such  exalted  reverence  by  the  fathers  of  the  succeeding  age. 

We  may  perhaps  be  answered,  that  "the  crafty  heretic  who 
sowed  such  tares  in  the  evangelical  field,  professed  no  nov- 
elty, but  the  revival  of  ancient  opinions ;  that  he  grounded 
his  system  on  the  alleged  authority  of  the  apostles  them- 
selves, which  the  universal  church,  as  he  pretended,  had 
subsequently  corrupted  or  mistaken." 

That  this  should  be  attempted,  and  attempted  with  suc- 
cess, at  a  time  when  the  last  of  the  apostles  was  hardly  cold 
in  his  grave,  and  while  manj'  thousands  were  yet  alive  who 
had  received  from  his  living  lips  instruction,  and  from  his 
hands  ordination  and  authority,  is  a  mystery,  it  may  seem,  as 
hard  to  be  believed  as  any  one  of  those  for  which  the  Socin- 
ians despise  and  revile  us.  If  we  granted,  however,  what 
can  only  be  granted  for  the  sake  of  argument,  that  this  reply 
might  solve  the  difficulty  which  arises  from  the  frequent  re- 
ference of  the  early  fathers  to  apostolic  tradition  and  autho- 
rity, j'et  will  another  remain,  which  Unitarian  ingenuity,  I 
apprehend,  can  hardly  obviate. 

For,  2dly,  the  appeals  of  Tertullian,  Irenaeus,  and  Justin, 
to  apostolic  authority,  are  perfectly  silent  as  to  any  interrup- 
tion of  that  tradition  to  which  they  lay  claim,  or  to  any  loss 
and  subsequent  revival  in  the  church  of  those  tenets  which 
they  profess  to  have  been  the  tenets  of  our  Lord's  immediate 
followers. 

But  if  the  orthodox  opinions  arose  in  the  church  from  any 
other  teaching  but  that  of  the  apostles  themselves,  there 
must,  doubtless,  have  been  a  time  at  which  they  were  un- 
known. And  on  whatever  pretence  and  by  whatever  artifice 
their  introduction  was  effected,  its  author,  whether  reformer 
or  innovator,  could  not,  we  may  be  sure,  have  produced  so 
great  a  change,  without  a  painful  struggle  against  previous 
opinion,  and  a  display  of  talents  of  some  kind  or  other  which 
must  have  ensured  him  the  veneration  of  his  followers. 

The  name  of  reformer  or  restorer,  in  the  general  estimation 
of  mankind,  is  little  less  illustrious  than  that  of  first  dis- 
coverer. Luther,  we  know,  as  well  as  Melancthon  and 
Calvin,  professed  to  teach  no  novelties ;  but  to  inculcate  a 
return  to  the  primitive  models  of  doctrine  and  faith  and  wor- 
sliip.  Manes  and  Mohammed  revived,  as  they  pretended,  the 
original  tenets  of  the  Messiah  ;  yet  when  will  these  men  or 


HEBER'S  BAMPTON  LECTURES. 


267 


the  ciiangcs  which  they  effected  pass  away  Irora  the  memory 
of  ihe  world  ?  Had  such  a  revolution  as  our  antagonists 
suppose  taken  place  in  the  Christian  church  durinor  the  first 
century  of  its  existence,  would  not  the  volume  of  Eusebius 
have  overflowed  with  its  details,  and  would  not  the  teacher 
by  whose  agency  it  was  accomplished  have  assumed  a 
scarcely  less  lofty  rank  in  the  estimation  of  his  followers  than 
Peter  or  James  or  John? 

Such  a  teacher  as  is  here  supposed  would  have  been  hon 
oured  by  Trinitarians  as  the  second  founder  of  Christianity ; 
as  the  reviver  of  a  church  oppressed  by  Jewish  prejudice;  as 
the  comforter  and  purifier  of  the  afflicted  household  of  Jesus. 
His  patient  journeys  from  Syria  to  Spain,  and  from  Alexan- 
dria to  Lyons,  while  disseminating  the  revived  opinion;  his 
arduous  disputes  with  the  patrons  of  established  prejudice; 
his  fearless  indifference  under  the  anathemas  of  the  impious, 
and  the  holy  zeal  which  mocked  the  arts  of  Ebionite  bland- 
ishment ;  all  which  the  Arians  (if  their  sect  had  triumphed) 
v.ould  have  related  of  their  supposed  reformer;  all  would 
have  swelled,  beyond  a  doubt,  the  annals  of  religious  contro- 
versy, and  have  remained  as  a  sacred  legacy  to  the  gratitude 
and  imitation  of  succeeding  Trinitarians. 

But  for  this  elder  and  greater  Athanasius  we  search  the 
page  of  history  in  vain.  Of  such  a  convulsion  no  traces  are 
found  in  the  writings  of  the  earliest  fathers.  Thej',  like  our- 
selves, treat  every  opinion  but  their  own  as  an  impious  and 
daring  novelty ;  and  acknowledge  no  other  founder  or  reno- 
vator of  the  faith  than  that  omniscient  Spirit  who  separated 
Barnabas  and  Paul  to  the  work  of  converting  the  Gentiles. 

Nor  will  it  be  said  by  those  who  are  even  moderately  ac- 
quainted with  the  ordinary  progress  of  opinion,  that  a  change 
so  considerable  could  have  been  effected  in  night  and  silence; 
that  "the  corruption  was  so  gradual  that  its  original  author 
is  unknown;  that  the  venom  devoured  the  vitals  of  religion, 
before  those  outward  symptoms  were  displayed  which  would 
have  produced,  at  first,  a  prompt  and  efficacious  remedj'."-i 

The  time  was  too  short,  the  3'ears  were  too  few,  the  body 
was  too  extensive,  for  an  imperceptible  cause  to  produce  ef- 
fects so  portentous.  The  corruption  of  a  single  church  might 
have  been  effected  in  a  few  years  of  neglect  and  ignorance ; 
but  to  pervert  the  whole  empire  of  Christ  with  one  universal 
and  unobserved  contagion,  must  have  required  the  lapse  of 
more,  than  a  single  century.  The  transition  which  is  rapid 
must  be  painful ;  and  whatever  is  painful  will  neither  pass 
iinperceived  nor  be  speedily  consigned  to  oblivion.  If  sue" 
a  change  as  this  has  not  been  noticed  by  contemporary  wri- 
ters, we  may  be  sure  that  it  never  took  place  at  all. 

Nor  can  it  be  urged  with  any  show  of  likelihood,  that,  in 
adducing  the  opinions  of  that  body  of  Christians  who  have 
agreed  in  the  worship  of  a  Triune  Deity,  we  are  contenting 
ourselves  with  the  party  statements  of  a  single  sect;  conspt 
cuous  indeed  fruni  the  final  subjugation  of  the  Christian  world 
by  their  arts  and  their  influence';  but,  at  the  period  which  i; 
now  m  question,  not  more  entitled  to  our  deference,  either 
from  numbers  or  respectability,  than  many  of  those  reputed 
heretical  bodies,  who  have  perished  in  the  lapse  of  time,  or 
under  the  sword  of  persecution.  For  that  they  to  whom  the 
titles  are  applied  of  the  church  and  the  Catholic  Christians 
were,  indeed,  as  those  names  imply,  the  great  majority  of  be- 
lievers, the  assumption  of  such  lofty  titles,  in  opposition  to 
all  who  dissented  from  their  worship  or  jurisdiction,  is  itself 
no  inconsiderable  argument. 

For  when  all  alike  were  levelled  by  the  iron  hand  of  perse- 
cution, to  what  pre-eminence  but  the  pre-eminence  of  num- 
bers could  any  single  sect  lay  claim  ]  What  endowment,  what 
authority  did  the  orthodox  enjoy  under  the  yoke  of  Severus  or 
the  Antonini,  beyond  the  poorest  Ebionite,  the  wildest  and 
most  frantic  Basilidian  ?  What  were  their  privileges  but  a 
popularity  more  obnoxious  to  the  jealous  rigour  of  the  law; 
an  honourable  but  fatal  preponderance  in  the  noble  army  of 
martyrs  ;  a  more  than  common  share  in  the  distinctions  of  the 
cross,  the  gibbet,  or  the  wheel?  Where  the  authority  of  the 
church  or  assembly  is  appealed  to  by  the  ancient  Fathers,  it 
can  be  only  that  authority  which  arises  from  general  opinion  ; 
and  the  appeal  would  have  been  worse  than  ridiculous,  had 
those  societies,  against  whom  the  church  employed  it,  been 
able  to  muster  as  strongly  as  herself. 

But,  further,  in  the  discussion  of  the  spirit's  personality,  it 
is  altogether  unnecessary  to  confine  our  inquiries  to  the  limits 
of  orthodoxy  alone,  since  not  onlv  the  Catholic  church,  but 
by  lar  the  greater  part  of  those  who  have  dissented  from  her 
tenets,  have  maintained  with  no  less  precision  than  ourselves 
this  common  opinion,  and  have  united  with  ourselves  and  our 
fathers  to  receive  the  promise  Of  our  Lord  in  its  literal  and  ob- 


vious meaning.  However  tbey  were  divided  as  to  his  rank 
in  the  scale  of  nature,  and  the  manner  of  his  procession  from 
the  Deity,  they  did  not  cease  to  revere  him  as  an  actual  Pa- 
tron and  Advocate  ;  and  Manes  and  Arius,  and  Mohammed 
himself,  may  be  no  less  urged  against  the  followers  of  Soci- 
nus  than  Athanasius,  or  Basil,  or  Hilary. 

The  first  of  these,  whose  opinions  have  been  cleared  from 
all  their  ancient  obscurity  by  the  patience  and  learninor  of 
Beausobre,  assigned  to  the  Spirit  of  God,  an  existence  and 
habitation  distinct  from  the  Father,  and  offices  and  actions  ap- 
plicable to  a  person  only;  and  the  followers  of  Manes  were 
by  the  avowal  of  Augustin  himself,  no  less  correct  than  that 
most  orthodox  Bishop  in  the  confession  of  a  perfect  Trinity. 
The  opinion  of  the  Arians  is  known  from  the  concurrent 
testimony  of  Theodorct  and  Epipbanius ;  from  the  facts  that 
Basil,  in  his  treatise  on  the  Holy  Ghost,  composed  during  the 
heat  of  the  Arian  controversy,  is  only  concerned  to  prove  the 
divinity  of  the  third  person  in  the  Godhead,  without  retrardino- 
it  as  a  necessary  part  of  his  task  to  vindicate  his  personal  ex^ 
istence  ;  and  that  Arius  himself,  in  his  epistle  to  Alexander, 
admits  expressly  the  existence  of  three  heavenly  persons, 
though  he  denies  their  mysterious  union,  and  allows  to  one 
of  them  alone  the  title  of  God.  Mohammed,  too,  though  he 
sometimes  assigns  the  name  of  Holy  Ghost  to  our  Saviour, 
more  usually  identifies  him  with  the  angel  Gabriel ;  and  in 
either  case  can  only  be  understood  as  imputing  to  him  a  dis- 
tinct and  intelligent  Being. 

And  to  these,  by  far  the  greatest  streams  which  have  ever 
emanated  from  the  Christian  source,  may  be  added  the  more 
ancient  suffrage  of  the  first  heresiarch  Simon ;  of  the  primi- 
tive Gnostics,  whose  Enna-aand  Monogenes  can  be  no  other- 
wise interpreted  than  of  the  spirit  and  eternal  word  ;  of  the 
Ebionites,  who,  if  we  believe  Epipbanius,  acknowledged  the 
Holy  Ghost  to  be  a  real  and  most  powerful  Personage  ;  of  the 
Nazarenes  themselves,  in  whoin  the  modern  Unitarians  would 
gladly  find  a  precedent  for  their  error,  but  who,  in  two  several 
passages  of  their  own  gospel,  according  to  the  Hebrews,  must 
have  learned  the  same  opinion. 

Nor  must  we  omit,  in  this  enumeration  of  evidence,  the 
expressive  silence  of  the  orthodox  fathers,  who,  in  relatino- 
the  errors  of  other  ancient  heretics,  afford  no  reason  to  sup" 
pose  that  they  were  in  this  respect  defective,  though  neither 
Epipbanius  nor  Jerome  nor  Theodoret  were  inclined  to  over- 
look or  to  soften  the  features  of  religious  disunion.  Where 
the  innocence  of  Lactantius  could  not  escape  uncensured, 
there  is  little  probability  that  real  heresy  would  be  allowed  to 
pass  without  detection ;  and  we  must  therefore  confine  the 
denial  of  the  Holy  Ghost  to  those  sects  only  to  whose  charo-e 
it  is  expressly  laid,  to  the  Sabellians  of  ancient  times,  and  the 
modern  followers  of  Socinus. 

Nor  is  there  need  of  any  further  argument  to  show,  that  if 
we  have  erred  in  embracing  in  its  literal  sense  the  promise  of 
ourgracious  JIaster,  we  have  erred  in  company  with  the  Chris- 
tian world  of  every  party  and  period;  and  that  all,  with  the 
above  exceptions,  (which,  how  slight  they  are,  is  known  to 
every  one  even  moderately  versed  in  history.)  all  have  anti- 
cipated a  powerful  and  personal  agent  in  the  Comforter  by 
whom  our  Saviour's  presence  was  to  be  supplied. 

But  let  God  be  true  and  every  man  a  liar  !  Though  we 
expect,  and  expect  with  reason,  no  little  weight  of  evidence 
to  withdraw  us  from  an  interpretation  of  Scripture,  which  if 
it  were  not  founded  on  truth  could  hardly  have  been  univer- 
sal ;  against  evidence,  nevertheless,  however  offered  to  our 
iiotice  !  against  that  evidence,  above  all,  which  is  professedly 
founded  on  Scripture,  our  reason  and  our  religion  alike  forbid 
us  to  rebel.  An  explanation  may  be  true,  (by  bare  possibility 
it  may,)  and  if  demonstrated  from  the  word  of  God  it  may  still 
demand  our  acquiescence,  though  it  have  slumbered  for  ages 
in  the  fairy  shades  of  allegory  ;  though  the  wandering  genius 
of  Origen  have  never  disturbed  its  repose ;  though  Manes  and 
Augustin  have  failed  alike  to  trace  it ;  and  though  St.  John 
himself  have  concealed  its  mystic  clue  from  his  disciples 
Polycarp  and  Ignatius. 

Vv  e  challenge,  then,  our  antagonists  to  make  good  their 
hypothesis  by  the  only  proof  which  remains;  and  (since  the 
literal  sense  of  our  Saviour's  promise  is,  confessedly,  in  our 
favour)  to  demonstrate  that  the  spirit  of  God  is  elsewhere 
spoken  of  in  scripture,  under  circumstances  and  in  lauffuao-e 
which  prove  the  present  passage  to  be  allegorical. 

And  this  has  been  attempted  by  the  production  of  several 
passages  from  the  Old  and  New  Testament,  where  (by  the 
common  avowal  of  both  parties)  the  term  of  Holy  Ghost,  or 
Spirit  of  God,  is  used  under  circumstances  which  cannot 
properly  belong  to  a  Person. 


268 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


Thus  we  read  of  the  spirit,  being  given  and  received,  and 
given  in  a  larger  and  smaller  proportion:  the  Hoi}'  Ghost  is 
said  to  be  extinguished  by  human  carelessness,  and  to  be 
improved  by  human  piety. 

"But  a  Person,  and,  above  all,  a  Person  of  so  exalted  a 
nature  is  incajjable,"  they  tell  us,  "  of  accidents  thus  degrad- 
ino-;  and  if  these  accidents  are  predicated  of  the  tjpirit  of 
God,  that  Spirit  can  be  no  intelligent  Person." 

This  is  the  purport  of  the  objection,  as  it  is  advanced  by 
the  most  considerable  teachers  of  Unitarianism  ;  and  it  is  an 
objection,  1  believe,  which  has  liad  more  effect  than  any 
other  on  those  whom  they  have  persuaded  to  adopt  their 
opinions. 

That  it  is  not,  however,  an  objection  which  a  person 
moderately  versed  in  the  forms  of  reasoning  need  greatly 
fear  to  encounter,  may  appear  from  the  following  considera- 
tions. 

In  the  first  place,  our  antagonists  must  allow,  that,  what- 
ever be  the  character  of  those  passages  from  which  the  Per- 
sonality of  the  Spirit  is  inferred,  those  texts  which  are 
advanced  to  prove  the  contrary  are  clearly  and  necessarily 
figurative.  The  expressions  which  have  been  referred  to,  if 
literally  understood,  are  as  completely  inconsistent  with  their 
hypothesis  as  with  ours;  inconsistent,  indeed,  with  every 
hypothesis,  but  that  absurd  one  which  would  reduce  tlw. 
Holy  Ghost  to  a  material  fume  or  afflatus.  An  accident,  or 
modus  operandi,  which  has  no  existence  in  itself;  an  abstract 
quality,  which  is  the  crnply  phantom  of  a  rhetorician's 
brain ;  these  can  be  no  more  conferred  or  divided  than  they 
can  be  sent  or  grieved  or  blasphemed.  Nor  are  the  latter 
expressions  more  appropriate  to  a  person  than  the  former  to  a 
substance  or  thing. 

But  qualities,  attributes,  virtues,  powers,  arc  nothing  else, 
as  has  already  been  shown,  than  the  manner  in  whicli  cer- 
tain effects  cither  are  or  may  be  brought  to  pass ;  and 
whether  the  Holy  Ghost  be  an  accident  or  a  person,  it  is 
plain  that  such  expressions  as  those  referred  to  are  only  in- 
telligible as  applying  those  characteristics  which  are  proper 
to  the  thinii-  produced;  either  to  the  manner  in  which  it  is 
produced,  or  to  the  agent  which  produces  it. 

Nor  has  any  crrouiid  been  shown  why  the  latter  of  these 
metaphorical  applications  is  not  as  proper  and  as  possible  as 
the  former;  or  why,  in  the  words  of  G'lassius,  as  well  the 
persona  cjjiciens  as  the  nwdiis  efficiendi  may  not  be  put  for  the 
res  effecta.  Yet  it  is  on  this  assumption  that  the  links  of 
their  aro-ument  depend  ;  which  may  be  reduced  in  effect  to  a 
syllogisln  like  the  following.  "The  name  of  a  personal 
ao-ent  can  never  be  employed  to  express  the  effects  produced 
by  his  agency.  But  the  name  oT  the  Holy  Spirit  is  fre- 
quently employed  to  express  effects  which  the  same  Holy 
Ghost  produce's.  Therefore  the  Holy  Ghost  is  not  the  name 
of  a  personal  agent."  If  the  major  of  the  above  propositions 
be  not  conceded,  it  is  apparent,  that  all  their  examples  to 
prove  the  minor  will  not  accelerate  their  progress  a  single 
step  towards  the  conclusion.  But  if  it  be  conceded,  I  will 
not  so  far  insult  the  solemnity  of  this  hallowed  place,  or  the 
understanding  of  my  present  audience,  as  to  do  more  than 
instance  the  least  preposterous  of  the  conclusions,  which,  by 
a  process  equally  legitimate  with  that  of  our  antagonists, 
might  be  deduced  from  this  single  concession. 

ff  we  use  on  the  authority  of  the  Apostles  stich  express- 
ions as  those  of  receiving  and  quenching  the  Spirit  of  God, 
do  we  not  also  use  on  the  same  authority  (for  repeated  in- 
stances may  be  found  in  the  New  Testament  no  less  than  in 
the  common  practice  of  mankind)  the  same  or  parallel  ex- 
pressions, where  the  reality  of  the  Person  has  never  been 
the  subject  of  debate  ?  How  often  do  we  speak  of  the  Book 
of  Moses  as  if  that  volume  were  Moses  himself!  We  talk 
of  reading  Moses;  of  dividing  Moses  into  chapters  ;  of  com- 
paring one  part  of  JMoses  with  another.  Yet  to  assert  or 
believe  that  the  Moses  of  Scripture  is  a  personification  only 
of  the  singular  care  by  which  God  conducted  liis  people,  an 
allegorical  representation  of  their  passage  through  the  sea, 
(the  etymology  of  his  name  would  signally  favour  such  an 
hypothesis,)  or  that  he  is  no  more  than  an  abstract  term  for 
those  Divine  truths  which  are  embodied  in  the  Pentateuch, 
— to  assert  and  believe  all  this  would  be  as  wild  insanity  as 
tlieirs,  who  reduce  the  entire  Old  Testament  to  an  hierogly 
phic  ephemeris  :  it  would  be  little  less  preposterous  than  the 
assertion  of  those  learned  men  who  would  reduce  the  Spirit 
or  God  to  an  empty  name  ! — Have  we  forgotten,  or  do  we 
know  so  little  of  Scripture,  that  the  fact  has  escaped  our 
knowledge ;  have  we  so  learned  Christy  that  we  know  not 
how  often  the  name  of  Chrisl  is  enqiloyed  to  express  the  reli- 


gion which  he  founded]  ^'■Amun.  in  •'■Christ.-'" — '■•  a  mar- 
riage in  the  Lord r' — a  saint  "/o  whom  lo  live  was  Christ ;" 
— are  these  less  forcible  expressions  than  those  which  have 
been  pleaded  as  impugning  the  Spirit's  Personality  1  Or  what 
more  certain  grounds  are  alTorded  in  Scripture  to  believe 
that  God  himself  is  an  intelligent  and  real  agent,  than  the 
distribution,  and  volition,  and  government,  and  testimony, 
and  speech,  and  grief,  and  desire,  which  in  the  New  Testa- 
ment are  attributed  to  the  Holy  Ghost  1  Let  these  be 
resolved  into  metaphor  or  allegory,  and  the  name  of  .Jeho- 
vah may  be  shown  on  the  same  indentical  principle  to  be  no 
more  than  nature  personified;  the  Bible  itself  transformed 
into  a  manual  of  Atheism  ;  and  the  desolate  and  silent  abom- 
inalicn  of  Spinoza  erected  on  the  altar  of  the  Most  High. 

But  we  are  told  again,  and  the  objection  has  been  urged  so 
triumphnntly,  that  our  antagonists,  to  all  appearance,  are  se- 
rious in  producing  it,  that  "  if  the  Spirit  of  God  be  accounted 
a  Person,  we  must  .extend,  by  a  parity  of  reasoning,  the  same 
character  of  personality  to  the  Schekinah,  the  power,  the  wis- 
dom, the  inHuencc  or  finger  of  God,  with  many  or  all  of  whicli 
the  Spirit  of  God  is  used  as  synonymous."  Thus  "  the  pre- 
sence of  God,"  in  the  first  member  of  the  eleventh  verse  of 
the  fifty-first  Psalm,  is  the  same  thing,  if  we  believe  Eben 
Ezra  and  Kirnchi  amongthe  Jews,  and  Lardner  among  Chris- 
tian critics,  with  his  "  Holy  Spirit"  in  the  corresponding 
member.  And  our  Lord's  expression,  as  reported  by  St. 
Matthew,  of  "casting  out  devils  by  the  Spirit  of  God."  is 
given  by  St.  Luke  as  if  he  had  not  said  the  Spirit  of  God, 
but  his  "  Finger." 

It  would  be,  perhaps,  no  difficult  matter  to  prove  that  many, 
perhaps  the  greater  ]iart,  of  those  texts  which  Lardner  has 
cited  to  this  point  of  the  controversy,  have  been,  in  truth, 
misunderstood  or  misapplied.  The  task,  however,  is  need- 
less, since,  though  we  should  admit  to  the  fullest  extent  the 
premises  urged  by  Lardner,  the  objection  which  he  deduces 
from  them  is,  in  truth,  no  objection  at  all. 

With  those  who  believe  that  the  Holy  Ghost  is  a  Person, 
by  whom  and  through  whom  the  unseen  and  unapproachable 
Father  has  manifested  alike  his  power,  his  presence,  his  gra- 
cious influence  to  men,  no  dilficulty  can  arise  from  the  ac- 
knowledgment that  such  a  Person  may  be  as  properly  styled 
tiie  Finger  or  Glory  as  the  Breath  of  God.  Nor,  as  we  con- 
tend, can  any  one  of  these  titles  (for  titles  they  doubtless 
are,)  nor  all  of  them  together,  detract  from  the  existence  or 
individuality  of  Him  whose  nature  and  office  and  intercourse 
with  mankind  they  dimly  serve  to  shadow.  With  person- 
ality none  of  them  are  inconsistent,  since  the  metaphorical 
illustration  which  they  convey  is  as  natural  and  as  intelligible 
wlien  applied  to  a  [jerson  as  to  an  attribute  or  modus  operandi ; 
and  since  in  ancient  alike  and  modern  tiines  the  former  of 
these  applications  is,  at  least,  as  common  as  the  latter.  Did 
the  author  of  that  ancient  Epistle  which  bears  the  name  of 
Barnabas,  design  to  resolve  the  Son  of  God  into  a  mere  at- 
tribute of  the  Deity,  when  he  styled  him  the  Sceptre  of  the 
iMostHigh!  Was  Simon  Magus  annihilated  in  the  opinion 
of  the  Samaritans,  when  they  called  him,  in  su])erstitious 
veneration,  the  Great  Power  of  God  ?  The  eyes  and  ears  of 
the  ancient  kings  of  Persia  are  known  to  have  been  oflicers, 
by  whose  agency  the  monarch  communicated  with  his  pro- 
vinces and  armies;  and,  in  modern  days,  we  apply  the  term 
of  police,  or  civil  power,  not  only  to  the  abstract  idea  of 
magistracy,  but  to  the  magistrates  themselves,  and  executive 
ministers  of  justice. 

With  still  less  reason  can  it  be  denied,  that,  as  many  of- 
fices may  be  Tilled  by  the  same  individual,  so  may  the  names 
and  titles  of  that  individual  be  multiplied  in  pro))ortion  to  the 
number  of  the  relations  which  he  bears  to  others.  The  Unity 
of  the  Father  is  not  endangered,  though  he  be  called  alter- 
nately and  indifferently  the  Supreme,  the  Eternal,  the  Ancient 
of  Days,  Adonai,  Schaddai,  and  .lehovah.  The  Lamb  of  God, 
the  Lion  of  the  Tribe  of  Judah,  the  Son  of  Man,  the  Bread 
which  came  down  from  Heaven,  are  all  alike  applied  to  the 
Person  of  the  Lord  .lesus  Christ:  and,  in  like  manner,  how 
great  soever  the  diversity  of  operations  and  of  gifts,  we  may 
recognize  in  each  of  them  the  same  identical  Spirit,  the  same 
God,  which  worketh  all  in  all. 

But  further,  if  the  Unitarians  will  concede,  with  Lardner, 
the  identity  of  the  Holy  Ghost  with  the  Presence  or  Glory  or 
Schekinah  of  God,  (these  last  terms  are  undoubtedly  synony- 
mous,) which  on  certain  occasions  appeared  in  a  bodily  form 
to  the  Israelites,  and  which  was  supposed  by  them,  as  its 
name  implies,  to  be  the  constant  and  tutelary  "  inhabitant" 
of  the  sanctuary,  they  will  find  themselves  not  far,  indeed,  as 
will  be  hereafter  shown,  from  the  opinions  of  the  orthodox 


HEBER'S  BAMPTON  LECTURES. 


269 


or  the  Jews :  but  llicy  will  be  involved,  I  apprehend,  in  a  very 
considerable  diflieulty,  to  disprove  the  Personality  of  a  Being 
which  was  seen,  which  spake,  and  reasoned, and  commanded ; 
or  to  prove  the  identity  of  a  Visible  Glory  with  the  unseen 
and  inaccessible  Father  of  all. 

In  this  latter  qucsMon,  indeed,  on  the  distinctness  or  identity 
of  the  Father  and  the  Holy  Ghost,  the  controversy  between 
ourselves  and  the  modern  Socinians  must  finally  resolve 
itself;  since,  if  the  Spirit  of  God  be,  as  they  pretend,  an  at- 
tribute or  operation  only,  he  must  be,  as  his  name  implies, 
an  attribute  or  operation  of  the  Almighty  Father. 

But  attributes,  operations,  and  every  other  species  of  acci- 
dent, as  they  are,  in  truth,  no  more  than  modes  in  which  one 
substance  produces  an  effect  on  another;  so  whatever  is,  in 
poetry  or  oratory,  predicated  of  them,  is  only  predicated  of 
the  aiTciit  or  patient  in  whom  the  accident  itself  is  inherent. 

When  I  say  that  the  courage  of  Julius  has  won  the  victory, 
or  that  the  pride  of  Marcus  is  easily  offended,  1  do  not  mean 
that  either  courarre  or  pride  have  any  positive  existence  of 
their  own,  or  in  tliemsilves  arc  capable  of  impulse  or  feeling ; 
but  1  desire  to  express  the  manner  in  which  the  persons  who 
are  courageous  or  proud  have  acted  on  others,  or  themselves 
been  acted  on. 

Accordingly,  the  Spirit  of  God  who  strove  with  man  in  the 
Old  Dispensation,  and  which  descended  on  Christ  in  the  New ; 
against  whose  authority  the  Israelites  rebelled  in  the  wilder- 
ness, and  whom  the  sins  of  Christians  daily  resist  and  grieve ; 
whose  amber  glory  was  seen  by  Ezekicl  in  vision,  and  whose 
fiery  unction  rested  on  the  Apostles  in  the  day  of  Pentecost; 
this  .Spirit  must  be  either  identified  with  God  tlie  Father,  or 
must  be  an  intelligent  Person  distinct  from  him.  For  all 
which  is  said  of  a  power,  a  manifestation,  an  influence,  as  if 
these  names  had  any  essence  or  being  of  their  own, — all  this, 
I  must  again  insist,  is  nothing  else  than  tlie  circuitous  man- 
ner of  stating  the  former  hypothesis.  The  Spirit,  who  was 
to  console  the  followers  of  Christ  after  their  Master's  de 
cease,  must  mean,  by  this  interpretation,  the  Eternal  Father 
manifesting  himself,  after  a  certain  manner,  to  his  creatures; 
and  the  Spirit  who  is  grieved,  resisted,  blasphemed,  is  the 
same  Father  as  he  is  acted  on  by  those  who,  under  particular 
circumstances,  resist,  blaspheme,  or  grieve  him. 

It  is  this  question,  then,  of  the  distinctness  or  identity  of 
the  Father  and  the  Holy  Ghost,  to  which  the  dispute  as  to 
the  third  section  of  our  Creed  resolves  itself  between  the 
modern  Church  and  the  best  informed  Socinians;  as  it  was, 
in  ancient  times,  the  ground  of  difference  between  the  primi 
tive  Church  and  the  followers  of  Sabellius.  And  as,  with 
respect  to  the  Spirit's  Personality,  the  Arians  and  Moham 
medans  themselves  accord  with  the  orthodox  against  the 
disciples  of  Crellius  and  Priestley,  it  may  seem,  perhaps,  his 
Personality  once  demonstrated,  no  very  difficult  matter  to  in- 
duce the  Unitarians  to  take  part  with  us  on  the  point  of  his 
Divinity  against  the  followers  of  Arius  and  Mohammed. 

And  there  are,  in  truth,  so  many  strong  and  obvious  texts 
in  Scripture  which  ascribe  the  acts  of  the  Holy  Ghost  to  the 
immediate  agency  of  tlod  ;  he  is  so  often  mentioned  in  terms 
and  under  characters  which  are  decidedly  inapplicable  to  a 
created  intelligence,  of  however  exalted  station,  that  the  Arian 
hypothesis,  which  thus  degrades  his  nature,  is,  of  all  the  an- 
cient shapes  of  error,  that  which,  at  the  present  hour,  has 
fewest  believers  or  advocates.  For  though,  to  an  Angel  or 
any  other  exalted  Intelligence,  the  name  eitlier  of  Holy  or  of 
Spirit  be,  doubtless,  applicable;  yet  is  the  Holy  Spirit,  the 
Spirit  who  is  essentially  and  supereminently  holy,  a  person 
unquestionably  Divine.  A  Holy  One  may  be  one  of  many; 
the  Holy  One  must  be  One  who  is  above  all ;  and  the  Holy 
Spirit  of  God  cannot,  surely,  in  himself  be  less  than  God. 

The  immensity,  in  like  manner,  of  the  Holy  tlhost,  who 
is  present  every  where;  his  omniscience,  who  scarchcth  all 
things;  his  dignity,  against  whom  all  blasphemy  Is  irrcrnissi- 
ble;  all  these,  with  the  many  other  striking  circumstances 
which  Zanchius  has  collected,  may  well  excuse  me  from 
entering  more  at  large  into  this  separate  and  less  contested 
branch  of  the  present  inquiry.  What  time  remains  to  us  for 
considering  the  nature  of  the  Hoi}'  Ghost,  may  be  with  more 
advantage  devoted  to  an  examination  of  what  may  be  called, 
perhaps,  the  second  position  of  our  antagonists ;  that  hy- 
pothesis which  regards  the  Holy  Spirit  of  God  as  one  of  the 
names  whereby  the  Father  Almighty  has  revealed  himself  to 
mankind. 

But  this  hypothesis,  though  it  be  professedly  an  amended 
statement  of  the  one  which  I  have  been  so  long  examining,  is 
liable,  in  truth,  to  the  same  and  even  greater  objections  than 
the  former,  inasmuch  as  it  is  still  more  at  variance  with  the 


ctter  of  our  Saviour's  promise,  and  still  less  susceptible  of 
the  aid  of  metajdior  or  allegory. 

If  Christ  had  intended  only  to  assure  the  Apostles  that,  in 
his  absence,  they  should  become  the  peculiar  care  of  God  the 
Father,  it  must  seem  a  very  strange  ami  forced  expression  to 
convey  this  assurance  in  the  promise  of  sending  them  another 
Comforter.  And  that  Christ  had  the  power  of  sending  God 
the  Father;  or  that  a  person  can  be  regarded  as  sent  who  does 
not  really  come;  or  that  God  the  Father  was  actually  visible 
in  the  tongues  or  llames  of  fire  are  assertions  which,  as  our 
antagonists  certainly  will  not  understand  them  in  the  literal 
sense,  so  they  are  such  as  no  metaphorical  interpretation  can, 
apparently,  render  intelligible. 

In  prescription,  indeed,  and  in  the  opinions  of  several  an- 
cient sects,  the  Socinians  may,  doubtless,  find  authorities  for 
the  identity  of  the  Father  and  the  Spirit  far  earlier  than  any 
to  which  they  could  pretend  in  support  of  their  former  posi- 
tion. The  error  of  Praxcas,  however,  which,  with  all  its 
confessed  absurdity,  was  at  least  a  consistent  and.  uniform 
system,  identified,  as  I  have  shown,  not  the  Father  only  and 
the  Spirit  of  God,  but  the  Father  and  his  only  begotten  Son. 
It  may  be  thought,  indeed,  with  reason,  that  the  Persons  in 
H  hcsc  names,  without  any  expressed  distinction,  we  receive 
the  sign  of  baptism,  must,  inevitably,  be  either  one  or  three: 
that  if  the  Holy  Ghost  be  merged  in  the  Father,  the  Son 
cannot,  with  any  colour  of  likelihood,  be  distinguished  from 
him;  and  that  the  battered  remains  of  such  hostile  tenets  as 
those  of  Noetus  and  Socinus  cannot  possibly  be  expected, 
like  the  mutilated  warriors  in  Strada,  to  coalesce  into  a  single 
combatant. 

Ncr  is  the  text  of  Scripture,  on  which  their  hypothesis 
mainly  depends,  to  be  really  reckoned  in  their  favour.  That 
text  is  the  eleveiith  verse  of  the  second  chapter  of  St.  Paul's 
first  Epistle  to  the  Corinthians,  where  a  comparison  is  insti- 
tuted between  the  spirit  of  man  and  the  Spirit  of  the  Jlost 
High ;  and  the  knowledge  possessed  by  the  second,  as  to 
certain  features  of  the  Almighty's  will,  inferred  from  the  cor- 
responding knowledge  which  the  former  is  know  to  possess 
as  to  the  intentions  and  affections  of  the  man  himself. 

"  Who  of  men,"  are  the  words  of  the  Apostle,  "  knoweth 
the  things  of  a  man,  save  only  ihe  spirit  of  a  man  which  is 
in  him?  Even  so  the  things  of  God  knoweth  no  man,  save 
the  spirit  of  God." 

Hence  it  has  been  urged,  that  as  the  spirit  of  man  which  is 
in  him  is  no  distinct  person  from  the  man  himself;  so  the 
comparison  would  not  be  perfect,  if  the  Spirit  of  God  were 
distinct  from  God  the  Father. 

But  it  is  evident  that  this  passage  of  Scripture  will  no  less 
accurately  tally  with  the  supposition  of  those  Christians  who 
believe  in  a  perfect  union,  thougli  of  an  ineffable  kind,  be- 
tween all  the  Persons  of  the  Trinitj-,  and  who,  though  they 
"istinguish  the  Father  from  the  Spirit,  regard  both  Father 
and  Holy  Ghost  as  partakers  in  the  common  Godhead.  For 
it  is  not  the  things  of  the  Father,  as  such,  and  in  his  parental 
capacity,  which  the  Spirit  is  supposed  to  know,  but  the 
things  of  that  infinite  Godhead  in  which  the  Father,  the 
Spirit,  and  the  Word,  arc  eternally  and  indissolubly  one. 
So  that  by  the  Homoousian,  no  less  than  the  Sabellian  hy- 
pothesis, the  difficult}',  if  it  were  one,  is  completely  done 
away ;  and  the  objection  which  might,  indeed,  apply  against 
the  Arian  creed,  must  be  quenched,  like  the  other  fiery  darts 
of  our  oldest  enemy,  on  the  impenetrable  shield  of  ortho- 
doxy. 

But,  secondly,  it  is  worth  our  observation,  that,  in  this  ob- 
jection, our  antagonists  have,  evidently,  misconceived  or  for- 
gotten the  peculiar  opinions  which  those  whom  St.  Paul  ad- 
dressed, and,  not  impossibly,  St.  Paul  himself  entertained  as 
to  the  compound  nature  of  man. 

Those  opinions  were  taken  from,  or,  at  least,  accorded  wilh, 
the  doctrines  of  that  ancient  philosophy,  which  distinguished 
the  rational  soul  not  from  the  body  only,  but  from  those  ani- 
mal aifections  to  which  the  body  is  heir;  and,  which,  under 
the  names  of  the  heart  or  will,  they  described  as  a  second- 
ary and  mortal  soul,  which  it  was  the  business  of  its  intel- 
lectual companion  to  examine,  to  understand,  and,  under- 
standincr,  to  govern  and  subdue. 

This  is  the  •'  natural  man''  whom  St.  Paul  so  often  exhorts 
our  spiritual  nature  to  bind,  to  macerate,  to  crucify;  this  the 
organic  intellect  which  beasts,  no  less  than  man,  enjoy  ;  the 
•'  anima"  of  the  Latins  as  distinguished  from  their  "  animus," 
whose  hylozoic  faculties  were  bounded  within  the  limits  of 
self-preservation;  whose  use  and  existence  was  to  terminate 
with  the  body  which  it  loved,  but  from  whose  essence  the  in- 
tellectual soul  was  no  less  effectually  distinct  than  the  travel- 


270 


CHRISTIAN   LIBRARY. 


ler  from  the  animal  which  draws  his  carriage.  I  do  not 
mean  (God  forbid  that  I  should  advance  so  wild  a  proposi- 
tion !)  that  this  comparison,  carried  to  its  length,  would  apply, 
or  was  intended  by  tjt.  Paul  to  appl}',  to  the  Divine  Exis- 
tence :  but  as,  in  man,  the  spirit  and  the  will  were  regarded 
as  distinct  persons,  and  as,  nevertheless,  the  spirit  of  man  is 
instanced  as  understanding  every  other  constituent  part  of 
the  beinor  to  which  it  belongs ;  so  the  Spirit  of  God,  which 
guided  and  governed  his  (Jhurch  in  the  way  of  truth,  and 
which  hare  witness  by  signs  and  wonders  to  the  truth  of  the 
apostolic  doctrine,  was  a  competent  witness  to  the  will  and 
alfection  not  of  himself  alone,  but  of  the  whole  eternal  Trinity. 

For  the  question  to  be  solved  was  not,  whether  God  knew 
his  own  mind,  of  which  no  doubt  could  possibly  be  enter- 
tained ;  but  whether  the  Spirit  which  governed  the  Church 
in  the  name  of  Christ  was  a  sufficient  pledge  of  the  Divine 
affections  and  designs.  And  this  doubt  (a  doubt,  it  may  be 
observed,  which  never  could  have  arisen  if  the  S])irit  had 
been  conceived  to  be  identical  with  the  Fathep^  St.  Paul  re- 
solves in  a  manner  which,  far  from  contradicting,  completely 
establishes  the  doctrine  of  orthodox  Christians,  by  assign- 
ing to  the  Spirit  a  similar  misterious  relation  with  the  Deity 
to  that  which  the  soul  of  man  was  thought  to  hold  in  our 
compound  human  nature,  which  was  in  certain  respects  the 
man  himself,  and  in  certain  respects  distinguished  from  him; 
at  once  another  and  the  same. 

But  while  the  arguments  on  which  Sabellianism  depends 
may  seem  so  little  adequate  to  establish  the  confusion  of 
Persons  in  the  Deity,  for  which  its  advocates  contend  ;  the 
contradictions  which  result  from  their  hypothesis  are  so 
many,  and  of  such  a  nature,  that,  in  truth,  I  almost  fear  to 
urge  them  on  your  notice,  lest  they  should  betray  me  into  a 
levity  unbecoming  the  place  in  which  I  stand,  and  the  impor- 
tance of  any,  even  the  weakest  opinion,  in  which  the  nature 
of  God  is  implicated. 

It  is,  in  the  first  place,  revealed,  to  us,  in  the  words  whicli 
I  have  taken  as  a  text  for  these  discourses,  that  the  Holy 
Ghost  was  to  be  sent  by  Christ.  He  was  to  be  sent,  as  an- 
other Comforter,  to  supply,  in  the  absence  of  Jesus,  that 
■!ra.fax.K>iTH,  comfort,  or  instruction,  which  our  Lord  had  him- 
self, while  on  earth,  atTorded  to  his  cliosen  followers.  He 
was  to  come  in  Christ's  name,  or  as  his  Deputy.  He  was 
not  to  speak  of  himself,  but  to  receive  from  Christ  the  illu- 
mination of  which  he  was  the  dispenser.  "  He  shall  take  of 
mine,"  are  the  words  of  our  Saviour,  "  he  shall  take  of  mine. 
and  show  it  unto  you." 

Is  it  possible  that  a  description  such  as  this  can  apply  to 
him  whom  all  sects  and  parties  agree  to  consider  as  the  foun- 
tain of  Diety,  the  God  and  Father  of  alii  Or  will  not  the 
warmest  defender  of  our  Lord's  Divinity  confess,  that  the 
opinion  here  expressed  is  inconsistent  with  that  relation 
which  in  every  page  of  Scripture  is  implied,  between  the 
heavenly  Father  and  his  loving  and  obedient  Son  1 

But  our  Unitarian  antagonists  !  how  can  they  be  justified  1 
They  who  account  the  Saviour  of  the  world  a  man  of  men,  a 
creature  like  themselves,  a  mortal  and  earthly  frame,  without 
a  soul,  and  instinct  with  mechanism  only  !  How  can  they 
hazard  the  assertion  that  such  a  being  could  send  the  Al- 
mighty to  supply  his  place  among  men  I  How  can  they 
dream  that  the  only  wise  God,  in  his  intercourse  with  man- 
kind, did  not  speak  of  himself,  but  became,  in  his  turn,  the 
Prophet  of  the  wisdom  and  doctrine  of  the  Man  Jesus  of  Na- 
zareth ?  Let  us  return  to  transiibstantiation !  Let  us  em- 
brace as  Gospel  the  less  disgusting  iriarvels  of  the  Talmud, 
the  Shaster,  the  Kdda,  or  the  Koran  !  But  let  not  learned 
men  expect  us  to  embrace  a  system  which  must  eclipse  the 
Koran's  eminence  in  folly,  and  put  the  wildest  fancies  of  the 
Talmud  to  shame ! 

The  Rabbins  have  taught,  indeed,  tliat,  on  a  certain  occa- 
sion, Ellas  was  sent  from  God  to  ask  from  Rabbi  Simeon  the 
meaning  of  a  passage  in  the  Canticles  :  but  this  was  not  in 
ignorance,  but  in  reproof  of  the  heavenly  spirits.  And  sure- 
ly the  boldest  Rabbin  of  them  all  would  start  and  tremble  at 
the  conclusion  which  follows  from  Socinianism,  that  the  Al- 
mighty Father,  in  his  intercourse  with  mankind,  has  received 
inspiration  from  an  earthly  propliet. 

It  will  he  urged,  perhaps,  in  reply,  that  our  Saviour  him- 
self explains,  and,  in  some  sort,  apologizes  for  the  phrase  on 
which  this  objection  is  grounded,  by  reminding  his  hearers, 
in  the  following  sentence,  that  those  things  only  were  his 
which  he  had  himself  received  of  the  Father.  "All  things 
which  the  Father  hath  are  mine;  therefore  I  said  unto  you, 
that  he  (the  Comforter)  will  lake  of  mine,  and  show  it  unto 
you." 


But  though  this  be  perfectly  consistent  with  the  mysteri- 
ous but  acknowledged  economy,  whereby  the  Son  himself, 
though  eternal  and  almighty,  is,  in  the  work  of  our  redemp- 
tion, subject  as  a  Son  to  his  Father;  yet  will  it  by  no  means 
solve  the  contradiction  of  the  Father's  receiving  any  thing 
from  the  Son,  inasmuch  as  he  could  not  be  said  to  receive 
that  which  was  his  own,  and  which  had  emanated  from  him 
eternally. 

But,  further,  we  find,  in  the  same  passage  of  Scripture, 
that  the  Spirit  of  truth  was  "  not  to  speak  of  his  own  ;"  "  as 
he  was  to  hear,  so  was  he  to  speak." 

Will  it,  then,  be  maintained  that  the  Almighty  Father  had 
made  over  all  knowledge  to  his  Son,  (to  the  Man  Jesus,  be 
it  remembered,  if  we  believe  our  antagonists,  the  man  and  no 
more  than  man.)  so  completely  as  to  be  obliged  to  borrow  of 
him  for  his  subsequent  occasions  1  Or  is  there  any  blindness 
which  can  prevent  our  recognizing  in  these  expressions, 
that  article  of  the  Catholic  faith  which  speaks  of  God  the 
Holy  Ghost  as  proceeding  alike  from  the  Father  and  the 
Son,  and  as  the  sustaining  and  pervading  Agent,  by  whom 
both  Father  and  Son  communicate  with  their  chosen  ser- 
vants'! 

But  the  difficulties  of  the  Sabellian  interpretation  will  yet 
increase  on  us,  if  we  recollect  that  the  same  Holy  Ghost  who 
is  here  announced  by  our  Lord  as  the  future  Advocate  and 
Patron  of  his  Church  against  the  malice  and  unbelief  of  the 
world,  is,  in  other  places  of  Scripture  and  in  the  discharge 
of  other  functions,  represented  not  only  as  our  Defender 
aijainst  men,  but  our  Advocate  also  with  the  Father, — as 
making  intercession  for  us  before  God  with  groanings  imt  to 
be  uttered.  "A  mediator  is  not  the  mediator  of  one  ;"  he  is 
a  middle  term  which  supposes  two  contending  parties  ;  he 
must  plead  the  cause  of  those  for  whom  he  is  interested  at 
the  tribunal  of  some  other  person.  But  with  whom  and  be- 
fore whom  is  the  Father  Almighty  to  plead  the  cause  of  his 
creatures  1  To  whom  is  he  to  reconcile  them  but  to  himself; 
or  whose  pardon  is  he  to  procure  for  their  faults  but  his  own  ? 
Surely  the  learned  and  ingenious  men,  who  have  involved 
themselves  in  consequences  like  these,  can  boast  with  little 
reason  of  explaining  or  simplifying  Christianity  ! 

But  these,  alas,  are  not  the  only  nor  the  greatest  mysteries 
of  .Socinian  godliness,  since  we  find,  in  another  part  of  our 
Lord's  prediction,  that  the  Father  was  io  give  this  Paraclete 
to  abiilc  w'nh.  Christians  for  ever;  Christ  was /o  send  him 
from  the  Father  :  he  was  to  come  forth,  (this  same  Comforter 
or  Advocate,)  or  issue  from  the  Father;  and  the  Father  was 
to  send  him  in  Christ's  name.  And  yet  the  Holy  Ghost 
whom  the  Father  sends  is  the  same,  they  tell  us,  with  the 
Father  who  sends  him  ! 

The  Orthodox,  undoubtedly,  cannot  hope  to  explain  or  un- 
derstand that  incomprehensible  union  which  subsists  between 
the  Persons  of  the  Trinity.  We  cannot  demonstrate  in  what 
manner  that  is  possible  which  is  above  the  limits  of  reason ; 
but  the  time  would  be,  surely,  yet  more  completely  thrown 
away,  which  should  be  bestowed  in  proving  that  what  is 
contrary  to  reason  never  can  be  credible. 

To  those,  if  such  there  be,  who  can  digest  even  Sabellian 
contradictions,  it  may  be  doubted,  indeed,  wh(it  argument  re- 
mains to  be  otiered.  Shall  we  lead  them  to  the  banks  of 
Jordan  during  the  baptism  of  John,  and  point  out  to  their  at- 
tention the  whole  Triune  Godhead  made  manifest  in  the  se- 
veral and  consentaneous  characters  of  the  Dove,  the  Voice, 
the  Beloved  Son  1  Is  it  to  their  own  baptism  that  w-e  shall 
send  them  back,  when  the  waters  of  regeneration  were 
sprinkled  on  their  brows  in  the  name  and  by  the  joint  author- 
ity of  the  Father,  the  Son,  and  the  Holy  Ghost  ?  Or  shall 
we  carry  them,  on  the  wings  of  the  Evangelical  Eagle,  to  that 
tremendous  throne  and  glassy  ocean  intermingled  with  fire, 
where  burns  continually  the  Sevenfold  Spirit  of  God,  where 
lives  the  Lamb  who  was  slain  for  us,  and  where  sits  enthron- 
ed the  Ancient  of  Days,  the  Father  Everlasting  and  Al- 
mishty  1 

Our  knowledge,  indeed,  is  small,  our  ideas  are  limited  ;  we 
behold,  as  vet,  the  things  of  God  through  the  dusky  medium 
of  mortality,  and,  oh,  how  feebly  do  we  reason !  Yet,  surely, 
if  the  Spirit  of  truth  have  not  deceived  us  in  the  literal  ac- 
count which  he  has  himselfafforded  of  his  person  and  charac- 
ter; if  there  be  any  certainty  in  logical  inference,  any  preci- 
sion in  the  most  solemn  words  of  Scripture,  the  Spirit  whom 
the  Father  sends  forth  must  needs  be  distinct  from  the 
Father;  if  Christ,  the  lirst  Comforter  of  fallen  man,  be  a 
Person,  that  other  Comforter  whom  he  promises  must  be  a 
Person  also;  if,  in  the  baptismal  office,  the  Son  be  distinct, 
the  Holy  Ghost  cannot  be  identified  with  the  Father,  to  whose 


HEBER'S  BAMPTON  LECTURES. 


:i71 


name  his  name  is  joined.  As,  then,  their  inconsistency  has 
been  shown,  who  would  reduce  the  Spirit  of  God  to  a  quality 
or  abstract  name;  let  those  explain,  who  apply  to  the  Father 
whatever  of  action  or  passion  is  predicated  of  the  Holy  Ghost, 
let  them  explain  by  what  subtility  of  distinction  they  can 
evade  one  half  of  the  .Sabcllian  system,  while  they  contend  so 
strongly  for  the  other ;  and  denj'  the  Divinity  of  the  Son 
while  they  assail  the  Personality  of  the  Comforter.  Or  let 
not  them,  at  least,  revile  the  Orthodox  as  teachers  of  contra- 
diction and  absurdity,  who  can  themselves  believe  and  main- 
tain that  the  Father  sent  himself, — poured  forth  himself, — 
maketh  intercession  with  himself, — that  tlie  allwise  God 
could  require  or  receive  inspiration  from  a  mortal  Prophet, — 
and  that  it  is  reasonable  to  helieve  a  contradiction  in  terms, 
rather  than  assent  to  that  which  is  beyond  the  limits  of  our 
experience. 

Oh  miserable  perversion  of  human  intellect,  portentous 
blindness  of  pride,  which  can  forsake  the  pure  well  of  .Salva- 
tion, to  hew  out  for  itself  those  broken  cisterns,  of  which  the 
rents  and  the  chasms  are  ridiculous  and  offensive  in  the  eyes 
of  that  reason  which  they  loudly  call  on  us  to  adore  I  For 
ourselves  it  is  no  new  trial,  that  the  God  whom  we  worship 
should  be  accounted  foolishness  ;  but  it  may  well  afford  some 
comfort  to  those  who  are  accused  of  following  after  supersti- 
tious vanities,  to  witness  how  soon  these  preachers  of  a  ra- 
tional religion,  professing  to  be  wise,  are  become  blind. 

Let  me  not  however  be  mistaken.  The  comfort  which  a 
Christian  may  feel  in  exposing  the  inconsistencies  of  his  err- 
ing brethren,  is  not  derived  from  pride,  and  is  far,  very  far 
removed  from  the  exultation  of  malice  or  of  scorn.  Sensible 
as  we  are  of  our  own  transgressions  against  reason  and 
Scripture;  sensible  as  we  must  be  of  our  natural  ignorance 
and  weakness;  creatures  of  education  and  habit;  we  cannot 
notice  the  mistakes  of  other  men  without  recollecting,  at  the 
same  time,  by  what  school,  what  example,  what  providential 
chain  of  circumstances,  our  own  eyes  have  been  opened  to 
the  tilings  which  belong  to  our  peace;  to  those  hopes  and 
grounds  of  hope  which  we  feel  and  know  are  as  necessary  to 
our  comfort  here,  as  the  truths  on  which  they  depend  are  to 
our  eternal  salvation  hereafter.  Call  it  ignorance,  call  it 
hardness  of  heart,  call  it  reprobate  blindness,  which  prevents 
our  brother  from  agreeing  with  us  in  the  essentials  of  reli- 
gion,— we  feel  that  what  he  is  we  also  inight  have  been  ;  and 
that  there  have,  perhaps,  been  moments  in  which  many  in- 
consistencies, which  are  now  apparent  to  us,  were  in  like 
manner  hidden  from  our  e3'es.  If  we  rejoice,  then,  in  detect- 
ing the  misapprehensions  of  our  religious  antagonists,  if  we 
are  anxious  to  unravel  his  sophisms,  if  we  are  fervent  in  re- 
pelling his  calumnies,  it  is  not,  I  repeat  it,  in  anger  or  in 
pride,  but  because  we  thereby  confirm  in  ourselves  that  faith 
which  is  necessary  to  our  happiness,  and  prevent,  perhaps, 
in  those  whose  0|)inions  are  yet  undecided,  the  extension  of 
the  mischief  which  we  deplore. 

If  any  such  there  are,  (and  such  their  doubtless  must  be 
among  the  younger  part  of  this  assembly)  whose  opinions 
are  not  yet  confirmed  by  time  or  inquiry  in  those  doctrines 
which  our  church  with  reason  inculcates  as  essential  to  our 
holiness  here  and  our  happiness  hereafter;  if  such  there  be, 
let  me  exhort  them  not  to  shun  those  studies  on  which  their 
faith  must  hereafter  repose,  nor  (if  such  studies  are  begun 
with  proper  feeling,  and  continued  with  proper  perseverance) 
to  entertain  any  doubt  as  to  their  issue. 

But  let  them  recollect,  during  such  their  inquiry,  that  what 
is  above  reason  is  not,  therefore,  unreasonable;  that,  where 
difficulties  are  found  on  either  side,  the  word  of  God  is  the 
only  sufficient  arbiter ;  and  that  the  best  means  of  understand- 
ing any  single  passage  of  Scripture,  is  to  acquire  an  accurate 
and  long  acquaintance  with  the  whole  of  the  sacred  Volume. 

Yet,  thouijh  Scripture  be  the  test  by  which  every  doctrine 
is  tried,  it  is  by  the  sense  and  not  the  terms  of  Scripture  that 
the  conformity  of  an  opinion  to  God's  will  may  be  most  fairly 
estimated.  It  is  no  objection  to  a  solemn  truth  that  it  should 
be  conveyed  in  barbarous  language;  and,  if  our  adversaries 
have  compelled  us  to  define,  with  scholastic  precision,  our 
faith  in  the  Triune  Deity,  the  fault,  if  fault  there  be,  must 
rest  with  them  by  whom  we  are  daily  and  falsely  accused  of 
idolatry. 

But,  brethren,  I  speak  as  to  the  wise;  a  name,  ye  know, 
is  nothing;  nor  have  ye  so  learned  Christ  (God  forbid  you 
ye  should  have  so  learned  him!)  as  to  believe  his  religion  to 
be  a  system  of  sounds  and  syllables;  or  to  fancy  that  a  Scrip- 
tural doctrine  cannot  be  contained  in  unusual  or  unscriptural 
language.  Bear  with  us,  then,  in  this  our  infirmity  !  Attend 
not  so  much  to  the  terms  which  we  use,  as  to  the  meaning 


which  those  terms  cotivey ;  anrt,  as  ye  honour  the  gift  of  rea- 
son, and  as  ye  love  the  privilege  of  revelation,  reject  not  an 
inference  legitimately  drawn  from  premises  admitted  by  all ; 
despise  not  the  wonders  of  the  gospel,  because  their  heavenly 
nature  transcends  the  grossness  of  our  present  faculties ! 

Nor  fancy  that  we  are  leading  you  from  practical  truths 
along  the  dreary  track  of  useless,  perhaps  of  impious,  specu- 
lation :  or  that  the  time  is  wasted  which  is  employed  in  dis- 
cussing rather  than  improving  the  spiritual  graces  vouchsafed 
to  us  by  the  Almighty. 

In  our  religion  is  no  truth  so  exclusivel}'  speculative,  but 
it  is  connected  with,  and  terminates  in,  practice.  We  study 
God's  nature,  in  order  that  the  more  we  know  of  him,  he  may 
offer  a  shape  more  tangible  and  more  accessible  to  our  faiih, 
our  affection,  and  our  prayer.  The  more  firmi}'  the  Personal 
Existence  of  bis  .Spirit  is  imprinted  on  our  minds,  the  more 
conviction  do  we  feel  of  our  own  spiritual  and  immortal  na- 
ture; the  warmer  gratitude  to  that  eternal  and  almighty 
Redeemer,  by  whose  merits  and  whose  power  this  heavenly 
guest  is  brought  down  to  dwell  in  the  hearts  of  men. 

In  that  Redeemer,  indeed,  as  in  the  former  Adam  cf  Cab- 
balistic Mythology,  all  the  rays  of  the  celestial  Sephiroth 
meet  and  terminate ;  all  the  splendours  of  revelation  are  em- 
bodied in  him;  and  ever)'  minor  difference  of  creed  or  disci- 
pline is  extinguished  in  this  central  light,  with  those  who 
offer  up  at  the  basis  of  his  cross,  their  hopes,  their  doubts, 
their  merits,  their  infirmities  ! 

From  that  most  holy  and  most  happy  company;  from  that 
innumerable  multitude  who,  with  more  or  less  of  knowledge, 
and  amid  less  or  greater  errors,  have  sought  redemption 
through  the  sufferings  of  Christ,  and  shall  find  it  in  his  final 
triumph,  the  Socinian  is  self-excluded  !  Like  the  wind  of 
the  desert,  where  his  doctrines  pass,  the  fruits  and  flowers  of 
Eden  vanish  or  decay;  and  in  that  self-confidence  which 
counts  the  blood  of  the  eternal  covenant  a  worthless  thing, 
and  doth  despite  to  the  Spirit  of  Grace;  in  that  strength  of 
prejudice  which  would  rend  from  Scripture  whatever  page  or 
passage  contravenes  his  previous  opinion;  in  that  gloomy 
materialism  which  turns  identity  into  illusion,  and  degrades 
our  nature  to  the  level  of  a  speaking  automaton,  he  stands 
alike  anathematized  by  the  primitive  Faith  and  the  soundest 
Philosophy ;  rejected  alike  from  the  Academy  and  the  Tem- 
ple. 

That  these  renowned  and  venerable  seats  of  learning  and 
piety  may,  as  they  have  embraced,  continue  long  to  hold  fast 
the  better  part  both  in  philosophy  and  religion,  may  he  accord 
to  our  prayers  from  whom  all  wisdom  and  godliness  flow  ;  the 
Author  of  every  good  and  perfect  gift  to  man;  the  Ruler  and 
Patron  of  that  church  which  the  Son  hath  purchased  by  his 
blood ;  who,  with  the  same  most  blessed  Son,  and  the  Al- 
mighty and  Eternal  Father,  liveth  and  reigneth  ever  one 
God,  world  without  end. 


LECTURE  IV. 

I  tc-11  you  the  truth  ;  it  is  expedient  for  you  that  T  go  away  ;  for  if 
I  go  not  away,  the  Comforter  will  not  come  unto  you  ;  but  if  I  de- 
part, I  will  send  him  unto  you John  xvi.  7. 

Having  shown  that  the  Comforter  whom  Christ  was  to 
send  is  an  Intelligence  or  Person  distinct  from  God  the  Fa- 
ther, and  having  incidentall}'  also  shown  the  Deity  of  that 
Person  ;  I  may  leave  to  our  antagonists  the  task  of  discover- 
ing by  what  rational  hypothesis,  excepting  that  contained  in 
the  usual  confession  of  the  church,  their  ingenuit}'  con  recon- 
cile Scripture  to  itself,  or  make  the  strong  assertions  which  are 
found  there  as  to  the  divinity  of  more  persons  than  one,  con- 
sist with  those  equally  forcible  passages  which  inculcate  the 
unity  of  God. 

For  when  we  find  on  the  one  side,  the  Father,  the  Son,  the 
Holy  Ghost,  all  three  alike  invested  with  the  loftiest  titles 
and  attributes  of  Eternal,  Almighty,  Allwise,  it  would  be 
reasonable,  no  doubt,  in  the  first  instance,  to  suppose  that 
these  three  divine  Persons  were  distinct  and  independent  di- 
vinities. 

But  when,  on  the  other  hand,  .lehovah  our  God  is  expressly 
asserted  to  be  one  Jehovali ;  when  the  Son  instructs  us  that 
he  and  the  Fatlier  arc  one;  ami  when  the  presence  of  the  Holy 
Ghost  with  the  church  is  identified  with  the  presence  not  only 
of  the  Father  but  of  the  Son ;  no  conclusion  can  remain  for 


iTJ 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


\lS,but  that  we  must  elllicr  rcjoot  entirely  all  belief  in  Scrip- 
ture, or  that  we  must  understaiicl  the  words  of  Scripture  in  a 
diliereut  manner  from  that  in  wliich  we  should  understand  the 
same  expressions  in  any  other  treatise,  or,  lastly,  that  we 
must  aeknowledo-e  the  Persons  thus  identified  and  distinguish- 
ed to  he,  in  certain  respects,  at  once  united  and  separate,  in 
certain  relations  with  each  other,  at  once  subordinate  and 
equal. 

Nor  will  this  appear,  on  sufficient  testimony,  incredible,  to 
any  one  who  recollect  how  often  in  the  works  of  nature  an 
apparent  contradiction  is  solved  and  rendered  consistent  by  a 
more  ])erfeot  discovery  of  relations  and  circumstances  ;  bow 
many  peculiarities  there  are  in  those  things  which  are  most 
obvious  to  our  senses,  which  we  believe  to  exist  in  contradic- 
tion, utter  contradiction,  to  the  testimony  which  those  senses 
otl'er. 

That  the  sun  is  stationary,  and  that  the  earth  is  in  constant 
and  rapid  motion,  a  motion  more  rapid  than  the  swiftest  bird, 
the  dolphin,  or  the  cannon-ball,  some  of  us  believe,  because 
it  has  been  demonstrated  to  us  :  but  many  more  there  are  who 
acknowledge  it  against  the  evidence  of  their  eyes  and  feelings, 
on  no  stronger  ground  than  that  they  have  heard  the  fact  from 
others,  of  whose  information  and  integrity  they  entertain  a 
better  opinion  than  of  the  extent  of  their  own  knowledge  and 
the  accuracy  of  their  own  observation.  Let  but  so  nmch  of 
credence  be  given  to  the  Omniscient,  as  we  usually  in  facts 
beyond  the  limits  of  our  own  research  accord  to  our  fallible 
fellow  creatures,  and  we  shall  hear  iio  more  of  the  impossi- 
tiility  of  any  doctrine  which  is  explicitly  revealed  in,  or  cor- 
rectly deducible  from,  those  writings  which  we  confess  to  be 
the  oracles  of  CJod. 

Of  those,  indeed,  who  assign  as  a  sufficient  ground  for  un- 
belief in  a  Divine  Revelation,  that  its  circumstances  surpass 
our  mental  comprehension,  it  may  be  asked,  in  return,  whether 
they  themselves  believe  in  the  existence  of  a  Divine  and  In- 
finite Being,  who  fills  all  space,  who  is  All  wise,  Allpowerful ; 
■whose  justice  and  mercy  arealike  without  end]  Such  r 
Being  they  will,  doubtless,  answer  that  they  acknowledge ; 
yet  how  many  circumstances  apparently  impossible  in  them- 
selves or  inconsistent  with  each  other,  are  involved  in  this 
short  and  usual  definition  ! 

If  the  presence  of  tied  bcinfinite,then  mustweacknowledge, 
with  Spinoza  all  things  to  be  God;  or  more  than  one  indivi- 
dual must,  at  the  same  moment,  be  in  the  same  portion  of 
space.  If  his  power  and  wisdom  be  infinite,  where  is  the 
freedom  of  the  human  will !  and  if  the  will  be  not  free,  how 
can  the  Almighty  judge  the  worUH  When  these  questions 
are  answered,  and  the  iiuiumcrablc  otlier  mysteries  are  lx- 
plained  which  beset  tlie  first  entrance  not  of  revealed  only, 
but  of  natural  religion;  it  may  then  be  time  to  inquire,  whether 
it  be  impossible  that  an  Omnipresent  Being  should  be  mani- 
fested in  more  than  one  hypostasis;  or  that  three  distinct b)'- 
postases  should  be  capable  of  a  connexion  so  intimate  as  to 
be  only  one  Divinity. 

But  to  ap]dy  to  spiritual  existences,  of  v\hich  we  know 
nothing,  illustrations  or  objections  taken  from  those  bodily 
substances  with  which  only  we  are  acquainted,  is  to  apply  our 
knowledge  to  an  end  which  it  was  never  intended  to  answer; 
it  is  to  measure  space  with  the  thermometer,  or  heat  with  the 
compass  and  square.  To  what  extent,  indeed,  those  glorious 
but  finite  beings  who  behold  the  face  of  God,  arc  enabled  by 
that  blessed  intercourse  to  understand  the  mode  of  their 
Maker's  existence,  we  Icnow  not,  nor  docs  it  greatly  import 
us  to  inquire.  But  one  thing  we  know,  that  we  arc,  ourselves, 
as  yet,  in  a  stale  of  pupilage  ;  in  which  whatever  we  believe 
as  to  our  future  destinies,  or  the  Being  on  whom  we  depend, 
is  founded  on  testimony  onl)'.  The  state  of  the  Sceptic  is  not 
dissimilar  from  that  of  a  human  being  born  and  educated  in  a 
dungeon,  who  should  deny  the  existence  of  light  because  bis 
organs  had  never  perceived  it,  and  because  the  properties  as- 
cribed to  it  appeared,  as  to  such  an  one  they  might  naturall}- 
appear,  inconsistent  and  contradictory.  And  if  the  distinc- 
tion of  colours  should  seem  impossible  to  one  with  whom  every 
thing  alike  was  gloomy,  if  the  fair  variety  of  this  upper 
world  should  militate  against  all  the  prejudices  of  him  who 
had  grown  old  and  obstinate  within  the  narrow  compass  of 
his  four  stone  walls,  what  ground  of  conviction  could  his  in- 
structor offer  but  the  pledge  of  his  own  integrity  I 

"You  cannot,"  might  be  bis  words,  "1  know  you  cannot 
as  yet  understand  me;  but  if  these  prison  walls  were  away, 
you  would  be  at  once  convinced  of  my  truth.  On  that  truth,! 
however,  and  on  the  opinion  which  you  entertain  of  my  J 
knowledge  and  veracity,  must  the  certainty  of  all  these  won-' 
ders  ai  present  repose  ;  and  the  faith  which  you  retain  that  I 


would  not  deceive  )'0U  must  be  your  evidence  of  things  un- 
seen." 

Nor  is  the  utility  of  a  revelation  disproved,  should  its  cir- 
cumstances and  detail  exceed  our  jiresentcapacity,  and  should 
our  faith  be  tried  by  information  which  we  as  yet  imperfectly 
comprehend.  Such  information,  like  the  elements  of  a  science, 
has  reference,  we  may  conclude,  to  a  future  stale  of  progress- 
ive knowledge  and  inquiry.  By(the  glimpses  of  truth  which 
it  affords,  we  are  induced  to  expect  far  brighter  discoveries 
hereafter,  and  to  contemplate  with  less  of  terror  than  of 
anxious  hope,  that  period  at  which  all  onr  doubts  shall  be 
renioveil,  and  when  those  things  which  we  now  see  through 
a  glass  darkly,  we  shall  be  permitted  to  look  on  face  to  face. 
Dissolve  this  tabernacle,  rend  but  this  fleshy  dungeon  in 
twain,  and  all  shall  at  once  be  clear  which  now  perplexes 
lis;  all  shall  be  light  which  now  appears  obscure,  and 
all  which  we  doubt  of  now  shall  be  known  even  as  God 
knoweth  us.  This  is  the  gate  of  knowledge;  from  this  point 
our  discoveries  begin;  and,  the  darkness  of  the  grave  once 
traversed,  we  shall  enter  into  a  refulgence  of  day  which  no 
cloud  shall  obscure,  no  evening  terminate! 

Mc^antime,  however,  though  it  be  worse,  perhaps,  than 
merely  idle  to  weary  our  souls  by  a  fruitless  curiosity  after 
undiscoverable  secrets,  or  to  attempt  to  reconcile  with  our 
bodily  apprehensions  those  truths  which  are  not  the  objects 
of  sense;  yet  is  it  a  delightful  and  a  holy  exercise  to  ascer- 
tain, as  far  as  possible,  the  limits  to  which  the  words  of  Rev- 
elation extend,  to  nn^ditate  often  on  the  abstruser  oracles  of 
God,  aiul  to  collect  v.ith  humble  and  patient  scrutiny  those 
scattered  facts  which  he  has  incidentally  communicated  re- 
specting his  own  mysterious  nature. 

Nor  is  it  any  imputation  on  the  truth  or  importance  of  a 
doctrine,  that  we  discover  it,  like  the  Trinity  in  I'nity,  not  so 
much  from  the  direct  assertions  as  from  tiie  implied  meaning 
of  Scripture  ;  that  it  is  a  consequence  deducible  from  revela- 
tion, rather  than,  itself,  in  express  terras  revealed. 

For  this  is  not  the  only  instance  in  which  the  oracles  of  God 
convey  most  important  information  through  circumstances 
seemingly  indilTerent,  by  an  arrangement  which  contents  it- 
self to  disclose  the  grounds  on  which  our  faith  is  to  be  founded, 
and  which  permits  us  from  these  grounds  to  infer  the  beliet 
for  ourselves. 

When  the  Almight}'  announced  himself  to  Moses  in  Horeb 
as  the  God  of  Abraham,  of  Isaac,  and  Jacob,  it  is  evident  that 
in  these  expressions  no  definite  assurance  was  contained  of  a 
life  beyond  the  grave.  Yet,  inasmuch  as  this  o]iinion  might 
be  reasonably  though  incidentallv  collected  from  the  premises 
aliordcd,  our  Lord,  we  know,  referred  to  this  single  passage 
as  sufficient  to  confute  the  Sadducees,  and  reproved  them 
sharply  for  a  culpable  error  in  not  having  themselves  made 
the  right  a|)plication.  ' 

Nor  is  there  any  thing  in  this  manner  of  instruction  at  va- 
riance with  those  methods  which  we  might  previously  have 
expected  the  Almighty  to  adopt  in  the  illumination  of  his 
creatures,  or  different  from  the  usual  tenour  of  that  more  im- 
mediate intercourse  which  he  has  at  times  carried  on  with 
mankind. 

The  soul  of  man  is  not  only  delighted  with  knowledge,  but 
if  she  be  in  a  healthy  and  natural  condition,  she  is  delighted 
also  with  the  act  of  learning.  But  that  this  act  should  be 
either  agreeable  or  efficacious,  it  is  necessary  that  we  should 
do  it  for  ourselves.  What  is  merely  didactic  is  always  wea- 
risome; and  the  most  effectual  advances  are  made  and  our 
progress  is  then  most  pleasurable,  when,  with  no  more  assist- 
ance from  others  than  is  absolutel}'  necessary,  we  master 
every  dilficulty  by  our  own  resources,  and  associate  in  our  re- 
collection the  beauty  of  truth  with  the  triumph  of  successful 
inquiry. 

Accordingl}',  to  confer  on  his  creatures  rather  the  means  of 
knowledge  than  knowledge  itself;  to  encourage  them  to  elicit 
the  truth  by  their  natural  faculties  from  data  supernaturally 
communicated,  is  that  conduct  which  we  should,  a  priori,  and 
in  a  gracious  conformity  to  the  frame  of  our  nature,  most  rea- 
sonably expect  from  an  allwise  and  beneficient  instructor. 

Such  indeed,  we  find  is  the  course  which,  in  his  arrange- 
ment of  the  ph3'sical  world,  the  maker  of  that  world  has  fol- 
lowed. He  does  not  feed  us,  but  he  furnishes  us  with  the 
means  of  procuring  food;  and  how  dull  and  inanimate  would 
that  existence  become,  which  was  never  diversified  by  the 
ardour  of  pursuit,  never  stimulated  by  the  craving  of  anxiety, 
nor  rewarded  with  that  luxury  of  repose  which  is  the  off- 
spring of  successful  labour?  What  wonder  then,  if  there  are 
certain  truths  which  he  has  reserved  as  the  reward  of  an  at- 
tentive consideration  of  those  which  he  has  expressed  more 


IIEBER'S  BAMPTON  LECTURES. 


273 


clearly  ;  what  wonder  if  many  remarkable  features  of  liis  na- 
ture and  government  are  revealed  to  us  by  implication  only  1 
Accordingly,  in  the  types,  the  prophecies,  the  parables  of 
Scripture,  the  frequency  of  such  a  process  is  obvious  even  to 
a  careless  reader  of  the  Bible.  The  relio;ion  of  the  Jew  from 
his  cradle  to  his  tomb,  conveyed  in  all  its  ceremonies  a  per- 
petual allusion  to  the  future  sacrifice  for  sin  in  the  person  of 
the  Messiah,  and  the  prophecies  of  the  old  and  the  parables 
of  the  later  covenant,  are  each  of  them  an  exercise  of  that  na- 
tural faculty,  by  which  we  reason  tothin^  from  their  resem- 
blances. 

We  find,  nevertheless,  that  the  meaning  of  such  expressions 
was  not  to  be  nejilected  with  impunity ;  nor,  when  all  who 
desired  to  understand  thcrp  might  easily  find  the  key,  could 
those  plead  ignorance  as  an  excuse,  whose  indifference  or 
prejudice  was  the  real  cause  which  had  kept  them  thus  ex- 
cluded. 

It  was,  therefore,  at  their  own  tremendous  peril  that  the 
Pharisees  refused  to  understand  the  ancient  prophecies  in 
their  natural  application  to  our  Saviour ;  and  the  Sadducees 
Were  reproved  by  him  as  guilty  of  a  grievous  error,  in  ne- 
glecting to  attend  to  the  deduction  which  followed  from  the 
words  of  God  in  Horcb. 

Not  only,  then,  is  it  possible  that  a  doctrine  may  be  true 
which  is  incidentally  only,  and  not  in  explicit  terms  revealed; 
it  is,  moreover,  pos^iible  that  such  a  doctrine  may  be  of  the 
highest  and  most  vital  importance  to  our  conduct  here  and 
our  eternal  hopes  hereafter;  it  may  be  such  an  one  as,  in 
itself  or  in  its  consequences,  may  affect  our  everlasting  salva- 
tion. Nor,  though  it  be  presumptuous  to  decide  as  to  the 
lowest  dcTrce  of  knowledge  or  of  faith  to  which  the  mercy  of 
our  father  may  extend,  can  it  be  doubted  that  those  doctrines 
in  which  the  objects  of  our  adoration  are  concerned,  are  ques- 
tions of  the  higiiest  practical  moment. 

It  cannot  be  safe  to  neglect  whatever  Cod  reveals  to  us 
respecting  his  own  mysterious  essence;  nor  can  it  be  regard- 
ed as  grateful  to  refuse  whatever  of  prayer  or  praise  is  autho- 
rized and  commanded  in  Scripture  to  be  rendered  to  the  Son 
by  whom  wo  are  redeemed,  and  the  Spirit  by  whom  we  are 
sanctified. 

And,  so  far  is  the  indirect  species  of  proof  from  incurring 
as  our  antagonists  pretend  that  it  incurs,  the  charge  of  weak- 
ness or  insufficiency,  that,  in  written  documents,  (and  docu- 
ments above  all  which  have  descended  to  us  from  distant 
ages,  and  have  been  exposed,  as  all  such  must  be  more  or 
less  exposed,  to  the  injuries  of  time  or  the  misuse  of  men,)  a 
leofitimate  inference  from  unsuspected  premises  will  often 
more  avail  in  the  establishment  of  an  ancient  opinion,  thin 
even  the  strongest  positive  testimony. 

There  is  always  a  greater  chance  when  such  positive  as- 
sertions are  produced,  that  the  text  may  have  suffered  by 
indiscreet  or  fraudulent  zeal ;  and  the  more  expressly  and 
closely  any  passage  corresponds  with  the  faith  or  wishes  of 
a  particular  sect,  so  much  the  greater  reason  will  there  be  to 
apprehend,  that  those  who  anxiously  desire  to  convince 
others,  have  not  been  always  content  to  bring  forward  those 
proofs  by  which  Ibcy  have  been  convinced  tbomsclvcs. 

Hut,  when  a  proposition  is  presented  incidentally  to  our 
notice ;  when  it  is  elicited  from  recorded  facts,  or  from  asser- 
tions so  circumstanced  as  to  be  a  necessary  part  of  the  treatise 
or  history  in  which  they  occur;  when  it  follows  as  a  neces- 
sary corollary  from  arguments  of  which  the  immediate  refer- 
ence is  to  another  subject ;  there  is  no  longer  room  to  appre- 
hend the  collusion  of  panizans  or  the  wilful  inaccuracy  of 
transcribers,  and  the  proof  has  the  same  advantage  over  the 
strongest  positive  assertions,  as  that  which  is  ascribed  by 
lawyers  to  circumstantial,  over  direct  but  unsupported  evi- 
dence. 

It  may  seem,  then,  that  the  Scriptural  proof  of  the  Holy 
Ghost's  personality,  and  of  the  existence  of  that  Triune  God- 
head to  which  he  belongs,  is  of  the  kind  least  obvious  to 
rational  suspicion,  as  being  least  open  to  fraud  or  negligence; 
and  that  the  faith  which  the  church  confesses  in  her  public 
formularies  is,  in  truth,  no  other  than  that  eternal  rock  on 
which,  though  it  be  a  stone  of  offence  to  worldly  wisdom,  he 
that  hopeth  shall  not  be  ashamed. 

Having  determined,  then,  the  Personality,  and  ascertained, 
though  briefly  and  incidentally,  the  divine  nature  of  that 
Comforter  whose  advent  our  Saviour  foretold  ;  it  remains  that 
we  examine,  secondl}',  who  were  the  objects  of  that  promised 
appearance;  and,  thirdly,  what  were  those  effects  which 
were  to  be  anticipated  from  so  awful  a  visitation.  In  other 
words,  we  have  yet  to  ascertain,  whether  the  Holy  Ghost 
Vol.  II 2  K 


were  promised  as  a  peculiar  Comforter  to  the  Apostles  only, 
or  to  the  universal  church  of  Christ;  and  in  what  respects 
and  by  what  perceptible  benefits,  he  was  to  evince,  if  1  may 
use  the  exjiression,  his  title  to  the  name  of  Paraclete. 

And,  of  these  inquiries,  the  first,  apparently,  need  not  de- 
tain us  long;  since  the  same  Divine  Teacher  by  whom  the 
promise  of  a  Paraclete  was  given,  has  promised  also  that  he 
should  remain  for  ever  with  those  who  were  to  be  the  objects 
of  his  care.  But  that  this  expression,  "  for  ever,"  is  not  per- 
sonally applicable  to  the  immediate  hearers  of  Christ,  and 
that  the  promise  cannot  therefore  be  confined  to  them,  is  ai>- 
parent  from  the  very  fact  of  their  mortality.  For  tlie  words 
of  our  Saviour  do  not,  it  may  be  observed,  imply  that  the 
continuance  of  the  Comforter  with  them  was  to  be  to  the  end 
nfthtir  lives.  If  this  had  been  the  case,  we  might  reasonably 
have  doubted  whether  succeeding  generations  were  included 
in  the  promised  benefit.  But  it  was  not  "/i7/  deal h,"  nor 
"  alivay-1,"  nor  "  continually,''''  that  the  Paraclete  was  to 
abide  with  those  to  whom  he  was  promised.  It  was  ^^for 
ever"  "  eternally"  or  "  to  the  end  of  the  world,"  at  -rir  n'Ctx,  and 
it  answered  in  purport  to  the  remarkable  expression  whereby, 
after  his  resurrection  from  the  dead,  and  immediately  before 
his  return  to  heaven,  our  Lonl  assured  them  of  the  perpetual 
continuance  of  his  own  protecting  care.  But  an  eternal 
guardianship  and  comfort  can  only  be  exercised  on  an  eternal 
subject.  It  is  therefore  as  a  collective  body,  and  as  an  end- 
less succession  of  individuals,  that  the  church  of  Christ  re- 
ceived the  promise  here  recorded  :  and  it  will  follow  that  it 
was  communicated  to  the  Apostles,  not  as  its  exclusive  in- 
heritors, but  as  the  representatives  of  all  who  in  after  ages,  by 
their  means,  should  believe  on  the  Son  of  God. 

Nor  can  it  be  reasonably  urged  in  answer  to  this  position, 
that  the  Apostles,  though  exposed  to  death,  and  destined, 
each  of  them,  in  a  few  years  to  die,  were,  each  of  them, 
nevertheless,  in  a  certain  sense,  immortal,  and  that  admitted, 
as  they  doubtless  are,  to  a  yet  closer  intercourse  with  the 
Spirit  of  Truth,  it  is  improbable  that  such  spiritual  advantages 
as  they  in  this  life  enjoyed,  have  in  the  succeeding  life  been 
taken  from  them.  For  it  is  not,  we  should  observe,  a  spirit- 
ual communion  simply  speaking,  it  is  not  the  presence  and 
favour  of  the  Holy  tlhost  abstractedly  considered,  which  is 
the  subject  of  our  Saviour's  prophecy;  it  is  in  his  capacity 
of  Paraclete  that  tlie  Spirit  was  then  about  to  descend  ;  he 
was  promised  as  an  Intercessor  for  their  infirmities  at  the 
throne  of  grace,  as  a  Comforter  under  that  distress  which  the 
departure  of  their  Lord  occasioned,  as  an  advocate  and  orator 
in  the  cause  of  Christianity  against  the  violence  and  prejudice 
of  men. 

But  in  paradise  they  need  no  Intercessor,  for  by  their  en- 
trance there  the  object  of  intercession  is  obtained.  In  para- 
disc  they^  require  no  Comforter,  for  Christ  is  there,  and  has 
wiped  away  every  tear  from  every  eye :  in  paradise  what 
room  can  be  found  for  an  advocate  or  a  defender,  for  the  ac- 
cuser of  the  brethren  is  shut  out  from  thence,  and  the  storms 
of  the  world  roll  far  from  that  asylum. 

It  is  plain,  then,  that  the  office  of  Paraclete  had  respect  to 
this  world  only,  and  that  if  the  continuance  of  that  office  be 
commensurate  with  the  world's  duration,  it  is  one  to  which 
every  race  of  believers  have  a  right  to  look  up  in  all  humble 
confidence  for  the  fulfilment  of  our  Saviour's  promise. 

As  the  promise,  then,  of  the  Comforter  is  to  ourselves  and 
our  sons  and  our  sons'  sons  for  evermore,  it  is  natural  and  it 
is  necessary  to  inquire  with  all  becoming  eagerness,  the  pur- 
port of  an  assurance  in  which  we  are  so  nearly  and  greatly 
concerned,  and  to  ascertain  the  nature  of  that  goodly  heritage 
to  which  the  word  of  God  is  our  title. 

Before,  however,  we  proceed  to  ascertain,  in  the  third  place, 
by  what  display  of  power,  what  gracious  and  benignant 
agency  Divine  and  Ktcrnal  Spirit  was  to  evince  himself  the 
Comforter  of  Christians,  it  is  an  inquiry  neither  in  itself  un- 
important, nor  irrelevant  to  the  general  subject,  to  ascertain 
the  part  which  that  good  Spirit  had  sustained  in  the  scheme 
of  God's  providence  as  previously  displayed  in  the  Patriar- 
chal and  Mosaic  dispensations. 

For,  in  all  the  works  of  God,  and  more  particularly  in  that 
process  of  salvation,  of  which,  from  the  beginning  of  the 
world,  the  Old  and  New  Testaments  are  the  continued  and 
connected  history  ;  so  much  prevails  of  general  harmony,  that 
no  single  period  can  be  otherwise  than  most  imperfectly  com- 
prehended, unless  such  period  be  considered  as  a  part  of,  and 
in  reference  to  the  whole.  And  we  may  expect,  therefore,  to 
find,  on  inquiry,  the  distinct  operation  of  the  third  Person  in 
the  Trinity,  in  his  character  of  the  Christian  Paraclete,  in 


274 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


some  respects  at  least  analogous  to  those  by  which  he  en- 
lio-htened  or  influenced  or  defended  the  primitive  worshippers 
of  the  one  true  God,  or  the  subsequent  theocracy  of  Israel. 

Of  that  definite  and  distinct  interference,  however,  in  the 
earliest  ages  of  the  world,  it  would,  perhaps,  be  vain,  and  it 
certainly  would  bo  unreasonable  to  expect  any  recorded  ac- 
knowled<jment.  Too  little  is  known  of  the  llrst  two  thousand 
years  of" the  world's  duration,  to  enable  us  to  ascertain  any 
more  as  to  the  o|nnions  of  its  long-lived  inhabitants,  than  the 
fact  that  they,  lilie  us,  adored  a  God,  and,  like  us,  relied  on  a 
Mediator.  And,  with  all  due  deference  to  the  learning  and 
piety  of  those  who  have  attempted  to  demonstrate  the  mys 
tery  of  the  Trinity  from  the  plural  number  of  the  word  "  Elo 
him;"  and  from  the  apparition  of  those  glorious  Beings  who 
visited  Abraham  beneath  the  oak  of  Mamre,  it  is  wiser  and 
better  to  place  no  reliance  in  argument,  on  circumstances 
which  must  be  allowed  to  admit  of  other  applications,  and  of 
which  the  application  thus  given  (whether  true  or  false),  has 
been  found  by  experience  less  likely  to  conciliate  those  who 
are  in  error,  than  to  give  occasion  to  indecent  raillery,  and  to 
the  grossest  imputations  against  that  truth  which  w-e  by  such 
means  endeavour  to  defend. 

There  is  another  passage,  however,  which  has  been,  with 
far  more  plausibility,  applied  by  the  great  majority  of  com- 
mentators to  the  third  Hypostasis  of  the  Godhead,  but  which 
the  modern  Jews,  and  those  Christians  who  are  concerned  in 
the  support  of  Socinianism,  have  been  anxious  to  understand 
of  a  material  and  natural  agent.  That  passage,  I  mean,  in 
the  first  chapter  of  Genesis,  wherein  the  Spirit  of  God  is  de- 
scribed as  in  the  act  of  creation,  and  as  brooding  on  the  sur- 
face of  the  chaotic  waters. 

That  a  rational,  not  a  material  agent  is  there  intended,  can 
admit,  perhaps,  of  little  doubt. 

No  other  instance  can  be  found  in  Scripture  (though  1  am 
ready  to  admit  that  the  word  "Elohim"  is  often  adjectively 
used  as  an  epithet  of  greatness  and  power)  in  which  the 
phrase  "Ruach  Elohim"  can  be,  from  the  context,  applicable 
to  a  natural  wind,  however  rough  or  violent.  The  words 
which  are  united  here,  wherever  they  occur  besides  in  union, 
are,  by  that  connection,  sanctified  to  miracle  and  divinity, 
and  to  the  still  and  tranquil  whispers  of  that  Holy  Being, 
from  whom,  whether  by  the  agency  of  the  Spirit  or  the  Son, 
all  grace  and  goodness  emanate.  Nor  does  the  quivering 
motion  implied  in  the  Hebrew  word  which  we  render  simply 
"  moved,"  though  it  admirably  accords  with  the  hovering  of 
a  bird  over  her  young,  or  with  the  shudder  of  a  sudden  appre- 
hension, (the  only  two  senses  in  which  it  elsewhere  occurs 
in  Scripture), "agree  by  any  means  with  an  agent  so  furious 
and  rapid  as  a  storm ;  should  we  even  grant  that  a  physical 
storm  were  possible  before  the  atmosphere  had,  as  yet,  been 
formed. 

It  may,  therefore,  be  assumed  as  the  most  probable  hjrpo- 
thesis,  that  the  "  Ruach  Elohim"  of  Closes  was  not  a  natural 
wind,  but  a  Spirit  Intelligent  and  Divine.  But  that  by  the 
Intelligence  here  described,  as  well  as  by  the  creating  Spirit 
of  Job"  the  third  Person  in  the  Diety  is  intended,  is  an 
opinion  which  may  well  be  questioned. 

For,  it  is  a  fact  to  which  sufficient  attention  has  not  yet 
been  paid,  (and  it  is  one  which  may  lead,  perhaps,  to  the 
explication  of  some  of  the  obscurest  passages  in  Scrip- 
ture), that,  by  the  ancient  Jews,  by  the  Cliristians  of  the  two 
first  ages,  and  b3'  the  sacred  writers  themselves,  the  name  of 
spirit  is  very  often  apjilied,  not  only  to  the  third,  but  to  the 
second  Person  in  the  Holy  Trinit}'. 

This  circumstance  was  noticed,  in  the  first  instance,  by  the 
learned  Fell,  in  his  notes  on  Theophilus  ;  and  it  has  since 
been  confirmed  from  the  apostolic  Fathers  by  Albert  Zum 
Felde,  and  from  the  early  Rabbins  by  Schottgen ;  to  which 
we  may  add,  that  the  same  term  is  applied  to  Jesus  Christ 
in  a  remarkable  passage  of  the  Koran.  Lactantius,  we 
have  already  seen,  was,  on  the  same  account,  assailed  for 
heresy  by  the  too  ardent  zeal  of  Jerome;  but  how  unjustly 
he  was  thus  accused  is  apparent,  not  from  these  examples 
only,  but  from  several  passages  of  the  New  Testament  in 
which  a  similar  language  is  held. 

St.  Paul,  when  quoting,  in  his  first  Epistle  to  Timothy,  a 
prophecy  uttered  by  Christ  while  on  earth,  introduces  it  as 
spoken  by  "  the  Spirit."  The  "second  Adam,"  according  to 
the  same  Apostle,  was  to  be  a  "quickening  Spirit ;"  and  the 
same  appellation  is  repeatedly  given  by  St.  John  in  the 
Apocalypse,  to  the  Person  of  his  glorified  ]\Iaster. 

When  the  name,  therefore,  of  "  Spirit"  occurs  in  Scripture, 
a  doubt  may  always  arise,  (unless  some  note  of  distinction 


accompany  it,)  whether  the  second  or  the  third  Hypostasis 
of  the  Godhead  is  intended.  And,  while  this  community  of 
name  may  account  for  that  vagueness  of  opinion  respecting 
the  essence  and  character  of  the  latter  which  is  discoverable 
in  the  Rabbinical  writings,  we  cannot  but  observe,  in  the  ex- 
amination of  the  present  passage,  that  the  act  of  creation  is 
one  whicli,  on  tlie  authority  of  the  Apostles,  we  ascribe  to 
that  eternal  Logos,  without  whom  "  there  was  not  any  thing 
made  which  was  made."  Nor  should  we  forget  that  David 
identifies,  in  the  sixth  verse  of  the  thirty-third  Psalm,  the 
creating  Spirit  of  God  with  his  Word ;  nor  that  the  Habhins, 
in  some  of  their  oldest  commentaries,  explain  the  text  which 
we  are  now  discussing  to  signify  "  the  Spirit  of  the  Mes- 
siah." 

But,  while  the  application  of  the  name  of  Spirit  to  the  Per- 
son of  our  Lord  is  in  itself  a  strong  presumption,  against  the 
followers  of  Socinus,  that  he  who  is  thus  distinguished  from 
all  mankind  must  necessarily  have  been  something  more  than 
man;  and  while  this  community  of  name  should  teach  us 
greater  caution  in  the  interpretation  of  many  remarkable  pas- 
sages in  the  Old  and  New  Testaments,  the  analogy  of  Scrip- 
ture will,  nevertheless,  forbid  us  to  doubt  that  the  functions 
of  the  Holy  Ghost,  peculiarly  so  called,  were  as  important 
and  as  prominent  under  the  ancient  as  the  Christian  Co- 
venant. 

Nor  is  it  any  objection  to  this  hypothesis,  if  we  should 
su])pose,  as  manj'  striking  passages  of  Scripture  lead  us  to 
suppose,  and  as  the  Fathers  of  the  second  century  with  one 
accordant  voice  maintain,  that,  during  the  Patriarchal  and 
^Mosaic  ages,  some  few,  at  least,  among  the  recorded  revela- 
tions of  the  almighty  Presence  and  Power  were  revelations 
of  that  Everlasting  Son,  who  was  destined  himself,  in  ful- 
ness of  time,  to  assume  mortality. 

For,  such  occasional  displays  of  glory  on  the  part  of  the 
Second  Person  in  the  Diety,  will  by  no  means  preclude  the 
Third  in  that  mysterious  union  from  a  frequent,  perhaps  a 
more  frequent  intercourse  with  mankind,  whether  by  visible 
manifestations  of  his  Person  and  Majesty,  or  by  the  silent 
influence  of  Inspiration,  and  those  more  usual  but  not  less 
blessed  bounties  which,  under  the  name  of  Grace,  are  pecu- 
liarly ascribed  to  his  influence.  Under  the  Gospel  Covenant, 
when  Christ  had  now  ascended  to  heaven,  and  afterhehad  him- 
self declared  his  intention  of  resigning  to  another  Divine 
Person  the  ordinary  guardianship  of  his  orphan  Church,  we 
find,  nevertheless,  the  Son  of  God  appearing  not  infrequently 
in  person  for  the  instruction  and  consolation  of  his  Apostles. 
Nor  will  it  follow  from  the  appearance  of  the  Divine  Word 
on  particular  occasions  to  Adam,  to  Abraham,  and  to  Moses, 
that  the  Holj'  Spirit  was  not  their  other  and  their  more  frequent 
Alonitor,  any  more  than  it  would  follow  that  the  interference 
of  the  Paraclete  is  disproved  in  the  dilTusion  of  the  Gospel, 
because  it  was  Christ  himself  who  appeared  in  vision  to  St. 
Stephen,  St.  Paul,  or  St.  John. 

Nor  will  it  be,  perhaps,  a  very  difficult  task  to  show,  on 
the  diligent  comparison  of  Scripture  with  itself,  that  the  dis- 
tinction of  Persons  in  the  Diety  is  little  less  evidently  im- 
plied in  the  Old  Testament  than  in  the  New,  and  that  to  the 
Tliird  Hypostasis  in  the  Trinity,  as  distinguished  both  from 
the  Father  and  the  Son,  we  are  to  ascribe,  on  the  authority 
of  the  Sacred  Writers,  not  only  the  inspiration  of  the  Scrip- 
tues  of  the  elder  Covenant,  but  the  tutelary  guidance  of  the 
Church  of  Israel,  and  the  disposal,  as  a  general  and  superin- 
tending Providence,  of  the  political  fate  of  empires,  in  so 
much  at  least  as  those  empires  were  connected  with  the 
chosen  people  of  the  Lord. 

When  Joel  predicts  the  more  abundant  fulness  of  glory 
and  power  which  was  to  adorn  the  Dispensation  of  Grace,  he 
ascribes,  as  it  should  seem,  this  ampler  inspiration  to  the 
same  influence,  (the  influence,  that  is,  of  the  same  identical 
Person,)  as  that  whence  his  own  prophetic  powers  proceeded. 
And  our  Saviour  announces  the  Spirit  who  was  to  comfort 
the  Apostles,  as  a  Person  whose  name,  at  least,  was  al- 
ready known  and  familiar  to  the  devout  expectation  of  his 
hearers. 

The  Church  is  therefore  fully  justified,  when,  in  that  com- 
mon Confession  of  Faith  in  which  both  East  and  West  agree, 
she  ascribes  to  one  and  the  same  Divine  Spirit,  under  either 
Covenant,  the  dispensation  of  prophetic  knowledge. 

Ncr  is  this  all. — For,  unless  we  assign  a  certain  and  a  very 
important  part  to  tlie  Holy  Ghost  in  the  original  institution 
and  conduct  of  the  Jewish  Theocracy,  it  will  be  impossible 
to  reconcile  Scripture  to  itself,  or  to  understand  the  appar- 
ently different  language  of  Moses  and  St.  Stephen,  when 


IIEBER'S  BAINIPTOxN  LECTURES. 


275 


speaking  of  the  same  occurrence.  The  Law,  says  the  Author 
of  the  Pentateuch,  was  received  by  Moses  from  God  himself, 
face  to  face,  as  a  man  speaketh  with  his  friend.  The  Law, 
says  the  Prolomartyr,  (and  he  is  supported  in  his  assertion 
by  the  similar  assurance  of  St.  Paul,)  was  given  by  the  dis- 
pensation of  angels. 

It  is  evident,  then,  that  the  beings,  to  whose  conduct  was 
entrusted  the  guidance  of  Israel,  were  such  as  were  at  once 
divine  and  messengers  of  divinity.  But  wherefore  do  we 
hear  of  more  than  one  ?  Wherefore,  unless  that  both  the  one 
and  the  other  of  those  mysterious  persons,  to  whom  only  the 
apparently  discordant  terms  of  God  and  angel  are  equally  ap- 
plicable, were  engaged  in  the  former,  as  they  were,  doubt- 
less, both  engaged  in  the  latter  covenant  of  Jehovah  with 
mankind. 

And  that  more  than  one  divine  person  was  actually  mani- 
fested in  those  awful  transactions,  an  attentive  examination 
of  the  book  of  Moses  will  be  sufficient  to  make  us  sensible. 
The  mysterious  beintr  who  promul^ted  the  law  from  the 
flaming  height  of  Sinai,  who  is  called  in  Scripture  both  Jeho- 
vah himself  and  Jehovah's  messenger,  the  Creator  of  the 
world  and  the  God  of  Abraham,  Isaac,  and  Jacob;  this  awful 
person  is,  by  all  these  circumstances,  still  more  than  by  the 
accordant  opinion  of  the  Christian  fathers  and  the  elder  Jews, 
identified  with  the  Logos  or  eternal  word  of  God.  Hut,  of 
the  further  progress  of  the  tribes  into  Canaan,  the  legislator 
of  Horeb  was  not  himself  the  guide.  "Behold,"  are  his 
words,  "I  send  an  angel  before  thee,  to  keep  thee  in  the  way, 
and  to  bring  thee  into  the  place  which  I  have  prepared.  Be- 
ware of  hiin  and  obey  his  voice,  provoke  him  not,  for  he  will 
not  pardon  your  transgressions,  for  my  name  is  in  him."' 

It  will  not,  however,  he  denied  that  he,  whose  peculiar 
presence  thenceforward  hallowed  the  tabernacle ;  who  spake 
with  Moses  from  between  the  cherubim  of  the  mercy-seat; 
who  announced  himself  to  Joshua  as  the  captain  of  Jeho- 
vah's army;  and  whom  the  prophets  invoked  as  the  tutelary 
Deity  of  the  former  temple ;  this  person  in  himself,  it  cannot 
be  denied,  must  needs  have  been  both  God  and  Lord.  >for 
is  it  easy,  on  a  due  comparison  of  these  several  premises 
with  each  other,  to  do  otherwise  than  acknowledge,  in  that 
almighty  person  who  was  sent  by  God  the  word  as  his  vicar 
and  delegate;  who  was  to  reveal  to  the  chosen  tribes  the 
more  perfect  will  of  heaven  ;  and  against  whose  authority  all 
rebellion  was,  apparently,  irremissible ;  a  conformity  of  office 
and  character  with  him  by  whose  inspiration  the  prophets 
and  evangelists  alike  composed  their  volumes;  who  is  the 
Comforter  and  Patron  of  tlic  Christian  church,  as  he  was  of 
old  the  Ruler  and  Defender  of  tlie  church  of  Israel. 

And  this  conclusion  will  receive  additional  force  from  the 
similarity  of  those  actions  and  ordinary  iiilluenccs  which  be- 
lievers in  Christ  ascribe  to  the  Holy  Ghost,  with  those  which 
the  Jews  impute  to  the  Schekinah  or  tutelary  and  inhabiting 
Spirit  of  their  tabernacle  and  former  temple.  The  name  of 
Schekinah  has  been  indeed  confined  by  some  modern  theolo- 
gians to  the  open  appearances  of  God's  glory,  and  more  es- 
pecially to  a  certain  luminous  form,  which  (contrary  to  all 
probability  of  reason  and  all  authority  of  Scripture)  they  sup- 
pose to  have  occupied  with  its  actual  presence  the  golden 
mercy-seat  of  the  ark,  or  to  have  hovered,  as  a  visible 
object  of  adoration,  between  the  wings  of  the  emblematical 
cherubim. 

The  talseliood  of  this  popular  doctrine  the  present  is  not 
the  time  to  show;  but  it  is  sufficient  for  my  purpose  to  ob- 
serve, that,  though  the  Jews  undoubtedly  ascribe  to  the 
agency  of  the  Schekinah  whatever  displa}'  of  God's  glory 
has  been  made  to  man,  whether  in  the  sanctuary  or  else- 
where; yet  is  it  certain  that  their  doctors  speak  of  it,  not  as  a 
phantom  onlj',  or  bodily  vehicle,  whereby  the  eternal  father 
thought  fit  to  announce  his  presence  to  mankind;  but  as  a 
rational  and  (for  the  most  part)  an  invisible  person,  who 
bore  witness  before  the  Father  in  behalf  of  those  who  were 
unfeigned  converts  to  the  truth  ;  who  dwelt  in  the  hearts  of 
such  as  rejoiced  in  the  ways  of  piety,  and  received  their  de^ 
parting  souls  ;  who  protected  the  faithful  during  travel ;  who 
presided  over  their  congregations  in  prayer,  and  over  the 
private  studies  of  the  Scriptural  student;  whom,  lastly,  in 
the  ceremony  of  ordination,  they  identified  with  the  Holy 
Ghost  as  descending  with  unseen  influence  on  the  appointed 
ministers  of  religion. 

It  may  be  thought,  then,  that  it  was  indeed  the  Son  of  God 
who  spake  with  Moses  from  Sinai,  but  that  it  was  the  Spirit 
of  God,  peculiarly  so  called,  by  whom  the  work  was  com- 
pleted of  Israel's  deliverance.  Nor  can  any  better  solution 
be  desired  of  that  apparent  difficulty  which  arises  from  the 


comparison  of  the  accounts  afforded  by  Isaiah  and  St.  Paul  to 
the  same  identical  transaction,  the  disobedience  of  Israel  in 
the  desert. 

When  the  first  of  these  Evangelists  (for  to  both  that  name 
is  applicable)  describes  his  ancestors  as  having  grieved  the 
IIulu  Spirit,  he  means,  we  may  suppose,  that  person  in  the 
Godhead  who  was  their  guide  into  their  promised  territory. 
But  when  the  latter  instances  their  sin  in  tempting  Christ,  it 
is  plain  from  the  context  that  by  Christ  he  intends  that  Jeho- 
vah who  brought  them  out  of  the  land  of  Egypt,  and  of 
whom  the  manna,  which  they  sinned  in  refusing,  was  a  type 
and  bodily  image. 

And  so  perfect  is  the  parallel  between  the  correspondinor 
features  of  that  vast  design  whereby  the  salvation  of  mankind 
is  secured,  that  as,  in  either  case,  it  was  the  second  Person  of 
the  Trinity  by  whom  the  Church  was  brought  out  of  bond- 
age, so  was  it  in  both  the  third  in  that  mysterious  union  who 
was  to  conduct  them  to  their  appointed  Canaan. 

The  most  important,  however,  and  certainly  the  clearest 
discovery  of  the  existence  and  functions  of  God's  Holy 
Spirit  under  the  Mosaic  dispensation,  is  communicated  by 
that  Prophet  who,  of  all  the  servants  of  the  Almighty,  had 
the  most  perspicuous  notices  of  his  nature  and  the  general 
scheme  of  his  government.  And  as  the  chapters  of  Daniel 
in  which  this  account  is  found  have  been  the  subjects  of 
very  general  misapprehension,  and  as  they  have  been  even 
perverted  into  a  source  of  error  the  most  childish  and  idola- 
trous, I  may  be  excused  if  I  enter  somewhat  at  lengtli  into 
the  circumstances  which  they  detail. 

On  the  banks  of  the  Tigris,  we  read  in  the  tenth  chapter  of 
his  prophecy,  was  Daniel  visited,  after  a  long  preparation  of 
fasting  and  prayer,  by  a  Person  clothed  with^everj'  attribute 
of  celestial  majesty  and  terror,  in  a  white  and  glittering  garb, 
and  cinctured  with  a  golden  ^irdle ;  "  his  body  like  the  beryl, 
his  face  as  the  appearance  of  lightning,  his  eyes  as  lamps  of 
fire,  his  arms  and  his  feet  in  colour  like  polished  brass,  and 
the  voice  of  his  words  as  the  voice  of  a  multitude." 

This  awful  Spirit,  whose  words,  no  less  than  his  appear- 
ance, betoken  the  highest  pitch  of  majesty  and  power;  who 
describes  himself  as  the  sustaining  Providence  of  the  Per- 
sian empire,  and  to  whom  the  angels  of  God  apply  as  to  an 
oracle  for  a  knowledge  of  futurity;  has  been  variously  re- 
orarded  by  the  greater  number  of  commentators,  either^as  the 
Divine  Logos  or  second  Person  in  the  Trinity,  or  as"  a  cre- 
ated though  very  powerful  angel. 

The  former  of  these  opinions  has,  I  apprehend,  been 
founded  on  the  supposed  similarity  of  attire  and  dignity  be- 
tween the  Person  hero  described  and  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ, 
as  he  appeared  in  glorj-,  after  his  decease,  to  the  beloved 
Writer  of  the  Apocalypse. 

But  on  a  correspondence  like  this  no  such  conclusion 
can  be  justly  founded,  inasmuch  as  the  features  are  those 
general  ones  only  of  royal  and  celestial  authority,  adopted,  as 
it  may  seem,  from  the  usual  attire  of  eastern  and  Jewish  mon- 
archs,  which  belong  not  only  to  the  Son  of  Man,  but  the  min- 
ister of  God's  will,  whoever  he  was,  who  descended  to 
unlock  the  sepulchre  wherein  that  blessed  Son  lay  buried ; 
and  which,  as  may  be  seen  in  the  seventh  chapter  of  the 
same  prophecy,  are  ascribed  not  to  these  alone,  but  to  the 
Ancient  of  Days  or  Eternal  Father  himself. 

And  that,  notwithstanding  such  general  similarity,  he  who 
stood  on  the  waters  of  Hiddekel  was  not  the  second  Person 
of  the  Trinity,  is  apparent  from  his  speaking  of  Michael,  the 
Prince  of  Judah,  as  another  and  distinct  Intelligence. 

For  that  Michael  is  one  of  the  names  ascribed  to  our 
Saviour  in  his  pre-existent  slate,  may  be  proved,  not  only  by 
the  clearest  evidence  of  Rabbinical  tradition,  but  also  by  the 
more  forcible  and  unexceptionable  proof  which  is  obtained  by 
comparing  Scripture  with  itself. 

Michael  is  represented  in  the  books  of  the  ancient  Jews,  as 
the  Chief  Priest  and  Kxpiator  of  heaven ;  as  ofTering,  on  that 
celestial  altar  which  John  in  the  sixth  and  eighth  chapters  of 
his  prophecy  describes,  the  souls  and  the  prayers  of  all  faith- 
ftil  Israelites  ;  as  defending  his  people,  before  the  tribunal  of 
almighty  Justice,  from  the  malicious  accusations  of  Satan. 
He  is  described  as  the  pillar  of  cloud  and  fire  which  guided 
the  Tribes  through  the  wilderness,  and  guarded  them  in  the 
sea  from  the  pursuit  of  the  Egyptians.  He  was,  they  tell  us, 
the  Spirit  on  whose  peculiar  intercession  David  relied ;  who 
alone  was  able  to  obtain  the  admission  of  the  bloodstained 
but  penitent  monarch  into  the  assembly  of  the  blest  in  para- 
dise;  and  who  knows  the  wants  and  who  pleads  for  all  the 
necessities  of  the  faithful  in  this  nether  world.  But  the 
Jews  do  more  than  all  which  I  have-  hitherto  mentioned. 


276 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


They  expressly  distinguish  him  from  every  created  angel  or 
spirit,  and  assure  us,  that  wherever  IMieliael  is  said  to  have 
appeared,  it  must  be  understood  of  the  Divine  Majesty. 

And  that  these  opinions,  however  wildly  expressed,  are  not, 
in  their  essential  features,  at  variance  with  the  Scriptures  of 
either  Covenant,  a  comparison  of  the  first  verse  of  Daniel's 
twelfth  chapter  with  the  seventh  verse  of  the  twelfth  chapter 
of  the  Apocalypse,  is  in  itself  sufficient  to  prove.  In  the 
former,  Michael  is  described  as  "  tlie  great  Prince"  who,  in 
the  latter  days,  was  to  stand  up  for  Israel ;  in  the  latter,  the 
expulsion,  by  his  means,  of  the  powers  of  evil  from  heaven  is 
predicted  in  terms  and  under  circumstances  which  can  only 
suit  the  ^Messiah. 

He  is  called  by  St.  Jude  the  Chief  or  Prince  of  Angels, 
and  the  voice  of  that  mighty  Prince  is  idcntiiied  by  St.  Paul 
with  HIS  voice,  whom,  if  we  believe  St.  John,  all  those  who 
are  in  the  grave  shall  one  day  hear. 

He,  then,  who  is  distinguished  from  the  Archangel  Mich- 
ael cannot  possibly  be  identified  with  the  second  Person  of 
the  Triune  Godhead.  At  the  same  time,  the  language  of  the 
Person  described  by  Daniel  is  no  less  inconsistent  with  the 
character  of  a  finite  or  created  Intelligence. 

"In  the  first  year,"  he  tells  us,  "of  Darins  the  Medc,  I, 
even  I  stood  to  strengthen  him."  Is  this  the  language  of  a 
merely  ministering  spirit;  or  have  angels  authority  over  the 
destiny  of  mankind,  to  overturn  or  establish  empires  at  their 
pleasure?  "There  is  none,"  he  subjoins,  "that  holdeth 
with  me  in  these  thingrs  save  Michael  your  prince."  But 
can  a  finite  being  compare  with  INIichael  in  any  thing ;  or 
will  the  very  chiefest  of  heaven's  officers  assume  a  tone  so 
nearly  approaching  to  equality  with  him  whom  all  the  angels 
worship;  who  sits  enthroned  above  all  dominations  and  prin- 
cipalities and  powers,  whether  they  be  in  this  world  or  in  the 
world  to  come  t 

Those,  indeed,  who  have  considered  Daiiiel's  instructor  as 
no  more  than  a  created  spirit,  have  been  obliged,  for  the  most 
part,  ill  consistency  with  themselves,  to  degrade  the  Arch- 
angel Michael  also  to  a  level  little  superior;  and  to  adopt, 
with  various  modifications,  that  wild  and  portentous  S5'stem, 
which  would  commit  the  government  of  earth  and  heaven 
like  the  empire  of  Darius  son  of  Hystaspes,  to  a  number  of 
celestial  but  created  deputies. 

It  is  thus  that  learned  and  holy  men  have  unintentionally 
sanctioned  the  grossest  and  wildest  superstitions,  and  have 
built  up  in  their  imaginations  a  hierarchy  of  tutelary  spirits; 
who  watch,  as  they  would  teach  us,  with  an  active,  but  often 
with  an  erring  zeal,  over  the  insulated  and  jarring  interests  of 
individuals  and  dynasties  and  nations. 

All  this  arose  from  their  opinion  who  regarded  the  celestial 
visitant  of  Daniel  as  a  created  and  angelic  agent.  For,  if 
he  who  spake  to  the  Prophet  were  an  angel,  it  was'concluded 
that  the  Prince  of  Persia,  whom  he  had  at  first  supported 
and  with  whom  he  was  now  to  contend,  must  needs  have 
been  an  angel  also ;  and  that  Michael,  who  aided  him  in  his 
quarrel,  was  another,  and  a  yet  more  potent  celestial  satrap, 
(the  Vizier,  perhaps,  of  Paradise,)  who  either  interfered 
with  his  good  offices,  or  arrived  on  the  field  of  battle  with 
such  an  overpowering  army  of  cherubim  as  might  reduce  the 
contumacious  provincials  to  order  and  obedience. 

If  we  desire  to  know  the  grounds  of  debate,  which  thus, 
according  to  the  ancient  Fathers,  had  kindled  war  in  heaven, 
we  may  find  them  laid  down  with  historical  precision  by 
Ephrera  Syrus,  in  his  commentary  on  the  present  chapter. 
"  After  the  confusion  of  languages,"  are  his  words,  "  and 
the  division  of  tribes  which  took  place  at  Babel,  each  nation 
received  its  Angel-Governor;  and  Michael  was  the  Guardian 
of  the  Hebrews.  This  people  being  captive  in  Assyria, 
Daniel  prayed  for  their  return  after  the  appointed  seventy 
years  of  bondage  were  accomplished.  The  Angel  of  Persia, 
however,  opposed  the  measure,  and  maintained,  on  this  occa- 
sion, a  vigorous  war  against  Michael  and  Gabriel.  He 
desired  to  detain  the  Jews  at  Babylon,  because  he  was  glad 
to  have  under  his  jurisdiction  a  people  who  worshipped  the 
true  God,  and  because  he  hoped  that,  in  process  of  time,  the 
Jews  would  convert  to  their  faith  the  nations  both  of  Assyria 
and  Persia." 

How  naturally  such  opinions  would  lead  to  the  worship- 
ping of  angels,  has  been  shown  by  one  of  the  ablest  and 
most  learned  advocates  whom  Providence  has  raised  up  for 
the  defence  of  the  Catholic  faith;  and  who,  both  before  and 
since  his  death,  has  been,  of  all  others,  most  honourably  dis- 
tinguished by  the  rancorous  abuse  which  the  enemies  of  that 
I'aitli  have  heaped  upon  his  famo  and  memory. 

But  of  such  a  system  the  bare  enunciation  is  sufficient  to 


prove  the  unsoundness.  AVhat  could  be,  in  such  a  hierarchy, 
the  limits  of  each  angel's  sovereignty ;  or  how  were  those 
limits  to  be  adjusted  in  the  perpetual  changes  of  polity  and 
language  which  have  passed  over  the  face  of  the  world  1 — 
Are  we  to  suppose,  with  Ephrem  and  Theodoret  and  Origen, 
that  an  angelic  guardian  was  allotted  to  each  particular  lan- 
guage? How  were  these  guardians  to  act  when  the  parent 
tongue  branched  out  into  a  multitude  of  distinct  and  corrupted 
dialects  1  Is  the  tutelar  genius  of  the  Goths  at  once  the 
sovereign  of  the  German,  the  Swedish,  the  American  and 
the  English  nations?  If  a  langnan-e  becomes  extinct,  does 
the  angel  abdicate  his  throne?  When  one  tribe  subdues 
another,  is  the  guardian  of  the  conquered  race  himself  in 
captivity  with  his  clients?  or  are  the  wars  which  desolate 
our  lower  world  the  echoes  only  and  more  faint  reflections  of 
those  quarrels  which  shake  the  empyrean?  Is  it  possible 
that  the  pure  inhabitants  of  that  peaceable  world,  "  wherein 
the  wicked  cease  from  troubling,"  should  have  strife  and 
faction  among  themselves ;  that,  like  feudal  chieftains,  or 
the  old  Homeric  deities,  the  ministers  of  heaven  should 
oppose  each  other's  plans,  and  the  mandates  of  their  common 
Master;  or  can  he  to  whom  all  things  bow  down  be  swayed 
by  the  secret  influence  or  senseless  mutiny  of  those  glorious 
but  fragile  beings,  whom,  as  he  has  created  them  from  noth- 
ing, the  withholding  of  his  breath  can  annihilate? 

These  are,  however,  conclusions,  to  which,  on  Socinian 
principles,  the  book  of  Daniel  must  inevitably  conduct  us. 
For,  if  we  refuse  to  acknowledge  a  distinction  of  Persons  in 
the  Deity,  we  must  needs  regard  as  created  Spirits  both  the 
Person  who  spake  with  Daniel,  and  that  Michael  who  as- 
sisted him  to  subdue  or  conciliate  the  Prince  of  Persia.  And 
as  the  language  of  Daniel's  monitor  is  not  the  language  of 
one  who  was  the  mere  instrument  of  another's  will,  but  of 
one  whoso  proceedings  were  guided  by  his  own  discretion ; 
that  conclusion  must  follow,  against  which  the  modern  Soci- 
nians  with  so  great  indignation  contend,  that  created  spirits 
are  associated  with  the  Almighty  in  the  moral  and  physical 
government  of  the  world.  If,  however,  we  suppose  that  glo- 
rious apparition  who  conversed  witli  Daniel,  and  who  was 
the  fellow-labourer  of  the  Word  of  God,  to  be  himself  no 
other  than  the  Holy  Ghost,  the  whole  perplexed  machinery 
of  tutelar  spirits  fades  away  like  the  shadow  of  a  dream.  The 
princes  of  Pars  and  of  Javan  become,  according  to  the  ob- 
vious purport  of  the  expression,  the  moral  governors  of  Persia 
and  Macedon;  the  resistance  which,  during  one  and  twenty 
days,  the  first  opposed  to  the  will  of  Heaven,  is  the  reluct- 
ance exhibited  by  the  government  of  that  country  to  dismiss 
the  Jews  to  tlieir  home;  the  victory  whicli  Daniel's  Inform- 
ant, assisted  by  IMichael,  obtained  over  those  evil  passions, 
is  meant  of  that  gracious  influence,  which,  joined  to  the  Re- 
deemer's intercession  at  his  Fatlier's  throne,  overpowered  the 
selfish  policy  and  softened  the  idolatrous  hatred  of  those  lords 
of  Israel's  captivity. 

And  of  the  protection,  even  in  temporal  matters,  and  un- 
connected, apparently,  with  the  return  of  the  Jews  to  their 
mountains,  which  the  providence  of  God,  during  a  certain 
space,  aflorded  to  the  Persian  empire,  the  same  conversation 
aftords  a  remarkable  instance.  '•  In  the  first  year  of  Darius 
the  Mede,  I,  even  I,"  saith  the  Spirit,  "  stood  to  strengthen 
him."  "  I  now  return,"  are  his  words  in  another  place,  "  to 
fight  with  the  Prince  of  Persia;  and  when  I  am  gone  forth, 
the  Prince  of  Grecia  will  come." 

In  tins  sentence,  if  we  understand  the  Hebrew  particle  Di? 
to  signify  against  or  in  opposition  to,  his  meaning  will  be,  "  I 
return  to  renew  rhy  gracious  influence  on  the  heart  of  tlie  Per- 
sian governor,  correcting  his  evil  habits  and  prejudices,  and 
restraining  by  my  presence  the  natural  excesses  of  an  idola- 
trous and  arbitrary  monarch."  But  if  D>'  be  rendered  tvit/t, 
as  on  the  side  of,  -^inA  favouring  his  quarrel,  it  will  import  that 
the  Spirit  of  God  was  about  to  assist  for  a  certain  time  the 
empire  of  Persia,  in  its  triumphant  progress  over  Asia,  Thrace 
and  Egypt;  and  that,  while  his  presence  abode  with  the  coun- 
sels and  armies  of  the  king,  those  counsels  and  armies  should 
be  alike  irresistible  and  prosperous. 

But,  whichever  of  these  interpretations  is  preferred,  what 
follows  can  admit  of  no  interpretation  but  one.  "  When  I 
am  gone  forth,  the  Prince  of  Grecia  shall  come."  As  if  he 
had  said,  "  I  now  return  to  that  residence  which  the  inter- 
cession of  IMichael  hath  for  the  present  allotted  me;  I  return, 
to  shed  light,  prosperity  and  empire  on  the  throne  of  tlie  suc- 
cessors of  Cyrus.  But,  when  the  intentions  of  the  Most 
High  are  answered,  for  which  that  government  hath  been 
raised  from  obscurity;  when  their  liarducss  of  heart  hath  a 
little  longer  resisted,  and  their  tyrannies  have  a  little  longer 


HEBER'S  BAMPTON  LECTURES. 


277 


grieved  me;  when  I  depart,  (and  depart  I  ■will,)  the  valour  of 
iheir  bowmen  shall  wither  away,  and  the  craft  of  their  elders 
shall  be  ashamed.  Let  them  look,  in  that  day,  for  far  sorer 
reproofs  than  mine;  let  them  expect  far  other  visitants  than 
my  peaceful  and  aracious  discipline !  When  I  depart,  the 
sentence  of  God  is  gone  forth  against  their  land,  and  the 
sword  of  IMacedon  is  already  brandished  at  the  door." 

The  sum  of  all  will  be  contained  in  that  great  doctrine 
which  is,  perhaps,  the  most  prominent  of  all  the  lessons  con- 
ve3-ed  in  Daniel's  Prophecies,  "  that  the  Most  High  ruleth 
in  the  kingdom  of  men;"  and  that  the  chain  of  political  events, 
and  the  course  of  good  or  evil  fortune,  are  to  be  numbered 
among  the  invisible  operations  of  that  tremendous  Spirit, 
from  whom  all  knowledge  and  power  and  understanding  do 
proceed  ;  who  directed  the  artist  powers  of  Bezaleel  and  the 
political  wisdom  of  Solomon ;  and  in  whose  hand  not  only 
.fephtha  and  Othniel,but  Nebuchadnezzar  and  Pul  and  Cyrus 
were  alike  the  chosen  instruments  of  his  providence. 

Nor  is  it  any  sufBcient  objection  to  the  present  hypothesis, 
that  the  appearance  of  the  Holy  Ghost  in  the  human  form  is 
at  variance  with  the  acknowledged  fact  of  his  manifestation 
of  himself,  during  the  Messiah's  residence  on  earth,  under 
the  corporeal  shape  of  a  dove,  and  at  the  time  of  Pentecost 
under  the  likeness  of  flames  of  fire. 

To  those  who  regard  all  such  displays  as  symbols  only  of 
the  favour  of  him  whose  presence  fills  infinity,  it  is  plain  that 
all  alike  are  phantoms  adapted  to  human  weakness  and  igno- 
rance, and  calculated  to  impress  on  the  mind  of  the  spectator, 
a  stronger  feeling  of  confidence  or  respect  or  piety;  nor  can 
any  of  them  be  singled  out,  without  exceeding  presumption, 
as  more  peculiarly  appropriate  than  the  rest  to  set  forth  that 
majesty,  which  it  is  in  symbols  only  that  our  mortal  sense 
can  contemplate. 

And  if  the  Son,  according  to  the  usual  opinion,  have  ap- 
peared successively  to  Moses  and  the  Patriarchs  under  the 
various  forms  of  a  cloud,  an  angel,  a  consuming  fire;  we  can, 
surely,  feel  no  reason  for  surprise  that  the  same  Spirit,  who 
has  manifested  himself  to  the  reverence  of  mankind,  as  a  dove, 
a  disparted  flame,  and  a  rushing  mighty  wind,  should  have 
also,  on  certain  occasions,  assumed  a  semblance  such  as  the 
Prophet  Daniel  here  describes.  If  a  more  definite  precedent, 
however,  be  required,  I  am  greatly  mistaken  if  the  beginning 
of  the  eighth  chapter  of  Ezekicl  be  not  found,  on  diligent 
examination,  to  present  an  instance  of  an  apparition  of  the 
Holy  Ghost  in  a  form  almost  precisely  similar. 

It  may  be  j'et  farther  observed,  that,  in  the  passage  already 
quoted  from  Ephrem  Syrus,  that  writer  supposes,  (and  it  is 
an  idea  in  which  the  great  majority  of  commentators  agree 
with  him.)  that  the  person  described  in  the  tenth  chapter  of 
Daniel  is  the  same  with  him  who  had,  on  fonner  occasions, 
declared  the  date  of  the  Messiah's  coming.  And  this  opinion 
is  doubtless  countenanced  by  many  circumstances  of  simi- 
larity in  the  manner  of  each  visitant's  salntation,  and  in  the 
deep  astonishment  and  terror  (greater  than  what  is,  in  any 
part  of  Scripture,  attributed  to  an  apparition  merely  angelical) 
by  which,  on  his  approach,  the  mortal  beholder  was  over- 
come. 

On  those  former  occasions,  however,  the  celestial  Instructor 
is  called  by  the  name  of  Gabriel.  And,  as  this  is  a  name 
which,  though  it  only  twice  occurs  in  the  Old  Testament,  is 
familiar  to  every  reader  of  the  New ;  it  will  not  he  unimport- 
ant or  uninteresting  to  add  some  few  remarks  as  to  the  general 
opinion  which  the  ancient  Jews  entertained  of  this  personage, 
and  as  to  the  manner  in  which  he  is  first  introduced  to  our 
notice  in  the  book  of  Daniel. 

Not  only,  then,  to  IMichael,  but  to  Gabriel,  do  the  Jews 
ascribe  the  name  of  "  Chief  Prince,"  or  Sovereign  of  Jeru- 
salem and  Sion;  it  was  from  their  joint  agency  that  the 
wonders  of  the  Messia^i's  kingdom  were  expected  to  proceed ; 
these  two  alone,  of  all  the  host  of  heaven,  were  supposeed 
to  bear  the  likeness  or  image  of  God,  and  the  "  Saviours," 
whom  Obadiah  describes  as  "  going  out  of  the  mountain 
Zion,"  are  explained,  in  the  Shemoth  Rabba,  to  signify  Mi- 
chael and  Gabriel.  It  is  this  latter  who  is  to  destroy,  in  the 
end  of  the  world,  the  power  of  the  leviathan  or  evil  spirit. 
He  it  was  who  is  expressly  called  Jehovah,  when  in  the  act 
of  raining  fire  on  Sodom;  and  who  is  called  the  .Son  of  God, 
when  he  descended  to  protect  the  faithful  worshippers  of  God 
in  the  Babylonian  furnace. 

To  Michael  and  Gabriel  alone,  of  all  the  angelic  host,  it  i; 
given,  according  to  some  of  the  more  ancient  Rabbins,  to 
stand  in  the  presence  of  the  Most  High,  as  his  counsellors 
and  confidential  ministers;  nay,  of  them  alone  is  eternal  du 
ration  predicated  ;  while  llic  retuaining  multitude  of  heaven 


are  supposed  to  enjoy  not  only  a  temporarj*  being,  but  an  ex- 
istence literally  ephemeral. 

Of  these  last  it  was  fabled,  that  they  every  morning  rose 
from  the  exhalations  of  a  certain  heavenly  river,  to  sing  their 
hymns  and  perform  their  services  before  the  eternal  throne. 
And,  those  brief  hymns  and  little  services  concluded,  they 
were  absorbed,  with  the  dawn  of  the  following  day,  in  the 
insensible  beatitude  of  their  parent  stream;  which  yielded  at 
the  same  time,  a  fresh  swarm  of  pure  and  happy  beings,  to 
be  occupied,  in  their  turn,  in  the  harmony  of  heaven,  and 
bask  a  few  short  hours  in  the  radiance  of  their  JIaker's  favour. 

With  such  absurdities,  I  needliardly  observe  that  a  Chris- 
tian has  no  concern.  But  it  may  appear  important  even  for 
a  Christian  to  recollect,  that  some  vestige  of  truth  may  be 
generally  detected  amid  the  rankest  weeds  of  popnlar  super- 
stition. And  such  a  vestige,  perhaps,  is  that  immeasurable 
distance  which  these  ancient  doctors  conceived  to  exist  be- 
tween the  ordinary  inhabitants  of  paradise,  and  those  two 
awful  Persons,  who  only,  among  the  princes  of  heaven,  have 
received  appropriate  names  in  Scripture;  names  which  the 
Jews  profess  to  have  derived  from  the  date  of  this  very  pro- 
phesy, and  of  which  the  former,  IMichael,  can  hardlj^  be  under 
such  circumstances  considered  as  less  than  a  claim  to  Deity, 
while  the  latter,  Gabriel,  is  literally  translated  "  the  Strength 
or  Active  Power  of  God. 

Who  the  first  of  these  persons  is  we  have  already  seen  on 
a  comparison  of  the  Prophet  Daniel  w^ith  the  equally  prophe- 
tic Author  of  the  Book  of  Revelations:  who  the  second  may 
be  supposed  to  be,  may,  perhaps,  still  further  appear  from  an 
examination  of  the  circumstances  which  preceded  his  first  ap- 
pearance to  Daniel. 

In  his  eighth  chapter,  and  after  describing  the  visionary 
representation  of  the  Macedonian  symbol,  and  the  future  for- 
tunes of  the  Persian  empire,  the  Prophet  proceeds  to  inform 
us,  that  ho  heard  two  invisible  persons  conversing,  whom  he 
calls  by  the  name  of  Saints  or  Holy  Ones.  "  I  heard,"  are 
his  words,  "one  Saint  speaking;  and  another  Saint  said 
unto  that  certain  Saint  which  spake.  How  long  shall  be  the 
vision  concerning  the  daily  sacrifice  1" 

Now  here  it  may  he  reasonably  inquired,  to  what  class  of 
beings  do  those  Saints  belong,  whose  words  are  thus  partially 
recorded  ?  Men  they  will  not  be  supposed  to  have  been ;  for 
they  were  invisible,  and  competent  to  interpret  the  visions  of 
futurity.  To  angels  the  name  of  Saint  is  no  where  given  in 
the  Book  of  Daniel ;  nor,  that  I  can  recollect,  in  the  course  of 
the  entire  Old  Testament.  But  the  same  word,  when  joined 
with  the  term  of  ^^  atcher,  is  applied,  as  Bis'aop  Horsely  has 
shown,  in  the  fourth  cliapter  of  this  same  prophecy,  to  those 
who  alone,  of  all  existing  things,  are  properly  and  essentially 
holy,  the  Persons  of  the  Triune  Godhead.  Those  Saints 
whoso  voices  Daniel  heard,  may  be,  perhaps,  considered, 
therefore,  as  divine. 

But  one  of  these  Saints  is  distinguished  from  the  other  by 
the  Hebrew  epithet  Palmoni;  a  word  which  our  translators, 
following  the  authority  of  Jerome,  and  Theodoret,  have  ren- 
dered by  "  that  certain  Saint  which  spake."  The  force  of 
the  two  words  Peloni  Almoni,  of  which  they  suppose  it  to  bo 
a  contraction,  is,  "  Some  one  I  know  not  who,"  "  Some  un- 
known person,"  "That  unknown  Holy  One."  It  is  also 
susceptible  (if  we  derive  it  from  the  word  Palab)  of  the  mean- 
ing of  "  secret"  or  "wonderful."  I  will  not  now  examine 
which  of  these  renderings  is  best  or  most  probable.  Essen- 
tially  they  both  agree,  since  he  whom  Daniel  describes  as 

a  certain  Saint,"  was,  at  least,  unknown  to  and  secretfrom 
the  Prophet  who  thus  describes  him. 

But,  wherefore  is  one  of  two  invisible  personages  distin- 
guished from  the  other  by  the  name  of  "the  secret  Holy 
One,"  "  the  Holy  One  whom  I  know  notl"  Was  the  other 
better  known  to  him  previously  1  That  will  scarcely,  I  appre- 
hend, be  supposed.  Did  he  become  better  acquainted  with 
him  afterwards?  This  last  is,  surely,  the  most  natural  in- 
ference. But  the  person  who,  immediately  afterwards,  be- 
comes visible  to  him  "in  the  appearance  of  a  man,"  is  that 
Gabriel,  whom  a  voice  from  heaven  enjoins  to  explain  the 
vision  to  Daniel;  on  whose  approach  the  Prophet  falls  on  his 
face  in  the  posture  of  adoration,  and  is  not  reproved  for  doing 
so.  But  it  has  been  already  shown  to  be  probable,  that  Ga- 
briel is  the  same  with  that  majestic  apparition  on  the  waters 
of  Hiddekel,  who  spake  of  himself  as  (he  coadjutor  and  equal 
of  "  him  who  is  like  God."  Gabriel  himself  is  here  repre- 
sented as  a  Holy  One,  and  acquiesces  in  an  honour  which  we 
are  not  permitted  to  render  to  any  but  the  >>Iost  High  and 
Holy  One  who  inhabileth  eteruity.  The  inference  is  as  ob- 
vious as  it  is  awful. 


278 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


Of  Gabriel  we,  by  name,  learn  something  more  in  the  gos- 
pel according  to  St.  Luke;  and  there  is,  certainly,  nothing  in 
either  of  the  passages  wlierein  his  name  occurs,  which  can 
derogate  from  his  character  of  Divinity.  The  name  of  angel 
is  given,  we  know,  to  the  Son;  and  the  same  everlasting 
Word  or  Son  is  said,  like  Gabriel,  to  stand  in  the  presence 
and  at  the  side  of  God  the  Father. 

We  may  rank  it,  then,  at  least,  among  the  probabilities  of 
Scriptural  conjecture,  that,  in  the  visions  of  Daniel  and  Eze- 
kiel,  in  the  prediction  made  to  Zacharias  as  to  the  birth  of 
John  the  Baptist,  and  in  the  annunciation  of  our  Lord's  mi- 
raculous conception  in  the  virgin's  womb,  the  spirit  or  power 
of  God  was  manifested,  in  a  visible  form,  though  of  what 
likeness  we  are  not  told,  to  the  faith  and  reverence  of  the  mor- 
tals thus  distinguished. 

To  the  Angel  Gabriel  both  Jews  arid  Mahommedans  (by 
the  latter  sect  he  is  expressly  called  the  Holy  Ghost)  are  ap- 
parently correct  in  assigning  a  rank  superior  to  the  ordinary 
inhabitants  of  heaven.  It  may,  possibly,  be  thought,  that  the 
rank  of  this  angel  is  not  yet  estimated  high  enough  either  by 
Jews,  Mohammedans,  or  Christians  ;  and  that  in  him,  whom 
we  honour  as  an  angel  of  God,  we  shall  recognize  a  person, 
in  himself  eternal  and  divine. 

Let,  then,  tlie  above  observations  suffice  as  to  what  is  known 
or  conjectured  concerning  the  part  sustained  by  the  Spirit  of 
God  in  the  general  government  of  the  world,  and  the  several 
manifestations  of  his  person  and  power  during  the  times  of 
tlie  elder  Covenant.  On  his  subsequent  showers  of  glory 
and  of  grace, — on  Christ  in  his  baptism,  and  on  the  apostles 
at  the  time  of  Pentecost, — it  is  unnecessary,  as  I  conceive,  to 
enlarge  ;  and  of  those  blessings  which  either  are  or  are  sup- 
posed to  be  peculiar  to  Christians,  and  the  consequences  of 
his  last  named  advent,  I  shall  speak  in  a  future  sermon. 

Tliere  is  yet,  however,  another  occasion  on  which  the 
words  of  Scripture  give  us  reason  to  believe  that  theinfluence 
of  the  Holy  Ghost  was  immediately  and  conspicuously  ex- 
erted, during  the  night,  I  mean,  of  Christ's  interment,  and 
during  his  resurrection  from  the  dead. 

I  am  well  aware  of  the  reasonable  doubt  which  may  exist, 
whether  the  spirit  whereby,  according  to  St.  Peter,  Christ  was 
quickened,  be  understood  of  the  third  person  in  the  Trinity, 
or  of  our  Lord's  own  immortal  nature.  Nor  do  I  forget  that 
the  Son  of  Man  has  ascribed  the  act  of  his  resurrection'to  him- 
self and  an  immediate  act  of  his  own  divinity.  But  we  also 
learn  from  St.  Paul  that  he  was  raised  from  the  dead  by  the 
same  glorious  Person  who  regenerates  us  to  newness  of  life, 
— and  by  whose  agencj',  according  to  the  Jews,  our  own  dust 
and  ashes .ghall  hereafter  be  formed  anew  into  the  likeness  of 
the  Lord  from  heaven.  Nor  can  we  better  reconcile  these, 
seemingly,  conflictive  statements  than  by  the  belief  that  as  all 
the  persons  of  the  Trinity  were  concerned  in  this  awful  resus- 
citation,— so  he,  more  particularly,  who  is  the  soul  of  the 
material  world  and  its  preserving  and  pervading  Providence, 
— hy  whose  sole  operation  the  body  of  Jesus  was  framed  in 
the  virgin's  womb, — and  by  whom,  as  by  the  finger  of  God,  the 
IMessiah  wrought  his  wonders,  was  active,  on  the  present  oc- 
casion, in  undoing  the  work  of  death,  and  in  preparing  the  de- 
serted body  of  Christ  for  the  return  of  its  Divine  Inhabitant. 

But,  having  ventured  to  call  yo\ir  attention  to  topics  so 
mysterious  as  those  which  have  engrossed  the  present  lec- 
ture, (among  the  most  mysterious  they  doubtless  are  which 
can  occupy  the  thoughts  or  inquiry  of  man  or  any  created 
being,)  let  it  be  remembered  that  it  has  rather  been  my  object 
to  excite,  than  my  expectation  to  gratify,  the  devout  curiosity 
of  my  hearers.  Be  it  remembered,  that  the  more  we  search 
into  the  wonders  of  revelation,  the  more  strongly  we  shall  feel 
our  own  weakness  and  blindness  ;  happy  if  the  painful  sense 
of  conscious  ignorance  induce  us  to  look  forward  with  in- 
creased intensity  of  hope,  to  that  moment  when  every  doubt 
shall  terminate ! 

Be  it  observed,  above  all,  that  these  wilder  or  more  fanciful 
speculations  of  theology,  though,  if  correct,  they  may  illus- 
trate;  if  false  or  exaggerated,  cannot,  hy  their  failure,  affect 
the  more  solid  columns  of  Christianity, — those  doctrines  of 
the  atonement  and  Triune  Deity,  against  wliich  the  gates  of 
bell  are  destined  never  to  prevail;  which,  of  whatever  mate- 
rials be  the  superstructures  which  we  seek  to  rear  on  their  basis, 
are  themselves  impregnably  founded  on  the  rock  of  eternal 
wisdom. 

And  though,  in  such  conjectures  as  have  been  this  day  of- 
fered to  your  notice,  there  bo  little  which  can  lay  claim  to  the 
praise  of  original  research,  and  less,  as  I  should  hope,  which 
can  incur  the  blame  of  an  unreasonable  desire  of  novelty  :  yet, 
it  any  thing  have  been  unijitentionally  spoken  in  rashness  or 


in  folly,  may  the  Church  of  Christ  forgive  it;  ami  may  He, 
above  all,  by  whom  we  are  sanctified  to  salvation,  forgive,  for 
His  sake  and  through  His  merits  by  whose  blood  our  salva- 
tion is  purchased ! 


LECTURE  V. 

I  tell  you  the  ti'uth;  it  is  expedient  for  you  that  I  go  anay:  for  if  I 
go  not  away,  the  Comforter  will  not  come  unto  you;  but  if  I  de- 
part, I  will  send  liim  unto  you. — John  xvi.  7. 

The  several  dispensations  have  been  already  explained, 
whereby  the  Spirit  of  God  is  represented,  during  the  contin- 
uance of  the  former  Covenant,  and  during  our  Saviour's 
earthly  pilgrimage,  as  concurring  in  the  great  designs  of  al- 
mighty Wisdom  and  Mercy,  and  co-operating  in  the  redemp- 
tion of  the  world. 

It  yet  remains  that  we  inquire  into  the  nature  of  those 
benefits,  which  the  family  of  the  Lord  on  earth  are,  since  his 
departure,  authorized  to  anticipate  from  the  advent  of  the 
Spirit  of  God ;  in  what  manner  that  awful  Person  has  per- 
formed the  promise  of  the  eternal  Word,  and  by  what  dispen- 
sation of  mercy  and  of  what  power  he  has  evinced  and  contin- 
ues to  evince  himself  the  peculiar  Comforter  of  Christians. 

I  call  the  Spirit  of  God  our  peculiar  Comforter,  because 
(though,  in  all  the  works  of  God,  and  in  all  his  mercies, 
however  bestowed,  there  be  doubtless,  as  we  have  already 
observed,  a  correspondence  and  general  harmony,)  yet,  in 
the  name  of  a  Comforter,  and  in  the  act  of  his  mission  to 
any  peculiar  class  of  beings,  is  the  idea  conveyed  of  appro 
priate  and  exclusive  privilege;  of  a  something  which  dis' 
tinguishes  the  favoured  individuals  from  the  general  condition 
of  mankind,  and  from  that  which  had  been  their  own  condi- 
tion before  the  occurrence  of  the  event  described. 

By  a  promise  made  to  one  definite  object  all  others  are 
necessarily  excluded:  if  a  province  be  conferred  on  Maircus 
by  name,  it  is  apparent  that  Lentulus  or  Mcssala  can  expect 
no  share  in  its  government:  if  we  are  told  that  the  Almighty 
on  Mount  vSinai  made  a  covenant  with  the  children  of  Israel, 
we  understand  immediately  that  ^loab  and  Amalek  had  no 
concern  in  such  particular  transaction. 

Accordingly,  it  is  apparent  that  the  comfort  which  the 
Spirit  of  God  was,  after  the  decease  of  Christ  and  on 
Christ's  behalf,  to  confer  on  his  orphan  followers,  must  have 
been  of  a  nature  in  which  not  only  all  the  faithful,  but  the 
faithful  alone  were  to  be  partakers;  something  which  should 
distinguish  the  church  from  all  other  terrestrial  communities, 
and  should  separate,  with  a  broad  and  perceptible  line  of 
demarcation,  the  enlightened  children  of  God  most  High 
from  the  darkness  of  an  unconverted  world.  The  gift,  then, 
of  the  Holy  Ghost  in  his  capacity  of  Paraclete,  is  appropri- 
ate and  peculiar  to  the  followers  of  cur  blessed  Lord. 

But,  further,  the  promised  comfort  must  have  been  some- 
thing of  which  the  disciples  themselves,  to  whom  the  assu- 
rance was  originally  given,  were  not  in  previous  possess- 
ion. Our  Saviour  does  not  speak  of  it  as  of  something 
which  they  should  not  hse,  hut  as  of  something  which  they 
were  thereafter  to  receive.  It  may  be  said,  indeed,  that  the 
very  terms  of  "coming,"  and  "visitation,"  and  "mission," 
(though,  as  applied  to  a  Person  who  is  already  omnipresent, 
they  can  only  be  considered  as  figurative  and  adapted  to  our 
earthly  capacities,)  in  themselves  imply  and  are  invariably 
used  to  signify  some  distinct  and  new  tnanifestation  of  the 
power  or  mercy  of  God.  When  it  was  promised,  tlierefore, 
that  the  Holy  Ghost  should  viait  the  disciples  as  a  Com- 
forter, they  could  do  no  less  than  anticipate  some  certain 
advantage  which  that  advent  should  confer,  some  advantage 
which  they  had  not  before  received,  and  had,  otlicrwise,  no 
reason  to  expect,  either  as  men,  or  as  Jews,  or  as  the  follow- 
ers of  Jesus  of  Nazareth. 

And  this  becomes  yet  more  evident  when  we  consider, 
that  this  visitation  of  God  the  Holy  Ghost  was  announced 
to  the  disciples  as  a  compensation  for  tlie  heavy  misfortune 
which  then  impended  over  them,  the  departure  of  their  be- 
loved Lord.  The  coming  of  the  Paraclete  was  to  counter- 
balance this  aflliction,  and  to  counterbalance  it  so  effectually 
that,  on  this  account  alone,  our  Lord  himself  declared  it  to 
be  "  expedient  for  them  that  he  should  go  away."  But,  that 
they  should  not  lose,  by  the  departure  of  Christ,  the  advan- 
tages which  they  enjoyed  before  his  coming,  or  those  which 


HEBER'S  BAMPTON  LECTURES. 


279 


they  had  since  received  from  him,  though  it  might  be  a  topic 
acrainst  the  violence  of  despair,  could  by  no  means  be  called 
a  compensation.  For,  that  is  a  compensation  only  which  we 
receive  in  consequence  of  our  loss;  but  that  which  I  either 
did  or  might  enjoy  without  any  loss  whatever,  can  with  no 
propriety  of  language  be  said  to  come  to  me  in  consequence 
of  my  misfortunes,  nor  (though  the  balance  of  good  may,  on 
the  whole,  preponderate  in  my  favour)  to  repay  me  for  what 
I  have  suffered.  That  many  other  old  and  valuable  friends 
are  left  me,  may  soften  indeed  my  grief  for  the  loss  of  one 
whom  I  love;  but  it  cannot  be  said,  that  my  not  being  alto- 
gether forsaken  can  make  it  expedient  for  me  to  lose  a  friend. 

It  follows,  that  the  compensation  promised  to  Christians 
for  the  loss  of  their  Master's  visible  presence,  must  be  an 
advantage  peculiar  to  Christians  alone,  and  one  which  the 
followers  of  Christ  did  not  possess  before  the  descent  of  the 
rushing  migltty  wind  at  Pentecost.  And,  if  I  should  seem 
to  have  bestowed  too  tedious  an  argument  on  a  point,  appa- 
rently, so  plain,  let  it  be  remembered,  that  on  these  lirst 
principles  many  truths  may  be  found  to  depend,  which  have 
lieen  the  subjects  of  more  arduous  contest,  and  which  possesses 
in  themselves  a  more  obvious  and  practical  interest. 

To  return,  however,  from  this  seeming  digression.  It  was 
observed  in  the  preceding  Lecture,  tfiat  through  all  the 
scheme  of  man's  salvation,  as  revealed  to  us  in  the  sacred 
Writings,  so  strongly  is  the  character  displayed  of  a  general 
and  harmonious  analogy,  that  it  was,  a  priori,  reasonable  to 
expect  that  in  the  operations  of  the  Spirit,  during  the  devel- 
opment and  conduct  of  the  new  dispensation,  we  should  find 
a  connexion  and  similarity  with  his  more  conspicuous  inter- 
positions for  the  furtherance  and  completion  of  the  old. 

And  such  a  correspondence  is,  even  on  a  hasty  view,  dis- 
cernible between  the  tokens  of  the  divine  favour  and  presence 
originally  afforded  in  the  tabernacle,  and  b}'  those  which 
qualified  the  earliest  teachers  of  Christianity  for  the  arduous 
service  to  w-hich  they  were  ordained ;  which  enabled  them 
to  maintain  their  Master's  quarrel  against  all  the  deeply  root- 
ed habits  and  inveterate  ignorance  of  mankind,  and  supported 
them  witli  a  supernatural  wisdom,  and  a  vigour  not  their  own, 
under  the  many  and  bitter  trials  which  assailed  their  faith  and 
patience. 

Thus,  if  the  Schekinah  descended  in  clould  and  fire  to  take 
possession  of  the  shrine  appropriated  to  his  service  in  the 
ancient  tabernacle,  the  Holy  Ghost  came  down  with  similar 
circumstances  of  wonder  and  majesty,  to  signify  in  a  visible 
manner  his  approbation  and  protection  of  those  early  teachers 
of  and  converts  to  the  faith  of  Christ,  whose  bodies  were 
thenceforth,  in  the  expressive  language  of  St.  Paul,  to  be  his 
nobler  and  living  sanetnaries. 

Did  the  face  of  Moses  shine  with  reflected  glory,  when  he 
returned  from  coversing  with  the  God  of  Israel  ^ — The  same 
anirelic  splendotir  adorned  the  Protomartj^r's  countenance ; 
when  Stephen,  in  the  presence  of  his  murderers,  bare  wit- 
ness to  the  resurrection  and  exultation  of  his  Lord.  As 
Moses  was  permitted  to  enter  into  the  Holy  of  Holies,  to  re- 
ceive, in  that  figurative  heaven,  the  commands  of  God  ; — so 
■was  St.  Paul,  on  a  certain  occasion,  caught  up  into  paradise 
itself,  to  that  celestial  temple  and  holy  place  not  made  by 
liands,  of  which  the  eanlily  edifice  was  but  a  shadow.  The 
gift  of  prophecy,  which  was  communicated,  in  Horeb,  to  the 
seventy  elders  of  the  Israelitish  nation,  was  not  only  equalled 
but  greatly  surpassed  by  that  fiery  stream  of  power,  which 
in  the  earliest  days  of  the  Messiah's  kingdom  was  poured  out 
on  the  sons  and  daughters  of  Jerusalem :  and  we  may  ad 
vantageously  contrast  with  the  tremendous  and  destructive 
evidences  of  God's  presence  which  were  given  under  the  an- 
cient Covenant,  those  miracles  of  blessing  and  of  peace 
whereby  the  Apostles  of  Christ  could  raise  the  dead,  and  cast 
ont  devils,  and  take  up  serpents  in  their  hands,  and  open  the 
eyes  of  the  blind,  and  proclaim,  in  the  proper  tongues  of 
every  kindred  and  nation  and  people,  the  things  which  be- 
longed  unto  their  eternal  peace. 

So  striking,  indeed,  are  the  instances  recorded  in  the 
apostolic  writings,  in  which  the  miraculous  and  visible  pa- 
tronage of  God's  Spirit  was  afforded  to  the  orphan  Church 
of  Christ,  that  it  cannot  reasonably  excite  our  wonder,  that 
some  eminent  commentators  should  seek  no  further  than  these 
extraordinary  and  temporary  aids  for  the  accomplishment  of 
our  Saviour's  promise ;  and  should  recognize,  in  the  powers 
accorded  to  the  primitive  teachers  of  the  Gospel,  the  whole 
of  that  comfort  which  it  was  the  office  of  the  Paraclete  to 
bestow. 

But  notwithstanding  the  acknowledafed  value  of  the  advan- 
tages thus  conferred;  it  may  be  doubted,  whether,  great  as 


they  were,  they  could  have  in  themselves  compensated  to  the 
immediate  followers  of  Christ  for  the  recent  loss  of  their 
Master.  And  it  is  certain  that  many  are  entitled,  by  the 
words  of  Christ,  to  a  share  in  the  peculiar  comfort  of  the 
Holy  Ghost,  to  whom  these  definite  advantages  have  been  at 
no  time  accorded. 

The  promise,  as  we  have  seen  in  the  preceding  Lecture, 
was  not  to  the  apostolic  age  alone,  but  to  every  succeeding 
generation  of  Christians  from  the  death  of  the  ^lessiah  to  the 
moment  of  his  triumphant  return.  But  though  there  be  more, 
perhaps,  than  a  single  church  in  Christendom,  which  has 
not  as  yet  explicitly  abandoned  her  pretensions  to  supernatural 
endowment,  yet  by  even  those  who  still  advance  such  claims, 
the  gifts  of  healing  and  of  exorcism  are  acknowledged  to  be 
enjoyed  by  a  very  small  number  of  individuals  only  ;  and  the 
general  avowal  of  the  several  Protestant  sects,  and  the  tacit 
admission  of  the  best  and  wisest  individuals  in  the  Greek 
and  Roman  communions,  evince  at  least  that,  whatever  excep- 
tions may  be  pretended  to  the  general  rule,  and  however  we 
may  fail  to  fix  the  period  at  which  the  miraculous  aids  of  our 
religion  were  withdrawn,  such  miraculous  aids  have  not  been 
for  many  ages  vouchsafed  to  the  preachers  of  any  Christian 
community. 

Nor  is  that  a  sufficient  answer  by  which  this  objection  is 
usually  encountered  ; — the  answer,  namely,  that  "  the  differ- 
ence of  situation  and  circumstance  between  the  Christians  of 
the  present  day  and  the  original  planters  of  our  faith,  has 
justified  the  Almighty  in  withdrawing  from  the  maturer 
growth  of  the  tree  of  life  those  props  and  standards  which 
were  needful  in  her  sapling  condition:  that  we  have,  at  pre- 
sent, no  occasion  for  supernatural  powers,  and  that  therefore 
we  enjoy  them  no  longer." 

For,  1st,  The  fact  itself  on  which  this  argument  reposes, 
that  miracles  are  no  longer  required  for  the  progress  of  the 
Christian  faith,  is  one  which,  though  it  be  a  favourite  topic 
with  the  great  majority  of  apologists  for  the  truth,  is,  never- 
theless, not  easily  to  be  defended. 

There  are  many  Christians  at  the  present  day,  and  there 
have  been  man}'  at  every  period  since  the  cessation  of  super- 
natural gifts,  who  have  spent  with  little  fruit,  but  with  a  sin- 
cerity which  it  would  ill  become  us  to  impeach,  their  labours 
and  their  lives  in  the  instruction  of  Mohammedans  and  Pa- 
gans. 

But  have  not  men  like  these  occasionally  experienced  a 
perplexing  and  a  painful  want  of  supernatural  credentials,  in 
situations  in  which  such  credentials  are  most  especially  need- 
ful and  appropriate  ■?  Or  to  what  other  cause  than  the  lack  of 
such  apostolic  endowments  can  we  ascribe  the  feeble  advances 
of  our  faith  in  later  times,  compared  with  that  most  rapid  and 
abundant  growth  of  converts  which  in  every  corner  of  the 
world  rewarded  the  labour  of  the  primitive  missionaries? 

That  miracles  would  now  be  useless,  is  a  conclusion  which 
we  have  no  right  to  draw  from  the  fact  that  the)'  are  seen  no 
longer.  The  dispensations  of  our  almighty  Father  are  too 
full  of  mystery  for  us  to  determine,  whether  he  design  the 
conversion  of  the  remaining  Gentiles  b}'  the  credit  of  those 
recorded  miracles  which  brought  their  first-fruits  to  his  altar; 
or  whether  he  may  defer  a  while,  till  the  time  of  their  in- 
gathering be  come,  those  fresh  manifestations  of  his  glory 
and  power  which  are  to  eidighten  their  uttermost  darkness. 

For  the  rarity  of  miracles  a  better  reason  may,  perhaps,  be 
found,  in  the  consideration  that,  if  they  were  common,  they 
would  be  miracles  no  loncrer.  Those  visible  predges  of  God's 
interference  which  are  calulated  in  an  especial  manner  to 
arouse  the  attention  of  mankind,  would,  if  often  repeated,  ex- 
cite no  more  attention  than  the  dawn  and  sunset,  or  the  re- 
ceding and  returning  tide.  They  are  restricted,  therefore,  by 
almighty  Wisdom  to  those  solemn  occurrences  which  are  to 
be  ever  memorable  among  men  ;  and  not  only  may  it  be  said 
that  such  displays  of  power  are  wonderful  because  they  are 
rare,  but  that  they  are  therefore  rare  in  order  that  they  may 
be  wonderful.  And,  instead  of  urging  that  miracles  have 
ceased  because  they  are  no  longer  needed,  it  may  be  said, 
perhaps,  with  more  conformity  to  truth,  and,  certainly,  with 
as  much  humility,  that  God  in  these  later  days  has  left  us  to 
ourselves,  that  we  may  feel  more  perfectly  our  own  weakness, 
and  our  want  of  his  assistance. 

Cut,  2dly,  If  we  should  concede  that  supernatural  aids  are 
now  no  longer  needed,  as  being  superseded  by  the  difl'usion 
of  knowledge  and  the  protection  of  Christian  Sovereigns; 
though  this,  beyond  a  doubt,  would  admirably  justify  the 
ways  of  Providence  in  ceasing  to  concede  such  powers  to 
men,  provided  their  continuance  were  a  matter  of  free  grace 
and  favour;  yet,  if  the  grant  of  such  powers  to  the  Church 


2  80 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


be  the  ■whole  or  even  any  essential  part  of  the  promise  made 
by  Christ,  the  reasoning  will  apply  no  longer. 

For  that  •which  is  once  promised  is  no  longer  in  the  power 
of  any  one  to  give  or  to  withhold  at  pleasure.  However 
free  the  bounty  may  at  first  have  been,  the  promise  is  a 
covenant  not  to  be  dissolved  without  the  full  concurrence 
of  the  recipient  party :  and  though  his  circumstances  may 
have,  since,  so  completely  altered,  as  no  longer  to  require 
our  bounty ;  yet,  if  such  a  change  were  not  foreseen  and  pro- 
vided for,  or  tacitly,  at  least,  implied  in  the  original  nature 
of  our  agreement,  the  promise  may  itself  be  chargeable  with 
improvidence,  but  we  cannot,  with  honour,  dispense  our- 
selves t'rom  its  full  and  fair  fulfilment. 

Nor,  further,  can  it  be  said  with  truth,  that,  in  the  present 
instance,  the  circumstances  which  were  contemplated  in  the 
original  promise  of  a  Comforter  have  at  any  time  ceased  to 
operate.  It  was  the  blessing  of  an  infallible  Guide,  the 
guardianship  of  a  visible  and  incarnate  Deity,  the  presence 
of  the  (Son  of  God  himself,  for  which  the  coming  of  the 
Paraclete  was  to  compensate.  And,  till  the  return  of  Christ 
to  earth,  and  so  long  as  we  no  less  than  the  apostles  are 
mourners  for  his  absence,  and  for  that  unequal  state  of 
worldly  things  which  his  last  great  advent  is  to  remed}',  we 
are  entitled,  equally  with  the  a])ostles,  to  look  up  with  pious 
confidence  for  the  same  comfort  which,  for  the  same  reason, 
was  promised  to  us  as  to  thein. 

It  is  plain,  therefore,  that  a  teinporary  and  partial  benefit 
is  by  no  means,  in  itself,  an  adequate  fulfilment  of  a  promise 
made  to  every  generation  cf  the  faithful,  and  to  each  individ- 
ual believer;  and  it  is  necessary,  if  we  desire  to  evince  the 
accomplishment  of  our  Saviour's  gracious  assurance,  to  un- 
derstand it  of  some  more  general  and  pervading  benefit,  in 
■which  not  the  apostolic  age  alone,  but  every  succeeding 
Christian  either  has  or  might  have  partaken. 

Accordingly,  it  has  been  supposed  by  the  great  majority  of 
commentators,  that,  though  the  promise  of  our  Saviour  was 
immediately  and  literally  fulfilled  to  the  apostles  in  the  gift 
of  those  miraculous  powers  ■which  w'ere  necessar\'  to  their  pe- 
culiar situation,  yet  did  it,  in  its  implied  and  secondary  sense, 
extend  to  all  believers,  in  the  ordinary  means  of  improve- 
ment which  the  same  good  Spirit  has  never  ceased  to  bestow. 
And,  when  they  are  further  asked,  in  what  peculiar  blessings 
•we  experience,  in  modern  times,  that  present  and  abiding 
Paraclete  whom  our  Saviour  has  promised  to  his  Church?  it 
has  been  usual  to  refer  us  to  those  sacred  institutions  which 
are  the  outward  badges  of  our  profession,  as  well  as  to  that 
inward  grace  by  which  only  the  external  sign  is  made  availa- 
ble to  our  holiness  here  and  our  endless  happiness  hereafter. 

The  presence  of  the  Comforter  has  thus  been  sought  in 
the  Sacraments  of  the  Eucharist  aiid  of  Baptism;  in  the 
succession  of  a  ministry  apostolically  ordained  and  govern- 
ed; and,iiboveall,  in  those  secret  aids  and  blessed  influences, 
which,  from  the  greater  frequency  of  their  occurrence,  and  not 
from  any  supposed  or  real  inferiority  in  their  value,  are  dis- 
tinguished froiTi  the  gifts  of  supernatural  power  and  know- 
ledge as  the  ordinary  graces  of  the  Holy  Ghost. 

And,  by  thus  supposing  that  our  Saviour's  promise  has 
been  fulfilled  in'dilferent  ways  to  diftcrent  generations  of 
his  people,  our  Protestant  divines  have  appeared  to  elude, 
with  sufficient  doxterit}-,  the  opposing  and  almost  equal  difii- 
culties  of  admitting,  on  the  one  hand,  the  arrogant  and  super- 
stitious claims  of  the  Romish'  Hierarchy,  and  of  confining, 
on  the  other,  to  certain  persons  and  periods  onU',  a  comfort 
which  was  announced  without  limitation,  as  the  future  pri- 
vilege of  all  believers  in  the  Messiah. 

Nor,  if  the  compensation  which  the  church  was  to  receive 
had  been  described  by  our  Lord  under  the  general  name  of 
Grace  or  Comfort  only,  can  it  be  denied,  that  this  solution  of 
the  difficulty  would  have  been  recommended  to  our  -adoption 
by  very  strong  apparent  reasons. 

Both  grace  and  comfort,  if  they  are  not  necessarily  inhe- 
rent in  the  washing  of  regeneration  and  the  Eucharist  bread 
and  wine,  may,  at  least,  be  attained  by  a  proper  use  of  these 
external  ineans.  Both  grace  and  comfort  are  dispensed  to 
the  church  in  the  preaching  of  God's  word  by  his  appointed 
messengers,  and  by  the  pardon  which,  on  his  behalf,  they 
announce  to  the  truly  peniteTit.  Both  are  in  like  manner  per- 
ceived to  flow  from  tliose  secret  aids  to  which  the  name  itself 
of  grace  is  peculiarly  and  emphatically  given;  those  aids 
which,  as  we  lielieve,  both  prevent  and  ibilow  our  every  en- 
deavour after  holiness ;  which,  as  preliminaries  to  conversion, 
and  as  helps  to  perseverance,  are  absolutely  necessary  to  un- 
lock the  gate  of  heaven  to  our  entrance,  or  to  support  us  in 
our  upward  journey. 


Had,  then,  our  Saviour's  words  amounted  to  no  more  than 
a  general  assurance  of  help  and  comfort  to  be,  on  his  behalf, 
afforded  by  the  Spirit  of  God,  any  spiritual  grace  whatever 
might  be  regarded  as  suflicient  to  discharge  the  debt  of  mercy 
to  which  that  promise  made  him  liable.  Or,  if  the  terms  of 
the  promise  were  sufficiently  answered  by  those  less  brilliant 
aids,  which  only  are  continued  to  these  latter  ages  of  Chris- 
tianity, it  might  be  urged  with  reason,  that  we  have  no 
ground  to  complain,  if,  when  we  ourselves  receive  even  a 
bare  fulfilment  of  our  Lord's  assurance,  we  beheld  a  more 
abundant  mercy  exercised  by  God  in  the  case  of  former  gen- 
erations. While  we  ourselves  have  all  which  was  agreed 
upon,  our  "  eye"  must  not  "be  evil,"  if  the  goodness  of  our 
blaster  should,  in  other  instances,  "  do  W'hat  lie  will  with 
his  own." 

Had  the  promise,  then,  been  general,  we  might,  with  the 
learned  Hammond,  have  readily  acknowledged,  that  the 
comfort  of  the  Paraclete  is  perpetual  in  the  church,  inasmuch 
as  our  external  and  internal  exercises  of  devotion  and  piety 
owe  their  value  to  his  unseen  fellowshi]) ;  nor  should  I  hesi- 
tate to  reckon  in  the  list  of  his  benefits,  that  continued  jirotec- 
tion  amid  the  changes  and  chances  of  the  world,  whereby  all 
things  are  made  to  work  together  for  the  benefit  of  those  who 
love  the  Son  of  God,  and  who  hope  for  his  second  appear- 
ance. Of  this  providential  guardianship  of  the  church,  its 
duration  through  the  various  dangers  of  eighteen  centuries  is 
in  itself  a  proof,  if  other  and  more  definite  instances  were 
wanting,  which  might  suffiEe  most  amply  to  confirm  our  faith 
and  justify  our  gratitude.  It  is  a  guardianship,  too,  which, 
froin  the  testimonies  collected  in  my  last  discourse,  we  may, 
without,  I  trust,  a  criminal  presumption,  ascribe  to  the  espe- 
cial and  definite  agency  of  him,  to  whose  honour  these  la- 
bours are  devoted ;  who  is  the  ruling  principle,  by  whom  the 
Almighty  Father  disposes  of  the  fates  and  fortunes  of  man- 
kind ;  in  whose  protection  the  devout  and  innocent  of  every 
age  and  country  are  partakers ;  whose  larger  bounty  clothes 
the  lilies  of  the  field,  and  extends  the  broad  shield  of  omnipo- 
tence above  the  sparrow's  wing. 

But  though,  in  all  these  instances  of  mercy  and  of  power, 
v/e  have  sufficient  reason  aflbrded  us  in  Scripture  to  adore  the 
presence  and  the  bounty  of  God's  Spirit;  it  is  impossible  to 
conceal  from  ourselves  that,  so  far  as  this  particular  promise 
is  concerned,  these  instances  are  all  inapplic-able.  While 
the  promise  of  a  Coinl'orter  is  made  to  all,  its  terms  are  too 
definite  to  allow  of  such  inequality  in  its  distribution;  and 
they  are  terms  which,  neither  the  institution  of  sacramental 
observances,  nor  the  succession  of  an  apostolical  ministrj-, 
nor  the  providential  disposal  of  worldly  ail'airs  in  favour  of 
the  church  of  Christ,  can  in  themselves  be  said  to  fulfil. 

The  P-araclete,  whose  advent  our  Saviour  foretold,  (under 
which  definite  character  only  we  are  now  considering  the 
Holy  Ghost),  the  Paraclete  was  "to  teach  the  disciples  all 
things,  and  bring  all  things  to  their  meinory,  whatever  Christ 
had  spoken."  As  the  vicar  of  our  Lord,  and  the  advocate  of 
the  Christian  cause,  he  was  to  refute  the  calumnies  to  whicli 
the  Messiah's  name  had  been  exposed,  and  to  convict  the 
world  of  sin  in  the  great  controversy  between  God  and  his 
creatures.  As  doctor  and  president  of  the  church,  he  was 
"  to  guide"  the  faithful  "  into  all  truth,"  and  he  was  to  "  show 
them  things  to  come." 

Now  it  is  plain  that,  an)'  otherwise  than  as  significant  and 
pious  ceremonies,  neither  baptism  nor  the  eucharist  can  be 
said  to  teach  us  any  thing.  And,  though  it  be  the  office  of 
bisliops  and  presbyters  to  instruct  their  weaker  brethren,  and 
to  guide  them,  so  as  far  as  their  own  lights  extend,  into  the 
knowledge  of  religious  truth,  yet  have  not,  in  these  latter 
ages  of  the  world,  either  presbyters  or  bishops  any  peculiar 
source  of  knowledge,  which  is  not  accessible  to  whichever  of 
their  hearers  shall  bestow  a  similar  time  and  labour  in  its 
acquirement.  And  some  instance  must  be  found,  in  W'hicli 
the  Spirit  of  God  instructs  the  clergy  themselves,  as  he  in- 
structed their  apostolic  predecessors,  before  they  can  be  al- 
lowed to  identify,  as  the  Apostles  did  of  old,  their  canons 
with  the  canons  of  the  Holy  Ghost;  or  to  maintain,  that  it  is 
by  their  agency,  that  the  protection  and  guidance  of  the  Com- 
forter continue  to  be  ■alTorded  to  the  Christian  church. 

But  there  is  another  and  a  yet  more  convincing  reason,  why 
neither  the  sacramental  ordinances,  nor  the  appointment  and 
succession  of  the  Christian  ministry,  can  have  been  intended 
in  our  Saviour's  promise.  They  neither  of  them  answer  to 
the  character  of  peculiar  privileges;  and  neither  of  them  can, 
in  point  of  fact,  be  considered  as  eman^ating  Iron,  the  Holy 
Ghost  in  his  peculiar  character  of  Paraclete.  1.  They  are 
not  peculiar  nor  distinctive  marks  of  Chri^stianity.     The  rites 


HEBER'S  BAMPTON  LECTURES. 


2S1 


of  baptism  and  the  eucharist  (I  need  hardly  recall  the  circum-      And  we  shall  do  well,  in  this  inquiry,  to  employ  no  corn- 
stances  to  the  memory  of  my  present  audienee)  were  ceremo-  mori  share  of  attention  and  accuracy,  on  account  both  of  the 
ot  unknown  to  the  Jews,  and  (excepting  in  their  extreme  importance  of  the  practical  results  which  it  involves. 


nies  already  not 

application  to  the  trinity  and  the  Christian  coTenaiit)  are  ra- 
ther to  be  considered  as  points,  in  which  the  followers  of 
Jesus  continue  to  resemble  the  house  of  Israel,  than  as  points, 
wherein  wc  are  distinguished  from  them. 
■  In  like  manner,  the  form  of  ordination,  which  our  Lord 
emploved,  tiie  powers  conceded,  and  the  duties  imposed  on 
the  elders  of  the  new  covenant,  were  precisely  the  same  as, 
from  the  time  of  Moses  downwards,  had  belonged  to  the 
Scribes  and  Rabbins  of  the  old ;  and  it  has  been  doubted,  by 
men  whose  opinions  are  entitled  to  no  common  attention, 
whether,  where  Rabbinical  imposition  of  hands  had  been  pre- 
viously conferred  in  the  synagogue,  any  second  ordination 
was  required  or  practised,  in  order  to  admit  a  convert  to  the 
ministry  to  the  apostolic  church. 

But  whatever  degree  of  weight  w.e  may  assign  to  this  last 
hypothesis,  (and  the  foundation  on  which  it  stands  is,  doubt- 
less, too  weak  to  support  any  very  solid  superstructure),  it  is 
certain,  Silly,  that  both  the  sacramental  ordinances,  and  the 
consecration  of  the  Apostles  to  their  pastoral  of^ce,  were  in- 
stitutions of  the  Messiah  himself  before  his  final  departure 
from  the  world,  and  his  triumphant  return  to  the  Father.  But 
this  final  departure,  as  is  evident  from  the  tenour  of  our  Sa- 
viour's promise,  was  to  precede  the  Holy  Ghost's  great  advent 
in  his  peculiar  character  of  Paraclete.     And  it  is  universally 


and  of  the  opposite  and  fatal  errors  to  which  an  inaecurate 
conception  of  the  benefits  conferred  by  the  .Spirit  of  God, 
have  conducted  the  enthusiast  and  the  unbeliever. 

For  with  unbelievers  the  modern  Socrnian  will,  in  this  re- 
spect, be,  not  unjustly  reckoned;  inasmuch  as  (disdaining  the 
timid  dissent  of  his  more  cautious  andn»ore  learned  predeces- 
sors of  the  Rakovian  and  Batavian  schools)  he  has  denied  not 
only  the  personal  existence  of  Him  to  whose  peculiaragency 
we  ascribe  the  gift  of  grace,  but  that  gift  itself,  by  whom- 
soever dispensed,  from  which  our  strength  proceeds,  and  on 
which  our  hopes  of  triumph  are  founded. 

Those  illapses  of  blessedness,  that  hallowed  intercourse 
with  God  which  unites  our  spirit  to  the  eternal  mind,  and 
wTiich  renews  the  brilliance  of  our  borrowed  flame  by  ap- 
proaching it  to  that  source  of  living  light  whence  first  its 
stream  proceeded;  that  life  of  God  in  the  human  soul,  which, 
in  ever}'  age  of  Christianity,  has  cheered  the  labours  of  the 
saint,  and  revived  the  hopes  of  the  penitent,  are  all  alike  dis- 
carded by  the  modern  reformers  of  our  faith,  as  the  dreams  of 
enthusiastic  self-conceit,  the  hyperboles  of  Monks  and  Plato- 
nists.  It  may,  therefore,  be  advisable,  before  we  consider 
the  connexion  of  those  aids  with  the  particiilar  promise  now 
under  consideration,  to  show,  that  such  aids  are  really  afforded; 
and  to  extricate  the  definition,  which  is  given  of  them  by  the 


acknowledged,  that  the  completion  of  this  promise  did  not,  in  church,  from  the  confused  and  contradictory  circumstances 


fact,  take  place  till  the  day  of  Pentecost,  nor  till  after  the 
Apostles  had  repeatedly  partaken  in  the  spiritual  benefits, 
whatever  they  are,  which  are  necessarily  inherent  in  the  eu- 
charistic  banquet,  and  had,  in  the  ordination  of  St.  Matthias, 
as  one  of  their  number,  proceeded  to  the  most  solemn  exercise 
possible,  of  their  Rabbinical  or  Episcopal  function.     It  will 


with  which  it  has  been  encumbered  by  indiscreet  religionists, 
and  which,  more,  perhaps,  than  any  otiier  cause,  have  led  the 
Deist  and  Unitarian  altogether  to  deny  that  such  aids  are  given 
to  us. 

The  influence,  therefore,  of  which  we  now  are  speaking,  is 
not  supposed  by  rational  believers  to  convey  any  fresh  ideas 


be  shown,  indeed,  hereafter,  that  these  several  institutions  of  intuitivel}'  to  the  mind,  nor  to  encroach,  even  in  the  smallest 


Christ  have  all  been  made  subservient  to  the  diffusion  or  per- 
petuation of  that  distinguishing  grace  after  which  we  inquire; 
that  the  peculiar  blessing  which  the  Paraclete  has  dispensed 
has  given  an  additional  value  to  these  previous  customs  and 
graces;  and  that  the  office  of  the  Christian  ministry  and  the 
dispensation  of  the  Christi-an  sacraments  have  derived  from 
this  source  an  etficacy  and  blessedness  to  which  the  corres- 
ponding institutions  of  the  Jewish  synagogue  had,  in  com- 
parison, a  very  slender  claim.  But,  from  that  which  I  liave 
already  urged,  it  follows  that  the  iource  of  this  diuerence  yet 
remains  for  us  to  seek  after,  and  that  the  benefit,  which  the 
Spirit  of  God  was  to  dispense  to  the  church  as  ils  Paraclete, 
and  as  the  Vicar  of  the  Messiah,  nas  somelhinnr  distinct  from 
the  powers  communicated  to  the  Apostles  of  guiding  and 
governing  the  flock  of  Christ,  or  from  our  mystical  fellowship 
with  the  same  good  Spirit  in  ordination  or  the  sacraments. 

To  that  circumstance  of  the  h}'poihesis,  indeed,  which  re- 
cognizes the  Holy  Ghost  as  Patron  and  Coinforter  of  the 
Church,  in  his  providential  guidance  and  protection  of  its 
temporal  interests,  the  above  objections  do  not,  with  equal 
force,  apply.  This  protection,  which,  while  Christ  was  yet 
in  the  world,  he  himself  aftorded  to  his  followers,  liHs  since, 
apparently,  been  afforded  by  that  Spirit  of  God,  who,  in  elder 
times,  made  the  mountains  plain  before  the  counsels  of  Ze- 
rubbabcl ;  and  such  protection  so  perfectly  answers  to  the 
general  character  implied  by  the  word  Ylugax-KtiT'^g,  that!  should 
not,  perhaps,  have  sought  elsewhere  for  the  accomplishment 
of  our  Saviour's  promise,  if  it  were  not  for  the  consideration, 
1st,  That  the  departure  of  Christ  was  not  compensated  for  by 
the  mere  continuance  of  that  protection  from  the  third  person 
in  the  Trinity,  whirli  the  apostles  had  already,  in  yet  more 
ample  measure,  received  from  the  second  in  that  awful  union  ; 
2dly,  That  the  terms  of  the  promise  under  consideration  have 
no  reference,  direct  or  implied,  to  the  temporal  and  providen- 
tial guardianship  of  the  Christian  community.  The  provi- 
dential government  and  protection  of  the  church  is  not,  then, 
that  particular  dispensation  of  mercy  or  power,  Vvhercby  the 
assurance  of  our  Lord  is,  in  these  latter  days,  accomplished. 

Let  us  proceed,  then,  to  consider,  how  far  its  characters 
correspond  with  those  internal  and  ordinary  influences  of  the 
Spirit,  by  whose  fertilizing  dews  our  hearts  are  softened,  and 
by  their  rnild  and  gentle  beams  ameliorated  and  subdued; 
which  console  us  under  the  evils,  and  correct  us  amid  the 
dangerous  prosperity  of  the  world  ;  which  direct  our  choice 
to  happiness,  and  strengthen  our  resolution  in  the  pursuit  of 
that  which  we  have  chosen;  which  rouse  us  by  their  whole- 
some terrors  from  the  swinish  lethargy  of  sin,  and  rebuke  in 
our  awakened  soul  the  no  less  fatal  whispers  of  despair. 
Vol.  II.— 2  L 


degree,  on  the  bounds  of  miracle  or  prophecy. 

Though  distinct,  in  itself,  from  all  external  sources  of 
knowledge  and  improvement,  it  is  from  a  reference  to  the 
knowledge  acquired  by  such  means  that  its  practical  advan- 
tage is  derived  :  it  is  a  blessing  whereby  our  learning,  our 
pains,  and  our  prayers,  are  sanctified  to  our  instruction  and 
salvation,  not,  in  itself,  a  substitute  for  prayer  or  pains  or 
learning,  » 

But  though  such  aids  and  such  exertipns  are  not  hereby  dis- 
pensed with,  j'et,  witliout  this  gracious  influence,  such  out- 
ward helps  can,  as  we  believe,  avail  us  nothing.  Without 
that  holy  energy,  which  iti's  in  the  bosom  of  God  to  grant  or 
to  withhold,  we  may  vainly  study  the  evidences  of  religion, 
and  vainly  aspire  to  show  forth  in  our  practice  the.lessons  of 
holiness  which  our  outward  ears  have  imbibed.  Where  grace 
is  wanting  we  have  neither  power  nor  effectual  will  to  raise 
our  affections  beyond  the  narrow  circle  of  mortality ;  nor, 
having  once  assented  to  the  hopes  and  precepts  of  religion, 
can  we  retain  those  hopes  and  precepts  in  our  minds  as  a  per- 
vading and  triumphant  principle.  This  power,  then,  of  de- 
siring, and  (so  far  as  guilty  but  repentant  creatures  can  de- 
serve it)  of  deserving  future  glor}',  we  ascribe  to  the  imme- 
diate agency  of  a  celestial  Spirit  on  the  soul. 

I  say,  his  immed/'alc  agency;  because,  as  the  first  and 
universal  principle  of  nature,  and  as,  on  a  fixed  and  general 
system,  dispensing  by  his  will  all  secondary  causes,  not  only 
the  Unitarian  but  the  philosophic  Theist  will  probably  allow 
that  our  ideas,  our  motives,  and  our  aflectionsare  regulated  by 
the  will  and  perinission  of  the  Almighty. 

But,  that  effect  which  they  ascribe  to  God  through  the  in- 
strumentality of  second  causes,  and  (he  objects  of  bodilj'  per- 
ception, we  are  taught  by  Scripture  to  impute  to  a  primary 
and  purely  intellectual  intercourse,  which  differs  only  from  . 
those  aids  which  were  aflforded  to  the  ancient  Prophets  in  the 
comparative  frequency  of  its  illapses,  and  the  subject-matter 
of  its  communication.  A  grace  it  is,  which,  as  distinguished 
from  the  inspiration  of  supernatural  knowledge  and  power, 
may  be  defined,  perhaps,  without  impropriety,  as  the  inspira- 
tion of  religious  feeling  and  recollection. 

That  an  intercourse  of  this  kind  may  exist  to  an  inconceiv- 
able extent  between  the  iilaker  of  the  world  and  his  creatures, 
will  be  admitted,  I  apprehend,  by  all  reasonable  Theists,  to 
rank,  at  least,  in  the  number  of  those  moral  possibilities, 
which  may  he  received  as  facts,  on  the  production  of  sufficient 
evidence. 

The  Theist  will  allow,  that  it  is  as  possible  that  the  Su- 
preme Being  should  direct  our  minds  by  an  immediate  act  of 
his  will  to  the  perception  of  certain  important  inferences  from 


283 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


those  objects  which  are  offered  to  our  senses,  as  that  the  ob 
jects  themselves  should  be  so  modified  by  his  disposal,  as  to 
produce  the  same  concatenation  of  ideas  as  their  natural  and 
inevitable  result.  And  if  the  Theist  be  not  a  materialist; 
if  we  have  sufficiently  considered  the  circumstances  of  our 
intellectual  nature,  and  the  probability  that  those  powers 
which  have  no  imaginable  connexion  with  the  body,  belong 
to  something  distinct  from  it,  he  must  admit,  that  we  can 
form,  at  least,  a  notion  as  clear  of  the  manner  in  which  one 
intellectual  beina^  can  make  an  impression  on  another,  as  of 
the  manner  in  which  body  and  mind  can  exert  a  mutual  in^ 
fluence.  He  must  acknowledge  that  it  is  at  least  as  possible 
that  God  should,  occasionally,  communicate  with  the  souls  of 
his  creatures,  as  that  he  should,  sometimes,  affect  their  ma- 
terial composition. 

Nor  will  the  materialism  of  our  modern  Unitarians  prevent 
their  perceiving  that,  in  the  same  manner  as  the  Almighty  in- 
fused into  the  organic  intellect  of  the  ancient  Prophets  a  su- 
pernatural acquaintance  with  truths  unknown  before;  he  inay, 
whenever  he  sees  fitting,  and  by  whatever  process,  infuse  into 
ourselves  a  clearer  perception  or  a  seasonable  recollection  of 
those  truths  which  are  revealed  already.  Against  the  possi- 
bility, therefore,  of  our  hypothesis,  there  is  nbthing  which 
can  be  reasonably  objected,  while  all  which  has  yet  been 
urged  against  its  probability  or  certainty  may  be  reduced  to 
the  following  assertions ;  that  an  interference  of  this  nature 
is  one  of  which  we  have  no  distinct  experience  ;  that  it  is  un- 
necessary, inasmuch  as  the  phenomena  ascribed  to  it  may  be 
resolved  from  other  causes,  and  that  it  is  no  where  revealed  in 
Scripture. 

To  the  first  of  these  objections  an  answer  is  hardly  neces- 
sary, inasmuch  as  we  are  justified,  on  every  principle  of  rea- 
son and  revelation,  in  inferring  the  realit}'  of  an  operation  from 
its  perceptible  effect,  even  where  the  act  and  its  agent  arc, 
by  our  present  faculties,  indistinguishable.  But  the  existence 
of  those  effects  which  we  ascribe  to  grace,  the  conception, 
namely,  of  holy  thoughts,  and  the  kindling  of  religious  affec- 
tions, is  fortunately,  in  itself,  no  matter  of  controversy  ;  and, 
of  the  only  conceivable  operations  by  which  this  effect  can  be 
produced,  the  one  being  as  possible,  at  least,  as  the  other,  so 
the  question  which  of  the  two  is  most  probable,  is  one  which 
remains  to  be  decided  from  the  evidence  produced  by  their 
respective  advocates. 

We  are  told,  however,  in  the  second  place,  that  the  habits 
of  Christain  faith  and  virtue  may  be  acquired  like  any  other 
liabits  whatever;  that  it  is  by  evidence  and  not  by  feeling 
that  we  have  been  originally  convtrted  to  the  faith  ;  and  that 
the  same  conviction  of  the  importance  and  truth  of  Christian 
ity  which  a  due  consideration  of  those  evidences  will  en- 
gender, is  sufficient  to  enforce  its  doctrines  on  our  practice 
without  any  other  or  supernatural  assistance.  It  is  urged, 
that  in  worldly  interests,  wc.  are  enabled  to  postpone  the  less 
to  the  trreater  advantage  without  calling  down  the  Holy  Ghost 
from  heaven  to  strengthen  us  in  our  resolution  ;  and  that  there 
is  no  more  necessity  for  his  assistance  to  make  the  scale 
preponderate  in  favour  of  virtue  against  vice,  than  on  the  side 
of  worldly  ambition  or  avarice  against  the  temptations  of 
sloth  and  sensuality. 

Whatever,  it  has  been  said,  either  from  prejudice  or  con- 
viction, is  regarded  as  the  chief  earthly  good  of  man,  will  be 
pursued,  for  the  most  part,  with  sufficient  steadiness,  notwith- 
standing all  the  seductive  iidlucnce  of  other  and  interfering 
objects.  And  if  we  are  but  as  well  convinced  that  the  prom- 
ises and  threatenings  of  Christianity  are  true  as  we  are  that 
renown  and  wealth  will,  in  this  world,  yield  us  happiness, 
we  shall  find  our  natural  perceptions  of  good  and  evil,  and 
our  natural  recollection  of  principles  before  received,  no  less 
sufficient  motives  to  perseverance  in  our  pursuit  of  endless 
life,  than  we  find  them  now  sufficient  to  support  and  stimulate 
our  labours  after  transitory  happiness. 

But,  where  supernatural  influences  arc  not  required,  we 
cannot  reasonably  expect  to  receive  them  ;  and  it  is  therefore, 
we  are  told,  improbable  and  unphilosophical  to  resort  to  a 
special  interposition  of  the  Almigiity,  where  the  same  effect 
may  be  reasonably  ascribed  to  natural  and  external  causes. 

1  have  stated  this  objection  with  all  the  force  of  which  it 
is  fairly  susceptible,  though  it  will  be  observed  that  much  of 
its  apparent  plausibility  in  the  writings  of  our  religious  op- 
ponents arises  from  the  dexterous  use  of  two  particular  epithets, 
the  epithets  of  "supernatural"  and  "especial." 

In  a  certain  sense  these  terms  are,  doubtless,  applicable  to 
■whatever  is  not  effected  by  our  own  bodily  or  mental  powers, 
or  by  that  chain  ofrxternal  causes  which  belong  to  the  visible 
and  material  world.     It  is  plain,  however,  that  in  their  popu- 


lar and  usual  sense  of  rare  and  miraculous  interference,  they 
are  no  more  applicable  to  that  influence  which  we  suppose 
the  Almighty  ordinarily  and  usually  to  exert  on  the  souls  of 
men,  than  to  that  which  our  adversaries  are  willing  to  con- 
fess he,  in  the  visible  world,  and  through  the  medium  of  ma- 
terial agents,  exercises  on  our  nerves  and  senses. 

In  the  definition  itself  which  is  usually  given  of  these  spir- 
itual interferences,  v\'e  call  them  "the  ordinary  graces  of  the 
Holy  Ghost;"  and  (if  the  Holy  Ghost  has  been  correctly 
stated  to  be  the  directing  and  sustaining  Providence  of  the 
world)  these  ordinary  graces  may,  for  all  which  yet  appears, 
extend  as  widely  and  act  with  no  less  conformity  to  the  gen- 
eral rules  of  the  Almighty's  governinent,  than  the  annual  re- 
turn of  the  seasons  or  the  rising  and  setting  sun. 

Nor,  if  mind  can  act  on  body  as  well  as  body  on  mind,  is 
it  possible  for  us  to  say  to  what  extent,  in  the  ordinary  affairs 
of  life,  and  in  matters  which  are  only  incidentally  connected 
with  religion,  the  government  of  the  world  itself  may  be  car- 
ried on  by  a  similar  influence,  and  the  Spirit  of  the  Most  High 
be,  more  or  less,  continually  present,  to  direct  our  attention 
and  determine  our  choice  between  the  various  motives  which 
contend  around  us  for  our  preference,  and  the  various  lines  of 
action  to  which  those  motives  point  the  way.  Tlie  grace, 
then,  of  which  we  speak,  may  be,  in  truth,  a  constituent  part 
of  the  most  extensive  and  important  of  all  our  Maker's  dis- 
pensations; of  that  inspecting  and  corrective  care  whence  the 
moral  world  derives  its  power  of  controlling  and  conquering 
the  material  creation,  and  by  which  and  through  which  all 
things  work  together  for  the  welfare  of  those  who  love  him. 

And  this  may  show  the  weakness  of  an  objection  advanced 
by  the  same  person  to  whose  works  I  have  already  frequently 
referred ;  that  "  the  agency  which  is  ascribed  to  God  by  the 
sacred  writers  extends  to  evil  as  well  as  to  good  ;" — that  "it 
hardens  the  heart  of  Pharaoh  as  well  as  opens  that  of  Lydia, 
and  therefore  it  is  a  general  and  not  a  particular  influence  ;" 
and  that,  "consequently,  the  popular  language  of  the  sacred 
writers  by  no  means  authorizes  the  conclusion,  that  God  ever 
interposes  supernaturally  to  produce  moral  effects  on  the 
world." 

If  it  bo  possible  to  distribute  this  elaborate  argument  ac- 
cording to  the  usual  rules  of  logical  precision,  it  would  form, 
perhaps,  the  following  syllogism. 

Both  good  and  evil  are  ascribed  in  Scripture  to  the  influence 
of  God. 

But  we  cannot  impute  evil  to  his  particular  influence. 

Therefore,  the  influence  which  produces  good  is  not  par- 
ticular, but  general. 

Now  in  this  argument  there  are  the  following  radical  errors. 
First,  the  Unitarian  notions  of  Scripture  must,  surely,  be  very 
diff'erent  from  those  which,  with  the  orthodox,  render  that 
sacred  volume  the  guide  of  our  lives,  and  our  comfort  in  the 
hour  of  dissolution,  if  they  suppose  that  any  action  really  and 
intrinsically  evil  is  therein  ascribed  to  the  influence  of  the 
Almighty.  Undoubtedly,  the  example  which  Mr.  Belsham 
produces  is  by  no  means  sufliieient  to  give  rise  to  an  imputa- 
tion so  horrible.  The  sentence  of  judicial  blindness  and 
abandonment  pronounced  on  the  Egyptian  tyrant,  is  not  in 
itself  more  inconsistent  with  the  goodness  of  our  heavenly 
Governor,  than  any  other  dispensation  by  which  an  incorrigi- 
ble offender  is  doomed  to  siiame  and  suffering  for  the  ad- 
vantage and  instruction  of  the  world  ;  or  by  which  the  same 
offender,  after  sentence  has  finally  gone  forth,  is  prevented 
from  escaping  his  danger.  By  those  who  recollect  the  opin- 
ion of  the  ancient  Jews  as  to  the  seat  of  the  rational  faculties, 
to  "  harden  the  heart"  is  readily  understood  to  be  nothing 
else  than  to  confuse  the  understanding.  But  surely,  when  a 
criminal  is  reserved  for  exemplary  publishment,  it  matters 
little,  so  far  as  the  individual  is  concerned,  whether  the  fet- 
ters be  on  his  body  or  his  mind  ;  whether  he  be  detained  in 
the  captivity  of  an  earthly  dungeon,  or  in  the  labyrinth  of 
prejudice  and  foolish  hope;  whether  repentance  be  rendered 
vain  and  escape  impossible  by  the  pressure  of  external  cir- 
cumstances; or  whether  the  yet  more  awful  spectacle  be  dis- 
played, of  rendering  the  sinner  his  own  executioner,  and  of 
depriving  (as  God  is  said  to  do,  not  only  by  .Tewish,  but  by 
heathen  moralists)  those  miserable  persons  of  their  natural 
prudence,  whom  for  their  crimes  he  purposes  to  destroy.  The 
hardening,  then,  of  Pharaoh's  heart  may  be  ascribed  (as 
Moses,  doubtless,  does  ascribe  it)  to  an  immediate  and  par- 
ticular interposition  of  Providence,  without  any  even  the 
smallest  imputation  on  the  goodness  and  wisdom  of  the 
Most  High. 

Secondly,  I  will  not  insist,  (as,  neverthess,  it  were  easy 
for  me  to  do,)  that  the  distinction  supposed  in  the  minor  pro- 


HEBER'S  BAMPTON  LECTURES. 


283 


position  between  general  and  particular  providence,  when 
applied  to  a  Being  by  whom  not  only  the.  principles  of  liis 
laws,  but  the  detail  of  their  consequences  is  known,  is  alto- 
gether futile  and  unphilosophical.     For, 

Thirdly,  Though  we  should  admit,  (which  has  not  as  yet 
been  proved,)  that  the  moral  evil  which  exists  in  the  world 
takes  its  rise  from  God's  appointment ;  and  though  we  should 
also  admit  that  its  particular  instances  flow  from  some  gene^ 
ral  law  of  his  government,  of  which  the  consequences  to  indi- 
viduals were,  by  the  Lawgiver,  overlooked  or  unknown;  yet 
still  it  would  by  no  means  follow,  that  the  same  analogy 
will  bold  with  all  the  particular  instances  of  good  whicl 
occur  in  the  world's  administration. 

If  a  machiue  be  employed  to  answer  a  general  purpose,  are 
we  forbiddeu,  with  our  own  hands,  to  extricate  any  unfortu- 
nate insect  which  may  have  become  entangled  in  it  wheels  ? 
If  not,  then  surely,  though  we  were  to  seek  the  cause  of 
Pharaoh's  obstinacy  in  the  general  operation  of  external  cir- 
cumstances, yet  might  the  humble  faith  of  the  Roman  centu- 
rion in  the  Gospel,  and  the  candid  attention  of  Lydia  as 
recorded  in  the  Acts,  be  regarded  as  especial  interferences 
of  their  eternal  Guardian,  to  deliver  them  from  the  natural 
but  fatal  effects  of  early  prejudice,  or  national  and  official 
pride. 

But,  Fourthly,  I  am  loth  to  impute  to  our  adversaries  the 
practical  epicurism  of  those  who  would  teach  that,  the  ma- 
chine of  events  once  set  in  motion,  the  agency  of  the  Al- 
mighty is  at  an  end.  They  will  not,  I  trust,  maintain,  that 
the  sabbath  of  Providence  has  lasted  since  man  was  framed, 
and  that,  without  any  sustaining  or  snperinteuding  care  of 
that  goodly  system  which  he  has  contrived,  our  Father  has 
left  his  creatures  to  float  at  random  down  the  current  of  cir- 
cumstances, and  to  draw  out  our  blanks  and  prizes  of  vice  or 
virtue,  happiness  or  misery,  as  the  wheel  of  events  turn 
round.  With  such  an  error  the  Socinians  are  not,  I  trust,  in- 
fected; since  tliey  admit,  in  words  at  least,  that  an  influence 
or  energy  of  the  Almighty  "  is  exerted  in  every  event  of 
life,  according  to  certain  rules  which  God  has  prescribed  to 
liimself." 

But  would  they  reduce  this  energy  to  a  merely  colourless 
fluid,  which  takes  its  tint  of  good  or  evil  from  the  subjects 
on  which  it  is  successively  or  severally  exerted  ?  Or  can 
they  conceal  from  themselves,  that  such  an  influence  as  is 
here  described  is  equivalent  to  no  influence  at  all  1  Or  what 
definition  can  these  philosophical  inquirers  produce  of  that 
which  they  call  a  general  providence,  if  it  be  not  a  succession 
of  particular  interferences;  an  influence  by  certain  means  and 
in  certain  cases  exerted,  whereby  the  course  of  events  is  va- 
ried in  our  favour,  or  in  order  to  our  punishment,  from  that 
natural  succession  which,  without  such  interference,  would 
have  followed  ? 

Were  it  otherwise,  all  prayer  were  vain,  whether  for  tem 
poral  deliverance  in  this  world,  or  salvation  in  the  world  to 
come;  and,  if  vain,  superstitious,  then,  and  abominable.  For 
prayer,  in  its  very  essence,  implies  that  the  object  sought  for 
is  as  yet  uncertain ;  that  it  is  something  which  we  fear  to 
lose,  unless  it  were  asked  for  earnestly  from  God  ;  something 
which  God  may  continue  to  withhold  notwithstanding  all  ou'r 
warmest  devotions,  but  which  without  such  devotions  we 
cannot  reasonably  hope  to  obtain. 

It  were  an  impious  flattery  of  our  Maker  to  entreat  at  his 
hands  those  blessings  which,  whether  we  prayed  for  them  or 
no,  would  be  given  or  withheld  indifferently;  and,  if  it  be 
true  indeed  that  "time  and  chance  happeneth  to  all  the  sons 
of  nicn,"  our  Master  has  but  laid  on  us  a  Iruitless  labour  in  en- 
joining us  to  ask  for  daily  bread,  for  peace,  for  deliverance 
from  evil. 

But  if  a  special  interference  be  in  any  case  admissible,  is 
it  net,  at  least,  as  probable  that  such  divine  interposition 
takes  place  by  mental  as  by  external  influenced  Is  it  not  as 
easy  to  believe  that  our  thoughts  are  turned  to  those  objects, 
which,  properly  employed,  may  conduce  to  our  advantage, 
as  to  expect  that  the  course  of  external  events  shall  be  on 
our  account  superseded,  or  that  the  properties  of  the  material 
world  are  continually  altered  by  our  prayers?  There  have 
been  those  (we  are  taught  by  an  authority  which  no  Unita- 
rian has,  as  yet,  ventured  to  deny,)  who  "  were  saved  from 
tlieir  distress  when  they  cried  unto  the  Lord  in  trouble;"  and 
it  is  a  question  which  may  teach  us,  at  least,  humility  in  our 
speculative  iiiquiries,  whether  they  were  thus  delivered  by 
the  gift  of  internal  light  to  avoid  their  danger,  or  by  the' 
abatement  of  the  dangerous  olijects  themselves. 

And  it  those  assertions  be  correct,  which  in  so  many  pas- 
sages of  Scripture  impute  to  celestial  inspiration,  not  our 


virtues  only,  but  our  temporal  endowments  and  prosperity; 
are  we  blamed  for  suspecting  that  the  grace  which  softens 
our  hearts  to  the  impressions  of  goodiiess,  and  which  pre- 
serves those  lessons  once  inscribed  there  from  the  dangers  of 
neglect  or  temptation,  that  this  grace  (so  far  from  being  an 
anomaly  in  our  Maker's  government)  is,  perhaps,  the  most 
conspicuous,  and  surely  the  most  important  instance  in  which 
that  parental  love  is  manifested,  which,  as  it  first  created, 
still  continues  to  sustain  the  universal  frame  of  nature? 

Should  we  concede,  then,  to  the  objection  of  our  adversa- 
ries, that  the  habits  of  religion  and  virtue  are  acquired  like 
all  other  laudable  and  useful  habits,  (for  every  habit  of  mental 
exertion,  unless  when  ill  directed,  is  useful,  doubtless,  and 
laudable,)  it  will  by  no  means  follow,  that  the  agency  of  the 
Holy  Ghost  is  not  displayed  in  the  particular  instances  of 
repentance  and  regeneration.  The  concession  may  teach  us 
rather  to  adore  his  presence  in  a  yet  wider  range  of  influence 
than  that  which  is  generally  ascribed  to  him,  and  to  beseech 
his  blessing  not  only  on  our  almsdeeds  and  our  prayers,  but 
on  every  other  useful  and  innocent  pursuit  in  wliich  we  are 
occupied.  Thrice  happy  then  when  all  our  toils  and  objects 
are  such  as  he  may  favour! 

Unhappily,  however,  it  will  appear  on  farther  inquiry,  that 
the  improvement  of  the  heart  is,  indeed,  attended  with  more 
and  greater  difficulties  than  any  other  pursuit  or  occupation; 
difficulties  so  peculiar  as  to  demand  at  every  step  a  stronger 
arm  than  human  resolution  can  supply  to  support  and  rein 
our  progress. 

Those  worshippers  of  nature  who,  with  so  much  eloquence, 
mamtain  that  our  innate  tendency  is,  on  the  whole,  to  truth  and 
goodness,  forget  that  every  act  of  real  virtue  implies  a  degree 
of  self-control,  and  that  every  vice  is,  in  itself,  an  act  of  in- 
dulgence. But,  is  that  condition  natural  which  is  accom- 
panied by  labour  and  pain?  or  can  .that  be  considered  as  any 
thing  else  than  an  innate  propensity  to  evil,  to  which  our 
bodily  constitution  inclines  us?  Do  we  paint  our  way  to  - 
hell  as  any  other  than  a  smooth  and  downward  passage  ?  or, 
are  we  so  constituted  by  nature  as,  like  Milton's  angels,  to 
ascend  with  greater  facility  than  we  fall  ? 

It  is  no  solid  objection  to  these  fatal  truths  to  observe,  as 
has  been  observed  by  ancient  as  well  as  modern  sophistry, 
"the^^childhood  of  man  is  playful  and  comparatively 
harmless;"  that  "no  man  has,  at  once,  attained  the  summit 
ot  wickedness;"  that  "there  is,  on  the  whole,  less  vice  than 
virtue  in  the  world ;"  that  "  we  are  what  God  created  us." 

The  first  of  these  is  a  privilege  which  we  possess  in  com- 
mon with  the  wildest  and  most  ferocious  animals,  and  that 
the  progress  of  vice  is,  in  maturcr  manhood,  gradual,  may  be 
accounted  lor  from  very  dilfereut  causes  tlian  a  natural  prefer- 
ence ot  virtue. 

It  will  be  recollected,  that  from  our  earliest  years,  we  have 
all  been  in  a  state  of  severe  and  unceasing  discipline;  that, 
even  with  those  who  have  been  most  indulged  in  tlieir  youth 
and  iniancy,  the  habit  of  obedience  to  form  and  the  restraint 
ot  natural  inclination  has  been  induced  to  a  degree  which  in 
llie  case  of  no  other  animal  but  man  is  practised  or  practica- 
ble ;  that  the  control  of  his  passions,  to  a  greater  or  less  ex- 
tent IS  taught,  for  their  own  ease  and  safety,  to  every  child 
by  his  parents,  and  is  enforced  in  every  youth  by  the  strong 
arm  of  public  opinion  and  public  authority.  From  these 
restraints  emancipation  cannot  be  instantaneous;  and  so  lono- 
as  any  vestige  of  such  chains  continues,  the  recollection  of 
past  or  the  fear  of  future  punishment  must  necessarily  em- 
bitter the  guilty  draught,  and  strew  with  thorns  the  bed  of 
sensual  pleasure.  The  chained  lion  who  has  torn  a  passen- 
ger may  tremble  lest  his  keeper  should  return  while  he  de- 
vours his  surreptitious  booty;  but  will  any  doubt  that  the 
taste  ot  blood  is  sweet  to  him?  Let  them  try  the  experi- 
ment, and  restore  him  to  his  savage  freedom ! 

Though  it  be  true  then,  which  I  am  not  inclined  to  deny, 
that  the  first  indulgence  in  forbidden  things  is  accompanied 
with  doubt  and  alarm ;  and  though  it  were  proved,  which  I 
would  to  God  it  were  possible  to  prove  satisfactorily,  that 
the  balance  of  good  in  the  present  stage  of  our  existence  pre- 
dominates over  evil ;  yet  would  neither  the  one  nor  the  other 
ot  these  admissions  affect  the  general  truth  of  our  position, 
that  we  are  by  nature  prone  to  evil.  Both  the  one  and  the 
other  are  sufficiently  accounted  for  by  that  state  of  social 
restraint,  which,  though  it  be  universal,  cannot  be  regarded 
as  natural;  and  still  more,  perhaps,  may  both  be  referred  to 
the  ameliorating  influence  of  that  spirit,  to  whose  blessing, 
it  our  faith  be  true,  the  Christian  should  attribute  every  vic- 
tory which  he  gains  over  himself  and  his  selfish  passions. 
'I'hat  we  are  as  God  created  us,  (though  so  far  from  bein<r 


284 


CHRISTIAN   LIBRARY. 


an  axiom  in  revealed  or  natural  religion  it  has  been  denied, 
both  in  ancient  and  in  modern  times,  by  some  of  the  wisest 
assertors  of  both,)  that  we  are  as  God  created  us,  I  am  not 
myself  disposed  to  deny.  Without  attemi)ting,  on  the  pre- 
sent occasion,  to  penetrate  that  mysterious  veil  which  hangs 
over  the  orii/inal  state  of  man,  or  the  nature  and  necessary 
consequences  of  that  offence  which  was  so  severely  visited 
on  his  posterity,  it  is  plain,  that  how  great  soever  were  the 
privileges  which  Adam  lost  by  his  transgression,  yet,  what- 
ever propensities  to  evil  wo  individually  bring  witli  us  into 
the  world,  we  bring,  at  least,  by  his  permission,  by  whose 
hands  we  are  made  and  fashioned. 

But  will  it  follow  from  hence,  that  God  has  created  man 
perfect,  or  that  the  nature  which  he  has  given  us  is  any 
otherwise  o-ood  than  as  it  answers  a  definite  iiurposel  Is  it 
not  possible,  at  least,  that  the  AUwise  may  liave  made  us 
•weak  in  order  that  we  might  learn  humility  ?  That  he  may 
have  created  us  prone  to  sin,  and  to  all  the  wretched  conse- 
quences which  are  the  natural  elfect  of  such  a  propensity,  in 
order  that  we  might  taste  a  purer  happiness  in  those  sensa- 
tions of  joy  and  gratitude  which  are  excited  by  deliverance 
and  mercy,  than  can  ever  be  the  lot  of  that  hopeless  and 
fearless  content  which  belongs  to  those  who  have  never  felt 
the  want  of  happiness  or  virtue?  What  if  the  universal 
good  be  more  eti'ectually  consulted  by  the  permission  of  par- 
tial evil  ?  And  may  not  the  sin  and  wretchedness  of  the 
present  world  be  a  necessary  feature  in  the  vast  scheme  of 
that  Providence,  whose  paternal  care  extends  through  infinite 
space  and  time  1  Of  physical  mischief  we  can  discern  the 
benelicial  consequence ;  why  may  not  moral  ill  conduce  to 
results  yet  more  glorious'? 

But,  fathomless  as  are  the  depths  of  God's  Providence  in 
the  permission  of  evil  at  all,  its  existence  is,  unfortunately, 
no  matter  of  doubtful  .speculation.  Whether  our  natural 
corruption  be  deduced  from  Adam's  oflence  alone,  or  whether 
the  propensity  to  sin  existed  in  our  first  parents  themselves, 
before  it  was  called  into  action  by  the  tempter,  our  sinful 
nature  is  a  matter  of  daily  experience ;  and  though  we  can- 
not cease  to  wonder  why  such  things  are  allowed  to  be,  we 
cannot,  if  we  are  accurate  observers,  permit  ourselves  to 
doubt  that  such  things  really  are. 

And  though  we  should  ascribe  to  ignorance  or  prejudice 
the  bitter  c'omplaints  which  the  contemplation  of  human 
weakness  has  elicited  from  the  heathen  moralists;  though 
we  should  refuse  to  acknowledge  with  the  Grecian  Poet,  that 
"the  majority  are  always  wicked,"  or  to  complain  with 
Ovid's  Medea  that  "while  we  see  and  approve  the  better 
course,  we  are  urged  by  a  necessity  of  our  nature  to  follow 
that  which  we  ourselves  detest  and  deprecate ;"  we  may 
admit,  nevertheless,  that  some  degree  of  credit  is  due  to 
Isaiah,  to  Jeremiah,  to  the  Psalmist,  and  to  St.  Paul,  when 
they  severally  lament  the  impiety  and  ferocity  of  their  con- 
temporaries, when  they  teach  us  that  the  feet  of  man  are 
swift  to  shed  blood,  and  his  heart  deceitful  and  desperately 
wicked ;  that  the  inhabitants  of  the  vt'orld  have  turned  aside 
together  from  following  after  God*;  that  the  carnal  mind  is 
enmity  with  him,  and  neither  is  nor  can  be  subject  to  his  law. 
And,  that  our  human  resolution  is,  without  celestial  aid, 
sufficient  to  preserve  us,  notwithstanding  these  natural  pro- 
pensities, in  the  paths  of  virtue,  can  by  no  means  be  inferred 
from  the  circumstance  that  these  propensities  are  daily  con- 
quered or  suppressed  in  the  pursuit  of  worldly  advantages. 
For,  though  the  motives  for  self-controul  which  true  reli- 
gion offers  are,  doubtless,  of  more  momentous  interest  than 
any  which  this  world  can  supply,  it  may  admit  of  rational 
and  serious  doubt,  whether  the  proximity  of  the  latter  and 
the  more  distinct  and  vivid  colouring  which,  in  consequence 
of  that  proximity,  they  otier  to  the  mental  view,  do  not  more, 
much  more  than  counterbalance  the  awful  but  remoter  pros- 
pects of  death  and  judgment  and  an  eternal  Being. 

It  is  the  faintness  of  that  sensation  which  hope  presents, 
■when  compared  with  that  which  actually  aftects  our  bodily 
organs,  which  constitutes,  in  every  pursuit  of  life,  the  diffi- 
culty of  postponing  present  to  contingent  happiness ;  and 
tins  faintness  will  be  found  to  increase  in  exact  proportion  as 
the  object  recedes  into  futurity.  And  as  every  one  who  lives 
is  disposed  to  think  that  of  all  his  prospects  deatli  and  its 
consequences  are  most  distant,  it  is  probable  that  (however 
powerful  in  themselves  to  move  our  hope  or  fear  ma)'  be 
those  objects  wliirh  such  a  prospect  offers)  their  distance  or 
fancied  distance  will  often  leave  them  less  efficacy  to  compe" 
our  attention  tlian  those  expectations  of  earthly  praise  or 
prosperity,  which,  though  of  value  far  inferior,  appear  at 
least  to  promise  a  more  speedy  return. 


Nor  can  it  be  concealed  that  the  conviction  which  we 
actually  feel  of  those  most  awful  truths  which  are  the  sanc- 
tions of  religious  principle,  is,  from  the  nature  of  things,  of 
a  fainter  kind  than  that  which  we  possess  of  earthly  comfort 
or  applause  or  misery.  We  have  heard  or  read  of  hell  or 
heaven,  but  we  have  felt  the  pangs  of  disease  or  hunger;  we 
have  seen  the  punishments  indicted  by  the  law ;  we  have 
witnessed,  perhaps  with  envy,  the  parade  of  worldly  wealth 
and  power;  and  our  cheek  has  burned,  it  may  be,  with  that 
delightful  glow  which  is  communicated  by  the  world's  appro- 
bation. 

The  recollections,  then,  by  which  faith  would,  in  the  hour 
of  temptation,  direct  our  practice,  being  no  more  than  fainter 
reflections  of  images  which  were  originally  embodied  by 
fancy,  (for  on  whatever  evidence  we  believe,  we  can  only 
fancy  that  which  we  have  never  seen,)  must  needs  be  less 
forcible  than  the  memory  of  that  which  we  have  actually  in 
our  own  persons  experienced ;  and  while  Vv'e  believe  that  the 
punishments  of  another  world  are  something  terrible,  we 
knov  the  keenness  of  the  tortures  which  disappointment  or 
disgrace  can,  in  the  present  world,  inflict  on  us. 

W'ere  it  otherwise,  indeed,  the  sanction  of  temporal  penal- 
ties would  have  become,  since  the  promulgation  of  the  Gos- 
pel, altogether  useless  among  men ;  and  the  knowledge  of 
God's  will  and  the  apprehension  of  his  justice  would  have 
suspended,  long  since,  the  axe,  the  fasces,  and  the  chain,  as 
trophies  beside  the  Christian  altar.  Unfortunately,  how- 
ever, we  cannot  avoid  observing  daily  that  such  restraints  are 
necessary  still  with  tho.se  who  never  doubted  the  return  of 
Christ  to  judgment ;  and  the  best  and  the  wisest  of  us  all 
may  recollect,  perhaps,  occasions  when  his  knowledge  and 
his  faith  and  his  godly  fear  would  have  failed  witli  their 
united  strength  to  preserve  his  feet  from  sliding,  if  it  had  not 
been  for  the  fear  of  that  disgrace  or  chastisement  which, 
wicked  as  they  are  themselves,  tlie  commonwealth  of  man- 
kind by  God's  appointment  continue  to  inflict  on  wickedness. 
"  If,  I  sa}',  I  will  speak  thus,"  (said  an  experienced  and 
inspired  observer  of  the  human  heart,  when  describing  the 
blasphemy  which  arose  in  his  soul  against  the  ways  of  pro- 
vidence,) "  If,  I  say,  I  will  speak  thus,  behold  I  should 
offend  against  the  generation  of  thy  children."  The  recollec- 
tion of  tlie  scandal  which  he  should  cause  to  the  godly  res- 
trained those  murmurs  wliich  his  faith  in  Providence  was 
unable  entirely  to  quell ;  nor  do  those  good  men  display  any 
knowledge  of  our  common  nature,  who  reject  as  carnal  and 
unholy  those  secondary  and  human  principles  of  action, 
whose  aid  in  the  time  of  his  temptation  even  David  would 
not  disdain. 

There  is  yet  another  reason  why  the  objects  of  worldly 
prudence  are  more  easily  and,  therefore,  more  steadily  pur- 
sued by  our  natural  powers  than  those  which  Christianity 
offers.  They  demand,  in  general,  far  fewer  sacrifices  at  our 
hands.  The  self-control  which  avarice  enjoins  regards  our 
luxury  and  profusion  only.  Ambition  has  only  to  over- 
come the  fear  of  death  and  the  feebler  snares  of  idleness: 
hypocrisy,  to  avoid  those  particular  gratifications  which  are 
scandalous  in  the  eyes  of  mankind.  Nor  are  any  of  these 
any  further  renounced  than  as  they  are  inconsistent  with  the 
ruling  passion;  and,  what  is  of  still  more  importance,  the 
self-denial  is  always  understood  to  be  only  for  a  time,  and  he 
who  now,  from  some  overpowering  motive,  resists  these 
secondary  inclinations,  looks  forward  to  a  moment  when,  that 
previous  object  being  attained,  he  may  enjoy  himself  without 
control.  Even  now  they  have  their  refreshments  of  vice,  in 
which  the  master-fiend  is  not  unwilling  to  indulge  them. 
The  miser  may  Tiot  at  another's  cost;  the  conqueror,  in  the 
intervals  of  more  serious  action,  while  his  shield  hangs  idle 
in  the  hall,  and  his  battered  g-allpy  is  repairing  on  the  shore, 
may  strike,  like  Alcaeus,  his  harp  in  the  shades  of  revelry, 
and  relax  his  toil-worn  sinews  in  the  lap  of  licentious  indul- 
gence. The  hypocrite  has  a  somewhat  harder  task  to  per- 
form;  but  his  self-control  and  his  cloak  are  cast  aside 
together,  and  he  enjoys  with  a  keener  zest  the  moments  of 
permitted  sensuality,  from  the  contrast  of  the  cumbrous  dis- 
guise which  he  has  relinquished. 

And  by  all  alike  the  mighty  empire  of  the  heart  is  left 
without  coertion.  Their  alTections,  their  hopes,  their  wishes, 
their  fancies  may  riot  in  the  boundless  scope  of  possible  and 
impossible  gratification,  and  defy,  from  that  dark  and  polluted 
asylum,  the  menaces  of  their  earthly  deities.  What  wonder, 
then,  that  those  who  have,  in  other  respects,  so  large  a  lib- 
erty, should,  without  any  great  reluctance,  ofler  up  at  the 
shrine  of  their  idols  those  few  indulgences  which  such  idols, 
in  truth,  require  ? 


HEBER'S  BAIMPTON  LECTURES. 


2S5 


But  the  warfare  which  the  Christian  is  enjoined  to  wage 
with  himself  is  as  endless  and  universal  as  the  platonic  strife 
of  principles.  It  is  not  sufficient  that  we  purchase  by  the 
surrender  of  a  single  vice  a  liberty  for  every  other.  It  is  not 
enough  that  we  be  occasionally  abstinent,  or  that  we  refrain 
from  overt  actions,  while  the  inward  corruption  remains  un- 
heeded and  unknown.  The  free-will  oflering  of  ourselves, 
the  subjugation  of  our  entire  affections  and  propensities; 
the  confinement  of  those  thoughts  whose  wanderings  are 
open  to  the  eyes  of  him  who  reads  the  soul ;  the  government 
of  those  winged  words  over  which  the  angels  of  vengeance 
watches  ;  a  devotion  consistent  and  uniform  ;  a  faith  which 
faileth  not;  a  love  which  thinketh  no  evil;  a  courage  which 
can  support  the  contempt  of  man,  and  which  can  dare  to  for- 
give those  injuries  which  to  endure  is  agony  ;  these  are  the 
daily  struggles  to  which  the  Christian  soldier  is  liable,  and 
this  the  steep  and  thorny  path  which  only  leads  to  glory  ! 

And,  for  these  things,  who  is,  of  himself,  sufficient  I  What 
knowledge,  what  faith,  what  hope  or  fear  shall  stimulate  our 
feeble  limbs  to  a  task  so  far  beyond  their  forces,  if  His 
power  do  not  sustain  us,  from  whose  mercy-seat  all  power 
and  wisdom  flow,  who  gives  us  "grace,"  if  we  believe  his 
Scriptures,  '"to  help  in  time  of  need;''  and  will  not  withhold, 
■we  learn  from  the  same  Divine  authority,  "  His  Holy  Ghost 
from  those  who  ask  him  faithfully." 

It  may  seem,  then,  that  the  same  surviving  chief  of  Eng- 
lish Unitarianism  (whom  the  single  circumstances  of  his 
being  thus  conspicuous  has  compelled  rne  thus  freijuently  to 
notice)  is  not  more  fortunate  in  his  metaphysics  than  he  had 
previously  shown  himself  in  his  reference  to  the  ancient  Fath- 
ers, when  he  styles  the  interference  of  the  Almighty  with 
our  thoughts  and  actions  "an  unphilosophicsl  doctrine.'' 
Whether  it  be,  as  he  supposes,  "  unscriptnral,"  the  following 
observations  may  enable  my  audience  to  form  a  judgment. 

That  the  assistance  of  God  is,  in  some  shape  or  other,  ac- 
corded both  to  excite  and  sustain  the  natural  feebleness  of 
our  exertions  in  the  cause  of  holiness,  is  apparent  from  sev- 
eral passages  in  Scripture.  Before  Lydia  could  receive  the 
Gospel,  it  was  needful  that  God  should  "  open  her  heart:" 
it  was  "  the  Lord,"  who  "  added  daily  to  the  Church  of  the 
apostles  such  as  should  be  saved."  But  not  only  the  com- 
mencement of  our  Christian  calling,  but  its  furtherance  by 
our  perseverance  in  the  duties  of  our  profession,  is  ascribed 
by  St.  Paul  to  Him,  "who,  having  begun  a  good  work  in 
us,  bringeth  the  same  to  an  end :"  and  who,  as  the  same 
apostle  elsewhere  expresses  himself,  "  both  worketh  in  us  to 
will  and  to  do  of  his  good  pleasure." 

On  the  abuse  of  this  doctrine,  for  as  such  I  cannot  buteon- 
sider  it,  which  Augustin  appears  to  have  introduced  into  the 
Church,  and  which,  though  both  Hornish  and  Protestant 
Doctors  are  divided  on  the  question,  is  among  the  latter  more 
frequently  known  by  the  name  of  Calvinism,  I  shall  have 
occasion  to  speak  hereafter.  At  present  1  need  only  observe, 
that  such  deductions,  even  if  they  necessarily  flowed  from 
the  doctrine  of  spiritual  influences,  could  not  be  safely  urged 
against  it  by  the  modern  Unitarian,  since  they  apply  with,  at 
least,  an  equal  force,  against  his  own  hypothesis  as  to  the 
predisposition  of  events  aiid  causes,  in  whose  inextricable 
chain  we  are  necessarily,  no  less  passive  than  the  component 
parts  of  a  cotton-mill. 

And  with  whatever  indignation  the  Fatalists  may  dis- 
claim the  system  of  absolute  decrees,  it  is  evident  that  the 
effect  is  the  same,  whether  the  character  of  each  individual 
be,  from  all  eternity,  elected,  or  condemned  to  holiness  or 
vice  by  the  immediate  agency  of  God"s  Spirit;  or  whether 
the  same  character  be  destined  to  receive  its  tincture  from  the 
circumstances  through  which  it  must  inevitably  pass,  and  of 
which  the  brighter  or  darker  hues  no  less  necessarily  com- 
mVinicate  themselves  to  the  mind,  than  the  ingredients  of  a 
dye  determine  the  colour  of  the  web  which  is  immersed  in  it. 
The  only  dillerence  seems  to  be,  that  the  Unitarian  ascribes 
to  the  action  of  a  machine  those  dispensations  in  which  the 
Calvinist  contemplates  the  immediate  hand  of  the  Almighty ; 
but  both  the  first  as  well  as  the  second  (unless  he  be  really 
disposed  to  install  the  Aristophanic  "  vortex"  in  the  room  cf 
Jupiter)  must,  in  consistency  with  his  principles,  ascribe  to 
the  absolute  power  of  God,  whatever  God  is  supposed,  whe- 
ther mediately  or  immediatel}',  to  perform. 

But,  further,  not  only  are  our  birth  and  growth  in  holiness 
imputed  in  Scripture  to  the  preventing  and  furthering  grace  of 
God  :  this  grace  is,  moreover,  expressly  identified  with  the 
grace  or  assistance  of  that  same  Holy  Ghost,  by  whose  agen- 
cy the  Prophets  were  taught  futurity,  and  from  whom  and 
by  whom  the  Apostles  gained  their  knowledge  of  the  will 


and  Gospel  of  the  Lord.  "Thy  Spirit  is  good,"  are  the 
words  Of  David  when,  praying  for  power  to  amend  his 
lil'e  ;  "  lead  me  to  the  land  of  uprightness !"  "  Uphold  me," 
are  the  words  of  the  same  illustrious  penitent,  "  with  thy  free 
(or  liberating)  Spirit!"  Not  only  are  "counsel  and  know- 
ledge'' ascribed  by  Isaiah  to  the  Spirit's  operation,  but  "the 
fear,"  moreover,  "of  the  Lord."  Christ  in  like  manner  as- 
sures us,  that  his  Father  will  not  deny  "  the  Holy  Ghost  to 
those  who  ask  him"  faithfully.  The  conscience  of  St.  Paul 
"  bare  him  witness  in  the  Holy  Ghost."  "  The  Holy  Ghost," 
as  the  Giver  of  virtue,  is  reckoned  up  by  the  same  Apostle,  in 
the  same  breath  witii  "  kindness  and  brotherly  love."  To 
the  influence  of  the  Spirit,  not  only  "  knowledge,"  but 
"  faith"  and  "  patience"  are  ascribed.  It  is  through  "  the 
Spirit"  that  we  are  enabled  to  "  mortify  the  works  of  the 
flesh ;"  and  the  same  Spirit  is  said,  by  inspiring  our  souls 
with  fervour  and  holy  desires,  to  intercede  for  us  with  "  unut- 
terable groanings." 

But,  that  it  is  a  sanctifying  and  improving  grace,  and  not 
the  grace  of  miraculous  knowledge  or  power,  which  is  to  be 
understood  in  these  expressions,  is  apparent  from  their  gen- 
eral tenor.  Miraculous  power  and  knowledge  can  neither  set 
us  free  from  sin,  nor  are  able,  of  themselves,  to  make  us 
holy.  Those  cannot  be  miraculous  gifts  which  our  Saviour, 
in  a  discourse  not  directed  to  his  Apostles  alone,  but  to  the 
mightj  multitude  who  attended-his  preaching  on  the  mount, 
engages  to  accord  to  all  who  ask  them.  V\  ith  the  testimo- 
ny of  a  good  conscience  the  power  of  tongues  or  prophecy  has 
no  imaginable  concern.  The  gifts  of  kindness,  of  patience, 
of  brotherly  love,  were  so  far  from  being  implied  in  the  pos- 
session of  those  miraculous  endowments  which  the  early 
(.'hristians  enjoyed,  tliat  it  was  possible  to  possess  these  last 
in  their  highest  perfection,  and  yet  to  perish  for  want  of  the 
grace  of  charity;  while  the  tumultuous  inspiration  and  fac- 
tious wonders  of  the  Corinthian  Church  may  prove  that  (far 
from  being  necessarily  productive  of  peace  and  holiness)  such 
lofty  distinctions  were  often  by  the  pervcrseness  of  their 
possessor,  themselves  converted  into  a  snare.  Had  Balaam 
been  no  prophet,  he  would  have  escaped,  at  least,  one  fatal 
temptation  to  disobey  the  Lord  ;  and  St.  Paul  required,  we 
know,  a  keen  though  a  merciful  chastisement,  lest  his  hu- 
man pride  should  be  exalted  above  measure,  through  the 
dazzling  abundance  of  his  revelations. 

Since,  then,  the  gifts  of  holiness  and  peace  are  entirely  dif- 
ferent from  the  gift  of  miraculous  power,  while  yet  both  the 
one  and  the  other  of  these  are  imputed  in  Scripture  to  the 
Holy  Ghost;  the  one  of  two  conclusions  mnst,  I  apprehend, 
inevitably  follow  ;  either  that  both  the  one  and  the  other  arc 
produced  by  a  similar  operation  on  the  mind;  or  else  that 
they  are  distinct  operations  of  the  same  personal  agent,  the 
everlasting  Spirit  of  God. 

And,  of  these  admissions,  either  is  sufficient  for  the  pur- 
pose of  my  present  argument.  Either  is  suflicient  to  prove 
that  the  influence  of  the  Holy  Ghost,  however  we  define  him, 
(on  which  point,  however,  my  previous  Lectures  have,  I  trust, 
left  little  difliculty,)  is  productive  of  and  necessary  to  pro- 
duce, not  only  the  extraordinary  powers  but  the  ordinary 
graces  of  the  Christian  Church  and  character.  From  his 
bounty  we  derive  alike  those  rare  endowments  which  fall  to 
the  lot  of  a  very  few,  in  order  that  the  remainder  may,  by  their 
means,  be  edified,  and  those  not  less  blessed  though,  perhaps, 
less  brilliant  aids,  which,  though  they  do  not  qualify  us  to 
perform,  on  earth,  the  distinguished  parts  of  Prophets  or 
Evangelists,  are  a  necessary  preparation  for  those  far  nobler 
privileges  in  whose  meridian  splendour  both  prophecies 
shall  cease,  and  tongues  shall  fail,  and  knowledge  shall  van- 
ish away! 

Whether  these  sacred  influences  be  they  of  which  the  gift 
hath  entitled  the  Holy  Ghost  to  the  character  of  the  Christian 
Paraclete,  must  remain  for  future  inquiry. 


LECTURE  VI. 

I  tell  you  tile  Irudi  ;  it  is  expedient  for  you  Ui:il  I  go  iiwuy  ;  for  it 
I  go  not  away,  the  Comforter  will  not  eoine  unto  you  ;  but  if  1  de- 
part, I  will  send  him  unto  you John  xvi.  7. 

It  was  my  endeavour,  when  I  last  [addressed  you,  to  re- 
move those  doubts  and  to  refute  those  cavils  which  the  disci- 
ples of  modern  Unitarianism  have  suggested  against  the  usual 


286 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


faith  which  Christians  hold  in  the  ordinary  and  sanctifying 
influence  of  the  Spirit  of  God. 

But,  however  certain  and  however  valual)le  those  blessed 
aids  may  be,  which  support  us,  as  we  believe,  through  the 
perils  and  the  snares  of  life,  and,  in  the  hour  of  death,  as  we 
hope,  will  not  forsake  ns,  it  will  by  no  means  follow,  that  it 
is  by  these  definite  influences  that  the  Holy  Ghost  still  mani- 
fests himself  to  the  Christian  world,  as  the  performer  of  our 
Saviour's  promise.  To  entitle  them  to  this  distinction  it  is 
necessar)',  first,  that  they  should  correspond  with  the  des- 
cription of  the  Comforter's  office  as  afforded  us  by  Christ 
liiniself ;  and,  secondly,  that  they  should  answer  to  the  neces- 
sary characteristics  of  a  compensation  for  the  loss  of  Christ, 
and  a  privilege  peculiar  to  his  followers. 

It  is  evident,  however,  that  in  the  description  of  the  Para- 
clete, as  given  by  our  Lord  himself,  there  are  many  circum- 
stances, which  (without  a  degree  of  enthusiasm,  whereof  all 
existing  sects  of  Christians,  1  believe,  are  guiltless)  we  can- 
not refer  to  the  internal  and  ordinary  influence  of  the  Holy 
Ghost. 

By  its  agency  on  the  natural  faculties  of  the  soul,  that  in- 
fluence, indeed,  supplies  us  with  recollections  ever  seasona- 
ble to  support  or  to  subdue  our  weak  or  rebellious  nature;  it 
hallows  our  thoughts  by  attracting  them  to  hallowed  objects  ; 
it  strengthens  our  virtuous  resolutions  by  renewing  on  our 
mind  those  impressions  which  gave  them  birth;  it  elevates 
our  courage  and  humbles  our  pride  by  suggesting  to  our  re- 
collection, at  once,  our  illustrious  destiny  and  the  weakness 
of  our  unassisted  nature. 

By  itself  it  teaches  nothing,  but  without  its  aid  all  human 
doctrine  is  but  vain.  It  is  this  which  gives  life  and  strength 
to  every  religious  truth  which  we  hear ;  this  which  imprints 
on  our  soul  and  recalls  to  our  attention  those  sacred  principles 
to  which  our  reason  has  already  assented.  Distinct  from 
conscience,  but  the  vital  spark  by  which  our  natural  con- 
science is  sanctified,  it  hoth  enables  us  to  choose  the  paths  of 
life,  and  to  persist  in  those  paths  when  chosen  :  and,  though, 
like  the  free  and  viewless  air,  it  is  only  by  its  efi'ects  that  we 
discern  it,  it  is  the  principle  of  our  moral  as  the  air  of  our 
natural  health  ;  the  soul  of  our  soul,  and  the  Schekinali  of  our 
bodily  temple. 

But,  by  itself  it  teaches  nothing.  It  prepares  our  hearts, 
indeed,  for  the  word  of  life,  and  it  engrafts  the  word  in  our 
hearts  thus  opened  ;  but  that  living  word  and  whatever  else  of 
knowledge  we  receive  must  be  drawn  from  external  sources. 
"Faiih,"  we  are  told,  "must  come  by  hearing,  and  hearing 
by  the  word  of  God;"  nor  can  we  hear  "without  the 'voice 
of  a  preacher." 

The  inspiration  (as  we  have  already  defined  it)  of  religious 
perception  and  memory,  God's  ordinary  grace  induces  the 
soul  to  behold  the  truth  of  those  doctrines  which  external 
opportunities  of  knowledge  offer  to  her  understanding ;  it 
preserves  and  refreshes  in  her  memory  those  principles  of 
action,  of  which  we  have  already  perceived  the  force;  it  is 
the  blessing  of  God  and  his  pervading  energy,  which  prospers 
to  our  salvation  what  we  learn  and  wdiat  we  have  learned  : 
but  when  we  pass  beyond  these  limits,  we  invade  the  regions 
of  miracle  and  prophecy;  and  it  is  no  less  inaccurate  to  sup- 
pose, that  in  the  ordinary  co\irse  of  things  we  receive  a  new 
idea  from  the  grace  of  God,  than  it  would  be  to  maintain  that 
our  knowledge  is  derived  from  the  lamp  which  lights  our 
study. 

Like  that  lamp,  the  grace  of  the  Most  High  enables  us  to 
trace,  in  the  oracles  of  salvation,  the  things  which  belong  to 
our  peace:  like  that  lamp,  it  helps  us  to  renew  the  decayed 
impression  of  knowledge  long  since  obtained  ;  and,  without 
such  heavenly  aid,  the  unassisted  soul  would  be  as  unequal 
to  the  pursuit  or  perception  of  her  eternal  interests,  as  the 
unassisted  eye  to  read  in  darkness.  But,  whether  by  celestial 
or  earthly  delight,  we  can  only  learn  from  that  which  is  be- 
fore us;  and  the  one  can  no  more  be  said  to  communicate  a 
new  revelation  to  our  souls,  than  the  other  to  place  a  fresh 
volume  on  our  table. 

I  do  not  say,  that  grace  does  not  possess  an  active  power, 
which  not  only  enables  us  to  attend  and  recollect,  but  frequently 
compels  our  attention  and  recollection.  Nor  am  I  rash  enough 
to  deny,  that  God  may,  by  any  operation  or  any  medium  what- 
ever, communicate  to  our  souls,  when  he  thinks  proper,  any 
imaginable,  or,  to  us  at  present,  imimaginable  know  ledge,  lint 
this  may  he  without  olfenco  maintaiiicd,  (and  I  am  the  more 
anxious  to  state  it  clearly,  because  it  is  this  particular  jioint 
on  which  enthusiasm  is  most  frequently  mistaken,)  that  it  is 
by  the  illnxiratlon,  not  the  revelation  of  truth,  that  God's 
•Spirit  ordiuiirily  assists  us;  and  that  the  latter  is  one  of  those 


cases  of  divine  interference,  of  which  neither  the  present  age 
of  Christianity,  nor,  perhaps,  any  preceding  age  since  the 
time  of  the  Apostles,  allbrds  us  an  authentic  example. 

That  measure,  then,  of  internal  aid,  which  the  modern 
Church  receives,  can  neither  be  said  to  "  teach  us  all  things," 
nor  to  "  show  us  things  to  come."  And  with  as  little  reason 
can  the  Holy  Ghost  be  asserted  to  bear  public  "  witness"  of 
Christ,  and  to  plead  against  the  world  as  the  patron  and  ad- 
vocate of  Christ's  religion,  by  an  influence  which  is,  con- 
fessedly, thus  gentle  and  unseen.  With  the  exception,  indeed, 
of  that  which  the  circumstances  of  the  whole  discourse  seem 
evidently  to  appropriate  to  the  Apostles;  the  recollection, 
namely,  of  "  all  the  words"  which  our  Lord  "  had  spoken 
unto  them;"  no  single  characteristic  can  be  found  in  the 
description  of  the  ancient  Paraclete,  which  corresponds  with 
those  illapses  of  ordinary  grace  which  the  modern  believer 
hopes  and  prays  for. 

We  may  reasonably,  then,  conclude,  that  some  other  benefit 
than  the  internal  aid  of  the  Holy  Ghost  was  intended  by  our 
Lord  in  his  memorable  conversation  with  the  Apostles. 

And  this  conclusion  will  receive  no  small  additional  strength 
from  a  reference  to  those  general  principles  which  were,  I 
trust,  sufficiently  established,  in  the  commencement  of  my 
preceding  Lecture. 

It  was  there  laid  down,  from  the  nature  of  our  Lord's 
declaration,  and  from  the  circumstances  under  which  that 
gracious  declaration  was  made,  that  the  comfort  which  the 
Holy  Ghost  should  dispense,  on  his  behalf,  to  his  followers, 
must  have  been  an  advantage  confined  to  his  followers  alone; 
a  blessing  enjoyed  neither  by  the  Heathen  nor  the  Jew;  a 
blessing  unknown  to  the  Apostles  themselves  at  the  moment 
when  their  Master  thus  addressed  them. 

And  this  necessity,  though  it  has  never,  that  I  know  of, 
been  clearly  stated  before,  has,  nevertheless,  been  virtually 
admitted  by  the  greater  part  of  those  who  content  themselves 
with  the  usual  exposition  of  Christ's  assurance.  They  have 
esteemed  it  the  peculiar  happiness  of  the  Christian  Church, 
above  the  condition  either  of  .Tews  or  Heathens,  that  not  only 
are  we  instructed  in  the  perfect  will  of  God,  but  that  we  are 
spiritually  assisted  in  its  performance;  and,  identifying  the 
gift  of  the  Spirit  with  the  process  of  regeneration,  they  have 
confined  its  influence  to  those  alone  who  are  purified  with  the 
waters  of  baptism. 

It  has  been  a  subject,  indeed,  of  long  and  angry  discussion, 
whether  (admitting,  as  both  sides  have  admitted,  the  insepa- 
rable union  of  the  gift  of  the  Spirit  and  regeneration)  the 
former  were  accorded  to  all  who  received  the  outward  sign 
of  the  latter;  or,  whether  both  were  the  peculiar  treasure  of 
a  far  less  numerous  body  than  the  outwardly  baptized,  the 
invisible  Church  of  Jesus.  But,  whether  the  promise  was 
given  to  the  professors  of  our  faith  in  general,  or  solely  to 
those  who  are  turned  in  their  hearts  and  conversations  from 
darkness  to  light,  in  either  acceptation  it  has  been  supposed 
to  belong  to  Christians  onlj';  and  the  majority  of  mankind 
have  been  allowed  no  other  assistant  in  the  performance  of 
their  duty  than  the  natural  light  of  reason. 

If,  however,  the  ordinary  gifts  of  the  Spirit  were  peculiarly 
a])propriate  to  Christians,  the  question  would  naturally  arise, 
and  it  is  a  question  which  either  Arminian  or  Calvanist  would 
find  it  a  task  of  no  small  difficulty  to  elude  or  satisfy, — "  By 
what  means  are  men  enabled  to  become  members  of  the  body 
of  Christ  r' 

If  grace  be  conferred  on  the  faithful  only,  then  must  a  pre- 
vious belief  be  necessary  to  the  reception  of  grace;  and  the 
faithful,  before  they  can  have  obtained  such  inward  help  from 
heaven,  must  first,  by  their  natural  strength,  have  believed. 

And  this,  we  know,  was  the  opinion  of  the  more  moderate 
followers  of  Pelagius ;  of  the  early  Socinians  of  the  Rakovian 
school ;  and,  as  may  be  suspected  from  a  remarkable  passage 
in  his  first  book  against  Pelagius,  of  him  who  in  every  other 
point  was  orthodox,  the  learned  and  excellent  Jerome.  It  is 
an  opinion,  however,  directly  contrary,  not  only  to  the  acknow- 
ledged tenets  of  that  Church  to  which  we  have  sworn  alle- 
giance; but,  which  is  of  an  importance  far  more  awful,  to  the 
most  pointed  expressions  of  Scripture,  which  teach  us,  that 
without  the  grace  of  God,  no  man  can  come  to  Christ;  nor, 
consequently,  receive  his  Gospel.  But  if  these  sacred  truths 
be  conceded  by  the  defenders  of  the  popular  hypothesis,  they 
will  find  themselves  involved  in  the  hopeless  absurdity  of 
regarding  faith  as  the  cause  or  occasion  of  grace,  and  grace 
the  cause  of  faith;  or,  in  other  words,  of  making  the  same 
thing  the  cause  and  effect,  the  antecedent  and  consequent. 
Nor  will  tlieir  statement  become  less  defective,  if  we  admit 
the  distinction  usual  with  divines  between  preventing  and 


HEBER'S  BAMPTON  LECTURES. 


287 


assisting  grace,  of  wliich  the  one  precedes,  the  other  follows 
the  mental  action  of  belief  in  the  Gospel. 

For,  if  the  first  of  these  be  limited,  as  the  natural  meaning 
of  the  term  should  seem  to  limit  it,  to  tlie  implanting  in  our 
mind  those  good  desires  which  cannot  be  brought  to  eflect 
without  the  subsequent  furtherance  of  the  other,  it  is  plain 
that  preventing  grace  by  itself  could  do  no  more  than  induce  in 
our  hearts  a  perception  of  the  happiness  enjoyed  by  the  faith- 
ful, a  desire  that  God  would  help  our  unbelief;  but  could 
not,  without  additional  help  from  the  same  good  Spirit,  con- 
duct us  either  to  external  confession  or  hearty  internal  con- 
viction of  the  truth  which  is  in  Christ  Jesus. 

■So  that  to  the  very  act  of  faith  itself,  even  to  the  lowest 
degree  of  faith,  both  species  of  grace  are  necessary;  and  tlie 
reasoning  of  those  who  maintain  that  the  assistance  of  the 
Holy  Ghost  is,  at  once,  the  cause  and  the  privilege  of  Chris- 
tianity, must  remain  as  inconsistent  as  ever. 

It  will  be  urged,  indeed,  by  some,  and  their  method  of 
stating  the  question  is  free,  apparently,  from  the  objections 
to  wliich  the  ordinary  hypothesis  is  liable,  that,  though  faith 
be  of  grace  and  not  grace  of  faith,  )'et  is  faith  in  Christ,  with 
all  the  blessed  fruits  which  spring  from  it,  inseparably  con- 
nected with  grace  as  its  sure  and  necessary  consequence;  and 
that,  therefore,  Christians  only  receive  the  help  of  the  Holy 
Ghost,  because  such  help  is  given  to  none  who  are  not, 
thereby,  irresistibly  called  to  Christianity. 

But,  if  we  avoid,  by  this  statement,  the  inconsistency  of 
the  usual  opinion,  we  avoid  it  only  by  incurring  the  yet  more 
portentous  contradictions  which  are  involved  in  the  system 
of  Augustin,  Bradwardine  and  (Calvin. 

For,  as  none  have,  without  the  aid  of  the  Holy  Ghost 
received  the  religion  of  Jesus,  so  if,  as  they  maintain,  none 
have  received  the  Holy  Ghost,  excepting  those  who  are 
thereby  inevitably  conducted  to  embrace  the  Gospel,  it  will 
follow,  not  only  that  these  last  have  believed  in  Clirist 
consequence  of  an  irresistible  act  of  the  Almighty,  but  that 
all  who  have  rejected  him  have  chosen  thus  unhappilj-,  not 
from  perverseness,  but  because  they  could  not  possibly  have 
chosen  otherwise ;  not  from  wilful  obstinac}',  but  from  a  blind- 
ness which  it  was  no  more  in  their  power  to  remed}-,  than, 
by  their  unassisted  strength,  to  scale  lieaven. 

And,,  if  it  be  further  true,  which  is  allowed  on  all  hands, 
that  the  rejection  of  the  Gospel  by  the  unconverted  Jews  and 
Heathens  was  imputed  to  them  by  God  as,  in  itself,  a  heinous 
sin,  and  will  be  punished  with  more  grievous  damnation ; 
that  conclusion  must  follow  w'hich  every  modern  Calvanistat 
least,  with  amiable  inconsistency,  disclaims,  not  only  that 
the  Almighty  punishes  men  for  rejecting  what  the}'  had  no 
power  to  accept,  but  that  he  offers  (I  almost  fear  to  speak  it, 
but  it  is  necessary  that  the  natural  tendency  of  every  doc- 
trine should  be  known)  salvation  to  the  reprobate  on  terms 
which  they  cannot  accept,  in  order  that,  by  this,  their  seeming 
refusal,  he  may  obtain  a  pretext  for  punishing  them  more 
severely.'  A  statement  tliis,  which  involves  in  itself,  as  ap- 
plied to  the  Father  of  truth  and  mercy,  a  degree  of  blasphe- 
mous extravagance  which  can  hardly  be  conceived  without 
impiety;  which  imputes  to  God  a  conduct  from  which  the 
warmest  defenders  of  the  hypothesis  would,  in  their  own 
persons,  have  shrunk  witli  abhorrence,  and  which  the  angels 
who  excel  in  power  and  might,  would  hardly  have  brought 
as  a  railing  accusation  against  the  enemy  of  God  and  man 
himself! 

But  if,  to  avoid  or  to  soften  this  horrible  corollary,  we  sup- 
pose with  Owen,  that  those  miserable  persons  to  whom  the 
gospel  is  a  savour  of  death  are  punished,  not  because  they 
were  unable  to  believe  and  repent,  but  because  they  did  not 
desire  to  do  so,  that  they  loved  the  darkness  to  which  they 
were  condemned,  more  than  the  light  into  which  they  had  no 
possible  hope  of  entering;  it  may  be  urged  in  reply,  that  to 
be  content  with  an  inevitable  condition,  is  a  part  rather  wise 
than  wicked ;  and  that  if  it  was  in  their  power  to  love  the 
light,  it  was  in  their  power  to  choose  between  the  light  and 
the  darkness. 

For  it  is  allowed  on  all  hands,  that  the  obstacle  which  con- 
demns the  reprobate  to  impenitence  is  seated  in  their  will 
alone;  and  that,  if  they  heartily  desire  to  devote  themselves 
to  the  service  of  Clirist,  that  merciful  Redeemer  will  in  no 
wise  cast  them  away. 

If  Owen,  therefore,  teaches  that  the  reprobate  may  cltnose 
between  light  and  darkness,  he  must  either  mean  that  tliey 
have,  without  grace,  power  to  make  their  option,  (an  asser- 
tion whieli  is  Pelagianism  no  less  explicit  than  that  wliich 
called  forth  the  bitterest  censures  of  Augustin.)  or  else,  that 
grace  is  given  them  whii  li  they  may  optionally  resist  or  im- 


prover  to  salvation : — an  admission  altogether  inconsistent 
with  ^belief  in  absolute  decrees,  and  sufficient  in  itself  to 
proie,  that  the  assistance  of  the  Holy  Ghost  is  not  a  peculiar 
privilege  of  the  gospel. 

For  if  none  are  purdshed  for  not  performing  impossibilities, 
and  if  some  are  punished  for  refusing  to  receive  the  gospel  of 
Christ,  it  is  plain,  that  such  sufferers  must  at  one  time  have 
had  it  in  their  power  to  avail  themselves  of  that  gracious  offer. 
But  this  is  a  power  which  is  only  cojiBTed  by  the  influence 
of  God's  Spirit;  and  it  follows  that  hwinfluence  is  bestowed 
on  some  who  neither  are  nor  ever  wil]jKe  Christians. 

Nor  must  we  suppose  that  this  influence  is,  as  Clagett 
seems  to  intimate,  attendant  only  on  the  immediate  hearing 
of  the  gospel ;  and  given  to  be  resisted  or  improved  by  those 
individuals  alone  to  whom  the  glad  tidings  of  salvation  have 
extended. 

If  we  do  not  maintain,  with  Pelagius,  that  our  unassisted 
nature  can  quicken  itself  to  faith  andeverlasting  life,  we  can- 
not allow,  what  St.  Paul  expressly  teaches,  that  the  Patri- 
archs and  ancient  Israelites  are  fallan  asleep  in  hope,  unless 
we  at  the  same  time  allow,  that  those  worthies  of  the  elder 
world  had  obtained  the  same  graces  of  the  Holy  Ghost,  as 
those  by  the  assistance  whereof  we  hope  to  imitate  their 
righteous  and  memorable  examples. 

Nor  can  any  reader  of  those  sacred  poems  which,  though 
composed  under  the  law,  express,  in  almost  every  line,  those 
feelings  and  virtues,  which  it  is  the  end  of  the  gospel  to  de- 
velope,  entertain  a  doubt  that  the  operations  of  grace,  whereby 
the  psalmist  was  awakened,  and  purified,  and  guided,  and 
established  in  holiness,  were  the  same  with  those  to  which 
we  daily  look  up  for  help  and  hope  and  victory.  Nor,  though 
we  should  omit  or  neglect  the  testimonies  of  the  later  Rab- 
bins, who  ascribe,  like  ourselves,  all  goodness  to  the  Spirit's 
dispensation,  can  we  venture  to  disregard  the  authority  of 
our  Lord  himself,  who,  under  the  yoke  of  the  Law,  and  long 
before  the  Paraclete  was  foretold,  assured,  the  multitude  of 
his  hearers,  that  his  Father  would  not  deny  the  Holy  Spirit 
to  those  who  asked  him. 

It  is  true,  indeed,  as  the  admirable  Bishop  Bull  inculcates, 
that  these  spiritual  gifts,  like  the  gifts  of  pardon  and  salva- 
tion, though  they  extended  to  those  under  the  Law  of  INIoses, 
were  not  derived  from  the  Law  itself,  but  were  purchased  by 
that  foreseen  expiation  of  sins  on  the  rock  of  Calvary, 
whereof  the  blood  and  the  merits  gave  efficacy  to  the  sacrifice 
of  Abel,  and  won  a  pardon  for  the  deep  offence  of  David. 
But  the  assertion,  however  true  in  itself,  is  irrelevant  to  the 
present  inquiry,  since  I  am  not  maintaining,  that  the  power 
of  repentance  is  given  to  man  through  any  other  than  the 
merits  of  Jesus  Christ;  but  I  am  urging,  that  through  those 
merits  the  ancient  Jews  received  it  as  well  as  the  Christians, 
and  that  the  promise  of  a  Comforter,  w^hich  had  respect  to  a 
future  and  peculiar  benefit,  could  not  be  fulfilled  by  the  con- 
tinuance of  an  ancient  and  general  blessing. 

Nor  would  this  conclusion  be  materially  affected,  though 
we  should  also  grant,  as  the  same  learned  Prelate  supposes, 
and  as  in  itself  is  not  improbable,  though  it  be  not  revealed 
in  Scripture  with  sufficient  clearness  to  enable  us  to  assent  to 
it  with  unqualified  convrction ;  that,  not  only  the  external  mo- 
tives to  holiness,  (which  are  irrelevant  to  the  present  inquiry,) 
but  the  internal  and  sanctifying  Spirit,  whereby  such  motives 
and  knowledge  arc  improved  to  individual  salvation,  has  been 
given  in  more  ample  measure  to  the  Christian  than  to  the 
Jew.  For  a  difference  simplj'  modal  was  surely  not  des- 
cribed by  our  Lord  as  an  advent  of  the  Spirit  in  a  new  and 
unknown  character;  and  the  gift  of  a  new  privilege  is  no  less 
distinct  from  the  improvement  of  one  possessed  already,  than 
the  plantation  of  a  tree  is  different  from  its  silent  growth 
when  planted. 

But  the  ordinary  graces  of  the  Spirit  were  not  confined  to 
the  house  of  Israel  alone.  The  Heathens  themselves,  as  may 
be  proved,  both  from  heathen  and  sacred  testimony,  were  by 
no  means  utterly  devoid  of  them.  In  support,  however,  of 
this  assertion,  and,  since  the  case  of  these  last  is,  doubtless, 
extremely  different  from  the  cases  of  the  Jews  and  ancient 
Patriarchs,  it  will  be  necessary,  and  it  is  not  impossible  to 
demonstrate,  first,  that  the  circumstances  in  which  tliey  were 
placed  were  not  different  from  those  under  which  the  Holy 
Ghost  is  actually  promised ;  and,  secondl}',  that  they  have 
evinced  the  reality  of  such  assistance  b)'  the  only  proof  of 
w'hich  the  fact  is  ordinarily  capable. 

And  here  it  will,  in  the  first  place,  be  readily  conceded, 
that  tliough  we  presume  not  to  limit  the  undeclared  and  un- 
covenanted  mercies  of  the  Most  High,  yet,  in  the  ordinary 
course  of  his  dealings  with   mankind,  and,  so  far  as  those 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


288 

dealiiiCTS  are  made  known  to  us  in  the  sacred  wriiingsi.tliere 
must  be  always  premised  a  certain  portion  of  extcniafinfor- 
mation,  williout  wliich  those  internal  sug-ffcstions  of  wliich 
we  are  speaking  can  have  no  previous  principles  to  which  to 
refer,  no  data  on  which  to  operate. 

It  is  true,  and  it  should  never  be  forgotten,  that  ss  (he 
Spirit  of  God  is  the  governing  providence  of  the  world,  the 
Disposer  of  all  earthly  ofeiirrences  ;  so  the  outward  means  of 
knowledge  and  of  grace,  no  less  than  the  spirit  of  internal 
improvement,  are  accorded  to  us  by  the  same  free  bounty. 
But,  where  the  first  of  these  is  denied,  we  cannot  perceive  by 
any  light  cither  of  nature  or  revelation  how  the  second  is  to 
act  on  the  soul.  For  as  grace  (this  ordinary  grace  at  least) 
of  itself  teaches  nothing;  for,  if  it  did,  it  would,  as  we  have 
already  seen,  be  no  less  than  miraculous  inspiration  :  it  must 
ground,  as  is  plain,  its  awakening  and  supporting  faculty  on 
a  reference  to  previous  knowledge.  And,  consequently,  be- 
fore we  can  assign  to  the  heathen  world  the  inspiration  of 
attention  and  of  memory,  it  will  be  necessary  to  show  that 
such  a  knowledge  was  accorded  them  concerning  the  source 
and  measure  of  their  duty,  as,  when  faithfully  received  and 
recollected  seasonably,  might  enable  tliem  to  render  an  ac- 
ceptable service  to  their  almighty  Creator  and  Redeemer. 

Now  that  degree  of  previous  knowledge  on  which  a  justi- 
fiying  faith  may  be  founded,  is,  in  the  case  of  Enoch,  stated 
by  St.  Paul  to  be  the  knowledge  of  God's  being  and  attributes. 
"  He  that  cometh  to  God  must  first  believe  that  he  is,  and 
that  he  is  the  rewardcr  of  them  that  diligently  seek  him." 
Uidess,  then,  it  can  be  satisfactorily  shown,  that  the  heathen 
had  a  knowledge  of  God,  and  that  they  believed  in  his  jus 
tice  and  his  power  to  reward  men  according  to  their  works,  it 
is  apparent  that,  the  foundation  not  being  laid,  we  may  vainly 
look  for  a  superstructure;  and  that,  so  i'ar  as  the  lights  ex- 
tend which  are  supplied  by  God  in  the  sacred  Volume,  we 
must  not  venture  to  ascribe  even  their  fairest  outward  actions 
to  the  ordinary  assistance  of  God's  grace.  And  if,  on  the 
other  hand,  it  shall  appear,  that  the  heathen  did  really  pos- 
sess even  this,  the  lowest  rank  of  religious  information,  it  is 
no  less  evident  that  we  cannot,  if  we  assent  to  the  authority 
of  the  Epistle  to  the  Hebrews,  deny  them  the  possibility  at 
least  of  receiving  the  further  aids  of  the  Holy  Ghost. 

For  when  tlie  Apostle  tells  us,  that  vi-itliout  this  know- 
ledge, or  lowest  degree  of  faith,  no  man  can  come  to  God,  he 
evidently  implies,  at  the  same  time,  the  reverse  of  this  pro- 
position, and  teaches  ns,  that  where  this  knowledge  and  faith 
are  possessed,  a-  man  may  come  lo  God,  and  like  Enoch, 
please  him.  Whether  Enocli  himself  were  better  taught,  is 
a  question  which  I  need  not  now  examine;  and,  however 
probable  in  itself,  is  that  which  is  neither  told  ns  by  St.  Paul, 
nor  was,  perhaps,  revealed  to  him.  But  Si.  Paul  is  reason- 
ing from  the  fact  of  Enoch's  acceptance  with  God,  that  he 
must  have  enjoyed  a  saving  knowledge  of  him;  and,  conse- 
quently, the  limits,  at  which  he  fixes  the  extent  of  such  a 
knowledge,  must  needs  have  been,  how  barely  soever,  suffi- 
cient, in  his  opinion,  to  conduct  its  possessor  to  Paradise. 

But  we  know  that  a  man  cannot  come  to  God  except  God 
draw  him;  that  he  cannot  please  God,  nor  persevere  in  holi- 
ness, excepting  he  have  the  gift  of  God's  good  Spirit,  and  it 
mnst  therefore  follow,  that  the  mere  belief  in  a  Deity,  in  his 
justice,  his  mercy,  his  power,  is  sufficient  to  entitle  him  to 
the' visitation  and  comfort  of  grace,  and  to  raise  him,  through 
grace,  to  a  share  in  the  mercies  of  Christ,  and  to  the  inherit- 
ance of  the  Christian  heaven. 

It  remains  then  to  be  proved,  that  this  knowledge  w-as 
really  possessed  by  those  ancient  heathen  nations,  of  which, 
as  we  are  best  acquainted  with  their  history  and  writings, 
we  are  enabled  to  speak  with  greatest  certainty;  and  which, 
as  they  extended  over  the  most  populous  and  civiliz.ed  coun- 
tries of  the  world,  may  be  regarded  as  no  insufficient  specimen 
of  the  general  condition  of  mankind  before  the  Slessiah's 
coiuing,  no  less  than  of  those  to  whom  from  remoteness  of 
situation  or  from  other  causes  not  imputable  to  themselves, 
the  light  of  the  gospel  has  not  hitherto  arisen  in  glory.  And, 
if  there  be  any  tribes  so  savage  as  not  to  have  attained  the 
degree  of  religious  knowledge  which  the  Greeks  and  Ro- 
mans enjoyed,  we  may  leave,  without  alarm,  a  proportion  so 
trilling  to  the  indulgence  of  him  from  whose  care  neither 
idiots  nor  madmen  are  rejected  ;  and  with  whom,  we  may  be 
sure,  external  impediments  are  as  ample  an  excuse  as  natural 
incapacity,  for  the  ignorance  of  good  and  evil. 

That  the  ancient  heathens  acknowledged  a  divinity,  the 
Creator  and  Governor  of  the  world,  it  would  be,  before  my 
present  audience,  a  presumptuous  w-aste  of  time  to  demon- 
strate at  the  length  to  which  the  subjectwould  naturally  carry 


me.  By  Plato  the  creation  and  directing  care  of  the  world 
re  repeatedly  and  expressly  ascribed  to  iiim.  By  Aristotle 
is  unity,  his  excellence,  his  omnipotence,  and  eternal  ac- 
tivity, are,  with  yet  more  precision  of  language,  asserted  and 
maintained.  The  same  exalted  notions  of  the  divine  nature 
are  inculcated  in  the  preface  to  the  Locrian  Code,  and  the 
various  Pythagorean  fragments  preserved  by  Stoba-ns.  Of 
Seneca,  and  of  Thales,  as  quoted  by  Cicero,  the  opinions  are 
sulTiciently  known,  as  well  as  the  testimony  of  Monandcr 
reprobating  the  idolatry'of  his  countrymen,  and  instructing 
them  that  God  is  "every  where,  and  that  he  beholdeth  all 
things."  And,  though  the  Epicurean  taint  be  sometimes, 
unfortunately,  visible  in  the  philosophical  writings  of  Cicero  ; 
yet,  in  the  midst  of  all  his  contradictions  and  inconsistencies, 
though  the  faith  of  the  moralist  himself  may  frequently,  per- 
haps, be  questioned ;  yet  is  it  apparent,  that  the  public 
decency  and  established  opinion  of  his  time,  (and  they  are 
the  sentiments  of  the  people  at  large,  not  those  of  a  single 
sceptical  statesman,  which  I  am  here  concerned  to  vindicate), 
forbade  him  to  deny,  in  express  words  at  least,  the  existence 
of  a  Being  such  as  is  here  represented. 

And  that  the  God  whom  the  heathen  thus  acknowledged 
as  supreme  was,  in  truth,  the  same  with  him  whom  all  nature 
ought  to  reverence,  is  apparent  not  only  from  the  propriety  of 
their  notions  respecting  his  nature  and  attributes,  but  from 
the  infallible  testimony  of  St.  Paul. 

That  great  Apostle  of  the  Gentiles  came  not,  if  we  believe 
his  own  express  declaration,  to  reveal  to  them  a  new  divinity, 
but  that  God,  whose  existence  their  poets  and  their  sages  had 
taught,  and  wliom  they  had  themselves,  in  former  ages,  how- 
ever ignorantly,  worshipped.  He  acknowledges  that,  among 
the  darkest  heathen,  the  Almighty  had  not  left  himself  with- 
out a  witness  ;  and  while,  in  the  person  of  a  jealous  Hebrew, 
he  lays  to  the  charge  of  the  Gentile  world  that  they  glorified 
not  God  as  became  his  nature,  he  admits,  at  the  same  time, 
and  he  grounds  the  criminality  of  their  conduct  on  this  ad- 
mission, that  they  were  not  without  a  knowledge  of  God. 

And,  grievously  as  we  must  deplore  the  apparently  uni- 

ersal  prevalence  of  ididatry  and  its  consequent  vices  among 

them,  yet  must  we,  at  the  same  time,  remember,  that  a  simi- 

ir  de])ravation  of  manners  had,  not  unfrequently,  threatened 

the  extinction  of  religious  truth  among  the  ancient  Israelites 

theiuselves. 

Amid  the  apostasy  of  these  last,  however,  the  Almighty 
failed  not  to  preserve  a  remnant:  and  a  similar  remnant,  as 
is  a|)parent  by  the  works  of  their  leading  philosophers,  had 
been  also  preserved  among  the  heathen. 

The  heathen,  therefore,  imperfect  as  was  the  glimpse 
which  they  continued  to  enjoy  of  the  true  God,  his  nature, 
and  his  attributes,  were  at  no  time  so  entirely  blind  as  to  be 
deprived  of  that  saving  degree  of  knowledge  which  is  the 
necessary  groundwork  for  internal  grace ;  and  the  apparent 
anr^shining  virtues  of  many  among  their  number  are  an  argu- 
ment that  such  gTace  was  sometimes  not  denied  them.  From 
its  fruit  the  tree  is  recognized  ;  and  not  only  by  the'authority 
of  the  gospel,  but  by  the  admission  of  the  best  and  wisest 
among  the  pagans  themselves,  are  we  taught  that  our  mortal 
nature  cannot,  without  the  inspiration  of  God,  be  quickened 
to  acts  of  noble  self-denial  or  to  sentiments  of  genuine  mo- 
rality. 

It  is  unnecessary,  and  it  would  be  presumptuous,  to  recal 
your  attention  to  those  maxims  and  precedents  of  heroic  ex- 
cellence with  which  our  childhood  and  our  youth  are  chiefiy 
conversant;  those  lessons  from  which,  next  to  the  sacred 
oracles  tbemselfe'es,  we  form  our  tempers  and  enlarge  our  un- 
derstandings. But  I  may  be  allowed  to  observe,  what  is  not 
so  generally  noticed,  that,  like  ourselves,  the  sages  and  he- 
roes of  antiquity  were  accustomed  to  ascribe  whatever  of  cither 
good  or  great  or  wise  was  found  among  men,  lo  the  influence 
of  a  present  and  pervading  Deity. 

The  comedian  Epicharmus,  in  a  remarkable  fragment  pre- 
served by  Clemens  Alexandrinus,  describes  that  inspiration  of 
w-isdom  which  proceeds  from  God,  as  the  source  of  all  truth 
and  of  all  knowledge  necessary  to  man.  Jlenander  taught 
his  countrymen,  that  "  God  himself  is  tJie  understanding  of 
the  virtuous.  The  Theages  and  Epinomis  of  Plato  inculcate 
the  necessity  of  the  Divine  assistance  and  blessing  on  our 
endeavours,"in  terms  little  difl'erent  from  those  which  a  Chris- 
tian would  employ  in  speaking  of  grace.  Even  Cicero  ex- 
pressed his  own  o])inion,  or  the  opinion  of  his  countrymen, 
when  he  observed,  that  no  man  could  attain  to  excellence 
"  without  a  certain  divine  inspiration;"  and  the  expressions 
of  Seneca  on  this  subject  may  be  read  with  improvement  and 
delight,  by  the  most  rational  and  pious  amorig  Christians. 


HEBER'S  BAMPTON  LECTURES. 


289 


Th^lSfty  strains  of  Pindar  resounded  through  the  streets  of 
Elis'and  Corinth,  and  amid  the  promiscuous  and  crowded 
solemnities  of  republican  festival.  Menander  was  the  dar- 
ling of  the  .\thenian  stage:  and  the  hymn  which  placed  Har- 
modius  in  the  green  and  tlowery  island  of  the  blessed,  was 
chanted  by  the  potter  to  his  wheel,  and  enlivened  the  labours 
of  the  Pira^an  mariner. 

And,  as  tlioir  professed  incentives  to  virtue  were  thus  per- 
fectly consistent  with  the  expectation  of  spiritual  aid  ;  so 
were  there  many  of  their  habitual  astions  which  would  have 
been  utterly  preposterous,  if  they  hatf  not  originated  in  a  faith 
that  God  rewardeth  those  who  diligently  seek  him. 

If  the  continence  of  Scipio,  if  the  generosity  of  Aristides,  if 
the  noble  self-devotion  of  Socrates  to  what  he  regarded  as  the 
will  of  heaven,  be  deduced  (as  heaven  forbid  they  should  be 
deduced  !)  from  the  whispers  of  ambition  or  of  policy  ;  )'et  to 
what  excinng  cause,  if  not  to  a  dependance  on  Providence, 
can  we  ascribe  the  prayers  and  ssfcriftces  cf  antic|uity  1  In- 
stitutions these,  however  obscured  by  superstitious  pollution 
or  misdirected  to  false  and  foul  divinities,  which  intimate, 
nevertheless,  in  their  very  essence  and  necessary  elements,  a 
sense  of  guilt,  a  desire  of  expiation,  a  confidence  in  that  mercy 
whose  everlasting  g-ates  are  open  to  receive  the  penitent. 
And,  that  some  at  least  of  the  sacrifices  offered  by  the  hea- 
then, were  not  offered  to  evil  or  imaginary  beings ;  that  there 
were  not  wanting  those,  in  ancient  times,  who  regarded  the 
several  greater  divinities  of  Polytheism  as  only  different  titles 
of  the  One  Supreme  ;  that,  with  by  far  the  greater  portion  of 
the  multitude  themselves,  an  awfui  distinction  was  made  be- 
tween the  father  of  gods  and  men  and  the  herd  of  subaltern 
immortals  ;  that,  lastly,  the  name  itself  of  Jupiter  or  Jove  is, 
probably,  nothing  more  than  a  corrupt  pronunciation  of  Jeho- 
vah ;  as  Cudworth  and  others  have  long  since  elaborately 
shown,  I  need  do  no  more  than  call  to  your  recollection.  Nor 
can  it  be  doubled,  that  the  common  faith  in  a  God  and  the 
universal  institution  of  sacrifice  are  alike  the  relics  of  that 
primeval  and  patriarchial  religion,  whose  altars  have  smoked 
wherever  man  has  passed  to  raise  them ;  and  which  was  ap- 
pointed as  a  pledge  of  expected  salvation,  not  to  the  Jews 
alone,  but  to  every  descendant  of  Adam. 

Nor  can  wo  reasonably  doubt  that  symbols  of  expiation, 
originally  appointed  or  ap])roved  by  the  Holy  Ghost,  were 
available  and  helpful  even  to  those  who  obeyed  the  form  with- 
out understanding  its  inward  mystery  ;  who  sought  atone- 
ment for  sin  through  the  blood  of  unoffending  animals,  though 
thej'  were  ignorant  of  tlie  one  oreat  sacrifice  of  which  their 
hecatombs  were  types  and  shadows. 

The  Jews  themselves,  to  whose  holocausts  we  cannot  deny 
a  reflected  efficacy,  were,  notwithstanding,  if  we  rely  on  the 
accordant  authority  of  the  whole  New  Testament,  little  better 
acquainted  than  the  Gentile  world  with  those  destined  suffer- 
ings of  the  Messiah,  to  which  their  symbols  bore  a  prophetic 
reference.  Nor,  has  any  reason  as  yet  been  offered,  why  the 
ignorant  Gentile  might  not,  as  well  as  the  ignorant  Israelite, 
derive  imparted  blessedness  from  a  faithful  though  unskilful 
use  of  those  appointed  means  of  grace  which  were  ordained 
because  of  offences,  till  that  seed  should  come  on  whom  the 
offences  of  the  world  were  laid. 

Between  a  type,  indeed,  and  a  sacrament,  as  the  one  is  a 
shadow  of  good  things  to  come,  the  other  a  representation  or 
memorial  of  good  things  already  received,  the  distinction  is 
of  the  same  kind  as  that  which  exists  between  a  prophecy 
and  a  history,  of  which  the  latter  is  nothing  if  it  be  not  intol- 
lirrible  and  actually  understood;  but  the  former  may  be  faith- 
fully and  profitably  used  by  those  by  whom  its  secret  mean- 
ing is  either  utterly  unknown,  or,  at  best,  very  imperfectly 
comprehended.  Thus,  if  the  narrative  of  INIoses  were,  as 
some  have  fancied,  allegorical,  it  would,  doubtless,  be  to 
those  who  knew  not  its  hidden  meaning  a  vehicle  of  false- 
hood only;  but  the  Apocalypse  of  St.  John  may  be  studied 
with  instruction,  (and  a  blessing  is  promised  to  those  w-ho 
meditate  its  prophecies),  though  they  should  understand  erro- 
neously, or  not  attempt  to  understand  at  all  the  several  events 
which  are  therein  mysteriously  shadowed,  contented  with 
that  general  certainty  which  it  every  where  inculcates,  of  the 
providential  care  extended  over  good  men,  and  the  final  tri- 
umph of  Christ's  kingdom. 

In  a  sacrament,  accordingly,  we  acknowledge  with  grati- 
tude that  definite  act  of  mercy  whereby  the  Almighty  has 
already  freed  the  world  from  the  dreadful  consequences 
of  sin;  and  it  is  therefore  absolutely  necessary  to  our 
worthy  participation,  that  we  should  understand  the  evils 
from  which  we  are  preserved,  and  the  manner  in  which  we 
have  been  delivered.     But  in  a  typical  sacrifice  the  penitent 


"God  is  present  with  us,"  are  his  words  toLueilius;  "he 
is  with  thee,  he  is  within  thee.  This  I  say,  Lucilius;  a  holy 
Spirit  dwelleth  within  us,  of  our  good  and  evil  works  the 
observer  and  the  guardian.  As  we  treat  him,  so  he  treateth 
us  ;  and  no  man  is  good  except  God  be  with  him.  Can  any 
rise  above  external  fortunes,  unless  by  his  aid  %  He  it  is  from 
whom  every  good  man  receiveth  both  honourable  and  upright 
purposes." 

And  is  it  possible  that  sentiments  thus  pious  and  rational 
should  be  founded  in  superstition  or  delusion?  Can  carnal 
pride  or  earthly  wisdom  have  prompted  confessions  almost 
evangelical  ■?  Or  shall  we  esteem  it  a  sinful  feeling  which 
induced  these  noble  heathens  to  refer  to  the  giver  of  goodness 
those  sentiments  and  actions  from  which  Ohristians  might 
take  example  ?  Ojk  io-Ti-;  e-ix  i^td/  Wtur:  «^««gT»ix«7i !  It  can- 
not have  been  flesh  and  blood  which  revealed  to  them  their 
dependance  on  the  Deity  :  in  the  wreck  of  our  nature,  this 
fragment  of  God's  image  has  not  utterly  fallen  from  its  shrine; 
and,  as  the  beams  of  day  enliven  those  with  tfceir  warmth 
whose  dimmer  eyes  cannot  receive  their  perfect  glory,  so  must 
that  .Spirit,  wli"-  ■  '-n-n"  ihe  Gentiles  knew  not,  have  girded 
them  with  secr^  it-ss. 

It  is  urged,  h ,  .,  un  the  other  hand,  and  the  objection 

is  as  old  as  the  time  of  St.  Augustin,  that  the  seeming  vir- 
tues of  the  heathen  were  prompted  by  human  motives  only, 
and  not  from  any  desire  of  pleasing  God,  or  from  any  prac- 
tical application  of  that  degree  of  knowledge,  which  they  can- 
not be  denied  to  have  possessed  respecting  him.  But  it  is 
one  of  the  most  generally  acknowledged  positions  in  Chris 
tian  ethics,  that  the  searcher  of  our  hearts  does  not  form  his 
judgment  of  our  conduct  by  the  outward  action  onlj',  but  by 
the  fountain,  yet  more,  from  which  those  actions  flow.  And 
it  will  follow,  that  a  seeming  good  deed,  if  it  be  secretly 
prompted  by  self-interest,  or  passion,  or  pride,  so  far  from 
being  lovely  in  the  eyes  of  un  Omniscient  Being,  may,  in 
proportion  to  the  sordid  nature  of  its  motives,  and  not  without 
a  reference  to  the  hypocrisy  wherewith  those  motives  are  con- 
cealed, be  an  object  of  indignation  and  punishment.  And  this 
may  explain  the  apparently  harsh  assertion  of  Augustin,  that 
"  the  virtues  of  the  heathen  were  only  siris  ;"  and  may  fully 
justify  the  more  guarded  censure  conveyed  in  the  thirteenth 
article  of  our  church,  on  "works  done  before  the  grace  of 
Christ,  and  the  inspiration  of  his  Spirit." 

If,  therefore,  the  apparent  virtues  of  the  heathen  can  be 
traced  to  impure  or  earthly  sources,  it  is  obviously  worse  than 
idle  to  adduce  such  counterfeits  of  heroism  as  proofs  that  they 
had  the  help  of  God's  grace:  and  it  behoves  us  to  inquire  by 
every  light  in  our  power,  whether  the  principles  of  action  by 
which  these  ancient  worthies  were  swayed,  were  really  the 
same  with  those  which  only  can  proceed  from  celestial  inspi- 
ration ;  a  desire,  that  is,  to  serve  and  please  the  Almighty, 
and  a  practical  faith  that  he  is  the  "rewarder  of  such  as  dili- 
gently seek  him." 

But,  that  we  cannot,  without  a  gross  defect  in  that  charity 
which  "hopcth  all  things,"  deny  that  such  a  principle  was 
to  many,  at  least,  of  their  actions,  the  main  and  master  spring, 
is  apparent  from  the  assertions  of  their  poets  as  well  as  their 
philosophers,  who  had  no  interest  in  ascribing  to  their  coun- 
trymen and  contemporaries  a  motive  with  which  no  heart 
could  sympathize,  nor  could  have  themselves  conceived  or  de- 
scribed a  motive  of  which  their  own  hearts  were  altogether 
insensible. 

The  decrepid  husbandman,  who  could  not  himself  hope  to 
reap  the  harvest  of  his  toil,  was  content,  as  we  are  assured  by 
the  Roman  moralist,  to  "  labour  for  the  gods  who  never  die." 
To  Plato,  to  Pindar,  to  the  Grecian  comic  writers,  the  idea 
of  a  future  retribution  seems  to  have  been  ever  awfully  pres- 
ent. "There  is  a  God,"  saith  the  captive  in  Plautus,  by 
whom  our  words  and  actions  are  both  heard  and  seen  ;  it  shall 
go  well  with  him  who  deserveth  well,  and  he  who  doeth  evil 
shall  receive  the  like  again  :"  and  the  fear  of  those  gods  "  by 
whom  our  good  and  evil  deeds  are  remembered,"  was  the 
argument  which  ^'irgil  supposed  best  qualified  to  soften  the 
hearts  and  conciliate  the  hospitality  of  a  barbarous  and  sus- 
picious people. 

Nor  is  that  true,  which  has  been  sometimes  asserted  in  the 
ardour  of  speculative  controversy,  that  these  motives  of  ac- 
tion, or  the  future  life  on  which,  mainl}',  they  depend,  were 
involved  by  the  heathen  in  the  gloom  of  their  sacred  colleges; 
that  they  were  the  suspicions  of  their  priests  and  sages  only, 
or  revealed,  at  times,  and  sparingly,  to  the  perishing  multi 
tude,  through  the  "ivory  gate"  of  symbolical  ceremonies, 
and  under  the  sanction  of  mysterious  secrec}'. 
The  creed  of  poetry  is  always  the  creed  of  the  vulgar 
Vol.  II 2  U 


m- 


290 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


offender  looked  forward  with  liumble  hope  to  an  unrfegped 
but  implied  atonement;  and  the  means  whereby  this  atone- 
ment was  to  be  effected,  as  they  were  a  mystery  as  yet  in  the 
bosom  of  God,  so  a  knowledge  of  their  nature  was,  clearly, 
not  essential  to  those  objects  for  which  God  had  instituted 
the  prophetic  ceremony. 

And,  as  the  significant  nature  of  the  ceremony  itself  was, 
no  less  than  the  uniform  tradition  of  their  ancestors,  sufficient 
evidence  to  the  pious  Gentile,  that  the  Almighty  had,  for 
whatever  reasons,  appointed  this  mode  of  expiation  (or  sin,  so 
was  it  no  less  incumbent  on  the  Gentile  than  the  Jew  to  bring 
his  oblations  to  the  INIost  High  :  no  less  than  the  Jew,  the 
Gentile  might  expect,  through  such  atonement,  forgiveness 
from  their  common  Father  and  Judge  ;  and  the  piety  and  pen- 
itence of  the  great  family  of  mankind,  no  less  than  the 
piety  and  penitence  of  the  chosen  and  peculiar  nation,  must 
have  proceeded  from  the  Spirit  of  God. 

If,  then,  these  ordinary  aids  of  grace,  this  internal  influence 
by  which  alone  we  are  enabled  to  profit  from  external  means 
of  knowledge,  have  been  accorded  to  many  both  of  the  Jews 
and  Heathens,  it  is  plain  that,  in  this  sense  at  least  of  the 
expression,  the  fellowship  of  the  Holy  Ghost  is  no  distinctive 
badge  or  peculiar  privilege  of  Christians,  and  it  is  still  more 
evident  that  such  a  benefit  could  not  have  been  consistently 
held  forth  by  the  Messiah  as  a  compensation  to  his  Apostles 
for  his  own  departure  from  the  world.  For,  as  I  have  shown 
in  a  former  Lecture,  the  continuance  of  one  blessing  is  no 
compensation  for  the  loss  of  another ;  and,  doubtless,  if  to 
any  of  Jewish  or  Heathen  race  such  salutary  influence  had  been 
accorded,  the  grace  of  Gcd,  which  sanctifieth  to  salvation, 
had  not  been  denied  to  those  who  were  called  by  Christ ; 
who  had  through  faith  obeyed  the  call,  and  who,  in  the  course 
of  the  conversation  here  recorded,  had  been  styled  by  God 
himself,  his  friends. 

I  conclude,  then,  that  the  prophecy  of  Christ,  which  has 
furnished  a  text  for  these  discourses,  is  not  fulfilled  by  the 
dispensation  (however  such  bounty  may  be  purchased  for  us 
by  his  merits  only)  of  the  ordinary  and  sanctifying  graces  of 
the  Holy  Ghost.     It  is,  indeed,  most  true,  (and  for  a  reason 
which  will  appear  in  the  sequel),  that  this  internal  and  gra- 
cious influence,  as  enjoyed  by  the  Christian  church,  is  more 
mightily  blessed  to  the  salvation    of  souls  than  it  ever  was 
in  the  days  of  old  and  while  the  veil  was  on  the  face  of  na- 
ture.    And  it  is  also  true  tliat  the  event  which  has  produced 
this  important  difference  in  its  ordinary  efficacy  is  no  other 
than  that  very  dispensation  of  God  the  Holy  Ghost  which 
Christ  has  described,  in  his  prophecy,  as  the  advent  of  the  Com- 
forter.    But  I  need  not  caution  my  present  hearers  aganst  con- 
founding the  eflect  produced  with  the  circumstance  which  has 
produced  it, — and  wherein  this  last  named  and  peculiar  bless- 
ing consists,  is  a  question  which  will  yet  remain  for  discuss- 
ion in  a  future  lecture.     The  remainder  of  my  present  dis- 
course must  be  chiefly  employed  in  obviating  two  material 
objections,   which   may,    not   impossibly,   occur   to   several 
among  my  auditors  against  the  system  which  supposes  God's 
sanctifying  grace  to  have  extended  to  the  Jews  and  Heathens. 
That  system,  I  am  aware,  may  be  accused  of  detracting 
from  the  efficacy  of  sacramental  ordinances,  and  even  from 
the  necessity  of  faith  in  the  peculiar  doctrines  of  Christianity. 
And  as  either  one  or  the  other  of  these  imputations  would 
be  sufficient,  if  well  founded,  to  overturn  the  most  plausible 
hypothesis,  I  am  most  anxious  to  show,  before  we  proceed 
any  farther  in  our  inquiry,  that  neither  the  one  nor  the  other 
are  consequences  with  which  my  opinion  is  justly  charge- 
able; that  this  opinion  is  perfectly  consistent  with  the  im- 
■  portance  of  Christianity  itself,  and  of  the  symbols  whereby 
its  mysterious  benefits  are  represented  ;  and  that  the  value 
of  both  will  be  yet  more  firmly  established,  when  disencum- 
bered from  those  extraneous  circumstances  with  which  the 
indiscreet  veneration  of  some  learned  men  has  adorned  them. 
It  will,  in  the  first  place,  be  readily  acknowledged  by  the 
advocate  of  universal  grace,  that  with  us,  to  whom  the  know- 
ledge of  the  gospel  is  given,  and  who  are  called,  by  that 
merciful  communication,  to  enrol  ourselves  in  the  army  of 
Christ's  faithful   followers  on  earth,  the  sacraments  which 
Christ  has  ordained  are  not  only  the  solemn  and  indispensa- 
ble forms  of  expressing  our  allegiance  and  fidelity,  but  the 
necessary  and  appointed  means  whereby  we  are  to  seek  at 
God's  hands  for  grace  and  hope  and  happiness.     In  baptism, 
which  is  the  outward  sign  or  image  of  that  death  unto  sin 
and  new  birth  unto  righteousness,  which  we,  through  Christ, 
receive,  we  declare  our  faith  in  him,  and  our  desire  to  be  ad- 
mitted, through  his  merits,  to  the  privileges  which  his  death 
has  purchased  for  mankind.     In  the  eucharist,  of  which  the 


outward  form  is  a  symbol  or  representation  of  Christ's  death, 
we  in  like  manner  express  our  perseverance  in  our  profession 
of  faith  once  made;  we  implore  the  pardon  of  the  Most  High 
for  our  subsequent  transgressions,  and  his  grace  to  assist  ns 
for  the  time  to  come.  But,  though  tlie  forms  enjoined  be  ex- 
pressive of  those  great  events  on  which  we  found  our  hopes 
of  heaven,  yet  is  it  to  these  events  themselves,  and  not  to 
their  images  and  material  representations,  that  we  look  for 
peace  and  pardon  :  nor  is  our  use  of  the  appointed  form  ex- 
pressive of  any  thing  else  than  our  hearty  desire  and  humble 
hope  of  grace  and  forgiveness. 

The  spirit  and  internal  principle  of  sacrifice  are  the  same 
with  those  of  prayer;  as  the  last  of  these  is  often  styled  a 
vocal  iiffcring,  so  may  the  former  be  without  impropriety  de- 
fined as  a  silent  cntrea/y ;  and  sacraments,  which  are  an  ob- 
lation of  ourselves  to  God's  service,  and  a  token  of  our 
desire  that  he  would  grant  us  his  love  and  favour,  no  other- 
wise differ  from  the  expression  of  the  same  sentiments  in 
prayer,  tlian  as  the  language  of  ceremony  and  symbol  differs 
from  the  language  of  the  tongue.  But,  as  it  is  b)'  convention 
only  that  either  our  actions  or  our  words  are  significant,  it 
was,  a  priuri,  as  natural  that  our  heavenly  Benefactor  should 
appoint  the  one  as  the  other  to  be  expressive,  in  his  presence, 
of  our  wants  and  our  aflections.  And  as  every  benefactor  has 
an  undoubted  right  to  determine  what  services  he  will  re- 
qnire,  and  what  acknowledgment  he  will  receive;  it  follows, 
that  we  are  to  approach  the  mercy  seat  of  God  in  whatever 
manner  is  most  pleasing  to  him,  and  that  we  must  thank  him 
for  past  favours,  and  entreat  his  future  protection  in  those 
words  or  by  those  ceremonies  which  he  hath  himself  thought 
fit  to  institute. 

To  this  we  are  bound  under  the  implied  and  most  righteous 
penalty  of  having  our  requests  rejected,  if,  despising  the  or- 
dinance of  God,  we  offer  them  in  any  other  than  the  com- 
manded form ;  and  to  this  we  are  moved  by  the  implied 
assurance  of  Christ,  that,  asking  in  the  manner  which  he 
himself  has  chosen,  our  prayer  shall  not  return  without  its 
answer. 

It  is  therefore  that,  the  ceremony  of  baptism  performed, 
we  proclaim  with  so  much  holy  confidence  that  our  prayers 
are  already  heard,  and  the  neophyte  even  now  adopted.  It  is 
for  this  reason  that,  after  the  celebration  of  the  eucharist,  we 
thank  the  Almighty  for  assuring  the  devout  participant  in 
those  holy  mysteries,  that  he  is  a  member  incorporate  into 
the  mystical  body  of  his  Lord:  and  it  is  in  this  well-founded 
hope  fhat  we  style  the  Christian  sacraments,  in  our  public 
formularies  of  instruction,  the  pledges  of  our  Master's  love. 

Not  that  we  conceive  any  necessary  or  mysterious  connex- 
ion between  the  forms  themselves  and  the  grace  of  which 
they  are  the  outward  image;  far  less  that  any  overt  and  vol- 
untary action  of  our  own  can  possibly  be  a  proof  or  token  of 
the  good-will  of  another  person  towards  us:  but  because  tlie 
words  of  Christ  enjoining  us  to  seek  such  blessings  by  such 
ceremonies  are  in  truth  a  most  ample  pledge  that  our  service 
tlms  rendered  is  acceptable  to  God,  and  that  we  are  conse- 
quently entitled  to  look  forward  in  humble  confidence  to  the 
blessing  which  we  seek  at  his  hands.  The  sacraments,  ac- 
cordingljf,  are  styled  the  means  whereby  we  receive  grace; 
not  as  if  they  were  vehicles  through  which  the  Spirit  of  grace 
thinks  fit  exclusively  to  convey  his  gifts  to  the  hearts  of  men, 
but  because  they  are  the  appointed  medium  of  our  devoytand 
acceptable  aspirations  to  his  throne.  They  are  not  the  means 
whereby  God  gives  us  grace,  but  they  are  the  means  whereby 
we  ask  and  obtain  grace  from  God  :  and  it  is  evident  that  we 
cannot,  if  either  the  one  or  the  other  be  wilfully  neglected, 
expect  from  our  Maker  cither  pardon  of  our  sins,  or  that  spir- 
itual assistance  whereby  only  we  are  enabled  to  serve  and 
please  him. 

Nor  can  any  consideration  more  strongly  evince  the  dan- 
gerous error  or  still  more  perilous  obstinacy  of  those  who, 
from  mistaken  principle  refuse,  or  from  fondness  for  the 
world  neglect,  observances  in  themselves  so  rational,  and 
commanded  by  such  awful  authority. 

From  the  correspondence  thus  explained  between  sacra- 
mental and  devotional  ordinances,  it  is  evident  that  the  prac- 
tice of  infant  baptism  may  be  defended  on  a  different  and, 
perhaps,  a  more  satisfactory  ground  than  the  usual  arguments 
derived  from  precedent  and  human  authority.  For  whether 
the  infant  be  a  legitimate  object  of  covenant  or  no,  if  is  cer- 
tain that  he  is  a  proper  subject  of  prayer  and  intercession; 
and  the  devoting  of  a  child  to  the  service  of  his  Maker,  and 
the  supplication  that  his  heavenly  King  would  dispose  him 
in  due  time  to  ratify  those  engagements,  when,  above  all,  our 
own  endeavours  may  by  education  mainly  contribute  to  the 


HEBER'S  BAMPTON  LECTURES. 


291 


end  proposed,  is  a  proceeding,  surely,  no  less  reasoDable, 
than  il  is  pious  and  atVecting  and  charitable. 

But  it  will  also  follow  from  the  above  definition  of  a  sacra- 
ment, that  the  necessity  either  of  baptism  or  the  eucharist 
can  only  rest  with  these  to  v.  horn  their  obligation  is  known, 
and  their  observance  possible ;  and  that  we  cannot,  on  any 
principle  of  reason  or  revelation,  exclude  any  part  of  mankind 
from  those  benefits  which  the  blood  of  Christ  has  bought  for 
all,  on  the  plea  of  inevitable  or  ignorant  noncompliance  with 
the  positive  institutions  of  Christianity.  Were  it  otherwise, 
the  parallel  would  altogether  fail  between  the  rites  of  circum- 
cision and  baptism,  the  passover  and  the  eucharist,  inasmuch 
as  the  Jew  was  pardoned,  who,  during  his  abode  in  the  wil- 
derness, or,  afterwards,  from  bodily  infirmity,  omitted  the 
former  rite.  Nor  was  the  Holj'  Ghost  at  any  time  bestowed 
in  more  ample  measure  than  on  those  prophets  of  Israel's 
captivity,  who  were,  by  their  situation,  elTectually  excluded 
from  all  participation  in  the  appointed  oflVrings  for  sin. 

And,  though  our  Saviour  insists,  in  his  conference  with 
Nicodemus,  on  baptismal  no  less  than  S])iritual  regeneration 
as  equally  necessary  to  the  character  of  a  perfect  Christian, 
yet  does  the  whole  tenour  of  his  argument  imply,  that  these 
were  not  the  same  but  different  things  ;  which,  though  neither 
of  them  was,  without  the  other,  sufficient  to  make  ua  mem- 
bers of  his  church,  might  exist,  nevertheless,  distinctly  and 
with  different  individuals.  And,  in  point  of  fact,  and  if  we 
take  as  our  example  the  particular  case  of  Nicodemus,  so  far 
from  internal  grace  being  the  effect  of  baptism  only,  this 
order  appears  to  have  been  absolutely  reversed,  inasmuch  as 
a  considerable  spiritual  change  had  already  taken  place  in 
the  Jewish  Rabbi,  who  acknowledged  Christ  to  be  a  teacher 
come  from  God,  although  his  remaining  prejudices  or  timid- 
ity as  yet  forbade  the  public  profession  of  this  faith  by 
baptism. 

On  the  whole,  if  we  admit  that,  to  those  whom  God  hath 
commanded  thus  to  approach  him,  the  sacramental  ordinances 
are  indispensable  means  of  grace;  it  will  from  thence  by  no 
means  follow,  that  no  other  inlel  of  scrij)tural  hope  remains 
for  those  to  whom  such  opportunities  are  denied:  nor  if,  on 
the  other  hand,  we  maintain,  that  his  mercy  may  dispense  to 
others,  where  he  will,  and  freely,  those  powerful  aids  for 
which  himself  hath  taught  us  to  pray,  can  we  therefore  hope 
that  our  disobedience  will  meet  with  the  same  indulgence  as 
their  misfortune.  The  arm  of  God  is  not  so  short  or  feeble 
as  that  his  Spirit  should  be  confined  to  those  who  after  a  par- 
ticular form  desire  it;  but  neither  is  the  word  of  God  so 
changeable  as  that  he  can  be  expected  to  communicate  or  to 
continue  his  sanctifying  grace  to  the  church  on  any  other 
terms  than  those  on  which  he  first  engaged  to  grant  it. 

The  importance,  then,  of  the  initiative  and  commemorative 
ceremonies  of  our  religion,  as  necessary  means  of  asking  and 
obtaining  God's  help  and  favour,  will  remain  more  firmly 
fixed  than  ever;  though  they  w'ill  be  deprived,  perhaps,  of 
that  unreasonable  dignity  which  assigns  to  them  not  only  a 
relative  value  as  expressions  of  our  faith  and  hope,  but  a 
positive  efficacy  which  no  act  of  our  own,  except  with  this 
limitation,  can  claim.  Nor  is  the  awful  danger  which  be- 
longs to  a  perverse  rejection  of  revealed  religion,  impaired  or 
slighted  by  the  defender  of  that  hypothesis  which  admits  the 
uninstructed  heathen  to  a  share  in  God's  sanctifying  grace: 
nor  are  the  blessings  undervalued  which  follow  from  a  faith- 
ful profession  of  that  doctrine  which  maketli  wise  to  eternal 
glory. 

Betweei^  Inevitable  ignorance  and  a  wilful  refusal  of  offered 
knowledge,  the  difference  is  great  indeed.  And,  thouo-h  the 
help  of  the  Most  High  has  sometimes  girded  those  who 
have  been  constrained,  in  the  darkness  of  heathenism,  to  seek 
after  a  God  whom  they  knew  not,  what  hope  is  left  for  him 
who  hath  done  despite  to  the  Spirit  of  grace,  and  hath  openly 
rejected  that  Prince  and  Saviour  by  whom  and  for  whose 
sake  the  power  is  given  to  repent,  and  repentance  rendered 
available  ? 

But  error  of  all  kinds,  even  conscientious  or  invincible 
error,  can  never  be  accounted  any  other  than  a  very  great  and 
grievous  misfortune.  From  such,  though  grace  be  not  w'ith- 
held,  yet  (as  the  strength  and  character  of  the  motives  and 
principles  which  that  grace  recalls  to  our  mind  must  depend 
on  our  previous  knowledge)  it  will  follow,  that  the  support 
of  the  Holy  Ghost  as  promised  to  Christians  must  be  of 
greater  and  more  blessed  efficacy  than  any  which  the  heathen 
can  look  for. 

Nor,  though  the  state  of  these  last  be  freed,  on  this  hypo- 
thesis, from  thar  hopeless  abandonment  to  which  some  mis- 
judging  Christians  have  consigned  them,  is  the  Christian 


l^^thout  sufficient  grounds  of  peculiar  exultation  and  gra- 
tirade;  nor  shall  we  lose  those  motives  which  by  every  bond 
of  love  and  pity  would  induce  us  to  labour  in  the  conversion 
of  our  heathen  brethren. 

A\hile  we  contend  that  the  heathen  have  received  such  a 
measure  of  knowledge  and  of  grace,  as,  when  properly  im- 
proved, may  elevate  some  of  them,  through  the  merits  of 
Christ,  to  a  seat  even  in  the  Christian  paradise  ;  while  we 
delight  to  reckon  among  our  future  associates  in  glory  the 
wise  and  virtuous  of  every  age  and  every  country,  it  will 
not,  therefore,  follow,  that  more  of  the  benighted  multitude 
might  not  have  been  wise  and  virtuous,  had  they  enjoyed  the 
same  advantages  with  ourselves.  It  will  not  follow  that  those 
who  sinned  against  the  degree  of  light  allowed  them  might 
not  have  repented  in  sackcloth  and  ashes,  had  they  known 
those  important  truths  of  whose  value  we  are  so  negligent,  or 
that  those,  be  they  many  or  few,  who  have  been  snatdied  as 
brands  from  the  burning,  might  not,  with  greater  means  of 
improvement,  have  attained  to  greater  blessedness. 

An  equality  of  gifts  or  graces  is  nowhere  to  be  found  in  the 
analogy  of  nature  or  religion:  nor  is  it  any  imputation  on  the 
justice  or  mercy  of  God,  that,  where  enough  is  given  to  all, 
he  offers  more  to  some  than  to  others.  But  it  is  the  duty  of 
the  favoured  part  to  remedy  this  seeming  partiality,  and  to 
remember,  that  the  more  advantages  have  fallen  to  their 
sharej  the  more  clearly  are  they  marked  out  by  the  common 
parent  as  instruments  of  dispersion  and  distribution.  The 
rich  must  feed  the  hungry,  the  seeing  must  conduct  the  blind  ; 
the  Christian  must  join  his  efforts  with  the  church  towards 
the  illumination  of  heathen  darkness. 

And,  while  we  indulge  our  gratitude  for  that  unspeakable 
gift  of  the  Gospel  whereby  we  are  admitted  to  the  inmost 
sanctuary  of  mercy,  and  rendered  spectators  of  those  secret 
springs  of  grace,  from  whose  diffusive  dews  and  larger  chan- 
nels the  universal  earth  derives  fertility ;  let  us  remember, 
that  not  as  spectators  only,  should  we  approach  the  well-head 
of  salvation ;  and  that,  unless  we  drink  more  deeply  of  its 
purer  stream,  the  virtues  of  the  heathen  will  hereafter  be 
reckoned  to  our  shame,  when  they  shall  come  from  the  east 
and  from  the  west  to  sit  down  in  the  kingdom  of  God,  and 
when  the  men  of  Nineveh  and  the  queen  of  the  south  shall 
rise  up  against  us  in  judgment ! 

I  have  now  examined  the  most  important,  indeed  the  only 
serious  objection  which  occurs  to  me  as  likely  to  be  urged 
against  the  doctrine  of  my  present  lecture  ;  and  have  shown, 
I  trust,  satisfactorily,  both  from  profane  and  sacred  testimony, 
that  both  Jews  and  Pagans  may  have  been  partakers  like  our- 
selves in  the  graces  of  the  Holy  Ghost,  and  inheritors  with  us, 
through  Jesus  Christ,  of  everlasting  life  and  glory. 

But  from  the  facts  which  I  have  established,  we  are  author- 
ized to  deduce  some  important  though  incidental  corollaries. 

1st.  While  by  expressly  attributing  to  the  grace  of  God 
every  single  instance  of  good,  whether  done  or  thought,  or 
spoken,  we  cut  up  by  the  roots  all  human  pride,  and  all  ten- 
dency to  Pelagian  error,  it  is  apparent  that  we  exhibit  in  a  yet 
clearer  point  of  view  the  improbability  of  that  opposite  sys- 
tem, which  supposes  that  sanctifying  grace  is,  wherever  be- 
stowed, irresistibly  exerted  ;  and  which,  by  referring  our  des- 
tiny to  a  previous  infallible  decree,  would  leave  to  the  human 
will  but  an  empty  name  of  freedom.  For  since  no  single  in- 
slance  can  be  found  in  Scripture  where  the  title  of  Elect  is 
assigned  to  any  other  than  Christians,  and  since  it  is  assigned 
in  the  Epistles  of  St.  Paul  to  communities  of  Christians  gene- 
rally and  without  exception;  it  must  follow  that  it  denotes 
some  privilege  in  which  all  Christians  and  Christians  only 
participate.  But  if  there  be  certain  heathens  from  whom 
sanctification  to  eternal  life  is  not  withheld,  and  if  there  be 
certain  Christians  (as  is  too  lamentably  and  famiiiarly  known) 
who,  by  their  own  ingratitude,  have  lost  all  claim  to  this  in- 
estimable privilege,  it  must  follow  that  the  election  spoken  of 
by  St.  Paul  has  reference  to  some  other  blessing  than  that  with 
which  the  followers  of  Augustin  are  accustomed  to  identify  it. 

Nor  can  any  doubt  remain,  that  the  only  privileges  to  which 
this  election  applies  are  a  knowledge  in  this  world  of  God's 
more  perfect  will,  and  a  share  in  the  comforts  of  the  gospel  ; 
a  preference,  no  doubt,  sufficiently  great  to  call  forth  "our  un- 
bounded gratitude,  but  which  does  not  extend  so  far  as  to 
give  us  the  exclusive  possession  of  our  heavenly  Father's  love 
and  mercy. 

But,  the  distinction  once  removed  which  confines  to  Chris- 
tians only  the  sanctifying  grace  of  God,  no  reason  can  be 
given  why  such  grace  should  be  restricted  to  any  particular 
persons,  either  among  the  Heathens,  Christians,  or  Jews;  or 
why  the  merciful  patience  of  God  which  leads  us  to  repent: 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


292 

ance,  should  not,  together  with  his  ready  help  by  which  only 
repentance  is  possible,  be  extended  to  every  capable  subject. 
That  equal  grace  is  given  to  all,  both  religion  and  experience 
alike  deny  ;  but  that  any  are  altogether  excluded  from  its  in- 
fluence, the  observations  which  have  been  already  made  will, 
apparently,  forbid  us  to  maintain.  I  can  duly  appreciate,  and 
I  can  sincerely  honour  that  reverence  for  the  power  and  purity 
of  God's  Spirit,  which  has  induced  so  many  wise  and  holy 
men  to  limit  its  presence  to  those  only  who  are  finally  tri- 
umphant over  sin :  but  do  we  indeed  diminish  the  value  of 
his  o-ift  or  tarnish  the  brightness  of  his  mercy,  when  we  sup- 
pose^it,  like  the  sun  of  our  mental  system,' to  dart  its  perva- 
ding blessedness  from  the  midst  of  heaven  on  all  who  do  not 
■wilfully  shut  their  eyes  against  the  day  1  Or  shall  we,  who 
have  tlic  privilege  of  approaching  nearer  to  its  beams,  be  in- 
different to  our  brightest  prospect,  because  the  ends  of  the 
earth  are  not  immersed  in  total  darkness ;  and  because  the 
witness  of  the  Most  High  has  not  entirely  forsaken  those 
tribes  on  whom  the  purer  day-spring  has  not  dawned  1 

From  this  universality,  however,  of  grace,  a  second  corol- 
lary arises;  that  grace,  namely,  may,  so  far  as  our  personal 
sanctification  is  concerned,  be  resisted  and  rendered  vain. 
Were  it  otherwise,  indeed,  there  could  be  no  condemnation 
at  all,  since  no  man  is  punished  but  for  neglect  of  grace. 
But,  if  grace  may  be  at  first  withstood,  no  reason  can  be 
given  why  it  should  ever,  in  this  life,  become  irresistible;  or 
why  we  should  not,  till  death,  retain  the  fatal  power  of  fall- 
ing from  our  highest  proficiency.  It  follows  that  the  doctrine 
of  assurance,  as  that  doctrine,  at  least,  is  commonly  express- 
ed, is  an  opinion  groundless  and  illusory  ;  that  though  on  our 
present  state  of  acceptance  with  God  our  conscience  is  reason- 
ably said  to  bear  us  witness,  yet  is  it  impossible,  without  the 
gift  of  prophecy  or  the  crime  of  presumption,  to  anticipate  our 
final  perseverance  in  godliness;  with  that  degree  of  confidence 
which  many  pious  men  profess  to  feel. 

It  may  be  suspected  indeed,  (and  well  it  is  for  them  that 
such  a  case  is  possible,)  that  those  excellent  persons  have  not, 
in  reality,  that  unbounded  assurance  of  final  salvation  to 
which  they,  however  sincerely,  lay  claim;  and  that  they 
confound  those  feelings  which  arise  from  a  high  degree  of 
probability,  with  that  stronger  effect  which  is  produced  in  the 
soul  by  the  contemplation  of  what  is  absolutely  certain. 

The  circumstances  are  of  very  rare  occurrence,  in  which 
this  certainty  is  possible  to  man  ;  and  the  highest  degree  of 
faith  will,  perhaps,  fall  vastly  short  of  it.  But,  though  the 
sense  of  probability  is  in  its  nature  a  conditional  expecta- 
tion, w-e  may,  doubtless,  by  inferring  the  future  from  the  past, 
exhilarate  or  depress  the  soul  to  a  degree  of  joy  or  misery 
very  hardly  to  be  distinguished  in  definition  from  that  cer- 
tainty which  belongs,  it  may  be  thought,  to  present  object; 
only. 

In  practice,  however,  and  in  their  effects  on  the  subsequent 
conduct,  such  feelings  are  easily  distinguishable.  \^  hat  w-e 
indeed  regard  as  certain  wo  are  never  found  to  strive  against 
or  to  forward  :  but  that  confidence  of  which  we  only  persuade 
ourselves  is  by  far  too  weak  to  hold  out  against  the  excite- 
ments of  hope  or  terror.  The  merest  fatalist,  if  life  be  dear 
to  him,  will  take  care,  notwithstanding  his  professed  opin- 
ions, to  guard  his  head  in  battle  :  the  sturdiest  predestina- 
rian,  when  temptations  arise,  is  truly  and  piously  disquieted. 
And,  though  the  recollection  of  frequent  victories  over  sin 
may,  doubtless,  yield  a  well-grounded  hope  that  we  shall  not 
be  hereafter  defeated ;  though  the  probability  that  we  shall 
be  supported  to-morrow  as  we  were  yesterday  and  the  day 
before,  may  kindle  in  the  good  man  a  holy  joy  and  gratitude, 
which,  for  the  moment,  casts  out  fear;  yet  that  this  trouble- 
some but  necessary  guest  must,  nevertheless,  ere  long  return 
is  apparent  from  the  circumstance,  that  the  good  man  does  not 
fail  to  continue  those  precautions  which  the  apprehension  of 
danger  alone  can  dictate. 

There  is  an  awful  difference  between  the  absence  of  doubt 
and  the  sensation  of  perfect  confidence.  That  we  shall  sleep 
to-night  as  safely  as  we  slept  the  night  before,  there  is  none 
of  us,  perhaps,  who  questions ;  and,  if  we  think  on  the  sub- 
ject at  all,  we  rejoice  in  our  sense  of  that  merciful  protection, 
without  which  the  watchman  waketh  but  in  vain.  Yet  do 
we  none  of  us  neglect  to  seoire  our  doors  against  assault, 
which,  if  assault  were  impossible,  would,  surely,  be  a  futile 
trouble.  The  mariner  in  sight  of  his  desired  haven  is  as  glad 
as  il  liis  voyage  were  already  concluded :  and  the  saint  be- 
side his  funeral  pile  may  exult  with  reason  that  a  crown  is 
laid  up  for  him  for  evermore.  But  neither  the  one  nor  the 
other  is  so  sure  of  his  safety,  as  to  confound  what  is  only  ex- 
tremely probable'with  what  is  absolutely  decreed  by  heaven. 


The  seaman,  till  the  anchor  is  cast,  forsakes  not  the  care  of 
Ids  helm ;  the  martyr,  whose  pardon  was  laid  before  him  on 
the  conditions  of  his  apostasy,  exhorted  his  persecutors,  as 
they  loved  his  soul,  to  remove  from  him  that  temptation. 
With  both,  the  intensity  of  hope  is  allayed  with  an  attendant 
anxiety,  lest  by  any  fault  of  theirs  they  should  perish  in  the 
very  moment  w-hen  all  their  toils  were  about  to  terminate. 

To  a  wicked  man  the  doctrine  of  predestination  is  too  often 
the  cause  of  a  dangerous  and  deadly  downfall,  because  he  is 
glad  to  use  it  as  an  excuse  for  neglecting  those  interests  which 
he  does  not  really  regard.  To  a  good  man,  if  his  reason  be 
sound,  it  can,  probably,  do  little  harm ;  and  ma\',  sometimes, 
beyond  a  doubt,  administer  comfort  under  temptation,  and 
inspire  him  with  a  gratitude  which  is  not  less  warm  or  pure 
because  the  hope  on  which  it  rests  is  founded  on  an  erroneous 
opinion. 

But,  neither  the  good  man  nor  the  sinner  can  be  really  as- 
serted to  believe  in  predestination,  inasmuch  as  without  hope 
enjoyment  would  be  impossible,  and  without  danger  caution 
superfluous.  The  great  detector  of  sophistry,  our  natural 
apprehension,  exclaims  aloud  against  every  attempt  at  self- 
deceit;  and,  if  we  value  our  lives  or  our  souls,  w'e  dare  not 
commit  either  the  one  or  the  other  to  the  hazard  of  those 
principles  which  we  stimulate  our  fancy  to  conceive,  and 
torture  our  understanding  to  maintain. 


LECTURE  A'll. 

I  tell  you  tlie  tnith  ;  it  is  expedient  for  you  that  1  go  away:  for  if  I 
go  not  away,  the  Comforter  will  not  come  unto  you ;  but  if  1  de- 
part, I  will  send  him  unto  you. — John  xvi-  '• 

That  thtr  name  of  Comforter  here  given  to  the  Holy  Ghost 
was  given  in  anticipation  of  some  peculiar  and  permanent 
favour  to  be  conferred  by  him  on  the  orphan  church  of  Christ, 
it  has  been  already  ray  endeavour  to  prove.  And  I  have  shown, 
in  like  manner,  that  these  essential  characteristics  of  perma- 
nence and  peculiarity  will  evince  that  benefit,  whatever  it  may 
be,  to  be  something  distinct  both  from  the  gifts  of  miracle  and 
prophecy,  which  were  accorded  to  a  single  generation  only 
of  Christians;  and  from  those  more  common  aids  and  larger 
influences,  whence  not  the  Christian  virtues  only,  but  every 
act  and  word  and  thought  have  issued,  which  hath  thrown  a 
transitory  gleam  of  light  and  beauty  over  that  gloomy  pros- 
pect which  is  offered  to  the  mental  view  by  the  natural  state 
of  mankind. 

For,  as  the  comfort  of  God's  Spirit  was  promised  to  Chris- 
tians only,  and  as  it  was  promised  to  the  universal  Church 
of  Christ  in  every  age  of  its  duration,  it  is  plain  that  such 
specific  benefit  could  not  consist  in  a  bounty,  however  great, 
in  which  Christians  partake  with  some  of  those  to  whom  the 
name  of  Christ  is  unknown;  and  that  we  can  with  yet  less 
ground  of  probability  identify  it  with  a  privilege  which  was 
confined  to  the  Apostles  and  their  immediate  successors. 

We  have  still,  then,  to  inquire  after  an  instance  of  celes- 
tial bounty  more  accurately  corresponding  with  the  terms  of 
Christ's  prediction.  And  such  an  instance  it  is  not  impossi- 
ble to  find,  to  which  external  aids  and  internal  graces  are 
attendant  only  and  incidental  appendages;  a  bounty  in  the 
hopes  and  promises  of  which,  the  Christian  alone,  and  Chris- 
tians of  ever)'  age  and  nation  are  partakers  and  proprietors, 
and  of  which  the  privileges,  as  they  were  purchased  by  the 
sinless  obedience  and  meritorious  sufferings  of  the  second 
Person  in  the  Deity,  so  were  they  conferred  on  us  in  plenary 
enjoyment,  by  the  advent  and  inspiration  of  the  Third  in  that 
mysterious  essence. 

That  the  Son  of  God  is  the  object,  yet  more  than  the  teacher 
of  the  Christian  faith;  that  he  did  not  "bear  testimony  of 
himself,"'  and  that  he  left  to  the  subsequent  doctrine  and  illu- 
mination of  the  Paraclete  to  record  and  explain  those  awful 
dispensations  whereby  he  triumphed  over  death  and  hell,  is 
evident  from  that  ignorance  which,  till  the  advent  of  the  Holy 
Ghost,  the  chosen  followers  of  our  Lord  displayed  as  to  the 
nature  of  their  Master's  kingdom.  An  ignorance  it  was  in- 
deed, so  total,  and  to  us  so  extraordinary,  that  the  greater 
number  of  commentators  have  been  rashly  induced  to  ascribe 
it  to  a  degree  of  national  prejudice  or  natural  incapacity  in 
those  whom  Christ  selected  to  instruct  the  world,  which,  as 
it  would  be  beyond  all  bounds  of  probability,  so  is  it  alto- 
■rether  needless  to  enhance  the  wonder  of  the  fact,  that  the 


HEBER'S  BAMPTON  LECTURES. 


203 


world  has  been,  by  their  means,  converted.  Enough  there 
is  of  miracle  to  confound  the  wisdom  of  the  wise,  and  to 
establish  the  celestial  origin  of  our  religion,  in  the  event 
which  all  parties  allow,  that  Ihe  fabric  of  Paganism  was 
overturned  by  a  few  Galilean  peasants,  without  the  further 
supposition,  that  these  instruments  of  God's  will  were  less 
favoured  in  intellect  or  acuteness  than  others  of  their  rank 
and  nation.  Nor  must  we  forget  that,  by  how  much  the 
more  we  underrate  the  extent  of  their  intelligence,  by  so 
much  do  we  decrease  the  weight,  which,  even  in  facts  most 
obvious  to  their  eyes  and  ears,  we  can  reasonably  assign  to 
their  testimony. 

In  truth,  however,  I  can  discover  no  single  passage  in 
Scripture  from  which  we  may  infer  that  they  had  either 
stronger  prejudices  against  the  truth,  or  less  of  natural  ca- 
pacity, or  greater  ignorance  of  the  sacred  writings  of  the 
ancient  covenant,  than  even  the  wisest  members  of  the  San- 
hedrim. At  all  events,  the  plicnonirnon  to  which  I  have  al- 
luded may  be  more  reverently  and  as  satisfactorily  accounted 
for  by  the  recollection  of  that  fact  which  is  implied  in  so 
many  passages  of  the  Gospel ;  that  the  time,  namely,  was  not 
come  at  which  the  veil  of  mystery  should  be  withdrawn  from 
the  designs  of  God,  and  that  the  work  of  our  redemption  was 
to  be  complete  in  all  its  parts,  before  it  was  exposfed  to  the 
public  eye  and  to  the  curiosity  and  devotion  of  the  universe. 
It  is  thus  that  the  atonement  for  sin  by  the  meritorious 
sacrifice  of  the  Messiah,  which  is  expressed,  in  the  Epistles 
of  St.  Paul  and  St.  John,  with  a  precision  and  a  copiousness 
answerable  to  its  vast  importance,  is  conveyed,  in  the  lan- 
guage of  our  Saviour  while  on  earth,  by  scattered  hints  and 
through  the  darkness  of  prophecy  and  parable.  It  is  thus, 
too,  that  though  the  superccssion  of  the  Mosaic  law  be,  un- 
doubtedly, deducible  from  the  moment  in  which  a  new  and 
better  covenant  was  established  by  our  Lord's  fulfilment  of 
that  which  was  to  pass  away,  yet  the  authoritative  explanation 
of  this  mystery,  (which,  while  Christ  was  yet  on  earth,  his 
disciples  were  unprepared  to  receive)  can  only  be  found  in 
the  teaching  of  God's  Spirit  through  the  AposUes. 

The  Holy  Ghost,  then,  as  I  have  already  had  occasion  to 
observe,  was  the  Hierophant  of  the  Christian  mysteries;  the 
Dispenser  of  that  universal  pardon  whioli  the  Son  had  pur- 
chased with  his  blood;  the  Herald  to  mankind,  by  the  means 
of  his  Prophets  and  Apostles,  of  that  better  covenant  of  grace 
which  should  supersede,  in  after  ages,  the  fleshly  ordinances 
of  Sinai. 

But  that  such  a  discovery  was,  to  the  followers  of  our 
Lord,  sufficient  both  of  comfort  and  compensation  for  his  de- 
parture from  the  world,  is  apparent  from  the  importance  of 
the  communication  itself,  no  less  than  of  the  practical  results 
and  illustrious  hopes  to  which  their  eyes  were  thenceforward 
opened.  They  no  more  looked  forward  with  mistaken  and 
painful  anxiety  to  the  restitution  of  a  national  greatness  which 
their  countrymen  were  unfit  alike  to  maintain  or  to  enjoy. 
No  more  did  they  contemplate  their  Master  as  the  sovereign 
of  a  great,  indeed,  but  not  an  unbounded  empire.  They  beheld 
him  seated  on  the  throne  of  Omnipotence  itself,  confining  in 
his  invincible  grasp  the  keys  of  death  and  of  hell ;  and  wor-' 
shipped  by  all  the  countless  multitude  of  those  whom  his 
blood  had  ransomed  from  the  grave.  Themselves  they  found 
released  from  a  yoke  which  neither  "  they  nor  their  fathers 
had  been  able  to  endure;"  translated  from  the  elementar}- 
bondage  of  ceremonies  and  sacrifices  to  the  glorious  liberty 
of  God;  no  longer  servants  but  sons. 

The  Gentile  was  not  now  excluded  from  the  more  perfect 
knowledge  and  nearer  favour  of  the  common  Parent  of  man- 
kind: the  Jew  was  no  more  the  member  of  a  small  and  un- 
popular community,  divided  from  the  great  family  of  earth 
by  exclusive,  and,  in  their  effect  at  least,  invidious  privi- 
leges. The  tabernacle  of  adoption,  like  the  canopy  of  heaven, 
overshadowed  all  the  children  of  Jehovah  ;  and  the  nations  of 
the  East  and  the  West  were  gathered  in  peace  together  under 
the  wings  of  the  Christian  Dove 

Can  any  wonder  that,  by  their  admission  to  these  glorious 
prospects,  the  very  temper  of  the  Apostles'  souls  was  changed  1 
thai  they,  thenceforth,  no  more  shrunk  back  in  terror  from 
the  fulfilment  of  their  arduous  ministry,  no  more  lamented 


was  amply  sufficient  to  entitle  that  blessed  Person  to  the 
namfrof  Paraclete.  Nor  do  the  effects  which  this  dispensa- 
tion produced  on  the  world  at  large,  less  strikingly  answer 
to  those  other  features  w-|iereby  the  Paraclete  was  to  be  dis- 
tinguished as  a  Patron  to  the  Christian  cause,  and  a  Defen- 
der of  the  Son  of  Man  against  the  slanders  of  his  hostile 
countrymen.  The  Spirit  of  God,  in  his  character  of  Para- 
clete, was  to  testify,  it  will  be  remembered,  of  the  innocence 
and  inspiration  of  the  Messiah :  he  was  to  convict  the  world 
of  the  guilt  which  they  had  incurred  in  rejecting  him  ;  he  was 
to  vindicate  at  once  the  character  of  Jesus  from  the  charges 
of  imposture  or  enthusiasm,  and  the  name  of  Gud  from  the 
suspicion  of  injustice  and  cruelty.  Ilis  appointed  function  it 
was  to  reconcile  the  righteousness  of  the  Deity  with  those 
awful  dispensations  which  had  lately  doomed  the  innocent  to 
death,  -ihd  to  make  the  dignity  of  the  Messiah  consistent 
with  the  sufferings  of  a  houseless  wanderer  in  the  kingdom  ol 
his  ancestors,  a  crucified  victim  to  the  jealousy  of  the  stale, 
beneath  the  walls  of  his  own  Jerusalem. 

Objections  these,  which,  great  as  the  miracles  of  Jesus 
doubtless  were,  those  miracles  could  not  entirely  solve  ;  much 
less  could  the  exercise  of  power  by  which  his  followers  were, 
after  his  exaltation  to  the  throne  of  glory,  enabled  to  bear  wit- 
ness to  his  truth.  Such  powers  were,  indeed,  a  verj'  suffi- 
cient evidence  that  he  was  a  Prophet  sent  by  Jehovah.  But 
this  was  not  enough  to  answer  the  purposes  of  the  Apostles 
and  of  the  truth  ;  and  it  was  required,  moreover,  to  prove  him 
to  be  that  particular  Prophet  and  Saviour  on  whom  the  hope 
of  Israel  depended;  and  not  of  Israel  only,  but  of  all  the  nations 
in  the  universal  earth. 

And  to  such  a  claim  two  objections  might  be  raised,  which 
no  miraculous  powers  on  the  part  eitlier  of  Christ  or  his 
Apostles  could  obviate,  inasmuch  as  they  arose  from  facts 
which  could  not  be  denied,  and  which,  if  unexplained,  were 
absolutely  inconsistent  with  the  character  of  the  Messiah 
promised  by  God.  And  these  circumstances  were  the  lowli- 
ness of  his  rank  in  life,  and  the  manner  in  which  he  suffered 
death. 

The  first  of  these  was  inconsistent,  as  every  Jew  might 
urge,  with  the  character  of  a  great  deliverer  ;  since,  whatever 
mi'ght  have  been  his  innocence  and  extraordinary  powers  ; 
however  dear  he  might  have  been  to  God,  and  however  ap- 
proved in  his  sight;  nay,  though  he  were  allowed  to  have 
risen  from  the  grave  like  Lazarus,  and,  like  Enoch  and  Elias, 
to  have  ascended  to  heaven ;  yet,  neither  during  his  public 
life,  nor  after  his  alleged  resurrection,  had  he,  in  fact, 
any  more  than  Enoch  or  Elias  or  Lazarus,  accomplished  any 
visible  deliverance,  whether  for  the  world  at  large,  or  for  the 
chosen  people  of  God. 

But,  if  he  had  wrought  no  deliverance,  then  was  he  no  de- 
liverer, and,  if  no  Saviour,  no  Messiah.  "  How,"  say  the 
Rabbins  in  that  work  to  w^hich  they  have  prefixed  the  osten- 
tatious title  of  Nizacchon  or  "the  Victorious,"  "  How  can 
Jesus  be  called  the  Admirable  Counsellor,  whose  designs 
even  Judas  rendered  vain  1  How  is  he  strong,  who  w-as  sub- 
dued by  Death?  How  the  eternal  Father,  who  perished  in 
the  midst  of  his  days  %  How  the  Prince  of  Peace,  whose  life 
was  spent  in  trouble  ?" 

It  was  necessary,  then,  to  prove  that,  by  the  agency  of  our 
Lord,  some  great  'salvation  had  in  reality  been  affected  ;  and 
this  was  proved  by  the  promulgation  of  that  covenant,  where- 
in, for  the  sake  of  the  Son  of  man,  and  through  the  merits  of 
his  obedience  and  sacrifice,  the  burden  and  curse  of  the  Law 
were  removed,  and  forgiveness  of  sins  accorded.  His  titio 
was  thus  established  "to  the  appropriate  name  of  JESUS, 
because  "he  saved  his  people  from  their  sins  ;"  and  the  most 
formidable  of  those  objections  was  removed,  which  could  not 
be  obviated  either  by  his  blameless  life,  or  by  the  acknow- 
ledged greatness  of  his  miracles. 

The  objection  which  arose  from  the  manner  of  his  death 
was,  doubtless,  less  considerable ;  yet  was  it  to  Jewish  pre- 
judices a  very  material  scandal;  inasmuch  as,  though  tliey 
mio-ht  be  brought  to  acknowledge,  on  the  authority  of  Daniel, 
that  the  Messiah  w-as  to  "  be  cut  off,"  and,  from  the  testimony 
of  Isaiah,  that  he  was  to  be  "  sent  to  prison  and  to  judgment;  ' 
vet  that  he  should  perish  by  a  species  of  death  which,  we 


their  departed  Lord;  no  more  shut  lluir  doors  in  selfish  I  find  it  urged  again  with  malignant  triumph  by  the  author  of 
timidity  from  the  notice  or  displeasure  of  thoir  countrymen  Ti  the  Nizacchon,  the  Almighty  had  declared  accursed,  was  a 
that  they  from  that  moment  rejoiced  under  afiliction,  and  glo-|difficulty  only  to  be  solved  by  the  knowledge  ot  that  mysteri- 


rified  God  that  "  they  were  counted  worthy  to  suQ'er  shame 
in  the  cause  of  Christ T' 

As  a  comfort,  then,  and  compensation  to  the  uHicted  fol- 
lowers of  Jesus,  the  discovery  of  that  new  and  better  cove- 
nant, which  was  revealed  by  inspiration  of  the  Holy  Ghost, 


ous  and  awful  dispensation  whereby  the  innocent  was  made 
a  rurse  for  the  guilty. 

It  was  thus  that  the  revelation  of  the  covenant  of  grace, 
which  was  made  through  the  Apostles  to  mankind,  was  both 
needful  and  efficaeious  to  lead  them  into  truth,  and  to  bring 


294 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


to  Iheir  knowledge  or  remembrance  those  awful  lessons  which 
had  been  communicated  under  the  veil  of  mystery  or  parable 
during  the  Messiah's  abode  among  men. 

Nor  can  a  stronger  objection  he  required  against  that  which 
is  called  the  simplicity  of  the  l^iitarian  system  of  theology, 
than  that,  by  denying  the  Divinity  of  our  Lord,  as  well  as 
those  other  awful  truths  which  sujiply  the  only  competent 
answer  to  the  cavils  of  the  unconverlcd  Jew,  it  takes  away 
all  adequate  motives  for  that  tremendous  apparatus  of  power 
and  prophecy,  by  which  the  birth  and  life  and  death  of  Jesus 
were  distinguished. 

As  a  teacher  of  morality  he  told  ns  little  which  was  really 
new.  As  a  preacher  of  the  resurrection  he  inculcated  no 
more  than  the  great  majority  of  his  countrymen  believed  al- 
ready :  and  it  is  difficult  to  say  in  what  manner  those  under- 
stand him  to  have  abolished  the  Law  of  Moses,  w-ho*efuse  to 
acknowledge,  in  his  death,  a  sacrifice  and  propitiation  for  sin. 
So  far  indeed  from  that  simplicity,  if  real,  being  admissible 
as  a  proof  of  the  truth  of  a  religious  system,  it  may  be  thought 
that  the  credit  of  any  pretended  discovery  of  God's  will  or 
nature  would,  if  it  did  not  contain  discoveries  transcending 
human  reason,  be,  on  that  very  account,  impaired  and  render- 
ed precarious.  No  ghost  need  rise,  no  angel  come  from 
heaven,  to  disclose  to  us  those  truths  which  we  already  knew, 
or  those  of  which  a  competent  knowledge  might  be  acquired 
by  the  natural  process  of  induction  or  experiment.  And 
though  that  be  an  absurd  refinement  of  the  schoolmen  who 
advance  a  seeming  impossibility  as,  in  itself,  a  ground  of 
faith;  and  though  there  be  something  still  more  preposter- 
ously unreasonable  in  the  complaint  of  the  author  of  Keligio 
Medici,  that  the  Christian  Keligion  had  not  enough  of 
mystery;  yet  is  it  certain,  that  the  garb  and  language  of 
Kevelation  evince  her  to  be  a  stranger  among  men ;  and 
that  she  demands  and  receives  the  more  attention  at  our 
hands,  by  bringing  ns  such  tidings  as  belong  to  nothing 
earthly. 

To  return,  however,  from  this  short  digression.  The  ad- 
vent of  the  Paraclete  w  as,  moreover,  to  instruct  the  followers 
of  Christ  in  the  i'uture  fortunes  of  Christianity.  "He  was 
to  show  them  things  to  come." 

Now,  it  is  unquestionable  that,  with  the  exception  of  his 
own  predicted  suli'erings,  and  that  of  the  overthrow  of  the 
city  and  polity  of  the  Jews,  no  single  conspicuous  instance 
can  be  found  in  which,  according  to  the  popular  acceptation 
of  the  term,  our  Lord  assumed  the  prophetic  character.  Nor, 
of  future  events,  and  of  that  general  course  of  Providence 
which  shall  precede  and  promote  the  linal  triumph  of  truth, 
is  any  knowledge  possessed  by  the  world,  which  has  not 
been  communicated  by  the  inspiration  of  the  Holy  Ghost  to 
his  chosen  servants  the  Apostles.  The  rise  of  Anti-Christ, 
which  has  now  become  a  matter  of  history ;  his  fall  to  which 
we  still  look  forward  in  faithful  hope :  the  terrific  events 
which  are  to  occupy  the  latest  scene  of  nature's  drama  ;  and 
the  manner  in  which  nature  herself  is  to  be  at  length  dis 
solved  ;  as  they  are  circumstances  of  which  our  knowledge 
lias  been  derived  from  the  Paraclete  only,  so  are  they  essen- 
tial features  in  that  system  of  belief  and  happiness  and 
duties  which  it  was  liis  ofiice  to  impart  to  Christians 
Essential  they  are  to  our  belief,  which,  unless  prepared 
beforehand  by  prophecy  for  the  bitter  trials  of  the  church, 
might  faint  and  fail  beneath  the  burden  of  our  Master's 
cross;  essential  to  our  happiness,  since,  without  such  an 
assurance  of  the  final  triumph  of  truth,  our  condition  would 
be  of  all  men  most  miserable;  essential  to  our  duties,  inas- 
much as  they  raise  our  hopes  and  ajiprchensions  above  the 
limits  of  a  perishable  world. 

It  m'ay  be  said  then,  with  truth,  that  b}'  the  single  discovery 
of  the  Christian  system  of  atonement  and  peace  and  pardon; 
by  the  revelation  of  the  will,  and  the  mercy,  and  the  power, 
and  the  future  counsels  of  God  in  Jesus  Clirist,  the  promise 
of  a  Comforter,  insomuch  as  the  Apostles  were  concerned, 
was  exactly  and  most  mercifully  accomplished.  But  the 
l)romise,  it  has  been  already  shown,  was  not  to  the  Apostles 
only,  but  to  the  Universal  Church  of  Christ  in  every  age  of 
her  duration.  And  as,  since  the  time  of  the  Apostles,  no 
Iresh  revelation  of  God's  will  has  been  made  to  the  church; 
as  no  new  prophet  has  arisen  to  instruct,  no  open  vision  to 
console  her,  it  may  be  objected  wdth  much  pluusibiliiy  that 
the  perpetual  abiding  of  the  Comforter  with  the  Christian 
world  has  been  in  no  wise  accomplished  by  the  gift  of  super- 
natural light  to  one  out  of  many  generations. — It  is  true  that 
we  have  still,  in  the  volume  of  the  Sacred  Scriptures,  the 
results  of  that  inspiration  which  the  earliest  teachers  of  our 
laith  enjoyed.-jJJul  this,  it  may  be  said,  is  rather  a  conse- 


quence of  the  Paraclete's  former  visit,  than  a  proof  of  his 
continuance  among  us,  it  is'rather  the  legacy  of  a  departed  than 
the  counsel  of  a  present  guardian  ;  and  the  Pilot  who  should 
undertake  to  steqr  our  vessel  through  the  whole  continuance 
of  her  voyage,  would  ill  discharge  that  promise  if  he  de- 
serted our  helm  in  the  middle  passage,  though  he  should 
leave  at  the  same  time,  for  our  guidance,  his  chart  and  com- 
pass behind  him. 

But  that  this  objection,  however  specious,  is  not  unanswer- 
able, w  ill  appear  if  we  consider, — first, — that  the  promise  of 
our  Lord,  and  the  office  of  Paraclete  which  that  promise  de- 
fines, though  they  are  doubtless  explicit  as  to  the  points  of 
universal  and  continual  supcrinluulunce  and protediun — do  by 
no  means  lead  us  to  anticipate  an  unceasing  display  of  vision, 
or  a  perpetual  and  perceptible  illapse  of  celestial  knowledge. 
It  was  foretold,  indeed,  that  the  Paraclete  should  abide  with 
us  always, — but  it  was  not  expressed  that  the  Holy  Ghost 
should,  in  his  capacity  of  Paracletis  be  continually  guiding 
us  into  new  truths, — continually  introducing  us  to  a  fresh 
Apocalypse.  The  nature  of  his  oflice  implies  that  he  should 
be  at  hand  to  enlighten,  to  defend,  and  to  console,  where 
such  comfort  or  illumination  were  needed; — but  the  teacher 
may  pause  between  the  lessons  which  he  gives  to  his  pupil, 
— the  advocate  when  his  plea  is  advanced  may  wait  till  he 
is  called  on  for  explanation, — the  Comforter  when  he  has 
dried  our  tears  may  sit  silent  and  watchful  for  a  while,  till 
another  n^lapse  of  grief  demands  fresh  arguments  to  subdue 
it.  But,  as  it  will  not  be  denied  that,  in  the  instance  of 
the  A])Ostles,  the  knowledge  of  God's  will,  which  was  super- 
naturally  communicated  to  them,  w'as  a  sufficient  and  accurate 
accomplishment  of  our  Saviour's  promise, — so  may  it  be 
proved,  that,  to  the  Apostles  themselves  this  inspiration  was 
not  a  perpetual  and  unceasing  gift, — and  that  the  hypothesis 
which  maintains  it  to  have  been  so,  would  conduct  us  to  in- 
ferences no  less  at  variance  with  the  narratives  of  the  Apos- 
tles themselves,  than  with  the  analogy  which  might  be 
expected  between  tin  ir  endowments  and  those  of  the  elder 
Prophets,  and  with  that  natural  and  universal  feeling  which 
forbids  us  to  expect  at  God's  hands  an  unnecessary  miracle, 
or  that  he  should  exempt  his  creatures,  while  on  earth,  from 
that  weakness  and  peccability  which  is  the  common  misfor- 
tune of  their  kind,  any  further  than  is  required  by  the  dis- 
pensation committed  to  their  charge,  and  the  accomplishment 
of  his  will  through  them. 

Accordingly,  it  may  be  observed  that  the  Prophets  of  the 
elder  Covenant  were  only  then  acquainted  with  future  trans- 
actions, when  they  were  under  the  immediate  influence  of 
the  spirit  by  whom  they  were  favoured; — that  his  illapses 
took  ])lace  at  distinct  and  sometimes  at  distant  periods ;  and 
that,  in  the  intervals  of  such  awfid  visitations,  ihey  were  in 
no  respect  distinguished  from  the  weakness  and  ignorance  of 
their  brethren.     Nor  is  there  any  ground   in   Scripture  for 
supposing,  \\'\\.\\  Michaelis,  that  John  or  Peter  were,  in  this 
respect  distinguished  from  Jeremiah  or  Isaiah  or  Elijah;  or 
that  the  ordinary  power  which  our  Lord  assigned  them  of 
officially  deciding  cases  of  conscience,   or  of  making  laws 
and  administering  justice  in  the  community  over  which  they 
were  placed,  required  in  them  any  more  than  in  other  eccle- 
siastical governors,  an  inherent  and  permanent  infallibility. 
Had  this  been  the  case,   St.  Peter  would  have  been  no  less 
an  object  of  imitation  when  he  dissembled  with  the  Gentile 
converts  in  Antioch,  than  when  he  admitted  Cornelius  into 
the  bosom  of  the  Christian  Church  ;  and  St.  Paul  and  St. 
Barnabas  must  have  been  equally  correct  in  their  opposite 
judgments  on  the  conduct  of  Mark  the  Evangelist.     But,  in 
truth,  there  is  sufficient  evidence  in  the  New  Testament  it- 
self, that  the  discoveries  of  God's  will  which  the  Apostles 
received  were  limited  and  occasional,  and  the  powers  with 
which  they  were  entrusted  were,  for  the  most  part,  tempo- 
rary only.     The  time  is  marked  when  Peter  w-as  enlightened 
by  a  vision  as  to  the  removal  of  the  ancient  barrier  between 
the  Gentile  and  the  Jew ;  and  till  Peter  bad  himself  commu- 
nicated this  knowledge  to  the  remaining  disciples,  they  were 
strangers,  at  least  in  this  particular,  to  the  counsel  of  their 
Heavenl}'  Director.     St.  Paul's  first  mission  to  the  Gentiles, 
his  call   into   IMacedonia,   and   his  knowledge  of  things  in 
Paradise,  were  all  the  subjects  of  distinct  revelations,  nor 
could  he    predict  the   escape   of  his   companions  from  the 
devouring  ocean,  till  he  had  first  received  his   information 
from  the  "  Angel  of  that  God,  whose  he  was  and  whom  he 
served." — Nor  should   wc  omit  to  notice   that  the  same  St. 
Paul,   on  more  than  one  occasion,  distinguishes  his  private 
judgment  from  his  divine  instructions  ;  and  that  the  author 
of  the  Apocalypse  specifies  a  particular  Lord's-Day,  during 


IIEBER'S  BAMPTON  LECTURES. 


295 


which  he  was  "in  the  Spirit." — It  is  apparent,  however,}  <^  was,  ihrn,  through  the  medium  only  of  a  few  inspi  ml  in- 
thai  a  person  continijaliy  ami  in  everj-  woril  and  action  in-  dindunls  that,  in  tlic-  earliest  and  orolden  vicre  of  Christianity, 
spired,  could,  correctly  speaking,  have  no  human  judgment  the  Holy  Ghost  can  be  said  to  have  ^ided  or  comforted  that 
at  all  ; — and  that  in  him  who  was  always  under  the  super-  orphan  flock  which  was  left  to  his  care;  and  it  appears  from 
natural  influence  of  the  Holy  Ghost,  it  would  have  been  many  very  remarkable  passages  of  the  New  Tcstument,  that 
as  absurd  to  specify  any  particular  moment  at  which  that  the  ordinary  believers  of  the  apostolic  period  were  no  more 
influence  overshadowed  him,  as  it  would  have  been  to  saj'  cndi;ed  with  miraculous  powers,  and  no  more  inspired  with 
that  he  was  at  such  or  such  a  time  alive  and  in  the  body.  supernatural  knowledge  tlian  the  faithful  in  any  subsequent 
It  is  proved,  then,  that  the  Divine  assistance  which  theiaCTe.  Were  all  apostles,  were  all  Prophets,  did  all  speak 
apostles  enjoyed  was  an  occasional  assistance  only,  and  thati  with  tongues  in  the  days  of  Panl  1  Let  Paul  himself  decide 
there  were  periods  during  which  the  miraculous  voice  of  the  the  question  !  Nay  more  ;  it  is  apparent  from  the  writings  of 
Hoi}'  Ghost  was  silent  within  Ihem. — liut  if  there  arc  peri-lthat  great  apostle,  with  what  a  holy  jealousv  he  vindicated 
ods,  jiowcver  short,  during  which  a  cessation  of  the  gifts  of  to  himself  and  to  the  rest  of  the  Klders  the  peculiar  privilege 


the  Paraclete  is  acknowledged,  without  detriment  to  th 
Church  or  falsification  of  the  Saviour's  promise : — this  con- 
cession may  be  extended  to  any  period  which  eternal  wis- 
dom might  think  fit.  Whether  it  be  an  hour,  a  day,  a  year, 
a  thousand  years,  no  diflference  can  be  made  in  the  truth  of 
Him  to  whom  a  thousand  years  aiid  one  day  are  both  alike, — 
nor  in  the  interest  of  the  Church  over  which  his  unsleeping 
care  presides,  and  which,  when  she  needs  his  further  teach- 
ing, may  rest  secure  fn  faith  to  find  it.  The  promise  of  the 
Almighty  to  abide  in  his  Jewish  shrine,  was  as  express  as 
that  in  which  the  Christian  Church  receives  the  assurance  of 
a  similar  inhabitation. — Vet  some  intervals  there  were  in 
which  there  was  a  cessation  of  supernatural  endowments 
among  the  race  of  Israel,  as  total  as  that  which  we  now  de- 
plore.— When  Samuel  was  established  as  a  seer,  the  word  of 
the  Lord  had  long  been  precious  ; — between  the  appearance 
of  the  dillcrent  Prophets  whose  works  are  collected  in  our 
canon,  a  considerable  space  of  time  must  often  have  occurred. 
And  in  four  hundred  years,  from  Malachi  to  John  the  Uap- 
tist, — we  shall  find  no  better  pretences  to  inspiration  than  the 
dreams  of  the  Maccabees,  and  the  Bath-Col  of  Rabbinical 
Fable.     But  if  God  still  "dwelt  in  his  temple,"  though  he 

fave  no  preceptible  tokens  of  his  presence  there, — if  the 
ews  were  not  forsaken,  though  they  saw  '-no  prophet 
more," — shall  we  doubt  that  o«r  Schekinah  is  with  us  still, 
though  his  voice  be  not  heard  in  our  assembly,  or  that  he 
may  yet  break  silence  should  a  case  arise,  in  which  the  in- 
terest of  the  faith  require  a  new  revelation. — But  is  God  in- 
deed silent,  when  the  sound  of  his  words  is  brouglit  to  us 
every  Sabbath-day  in  the  authentic  records  of  our  salvation  ? 
Or  do  we  hesitate  to  receive  the  'comfort  and  counsels  of 
Scripture  as  a  dail}'  and  hourly  blessing  of  the  Holy  Ghost, 
because  we  do  not  receive  it  from  his  immediate  dictation  1 
Let  us  then  recollect,  in  the  second  place,  that,  though  the 
promise  be  express  that  the  Comforter  should  communicate 
supernatural  knowledge  to  the  Church, — the  manner  of  this 
communication  is  nowhere  limited  to  a  supernatural  process 
only, — and  that  if  we  continue  to  receive  his  dicta  in  all  es- 
sential points  unaltered, — it  can  make  no  dilVerence  whether 
we  receive  them  at  the  first  or  thirtieth  hand. 

There  are  two  ways,  indeed,  and  only  two,  by  which,  so 
far  as  our  experience  enables  us  to  judge, — a  revelation  from 
Heaven,  or  any  other  supernatural  knowledge  can  be  con- 
veyed to  the  human  understanding.  The  first  is  by  an  im- 
pulse immediately  communicated  by  God  to  the  perceptions 
of  the  individual  who  is  destined  to  be  thus  enlightened  ;  the 
second,  by  the  intervention  of  some  other  and  more  favoured 
person,  who  is  empowered  and  commanded  to  employ,  for 
the  instruction  of  his  brethren,  that  knowledge,  which  he  has 
himself  received  from  God.  But,  of  a  revelation  which 
should  be  at  once  universal  and  immediate,  no  instance  can 
be  found  in  the  history  of  our  Maker's  dealings  with  mankind, 
on  the  great  majority  of  whom  he  has  always  imposed  the 
condition  of  being  taught  by  others  of  their  species. 

Even  in  the  case  which  approaches  most  nearly  to  that  of 
an  universal  and  immediate  revelation,  the  case,  I  mean,  in 
which  the  Almighty  promulgated  with  his  own  voice  the  de- 
calogue to  the  assembled  nation  of  Israel,  his  auditors,  it  is 
plain,  were  only  a  single  generation  out  of  the  many  who 
were  equally  the  objects  of  the  instruction  thus  aft'orded,  and 
of  whom  all  tl»e  succeeding  streams  were  bound  to  receive 
the  truth  on  the  authority  and  from  the  testimony  of  their 
fathers. 

And,  in  the  particular  instance  of  the  Christian  Revelation, 
as  the  fact  itself  on  which  our  faith  is  founded,  the  resurrec- 
tion, namely,  of  the  Lord,  was  communicated  not  to  all  the 
people  but  to  witnesses  chosen  of  God ;  so  were  the  doctrines 
which  depended  on  that  fact  revealed,  in  the  first  place,  to 


of  delivering  to  the  Church  those  ndcs  of  faith  and  practice, 
which  only  were  to  be  received  on  the  authority  of  the  Holy 
Ghost:  and  that  neither  man  nor  angel  could  pretend  to  the 
possession  of  a  revelation  independent  of  that  which  the  apos- 
tles proclaimed,  without  incurring  the  heaviest  weight  of 
anathema. 

If,  indeed,  the  Spirit  of  God  had  communicated  an  imme- 
diate and  supernatural  assistance  to  all  who  once  embraced 
the  Christian  Faith,  it  is  apparent  that  the  controversial 
writings  which  the  apostles  left  behind  (and  all  their  wri- 
tings may  be  regarded  as  more  or  less  controversial)  would 
never  have  existed  at  all ;  that  doubts  would  never  have 
arisen,  where  every  individual  was  alike  divinely  inspired  ; 
and  that  no  appeal  would  have  lain  to  the  superior  authority 
of  the  Twelve,  if  the  Churches  of  Rome  or  Corinth  or  Galatia 
had  inhaled,  no  less  deeply  tlian  the  apostles,  the  unspeaka- 
ble srift  of  God. 

When  inspiration,  accordingly,  was  promised  by  Christ, 
and  aflbrded  b}'  the  Holy  Ghost,  in  the  earliest  age  of  Chris- 
tianity, to  the  collective  and  Catholic  Church;  it  was  not  af- 
forded, and  doubtless  therefore  not  promised  to  the  bodj', 
otherwise  than  through  the  medium  of  some  distinguished 
members.  And  though  John  and  Paul  and  Peter  were,  in 
the  first  instance,  guided  and  comforted  by  the  Holy  Ghost 
himself,  it  was  by  Peter  or  Paul  or  John  that  such  instruc- 
tion or  consolation  was  dispensed  to  Apollos  or  Onesimus  or 
Philemon. 

Nor  can  a  dispensation  of  this  kind  be,  with  any  degree  of 
justice,  accused  of  inequality ;  nor  are  the  inspired  individ- 
uals more  essentially  favoured  than  those  to  whom  their  mis- 
sion is  addressed,  for  whose  sake  and  in  order  to  whose  in- 
struction they  are  thus  distinguished  from  the  remainder  of 
mankind ;  and  who,  from  them,  receive  a  no  less  perfect 
measure  of  knowledge  than  they  have  themselves  derived 
from  the  visions  or  inspiration  of  God.  By  inspiration,  it 
will  be  recollected,  in  the  scriptural  sense  of  the  word,  nei- 
ther universal  knowledge  is  implied,  nor,  even  in  religious 
questions,  universal  infallibility.  Of  future  events  in  gen- 
eral the  Prophet  had  no  more  knowledge  than  the  meanest 
of  his  audience;  of  the  nature  or  will  of  the  Almight}',  (ab- 
stracted from  those  particular  facts  which  it  was  his  especial 
commission  to  disclose,)  the  apostle  might  himself  inquire  in 
vain.  The  veil  was  never  except  in  part  withdrawn  from 
mortal  eyes ;  and,  when  the  vision  was  described,  and  the 
Gospel  announced  to  the  world,  the  world  was  as  wise  as  its 
teacliers.  Those  teachers  were  not  the  objects,  but  the  trans- 
mitting medium  of  God's  favours:  the  prophetic  office  was 
not  so  much  a  privilege  as  a  burden  imposed :  the  whole 
counsel  of  God,  so  far  as  it  was  freely  communicated  to 
them,  they  were  freely  to  impart  to  their  uninstructed  breth- 
ren :  they  were  the  heralds  to  the  world  of  those  gracious  of- 
fers which  unbounded  mercy  made  to  all,  and  of  which  they 
themselves  were  partakers,  if  (which  b\'  no  means  necessa- 
rily followed  from  the  fact  of  their  othcial  privileges)  they 
really  partook  in  the  benefits  of  the  Gospel,  not  as  apostles 
or  prophets  or  ministers  of  Heaven,  but  as  men,  as  sinners 
and  as  penitents. 

The  comfort,  then,  of  the  Holy  Ghost,  both  might  be  and 
was  afforded  to  the  early  ages  of  the  church  through  the 
means  of  a  comparativelj'  trifling  number  of  inspired  individ- 
uals. And,  if  a  succession  of  such  individuals  had  been 
raised  by  God's  providence  in  the  several  and  successive 
generations  which  liave  since  elapsed  in  our  Sion;  if  there 
had  been  a  ])rophetic  school  iu  the  Christian  church,  such  as 
is  by  most  divines  supposed  to  have  existed  in  the  church  of 
Israel;  or  were  that  claim  admitted  to  official  infallibility 
which  our  fellow-Christians  of  the  Romish  persuasion  have 
not  yet  ceased  to  advance  in  favour  of  their  universal  bishop  ; 


certain  selected  teachers,  on  the  credit  of  whose  testimony  ^  we  doubtless  should  not  hesitate  to  allow  that  by  such  a  sue. 
the  Universal  Church  was  thenceforward  to  be  guided  and  ^cession,  the  promise  of  our  Saviour  and  the  permanent  resi- 
governed.  dence  of  the  Holy  Ghost  with  the  cluirch  were  satisfactorily 


296 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


accomplished  and  exeiriplilipd  ;  though  we  neither  beheld  (as 
some  of  the  modern  Jeus  pretend  was  the  privilege  of  their 
Fathers")  the  glory  of  the  Almighty  visibly  present  in  onr 
sanctuary  ;  nor  could  reckon  n|)  with  St.  Paul,  as  incidents 
of  frerpient  occurrence,  that  long  and  splendid  list  of  miracu- 
lous powers  and  graces  for  which  the  Corinthians  so  earnestly 
contended. 

Of  miraculous  gifts,  indeed,  peculiarly  so  called  ;  of 
tongues,  of  healing,  of  exorcism,  of  discerning  spirits ; 
though  they  were  unquestionably  among  the  most  conspicu- 
ous and  frequent  triumphs  of  the  early  church  of  God,  the 
present  words  of  Christ  say  nothing.  The  grace  which  the 
Comforter  was  to  bring  among  men,  corresponds  with  inspira- 
tion and  inspiration  oidy  :  it  was  a  knowledge  of  God's  will 
and  of  (iod's  future  intentions  in  relation  to  his  church,  which 
our  Lord  engages  to  send  to  us;  and,  where  this  is  atTorded, 
ive  have  no  reason  to  complain  that  gifts  are  withdrawn,  of 
which,  whether  the  cessation  be  foretold  or  no,  the  permanence 
is  nowhere  promised. 

It  appears,  then,  that  the  advent  of  the  Paraclete  and  his 
abode  among  men  would  bo,  during  any  period  of  Christian 
liistory,  sufficiently  evinced  by  the  existence  of  one  or  more 
inspired  individuals,  whose  authority  should  govern,  whose 
lights  should  guide,  wliose  promises  should  console  their  less 
distinguished  brethren  ;  and  by  whom  and  in  whom,  as  the 
agents  and  organs  of  his  will,  the  Holy  Ghost  should  be 
recognized  as,  in  the  absence  of  Christ,  the  governor  and 
guardian  of  the  church  universal.  Put,  if  this  be  conceded,  it 
■will  signify  but  very  little,  or  (to  sjicak  more  boldly,  perhaps, 
but  not  less  accurately)  it  will  be  a  circumstance  altogether 
insignificant,  whether  the  instruction  afforded  be  oral  or  epis- 
tolary; whether  the  government  bo  carried  on  by  the  author 
ity  of  a  present  lawgiver,  or  through  the  medium  of  rescripts 
bearing  his  seal,  and,  no  less  than  his  personal  mandates, 
compulsory  on  the  obedience  of  the  faithful.  In  every  go- 
vernment, whether  human  or  divine,  the  amanuensis  of 
sovereign  is  an  agent  of  his  will  no  less  ordinary  and  effectual 
than  his  herald;  and  St.  Paul  both  might  and  did  lay  claim 
to  an  equal  deference,  when,  in  the  name  and  on  the  behalf 
of  that  Spirit  by  whom  he  was  actuated,  he  censured  by  his 
letters  the  incestuous  Corinthian,  as  if  he  had,  when  present, 
and  by  word  of  mouth,  pronounced  the  same  ecclesiastical 
sentence. 

It  follows  that  the  Holy  Ghost  as  accurately  fulfilled  the 
engagement  of  Christ  as  the  Patron  and  Governor  of  Chris- 
tians, by  the  writings  of  the  inspired  person,  wlien  absent,  as 
by  his  actual  presence  and  preaching.  And,  if  St.  Paul,  hav- 
ing once,  by  divine  authority,  set  in  order  the  Asiatic  and 
Grecian  churches,  had  departed  for  Spain  or  Britain  or  some 
other  country  at  so  groat  a  distance  as  to  render  all  subse- 
quent communication  impossible ;  yet  still,  so  long  as  the 
instructions  left  behind  sufliced  for  the  wants  and  interests  of 
the  community,  that  community  would  not  have  ceased  to  be 
guided  and  governed  by  the  Holy  Ghost  through  the  writings 
of  his  chosen  servant. 

But  that  authority  which  v.-e  allow  to  the  writings  of  an 
absent  Apostle,  we  cannot  without  offending  against  every 
analogy  of  reason  and  custom,  deny  to  those  which  a  deceased 
Apostle  has  left  behind  him.  For  the  authority  of  such  writ 
ings,  I  need  hardly  observe,  is  of  an  olhcial,  and  not  of  ; 
personal  nature.  It  does  not  consist  in  their  having  emanated 
froin  Peter  or  James  or  John  abstractedly  considered,  (in 
which  case  the  autliorily  of  any  one  of  them  might,  undoubt- 
edly, terminate  with  his  life), 'but  their  authority  is  founded 
in  that  faith  which  receives  these  persons  as  accredited  agents 
of  the  Almighty.  We  reverence  their  coniraunicaiions  as  the 
latest  edicts  of  the  Paraclete;  and  we  believe  all  further  com- 
munications to  have  ceased  for  a  time ;  not  because  these  emi- 
nent servants  of  God  have  long  since  gone  to  their  revfard,  foi 
it  were  as  easy  for  the  Holy  Spirit  to  raise  up  other  propliets 
in  their  room,  as  it  was  originally  to  qualify  them  for  that 
high  office;  not  because  we  apprehend  that  the  good  Spirit  is 
become  indili'erent  to  the  welfare  of  the  church,  for  this  would 
be  in  utter  contradiction  to  the  gracious  assurance  of  our  Sa- 
viour: but  because  sufficient  light  has  been  already  afforded 
for  the  government  of  our  hopes  and  tempers;  and  because 
no  subsequent  question  has  occurred  for  which  the  Scriptures 
already  given  had  not  already  and  sufficit  ntly  provided. 

But,  are  we  free  from  the  authority  of  an  earthly  Lord  be 
cause  his  orders  are  not  daily  repeated  ?  or  liath  the  Lord 
Omnipotent  ceased  to  reign  among  men,  because  he  doth  not, 
with  the  frivolous  inconsistency  of  an  eastern  despot,  contin- 
ually reverse  his  own  decrees  ;  or  delight,  as  if  afraid  of  beino- 
forgotten,  to  terrily  his  subjects  with  incessant  displays  ol" 


his  might  and  majesty  1  Surely  his  name  is  among  us 
and  his  law  is  gone  forth  among  men :  he  sendeth  his  coin- 
mandment  on  earth,  and  his  word  runneth  very  swiftly :  by 
the  sword  which  goeth  forth  from  his  mouth  shall  his  enemies 
be  consumed  before  him;  till  all  nations  and  people  do  him 
worthy  reverence,  and  till  the  knowledge  of  Jehovah  shall 
spread  over  the  world  as  the  waters  cover  the  sea ! 

Nor  does  the  case  which  has  been  urged  of  the  pilot  and 
his  chart  bear  any  real  analogy  to  the  hypothesis  which  I  am 
now  supporting.  It  was,  we  may  observe,  through  the  me- 
dium of  this  chart  itself,  or  the  instructions  which  this  chart 
contains,  (by  the  doctrine,  that  is,  of  the  Holy  Ghost,  as  ex- 
pressed in  the  teaching  or  writings  of  the  Apostles),  that, 
even  in  the  golden  age  of  Christianity,  the  great  body  of  the 
faithful  were  directed  and  consoled,  and  it  is  preposterous  to 
tax  the  pilot  with  a  desertion  of  our  interests  in  the  middle 
voyage,  while  we  enjoy  whatever  advantages  he  conferred  on 
first  embarking. — The  promise,  let  it  be  remembered,  was  not 
that  he  should  steer  the  vessel  but  that  he  should  give  us 
knowledge  to  steer  it  for  ourselves ;  and  this  knowledge  is 
now  and  has  been  always  afforded  in  those  Scriptures  which 
he  daily  offers  to  our  attention.  Those  who  apprehend  that 
the  Comforter  is  fled  from  the  church  forget  apparently  by 
whose  care  the  Sacred  Volume  has  been  preserved  to  our 
time,  entire  and,  in  all  essential  points,  uncorrupted ; — by 
whose  providential  guidance  all  circumstances  have  been 
made  to  work'  together  to  give  certainty  and  notoriety  to  bis 
oracles, — and  by  whom  we  ourselves  have  been  conducted  to 
the  fountain  of  life, — aiid  the  mirror  of  God's  will  held  up  to 
our  imitation  and  gratitude.  And,  while  the  providence  of 
the  Holy  Ghost  secures  to  every  member  of  Christ's  church, 
the  power  of  understanding  mysteries  which  the  prophets  and 
kings  of  elder  times  have  vainly  desired  to  see,  and  which, 
till  thus  revealed,  surpassed  the  intellect  of  angels,  it  is  idle 
or  worse  than  idle  to  deny  that  God  is  with  us,  because  he 
works  through  secondary  causes.  Though  in  this  dark  and 
dangerous  voyage,  the  lamp  of  our  beacon  be  only  visible, 
and  not  the  gracious  hand  w+ich  lighted  first  and  now  sus- 
tains it, — yet  may  the  eye  of  faith  behold  our  guide  standing 
on  the  battlements  of  heaven,  directing  the  beams  of  comfort 
where  they  itiay  best  illustrate  our  course,  and  watching  with 
a  parent's  love  our  ))rogress  over  the  stormy  waters. — Shame 
on  that  blindness  of  soul  which  can  look  on  the  lights  of  the 
material  firmament  without  blessing  him  who  placed  them 
and  supports  them  there; — which  can  enjoy  the  Scriptures  of 
the  New  Testament  without  thankfully  acknowledging  who 
he  is  that,  by  them,  makes  us  wise  unto  salvation? — 

Nor  can  we  be  taxed  with  inconsistency  if,  having  before 
denied  that  the  general  care  of  Providence  over  the  Church 
was  that  blessing  which  the  Comforter  was  to  bestow, — we 
now  insist  that  he  has  perpetuated  that  blessing  by  this  very 
Providence  directed  to  a  particular  end.  The  scent  of  the 
rose  and  the  tone  of  the  lyre  are  wafted  to  us  by  the  same 
circumambient  air,  but  it  is  the  distinctive  circumstance  and 
not  the  common  vehicle  which  we  mean  to  signify  by  the 
words  "  fragrance"  or  "  inelody."  And,  by  whatever  concur- 
rence of  events  the  Spirit  of  God  has  placed  the  volume  of 
his  will  in  our  hands,  it  is  by  the  operation  itself  and  not  the 
'•  modus  operandi,"  that  he  fulfils  his  office  of  Paraclete. 

In  a  larger  sense,  indeed,  and,  as  pervaded  by  the  influence 
of  the  Kevelation  of  God's  mercy  and  the  Messiah's  trium- 
phant suffering,  those  rites  of  our  religion  which  were  already 
instituted  before  the  day  of  Pentecost,  and  those  common 
dispensations  of  the  Spirit's  mercy  and  power  which  we 
share  with  other  ages  and  nations  ;  have  all  of  them  received 
ilirougli  this  his  advent,  the  splendour  of  reflected  truth,  and 
have  gladdened  the  heart  of  the  Christian  with  more  than  their 
original  blessedness.  The  Rabbinical  teacher  of  righteous- 
ness has  become  an  Evangelist  of  Peace  and  Pardon.  The 
Jewish  rites  of  initiation  and  thanksgiving  have  expanded 
into  symbols  of  celestial  power  and  tropics  of  the  Redeemer's 
victory.  The  course  of  political  events  has  been  sanctified 
by  prophecy  into  an  evidence  of  God's  truth  and  wisdom. 
The  light  of  grace  which  could  only  discovef  to  the  Gentile 
or  the  Jew  the  more  awful  attributes  of  their  Maker's  purity 
and  justice, — now  flings  its  steady  lustre  on  redemption 
bouglit  for  us,  and  ineriTs  imputed  to  us,  and  everlasting  hap- 
piness promised  to  us, — and  the  same  Spirit  who  was  to  the 
saints  of  older  time  a  guardian  and  sanctifier,  is,  to  the  happy 
follower  of  Christ,  a  Coinforter. 

But  all  these  dispensations  of  the  wisdom  and  might  and 
grace  of  the  Most  High,  derive  their  power  of  teaching  and 
consoling  us  from  a  reference  to  Scripture  only.  By  them- 
selves they  lead  us  into  no  truth  ; — by  themselves  they  tell 


HEBER'S  BAMPTON  LECTURES. 


297 


us  nothing; — their  meaning  and  value  can  only  be  fully  under-  ries  of  our  earliest  teachers,  to  acquiesce  without  examination 
stood  fronTa  previous  examination  of  God's  word, — anditisby  in  the  fame  of  whatever  was  wonderful;  and,  from  previous 
this  book  alone  wliich  his  Spirit  first  dictated  and  now  puts  superstition,  to  admit  the  more  readily  a  claim  to  supernatural 
into  our  hand,  that  the  same  good  Spirit  either  guides  us  into  power,  from  ignorance  of  those  natural  secrets  which  have 
truth,  or  shows  us  things  to  come, — or  pleads  the  cause  of  become  obvious  even  to  the  vulgar.  To  delect  the  falsehood  (if 
Christ  against  the  malice  of  the  enemy  and  blasphemer.     Itiany  deception  really  lay  hid)  in  the  acts  which  the  early 


is,  then,  as  Dispenser  of  Supernatural  truth,  and  as  Teacher 
of  the  Doctrine  of  Redemption  that  the  Holy  Ghost  sustains 
and  has  sustained  his  character  as  the  Comforter  which  should 
come.  And  we  conclude  as  Warburton  concluded,  (though 
he  arrived  at  the  same  truth  by  a  process  somewhat  different, 
and  though  he  incumbered  its  definition  with  circumstances 
w  hich  I  have  shown  to  be  irrelevant,)  we  conclude  that  this 
instruction  is  now  conveyed  to  the  world,  in  the  Scriptures 
of  the  Nv.w  Testament. 

To  this,  however,  two  objections  will  be  made:  the  first 
against  the  authority  of  those  writings  which  are  accepted 
by  us  as  diviTie  ;  the  second  against  liieir  suHicioncy  to  pro- 
vide for  those  spiritual  necessities,  to  whicli  the  Church  of 
Christ  and  the  individuals  of  which  it  is  composed,  are  col- 
lectively and  severally  liable.  The  first  of  these  objections 
proceeds  from  those  variousraisbclievers  who  deny  the  authori- 
ty or  inspiration  of  the  several  treatises  which  our  canon  of 
Scripture  comprises;  the  second  from  such  as  maintain,  that 
the  Scriptures,  tliough  divine,  are  of  themselves  a  rule  of 
wax  which  the  prejudices  and  passions  of  mankind  may  warp 
to  any  system  which  pleases  them  ;  and,  who  seek,  accord- 
ingly, in  the  jurisdiction  of  the  Church  at  large,  or  of  some 
single  ecclesiastical  ofiicer,  a  permanent  and  perceptible 
throne,  wherein  the  Spirit  of  the  Lord  may  dwell  as  the  in- 
terpreter and  administrator  of  those  laws  of  which  he  is  him- 
self the  Author. 

The  first  of  these  objectors  deny  the  law  to  which  we 
appeal  to  be  itself  of  sacred  authority  ;  the  second  demand 
some  aid  beyond  the  original  promulgation  of  the  law,  in 
order,  as  they  tell  us,  to  retulcr  the  law  elTectual.  But  the 
inspiration  of  the  Scriptures  and  their  sufficiency  to  answer 
the  promise  of  our  Saviour,  are  necessarily  implied  in  an 
hypothesis  which  makes  that  sacred  volume  the  instrument 
whereby  the  Holy  Ghost  continues  to  instruct  and  console 
(he  Church;  and  I  am  therefore  concerned  to  maintain  both 
the  one  and  the  other  of  these  assertions,  against  the  open 
enemies  or  injudicious  friends  of  Christianity. 

And,  in  the  first,  there  are  three  propositions  contained 
which  will  require  to  be  severally  defended.  First,  the  per- 
soiial  inspiration  of  the  reputed  authors  of  our  sacred  volume  : 
secondly,  that  the  works  which  bear  their  names  are  with 
good  reason  received  as  their  composition:  thirdly,  that  the 
authors  were  actually  inspired  at  the  time  of  composing  the 
treatises  in  question,  and  that  the  rules  of  faith  and  practice 
which  they  contain  are,  consequently,  entitled  to  be  received 
as  the  living  dictates  of  Almighty  Wisdom. 

On  all  these  subjects  I  am  well  aware,  indeed,  that,  as 
from  the  multitude  of  my  precursors  but  little  of  novelty  is  to 
be  expected,  so  the  approaching  termination  of  the  present 
Lectures  atfords  a  very  insufficient  scope  for  doing  justice 
even  to  any  single  branch  of  the  inquiry.  Hut,  if  it  be  allow- 
ed me  to  conduct  those  doubts,  which  I  want  room  to  satisfy, 
into  channels  where  satisfaction  may  be  best  obtained,  if 
some  principles  of  inquiry  may  be,  at  least,  established,  which 
may  be  improved  by  future  diligence;  neither  my  pains  nor 
your  attention  will  be  altogether  ill  bestowed.  It  is  some- 
thing to  point  the  way  to  truth,  though  it  be  a  path  which  we 
must  travel  separately. 

The  first  of  those  assertions,  which  our  former  proposition 
contains,  has  been  often  and  satisfactorily  proved  from  the 
miraculous  powers  with  which  the  Apostles  are  said  to  have 
been  endued,  and  to  the  reality  of  which  not  Christian  writers 
only,  but  the  earliest  and  most  formidable  antagonists  of 
Christianity  appear  to  have  borne  an  ample  testimony.  Thus 
Celsus  does  not  deny  the  fact  that  the  founders  of  Christiani- 
ty had  a  power  of  working  miracles ;  he  only  argues  against 
the  inference  which,  from  this  acknowledged  fact,  the  Chris- 
tian sought  to  establish.  The  same  admission  is  made  by 
Julian  the  Apostate,  as  quoted  by  St.  Cyrill.  And  the  "Tol- 
dos  .leschu,"  of  all  the  Jewish  libels  on  our  faith  the  most 
virulent  and  outrageous,  which  (though  in  its  present  form  it 
doubtless  belongs  to  a  far  later  period)  contains  some  tradi- 
tions not  unknown  to  Celsns  himself,  is  full  of  the  miracles 
both  of  Jesus  and  the  Apostle  Peter. 

Nor  can  the  credence  which  was  given  to  these  early  mir- 
acles by  the  converts  and  even  the  enemies  of  our  religion  be 
justly  ascribed  to  any  peculiar  readiness  in  the  contempora- 
Vol.  II.— 2  N 


Christians  through  Christ's  name  pretended  to  perform,  was 
not  a  task  which  demanded  the  skill  of  an  experimental  phi- 
losopher, inasmuch  as  the  removing  of  an  obstinate  malady  is 
a  fact  of  which  the  reality  may  be  ascertained  by  the  poorest 
villager.  And  of  the  prevailing  parties  into  which  the  world 
was  then  divided,  there  were  two  at  least  who  had  every 
possible  interest  and  inclination  to  unmask  if  possible  the 
claims  of  a  new  religion,  the  heathen  priests  and  the  Epicu- 
rean philosophers.  The  first  of  tliese  were  disturbed  in  that 
monopoly  of  wonders  which  they  had  for  so  many  ages 
peaceably  enjoyed :  the  second,  opposed,  as  they  were  from 
principle,  to  every  thing  which  marked  a  superintendiuo'  Pro- 
vidence, had  alread)',  in  no  small  degree,  succeeded  in  making 
the  altars  of  Jupiter  ridiculous;  and  were  little  inclined  to 
suffer  a  new  divinity  to  interrupt  their  dance  of  atoms.  A 
time  of  general  irreligion  (and  such  w-as,  undoubtedly,  the 
prevailing  characteristic  of  that  period  of  which  I  now  am 
speaking)  is,  of  all  others,  least  favourable  to  a  belief  in 
miraculous  powers,  inasmuch  as  where  attention  is  refused, 
all  possibility  of  faith  is  taken  away. 

Nor  can  a  stronger  proof  be  required  of  the  prodigious  sen- 
sation which  the  wonderful  works  of  the  early  Christians 
produced  in  all  the  civilized  countries  of  the  world,  than  the 
total  and  practical  change,  a  change  extending  beyond  the 
bounds  of  the  Church,  to  the  shrines  and  courts  and  schools 
of  heathenism  itself,  from  that  general  indifl^ercncc  to  all  reli- 
gion which  distinguished  the  world  from  the  days  of  Augustus 
to  those  of  Nero ;  to  that  s|)irit  of  fanaticism  which  raised 
up  in  Apollonius  and  lamhlichus  and  Vespasian  himself,  the 
imitators  at  most  humble  distance  of  those  works  which 
(they  could  not  deny)  were,  in  the  case  of  the  Apostles,  gen- 
uine. Had  not  Moses  first  turned  the  waters  of  Egypt  into 
blood,  wc  should  never  have  heard  of  Jannes  and  Jambres 
essaying  to  do  the  like  by  their  enchantments. 

Above  all,  however,  there  is  an  internal  evidence  of  the 
strongest  kind  in  those  works  which  are  ascribed  to  the 
Apostles,  which  shows  that  their  supernatural  gifts  were 
circumstances  of  general  notoriety;  and  that  they  were  of  a 
nature  which,  had  thej'  been  so  inclined,  it  would  have  been 
utterly  impossible  to  counterfeit.  For  not  only  did  they  as- 
sert the  power  in  their  own  persons  of  healing  the  sick,  of 
speakinrr  with  unknown  ton(nics,of  foretelling  things  to  come  ; 
they  asserted  also,  (and,  in  all  the  Epistles  of  St.  Paul,  we 
find  incidental  references  to  this  fact,)  that  others,  through 
them  and  by  the  imposition  of  their  hands,  became  partakers 
of  the  same  Spirit  with  themselves,  and  performed  the  same 
or  greater  miracles.  And  many  of  those  Epistles  contain 
specific  and  detailed  directions  for  the  use  and  improvement 
of  such  extraordinary  powers,  addressed  to  those  who,  in 
common  with  the  writer,  possessed  and  employed  them. 

Now,  supposing  it  to  be  possible,  that  a  religious  empiric 
might  so  far  impose  on  the  credulity  of  his  admirers  as  to 
instil  into  their  minds  the  notion  that  he  was  himself  a  pro- 
phet and  a  worker  of  miracles;  yet  is  it  utterly  preposterous 
to  suppose,  that  such  a  deceiver  would  attempt  at  all,  much 
more  that  he  should  attempt  successfully,  to  make  his  fol- 
lowers believe  that  they  themselves  were  inspired  with  mi- 
raculous faculties.  To  persuade  me  into  an  erroneous  opinion, 
that  Paul  has  the  gift  of  tongues,  is  not  beyond  the  compass 
of  possibility ;  but  it  is  neither  in  the  power  of  Paul  nor  of  an 
angel  from  heaven  to  induce  me  to  believe,  in  contradiction 
to  my  own  sensations  and  experience,  that  I  myself  have  such 
afacult}'.  But  the  greater  part  of  Paul's  addresses  to  the 
Corinthians  proceed  on  the  supposition  that  those  whom  he 
addresses,  had,  since  their  conversion  to  Christianity,  both 
possessed  and  exercised  this  faculty  or  faculties  equally  won- 
derful. So  that  either  St.  Paul,  if  he  were  an  imjiostor,  must 
have  done  that  which  would  have  immediately  detected  his 
imposition;  or  the  miracles  of  the  ancient  Christian  Church 
are  established  as  perfectly  authentic. 

Is  it  supposed  that  the  Corinthian  converts  were  accom- 
plices with  the  Apostles  in  their  deceptions  on  the  ignorant 
majority  of  mankind]  To  what  purpose  then  does  St.  Paul 
thus  gravely  address  them  in  a  letter  intended  for  their  pri- 
vate instruction,  as  if  those  powers  were  real  which  both  he 
and  they  sufficiently  knew  to  be  counterfeit ■?  Do  not  con- 
federates, when  together  in  private,  make  haste  to  lay  aside 


298 


CHRISTIAN     LIBRARY. 


the  mask?  or  do  tbo  kings  and  prophets  of  tragedy  address 
each  other  in  ordinary  life  with  the  same  lofty  language 
■which  they  employ  on  the  pnblic  theatre? 

For,  the  Epistles  of  St.  Paul  are  none  of  them,  we  may 
observe,  immediately  intended  to  enlarge  the  fame  of  Chris- 
tianity among  those  who  were  as  yet  without  its  pale,  or  to 
attract  from  the  Synagogue  or  the  Academy  an  increasing 
harvest  of  converts.  They  are  not,  like  the  apologies  of  a 
later  age,  designed  to  obviate  the  objections  and  remove  the 
prejudices  which  the  Heathen  entertained  against  Christian- 
ity ;  but  they  are  addressed  exclusively  to  those  by  whom  that 
religion  had  been  already  adopted.  Their  dilTerences  are  to 
be  appeased  ;  their  errors  to  be  corrected  ;  their  firmness  in  the 
faith  to  be  encouraged  and  preserved ;  and  their  exertions  di- 
rected in  the  proper  path  to  victory.  The  Epistles  to  the 
Corinthians,  in  particular,  (though  they  contain  truths  which 
are  interesting  to  all,  and  counsels  by  which  all  may  profit,) 
do  not  seem  to  apply  in  the  first  instance  to  the  whole  body 
of  the  Achffin  Church,  but  are  a  series  of  private  instructions 
for  the  conduct  of  the  Bishops  and  Presbyters  in  tliat  opulent 
and  factious  province. 

And  so  little  do  we  find  of  empirical  ostentation  in  the  tone 
with  which  the  Apostle  speaks  of  these  extraordinary  facul- 
ties, that  the  object  of  his  address  is  expressly  to  lower  the 
high  opinion  which  such  persons  entertained  of  the  gift  of 
tongues  and  prophecy ;  to  remind  them  that  these  powers, 
however  extraordinary  and  brilliant,  were  of  an  utility  only 
temporary ;  and  that  it  was  better  and  more  blessed  to  excel  in 
the  common  virtues  of  mutual  temper  and  forbearance,  than 
to  attract  by  their  miracles  the  gaze  of  mankind,  and  to  win 
over  others  to  salvation,  while  their  own  hearts  continued  un- 
improved. 

If,  then,  the  writings  of  the  New  Testament  be  really  the 
production  of  those  whose  names  they  bear,  the  fact  is  cer- 
tain, that  their  authors  were  men  approved  by  God  as  in- 
structors of  mankind,  and  designated  by  him,  through  signs 
and  wonders,  to  be  prophets  of  his  Son  and  organs  of  his 
inspiration. 

And  tliat  these  writings  are  really  genuine,  is  a  fact  which 
rests  on  the  united  authority  of  internal  evidence  at  once  the 
most  minute  and  pervading;  of  tradition  primitive  and  uni- 
versal;  of  the  acknowledged  reluctance  which  Christians 
have,  in  every  period  of  their  history,  exhibited  to  affix, 
without  long  examination  and  accumulated  weight  of  testi- 
mony, to  works  laying  claim  to  divine  auihorit}',  the  seal  of 
approbation  and  reverence.  It  is  in  this  manner  that  the  re- 
jection by  the  Church  of  those  numerous  pretended  Acts  and 
Gospels,  and  Epistles,  reckoned -up  b)' Beausobre,  and  the 
very  difficulty  with  which  some  of  the  works  contained  in 
our  present  canon  were  admitted  to  that  honourable  station, 
may  prove  not  only  the  indisputable  authority  of  those  in 
w'hose  reception  all  ages  and  parties  agree,  but  will  also 
show  that  none,  even  of  those  which  were  longest  doubted, 
were  received  without  probable  testimony. 

Nor  is  this  all :  the  Scriptures  are  yet  more  satisfactorily 
distinguished  from  the  productions  of  more  recent  imposture 
by  the  weight  of  argument,  the  simplicity  of  narration,  the 
dignity  of  devotion,  the  peculiar  grace  of  candour  and  au- 
thority, which  every  where  may  be  seen  to  shine  through 
the  rudeness  of  their  Hellenistic  dialect;  and  which,  as  they 
would  have  baffled  the  imitation  of  the  most  artful  impostor, 
so  none  of  those  impostors  whose  works  have  descended  to 
our  time  have,  in  reality,  attempted  to  copy. 

We  have  yet  some  spurious  works  which  were  offered,  in 
their  day,  to  the  reverence  of  the  world,  as  productions  of 
Apostles  and  Evangelists;  and  we  have  fragments  of  many 
more,  which  the  lapse  of  time  and  the  merited  contempt  of 
the  Church  have  long  since  consigned  to  oblivion.  But  of 
how  dilTerent  materials  are  these  composed  from  those  which 
distinguish  the  books  of  our  present  canon !  Unnecessary 
and  childish  miracles;  discourses  tedious  and  ill-constructed  ; 
and  a  temper  altogetlier  alien  from  that  which  is  displayed 
in  the  genuine  New  Testament;  sufficiently  mark  out  the  in- 
finite difterence  between  the  authentic  oracles  and  human 
counterfeits  of  inspiration;  and  evince  their  hopeless  daring, 
who,  with  mortal  fiames,  would  strive  to  emulate  the  force 
and  brightness  of  Heaven's  own  inimitable  lightning. 

When  we  compare,  indeed,  the  acknowledged  composi- 
tions of  the  uninspired  though  primitive  Fathers  of  the  Church, 
themselves  distinguished  ornaments  of  Christianity,  the  pupils 
of  the  Apostles,  and  possessed,  in  all  but  supernatural  aid 
of  equal  or  even  superior  advantages  to  the  Apostles  theni' 
selves  ;  when  we  compare  their  writings  with  those  ascribed 
to  their  illustrious  teachers,  is  it  possible  to  conceal  from 


ourselves  the  utter  incompetency  of  Clemens  or  Hermas  or 
Polycarp  to  have  counterfeited  the  narrations  of  St.  Luke, 
St.  ]\Iatthew,  or  St.  John;  or  the  masterly  train  of  reasoning 
which  runs  through  the  polemical  writings  of  St.  Paul ! 
What  monstrous  fables  would  have  filled  our  Gospel  histor}', 
had  Papias  been  its  compiler!  What  endless  refinements  of 
allegorical  and  cabbalistic  learning  would  have  disfigured  the 
Epistles,  if  the  Fathers  of  the  second  century  had  palmed 
their  own  compositions  on  the  world  as  the  works  of  St. 
Peter  and  St.  John! 

I  will  go  yet  farther:  when  we  find  the  Apostolic  Scrip- 
tures so  greatly  superior  to  all  other  Christian  writings  of 
any  sect  or  period  whatever,  can  we  forbear  inquiring,  from 
what  peculiar  circumstance  should  this  pre-eminence  arise, 
unless  from  that  inspiration  in  which  only  the  Barbarian 
teachers  of  our  faith  can  be  supposed  to  have  excelled  their 
Grecian  converts? 

On  the  nature  and  extent,  however,  of  this  inspiration,  a 
great  but  very  natural  difference  of  opinion  has,  in  everj^  age 
of  the  Church,  prevailed :  and  not  only  have  the  open  ene- 
mies of  our  faith  attempted  to  reduce  the  Apostolic  writings 
to  the  level  of  merely  human  productions;  but  men,  whom  it 
would  be  uncharitable  and  unjust  to  accuse  of  disaffection  to 
the  general  cause  of  Christianit}-,  have  sought,  nevertheless, 
to  further  the  views  of  their  particular  party  by  diminishing, 
as  far  as  possible,  the  authority  of  such  parts  of  Scripture  as 
have  appeared  least  favourable  to  their  claims ;  or,  in  their 
controversies  with  the  infidel,  have  so  greatly  narrowed 
their  definitions  of  the  Divine  assistance  accorded  to  the 
earliest  preachers  of  the  Gospel,  as  to  deprive  our  hope  of 
the  corner-stone  of  its  foundation,  and  to  leave  hardly  more 
of  efficacy  to  the  written  oracles  of  everlasting  truth,  tlian  to 
the  dictates  of  earthly  prudence,  and  the  recollection  of  mortal 
and  fallible  witnesses. 

It  is  not,  on  the  other  hand,  to  be  concealed,  that  this  low 
opinion  of  inspiration  is  the  consequence,  in  some  degree,  of 
that  natural  revulsion  which  an  opposite  and  overstrained 
hypothesis  is  apt  to  occasion  in  acute  and  inquiring  minds; 
and  that,  if  modern  Christians  be  in  the  habit  of  receding  too 
much,  the  claims  and  language  of  some  earlier  doctors  were 
considerably  too  high  and  unbending.  To  state  and  to  medi- 
ate between  the  several  schemes  which  have,  on  this  im- 
portant subject,  excited  and  divided  the  attention  of  mankind, 
must  be  the  work  of  a  future  Sermon. 


LECTURE  Vin. 

I  tell  jou  the  ti-uth;  it  is  expedient  foi-  you  that  I  go  away:  for  if  I 
go  not  away,  the  Comforter  will  not  come  unto  you;  but  if  I  de- 
part, I  will  send  him  unto  you. — John  xvi.  7. 

Having  established,  from  the  fact  of  those  miraculous 
gifts  wherewith  the  power  of  God  endued  the  earliest  teach- 
ers of  Christianit}',  the  consequent  fact  of  their  prophetic 
mission,  it  might  seem,  at  first  sight,  to  follow  as  a  necessary 
corollary,  that  to  all  their  assertions,  whether  oral  or  com- 
mitted to  writing,  no  less  a  deference  was  due  than  to  the 
sacred  oracles  of"  God;  that  the  entire  New  Testament,  as 
their  undoubted  and  gemiine  composition,  must  be  received 
as  the  embodied  dictates  of  eternal  truth  and  wisdom ;  and 
that,  by  this  single  present  to  the  Christian  world,  the  Holy 
Ghost  has  sufficiently  redeemed  his  gracious  pledge  of  be- 
coming through  every  succeeding  age  our  Guide,  our  Guard- 
ian, and  our  Comforter. 

For,  though  two  of  the  Gospels,  and  the  narration  of  the 
Acts  of  the  "Apostles,  are  composed,  indeed,  by  men  who 
were  not  themselves  of  that  number,  and  to  whom  we  have 
no  sufficient  groimds  for  ascribing  the  gift  of  personal  inspi- 
ration, yet  were  Mark  and  Luke  the  companions  and  amanu- 
enses of  the  two  most  considerable  elders,  and  the  histories 
which  bear  their  name  were  written,  if  we  believe  the  almost 
universal  voice  of  antiquity,  under  Apostolic  dictation  and 
revisal.  They  even  bore,  among  the  writers,  of  the  primi- 
tive Church,  the  names  respectively  of  those  two  illustrious 
teachers  whose  sentiments  they  were  supposed  to  convey; 
and  were  known  no  less  as  the  Gospels  of  St.  Peter  and  St. 
Paul  than  as  the  works  of  their  familiar  attendants. 

Had  the  case,  indeed,  been  different,  we  have  every  reason 
to  suppose,  from  the  acknowledged  conduct  of  the  Christian 
world  in  other  and  similar  instances,  that  these  works  would 


HEBER'S  BAJNIPTON  LECTURES. 


299 


never  have  been  received  as  standard  histories  by  the  great,  possessed,  the  image  of  those  sounds  must,  on  every  principle 
majority  of  believers,  nor  have  been  placed  on  the  same,  of  reason  and  precedent,  retain.  If  the  Prophet  himself  de- 
level  of  reverence  and  authority  with  the  corresponding  pro-  clare  with  accuracy  those  ideas  which  the  Almighty  su'Tgests 
ductions  of  persons  confessedly  inspired.  There  were,  we  to  his  soul,  it  can  make  no  difference  whether  he  declare 
know,  many  other  distinguished  teachers,  who  were,  as  well |  them  by  the  conventional  sign  of  spoken  or  of  written  lan- 
as   Mark  and  Luke,  the  contemporaries  and  companions  of:  guage. 

the  twelve;  and  some  of  whom,  no  less  than  these  Evangel-  But  this  perpetual  and  pervading  inspiration  of  the  Apos- 
isls,  have  left  behind  them  written  relies  of  their  zeal  in  the! ties  is  unfortunately  the  very  subject  in  dispute;  and  I  have 
service  of  Jesus.  Such  was  Clement,  the  "fellow-labourer"! shown,  in  my  Seventh  Lecture,  that  the  diWne  assistance, 
of  St.  Paul ;  such  was  Hermas,  whom  the  same  great  Apos-I  which  we  believe  the  Apostles  to  have  enjoyed,  may  be  more 
tie  salutes  byname;  such  Ignatius,  who  has  been  himself, 'plausibly  regarded  as  a  limited  and  occasional  assistance 
however  truly,  accounted  as,  no  less  than  the  Apostles,  an  only,  a  conductor  not  into  all  truth  abstractedly  considered, 
eye-witness  of  our  Lord's  resurrection.  but  into  every  truth  which  was  necessarj'  to  be  known  to  the 

Yet  where  can  we  find  in  the  annals  of  primitive  religion  Founders  of  the  new  religion  of  grace  and  pardon;  to  the 
that  the  acknowledged  writings  of  these  men,  or  men  like  [missionaries  of  a  certain  definite  creed,  which  at  various 
these,  were  appealed  to  b)'  the  Church  as  the  charters  of  her  times,  and  with  various  degrees  of  clearness,  was  communi- 


profession,  or  any  otherwise  made  use  of  by  the  assembled 
faithful  than  as  human  sources  of  instruction'! 

Again,  there  are  certain  treatises  in  our  present  canon, 
and  many  others  which  have  at  dilTerent  times  pretended  to  a 
place  in  it,  whose  right  to  that  eminent  station  has  been 
severely  contested,  both  by  ancient  and  modern  criticism. 
But  the  authority  of  such  works  has  been  contested,  on  the 
single  ground  that  they  were  not  in  truth  composed  by  the 
Apostles,  to  whose  writing  or  dictation  they  were  ascribed. 
That  they  are,  many  of  them,  of  antiquity  equal  to  the 
Apostolic  writings  themselves,  that  they  are  the  productions 
of  men  who  lived  with  the  Apostles,  and  were  the  preachers 
of  a  common  faith  with  them,  as  their  strongest  opposers 


cated  to  them  by  vision  or  inspiration.  But  if  it  be  granted, 
and  I  own  I  do  not  see  on  what  principle  cither  of  reason  or 
revelation  it  can  be  denied,  that  the  guidance  of  the  Spirit,  as 
vouchsafed  to  the  Apostles,  was,  indeed,  thus  occasional  and 
limited,  it  must  be  an  inquiry  of  the  utmost  delicacy  and  im- 
port;mce  to  ascertain  the  occasions  on  which,  and  the  bounds 
within  which  it  was  accorded.  And  so  far  as  the  Scriptures 
of  the  New  Testament  are  concerned,  it  will  be  demanded, 
first,  what  reason  we  have  to  ascribe  any  part  of  them  to  the 
dictation  of  the  Holy  Ghost;  and,  secondly,  how  much  of 
them  is  to  be  received  as  proceeding  from  a  source  so  sacred, 
and  what  is  our  criterion  for  distinguishing  between  the  fal- 
lible opinion  and  the  authoritative  command,  between  the  im- 


have  admitted,  so  has  not  this  admission  been  accounted  by  perfect  recollection  of  an  earthly  witness,  and  the  all-sufficient 


their  most  eager  defenders  as  sufficient  to  establish  their  can 
onical  authority.  The  dispute  has  been  restricted  by  common 
consent  to  their  authenticity,  and  their  authenticity  only;  nor 
are  they  quoted  as  Scripture  by  any  of  the  Christian  Fathers, 
who  did  not,  as  it  should  seem,  believe  them  to  have  been  the 
work  either  of  an  Apostle,  or  his  amanuensis.  And  so  perfectly 
has  the  authority  of  this  last  been  in  every  age  identified  with 
that  of  the  Saint  to  whom  he  ministered,  that,  among  the  various 
sects  whose  errors  and  controversies  have  deformed  the  face 
of  religion,  while  some  are  not  wanting  who  have  professed 
to  build  their  faith  on  the  testimony  of  Luke  alone ;  yet  have 
none  been  found  who,  receiving  the  Gospels  of  John  and 
Matthew,  have  ascribed  to  their  authority  a  higher  rank  than 
that  of  the  two  other  Evangelists.  A  deference  this,  which 
there  could  be  no  reason  for  paying  to  Mark  and  Luke,  rather 
than  to  their  companions  and  contemporaries,  to  Apollos  and 
Hermas  and  Clemens,  if  it  were  not  that  the  former  had  been 
in  every  age  regarded  as  the  channels  of  Apostolic  inspira- 
tion, the  official  transcribers  of  facts  or  doctrines  delivered 
by  infallible  anthorit}'. 

But  though  the  writers  or  dictators  of  the  entire  New  Tes- 
tament are  respected  by  the  great  majority  of  Christians  as 


testimony  of  that  glorious  Being,  to  whom  the  past,  the  pre- 
sent, and  the  future  are  eternally  and  equally  known? 

If  all  was  not  inspired  which  an  Apostle  wrote  or  uttered, 
how  many  and  of  what  nature  were  the  orations  or  treatises 
composed  under  celestial  influencel  How  can  we  be  sure 
that  those  works  of  theirs  which  have  been  handed  down  to 
our  times  were  indeed  among  the  favoured  number  ?  Nay 
more,  what  reason  have  we  for  supposing  that  any  of  their 
written  compositions  were  inspired  at  all  ?  What  internal 
marks  of  heavenly  aid  do  they  present?  Where  do  they 
themselves  lay  claim  to  a  privilege  so  extraordinary?  or  where 
is  the  promise  of  our  Lord,  which  would  lead  us  to  expect 
that  such  aid  would  be  accorded  ?  The  Son  of  God,  indeed, 
assures  them  that,  on  certain  solemn  occasions  of  peculiar 
alarm  and  peril,  when  they  were  called  before  kings  and  rulers 
for  his  sake,  and  for  the  sake  of  the  Gospel,  their  unpremeditat- 
ed eloquence  should  be  prompted  and  sustained  by  the  internal 
aid  of  the  Spirit.  But  we  find,  it  maj-  be  urged,  no  similar  ne- 
cessity or  promise  in  the  case  of  such  labours  as  were  carried  on 
in  the  tranquil  solitude  of  the  study  or  the  oratory,  or  which 
were  addressed  to  private  friends.  But,  are  tiiey  their  public 
and  official  communications  which  only  are  to  be  received  as 


messengers  of  the  will  of  Heaven,  yet,  in  the  application  of' divine?     At  what  point  docs  the  distinction  between  public 


this  common  principle  to  the  authority  of  tlie  works  which 
bear  their  names,  so  great  a  difference  of  o|)inion  has  prevail- 
ed, as  may  lead  us  to  suspect  that  those  wlio  use  the  terra  of 
inspiration,  have  not  been  always  agreed  as  to  the  idea  which 
they  meant  to  convey  by  it. 

In  the  language  of  the  ancient  Fathers,  and  in  the  ordinary 
opinion  which,  from  feeling  rather  than  conviction,  has  con- 
tinued since  their  time  to  pass  current  with  the  Christian 
world,  the  gift  of  inspiration  is  to  a  considerable  extent  iden- 
tified with  omniscience  and  infallibility.  It  has  not  been  sup- 
posed to  consist  in  a  succession  of  distinct  revelations,  com- 
municated at  various  times  to  the  person  whom  the  Almighty 
selected  as  his  messenger;  but  it  has  been  considered  as  a 
continual  and  pervading  obsession  of  the  Deity,  inspiring 
every  thought  and  prompting  every  action,  in  conformity  with 
truth  and  wisdom,  and  establishing  the  favoured  individual 
as  a  living  oracle  of  God  most  High,  whose  lips  were  the 
fountain  of  universal  knowledge,  and  whose  earthly  sentence 
was  faithfully  registered  in  heaven.  And,  if  such  were  the 
fact,  no  doubt  could  be  entertained  that,  in  their  writings  no 
less  than  their  words,  and  in  every  fact,  every  doctrine,  every 
argument  which  their  genuine  writings  contain,  we  are  bound 
to  reverence  and  obey  the  declarations  of  the  Almighty,  no 
less  than  if  we  had  received  them  graven  on  stone  by  his  hand, 
or  heard  them  proclaimed  in  accents  of  thunder  from  tlie 
smoking  summit  of  Mount  Sinai. 

Between  the  tongue  and  the  pen,  as  organs  of  expression, 
no  difierence  can  be  conceived,  which  should  render  the  last 
less  proper  than  the  former  to  convey  celestial  knowledge  to 
mankind.  If  the  inspired  oration  of  a  prophet  be  faithfully 
committed  to  writing,  whatever  authority  the  sounds  at  first 


and  private  begin  ?  Are  the  letters  to  Timothy,  to  Titus,  and 
Philemon  official  ?  The  writings  of  St.  Luke,  which  are 
also  addressed  to  an  individual,  can  they  or  can  they  not  be 
said  to  answer  this  description  ?  Such  are  some  of  the  lead- 
ing difficulties  which,  on  the  question  whether  the  Scrip- 
tures of  the  New  Testament  were  inspired,  have  been  a 
subject  of  triumph  to  the  infidel,  and  to  the  weak  believer,  of 
perplexity  and  alarm.  That  both  the  triumph  and  the  alarm 
have  been  alike  premature,  may  appear,  perhaps,  from  the 
following  observations. 

First,  it  was,  a  priori,  highly  probable,  that  the  supernatural 
assistance  of  the  Almighty,  which  informed,  on  certain  occa- 
sions, the  oral  and  extemporaiiecus  effusions  of  the  Apostles, 
should  direct,  on  others,  theirpensnoless  than  their  tongues  to 
the  instruction  and  benefit  of  mankind.  It  was  to  be  expect- 
ed that  some  of  their  writings,  as  well  as  some  of  their 
speeches,  should  proceed  from  the  inspiration  of  God.  And 
this  may  be  shown  from  the  necessity  of  the  case;  from  the 
analogy  of  the  Mosaic  dispensation ;  from  the  promises  of 
Christ  in  the  Gospel ;  and  from  the  assertions  of  the  Apostles 
themselves. 

That  the  comforts  and  lessons  of  Christianity  were  intend- 
ed as  a  common  benefit  to  every  nation  and  every  age  of 
mankind,  it  is  altogether  unnecessary  to  prove.  It  is  a  dis- 
pensation in  which  all  are  concerned,  and  which  was  destin- 
ed, therefore,  to  be  made  known  to  all.  The  truths  which  it 
reveals  are  tidings  of  great  joy,  which  the  Apostles  were  to 
communicate  to  all  people,  and  of  which  the  knowledge  was 
to  proceed  both  conquering  and  to  conquer,  till  the  universal 
earth  should  be  covered  with  the  glory  of  the  Lord,  and  till 
the  annointed  Son  should  descend  again  in  power  to  reap  the 


300 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


harvest  of  his  sufferings.  But,  that  to  the  extension  and  per- 
petuity of  religious  truth  the  existence  of  written  documents 
is  a  circumstance  of  the  first  necessity,  will  be  allowed  by  all 
who  have,  in  common  life,  appreciated  the  uncertainties  of 
popular  fame,  and  the  corruptible  nature  of  oral  tradition. 
Unless  indeed,  (what  no  religion,  either  false  or  true,  has  as 
yet  pretended  to,)  the  truth  were  in  every  successive  age  di- 
vulged and  guarded  by  a  never-ending  line  of  inspired 
instractors ;  unless  such  instructors,  too,  were  in  every  age 
sufficiently  numerous  to  be  accessible  by  every  believer ;  it 
is  apparent  that  the  knowledge  which  mankind  might  retain 
must  be  more  and  more  imperfect  and  impure  in  proportion  as 
it  receded  from  the  parent  fountain ;  and  that,  witbout  some 
storehouse  of  original  principles,  which  might  confirm  the 
weak,  recal  the  wandering,  and  expose  and  repress  the  wilful 
innovator,  the  religious  opinions  of  the  world  would  be  little 
less  fluctuating  and  unstable  than  the  fashions  of  our  attire 
and  the  varying  idioms  of  our  language. 

But  that  sufth  a  rule  of  practice  and  belief  could  be  afforded 
by  the  compositions  of  human  and  unassisted  wisdom  will 
be  asserted,  I  apprehend,  by  none.  A  rule  must,  in  itself,  be 
absolute  and  definitive,  for  it  would,  otherwise,  be  no  rule  at 
all.  But  human  authority  can  never  be  definitive,  since  what- 
ever right  Auguslin  may  possess  to  propose  his  sentiments 
as  most  agreeable  to  truth  and  virtue,  the  same  right,  un- 
doubtedly, has  Jerome  or  Epiphanius  to  question  the  propriety 
of  his  decision.  If  the  apostles  thoufjht  fit,  on  their  own 
authority,  to  recommend  to  their  own  followers  the  practice 
of  celibacy,  it  was  not  beyond  tlie  authority  of  any  one  among 
those  followers  to  declare  himself  of  a  contrary  opinion.  Or, 
supposing  the  recommendation  to  have  been  a  command,  yet, 
provided  that  command  was  given  in  their  capacity  of  ecclesi- 
astical rulers  only,  their  successors  in  the  government  of  the 
church  would  have,  at  least,  an  abstract  right  to  reverse  that 
decree  when  it  seemed  to  them  expedient.  Wherefore,  in- 
deed, do  we  appeal  in  controversy  to  the  apostolic  writings, 
rather  than  to  the  more  learned  volumes  of  Origen,  of  Cle- 
mens, of  Augustin,  of  Chrysostom,  if  we  do  not  appeal  to 
them  as  the  dictates  of  God  himself?  It  is  in  vain  to  say, 
nor  will  it,  I  apprehend,  be  urged  in  answer,  that  because 
Peter  or  James  or  John  are  in  certain  cases  inspired,  what- 
ever falls  from  their  mouth  is  therefore  to  be  received  as  sa- 
cred, whether  they  are  at  that  time  inspired  or  no.  Such  an 
answer  would  be  obnoxious  to  all  the  difficulties  attendant  on 
the  old  hypothesis  of  a  permanent  inspiration,  with  the  addi- 
tional and  yet  more  portentous  absurdity  of  ascribing  that 
weight  to  human  authority  which  the  other  only  imputed  to 
Divine.  Who  is  PauH  Who  is  Barnabas'!  Who  are 
James  or  John  or  Peter,  that  we  should  put  our  trust  in  them, 
if  our  trust  be  not  reposed  in  them  as  the  accredited  messen- 
gers of  the  Allwise  and  Alltrue  ?  But,  is  it  the  messenger 
himself  whom  we  honour  and  obey  ;  or  is  it  not  rather  that 
royal  message  which  he  bears  to  all  the  nations  of  the  world, 
the  subjects  and  children  of  Him  who  sitteth  on  the  throne, 
the  redeemed  of  the  Lamb  that  was  slain  ?  If,  then,  the 
speech  or  the  epistle  on  which  we  are  commanded  to  build  our 
faith,  be  not  the  authentic  message  of  God,  the  only  claim  is 

tone  which  the  messenger  possessed  on  our  belief,  our  obe- 
ience,  and  our  attention ;  and  the  sentiments  of  John,  of 
Peter,  and  of  Paul  will  possess  no  more  authority  than  the 
private  opinion  of  an  herald  or  ambassador,  abstracted  from 
that  law  or  treaty  which  only  speaks  his  master's  will.  And 
these  observations  may  sufhce  to  shovv  the  weak  and  incon- 
sistent conduct  of  those  who  restrict  the  inspired  commission 
of  the  apostles  to  the  delivery  of  certain  important  truths, 
which  they  style  the  essentials  of  Christianity.  With  them 
it  is  indeed  a  frequent  boast,  that  by  renouncing  the  plenary 
inspiration  of  Scripture,  they  deprive,  in  many  instances,  the 
common  enemies  of  the  Faith,  of  that  vantage  ground  from 
which  they  have  been  long  accustomed  to  assail  it.  And  it 
is,  certainly,  convenient,  in  their  controversies  with  other  and 
more  orthodox  Christians,  to  reply  to  such  texts  as  are 
urged  against  their  peculiar  opinions,  that  the  apostles  have 
in  these  instances  spoken  without  authority ;  or  that,  how- 
ever they  themselves  may  have  been  enabled  to  "  think  with 
the  wise,"  it  was  no  part  of  their  commission  to  do  otherwise 
than  "talk  with  the  vulgar." 

But  it  is  the  misfortune  of  the  Scythian  mode  of  warfare, 
that  it  is  only  suited  to  a  territory,  which,  like  Scythia,  is  lit- 
tle worth  preserving ;  and  that  the  practice  once  begun,  of 
abandoning  to  the  pursuer  whatever  parts  of  Scripture  it  does 
not  exactly  suit  us  to  defend,  no  means  of  defence  will  at 
length  remain  for  those  tenets  themselves  which  we  now  re- 
gard as  of  vital  importance.     If  it  be  advanced  and  admitted. 


that  for  any  point  of  faith  the  assertions  of  Scripture  are  not 
sufficient  authority ;  if  St.  Paul,  for  instance,  were  mistaken 
or  insincere  in  his  expressions  as  to  the  existence  of  evil 
spirits,  or  the  immaterial  nature  of  the  soul  of  man ;  what 
reason  have  Christians  for  their  confidence,  that  a  future  state 
of  retribution  may  not  be  a  faulty  inference  from  insufficient 
grounds,  or  a  compliance  with  Jewish  error?  How  are  we 
to  be  sure  that,  on  the  Unity  of  God  himself,  the  apostles 
themselves  ma}-  not  have  mistaken  their  Master,  or  that  the 
Son  of  God  has  not,  in  this  instance,  conformed  (as,  they 
blush  not  to  tell  us,  he,  in  the  case  of  the  Demoniacs,  con- 
formed his  manner  of  expression)  to  the  established  usages  of 
speech,  and  the  popular  superstition  of  his  countrymen? 

Nor  is  the  case  much  bettered  by  supposing  with  Simon 
and  Warburton,  that,  though  of  the  New  Testament,  only  a 
few  conspicuous  truths  are  immediately  prompted  by  the 
Holy  Ghost,  yet  in  all  the  rest  the  human  recollection  and 
reason  of  the  apostles  were  so  restricted  by  a  superintending 
Providence,  that  nothing  can  be  found  in  their  volumes  by 
which  a  material  error  can  be  introduced  into  faith  or  practice. 
For  that  is,  indeed,  a  wretched  sanction  of  a  law,  to  plead  that 
no  harm  can  arise  from  following  its  letter;  nor  does  any 
man  obey  the  Scriptures  as  a  rule  of  faith  and  conduct,  be- 
cause there  is  no  danger  in  such  obedience,  but  because  we 
incur  the  greatest  of  all  dangers  by  a  contrary  course  of  be- 
haviour, a  danger  no  less  than  that  of  disobeying  Him  whose 
detailed  and  definite  injunctions  are  made  known  by  these  his 
testimonies.  We  cannot,  if  we  would,  disguise  it  from  our- 
selves ;  if  the  general  inspiration  of  the  Scriptures  be  not 
conceded,  the  Scriptures  are  not  the  word  of  God  ;  and,  if  not 
the  word  of  God,  then  have  they  no  rational  hold  on  our  faith, 
our  practice,  our  hopes,  or  our  fears.  They  are  the  law  of 
the  Most  High,  or  denouncing,  as  they  do,  the  vengeance  of 
God  against  all  wilful  transgressors  of  their  precepts,  that 
holy  name  is  used  by  them  without  authority,  and  their  con- 
tents are  imposture  and  blasphemy. 

If,  then,  a  written  law  be  necessary  to  the  extension  and 
perpetuity  of  religion ;  and  if  the  qualities  of  a  religious  law 
can  be  only  possessed  by  a  rule  of  God's  dictation,  it  is 
beforehand  to  be  strongly  presumed,  that  a  law  which  cor- 
responds both  to  one  and  the  other  of  these  particulars  has 
not  been  withheld  from  the  followers  of  Jesus  of  Nazareth. 
And  this  probability  is  yet  farther  increased  by  a  considera- 
tion of  the  analogy  of  God's  previous  conduct  with  the  Isra- 
elites under  the  Mosaic  dispensation.  It  is  no  essential  part 
of  my  present  purpose  (though  it  is  a  task  which,  on  a  proper 
occasion,  I  should  certainly  not  decline)  to  demonstrate  the 
general  inspiration  of  the  Scriptures  of  the  elder  Covenant: 
but  it  is  sufficient  for  my  argument  to  adduce  the  acknowledged 
fact,  that  certain  written  laws  were  given  by  divine  inspira- 
tion to  the  Hebrew  Church ;  that  Moses  was  commanded  by 
Jehovah  to  write  down  his  words  in  a  book;  and  that  the 
Prophets  announce  their  volumes  to  the  world  as  the  express 
and  infallible  dicta  of  the  Most  High.  But,  if  a  written  code 
of  faith  and  morals  be  as  necessary  to  the  followers  of  Christ 
as  to  those  who  were  taught  by  Moses,  it  is  probable  that  the 
advantage,  which  was  graciously  accorded  to  the  introductory 
and  less  perfect  dispensation,  would  be,  a  fortiori,  conceded  to 
those  on  whom  (he  adoption  and  the  ends  of  the  world  are 
come. 

In  vain,  indeed,  was  it  promised  by  the  Messiah  to  his 
chosen  Twelve,  that  the  Comforter  which  was  to  come,  should 
guide  them  into  all  religious  truth,  if  the  truths  thus  re- 
vealed were  to  perish  with  themselves,  or  their  cotempora- 
ries  and  immediate  audience.  In  vain  did  the  Spirit  implant 
in  the  minds  of  his  messengers  a  perfect  remembrance  of  every 
word  which  their  departed'Lord  had  spoken,  if  those  blessed 
words  were  again  to  be  entrusted  to  the  dubious  recollection, 
or  still  more  dubious  integrity,  of  their  human  and  unassisted 
successors.  I  do  not  mean,  that  the  leading  facts  on  which 
our  Christian  faith  is  grounded  might  not  continue  in  full 
force  of  evidence,  and  deserve  by  their  native  dignity  our  ful- 
lest reverence  and  wonder,  though  the  writings  in  which  they 
are  recorded  were  degraded  from  the  rank  which  they  now 
maintain  to  the  level  of  human  compositions.  In  point  of  fact 
this  is  even  now  the  case,  inasmuch  as  no  one  in  his  senses 
would  begin  to  prove  the  life,  and  death,  and  miracles,  and  re- 
surrection of  our  Lord  from  the  previous  assumption,  that  the 
histories  which  we  possess  of  those  occurrences  were  inspired 
and  infallible  compositions :  but,  as  unfolding  to  us  the  se- 
cret springs  of  Providence,  by  which  those  facts  were  caused, 
and  the  results  to  which  those  facts  conducted  ;  as  affording 
an  authoritative  rule  of  life,  and,  on  certain  conditions,  a  no 
less  infallible  assurance  of  immortality ;  if  the  Scriptures  are 


HEBER'S  BAISIPTON  LECTURES. 


reduced  to  the  level  of  a  human  composition,  their  force  and  professes  to  have  written,  bj'  the  express  dictation  of 
efficacy  are  sonc.  Spirit,  to  the  churches  of  Asia  Minor.     That  objection,  t 


We  might  still  believe  that  Christ  was  born,  and  wrought 
miracles,  and  died,  and  rose  again  :  but  those  awful  scenes  of 
power  and  sufferinn-  and  victorj'  would  present,  in  such  a 
case,  no  further  and  no  better  practical  results  to  the  soul, 
than  the  tale  of  Agamemnon  or  of  QSdipus.  It  would  not 
more  necessarily  follow  from  tlie  resurrection  of  one  man, 
that  all  mankind  should  be  raised  from  the  dead,  than  it  would 
follow  from  the  manner  of  his  death,  that  all  mankind  should, 
like  him,  be  crucified,  or  that  they  should  rise,  if  they  rose,  on 
the  third  day  after  their  dissolution.  It  was  for  God  alone  to 
declare,  (and,  if  the  Scriptures  be  not  inspired,  I  know  not 
where  he  has  declared  it,)  it  was  for  God  to  declare,  in  what 
respect  and  for  what  reason  our  Lord  was  the  representative 
of  the  universal  human  race.  And,  if  this  declaration  has 
been  nowhere  made,  we  are  dust  and  ashes  still. 

And,  this  probability  that  some  written  law  would  be  given 
to  men,  which  arises  from  the  necessity  of  such  an  assistance, 
is  materially  increased  by  the  circumstance  of  that  inspiration 
which,  we  know  from  Scripture,  was,  at  times  accorded  to 
the  unpremeditated  discourses  of  the  apostles.  There  were, 
we  know,  occasions,  when  it  was  not  the  preachers  of  the 
gospel  who  spake,  but  the  Holy  Ghost  who  dwelt  within 
them ;  and,  if  those  orations  whereby  they  themselves  alone 
were  delivered  from  violence  ;  if  that  preaching  by  which  the 
immediate  hearers  only  were  benefitted,  were  instinct  with 
such  a  sacred  power,  it  might  be  expected,  on  still  stronger 
grounds,  that  the  same  good  guidance  would  not  abandon 
them  in  the  composition  of  those  writings  which  were  to  edify 
a  people  yet  unborn,  and  to  convey  the  glad  tidings  of  salva- 
tion to  the  extremest  corners  of  the  earlh,  and  to  the  latest 
march  of  time.  If  the  x'.j<jisj  kju  ttth/:'!  >.iy:i  were  not  suf- 
fered to  go  forth  without  a  peculiar  and  supernatural  Provi- 
dence, is  it  probable  that  those  documents  which  are  the 
KTiium  i;  ufi  of  believers,  the  Kiiiu'it.nt  of  our  faith,  our  hope, 
our  daily  practice,  our  apology  and  our  crown  among  men, 
should  not  be  stamped  with  the  same  broad  seal  of  Almighty 
truth,  the  same  credentials  of  infallibility  ? 

It  was  naturally,  therefore,  to  be  expected,  that  some  cer 
tain  writings  of  the  Apostles  would  be  sent  forth  under  the 
direction  of  God's  Spirit;  and,  if  this  be  once  conceded,  it 
will  not  be  easy  on  any  ground  of  reason  or  likelihood  to 
deny  this  sacred  character  to  those  treatises  which  are  come 
down  to  us  under  their  names.  They  are  marked  by  every 
character  of  official  and  authoritative  documents;  they  are 
addressed  by  inspired  men  in  their  prophetic  capacities, 
either  to  the  general  Church  of  Christ,  or  to  the  particular 
branches  into  which  that  Church  was  divided,  or  to  individ- 
uals who  fitly  represented  considerable  bodies  of  Christians. 
And  whether  immediately  addressed  to  individuals  or  no, 
they  are  alike  on  subjects  of  public  importance ;  subjects 
where,  of  all  others,  the  aid  of  the  Holy  Ghost  was  most 
needful  and  most  to  be  expected ;  the  exposition,  namely,  of 
the  doctrines  of  the  Christian  faith,  or  the  regulation  of  the 
Christian  republic.  Nor,  however  slightly  it  has  been  of  late 
years  usual  to  appreciate  the  value  of  tradition,  can  it  be 
denied,  that  the  universal  prejudice  (if  it  deserved  no  better 
name)  which,  in  the  very  earliest  ages  of  the  church,  re- 
ceived as  JJivine  those  writings  which  they  then  esteemed 
authentic,  must  lead  us  to  suppose  that  these  solemn  instruc- 
tions were  communicated  by  the  Apostles  themselves,  and 
received  by  those  for  whose  benefit  they  were  intended,  with 
some  very  perceptible  and  striking  difference  from  such  of 
their  communications,  if  any  such  there  were,  as  were  dic- 
tated by  their  human  reason  or  their  private  friendship  only: 
and  that,  (as  St.  Paul  is  acknowledged  to  have  done,  in  one 
remarkable  passage  of  his  Eiustle  to  the  Corinthians,)  they 
observed  in  every  instance  a  broad  and  constant  line  of  de- 
marcation between  the  dictates  of  the  Most  High,  and  the 
opinion  or  request  of  a  simple  fellow-creature. 

And  that  the  Apostles  themselves  laid  claim  to  a  divine 
authority  for  the  principles  and  precepts  laid  down  in  the 
several  works  which  are  read  in  the  assemblies  of  the  faith- 
ful, is  apparent  from  many  expressions  in  those  works  them- 
selves. In  one  of  them  St.  Paul  addresses  the  Corinthians, 
as  "  an  ambassador  for  Christ,"  "  as  though  God  did  beseech 
them  by  him."  "  If  any  man,"  he  observes,  "think  him- 
self to  be  a  Prophet,  or  spiritual,  let  him  acknowledge  those 
things  which  I  write  unto  you,  that  they  are  the  command- 
ments of  the  Lord."  Nor  should  we  omit  that  the  Epistles 
of  Paul  are  mentioned  by  St.  Peter  on  the  same  footing,  and 
in  the  same  manner,  with  the  avowedly  inspired  writings  of 
the  Old  Testament,  and  that  the  author  of  the  Apocalypse 


301 

the 
then, 
is  no  less  futile  than  common,  which  was  first  advanced  by 
Spinoza  against  the  doctrine  for  which  I  contend,  that  the 
Apostles  themselves  make  no  claim  to  inspiration  in  favour 
of  their  writings.  And,  indeed,  as  it  is  a  distinction  utterly 
immaterial,  whether  a  man  say,  "This  is  the  Lord's  mes- 
sage," or,  "  I  the  messenger  of  the  Lord  speak  this  to  you  ;" 
the  ordinary  superscription  of  "  Apostle  of  Christ,"  which 
precedes  the  greater  number  of  the  treatises  contained  in  the 
New  Testament,  is  an  assertion  no  less  absolute  of  official 
and  inspired  authority,  than  if  they  were  explicitly  entitled 
"  The  AV'ord  of  the  Lord  which  came  to  his  servant  Paul," 
or  introduced  themselves  to  our  attention  and  reverence  by  llie 
old  prophetic  formula  of  "Thus  saith  Jehovah." 

With  still  less  reason  has  Spinoza  urged,  in  answer  to 
such  claims  as  these,  that  St.  Paul  himself  has,  on  a  certain 
occasion,  expressed  himself  as  doubtful  whether  he  spake 
by  inspiration  or  no;  and  that,  in  another  and  yet  more  re- 
markable passage,  he  cautions  his  hearers  against  receiving 
that  particular  sentence  as  any  other  than  his  private  opinion. 
The  first  of  these  passages  has  been  very  clearly  explained 
to  be  no  otherwise  than  an  ironical  reproof  of  those  who 
affected  to  doubt  his  apostolic  powers.  With  the  solution 
which  Horbery  has  given  of  the  second,  I  acknowledge  that, 
ingenious  as  it  is,  1  am  not  altogether  satisfied.  But,  in 
truth,  on  the  principle  that  cxceplio  probat  rcgulam,  this  pas- 
sage, as  it  is  usually  understood,  is  among  the  strongest 
proofs  of  the  general  inspiration  of  Scripture ;  inasmuch  as 
no  one  would  state  in  his  discourses  or  letters  that  for  such  or 
such  particular  expressions  he  was  himself  to  answer,  unless 
he  intended  to  imply,  that  in  the  remainder  of  his  address  he 
spoke  from  another  and  a  higher  authority.  Nor  is  the  same 
objector  much  more  fortunate,  when  he  urges  against  the  in- 
spired authority  of  the  Christian  Scriptures,  thai  the  Apos- 
tles, by  their  fre(iuent  appeals  to  human  reason,  surrender 
tacitly  the  cUaracter  of  God's  heralds  and  instruments,  for 
that  of  human  doctors  and  disputants.  "  It  is  the  part,"  he 
tells  us,  "of  the  Almighty,  as  it  is  the  part  of  any  absolute 
sovereign,  to  command,  not  to  argue :  since  not  only  where 
the  will  of  a  sovereign  is  expressed  is  argument  on  the  ex- 
pediency of  that  will  superfluous;  but  since  the  very  use  of 
argument  or  persuasion  to  induce  men  to  obey  implies,  in  it- 
self, a  deficiency  of  power  to  compel  obedience." 

But  all  these  circumstances,  so  inconsistent,  as  we  are 
told,  with  the  notion  of  a  celestial  command,  are  found  in 
the  writings  of  our  New  Testament;  and  it  is  therefore  con- 
cluded, that  whatever  value  they  may  possess  as  faithful 
histories  of  supernatural  facts,  or  judicious  expositions  of 
natural  and  moral  duties,  they  can  have  none  as  authoritative 
declarations  of  the  will  of  Him  whose  will  alone  is  suffi- 
cient ground  of  obligation  and  obedience. 

I  have  given  this  objection  thus  at  length,  because  it  is,  I 
believe,  the  foundation,  in  many  instances,  of  that  reluctance 
which  has  been  so  prevalent,  to  ascribe  to  our  Scriptures  the 
honour  which  they  may  justly  claim ;  and  because,  from  its 
plausibility,  it  calls  for  a  more  satisfactory  answer  than  the 
'earned  Simon,  in  whose  Critical  History  I  first  saw  it,  has, 
n  my  opinion,  supplied.  His  answer  may  be  reduced  to  the 
followincr  assertions  :  "That  prophecy  is  not  to  be  confounded 
with  enthusiasm  ;  that  the  Spirit  of  God  which  supplied  the 
Apostles  with  supernatural  knowledge  did  not  extinguish  or 
overpower  their  natural  reason  or  their  previous  human  ac- 
quirements ;  and  that  it  was  permitted  them  to  employ  both 
the  one  and  the  other  of  these  lights  for  the  purpose  of  per- 
suading the  people." 

Now  this  is  nothing  else  than  to  admit  that,  though  the 
subject  matter  of  the  argument  be  divine,  and  though  the  facts 
which  is  intended  to  illustrate  be  communicated  absolutely 
and  infallibly,  the  arguments  and  illustrations  arise  from  the 
Apostles  themselves,  and  are,  properly  speaking-,  no  part  of 
God's  revelation.  But  this,  while  it  is  an  admission  of  the 
utmost  delicacy  and  danger,  is  by  no  means  a  sufficient  an- 
swer to  the  objection  advanced  by  the  unbeliever ;  since,  if 
it  became,  as  he  supposes,  the  Almighty,  on  all  occasions 
where  he  taught  his  creatures  at  all,  to  leach  them  dogmati- 
cally and  peremptorily;  it  became  him  no  less  to  direct  the 
tongue  or  pen  of  his  inspired  Apostles  in  the  manner  most 
suitable  to  his  dignity.  And,  above  all,  it  would  have  been, 
on  their  part,  a  frantic  presumption,  to  endeavour  to  supply, 
by  their  own  glosses  or  observations,  any  supposed  deficiency 
in  the  message  of  him  b}'  whom  they  were  employed.  It  is 
more  to  the  purpose  to  show,  (and  the  means  of  doing  so  are 
fortunately  in  the  Christian's  power),  that  it  is  unworthy  nei- 


302 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


ther  of  an  earthly  nor  an  almijrhty  sovereign  to  convince  and 
persuade  his  subjects  to  obedience;  and  that  there  are  prece- 
dents, to  wliich  .Spinoza  at  least  could  not  have  objected, 
where  Jehovah  has  not  in  his  own  person  disdained  to  apply 
to  the  natural  reason  and  former  experience  of  his  people 
Israel. 

If  the  question  were  of  power  alone,  it  might,  indeed,  be- 
come the  majesty  of  kings  to  enforce  a  blind  and  mechanical 
obedience  to  every  dictate  of  their  will  or  wisdom ;  and  it 
might  be  sufficient  for  tlic  King  of  kings  to  produce  by  a  sin- 
gle fiat  whatever  effect  he  now  produces  by  the  intervention 
of  the  human  will,  and  by  discovering  to  his  creatures  such 
motives  for  action,  as,  by  their  free  and  affectionate  service, 
may  produce  the  result  desired.     But  the  earthly  monarch, 
who  proposed  the  first  of  these  as  the  object  of  liis  highest 
ambition,  instead  of  the  leader  of  men,  would  be  the  driver 
of  cattle  only :  the  Deity  who  should  rule  his  creatures  by 
the  single  operation  of  necessity,  would  be  degraded  into  the 
regulator  of  a  machine.     But,  if  it  be  more  worthy  of  a  right- 
eous king  to  make  his  people  subjects  than  slaves;  if  a  good 
God  be  more  excellently  gloriticd  by  the  grateful  duty  of  his 
offspring,  than  by  the  mere  accomplishment  of  certain  pur- 
poses by  the  weight  of  overruling  authority ;  if  goodness  and 
wisdonr  are,  both  with  men  and  God,  more  illustrious  attri- 
butes than  strength  or  eminent  station ;  it  can  excite  no  won- 
der that  both  should,  on  certain  occasions,  convince  where 
tliev  might  compel,  and  persuade  where  it  was  in  their  power 
to  comnnand.     If  it  were  unwortliy  of  God  to  set  forth  in  a 
true  light  to  mankind  the  reasonableness  of  that  service  which 
he  reqliires  at  their  hands,  or  that  confidence  which  it  is  nis 
pleasure  that  they  should  place  in  him;  if  he  could  not,  with- 
out too  much  condescension,  enforce  and  explain  the  motives 
whereby  he  seeks  to  influence  us;  the  same  objection  would 
lie  with  equal  justice  against  the  proposition  of  any  motives 
whatever ;  and  the  promise  of  definite  rewards,  and  the  threat 
of  definite  punishments,  would  be  superfluous  alike  in  him 
who  might,  without  warning  or  explanation,  ppur  forth  the 
full  measure  of  his  wrath  on  those  who  presumed  to  doubt  or 
disobey.     But  if  it  be  not  unworthy  of  an  allwise  Being  to 
govern  mankind  by  those  passions  and  those  rational  powers 
which  he  has  implanted  in  them,  no  reason  can  be  given  why 
the  same  great  Teacher  should  not  illustrate  and  explain,  as 
seems  best  to  himself,  from  the  principles  of  human  reason 
and  experience,  those  discoveries  which  he  proposes  to  us 
whether  of  his  nature  or  his  will. 

Accordingly,  in  the  whole  tenour  of  the  Old  Testament, 
we  find  that  the  Almighty  has  pursued  this  course  with  his 
people.     It  is  thus  that  (before  he  condemns,  by  the  mouth 
of  fearauel,  the  disobedience  of  the  first  king  of  Israel)  he 
enlarges  on  tlie  benefit  which  he  had  in  the  first  instance  con- 
ferred, and  the  ingratitude  w  ilh  w  hich  Saul  had  repaid  them. 
It  is  thus  that,  in  the  fifth  chapter  of  Isaiah,  Jehovah  calls  on 
the  men  of  Judah  themselves,  to  judge  "what  more  could 
have  been  done  than  he  had  doriC  for  his  vineyard  V     Thus, 
too,  he  explicitly  invites,  in  the  first  chapter  of  the  same 
prophet,  his  people  to  "  reason"  with  their  God,  w  hen  he 
urges  on  their  common  sense  the  inutility  of  that  vain  parade 
of  sacrifice  and  outward  honour  whereby  the  w'icked  hoped 
to  conciliate  him.     Will  it  be  contended,  that  the  prophets  in 
these  instances  speak  from  themselves  and  on  their  own  re- 
sponsibility ?     Then  are  they  in  the  strictest  sense  of  the 
word  impostors ;   for  every  one  of  these  passages,  no  less 
than  innumerable  others  which  might  be  cited  to  the  same 
effect,  are  introduced  by  them  as  the  message,  nay,  as  the 
words  of  Jehovah.     But  would   Spinoza  have  openly  ven- 
tured to  refuse  a  divine  authority  to  those  laws  which  God  in 
person  pronounced  to  his  assembled  nation,  under  every  im- 
aginable circumstance  of  supernatural  majesty  and  terror ! 
If  not,  then,  certainly  we  need   seek  no  further  precedent 
wherein  the  Ruler  of  the  world  has  vouchsafed  to  argue  with 
men,  since  even  then  he  scorned  not  to  deduce  his  claim  on 
their  obedience  from  the  mercies  which  they  had  received 
from  him,  and  to  assign  as  a  reason  why  they  should  keep  his 
laws,  that  he  was  their  God,  who  had  brought  them  out  of 
the  house  of  bondage.     'J'he  Almighty,  douldess,  may  draw 
his  children  '•  with  the  cords  of  a  man,"  he  may  humble  his 
language  to  our  conceptions,  and  exact   from  us  a  service 
reasonable  as  well  as  implicit,  without  degrading  his  dignity 
in  those  dispensations  whereby  his  love  is  chiefly  magnified. 
For  all  which  we  have  received  at  his  hands  be  to  him  all 
praise  and  glory;  but  for  this  above  all,  that,  by  enduing  us 
with  power  to  know  him  in  part  as  he  is,  he  has  called  forth 
and  concentrated  the  best  and  most  pleasurable  affections  of 
our  nature,  and  enabled  us  to  build  an  image  to  him  in  our 


hearts,  to  whose  awful  beauty  we  may  direct  our  prayers, 
and  w  hose  perfect  excellence  we  may,  at  humble  distance 
emulate ! 

But,  though  the  practice  of  reasoning  with  his  creatures 
be  far,  very  far  indeed,  from  degrading  to  the  Almighty 
Teacher;  yet  is  there  much  plausibility  in  one  observation  of 
Spinoza,  against  which  Simon  heavily  inveighs  ;  "  that  there 
is,  in  the  very  act  of  reasoning,  a  submission  to  the  sentence 
of  others;  and  that  arguments,  by  whomsoever  advanced,  do, 
inasmuch  as  they  are  arguments,  challenge  refutation."  The 
same  may  be  said,  indeed,  of  every  mode  by  which  the  All- 
wise  has  manifested  to  mankind  his  existence,  his  nature,  or 
his  will,  since,  even  in  the  case  of  a  visible  glory,  the  ques- 
tion might  arise,  whether  the  vehicle  employed  were  worthy 
of  him  whom  it  represented;  and  since,  when  God  conde- 
scends for  our  instruction  to  become  an  historian  or  a  law- 
giver, he  subjects  himself,  whether  he  makes  use  of  argument 
or  no,  to  those  rules  of  criticism  by  which  we  decide  on  hu- 
man compositions.  And  if  in  any  of  these  particulars  for 
which  human  works  are  condemned,  the  work  which  claims 
to  proceed  from  him  be  found  defective,  though  it  would  be 
preposterous  impietj^  to  attribute  error  of  any  kind  to  God,  it 
would  be  a  conclusion  warranted  by  every  principle  of  reason 
and  reverence,  that  a  composition  unworthy  of  our  most  exalt- 
ed ideas  of  God  did  not,  in  truth,  proceed  from  him.  Accord- 
ingly, if  we  produce  the  Scriptures  to  the  world  as  a  code  of 
laws  or  narrative  of  events  of  divine  and  infallible  authority, 
we  may  be  reasonably  expected  to  prove  against  all  assailants, 
either  that  the  volume  which  we  revere  is  both  in  manner  and 
matter  faultless  and  unimpeachable,  or  that  the  faults  of  its 
human  promulgators  are  not  inconsistent  with  that  aid  and 
authority  of  the  Holy  Ghost,  which  the  terms  of  infallibility 
and  inspiration  in  their  natural  sense  imply. 

But  the  objections  of  the  infidel  are  directed  at  once  against 
the  style  and  the  matter  of  those  works  whose  merits  we  are 
now  discussing,  since  in  both,  as  we  are  told,  is  the  volume  of 
ihe  New'  Testament  assailable.  "  Its  language  is,  at  best, 
the  language  of  a  Jewish  Greek:  its  arguments  and  asser- 
tions, by  the  confession  of  one  of  its  own  prophets,  occasion- 
ally hard  to  be  understood ;  of  its  contents  there  are  some 
which  its  authors  might  have  well  supplied  from  their  natural 
recollection  or  their  natural  reason  only;  and  some  so  trifling, 
that  its  seems  little  less  than  blasphemy  to  ascribe  them  to 
any  higher  source  than  common  prudence  or  civility.  Nor 
is  this  all.  There  are  circumstances,  trifling  circumstances 
indeed,  and  which,  if  tliey  occurred  in  a  work  of  human  skill, 
W'Ould  be  altogether  unworthy  of  reprehension,  where  the 
authority  of  Scripture  is  at  variance  with  itself,  or  with  un- 
inspired but  credible  testimony." 

Of  these  imputations,  it  would  be  easy  to  show,  and  it  has, 
in  fact,  been  often  shown  satisfactorily,  that  bj'  far  the  greater 
part  of  the  passages  on  which  they  depend  will  b}'  no  means 
bear  up  the  consequences  which  infidelity  has  sought  to  raise 
on  them.  As  some  however  will  still  be  found,  W'hich  the 
best  and  wisest  of  men  have  deemed  it  easier  to  evade  than 
explain,  it  is  necessary  and  it  is  sufficient  to  demonstrate, 
that  the  allegations,  where  they  are  accurate,  do  not  apply  to 
their  intended  purpose,  and  that  w-e  have  still  ample  grounds 
for  ascribing  to  every  part  of  the  New  Testament,  a  sufficient 
though  not  an  equal  share  of  Divine  inspiration  and  authority. 
I  say,  a  sufficient  but  not  equal  share,  because  as  the  works 
of  which  our  sacred  volume  is  composed  are  of  many  different 
kinds,  and  have  been  produced  under  circumstances  extremely 
dissimilar,  it  would  be  unreasonable  to  expect  the  same  sort 
or  measure  of  celestial  aid  to  be  accorded  to  all  indiscrimi- 
nately ;«'.nd  it  is  on  every  principle  of  argument  suff.cient,  if 
we  can  show  that  none  of  them  have  been  without  that  de- 
gree of  help  which  would  identify  their  authority  with  the 
divine  instructions. 

t\nd,  here,  it  will  be  allowed  on  all  hands,  that  inspiration 
and  infallibility  must,  in  their  strictest  sense,  be  predicated 
of  those  expressions  which,  as  they  follow  in  order,  have  been 
immediately  dictated  by  God.  Such  are  those  ordinances 
and  messages  in  the  Book  of  Moses,  and  in  the  ancient  pro- 
phecies, w^here  the  Almighty  himself  exactly  specifies  the 
sentences  to  be  written  down  ;  so  that,  though  the  translation 
of  such  passages  into  another  language  be  liable,  beyond  a 
doubt,  to  hunian  error  and  infirmity,  in  the  original  at  least, 
not  only  the  purport  but  the  style  and  arrangement  are  truly 
and  exclusively  Divine.  And,  so  far  as  such  passages  ex- 
tend, those  lofty  claims  to  literal  inspiration  for  which  the 
Jews  are  ridiculed  by  Warburtcn,  and  the  proverbs  and  para- 
bles whereby  they  were  accustomed  to  illustrate  and  enforce 
the  sanctity,  not  of  the  words  alone  but  of  the  letters  and 


IIEBER'S  BAMPTON  LECTURES. 


303 


particles  of  letters,  "  every  jot  and  tittle  of  their  law,"  were 
jastifiable,  undnubtedly,  and  landable,  inasmucli  as  that  form 
of  words,  which  God  had  himself  made  use  of,  must  needs 
have  been,  of  all  others,  the  best,  and  best  suited  to  his 
purpose. 

And,  though  there  are  very  few  passages,  (two  or  three  at 
most  there  are,)  in  the  course  of  the  New  Testament,  which  are 
given  as  the  very  words  of  the  Almighty  Father,  or  as  proceed- 
ing from  either  of  the  other  Persons  of  the  Trinity,  in  their 
divine  and  eternal  nature;  yet  can  there  be  no  doubt  that  the 
■words  of  the  Son  while  on  earth  are,  no  less  than  these,  the 
accents  of  infinite  wisdom  and  goodness,  and  that  they  merit 
as  much  of  reverence  from  his  followers  as  those  which,  be- 
fore his  incarnation,  he  addressed  to  the  tribes  in  Horeb,  or 
which,  after  his  exaTtatioii,  he  spake  to  St.  Paul  or  St.  John. 
Were  error,  then,  detected  here,  the  most  reverent  conclusion 
■which  we  could  draw  would  be,  that  the  Apostles  had  mis- 
taken their  Master;  a  conclusion  at  once  decisive  against  the 
inspiration  of  the  work  which  they  have  given  us.  But,  con- 
cerning the  sentiment  and  wisdom  of  our  Lord's  discourses,  we 
have  not,  even  with  infidels,  any  controversy.  And,  as  these 
divine  expressions  were,  when  uttered,  in  a  different  language 
from  that  in  which  they  are  transmitted  to  our  time,  tlie 
question  of  their  style  and  grammatical  accuracy  must  nati: 
rally  fall  under  another  branch  of  our  inquiry,  since,  how- 
ever, the  followers  of  Christ  profess  to  have  been  divinely 
assisted  in  the  rccotleclion  of  their  Master's  words,  they,  in  no 
instance  that  I  am  aware  of,  lay  claim  to  any  celestial  aid  in 
their  trnnahtion. 

Nor  will  this  admission  in  the  slightest  degree  contravene 
the  inspireil  authority  of  the  New  Testament,  since,  secondly, 
a  written  ^document  may  properly  be  called  inspired,  when 
the  sentiments  and  ideas  which  its  words  convey  are  sug- 
gested by  the  Holy  Ghost;  though  the  words  in  which  those 
sentiments  are  clothed  he  entirely  left  to  the  human  and  un- 
assisted genius  of  the  writer.  And  this  is  th-at  species  of 
assistance  which  was  especially  promised  by  Christ  to  the 
original  teachers  of  his  Gospel,  whom  the  Comforter  was  to 
guide,  we  are  told,  into  all  religions  truth,  but  of  whom  it  is 
no  where  said,  that  the  Spirit  should  put  his  power  in  their 
lips,  or  that  he  should  enable  them  to  express  to  others  their 
own  internal  perceptions  with  supernatural  force  of  sacred 
eloquence.  Nor  is  that  opinion  either  improbable  in  itself, 
or  inconsistent  with  the  pretensions  of  the  sacred  writers, 
which  apprehends  that  the  Holy  Ghost  might  thus  illumi- 
nate the  inward  man  with  knowledge  which  the  favoured 
individual  was  not  necessarily  qualified  to  disclose  to  man- 
kind, with  all  that  energy  or  clearness  of  diction  w-hich,  if 
the  same  good  Spirit  had  so  pleased,  it  was,  doubtless,  in 
his  power  to  have  conferred.  If  a  prophetic  vision  were  ex- 
hibited to  Amos,  the  herds.Tian  of  Tekoa,  it  by  no  means  fol- 
lowed that  he  should  be  able  to  describe  what  he  had  seen 
in  the  same  pomp  of  diction  and  glow  of  colouring  as  the 
high-born  poet  Isaiah.  Had  Newton  been,  in  other  respects, 
uneducated,  his  discoveries  in  astronomy  would  neither  have 
improved  his  elocution  nor  his  style.  And  if  we  suppose, 
what  we  cannot  help  supposing,  tliat  the  ideas  communicated 
by  Almighty  power  would  aflect  the  mind  precisely  in  the 
same  maimer  with  those  which  are  generated  by  memory  or 
reflexion,  it  is  apparent  that  the  process  by  which  ideas  are 
presented  or  combined  is  altogether  distinct  from  that  by 
which  the}'  are  clothed  in  those  conventional  signs,  which 
convey  to  other  men  the  result  of  our  internal  meditation. 
How  often  do  we  conceive  with  force  and  clearness,  what  we 
are  unable  at  the  moment  to  express  witli  clejanee  or  fluency  ? 
And  what  closer  connexion  docs  there  exist  between  the 
original  conception  and  the  choice  of  words,  than  between  the 
choice  of  words  and  the  hand-writing'!  It  was  possible,  then, 
to  be  inspired  with  a  knowledge  of  celestial  truth,  without 
any  corresponding  improvement  in  natural  or  artificial  elo- 
quence. That  wisdom  which  committed,  in  the  first  instance, 
to  earthen  vessels,  the  treasures  of  eternal  life,  might  be  ex- 
pected, by  a  parity  of  reason,  to  leave  the  vessels  earthen 
still ;  and  the  fisherman  of  Galilee,  when  elevated  into  a  pro- 
phet, might  retain,  nevertheless,  all  the  original  simplicity 
of  his  character,  and  all  the  imperfections  of  his  education. 

Accordingly,  though  the  Apostles  were  full  of  the  Holy 
Ghost,  that  internal  illumination  did  not  prevent  the  Sanhe- 
drim from  reading  in  their  manners  and  dialect  their  original 
ignorance  and  obscurity;  and  the  revelation  entrusted  to  St. 
Paul  would  no  more  make  him  a  Demosthenes,  than  the 
revelation  of  which  Moses  was  the  minister,  corrected  his 
imperfect  utterance. 

The  defects,  then,  of  Scriptural  language,  were  they  really 


no  less  numerofis  and  striking  than  infidels  pretend,  would 
be  no  solid  objection  to  the  hypothesis,  that '-all  Scripture 
was  given  by  the  inspiration  of  God."  It  may  be  thought, 
indeed,  that,  as  the  Hellenistic  dialect  which  is  imputed  to 
the  New  Testament  was  the  usual  language  of  the  race  for 
whose  instruction  it  was,  in  the  first  instance,  intended ;  so 
it  could  never  be  expected  that  the  Almighty  should  miracu- 
lously interfere  to  perplex  the  Jews  of  ^Macedon  and  Asia 
with  refinements  of  which  they  could  not  feel  the  force,  and 
with  peculiarities  which,  however  consecrated  in  our  opinion 
by  tl-.e  talent  and  elegance  of  Athens,  were  to  them  unusual, 
and,  if  I  may  use  the  expression,  barbarous.  Nor  are  Chris- 
tians compelled  to  maintain,  on  the  one  hand,  the  purity  of 
every  passage  in  the  written  Word,  nor  to  confess,  on  the 
other,  that  the  Holy  Ghost  has  dictated  solecisms.  With  a 
becoming  zeal  for  the  hoiiour  of  the  sacred  text;  ■with  a  due 
admiration  of  the  real  beauties  of  Scripture;  but  confessing 
with  Augustin,  that  the  matter,  not  the  words,  of  Revelation 
is  entitled  to  the  epithet  of  Divine;  they  may  watch,  with 
nxucli  composure,  the  harmless  malice  of  their  enemies  ex- 
hausted on  those  peculiarities  of  language  and  of  style,  which, 
as  specimens  of  Greek,  may,  perhaps,  otfend,  but,  as  evidence 
of  the  Hebrew  extraction  of  their  authors,  are,  in  themselves, 
a  sufiicicnt  proof,  that  the  volume  of  our  Scripture  is  really 
the  production  of  those  Apostles  wlio  only,  of  the  Hebrew 
race,  had  authority  with  Gentile  believers. 

The  observations  which  I  have  made  on  the  grammatical 
incorrectness  of  Scriptural  language  will  apply  with  equal 
force  to  its  real  or  supposed  obscurity.  It  is  no  part  of  my 
present  purpose  to  enter  into  the  disputed  question,  whether 
the  words  of  St.  Peter  refer  to  the  mysterious  nature  of  these 
circumstances  which  his  brother  Apostle  had  imperfectly 
explained  to  the  faithful,  or  to  the  darkness  of  his  style  in 
speaking  of  them.  It  is  suflicient  for  my  argument  to  have 
shown,  that  admitting  to  its  full  extent  the  cavil  of  the  infidel 
objector,  its  consequences  could  not  affect  the  Divine  authority 
of  Scripture,  inasmuch  as  a  composition  may  merit  the  name 
of  inspired,  though  the  ideas  only,  and  not  the  forms  of  ex- 
pressing them,  be  suggested  by  the  Spirit  of  God.  And  it  is 
apparent,  that  as,  on  the  one  hand,  we  cannot,  from  the 
necessity  of  the  case,  and  the  constant  deference  which  the 
Apostles  claim  to  their  ■written  sentiments,  deny  this  share 
at  least  of  Divine  assistance  to  the  doctrinal  and  controver- 
sial treatises  of  the  New  Testament;  so  will  even  this  be 
completely  sufficient  for  those  ends  for  which  only  inspira- 
tion has  ever  been  accorded,  "  for  doctrine,"  that  is,  "for 
reproof,  for  correction,  for  instruction  in  righteousness." 

But,  thirdly,  a  composition  is  also  inspired,  when  circum- 
stances to  which  we  have  ourselves  been  formerly  witnesses 
are  preserved  or  renewed  in  our  recollection,  by  the  influence 
of  the  Almighty,  in  more  vivid  colours  and  with  an  accuracy 
more  perfect  than  was  possible  to  our  unassisted  faculties. 
For,  as  that  which  we  have  forgotten  may  be,  undoubtedly, 
no  less  properly  a  subject  of  inspiration  than  that  which  we 
have  never  known ;  so  is  the  wonder  no  less,  and  the  Divine 
interposition  as  immediate,  which  prevents  us  from  forgetting 
that  which  we  could  not,  without  such  an  aid,  have  remem- 
bered. And,  in  the  case  of  our  Saviour's  discourses  whiln 
on  earth,  there  is  an  absolute  promise  that  the  apostles  should 
be  assisted  with  this  supernatural  and  infallible  power  of  re- 
collection or  memory,  inasmuch  as  the  Comforter  was  not 
only  to  guide  them  into  truth,  but  "  to  bring  all  things  to 
their  remembrance,  whatsoever  their  Lord  hail  said  unto 
them."  And,  though  a  miracle  be,  doubtless,  never  wrought 
unnecessarily,  yet  would  nothing  less  than  a  miracle  be,  ap- 
parently, required,  to  enable  men  of  no  extraordinary  parts, 
and  strangers,  as  were  the  apostles,  to  those  arts  and  habits 
whereby  only  we  acquire  the  power  of  accurately  reporting 
conversations,  to  retain,  after  twenty  or  forty  years  interval, 
with  that  degree  of  accuracy  which  the  nature  of  the  case  de- 
manded, those  words  of  our  Saviour  on  which  so  many  lead- 
ing features  of  the  Christian  faith  depend.  Nor  will  any 
doubt  remain  of  this  necessity  to  those  who  shall  reflect  how 
few  persons  are  to  be  found,  I  will  not  say  among.peasants 
only,  but  among  those  who  are  most  in  the  habits  of  attention 
and  correctness,  who,  even  a  single  month  after  they  had 
once  heard  it,  wouhl  be  able  to  repeat  or  write  down  a  dis- 
course like  that  which  Jesus  held  on  the  mountain,  or  that 
yet  more  difhcult  one  from  which  the  words  of  my  text  are 
taken. 

Wliere  facts  are  concerned,  there  is  not,  indeed,  the  same 
necessity  for  Divine  assistance  as  in  the  case  of  words ; 
since  not  only  are  facts  more  easily  committed  to  memory 
and  more  stubbornly  retained  than  words  or  arguments  can 


304 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


be;  but  since  the  errors  vvliicb  might  be  expected  in  their  de- 
tail are  of  far  less  importance  than  those  which  may  arise 
from  a  mistaken  turn  of  expression  or  from  the  omission,  in 
a  sentence,  of  any  connecting-  or  explanatory  member. — For 
one  person  in  the  lower  or  middling  ranks  of  society  who  is 
competent  to  repeat  the  exact  expressions  of  another,  live 
thousand  may  be  found  who  are  adequate  witnesses  to  what 
they  see  him  do  or  suffer;  and,  if  the  supernatural  influence 
of  the  Holy  Ghost  were  necessary  to  enable  tlie  apostles  to 
remember  and  relate  the  discourses  of  their  Lord  with  the  ac- 
curacy which  such  blessed  instruction  merited,  it  might  seem, 
on  the  other  hand,  that  the}'  could  hardly,  without  a  miracle, 
forget  any  material  circumstance  of  those  most  wonderful 
facts  "  which  their  eyes  had  seen  and  their  hands  had  han- 
dled." It  may  be  thought,  therefore,  with  some  apparent 
reason,  that  when  we  have  proved  the  miraculous  nature  of 
the  assistance  given  to  the  apostles  in  the  doctrinal  parts  of 
the  New  Testament, — we  have  already  proved  all  which  is 
necessary  to  the  faith  or  practice  of  Christians,  ami  that, 
while  the  words  of  Christ  are  reported  to  us  by  supernatural 
and  infallible  authority,  we  may  safely  commit  the  certainty 
of  his  actions  to  that  same  human  evidence  on  which  we  at 
first  believed  them. 

Michaelis  accordingly  maintains,  and  I  myself  was  once 
of  the  same  opinion,  that  though  the  promise  of  our  Lord  is 
express  as  to  the  Holy  Ghost  assisting  the  apostles  to  recol- 
lect his  words,  yet  we  have  not  the  same  grounds  in  Scripture 
for  supposing  that,  in  relating  every  particular  occurrence  of 
his  life,  they  were  to  possess  the  same  infallible  accuracy. 
But  though  the  promise,  it  must  be  allowed  is  not  so  explicit, 
and  though  the  necessity,  it  will  be  granted  readily,  is  neither 
so  urgent  nor  so  uniform,  of  divine  assistance  in  relating  his- 
torical events  as  it  lias  been  shown  to  be  in  the  case  of  oral 
communications;  yet  it  is  certain  that  the  Spirit's  guidance 
into  all  truth  must'imply  a  perfect  accuracy  in  every  circum- 
stance, at  least,  where  religious  truth  is  concerned  :  and  that, 
as  there  is  no  recorded  action  of  our  Lord  which  can  be  re- 
garded as  unimportant  to  the  belief  or  imitation  of  his  follow- 
ers,— so  are  there  some  facts  relating  to  him  recorded  in  the 
New  Testament,  which,  without  celestial  illumination  it  was 
impossible  its  authors  should  have  known ;  others,  of  ^^hich 
it  is  not,  perhaps,  too  mtich  to  sajf,  that  no  human  testimony 
would  be  of  itself,  sufficient  to  establish  them;  and  others, 
yet  more,  where  a  human  error  in  the  narrative  would  have 
conducted  to  consequences  exceedingly  dangerous  to  our  faith 
or  practice.  Atid  as,  in  all  these  instances,  the  necessity  of 
the  case  would  induce  us  to  expect  that  they  would  not  be  de- 
prived of  divine  assistance, — so  there  is  a  case  exactl}'  in 
point,  from  the  analogy  of  which  we  may  infer  that  such  as- 
sistance has  been  actually,  in  these  instances,  accorded  to 
them.  'When  Paul  was  to  be  instructed,  as  an  apostle,  in  the 
circumstance  of  our  Saviour's  life  and  doctrine,  it  might  have 
appeared  to  men  to  be  sufficient  had  God  referred  him  for  in- 
formation to  his  elder  brethren  in  the  Church  and  to  those  who 
themselves  had  eaten  and  drank  in  the  presence  of  his  Son. 
But  though,  as  it  should  seem,  an  adequate  knowledge  might 
have  been  thus  acquired  of  Christ's  behaviour  during  the  last 
supper, — yet  we  find  that  these  particulars  were  notentrusted 
to  the  memory  of  even  an  apostle,  but  were  made  the  subject 
to  St.  Paul  of  an  immediate  revelation  from  the  Lord.  An 
equal  help,  we  may  reasonably  conclude,  would  be  given 
wherever  it  was  equally  important;  and  in  relating  the  deeds 
no  less  than  the  words  of  Christ,  the  recollection  of  the  sa- 
cred writers  would  be,  absolutely,  therefore,  infallible. 

And  it  ma)'  be,  at  the  same  lime  observed,  that  such  assist 
ance  as  is  here  described,  since  it  does  not  amount  to  the  in- 
ternal suggestion  of  a  new  idea  to  the  soul,  but  simply  to  the 
preservation  or  revival  of  an  idea  originally  suggested  hy  the 
natural  and  external  process,  is,  therefore,  perfectly  consistent 
with  that  character  to  which  the  Evangelists  lay  claim,  of 
witnesses  speaking  from  their  own  distinct  experience  and 
recollection,  and  by  their  separate  testimonies,  coHfirming  the 
veracity  of  each  other.  For,  the  promise  of  our  Lord  is  not 
that  the  Holy  Ghost  should  prompt  to  the  Apostles  what  tes- 
timony they  ought  to  bear,  (in  which  case  I  am  ready  to  al- 
low tliat  the  Holy  Ghost  himself,  and  not  his  human  organ, 
would  be  the  person  who  bore  witness  ;)  but  that  the  Holy 
Ghost  should  enable  them  to  give  better  and  more  accurate 
evidence  of  what  they  had  heard  than  they  could  otherwise 
have  been  considered  or  expected  to  be.  But  if,  of  two  wit- 
nesses, the  one  had,  by  an  artificial  sj'Stem  of  memory,  or  by 
notes  taken  at  the  time,  acquired  the  power  of  speaking  after 
a  lapse  of  years,  more  positively  to  certain  facts  or  express- 
ions than  his  companion  could  do,  we  should,  certainly,  not 


consider  his  testimony  as  on  that  account  less  valuable,  nor, 
as  I  conceive,  less  genuine  and  authentic.  The  manner  in 
which  the  knowledge  was  first  obtained  is  the  single  point  on 
which  the  question  of  originality  depends ;  and,  let  the  help 
be  what  it  may  by  which  that  knowledge  has  been  preserved 
or  refreshed,  that  help  can  do  no  more  than  add  probability  or 
certainty  to  the  natural  recollection  of  the  witness. 

And  there  is  yet  another  way  in  which  the  assistance  of 
the  Holy  Ghost  may  be  useful  and  necessary,  even  where  all 
our  knowledge  had  been  acquired  and  retained  by  our  out- 
ward experience  and  natural  abilities ;  and  that  is  by  suggest- 
ing, out  of  several  circumstances  or  expressions  of  which  all 
are  equally  remembered,  the  selection  of  those  particulars 
which  are  best  adapted  to  the  instruction  and  advantage  of 
ourselves,  or  of  those  for  whom  we  are  writing.  Nor  can  we 
think  it  improbable  that  in  this  manner  also,  the  narratives  of 
the  apostles  are  inspired,  since,  in  the  circumstances  which 
they  have  recorded  of  the  life  and  conversation  of  Christ,  so 
little  is  to  be  found  whereby  mere  curiosity  is  gratified;  and 
since,  notwithstanding  the  brevity  of  the  Gospels,  the  pic- 
ture whicli  they  afford  of  the  character  of  Jesus  is  at  once  so 
complete  and  instructive.  It  is  possible,  therefore,  for  in- 
spiration to  be  useful  and  even  necessary,  though  the  circum- 
stances which  we  relate  are  such  as  we  have  in  our  own  per- 
sons witnessed ;  and  there  is  no  room  for  saying  that,  when 
we  suppose  the  grant  of  God's  assistance  to  the  narratives  of 
Matthew  and  John,  we  suppose  a  needless  miracle. 

It  is,  at  the  same  time,  certain  that,  wherever  the  aid  of  the 
Holy  Ghost  is  bestowed,  whether  to  suggest,  or  preserve,  or 
discriminate,  the  results  of  such  aid  will  be  of  an  authority 
alike  divine,  and  the  doctrine  or  example  which  they  convey 
alike  imperatively  binding  on  the  obedience  and  the  faith  of 
Christians.  Though  the  propositions  which  are  thus  selected 
and  approved  should  have  been,  in  the  first  instance,  advanced 
by  human  craft  or  wisdom,  )'et  will  the  choice  of  the  Holy 
Ghost  establish  them  as  the  adopted  word  of  God ;  nor  will 
that  be  less  infallible  to  which  he  has  set  the  seal  of  his  as- 
sent, than  that  which  immediately  proceeded  from  him.  If  a  ce- 
lestial messenger  had  recommended  to  our  faith  and  obedience 
some  certain  pasages  in  Plato  or  in  Porphyry,  would  it  be  doubt- 
ed that,  whatever  were  the  general  character  of  those  authors 
or  their  productions,  the  words  thus  cited  would  be,  thence- 
forth, the  laws  of  the  Most  High  1  At  the  same  time,  though 
such  particular  passages  would  be  thereby  invested  witli  di- 
vine authority,  it  is  plain  that  the  question  would  remain  un- 
touched, whether  the  writings  from  which  they  were  taken 
were  inspired  or  no,  and  whether  they  were,  in  truth,  the  pro- 
duction of  those  authors  whose  names  they  bore.  And  we 
thus  ma)'  understand  how  the  human  learning  and  human  di- 
ligence of  an  apostle  might,  no  less  than  the  use  of  previous 
documents,  be  perfectly  consistent  with  the  internal  dicta- 
tion of  God's  Spirit,  anil  that  whatever  truth  was  found  in  an 
apocryphal  or  heathen  writer  might  be  suggested  by  their  ce- 
lestial oruide  to  James  or  Jude  or  Paul,  without  subscribing  to 
the  general  contents  or  prophetic  dignit)',  whether  of  the  books 
of  Enoch  or  Aratus  or  Rpimenides. 

That  any  part  of  Scripture  can  be  found  where  inspiration 
was  an  useless  or  superfluous  blessing,  is  a  doctrine,  then,  not 
easy  to  be  maintained.  Undoubtedly,  it  will  be  difficult  to 
show  that  those  passages  in  the  Epistles  which  have  been 
chiefly  instanced  as  too  trivial  to  call  down  a  celestial  inter- 
ference, were  really  unimportant  to  the  persons  whom  they,  in 
the  first  instance,  concerned,  or  in  the  instruction  which  the 
Church  might,  in  after  ages,  draw  from  them.  The  saluta- 
tions which  St.  Paul,  in  his  official  writings,  addresses  to  par- 
ticular believers,  may  have  produced  a  moral  effect  of  the 
strongest  and  most  beneficial  character,  as  so  many  testimonies 
of  that  approbation  with  which  the  Holy  Ghost  himself  beheld 
their  inward  feelings  and  their  outward  conduct.  The  books 
and  garment  which  were  left  at  Troas  have  furnished  more 
thairone  important  lesson  to  the  Christian  world;  and  where 
the  apostle  reproves,  in  his  epistle  to  Timothy,  the  excessive 
abstinence  of  his  disciple,  a  testimony  is  borne  which  a  Pro- 
phet might  fitly  bear  against  those  ascetic  doctrines  which 
were,  thus  early,  invading  Christianity,  and  which  imposed, 
at  length,  on  the  faithful  a  yoke  of  unprofitable  restrictions,  as 
grievous  and  as  manifold  as  the  burden  of  that  law  which  tliey 
had  cast  down. 

Should  this  be  thought,  however,  to  savour  of  scholastic 
refinement,  I  can  perceive  no  inconsistency  with  that  charac- 
ter to  which  the  Scriptures  lay  claim  as  an  inspired  and  infal- 
lible rule  of  faith  and  practice,  if,  in  circumstances  where 
the  unassisted  powers  of  the  writer's  intellect  were  amply 
sufficient  to  answer  the  purposes  of  Providence,  we  should 


IIEEER'S  BAMPTON  LECTUUE5. 


305 


admit  that  the  Prophet  was  left  to  his  private  judgment.  | 
When  the  counsel  was  a;iv"en,  or  the  discovery  made,  which 
it  was  the  object  of  the  Holy  Ghost  to  enforce  or  communi- 
cate, it  can  excite  no  surprise,  that,  though  the  heavenly 
voice  was  silent,  the  Apostle  might  still  conclude  his  letter 
with  the  usual  forms  of  salutation  to  his  friends,  or  with  the 
mention  of  his  private  necessities.  Where  the  Evangelist 
was  already  in  perfect  possession  of  the  fact,  or  where  a 
trifling  inaccuracy  could  have  no  practical  effect  on  the  faith 
or  life  of  his  brethren,  the  tenor  of  the  history  might  proceed, 
it  may  be  thought,  as  before,  though  the  historian  had  in  that 
instance  to  depend  on  himself  alone.  All  that  can  be  in  such 
case  required  is,  that  celestial  aid  should  be  supplied, 
wherever  human  authority  was  insufficient;  and  that  a  broad 
and  competent  line  of  demarcation  should  be  established  be- 
tween such  divine  and  earthly  ingredients  as  might  mingle  in 
the  same  treatise  or  history.  And  while  we  are  assured  of  the 
first  of  these  necessary  circumstances  by  the  promise,  that 
the  Spirit  of  God  should  guide  us  into  all  needful  truth:  so 
the  reason  of  the  case,  and  our  knowledge  of  those  definite 
objects  which  Scripture  has  in  view,  might  seem  amply  suffi- 
cient for  the  second. 

If,  then,  it  be  objected,  lastly,  against  the  divine  authority 
of  the  New  Testament,  that,  in  the  narratives  which  the 
Evangelists  haveseverallj'  furnished,  there  are  certain  difficul- 
ties which  the  followers  of  Christ  have  not  yet  been  able  to 
reconcile,  we  may  demand,  in  explanation  of  this  charge, — 
whether  the  circumstances  objected  to  can  properly  be  said  to 
belong  to  the  actions  or  doctrines  of  our  Saviour,  or  whether 
they  are  not,  on  the  other  hand,  of  a  nature  strictly  secular, — 
and  very  slightly  and  incidentally,  if  at  all,  connected  with 
the  Life  and  (ios|)cl  of  Jesus  Christ? 

On  the  first  of  these  suppositions  the  Christian  is,  indeed, 
very  deeply  concerned  to  vindicate  the  integrity  of  that  work 
which  is  his  charter  to  immortal  life.  In  the  second  case,  it 
will  be  enough  to  reply  that,  if  the  infallibility  of  the  Apos- 
tles extended  to  every  single  circumstance  in  which  their  mis- 
sion was  interested  ;  it  was  neither  to  be  expected  nor  desired, 
nor  does  their  Heavenly  Teacher  ever  give  us  to  understand  that 
the  same  supernatural  accuracy  should  be  possessed  by  them 
in  their  incidental  mention  of  men  and  topics  unconnected 
with  that  errand  for  the  due  performance  of  which  alone  they 
either  needed  or  hoped  for  inspiration.  It  was  the  history 
and  doctrines  of  the  Son  of  God  which  they  profess  to  give 
to  the  world  : — and  it  is  something  too  much  to  impeach  the 
divine  authority  of  their  narrative  on  subjects  worthy  of  ce- 
lestial interposition,  because,  on  points  of  no  importance  they 
were,  possibi}',  left  to  themselves. 

It  is  certain,  however,  that  the  seeming  inaccuracies  of  the 
Evangelists  and  whatever  variations  have  been  most  insisted 
on  by  infidels  in  tlic  accounts  which  those  Evangelists  have 
severall}'  furnished,  belong  exclusively  to  such  details  as, 
whether  true  of  false,  are  neither  subjects  capable  of  a  reli- 
gious faith, — nor  by  any  possibility  affecting  our  practice  ; 
variations  which  can  do  no  more,  at  most,  than  leave  their 
reader  under  some  degree  of  hesitation  as  to  the  hour  of  the 
crucifixion,  the  title  on  the  cross,  or  the  3-ear  in  which  our 
Saviour  drove  forth  the  money-changers  from  his  temple.  I 
do  not  mean  that  the  dilficulties  which  I  have  instanced  may 
not  be,  and  have  not  been  satisfactorily  solved,  and  that  without 
impeaching  in  the  smallest  degree  the  accuracy  of  the  sacred 
liistorian  ;  nor  will  I  dissemble  that  confidence  which  a  Chris- 
tian may  be  well  allowed  to  feel,  that  such  discrepancies  as 
yet  remain  to  try  our  faith  and  our  humility  will,  hereafter, 
in  God's  good  time  receive  their  perfect  solution.  It  is  a 
proverb  of  the  Jews,  that  when  Elias  shall  come,  every  knot 
of  their  sacred  book  shall  be  loosed  ;  and  we  may  safely 
trust  that  a  greater  than  Elias  will  vindicate  at  his  second  com- 
ing the  truth  of  his  written  word,  and  that  of  the  genuine 
Gospel,  as  of  the  genuine  Pentateuch,  no  jot  or  tittle  shall 
pass  away.  Meantime,  however,  I  am  most  anxious  to  prove, 
that  mistakes  in  points  where  inspiration  did  not  properly 
apply  can  by  no  means  derogate  from  the  inspired  character 
of  a  work  in  those  respects  where  inspiration  was  either 
needed  or  promised.  I  am  desirous  to  impress  on  your  minds 
that  circumstances,  which,  whether  true  or  false,  have  no 
possible  bearing  on  the  doctrine  or  character  of  Christ,  may 
belong,  indeed,  to  his  history,  but  are  no  essential  parts  of 
his  Gospel  ;  and  that  we  mav  admit  the  New  Testament  as 
an  unerring  and  imperative  rule  in  every  point  of  belief  or  of 
practice,  though  we  should  he  for  ever  ignorant  of  the  year 
in  which  Cyrenius  governed  Syria,  or  whether  the  apostate 
Judas  met  his  fearful  end  by  strangulation  or  by  rupture 
Above  all  it  has  been  mine  aim  to  show  that  by  the  Comforter 
Vol.  II 2  O 


whom  Christ  foretold,  and  by  those  blessed  aids  which 
he  has  for  Christ's  sake  dispensed  to  mankind,  the  faithful  of 
every  age  and  nation  are,  no  less  than  the  Apostles  them- 
selves, infallibly  conducted  to  that  truth  which  is  in  Jesus: 
and  that  "  for  doctrine,  for  reproof,  for  correction,  and  for  in- 
struction in  righteousness,"  ihe  Scriptures  of  the  last,  no  less 
than  of  the  former  covenant,  is  "  given  by  the  inspiration  of 
God. 

Nor  do  we  expect,  nor  do  we  desire  those  further  aids  to 
knowledge  and  to  holiness  which  the  Romanists  would  seek 
for  in  the  authority  whether  of  their  collective  Church,  or  of 
a  single  ecclesiastical  officer.  To  us  it  seems  presumptuous 
and  unreasonable,  when  a  rule  has  been  given  by  God  him- 
self, to  go  on  demanding  at  his  hands  another  and  )'et  another 
criterion  ;  to  peer  about,  in  the  full  blaze  of  sunshine,  for  the 
beams  of  a  supplementary  star;  or  to  subject  the  inspiration 
of  the  immediate  Apostles  of  our  Lord  to  the  authoritative 
decision  of  their,  surely,  less  enlightened  successors.  Bnt, 
neither  in  the  ancient  S3'nagogue,  nor  in  that  primitive  Church 
which  the  Messiah  formed  on  its  model,  is  any  claim  to  be 
found,  when  their  language  is  rightly  apprehended,  to  a  pri- 
vilege so  extraordinary  as  that  of  themselves  interpreting  the 
charter  whence  they  derived  their  authoritj*.  In  things  in- 
different, and  in  controversies  between  the  brethren,  the  sen- 
tence of  the  Church  was  unquestionably  binding  on  the 
conscience  of  all  its  members.  But  where  God  and  man 
were  parties,  they  could  express  their  opinion  onlj-;  and  the 
most  awful  denunciation  which  they  had  it  in  they  power  to 
utter,  is  a  confession  of  their  own  incompetency.  The  ana- 
thema, of  which  so  formidable  ideas  are  entertained,  is  in  its 
very  terms  no  other  than  an  appeal  to  the  final  judgment  of 
that  Lord  who  shall  hereafter  come  in  glory;  that  Lord  before 
whom,  as  before  his  proper  Master,  every  individual  must 
stand  or  fall ;  and  whose  laws  must  be  applied  by  every  in- 
dividual for  himself  to  his  own  case,  and  at  his  own  exceed- 
ing peril. 

If,  then,  the  Scriptures  be,  as  these  pretend,  obscure,  they 
are  obscure  to  those  who  perish.  No  remedy  was  provided 
under  the  elder  covenant  for  those  to  whose  instruction  nei- 
ther Moses  nor  the  prophets  sufficed ;  nor  does  St.  Peter  in 
the  New  (though  in  a  case  where  he  admits  the  difficulty  of 
God's  word)  direct  the  ignorant  and  unstable  to  apply  for 
further  light  to  himself  or  his  Roman  successors.  Nor,  in- 
deed, is  it  intelligible,  even  on  the  established  principles  of 
popery,  in  what  manner  the  rescripts  of  their  jiontiff,  and  the 
decrees  of  their  council,  could  produce,  any  more  than  the 
ancient  books  of  Scripture,  the  effects  which  they  fondly 
ascribe  to  them.  Unless  the  inspired  interpreter  were  om- 
nipresent as  well  as  infallible,  his  edicts  must,  no  less  than 
every  other  composition,  whether  human  or  divine,  be  liable 
to  perversion  or  cavil.  If  the  secular  arm  be  withdrawn,  it 
may  be  suspected  that  the  sentence  of  a  council  will  not  very 
greatly  avail  with  those  by  whom  the  words  of  Peter  or  Paul 
are  evaded  or  despised ;  nor  will  any  solid  satisfaction  be 
atTorded  by  the  cumbrous  mazes  of  the  canonists  and  school- 
men, to  those  weak  brethren  who  have  already  lost  their  way 
in  the  narrow  compass  of  one  little  volume. 

But,  in  the  essentials  of  salvation,  and  to  those  who 
sincerely  desire  to  be  taught  of  God,  are  the  Scriptures 
really  obscure?  Let  those  bear  witness,  whom,  by  these 
means  alone,  the  Spirit  of  God  has  guided  into  all  necessary 
truth !  Let  those  bear  witness  who  have  fled  from  the  per- 
turbed streams  of  human  controversy  to  this  source  of  living 
water,  whereof  "  if  a  man  drink  he  shall  never  thirst  again." 
Let  the  mighty  army  of  the  faithful  bear  witness,  who,  be- 
lieving no  less  than  they  find,  and  desiring  to  believe  no  more, 
have  worshipped  in  simplicity  of  heart,  from  the  earliest  ages 
of  the  Messiah's  kingdom,  the  Father,  the  Son,  and  the  com- 
fortable Spirit  of  God  !  I  do  not,  God  forbid  that  I  should 
in  this  place,  and  before  so  many  of  those  who  must  hereafter 
unite  their  amplest  stores  both  of  classical  and  sacred  learn- 
ing in  his  cause  from  whom  we  have  received  all  things! — I 
do  not  deny  the  efficacy,  the  propriety,  the  absolute  necessity 
of  offering  our  choicest  gifts  of  every  kind  on  the  altar  of  that 
religion  to  whose  ministry  we  are  called,  and  of  concentrating 
all  the  lights  of  history  and  science  to  the  illustration  of  these 
wonderful  testimonies.  But,  though,  to  illustrate  and  defend 
the  faith,  such  aids  are,  doubtless,  needful,  the  faith  itself 
can  spring  from  no  other  source  than  that  volume  which 
alone  can  make  men  wise  to  everlasting  salvation,  that  en- 
grafted word  which,  though  the  ignorant  and  unstable  may 
wrest  it  to  their  own  destruction,  is,  to  those  who  receive  it 
with  meekness  and  with  faith,  the  wisdom  and  the  power  of 
God. 


306 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


By  this  book  the  Paraclete  has  guided  the  church  into 
whatever  truths  the  church  of  Christ  has,  at  any  time,  be- 
lieved or  known ;  by  this  book  and  the  doctrine  which  it 
contains,  he  has  convinced  the  world  of  sin,  and  justified  the 
Son  of  Man  from  the  malicious  slanders  of  his  enemies;  by 
this  book  he  consoles  us  for  the  absence  of  our  Lord,  and  in- 
structs us  in  things  to  come;  by  this  he  reigns;  where  this 
is  found  his  kingdom  reaches  also  ;  by  this  weapon,  proceeding 
from  the  mouth  of  God,  shall  the  enemies  of  his  Christ  be  at 
leno-th  extirpated  from  the  world ;  and  by  this,  it  may  be 
thought,  as  by  the  rule  of  God's  approbation,  shall  the  secrets 
of  afl  hearts  be,  finally,  made  known,  in  that  day  when 
"whosoever  is  not  found  written  in  the  book  of  life,  shall  be 
cast  into  the  lake  of  fire." 


Wherefore,  holy  brethren,  partakers  of  the  spiritual  gift, 
seeing  that  we  have  not  followed  after  cunningly  devised  fa- 
bles, let  us,  each  in  his  station,  abound  in  the  labour  of  the 
Lord,  diffusing  as  we  may  that  saving  knowledge,  the  pos- 
session of  which  alone  could  make  it  expedient  for  the  disci- 
ples of  Christ  that  their  Master  should  depart  and  leave  them ! 
And  let  us  pour  forth,  above  all,  our  fervent  prayers  to  that 
Almighty  Spirit,  who  hath  given  us  these  Holy  records  of 
his  will,  that,  by  his  supporting  grace,  they  may  bring  forth 
in  us  the  fruit  of  holiness,  and  the  harvest  of  life  without  end, 
through  the  mercies  of  the  Father,  the  merits  of  the  Son,  and 
the  strong  protection  of  the  Comforter. 


The  notes  to  the  above  Lectures,  consisting  chiefly  of  quotations  from  the  Greek  and  Latin  Fathers  have  been  omitted. — 
Ed.  Ch.  Lib. 


HISTORY 


OF  THE 


PROGRESS  AND  SUPPRESSION 


OF  THE 


REFORMATION     IN    SPAIN 


IN  THE  SIXTEENTH   CENTURY. 


BY  THOMAS  M'CRIE,  D.  D. 


PREFACE. 

The  following  work  is  a  sequel  to  that  which  1  lately  pub- 
lished on  the  Reformation  in  Italy,  and  completes  what  I  in- 
tended as  a  contribution  to  the  history  of  that  memorable 
revolution  in  the  sixteenth  century,  which,  in  a  greater  or  less 
degree,  affected  all  the  nations  of  Europe. 

More  than  twenty  years  have  elapsed  since  I  inserted,  in  a 
periodical  work,  a  short  account  of  the  introduction  of  the 
reformed  opinions  into  Spain,  and  the  means  employed  to 
extirpate  them.  The  scanty  materials  from  which  that 
sketch  was  formed  have  gradually  increased  in  the  course  of 
subsequent  reading  and  research.  My  earliest  authority  is 
Reynaldo  Gonzalez  de  Monies,  a^  Protestant  refugee  from 
Spain,  who  in  1567  published  at  Heidelberg,  in  Latin,  a  De- 
tection of  the  Arts  of  the  Spanish  Inquisition,  interspersed 
with  anecdotes  of  his  countrymen  who  had  embraced  the 
Protestant  faith,  and  containing  an  account  of  such  of  them 
as  suffered  at  Seville.  That  work  was  immediately  trans- 
lated into  English,  and  underwent  two  editions,  to  the  last 
of  which  is  subjoined  an  account  of  Protestant  martyrs  at 
Valladolid.  Another  contemporary  authority  is  Cypriano  de 
Valera,  who  left  Spain  for  the  sake  of  religion  about  the  same 
time  as  De  IMontes,  and  has  given  various  notices  respecting 
his  Protestant  countrymen  in  his  writings,  'particularly  in 
a  book  on  the  Pope  and  the  Mass,  of  which  also  an  English 
translation  was  published  during  the  reign  of  Elizabeth. 

These  early  works,  though  well  known  when  they  first 
inade  their  appearance,  fell  into  oblivion  for  a  time,  together 
with  the  interesting  details  which  they  furnish.  As  a  proof 
of  this  it  is  only  necessary  to  mention  the  fact,  that  the 
learned  Mosheitn  translated  the  meagre  tract  of  our  country- 
men Dr  Michael  Geddes,  entitled.  The  Spanish  Protestant 
Martyrology,  and  published  it  in  Germany  as  the  best  account 
of  that  portion  of  ecclesiastical  history  with  which  he  was 
acquainted. 


Additional  light  has  been  lately  thrown  on  the  fate  of  Pro- 
testantism in  Spain  by  the  Critical  History  of  the  Spanish 
Inquisition,  compiled  by  Don  Juan  Antonio  Llorente,  for- 
merly secretary  to  the  Inquisition  of  Madrid.  Though  con- 
fusedly written,  that  work  is  very  valuable,  both  on  account 
of  the  new  facts  which  the  official  situation  of  the  author  ena- 
bled him  to  bring  forward,  and  also  because  it  verifies,  in  all 
the  leading  features,  the  picture  of  that  odious  tribunal  drawn 
by  De  Montes  and  other  writers,  whose  representations  were 
exposed  to  suspicion  on  account  of  their  presumed  want  of  in- 
formation, had  the  prejudices  which,  as  Protestants,  they 
were  supposed  to  entertain.  Llorente  was  in  possession  of 
documents  from  which  I  might  have  derived  great  advan- 
tage ;  and  it  certainly  reflects  little  honour  on  Protestants,  and 
especially  British  Protestants,  that  he  received  no  encourage- 
ment to  execute  the  proposal  which  he  made,  to  publish  at 
large  the  trials  of  those  who  suffered  for  the  reformed  reli- 
gion in  his  native  country. 

The  other  sources  from  which  I  have  drawn  my  informa- 
tion, including  many  valuable  Spanish  books  lately  added  to 
the  Advocate's  Library,  will  appear  in  the  course  of  the  work 
itself. 

My  acknowledgments  are  due  to  Dr.  Friedrich  Biallo- 
blotzky,  who  kindly  furnished  me,  from  the  University 
Library  or  Guttingen,  with  copious  extracts  from  the  disser- 
tation of  Busching,  Ve  Vtstigiis  Lutlieranismi  in  Hispania,  a 
book  which  I  had  long  sought  in  vain  to  procure.  For  the 
use  of  a  copy  of  De  Valera's  Dos  Tratados,  del  Papa  y  de 
hi  Missa,  now  become  very  rare,  as  well  as  of  otber  Spanish 
books,  I  am  indebted  to  the  politeness  of  Samuel  R.  Block, 
Esquire,  London. 

The  general  prevalence,  both  among  Spaniards  and  others, 
of  the  mistaken  notion  that  the  Spanish  Church  was  at  an 
early  period  dependent  on  the  See  of  Rome,  has  induced  me 
to  enter  into  minuter  details  in  the  preliminary  part  of  this 
work  than  I  should  otherwise  have  thought  necessary. 


308 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


CHAPTER  I. 

Review  of  the  Ecclesiastical  History  nf  Spain  before  the  era  of 
the  Htformation. 

Erroneous  opinions  as  to  their  early  history,  originating  in 
vanity,  and  fostered  by  ignorance  and  credulitj',  have  been 
common  among  almost  every  people.  These  are  often  harm- 
less ;  and  vvhile  they  afford  matter  of  good-humoured  rail- 
lery to  foreigners,  excite  the  more  inquisitive  and  liberal- 
minded  among  themselves  to  exert  their  talents  in  separating 
truth  from  fable,  by  patient  research,  and  impartial  discrimi- 
nation. But  they  are  sometimes  of  a  very  different  charac- 
ter, and  have  been  productive  of  the  worst  consequences. 
They  have  been  the  means  of  entailing  political  and  spiritual 
bondage  on  a  people,  of  rearing  insurmountable  obstacles  in 
the  way  of  their  improvement,  of  propagating  feelings  no 
less  hostile  to  their  domestic  comfort  than  to  their  national 
tranquillity,  and  of  making  them  at  once  a  curse  to  them- 
selves and  a  scourge  to  all  around  them. 

If  the  natives  of  Spain  have  not  advanced  those  extrava- 
gant pretentions  to  high  antiquity  which  have  made  the 
inhabitants  of  some  other  countries  ridiculous,  they  have 
unhappily  fallen  under  the  influence  of  national  prejudices 
equally  destitute  of  truth,  and  far  more  pernicious  in  their 
tendency.  Every  true  Spaniard  is  disposed  to  boast  of  the 
purity  of  his  blood,  or,  in  the  established  language  of  the 
country,  that  he  is  "an  Old  Christian,  free  from  all  stain  of 
bad  descent."  The  meanest  peasant  or  aritizan  in  Spain 
looks  upon  it  as  a  degradation  to  have  in  his  veins  the  least 
mixture  of  Jewish  or  Moorish  blood,  though  transmitted  by 
the  remotest  of  his  known  ancestors,  in  the  male  or  female 
line.  To  have  descended  from  that  race,  "  of  which,  as  con- 
cerning the  flesh,  Christ  came,"  or  from  Christians  who  had 
incurred  the  censure  of  a  tribunal  whose  motto  is  the  reverse 
of  his  who  "came  not  to  destroy  men's  lives  but  to  save 
them,"  is  regarded  as  a  greater  disgrace  than  to  have  sprung 
from  savages  and  pagans,  or  from  those  who  had  incurred 
the  last  sentence  of  justice  for  the  most  unnatural  and  horrid 
crimes.  "  I  verily  believe,"  says  a  modern  Spanisli  writer 
who  sometimes  smiles  through  tears  at  the  prejudices  of  his 
countrymen,  "  that  were  St.  Peter  a  Spaniard,  he  would 
either  deny  admittance  into  heaven  to  people  of  tainted 
blood,  or  send  them  into  a  corner,  wliere  they  might  not 
offend  the  eyes  of  the  Old  Christian."  We  might  go  far- 
ther, and  say,  that  if  a  vSpaniard  had  the  keys  of  heaven 
in  his  keeping,  St.  Peter,  and  all  the  apostles  with  him, 
would  be  '-removed  into  a  corner."  It  is  easy  to  con- 
ceive what  misery  must  have  been  felt  -by  persons  and  fami- 
lies who  have  incurred  this  involuntary  infamy  in  their  own 
estimation,  or  in  that  of  their  neighbours ;  and  what  bitter 
and  rancorous  feelings  must  have  been  generated  in  the  hearts 
of  individuals  and  races  of  men  living  together  or  contigu- 
ously, both  in  a  stale  of  peace  and  of  warfare. 

But,  when  the  records  of  antiquity  are  consulted,  the  truth 
turns  out  to  be,  that  in  no  other  country  of  Europe  has  there 
been  such  an  intermixture  of  races  as  in  .Spain — Iberian, 
Celtic,  Carthaginian,  Roman,  Greek,  Gothic,  Jewish,  Sar- 
acennio,  Syrian,  Arabian,  and  iSIoorish.  With  none  are  the 
Spaniards  more  anxious  to  disclaim  all  kindred  than  with 
Jews  and  Moors.  Yet  anciently  their  Cliristian  kings  did 
not  scruple  to  form  alliances  with  the  Moorish  sovereigns  of 
Grenada,  to  appear  at  their  tournaments,  and  even  to  fight 
under  their  banners.  Down  to  the  middle  of  the  fifteenth 
century,  the  Spanish  poets  and  romancers  celebrated  the 
chivalry  of  "the  Knights  of  Grenada,  gentlemen  though 
Moors."  It  was  no  uncommon  occurrence  for  the  Christians 
in  Spain  to  connect  themselves  by  marriage  with  Jews  and 
Moors;  and  the  pedigree  of  many  of  the  grandees  and  titled 
nobility  has  been  traced  up  to  these  "cankered  branches"  by 
the  Tizoii  dc  Espana,  or  Brand  of  Spain,  a  book,  which 
neither  the  influence  of  government,  nor  the  terror  of  the 
Inquisition,  has  been  able  completely  to  suppress.  Nor  is 
greater  credit  due  to  the  opinion  which  has  long  been  preva- 
lent in  the  Peninsula,  that  its  inhabitants  have  uniformly 
kept  themselves  free  from  all  stain  of  heretical  pravity,  and 
preserved  the  purity  of  the  faith  inviolate  since  their  first  re- 
ception of  Christianity. 

The  ancient  state  of  the  church  in  Spain  is  but  little  known. 
Modern  writers  of  that  nation  have  been  careful  to  conceal  or 
to  pass  lightly  over  those  spots  of  its  history  which  are  cal- 
culated to  wound  the  feelings  or  abate  the  prejudices  of  their 


countrymen.  Shut  out  from  access  to  original  documents, 
or  averse  to  the  toil  of  investigating  them,  foreigners  have 
generally  contented  themselves  with  the  information  which 
common  books  supply.  And  knowing  that  the  Spaniards 
have  signalized  their  zeal  for  the  See  of  Rome  and  the 
catholic  faith  during  the  three  last  centuries,  the  public,  as  if 
by  general  agreement,  have  come  to  the  hasty  conclusion 
that  this  was  the  fact  from  the  beginning.  To  correct  such 
mistakes,  and  to  furnish  materials  for  an  accurate  judgment, 
it  may  be  proper  to  take  a  more  extensive  view  of  the  state 
of  religion  in  Spain  before  the  Reformation,  than  would 
otherwise  have  been  necessary  to  our  undertaking. 

The  ecclesiastical  history  of  Spain  during  the  three  first 
centuries  may  be  comprised  in  two  facts, — that  the  Christian 
religion  was  early  introduced  into  that  country;  and  that 
churches  were  erected  in  various  parts  of  it,  notwithstanding 
the  persecution  to  which  they  were  exposed  at  intervals.  All 
beside  this  is  fable  or  conjecture.  That  the  gospel  was  first 
preached  to  their  ancestors  by  St.  James,  the  son  of  Zebedee, 
is  an  opinion  which  has  been  long  so  popular  among  the 
Spaniards,  and  so  identified  with  the  national  faith,  that  such 
of  their  writers  as  were  most  convinced  of  the  unsound  foun- 
dation on  which  it  rests  have  been  forced  to  join  in  bearing 
testimony  to  its  truth.  The  ingenuity  of  the  warm  partizans 
of  the  popedom  has  been  put  to  the  stretch  in  managing  the 
obstinate  fondness  with  which  the  inhabitants  of  the  Peninsula 
have  clung  to  a  prepossession  so  hazardous  to  the  claims  of 
St.  Peter  and  of  Rome.  They  have  alternately  exposed  the 
futility  of  the  arguments  produced  in  its  support,  and  granted 
that  it  is  to  be  received  as  a  probable  opinion,  resting  on  tra- 
dition. At  one  time  they  have  urged  that  the  early  martyr- 
dom of  the  apostle  precludes  the  idea  of  such  an  expedition  ; 
and  at  another  time  they  have  tendered  their  aid  to  relieve  the 
Spaniards  from  this  embarrassment,  and  to  "  elude  the  ob- 
jection," by  suggesting,  with  true  Italian  dexterity,  that  the 
Spirit  might  have  carried  the  apostle  from  Palestine  to  Spain, 
and  after  he  had  performed  his  task,  conveyed  him  back  with 
such  celerity  that  he  was  in  time  to  receive  the  martyr's  crown 
at  Jerusalem.  By  such  artful  managements,  they  succeeded 
at  last  in  settling  the  dispute,  after  the  following  manner ; 
that,  agreeably  to  the  concurring  voice  of  antiquity,  the  se- 
ven first  bishops  of  Spain  were  ordained  by  St.  Peter,  and 
sent  by  him  into  the  Peninsula  ;  but  that,  as  is  probable,  they 
had  been  converted  to  the  Christian  faith  by  St.  James,  who 
despatched  them  to  Rome  to  receive  holy  orders  from  the 
prince  of  the  apostles ;  from  which  the  inference  is,  that  St. 
James  was  the  first  who  preached  the  gospel  to  the  Span- 
iards, but  St.  Peter  was  the  founder  of  the  church  of  Spain.* 
Leaving  such  fabulous  accounts,  which  serve  no  other  pur- 
pose than  to  illustrate  human  credulity,  and  the  ease  with 
which  it  was  wrought  upon  by  artifice  and  cunning,  we  pro- 
ceed to  the  period  of  authentic  history. 

The  facts  which  we  have  to  bring  forward  may  be  arranged 
under  three  heads: — the  doctrine  of  the  ancient  church  of 
Spain  ;  her  government ;  and  her  worship. 

I.  Sentiments  which  by  common  consent  have  been  regard- 
ed as  heretical,  without  as  well  as  within  the  pale  of  that 
church  which  arrogates  to  herself  the  title  of  catholic,  sprang 
up  repeatedly  in  Spain,  and  in  some  instances  overran  the 
whole  country.  In  the  fourth  centur}',  Priscillian,  a  native  of 
Gallicia,  founded  a  new  sect,  which  united  the  tenets  of  the 
Manichfeans  and  Gnostics.  It  made  many  converts,  includ- 
ing persons  of  the  episcopal  order,  and  subsisted  in  Spain  for 
two  hundred  years.  When  they  boast  of  the  pure  blood  of 
the  Goths,  the  Spaniards  appear  to  forget  that  their  Gothic 


^  A  curious  specimen  of  the  managements  referred  to  in  the  text 
is  to  be  seen  in  the  alterations  made  on  ihe  Uoman  Calendar.  Car- 
dinal Quii;'noni  obtained  the  follow  ing  insei-tJon  in  tlie  Rubric,  re- 
t'erring  to  St.  James  the  elder:  "  He  \\  ent  to  Spain,  and  preached  the 
gospel  tlicrc,  according  to  the  authority  of  St.  Isidore. "  (Brevia- 
rum  Paul  III.)  A  change  more  agi'eeable  to  the  Spaniards  was  af- 
terwards made:    "Having  travelled   over  Spain,  and  preached  the 

ospel  there,  he  returned  to  Jerusalem."  (Brev.  Pli.  V. )  This 
having  given  offence  to  Cardinal  Baronius  and  otliers  at  Rome,  the 
following  was  substituted:  "That  he  visited  Spain  and  made  some 

lisciples  there,  is  the  tradition  cf  the  churches  of  that  province." 
(Brev.  Clementis  A'lII.)  IfUie  former  mode  of  exi)rcssion  gave  great 
offence  at  Rome,  this  last  gave  still  greater  in  Spain.  The  whole 
kingdom  was  thrown  into  a  ferment;  and  letters  and  ambassadors 
were  despatched  by  his  Catholic  Majesty  to  the  Pope,  exclaiming 
against  the  indignity-  done  to  the  Spanish  nation.  At  last  the  folloM-- 
ing  form  was  agreed  upon,  which  continues  to  stand  in  the  Calendar: 
'  Having  gone  to  Spain,  he  made  some  converts  to  Clu-ist,  seven  of 
hom  being  ordained  by  St.  Peter,  were  sent  to  Spain  as  its  first 
bishops."     (Brev.  Urbani  VIU.) 


HISTORY  OF  THE  REFORMATION  IN  SPAIN. 


309 


ancestors  were  Arians,  and  that  Arianism  was  the  prevailing  council  they  agreed  to  consult  Anastasius  and  Venerius,  who 
and  established  creed  of  the  country,  for  nearly  two  centuries,  j  at  that  time  filled  the  same  sees,  on  the  controversy  respect- 


Nor  did  Spain  long  preserve  her  faith  uncontarainated,  after 
she  had  adopted  the  common  doctrine  under  Reccared,  who 
reigned  in  the  close  of  the  sixth  century.  To  pass  by  the 
spread  of  Ncstorianism  and  some  tenets  of  less  note,  she 
gave  birth,  in  the  eighth  century,  to  the  heresy  called  the 
adoptionarian,  because  its  disciples  held  that  Christ  is  the 
adopted  Son  of  God.  This  opinion  Avas  broached  by  Elli- 
pand,  archbishop  of  Toledo,  who  was  at  the  head  of  the 
Spanish  church;  it  was  vigorously  defended  by  Felix,  bishop 
of  Urgel,  a  prelate  of  great  ability  ;  and  maintained  itself  for 
a  considerable  time,  in  spite  of  the  decisions  of  several  coun- 
cils, supported  by  the  learning  of  Alcuin  and  the  authority  of 
Charlemagne. 

Nor  were  there  wanting  in  the  early  ages  Spaniards  who 
held  some  of  the  leading  opinions  afterwards  avowed  by  the 
protestant  reformers.  Claude,  bishop  of  Turin,  who  flonr- 
ished  in  the  ninth  century,  and  distinguished  himself  by  his 
valuable  labours  in  the  illustration  of  the  scriptures,  was  a 
native  of  Spain.  His  decided  condemnation  of  the  worship 
of  images,  and  of  the  veneration  paid  to  the  relics  and  sepul- 
chres of  the  saints,  together  with  his  resistance  to  the  eccle- 
siastical aulhoritj'  which  imposed  these  practices,  has  exposed 
the  memof)'  of  this  pious  and  learned  divine  to  the  deadly 
hatred  of  all  the  devotees  of  superstition  and  spiritual  des- 
potism. Insupport  of  his  principle  tenet,  Claude  could  plead 
the  authorit}'  of  one  of  the  most  venerable  councils  of  his 
native  church,  w  hich  ordained  that  there  should  be  no  pic- 
tures in  churches,  and  tlrat  nothing  should  be  painted  on  the 
walls  which  mii^ht  be  worshipped  or  adored 

Galindo  Prudentio,  bishop  of  Troves,  was  a  countryman 
and  contemporary  of  Claude.  His  learning  was  superior  to 
that  of  the  a<re  in  wMiich  he  lived  ;  and  the  comparative  purity 
of  his  style  bears  witness  to  his  familiarity  with  the  writings 
of  the  ancient  classics.  Having  fixed  his  residence  in  France, 
he  enjoyed  the  confidence  of  Charlemagne,  who  employed  him 
in  visiting  and  reforming  the  monasteries.  In  the  predesli- 
narian  controversy  which  divided  the  French  clergy  of  that 
time,  he  took  part  with  Goteschalcus  against  Hincmar,  arch- 
bishop of  Rlieims,  and  the  noted  schoolman,  Joannes  Scotus, 
surnamed  Erigeiia.  The  sentiments  which  Prudentio  held  on 
that  subject,  bear  a  striking  resemblance  to  those  which  the 
church  of  Rome  has  since  anathematized  in  the  writings  ot 
Luther  and  Calvin. 

n.  The  Spanish  church,  at  the  beginning  of  the  fourth 
century,  acknowledged  no  other  officers  than  bishops,  pres- 
byters, and  deacons.  She  was  equally  a  stranger  to  the  su- 
perior orders  of  metropolitans  and  archbishops,  and  to  the  in- 
ferior orders  of  sub-deacons  and  lectors.  Her  discipline  was 
at  that  time  characterised  bj'  great  strictness  and  even  rigour, 
of  which  there  was  a  palpable  relaxation  when  the  govern- 
ment of  the  church  came  to  be  formed  upon  the  model  of  the 
empire,  after  Constantine  had  embraced  christianitv.  This 
change  was,  however,  introduced  more  slowlj'  into  Spain  than 
into  some  other  countries.  The  church  of  Africa  was  careful 
to  guard  the  parity  of  episcopal  power  against  the  encroach- 
ments of  the  metropolitans ;  and  the  Spanish  bishops,  who 
appear  from  an  early  period  to  have  paid  great  deference  to 
her  maxims  and  practices,  continued  for  a  considerable  time 
to  evince  the  same  jealousy.  To  the  supremacy  of  the  bishops 
of  Rome  the  ancient  church  of  Spain  was  a  stranger,  and 
there  is  no  good  evidence  that  she  acknowledged,  during  the 
eight  first  centuries,  their  right  to  interfere  authorilively  in 
her  internal  affairs. 

The  titles  of  pope  or  father,  apostolical  bishop,  and  bishop 
of  the  apostolic  see,  were  at  first  given  promiscuously  to  all 
who  were  invested  with  the  episcojial  office.  After  they  came 
to  be  used  in  a  more  restricted  sense,  they  were  still  applied 
to  a  number  in  common.  The  bishops  of  Rome  earl}-  acquired 
high  consideration  among  their  brethren,  founded  on  the  diir- 
nity  of  the  city  in  which  tliey  had  their  residence,  the  number 
of  the  clergy  over  whom  they  presided,  and  the  superior 
sanctity  of  life  by  which  some  of  their  line  had  been  distin- 
guished; to  which  must  be  added  the  opinion,  which  soon 
became  general,  that  they  were  the  successors  of  St.  Peter. 
In  matters  which  concerned  religion  in  general,  or  in  difficult 
questions  relating  to  internal  managements,  it  was  a  common 
practice  to  ask  the  advice  of  foreign  and  even  transmarine 
churches.  On  these  occasions  the  bishops  of  Rome  were 
consulted,  but  not  to  the  exclusion  of  others.  The  African 
bishops,  in  a  council  held  at  Carthage,  agreed  to  take  the 
advice  of  Siricius,  bishop  of  Rome,  and  Simplician,  bishop 
of  Milan,  on  the  affair  of  the  Donatists ;  and  in  a  subsequent 


ing  the  validity  of  the  baptism  of  heretics.  With  this  the 
practice  of  the  Spanish  church  agreed.  Indeed,  the  bishops 
of  Rome,  in  those  days,  disclaimed  the  pretensions  which 
they  afterwards  put  forth  with  such  arrogance.  Greeorv  the 
Great  himself,  when  in  danger  of  being  eclipsed  b}'  his  East- 
ern rival,  acknowledged  this  in  the  memorable  words  which 
have  so  much  annoyed  his  successors  and  their  apologists. 
Speaking  of  the  title  of  universal  patriarch,  which  the  bishop 
of  Constantinople  had  assumed,  he  says: — "Far  from  the 
hearts  of  Christians  be  this  name  of  blasphemy,  which  takes 
away  the  honours  of  the  whole  priesthood,  while  it  is  madly 
arrogated  by  one !  Xone  of  my  predecessors  would  ever  con- 
sent to  use  this  profane  word,  because  if  one  patriarch  is 
called  universal,  the  rest  are  deprived  of  the  name  of  pa- 
triarchs." 

But  there  is  positive  evidence  that  the  ancient  church  of 
Spain  maintained  its  independence,  and  guarded  against  the 
interference  of  the  Roman  see,  or  any  other  foreign  authority. 
Whatever  judgment  we  form  concerning  the  disputed  canon 
of  the  council  of  Sardis,  as  to  references  to  the  bishop  of 
Rome,  it  is  certain  that  an  African  conncil,  which  met  at 
.Mela  in  the  year  IIG,  decreed  that  if  any  of  the  clergy  had 
a  dispute  with  his  bishop,  he  might  bring  it  before  the  neigh- 
bouring bishops;  but  if  lie  thou'}ht  proper  not  to  rest  in  their 
decision,  it  should  be  unlawful  for  him  to  make  any  appeal 
except  to  an  African  council,  or  to  the.primates  of  the  African 
churches.  In  accordance  w  ith  the  spirit  of  this  canon,  w  ilh 
some  variation  in  particulars,  the  ninth  council  of  Toledo,  in 
the  year  655,  determined  that  appeals  should  lie  from  a 
bishop  to  a  metropolitan,  and  from  a  metropolitan  to  the  royal 
audience;  a  regulation  which  was  confirmed  by  a  subsequent 
council  held  in  the  same  city.  In  the  fifth  and  sixth  centuries 
Arianism  was  predominant  in  Spain.  During  that  period 
the  bishops  who  adhered  to  the  orthodox  faith  being  few  in 
number,  discountenanced  by  the  royal  aulhoritj',  and  rarely 
allowed  to  assemble  in  provincial  councils,  were  naturally 
induced  to  turti  their  eyes  to  Rome  for  counsel  and  support; 
while  the  popes  laid  hold  of  the  opportunity  which  tlie  cir- 
cumstances afforded  them  to  extend  their  influence  over  that 
country,  by  holding  correspondence  with  the  dissenting  clergy, 
and  conferring  on  some  of  them  the  title  of  apostolical  vicars. 
But,  strange  as  the  assertion  may  appear  to  some,  this  inter- 
course ceased  as  soon  as  Spain  embraced  the  catholic  faith. 

Spain  is  always  spoken  of  as  a  catholic  countr\'  from  the 
time  that  she  renounced  Arianism  under  Reccared  ;  and  if  we 
are  to  believe  some  of  her  writers,  her  monarchs  obtained,  at 
that  early  period,  the  title  of  Catholic  kings,  which  they  re- 
tain to  this  day,  as  expressive  of  their  devotion  to  the  faith 
and  authority  of  the  Roman  see.  Hut  this  is  a  glarino-  mis- 
take, originating  in,  or  concealed  b}'  the  equivocal  use  of  a 
word  which  was  anciently  understood  in  a  sense  very  differ- 
ent t'rom  its  modern  acceptation.  It  was  by  adopting  the 
common  doctrine  received  by  the  church  at  large,  in  opposi- 
tion to  the  Arian  and  other  errors  condemned  by  the  first 
ecumenical  or  universal  councils,  that  Spain  became  catholic, 
and  that  her  kings,  bishops  and  jieople,  obtained  this  desig- 
nation, and  not  by  conforming  to  the  rites  of  the  church  of 
Rome,  or  owning  the  supremac)-  of  its  pontiffs.  Ecclesiasti- 
cal affairs  were  managed  in  Spain  without  any  interference 
on  the  part  of  the  See  of  Rome,  or  sny  reference  to  it,  during 
the  whole  of  the  century  which  elapsed  after  the  suppression 
of  Arianism.  This  is  so  undeniable,  that  those  advocates  of 
the  pontifical  authority  who  have  examined  the  documents  of 
that  age,  have  been  forced  to  admit  the  fact,  and  endeavour 
to  account  for  it  by  saying,  that  such  interference  and  refer- 
ence was  unnecessary  during  a  peaceful  stale  of  the  church ; 
a  concession  which  goes  far  to  invalidate  the  whole  of  their 
claims.  The  pall  sent  from  Rome  to  Leander,  bishop  of 
Seville,  forms  no  exception  to  the  remark  now  made;  for,  not 
to  mention  that  it  was  never  received,  it  was  not  intended  to 
confer  any  prerogative  upon  him,  but  merely  as  a  testimony 
to  his  sanctity,  and  a  mark  of  jiersonal  esteem  from  pope 
Gregory,  who  had  contracted  a  friendship  with  him  when 
they  met  at  Constantinople.  It  was  of  the  nature  of  a  badge 
of  honour  conferred  by  a  prince  on  a  deserving  individual 
belonging  to  another  kingdom. 

There  is  one  piece  of  history  which  throws  a  great  light 
on  the  state  of  the  Spanish  church  during  the  seventh  cen- 
tury, and  which  I  shall  relate  at  some  length,  as  it  has  been 
eitiier  passed  over  or  very  partially  brought  forward  by  later 
historians.  The  sixth  ecumenical  council,  held  at  Constanti- 
nople in  the  year  680,  condemned  the  heresy  of  the  Monolhe- 


310 


CHRISTIAN  LIBRARY. 


lites,  or  those  who,  though  they  allowed  that  Christ  had  two 
natures,  ascribed  to  him  but  one  will  and  one  operation.  In 
683,  Leo  II.,  bishop  of  Rome,  sejit  the  acts  of  that  council, 
which  he  had  received  from  Constantinople,  to  Spain,  re- 
questing the  bishops  to  give  tliem  their  sanction,  and  to  take 
measures  for  having  them  circulated  through  their  churches. 
As  a  council  had  been  held  immediately  before  the  arrival  of 
the  papal  deputation,  and  a  heavy  fall  of  snow  prevented  the 
re-assemblino-  of  the  members  at  tliat  season,  it  was  thought 
proper  to  circulate  the  acts  among  the  bisliops,  who  authorised 
Julian,  archbishop  of  Toledo,  to  transmit  a  rescript  to  Rome, 
intimating  in  general  their  approbation  of  the  late  decision  at 
Constantinople,  and  stating  at  considerable  length  the  sentr 
meats  of  the  Spanish  Church  on  the  controverted  point.  A 
council,  convened  at  Toledo  during  the  following  year,  en- 
tered on  the  formal  consideration  of  this  affair,  in  which  they 
proceeded  in  such  a  manner  as  to  evince  their  determination 
to  preserve  at  once  the  purity  of  the  faith  and  ttie  independence 
of  the  Spanish  church.  They  examined  the  acts  of  the  council 
of  Constantinople,  at  wliich  it  does  not  appear  that  they  had 
any  representative,  and  declared  that  they  found  thera  conso- 
nant with  the  decisions  of  the  four  preceding  canonical  coun- 
cils, particularly  that  of  Chalccdon,  of  which  they  appeared 
to  be  nearly  a  transcript.  "  Wherefore  (say  they)  we  agree 
that  the  acts  of  the  said  council  be  reverenced  and  received  by 
us,  inasrnucli  as  they  do  not  differ  from  the  foresaid  councils, 
or  rather  as  they  appear  to  coincide  with  them.  We  allot  to 
them  therefore  that  place  in  point  of  order  to  w-liich  their 
merit  entitles  them.  Let  them  come  after  the  council  of 
Chalcedon,  by  whose  light  they  shine."  The  council  next 
took  into  consideration  the  rescript  which  archbishop  .Tulian 
had  sent  to  Rome,  and  pronounced  it  "a  copious  and  lucid 
exposition  of  the  truth  concerning  the  double  will  and  opera- 
tion of  Christ;"  adding,  "  wherefore,  for  the  sake  of  general 
instruction,  and  the  benefit  of  ecclesiastical  discipline,  we 
confirm  and  sanction  it  as  entitled  to  equal  honour  and  rever- 
ence, and  to  have  the  same  permanent  authority  as  the  decretal 
epistles. 

The  council  of  Constantinople  had  condemned  pope  Ho- 
norius  I.  as  an  abettor  of  the  Monothclite  heresy ;  a  stigma 
which  the  advocates  of  papal  infallibility  have  laboured  for 
ages  to  wipe  off.  But  the  Spanish  council,  on  the  present 
occasion,  proceeded  farther,  and  advanced  a  proposition  which 
strikes  at  the  very  foundation  on  which  the  bishops  of  Rome 
rest  their  claims,  by  declaring,  that  the  rock  on  which  the 
church  is  built  is  the  faith  confessed  by  St.  Peter,  and  not  his 
person  or  office. 

But  this  was  not  all  that  the  Spanish  clergj'  did.  When 
the  rescript  of  the  archbishop  of  Seville  reached  Rome,  it 
met  with  the  disapprobation  of  Benedict  II.,  who  had  suc- 
ceeded Leo  in  the  popedom.  Having  drawn  up  certain  ani- 
madversions upon  it,  his  holiness  gave  them  to  the  Spanish 
deputy  to  communicate  to  his  constituents,  that  they  might 
correct  those  expressions  savouring  of  error  which  they  had 
been  led  incautiously  to  adopt.  An  answer,  not  the  most 
agreeable  to  the  pope,  was  returned  by  Julian  in  the  mean 
time;  and  the  subject  was  afterwards  taken  up  b)'  a  national 
council  held  in  ()88  at  Toledo.  Instead  of  retracting  their 
former  sentiments,  or  correcting  any  of  the  expressions  whicli 
the  pope  had  blamed,  the  Spanish  preUitcsdrew  up  and  sanc- 
tioned a  laboured  vindication  of  the  paper  which  had  given 
offence  to  his  holiness,  of  wiiom  they  speak  in  terms  very 
disrespectful,  and  even  contemptuous.  They  accuse  him  of 
"  a  careless  and  cursory  perusal"  of  their  rescript,  and  of 
having  passed  over  parts  of  it  which  were  necessary  to  un- 
derstand their  meaning.  He  had  found  fault  with  them  for 
asserting  that  there  are  three  substances  in  Christ,  to  which 
they  replj':  "As  we  will  not  be  ashamed  to  defend  the  truth, 
so  there  are  perhaps  some  other  persons  who  will  be  ashamed 
at  Ijeing  found  ignorant  of  the  truth.  For  who  knows  not 
that  in  every  man  there  are  two  substances,  namely,  soul  and 
body?"  After  confirming  their  opinion  by  quotations  from 
the  fathers,  they  add :  "  But  if  any  one  shall  be  so  shameless 
as  not  to  acquiesce  in  these  sentiments,  and  acting  the  part 
of  a  haughty  inquirer,  shall  ask,  whence  we  drew  such 
things,  at  least  he  will  yield  to  the  words  of  the  gospel,  in 
which  Christ  declares  that  he  possessed  three  substances." 
Having  quoted  rnd  commented  on  several  passages  of  the 
New  Testament,  the  council  concludes  in  these  terms:  "If, 
after  this  statement,  and  the  sentiments  of  the  fathers  from 
which  It  has  been  taken,  any  person  shall  dissent  from  us  in 
any  thing,  we  will  have  no  farther  dispute  with  him,  but 
keeping  steadily  in  the  plain  path,  and  treading  in  the  foot- 
steps ot  our  predecessors,  we  are  persuaded  that  our  answer 


will  commend  itself  to  the  approbation  of  all  lovers  of  truth 
who  are  capable  of  forming  a  divine  judgment,  though  we 
may  be  charged  with  obstinacy  by  the  ignorant  and  en- 
vious."* 

III.  The  independence  of  the  ancient  church  of  Spain  will 
appear  more  fully  if  we  attend  to  its  form  of  worship.  All 
the  learned  who  have  directed  their  attention  to  ecclesiastical 
antiquities  are  now  agreed  that,  although  the  mode  of  wor- 
ship was  substantially  the  same  throughout  the  Christian 
church,  during  the  fourth,  fifth,  and  sixth  centuries,  yet  dif- 
ferent liturgies  or  forms  of  celebrating  divine  service  were 
practised  in  different  nations,  and  sometimes  in  different  parts 
of  the  same  nation.  The  Ambrosian  liturgy,  used  by  the 
church  of  Milan,  differed  from  the  Roman.  It  was  adopted 
in  many  parts  of  France,  and  continued  in  use  there  untilthc 
time  of  Charlemagne,  when  it  was  supplanted  by  the  Roman 
or  Gregorian.  So  far  was  the  church  of  Rome  from  having 
at  first  regulated  the  religious  service  of  other  churches  by 
her  laws  or  even  by  her  example,  that  she  did  not  even  pre- 
serve her  own  forms,  which  were  superseded  in  their  most 
important  parts,  by  the  sacramentary  or  missal  which  has 
drawn  up  by  pope  Gelasius,  corrected  finally  by  Gregory  at 
the  close  of  the  sixth  century,  and  imposed  gradually,  and 
at  distant  periods,  on  the  several  divisions  of  the  western 
church.  Different  oiTices,  or  forms  of  celebrating  divine  ser- 
vice, were  used  in  Spain  down  to  the  year  633,  when  the 
fourth  council  of  Toledo  passed  a  decree  that  one  uniform 
order  should  be  observed  in  all  the  churches  of  the  Peninsula. 
This  decree  led  to  the  adoption  of  that  liturgy  which  has  been 
called  the  Gothic,  and  sometimes  the  Isadorian,  or  the  llde- 
fonsian,  from  St.  Isidore  and  Ildefonso,  archbishops  of  Se- 
ville, by  whom  it  was  revised  and  corrected.  That  this  ritual 
was  quite  different  from  the  Roman  or  Gregorian  is  put  be- 
yond all  doubt,  by  the  references  made  to  both  in  the  course 
of  the  adoptionarian  controversy,  which  raged  in  the  eighth 
century.  The  patrons  of  the  adoptionarian  tenet  in  Spain 
appealed  to  their  national  ritual,  "  compiled  by  holy  men  who 
had  gone  before  them,"  and  quoted  passages  from  it  as  fa- 
vourable to  their  views.  To  this  argument  the  fathers  of  the 
council  of  Frankfort  replied  :  "  it  is  better  to  believe  the  testi- 
timony  of  God  the  Father  concerning  his  own  Son,  than  that 
of  your  Ildefonso,  who  composed  for  you  such  prayers,  in  the 
solemn  masses,  as  the  universal  and  holy  church  of  God 
nows  not,  and  in  which  we  do  not  think  you  will  be  heard. 
And  if  your  Ildefonso  in  his  prayers  called  Christ  the  adopted 
Son  of  God,  our  Gregory,  pontiff  of  the  Roman  see,  and  a 
doctor  beloved  by  the  whole  world,  does  not  hesitate  in  his 
praj-ers  to  call  him  always  the  only  begotten."  In  like  man- 
ner Alcuin,  after  insinuating  that  they  might  have  taken  im- 
proper liberties  in  their  quotations,  says  :  "  but  it  matters  not 
mucli  whether  these  testimonies  have  been  altered  or  correct- 
ly quoted  by  you ;  for  we  wish  to  be  confirmed  in  the  truth 
of  our  assertion  and  faith  by  Roman  rather  than  Spanish  au- 
thority. 

The  Gothic  or  Isidorian  office  has  also  been  called  the 
jMozarabic  or  Mixtarabic,  probably  because  it  was  used  and 
held  in  great  veneration  by  the  Christians  in  Spain  who  lived 
under  the  dominion  of  the  Arabians  or  Moors.  The  identity 
of  these  formularies  has,  indeed,  been  of  late  disputed  by 
several  learned  men.  But  it  is  most  probable  that  they  were 
originally  the  same  office,  and  that  alterations  were  made 
upon  it,  both  by  the  Mozarabes  and  the  Montanes,  (as  those 


*  Concil.  Tolet.  XV.  post  symbolum  ;  Labbe,  VI.  1296—1303, 
Harduin,  111.  1759 — 1767.  Cenni,  at  a  greater  expense  than  that  of 
contradicting  himself,  labours  to  do  away,  or  rather  to  conceal,  tlie 
iiidiguity  oft'tred  to  tlie  Roman  see,  and  the  disregard  shown  to  its 
anthority,  by  tlie  procedure  of  the  Spanisli  councils.  He  allows  that 
the  fourtceiuh  council  of  Toledo  "  arrogated  to  itself  an  unjust  au- 
thority, and  openlv  departed  from  obedience  to  the  Holy  see;"  that 
"  it  adoptt-d  a  new  and  unheard-of  method  of  approving  of  tlit:  deci- 
sions of  a  general  council ;"  and  that,  on  these  accounts,  '*  none  of 
its  decrees  were  admitted  to  a  place  in  the  collection  of  sacred 
canons."  But  he  asserts  that  the  fifteenth  council  of  Toledo  "mani- 
festly amended  dicir  doctrine  concerning  the  three  substances;"  that 
"Julian"  (as  if  the  decree  had  been  his  only,  and  not  that  of  a  na- 
tional council,)  "sometimes  makes  use  of  words  rather  too  free, 
though  somewhat  obscure,  against  Rome;  and  that,  upon  the  whole, 
he  changed  or  explained  his  former  sentiment,  agreeably  to  the  ad- 
monition of  the  Roman  Pontiff."  Yet  he  grants,  or  rallier  pleads, 
that  this  "  apology,"  as  he  calls  it,  was  not  approved  at  Rome ;  is 
angry  with  those  writers  who  speak  in  its  defence;  and  concludes  by 
aying,  that  "this  blemish  on  tlie  well-constituted  church  of  Spain 
should  be  a  perpetual  monument  to  teach  the  churches  of  all  oilier 
nations  to  revere  the  one  sure,  infallible  and  supreme  judgment  of 
the  Holy  see,  in  matters  of  faith  and  of  manners." — (De  Antiq.  Eccl. 
Hispanic,  tom.  ii.  p.  55 — 59.) 


HISTORY  OF  THE  REFORMATION  IN  SPAIN. 


311 


were  called  who  betook  themselves  to  the  mountains  to 
escape  the  yoke  of  the  Moors),  during  the  period  that  they 
lived  asunder. 

Other  instances  in  which  the  worship  of  the  ancient  church 
of 'Spain  differed  wiJely  from  the  modern  might  be  produced. 
A\  e  have  already  mentioned  that  a  national  council,  in  t!ie 
beginning-  of  the  fourth  century,  prohibited  the  worship  of 
images,  and  the  use  of  pictures  in  churches.  It  may  be  ad 
ded,  that  the  first  council  of  Braga,  held  in  the  year  5G1,  for- 
bade the  use  of  uninspired  hymns,  which  came  afterwards  to 
be  tolerated,  and  were  ultimately  enjoined  under  the  highest 
penalties. 

Having  produced  these  facts  as  to  the  early  opinions  and 
usages  of  the  Spanish  church,  we  proceed  to  state  the  man 
ner  in  which  she  was  led  to  adopt  the  rites,  and  submit  to  the 
authority  of  the  church  of  Rome. 

In  the  eleventh  century  Spain  was  divided  into  three  king- 
doms— the  kingdom  of  Leon  and  Castile,  of  Aragon,  and  Na- 
varre, of  which  the  two  first  were  by  far  the  most  powerful.  In 
the  latter  part  of  that  century,  Alfonso,  the  sixth  of  Leon,  and 
first  of  Castile,  after  recovering  Valentia  by  the  valour  of  the 
famous  Cid,  Ruy  Diaz  de  Bivar,  finally  obtained  possession 
of  Toledo,  which  had  been  in  the  power  of  the  Moors  for 
three  centuries  and  a  half.  He  bad  married,  for  his  second 
wife,  Constance,  a  daughter  of  the  royal  house  of  France, 
who,  from  attachment  to  the  religious  service  to  which  she 
had  been  accustomed,  or  under  the  influence  of  the  priests 
who  accompanied  her,  instigated  her  husband  to  introduce  the 
Roman  liturgy  into  Castile.  Richard,  abbot  of  Marseilles, 
the  papal  legate,  exerted  all  his  influence  in  favour  of  a 
change  so  agreeable  to  the  court  which  he  represented.  The 
iimovation  was  warmly  opposed  by  the  clergy,  nobility,  and 
people  at  large,  but  especially  by  the  inhabitants  of  Toledo 


It  is  sutficieut  to  exemplify  this  statement  in  the  subjuga- 
tion of  the  crown  and  kingdom  of  Aragon.  Don  Rarairo  I., 
who  died  in  lOfiS,  was  the  first  Spanish  king,  according  to 
the  testimony  of  Gregory  the  Great,  who  recognised  the 
pope  and  received  the  laws  of  Rome.  In  1201,  Don  Pedro 
II.,  eight  years  after  he  had  ascended  the  throne,  went  to 
Rome,  and  was  crowned  by  pope  Innocent  111.  On  that  oc- 
casion his  holiness  put  the  crown  on  his  head  in  the  monas- 
ter}' of  Pancracio,  after  Pedro  had  given  his  corporal  oath 
that  he  and  all  his  successors  would  be  faithful  to  the  church 
of  Rome,  preserve  his  kingdom  in  obedience  to  it,  defend  the 
catholic  faith,  pursue  heretical  pravity,  and  maintain  invio- 
late the  liberties  and  immunities  of  the  holy  church.  Then 
going  to  the  chapel  of  St.  Peter,  the  pope  delivered  the 
sword  into  the  hands  of  the  king,  who,  armed  as  a  cavalier, 
dedicated  all  his  dominions  to  St.  Peter,  the  prince  of  the 
the  apostles,  and  to  Innocent  and  his  sviccessors,  as  a  fief  of 
the  church;  engaging  to  pay  an  annual  tribute,  as  a  mark  of 
homage  and  gratitude  for  his  coronation.  In  return  for  all  this 
his  holiness  granted,  as  a  special  favour,  that  the  kings  of 
Aragon,  instead  of  being  obliged  to  come  to  Rome,  should 
afterwards  be  crowned  in  Saragossa,  by  the  archbishop  of 
Tarragona,  as  papal  vicar.  This  act  of  submission  was 
highly  offensive  to  the  nobility,  who  protested  for  their  own 
rights,  and  to  the  people  at  large,  who  complained  that  their 
liberties  were  sold,  and  power  given  to  the  popes  to  disturb 
the  peace  of  the  kingdom  at  their  pleasure.  It  was  not  long 
before  these  fears  were  realized.  The  king,  having  a  few 
years  after  offended  the  pope  by  taking  arms  in  defence  of 
heretics,  was  laid  under  the  sentence  of  excommunication,  for 
violating  the  oath  which  be  had  sworn ;  and  his  grandson, 
Pedro  the  Great,  was  deprived  of  his  kingdom,  as  a  vassal  of 
the  church,  which  kindled  a  civil  war,  and  led  to  the  inva- 


and  other  places  which  had  been  under  the  dominion  of  the  sion  of  Aragon  by  the  French.     Attempts  to  release  them 


Moors.  To  determine  this  controversy,  recourse  was  had, 
according  to  the  custom  of  the  dark  ages,  to  judicial  combat, 
Two  knights,  clad  in  complete  armour,  appeared  before  the 
court  and  an  immense  assembly.  The  champion  of  the 
Gothic  liturgy  prevailed  ;  but  the  king  insisted  that  the  liti 
gated  point  should  undergo  anotlier  trial,  and  be  submitted  to, 
what  was  called,  thcjudgtnentof  God.  Accordingly,  in  the  pre 
sence  of  another  great  assembly,  a  copy  of  the  two  rival  litur- 
gies was  thrown  into  the  fire.  The  Gothic  resisted  the  flames 
and  was  taken  out  unhurt,  while  the  Roman  was  consumed. 
But  upon  some  pretext — apparently  the  circumstance  of  the 
ashes  of  the  Roman  liturgy  curling  on  the  top  of  the  flames 
and  then  leaping  out — the  king,  with  the  concurrence  of  Ber- 
nard, archbishop  of  Toledo,  wiio  was  a  Frenchman,  gave  out 
that  it  was  the  will  of  God  that  both  offices  should  be  used ; 
and  ordained,  that  the  public  service  should  continue  to  be 
celebrated  according  to  the  Gothic  office  in  the  six  churches 
of  Toledo  which  the  Cliristians  had  enjoyed  under  the  Moors, 
but  that  the  Roman  office  should  be  adopted  in  all  the  other 
churches  of  the  kingdom.  The  people  were  greatly  dis- 
pleased with  the  glaring  partiality  of  this  decision,  which  is 
said  to  have  given  rise  to  the  proverb,  The  law  goes  as  kings 
choose.  Discountenanced  by  the  court  and  the  superior  eccle- 
siastics, the  Gothic  liturgy  gradually  fell  into  disrepute,  until 
it  was  completely  superseded  by  the  Roman. 

The  introduction  of  the  Roman  liturgy  had  been  undertaken 
rather  more  early  in  Aragon  than  in  Castile,  but  was  com- 
pleted fn  both  kingdoms  about  the  same  time.  The  modern 
inhabitants  of  tlie  Peninsula  please  themselves  with  the  idea 
that  they  are  hearing  the  self-same  mass  which  has  been  per- 
formed in  Spain  from  the  days  of  the  apostles;  whereas,  the 
exact  day  and  place  in  which  the  modern  service  began,  can 
be  pointed  out.  The  first  mass,  according  to  the"  Roman 
form,  was  celebrated  in  Aragon  in  the  monastery  of  St.  Juan 
de  la  Pena,  on  the  21st  of  March  1071  ;  and  in  Castile,  in 
the  Grand  Mosque  of  Toledo,  on  the  25th  of  October  lOSG. 
Gregory  VII.  commemorates  this  change,  "as  the  deliver- 
ance of  Spain  from  the  illusion  of  the  Toledan  superstition." 
His  holiness  was  more  clear-sighted  than  those  moderns, 
who,  looking  upon  all  forms  of  worship  as  equal,  treat  with 
contempt  or  indifference  the  efibrts  made  by  the  people  to  de- 
fend their  religious  rights  against  the  encroachments  of  do- 
mestic, or  the  intrusions  of  foreign  authority.  The  recogni- 
tion of  the  papal  authority  in  Spain  followed  upon  the 
establishment  of  the  Roman  liturgy;  nor  would  the  latter 
have  been  sought  with  such  eagerness,  had  it  not  been  with 
a  view  to  the  former.  Having  once  obtained  a  footing  in  the 
Peninsula,  the  popes  pushed  their  claims,  until  at  last  the 
whole  nation,  including  the  highest  authorities  in  it,  civil  as 
well  as  ecclesiastical,  acknowledged  the  supremacy  of  the  Ro- 
man see. 


selves  from  this  degrading  vassalage  were  made  by  different 
monarchs,  hut  these  ahvaj'S  issued  in  the  renewal  of  their 
oaths  of  fealty  to  Rome;  and  they  found  it  too  late  to  throw 
ofl'ayoke  which  had  by  this  time  been  received  by  all  the 
nations  around  them,  and  which  they  had  taught  their  own 
subjects  to  revere  and  hold  sacred. 

The  history  of  Spain  during  the  period  we  are  reviewing, 
furnishes  important  notices  respecting  the  Waldenses,  Vau- 
dois  or  Albigenses,  whom  we  formerly  met  with  in  tracing 
the  progress  of  the  Reformation  in  Italy.     It  is  well  known, 
that  these  early  reformers  had  fixed  their  abode  in  the  south- 
ern provinces  of  France,  where  they  multiplied  greatly  in  the 
eleventh  and  twelfth  centuries.     Various  causes  contributed 
to  this.     The  inhabitants  of  the  south  of  France,  though  infe- 
rior in  arms,  were  superior  in  civilization,  to  those  of  the 
north.     They  had  addicted  themselves  to  commerce  and  the 
arts.     Their  cities,  which  were  numerous  and  flourishing, 
enjoyed  privileges  favourable  to  the  spirit  of  liberty,  and 
which  raised  them  nearly  to  the  rank  of  the  Italian  republics, 
with  which  they  had  long  traded.     They  possessed  a  lan- 
guage rich  and  flexible,  which  they  cultivated  both  in  prose 
and  verse;  academics  for  promoting  the  Gui  Subt-r,  or  polite 
letters,  were  erected  among  them ;  and  the  Troubadours,  as 
the  Provencal  poets  were  called,  were  received  with  honour, 
and  listened  to  with  enthusiasm,  at  the  courts  of  the  numer- 
ous petty  princes  among  whom  the  country  was  divided.     A 
people  advanced  to  this  stage  of  improvement  were  not  dis- 
posed to  listen  with  implicit  faith  to  the  religious  dogmas 
which  the  clergy  inculcated,  or  to   submit   tamely   to   the 
superstitious  and  absurd  observances  which  they  sought  to 
impose.     Add  to  this,  that  the  manners  of  the  clergy,  both 
higher  and  lower,  in  these  provinces,   were  disorderly  and 
vicious  to  a  proverb.     "  I  would  rather  he  a  priest,  than  have 
done  such  a  thing!"  was  a  common  exclamation  amono-  the 
people  on  hearing  of  any  unworthy  action.     With  these  feel- 
ings they  were  prepared  to  listen  to  the  reformers,  who  ex- 
posed the  errors   and   corruptions   which   had   defaced   the 
beauty  of  the  primitive  church,  and  whose  conduct  formed, 
in  point  of  decency  and  sobriety,  a  striking  contrast  to  that 
of  the  established  clergy.     For  the  last  mentioned  fact  we 
have  the  testimony  of  those  tnonkish  writers,  who  strove  to 
blacken  their  characters,  by  alleging  that  they  practised  all 
kinds  of  licentiousness  in  secret.     "  I  will  relate  (says  the 
abbot  Puy  Laurens)  what  I  have  heard  bishop  Fulco  tell  as 
to  a  conversation  which  he  had  with  Pons  Ademar  de  Rode- 
ia,  a  prudent  knight.     'I  cannot  bring  myself  to  believe,' 
;aid  the  latter,  'that  Rome  has  sufficient  grounds  to  proceed 
against  these  men.' — 'Are  they  not  unable  to  answer  our  ar- 
guments V   demanded   the   bishop.      '  I  grant   it,'   said   the 
other.     '  Well,  then,'  rejoined  the  bishop,  '  why  do  you  not 


513 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


expel  and  drive  them  from  your  territories  V  '  We  cannot 
do  it,'  replied  the  knight;  '  we  have  been  brought  up  with 
them;  we  have  our  friends  among  them;  and  we  see  them 
livino-  honestly.'  After  relating  this  anecdote  on  the  autlior- 
ity  of  the  archbishop  of  Thoulouse,  the  great  adversary  of 
tlie  Albigenses,  the  historian  adds:  "Thus  it  is  tliat  false- 
hood, veiled  under  the  appearance  of  a  spotless  life,  draws 
uncautious  men  from  the  truth." 

The  Albigensian  bards,  or  pastors,  enjoying  a  respite  from 
persecution  "during  the  early  part  of  tlie  twelfth  century,  ap- 
plied themselves  To  the  study  of  the  Scriptures,  and  devoted 
their  hours  of  relaxation  to  the  cultivation  of  poetry.  They 
were  held  in  veneration  by  the  people,  who  named  them  in 
their  wills,  and  left  for  the  support  of  the  new  worship  those 
sums  which  had  been  formerly  bequeathed  to  the  priests  or 
appropriated  for  the  saying  of  masses  for  their  own  souls  and 
those  of  their  departed  relations.  They  had  chapels  in  the 
principal  castles;  their  religious  service  was  frequented  by 
persons  of  all  ranks  ;  and  they  numbered  among  their  converts 
many  individuals  of  noble  birth,  and  who  held  some  of  the 
principal  situations  in  the  country.  Among  their  protectors 
were  the  powerful  counts  of  Toulouse,  Haymond  VI.  and 
VII.,  the  counts  of  Foix  and  Comenges,  the  viscounts  of 
Beziers  and  Beam,  Savary  de  IMauleon,  seneschal  of  Aqui- 
taine,  Guiraud  dc  Minerve,  and  Olivier  de  Termes,  a  cavalier 
who  had  distinguished  himself  greatly  in  the  wars  against 
the  infidels  in  fhe  Holy  Land,  "in  Africa  and  in  Majorca. 
Their  opinions  were  avowedly  entertained  by  the  wives  and 
sisters  of  these  great  lords,  as  well  as  by  the  heads  of  the 
noble  houses  of  Mirepoix,  Saissac,  Lavour,  Montreal,  St. 
Michael  de  Fanjanx,  Durfort,  Lille-Jourdain,  and  Moutsegur. 

When  we  have  stated  these  facts,  we  have  said  enough  to 
account  for  the  implacable  hostility  to  this  sect  on  the  part  of 
the  ruling  ecclesiastics,  and  the  bloody  crusades  preached  up 
against  it  by  the  monks,  and  conducted,  under  the  direction 
of  the  popes,  by  Simon  de  Montfort  and  Louis  VIII.  of 
France,  during  the  early  part  of  the  thirteenth  century.  By 
means  of  these  the  attempted  reformation  of  the  church  was 
suppressed,  and  its  disciples  nearly  exterminated  ;  one  of  the 
finest  regions  of  the  world  was  laid  waste  by  countless  and 
successive  hordes  of  barbarous  fanatics — its  commerce  de- 
stroyed, its  arts  annihilated,  its  literature  extinguished  ;  and 
the  progress  of  the  human  mind  in  knowledge  and  civiliza- 
tion, which  had  commenced  so  auspiciously,  was  arrested 
and  tlirown  back  for  ages. 

The  intimate  connection  vehich  subsisted  between  Spain 
and  the  South  of  France  had  great  influence  on  the  fate  of  the 
Albigensian  reformers.  Provence  and  Languedoc  were  at 
that  time  more  properly  Aragonese  than  French.  As  count 
of  Provence,  the  king  of  Aragon  was  the  immediate  liege  lord 
of  the  viscounts  of  Narbonne,  Beziers,  and  Carcassone. 
Avignon  and  other  cities  acknowledged  him  as  their  baronial 
superior.  The  principal  lords,  though  they  did  homage  to 
the  king  of  France  or  to  the  emperor,  yielded  obedience  in 
reality  to  the  Spanish  monarch,  lived  under  his  protection, 
and  served  in  his  armies.  And  several  of  them,  by  gifts  from 
the  crown,  or  by  marriages,  possessed  lands  in  Spain. 

In  consequence  of  this  connection  between  the  two  coun- 
tries, some  of  the  Vaudois  had  crossed  the  Pyrenees  and 
ostablislied  themselves  in  Spain  as  early  as  the  middle  of  the 
twelfth  century.  They  appear  to  have  enjoyed  repose  there 
.  for  some  time;  but  in  the  year  1194,  pope  Oelestin  III.  sent 
the  cardinal  St.  Angelo  as  legate  to  attend  a  council  at  Lerida, 
who  prevailed  on  Alfonso  II.  king  of  Aragon,  to  publish  an 
edict,  ordering  the  Vaudois,  Poor  Men  of  Lyons,  and  all 
other  heretics,  to  quit  his  territories  under  severe  pains. 
This  edict  not  having  produced  any  effect,  was  renewed 
three  years  after  by  Pedro  II.,  in  consequence  of  a  decree  of 
a  council  held  at  Gironna.  With  the  view  of  securing  the 
execution  of  this  measure,  the  subscriptions  of  all  the  gran- 
dees of  Catalonia  were  procured  to  the  decree;  and  all  gov- 
ernors and  judges  were  required  to  swear  before  the  bishops, 
that  tliev  would  assist  in  discovering  and  ]uinishing  those  in- 
fected with  heresy,  under  the  penalty  of  being  themselves 
treated  as  heretics.  Notwithstanding  this  edict,  and  the 
engagements  he  had  contracted  at  his  coronation,  Pedro  was 
disposed  to  be  favourable  to  this  sect.  He  was  from  the  be- 
ginning displeased  at  the  crusade  which  raged  on  the  north 
of  the  Pyrenees;  and  having  at  last  joined  his  army  to  those 
of  his  brother-in-law  Raymond,  count  of  Toulouse,  he  fell,  in 
the  year  1213,  fighting  in  defence  of  the  Albigenses  in  the 
battle  of  Muret. 

This  disaster,  together  with  those  that  followed  it,  induced 
multitudes  of  the  Albigenses  to  take  refuge  in  Aragon,  .who 


gave  ample  employment  to  the  inquisition  after  it  was  estab- 
lished in  that  country.  From  the  accession  of  pope  Greo-ory 
IX.  to  that  of  .\lexander  IV.  (that  is,  from  1-2-27  to  1254,) 
they  had  grown  to  such  numbers  and  credit  as  to  have 
churches  in  various  parts  of  Catalonia  and  Aragon,  which  were 
provided  with  bishops,  who  boldly  preached  their  doctrine. 
Gregory,  in  a  brief  which  he  addressed  to  the  archbishop  of 
Tarragona  and  his  suffragans,  in  1232,  complains  of  the  in- 
crease of  heresy  in  their  dioceses,  and  exhorts  them  to  make 
strict  inquisition  after  it  by  means  of  the  Dominican  monks; 
and  his  successor  Alexander  repeated  the  complaint.  In 
1237,  the  flames  of  persecution  were  kindled  in  the  viscounty 
of  Cerdagne  and  Castlebon,  within  the  diocess  of  Urgel ; 
forty-five  persons  being  condemned,  of  whom  fifteen  were 
burnt  alive,  and  eighteen  disinterred  bodies  cast  into  the  fire. 
In  12G7,  the  inquisitors  of  Barcelona  pronounced  sentence 
against  Raymond,  count  of  Forcalquier  and  I'rgel,  ordering 
his  bones,  as  those  of  a  relapsed  heretic,  to  be  taken  out  of 
the  grave;  and  two  years  after  they  passed  the  same  sentence 
on  Arnold,  viscount  of  Castlebon  and  Cerdagne,  and  his 
daughter  Ermesinde,  wife  of  Roger-Bernard  II.  count  of 
Foix,  surnamed  the  Great.  Both  father  and  daughter  had 
been  dead  upwards  of  twenty  years,  yet  their  bones  were 
ordered  to  be  disinterred,  "provided  they  could  be  found;"  a 
preposterous  and  unnatural  demonstration  of  zeal  for  the 
faith,  which  is  applauded  by  the  fanatical  writers  of  that  age, 
but  was  in  fact  dictated  by  hatred  to  the  memory  of  the  brave 
and  generous  Count  de  Foix.  When  summoned  in  his  life- 
time to  appear  before  the  inquisition  at  Toulouse,  that  noble- 
man not  only  treated  their  order  with  contempt,  but,  in  his 
turn  summoned  the  inquisitors  of  the  count)' of  Foix  to  appear 
before  him  as  liis  vassals  and  subjects.  During  his  exile  at 
the  court  of  his  father-in-law,  he  was  excommunicated  by  the 
bishop  of  L^rgel  as  a  favourer  of  heresy;  and  although  the 
sentence  was  removed,  and  he  died  in  the  communion  of  the 
church,  yet  the  inquisitors  never  could  forgive  the  disinter- 
ested and  determined  resistance  which  he  had  made  to  their 
barbarous  proceedings.  They  put  one  of  his  servants  to  the 
torture,  with  the  view  of  extorting  from  him  some  evidence 
upon  which  they  might  pronounce  that  his  master  had  died  a 
heretic;  and,  having  failed  in  that  attempt,  they  now  sought 
to  wreck  their  vengeance  on  the  memory  and  the  ashes  of  the 
countess  and  her  father. 

It  has  been  said  that  the  Poor  Men  of  Lyons  or  Waldenses, 
when  they  made  their  first  appearance,  were  looked  upon  at 
Rome  as  an  order  of  monks  who  wished  to  revive  the  decay- 
ing fervour  of  piety  among  the  people,  and  to  lead  a  life  of 
superior  sanctity  among  themselves  ;  and  that  it  was  seri- 
ously proposed  at  one  time  to  give  the  pontifical  sanction  to 
their  internal  regulations.  Whatever  truth  there  may  be  in 
this  statement,  it,  is  a  curious  fact,  that,  in  Spain,  some  indi- 
viduals of  this  sect  did  obtain  a  temporary  respite  from  per- 
secution by  forming  themselves  into  a  new  religious  fraterni- 
ty. In  consequence  of  a  dispute  held  at  Pamiers  in  Langue- 
doc, Durando  de  Huesca,  a  native  of  Aragon,  with  a  number 
of  his  Albigensian  brethren,  yielded  to  the  Romish  missiona- 
ries, and  having  obtained  liberty  to  retire  into  Catalonia, 
formed  a  religious  community  under  the  name  of  the  Society 
of  Poor  Catholics.  In  1207  Durando  went  to  Rome,  where 
ho  obtained  from  Innocent  III.  the  reinission  of  his  former 
lieres}',  and  an  approbation  of  his  fraternity,  of  which  he  was 
declared  superior.  Its  meinbers  lived  on  alms,  applied  them- 
selves to  study  and  the  teaching  of  schools,  kept  lent  twice 
a-year,  and  wore  a  decent  habit  of  white  or  gray,  with  shoes 
open  at  the  top,  but  distinguished  by  some  particular  mark 
from  those  of  the  Poor  Men  of  Lyons,  who,  from  this  part  of 
their  dress,  were  sometimes  called  Insabatati.  The  new 
order  spread  so  rapidly,  that  in  a  few  years  it  had  numerous 
convents  both  to  the  south  and  north  of  the  Pyrenees.  But 
although  the  Poor  Catholics  professed  to  devote  themselves 
to  the  conversion  of  heretics,  and  their  superior  wrote  some 
books  with  that  view,  they  soon  incurred  the  suspicion  of  the 
bishops,  who  accused  them  of  favouring  the  Vaudois,  and 
concealing  their  heretical  tenets  under  the  monastic  garb. 
They  had  interest  to  maintain  themselves  for  some  time, 
and  even  to  procure  letters  from  his  holiness,  exhorting  the 
bishops  to  endeavour  to  gain  them  by  kindness  instead  of 
alienating  their  minds  from  the  church  by  severe  treatment; 
but  their'enemies  at  last  prevailed,  and  within  a  short  time 
no  trace  of  their  establishments  was  to  be  found. 

The  Albigenses  were  not  confined  to  Aragon  and  Catalo- 
nia. Of  the  extent  to  which  they  spread  in  the  kingdom  of 
Castile  and  Leon,  we  may  form  some  judgment  from  an 
amusing  anecdote,  related  from  personal  knowledge,  by  Lucio, 


HISTORY  OF  THE  REFORMATION  L\  SPAIN. 


313 


bisho])  of  Tiiy,  known,  as  a  writer  against  the  Albigenses,  by 
the   name  of  Lucas  Tu(leii?is ;  and  which  I  shall  give  as 
nearly  in  his  own  words  as  is  consistent  with  perspicuity. 
After  the  death  of  Uoderic,  bishop  of  Leon  (in  the  year  1237), 
great  dissention  arose  about  the  election  of  his  successor. 
Taking  advantage  of  this  circumstance,  the  heretics  flocked 
from  all  ([uarlers  to  that  city.     In  one  of  the  suburbs,  where 
every  kind  of  filth  was  thrown,  lay,  along  with   those  of  a 
murderer,  the  bones  of  a  heretic,  named  Arnold,  who  had 
been  buried  sixteen  years  before.    Near  to  this  was  a  fountain, 
over  which  they  erected  an  edifice,  and  having  taken  up  the 
bones  of  Arnold,  whom  they  extolled  as  a  martyr,  deposited 
them  in  it.     To  this  place  a  number  of  persons,  hired  by  the 
heretics,  rame  ;  and  feiKninsr  themselves  to  be  blind,  lame, 
and  afflicted  with  other  disorders,  they  drank  of  the  waters  of 
the  fountain,  and  then  went  awaj',  saying  that  they  were  sud- 
denly and  miraculously  healed.     This  being  noised  abroad 
great  multitudes  flocked  to  the  spot.     After  they  had  got  a 
number  of  the  clergy,  as  well  as  laity,  to  give  credit  to  the 
pretended  cures,  the  heretics  disclosed  the  imposition  which 
they  had  practised,  and  then  boasted  that  all  theinimcles  per- 
formed at  the  tombs  of  the  saints  were  of  the  same  kind.    By 
this  means  they  drew  many  to  their  heresy.     In  vain  did 
the  Dominican  and  Franeisean  friars  attempt  to  stem  the  tor- 
rent of  defection,  by  exclaiming  against  the  sin  of  olTcring 
sacrilegious  prayers  in  a  place  defiled  by  profane  bones.    They 
were  cried  down  as  heretics  and  unbelievers.     In  vain  did 
the  adjacent  bishops  excommunicate  those  who  visited  the 
fountain  or  worship|)ecl  in  the  temple.     The  devil  had  seized 
the  minds  of  the  people  and  fascinated  their  senses.    At  last,  a 
deacon,  who  resided  at  Home,  hearing  of  the  state  of  matters 
in  his  native  city,  hastened  to  Leon,  aiul  "in  akiucl  of  frenzy," 
at  the  risk  of  his  life,  upbraided  the  inhabitants  for  favouring 
heretics,  and  called  on  the  magistrates  to  abate  the  nuisance. 
For  Some   months  before  his  arrival,  the  country  had  been 
afflicted  with  a  severe  drought.     This  he  declared   to  be  a 
judgment  from  heaven  on  account  of  their  sin,  but  promised 
that  it  should  be  removed  within  eight  days  from  the  lime 
that  Ihcy  pulled  down  the  heretical  temple.     The  magistrates 
granted  liim  permission,  and  he  razed  the  bulling  to  its  foun- 
dation.    Scarcely  was  this  done,  when  a  fire  devoured  a  great 
part  of  the  city,  and  for  seven  days  no  sj'mptom  of  rain  appear- 
ed ;  upon  which  the  heretics  insulted  over  the  deacon.     I5ut  on 
the  eightli  day  the  clouds  collected,  and  poured  down  copious 
and    refreshing    showers   on   all    the   surrounding  country. 
"  After  this,  the  aforesaid  deacon  raised  persecution  against 
the  heretics,  who,  being  forced  to  leave  the  city,  were  miser- 
ably scattered  abroad.''     We  are  assured,  and  not  without 
great  probability,  that  t!ie  deacon  was  no  other  than  Lucas 
Tudensis,  whose  modesty  induced  him  to  suppress  his  name 
in  relating  the  prediction  and  the  persecution,  la  both  of  which 
he  appears  to  have  equally  gloried. 

In  spite  of  the  occupation  given  to  the  clergy  by  tiie  sup- 
pression of  the  Knights  Templars,  and  the  schism  of  the  anti- 
popes,  the  persecution  of  the  Alhigcn.scs  seldom  relaxed  dur- 
ing the  fourteenth  century.  Scarce  a  year  passed  in  which 
numbers  were  not  barbarously  led  to  the  stake.  Among  those 
who  were  condemned  for  heresy  at  this  period,  was  Arnaldo 
of  Villaneuva  in  Aragon,  a  celebrated  j)hysiciau  and  chemist. 
He  taught,  that  the  whole  Christian  people  had.  through  the 
craft  of  the  devil,  been  drawn  aside  from  the  truth,  anil  re- 
tained nothing  but  the  semblance  of  ecclesiastical  worship, 
which  they  kept  uj)  from  the  force  of  custom  ;  that  those  who 
lived  in  cloisters  threw  themselves  out  of  charity,  and  that 
the  religious  orders  in  general  falsified  the  doctrines  of  Christ ; 
that  It  is  not  a  work  of  charity  to  endow  chapels  for  celebrat- 
ing mases  for  the  dead  ;  that  those  who  devoted  their  money 
to  this  purpose,  instead  of  providing  for  the  poor,  and  especially 
the  poor  belonging  to  Christ,  exposed  themselves  to  damna- 
tion ;  that  offices  of  mercy  and  medicine  are  tnore  acceptable 
to  the  Deit}'  than  the  sacrifice  of  the  altar;  and  that  God  is 
praised  in  the  eucharist  not  by  the  hands  of  the  priest,  but  by 
the  mouth  of  the  communicant.  Such  being  his  avowed  sen- 
timents, we  need  not  wonder  that  he  was  doomed  to  expiate 
his  temerit)-  by  suftering  the  fire,  from  which  he  saved  him- 
self by  flylLig  from  his  native  country,  and  taking  refuge  with 
Ferdinand,  king  of  Sicily.  To  Arnald  we  may  add  a  writer 
of  the  following  century,  Ralmond  de  Sebonde,  author  of  a 
treatise  on  natural  theolog^y,  who  was  charged  with  heresy 
for  asserting  that  all  saving  truths  are  contained,  and  clearly 
proposed,  in  the  sacred  scriptures. 

From  11 10  to  1435,  a  great  number  of  persons  who  enter- 
tained the  sentiments  of  the  Vaudois  were  committed  to  the 
flames  by  the  inriulsitors  of  Valentia,  Kousillon,anJ  Majorca. 
Vol.  II.— :i  V 


It  appears  that  the  followers  of  Wickliffehad  migrated  to  the 
Peninsula;  for  in  1111,  the  inquisitors  of  Aragon  and  Valen- 
tia reconciled  some  of  them  to  the  church,  and   condemned 
others  to  the  fire  as  obstinate  heretics.     If  we  may  trust  llie 
monkish  annalists,  Spain  was  also  visited  at  this  period  by 
the  Beghards,  a  fanatical  sect  which  the  corruptions  of  the 
church  and  the  ignorance  of  the  limes  had  generated  in  Ger- 
many and  other  parts  of  Europe.     But  this  is  uncertain,  as  it 
was  common  for  the  clergy  to  apply  this  and  similar  names 
to  the  Vaudois,  with  the  view  of  exciting  odium  against  them, 
and  justifying  their  own  cruelties.     In  1350,  we  are  told,  a 
warm  inquisition  was  commenced  in   Valentia   against  the 
Beghards,  whose   leader  was   condemned  to  perpetual  im- 
prisonment,, and  the  bones  of  many  of  his  disciples  dug  up 
and  consigned  to  the  flames;  and  in  1 112,  it  was  found  they 
had  multiplied  at  Durango,  a  town  of  Biscay,  and  in  the  dio- 
cese of  Calahorra.     jMfonso  de  Mella,  a  Frarkciscan,  and  bro- 
ther of  the  bishop  of  Zamora,  who  was  afterwards  invested 
with  the  purple,  having  incurred  the  suspicion  of  being  at  the 
head  of  this  party,  fled,  along  with  his 'companions,  to  the 
Moors,  among  wliom  "ho  died  miserably  at  Grenada,  being 
pierced  with  reeds;  an  example  (says  the  biographer  of  his 
brother)  worthy  to  be  recorded,  of  the  variety  of  human  af- 
fairs, and  the  opposite  dispositions  of  persons  who  lay  in  the 
same  womb."     On  application  to  John  II.  king  of  Castile,  a 
band  of  royal  rnusqueteers  was  sent  to  scour  the  mountains  of 
Biscay,  and  the  higher  districts  of  Old  Castile,  who  drove 
down  the  heretics  fike  cattle  before  them,  and  ilelivered  them 
to  the   in(|uisitors,  by  whom  they   were  committed  to  the 
flames  at  St.  Domingo  de  la  Calzado,  and  Valladolid.     Thus 
were  the  Albigenses,  after  a  barbarous  and  unrelenting  per- 
secution of  two  centuries,  exterminated  in  Sjiain,  with  the 
exception  of  a  few,  who  contrived  to  conceal  themselves  in 
the  more  remote  aad  Inaccessible  parts  of  the  country,  and  at 
a  subsequeiit  period,  furnished  occasionally  a  straggling  vic- 
tim to  the  familiars  of  the  inquisition,  when  surfeited  with 
the  blood  of  Jews  and  Moriscoes. 

During  these  proceedings,  Rome  succeeded  in  establisbing 
Its  empire  a  second  time  in  Spain,  and  that  in  a  more  durable 
form  than  in  the  days  of  the  Scipios  and  Augustus.  This 
conquest  was  achieved  chiefly  by  means  of  the  monks  and 
friars.  Anciently  the  number  of  convents  and  of  monks  in 
Spain  was  small;  but  it  multiplied  greatly"  from  the  twelfth 
to  the  fifteenth  century.  The  beginning  of  that  period  was 
marked  by  the  infliction  of  that  scourge  of  society,  and  out- 
rage of  all  decency — privileged  and  meritorious  mendicity. 
Of  all  the  orders  of  mendicant  friars,  the  most  devoted  to  the 
See  of  Rome  were  those  founded  by  St.  Dominic  and  St. 
Francis,  the  former  the  most  odious,  "the  latter  the  most  fran- 
tic, of  modern  saints.  Within  a  few  years  after  their  institu- 
tion, convents  belonging  to  both  these  orders  were  to  be  found 
in  every  part  of  Spain.  Though  the  Dominicans,  owing  to  the 
patronage  of  the  court  of  Rome,  or  to  their  founder  beincr  a 
Spaniard,  enjoyed  the  greatest  share  of  political  power,  yet 
the  reception  given  to  the  Franciscans  left  them  no  ground  to 
complain  of  Spanish  inhospitality.  An  event  which  happened 
at  the  close  of  the  fifteenth  century  contributed  to  the  still 
more  rapid  liicrease  of  religious  houses.  A  great  part  of  the 
wealth  which  flowed  into  Spain  after  the  discover}-  of  the 
\cw  World,  found  its  way  to  the  church.  Imitating  the 
I'agan  warriors  who  dedicated  the  spoils  which  they  had 
gained  to  their  gods,  the  Spaniards  who  enriched  themselves 
by  plllarring  and  murdering  the  Indians,  sought  to  testify 
their  gratitude  or  to  expatiate  their  crimes  by  lavishing  orna- 
ments on  churches  and  endowing  monasteries.  The  follow- 
ing examples  show  the  rate  at  which  the  regular  clergy  in- 
creased. The  first  Franciscan  missionaries  entered  Spain  in 
the  year  1-21G  ;  and,  In  1400,  they  had,  within  the  three  pro- 
vinces of  Santiago,  Castile,  and  Aragon,  ineludinir  Portugal, 
twenty-three  cits/odia!,  composed  of  an  hundred  and  twenty- 
one  convents.  But  in  the  year  150(i,  the  Regular  Observan- 
tines,  who  formed  only  the  third  division  of  tiiat  order,  had  a 
hundred  and  ninety  convents  in  Spain,  excluding  Portugal. 
In  the  year  1030,  the  city  of  Salamanca  did  not  contain  a 
single  convent;  in  1180,  it  possessed  nine,  of  which  six  were 
for  males,  and  three  for  females;  and  In  1518  it  could  num- 
ber thirty-nine  convents,  while  its  nuns  alone  amounted  to 
eleven  thousand. 

The  corruption  of  the  monastic  institutions  kept  pace  with 
the  increase  of  their  numbers  and  wealth.  The  licentiousness 
of  the  regular  clergy  became  notorious.  They  broke  through  the 
rules  prescribed  by  their  founders,  and  laid  aside  that  austere 
mode  of  living  by  which  they  had  at  first  acquired  all  their 
reputation.     Even  those  who  had  vowed  the  most  rigid  pov- 


314 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


erty,  sucli  as  the  Observantinp.s,  or  third  order  of  St.  Francis, 
procured  dispensations  from  Rome,  in  virtue  of  wliich  thev 
possessed  rents,  and  property  in  liouses  and  lands.  By  the 
orioinal  regulations  of  St.  Francis,  all  belonging  to  his  order 
bound  themselves  to  live  purely  on  alms,  and  were  strictly  pro- 
hibited from  receiving  any  money,  on  whatever  pretext,  even 
as  wages  for  labour  performed  by  them,  "  unless  lor  the  mani 
fest  necessity  of  infirm  brethren."  The  monastic  historians 
are  greatly  puzzled  to  account  for  the  glaring  departure  l>om 
this  rule  of  poverty ;  probably  forgetting,  or  not  wishing  to 
have  recourse  to  the  well  known  maxim,  that  nature  abhors  a 
vacuum.  Sometimes  they  wish  to  account  for  it  by  saying 
that  a  destructive  pestilence,  about  the  beginning  of  the  four- 
teenth centurj',  thinned  the  monasteries,  which  •  were  after- 
wards fillerl  with  novices  of  a  more  earthly  inould.  But  they 
are  forced  to  trace  the  evil  to  a  more  remote  source,  and  to 
impute  it  to  brother  Elias,  a  native  of  Cortona,  and  vicar- 
general  of  the  order  of  Franciscans,  under  its  founder.  As 
early  as  1223,  he  began  to  hint  to  his  brethren  that  the  rule 
prescribed  to  them  'was  a  yoke  which  neither  they  nor  their 
successors  could  bear;  but  was  silenced  by  the  authority  of 
St.  Francis.  After  the  death  of  the  saint,  he  was  more  suc- 
cessful in  gaining  proselytes  to  his  opinion,  and  drew  upon 
himself  the  sentence  of  excommunication,  from  which,  how- 
ever, he  was  ultimately  relieved. 

The  kings  of  Spain  attempted  at  different  times  to  correct 
these  abuses,  but  the  monks  and  friars  had  always  the  influence 
or  the  address  to  defeat  the  measure.  ^Vhen  the  glaring 
nature  of  the  evil  induced  Ferdinand  and  Isabella  to  renew  the 
attempt  at  the  close  of  the  fifteenth  century,  they  were  obliged 
to  employ  force ;  nor  would  their  united  authority  have  been 
sufl5cient  to  carry  the  point,  had  they  not  availed  themselves 
of  the  sagacity  and  hrmness  of  the  celebrated  cardinal  Xi- 
nienes,  himself  a  friar,  and  'iiifianicd  with  the  passion  of  re- 
storing the  order  of  St.  Francis,  of  which  he  was  then  pro- 
vincial, to  all  the  poverty  and  rigour  of  its  original  institution. 
Lorenzo  Vacca,  abbot  of  the  monaster)'  of  the  Holy  Spirit 
at  Segovia,  relying  on  the  papal  bulls  which  he  had  procured, 
made  such  resistance  to  the  plans  of  his  provincial,  that  the 
government  found  it  necessary  to  commit  him  to  prison,  from 
•which  he  escaped,  and  repairing  to  Rome,  exerted  himself, 
through  the  influence  of  Ascanio  Sforza  and  other  cardinals,  in 
counteracting  the' reform  of  the  religious  order  in  Spain.  The 
Franciscan  Friars  of  Toledo  carried  their  resistance  so  far, 
that  an  order  was  issued  to  banish  them  from  the  kingdom  ; 
upon  which  they  left  the  city  in  solemn  procession,  carryin 
a  crucifix  before  them,  and  chauntiug  the  psalm  which  begins. 
When  Israel  tvcnt  up  mil  uf  Egypt,  kc.  The  biographers  of 
Ximenes  represent  him  as  having  reformed  all  the  religious 
institutions  in  Spain;  but  it  is  evident  that  his  success  was 
partial,  and  chiefly  confined  to  his  own  order.  So  far  as  they 
proceeded  on  the  rigid  principles  of  monarchism,  the  regula- 
tions which  he  introduced  were  unnatural  and  pernicious,  and 
such  of  them  as  were  favourable  to  morals  were  soon  swept 
awa)'  by  the  increasing  tide  of  corruption. 

It  has  been  said,  that  Ximenes  abolished  a  number  of  su- 
perstitious practices  which  had  crept  into  the  worship  of  the 
Spanish  church  during  the  dark  ages;  and  in  proof  of  this  we 
are  told  that  he  revived  the  Mozarabic  oflice,  and  appointed  it 
to  be  used  in  all  the  churches  of  his  diocese.  But  the  writers 
■who  make  this  assertion  have  fallen  into  a  mistake,  both  as  to 
■what  was  done  by  the  cardinal,  and  as  to  the  object  he  had  in 
■view.  Perceiving  that  the  Mozarabic  service  bad  fallen  into 
desuetude  in  the  six  churches  of  Toledo,  in  which  its  use  had 
been  enjoined  by  an  old  law,  he  was  desirous  to  preserve  this 
venerable  relic  of  antiquity.  With  this  view  he  employed 
Alfonso  Ortiz,  one  of  the  canons  of  his  cathedral,  to  collate 
all  the  copies  of  that  liturgy  which  could  be  found;  and,  the 
Gothic  letters  in  which  they  were  written  being  changed  into 
Roman,  he  caused  the  work  to  be  printed.  Some  years  after, 
he  erected  a  chapel  in  the  cathedral  church,  witli  an  endow- 
ment for  thirteen  priests,  whose  duty  it  was  to  celebrate  the 
service  according  to  that  liturgy.  There  is  reason  to  think 
that  he  ordered  it  to  be  also  used  on  certain  festivals  in  the 
churches  commonly  called  Mozarabic;  but  it  is  certain  that 
the  order  did  not  extend  to  the  other  churches  of  his  diocese. 
Sofar  was  it  from  his  intention  to  make  any  innovation  on  the 
existing  forms  of  worship,  or  to  supplant  the  Roman  by  the 
ancient  Spanish  liturgy,  that  he  interpolated  his  edition  of  the 
latter,  in  order  to  render  it  more  conformable  to  the  former; 
thus  destroying  its  character  and  use  as  an  ancient  document. 
Among  these  interpolations  are  "a  prayer  for  the  adoration  of 
the  cross,"  and  olEces  for  a  number  of  saints  who  lived  before 
as  well  as  after  the  compilatiori  of  the  liturgy ;  for  the  ancient 


Goths  and  Mozarabes  commemorated  none  but  martyrs  in 
their  public  service.  Ferdinand  de  Talavera,  archbishop  of 
Granada,  endowed,  about  the  same  time,  a  chapel  in  Sala- 
manca, in  which  the  service  continued  to  be  celebrated  accord- 
ing to  this  ritual  at  the  close  of  the  seventeenth  century. 

It  might  be  presumed,  from  the  statements  already  made, 
and  from  what  we  know  of  other  countries,  that  the  Spanish 
clergy  had  sunk  very  low  in  point  of  knowledge,  and  that 
the  absurdities  which  one  of  their  countrymen  afterwards 
exposed  so  wittily  in  Fruy  Gertmdio,  were  not  less  common 
or  less  ridiculous  before  the  revival  of  letters.  But  on  this 
head  we  are  not  left  to  conjecture.  In  an  address  to  queen 
Isabella,  cardinal  Ximenes  acknowledges  the  gross  igno- 
rance that  prevailed  among  the  priests.  This  led  to  the 
adoption  of  the  most  absurd  opinions,  and  the  practice  of  the 
most  extravagant  superstitions.  Legends  and  lives  of  saints 
formed  the  favourite  reading  of  the  devout,  while  the  vulgar 
fed  on  the  stories  of  every-day  miracles  which  the  priests 
and  friars  ministered  fresh  to  their  credulity.  The  doctrine 
of  the  immaculate  conception  of  the  '\'irgin  met  with  be- 
lievers in  otlier  countries ;  but  Spain  could  boast  of  an  order 
of  nuns  consecrated  to  the  honour  of  that  newly-invented 
mystery.  The  doctrine  of  transubstantiation,  which  many 
even  at  that  period  could  not  digest  without  difficulty,  was  no 
trial  of  faith  to  a  Spaniard.  "  Do  you  believe  that  this  wafer 
is  the  body  of  the  Father,  Sou,  and  Holy  Ghost  V  was  the 
question  which  the  parish  priests  of  Valencia,  in  the  four- 
teenth century,  were  accustomed  to  put  to  dying  persons ; 
and  on  obtaining  an  affimative  answer,  they  administered  the 
host.  Another  attempt  to  extend  the  mysterious  process  a 
little  farther  met  with  greater  opposition.  Eimeric,  the  au- 
thor of  the  celebrated  Guide  to  Inquisitors,  wrote  against 
Bonet  and  Mairon,  who  maintained  that  St.  John  the  Evan- 
gelist became  the  real  son  of  the  Virgin,  in  consequence  of 
bis  body  being  transubstantiated  into  that  of  Christ,  by  the 
words  pronounced  on  the  cross,  Eccc  Jilius  tuus,  Behold  thy 
Hon, 


CHAPTER  II. 

On    the   slate  of  Literature  in    Spain    hrfure   the  era  of  the 
lieformation. 

Having  taken  a  general  survey  of  the  state  of  religion  in 
Spain  before  the  Reformation,  let  us  look  back  for  a  little 
and  trace  the  restoration  of  letters,  which  opened  the  pros- 
pect of  a  better  order  of  things  in  that  country.  The  learn- 
ing of  Isidore,  archbishop  of  Seville,  who  flourished  in  the 
seventh  century,  and,  next  to  .St.  James,  is  venerated  by  the 
Spaniards  as  a  tutelary  saint,  rests  on  a  better  foundation 
tlian  the  encomium  of  Gregorj'  the  Great,  who  called  him  a 
second  Daniel.  Besides  various  theological  and  historical 
treatises,  he  composed  a  work  on  entomology,  which,  though 
disfigured  by  errors,  discovers  a  considerable  portion  of 
philological  knowledge,  and  contributed  to  check  the  barba- 
rism which  had  already  invaded  every  country  in  Europe. 
But  ages  of  darkness  succeeded,  during  which,  while  the 
name  of  St.  Isidore  was  held  in  veneration,  his  works  were 
disregarded,  b)'  an  ignorant  priesthood,  into  whose  liands  the 
key  of  knowledge  had  fallen. 

It  is  not  to  the  credit  of  Christianity,  or  at  least  of  those 
who  professed  it,  that,  during  the  middle  ages,  letters  were 
preserved  from  extinction,  and  even  revived  from  the  decline 
which  bad  seized  them,  by  the  exertions  of  the  followers  of 
Mahomet.  The  tenth  century,  which  has  been  denominated 
the  leaden  ^ige  of  Europe,  was  the  golden  age  of  Asia. 
Modern  writers  have  perhaps  gone  to  an  extreme  on  both 
sides  in  forming  their  estimate  of  the  degree  in  which  Euro- 
pean literature  is  indebted  to  the  Arabians.  But  when  we 
find  that  this  peojile  have  left  such  evident  marks  of  their 
language  upon  that  of  Spain,  it  seems  unreasonable  to  doubt 
that  they  had  also  great  influence  upon  its  literature.  Cor- 
dova, Granada,  and  Seville,  rivalled  one  another  in  the  mag- 
nificence of  their  schools  and  libraries,  during  the  empire  of 
the  Saracens,  who  granted  to  the  Spanish  Christians,  whom 
they  had  subjugated,  that  protection  in  their  religions  rights, 
which  the  latte'r  were  far  from  imitating  when  they  in  their 
turn  became  the  conquerors.  The  two  languages  were  spoken 
in  common.  The  Christians  began  to  vie  with  their  masters 
in  the  pursuit  of  science,  composed  commentaries  on  the 


HISTORY  OF  THE  REFORMATION  IN  SPAIN. 


315 


scriptures  in  Arabic,  and  transfused  the  beauties  of  eastern 
poetry  into  the  Castilian  language.  It  is  even  said,  that  a 
bishop  of  Seville,  at  this  early  period,  translated  the  scriptures 
into  the  Arabic  tongue. 

If  the  Spanish  language  was  in  danger  of  suffering  from 
the  predominance  of  the  Arabians,  the  evil  was  counteracted 
by  the  cultivation  of  Provencal  poetry.  In  the  twelfth  cen- 
tury, Alfonso  II.  of  Aragon,  whose  name  has  an  honourable 
place  among  the  Troubadours,  zealously  patronised  those 
who  wrote  in  the  Catalonian  or  Valencian  dialect.  In  the 
subsequent  century,  Alfonso  X.  of  Castile,  surnamed  the 
Wise,  showed  himself  equally  zealous  in  encouraging  the 
study  of  the  Castilian  tongue,  in  which  he  wrote  several 
poems;  at  the  same  time  that  he  extracted  the  knowledge 
which  was  to  be  found  in  the  books  of  the  Arabians;  as 
appears,  amonor  other  proofs,  from  the  astronomical  tables, 
called  from  him  Alphonsine.  The  writings  of  Dante,  Checo, 
Dascoli,  and  Petrarch,  -gave  a  new  impulse  to  the  literature 
of  Spain.  From  this  period  the  study  of  the  ancient  classics 
imparted  greater  purity  and  elevation  to  works  of  imagi- 
nation ;  and  a  taste  for  poetical  compositions  in  their  native 
tongue  began  to  be  felt  by  the  Spanish  gentry,  who  had 
hitherto  found  their  sole  pastime  in  arms  ancf  military  tourna- 
ments. Among  those  who  distingiiished  themselves  by  im- 
proving the  taste  of  their  countrymen  in  the  first  part  of  the 
fifteenth  century,  were  two  persons  of  illustrious  birth,  in 
whose  families  the  love  of  learning  was  long  hereditary. 
Henry  of  Aragon,  marquis  of  Villena,  descended  from  the 
royal  houses  of  Aragon  and  Castile,  revived  the  Consislorio 
de  la  Gaya  Scicncia,  an  academy  instituted  at  Barcelona  for 
the  encouragement  of  poetry,  of  which  he  was  the  president. 
His  superior  knowledge,  combined  perhaps  with  a  portion  of 
that  learned  credulity  of  which  those  who  addicted  them- 
selves to  astronomy  and  experimental  science  during  the 
middle  ages  were  often  the  dupes,  brought  on  him  the  suspi- 
cion of  necromancy.  In  consequence  of  this,  his  books 
were  seized  after  his  death,  by  the  orders  of  Juan  II.  king 
of  (Jastile,  and  sent  for  examination  to  Lope  de  Barrientos, 
a  Dominican  monk  of  considerable  learning,  and  preceptor 
to  the  prince  of  Asturias.  "  Barrientos,"  says  a  contempo- 
rary writer,  "  liking  better  to  walk  with  the  prince  than  to 
revise  necromancies,  committed  to  the  flames  upwards  of  a 
hundred  volumes,  without  having  examined  them  any  more 
than  the  king  of  Morocco,  or  understood  a  jot  of  their  con- 
tents more  than  the  dean  of  Ciudad  Rodrigo.  There  are 
many  in  the  present  day,"  continues  he,  "wlio  become 
learned  men,  by  pronouncing  others  fools  and  magicians; 
and- what  is  worse,  make  themselves  saints,  by  stigmatizing 
others  as  sorcerers."  This  indignity  done  to  the  memory  of 
"  the  ornament  of  Spain  and  of  the  age,"  was  bewailed, 
both  in  verse  and  prose,  by  writers  of  that  time. 

Equally  learned  as  Villena,  but  more  fortunate  in  preserv- 
ing his  good  name  and  his  books,  was  Inigo  Lopez  de  Men- 
doza,  marquis  of  Sanlillana,  who,  in  a  treatise,  intended  as  a 
preface  to  his  own  poetical  works,  has  acted  the  part  of  his- 
torian to  his  countrymen  w  ho  preceded  him  in  paying  court 
to  the  muse.  The  merits  of  both  marquises  have  been  cele- 
brated by  the  pen  of  Juan  de  JMena,  unquestionably  the  first 
Spanish  poet  of  that  age. 

It  is  not  unworthy  of  remark  here,  that  the'  Jews  while 
they  enjoyed  protection  in  Spain,  co-operated  with  the  Chris- 
tians in  the  cultivation  of  polite  letters.  Kabbi  Don  Santo, 
who  flourished  about  the  year  1360,  makes  the  following 
modest  and  not  inelegant  apology  for  taking  his  place  among 
the  poets  of  the  land  which  had  given  him  birth  : — 

The  rose  that  twines  a  thorny  sprij, 
Will  not  the  less  perfume  the  c;iilli; 

Good  wine,  that  leaves  a  creeping  twig. 
Is  not  the  worse  for  humble  birth. 

The  ht^wk  may  be  of  noble  kind, 

That  from  a  filthy  aiery  flew; 
And  precepts  are  not  less  refined. 

Because  Uiey  issue  from  a  Jew. 

Long  after  their  expulsion  from  Spain,  the  Jews  cherished  an 
ardent  attachment  to  the  (lastilian  tongue,  in  which  they  con- 
tinued to  compose  works  both  in  prose  and  verse. 

On  looking  into  the  writings  of  the  ancient  Spanish  poets, 
we  are  induced  to  conclude,  that  they  were  not  in  the  habit 
of  using  those  liberties  with  the  church  and  clergy  which 
were  indulged  in  by  the  poets  of  Italy  and  the  troubadours  of 
Provence.     There  is  reason  however  to  think,  that  the  ab 


sence  of  these  satires  is  to  be  accounted  for,  in  no  small  de- 
gree, by  the  prudence  of  the  editors  of  their  works,  and  the 
vigilance  of  the  censors  of  the  press,  after  the  invention  of 
printing.  Accordingly,  of  later  years,  since  the  severity  of 
the  inquisitiou  relaxed,  and  a  passion  to  do  justice  to  their 
literary  antiquities  has  been  felt  by  the  Spaniards,  poems  have 
been  brought  to  the  light,  though  still  with  much  caution, 
which  two  centuries  ago  would  have  earned  for  their  learned 
editors  a  perpetual  prison.  The  poems  of  Juan  Ruiz,  areh- 
priest  of  Hita,  who  flourished  in  the  middle  of  the  fourteenth 
century,  contain  severe  satires  on  the  avarice  and  loose  man- 
ners of  the  clergy.  He  represents  money  as  opening  the 
gates  of  Paradise,  purchasing  salvation  to  the  people,  and 
benefices  to  priests ;  as  equally  powerful  at  the  court  of  Rome 
and  elsewhere,  with  the  pope  and  with  all  orders  of  the  clergy, 
secular  and  regular ;  as  converting  a  lie  into  the  truth,  and 
the  truth  into  a  lie.  In  another  poem  he  is  as  severe  against 
the  manners  of  the  clergy,  whom  he  describes  as  living  avow- 
edly in  concubinage.  He  represents  Don  Gil  de  Albornoz, 
archbishop  of  Talavera,  as  having  procured  a  mandate  from 
the  pope,  ordering  all  his  clergy  to  put  away  the  wives  or 
concubines  whom  they  kept  in  their  houses,  under  the  paia 
of  excommunication.  When  this  mandate  was  read  to  them 
in  a  public  assembly,  it  excited  a  warm  opposition;  violent 
speeches  were  made  against  it  by  the  dean  and  others;  some 
of  them  declared  that  they  would  sooner  part  with  their  dig- 
nities; and  it  was  finally  agreed  that  they  should  appeal  from 
the  pope  to  the  king  cf  Castile. 

About  the  middle  of  the  fifteenth  century,  literature  was 
advanced  under  the  patronage  of  Alfonso  V.  of  Aragon.  The 
education  of  this  monarch  had  been  neglected,  and  the  early 
part  of  his  life  was  spent  in  arms;  but  at  fifty  years  of  age 
he  applied  himself  to  study  with  such  eagerness  that  he 
was  soon  able  to  read  with  ease  the  Roman  classics,  which 
became  his  constant  companions.  He  disputed  with  the 
house  of  Medici  the  honour  of  entertaining  men  of  letters, 
and  rescuing  the  writings  of  antiquity  from  oblivion.  When 
he  had  taken  a  town,  his  soldiers  could  not  do  the  prince  a 
greater  pleasure  than  to  bring  him  a  book  which  they  had 
discovered  among  the  spoils;  and  Cosmo  de'  Medici,  by  the 
present  of  an  ancient  manuscript,  procured  from  him  a  treaty 
highly  favourable  to  Florence.  Anthony  of  Palermo,  usually 
styled  Panorniiianus,  who  wrote  the  history  of  his  life,  resided 
at  his  court  in  great  honour;  and  Laurentius  Valla,  one  of  the 
most  profound  and  elegant  scholars  of  that  age,  when  perse- 
cuted for  the  freedom  of  his  opinions,  was  protected  by  Al- 
fonso at  Naples,  W'here  he  opened  a  school  for  Greek  and 
Roman  eloquence. 

Alfonso  de  Palencia,  having  visited  Italy,  became  acquainted 
with  cardinal  Bessarian,  and  attended  the  lectures  which  the 
learned  Greek  Trapezuntius  delivered  on  eloquence  and  his 
native  tongue.  On  his  return  to  Spain,  he  was  made  histori- 
ographer to  Henry  IV.  of  Castile,  and  afterwards  to  queen 
Isabella;  and  by  his  translations  from  Greek  into  the  Castilian 
language,  as  well  as  by^  a  work  on  grammar,  excited  a  taste 
for  letters  among  his  countrymen.  He  was  followed  by  An- 
tonio de  Lebrixa,  usually  styled  Xebrissensis,  who  became 
to  Spain  what  Valla  was  to  Italy,  Erasmus  to  Germany,  and 
Bude  to  France.  After  a  residence  of  ten  years  in  Italy, 
during  which  he  had  stored  his  mind  with  various  kinds  of 
knowledge,  he  returned  home  in  1J73,  by  the  advice  of  the 
younger  Philelpluis  and  Hermolaus  Barbarus,  with  the  view 
of  promoting  classical  learning  in  his  native  country.  Hith- 
erto the  revival  of  letters  in  Spain  was  confined  to  a  few  in- 
([uisitive  individuals,  and  had  not  reached  the  schools  and 
universities,  whose  teachers  continued  to  teach  a  barbarous 
jargon,  under  the  name  of  Latin,  into  which  they  initiated  the 
youth  by  means  of  a  rude  system  of  grammar,  rendered  un- 
intelligible, in  some  instances,  by  a  preposterous  intermixture 
of  the  most  abstruse  questions  in  metaphysics.  By  the  lec- 
tures which  he  read  in  the  universities  of  Seville,  Salamanca, 
and  Alcala,  and  by  the  institutes  which  he  published  on  Cas- 
tilian, Latin,  Greek,  and  Hebrew  grammar,  Lebrixa  contribut- 
ed in  a  wonderful  degree  to  expel  barbarism  from  the  seats 
of  education,  and  to  diffuse  a  taste  for  elegant  and  useful  stu- 
dies among  his  countrymen.  His  improvements  were  warmly 
opposed  by  tlie  monks,  who  had  engrossed  the  art  of  teaching, 
and  who,  unable  to  bear  the  light  themselves,  wished  to  pre- 
vent all  others  from  seeing  it;  but,  enjoying  the  support  of 
persons  of  high  authority,  he  disregarded  their  selfish  and 
ignorant  outcries.  Lebrixa  continued,  to  an  advanced  age, 
to  support  the  literary  reputation  of  his  native  country.  Dur- 
ing his  residence  at  Salamanca,  he  was  joined  by  three  able 
coadjutors.     The  first  w^as  Arius  Barbosa,  a  Portuguese,  who 


31G 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


had  studied  under  the  eleoant  Italian  scholar,  Angelo  Politi- 
ano,  and  was  equally  skilled  in  Greek  as  Lebrixa  was  in 
Latin.  The  second  was  Lucio  Marineo,  a  native  of  Sicilj', 
■who,  in  1485,  accompanied  the  grand  admiral  of  Castile  into 
Spain,  and  began  to  read  lectures  on  poetry.  Tlie  third  was 
Peter  Martyr  of  Anghiera,  to  whoso  letters  we  are  indebted 
for  some  interesting  particulars  respecting  the  state  of  litera- 
ture in  Spain,  along  with  much  valuable  information  on  the 
political  transactions  of  that  country,  and  the  affiiirs  of  the 
new  world.  In  I  JrtS,  he  was  persuaded  to  leave  Italy  by  the 
conde  de  Tcndilla,  who  inherited  that  love  of  letters  which  had 
distinguislied  his  illustrious  ancestor,  the  Marquis  of  Santil- 
lana.  Martyr  commenced  liis  literary  career  in  .Spain,  b}' 
reading,  witli  great  applause,  a  lecture  on  one  of  the  satires 
of  Juvenal,  at  Salamanca;  but  he  was  soon  called  from  that 
station  to  an  employment  of  higher  responsibilit}',  for  which 
he  was  eminently  qualified.  Under  the  patronage,  and  at  the 
earnest  desire  of  queen  Isabella,  who  had  herself  taken  lessons 
from  Lebrixa,  he  undertook  to  superintend  the  education  of 
the  sons  of  the  principal  nobility,  with  the  view  of  rooting 
out  an  opinion  almost  universally  prevalent  among  persons  of 
that  order  in  Spain,  that  learning  unfitted  them  for  military 
affairs,  in  which  they  jilaced  all  their  glory.  The  school  was 
accordingly  opened  at  court,  not  without  a  flattering  prospect 
of  success.  But  Spain  was  destined  to  exhaust  her  energies 
in  gratifying  the  mad  ambition  for  conquest  of  a  succession 
of  princes,  and  then  to  sink  into  inactivity  under  the  benumb- 
ing influence  of  superstition  and  despotism.  P'inding  the 
prejudice  against  education,  in  the  minds  of  his  pupils,  more 
inveterate  than  he  had  anticipated,  Martyr  accepted  of  a  po- 
litical appointment;  and  the  plan  for  inspiring  the  nobility 
with  the  love  of  polite  letters,  was  abandoned  soon  after  it 
had  been  begun  under  such  good  auspices. 

In  the  mean  time,  the  passion  for  learning  spread  from 
Salamanca  to  the  other  universities  of  the  kingdom.  In  the 
beginning  of  the  sixteenth  century,  Francesco  Ximenes,  at 
that  time  archbishop  of  Toledo,  reston-d  and  enlarged  the 
university  of  Alcala  de  Henares,  in  which  he  founded  a  tri- 
lingual college.  To  acquire  celebrity  to  his  favourite  insti- 
tution he  procured  learned  teachers  to  fill  its  chairs,  among 
whom  were  Demetrius  Ducas  and  Nicetas  Phaustus,  two 
natives  of  (ireece,  and  Fernando  Nunez,  a  descendant  of  the 
rioble  house  of  Guzman.  The  latter,  who  had  sacrificed  his 
prospect  of  civil  honours  to  the  love  of  stud)',  was  inferior  to 
none  of  his  learned  countr)-men,  and  has  left  behind  him  a 
name  in  the  republic  of  letters. 

Living  in  the  midst  of  Jews  and  Moors,  and  frequently 
engaged  in  controversy  with  them  on  their  respective  creeds, 
the  Christians  in  Spain  had  better  opportunities  and  a  more 
powerful  stimulus  to  study  the  oriental  languages,  than  their 
brethren  in  other  parts  of  Europe.  About'the  middle  of  the 
thirteenth  century,  Raymond  de  Pennaforte,  general  of  the 
Dominicans,  persuaded  Juan  I.,  king  of  Aragon,  to  appro- 
priate funds  for  the  education  of  young  men  who  might  be 
qualified  for  entering  the  lists  in  argument  with  Jews  and 
Mahometans.  And  in  125!)  it  was  appointed,  at  a  general 
chapter  of  the  Dominicans  held  at  Valencia,  tliat  the  prior  of 
that  order  in  Spain  should  see  to  the  erection  of  a  school  for 
Arabic,  at  Barcelona  or  elsewhere.  From  this  school  pro- 
ceeded several  individuals  who  distinguished  themselves  as 
disputants,  both  orally  and  by  writing.  Among  the  latter  was 
Raymond  Slarlini,  the  author  of  Pugio  Fidei,  or  Poignard  of  the 
Faith  against  Jews  and  Moors;  a  work  which  discovers  no 
contemptible  acquaintance  with  the  Hebrew  language,  and 
with  the  Rabbinical  writings,  which  it  quotes  and  comments 
upon  in  the  original.*  To  the  attention  paid  to  the  oriental 
tongues  in  Spain  may  be  traced  the  decree  of  the  council  of 
Vienne,  held  under  pope  Clement  V.  in  the  year  1311,  which 


•  The  work  ivas  composed  in  12rS.  (Pugio  Fidei,  part  ii.  cap. 
10-  §  1.  p.  395.  ediL  Carpzovii.}  Itsfate  iscui-ious.  Poi-chet,  a  con- 
verted Jew,  in  the  foui'teentli  leuturv,  transcribed  a  gi-eat  part  of  it 
into  a  «  ork  ivliich  he  composed  under  llie  title  of  Victoria  advei-sus 
Hebraeos,  whicli  was  printed  in  1520.  He  acknowledged  his  obli- 
gations to  Martini;  an  act  of  justice  whicb  was  not  done  liira  by 
(Jalatinus,  wlio  used  the  same  liberties  in  his  Arcana  Catholica'e 
Veritotis,  printed  in  1513.  Uc  Porta  ssljs  that  Galatinus,  when  he 
ocpans  Irom  the  Pugio,  copies  almost  verbally  from  tlie  Capistrum  or 
I^oose,  (anoilici-  work  of  Martini,)  as  he  tbu'nd  by  consulting  a  MS. 
copy  ol  the  last-named  book  in  the  library  of  Bologna.  (De  Linguis 
Yrnff'  •}■  ^'^'^  "^'"^  plagiarism  of  Galatinus  was  first  detected  in 
lOiw  l)V  Joseph  Scahger.who,  however,  confounded  Raymond  Mar- 
tnu  witl.  Raymond  Sebonde.  The  Pugio  Fidei  was  at  last  published 
entii-e  m  Itol,  with  learned  annotations  bv  Joseph  de  Voisin.and  ele- 
gantly reprinted  in  16.57,  under  the  care  of  .lolin  Benedict  Carnzov 
who  preli.vcd  to  it  an  Introduction  to  Je«  isli  Tlicolo"v. 


ordained  that  Hebrew,  Cbaldee  and  Arabic,  should  be  taught 
in  whatever  place  the  pontifical  court  might  be  held,  and  in 
the  universities  of  Bologna,  Paris,  Oxford  and  Salamanca. 

The  ardour  with  wbicb  these  studies  were  prosecuted,  dur- 
ing the  fourteenth  and  fifteenth  centuries,  led  to  the  publication 
of  the  famous  Complutensiaii  Polyglot.  This  c/uf  d'oeuvre  of 
Spanish  erudition  was  executed  under  the  patronage  and  at 
the  expense  of  cardinal  Ximenes,  then  archbishop  of  Toledo; 
a  prelate  whose  pretensions  to  learning  were  slender,  but 
whose  amliition  prompted  hira  to  seek  distinction  equally  in 
the  convent,  the  academy,  the  cabinet,  and  the  field.  In  im- 
itation of  the  celebrated  Origen,  be  projected  an  edition  of 
the  Bible  in  various  languages,  and  expended  large  sums  of 
money  in  supporting  the  learned  men  who  were  engaged  in 
the  undertaking,  purchasing  manuscripts  for  their  use,  and 
providing  the  requisite  printers  and  types.  The  work  com- 
menced in  1502,  and  the  printing  was  finished  in  1517,  in  six 
volumes  folio,  at  the  press  of  CompU'tum,  or  Alcala  de  He- 
nares. The  Old  Testament  contained  the  original  Hebrew 
text,  the  Vulgate  or  Latin  version  of  Jerome,  and  the  Greek 
version  of  the  Scptuagint,  arranged  in  three  columns;  and  at 
the  foot  of  each  page  of  the  Pentateuch  was  printed  tlie 
Chaldee  paraphrase  of  Onkelos,  accompanied  with  a  Latin 
translation.  The  New  Testament  contained  the  original 
Greek,  and  the  Vulgate  Latin  version.  To  the  whole  were 
added  a  grammar  and  dictionary  of  the  Hebrew  language, 
and  a  Greek  lexicon  or  vocabulary,  with  some  other  explana- 
tory treatises.  John  Brocar,  the  son  of  the  printer,  was  ac- 
customed to  relate,  that  when  the  last  sheet  came  from  the 
press,  he,  being  then  a  boy,  was  sent  in  his  best  clothes  with 
a  copy  of  it  to  the  cardinal,  who  gave  thanks  to  God  for  spa- 
ring him  to  that  day,  and  turning  to  his  attendants,  said  that 
he  congratulated  himself  on  the  completion  of  that  work  more 
than  on  any  of  the  acts  which  had  distinguished  his  admin- 
istration. 

S])anish  writers  have  been  two  lavish  of  their  encomiums 
on  the  Polyglot  of  Alcala.  The  Hebrew  and  Greek  manu- 
scripts employed  by  its  compilers  were  neither  numerous  nor 
ancient;  and  instead  of  correcting  the  text  of  the  Septuagint 
from  the  copies  which  were  in  their  possession,  they  made 
alterations  of  their  own,  with  the  view  of  adapting  it  to  the 
Hebrew  text.  Some  of  the  learned  men  who  laboured  in 
this  work,  must  have  been  ashamed  of  the  following  speci- 
men of  puerile  devotion  to  the  Vulgate,  which  occurs  in  one 
of  the  prologues  written  in  the  name  of  Ximenes.  Speaking 
of  the  order  in  which  the  matter  is  disposed  in  the  columns, 
he  says:  "  We  have  put  the  version  of  St.  Jerome  between 
the  Hebrew  and  Septuagint,  as  between  the  synagogue  and 
Eastern  church,  which  are  like  the  two  thieves,  the  one  on 
the  right  and  the  other  on  the  left  hand,  and  Jesus,  that  is, 
the  Roman  church,  in  the  middle  :  for  this  alone,  being 
founded  upon  a  solid  rock,  remains  always  immovable  in  the 
truth,  while  the  others  deviate  from  the  proper  sense  of  scrip- 
ture."* But  notwithstanding  these  defects,  when  we  con- 
sider the  period  at  which  it  was  composed,  and  the  example 
which  it  held  out,  we  cannot  hesitate  in  affirming  that  this 
work  reflects  great  credit  on  its  authors,  and  on  the  munifi- 
cence of  the  prelate  at  whose  expense  it  was  executed. 

The  Arabic  language  was  also  cultivated  at  this  time  by 
some  individuals  in  Spain.  This  branch  of  study  was  zeal- 
ously patronised  by  Fernando  de  Talavera,  who,  after  the 
overthrow  of  the  Jloorish  kingdom,  was  appointed  the  first 
archbishop  of  Grenada.  This  pious  and  amiable  prelate, 
being  desirous  of  converting  the  Moors  who  resided  in  his 
diocese  by  gentle  and  rational  methods,  and  consequently  of 
promoting  the  knowledge  of  Christianity  among  them,  en- 
couraged the  clergy  under  his  charge  to  make  themselves 
masters  of  the  Arabian  tongue.  With  the  view  of  assisting 
them  in  this  task,  he  employed  his  chaplain,  Pedro  de  Alcala, 
a  Hicronymite  monk,  to  draw  up  an  Arabic  grammar,  vocabu- 
lary, and  catechism  containing  the  first  rudiments  of  Christian 
doctrine,  for  the  use  of  parish  priests  and  catechists;  which 
were  the  first  books  ever  printed  in  lliat  language.     In  order 


*  ^Many  Roman  catholic  writers  are  ashamed  of  this  conceit,  (as 
they  call  it,)  which,  if  it  has  any  meaaing,  implies  a  severe  consuj'e 
on  the  whole  undertaking.  Le  Long  suppressed  it,  in  his  account 
of  the  work.  Not  so  Xicbolas  Ramus,  bishop  of  Cuba,  «lio,  in  a 
commentary  oii  the  words,  informs  us  that  ''tlie  Hebrew  original 
represents  the  bad  thief,  and  the  Scptuagint  version  tlie  good  thief." 
Pcre  Simon  appeared  at  first  inclined  to  make  the  transatlantic 
bishop  responsible  botli  for  the  text  and  the  commentary  ;  but  he 
after\iards  acknowledges  that  the  former  is  to  be  found  in  the  Com- 
plutensian  prologue  to  tlie  reader.  (Hist.  Crit.  du  Vieux  Test.  p. 
350;  conf.  p.  577.) 


HISTORY  OF  THE  REFORMATION  IN  SPAIN. 


317 


the  more  eflectually  to  promote  the  same  object,  the  arch- 
bishop caused  the  religious  service  to  be  performed  in  their 
vernacujar  tongue,  to  such  of  the  Moors  as  liad  submitted  to 
baplisin,  or  were  willing  to  be  instructed  ;  and,  accordingly, 
Arabic  translations  of  the  collects  from  the  Gospels  and 
Kpislles  were  also  made  by  his  orders.  It  was  his  intention 
to  have  the  whole  scriptures  translated  into  that  language, 
agreeably  to  what  is  said  to  have  been  done  at  an  early  period 
of  the  Moorish  douiinion  in  f>pain. 

These  measures,  which  were  applauded  bj-  all  enlightened 
men,  met  with  the  strenuous  opposition  of  cardinal  Ximenes, 
who,  while  he  wished  to  be  regarded  as  the  patron  of  learn- 
ing, was  a  determined  enemy  to  the  progress  of  knowledge. 
The  archbishop  had  appealed  to  tlie  authority  of  St.  Paul,  who 
said,  "  In  the  church  I  had  rather  speak  five  words  with  my 
understanding,  that  by  my  voice  I  might  teach  others  also, 
than  ten  tliousand  words  in  an  unknown  tongue."  But  the 
cardinal  pleaded  that  the  times  were  changed,  and  appealed 
to  St.  J'etcr.  'J'o  put  the  sacred  oracles  into  the  hands  of 
those  who  were  but  newly  initiated  into  our  religion,  was,  in 
liis  opinion,  to  throw  pearls  before  swine.  Nor  did  he  think 
it  a  whit  safer  to  iritrust  the  old  Christians  with  this  treasure; 
for,  (added  lie,  changing  the  metaphor,)  in  ihis  old  age  of  the 
world,  when  religion  is  so  far  drgeneratcd  from  that  purity 
which  prevailed  in  the  time  of  St.  Paul,  the  vulgar  are  in 
danger  of  wresting  the  scriptures  to  their  destruction.  Know- 
ing that  the  common  people  are  inclined  to  revere  what  is 
concealed,  and  to  despise  what  is  known,  the  wisest  nations 
have  always  kept  them  at  a  distance  from  the  mysteries  of 
religion.  Books  written  by  men  of  ajiproved  piety,  and  cal 
culated,  by  the  examples  which  they  propose,  or  by  the  fer- 
vour of  their  style,  to  raise  the  dejected,  and  recall  the  rainds 
of  men  from  the  things  of  sense  to  divine  contemplation 
might  he  safely  circulated  in  the  vulgar  tongue;  and  it  was 
the  cardinal's  intention,  as  soon  as  he  found  leisure,  to  pub 
lish  some  works  of  this  description;  but  the  sacred  scriptures 
ought  to  bo  exclusively  preserved  in  the  three  languages  in 
whicli  the  inscription  on  our  Saviour's  cross  was  written ; 
and  if  ever  this  rule  should  be  neglected,  the  most  pernicious 
effects  would  ensue.  This  opinion,  which  is  merely  a  com- 
mentary on  the  favourite  maxim  of  the  church  of  Rome,  that 
ignorance  is  the  mother  of  devotion,  has  met  with  the  warm 
approbation  of  his  biographer,  and  was  afterwards  produced 
as  a  proof  of  his  prophetic  gift,  along  with  his  miracles,  in 
the  application  which  the  Colegio  Mayor  de  San  Ildefonso 
made  to  the  papal  court  for  his  canonization.  The  arguments 
of  Ximenes  were  not  of  a  kind  to  carry  conviction  to  the 
minds  of  those  who  favoured  enlightened  measures;  but  they 
were  the  arguments  of  a  man  who,  unfortunately  for  the  best 
interests  of  .Spain,  had  even  then  actpiircd  great  influence  in 
the  councils  of  government,  and  continued  for  manj'  years  to 
have  the  chief  direction  of  the  alTairs  of  the  nation,  both  civil 
and  ecclesiastical.  The  books  which  the  cardinal  had  pro- 
mised as  a  substitute  lor  the  Gospels  and  Kpistlcs  made  their 
appearance,  consisting  of  treatises  of  mystic  or  rather  monastic 
devotion,  and  the  lives  of  some  of  its  most  high-flying  zealots, 
both  male  and  female;  such  as,  the  Letters  of  Santa  Catalina 
de  Scua,  of  Santa  Angela  do  Fulgino,  and  of  Santa  Matilda, 
the  Degrees  of  San  .luau  ('liuiaio,  the  Instructions  of  San 
Vicente  Ferrer,  and  of  Santa  Clara,  tlie  Meditations  of  the 
Cairlhusian  Thomas  Landulpho,  and  the  Life  of  St.  Thomas 
a  Becket,  archbishop  of  Canterbury. 

The  opposition  oP  Ximenes,  and  the  violent  and  impolitic 
measures  which  the  government  adopted  against  the  Jews 
and  Moors,  cheeked  the  cultivation  of  oriental  literature  to 
such  a  degree,  that,  in  the  year  ISo"),  when  an  enthusiastic 
scholar  visited  Spain,  he  found  Hebrew  neglected,  and  could 
not  meet  with  a  single  native  acquainted  with  Arabic,  except 
the  venerable  Nunez,  who  still  recollected  the  characters  of  a 
language  to  which  he  had  paid  some  attention  in  his  youth. 

A  translation  of  the  Scriptures  into  Spanish,  of  w'hich  I 
shall  afterwards  speak,  had  probably  little  influence  in  pre- 
paring for  the  introduction  of  the  reformed  opinions,  as  all 
the  copies  of  it  appear  to  have  been  destroyed  soon  after  it 
came  from  the  press.  Considerable  light  was  thrown  upon 
the  sacred  writings  by  those  who  studied  them  in  the  original 
languages,  at  the  close  of  the  fifteenth  and  beginning  of  the 
sixteenth  century.  Pablo  de  San  Maria  of  Burgos,  commonly 
called  Paulus  Burgensis,  a  converted  Jew,  discovered  the 
same  acquaintance  with  Hebrew  which  distinguishes  the 
Postilla,  or  notes  on  Scripture,  by  Nicolas  de  Lira,  to  which 
he  made  additions.  Alfonso  Toslado,  bishop  of  Avila,  who 
wrote  coiiiiiientaries  on  the  histofical  books  of  the  Old  Testa- 
ment, and  on  Matthew,  had  formed  correct  notions  of  the  lite- 


ral and  proper  sense  of  Scripture,  and  of  the  duty  of  an 
interpreter  to  adhere  to  it  in  opposition  to  the  method  of  the 
allegorizing  divines;  but  he  swelled  his  works  to  an  immod- 
erate bulkf  by  indulging  in  digressions  on  common  places. 
Pedro  de  Osma,  professor  of  theology  at  Salamanca,  employed 
his  talents  in  correctin'j  the  original  text  of  the  New  Testament, 
by  acritical  collation  of  different  manuscripts.  Hedisplayed  the 
same  freedom  of  opinion  on  doctrinal  points;  and  in  1479  was 
forced  to  abjure  eight  propositions  relating  to  the  power  of 
the  pope,  and  the  sacrament  of  penance,  which  were  extracted 
from  a  book  written  by  him  on  Confession,  and  condemned 
as  erroneous  by  a  council  held  at  Alcala.  Besides  bis  servi- 
ces in  the  cause  of  polite  literature,  Antonio  Lebrixavvrole 
several  works,  illustrative  of  the  Scriptures,  for  which  he 
was  brought  before  the  Inquisition,  and  would  have  incurred 
the  same  "censure  as  De  Osma,  had  he  not  been  so  fortunate 
as  to  secure  the  protection  of  their  Catholic  Majesties. 

By  the  labours  of  these  men,  together  with  the  writings  of 
their  countryman  Ludoviens  Vives,  who  had  settled  in  the 
Low  Countries,  and  of  his  friend  Erasmus,  a  salutary  change 
was  produced  on  the  minds  of  the  youth  at  the  universities. 
They  became  disgusted  at  the  barbarism  of  scholastic  theolo- 
gy, read  the  Scriptures  for  themselves,  consulted  them  in  the 
originals,  and  from  these  sources  ventured  to  correct  the 
errors  of  the  Vulgate,  and  to  expose  the  absurd  and  puerile 
interpretations  which  had  so  long  passed  current  under  the 
shade  of  ignorance  and  credulity. 

Having  put  the  reader  in  possession  of  the  circumstances 
connected  with  the  state  of  letters  and  knowledge  which 
tended  to  facilitate  the  introduction  of  the  reformed  doctrine 
into  Spain,  I  shall  now  take  a  view  of  the  obstacles  with 
which  It  had  to  contend,  of  which  the  most  formidable  by  far 
was  the  Inquisition. 


CHAPTER  III. 

Oflhc  Inquiailion,  andolhcr  obstacles  to  the  Reformation  in  Spahi. 

Soon  after  the  Roman  eminre  became  Christian,  laws  were 
enacted,  subjecting  those  who  propagated  erroneous  opinions 
to  punishment,  under  the  false  idea  that  heresy,  or  error  in 
matters  of  revelation,  was  a  crime  and  an  offence  .igainst  the 
state.  The  penalties  were  in  general  moderate,  compared 
with  those  which  were  decreed  at  a  subsequent  period. 
Manicheism,  which  was  considered  as  eversive  of  the  princi- 
])les  of  natural  religion,  and  dangerous  to  morals,  was  the 
only  heresy  visiteil  with  capital  imnisliment;  a  penalty 
which  was  afterwards  extended  to  the  Donatists,  who  were 
char'reable  with  exciting  tumults  in  various  parts  of  the  em- 
pire." The  bishops  of  that  time  were  far  from  soliciting  the 
execution  of  these  penal  statutes,  which  in  most  instances 
had  passed  at  their  desire,  or  wild  their  consent.  They  flat- 
tered themselves  that  the  publication  of  severe  laws,  by  the 
terror  which  it  inspired,  would  repress  the  hardihood  of  dar- 
inir  innovators,  and  induce  their  deludi-d  followers  to  listen 
tolnstruction,  and  return  to  the  bosom  of  the  faithful  church. 
When  Priscillian  was  put  to  death  for  ^lanicheism,  at  Treves 
in  3S-1,  St.  Martin,  the  apostle  of  the  French,  remonstrated 
with  the  emperor  Maximus  against  the  deed,  which  was  re- 
garded with  abhorrence  by  all  the  bishops  of  France  and 
Italy.  St.  Augustine  protested  to  the  proconsul  of  Africa, 
tliat,  if  capital  punishment  was  inflicted  on  the  Donatists,  he 
and  his  clergy  would  suffer  death  at  the  hands  of  these  tur- 
bulent hereti'cs  sooner  than  be  instrumental  in  bringing  them 
before  the  tribunals.  But  it  is  easier  to  draw  than  to  sheathe 
the  sword  of  persecution ;  and  the  ecclesiastics  of  a  followmg 
aire  were  zealous  in  stimulating  reluctant  magistrates  to  exe- 
cute these  laws,  and  in  procuring  the  application  of  them  to 
persons  who  held  opinions  which  their  predecessors  looked 
ui)on  as  harmless  or  laudable.  In  the  eleventh  century,_ 
capital  punishment,  even  in  its  most  dreadful  form,  that  ot 
burning  alive,  was  extended  to  all  who  obstinately  adhered 
to  opinions  differing  from  the  received  faith. 

Historians  have  not  pointed  our  with  precision  the  period 
at  which  this  extension  of  the  penal  code  took  place,  or  the 
grounds  on  which  it  proceeded.  Instances  of  the  practice 
occur  previously  to  the  imperial  edict  of  Frederic  II.  in  1-224, 
and  even  to  that  of  Frederic  I.  in  1184.  It  appears  to  me  to 
have  been  at  first  introduced  by  confounding  the  diflerent 
sects  which  arose  with  the  followers  of  Manes.     Taking  ad- 


31S 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


vantage  of  the  circumstance,  that  some  individuals  belonging 
to  those  who  went  by  the  names  of  Henricians.  Arnoldist, 
Poor  Men  of  Lyons,  and  Vaudois,  held  the  leading  tenet  of 
Manichc-ism,  the  clergy  fixed  this  stigma  on  the  whole  body, 
and  called  on  magistrates  to  visit  them  with  the  penalty  de- 
creed against  that  odious  heresy.  In  an  ignorant  age  this 
charge  was  easily  believed.  It  w-as  in  vain  that  the  victims 
of  persecution  protested  against  the  indiscriminate  accusation, 
or  disowned  the  sentiments  imputed  to  them.  By  the  time 
that  undeniable  facts  cleared  their  innocence,  the  public 
mind  had  learned  to  view  the  severity  of  their  fate  with  indif- 
ference or  approbation  ;  and  the  punishment  of  death,  under 
the  general  phrase  of  delivering  over  to  the  secular  arm,  came 
to  be  considered  as  the  common  award  for  all  w  ho  entertain- 
ed opinions  opposite  to  those  of  the  church  of  Rome,  or  who 
presumed  to  inveigh  against  the  corruptions  of  the  priest- 
hood. 

Other  causes,  some  of  which  had  been  long  in  operation, 
contributed  to  work,  in  the  course  of  the  eleventh  century,  a 
great  change  on  the  criminal  proceedings  against  heretics. 
The  sentence  of  excommunication,  which  at  first  only  ex- 
cluded from  the  privileges  of  the  church,  was  now  consider- 
ed as  inflicting  a  mark  of  public  infamy  on  those  who  incurred 
it;  from  which  the  transition  was  not  difficult,  in  a  supersti- 
tious age,  to  the  idea  that  it  deprived  them  of  all  the  rights, 
natural  or  civil,  of  which  they  were  formerly  in  possession. 
The  unhappy  individuals  who  were  struck  witli  this  spiritual 
thunder,  felt  all  the  bonds  which  connected  them  with  society 
suddenly  dissolved,  and  were  regarded  as  objects  at  once  of 
divine  execration  and  human  abhorrence.  Subjects  threw  off 
their  allegiance  to  their  legitimate  sovereigns  ;  sovereigns  gave 
up  their  richest  and  most  peaceable  provinces  to  fire  and  sword ; 
the  territories  of  a  vassal  became  lawful  prey  to  his  neighbours; 
and  a  man's  enemies  were  those  of  his  own  house.  The 
Roman  pontiffs,  who  had  extended  their  authority  by  affect- 
ing an  ardent  zeal  for  the  honour  of  the  Christian  faith,  found 
a  powerful  engine  for  accomplishing  their  ambitious  designs, 
in  the  crusades,  undertaken  at  their  instigation,  to  deliver  the 
Holy  Land,  and  the  sepulchre  of  Christ,  from  the  pollution 
of  infidels.  These  mad  expeditions,  whose  indirect  influence 
was  ultimately  favourable  to  European  civilization,  were  in 
the  mean  time  productive  of  the  worst  effects.  While  they 
weakened  the  sovereigns  w'ho  embarked  in  them,  they  in- 
creased the  power  of  the  popes,  and  placed  at  their  disposal 
immense  armies,  which  they  could  direct  against  all  who  op- 
posed their  measures.  They  perverted,  in  the  minds  of  men, 
the  essential  principles  of  religion,  justice,  and  humanity,  by 
cherishing  the  false  idea  that  it  is  meritorious  to  wage  w-ar 
for  the  glory  of  the  Christian  name, — by  throwing  the  veil  of 
sanctity  over  the  greatest  enormities  of  w  hich  a  licentious 
soldiery  might  be  guilty, — by  conferring  the  pardon  of  their 
sins  on  all  who  arrayed  themselves  under  the  banners  of  the 
cross, — and  by  holding  out  the  palm  of  martyrdom  to  such  as 
should  have  the  honour  to  fall  in  fighting  against  the  enemies 
of  the  faith.  Nor  were  the  popes  either  dilatory  or  slack  in 
availing  themselves  of  these  prejudices.  Finding  that  their 
violent  measures  for  suppressing  the  Albigenses  were  feebly 
seconded  by  Jhe  barons  of  Provence,  they  proclaimed  a  cru- 
sade ao-ainst  heretics,  launched  the  sentence  of  excommuni- 
tion  against  both  superiors  and  vassals,  and  carried  on  a  war 
of  extermination  in  the  south  of  France  during  a  period  of 
twenty  years.  It  was  amidst  these  scenes  of  blood  and  horror 
that  the  Inquisition  rose. 

Historians  are  divided  in  opinion  as  to  the  exact  time  at 
which  the  Inquisition  was  founded.  Inquisitors  and  inform- 
ers are  mentioned  in  a  law  published  by  the  emperor  Theo- 
dosius  against  the  IManicheans;  but  these  were  officers- of 
justice  appointed  by  the  prefects,  and  different  entirely  from 
the  persons  who  became  so  notorious  under  these  designa- 
tions many  centuries  after  that  period.  The  fundamental 
principle  of  that  odious  institution  was  undoubtedly  recog- 
nised in  list,  by  the  counsel  of  Verona  ;  which  however  es- 
tablished no  separate  tribunal  for  the  pursuit  of  heretics,  but 
left  this  task  entirely  in  the  hands  of  the  bishops.  Rainier, 
Castelnau,  and  St.  Dominic,  who  vyere  sent  into  France  at 
different  times  from  1U18  to  120G,  had  a  commission  from  the 
pope  to  search  for  heretics,  and  in  this  sense  may  be  called 
inquisitors  ;  but  they  were  invested  with  no  judicial  power  to 
pronounce  a  definitive  sentence.  The  council  of  the  Lateran 
in  121S  made  no  innovation  on  the  ancient  practice.  The 
council  held  at  Toulouse  in  1-2-29,  ordained  that  the  bishops 
should  appoint,  in  each  parish  of  their  respective  dioceses, 
"one  priest  and  two  or  three  laics,  who  should  engage  upon 
oath  to  make  a  rigorous  search  after  all  heretics  and  their 


abettors,  and  for  this  purpose  should  visit  every  house  from  the 
garret  to  the  cellar,  together  with  all  subterraneous  places 
where  they  might  conceal  themselves."  But  the  Inquisition, 
as  a  distinct  tribunal,  was  not  erected  until  the  year  1233, 
when  pope  Gregory  IX.  took  from  the  bishops  the  power  of 
discovering  and  bringing  to  judgment  the  heretics  who  lurk- 
ed in  France,  and  committed  that  task  to  the  Dominican 
friars.  In  consequence  of  this  the  tribunal  was  immediately 
set  up  in  Toulouse,  and  afterwards  in  the  neighbouring  cities, 
from  which  it  was  introduced  into  other  countries  of  Eu- 
rope. 

It  may  be  considered  as  a  fact  at  least  somewhat  singular, 
that  in  the  proceedings  of  the  first  Spanish  council  whose  re- 
cords have  reached  our  time,  we  find  a  deeper  stigma  aflixed 
to  the  character  of  informers  than  to  that  of  heretics.  The 
council  of  Elvira,  after  limiting  the  duration  of  the  penance 
of  those  who  might  fall  into  heresy,  decreed  that  "  if  a  catholic 
become  an  informer,  and  any  one  be  put  to  death  or  proscribed 
in  consequence  of  his  denunciation,  he  shall  not  receive  the 
communion,  even  at  the  hour  of  death."  On  a  review  of 
criminal  proceedings  in  Spain  anterior  to  the  establishment  of 
the  court  of  Inquisition,  it  appears  in  general  that  heretics 
were  more  mildly  treated  there  than  in  other  countries.  Jews 
who  relapsed,  after  having  been  baptized,  were  subject  to 
whipping  and  spare  diet,  according  to  the  age  of  the  offend- 
ers. Those  who  apostatized  to  paganism,  if  nobles  or  free- 
men, were  condemned  to  exile,  and  if  slaves,  to  whipping  and 
chains.  The  general  law  against  heretics  was,  that  such  as 
refused  to  recant,  if  priests,  should  be  deprived  of  all  their 
dignities  and  propert)',  and  if  laics,  that  they  should,  in  ad- 
dition, be  condemned  to  perpetual  banishment.  Even  after 
the  barbarous  custom  of  committing  obstinate  heretics  to  the 
flames  had  been  introduced  into  other  parts  of  Europe,  Spain 
testified  her  aversion  to  sanguinary  measures.  In  1194, 
when  Alfonso  II.  of  Aragon,  at  the  instigation  of  the  legate 
of  ])ope  Celestine,  published  an  edict,  commanding  the  Vau- 
dois, and  all  other  sectaries,  to  quit  his  dominions,  those 
who  remained  after  the  time  specified  were  expressly  ex- 
empted from  suffering  either  death  or  the  mutilation  of  their 
bodies. 

No  sooner  had  the  Inquisition  received  the  papal  sanction, 
than  measures  were  taken  for  having  it  introduced  into  Spain, 
where  the  Dominicans  had  already  established  convents  of 
their  order.  In  the  course  of  the  thirteenth  century,  inquisi- 
torial tribunals  were  permanently  erected  in  the  principal 
towns  of  the  kingdom  of  Aragon,  from  which  they  were  ex- 
tended to  Navarre.  Though  a  papal  brief  was  issued  in  1236 
for  the  special  purpose  of  introducing  the  Holy  Office  into 
Castile,  and  Ferdinand  III.,  surnamed  the  Saint,  is  said  to  have 
carried  with  his  own  hand  the  wood  destined  for  burning  his 
subjects, — yet  it  does  not  appear  that  there  ever  was  a  per- 
manent tribunal  in  that  kingdom  under  the  ancient  form  of 
the  Inquisition ;  either  because  heresy  had  made  little  progress 
among  the  Castilians,  or  because  they  were  averse  to  the  new 
method  of  extirpating  it. 

The  mode  of  proceeding  in  the  court  of  inquisition, 
when  first  erected,  was  simple,  and  differed  very  little  from 
that  which  was  followed  in  the  ordinary  courts  of  justice. 
In  particular,  the  interrogatories  put  to  persons  accused,  and 
to  witnesses,  were  short  and  direct,  evincing  merely  a  deSire 
to  ascertain  the  truths  on  the  subjects  of  inquiry.  But  this 
simplicity  soon  gave  place  to  a  system  of  the  most  compli- 
cated and  iniquitous  circumvention.  Grossly  ignorant  of 
judicial  matters,  the  Dominicans  modelled  their  new  court 
after  what  is  called  in  the  Roman  Church,  the  Tribunal  of 
Penance.  Accustomed,  in  the  confessional,  to  penetrate  into 
the  secrets  of  conscience,  they  converted  to  the  destruction 
of  the  bodies  of  men  all  those  arts  which  a  false  zeal  had 
taught  them  to  employ  for  the  saving  of  their  souls.  Inflamed 
with  a  passion  for  extirpating  heres)',  and  persuading  them- 
selves that  the  end  sanctified  the  means,  they  not  only  acted 
upon,  but  formally  laid  down,  as  a  rule  for  their  con- 
duct, maxims  founded  on  the  grossest  deceit  and  artifice, 
according  to  which  they  sought  in  everyway  to  ensnare  their 
victims,  and  by  means  of  false  statements,  delusory  prom- 
ises, and  a  tortuous  course  of  examination,  to  betray  them  into 
confessions  which  proved  fatal  to  their  lives  and  fortunes. 
To  this  mental  torture  was  soon  after  added  the  use  of  bodily 
tortures,  together  with  the  concealment  of  the  names  of  wit- 
nesses. 

After  this  court  had  subsisted  for  two  centuries  and  a  half, 
it  underwent  what  its  friends  have  honoured  with  the  name 
of  a  reform ;  in  consequence  of  which  it  became  a  more  ter- 
rible engine  of  persecution  than  before.     Under  this  new 


HISTORY  OF  THE  REFORMATION  IN  SPAIN. 


319 


form  it  is  usually  called  the  Modern  Inquisition,  though  it 
may  with  equal  propriety  bear  the  name  of  the  Spanish,  as 
it  originated  in  Spain,'  and  has  been  confined  to  that  country, 
incluainn:  Portugal,  and  the  dominions  subject  to  the  two 
monarchies. 

The  war  of  the  Albigenses  was  the  pretext  used  by  the 
popes  for  the  establishment  of  the  ancient  Inquisition;  the 
necessity  of  checking  the  apostasy  of  the  converts  from 
Judaism  was  urged  as  the  reason  for  introducing  the  modern. 
While  the  Spaniards  were  engaged  in  continual  wars  with 
one  another  or  with  the  Moors,  the  Jews,  who  had  been  set- 
tled for  ages  in  the  Peninsula,  by  addicting  themselves  to 
trade  and  commerce,  had,  in  the  fourteenth  century,  engrossed 
the  wealth  of  the  nation,  and  attained  to  great  influence  in 
the  government  both  of  Castile  and  Aragon.  Those  who 
were  indebted  to  them,  and  those  who  envied  them  on  ac- 
count of  the  civil  offices  which  they  held,  united  in  stirring 
up  the  religious  prejudices  of  the  populace  against  them; 
and  in  one  year  five  thousand  Jews  fell  a  sacrifice  to  popular 
fury.  With  the  view  of  saving  their  lives,  many  submitted 
to  baptism,  and  it  is  computed  that,  in  the  course  of  a  few 
years,  nearly  a  million  of  persons  renounced  the  law  of 
Moses  and  made  profession  of  the  Christian  faith.  The 
number  of  converts,  as  the)'  were  called,  was  increased  in 
the  beginning  of  the  fifteenth  century,  by  the  zeal  of  the 
Dominican  missionaries,  and  especially  of  St.  Vincent  Fer- 
rer, to  whom  the  Spanish  historians  liave  ascribed  more 
miracles  and  conversions  than  were  wrought  b}'  the  apostles. 
These  converts  were  called  J\'ew  Christians,  and  sometimes 
Marranus  from  a  form  of  execration  in  use  among  the  Jews. 
As  their  adoption  of  the  Christian  profession  proceeded  from 
the  fear  of  death,  or  a  desire  to  secure  secular  emoluments, 
rather  than  internal  persuasion,  the  greater  part  repented  of 
having  abjured  the  religion  of  tlieir  fathers,  and  resumed  the 
practice  of  its  rites  in  secret,  while  they  publicly  conformed 
to  those  of  the  Christians.  This  forced  conlormity  could 
not  fail  to  be  painful  to  their  minds,  and  was  relaxed  in  pro- 
portion as  the  fears  which  they  felt  for  their  safety  abated. 
The  consequence  was,  that  many  of  them  wore  discovered 
by  the  monks,  who  cried  out  that  if  some  severe  means 
were  not  adopted  to  repress  the  evil,  the  whole  body  of  con- 
verted Jews  would  soon  relapse  into  their  former  habits,  and 
the  faith  of  the  old  Christians  would  be  corrupted  and  over- 
thrown by  these  concealed  apostates  with  whom  they  were 
intermingled.^But,  although  more  immediately  intended  to 
guard  the  fidelity  of  the  New  Christians,  tlie  modern  Inqui- 
sition, like  the  ancient,  was  charged  with  the  discovery  and 
punishment  of  all  kinds  of  heresy,  and  extended  its  jurisdic- 
tion over  the  Old  Christians,  as  well  as  Jewish  and  Moorish 
converts. 

It  is  proper  that  the  names  of  those  individuals  to  whom 
Spain  owes  this  institution  should  not  be  forgotten.  The 
most  active  were  Felippe  de  Barberis,  inquisitor  of  Sicily, 
and  Alfonso  de  Hoyeda,  prior  of  Seville,  both  of  them  Do- 
minican friars,  assisted  by  Nicolas  Franco,  bishop  of  Treviso, 
who  was  at  that  time  nuncio  from  pope  Sixtus  IV.  to  the 
Spanish  court. 

The  whole  of  Spain  was  at  this  period  united  into  one 
kingdom  by  the  marriage  of  Ferdinand,  king  of  Aragon,  and 
Isabella,  queen  of  Castile.  Ferdinand  readily  acceded  to  a 
proposal  which  gave  him  the  prospect  of  filling  his  cofiers 
by  means  of  confiscations  ;  it  was  equally  agreeable  to  Sixtus, 
from  its  tendency  to  promote  the  views  of  the  court  of 
Rome ;  and  they  succeeded,  by  the  help  of  the  friars,  in 
overcoming  the  repugnance  which  it  excited  in  the  humane 
but  superstitious  mind  of  Isabella.  The  bull  for  establish- 
ing the  Inquisition  in  Castile  was  issued  on  the  1st  of  No- 
vember 1478;  and  on  the  17th  of  September  1480,  their 
catholic  majesties  named  the  first  inquisitors,  who  com- 
menced their  proceedings  on  the  2d  of  January  1481,  in  the 
Dominican  convent  of  St.  Paul  at  Seville.  The  tribunal 
did  not  however  assume  a  permanent  form  until  two  years 
after,  when  friar  Thomas  Torquemada,  prior  of  Santa  Cruz 
in  the  town  of  Segovia,  was  placed  at  its  head,  under  the 
designation  of  inquisitor-general,  first  of  Castile,  and  after- 
wards of  Aragon.  Torquemada  proceeded  without  delay  to 
exercise  the  high  powers  with  which  he  was  intrusted,  by 
choosing  his  assessors,  and  erecting  subordinate  tribunals  in 
different  cities  of  the  united  kingdom.  Over  the  whole  was 
placed  the  Council  nf  the  Supreme,  consisting  of  the  inquisi- 
tor-general as  president,  and  three  counsellors,  two  of  whom 
were  doctors  of  law.  This  regulated  and  controlled  the 
inferior  tribunals  ;  and  by  its  fundamental  laws,  the  counsel 
lors  had  a  deliberative  voice  in  all  questions  relating  to  civil 


law,  but  a  consultative  voice  only  in  those  which  appertained 
to  ecclesiastical  law,  of  which  Torquemada  was  conslitnted 
the  sole  judge  "by  the  apostolical  bulls.  These  counsellors 
appear  to  have  been  appointed  with  the  view  of  preventing 
encrcachmenLs  on  the  secular  authorities,  and  accordingly 
altercations  did  sometimes  arise  between  the  inquisitors-gen- 
eral and  the  counsellors  of  tlie  Supreme;  but  as  the  latter 
were  all  of  the  clerical  order,  and  as  no  clear  line  of  distinc- 
tion between  civil  and  ecclesiastical  aftairs  was  drawn,  the 
questions  which  came  before  the  court  were  generally  brought 
under  the  rules  of  cation  law.  or  in  other  words,  decided 
according  to  the  pleasure  of  the  president.  Torifuemada's 
next  pmployment  was  to  form  a  body  of  laws  for  the  govern- 
ment of  his  new  tribunal.  This  appeared  in  1484;  additions 
were  made  to  it  from  time  to  time;  and,  as  a  diversity  of 
practice  had  crept  into  the  subordinate  courts,  the  inquisitor- 
general  Valdes,  in  1501,  made  a  revisal  of  the  whole  code, 
which  was  published  in  eighty-one  articles,  and  continues, 
with  the  exception  of  a  few  slight  alterations,  to  be  the  law 
to  this  day.  From  these  constitutions,  as  illustrated  by  the 
authentic  documents  connected  with  the  history  of  the  Inqui- 
sition which  have  been  lately  made  jiublic,  a  correct  idea 
may  be  formed  of  the  mode  of  process  observed  in  that 
dreadful  tribunal.  Instead  however  of  entering  here  into 
details  which  may  be  found  elsewhere,  I  shall  select  such 
particulars  as  sho'w  that  the  Inquisition  possessed  powers 
which  enabled  it  efiectually  to  arrest  the  progress  of  know- 
ledge, and  to  crusb  every  attempt  which  might  be  made  for 
the  refermalion  of  religion  and  the  church. 

The  first  thing  which  presents  itself  to  our  view,  is  the 
,mmense  apparatus  which  the  inquisition  possesses  for  the 
discovery  of  heresy,  and  the  apprehension  of  those  who  are  sus- 
pected of  having  incurred  its  taint.  Deceived  by  the  import- 
ance attached  To  the  denunciation  in  the  instructions  of  the 
Holy  Office,  some  writers  would  lead  us  to  believe  that  there 
is  no  way  in  which  a  process  can  be  commenced  before  the 
inquisition,  except  by  a  formal  charge  preferred  by  some  in- 
dividual; whereas  the  truth  is,  that  information,  in  whatever 
way  it  may  he  obtained,  is  sufficient  for  this  purpose.  The 
inquisition  is  not  only  a  court  of  justice,  but  also,  as  its  name 
intimates,  a  body  of  police,  employed  in  discoverinj  the 
offences  on  which  it  is  afterwards  to  sit  in  judgment.  Every 
individual  belonging  to  its  tribunals,  supreme  or  subordinate, 
from  the  inquisitor-general  down  to  the  lowest  alguazil  or 
familiar,  is  charged  with  this  employment.  At  those  periods 
when  its  vigilance  was  aroused  by  the  alarm  of  heresy,  it 
had  its  secret  spies  and  authorized  agents  at  every  port  and 
pass  of  the  kingdom,  as  regularly  as  government  had  its  tide- 
waiters  and  custom-house  officers,  armed  with  authority  to 
arrest  the  persons  and  property  of  all  who  incurred  their  sus- 
picions. In  addition  to  its  internal  resources,  it  avails  itself 
of  the  superstitious  prejudices  of  the  people,  whom  it  raises 
en  masse,  to  drive  the  poor  heretics  into  the  legal  toils  spread 
for  them  in  all  parts  of  the  country.  At  any  time  which  it 
judges  proper,  but  statedly  on  two  Sundays  every  year  during 
lent°,  an  edict  is  published  in  all  the  churches  in  the  kingdom, 
requiring  every  one  who  knows  any  person  suspected  of  here- 
sy to  give  information  to  the  inquisition  within  six  days,  upon 
pain  of  incurring  mortal  sin  and  excommunication  by  their 
silence.  At  the  same  time,  the  priests  in  the  confessional 
exert  all  the  influence  which  tliey  possess  over  the  minds  of 
their  penitents  to  persuade  them  to  comply  with  this  order. 
In  this  way  the  worst  and  the  best,  the  weakest  and  the 
strongest  passions  of  the  human  breast  are  engaged ;  and  per- 
sons "are  induced  to  become  informers  from  private  malice, 
from  pious  scruples,  and  from  selfish  fears.  The  father  some- 
times informs  against  his  own  child,  the  wife  against  her 
husband,  and  the  love-sick  maiden  against  the  object  of  her 
tenderest  attachment.  Though  the  holy  fathers  prefer  a 
process  by  denunciation  to  one  ex  officio,  and  in  order  to 
encourao-e'informers,  conceal  their  names,  yet  anonymous  in- 
formatiolis  are  received  without  any  scruple,  provided  they 
furnish  the  smallest  clue  by  which  the  charge  may  be  brought 
home  to  the  accused.  One  prosecution  is  oltcn  the  means  of 
fastenino-  the  suspicion  of  heresy  on  a  number  of  individuals; 
for  it  is  an  invariable  rule  with  the  inquisitors,  not  to  inform 
a  witness  of  the  particular  object  for  which  he  is  cited,  but 
to  commence  by  desiring  him  to  task  his  memory  and  say  if 
he  recollects  having  seen  or  heard  any  thing  which  appeared 
to  be  inconsistent  with  the  catholic  faith;  in  consequence  of 
which,  he  is  led  to  mention  names  not  implicated  in  the  pro- 
cess. If,  upon  inquiry,  the  inquisitors  are  of  opinion  that 
they  will  find  it  difficult  to  convict  the  suspected  person,  they 
do  not  examine  him,  because  this  would  only  serve  to  put 


520 


CIIRISTIAiN     LIBRARY. 


him  on  his  guard  ;  nor  do  they  use  any  means  to  recover  him 
from  tlie  supposed  errors  into  which  he  has  fallen;  hut  sus- 
pendins;  their  proceedings,  wait  until  they  ohtain  additional 
proof  to  substantiate  ihe'charge.  If  the  evidence  is  deemed 
sufficient,  they  issue  the  order  of  arrest  to  the  alguazil,  who, 
accompanied  by  the  sequestrator  and  receiver  of  goods,  in- 
stantly repairs  to  the  house  of  the  accused ;  and  provided  the 
latter  has  absconded,  the  familiars  are  furnished,  not  only 
with  a  minute  description  of  his  person,  but  also  with  his 
picture,  so  that  it  is  next  to  impossible  that  their  prey  can 
escape  them. 

Nor  is  it  less  difficult  for  a  person  ta  escape  without  con- 
demnation, if  he  once  hAs  had  the  misfortune  to  be  appre- 
hended. It  is  only  in  the  way  of  being  able  to  convict  hiui 
of  heres)",  that  the  inquisitors  are  entitled  to  seize  on  his 
property;  and  as  it  is  an  established  maxim  of  theirs,  that 
the  Holy  Office  cannot  err,  they  consider  it  as  a  reflection  on 
its  proceedings,  if  any  individual  whom  it  has  a])prehended 
shall  clear  himself  from  suspicion.  ^\  ithout  acquainting  liim 
either  with  his  accuser  or  the  charge  brought  against  him, 
every  art  is  employed,  both  by  his  judges  in  the  repeated 
examinations  to  whicb  they  subject  him,  and  also  by  the  jail- 
er to'whose  care  he  is  intrusted,  to  induce  the  prisoricr  to 
confess  that  he  has  been  guilty  of  some  offence  against  the 
faith.  He  is  strictly  interrogated  as  to  his  kindred,  connex- 
ions, acquaintances,  and  maimer  of  life ;  the  records  of  all  the 
tribunals  of  the  Holy  Otfice  are  ordered  to  be  searched;  and 
if  it  is  found  that  any  of  bis  ancestors  or  relations,  however 
remote,  either  in  the  male  or  female  line,  or  any  of  those  with 
whom  he  has  consorted,  were  .Tews,  Moors,  or  heretics,  or 
had  incurred  the  censures  of  the  inquisition,  this  circumstance 
is  regarded  as  sufficient  to  fasten  on  him  a  legitimate  pre- 
sumption of  guilt.  PIvcn  a  failure  to  repeat  the  Ave  Maria 
or  creed  exactly  after  the  manner  of  the  Roman  church,  is 
viewed  in  the  same  light. 

The  impenetrable  secrecy  with  which  all  the  proceedings  of 
the  inquisition  are  shrouded,  is  at  once  an  instrument  of  ter- 
ror, and  an  encouragement  to  every  species  of  injustice. 
Every  person  who  enters  its  walls  is  sworn,  before  he  is  per- 
mitted to  depart,  to  observe  the  most  profound  silence  as  to 
all  that  he  may  have  seen,  heard,  or  uttered.*  The  names  of 
the  witnesses  are  carefully  concealed  from  the  prisoner;  and 
they  are  not  confronted  with  him,  nor,  so  far  as  appears,  with 
one  another.  No  check  is  imposed  on  the  infidelity  or  igno- 
rance of  the  notaries  or  clerks  who  take  down  the  depositions. 
The  accused  is  not  furnished  with  a  copy  of  the  evidence 
against  him,  but  merely  with  such  garbled  extracts  as  his 
judges  are  pleased  to  order;  and,  taking  advantage  of  the 
different  modes  of  expression  used  by  the  witnesses  in  speak- 
ing of  the  same  fact,  the  procurator-fiscal  often  converts  one 
charge  into  three  or  four,  bj'  which  means  the  prisoner  is 
thrown  into  confusion  on  his  defence,  and  exposed  to  popular 
odium,  as  a  person  laden  with  crimes,  if  he  is  ultimately 
brought  out  in  the  public  auto-de-fe.  Every  thing  which  the 
witnesses  in  their  examination  may  have  said  in  his  favour, 
or  wiiich  might  be  conducive  to  his  exculpation,  is  studiously 
and  totally  suppressed. 

The  same  partial  and  unjust  rules  are  observed  in  forming 
the  extracts,  which,  both  at  the  commencement  and  termina- 
tion of  the  process,  are  submitted  to  certain  divines,  called 
qualificators  of  the  Hoi}'  Office,  whose  business  it  is  to  say 
wliether  the  propositions  imputed  to  tlic  accused  individual 
are  heretical,  or  to  say  to  what  degree  they  subject  him  to 
the  suspicion  of  heresy.  These  individuals,  besides,  are 
gcnerall}'  monks  or  scholastic  divines,  imbued  with  false  no- 
tions, and  ready  to  qualify,  or  stigmatize  as  heretical,  opin- 
ions sanctioned  by  the  authority  of  the  most  approved  doctors 
of  the  church,  merely  because  they  have  not  met  with  them 
in  the  contracted  circle  of  their  studies. 

It  is  not  easy  to  conceive  a  greater  mockery  of  justice  than 
is  to  he  found  in  the  provisions  made  for  the  defence  of  the 
prisoner.     The  judges  appoint  one  of  their  advocates  to  act 


*  Mr.  Townsond  relates,  that  the  Dutch  consul,  with  ■nhoni  he  be^ 
came  acquainted  during  his  travels  in  Spain  in  1787,  could  never  be 
prevailed  on  to  give  an  account  of  his  imprisonment  in  the  inquisitioa 
at  Barcelona,  -Khich  had  happened  thirty-five  years  before,  and  be- 
trayed the  greatest  agitation  «  hen  pressed  to  say  any  tiling  about  th 
treatment  he  had  received.  His  fellow-prisoner,  M.  Falconet,  who 
was  but  a  boy,  turned  gray-headed  dm-irig  his  short  confinement, 
anil  to  the  day  of  his  death,  tliough  retired  to  Montpellier,  observed 
the  most  tenacious  silence  on  the  subject.  He  had  destroved  a  pic- 
ture of  the  virgin;  and  his  friend,  the  Dutch  consul,  being  present 
and  not  turning  accuser,  was  considered  as  a  partner  in  his  guilt. 
(1  owusend's  Journey  through  Spain,  vol.  ii.  p.  336.) 


as  his  counsel,  who  has  no  means  of  defending  his  client,  ex- 
cept the  garbled  extracts  from  the  de|)ositions  of  tlie  wit- 
nesses already  mentioned.  But  the  truth  is,  that  his  ability 
is  as  great  as  his  inclination  ;  for,  while  nominally  the  advo- 
cate of  the  prisoner,  he  is  really  the  agent  and  proctor  of  the 
court,  in  obedience  to  whose  directions,  given  at  the  time  of 
his  nomination,  he  labours  in  most  instances  to  induce  his 
client  to  confess  and  throw  himself  on  the  mercy  of  his 
judges.  Nor  is  the  pretended  privilege  of  challenging  the 
witnesses  less  nugatory  and  insulting  to  the  prisoner.  De- 
prived of  every  means  of  knowing  the  persons  who  have  de- 
poned against  him,  he  can  have  recourse  to  conjecture  only; 
malice  is  the  soul  ground  of  exception  which  he  is  permitted 
to  urge;  he  may  have  been  accused  from  fanaticism,  fear,  or 
ignorant  scruples;  or  his  personal  enemy  ma)- have  put  for- 
ward, as  the  instrument  of  his  malice,  an  individual  whom 
the  prisoner  would  never  tliink  of  suspecting ;  and  sometimes 
the  procurator-fiscal  takes  the  precaution  of  secretly  estab- 
lishing the  credibility  of  his  witnesses  beforehand,  with  the 
view  of  defeating  the  challenge.  The  inquisitors  are  uni- 
formly disposed  to  favour  the  witnesses  for  the  prosecution, 
and  to  screen  them  fro.m  punishment,  even  in  cases  of  per- 
jury. Nor  is  this  evil  to  be  traced  to  the  character  of  par- 
ticular judges;  it  springs  from  the  very  genius  of  the  tribu- 
nal, which  induces  all  who  are  connected  with  it  to  set  at 
defiance  the  most  essential  principles  of  justice  by  which 
every  other  court  is  governed,  and  even  to  disregard  its  own 
regulations,  for  the  sake  of  encouraging  informations  and 
indulging  a  morbid  jealousy.  Of  the  sam-  illusory  nature  is 
the  privilege  which,  in  certain  cases,  they  give  the  prisoner 
to  bring  forward  exculpatory  evidence.  For,  in  the  first 
place,  he  is  restricted  in  his  choice  of  witnesses.  While  the 
testimony  of  persons  of  all  descriptions — relations,  domestics, 
New  Christians,  malefactors,  infamous  characters,  children, 
and  even  idiots,  is  admissible  against  him;  he,  on  the  con- 
trarj',  is  directed  to  name,  for  his  exculpation,  only  Christians 
of  ancient  race,  of  unimpeached  character,  and  who  are  nei- 
ther his  relatives  nor  domestics.  And,  in  the  second  place, 
the  tribunal  reserves  to  itself  the  power  of  examining  such  of 
the  prisoner's  witnesses  only  as  it  shall  judge  "  most  fit  and 
worthy  of  credit." 

The  injustice  of  the  inquisitorial  process  can  only  be 
equalled  by  its  cruelly.  Persons  of  undoubted  veracity,  who 
had  the  happiness  to  escape  from  the  secret  prisons  of  the 
Inquisitions  during  the  sixteenth  century,  have  described 
them  as  narrow  aiid  gloomy  cells,  which  admitted  the  liirht 
only  b)'  a  small  chink, — damp,  and  resembling  graves  more 
than  prisons,  if  they  were  subterraneous ;  and  if  they  were 
situated  in  the  upper  part  of  the  building,  feeling  in  sum- 
mer like  heated  furnaces.  At  present,  they  are  described  as, 
in  general,  good  vaulted  chambers,  well  lighted,  free  of  hu- 
midity, and  of  such  size  as  to  allow  the  prisoner  to  take  a 
little  exercise.  But  even  those  who  give  the  most  favoura- 
ble description  of  these  abodes  admit,  that  nothing  can  be 
conceived  more  frightful  than  the  situation  of  the  individual 
who  is  immured  in  them,  left  as  he  is  to  conjecture  respect- 
ing his  accuser  and  the  particular  crime  with  which  he  is 
charged;  kept  in  ignorance  of  the  state  of  his  process;  shut 
out  from  every  kind  of  intercourse  with  his  friends ;  denied 
even  the  consolation  of  conversing  confidenti.illy  with  the 
person  to  whom  his  defence  has  been  intrusted ;  refused  all 
use  of  books;  afraid,  if  be  has  a  fellow-prisoner  for  a  few- 
days,  to  do  more  than  exchange  salutations  with  him,  lest  he 
should  be  confiding  in  a  spy;  threatened  if  he  hum  a  tune, 
and  especially  a  sacred  one,  to  relieve  his  languor;  plunged, 
during  the  rigor  of  the  winter  months,  in  total  darkness  for 
fifteen  hours  of  every  day  in  an  abode  that  never  saw  the  cheer- 
ful blaze  of  a  fire ;  and,  in  fine,  knowing  that  if  ever  he 
should  be  set  free,  he  must  go  out  to  the  world  lost  forevi-r 
in  public  opinion,  and  loaded  with  an  infamy,  heavier  than 
that  of  the  pardoned  assassin  or  parricide,  which  will  attach 
to  his  children  of  the  remotest  generation.  What  wonder 
that  such  prisoners  as  are  not  induced,  at  an  early  period 
of  their  confinement,  to  confess  guilt,  become  a  prey  to  dejec- 
tion, and  seek  relief  from  their  miseries  in  death,  orclse  sink 
into  a  hopeless  and  morbid  insensibilit)',  from  which  the 
rack  itself  is  scarcely  sufficient  to  rouse  them  1 

That  part  of  the  process  which  relates  to  the  torture  is  a 
monstrous  compound  of  injustice  and  barbarity.  If,  after  the 
evidence  is  closed,  the  tribunal  find  that  there  is  only  a  demi- 
proof  of  guilt  against  the  prisoner,  it  is  warranted,  liy  its  in- 
structions, to  have  recourse  to  the  torture,  in  order  to  force  him 
to  furnish  additional  evidence  against  himself.  He  is  al- 
lowed,  indeed,   to   appeal  to  the  council    of  the   Supreme 


HISTORY  OF  THE  REFORMATION  IN  SPAIN. 


321 


against  the  sentence  of  the  inquisitors  orderingr  him  to  be 
tortured  ;  but  then,  by  a  refinement  in  cruelty,  it  is  provided 
that  the  inquisitors  shall  be  judges  of  the  validity  of  this  ap- 
peal, and,  "  if  they  deem  it  frivolous,  shall  proceed  to  the 
execution  of  their  sentence  without  delay."  In  this  case, 
the  appeal  of  the  poor  prisoner  is  as  little  heard  of  as  are 
the  shrieks  which  he  utters  in  the  subterraneous  den  to 
which  he  is  conducted  without  delay,  where  every  bone  is 
moved  from  its  socket,  and  the  blood  is  made  to  start  from 
every  vein  of  his  body.  But  it  is  not  my  intention  to 
shock  the  feelings  of  the  reader  by  any  description  of  the 
infernal  operation;  and,  instead  of  trusting  myself  to  make 
any  reflections  of  my  own  on  a  practice  so  disgraceful 
to  human  nature,  I  shall  merely  quote  those  of  the  late 
historian  and  ex-secretarj'  of  the  Inquisition.  "I  do  not 
stop  (says  he)  to  describe  the  several  kinds  of  torture  in- 
flicted on  the  accused  by  order  of  the  Inquisition ;  this  task 
having  been  executed  with  sufficient  exactness  by  a  great 
many  historians.  On  lids  /letiii,  J  declare  that  mine  of  them  can 
he  accused  (if  exasperation.  I  have  read  many  processes  whicl 
have  struck  and  pierced  me  with  horror,  and  1  could  regard 
the  inquisitors  who  have  recourse  to  such  methods  in  nn 
other  light  than  that  of  cold-blooded  barbarians.  Suffice  it  to 
add,  that  tlie  council  of  the  Supreme  has  often  been  obliged 
to  torbid  the  repetition  of  the  torture  in  the  same  process; 
but  the  inquisitors,  by  an  abominable  sophism,  have  found 
means  to  render  this  prohibition  almost  useless,  by  giving 
the  name  of  Suspension  to  that  cessation  from  torture  which  i 
imperiously  demanded  by  the  imminent  danger  to  which  the 
victim  is  exposed  of  dying  among  their  hands.  My  ])en 
refuses  to  trace  the  picture  of  these  horrors,  for  I  know  noth- 
ing more  opposed  to  the  spirit  of  charity  and  compassion 
which  Jesus  Christ  inculcates  in  the  gospel,  than  this  con- 
duct of  the  inquisitors;  and  7/ct,in  s/)ile  of  the  scandal  which 
it  ha.i  given,  there  ii  not,  after  the  eighteenth  century  is  closed, 
ani/  law  or  decree  aljolishing  the  torture." 

Of  the  punishments  inflicted  by  tlie  inquisition,  of  the  san- 
bcnito,  or  coat  of  infamy,  and  the  auto-de-fe,  with  all  its  dread 
accompaniments,  we  shall  have  too  much  occasion  to  speak 
in  the  sequel. 

The  principles  of  the  ancient  and  modern  inquisition  were 
radically  the  same,  but  they  assumed  a  more  malignant  form 
under  the  latter  than  under  the  former.  Under  the  ancient 
inquisition,  the  bishops  had  always  a  certain  degree  of  con- 
trol over  its  proceedings;  the  law  of  secrecy  was  not  so  rigid- 
ly enforced  in  practice;  greater  liberty  was  allowed  to  the 
accused  on  their  defence;  and  in  some  countries,  as  in  Ara- 
gon,  in  consequence  of  the  civil  rights  acquired  by  the  peo- 
ple, the  inquisitors  were  restrained  from  sequestrating  the 
property  of  those  whom  they  convicted  of  heresy.  But  the 
leading  difference  between  the  two  institutions  consisted  in 
the  organization  of  the  latter  into  one  great  independent 
tribunal,  which,  extending  over  the  whole  kingdom,  was  go- 
verned by  one  code  of  laws,  and  j'ielded  implicit  obedience 
to  one  head.  The  inquisitor-general  possessed  an  authority 
scarcely  inferior  to  that  of  the  king  or  the  pope;  by  joining 
with  either  of  them,  he  proved  an  overmatch  for  the  other ; 
and  when  supported  by  both,  his  power  was  irresistible. 
The  ancient  inquisition  was  a  powerful  engine  for  harassing 
and  rooting  out  a  small  body  of  dissidents;  the  modern  in- 
quisition stretched  its  iron  arms  over  a  whole  nation,  upon 
which  it  lay  like  a  monstrous  incubus,  paralysing  its  exer- 
tions, crushing  its  energies,  and  extinguishing  every  other 
feeling  but  a  sense  of  weakness  and  terror. 

In  the  course  of  the  first  year  in  which  it  was  erected,  the 
inquisition  of  Seville,  which  then  extended  over  Castile, 
committed  two  thousand  persons  alive  to  the  flames,  burnt 
as  many  in  effigy,  and  condemned  seventeen  thousand  to  ditTcr- 
ent  penances.  According  to  a  moderate  computation,  from 
the  same  date  to  1517,  the  year  in  which  Luther  made  his 
appearance,  thirteen  thousand  persons  were  burnt  alive,  eight 
thousand  seven  hundred  were  burnt  in  effigy,  and  one  hun- 
dred and  sixty-nine  thousand  seven  hundred  and  twenty-three 
were  condemned  to  penances;  making  in  all  one  hundred  and 
ninety-one  thousand  four  hundred  and  twenty-three  persons 
condemned  by  the  several  tribunals  of  Spain  in  the  course  of 
thirty-six  years.  There  is  reason  for  tiiinking  that  this  esti- 
mate falls  much  below  the  truth.  For  from  1-181  to  1520,  it 
is  computed  that  in  Andalusia  alone  thirty  thousand  persons 
informed  against  themselves,  from  the  dread  of  being  accused 
by  others,  or  in  the  hope  of  obtaining  a  mitigation  of  their 
sentence.  And  down  to  the  commencement  of  the  seventeenth 
century,  the  instances  of  absolution  were  so  rare,  that  one  is 
scarcely  to  be  found  in  a  thousand  cases;  the  inquisitors 
Vol.  II 2  Q 


making  it  a  point,  that,  if  possible,  none  should  escape  with- 
out bearing  a  mark  of  their  censure,  as  at  least  suspected  de 
kli,  or  in  the  lowest  degree. 

It  was  to  be  expected  that  the  inquisitors  would  exert  their 
power  in  checking  the  cultivation  of  biblical  learning.  In 
1490,  many  copies  of  the  Hebrew  Bible  were  committed  to 
the  flames  at  Seville  by  the  order  of  Torquemada;  and  in  an 
auto-de-fe  celebrated  soon  after  at  Salamanca,  six  thousand 
volumes  shared  the  same  fate,  under  the  pretext  that  they 
contained  Judaism,  magic,  and  other  illicit  arts.  Deza,  arch- 
bishop of  Seville,  who  had  succeeded  Torquemada  as  inquisi- 
tor-general, ordered  the  papers  of  Lebrixa  to  be  seized,  and 
passed  sentence  against  him  as  suspected  of  heresj',  for  the 
corrections  which  he  had  made  on  the  text  of  the  Vulgate, 
and  his  other  labours  in  elucidation  of  the  Scriptures.  "The 
archbishop's  object  (says  Lebrixa,  in  an  apology  which  he 
drew  up  for  himself)  was  to  deter  me  from  writintr.  He 
wished  to  extinguish  the  knowledge  of  the  two  languages  on 
which  our  religion  depends  ;  and  I  was  condemned  for  impiety, 
because,  being  no  divine,  but  a  mere  grammarian,  I  presumed 
to  treat  of  theological  subjects.  If  a  person  endeavour  to 
restore  the  purity  of  the  sacred  text,  and  point  out  the  mis- 
takes which  have  vitiated  it,  unless  he  will  retract  his  opin- 
ions, he  must  be  loaded  with  infamy,  excommunicated,  and 
doomed  to  an  ignominious  punishment!  Is  it  not  enouCTh  that 
I  submit  my  judgment  to  the  will  of  Christ  in  the  Scriptures? 
must  I  also  reject  as  false  what  is  as  clear  and  evident  as  the 
light  of  truth  Itself !  What  tyranny  !  To  hinder  a  man,  uii- 
d,  r  the  most  cruel  pains,  from  saying  what  he  thinks,  though 
he  expresses  himself  with  the  utmost  respect  for  religion,  to 
forbid  him  to  write  in  his  closet  or  in  the  solitude  of  a  prison, 
to  speak  to  himself,  or  even  to  think!  On  what  subject 
shall  we  employ  our  thoughts,  if  we  are  prohibited  from  di- 
recting them  to  those  sacred  oracles  which  have  been  the 
delight  of  the  pious  in  every  age,  and  on  which  they  have 
meditated  by  day  and  by  night?" 

Arbitrary  as  this  court  was  in  its  principles,  and  fyrannni- 
cal  and  cruel  as  it  has  proved  in  its  proceedings,  so  blinded 
did  the  Spanish  nation  become  as  to  felicitate  herself  on  the 
establishment  of  the  inquisition.  The  cities  of  ancient  Greece 
vied  wilh  one  another  for  the  honour  of  having  given  birth  to 
Homer.  The  cities  of  modern  Germany  have  warmly  dis- 
puted the  honour  of  having  invented  the  art  of  printincr.  Even 
the  credit  of  having  first  adopted  this  German  invention  has 
given  rise  to  an  honourable  rivalry  among  the  states  of  Italy ; 
and  the  monastery  of  St.  Suhiac,  in  the  Campagna  di  Roma, 
has  endeavoured  to  wrest  the  palm  from  both  Milan  and  Ve- 
nice. But  the  cities  of  Spain  have  engaged  in  a  more  than 
inglorious  contest  for  the  credit  of  having  been  the  first  seat 
of  an  institution  which,  after  failing  to  stranu-|e  learnino-  in 
its  birth,  has  all  along  persecuted  it  with  the  most  unrelent- 
ing malice.  The  claims  of  tlie  inhabitants  of  Seville  are  en- 
graven on  a  monument  erected  in  their  city  to  the  memory  of 
this  event.  Segovia  has  contested  this  honour  with  Seville, 
and  its  historians  are  seriously  divided  on  the  question, 
whether  the  Holy  Oflice  held  its  first  sitting  in  the  house 
of  the  marques  de  Moya,  or  in  that  of  the  majorat  de  Cace 
res.* 

It  is  but  justice,  however,  to  the  Spaniards  to  state,  that 
this  perverted  and  degrading  sentiment  was  the  effect  of  the 
inquisition,  and  formed  no  original  trait  in  the  national  cha- 
racter. The  fact  is  now  ascertained  beyond  all  question,  that 
the  erection  of  this  tribunal  was  viewed  by  the  nation  with 
the  greatest  aversion  and  alarm.  Talavera,  the  excellent 
archbishop  of  Granada,  resisted  its  introduction  with  all  his 
influence.  The  most  enlightened  Spaniards  of  that  age  spoke 
of  its  proceedings  with  horror  and  shame.  "The  losses  and 
misery  which  the  evil  ministers  of  the  inquisition  have  brought 
on  my  country  can  never  be  enough  deplored,"  says  the  chev- 
alier de  Cordova,  Gonzalez  de  Ayora,  in  a  letter  to  the  secre- 
tary of  king  Ferdinand.  "  O,  unhappy  Spain,  mother  of  so 
many  heroes,  how  unjustly  disgraced  by  such  a  horrible 
scourge!"  exclaims  Peter  Martyr.  D'Arbues,  the  first  in- 
quisitor of  Aragon,  and  afterwards  canonized  as  a  martyr, 
was  not  the  only  individual  who  fell  a  sacrifice  to  the  iijdig- 
nation  against  the  inquisition,  shared  by  all  classes  of  the 
community.     Torquemada,  the  first   inquisitor-general,  was 


*  Llorente,  i.  151.  This  is  astonishing;  but  what  follows  is  still 
more  so.  "  During  my  residence  in  LoudoTi  (siiys  Llorente)  I  beard 
some  Catholics  say,  that  the  itiquisition  Itad  been  useful  in  Spain  by 
preserving  the  Catholic  failh;  and  Ihat  it  would  have  been  well  for 
France  it"  she  had  had  a  similar  establishment."  *'An  English 
Catholic  priest,  in  my  hearing,  made  an  apology  fop  it,"  (Ibid. 
Pref-  p.  xxi.  and  torn.  ii.  p.  288. J 


332 


CHRISTIAN   LIBRARY. 


obliged  to  adopt  the  greatest  precautions  for  bis  personal 
safety.  In  liis  journeys  he  was  uniformly  accompanied  by  a 
guard  of  fifty  familiars  on  horseback,  and  two  hundred  on 
foot;  and  he  had  always  on  liis  table  the  tusk  of  a  wild  ani- 
mal, to  which  he  trusted  for  discovering  and  neutralizing 
poisons.  In  Aragon,  where  the  inhabitants  had  been  accus- 
tomed to  the  old  inquisition  for  two  centuries  and  a  half,  the 
introduction  of  it  in  its  new  form  excited  tumults  in  various 
places,  and  met  \^-ith  a  resistance  almost  national.  No  sooner 
had  the  inhabitants  of  Castile  felt  the  yoke,  than  they  sought 
to  throw  it  off;  and  the  cortes  of  that  kingdom  joined  with 
those  of  Aragon  and  Catalonia,  in  representing  the  grievances 
which  they  suffered  from  the  inquisition,  and  in  demanding  a 
radical  reform  on  its  iniquitous  and  oppressive  laws.  It  is 
unnecessary  to  say,  that  tliese  attcm])ts,  which  were  renewed 
at  intervals  during  thirty  years  from  tlie  establishment  of  that 
tribunal,  proved  hnally  abortive. 

This  unfortunate  issue  was  in  no  small  degree  owing  to 
cardinal  Ximenes,  who  contributed  more  than  any  other  in- 
dividual to  rivet  the  chains  of  political  and  spiritual  despot- 
ism on  his  native  country.  Possessed  of  talents  which 
enabled  him  to  foresee  the  dire  effects  w-hich  the  Inq\iisition 
would  inevitably  produce,  he  was  called  to  take  part  in  pub- 
lic affairs  at  a  time  when  these  effects  had  decidedly  appeared. 
It  was  in  his  power  to  abolish  that  execrable  tribunal  alto- 
gether as  an  insufferable  nuisance,  or  at  least  to  impose  such 
checks  upon  its  procedure  as  would  have  rendered  it  compa- 
ratively harmless.  But  he  not  only  allowed  himself  to  be 
placed  at  its  head,  but  employed  all  his  influence  and  address 
in  defeating  every  attempt  to  reform  its  worst  and  most  glar- 
ing abuses'!  In  151'2,  the  New  Christians  made  an  offer  of 
six  hundred  thousand  crowns  to  Ferdinand,  to  assist  him  in 
carrying  on  the  war  in  Navarre,  on  condition  that  a  law  were 
passed  enjoining  the  testimonies  of  the  witnesses,  in  pro- 
cesses before  the  Inquisition,  to  be  made  public.  With  the 
view  of  diverting  the  king  from  acceding  to  this  proposal, 
Ximenes  seconded  his  remonstrances  against  it  by  placing  a 
laro-c  sum  of  money  at  the  royal  disposal.  And,  in  loK!, 
when  a  similar  oiler  was  made  to  the  ministers  of  Charles 
v.,  and  when  the  universities  and  learned  men  of  Spain  and 
Flanders  had  given  their  opinion,  that  tlie  communication  of 
the  names  and  depositions  of  the  witnesses  was  conformable 
both  to  divine  and  human  laws,  the  cardinal  again  interposed, 
and  by  messengers  and  letters  urged  the  rejection  of  the 
measure,  upon  the  wretched  plea  that  a  certain  nameless 
witness  had  been  assassinated,  and  that  the  person  of  the 
kino-  was  put  in  danger  by  the  admission  of  converted  .Tews 
into  the  palace  He  exerted  himself  with  equal  zeal  in 
resisting  the  applications  which  the  New  Cliristians  made  to 
the  court  of  Rome  for  the  same  object.  During  the  eleven 
years  that  he  was  at  the  head  of  this  tribunal,  fifty-one 
thousand  one  hundred  and  sixty-seven  persons  were  con- 
demned, of  whom  two  thousand  five  hundred  and  thirty-six 
were  burnt  alive.  Not  satisfied  with  perpetuating  the  Inqui- 
sition in  his  native  country,  he  extended  the  precious  boon 
to  two  quarters  of  the  globe,  by  establishing  one  tribunal  at 
Oran  in  Africa,  and  another  at  Cuba  in  America.  With  the 
exception  of  the  check  which,  at  the  commencement  of  his 
ministry,  he  put  on  the  mad  proceedings  of  the  inquisitor 
Luzero,  who,  by  listening  to  false  accusations,  had  harassed 
the  good  archbishop  of  Granada,  the  marquis  of  Pliego,  and 
many  of  the  most  respectable  persons  of  the  kingdom,  the 
reforms  which  the  cardinal  made  on  the  Inquisition  are  con- 
fined to  the  substitution  of  a  St.  Andrew's  cross,  in  place  of 
the  ordinary  one,  on  the  saubenito,  and  the  allotment  of 
separate  churches  for  the  New  Christians.  If  mankind 
were  to  be  treated  as  their  foolish  admiration  of  talents 
merit,  they  would  be  left  to  groan  under  the  rod  of  oppress 
ion.  Ximenes  has  obtained  the  title  of  a  great  man,  from 
foreigners  as  well  as  natives  of  Spain.  But  in  spite  of  tlii 
eulogiums  passed  upon  him,  I  cannot  help  being  of  opinion, 
with  a  modern  writer,  that  Ximenes  bore  a  striking  resem- 
blance to  Philip  II.,  with  this  dilference,  that  the  cardinal 
was  possessed  of  higher  talents,  and  that  his  proceedings 
were  characterized  by  a  certain  openness  and  impartiality, 
the  result  of  the  unlimited  confidence  which  he  placed  in  his 
own  powers.  His  character  was  eesentially  that  of  a  monk, 
in  which  the  severity  of  his  order  was  combined  with  the 
impetuosity  of  blood  which  belongs  to  the  natives  of  the 
south. 

The  cardinal  would  be  still  more  inexcusable  if  he  were 
the  author  of  an  unpublished  work  W'hich  has  been  ascribed 
to  him.  It  is  a  fictitious  composition,  after  the  manner  of 
the  Utopia  of  Sir  Thomas  More,  and  treats  of  the  best  mode 


of  governing  a  kingdom.  In  one  part  of  it,  the  abuses  of 
the  Holy  Office  are  discussed  freely  and  at  lar^e  in  the  pres- 
ence of  Prudenciano,  monarch  of  the  kingdom  of  Trutli, 
who,  after  hearing  the  inquisitors,  decides,  with  the  advice 
of  his  counsellors,  that  all  persons  accused  of  heresy  sliall 
be  put  in  possession  of  the  names  and  depositions  of  the 
witnesses ;  that  they  shall  have  the  same  liberty  of  holding 
intercourse  with  their  advocates,  procurators  and  friends, 
which  is  granted  to  other  prisoners ;  that  they  shall  not  be 
excluded  from  the  benefit  of  divine  service  during  their  con- 
finement; that  New  Christians,  and  the  descendants  of 
heretics,  shall  be  admissible  to  all  offices,  and  exempted 
from  every  stigma;  that,  to  prevent  ignorant  convictions,  the 
tribunals  of  tlie  Inquisition  sliall  be  provided  with  judges 
well  instructed  in  questions  of  faith;  that  the  confiscation  of 
the  goods  of  those  condemned  for  heresy  shall  be  limited  to 
the  property  which  tliey  actually  possess  at  the  time,  and 
shall  noi  extend  to  the  portions  which  the3'  had  previously 
given  to  their  married  children,  nor  interfere  with  the  fulfil- 
ment of  any  lawful  engagement  which  they  had  contracted; 
and  in  general,  that  processes  before  the  Inquisition  shall  be 
conducted  on  the  maxims  which  regulate  other  courts  of 
criminal  judicature.  This  treatise,  drawn  up  during  the 
minority  of  Charles  V.,  was  intended  for  the  instruction  of 
that  young  prince,  and  proves  that  Spain  possessed  at  that 
time  persons  of  superior  illumination  ;  but  we  may  safely 
acquit  cardinal  Ximenes  from  the  suspicion  of  being  the 
author  of  a  work  containing  principles  of  liberal  policy  and 
enlightened  justice,  which  there  is  no  reason  to  think  that 
ghostly  statesman  ever  entertained  at  any  period  of  his  life. 

The  history  of  the  Imiuisition,  during  the  first  thirty  years 
after  its  erection,  discloses  a  series  of  intrigue,  in  which  it 
is  hard  to  saj'  whether  the  court  of  Rome,  the  court  of  Spain, 
or  the  Holy  Office,  acted  the  most  deceitful  and  unprincipled 
part.  While  they  combined  to  oppress  and  inijioverish  the 
people  of  Spain,  each  of  them  sought  to  overreach  the  other 
and  to  promote  its  own  selfish  designs.  The  court  of  Rome 
readily  gave  its  sanction  to  the  establishment  of  the  Inquisi- 
tion; and  Sixtus  IV.,  in  a  letter  to  queen  Isabella,  signified 
that  "  he  had  felt  the  most  lively  desire  to  see  it  introduced 
into  the  kingdom  of  Castile."  Notwithstanding  this,  the 
papal  court  both  secretly  and  openly  encouraged  the  New 
Christians  to  appeal  to  Rome,  reversed  the  sentences  which 
the  Inquisition  had  pronounced  against  them  in  Spain,  and 
admitted  them  to  reconciliation  in  secret.  But  after  it  liad 
extorted  large  sums  of  money  for  these  favours,  no  sooner 
did  tbe  Spanish  monarch,  at  the  instigation  of  the  inquisitors, 
reclaim  against  these  proceedings,  than  it  revoked  its  decisions, 
suspended  the  execution  of  its  bulls,  and  left  the  victims  of 
its  avarice  and  duplicity  to  the  vengeance  of  their  incensed 
persecutors.  It  was  evidently  on  the  same  avaricious  princi- 
ple that  Leo  X.,  in  the  year  1517,  authorized  the  inquisitors 
at  Rome  to  judge  in  complaints  of  heresy  against  natives  of 
Spain.  On  that  occasion,  Gcronimo  Vich,  the  Spanish 
ambassador,  received  orders  from  bis  court  to  remonstrate 
against  this  decree,  as  inflicting  a  stigma  on  a  nation  which 
had  testified  such  zeal  for  the  catholic  faith,  and  to  request 
that  the  remedy  against  heresy  should  he  applied  equally  to 
those  of  other  countries.  To  this  representation  Leo  gravely 
replied,  that  so  fiir  from  wishing  to  inflict  a  disgrace,  he  had 
intended  to  confer  an  honour  on  the  Spanish  nation ;  that  he 
had  dealt  with  them  as  a  rich  man  does  with  his  jewels, 
which  he  guards  with  greater  care  than  the  rest  of  his  pro- 
perty; and  thought  that,  as  the  Spaniards  entertained  so  high 
an  esteem  for  the  Inquisition  at  home,  they  would  not  be 
offended  with  it  abroad. 

The  conduct  of  the  Inquisition  presented  the  same  glaring 
contradiction  of  the  avowed  principles  on  which  it  was  founded. 
Amidst  all  their  professions  of  zeal  for  the  purity  of  the  faith, 
the  inquisitors  carried  on  the  scandalous  tratfic  of  commuting 
canonical  censure  fur  pecuniary  mulcts.  To  retain  Christians 
within  the  sacred  enclosure  of  the  catholic  church,  and  in  du- 
tiful subjection  to  its  supreme  head,  was  tbe  grand  object  of 
the  institution  of  the  Holy  Office ;  and  the  exercise  of  its 
powers  was  delegated  to  the  monks,  who  were  the  most  de- 
voted supporters  of  the  Roman  pontiff,  and  held  that  his  decrees 
in  matters  of  faith,  when  pronounced  ex  cat/iedni,\yeTe  infalli- 
ble. Yet,  when  the  decrees  of  the  holy  see  were  opposite  to 
their  own  determinations,  or  interfered  with  their  particular 
interests,  they  made  no  scruple  of  resisting  them,  and  enga- 
ging the  government  of  the  country  in  their  quarrel. 

It  was  not  to  be  expected  that  the  conduct  of  the  court  of 
Spain  would  be  less  selfish.  All  are  agreed  that  Ferdinand, 
in  supporting  the  Inquisition,  regarded  it,  not  as  a  means  of 


HISTORY  OF  THE  REFORMATION  IN  SPAIN. 


323 


prrservinnr  the  purity  of  religion,  but  as  an  instrument  of 
tyranny  and  extortion.  Nor  was  his  grandson  Charles  V. 
actuated  by  higher  motives.  On  assuming  the  reins  of  gov- 
ernment in  Spain,  he  swore  to  observe  certain  equivocal  regu- 
lations for  correcting  the  abuses  of  the  Inquisition ;  but  he 
declared,  at  the  same  time,  in  private,  that  this  promise  had 
been  extorted  from  him  by  the  importunity  of  the  representa- 
tives of  certain  cities.  Despairing  of  any  relief  fro;n  this 
quarter,  the  corles  of  Aragon  sent  deputies  to  Rome,  and,  by 
the  distribution  of  a  sum  of  money  among  the  cardinals,  ob- 
tained three  briefs  reforming  the  Inipiisition,  and  placing  its 
l)roccdure  on  the  footing  of  common  law.  Charles,  who 
wished  to  employ  that  formidable  tribunal  as  an  engine  for 
suppressing  the  tumults  whicli  his  arbitrary  measures  had  ex- 
cited in  various  parts  of  the  kingdom,  applied  to  Leo.  X.  for  a 
bull  aiuiulling  the  obnoxious  briefs.  Tlie  negotiation  which 
onsuid,  and  was  ])rotractcd  during  three  years, is  equally  dis- 
trraceful  to  both  parties.  His  Holiness  told  isenor  de  Bel- 
nionte,  the  .Spanish  ambassador,  that  he  had  been  informed 
by  rrrdiblo  persons,  that  the  Inipiisition  was  the  cause  of 
terrible  mischief  in  Spain;  to  which  the  ambassador  bluntly 
replied,  that  the  persons  who  gave  this  information  were  be- 
lieved, because  they  were  liberal  of  their  money.  At  the 
same  time,  ho  advised  his  master  to  have  recourse  to  that  sys- 
tem of  bribery  of  which  he  complained.  "Cardinal  Santi- 
quatro  (writes  he)  can  be  of  great  service  in  this  affair,  be- 
cause he  draws  as  much  money  as  possible  to  his  master  and 
himself.  It  is  only  on  this  condition  that  he  is  authorized  by 
the  pope  to  act,  and  he  executes  his  task  with  great  adroit- 
ness. The  cardinal  of  Ancona  is  a  learned  man,  and  an  ene- 
my to  the  former.  Me  is  minister  of  justice,  and  can  be  use- 
ful, as  he  is  well  disposed,  to  serve  your  majesty  ;  but  ho  is 
reckoned  as  jreat  a  thief  as  his  colleague."  In  another  mis- 
sive ho  says,  "Always  I  am  assured  that,  in  what  relates  to 
the  Inquisition,  money  is  a  means  of  gaining  over  these  car- 
dinals." And  after  soliciting  instructions  from  his  court,  he 
adds,  "All  this  is  necessary,  and  something  besides;  for 
money  does  much  here.  The  pope  expects  (from  Aragon 
and  Catalonia)  fortj'-six  or  forty-seven  thousand  ducats." 
The  cardinals  were  too  "  wise  in  their  generation"  to  be  de- 
ceived by  the  flattering  representations  which  the  ambassador 
made  of  his  master's  disinterestedness,  and  laughed  at  the 
idea  of  sovereigns  supporting  the  Inquisitions  "from  pure 
zeal  for  religion."  In  vain  did  (Jharles  himself  endeavour  to 
quicken  the  tardy  steps  of  Leo,  by  writing  that  "the  world 
surmised  that  his  Holiness  and  he  understood  one  another,  and 
wished  to  squeeze  as  much  money  as  possible  from  the  bull 
in  question."  The  crafty  pontiff,  assuming  the  tone  of  jus- 
tice, threatened,  by  a  decree  of  the  sacred  Rota,  to  annul  all 
the  sentences  of  confiscation  pronounced  against  those  J^pan- 
iards  who  had  made  a  voluntary  confession  of  heresy;  "and 
I  am  told,"  says  the  ambassador,  "that  if  this  measure  pass, 
as  is  expected,  your  majesty  will  he  obliged  to  restore  more 
than  a  niillicn  of  ducats  acquired  in  that  way."  A  few  per- 
sons, through  perversion  of  judgment,  have  burnt  men  alive 
far  the  hive  of  Gnd,  but,  in  the  greater  number  of  instances,  I 
apprehend  it  will  bo  found  that  this  has  been  done/o;-  the  love 
of  money, 

LeoX.,  having  died  during  this  dispute,  was  succeeded  by 
Adrian,  the  preceptor  of  Charles  V.,  who  continued  to  hold 
the  situation  of  inquisitor-general  of  Spain,  along  with  that  of 
suprenui  pontiff',  for  nearly  two  years.  This  union  of  offices, 
in  tlie  person  of  the  spiritual  adviser  of  the  young  monarch, 
led  to  measures  which  extinguished  every  hope  of  procuring 
a  reform  of  the  Holy  Office.  Despairing  of  relief,  the  nation 
submitted  to  the  yoke;  habit  reconciled  them  to  it;  and 
making  a  virtue  of  necessity,  they  soon  came  to  congratulate 
themselves  on  an  institution  which  they  had  regarded  as  an 
engine  of  the  most  intolerable  and  degrading  servitude. 

Other  causes  contributed,  along  with  the  Inquisition,  to 
rivet  the  chains  of  religious  bondage  on  the  minds  of  the 
Spaniards,  and  to  render  the  prospect  of  ecclesiastical  reform 
among  them  next  to  hopeless. 

One  of  these  causes  was  the  suppression  of  their  civil  lib- 
erties. Formerly  the  victims  of  persecution  had  often  found 
shelter  within  the  independent  domains  of  the  nobles,  or  the 
privileo-ed  walls  of  great  cities.  Cardinal  Ximenes,  by  flat- 
tering The  commons  without  adding  to  their  real  consequence, 
had  succeeded  in  breaking  the  power  of  the  nobility.  Charles 
pursued  the  line  of  policy  which  his  minister  had  begun,  by 
invading  the  rights  of  the  people.  Irritated  by  the  assistance 
which  the  latter  had  given  to  the  attack  on  their  immunities 
the  nobles  either  stood  aloof  from  the  contest  which  ensued, 
or  sided   with  the  crown.     The  consequence  was,  that  the 


commons, after  an  enthusiastic  resistance,  were  subdued;  the 
cortes  and  the  chartered  towns  were  stripped  of  their  privi- 
leges ;  and  the  authority  of  the  sovereign  became  absolute  and 
despotical  throughout  the  united  kingdom. 

The  great  accession  of  wealth  and  reputation  which  Spain 
had  acquired  by  the  discovery  of  the  New  World,  proved  no 
less  fatal  to  her  religious  than  to  her  political  liberty.     Co- 
lumbus appears  to  have  been  at  first  actuated  solely  by  an  en- 
thusiastic passion  for  nautical  discovery;  but  during  the  dis- 
couragements with  which  his  ardent  and  unconquerable  spirit 
had  to  contend,  another  feeling  arose  of  a  no  less  powerful 
kind,  which  was  cherished,  if  not  infused,  by  the  monks  of 
La  Rabida,  among  whom  he  resided  for  some  time,  and  who 
zealously  assisted  him  in  his  applications  to  the  court  of  Cas- 
tile, and  in  his  exertions  to  fit  out  the  fleet  with  which  he 
entered  on  his  daring  enterprise.     His  imagination  was  now 
fired  with  the  idea  of  not  only  adding  to  the  boundaries  of  the 
known  world,  but  also  of  enlarging  the  pale  of  the  catholic 
church,  by  converting  to  the  Christian  faith  the  inhabitants  of 
those  rich  and  populous  countries  with  which  he  hoped  to  open 
a  communication,  by  stretching  across  the  waters  of  the  wes- 
tern ocean.     Similar  views,  but  associated  with  baser  feelings, 
were  adopted  by  the  successors  of  Columbus.     As  the  see  of 
Home,  in  virtue  of  the  universal  authority  which  it  arrogated, 
had  granted  to  Spain  all  the  countries  which  she  might  dis- 
cover beyond  the  Atlantic,  the  conquerors  of  America  looked 
upon  themselves  as  the  servants  of  the  church  as  much  as  of 
the  sovereigns  from  whom  they  immediately  received  their 
commission  ;  their  cupidity  was  inflamed  by  fanaticism  ;  and 
the  consideration  that  every  battle  which  they  won  was  sub- 
servient to  the  spread  of  the  catholic  faith,  atoned  for  and 
sanctified,  in  their  eyes,  the  unliear<l-of  cruelties  which  they 
inflicted  on  the  intimidated  and  unoffending  natives  of  the  New 
World.     Sanctioned  as  they   were   by  the  government  and 
clergy,  these  views  were  easily  diffused  through  the  nation. 
Astonished  at  the  intelligence  which  they  received  from  their 
countrymen  who  had  visited  the  newly-discovered  regions, 
elated  by  the  splendid  success  which  had  crowned  their  im- 
dertakings,  and  flushed  with  the  hopes  of  the  inexhaustible 
riches  which  would  continue  to  flow  in  upon  them,  the  Span- 
iards were  thrown  into  a  feverish  intoxication,  which,  meeting 
with  other  causes,  produced  an   important   change  on  their 
sentiments  and  character.     New  feelings  sprung  up  in  their 
breasts;    and  late  transactions  were  seen  by  them  in  a  light 
different  from  that  in  which  they  had  formerly  viewed  them. 
Reflecting  that  they  had  expelled   the  Jews,  the  hereditary 
and  inveterate  enemies  of  Christianity,  from  their  coasts,  over- 
turned the  Mahomedan  empire  which  had  been  established  for 
ages  in  the  Peninsula,  and  planted  the  standard  of  the  cross 
among  pagans  on  a  new  continent  of  incalculable  extent,  they 
began  to  consider  themselves  as  the  favourites  of  heaven,  des- 
tined to  propagate  and  defend  the  true  faith,  and  bound,  by 
national  honour,  as  well  as  duty,  to  preserve  their  sacred  soil 
from  being  polluted  by  the  slightest  taint  of  heretical  pravity. 
To  these  causes  must  be  added  the  vast  increase  of  strength 
which  the  Spanish  monarchy  received  by  the  succession  of  its 
youthful   sovereign  to  his  paternal  dominions  in  the    Low- 
Countries,  Austria,  Bohemia,  and  Hungary;  and  by  his  ele- 
vation to  the  imperial  throne  of  Germany,  under  the  name  of 
Charles  V.     The  chief  obstacle  which  this  presented  to  the 
spread  of  the  reformed  opinions  in  Spain,  did  not  lie  in  the 
ease  with  which  it  enabled  him  to  crush  the  least  symptom  of 
revolt  from  the  established  faith.     Indepen(h;ntly  of  all  per- 
sonal convictions,  Charles,  in  seeking  to  realize  his  towering 
projects  of  universal  empire,  must  have  seen  it  his  interest  to 
cultivate  the  friendship  of  the  court  of  Rome  ;  and  although 
he  was  involved  in  contests  with  particular  pontiffs,  and  held 
one  of  them  for  some  time  a  prisoner  in  his  own  castle,  yet  he 
uniformly  testified  the  warmest  regard  for  the  catholic  faith, 
and  the  honour  of  the  popedom.     In  the  forcible  measures  to 
which  he  had   recourse  for  suppressing  the  Reformation  in 
Germany,  he  relied  chiefly  on  the  troojis  which  he  drew  from 
Spain,  whose  detestation  of  heresy  was  heightened  by  the 
hostilities  which  they  waged  against  its  professors.     To  their 
countrymen  at  home,  who  already  regarded  them  as  the  cham- 
pions of  the  faith,  they  transmitted  the  most  hateful  represen- 
tation of  the  protestjnts,  whom  they  described  as  at  once  the 
pest  of  the  church,  and  the  great  obstacle  to  the  execution  of 
the  splendid  schemes  of  their  beloved  monarch.     Thus  the 
glory  of  the  Spanish  arms  became  associated  with  the  extir- 
pation of  heresy.     And  when  the  protestant  cause  ultimately 
triumphed  over  the  policy  and  power  of  the  emperor,  the  mor- 
tification felt  by  the  Spaniards  settled  into  a  deadly  antipathy 
to  every  thing  which  proceeded  from  Germany,  and  a  jealous 


324 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


dread  lest  the  heresy  with  which  it  was  infected  should  se- 
cretly find  its  way  into  their  own  country. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

Introduction  of  the  Reformed  Doctrine  into  Spain. 

The  boldness  with  which  Luther  attacked,  first  the  abuses, 
and  afterwards  the  authority  of  the  Roman  see,  soon  at- 
tracted general  attention  throughout  Christendom.  Nor 
could  his  opinions  remain  long  unknown  in  Spain,  espe- 
cially after  the  intercourse  between  that  country  and  Ger- 
many became  frequent,  in  consequence  of  the  advancement  of 
the  Spanish  monarch  to  the  inperial  throne. 

So  early  as  the  beginning  of  the  year  1519,  John  Froben,a 
celebrated  printer  at  Basle,  sent  to  Spain  a  quantity  of  a  col- 
lection of  tracts  by  Luther,  which  he  had  lately  reprinted. 
These  were  in  Latin,  and  consequently  were  confined  to  the 
learned.  But,  in  the  course  of  the  following  year,  the  re- 
former's commentary  on  the  Galatians,  a  work  which  exhibit- 
ed his  doctrinal  sentiments  on  the  most  important  points,  was 
translated  into  Spanish.  This  was  followed  by  translations 
into  the  same  language  of  his  treatise  on  Christian  lib- 
erty, and  his  reply  to  Erasmus  on  free-will.  These  books 
appear  to  have  been  translated  and  printed  at  Antwerp,  a 
place  of  great  trade  within  the  paternal  dominions  of  Charles 
v.,  from  which  the  Spanish  merchants,  who  were  at  the  ex- 
pense of  the  publication,  could  most  easily  get  copies  con- 
veyed to  their  native  country. 

Alfonso  Valdes,  a  young  man  of  talents  who  accompanied 
Charles  V.,  as  secretary,  to  his  coronation  in  1530,  sent  to 
Spain,  at  the  request  of  Peter  Martyr,  a  particular  account  of 
the  religious  dispute  in  Germany,  from  the  first  declaration 
of  Luther  against  indulgences  to  liis  burning  of  the  pontifical 
decrees  at  Wittenberg.  In  another  letter,  written  during 
the  following  year,  he  continued  his  account  to  the  close  of  the 
diet  of  Worms.  His  narrative  is  in  general  correct;  and  al- 
though he  expresses  great  horror  at  the  boldness  with  which 
the  reformer  attacked  the  papal  authority,  he  acknowledges 
the  necessity  of  reform,  and  ascribes  the  continuance  of  llie 
evil  to  the  aversion  of  the  pope  to  a  general  council,  and  "  his 
preferring  his  private  interest  to  the  public  good."  "While 
he  tenaciously  adheres  to  his  rights,"  says  he,  "  and  shutting 
his  ears,  under  the  influence  of  a  pious  feeling  perhaps, 
wishes  to  have  Luther  devoted  to  the  flames,  the  whole 
Christian  commonwealth  is  going  to  ruin,  if  God  interpose 
not."  Myrtyr,  who  seems  to  have  felt  in  the  same  way  witli 
his  correspondent,  imparted  these  letters  to  his  friends;  but 
it  may  be  mentioned,  as  a  proof  of  the  state  of  feeling  in 
Spain,  that  he  declined  giving  ihem  any  account  of  Luther's 
opinions,  referring  them  for  this  to  the  writings  of  his  oppo- 
nents, "  which  they  could  easily  procure,  it  they  wished 
them,  and  in  which  they  would  find  the  antidote  along  with 
the  poison." 

Another  Spaniard  of  greater  authority,  who  was  in  Ger- 
many at  the  same  time,  felt  somewhat  differently  from  Val- 
des. Francisco  de  Angelis,  provincial  of  the  religious  order 
called  Angeli  in  Spain,  had  been  present  at  the  coronation  of 
the  emperor,  by  whom  he  was  despatched,  after  the  diet  of 
Worms,  to  assist  in  quellincr  the  revolt  which  had  broken  out 
in  Castile.  On  his  way  home  he  stopped  at  Basle,  where  he 
had  a  lono-  conversation  w  ith  Conrad  Pellican  on  the  ojjinions 
of  Luther,  with  whom  he  professed  to  agree  upon  most 
points. 

Who  would  have  thought  of  the  Spanish  ambassador  at 
Rome  writing  home  in  favour  of  Luther!  We  have  already 
adverted  to  the  difficulty  which  Charles  found  in  procuring 
the  recall  of  certain  briefs  which  the  pope  had  issued  for  the 
reform  of  the  Liquisition.  It  occurred  to  Don  Juan  de  Man- 
uel, as  a  stroke  of  policy,  that  his  master  should  give  coun- 
tenance to  another  species  of  reform  which  his  Holiness 
dreaded.  Accordingly,  in  a  letter  dated  10  May,  15:20,  he 
advises  his  majesty  '•  to  undertake  a  journey  to  Germany,  and 
to  appear  to  show  a  little  favour  to  a  certain  friar,  Martin 
Luther,  at  the  court  of  Saxony,  who  gives  great  uneasiness 
to  the  sovereign  pontifl',  by  certain  things  which  he  preaches 
and  publishes  against  the  papal  autliority.  This  monk  (adds 
the  ambassador)  is  said  to  be  very  learned,  and  creates  great 
embarrassment  to  the  pope,"  Nor  was  this  a  mere  passing 
thought;  for  he  recurs  to  the  subject  in  a  subsequent  letter. 


"As  to  the  afiair  of  Liege,  the  pope  appears  much  more  dis- 
contented, because  it  has  been  told  him  that  the  bishop  fa- 
vours friar  Martin  Luther,  who  condemns  the  pontifical 
power  in  Germany.  He  is  also  displeased  with  Erasmus  in 
Holland,  and  for  the  same  reason.  I  sa)',  they  complain  here 
of  the  bishop  of  Liege  in  the  affair  of  Luther,  who  gives  them 
more  distress  than  they  could  wish. 

On. the  aoth  of  March  1521,  Leo  X.  issued  two  briefs,  one 
addressed  to  the  constable  and  the  other  to  the  admiral  of 
Castile,  who  governed  the  kingdom  in  the  absence  of  Charles 
V'.,  requiring  them  to  adopt  measures  for  preventing  the  intro- 
duction of  the  books  of  Luther  and  his  defenders  into  Spain. 
In  the  course  of  the  following  month,  cardinal  Adrian  charged 
the  inquisitors  to  sieze  all  books  of  this  description  ;  and 
this  charge  was  reiterated  by  him  in  the  year  1523,  after  he 
had  ascended  the  papal  throne,  on  which  occasion  he  re- 
quired the  corrigidor  of  Guipuscoa  to  furnish  the  officers  of  the 
Inquisition  with  every  assistance  which  they  might  require 
in  the  execution  of  this  duty. 

These  were  not  measures  of  mere  precaution,  or  intended 
only  for  the  purpose  of  display;  for  the  works  of  Luther 
were  read  and  approved  of  in  Spain.  The  report  of  this  fact 
drew  from  Erasmus  the  sarcasm  which  gave  great  offence  to 
the  duke  of  Alva,  "  that  the  Spaniards  favoured  Luther,  in 
order  that  they  might  be  thought  Christians."  So  eager 
were  the  inquisitors  in  their  search  after  the  disciples  of  the 
new  doctrine,  that  they  fixed  their  suspicions  on  the  venera- 
ble Juan  de  Avila,  commonly  called  the  apostle  of  Andalusia. 
In  his  preaching,  which  was  recommended  by  the  exem- 
plary piety  and  charity  of  his  life,  he  kept  to  the  simplicity 
of  scripture,  rejecting  the  abstruse  and  foolish  questions  of 
the  schools.  Irritated  by  his  reproofs,  and  envious  of  his 
fame,  the  monks,  in  1525,  denounced  to  the  Inquisition  some 
propositions  advanced  by  him,  as  Lutheran,  or  savouring  of 
Lutheranism  and  the  doctrine  of  the  illuminati.  He  waa 
thrown  into  prison,  and  would  have  been  condemned,  had  not 
Manrique,  one  of  the  mildest  of  the  inquisitors-general,  who 
felt  a  high  respect  for  his  character,  extended  to  him  the 
shield  of  his  powerful  protection,  which  did  not  however 
prevent  his  works  from  being  afterwards  put  into  the  list  of 
prohibited  books. 

The  Spanish  monks  were  diverted  for  a  time  from  search- 
ing after  the  writings  of  Luther,  by  their  anxiety  to  suppress 
those  of  Erasmus,  from  which  they  dreaded  more  immedi- 
te  danger.  This  learned  man,  to  whom  the  name  of  the 
forerunner  of  Luther  has  not  unjustly  been  given,  had  many 
friends  in  Spain,  who  were  so  confident  in  their  strength,  as 
to  write  him  that  they  expected  to  be  victorious  in  the  con- 
test. They  were  mistaken;  for  his  adversaries  outnumbered 
them  in  an  ecclesiastical  junta  held  at  iNIadrid  in  the  year 
1527;  and  in  consequence  of  this,  his  Colloquies,  his  Praise 
of  Folly,  and  his  Paraphrase  of  the  New  Testament,  were 
censured,  and  prohibited  to  be  explained  in  schools,  or  to  be 
sold  or  read.  "How  I  am  to  be  pitied!"  exclaims  he; 
"  the  Lutherans  attacked  me  as  a  convicted  papist,  and  the 
Catholics  run  me  down  as  a  friend  of  Luther." 

The  patrons  of  ignorance  resolved  to  pursue  their  victor}-, 
and  prosecutions  for  heresy  were  immediately  commenced 
against  some  of  the  most  learned  men  in  the  kingdom.  Pedro 
de  Lerma,  professor  of  divinity  and  chancellor  of  the  univer- 
sity of  Alcala,  was  denounced  to  the  inquisition  of  Toledo, 
as  suspected  of  the  Lutheran  opinions,  and  fled  to  Paris. 
His  nephew  and  successor,  Luis  de  Cadena,  soon  fell  under 
the  same  suspicion,  and  followed  his  example.  Juan  de  Ver- 
gara,  one  of  the  editors  of  the  Polyglot,  and  his  brother  Ber- 
nardin  Tobar,  were  less  fortunate;  for,  being  seized  by  the 
orders  of  the  inquisitors  of  Toledo,  they  were  not  permitted 
to  leave  the  dungeons  of  the  Holy  Office,  until  they  had  ad- 
jured the  heresy  of  Luther  as  persons  slightly  suspected,  re- 
ceived absolution  ad  cautelam,  and  submitted  to  certain 
penances. 

Two  events  which  happened  at  this  time  had  considerable 
influence  in  turning  the  attention  of  the  Spaniards  to  the 
cause  of  Luther,  and  giving  them  a  more  favourable  impress- 
ion of  his  opinions.  The  first  was  the  dispute  between 
Charles  V.  and  pope  Clement  VII.,  which  led,  in  1527,  to 
the  sack  of  Rome  and  imprisomnent  of  the  pontiff.  Though 
Charles,  on  that  occasion,  ordered  the  public  rejoicings  tor 
the  birth  of  his  son  Philip  to  be  suspended,  as  a  mark  of  his 
sorrow  for  so  untoward  an  occurrence,  yet  it  was  regarded  as 
a  triumph  by  the  nation,  and  gave  occasion  to  satirical  bal- 
lads against  the  pope  and  see  of  Rome.  The  other  event 
was  the  presenting,  in  1530,  of  the  protestant  confession  of 
faith  to  the  imperial  diet  of  Augsberg,  at  which  Charles  was 


HISTORY  OF  THE  REFORiMATION  IN  SPAIN. 


325 


present,  attended  by  a  ^reat  body  of  Spanish  nobles  and 
clergy.  This  had  no  inconsiderable  effect  in  dissipating  the 
false  idea  of  the  opinions  of  Luther  which  had  hitherto  been 
industriously  propagated.  At  the  diet  at  Worms  in  1521, 
the  Spanish  attendants  of  the  emperor,  instead  of  admiring 
the  heroism  displayed  by  Luther,  treated  him  with  insult  as 
he  retired  from  the  court-room  to  his  lodgings.  But  there 
was  a  marked  difference  in  their  behaviour  on  the  present 
occasion.  Persons  of  note,  including  the  emperor's  confes- 
sor, who  was  a  native  of  Spain,  acknonledged  that  they  had 
hitherto  been  deceived.  When  Charles  asked  the  advice  of 
the  Spanish  nnbility  who  were  ]irKSent,  they  replied,  after 
perusing  the  confession  in  a  French  translation,  that  if  his 
majesty  found  it  coiitrarj'  to  the  articles  of  faith,  he  ought  to 
suppress  the  Lutherans;  but  if  it  merely  required  the  aboli- 
tion of  certain  ceremonies  and  such  like  things,  he  ought  not 
to  have  recourse  to  violent  measures  against  them;  and  they 
gave  it  as  their  advice,  that  the  litigated  points  should  be 
submitted  to  some  pious  persons  who  were  addicted  to  neither 
party.  Alfonso  Valdes,  the  emperor's  secretarj',  of  whom 
we  have  already  spoken,  had  several  friendly  and  confidential 
interviews  with  Melanchthon  at  this  important  crisis.  He 
read  the  Augsburg  confession  before  it  was  presented  to  the 
diet;  and  the  only  objection  which  he  appears  to  have  made 
to  it  was,  that  its  language  was  rather  too  severe  for  its  op- 
ponents. In  one  of  the  conversations  between  these  two 
learned  men,  held  in  the  presence  of  Cornelius  Scepper,  an 
agent  of  the  king  of  Denmark,  Melanchthon  lamented  the 
strong  prejudices  which  the  natives  of  Spain  had  conceived 
against  the  reformers,  and  said,  that  he  had  frequently  endea- 
voured, both  by  word  of  mouth  and  by  letters,  to  convince 
them  of  the  misconceptions  under  which  the)'  laboured,  but 
with  very  little  success.  Valdes  acknowledged  that  it  was  a 
common  opinion  among  his  countrymen,  that  Luther  and  his 
followers  believed  neither  in  God  nor  the  Trinity,  in  Christ 
nor  the  Virgin ;  and  that  in  Spain  it  was  thought  as  meritori 
ous  an  action  to  strnngle  a  Lutheran  as  to  shoot  a  Turk.  He 
added,  that  his  influence  had  been  exerted  to  relieve  the 
mind  of  the  emperor  from  such  false  impressions;  and  that, 
at  a  late  interview,  he  had  received  it  in  charge  to  say,  that 
his  majesty  wished  Melanchthon  to  draw  up  a  clear  summary 
of  the  opinions  of  the  Lutherans,  contrasted,  article  by  article, 
with  those  of  their  opponents.  The  reformer  readily  com- 
plied with  this  request,  and  the  result  of  his  labours  was 
communicated  by  Valdes  to  Campegio,  the  papal  legate. 

These  proceedings  did  not  escape  the  vigilant  eye  of  the 
Inquisition.  W  hen  Valdes  returned  soon  alter  to  his  native 
country,  he  was  accused  before  the  Holy  Office,  and  con- 
demned as  a  suspected  Lutheran;  a  censure  which  he  incur- 
red by  his  exertions  to  promote  polite  letters  in  his  native 
country,  as  well  as  bj'  the  familiarity  which  he  had  cultivated 
with  the  reformers  of  Germany.  Alfonso  de  Virves  met 
with  the  same  treatment  as  his  friend  Valdes,  and  for  the 
same  reasons.  This  learned  Uenedictine  was  chaplain  to 
Charles  V.  who  had  taken  him  along  with  him  in  his  late 
visits  to  German}',  and  was  so  fond  of  him  that,  on  his  return 
to  Spain,  he  would  hear  no  other  preacher.  Virves  had 
favoured,  though  with  much  reserve,  the  writings  of  Eras- 
mus, and  was  known  to  have  conversed  with  some  of  the 
principal  reformers.  On  these  grounds  liis  conduct  was 
watched,  and  he  soon  found  himself  in  the  hands  of  the  in- 
quisitors at  Seville.  In  vain  did  he  appeal  to  a  work  against 
Melanchthon  which  he  had  prepared  for  the  press;  and,  what 
is  more  singular,  in  vain  did  the  emperor  interpose  to  stop 
the  process,  banish  the  inquisitor-general  from  Seville,  and 
signify  his  displeasure  against  the  other  members  of  the 
council  of  the  Supreme.  Virves  was  kept  in  the  secret  pri- 
sons for  four  years,  during  which,  to  use  his  own  words,  "  he 
was  occupied,  without  breathing  or  respite,  with  charges,  re- 
plies, rejoinders,  depositions,  defences,  arguments,  acts, 
(words,  the  very  uiterance  of  which  made  him  shudder) 
errors,  heresies,  schisms,  blasphemies,  anathemas."  At 
last,  in  1537,  a  definitive  sentence  was  pronounced,  con- 
demning him,  as  suspected  of  holding  the  errors  of  Luther, 
to  make  a  formal  abjuration,  to  be  absolved  ud  caiitetam,  to 
be  confined  in  a  monastery  for  two  years,  and  to  be  prohibit- 
ed from  preaching  for  other  two  years.  He  was  accordingly 
obliged  to  abjure,  on  the  day  of  his  auto-de-fe  in  the  metropo- 
litan church  of  Seville,  all  the  heresies  of  Luther  in  general, 
and  those  in  particular  which  he  was  suspected  of  entertain- 
ing. The  emperor  procured  a  brief  from  the  pope,  absolving 
his  favourite  preacher  from  the  remaining  pains  of  censure; 
but  when  he  afterwards  presented  him  to  the  bishopric  of  the 
Canaries,  it  was  with  the  utmost  reluctance  that  his  Holiness 


granted  the  bull  of  confirmation  to  a  man  who  had  incurred 
the  suspicion  of  heresy  in  the  eyes  of  the  Inquisition. 
"Many  have  adopted  the  maxim,"  says  Virves,  speaking  of 
the  proper  manner  of  converting  heretics,  "that  it  is  lawful 
to  abuse  a  heretic  by  word  and  writing,  when  they  have  it  not 
in  their  power  to  kill  or  torture  him.  If  they  get  a  poor  man, 
whom  they  can  persecute  with  impunity,  into  their  hands, 
they  subject  him  to  a  disgraceful  sentence ;  so  that,  though 
he  prove  himself  innocent  and  obtain  an  acquittal,  he  is  stig- 
matized for  life  as  a  criminal.  If,  on  the  other  hand,  the  un- 
happy person  has  fallen  into  error  through  inadverter.ce,  or 
the  conversation  of  those  with  whom  he  associated,  his  judges 
do  not  labour  to  undeceive  him  by  explaining  the  doctrine' of 
Scripture,  soft  persuasion,  and  paternal  ad\uce,  but,  in  spite 
of  tlie  character  of  fathers  to  which  they  lay  claim,  have  re- 
course to  the  prison,  the  torture,  chains,  and  the  axe.  And 
what  is  the  effect  of  these  horrible  means?  All  these  tor- 
ments inflicted  on  the  body  can  produce  no  change  whatever 
on  the  dispositions  of  the  mind,  which  can  be  brought  back 
to  the  truth  only  by  the  word  of  God,  which  is  quick,  pow- 
erful, and  sharper  than  a  two-edged  sword." 

These  reflections  are  so  excellent  in  themselves,  and  so  re- 
freshing as  coming  from  the  pen  of  a  Spanish  catholic  of  the 
sixteenth  century,  that,  in  reading  them,  we  feel  disposed  to 
rejoice,  instead  of  grieving  at  that  imprisonment  which,  if  it 
did  not  suggest  them,  must  have  served  to  deepen  their  im- 
pression on  his  mind.  No  thanks,  however,  to  the  persecu- 
tors. Some  writers  have  expressed  their  surprise  that  the 
proceedings  against  Virves  and  others  did  not  open  the  eyes 
0!  Charles  V.  to  the  iniquity  of  the  Inquisition;  and  they 
think  he  continued  to  he  its  protector  from  horror  at  Luther- 
anism.  But  Charles  was  instructed  in  the  nature  of  that 
court,  and  had  given  it  his  decided  support,  before  the  name 
of  Luther  became  formidable.  A  despotical  monarch  may  be 
displeased  at  the  procedure  of  a  tribunal  of  terror  when  it 
happens  to  touch  one  of  his  favourites,  and  may  choose  to 
check  its  encroachments  on  his  own  authority,  without  feel- 
ing the  slightest  wish  to  weaken  its  power  as  an  engine  for 
enslaving  and  oppressing  his  subjects. 

In  the  mean  time  every  method  was  taken  to  prevent  the 
spread  of  Lutheran  books  and  opinions.  The  council  of  the 
Supreme,  in  1530,  addressed  a  circular  letter  to  the  inquisi- 
tors dispersed  over  the  kingdom,  informing  them  that  the 
writings  of  Luther  had  made  their  way  into  the  country  under 
fictitious  names,  and  ih  it  his  errors  were  introduced  in  the 
form  of  notes  appended  to  the  works  of  catholic  authors  ;  and 
itierefore  requiring  them  to  add  to  the  annual  edict  of  denun- 
ciation a  clause  relating  to  such  books,  and  to  examine  all 
public  libraries  with  the  view  of  discovering  them.  This  led 
to  the  domiciliary  visits  wbich  the  familiars  of  the  Inquisition 
were  accustomed,  at  a  subsequent  period,  to  pay  to  private 
houses.  During  the  following  year  the  inquisitors  were  au- 
thorized to  strike  with  the  sentence  of  excommunication  all 
who  hindered  them  in  the  discharge  of  their  duty,  and  all  who 
read  or  kept  such  books,  or  who  did  not  denounce  those 
whom  they  knew  to  be  guilty  of  that  offence.  The  same 
penalty  was  extended  to  the  parish  priests  who  did  not  pub- 
lish the  edict  in  every  city,  town,  and  village  ;  and  all  pre- 
lates of  the  regular  orders,  confessors,  and  preachers,  were 
laid  uniler  an  obligLition  to  urge  their  hearers  and  penitents, 
under  the  pain  of  incurring  mortal  sin,  to  inform  against 
themselves  and  others.  The  edict  enumerated  the  different 
articles  of  the  Lutheran  heresy,  down  to  the  slightest  de- 
viation from  the  ceremonies  of  the  church,  and  required  the 
informers  to  declare  "  if  they  knew  or  had  heard  it  said,  that 
any  person  had  taught,  maintained,  or  entertained  in  his 
thoughts,  any  of  these  opinions." 

Hitherto  we  have  not  met  with  a  single  Spaniard  who 
avowed  the  reformed  tenets,  or  who  was  convicted  on  good 
grounds  of  holding  them.  We  have  every  reason,  however, 
to  think  that  there  were  persons  of  this  description  in  Spain, 
though  their  names  have  not  come  down  to  us.  If  this  had 
not  been  the  case,  the  inquisitors  would  have  been  guilty  of 
the  grossest  indiscretion,  in  exposing  the  ears  of  the  people 
to  the  risk  of  infection  by  publishing,  with  such  particularity, 
the  opinions  of  the  German  heretic  in  every  parish  church  of 
the  kingdom.  Vet  it  must  be  acknowledged  that,  in  their 
eagerness  to  discover  what  did  not  exist,  and  to  aggravate  the 
the  slightest  deviation  from  the  received  faith  into  a  danger- 
ous error,  they  were  sometimes  instrumental  in  propagating 
what  they  sought  to  extripate.  A  simple  countryman  was 
brought  before  the  inquisitors  of  Seville,  accused  of  having 
said  among  his  friends,  that  he  did  not  think  there  was  any 
purgatory  but  the  blood  of  Christ.     He  confessed  that  he  had 


326 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


thought  so,  but,  understanding  that  it  was  offensive  to  the 
holy°fathers,  declared  himself  ready  to  retract  the  sentiment. 
This  was  by  no  means  satisfactory  to  the  inquisitors,  ivho 
told  him,  tbat  by  adopting  that  one  error  he  had  involved 
himself  in  a  multitude;  for,  if  tliere  was  no  purgatory,  then 
the  pope,  who  had  decreed  the  contrarj',  was  not  infallible, 
then  general  councils  had  erred,  then  justification  was  by 
faith  ;  and  so  on.  In  vain  did  the  poor  man  protest  that  such 
ideas  had  never  once  entered  into  his  mind  ;  he  was  remanded 
to  prison  until  he  should  be  prepared  to  retract  them.  The 
consequence  was,  that  he  was  led  seriously  to  think  on  these 
topics,  and  came  out  of  the  Inquisition  a  confirmed  Lu- 
theran. 

Tlie  study  of  polite  letters  had  been  communicated  from 
Spain  to  Portugal,  and  the  knowledge  of  the  reformed  opin- 
ions iioceedcd  in  the  same  course.  As  early  as  1531,  Emanuel, 
the  Portuguese  monarch,  addressed  a  letter  to  the  elector  of 
Saxony,  urging  him  to  punish  Luther,  and  extirpate  his  per- 
nicious tenets,  before  they  should  spread  farther  in  Germany, 
and  penetrate  into  other  Christian  countries.  In  1534,  pope 
Clement  VII.  being  informed  that  the  reformed  opinions 
were  daih'  making  progress  in  Portugal,  appointed  Diego  de 
Silva  as  inquisitor  of  that  kingdom;  and,  in  the  following 
year,  we  find  the  king  representing  to  tlie  court  of  Rome 
that  a  number  of  the  converted  Jews  had  become  ))Totestants. 

It  has  been  conjectured  that  the  first  converts  to  the  reform- 
ed doctrine  in  .Spain  belonged  to  the  religious  fraternity  of 
Franciscans,  because  the  pope,  in  L5-26,  granted  power  to  the 
general  and  provincials  of  that  order  to  absolve  such  of  thtir 
brethren  as  had  imbibed  the  new  opinions,  and  were  willing 
to  abjudge  them.  But  this  is  rather  to  be  viewed  in  the  light 
of  a  privilege,  craved  by  the  Franciscans  to  exempt  them 
from  the  jurisdiction  of  the  inquisitors,  who  were  at  first 
chosen  from  the  rival  order  of  Dominicans.  Few  of  those  who 
afterwards  became  protestants  belonged  to  the  brotherhood  of 
St.  Francis. 

.luan  Valdes,  with  whom  we  have  met  elsewhere,  was  the 
first  person,  so  far  as  I  can  discover,  who  embraced  and  was 
active  in  spreading  the  reformed  opinions  in  Spain.  He  was 
of  a  good  family,  and  bad  received  a  liberal  education.  If 
we  may  judge  from  those  with  whom  he  was  on  terms  of  in- 
timacy, he  liad  studied  at  the  university  of  Alcala.  Having 
attached  himself  to  the  court,  he  quitted  Spain  about  the  year 
1535  in  the  company  of  Charles  V.,  who  sent  him  to  Naples 
to  act  as  secretary  to  the  viceroy.  The  common  opinion  has 
been  that  he  became  a  convert  to  the  Lutheran  creed  in  Ger- 
many, but  the  fact  is,  that  his  mind  was  iinbued  with  its 
leading  tenets  before  he  left  his  native  country.  This  appears 
from  a  treatise  drawn  up  by  him  under  the  title  of  Advice 
on  the  Interpreters  of  Sacred  Scripture,  which  was  circulated 
privately  among  his  acquaintance.  It  was  originally  sent  in 
the  form  of  a  letter  to  his  friend  Bartolome  Carranza,  who 
afterwards  became  archbishop  of  Toledo,  but  had  early  in 
curred  the  suspicions  of  the  Holy  Office  by  the  freedom  of 
his  opinions.  This  tract  was  found  among  the  papers  of  the 
primate  when  he  was  subsequently  seized  by  the  order  of  the 
Inquisition,  and  formed  one  of  the  gravest  articles  of  charge 
against  that  distinguished  and  long-persecuted  prelate.  The 
Advice  contained  the  following  propositions,  among  others: 
first,  that  in  order  to  understand  the  sacred  Scriptures,  we 
must  not  rely  on  the  interpretations  of  the  fathers;  se- 
cond, that  we  are  justified  by  a  lively  faith  in  the  passion 
and  death  of  our  Saviour;  and  third,  that  we  may  attain  to 
certainty  concerning  our  justification.  The  agreement  be- 
tween these  and  the  leading  sentiments  maintained  by  Lu- 
ther, renders  it  iiighly  probable  that  Valdes  had  read  the 
writings  of  that  reformer  or  of  some  of  his  adherents.  At  the 
same  time  we  are  told  that  the  principal  things  in  this  tract 
were  taken  from  the  Christian  institutes  of  Tauler.  Tliis 
fact  throws  light  on  the  sentiments  of  Valdes,  and  the  pecu- 
liar cast  of  his  writings.  John  Tauler  was  a  distinguished 
German  preacher  of  the  fourteenth  century,  and  one  of  those 
writers  in  the  church  of  Rome  who  have  obtained  the  name 
of  inystics.  They  were  disgusted  with  the  intricate  and  je- 
june theology  of  the  scholastic  divines,  and  with  the  routine 
of  exterior  services  which  constituted  the  whole  practice  of 
piety  in  the  convents;  but,  being  imperfectly  instructed  in 
the  doctrine  of  the  gospel,  in  flying  from  the  vice  of  their  age 
they  fell  into  the  opposite  extreme.  They  resolved  religion 
almost  entirely  into  contemplation  and  meditation;  their  dis- 
courses, consisting  of  soliloquies  on  the  love  of  God  and  the 
sufferings  of  Christ,  were  chiefly  calculated  to  stimulate  the 
passions;  and  they  occasionally  made  use  of  extravagant  and 
liyperbolical  expressions,  which  implied  that  tlie  soul  of  the 


devotee  was  absorbed  in  the  divine  essence,  and,  when  fa- 
voured with  supernatural  visitations,  was  rendered  independ- 
ent upon  and  superior  to  external  means  and  ordinances. 
The  exercises,  or  meditations,  on  the  Life  of  Christ  by  Tau- 
ler bear  a  strong  resemblance  to  the  better-known  work  of 
Thomas  a  Kempis  on  the  Imitation  of  Christ.  They  have 
the  same  excellencies  and  the  same  faults;  breathe  the  same 
rich  odour  of  spiritual  devotion,  and  labour  under  the  same 
deficiency  of  clear  and  distinct  views  of  divine  truth.  These 
who  are  well  grounded  in  the  doctrines  of  Christianity  may 
reap  great  advantage  from  a  perusal  of  them;  candidates  for 
the  ministry  will  find  in  them  an  excellent  supplement  to  a 
course  of  systematic  divinity;  but  in  minds  warm  and  unin- 
formed they  are  apt  to  foster  a  self-righteous  and  servile  dis- 
position, and  to  give  rise  to  enthusiastic  notions. 

The  mystic  theology  had  its  votaries  in  Spain.  A  Span- 
ish translation  of  the  Imitation  of  Christ,  and  of  an  earlier 
work  of  the  same  character,  entitled  the  Ladder  of  Paradise, 
were  pulilished  at  the  close  of  the  fifteenth  century.  Juan 
de  Avila,  Luis  de  Granada,  confessor  to  the  queen  regent  of 
Portugal,  and  St.  Francis  de  Borgia,  duke  of  Gandia,  and 
third  general  of  the  order  of  Jesuits,  were  the  authors  of 
works,  tor  which  they  were  prosecuted  before  the  inquisition 
as  mystics  and  illuminati.  Several  of  the  protestants,  who 
were  afterwards  brought  to  the  stake  at  Valladolid,  appealed 
to  the  writings  of  the  two  last-named  individuals"as  contain- 
ing sentiments  similar  to  those  which  they  held  on  the  head 
of  justification. 

Valdes  may  have  become  acquainted  with  the  writings  of 
Tauler  through  the  recommendation  of  Luther,  who,  at  one 
period  of  his  life,  was  enamoured  with  them,  and  republished, 
with  a  commendatory  preface,  a  work  written  in  the  same 
strain,  but  more  liable  to  exception,  under  the  title  of  Ger- 
man Theology.  In  a  letter  to  his  friend  Spalalin,  the  re- 
former says,  "If  you  wish  to  read  in  your  own  language  the 
ancient  and  pure  divinity,  procure  Tauler's  Sermons,  of  which 
I  now  send  you  an  abstract;  for  nowhere,  either  in  Latin  or 
German,  have  I  met  with  a  theology  more  wholesome  and 
accordant  to  the  gospel."  The  doctrines  of  justification  by 
faith  in  Christ,  and  of  regeneration  by  the  agency  of  the 
Spirit,  form  the  groundwork  of  the  writings  of  Valdes,  and 
so  far  his  creed  is  Lutheran  or  protestant ;  but  we  can  trace 
in  them  the  influence  of  the  trancendental  divinity  which  he 
had  caught  from  Tauler.  More  intellectual  and  speculative 
than  the  mystic  divines,  he  exhibits  in  his  works  the  rationale 
of  their  creed  rather  than  an  exemplification  of  their  mode  of 
writing,  and  hazards  some  sentiments  which  gave  just  offence 
to  several  of  the  principal  reformers.  It  is  amusing  to  ob- 
serve bis  natural  inquisitiveness  contending  with  and  over- 
coming that  principle  in  his  creed  which  led  him  to  condemn 
as  sinful  all  curious  inquiries  into  matters  of  religion,  or  indeed 
into  any  other  matter. 

Valdes  left  his  native  country  at  an  early  period,  but  he 
contributed  o-reatly  to  the  spread  of  the  reformed  opinions  in 
it  by  his  writings,  several  of  which  were  published  in  Span- 
ish. Though  he  had  remained,  his  personal  presence  would 
most  probably  have  produced  little  etTect.  It  required  a  per- 
son of  less  caution  and  more  adventurous  spirit  to  burst  the 
terrible  barrier  which  opposed  the  entrance  of  the  gospel  into 
Spain,  and  to  raise  the  standard  of  truth  within  sight  of  the 
flames  of  the  inquisition.  Such  a  person  was  found  in  the 
man  of  whom  I  am  now  to  speak. 

Rodrigo  de  Valer,  a  native  of  Lebrixa,  distant  about  thirty 
miles  from  Seville,  bad  spent  his  youth  in  those  idle  and  dis- 
sipated habits  which  were  common  among  the  nobility  and 
gentry  of  Spain.  The  love  of  dress,  and  of  horses  and  sports, 
engrossed  his  attention;  and  in  Seville,  which  was  his  fa- 
vourite residence,  he  shone  in  the  first  rank  among  the  young 
men  of  fashion  in  every  scene  of  amusement  and  feat  of  gal- 
lantry. All  of  a  sudden  he  disappeared  from  those  places  of 
entertainment  of  which  he  had  been  the  life  and  ornament. 
He  was  in  good  liealth,  and  bis  fortune  had  sustained  no  in- 
jury. But  Ills  inind  had  undergone  a  complete  change;  his 
splendid  equipage  was  laid  aside;  he  became  negligent  of  his 
dress ;  and,  shut  up  in  his  closet,  he  devoted  himself  entirely 
to  reading  and  meditation  on  religion.  Had  he  become  un- 
expectedly pious,  and  immured  himself  to  a  convent,  his  con- 
duct would  not  have  excited  general  surprise  among  his 
countrymen ;  but  to  retire  from  the  world,  and  yet  to  shun 
those  consecrated  abodes,  the  choice  of  which  was  viewed  as 
the  great  and  alinost  exclusive  mark  of  superior  sanctity,  ap- 
peared to  them  unaccountable  on  any  other  supposition  than 
that  of  mental  derangement.  Valer  had  acquired  a  slight 
acquaintance  with  the  Latin  language  in  his  youth.     He  now 


HISTORY  OF  THE  REFORMATION  IN  SPAIN. 


327 


(irorurert  a  copy  of  ihe  Vulgate,  the  only  translation  of  the 
Bible  permitted  in  Spain;  and  having  by  dint  of  api)lication, 
by  day  and  by  night,  made  himself  master  of  the  language, 
he,  in  a  short  time,  became  so  well  acquainted  with  the 
contents  of  the  Scriptures,  that  he  could  repeat  almost  anv 
passage  in  them  from  memory,  and  explain  it  with  wonderful 
promptitude  and  intelligence.  Whether  he  had  any  other 
means  of  instruction,  or  what  these  were,  must  remain  a  se- 
cret; but  it  is  certain  that  he  was  led  to  form  a  system  of 
doctrine  not  diflerent  from  that  of  the  reformers  of  Germany, 
and  to  lay  the  foundations  of  a  church  in  Seville  which  was 
Lutheran  in  all  the  main  articles  of  its  belief. 

When  Valer  had  informed  and  satisfied  his  mind  as  to  the 
truths  of  religion,  he  left  off  that  solitary  life  which  had  been 
chosen  by  him  as  an  instrument  and  not  as  an  end.  He  now 
returned  to  company,  but  with  a  very  different  spirit  and  in- 
tention. His  great  desire  was  now  to  impart  to  others  those 
impressions  of  divine  truth  which  had  been  made  on  his  own 
mind.  W"ith  this  view  lie  courted  the  society  of  the  clergy 
and  monks,  with  whom  he  dealt,  first  by  argument  and  per- 
suasion, and  afterwards  in  the  severer  st3'le  of  reproof.  He 
set  l)efore  them  the  general  defection,  among  all  classes,  from 
primitive  Chri;;tianity,  both  as  to  faith  and  practice;  the 
corruption  of  their  own  order,  which  had  contributed  to 
spread  infi;ction  over  the  whole  Christian  community;  and 
the  sacred  obligations  which  they  were  under  to  a])i)ly  a 
speedy  and  thorough  remedy  to  the  evil  before  it  should  be- 
come altogether  incuralile.  These  representations  were  uni- 
forndy  accompanied  with  an  a])peal  to  Ihe  sacred  writings  as 
the  supreme  standard  in  religion,  and  with  an  exhibition  of 
th(!  principal  doctrines  which  they  t.mght.  Wlien  the  clergy, 
weary  of  the  ungrateful  theme,  sliunned  his  company,  he 
threw  himself  in  their  wajs  and  did  not  hesitate  to  introduce 
his  favourite  but  dangerous  to|)ics  in  the  ]>nblic  walks  and 
oilier  places  of  concourse.  His  exhortations  were  not  en- 
tirely without  success;  but  in  most  instances  their  effects 
were  such  as  might  have  been  anticipated  from  the  situation 
and  character  of  those  to  whom  they  were  addressed.  The 
surprise  excited  by  his  first  address  gave  place  to  indignation 
and  disdain.  It  was  not  to  be  borne  that  a  layman,  and  one 
who  had  no  pretensions  to  learning,  should  presume  to  in- 
struct his  teachers,  and  inveigh  against  doctrines  and  institu- 
tions which  were  held  in  reverence  by  the  universal  church, 
and  sanctioned  by  ils  highest  authority.  Whence  had  he  his 
pretended  knowledge  of  the  scriptures  1  Who  gave  him  a  right 
to  teach  ?  And  what  were  the  signs  and  proof  of  his  mission  1 
To  these  questions  Valer  replied  with  candour,  but  with  firm- 
ness, that  it  was  true  he  had  been  brought  op  in  ignorance  of 
divine  things;  he  had  derived  his  knowledge,  not  from  the 
polluted  streams  of  tradition  and  human  inventions,  but  from 
the  pure  fountain  of  revealed  truth,  through  the  teaching  of 
that  Spirit  by  whose  infiuence  living  waters  are  made  to  flow 
from  the  hearts  of  those  who  believe  in  Christ;  there  was  no 
good  reason  for  supposing  that  these  influences  were  confined 
to  persons  of  the  ecclesiastical  order,  especially  when  it  was 
so  deeply  depraved  as  at  present;  private  and  illiterate  men 
had  convicted  a  learned  sanhedrim  of  blindness,  and  called  a 
whole  world  to  the  knowledge  of  salvation;  he  had  the  au- 
thority of  Christ  for  warning  them  of  their  errors  and  vices; 
and  none  would  require  a  sign  from  him  but  a  spurious  and 
degenerate  race,  whose  eyes  could  not  bear  the  brightness  of 
that  pure  light  which  laid  open  and  reproved  their  works  of 
darkness. 

It  was  not  to  be  expected  that  he  would  be  long  permitted 
to  continue  in  this  olVensive  course.  He  was  brought  before 
the  inquisitors,  with  whom  he  maintained  a  keen  dispute  on 
the  church,  the  marks  by  which  it  is  distinguished,  justifica- 
tion, and  similar  points.  On  that  occasion,°some  individuals 
of  considerable  authority,  who  had  secretly  imbibed  his  senti- 
ments, exerted  themselves  in  his  favour.  Their  influence, 
joined  to'tlie  purity  of  his  descent,  the  station  which  he  held  in 
society,  and  the  circumstance  that  his  judges  either  believed 
or  wished  it  to  be  believed  that  he  was  insane,  procured 
for  him  a  milder  sentence  than  that  jealous  and  inexorable 
tribunal  was  accustomed  to  pronounce.  He  was  dismissed 
with  the  loss  of  property.  But  neither  confiscation  of  goods, 
nor  the  fear  of  a  severer  punishment,  could  induce  Valer 
to  alter  his  conduct.  He  yielded  so  far  to  the  importuni- 
ties of  his  friends  as  to  abstain  from  a  public  declaration 
of  his  sentiments  for  a  short  time,  during  which  he  ex- 
plained to  them  in  private  the  Epistles  of  the  Romans.  But 
his  zeal  soon  burst  through  this  restraint.  He  considered 
himself  in  the  light  of  a  soldier  sent  on  the  forlorn  hope,  and 
resolved  to  fall  in  the  breach,  trusting  that  others,  animated 


by  his  example,  would  press  forward  and  secure  the  victory. 
Resuming  his  former  reproofs  of  the  reigning  errors  and  su- 
perstition, he  was  a  second  time  denounced  to  Ihe  Holy 
Office,  which  condemned  him  to  wear  a  sanbenito,  and  to  he 
imprisoned  for  life.  When  conducted,  along  with  raher  peni- 
tents, to  the  church  of  St.  Salvador  in  Seville,  to  attend  public 
service  on  festival  days,  instead  of  exhibiting  the  marks  of 
sorrow  exacted  from  persons  in  his  situation,  he  scrupled  not 
to  address  the  audience  after  sermon,  and  to  warn  them  against 
the  erroneous  doctrine  which  they  had  heard  I'rom  the  preacher, 
whenever  he  thought  it  contrary  to  the  word  of  God.  This 
of  itself  would  have  been  reckoned  sufficient  cause  for  ad- 
judging him  to  the  flames ;  but  the  reasons  already  mentioned 
had  influence  to  save  him  from  that  fate.  To  rid  themselves 
in  the  most  quiet  way  of  so  troublesome  a  penitent,  the  in- 
quisitors came  to  the  resolution  of  confining  him  in  a  monas- 
tery belonging  to  the  town  of  San  I.iicar,  near  Ihe  mouth  of 
the  Guadalquiver,  where,  secluded  from  all  society,  he  died 
about  the  age  of  fifty.  His  sanbenito,  which  was"  Imng  up 
in  the  metropolitan  church  of  Seville,  long  attracled  curiosity 
by  its  extraordinary  size,  and  the  inscription  which  it  bore, — 
•'  Rodrigo  Valer,  a  citizen  of  Lebrixa  and  .Seville,  an  apostate, 
and  false  apostle,  who  pretended  to  be  sent  of  God." 

It  was  about  the  year  1511  that  Ihe  final  sentence  was  pro- 
nounced on  Valer.     The  most  distinguished  of  his  converts- 
was  Juan  Gil,  commonly  called  Doctor  Kgidius.    He  was  born 
at  Olvera  in  Aragcn,  and  educated  at  the  university  of  Alcala, 
where  he  distinguished  himself  by  his  skill  in  scholastic  the- 
ology, the  only  science  then  valued  in  Spain,  except  among  a 
few  individuals  who,  by  addicting  themselves  to  Ihe  study'of 
scripture  in  the  original   languages,  were  derisively  named 
Biblists.    After  obtaining  the  highest  academical  honours,  he 
was  appointed  professor  of  divinity  at  Siguenza.    Such  was  his 
celebrity,  that  when  the  office  of  canon-magistral,  or  preacher, 
in  the  cathedral  church  of  Seville  became  vacant,  he  was 
chosen  to  fill  it  by  the  unanimous  vote  of  the  chapter,  without 
being  required  to  undergo  the  comparative  trial  prescribed  in 
such  cases.     But  how  well  versed  soever  in  the  writings  of 
Lombard,   Aquinas   and   Scotus,    ho   proved    an   unpopular 
preacher;  and  not  being  indifferent  to  his  reputation  and  use- 
fulness, he  felt,  after  continuing  for  some  years,  nearly  as 
anxious  to  relinquish  his  situation  as  the  people  were  to  get 
rid  of  him.     In  this  slate  of  mind  he  was  accosted  by  Valer, 
«  ho  had  the  penetration  to  discover  his  feelings,  and  to  per- 
ceive the  good  dis))ositions,  as  well  as  talents,  with  which 
he  was  endowed.     He  pointed  out  the  defects  of  his  mode  of 
preaching,  and  exhorted  him,  as  the  sure  remedy,  to  give 
jiimself  to  thediligent  and  serious  perusal  of  the  wo'rd  of  God. 
This  advice,  frequently  repeated,  produced  at  last  the  desired 
(dfect.     He  took  the  course  pointed  out  to  him,  and  his  "  pro- 
fiting appeared  to  all."    He  soon  became  the  most  acceptable 
preacher  who  had  appeared  in  Seville.     Instead  of  the  dry, 
abstruse  and  unprofitable  discussions  which  he  had  formerly 
pursued,  he  brought  forward  the  great  truths  of  the  Bible; 
and  the  frigid  manner  in  which  he  had  been  accustomed  to 
acquit  himself  in  public  was  succeeded  by  powerful  appeals 
to  the  consciences,  and  aflectionate  addresses  to  the  hearts  of 
his  auditors.     Their  attention  was  aroused;  deep  convictions 
of  the  necessity  and  suitableness  of  that  salvation  which  the 
gospel  reveals  were  made  on  their  minds;  and  they  were 
prepared  for  receiving  those  new  views  of  divine  truth  which 
the  preacher  presented  to  them,  as  they  were  gradually  un- 
folded to  himself,  and  with  a  caution,  which  regard  to  the 
weakness  of  the  people,  as  well  as  to  his  own  perilous  situa- 
tion, seemed  to  warrant  and  require.     In  this  manner,  by  a 
zeal  more  tempered  with  prudence  than  that  of  his  revered 
instructor,  he  was  honoured  not  only  to  make  converts  to 
C;hrist,  but  to  train  up  martyrs  for  the  truth.     "Among  the 
other  gifts  divinely  bestowed  on  this  holy  man,"  says  one 
who  owed  his  soul  to  him,  "was  the  singular  faculty  which 
he  had  of  kindling  in  the  breasts  of  those  who  listened  to 
his  instructions  a  sacred  flame,  which  animated  them  in  all 
the  exercises  of  piety,  internal  and  external,  and  made  them 
not  only  willmg  to  take  up  the  cross,  but  cheerful  in  the 
prospect  of  the  sufferings  of  which  they  stood  in  jeopardy 
every  liour;  a  clear  proof  that  the  master  whom  he  served 
was  present  with  him,  by  his  Spirit  engraving  the  doctrine 
whicli  he  taught  on  the  hearts  of  his  hearers. 

Egidius  was  not  left  alone  in  the  work  of  enlightening  the 
citizens  of  Seville.  In  addition  to  those  who,  like  himself, 
had  profited  by  the  conversation  of  Valer,  he  was  joined  by 
doctor  Vargas  and  Constantino  Ponce  de  la  Fuente,  who  had 
been  his  fellow-students  at  the  university,  and  were  men  of 
superior   talents  and   learning.     He   imparted  to  them  his 


32S 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


knowledge  of  evangelical  truth,  and  they  in  their  turn  con-| 
tributed  by  their  conversation  to  the  improvement  of  his  min- 
isterial gifts.  The  three  friends  concerted  a  plan,  according 
to  which  they  might  co-operate  in  advancing  the  common 
cause.  Vargus  read  lectures  to  the  more  learned,  in  which 
he  expounded  the  Epistle  to  the  Romans,  and  subsequently 
the  book  of  Psalms;  and  Constantine,  of  wliom  we  shall 
have  occasion  to  speak  more  particularly  afterwards,  assisted 
Efidius  occasionally  in  the  pulpit.  Their  zeal,  wliile  it 
awakened  the  suspicions,  provoked  the  diligence  of  the  cleruy 
who  were  devoted  to  the  ancient  superstition;  and  the  city 
was  divided  in  its  attachments  between  the  two  classes  of 
preachers.  Those  of  the  one  class  urged  the  necessity  and 
imporlance  of  the  repetition  of  prayers  at  certain  stated  hours, 
the  frequent  hearing  of  mass,  the  visiting  of  consecrated 
places,  and  the  regular  observance  of  fasting  and  of  auricular 
confession;  while  they  exhorted  those  who  aimed  at  higher 
degrees  of  sanctity  to  dedicate  their  substance  to  pious  uses, 
or,  renouncing  the  world,  to  take  on  them  the  triple  vow. 
Those  of  the  other  class  either  passed  over  these  things  en 
tirely,  or  inculcated  their  inefficacy ;  exhorted  their  liearers 
to  rely  on  the  merits  of  Christ  instead  of  their  own  works 
and  to  prove  the  genuineness  of  their  faith  by  obedience  to 
the  commands  of  God;  and,  in  place  of  recommending  rosa- 
ries and  scales  of  devotion,  spoke  in  the  warmest  style  of  the 
advantages  to  be  derived  from  a  serious  and  daily  ]ierusal  of 
the  sacred  writings.  The  first  class  carried  along  with  them 
the  great  body  of  the  people,  wliose  religion  is  the  creature 
of  authority  and  habit.  But  the  eloquence  of  Egidius  and 
his  two  associates,  their  prudence,  unaffected  piet}',  and 
irreproachable  morals,  and  the  harmony  with  which  they 
continued  to  act,  gradually  subdued  the  prejudices  of  the 
multitude,  and  thinjied  the  ranks  even  of  their  clerical  oppo- 
nents. Assiduously  employed  in  the  duties  of  their  public 
fnnctions  through  the  day,  they  met  in  the  evening  with  the 
friends  of  the  reformed  doctrine,  sometimes  in  one  private 
house  and  somelimes  in  another;  the  small  society  in  .Seville 
grew  insensibly,  and  became  the  parent  stock,  from  which 
branches  were  taken  and  planted  in  the  adjacent  country. 

The  inquisition  had  for  some  time  fixed  its  jealous  eyes  on 
the  three  preachers;  nor  were  there  wanting  persons  ready  to 
accuse  them,  and  especially  Egidius,  wlio  was  most  obnox 
ious  on  account  of  his  greater  openness  of  disposition,  and  his 
appearing  more  frequently  in  the  pulpit.  Surmises  unfavour- 
able to  his  orthodoxy  were  circulated,  spies  were  set  on  his 
conduct,  and  consultations  held  in  secret  as  to  the  surest 
method  of  ruining  one  who  had  become  popular  among  a 
ranks.  While  these  things  were  going  on  he  was  deprived 
of  his  two  trusty  ascociates;  Vargas  being  removed  by  death 
and  Constantine  called  to  the  Low  Countries.  But  even 
after  he  was  thus  left  alone  his  enemies  were  afraid  to  proceed 
against  him. 

So  great  was  the  reputation  of  Egidius,  that  in  1550  ihe 
emperor  nominated  him  to  the  vacant  bishopric  of  Tortosa, 
which  was  one  of  tlie  ricliest  benefices  in  .Spain,  and  had 
been  held  by  cardinal  Adrian,  the  preceptor  of  Charles  \'., 
immediately  before  bis  elevation  to  the  popedom.  This  dis 
tinguished  mark  of  royal  favour  inflamed  the  resentment  of 
his  adversaries,  and  determined  them  to  proceed  to  extremi 
ties.  Instead  of  confining  themselves  as  formerly  to  murmurs, 
they  now  charged  him  openly  with  heresy,  and  predicted  that 
his  elevation  to  the  episcopate  would  prove  the  most  disas- 
trous calamity  which  Spain  had  witnessed.  He  was  formally 
denounced  to  the  Holy  Oflice,  and,  the  preliminary  steps  hav- 
ing been  taken,  was  thrown  into  its  secret  prisons.  The 
charges  against  him  related  to  the  doctrine  of  justification, 
assurance  of  salvation,  human  merits,  plurality  of  media- 
tors, purgatory,  auricular  confession,  and  the  worshipping 
of  images.  He  was  also  accused  of  having  f.ivoured  Rod  rigo 
de  Valer  on  his  trial,  and  opposed  the  erection  of  a  crucifix 
in  the  room  of  one  which  had  been  accidentally  burnt.  In  his 
defence  he  drew  up  an  ample  statement  of  his  sentiments  on 
the  head  of  justification,  with  the  reasons  on  which  they  were 
founded  ;  a  display  of  frankness  which  proved  hurtful  to  his 
cause,  as  it  furnished  the  procurator  fiscal  at  once  with  evi- 
dence in  support  of  his  charges,  and  materials  for  increasing 
their  number.  The  friends  of  Egidius  now  became  alarmed 
for  his  safety.  The  emperor,  hearing  of  the  danger  to  which 
he  was  exposed,  wrote  in  his  favour  to  the  inquisitor  general. 
The  chapter  of  Seville  followed  his  example.  And,  what  is 
more  strange,  the  licentiate  Correa,  one  of  the  most  inexora- 
ble judges  of  the  Holy  Office,  became  an  advocate  for  him. 
influenced,  it  is  said,  by  indignation  at  the  conduct  of  Pedro 
Diaz,  another  inquisitor,  who  had  formerly  been  a  disciple  of 


Valer  along  with  Egidius,  whom  he  now  prosecuted  with 
base  and  unrelenting  hostility.  In  consequence  of  this  power- 
ful intercession,  the  inquisitors  found  it  necessary  to  adopt  a 
moderate  course,  and  agreed,  instead  of  remitting  the  articles 
of  charge  to  the  ordinary  qunlijicalors,  to  submit  them  to  two 
arbiters  chosen  by  the  parties. 

Egidius,  after  nominating  Hartolome  Carranza  and  several 
other  individuals,  who  v.ere  either  absent  from  the  country 
or  objected  to  by  the  inquisitors,  at  last  fixed,  with  the  appro- 
bation of  his  judges,  on  Domingo  de  Soto,  a  Dominican  and 
professor  at  Salamanca,  as  his  arbiter.  Soto  came  to  Seville, 
and  having  obtained  access  to  Egidius,  with  whom  he  had 
been  acquainted  at  the  university,  professed,  after  mutual 
explanations,  to  coincide  with  him  in  his  views  of  justifica- 
tion, which  was  the  main  article  in  the  indictment,  and  to 
think  that  there  would  be  no  difficulty  in  procuring  an  amica- 
ble adjustment  of  the  alTair.  It  was  arranged  between  them, 
that  each  should  draw  up  a  paper  containing  his  sentiments 
on  the  disputed  point,  expressed  in  his  own  words,  and  that 
these  papers  should  be  read  in  the  presence  of  the  inquisitors. 
As  the  cause  had  excited  great  interest  from  its  relation  to  a 
bishop  elect  and  a  preacher  so  popular  in  Seville,  it  was 
thought  proper  that  it  should  be  discussed  at  a  public  meet- 
ing held  in  the  cathedral.  On  the  day  appointed  for  the  trial, 
pulpits  were  allotted  for  Egidius  and  his  arbiter,  Soto;  but, 
either  from  design  or  accident,  they  were  placed  at  a  great 
distance  from  one  another.  After  sermon  was  ended,  Soto 
read  the  declaration  of  his  sentiments.  Egidius,  owing  partly 
to  the  distance  at  which  he  sat,  and  partly  to  the  bustle  prevail- 
ing in  a  crowded  and  anxious  assembly,  was  unable  to  follow 
th(!  speaker;  but  taking  it  for  granted  that  what  was  read 
agreed  with  what  had  passed  between  them  in  conversation, 
he  nodded  assent  to  it.  as  Soto  raised  his  voice  and  looked 
toward  him  at  the  end  of  every  proposition.  He  then  pro- 
ceeded to  read  his  own  declaration,  which,  in  the  judgment 
of  all  who  were  present,  whether  friends  or  foes,  contradicted 
the  former  on  all  the  leading  points.  The  inquisitors  availed 
themselves  of  this  variance  betv.een  his  gestures  and  lan- 
guage to  raise  an  outcry  against  him.  The  two  declarations 
were  instantly  joined  in  process,  and  sentence  was  given 
forth,  declaring  him  violently  suspected  of  the  Lutheran 
heresy,  and  condemning  him  to  abjure  the  propositions  im- 
puted to  him,  to  be  imprisoned  for  three  years,  to  abstain 
from  writing  or  teachinir  for  ten  years,  and  not  to  leave  the 
kingdom  during  that  period,  under  the  pain  of  being  punished 
as  a  formal  and  relapsed  heretic,  or,  in  other  words,  being  burnt 
alive.  Confounded  at  the  unexpected  issue  of  the  process, 
abashed  by  the  exultation  of  his  enemies,  and  half-convinced, 
by  the  mortification  which  he  read  in  the  countenances  of  his 
friends,  that  be  must  have  said  something  far  wrong,  Egidius 
lost  courage,  and  silently  acquiesced  in  the  sentence  pro- 
nounced against  him.  It  was  not  until  some  time  after  he  had 
returned  to  his  prison  that  he  learned  from  one  of  his  com- 
panions the  base  treachery  of  the  friend  in  whom  he  had 
confided. 

Such  is  the  account  of  the  process  given  by  De  Montes. 
The  late  historian  of  the  Inquisition  is  disposed  to  call  in 
question  the  truth  of  his  statement  so  far  as  concerns  the 
artifice  imputed  to  the  professor  of  Salamanca;  upon  this 
ground,  that  Carranza,  archbishop  of  Toledo,  during  his  trial, 
retaliated  upon  Soto  by  accusing  him  of  "  having  been  too 
indulgent  in  regard  to  doctor  Egidius  of  Seville."  But  this 
objection  is  by  no  means  conclusive.  For,  in  the  first  place, 
Llorente  bears  witness  to  the  general  accuracy  of  De  Montes, 
who  expressly  asserts  that  he  received  his  information  from 
Egidius  in  prison.  In  the  second  place,  the  charge  of  Car- 
ranza is  not  irreconcilable  with  the  narrative  whicli  has  been 
given ;  for  De  Montes  states  that  Soto  claimed  the  merit  of 
having  procured  a  lenitent  sentence  for  Egidius.  In  fine, 
Llorente  has  shown,  in  reference  to  another  case,  that  Soto 
was  perfectly  capable  of  the  disgraceful  conduct  imputed  to 
him  on  this  occasion. 

No  sooner  was  it  known  that  Egidius  was  condemned, 
than  a  flight  of  hungry  applicants  gathered  round  the  fat 
benefice  of  Tortosa  like  crows  round  carrion.  The  holy 
fathers  assembled  at  Trent  were  not  so  intently  occupied  in 
watching  over  the  interests  of  the  catholic  church  as  not  to 
have  one  eye  turned  to  Spain,  and  ready  to  discern  what 
might  happen  there  to  their  advantage.  While  the  trial  of 
the  bisho])  elect  was  in  dependence,  cardinal  Granville,  then 
bishop  of  Arras  and  prime  minister  of  Spain,  had  his  table 
covered  with  applications,  in  which  the  incense  of  adulation 
was  thickly  sprinkled  on  rancid  avarice.  In  a  letter,  dated 
from  Trent  on  the  19th  of  November  1551,  the  titular  bishop 


HISTORY  OF  THE  REFORMATION  IN  SPAIN. 


329 


Jubiii,  in  parlihus  Infiddium,  writes:  "We  have  received 
intelligence  here,  that  the  bishop  elect  of  Tortosa  has  been 
condemned  to  perpetual  imprisonment.  I  shall  be  infinitely 
oblifjed  to  you  to  think  of  me — the  least  of  your  servants — 
provided  his  lordship  of  Elna  shall  be  translated  to  the 
bishopric  of  Tortosa,  now  vacant  by  this  means."  On  the 
preceding  day,  the  bishop  of  Elna  had  addressed  a  letter  to 
the  same  quarter,  in  which,  without  giving  the  least  hint  of 
the  object  he  liad  in  view,  he  begs  the  premier  to  command 
liim  "as  the  meanest  domestic  of  his  household,"  calls  him- 
self "his  slave,"  and  assures  hira  that  the  rare  qualities  of 
his  eminence,  his  native  goodness,  and  the  favours  he  had 
conferred,  were  so  deeply  seated  in  the  heart  of  his  servant 
that  he  remembered  him  without  ceasing,  especially  "  in  his 
poor  sacrifices,  the  fittest  time  to  make  mention  of  one's 
masters."  Two  days  after,  the  modest  bishop  has  acquired 
as  much  courage  as  to  name  his  request :  he  acknowledges 
that  the  bishopric  of  Tortosa  was  "  too  weighty  a  burden  for 
his  weak  shoulders,"  but  urges  that  he  could  discharge  his 
episcopal  functions  better  in  such  a  tranquil  spot  than  in  the 
frontier  province  of  Roussillon,  where  his  pious  exercises 
were  interrupted  by  the  noise  of  warlike  instruments,  and 
that  he  "  felt  a  strong  desire  to  end  his  days  in  tending  his 
infirm  sheep  in  the  peace  of  God."  The  bishop  of  Algeri 
was  equally  disinterested  as  his  brethren  in  seeking  promo- 
lion.  "It  was  not  avarice  that  induced  him  to  ask  the 
favour"  to  be  translated  from  the  Island  of  Sardinia;  he  only 
wished  to  "have  his  residence  on  terra Jirma,"  that  his  spirit 
being  relieved  from  the  continual  agitation  in  which  it  was 
kept  by  the  restless  waves  which  surrounded  him,  he  might 
be 
1 


3e  "  at  more  liberty  to  serve  God,  and  pray  for  the  life  of  the 
Icing  and  his  minister."     The  bishop  of  "Elna  havino-  been 


op 


unsuccessful  in  his  application,  renewed  it  in  the  course  of 
the  following  year,  when  he  had  recourse  to  a  new  line  of 
argument  in  its  support.  After  telling  the  premier  "  that  his 
hands  had  made  him,"  he  requests  hi'm  to  remember,  "if  he 
pleased,"  that  his  majesty  had  certain  rights  in  Valencia 
called  ks  huyks  <k  Murella,  of  which  large  sums  were  due  to 
the  treasury,  as  would  appear  from  the  lists  which  he  had 
procured  and  took  the  liberty  to  transmit  to  his  eminence ! 
that  most  luckily  the  diocess  of  Tortosa  included  that  dis- 
trict, though  the  episcopal  seat  was  in  his  native  country  of 
Catalonia  ;  and  that,  if  it  shoulil  please  his  majesty  to  gratify 
him  with  that  bishopric,  he  could  see  to  the  payment  of  these 
dues  without  leaving  his  diocess,  and  "thus  would  have  it  in 
his  power  to  serve  God  and  the  king  at  the  same  time." 

O  the  duplicity,  the  selfishness,  the  servility  of  the  clergy  ! 
What  good  cause  but  one  would  they  not  have  ruined  ?  And 
how  deeply  has  that  been  marred  by  them!  Boccaccio 
relates,  (it-  is  a  tale,  but  deserves  to  be  repeated  for  the  sake 
of  the  moral  it  teaches,)  that  two  persons,  a  Christian  lay- 
man and  a  Jew,  lived  together  in  a  retired  spot  on  the  north- 
ern boundary  of  Italy.  The  Christian  had  long  piously 
laboured  to  convert  his  neighbour,  and  had  succeeded  so  far 
as  to  be  in  daily  expectation  of  liis  submitting  to  baptism, 
when  all  at  once  the  idea  struck  the  latter  that  he  would 
previously  visit  the  capital  of  Christendom.  Dreading  the 
efteets  of  his  journey,  the  Christian  endeavoured  to  divert 
him  from  it ;  but  in  vain.  After  an  absence  of  some  weeks 
the  Jew  returned,  and  repairing  to  the  house  of  the  Christ- 
ian, who  had  given  up  his  convert  for  lost,  surprised  him 
with  (he  intimation  that  he  was  now  ready  to  be  baptized; 
"for  (added  he)  I  have  been  at  Rome,  and  have  seen  the 
pope  and  his  clergy,  and  I  am  convinced  that  if  Christianity 
had  not  been  divine,  it  would  have  been  ruined  long  ago 
under  the  care  of  such  guardians." 

All  the  applicants  for  the  bishopric  of  Tortosa  took  care  to 
urge  the  services  which  they  had  done  to  the  emperor  at  the 
council  of  Trent.  Several  authors  have  spoken  in  high 
terms  of  the  liberal  views  and  independent  spirit  displayed 
by  the  Spanish  divines  who  sat  at  that  council ;  and  Father 
Simon,  in  particular,  asserts  that  they  were  ready,  upon  the 
refusal  of  the  ecclesiastical  reforms  which  they  sought,  to 
join  with  the  French  church  in  throwing  off  the  authority  of 
the  court  of  Rome,  if  Charles  V.  had  not,  frona  political 
motives,  discouraged  them  by  withdrawing  his  support.  A 
perusal  of  their  correspondence  and  that  of  the  imperial 
embassy  serves  to  abate,  in  no  small  degree,  the  high  opinion 
which  these  commendations  are  calculated  to  produce.  If 
the  Italian  bishops  were  passive  tools  in  the  hands  of  the 
papal  legates,  their  brethren  of  Spain  were  not  less  under  the 
influence  of  the  im|)erial  ambassadors ;  and  it  is  quite  as 
clear  that  their  zeal  for  the  reformation  of  abuses  was  at  first 
excited,  as  that  it  was  afterwards  restrained,  hv  the  policy  of 
Vol.  II.— J  R 


the  emperor.      Several  of  the  reforms  which  thej' demanded 
were  in  favour  of  their  own  order,  and  would  have  added  to 
their  power  and  wealth  in  proportion  as  they  diminished 
those  of  the  papal  see;  a  circumstance  which  did  not  escape 
the  observation  of  the  court  of  Spain.     At  the  same  time 
they  satisfied  themselves  with  murmuring  in  private  at  the 
shameful  arts  by  which  the  council  was  managed,  and  had 
not  the  courage  to  resent  the  attacks  made  on  its  freedom,  or 
the  insults  openly  offered  to  their  colleagues.     The  bishop 
of  Verdun  happening  to  apply  the  term  pretended  reformation 
to  some  of  the  plans  proposed  in  the  council,  the  papal  le- 
gate, cardinal  Crescentio,  assailed  him  publicly  with  invec- 
tive, calling  him  a  thoughtless  young  man,  and  a  fool,  and 
ordering  him  to  be  silent.     "Is  this  a  free  council V  said 
the  elector  of  Cologne  to  the  Spanish  bishop  of  Orense,  who 
sat  next  him.      "It  ought  to  be  free,"  replied  the  bishop, 
with  a  caution  which  would  not  have  disgraced  an  Italian. 
"But  tell  me  your  opinion  candidly.     Is  the  synod  freeT' 
"  Do  not  press  me  at  present,  my  lord,"  rejoined  the  prudent 
bishop;    "that's  a  difficult  question;    I  will   answer   it  at 
home."     It  has  been  alleged  that  the  papal  influence  over 
the  council  was  confined  to  matters  of  discipline  and  ecclesi- 
astical polit}',  and  did  not  extend  to  points  of  faith,  in  the 
decision  of  which  all  the  members  were  of  one  accord.     But 
this  is  contradicted  by  unquestionable  documents.     Some  of 
the  most  learned  divines  who  were  at  Trent  were  dissatisfied 
with  certain  parts  of  the  doctrine  of  the  council,  and  with 
the  confused  and  hurried  manner  in  which  this  important 
part  of  the  business  was  transacted.     After  the  article  con- 
cering  the  sacraments  of  penance  and  extreme  unction  had 
received  the  formal  sanction  of  the  holy  and  universal  coun- 
cil, the  divines  of  Louvain  succeeded  in  convincing  the  lead- 
ers that  it  was  erroneous.     What  was  to  be  done  ?     They 
agreed  in  a  private  conclave  to  alter  it,  after  taking  precau- 
tions to  have  the  whole  affair  buried   in  silence,   lest  they 
should  incur  the  ridicule  of  the  Lutherans.     "A  great  mis- 
fortune!" says  the  archbishop  of  Cologne;  "but  the  least 
of  two  evils."     The  reflections  of  the  counsellor  of  the  im- 
perial embassy  are  more  unceremonious.     "I  believe  (says 
he)  that  God  has  permitted  this  occurrence  to  cover  them 
with  shame  and  confusion.      Surely,  after  this,  they  will 
open  their  eyes,  according  to  the  saying  of  the  psalmist, 
/'///  their  facts  with  s/iame,  that  they  muy  seek  thy  name.     God 
grant  they  may  comprehend  this;  but  I  dare  not  hope  for  so 
much,  and  have  always  said  that  nothing  short  of  a  miracle 
will  work  a  change."     It  is  impossible  to  conceive  any  thino- 
more  deplorable  than  the  picture  of  the  council  drawn  in  the 
confidential  correspondence  of  Vargas,  who  was  attached, 
as  a  legal  adviser,   to  the  embassy  sent  by  Charles  V.  to 
Trent.     "The  legate  is  always  the  same,"  says  he  in  a  letter 
to  the  cardinal-bishop  of  Arras ;  "  he  is  a  man  lost  to  all 
shame.     Believe  me,  Sir,  I  have  not  words  to  express  the 
ride  and  eflrontery  which  he  displays  in  the  affairs  of  the 
council.     Perceiving  that  we  are  timid,  and  that  his  majesty 
is  unwilling  to  hurt  or  otfend  the  pope,  he  endeavours  to 
terrify  us  by  assuming  stately  airs  and  a  haughty  tone.     He 
treats  the  bishops  as  slaves ;  threatens  and  swears  that  he 
will  depart.     It  is  useless  for  his  majesty  to  continue  longer 
to  urge  the  pope  and  his  ministers.     It  is  speaking  to  the 
(haf,  and  trying  to  soften  the  stones.     It  serves  only  to  make 
us  a  laughing-stock  to  the  world,  and  to  furnish  the  heretics 
with  subjects  for  pasquinades.     We  must  delay  till  the  time 
when  God  will  purify  the  sons  of  Levi.     That  time  must 
soon  come;   and,  in  my  opinion,  this  purification  will  not 
be  accomplished  without  some  extraordinary  chastisement. 
Things  cannot  rcinain  long  in  their  present  slate :  the  evils 
are  too  great.     All  the  nerves  of  ecclesiastical  discipline  are 
broken.     The  traffic  in  things  sacred  is  shameful.     The  pre- 
diction of  St.  Paul  is  about  to  be  accomplished  in  the  church 
of  Rome,   Tliut  day  cannot  come,  unless  there  come  a  falling 
away  first.     As  to  the  manner  of  treating  doctrines,  I  have 
already  written  you,  that  the}'  precipitate  every  thing,  exam- 
ine few  questions,  and  do  not  submit  them  to  the  judgment 
of  the  learned  divines  who  are  here  in  attendance.     Many 
of  the  bishops  give  their  vote,  and  say  placet,  on  points  which 
they  do  not  understand  and  are  incapable  of  understanding. 
There  is  no  one  here  who  appears  on  the  side  of  God,  or 
dares  to  speak.     We  are  all  dumb  dogs  that  cannot  bark." 
Notwithstanding  all  this,  and  much  more  to  the  same  pur- 
pose, Vargas  adds,  like  a  true  sou  of  the  church:  "As  for 
myself,  I  obey  implicitl}-,  and  will  submit  without  resistance 
to  whatever  shall   be  determined  in  matters  of  faith.     God 
grant  that  all  may  do  this." 
These  facts  are  not  irrelative  to  the  subject.     The  secrets 


^30 


CHRISTIAN     LIBRARY. 


of  the  council  of  Trent  soon  transpired ;  and  several  indivi- 
duals, who  were  afterwards  brought  to  the  stake  in  Spain, 
acknowledged  that  their  eyes  were  first  opened  to  the  radical 
corruptions  of  the  church  of  Rome  by  the  accounts  they  re- 
ceived from  some  of  the  members  of  that  synod  as  to  the 
scandalous  manner  in  which  its  decisions  were  influenced. 

Egidius  appeared  among  the  criminals  condemned  to  pen- 
ance, in  an  auto-dt-fe  celebrated  at  Seville  in  1552.  The 
term  of  his  imprisonment  having  expired  in  1555,  he,  in  the 
course  of  the  following  year,  paid  a  visit  to  Valladolid, 
where  he  found  a  number  of  converts  to  the  reformed  doc- 
trine. His  wounded  spirit  was  refreshed  by  what  he  saw  of 
the  grace  of  God  in  that  city,  and  after  spending  a  short  time 
in  the  company  of  his  brethren,  and  exhorting  them  to  con- 
stancy in  the  faith,  he  returned  to  Seville.  But  the  fatigue 
of  travelling,  to  which  he  had  been  unaccustomed  for  some 
years,  brought  on  a  fever,  which  cut  him  off  in  a  few  days. 
He  left  behind  him  a  mimber  of  writings  in  his  native  tongue, 
none  of  which  appears  to  have  been  printed.  His  bones  were 
afterwards  taken  from  tlieir  grave,  and  committed  to  the 
flames,  his  property  confiscated,  and  his  memory  declared  in- 
famous, by  a  sentence  of  the  inquisitors,  finding  that  he  had 
died  in  the  Lutheran  faith. 

The  first  introduction  of  the  reformed  doctrine  into  Valla- 
dolid was  attended  with  circumstances  nearly  as  extraordinary 
as  those  which  had  led  to  itsrecejition  in  Seville.  Francisco 
San-Iloraan,  a  native  of  Burgos,  and  son  of  the  alcayde  mayor 
of  Bribiesca,  having  engaged  in  mercantile  pursuits,  went  to 
the  Low  Countries.  In  the  year  1510  his  employers  sent  him 
from  Antwerp  to  Bremen,  to  settle  some  accounts  due  to  them 
in  that  city.  The  reformed  religion  had  been  introduced  into 
Bremen ;  and  the  young  Spaniard,  curious  to  become  ac- 
quainted with  that  doctrine  which  was  so  much  condemned  in 
his  native  country,  went  to  one  of  the  churches,  where  he  heard 
James  Spreng,  formerly  prior  of  the  Augustinian  monastery 
at  Antwerp,  and  one  of  the  first  persons  of  note  who  embraced 
the  opinions  of  Luther  in  the  Netherlands.  The  sermon  made 
so  deep  an  impression  on  the  mind  of  San-Roman,  that  he 
could  not  refrain  from  calling  on  the  preacher,  who,  pleased 
with  his  candour  and  thirst  for  knowledge,  introduced  him  to 
the  acquaintance  of  some  of  his  pious  and  learned  friends. 
Among  them  was  our  countryman  Doctor  Maccabeus,  then 
at  Bremen,  by  whose  conversation  he  profited  greatly.  Like 
some  young  converts  he  flattered  himself  that  he  could  easily 
persuade  others  to  embrace  those  truths  which  appeared  to 
his  own  mind  as  clear  as  the  light  of  day  ;  and  he  burned 
with  the  desire  of  returning  home  and  imparting  the  know- 
ledge which  he  had  received  to  his  relations  and  countrymen. 
In  vain  did  Spreng  endeavour  to  restrain  an  enthusiasm  from 
which  he  had  himself  suffered  at  an  earlier  period  of  his  life. 
In  the  letters  which  he  wrote  to  his  employers  at  Antwerp, 
San-Roman  could  not  help  alluding  to  the  change  which  his 
religious  sentiments  had  undergone,  and  lamenting  the  blind- 
ness of  his  countrymen.  The  consequence  was,  that  on  his 
return  to  that  city  he  was  immediately  seized  by  certain  friars, 
to  whom  tlie  contents  of  his  letters  had  been  communicated; 
and  a  number  of  Lutheran  books  and  satirical  prints  against 
the  church  of  Rome  being  found  in  his  possession,  he  was 
thrown  into  prison.  After  a  rigorous  confinement  of  eight 
months,  he  was  released  at  the  solicitation  of  his  friends,  who 
represented  that  his  zeal  was  now  cooled,  and  that  he  would 
be  duly  watched  in  his  native  country.  Going  to  Louvain, 
he  met  with  Francisco  Enzinas,  one  of  his  fellow-citizens,  of 
whom  we  shall  afterwards  speak,  who  urged  him  not  to  rush 
upon  certain  danger- by  an  indiscreet  or  unnecessary  avowal 
of  his  sentiments,  and  to  confine  himself  to  the  sphere  of  his 
proper  calling,  within  which  he  might  do  much  good,  instead 
of  assuming  the  office  of  a  public  teacher,  or  talking  on  reli- 
gious subjects  with  every  person  who  fell  in  his  way.  San- 
Roman  promised  to  regulate  his  conduct  by  this  prudential 
advice;  but  having  gone  to  Ralisbon,  where  a  diet  of  the 
empire  was  then  sitting,  and  being  elated  at  hearing  of  the 
favour  which  the  emperor  showed  to  the  protestants,  with  the 
view  of  securing  their  assistance  against  the  Turks,  he  forgot 
his  prudent  resolutions.  Obtaining  an  introduction  to  Charles, 
he  deplored  the  state  of  religion  in  his  native  country,  and 
begged  him  to  use  his  royal  power  in  restraining  the  inquisi- 
tors and  priests,  who  sought,  by  every  species  of  violence 
and  cruelty,  to  prevent  the  entrance  of  the  only  true  and  sav- 
ing doctrine  of  Jesus  Christ  into  Spain.  By  the  mild  answer 
which  he  received  from  the  emperor,  he  was  emboldened  to 
renew  his  application,  at  which  some  of  the  Spanish  attend- 
ants were  so  incensed  that  they  would  have  thrown  him  in- 
stantly into  tlie  Danube,  had  not  their  master  interposed,  by 


ordering  him  to  be  reserved  for  trial  before  the  proper  judges. 
He  was  accordingly  cast  into  chains,  and  conveyed,  in  the 
retinue  of  the  emperor,  from  Germany  to  Italy,  and  from 
Italy  to  Africa.  After  the  failure  of  the  expedition  against 
Algiers,  he  was  landed  in  Spain,  and  delivered  to  the  Inqui- 
sition at  Valladolid.  His  process  was  short.  When  brought 
before  the  inquisitors,  he  frankly  professed  his  belief  in  the 
cardinal  doctrine  of  the  Reformation,  that  salvation  comes  to 
no  man  by  his  own  works,  merit  or  strength,  but  solely  from 
the  mercy  of  God  through  the  sacrifice  of  the  one  Mediator; 
and  he  pronounced  the  mass,  auricular  confession,  purgatory, 
the  invocation  of  saints,  and  the  worshipping  of  images,  to  be 
blasphemy  against  the  living  God.  If  his  zeal  was  impetu- 
ous, it  supported  him  to  the  last.  He  endured  the  horrors  of 
a  protracted  imprisonment  with  the  utmost  fortitude  and  pa- 
tience. He  resisted  all  the  importunities  used  by  the  friars 
to  induce  him  to  recant.  He  refused,  at  the  place  of  execu- 
tion, to  purchase  a  mitigation  of  punishment  by  making  con- 
fession to  a  priest,  or  bowing  to  a  crucifix  which  was  placed 
before  him.  When  the  flames  first  reached  him  on  his  being 
fastened  to  the  stake,  he  made  an  involuntary  motion  with 
his  head,  upon  which  the  friars  in  attendance  exclaimed  that 
he  was  become  penitent,  and  ordered  him  to  be  brought  from 
the  fire.  On  recovering  his  breath,  he  looked  them  calmly  in 
the  face,  and  said,  "  Did  you  envy  my  happiness  ?"  at  which 
words  he  was  thrust  back  into  the  flames,  and  almost  instant- 
ly suffocated.  Among  a  great  number  of  prisoners  brought 
out  in  this  public  spectacle,  he  was  the  only  individual  who 
sufifered  death.  The  novelty  of  the  crimes  with  whicii  he 
was  charged,  joined  to  the  resolution  which  he  displayed  on  the 
scaffold  and  at  the  stake,  produced  a  sensible  impression  on 
the  spectators.  A  proclamation  was  issued  by  the  inquisi- 
tors, forbidding  any  to  pray  for  his  soul,  or  to  express  a  fa- 
vourable opinion  of  such  an  obstinate  heretic.  Notwithstand- 
ing tliis,  some  of  the  emperor's  body-guards  collected  his 
ashes  as  those  of  a  martyr;  and  the  English  ambassador, 
wlio  happened  to  be  at  Valladolid  at  that  time,  used  means  to 
procure  a  part  of  his  bones  as  a  relic.  The  guards  were 
thrown  into  prison,  and  the  ambassador  was  prohibited  from 
appearing  at  court  for  some  time.  It  is  not  unworthy  of  ob- 
servation, that  the  sermon  at  this  auto-dc-fc  was  preached  by 
the  well-known  Carranza,  who  was  afterwards  tried  by  the 
Inquisition,  and  died  in  a  prison  after  a  confinement  of  seven- 
teen years. 

This  event  took  place  in  the  year  1541.  The  reformed 
doctrine  had  previously  been  introduced  into  Valladolid,  but 
its  disciples  contented  themselves  with  retaining  it  in  their 
own  breasts,  or  talking  of  it  in  the  most  cautious  way  to  their 
confidential  friends.  The  speculation  excited  by  the  martyr- 
dom of  San-Roman  took  oti'  this  restraint.  Expressions  of 
sympathy  for  his  fate,  or  of  astonishment  at  his  opinions,  led  to 
conversations,  in  the  course  of  which  the  favourers  of  the  new 
faith,  as  it  was  called,  were  easily  able  to  recognise  one  an- 
other. The  zeal,  and  even  magnanimity;  which  he  evinced  in 
encountering  public  odium,  and  braving  so  horrible  a  death, 
for  the  sake  of  the  truth,  provoked  to  emulation  the  most  timid 
among  them ;  and  within  a  few  years  after  his  martyrdom, 
they  formed  themselves  into  a  church,  which  met  regularly  in 
private  for  the  purposes  of  religious  instruction  and  worship. 


CHAPTER  V. 

Causes  ofl/ie  Progress  of  the  Uefurmcd  Dudrine  in  Spain. 

Before  proceeding  farther  with  the  narrative  of  the  religious 
movement  in  Spain,  it  may  be  proper  to  give  an  account  of 
some  facts  which  happened  without  the  kingdom.  This  will 
furnish  the  reader  with  interesting  information  respecting 
Spaniards  who  embraced  the  Reformation  abroad,  and  whose 
pious  and  enlightened  exertions,  in  publishing  the  scriptures 
and  other  books  in  their  native  tongue,  had  great  influence  in 
disseminating  the  knowledge  of  the  truth  among  their  coun- 
trymen at  home. 

About  the  year  15J0,  three  brothers,  Jayme,  Francisco,  and 
Juan,  sons  of  a  respectable  citizen  of  Burgos  in  Old  Castile, 
were  sent  to  study  at  Louvain,  a  celebrated  seat  of  education, 
to  which  the  Spanish  youth  liad  long  been  accustomed  to  re- 
sort. The  family  name  of  the  young  men  was  Enzinas, 
though  ihey  wore  better  known  among  the  learned  in  Germa- 
ny by  their  assumed  name  of  Dryander.     Polite  letters  had 


HISTORY  OF  THE  REFORMATION  IN  SPAIN. 


331 


been  for  some  time  cullivated  in  the  UDiversity  of  Louvain, 
and  the  students  indulged  in  a  freedom  of  opinion,  which  was 
not  tolerated  at  Paris  and  other  places  where  the  old  scho-' 
lastic  ideas  and  modes  of  teaching  were  rigidlj'  preserved.' 
Along  with  a  taste  for  elegant  literature,  the  j'oung  Spaniards 
acquired  the  knowledge  of  the   reformed  doctrines.     They  [ 
lived  in  terms  of  great  intimacy  with  the  celebrated  George, 
Cassauder,  who  corresponded  with  the  leading  protestant  di- 
vines, and   afterwards  distinguished    himself  by  a  fruitless 
attempt  to  reconcile  the  popish  and  reformed  churches.     Dis- 
satisfied with  the  temporizinsT  principles  of  this  learned  man, 
and  the  partial  reforms  in  which  he  was  disposed  to  rest,  the 
three  brothers  entered  with  the  most  cordial  zeal  into  the  views 
of  those  who  had  formally  separated  from  the  church  of  Rome. 

.Tuan  Eiizinas,  or  Dryander,  the  younger  brother,  chose  the 
medical  profession,  and  having  settled  in  Germany,  became  a 
professor  in  the  university  of  Marburg.  He  was  the  author  of 
several  works  on  medicine  and  astronomy,  and  actjuired  re- 
putation b}'  the  ingenuity  which  he  displayed  in  the  invention 
and  improvement  of  instruments  for  advaneinjr  these  sciences. 

Jayine  Enzinas,  the  elder  brother,  removed  in  1541,  by  the 
direction'  of  his  father,  to  Paris.  During  his  residence  in  that 
citv  he  became  confirmed  in  his  attachment  to  the  l{eforma- 
tion,  and  was  successful  in  communicating  his  impressions  to 
some  of  his  countrymen  who  were  prosecuting  their  studies 
along  with  him.  The  expectations  which  he  had  formed 
from  the  far-famed  university  of  the  French  metropolis  were 
miserably  disappointed.  He  found  the  professors  to  be  gene- 
rally pedants  and  bigots,  and  the  students  equally  destitute  of  i 
good  manners  and  a  love  for  liberal  pursuits.  It  was  with  the 
deepest  emotion  that  he  beheld  the  Christian  heroism  shown 
by  the  protestant  martyrs  under  the  cruel  treatment  to  which 
they  were  exposed.  There  was  something  solemn,  though 
appalling,  in  the  composure  with  which  a  Spanish  assembly 
witnessed  the  barbarous  spectacle  of  an  anto-dc-fe  ;  but  the 
wanton  ferocity  with  which  a  Parisian  mob  shouted,  when 
the  executioner,  with  his  pincers,  tore  the  tongue  from  the 
mouth  of  liis  victim,  and  struck  him  with  it  repeatedly  in  the 
face,  before  binding  his  body  to  the  stake,  was  disgustingly 
horrible  and  fiendish.  Unable  to  remain  in  a  place  where  he 
could  find  neither  learning  nor  humanity.  Jaynie  Enzinasleft 
Paris  and  returned  to  Louvain.  Thence  he  wont  to  Antwerp 
to  superintend  the  printing  of  a  catechism  which  he  hail 
ilrawn  up  in  his  native  language  for  tlic  benefit  of  his  coun- 
trj'men.  Soon  afier  this  he  received  orders  from  his  father, 
who  entertained  sanguine  hopes  of  his  advancement  in  the 
church,  to  visit  Italy,  and  spend  some  time  in  the  capital  of 
Christendom.  Nothing  could  be  more  contrary  to  his  incli- 
nations; but  yiehling  to  the  dictates  of  filial  duty,  he  set  out 
leaving  liis  heart  wilh  his  brothers  and  other  friends  in  the 
Netherlands.  To  a  delicate  taste  and  generous  independence 
of  spirit,  Jayme  Enzinasaddeda  tenderness  of  conscience  and 
eandour  of  disposition  which  exposed  him  to  peculiar  danger 
in  Italy,  at  a  time  when  the  jealousy  of  the  priests  was  roused 
by  the  recent  discovery  that  the  reformed  tenets  had  spread 
extensively  in  that  country.  After  spending  several  years  in 
great  uneasiness  of  mind,  without  being  able  to  procure  liberty 
from  his  father  to  return,  he  resolved  at  last,  in  compliance 
with  the  urgent  request  of  his  brothers,  to  repair  to  Germany, 
and  was  preparing  to  quit  Rome,  when  he  was  betrayed  by 
one  of  his  countrymen,  who  denounced  him  as  a  heretic  to  the 
Inquisition.  The  circumstance  of  a  Spaniard  l)eing  accused 
of  Lulheranism,  together  with  the  character  which  he  bore 
for  learning,  attracted  much  interest  in  Rome;  and  his  ex- 
amination was  attended  by  the  principal  bishops  and  cardi- 
nals. Undaunted  by  the  solemnity  of  the  court,  he  avowed 
his  sentiments,  and  defended  them  with  such  spirit  that  his 
judges,  irritated  at  his  boldness,  condemned  hini  instantly  to 
the  flames;  a  sentence  which  was  loudly  called  for  by  such 
of  his  countrymen  as  were  present.  Attempts  were  after- 
wards made  to  induce  him  to  recant,  b)-  the  offer  of  reconcili- 
ation to  the  church  upon  his  appearing  publicly  with  the  san- 
benifo,  according  to  the  custom  of  his  native  country.  But 
he  refused  to  purchase  his  life  on  such  conditions,  and  died  at 
the  stake  with  the  utmost  constancj-  and  courage.  His  mar- 
tyrdom happened  in  the  year  1546. 

About  tlie  same  time  that  Enzinas  suffered,  one  of  his 
countrymen  and  intimate  friends  met  with  a  still  more  tragi- 
cal fjte  in  Germany.  Juan  Diaz,  a  native  of  Cuenea,  after 
he  had  studied  for  several  years  at  Paris,  was  converted  to  the 
protestant  religion  bj'  the  private  instructions  of  Jayme  V,n- 
zinas.  Being  liberally  educated,  he  had,  previously  to  that 
event,  conceived  a  disgust  at  the  scholastic  theology,  and 
made  himself  master  of  the  Hebrew  lanrruage,  that  he  might 


study  the  Bible  in  the  original.     With  the  view  of  enjoying 
the  freedom  of  professing  the  faith  which  he  had  embraced, 
he  left  Paris  in  company  with  Matthew  Bude  and  John  Cres- 
pin,  and  went  to  Geneva,  where  he  resided  for  some  time  in 
the  house  of  his  countryman,  Pedro  Gales.     Having  removed 
to  Strasburg  in  the  beginning  of  the  year  154(j,  his  talents  and 
suavity  of  manners  recommended  him  so  strongly  to  the  cele- 
brate I  Bucer,  that  he   prevailed  on   the  senate  to  join  the 
Spanish  stranger  with  himself  in  a  deputation  which  they 
were  about  to  send  to  a  conference  on  the  disputed  points  of 
religion  to  be  held  at  Ratisbon.     On  going  thither  Diaz  met 
with  his  countryman  Pedro  Malvenda,  whom  he  had  known 
at  Paris,  and  was  now  to   confront  as  an  antagonist  at  the 
conference.     To  the  pride  and  religious   prejudices   of  his 
countrj'men,  Malvenda  added  the  rudeness  of  a  doctor  of  the 
Sorbonne,  and  the  insolence  of  a  minion  of  the  court.    When 
informed  by  Diaz  of  the  change  which  had  taken  place  in  his 
sentiments,  he  expressed  the  utmost  horror;  saying,  that  the 
heretics  would  boast  more  of  making  a  convert  of  a  single 
Spaniard  than  of  ten  thousand  Germans.     Having  laboured  in 
vain,  at  different  interviews,  to  reclaim  him  to  the  catholic 
faith,  he  laid  the  matter  before  the  emperor's  confessor.     It  is 
not  known  what   consultations   they  had;   but   a  Spaniard, 
named  IMarquina,  who  had  transactions  with  them,  repaired 
soon  after  to  Rome,  and  communicated  the  facts  to  a  brother 
of  Diaz,  Doctor  Alfonzo,  who  had  long  held  the  office  of  ad- 
vocate in  the  sacred  Rota.     The  pride  and  bigotry  of  Alfonso 
were  inflamed  to  the  highest  degree  by  the  intelligence  of  his 
brother's  defection ;  and  taking  along  with  him  a  suspicious 
attendant,  he  set  out  instantly  for  Germany,  determined,  in 
one  way  or  other,  to  wipe  olT  the  infamy  which  had  fallen  on 
the  hitherto  spotless  honour  of  his  family.     In  the  mean  time, 
alarmed  at  some  expressions  of  Malvenda,  and  knowing  the 
inveteracy  with  which  the  Spaniards  hated  such  of  their  coun- 
trymen as   had   become   protcstants,    Bucer  and   the   other 
friends  of  Juan  Diaz  had  prevailed  upon  him  to  retire  for  a 
season  to  Neuburg,  a  small  town  in  Bavaria  situated  on  the 
Danube.     On  arriving  at  Ratisbon,  Alfonzo  succeeded  in  dis- 
covering the  place  of  his  brother's  retreat,  and  after  consulting 
with  Malvenda,  repaired  to  Neuburg.     By  every  art  of  per- 
suasion he  sought  during  several  days  to  bring  back  his  bro- 
ther to  tlic  church  of  Rome.     Disappointed  in  this,  he  altered 
his  method, — professed  that  the  arguments  which  he  had  heard 
had  shaken  his  confidence,  aiul  listened  with  apparent  eager- 
ness and  satisfaction  to  his  brother  while  he  explained  to  him 
the  protestant  doctrines,  and  the  passages  of  scripture  on 
which  they  rested.     Finding  Juan  delighted  with  this  imex- 
pected  change,  he  proposed  that  he  should  accompany  him  to 
Italy,  where  there  was  a  greater  field  of  usefulness  in  dissemi- 
nating the  doctrines  of  the  gospel  than  in  Germany,  which 
was  already  provided  with  an  abundance  of  labourers.     The 
guileless  Juan  promised  to  think  seriously  on  this  proposal, 
which  he  submitted  to  the  judgment  of  his  protestant  friends. 
They  were  unanimously  of  opinion  that  he  should  reject  it; 
and  in  particular  Ochino,  who  had  lately  fled  from  Italy,  and 
was  then  at  Augsburg,  pointed  out  the  danger  and  hopeless 
nature  of  the  project.    Alfonso  did  not  yet  desist.    He  insisted 
that  his  brother  should  accompany  him  at  least  as  far  as 
Augsburn',   promising  to   acquiesce  in   the  decision   which 
Ochino  should  pronounce  after  they  had  conversed  w  ith  him 
on  the  subject.     His  request  appeared  so  reasonable  that  Juan 
agreed  to  it;  but  he  was  prevented  from  going  by  the  arrival 
of  Bucer  and  two  other  friends,  who,  having  finished  their 
business  at  Ratisbon,  and  fearing  that  Juan  Diaz  might  be 
induced  to  act  contrary  to  their  late  advice,  had  agreed  to  pay 
him  a  visit.     Concealing  the  chagrin  which  he  felt  at  this  un- 
expected obstacle,  Alfonso  took  an  aflectionate  leave  of  his 
brother,  after  he  had,  in  a  private  interview,  forced  a  sum  of 
money  upon  him,  expressed  warm  gratitude  for  the  spiritual 
benefit  he  had  received  from  his  conversation,  and  warned  him 
to   be   on   his  guard   against  INIalvenda.     He   proceeded  to 
Augsburg  on  the  road  to  Italy ;  but  next  day,  after  using  va- 
rious precautions  to  conceal  his  route,  he  returned,  along  with 
the  man  whom  he  had  brought  from  Rome,  and  spent  the  night 
in  a  village  at  a  small  distance  from  Neuburg.     Early  next 
morning,  being  the  STtb  of  INIarch  154G,  they  came  to  the  house 
where  his  brother  lodged.     Alfonso  stood  at  the  gate,  while 
his  attendant,  knocking  at  the  door  and   announcing  that  he 
was  the  bearer  of  a  letter  to  Juan  Diaz  from  his  brother,  was 
shown  up  stairs  to  an  apartment.     On  hearing  of  a  letter  from 
his  brother,  Juan  sprang  from  his  bed,  hastened  to  the  apart- 
ment in  an  undress,  took  the  letter  from  the  hand  of  I  he  bearer, 
and  as  it  was  still  dark,  went  to  the  window  to  read  it,  when 
the  ruffian,  stepping  softly  behind  him,  despatched  his  unsus- 


CHRISTIA'N    LIBRARY. 


332 

pectinff  victim  with  one  strolie  of  nn  axe  wliicli  lie  had  con- 
cealed"un[ier  his  cloalc.  He  then  joined  the  more  guilty  mur- 
derer, who  now  stood  at  the  stair-ibot  to  prevent  interruption, 
and  ready,  if  necessary,  to  give  assistance  to  the  assassin 
whom  he" had  hired  to  execute  his  purpose. 

Alarmed  by  the  noise  which  the  assassin's  spurs  made  on 
the  steps  as  he  descended,  the  person  who  slept  with  Juan 
Diaz  rose  hastily,  and  going  into  the  adjoining  apartment  be- 
held, with  unutterable  feelings,  his  friend  stretched  on  the 
floor,  and  weltering  in  his  blood,  with  his  hands  clasped,  and 
the  instrument  of  death  fixed  in  his  head.  The  murderers 
were  fled,  and  had  provided  a  relay  of  horses  to  convey  them 
quickly  out  of  Germany ;  but  the  pursuit  after  them,  which 
commenced  as  soon  as  the  alarm  could  be  given,  was  so  hot, 
that  they  were  overtaken  at  Inspruck,  and  secured  in  prison. 
Otho  Henry,  count  palatine  of  the  Rbine  and  duke  of  Bava- 
ria, within  whose  territories  the  crime  was  perpetrated,  lost 
no  time  in  taking  the  necessary  measures  for  having  it  judi- 
cially tried.  La%vyers  were  sent  from  Neuburg  with  the 
ni^ht-cap  of  the  deceased,  the  bloody-axe,  the  letter  of  Alfon- 
so, and  other  documents ;  but  though  the  prisoners  were  ar- 
raigned before  the  criminal  court  at  Inspruck,  the  trial  was 
suspended  through  the  influence  of  the  cardinals  of  Trent  and 
Augsburg,  to  whom  the  fratricide  obtained  liberty  to  write  at 
the  beginning  of  his  imprisonment.  When  his  plea  for  the 
benefit  of  the  clergy  was  set  aside  as  contrary  to  the  laws  of 
Germany,  various  legal  quirks  were  resorted  to  ;  and,  at  last, 
the  judges  produced  an  order  from  the  emperor,  prohibiting 
them  from  proceeding  with  thn  trial,  and  reserving  the  cause 
forthe  judgment  ofhis  brother  Ferdinand,  king  of  the  Romans. 
When  the  protestant  princes,  at  the  subsequent  diet  of  Ratis- 
bon,  demanded,  first  of  the  emperor,  and  afterwards  of  his 
brother,  that  the  murderers  should  be  punished,  their  requests 
were  evaded  ;  and,  in  the  issue,  the  murderers  were  allowed 
to  escape  untried  and  with  impunity,  to  the  outraging  of  hu- 
manity and  justice,  and  the  disgrace  of  the  church  of  Rome, 
whose  authorities  were  bound  to  see  that  the  most  rigorous 
scrutiny  was  made  into  the  horrid  deed,  under  the  pain  of 
being  held  responsible  for  it  to  heaven  and  to  posterit}'.  The 
liberated  fratricide  appeared  openly  at  Trent,  along  with  his 
bloody  accomplice,  without  exciting  a  shudder  in  the  breasts 
of  the  holy  fathers  met  in  council;  he  was  welcomed  back  to 
Rome ;  and  finally  returned  to  his  native  country,  where  he 
was  admitted  to  the  society  of  men  of  rank  and  education, 
who  listened  to  him  while  he  coolly  related  the  circumstan- 
ces of  his  sanctified  crime.  Different  persons  published  ac- 
counts, agreeing  in  every  material  point,  of  a  murder  which, 
all  circumstances  considered,  has  scarcely  a  parallel  in  the 
annals  of  blood  since  the  time  of  the  first  fratricide,  and  af- 
fords a  striking  proof  of  the  degree  in  which  fanatical  zeal 
will  stifle  the  tenderest  alTections  of  the  human  breast,  and 
stimulate  to  the  perpetration  of  crimes  the  most  atrocious  and 
unnatural. 

The  narrative  which  I  have  followed  was  drawn  up  and 
published  at  the  time  by  Claude  Senarcle,  a  noble  young 
Savoyard,  who  was  strongly  attached  to  Juan  Diaz,  had  ac- 
companied him  from  the  time  he  left  Paris,  and  slept  in  the 
same  bed  with  him  on  the  night  before  his  murder.  Its  ac- 
curacy is  confirmed  by  the  attestation  of  Bucer,  who  was 
personally  acquainted  with  many  of  the  facts,  as  well  as  with 
the  character  of  the  author.  But  indeed  so  far  were  the  Ro- 
man catholics  from  denying  the  facts,  that  many  of  them, 
and  especially  the  countrymen  of  Diaz,  justified  and  even 
applauded  the  deed.  Juan  Ginez  de  Sepulveda,  who  profes- 
ses to  have  received  the  facts  from  the  mouth  of  the  terrible 
hero  of  the  tragedy,  has  given  an  account  of  them  so  com- 
pletely in  accordance  with  Senarcle's,  that  we  might  suppose 
he  had  abridged  that  work,  in  the  way  of  substituting  the 
atrocious  moral  of  fanaticism  for  the  touching  sentiments  of 
friendship,  charity,  and  piety,  which  pervade  the  whole  nar- 
rative of  the  protestant  historian.  It  is  humbling  to  think 
that  Sepulveda  was  one  of  the  most  elegant  prose  writers 
who  flourished  at  that  time  in  Spain. 

Francisco  Enzinas  continued,  after  his  brothers  departure 
to  Italy,  to  reside  at  Louvain.  But  though  he  lived  on  good 
terms  with  the  professors  of  the  university,  he  found  his  sit- 
uation becoming  daily  more  irksome  and  painful.  Among 
the  learned  protestants  in  the  neighbourhood  with  whom  he 
carried  on  a  confidential  correspondence,  were  Albert  Harden- 
berg,  preacher  to  the  Cistercian  monastery  of  Adwert,  which, 
since  the  days  of  John  Wessel,  the  Dutch  Wicliffe,  had  re- 
sembled an  academy  more  than  a  convent;  and  the  celebrated 
Polish  nobleman,  John  a  Lasco,  who  had  left  his  native 
coimtry  from  attachment  to  the  reformed  faith,  and  was  emi- 


nently successful  in  diffusing  the  knowledge  of  the  truth  in 
East  Friesland.  It  would  appear  that  the  parents  of  Enzinas 
had  intended  him  for  the  army,  to  which  he  was  now  deci- 
dedly averse.  In  a  letter  to  A.  Lasco,  accompanying  the 
present  of  an  ancient  and  richly-mounted  sword,  which  he 
had  received  from  a  nobleman,  he  says:  '"All  the  world  will, 
I  know,  be  in  arms  against  me  on  account  of  the  resolution 
which,  in  opposition  to  the  advice  of  some  worthy  men,  I 
have  now  formed  to  devote  myself  to  literary  pursuits.  But 
I  will  not  suffer  myself,  from  respect  to  the  favour  of  iTien,to 
hold  the  truth  in  unrisfhteousness,  or  to  treat  unbecomingly 
those  gifts  which  God  in  his  free  mercy  has  been  pleased  to 
confer  on  me,  unworthy  as  I  am.  On  the  contrary,  it  shall 
be  my  endeavour,  according  to  m}'  ability,  to  propagate 
divine  truth.  That  I  may  do  this  by  the  grace  of  God,  I 
find  that  it  will  be  necessary  for  me,  in  the  first  place,  to  fly 
from  the  Babylonian  captivity,  and  to  retire  to  a  place  iii- 
which  I  shall  be  at  liberty  to  cultivate  undefiled  religion  and 
true  Christianity,  along  with  liberal  studies.  It  is  therefore 
my  purpose  to  repair  to  Wittenberg,  because  that  city  con- 
tains an  abundance  of  learned  professors  in  all  the  sciences, 
and  I  entertain  so  high  an  esteem  for  the  learning,  judgment, 
and  dexterity  in  teaching  possessed  by  Philip  Melanctbon 
in  particular,  that  I  would  goto  the  end  of  the  world  to  enjoy 
the  compan}^  and  instruction  of  such  men.  I  therefore  earn- 
estly beg  that,  as  your  name  has  great  weight,  you  will  have 
the  goodness  to  favour  me  with  letters  of  introduction  to 
Luther,  Philip,  and  other  learned  men  in  that  city."  He 
accordingly  paid  a  visit  to  Wittenberg,  where  he  was  warmly 
received  b}'  all,  and  especially  by  the  individtial  for  whom  he 
had  expressed  so  high  a  veneration.  But  he  returned  to  the 
Low  Countries,  probably  by  the  advice  of  Melanchthon,  to 
labour  in  a  work  which  promised  to  be  of  the  greatest  benefit 
to  his  native  country.  This  was  the  translation  of  the  New 
Testament  into  the  Spanish  language. 

Though  Spain  was  the  only  nation  which  at  that  time  did 
not  possess  the  scriptures  in  the  vulgar  language,  it  had  not 
always  laboured  under  that  deficiency.  In  the  year  1233, 
Juan  I.  of  Aragon,  by  a  public  edict,  prohibited  the  use  of  any 
part  of  the  Old  or  New  Testament  in  the  vernacular  tongue, 
and  commanded  all,  whether  laity  or  clergy,  who  possessed 
such  books,  to  deliver  them  to  their  ordinaries  to  be  burnt,  on 
the  pain  of  being  held  suspected  of  heresy.  On  the  other 
hand,  Alfonso  X.  of  Castile  caused  the  sacred  scriptures  to 
be  translated  into  Castilian,  with  the  view  of  improving  the 
native  language  of  his  people  ;  and  a  copy  of  that  translation, 
executed  in  the  year  12G0,  is  still  preserved  in  manuscript. 
Other  ancient  versions  of  the  scriptures  into  the  Limosin,  or 
Catalonian,  and  Castillian  dialects,  are  still  to  be  seen,  in 
whole  or  in  part,  among  the  manuscripts  in  the  public  libra- 
ries of  Spain  and  France.  Bonifacio  Ferrer,  brother  of  St. 
Vincente  Ferrer,  and  prior  of  the  Carthusian  monastery  of 
Portaccli  in  Valencia,  who  died  in  the  year  1417,  translated 
the  whole  scriptures  into  the  Valencian  or  Catalonian  dialect 
of  Spain.  Ills  translation  was  printed  at  Valencia  in  the 
year  1-178,  at  the  expense  of  Philip  Vizlant,  a  merchant  of 
Isny  in  Germany,  by  Alfonso  Fernandez,  a  Spaniard  of  Cor- 
dova, and  Lambert  Philomar,  a  Gentian.  But,  although  it 
was  the  production  of  a  catholic  author,  and  underwent  the 
examination  and  correction  of  the  inquisitor  James  Borrell, 
it  had  scarcely  made  its  appearance  when  it  was  suppressed 
by  the  Inquisition,  who  ordered  the  whole  impression  to  be 
devoured  by  the  flames.  So  strictly  was  this  order  carried 
into  execution,  that  scarcely  a  single  copy  appears  to  have 
escaped.  Long  after  the  era  of  the  Reformation,  it  was  taken 
for  granted  by  all  true  Spaniards,  that  their  language  had 
never  been  made  the  unhallowed  instrument  of  exposing  the 
Bible  to  vulgar  eyes ;  and  with  the  exception  of  two  inciden- 
tal allusions,  the  translation  of  Ferrer  remained  unnoticed  for 
nearly  two  hundred  years  after  its  publication.  iVt  length, 
in  1645,  the  last  four  leaves  of  a  copy  of  this  edition  were 
discovered  in  the  library  belonging  to  the  monastery  of  Por- 
taceli.  The  number  was  reduced  within  a  short  time  to  one 
leaf;  but  happily  this  contained  the  imprint,  or  final  epigraph, 
indicating  the  names  of  the  translator  and  printers,  together 
with  the  place  and  year  of  the  impression.  According  to 
some  authors,  the  version  of  Ferrer  underwent,  about  the 
year  1515,  a  second  impression,  which  shared  the  same  fate 
as  its  predecessor;  but  of  this  statement  the  evidence  is  less 
complete  and  satisfactory. 

Apparently  ignorant  that  his  native  country  had  once  pos- 
sessed such  a  treasure,  and  anxious  that  they  should  be  sup- 
plied with  it,  Francisco  de  Enzinas  undertook  a  translation 
of  the  New  Testament  into  the  Castilian  tongue.     Having 


HISTORY  OF  THE  REFORMATION  IN  SPAIN. 


333 


finislipd  liis  task,  he  submitted  the  work  to  the  judgment  of 
the  divines  of  Louvain.  They  allowed  that  there  was  no 
law  of  the  state  prohibiiinor  the  printing  of  translations  of  the 
Scriptures,  but  expressed  their  fears  that  such  works  would 
lead  to  the  spread  of  heresy  and  disturbance  of  the  peace-  of 
the  church,  and  excused  themselves  from  either  sanctioning 
or  censuring  the  undertaking,  on  the  ground  of  their  ignorance 
of  the  Spanish  tongue.  The  private  friends  of  the  translator, 
who  were  acquainted  with  both  languages,  gave  it  as  their 
opinion,  after  examining  the  work,  that  it  would  be  a  great 
honour  as  well  as  benefit  to  Spain.  It  was  accordingly  print- 
ed at  Antwerp  in  the  year  1513,  under  the  title  of  "The 
New  Testament,  that  is,  the  New  Covenant  of  our  only  Re- 
deemer and  Saviour  Jesus  Christ,  translated  from  the  Greek 
into  the  Castilian  language."  The  purblind  monks,  to  whom 
it  was  submitted  before  publication,  could  not  proceed  farther 
than  the  title-page.  One  of  them,  whose  pretentions  to  learn- 
ing were  not  the  least  amongst  those  of  his  order,  smelled 
Lulheranism  in  "the  new  covenant,"  The  leaf  was  can- 
celled, and  the  suspicious  phrase  struck  out.  He  next  pointed 
out  a  palpable  heresy  in  the  expression  "  our  only  Redeemer." 
Recourse  was  again  had  to  the  operation  of  cancelling,  and 
the  obnoxions  particle  expelled.  But  his  success  in  discove- 
ry only  serve  to  quicken  the  censorial  organ  of  the  monk;  so 
that  the  author,  f.'espairing  to  see  an  end  of  the  process,  gave 
directions  for  putting  the  work  into  the  hands  of  the  book- 
sellers. 

The  emperor  having  soon  after  anived  at  Brussels,  the  au- 
thor presented  a  copy  of  the  work  to  him,  and  requested  his 
permission  to  circulate  it  among  his  countrymen.  Charles 
received  it  graciously,  and  promising  his  patronage,  if  it  were 
found  to  contain  nothing  contrar)'  to  the  faith,  gave  it  to  his 
confessor  Pedro  de  Soto  to  examine.  After  various  delays, 
Enzinas,  having  waited  on  the  confessor,  was  upbraided  by 
him  as  an  enemy  to  religion,  who  had  tarnished  the  honour  of 
his  native  country;  and  refusing  to  acknowledge  a  fault,  was 
seized  by  the  officers  of  justice  and  thrown  into  prison.  Be- 
sides the  crime  of  translating  the  Scriptures,  he  was  charged 
with  having  made  a  translation  of  a  work  of  Luther,  and  vis- 
iting Melancthon.  To  add  to  his  distress,  his  father  and 
uncles,  hearing  of  his  imprisonment,  paid  him  a  visit,  and 
participating  in  the  common  prejudices  of  their  countrymen, 
reproached  him  for  bringing  calamity  on  himself,  and  dis- 
lionour  on  his  kindred.  He  continued  however  to  possess 
his  soul  in  patience,  employed  his  time  in  translating  the 
Psalms,  and  received  many  marks  of  sympath}'  from  the  citi- 
zens of  Brussels,  of  whom  he  knew  more  than  four  hundred 
warmly  attached  to  the  protestant  faith.  After  a  confinement 
of  fifteen  months,  he  one  day  found  his  prison  doors  open, 
and  walking  out  without  the  slightest  opposition,  escaped 
from  Brussels  and  arrived  safel)'  at  Wittenberg;  an  escape 
the  more  remarkable  that  a  hot  persecution  raged  at  that  time 
throughout  the  Netherlands,  and  the  portraits  of  the  protest- 
ant preachers,  accompanied  with  the  offer  of  a  reward  for 
their  apprehension,  were  to  be  seen  affixed  to  the  gates  of  all 
the  principal  cities.  The  following  extract  shows  the  steps 
taken  against  him  after  his  flight.  "  The  inquisitors  in  Bel- 
gium have  summoned  my  guest,  the  wise,  upriglit  and  pious 
Spaniard,  in  his  absence;  and  from  the  day  fixed  for  his  ap- 
pearance, we  conclude  that  sentence  has  already  been  pro- 
nounced against  him.  He  sets  out  for  your  town  to  ascertain 
the  fact,  and  to  learn  if  there  are  any  letters  for  him  from  that 
quarter.  1  have  given  him  a  letter  to  you,  both  that  I  may 
acquaint  you  with  the  cause  of  his  journey,  and  because  1 
know  you  feel  for  the  calamities  of  all  good  men.  He  evinces 
great  fortitude,  though  he  evidently  sees  that  his  return  to  his 
parents  and  native  country  is  now  cut  olT.  The  thought  of 
the  anguish  which  this  will  give  to  his  parents  distresses 
him.  These  inquisitors  are  as  cruel  to  us  as  the  thirty  ty- 
rants were  of  old  to  their  fellow-citizens  at  Athens;  but  God 
will  preserve  the  remnant  of  his  church,  and  provide  an  asy- 
lum for  the  truth  somewhere."  In  another  letter,  written  in 
1546,  the  same  individual  says,  "  Franciseus  the  Spaniard 
has  resolved  to  go  to  Ital}^,  that  he  may  assuage  the  grief  of 
his  mother."  Whether  he  accomplished  that  journey  or  not, 
is  uncertain ;  but  in  1548  he  went  to  England,  on  which  oc- 
casion he  was  warmly  recommended  by  Melancthon  to  Ed 
ward  V'l.  and  archbishop  Cranmer,  as  a  person  of  excellent 
endowments  and  learning,  averse  to  all  fanatical  and  seditious 
tenets,  and  distinguished  by  his  piety  and  grave  manners. 
He  obtained  a  situation  at  Oxford ;  but  returning  soon  after 
to  the  continent,  he  resided  sometimes  at  Strasburg  and  some- 
times at  Basle,  where  he  spent  his  time  in  literary  pursuits, 
and  in  the  society  of  the  wise  and  good. 


In  the  same  year  in  which  the  New  Testament  of  Enzinas 
came  from  the  press,  a  Spanish  translation  of  the  seven  peni- 
tential Psalms,  the  song  of  Solomon,  and  the  lamentations  of 
Jeremiah,  vras  printed  at  Antwerp  by  Ferdinand  Jarava,  who, 
three  years  before,  had  printed  the  Book  of  Job,  and  the 
Psalms  for  the  otfice  of  the  dead,  in  the  same  language  and 
at  the  same  place.  There  exists  also  a  copy  of  a  t-panish 
psalter  in  Gothic  letter,  without  date,  but  apparently  ancient. 

The  Jews  appear  to  have  early  had  translations  of  the  Old 
Testament,  or  parts  of  it,  in  Spanish.  In  1497,  only  five 
years  after  their  expulsion  from  the  peninsula,  they  printed 
the  Pentateuch  in  that  languagre  at  Venice.  In  1547,  this 
work  was  printed  at  Constantinople  in  Hebrew  characters, 
and  in  1552  it  was  reprinted  at  the  same  place  in  Roman  cha- 
racters. In  1553  they  printed  at  Ferrara  two  editions  of  the 
Old  Testament  in  Spanish ;  the  one  edited  b)'  Abraham 
Usque,  and  the  other  by  Duarte  Pinel,  Bibliogra]>liers  have 
generally  held  that  the  first  of  these  was  intended  for  the  use 
of  Jews,  and  the  last  for  the  use  of  Christians;  an  opinion 
which  does  not  seem  to  rest  on  good  grounds. 

At  the  time  that  Egidius  was  thrown  into  prison,  several 
of  his  religious  friends  became  alarmed  for  their  safety,  and 
took  refuge  in  Germany  and  Switzerland.  Among  these 
were  Juan  Perez,  Cassiodoro  de  Reyna,  and  Cypriano  de  Va- 
lera,  who  were  industriously  employed  during  their  exile,  in 
providing  the  means  of  religious  instruction  for  their  coun- 
trymen. Juan  Perez  was  bom  at  Montilla,  a  town  of  Anda- 
lusia. He  was  sent  to  Rome  in  15C7,  as  charge  iVuJfaires  of 
Charles  V.,  and  procured  froin  the  pope  a  suspension  of  the 
decree  by  which  the  Spanish  divines  had  condemned  the 
writings  of  Erasmus.  Subsequently  he  was  placed  at  the 
head  of  the  College  of  Doctrine,  an  endowed  school  at  Seville, 
where  he  contracted  an  intimacy  with  Egidius  and  other  fa- 
vourers of  the  reformed  opinions.  He  received  the  degree  of 
doctor  of  divinity  in  liis  native  country;  and  his  talents 
and  probity  secured  him  a  high  place  in  the  esteem  of  the 
foreigners  among  whom  he  resided,  first  at  Geneva  and  after- 
wards in  France.  The  works  which  he  composed  in  his 
native  tongue  were  of  the  most  valuable  kind.  His  version 
of  the  New  Testament  came  from  the  press  in  155G;  his 
version  of  the  Book  of  Psalms  followed  in  the  course  of  the 
subsequent  year;  and  his  Catechism,  and  Summar}'  of  Cliris- 
tian  doctrine,  appeared  about  the  same  time.  They  were  all 
printed  at  Venice.  Besides  these,  he  published  in  Spanish 
several  of  the  works  of  his  countryman  Jnan  Valdez.  Being 
called  from  Geneva,  and  having  officiated  as  a  preacher  at 
Blois,  and  as  chaplain  to  Renee,  duchess  of  Ferrara,  in  the 
castle  of  Montargis,  he  died  of  the  stone  at  Paris,  after  he 
had  bequeathed  all  his  fortune  to  the  printing  of  the  Bible  in 
his  native  tongue.  The  task  which  he  left  unfinished  was 
continued  by  Cassiodoro  de  Reyna,  who,  after  ten  years'  la- 
bour, produced  a  translation  of  the  whole  Bible,  which  was 
printed  in  1569  at  Bas'.e.  It  was  revised  and  corrected  by 
Cypriano  de  Valera,  who  published  the  New  Testament  in 
1596  at  London,  and  both  Testaments  in  1G02  at  Amsterdam. 
It  is  no  slight  proof  of  the  zeal  with  which  the  Spanish  pro- 
testants  sought  to  disseminate  the  Scriptures  among  their 
countrymen,  that  Juan  Lizzarago  published,  in  1571,  a  trans- 
lation of  the  New  Testament  into  Basque,  or  the  language  of 
Biscay,  wiiich  differs  widely  from  the  other  dialects  spoken 
in  the  peninsula.  The  versions  of  the  three  writers  last  men- 
tioned did  not  appear  until  the  Reformation  was  suppressed 
in  Spain;  but  they  were  of  great  utility  to  many  individuals, 
and  the  reprinting  of  De  Valera's  translation  at  a  recent  pe- 
riod was  the  means  of  provoking  the  Spanish  clergy  to  make 
the  dangerous  experiment  of  translating  the  Scriptures  into 
their  native  tongue. 

All  these  versions  were  accompanied  with  vindications  of 
the  practice  of  translating  the  scriptures  into  vernacular  lan- 
guages, and  the  right  of  the  people  to  read  them.  This 
formed  onejjf  the  points  most  warmly  contested  between  the 
Romanists  and  reformers.  The  Spanish  divines  distinguished 
themselves  by  their  intemperate  support  of  the  illiberal  side 
of  the  question;  and  the  determination  of  Alfonso  de  Castro, 
"  that  the  translation  of  the  scriptures  into  the  vernacular 
tongues,  with  the  reading  of  them  by  the  vulgar,  is  the  true 
fountain  of  all  heresies,"  continued  iong  to  be  the  standard 
of  orthodoxy  in  Spain.  There  was,  however,  one  honoura- 
ble exception.  Frederico  Furio,  a  learned  native  of  Valen- 
cia, defended  the  cause  of  biblical  translation  intrepidly  and 
ably,  first,  in  an  academical  dispute  with  John  de  Bononima, 
! rector  of  the  university  of  Louvain,  and  ai'lerwards  from  the 
press.  This  raised  against  him  a  host  of  enemies,  and  his 
book  was  strictly  prohibited ;  but  ho  was  protected  by  Charles 


334 


CHRISTIAN    L I IJ  R  A  R  Y. 


v.,  and  what  is  singular,  continued  durintj  life  about  the  per- 
son of  Philip  II.,  that  most  determined  patron  of  ignorance 
and  the  Inquisition. 

The  versions  of  the  scriptures  by  which  the  reformation 
was  promoted  in  Spain,  were  those  of  Enzinas  and  Perez. 
In  spite  of  the  suppression  of  the  former  in  the  Low  Countries, 
copies  of  it  were  conveyed  to  the  Peninsula.  Accordingly 
pope  Julius  III.  states  in  a  bill  addressed  to  the  inquisitors 
in  1550,  that  he  was  informed  that  there  were  in  the  posses- 
sion of  booksellers  and  private  persons  a  great  number  of 
heretical  books,  including  .Spanish  iJiblts,  marked  in  the  cat- 
alogue of  prohibited  books  which  the  university  of  Louvaiji, 
at  the  desire  of  the  emperor,  had  drawn  up  in  the  preceding 
year.  And  at  a  period  somewhat  later,  Philip,  who  go- 
verned Spain  daring  the  absence  of  his  father,  ordered  an 
examination  of  certain  Bibles  introduced  into  the  kingdom, 
but  not  mentioned  in  the  late  index ;  and  the  council  Sf  the 
Supreme,  having  pronounced  them  dangerous,  o-ave  instruc- 
tions to  the  provincial  in(|uisitors  to  seize  all  the  copies,  and 
proceed  with  the  utmost  rigor  against  those  who  should  retain 
them,  without  excepting  members  of  universities,  colleges  or 
monasteries. 

At  the  same  time  the  strictest  precautions  were  adopted 
to  prevent  the  importation  of  snch  books  by  placing  officers 
at  all  the  sea-ports  and  land-passes,  with  authority  lo  search 
every  package,  and  the  person  of  every  traveller  that  should 
enter  the  kingdom.  It  might  be  supposed  that  these  mea- 
sures would  have  reared  an  insuperable  barrier  to  the  pro- 
gress of  illumination  in  Spain.  But  the  thirst  for  knowledge, 
when  once  excited,  is  irresistible  ;  and  tyranny,  when  it  goes 
beyond  a  certain  point,  inspires  its  victims  at  once  with  "dar- 
ing and  ingenuity.  The  books  provided  by  the  Spaidsh 
refugees  remained  for  some  time  locked  up  in  Geneva,  none 
choosing  to  engage  in  a  hazardous  and  almost  desperate 
attempt  to  convey  them  across  the  Pyrenees.  But  at  last  an 
humble  individual  had  the  courage  to  undertake,  and  the  ad- 
dress to  execute  the  task.  This  was  .Tulian  Hernandez,  a 
native  of  Villaverda  in  the  district  of  Campos,  who  on  ac- 
count of  his  small  stature  was  commonlv  called  Julian  the 
Little.  Having  imbibed  the  reformed  doctrine  in  Germany, 
he  had  come  to  Geneva  and  entered  into  the  service  of  Juan 
Perez  as  amanuensis  and  corrector  of  the  press.  Two  large 
casks,  filled  with  translations  of  the  scriptures  and  other  pro- 
testant  books  in  Spanish,  were  in  1557  committed  to  his  trust, 
which  he  undertook  to  convey  by  land;  and  having  eluded 
the  vigilant  e3'es  of  the  inquisitorial  familiars,  he  lodged  his 
precious  charge  saiely  in  the  bouse  of  one  of  the  chief  pro- 
testants  of  Seville,  by  whom  the  contents  were  quickly  dis- 
persed among  his  friends  in  diU'erent  parts  of  the  country. 


CIIAP'I'EP  VI. 

Progress  of  the  Reformution  in  Spain. 

The  circumstances  attending  the  condemnation  of  Egidius 
inflicted  a  severe  shock  on  the  infant  church  of  Seville. 
While  the  enemies  of  the  truth  triumphed  in  his  fall,  its 
friends  felt  "  as  when  a  standard-bearer  fainteth."  His  re- 
lease from  imprisomnent,  and  the  proofs  which  he  gave  of 
nnabated  attachment  to  the  doctrine  which  he  had  formerly 
taught,  were  consolatory  to  them;  but  the  obstinacy  with 
which  he  continued  to  the  last  to  upbraid  himself  for  his  im- 
becility, together  with  the  restraints  under  which  he  was 
laid,  threw  a  melancholy  air  over  his  instructions,  which  had 
a  tendency  to  discourage  those  who  needed  to  be  animated 
by  the  countenance  and  advice  of  a  person  of  unbroken 
courage  and  high  reputation.  Providence  furnished  them 
with  such  a  head,  a  little  before  the  death  of  Egidius,  b}-  the 
return  of  the  individual  who  had  been  his  associate  in  his 
early  labours,  and  who  was  unquestionably  the  greatest  orna- 
ment of  the  reformed  cause  in  Spain. 

Constantine  Ponce  de  la  Fuente  was  a  native  of  San 
Clemente  de  la  Mancha,  in  the  diocese  of  Cuenea.  Pos- 
sessing a  good  taste  and  a  love  of  genuine  knowledge,  he 
evinced  an  early  disgust  for  the  barbarous  pedantry  of  the 
schools,  and  attachment  to  such  of  his  countrymen  as  sought 
to  revive  the  study  of  polite  letters.  Being  intended  for  the 
church,  he  made  himself  nuisler  of  Greeirand  Hebrew,  to 
(|ualify  him  for  interpreting  the  scriptures.  At  the  same 
time  lie  spoke  and  wrote  his  native  language  with  uncommon 


purity  and  elegance.  Like  Erasmus,  with  whose  writings 
he  was  first  captivated,  he  was  distinguished  for  his  lively 
wit,  which  be  took  pleasure  in  indulging  at  the  expense  of 
foolish  preachers  and  h^^pocritical  monks.  But  he  was  en- 
dowed with  greater  firmness  and  decision  of  character  than 
the  philosopher  of  Hotterdam.  During  his  attendance  at  the 
university,  his  youthful  spirit  had  betrayed  him  into  irregu- 
larities, of  which  his  enemies  afterwards  took  an  ungener- 
ous advantage ;  but  these  were  succeeded  by  the  utmost 
decorum  and  correctness  of  manners,  though  he  always 
retained  his  gay  temper,  and  could  never  deny  himself  his 
jest.  One  of  his  contemporaries  has  remarked,  "  that  he 
never  knew  any  man  who  loved  or  hated  Constantine  moder- 
ately;" a  treatment  which  is  experienced  by  every  person 
who  possesses  superior  talents  and  poignancy  of  wit  com- 
bined with  generosity  and  benevolence.  His  knowledge  of 
mankind  made  him  scrupulous  in  forming  intimate  friend- 
sliips,  but  he  treated  all  his  acquaintance  with  a  cordial  and 
easy  familiarity.  Notwithstanding  the  opportunities  he  had 
of  enriching  himself,  he  was  so  exempt  from  avarice  that 
his  library,  which  he  valued  above  all  his  property,  was 
never  large.  His  eloquence  caused  his  services  in  the  pulpit 
to  be  much  sought  after;  but  he  was  i'rec  from  vanity,  the 
besetting  sin  of  orators,  and  scorned  to  prostitute  his  talents 
at  the  shrine  of  popularity.  He  declined  the  situation  of 
preacher  in  the  cathedral  of  Cuenea,  which  was  offered  liiin 
by  the  unanimous  vole  of  the  chapter.  \^  hen  the  more 
honourable  and  lucrative  office  of  preacher  to  the  metropoli- 
tan church  of  Toledo  was  afterwards  put  in  his  offer,  after 
thanking  the  chapter  for  their  good  opinion  of  him  he  de- 
clined it,  alleging  as  a  reason,  "that  he  would  not  disturb 
the  bones  of  their  ancestors ;"  alluding  to  a  dispute  between 
them  and  the  archbishop  Siliceo,  who  had  insisted  that  his 
clergy  shoidd  ])rove  the  purity  of  their  descent.  Whether 
it  was  predilection  for  the  reformed  opinions  that  induced 
him  at  first  to  fix  his  residence  at  Seville,  is  uncertain  ;  but 
we  have  seen  that  he  co-operated  with  Egidius  in  his  plans 
for  disseminating  scriptural  knowledge.  The  emperor  having 
heard  him  preach  during  a  visit  to  that  city,  \vas  so  much 
pleased  with  the  sermon,  that  he  immediately  named  him 
one  of  his  chaplains,  to  which  he  added  the  office  of  almoner; 
and  he  soon  after  appointed  him  to  accompany  his  son  Philip 
to  Flanders,  "to  let  the  Flemings  see  that  Spain  was  not 
destitute  of  jiolite  scholars  and  orators."  Constantine  made 
it  a  prdiit  of  duty  to  obey  the  orders  of  his  sovereign,  and 
reluctantly  quitted  his  residence  in  Seville,  for  which  he  had 
hitherto  rejected  the  most  tempting  ofl'ers.  His  journey  gave 
him  the  opportunity  of  becoming  personally  acquainted  with 
some  of  tiie  reformers.  Among  these  was  James  Schopper, 
a  learned  man  of  Biberach  in  Suabia,  by  whose  conversation 
his  views  of  evangelical  doctrine  were  greatly  enlarged  and 
confirmed.  In  1555  he  returned  to  Seville,  and  his  presence 
imparted  a  new  impulse  to  the  prolestant  cause  in  that  city. 
A  benevolent  and  enlightened  individual  having  founded  a 
professorship  of  divinity  in  the  College  of  Doctrine,  Con- 
stantine was  appointed  to  the  chair;  and  by  means  of  the 
lectures  which  he  read  on  the  scriptures,  together  with  the 
instructions  of  Fernando  de  St.  Juan,  provost  of  the  institu- 
tion, the  nunds  of  many  of  the  young  men  were  opened  to 
the  truth.  On  the  first  Lent  after  his  return  to  Seville,  he 
was  chosen  by  the  chapter  to  preach  every  alternate  day  in 
the  cathedral  church.  So  great  was  his  popularit)',  that 
though  the  public  service  did  not  begin  till  eight  o'clock  in 
the  morning,  yet  when  he  preached,  tTic  church  was  filled  by 
four  and  even  by  three  o'clock.  Being  newly  recovered  from 
a  fever  w  hen  he  ccjuimenced  his  labours,  he  felt  so  weak  that 
it  was  necessary  for  him  repeatedly  to  pause  during  the  ser- 
mon, on  which  occasions  he  was  allowed  to  recruit  his 
strength  by  taking  a  draught  of  wine  m  the  ])ulpit;  a  per- 
mission which  had  never  been  granted  to  any  other  preacher. 
VVbili!  Constantine  was  pursuing  this  career  of  honour 
and  usefulness,  he  involved  himself  in  difiiculties  by  com- 
ing forward  as  a  candidate  for  the  place  of  canon  magis- 
tral in  the  cathedral  of  Seville.  There  are  three  canonries 
in  ever)'  eiu^copal  church  in  Spain,  which  must  be  obtained 
by  comparative  trials.  These  are  cheifiy  filled  by  fellows 
belonging  to  the  six  Collegios  Mayores,  who  form  a  kind  of 
learnod  aristocracy,  which  has  long  possessed  great  influence 
in  that  country.  No  place  of  honour  or  emolument  in  the 
church  or  the  departments  of  law  is  left  unoccupied  by  these 
collegians.  Fellows  in  orders,  who  possess  abilities,  are 
kept  in  reserve  for  the  literary  competitions ;  such  as  cannot 
appear  to  advantage  in  these  trials,  are  provided  through 
court-l'avonr  to  stalls   in  the  weallhier  cathedrals;  while  the 


HISTORY  OF  THE  REFORMATION  IN  SPAIN. 


335 


absolutely  dull  aud  ignorant  are  placed  in  the  tribunal  of  the 
Inquisition,  where,  passinjr  judorment  in  their  secret  halls, 
they  may  not  by  their  blunders  disgrace  the  college  to  which 
they  belonged.  The  place  of  canon  magistral  in  Seville 
having  become  vacant  by  the  death  of  Egidius,  the  chapter, 
in  accordance  with  the  general  wish  of  the  city,  fixed  their 
eyes  upon  Constantino,  as  the  person  most  fitted  by  his  tal- 
ents for  filling  that  important  office.  Egidins  had  been  intro- 
duced into  it  without  engaging  in  the  literary  competition ; 
but,  in  consequence  of  his  un|io|)ularity  when  he  first  as- 
cended the  pulpit,  the  canons  had  entered  on  their  records  a 
resolution  that  the  usual  trials  should  take  place  in  all  future 
elections.  Constantine  had  uniformly  ridiculed  these  literary 
jousts,  as  resembling  the  exercises  of  schoolboy's  and  the 
tricks  of  jugglers.  Finding  him  obstinate  in  refusing  to 
enter  the  lists,  the  chapter  were  inclined  to  dispense  with 
their  resolution,  when  Fernando  Valdes,  the  archbishop  of 
Seville  and  inquisitor  general,  who  had  conceived  a  strong 
dislike  to  Constantine  on  account  of  a  supposed  injury  which 
he  had  received  from  him  when  he  was  preacher  to  the  em- 
peror, interposed  his  authority  to  prevent  the  suS|)ension  of 
the  law.  A  day  was  accordingly  fixed  for  the  trial,  and 
edicts  were  published  in  all  tlie  principal  cities,  requiring 
candidates  to  make  their  ap|)earance.  The  friends  of  Con- 
stantino now  pressed  him  to  lay  aside  his  scruples ;  and  an 
individual,  who  had  great  influence  over  his  mind,  repre- 
sented so  strongly  the  services  which  he  would  bo  able  to 
render  to  the  cause  of  truth  in  so  influential  a  situation,  and 
the  hurtful  effects  which  would  result  from  its  bei[ig  occu- 
pied by  some  noisy  and  ignorant  declaimer.  that  ho  consented 
at  last  to  offer  himself  as  a  candidate.  The  kuowledn-e  of 
this  fact  prevented  others  from  a|)pearing,  with  the  exception 
of  two  individuals  who  came  from  a  distant  part  of  the 
country.  One  of  them  declined  the  contest  as  soon  as  he 
became  acquainted  with  the  circumstances ;  but  the  other, 
a  canon  of  Malaga,  instigated  by  the  archbishop,  who 
wished  to  mortify  his  competitor,  descended  into  the  arena. 
Despairing,  however,  of  beinu  aide  to  succeed  b)'  polemical 
skill,  or  by  interest  with  the  chapter,  he  had  recourse  to  per- 
sonal charges  aud  iusiiuiations,  in  which  he  was  supported 
by  all  those  who  envied  the  fame  of  Constantine,  had  felt 
the  sting  of  his  satire,  or  hated  him  for  his  friendship  with 
Egidius.  He  was  accused  of  having  contracted  a  marriage 
before  he  entered  into  holy  orders ;  it  was  alleged  that  there 
were  irregularities  in  his  ordination  and  the  manner  in  which 
he  obtained  his  degree  of  doctor  of  divinity ;  and  an  attempt 
was  made  to  fasten  on  him  the  charge  of  heresy.  In  spite 
of  these  accusations  he  carried  his  election,  was  installed  in 
his  new  office,  and  commenced  his  duty  as  preacher  in  the 
cathedral  with  high  acceptance.  But  this  contest  arrayed  a 
party  against  him,  which  sought  in  every  way  to  twhart  his 
measures,  and  afterwards  found  an  opportunity  to  make  him 
feel  the  weight  of  its  vengeance. 

Constantine,  while  he  instructed  the  people  of  Seville  from 
the  pulpit,  was  exerting  himself  to  ditfuse  religious  know- 
ledge through  the  nation  at  large  by  means  of  the  press.  In 
the  character  of  his  writings,  we  have  one  of  the  clearest 
indications  of  the  excellence  of  his  heart.  They  were  of  that 
kind  which  was  adapted  to  the  spiritual  wants  of  his  country- 
men, and  not  calculated  to  display  his  own  talents,  or  to  ac- 
quire for  himself  a  name  in  the  learned  world.  They  were 
composed  in  his  native  tongue,  and  in  a  style  level  to  the 
lowest  capacity.  Abstruse  speculations  and  rhetorical  orna- 
ments, in  which  he  was  qualified  both  by  nature  and  educa- 
tion to  excel,  were  rigidly  sacrificed  to  the  one  object  of  being 
understood  by  all,  and  useful  to  all.  Among  his  works  were 
a  Catechism,  whose  highest  recommendation  is  its  artless 
and  infantine  simplicity;  a  small  treatise  on  the  doctrine  of 
Christianity,  drawn  up  in  the  familiar  form  of  a  Dialogue  be- 
tween a  master  and  his  pupil;  an  Exposition  of  the  first 
Psalm  in  four  sermons,  which  show  that  his  pulpit  eloquence, 
exempt  from  the  common  extremes,  was  neither  decrraded  by 
vulgarity,  nor  rendered  disgusting  by  affectation  and  elfortat 
display;  and  the  Confession  of  a  Sinner,  in  which  the  doc- 
trines of  the  gospel,  poured  from  a  contrite  and  humbled 
spirit,  assume  the  form  of  the  most  edifying  and  devotional 
piety.  His  Summary  of  Christian  Doctrine,  without  being 
deficient  in  simplicity,  is  more  calculated  to  interest  persons 
of  learning  and  advanced  knowledge.  In  this  work  he  pro- 
posed to  treat  first  of  the  articles  of  faith ;  and  secondly,  of 
good  works  and  the  sacrament.  The  first  part  only  came 
from  the  press;  the  secouil  being  kept  back  until  such  time 
as  it  could  be  printed  with  greater  safety,  a  period  which 
never  arrived.     It  was  not  the  author's  object  to  lay  down  or 


defend  the  protestant  doctrines,  but  to  exhibit  from  the  scrip- 
tures, and  without  intermeddling  with  modern  disputes,  the 
great  truths  of  the  gospel.  The  work  was  translated  into 
Italian,  and  has  been  highly  praised  by  some  Roman  catholic 
writers.  But  it  was  viewed  with  great  suspicion  by  the  ru- 
ling clergy,  who  took  occasion  from  it  to  circulate  reports 
unfavourable  to  the  author's  orthodox)',  and  held  secret  con- 
sultations on  the  propriety  of  denouncing  him  to  the  Inquisi- 
tion. They  complained  that  he  had  not  condemned  the 
Lutheran  errors,  nor  vindicated  the  supremacy  of  the  bishop 
of  Rome;  and  that,  if  at  any  time  he  mentioned  indulgences, 
purgatory  and  human  merit,  instead  of  extolling,  he  derogated 
from  these  authorised  doctrines  of  the  church,  by  warning  his 
readers  not  to  risk  their  salvation  on  them.  When  these 
charges  came  to  the  ears  of  Constantine,  he  contented  himself 
with  saying,  that  these  topics  did  not  properly  belong  to 
the  first  part  of  his  treatise,  but  that  he  would  explain 
his  views  respecting  them  in  his  second  volume,  which 
he  was  preparing  for  the  press.  This  reply,  backed  by  the 
popularity  of  which  he  was  in  possession,  silenced  his  ad- 
versaries for  that  time. 

Previously  to  the  period  of  which  we  have  been  speaking, 
an  occurrence  took  place  which  had  nearly  proved  fatal  to  the 
disciples  of  the  reformed  faith  in  Seville.  Francisco  Zafra, 
a  doctor  of  laws,  and  vicar  of  the  parish  church  of  .San  ^'In- 
ceute,  had  long  cherished  a  secret  predilection  for  the  Luther- 
an se[Uiments.  Being  a  man  of  learning,  he  was  frequently 
called,  in  the  character  oi  qualljic'ilor,  to  pronounce  judorment 
on  the  arlicles  laid  to  the  charge  of  persons  denounced  to  the 
Holj-  Offu^c,  and  had  been  instrumental  in  saving  the  lives  of 
many  individuals,  who  otherwise  would  have  been  condemned 
as  heretics.  He  had  received  into  his  house  Maria  Gomez, 
a  widow,  who  was  a  zealous  and  constant  attendant  en  the 
private  meetings  of  the  protestants,  and  consequently  well 
acquainted  with  all  the  ])ersous  of  that  persuasion  in  the  city. 
In  the  year  1355  she  became  deranged  in  her  intellect,  and 
having  conceived,  as  is  not  unusual  with  persons  in  that  un- 
happy state  of  mind,  a  violent  antipathy  to  her  former  friends, 
she  talked  of  nothing  but  vengeance  on  heretics.  It  was 
found  necessary  to  lay  her  under  an  easy  restraint ;  but, 
escaping  from  her  domestic  confinement,  she  went  straight 
to  the  castle  ofTriana,  in  which  the  inquisitors  held  their  sit- 
tings, and,  having  obtained  an  audience,  told  tliem  that  the 
city  was  full  of  Lutherans,  while  the)',  whose  duty  it  was  to 
guard  against  the  entrance  and  spread  of  this  plague,  were 
slumbering  at  their  post.  She  ran  over  the  names  of  those 
whom  she  accused,  amounting  to  the  number  of  more  than 
three  hundred.  The  inquisitors  had  no  apprehension  of  the 
extent  to  which  the  reformed  doctrines  had  been  embraced  in 
Seville,  and  could  not  but  perceive  marks  of  derangement  in 
the  appearance  and  incoherent  talk  of  the  informer;  but,  act- 
ing according  to  the  maxim  of  their  tribunal,  that  no  accusa- 
tion is  to  be  disregarded,  they  resolved  to  make  inquiry,  and 
ordered  the  instant  attendance  ot  Zafra.  Had  he  yielded  to 
the  sudden  impressions  of  fear,  -and  attempted  to  make  his 
escape,  tie  consequences  would  have  been  fatal  to  himself 
and  his  religious  connexions.  Instead  of  this,  he,  with  great 
presence  of  mind,  repaired  on  the  first  notice  to  the  Holy  Of- 
fice, treated  the  accusation  with  indifference,  stated  the  symp- 
toms of  the  woman's  distemper,  with  the  reason  which  in- 
duced him  to  confine  her,  and  referred  to  the  members  of  his 
family  and  the  neighbours  for  the  truth  of  the  facts.  His 
statement,  together  with  the  character  which  he  bore,  suc- 
ceeded in  removing  the  suspicions  of  the  inquisitors,  who 
were  persuaded  that  Maria  l-aboured  under  a  confirmed  lunacy, 
and  that  her  representations  had  no  other  foundation  than  the 
visionary  workings  of  a  disordered  brain.  Accordingly  they 
requested  Zafra  to  take  the  unfortunate  woman  along  with 
him,  and  to  keep  her  under  a  stricter  confinement  than  th-at 
from  which  she  had  escaped.  Thus  did  this  dark  cloud  pass 
away,  by  the  kindness  of  Providence,  which  watched  over  a 
tender  lluck,  not  yet  sufficiently  prepared  for  encountering  the 
storm  of  persecution. 

In  the  mean  time  the  protestant  church  in  Seville  was  re- 
gularly organized,  and  placed  under  the  pastoral  inspection 
of  C'hristobal  Losada,  a  doctor  of  medicine.  He  had  paid  his 
addresses  to  the  daughter  of  a  respectable  member  of  that  so- 
ciety, and  was  rejecied  on  a  religious  ground ;  but  having 
afterwards  become  acquainted  with  Egidius,  heeuibraced  the 
reformed  opinions,  and  recommended  himself  so  strongly  to 
those  of  the  same  faith  by  his  knowledge  of  the  scriptures, 
and  other  gifts,  that  they  unanimously  chose  him  as  their 
pastor.  His  future  conduct  did  not  disgrace  their  choice. 
He  was  assisted  by  a  friar  named  Cassiodoro,  whcse  minis- 


336 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


try  was  uncommonly  successful.  The  church  met  ordinarily 
in  the  house  of  Isabella  de  Baena,alady  not  less  distinguish- 
ed for  her  piety  than  for  her  rank  and  opulence.  Amontr  the 
iiobilily  who  attached  themselves  to  it,  the  two  most  distin- 
cruishcd  were  Don  Juan  Ponce  de  Leon,  and  Domingo  de 
Guzman.  The  former  was  a  younger  son  of  Don  Rodrigo, 
count  de  Baylen,  cousin  gernian  of  the  duke  D'Arcos,  and 
allied  to  the  principal  grandees  of  .Spain.  .So  unbounded  was 
this  nobleman  in  charity  to  the  poor,  that,  by  distributing  to 
their  necessities,  he  encumbered  his  patrimonial  estate,  and 
reduced  himself  to  those  straits  in  which  otliers  of  his  rank 
involve  themselves  by  prodigalitj'  and  dissipation.  He  was 
equally  unsparing  in  his  personal  exertions  to  promote  the  re- 
formed cause.  Domingo  de  Guzman  was  a  son  of  the  duke 
de  Medina  Sidonia.  and  being  destined  for  the  church,  had 
entered  the  order  of  St.  Dominic.  His  extensive  library  con- 
tained the  principal  Lutheran  publications,  which  he  lent  and 
recommended  with  uncommon  industry. 

Most  of  the  religious  institutions  in  Seville  and  the  neigh- 
bourhood were  leavened  with  the  new  doctrines.  The  preach- 
er of  the  Dominican  monastery  of  St.  Paul's  was  zealous  in 
propagating  them.  They  had  disciples  in  the  convent  of  .St. 
Klizabeth,  a  nunnery  established  according  to  the  rule  of  St. 
Francis  d'Assisa.  But  they  made  the  greatest  progress  in 
the  Hieronymite  convent  of  San  Isidro  del  Campo,  situated 
within  two  miles  of  Seville.  This  was  owing  in  a  great  de- 
gree to  a  person  whose  singular  character  merits  examina- 
tion. 

Garcia  de  Arias,  commonly  called  Doctor  Blanco,  on  ac- 
count of  the  extreme  whiteness  of  his  hair,  possessed  an  acute 
mind  and  extensive  information  ;  but  he  was  undecided  and 
vacillating  in  his  conduct,  partlj'  from  timiditj-  and  partly 
from  caution  and  excess  of  refinement.  He  belonged  to  that 
class  of  subtle  politicians,  who,  without  being  destitute  of 
conscience,  are  wary  in  conimilting  themselves,  forfeit  the 
good  opinion  of  both  parties  by  failing  to  yield  a  consistent 
support  to  either,  and  trusting  to  their  address  and  dexterity 
to  extricate  themselves  from  difficulties,  are  sometimes  caught 
in  the  toils  of  their  own  intricate  management.  There  is  no 
reason  to  question  the  sincerity  of  his  attachment  to  the  re- 
formed tenets,  but  his  adoption  of  them  was  known  only  to 
the  leaders  of  the  Sevillian  church,  with  whom  he  was  se- 
cretly in  correspondence.  By  the  ruling  clergj',  he  was 
regarded  not  only  as  strictly  orthodox,  but  as  the  ablest  cham- 
pion of  their  cause,  and  accordingly  was  consulted  by  them 
on  every  important  question  relative  to  the  established  faith. 
An  anecdote  which  has  been  preserved  is  strikingly  illustra- 
tive of  his  character  and  mode  of  acting.  Gregorio  Ruiz,  in 
a  sermon  preached  by  him  in  the  cathedral  of  Seville,  em- 
ployed expressions  favourable  to  the  protestant  doctrine  con- 
cerning justificaton  and  the  merit  of  Christ's  death,  in  conse- 
quence of  which  he  was  denounced  to  the  luquisition,  and 
had  a  day  fixed  for  answering  the  charges  brought  against 
him.  In  the  prospect  of  this,  he  took  the  advice  of  Arias, 
with  whose  real  sentiments  he  was  perfecly  acquainted,  and 
to  whom  he  confidentially  communicated  the  line  of  defence 
which  he  meant  to  adopt.  But  on  the  day  of  his  appearance, 
and  after  he  had  pleaded  for  himself,  what  was  his  surprise 
to  find  the  man  whom  he  had  trusted  rise,  at  the  request  of 
the  inquisitors,  and  in  an  elaborate  speech  refute  all  the  argu- 
ments which  ho  had  produced  !  When  his  friends  remon- 
strated with  Arias  on  the  im])ropriety  of  his  conduct,  he 
vindicated  himself  by  alleging  that  he  had  adopted  the 
course  which  was  safest  for  Ruiz  and  them ;  but,  galled  by 
the  censures  which  they  pronounced  on  the  duplicity  and 
baseness  with  which  he  had  acted,  he  began  to  threaten  that 
he  would  inform  aijainst  them  to  the  Holy  Office.  '•  And  if 
we  shall  be  forced  to  descend  into  the  arena,"  said  Constan 
tine  to  him,  "  do  you  expect  to  be  permitted  to  sit  among  the 
spectators  1" 

Yet  this  was  the  man  who  was  made  the  instrument  of 
conveying  the  light  of  divine  truth  into  the  convent  of  San 
Isidro,  when  it  was  immersed  in  the  most  profound  ignorance 
and  superstition.  Without  laying  aside  his  characteristic 
caution,  he  tanght  his  brethren,  that  true  religion  was  some 
thing  very  difiiercnt  from  what  it  was  vulgarly  supposed  to 
be;  that  it  did  not  consist  in  chanting  matins  and  vespers,  or 
performing  any  of  those  acts  of  bodily  service,  in  which  their 
time  was  consumed  ;  and  that  if  they  expected  to  obtain  the 
approbation  of  God,  it  behoved  them  to  have  recourse  to  the 
scriptures  to  know  his  mind.  By  inculcating  these  things  in 
his  sermons  and  in  private  conversation,  he  produced  in  the 
breasts  of  the  monks  a  feeling  of  dissatisfaction  with  the  cir- 
cular and  monotonous  devotions  of  the  cloister,  and  a  spirit 


of  inquiry  after  a  purer  and  more  edifying  piety.  But  from 
versatility,  or  with  the  view  of  providing  for  his  future  safety, 
he  all  at  once  altered  his  plans,  and  began  to  recommend,  by 
doctrine  and  example,  austerities  and  bodily  mortifications 
more  ritrid  than  those  which  were  enjoined  by  the  monastic 
rules  of  his  order.  During  Lent  he  urged  his  brethen  to  re- 
move every  article  of  furniture  from  their  cells,  to  lie  on  the 
bare  earth,  or  sleep  standing,  and  to  wear  shirts  of  haircloth, 
with  iron  girdles,  next  their  bodies.  The  monastery  was  for 
a  time  thrown  into  confusion,  and  some  individuals  were  re- 
duced to  a  state  of  mind  bordering  on  distraction.  But  this 
attempt  to  revive  superstition  producd  a  reaction  which  led  to 
the  happiest  coiisequences.  Suspecting  the  judgment  or  the 
honesty  of  the  individual  to  whom  they  had  hitherto  looked 
up  as  an  oracle,  some  of  the  more  intelligent  resolved  to  take 
the  advive  of  Egidius  and  his  friends  at  Seville  ;  and,  having 
received  instructions  from  them,  began  to  teach  the  doctrines 
of  the  gospel  to  their  brethren  in  a  plain  and  undisguised 
manner;  so  that,  within  a  few  years,  the  whole  convent  was 
leavened  with  the  new  opinions.  The  person  who  had  the 
greatest  influence  in  affecting  this  change  was  Cassiodoro  de 
Reyna,  afterwards  celebrated  as  the  translator  of  the  Bible 
into  the  language  of  his  countr\'. 

A  more  decided  change  on  the  internal  state  of  this  monas- 
tery took  place  in  the  course  of  the  year  1557.  An  ample 
supply  of  copies  of  the  scriptures  and  protestant  books,  in  the 
Spanish  language,  having  been  received,  they  were  read  with 
avidity  by  the  monks,  and  contributed  at  once  to  confirm  those 
who  had  been  enlightened,  and  to  extricate  others  from  the 
prejudices  by  which  they  were  enthralled.  In  consequence 
of  this,  the  prior  and  other  ofiicial  persons,  in  concurrence 
with  the  fraternity,  agreed  to  reform  their  religious  institute. 
Their  hours  of  prayer,  as  they  were  called,  which  had  been 
sjicnt  in  solemn  mummeries,  were  appointed  for  hearing  pre- 
lections on  the  scriptures  ;  prayers  for  the  dead  were  omitted, 
or  converted  into  lessons  for  the  living ;  papal  indulgences 
and  pardons,  whicli  had  formed  a  lucrative  and  engrossing 
traffic,  were  entirely  abolished;  images  were  allowed  to  remain, 
vvithoutreceiving  homage  ;  habitual  temperance  was  substitut- 
ed in  the  room  of  superstitious  fasting  ;  and  novices  were  in- 
structed in  the  principles  of  true  piety,  instead  of  being  ini- 
tiated into  the  idle  and  debasing  habits  of  raonachism.  No- 
thing remained  of  the  old  system  but  the  monastic  garb  and 
the  external  ceremony  of  the  mass,  which  they  could  not  lay 
aside  without  exposing  themselves  to  imminent  and  inevita- 
ble danger. 

The  good  effects  of  this  change  were  felt  without  the  mo- 
nastery of  San  Isidro  del  Campo.  By  their  conversation, 
and  by  the  circulation  of  books,  these  zealous  monks  diffused 
the  knowledge  of  the  truth  through  the  adjacent  country,  and 
imparted  it  to  many  individuals  who  resided  in  towns  at  a  con- 
siderable distance  from  Seville.  In  particular,  their  exertions 
were  successful  in  religious  houses  of  the  Hieronymite  order ; 
and  the  prior  and  many  of  the  brotherhood  of  the  Vallede  Ecija, 
situated  on  the  banks  of  the  Xenil,  were  among  the  converts  to 
the  reformed  faith.  Individuals  of  the  highest  reputation  be- 
longing to  that  order  incurred  the  suspicion  of  heresy.  Juan 
de  Regla,  prior  cf  Santa  Fe,  and  provincial  of  the  Hierony- 
mites  in  Spain,  was  a  divine  greatly  celebrated  for  his  talents 
and  learning,  and  had  assisted  at  the  council  of  Trent  during 
its  second  convocation.  Being  denounced  to  the  inquisition 
of  Saragossa,  he  was  condemned  to  penance,  and  the  abjura- 
tion of  eighteen  propositions  savouring  of  Luthera-nism.  Af- 
ter his  recantation,  he  verified  the  maxim  respecting  apostates, 
by  his  bitter  persecution  of  those  who  were  suspected  of 
holding  the  new  opinions,  and  was  advanced  to  the  office  of 
confessor,  first  to  Charles  V.  and  afterwards  to  Philip  II. 
Francisco  de  Yillalba,  a  Hieronymite  monk  of  Montamarta, 
sat  in  the  council  of  Trent  along  with  Regla,  and  was 
preacher  to  Charles  and  Philip.  He  waited  on  the  former  in 
ills  last  moments,  and  pronounced  his  funeral  oration  with 
such  appalling  eloquence,  that  several  of  his  hearers  declared 
that  he  made  their  hair  stand  erect.  After  the  emperor's 
death,  a  process  was  commenced  against  Yillalba  before  the 
inquisition  of  Toledo,  in  which  he  was  accused  of  having 
taught  certain  Lutheran  errors.  At  the  same  time  an  attenipt 
was  made,  in  a  chapter  of  the  monks  of  St.  Jerome,  to  attaint 
his  blood,  by  showing  that  he  was  of  Jewish  extraction. 
This  charge  was  refuted.  But  it  was  not  so  easy  to  put  a 
stop  to  his  trial  before  the  inquisitors;  all  that  he  could  ob- 
tain, through  the  intervention  of  the  court,  was,  that  his  in- 
carceration should  be  delayed  until  additional  witnesses  should 
be  found;  and  while  matters  remained  in  this  state,  he  was 
released  from  persecution  by  the  hand  of  death. 


HISTORY  OF  THE  REFORMATION  IN  SPAIN. 


Whilp  the  reformed  doctrine  was  advancintr  in  Seville  and 
Its  vicinity,  it  was  not  stationary  at  Valladolid.     The  pro- 
testants  in  this  city  had  lor  their  hrst  pastor  Domino-o  de 
Koxas,  a  young  man  of  good  talents,  and  allied  to  some  of 
the  principal  grandees  of  Spain.     His  father  was  Don  Juan, 
hrst  iMarquis  de  Poza;   his  mother  was  a  daughter  of  the 
Conde  de  Salinas,  and  descended  from  the  family  of  the 
Marquis  de  la  Mota.     Being  destined  for  the  church,  Do- 
mingo de  Koxas  had  entered  into  the  order  of  Dominicans.    He 
was  educated  under  Bartolome  de  Carranza,  from  whom  he 
imbibed  opinions  more  liberal  than  those  which  were  com- 
mon either  in  the  colleges  or  convents  of  Spain.     But  the 
disciple  did  not  confine  himself  to  the  timid  coifrse  pursued 
liy  the  master.     The  latter  made  use  of  the  same  lano-uao-e 
with  the  reformers  respecting  justification,  and  some^other 
articles  of  faith;  but  he  cautiously  accompanied  it  with  ex- 
plications intended  to  secure  him  against  the  charcre  of  he- 
terodoxy.    The  former  was  bolder  in  his  speculatfons,  and 
less  reserved  in  avowing  them.     Notwithstanding  the  warn- 
ings which  he  received  from  Carranza  to  be  diffident  of  his 
own  judgment,  and  submissive  to  the  decisions  of  the  church, 
De  Koxas  repudiated  as  unscriptural  the  doctrine  of  purgatory' 
the  mass,  and  other  articles  of  the  established  faith.     Beside 
the  books  of  the  Geraian  reformers,  with  which  he  was  fa- 
miliar, he  circulated  certain  writings  of  his  own,  and  par- 
ticularly a  treatise,  entitled,  Explication  of  the  Articles  of 
t  aith ;  containing  a  brief  statement  and  defence  of  the  new 
opinions.     By  his  zealous  exertions,  many  were  induced  to 
join  themselves  to  the  reformed  church  in  Valladolid,  among 
whom  were  several  individuals  belonging  to  his  own  family, 
as  well  as  that  of  the  Marquis  of  Alcagnizes,  and  other  noble 
houses  of  Castille. 

The  protestants  at  Valladolid   obtained   an  instructor  of 
greater  talents  and  reputation,  though  of  inferior  courao-e   in 
doctor  Augustin  Cazalla.     This  learned  man  was  the  s°on  of 
Pedro  Cazalla,  chief  officer  of  the  royal  finances,  and  of  Lea- 
nor  de  Vibero;  both  of  them  descended  from  Jewish  ances- 
tors.   In  153t;  a  process  was  commenced  before  the  Inquisition 
against  Constanza  Ortiz,  the  mother  of  Leanorde  Vibero,  as 
having  died  in  a  state  of  relapse  to  Judaism;  hut  her  son-in- 
aw,  by  his  influence  with  the  inquisitor  Moriz,  prevented 
her  bones  from  being  disturbed,  and  averted  the  infamy  which 
oUierwisc  would  have  been  entailed  on  his  family.    His  son 
Augustin  Cazalla,  was  born  1510,  and  at  seventeen  years  of 
age  had  Bartolome  Carranza  for  his  confessor.    After  attend- 
ing the  college  of  San  (Jregorio  at  Valladolid,  he  finished  his' 
studies  at  Alcala  de  Henares,  and  was  admitted  a  canon  of 
.Salamanca.      The  interest  possessed  by  his  father,  too-ether 
with  his  own  talents,  opened  up  to  him  the  most  tlatterino- 
prospects  of  advancement  in  the  church.     Beino-  esteemed 
one  ot  the  first  pulpit  orators  in  Spain,  he  was  in  1545,  chosen 
preacher  and  almoner  to  the  emperor,  whom  he  accompanied 
in  the  course  ol  the  following  year  to  Germany.     Durino-  his 
.  residence  in  that  country,  he  was  engaged  in  opposing  the 
L.utherans,  by  preaching  and  private  disputation. 

Spanish  writers  impute  the  extensive  spread  of  the  protest 
ant  opinions  in  the  Peninsula,  in  a  great  degree,  to  the  cir- 
cumstance that  their  learned  countrymen,  bein<r  sent  into 
foreign  parts  to  confute  the  Lutherans,  returned" with  their 
minds  inocted  with  heresy;   an  acknowledgment  not  very 
honourable  to  the  cause  which  they  maintain,  as  it  implied 
that  the  r  national  creed  owes  its  support  chiefly  to  ignorance, 
and    hat  when  brought  to  the  light  of  scripture  and  arcrument 
Its  ablest  delenders  were  convinced  of  its  weakness  and  false- 
hood        i  ormerly,"  says  the  author  of  the  Pontifical  History, 
such  Lutheran  heretics  as  were  now  and  then  apprehended 
and  committed  to  the  flames,  were  almost  all  either  strano-ers 
Germans,  Flemings  and  English,  or,  if  Spaniards,  they  were' 
mean  peop  e  and  of  a  bad  race;  but  in  these  late  years,  wc 
have  seen  the  prisons,  scalfolds,  and  stakes,  crowded  with  per- 
sons of  noble  birth,  and,  what  is  still  more  to  be  deplored,  with 
persons  illustrious,  in  the  opinion  of  the  world,  for  letters  and 
piety.     1  he  cause  of  this,  and  many  other  evils,  was  the  af- 
tection  which  our  catholic  princes  cherished  for  Germany 
I'-ngland   and  other  countries  without  the  pale  of  the  church 
which  induced  them  to  send  learned  men  and  preachers  from 

ibHV  V°  uT  [!''■'  ■'!  "','  ''"P"'  '^'t'  ^y  l'"^'^  sermons, 

hey  would  be  brought  back  to  tiie  path  of  truth.     But  un- 

iiappily,  this  measure  was  productive  of  little  good  fruit;  for 

,nr,  nf  ''''?,"■';"',  =''"'°"''  '°  Sive  light  to  otirers,  some  re- 
turned home  bhnd  themselves,  and  being  deceived,  or  puffed 
up  with  ambition,  or  a  desire  to  be  thought  vastly  leirued 
and  improved  by  their  residence  in  foreign  countries,  they 
followed  the  example  of  the  heretics  with  wliom  they  had  dis- 
V  OL.  H -J  S 


337 


puted.  This  importont  fact  is  confirmed  by  the  testimony 
ol  contemporary  protestant  writers,  with  a  particular  reference 
to  those  divines  whom  Philip  U.  brought  along  with  him  into 
Lngland,  on  his  marriage  with  queen  Mary.  "  It  is  much 
more  notable,"  says  the  venerable  Pilkington,  "that  we  have 
seen  come  to  pass  in  our  days,  that  the  Spaniards  sent  for  into 
the  realm  on  purpose  to  suppress  the  gospel,  as  soon  as  they 
were  returned  home,  replenished  many  parts  of  their  country 
with  the  same  truth  of  religion  to  the  which  before  they  were 
utter  enemies."  It  is  probable  that  these  authors  include  in 
their  statement  those  divines  who  were  accused  to  the  Inqui- 
sition, and  thrown  into  prison,  on  suspicion  of  heresy,  though 
they  were  averse  to  Luthcranism,  or,  at  most,  favourably  in- 
clined to  It  in  some  points  connected  with  the  doctrine  of 

Ih!  ;  .f  T\  "'  "'T  "*^  ""^  '^^^'  »""  striking  instances  of 
the  truth  of  their  remark.  It  was  during  his  attendance  on  the 
emperor  in  Germany,  as  we  have  already  seen,  that  Constan- 

faith    ^nd'A  ,     "/"l^  decidedly  embraced  the  reformed 

taith,  and  Augustin  de  Cazalla  became  a  convert  to  it  in  the 
same  circumstances. 

On  rettirning  to  Spain  in  1552,  Cazalla  took  up  his  resi- 
dence at  Salamanca,  where  he  remained  for  three  years.  But 
he  kept  up  an  epistolary  correspondence  with  the  protestants 
of  Seville;  and  his  office  of  royal  chaplain  leadino-  him  occa- 

Rnv^  ^  '«  ^''^  ^^•y°'''''  he  was  induced  by  Domingo  de 
Koxas  to  fix  his  abode  in  this  city.  He  still  continued,  how- 
ever, to  be  regarded  as  a  patron  of  the  established  faith,  and 
TstLTlfi  2"  the  most  important  questions  of  an  eeclesi- 
nated  by  the  emperor  as  a  member  of  a  junta  of  divines  and 

of'jufh?;  m°  7''^'^  '^i'"^-  '"  ^r"  '^'''"  °P"''°"  °"  the  conduct 
ot  Julius  III.  m  transferring  the  general  council  from  Trent  to 
Uologna;  on  which  occasion  he  joined  with  his  colleagues 
in  declaring  that  the  pope  was  actuated  in  that  measure  more 
by  personal  considerations  than  regard  to  the  good  of  the 
church.     He  also  preached  at  different  times  befSre  Charles 
had   fn/  h"  "'t'^f  •="'  ""°  'he  convent  of  St.  Juste,  when  he 
had  for  hearers  the  princess  Joanna,  who  governed  Spain 
in  the  absence  of  her  brother  Philip  II.,  together  with  o?her 
members  of  the  royal  family.     In  spite  of  the  caution  which 
he  used  on  these  occasions,  his  real  sentiments  were  dis- 
covere.1  bythe  more  intelligent  of  those  who  frequented  the 
court;  but  they  were  unwilling  to  fix  the  stigma  of  heresy  on 
a  person  ol  so  great  reputation,  and  could  not  permit  them- 
selves to  believe  that  he  would  rush  upon  certain  danger  by 
transgressing  the  line  of  prudence  which  he  appeared  to  have 
prescribed  to  himself.     In  this  opinion,  howi  -er,  they  were 
deceived.     After  his  settlement  at  Valladolid  h  s  mother's 
house  became  the  ordinary  place  in  which  the  rZeTtlnt 
church  assembled  for  worship.     The  greater  part  of  his  rela- 
tions were  among  its  members.     He  could  not    eistth; 
pressing  requests  which  were  made  to  him  to  take  the  charge 
ot  Its  spiritual  interests;  and  favoured  with  his  talents  and 
JesVeclSy."'  "'^  "^'^^'  "  '""^^^^'^  '^'y  ^  "^bers  ^nd' 
At  Valladolid,  as  at  Seville,  the  reformed  doctrine  pene- 
trated  into   the  monasteries.     It  was  embraced  by  a  Cat 
portion  of  the  nuns  of  Santa  Clara,  and  of  the  CisteS 
order  of  San  Belen;  and  had  its  eon;erts  amon.  the  class  o" 

JX  irrT'h'I'lr  'f""'  t'""^'  "■'^°  -e^bound  by  no 
paniculai  rule,  but  addict  themselves  to  works  of  charity 

Va  hdoHT"'Ti;''  TT"'  '■''''''  *"  ""'"'y  '^'^'^'^'i""  r^tind 
in  1  any  of-, h',^  ^""^  'T,"''  '"  ''"^"^t  '^l'  'he  towns,  and 
n  many  of  the  villages,  ot  the  ancient  kingdom  of  Leon.     In 

nio  He^e.  f^°'°  "'7  ^''''  ^™'"^^^'i  hy  Uie  licentiate  An.o" 
lM,Tf°ir  f''^°<=='te  of  great  spirit,  and  by  individuals 
belonging  to  the  houses  of  the  Marquises  de  la  Mota  and 

het^eT?"?;  o,"''  1"y  °*'  ^^"lora  the  protestants  were 
headed  by  Don  Christohal  de  Padilla,  a  cavalier  who  had 
under  aken  the  task  of  tutor  to  a  noble  family  of  that  placj 
hat  he  might  have  the  better  opportunity  of  propaaatino-  the 
knowledge  of  the  truth.     The  reformed  opinions  w"'  e'a  so 

of  Zamora.  In  the  last  of  these  villages  they  had  numerous 
converts,  who  enjoyed  the  instructions  of  Pedro  de  Caz  ll"! 
heir  parish  priest  Their  spread  was  equally  extensive  i, 
he  diocese  ot  Palencia.     In   the  episcopal  city  they  vvere 

Dof  pZn  s'°'  •^"^°"^°  P"^=^'  =>  P"^^''  ^"'l  patroniLd  by 
Don  Pedro  Sarmiento,  a  cavalier  of  the  order  of  Santiao-o 
commander  of  Qumtana,  and  a  son  of  the  Marquis  de  Koxas.' 

He  parish  priest  of  the  neighbouring  villages  of  Hormicros 
belonged  to  the  family  of  Cazalla,  which  was  wholh    pC- 

estant  From  Valladolid  the  jiew  o,,inions  were  d  fused 
through  Old  Castile  to  Soria  in  the  diocese  of  Osma,  andTo 


33S 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


Logrono  on  the  borders  of  Navarre.  In  the  last  named  town 
they  were  embraced  by  numbers,  including  the  individual 
who  was  at  the  head  of  the  custom-house,  and  the  parish 
priest  of  Villamediana,  in  the  neighbourhood  Logrono. 

The  propagation  of  the  reformed  doctrine  in  all  these  places 
was  owintr  in  a  o-rcat  degree  to  Don  Carlos  de  Seso.  This 
distinguished  nobleman  was  born  at  Verona  in  Italy.  Having 
performed  important  services  for  Charles  V.,  he  was  held  in 
great  honour  by  that  monarch,  through  whose  influence  he 
obtained  in  marriage  Donna  Isabella  de  Castilla,  a  descendant 
of  the  royal  family  of  Castile  and  Leon.  De  iSeso  was  not 
less  elevated  by  dignity  of  character,  mental  accomplishments 
and  decorum  of  manners,  than  by  his  birth  and  connexions. 
While  he  resided  at  Valladolid  he  connected  himself  with 
the  protestants  in  that  city.  At  Tore,  of  which  he  was  cor- 
reoridor,  or  mayor,  at  Zamora,  and  at  Palencia,  he  zealously 
promoted  the  cause  of  reformation,  by  the  circulation  of  books 
and  by  personal  instructions.  After  his  marriage  he  settled 
at  Villamediana,  and  was  most  successful  in  diBusing  religious 
knowledo-e  in  the  city  of  Logrono,  and  in  all  the  surrounding 
country. 

The  reformed  cause  did  not  make  so  great  progress  in 
New  Castile,  but  it  was  embraced  by  many  in  different  parts 
of  that  country,  and  particularly  in  the  city  of  Toledo.  It  had 
also  adherents  in  the  provinces  of  Granada,  of  Mnrcia,  and  of 
Valencia.  But,  w'th  the  exception  of  the  places  round  .Se- 
ville and  Valadolid,  nowhere  w-ere  they  more  numerous  than 
in  Araffon.  They  had  formed  settlements  in  Sarragossa, 
Huesca,  Balbastro,  and  many  other  towns.  This  being  the 
case,  it  may  appear  singular  that  we  have  no  particular  ac- 
count of  the  protestants  in  the  eastern  part  of  Spain.  Hut 
one  reason  serves  to  account  for  both  facts.  The  inhabitants 
of  Beam  were  generally  protestants;  and  many  of  them 
crossing  the  Pyrenees,  spread  themselves  over  Aragon,  and, 
at  the  same  time  that  they  carried  on  trade,  found  the  oppor- 
tunity of  circulating  their  religious  books  and  tenets  among 
the  natives.  When  violent  measures  were  adopted  for  crush- 
ing the  Reformation  in  Spain,  the  greater  part  of  them  made 
good  their  retreat,  without  difficulty  and  without  noise,  to 
tlieir  native  country,  where  the  proselytes  they  had  made 
found  an  asylum  along  with  them;  whereas  their  brethren 
who  were  situated  in  the  interior  of  the  kingdom,  cither  fell 
into  the  hands  of  their  prosecutors,  or,  escaping  with  great 
difficulty,  were  dispersed  over  all  parts  of  Europe;  and  thus 
the  tragical  fate  of  the  one  class,  and  the  narrow  and  next  to 
miraculous  escape  of  the  other,  by  exciting  deep  interest  in 
the  public  mind,  caused  their  names  and  their  history  to  be 
inquired  after  and  recorded. 

By  the  facts  which  have  been  brought  forward,  the  reader 
will  be  enabled  to  form  an  estimate  of  the  extent  to  which  the 
reformed  doctrine  was  propagated  in  Spain,  and  of  the  respect- 
ability as  well  as  number  of  its  disciples.  Perhaps  there  never 
was  in  any  other  country  so  large  a  proportion  of  persons, 
illustrious  either  from  their  rank  or  their  learning,  among  the 
converts  to  a  new  and  proscribed  religion.  This  circum- 
stance helps  to  account  for  the  singular  fact,  that  a  body  of 
dissidents,  who  could  not  amount  to  fewer  than  two  thousand 
persons,  scattered  over  an  extensive  country,  and  loosel}'  con- 
nected with  one  another,  should  have  been  able  to  communi- 
cate their  sentiments,  and  hold  their  private  meetings,  for  a 
number  of  years,  without  being  detected  by  a  court  so  jealous 
and  vigilant  as  that  of  the  Inquisition.  In  forming  a  judg- 
ment of  the  tendency  which  existed  at  this  time  in  the  minds 
of  Spaniards  towards  the  reformed  doctrine,  we  must  take 
into  account,  not  only  the  numbers  who  embraced  it,  but 
also  the  peculiar  and  almost  unprecedented  difficulties  which 
resisted  its  progress.  At  the- beginning  of  Christianity,  the 
apostles  had  for  some  time  the  external  liberty  of  preacliing 
the  gospel ;  and  when  persecution  forced  them  to  flee  from 
one  city,  they  found  "  an  ell'ectual  door"  opened  to  them  in 
another.  Luther,  and  his  co-adjutors  in  Germany,  were  ena- 
bled to  proclaim  their  doctrine  from  the  pulpit  and  the  press, 
under  the  protection  of  princes  and  free  cities,  possessing  an 
authority  within  their  own  territories  which  was  independent 
of  the  emperor.  The  reformers  of  Scotland  enjoyed  a  similar 
advantage  under  their  feudal  chiefs.  The  breach  of  Henry 
VIII.  with  the  pojje,  on  a  domestic  ground,  gave  to  the  jieo- 
ple  of  England  the  Bible  in  their  own  language,  which  they 
were  at  least  permitted  to  hear  read  from  the  pulpits,  to  which 
it  was  chained.  In  France,  a  Hugonot  could  not  be  seized 
without  the  concurrence  and  orders  of  the  magistrates,  who 
sometiines  ])roved  reluctant  and  dilatory.  And  the  same 
check  was  imposed  on  the  violence  of  a  persecuting  priest- 
Jiood,  iii  many  of  the   Italian   states.     But  not   one  of  these 


advantages  was  enjoyed  by  the  friends  of  the  Reformation  in 
Spain,  where  the  slightest  expression  of  public  opinion  in 
favour  of  the  truth  was  prevented  or  instantly  put  down  by  a 
terrific  tribunal,  armed  with  both  swords,  and  present  at  once 
in  every  part  of  the  kingdom.  That  flame  must  have  been 
intense,  and  supplied  with  ample  materials  of  combustion, 
which  could  continue  to  burn  and  to  spread  in  all  directions, 
though  it  was  closely  pent  up,  and  the  greatest  care  was 
taken  to  search  out  and  secure  every  aperture  and  crevice  by 
which  it  might  find  a  vent,  or  come  into  communication  with 
the  external  atmosphere.  Had  these  obstructions  to  the 
progress  of  the  reformed  doctrine  in  Spain  been  removed, 
though  only  in  part  and  for  a  short  tiirie,  it  would  have  burst 
into  a  flame,  which  resistance  would  onl)'  have  increased, 
and  which,  spreading  over  the  Peninsula,  would  have  con- 
sumed the  Inquisition,  the  hierarchy,  the  papacy,  and  the 
despotisin  by  which  they  had  been  reared  and  were  upheld. 
These  were  not  the  sanguine  anticipations  of  enthusiastic 
friends  to  the  Reformation,  but  the  deliberately-expressed 
sentiments  of  its  decided  enemies.  "  Had  not  the  Inquisition 
taken  care  in  time,"  says  one  of  them,  "  to  put  a  stop  to 
these  preachers,  the  protestant  religion  would  have  run 
through  Spain  like  wildfire;  people  of  all  raidcs,  and  of  both 
sexes,  having  been  wonderfully  disposed  to  receive  it." 
The  testimony  of  another  popish  writer  is  equally  strong. 
"  All  the  prisoners  in  the  inquisitions  of  Valladolid,  Seville, 
and  Toledo,  were  persons  abundantly  well-qualified.  I  shall 
here  pass  over  their  names  in  silence,  that  I  may  not,  by 
their  bad  frame,  stain  the  honour  of  their  ancestors,  and  the 
nobility  of  the  several  illustrious  families  which  were  in- 
fected with  this  poison.  And  as  these  prisoners  were  per- 
sons thus  qualified,  so  their  number  was  so  great,  that  had 
the  stop  put  to  that  evil  been  delaj'ed  two  or  three  months 
longer,  I  ain  persuaded  all  Spain  would  have  been  set  in  a 
flame  bj'  them."  I  subjoin  the  reflection  of  a  protestant  au- 
thor, who  resided  for  a  considerable  time  in  Spain,  and,  feel- 
ing a  deep  interest  in  this  portion  of  its  history,  drew  up  a 
short  account  of  its  protestant  martyrs.  "  So  powerful  (says 
he)  were  tlie  doctrines  of  the  Reformation  in  those  days,  that 
no  prejudices  nor  interests  were  any  where  strong  enough  to 
hinder  piously-disposed  minds,  after  they  came  thoroughly 
to  understand  them,  from  embracing  them.  And  that  the 
same  doctrines  have  not  still  the  same  divine  force,  is  neither 
owing  to  their  being  grown  older,  nor  to  popery's  not  being 
so  gross,  nor  to  any  change  in  people's  natural  dispositions, 
but  is  owing  purely  to  the  want  of  the  same  zeal  for  those 
doctrines  in  their  professors,  and  especially  for  the  three 
great  doctrines  of  the  Reformation,  which  the  following  mar- 
tyrs sealed  with  their  blood  :  which  were,  that  the  pope  is 
antichrist;  that  the  worship  of  the  church  of  Rome  is  idola- 
trous; and  that  a  sinner  is  justified  in  the  sight  of  God  by 
faith  and  through  Christ's  and  not  through  his  own  merits." 


CHAPTER  VII. 

Suppression  of  the  Reform  alt  on  in  Spain. 

We  cannot  condeinn.  either  upon  the  principles  of  nature 
or  revelation,  those  individuals  who,  finding  themselves  in 
the  utmost  peril  of  their  lives,  chose  to  forsake  their  native 
country,  and  to  seek  abroad  for  a  place  in  which  they  were 
at  liberty  to  worship  God  according  to  their  consciences. 
Yet  it  was  this  step  on  the  part  of  some  of  the  Spanish  pro- 
testants which  led  to  the  discovery  of  their  brethren  who  re- 
mained behind.  Their  sudden  disappearance  led  to  inquiries 
as  to  the  cause,  and  the  knowledge  of  this  excited  suspicions 
that  they  were  not  the  only  persons  who  were  disaft'ccted  to 
the  religion  of  their  country.  The  divines  attached  to  the 
court  of  Philip  II.  at  Brussels  kept  a  strict  watch  upon  the 
refugees  from  Spain  who  had  settled  in  Geneva  and  different 
places  of  Germany;  and,  having  got  possession  of  their 
secrets  by  means  of  spies,  conveyed  information  to  the  in- 
quisitors, that  a  large  quantity  of  heretical  books  had  been 
sent  to  Spain,  and  that  the  protestant  doctrine  was  spreading 
rapidly  in  the  kingdom.  This  intelligence  was  reeieved  in 
the  close  of  the  year  1557. 

Roused  from  "their  security,  the  inquisitors  instantly  put 
their  extensive  police  in  motion,  and  were  not  long  in  disco- 
vering the  individual  who  had  been  active  in  introdncing  the 
lieretical   books.     .luan  Hernandez,  in  consequence  of  infor- 


HISTORY  OF  THE  REFORMATION  IN  SPAIN. 


339 


malion  received  from  a  smith,  to  whom  he  had  shown  a  copy 
of  the  New  Testament,  was  apprehended  and  thrown  into  pri- 
son. He  did  not  seek  to  conceal  his  sentiments,  and  gloried 
in  the  fact  that  he  had  contributed  to  the  illumination  of  his 
countrymen  by  furnishing  them  with  the  scriptures  in  their 
native  tongue.  But  the  inquisitors  were  disappointed  in  the 
expectations  they  had  formed  from  his  apprehension.  His 
life  indeed  was  in  their  hands,  and  they  could  dispose  of  it 
according  to  their  pleasure ;  but  the  blood  of  an  obscure  indi- 
vidual appeared,  in  their  eyes,  altogether  inadequate  to  wash 
away  the  disgrace  which  they  had  incurred  by  their  failure 
in  point  of  vigilance,  or  to  expiate  the  enormous  crime  which 
had  defiled  the  land.  What  they  aimed  at  was,  to  obtain 
from  the  prisoner  such  information  respecting  his  associates 
as  would  enable  them  "  at  once  to  crush  the  viper's  nest," 
(to  use  their  own  words)  and  set  them  at  ease  for  the  future. 
But  they  found  themselves  mortifyingly  baflled  in  all  their  at- 
tempts to  accomplish  this  object.  In  vain  they  had  recourse 
to  those  arts  of  deceit  in  which  they  were  so  deeply  prac- 
tised, in  order  to  draw  from  Hernandez  his  secret.  In  vain 
they  employed  promises  and  threats,  examinations  and  cross- 
examinations,  sometimes  in  the  hall  of  audience,  and  at 
other  times  in  his  cell,  into  which  they  sent  alternately  their 
avowed  agents,  and  persons  who  "  feigned  themselves  just 
men,"  and  friendly  to  the  reformed  doctrine.  When  ques- 
tioned concerning  Ids  own  faith;  he  answered  frankly;  and 
though  destitute  of  the  advantages  of  a  liberal  education,  he 
defended  himself  with  boldness,  silencing,  by  his  know- 
ledge of  tlie  scriptures  alone,  his  judges,  together  with  the 
learned  men  whom  they  brought  to  confute  him.  But  when 
asked  to  declare  who  were  his  relioious  instructors  and  com- 
panions, he  refused  to  utter  a  word.  Nor  were  they  more 
successful  when  they  had  recourse  to  that  horrid  engine  which 
had  often  wrung  secrets  from  the  stoutest  hearts,  and  made 
them  betray  their  nearest  and  best-beioved  friends.  Hernan- 
dez displayed  a  firmness  and  heroism  altogether  above  his 
physical  strength  and  his  station  in  life.  During  the  three 
years  complete  that  he  was  kept  in  prison,  he  was  frequently 
put  to  the  torture,  in  every  form  and  with  all  the  aggravations 
of  cruelty  which  his  persecutors,  incensed  at  his  obstinacy, 
could  inllict  or  devise ;  but,  on  every  fresh  occasion,  he  ap- 
peared before  them  with  unsubdued  fortitude  ;  and  when  led, 
or  rather  dragged,  from  the  place  of  torment  to  his  cell,  he 
returned  with  an  air  of  triumph,  chanting  this  refran,  in  his 
native  tongue : 

Vencidos  van  los  fraylcs,  vcncidos  van  ; 
Corridos  van  los  lobos,  corridos  van. 

Conquered  return  the  friars,  conquered  retui-n  : 
Scattered  return  the  wolves,  scattered  return. 


At  length  the  inquisitors  got  possession  of  the  secret 
which  they  were  so  eager  to  know.  This  was  obtained  at 
Seville,  by  means  of  the  superstitious  fears  of  one  member  of 
the  protestant  church,  and  the  treachery  of  another,  who  had 
for  some  time  acted  as  a  concealed  emissary  of  the  inquisi- 
tion. At  Valladolid,  it  was  obtained  by  one  of  those  infernal 
arts,  which  that  tribunal,  whenever  it  served  its  p\irposes,  has 
never  scrupled  to  employ.  Juan  Garcia,  a  goldsmith,  had 
been  in  the  habit  of  summoning  the  protestants  to  sermons; 
and  aware  of  the  influence  which  superstition  exerted  over 
the  mind  of  his  wife,  he  concealed  from  her  the  place  and 
times  of  their  assembling.  Being  gained  by  her  confessor, 
this  demon  in  woman's  shape  dogged  her  husband  one  night, 
and  having  ascertained  the  place  of  meeting,  communicated 
the  fact  to  the  Inquisition.  The  traitress  received  her  earthly 
reward  in  an  annuity  for  life,  paid  from  the  public  funds! 

Having  made  these  important  discoveries,  the  council  of 
the  Supreme  despatched  messengers  to  the  several  tribunals 
of  inquisition  through  the  kingdom,  directing  them  to  make 
inquiries  with  all  secrecy  within  their  respective  jurisdic 
tions,  and  to  be  prepared,  on  receiving  further  instructions, 
to  act  in  concert.  The  familiars  were  employed  in  tracing 
out  the  remoter  ramifications  of  heresy ;  and  guards  were 
planted  at  convenient  places,  to  intercept  and  seize  such  per 
sons  as  might  attempt  to  escape.  These  precautions  having 
been  taken,  orders  were  issued  to  the  proper  agents  ;  and  by 
a  simultaneous  movement,  the  protestants  were  seized  at  the 
same  time  in  Seville,  in  Valladolid,  and  in  all  the  surround- 
ing country.  In  Seville  and  its  neighbourhood  two  hundred 
persons  were  apprehended  in  one  day ;  and,  in  consequence 
of  information  resulting  from  their  examinations,  the  number 
soon  increased  to  eight  hundred.  The  castle  of  Triana,  the 
common  prisons,  the  convents,  and  even  private  houses,  were 
crowded  with  the  victims.     Eighty  persons  were  committed 


to  prison  in  Valladolid,  and  the  number  of  individuals  seized 
by  the  other  tribunals  was  in  proportion.  AVhen  the  alarm 
was  first  given,  many  were  so  thunderstruck  and  appalled 
as  to  be  unable  to  take  the  least  step  for  securing  their  safety. 
Some  ran  to  the  house  of  the  Inquisition,  and  informed  against 
themselves,  without  knowing  what  the)'  were  doing ;  like 
persons  who,  rushina  out  of  a  house  which  has  taken  fire  in 
the  night-time,  precipitate  themselves  into  a  devouring  flood. 
Others,  in  attempting  to  make  their  escape,  were  pursued 
and  overtaken ;  and  some,  who  had  reached  a  protestant 
country,  becoming  secure,  fell  into  the  snares  laid  for  them 
by  the  spies  of  the  Holy  Office,  were  forcibly  carried  off,  and 
brought  back  to  Spain.  Among  those  who  made  good  their 
retreat,  was  the  licentiate  Zafra,  formerly  mentioned,  who 
was  peculiarly  obnoxious  to  the  inquisitors.  He  was  appre- 
hended among  the  first,  but,  during  the  confusion  caused  by 
want  of  room  to  contain  the  prisoners,  contrived  to  make  his 
escape,  and  to  conceal  himself,  until  he  found  a  favourable 
opportunity  of  retiring  into  Germany. 

The  reader  will  recollect  the  reform  which  the  monks  of 
San  Isidro  had  introduced  into  their  convent.  Desirable  as 
this  change  was  in  itself,  and  commendable  as  was  their  con- 
duct in  adopting  it,  it  brought  them  into  a  situation  both 
delicate  and  painful.  They  could  not  throw  o2"  the  monastic 
forms  entirely,  without  exposing  themselves  to  the  fury  of 
their  enemies  ;  nor  yet  could  they  retain  them,  without  being 
conscious  of  acting  to  a  certain  degree  hypocritically,  and 
giving  countenance  to  a  pernicious  system  of  superstition, 
by  which  their  country  was  at  once  deluded  and  oppressed. 
In  this  dilemma,  they  held  a  cansultation  on  the  propriety  of 
deserting  the  convent,  and  retiring  to  some  foreign  land,  in 
which,  at  the  expense  of  sacrificing  their  worldly  emolu- 
ments and  spending  their  lives  in  poverty,  they  might  enjoy 
peace  of  mind  and  the  freedom  of  religious  worship.  The 
attempt  was  of  the  most  hazardous  kind,  and  difiiculties  pre- 
sented themselves  to  any  plan  which  could  be  suggested  for 
carrying  it  into  execution.  How  could  so  many  persons, 
well  known  in  Seville  and  all  around  it,  after  having  left  one 
of  the  most  celebrated  monasteries  in  Spain  deserted,  expect 
to  accomplish  so  long  a  journey,  without  being  discovered  T 
If,  on  the  other  hand,  a  few  of  them  should  make  the  attempt 
and  succeed,  would  not  this  step  bring  the  lives  of  the  re- 
mainder into  the  greatest  jeopardy  ;  especially  as  the  suspi- 
cions of  the  inquisitors,  which  had  for  a  considerable  time 
been  laid  asleep,  had  been  lately  aroused  ?  This  last  consid- 
eration appeared  so  strong,  that  they  unanimously  resolved  to 
remain  where  they  were,  and  commit  themselves  to  the  dis- 
posal of  an  all-powerful  and  gracious  providence.  But  the 
aspect  of  matters  becoming  hourly  darker  and  more  alarming, 
another  chapter  was  held,  at  which  it  was  agreed  that  it 
would  be  tempting  instead  of  trusting  providence  to  adhere 
to  their  former  resolution,  and  that  therefore  every  one  should 
be  left  at  liberty  to  adopt  that  course  which  in  the  emergency 
appeared  to  his  own  mind  best  and  most  advisable.  Accord- 
ingly, twelve  of  their  number  left  the  monastery,  and  taking 
ditt'erent  routes,  got  safely  out  of  Spain,  and  at  the  end  of 
twelve  months  met  in  Geneva,  which  they  had  previously 
agreed  upon  as  the  place  of  their  rendezvous.  They  were 
gone  only  a  few  days  when  the  storm  of  persecution  burst 
on  the  heads  not  onlj'  of  thtir  brethren  •who  remained  in  San 
Isidro,  but  of  all  their  religious  connexions  in  Spain. 

It  was  in  the  beginning  of  the  year  1558  that  this  calam- 
itous event  befell  Spain.  Previously  to  that  period  Charles 
v.,  having  relinquished  his  schemes  of  worldly  ambition, 
and  resigned  the  empire  in  favour  of  his  brother  Ferdinand, 
and  his  hereditary  dominions  to  his  son  Philip,  had  retired 
into  the  convent  of  St.  Juste,  situated  in  the  province  of 
Estremadura,  where  he  spent  the  remainder  of  his  days  in 
the  society  and  devotional  exercises  of  monks.  Several  his- 
torians of  no  inconsiderable  reputation  have  asserted,  that 
Charles,  during  his  retreat,  became  favourable  to  the  senti- 
ments of  the  protestants  of  Germany,  that  he  died  in  their 
faith,  that  Philip  charged  the  H0I3'  Office  to  investigate  the 
truth  of  this  report,  and  that  he  had  at  one  time  serious 
thoughts  of  disinterring  the  bones  of  his  father  as  those  of  a 
heretic.  Various  causes  may  be  assigned  for  the  currency 
of  these  rumours.  Charles  had  three  years  before  been  in- 
volved in  a  dispute  with  Paul  IV.,  who  had  threatened  hinr 
with  excommunication;  Constantine  Ponce  and  Augustin 
Cazalla,  two  of  his  chaplains,  had  embraced  the  protestant 
opinions ;  his  confessor  De  Regla  had  been  forced  to  abjure 
thein ;  and  Carranza  and  Villalba,  who  exhorted  him  on  his 
death-bed,  were  soon  after  denounced  to  the  In<[uisition.  To 
these  presumptions   it  may  be  added,   that  the  manner  in 


340 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


■which  Philip  treated  his  son  Don  Carlos,  and  the  known 
fact  that  he  never  scrupled  to  employ  the  Inquisition  as  an 
engine  for  accomplishing  purposes  purely  political,  if  not 
domestic  also,  have  induced  historians,  from  supposing  him 
capable  of  any  crime,  to  impute  to  him  those  of  which  he 
was  never  guiltj'.  There  is  the  best  reason  for  believing 
that  Charles,  instead  of  being  more  favourably  disposed,  be- 
came more  averse  to  tlie  protestauts  in  his  latter  days,  and 
that,  so  far  from  repenting  of  the  conduct  which  he  had  pur- 
sued towards  them,  his  only  regret  was  that  he  had  not 
treated  them  with  greater  severity.  When  informed  that 
Lutheranism  was  spreading  in  Spain,  and  that  a  number  of 
persons  had  been  apprehended  under  suspicion  of  being  in- 
fected with  it,  he  wrote  letters,  from  the  monastery  of  St. 
Juste,  to  his  daughter  Joanna,  governess  of  Spain,  to  Juan 
de  Vega,  president  of  the  council  of  Castile,  and  to  the 
inquisitor  general,  charging  them  to  exert  their  respective 
powers  with  all  possible  vigour  "  in  seizing  the  whole  party, 
and  causing  them  all  to  be  burnt,  after  using  every  means  to 
make  them  Christians  before  their  punishment;  for  he  was 
persuaded  that  none  of  them  would  become  sincere  catholics, 
so  irresistible  was  their  propensity  to  dogmatize."  He  after- 
wards sent  Luis  Quixada,  his  major-domo,  to  urge  the' exe- 
cution of  these  measures.  In  conversation  with  the  prior  and 
monks  of  the  convent,  he  took  great  credit  to  himself  for 
having  resisted  the  pressing  solicitations  of  the  protestant 
princes  to  read  their  books  and  admit  their  divines  to  an 
audience  ;  although  they  promised  on  that  condition  to  march 
with  all  their  forces,  at  one  time  against  the  king  of  Fraiice, 
and  at  another  against  the  Turk.  The  only  thing  lor  which 
he  blamed  himself  was  his  leniency  to  them,  and  particularly 
keeping  faith  with  the  heresiarch.  Speaking  of  the  charge 
he  had  given  to  the  inquisitors  respecting  the  heretics  in 
Spain,  "  If  the)'  do  not  condemn  them  to  the  fire,"  said  he, 
"  they  will  commit  a  great  fault,  as  I  did  in  permitting 
Luther  to  live.  Though  I  spared  him  solely  on  the  ground 
of  the  safe-conduct  I  had  sent  him,  and  the  promise  1  made 
at  a  time  when  1  expected  to  suppress  the  heretics  b)-  other 
means,  I  confess  nevertheless  that  I  did  wrong  in  this, 
because  I  was  not  bound  to  keep  my  promise  to  that  heretic, 
as  he  had  olTended  a  master  greater  than  I,  even  God  him- 
self. I  was  at  liberty  then,  yea  I  ought,  to  have  forgotten 
my  word,  and  avenged  the  injury  he  had  done  to  God.  If 
he  had  injured  me  onl)',  1  should  have  kept  my  promise 
faithful ;  but,  in  consequence  of  my  not  having  taken  away 
his  life,  heresy  continued  to  make  progress,  whereas  his 
death,  I  am  persuaded,  would  have  stifled  it  in  its  birth." 
Nor  does  this  rest  merely  on  the  evidence  of  reported  con- 
versations. In  his  testament,  made  in  the  Low  Countries, 
he  charged  his  son  "  to  be  obedient  to  the  commandments  of 
holy  mother  church,  and  especially  to  favour  and  countenance 
the  holy  office  of  the  Inquisition  against  heretical  pravity 
and  apostasy."  And  in  a  codicil  to  it,  executed  in  the  con- 
vent of  St.  Juste  a  few  weeks  before  his  death,  after  men- 
tioning the  instructions  he  had  formerly  given  on  this  subject, 
and  the  confidence  which  he  placed  in  his  son  for  carrying 
them  into  execution,  he  adds  :  "  Therefore  1  entreat  him  and 
recommend  to  him  with  all  possible  and  due  earnestness,  and 
moreover  command  him  as  a  father,  and  by  the  obedience 
which  he  owes  me,  carefully  to  attend  to  this,  as  an  object 
which  is  essential  and  nearly  concerns  him,  that  heretics  be 
pursued  and  punished  as  their  crime  deserves,  without  ex- 
cepting any  who  are  guilt}',  and  without  showing  any  regard 
to  entreaties,  or  to  rank  or  quality.  And  that  my  intentions 
may  be  carried  into  full  'effect,  1  charge  him  to  favour  and 
cause  to  be  favoured  the  holy  Inquisition,  which  is  the  means 
of  preventing  and  correcting  so  many  evils,  as  I  have  en- 
joined in  my  testament;  that  so  he  may  fulfil  his  duty  as  a 
prince,  and  that  our  Lord  may  prosper  him  in  his  reign,  and 
protect  him  against  his  enemies,  to  my  great  peace  and  con- 
tentment." 

But  though  it  appears  from  these  facts  that  the  imprisoned 
protestauts  had  nothing  to  hope  from  Charles  V.,  yet  their 
calamities  were  aggravated  by  his  retirement  and  the  succes- 
sion of  Pliilip  II.  "  That  bigotry  which  in  the  father  was  par- 
alysed b}'  the  incipient  dotage  which  had  inflamed  it,  was 
combined  in  the  son  with  all  the  vigour  of  youth,  and  with 
a  temper  naturally  gloomy  and  unrelenting.  Other  circum- 
stances conspired  to  seal  the  doom  of  the  reformers  in  .Spain. 
The  wars  which  had  so  long  raged  between  that  country  and 
France  were  terminated  by  the  treaty  of  Chateau  Cambresis, 
and  the  peace  between  the  rival  kingdoms  was  ratified  by  the 
marriage  of  Philip  to  tlie  eldest  daughter  of  the  French  king. 
Previously  to  that  event  the  dissension  between  the  Spanish 


monarch  and  the  court  of  Rome  had  been  amicably  adjusted. 
The  papal  throne  was  filled  at  this  time  by  Paul  IV.,  a  furi- 
ous persecutor,  and  determined  supporter  of  the  Inquisition. 
And  the  office  of  inquisitor  general  in  Spain  was  held  by 
Francisco  Valdes,  a  prelate  who  had  already  distinguished 
himself  from  his  two  immediate  predecessors  by  the  severity 
of  his  administration,  and  whose  worldly  passions  were  un- 
mitigated by  the  advanced  age  to  which  he  had  arrived.  The 
supreme  pontifl',  the  inquisitor  general,  and  the  monarch, 
were  alike  disposed  to  adopt  the  most  illegal  and  sanguinary 
measures  for  extinguishing  heresy  in  the  Peninsula. 

When  only  sixteen  years  of  age,  Philip  gave  a  proof  of  his 
extreme  devotion  to  the  inquisition,  and  of  tlie  principles  on 
which  his  future  reign  was  to  be  conducted.  In  the  year 
1543  the  marquis  de  Terranova,  viceroy  of  Sicily,  ordered  two 
familiars  of  the  Holy  Office  to  be  brought  before  the  ordinary 
tribunals,  for  certain  crimes  of  which  they  were  guilty. 
Though  this  was  in  perfect  accordance  with  a  law  which,  at 
the  request  of  the  inhabitants,  Charles  V.  had  promulgated, 
suspending  for  ten  years  the  powers  of  the  inquisitors  to 
judge  in  such  causes  within  the  island,  )'et  a  complaint  was 
made,  on  the  part  of  the  familiars,  to  Philip,  then  acting  as 
regent  of  the  Spanish  dominions,  who  addressed  a  letter  to  the 
viceroy,  exhorting  him,  as  an  obedient  son  of  the  church,  to 
give  satisfaction  to  the  holy  fathers  whom  he  had  olTended. 
The  consequence  was,  that  the  marquis,  who  was  grand 
constable  and  admiral  of  Naples,  one  of  the  first  peers  of 
Spain,  and  sprung  from  the  royal  stock  of  Aragon,  felt  him- 
self obliged  to  do  penance  in  the  church  of  the  Dominican 
monastery,  and  to  pay  a  hundred  ducats  to  the  catchpolls  of 
the  Inquisition,  whose  vices  he  had  presumed  to  correct. 
During  the  regency  of  the  prince,  the  Spanish  inquisitors  in 
more  than  one  instance  obtained  the  revival  of  those  powers 
which  had  been  supended,  as  at  once  injurious  to  the  civil 
judicatures  and  to  the  liberties  of  the  subject. 

During  the  negociation  in  1557  between  the  court  of  Spain 
and  the  Roman  see,  which  ended  so  disgTacefully  to  the 
former,  Philip  wrote  to  his  general,  the  duke  of  Alva,  "that 
Rome  was  a  prey  to  great  calamities  at  the  time  of  his  birth, 
and  it  would  be  wrong  in  him  to  subject  it  to  similar  evils  at 
the  commencement  of  his  reign ;  it  was  therefore  his  will 
that  peace  should  be  speedily  concluded  on  terras  no  way 
dishonourable  to  his  holiness ;  for  he  would  rather  part  with 
the  rights  of  his  crown  than  touch  in  the  sliehtest  degree 
those  of  the  holy  see."  In  pursuance  of  these  instructions, 
Alva,  as  viceroy  of  Naples,  was  obliged  to  fall  on  his  knees, 
and,  in  his  own  name,  as  well  as  that  of  his  master  and  the 
emperor,  to  beg  pardon  of  the  pope  for  all  the  offences  speci- 
fied in  the  treaty  of  peace ;  upon  which  they  were  absolved 
from  the  censures  which  they  had  respectively  incuired. 
After  this  ceremony  was  over,  the  haughty  and  gratified  pon- 
tiff", turning  to  the  cardinals,  told  them  "that  he  had  now 
rendered  to  the  holy  see  the  most  important  service  it  would 
ever  receive;  and  that  the  example  Avhich  the  Spanish  monarch 
had  just  given  would  teach  popes  henceforth  how  to  abase 
the  pride  of  kings,  who  knew  not  the  extent  of  that  obeisance 
which  they  legitimately  owed  to  the  heads  of  the  church." 
With  good  reason  might  Charles  V.  say  in  his  testament, 
when  leaving  his  dying  charge  to  extirpate  heresy,  "  that  he 
was  persuaded  the  king  his  son  would  use  every  possible 
effort  to  crush  so  great  an  evil  with  all  the  severity  and 
promptitude  which  it  required. 

Paul  IV.  acceded  with  the  utmost  readiness  to  the  applica- 
tions which  were  now  addressed  to  him  by  Philip,  in  concur- 
rence with  Valdes,  the  inquisitor  general,  for  such  enlarge- 
ments of  the  authority  of  the  Holy  Office  as  would  enable  it 
to  compass  the  condemnation  of  the  heretics  who  were  in 
prison,  and  to  seize  and  convict  others.  On  the  15th  of  Feb- 
ruary 1558  he  issued  a  summary  brief,  renewing  all  the  de- 
cisions of  councils  and  sovereign  pontiffs  against  heretics  and 
schismatics ;  declaring  that  this  measure  was  rendered  ne- 
cessary by  the  information  he  had  received  of  the  daily  and 
increasing  progress  of  heresy  ;  and  charging  Valdes  to  perse- 
cute the  guilty,  and  inflict  upon  them  the  punishments  de- 
creed by  the  constitutions,  padicularly  that  which  deprived 
them  of  all  their  dignities  and  functions,  "  whether  they  were 
bishops,  archbishops,  patriarchs,  cardinals  or  legates, — ba- 
rons, counts,  marquises,  dukes,  princes,  kings  or  emperors. 
This  sweeping  brief,  from  whose  operation  none  was  exempt- 
ed but  his  holiness,  was  made  public  in  Spain  with  the  ap- 
probation of  the  monarch,  soon  after  he  himself  and  his  father 
had  been  threatened  with  excommunication  and  dethrone- 
ment. Valdes,  in  concurrence  with  the  council  of  the  Su- 
preme, prepared  instructions  to  all  the  tribunals  of  the  Inqui- 


HISTORY  OF  THE  REFORMATION  IX  SPAIN. 


341 


sition,   ilirecling  tliciii,  among  other  Illinois,   to  search   for  directions  as  lo  the  torture  to  which  they  should  he  put,lie  was 


heretical  books,  and  lo  make  a  public  auto-de-t'e  ot"  such  as 
tliej'  should  discover,  including  many  works  not  mentioned 
in  any  former  prohibitory  index.  This  was  also  the  epoch  of 
that  terrible  ' 

death,  with  confiscation  of  jroods,  ai.rainst  all  who  sold, 
bought,  read,  or  possessed,  any  book  that  was  forbidden  by 
the  Holy  OlTice.  To  ferret  the  poor  heretics  from  their  lurk- 
inor-places,  and  to  drive  them  into  the  toils  of  this  bloody 
statute,  Paul  IV.,  on  the  6th  of  .January  1559,  issued  a  hull, 
enjoining  all  confessors  strictly  to  examine  their  penitents  of 
whatever  rank,  from  the  lowest  to  that  of  cardinal  or  king, 
and  to  charge  them  to  denounce  all  whom  they  knew  to  be 
guilty  of  this  offence,  under  the  pain  of  the  greater  excom- 
munication, from  which  none  but  the  pope  or  the  inquisitor 
general  could  release  them ;  and  subjecting  such  confessors 
as  neglected  this  duty  to  the  same  punishment  that  was 
threatened  against  their  penitents.  On  the  following  day  the 
pope  declared,  in  full  consistory,  that  the  heresy  of  Luther 
and  other  innovators  being  propagated  in  .Spain,  be  had  rea- 
sons to  suspect  that  it  had  been  embraced  by  some  bishops ; 
on  which  account  he  authorized  the  grand  inquisitor,  during 
two  years  from  that  da)',  lo  hold  an  inquest  on  all  bishops, 
archbishops,  patriarchs,  and  primates  of  that  kingdom,  to 
commence  their  |)rocesses,  and,  in  ciise  he  had  grounds  to 
suspect  that  they  intended  to  make  their  escape,  to  seize  and 
detain  them,  on  condition  of  his  giving  notice  of  this  imme- 
diately to  the  sovereign  pontiff,  aud  conveying  the  prisoners, 
as  soon  as  possible,  to  Rome. 

As  if  these  measures  had  not  been  calculated  sufficiently 
to  multiply  denunciations,  Philip  seconded  them  by  an  edict 
renewing  a  royal  ordinance,  which  had  fallen  into  desue- 
tude or  been  suspended,  and  which  entitled  informers  to  the 
fourth  part  of  the  property  of  those  found  guilty  of  heresy. 
But  the  existing  oode  of  laws,  even  after  those  which  had 
been  long  disabled  or  forgotten  were  revived,  was  too  mild 
for  the  rulers  of  this  period.  Statutes  still  more  barbarous 
and  unjust  were  enacted.  At  the  request  of  Philip  and  V'aldes, 
the  pope,  on  the  1th  of  February  1559,  g-.ive  forth  a  brief, 
authorizing  the  council  of  the  .Supreme,  in  derogation  of  the 
standing  laws  of  the  Inquisition,  to  deliver  over  to  the  secular 
arm  those  who  were  convicted  of  having  taught  the  Lutheran 
opinions,  even  though  they  had  not  relapsed,  and  were  will- 
ing lo  recant.  It  has  been  justly  observed,  that  though  his- 
tory had  had  nothing  else  with  which  to  reproach  Philip  II.  and 
the  inciuisilor  TOueral,  Valdes,  than  their  having  solicited  this 
hull,  it  would  have  been  suliicient  to  consign  their  names  to 
infamy.  Neither  Ferdinand  V.  and  Torqueniada,  nor  (Charles 
V.  and  !\Ianri(iuez,  had  pushed  matters  lo  this  length.  They 
never  thought  o(  burning  alive,  or  subjecting  to  capital  pun- 
ishment, persons  w  ho  were  convicted  of  falling  into  heresy 
for  the  first  time,  and  who  confessed  their  errors;  nor  did 
they  think  themselves  warranted  to  proceed  to  this  extremity 
by  the  susjiicion  that  such  confessions  were  dictated  by  the 
fear  of  death.  This  was  ihe  last  invention  of  tyranny,  in- 
flamed into  madness  by  hatred  and  dread  of  the  truth.  Were 
it  necessary  lo  ])oinl  out  aggravations  of  this  iuiipiily,  we 
might  slate  that  the  puuishnieut  was  to  be  inllicted  for  aclions 
done  before  the  law  was  enacted ;  and  that  it  was  unblush- 
ingly  applied  to  those  who  had  been  long  immured  in  the 
cells  of  the  Inquisition. 

The  next  object  was  to  find  fit  agents  for  carrying  these 
sanguinary  statutes  into  execution.  It  is  one  of  the  wise  ar- 
rangements of  a  merciful  providence  for  thwarting  designs 
Imrtful  to  human  society,  and  for  inspiring  llieir  authors  with 
the  dread  of  ultimate  discomfiture,  tliat  wicked  men  and  ty- 
rants are  disposed  to  suspect  the  most  slavish  and  devoted' 
instruments  of  their  will.  The  individuals  at  the  head  of  the 
inquisitorial  tribunals  of  .Seville  and  VallaJolid  had  incurred 
the  susjucions  of  Valdes,  as  guilty  of  culpable  negligence,  if 
not  of  connivance  at  ihe  protcstan'ts,  who  had  held  their  con- 
venticles in  the  two  principal  cities  of  the  kingdom,  almost 
with  open  doors.  To  guard  against  any  ihing  of  this  kind 
for  the  future,  and  to  ])rovide  for  the  multi])licity  of  business 
which  the  late  disclosures  had  created,  he  delegated  his 
powers  of  inquisitor  general  to  two  individuals,  in  whom  he 
could  place  entire  confidence,  Gonzales  Munebrega,  archbishop 
of  Tarragona,  and  Pedro  de  la  Gasca,  archbishop  of  Palencia, 
who  fixed  their  residence,  the  former  at  Seville,  and  the  latter 
at  \  alladolid,  in  the  character  of  vice-inquisitors  general. 
Both  substitutes  proved  themselves  worthy  of  the  trust  re- 
posed in  them;  but  the  conduct  of  Munebrega  gratified  the 
highest  expectations  of  Valdes  and  Philip.  When  engaged  in 
superintending  the  examinations  of  the  prisoners,  and  giving 


accustojned  to  indulge  in  the  most  profane  and  cruel  raillery, 

saying  that  these  heretics  had  the  commandment,  "  Thou 

shall  love  thy  neighbour  as  thyself,"  so  dee])ly  seated  in 

w  of  Philip  which  ordained  the  punishment  of  their  hearts,  that  it  was  necessary  to  tear  the  flesh  from  their 

bones,  to  make  them  inform  against  their  brethren.  During 
the  intervals  of  business,  he  was  to  be  seen  sailing  in  his 
barge  on  the  river,  or  walking  in  the  gardens  of  the  Triana, 
dressed  in  purple  and  silk,  accompanied  with  a  train  of  ser- 
vants, surrounded  by  wretched  poetasters,  and  followed  by 
hired  crowds,  who  at  one  time  saluted  him  with  their  huzzas, 
and  at  another  insulted  the  proteslants,  whom  they  descried 
through  the  grated  windows  of  the  castle.  An  anecdote  which 
is  told  of  him,  though  trifling  compared  with  the  horrors  of 
that  lime,  deserves  to  be  repeated  as  a  proof  of  the  insolence 
of  office,  and  one  among  manj'  instances  of  the  shameless 
manner  in  which  the  inquisitors  converted  their  authority  into 
an  instrument  of  gratifying  their  meanest  passions.  A  ser- 
vant of  the  vice-inquisitor  general  snatched  a  stick  one  day 
from  the  gardener's  son,  who  was  amusing  himself  in  one  of 
the  avenues.  The  father,  attracted  by  the  cries  of  his  child, 
came  to  the  spot,  and  having  in  vain  desired  the  servant  to 
restore  the  stick,  w  rested  it  from  his  hand,  which  was  slightly 
injured  in  the  struggle.  A  complaint  was  instantly  made  to 
Munebrega;  and  the  conduct  of  the  gardener  being  found  suf- 
ficient to  fasten  on  him  a  susjiicion  of  heresy  <//:  leii,  he  was 
thrown  into  prison,  w  here  he  lay  nine  months  heavily  ironed. 
The  reader  will  mistake  very  much,  if  he  suppose  that  the 
holy  fathers  undertook  all  these  extraordinarj'  services  from 
pure  zeal  for  the  truth,  or  under  the  idea  that  their  super- 
abundant and  supererogatory  labours  would  secure  to  them 
an  unseen  and  future  recompense.  If  heretics  were  visited 
in  this  life  with  exemplary  punishment  for  the  sins  of  which 
they  had  been  guilty,  why  should  not  the  defenders  of  the 
faith  have  "llieir  good  things"  in  this  life?  To  meet  the 
expenses  of  this  domestic  crusade,  the  pope,  at  the  request 
of  the  inquisitors,  authorized  them  to  appropriate  to  their  use 
certain  ecclesiastical  revenues,  and  granted  them,  in  addition, 
an  extraordinary  subsidy  of  a  hundred  thousand  lincats  of 
gold,  to  be  raised  by  the  clergy.  The  bull  issued  for  that 
purpose  stated,  that  the  heresy  of  Luther  had  made  an  alarm- 
ing progress  in  .Spain,  where  il'was  embraced  b)'  many  rich 
and  powerful  individuals;  that,  with  a  view  of  pulling  a  stop 
to  it,  the  inquisitor  general  had  been  obliged  to  commit  to 
prison  a  multitude  of  suspected  persons,  to  increase  the  num- 
ber of  judges  in  the  provincial  tribunals,  to  employ  supernu- 
merary familiars,  and  to  purchase  and  keep  in  readiness  a 
supply  of  horses  in  different  parts  of  the  kingdom  for  the 
pursuit  of  fugitives;  and  that  the  ordinary  revenue  of  the 
IIolj-  Office  was  quite  insufiicient  to  defray  the  expenses  of 
so  enlarged  an  establishment,  and  at  the  same  time  to  main- 
tain such  of  the  prisoners  as  were  destitute  of  means  to 
su])port  themselves.  Zealous  as  the  clergy  in  general  were 
against  heresy,  they  fretted  exceedingly  against  this  tax  on 
their  income;  and  after  the  Inquisition  had  succeeded  in  ex- 
terminating the  Lutherans,  it  needed  lo  direct  its  thunders, 
and  evi^n  to  call  in  the  assistance  of  the  secular  arm,  against 
certain  refractory  canons,  who  resisted  the  payment  of  the 
sums  in  which  they  had  been  assessed. 

While  these  preparations  were  going  on,  it  is  not  easy  to 
conceive,  but  easier  to  conceive  than  describe,  the  situation 
and  feelings  of  the  captive  proteslants.  To  have  had  the 
prospect  of  an  open  trial,  though  accompanied  with  the  cer- 
tainty of  being  convicted  and  doomed  to  an  ignominious  death, 
would  have  been  relief  to  their  minds.  But,  instead  of  this, 
they  were  condemned  to  a  protracted  conilnement,  during 
w  hich  their  melancholj'  solitude  was  only  broken  in  upon  by 
attempts  to  bereave  them  of  their  best  consolation ;  distracted, 
on  the  one  hand,  by  the  entreaties  of  their  disconsolate  friends, 
who  besought  them  to  jiurehase  their  lives  by  an  early  re- 
cantation, and  harassed,  on  the  other,  by  Ihe  endless  exami- 
nations to  w  hich  they  were  subjected  by  their  persecutors ; 
assured  to-day  that  they  would  escape  provided  they  made 
an  ingenuous  confession  of  all  they  knew,  and  told  to-morrow 
that  the  confessions  w  hich  they  had  made  in  confidence  had 
only  served  to  confirm  the  suspicions  entertained  of  their 
sincerity;  hearing,  at  one  lime,  of  some  unhappy  individual 
who  w  as  added  to  iheir  number,  and  receiving,  at  another 
time,  the  slill  more  distressing  intelligence  that  a  fellow- 
prisoner,  entangled  by  sophistry,  or  overcome  by  torments, 
had  consented  to  abjure  the  truth.  A  milder  tribunal  would 
have  been  satisfied  with  making  au  example  of  the  ringlead- 
ers, or  would  have  brought  out  the  guilty  for  execution  as 
soon  as  their  trials  could  be  overtaken.    The  policy  of  Philip 


342 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


II.  and  his  inquisitors  was  different.  They  wished  to  strike 
terror  into  the  minds  of  the  whole  nation,  and  exhibit  to 
Europe  a  grand  spectacle  of  zeal  for  the  catholic  faith,  ami 
■vengeance  against  heres}'.  Filled  with  those  fears  which 
ever  haunt  the  minds  of  t_viants,  they  imagined  that  heresy 
had  spread  more  extensively  than  was  really  the  case,  and 
therefore  sought  to  extort  from  their  prisoners  such  confess- 
ions as  would  lead  to  the  discovery  of  those  who  still  remained 
concealed,  or  who  might  bo  in  the  slightest  degree  infected 
with  the  new  opinions.  'While  they  had  not  the  most  distant 
intention  of  extending  mercy  to  those  who  professed  them^ 
selves  penitent,  and  had  already  procured  a  law  which  war- 
ranted them  to  withhold  it,  they  were  nevertheless  anxious 
to  secure  a  triumph  to  the  catholic  faith,  by  having  it  in  their 
power  to  read,  in  the  public  auto-de-fe,  the  forced  retractions 
of  those  who  had  embraced  the  truth.  With  this  view,  the 
greater  part  of  the  protcstants  were  detained  in  ])rison  for  two, 
and  some  of  them  for  three  years,  during  which  their  bodilj' 
health  was  broken,  or  their  spirit  subdued,  by  the  rigour  of 
confinement  and  the  severity  of  torture.  The  consequence  of 
this  treatment  was,  that  the  constancy  of  some  of  them  was 
shaken,  while  others  ended  their  days  by  a  lingering  and 
secret  martyrdom. 

Among  those  of  the  last  class  was  Constantino  Ponce  de  la 
Fuentc.  P^xposed  as  he  was  to  the  hatred  of  those  who  en- 
vied his  popularity,  and  the  jealousy  of  those  who  looked 
upon  him  as  the  ablest  supporter  of  the  new  opinions,  it  is 
not  to  be  supposed  that  this  learned  man  could  escape  the 
storm  that  overwhelmed  the  reformed  church  in  Spain.  He 
was  among  the  first  who  were  apprehended,  when  the  fami- 
liars were  let  loose  on  the  protestants  of  Seville.  When  in- 
formation was  conve)'ed  to  Charles  V.  in  the  monastery  of  St. 
Juste,  that  his  favourite  chaplain  was  thrown  into  prison,  he 
exclaimed,  '•  If  Constantino  be  a  heretic,  he  is  a  great  one !" 
and  when  assured,  at  a  subsequent  period,  by  one  of  the  in- 
quisitors, that  he  had  been  found  guilty,  he  replied  with  a 
sigh,  -'You  cannot  condemn  a  greater!" 

The  joy  which  the  inquisitors  felt  at  obtaining  possession 
of  the  person  of  a  man  whom  they  had  long  eved  with  jea 
lousy,  was  in  no  small  degree  abated  by  the  difliculties  w  hich 
they  found  in  the  way  of  proc.uring  his  conviction.  Knowinsr 
the  perilous  circumstances  in  which  he  was  placed,  he  had 
for  some  time  back  exercised  the  utmost  circumspection  over 
his  words  and  actions.  His  confidential  friends,  as  we  have 
already  stated,  were  always  few  and  select.  His  penetra- 
tion enabled  him  with  a  single  glaticc  to  detect  the  traitor 
under  his  mask ;  and  his  knowledge  of  human  nature  kept 
him  from  committing  himself  to  the  weak  though  honest 
partisans  of  the  reformed  faith.  The  veneration  and  esteem 
in  which  he  was  held  by  his  friends  was  so  great,  that  they 
would  have  died  sooner  than  compromise  his  safety  by  their 
confessions.  AVhen  brought  before  his  judges,  he  maintained 
his  innocence,  challenged  the  pidilic  prosecutor  to  show  that 
he  had  done  any  thing  criminal,  and  repelled  the  charges 
brought  against  him  with  such  ability  and  success  as  threw 
his  adversaries  into  the  greatest  perplexity'.  There  was 
every  probability  that  he  would  finally  baffle  their  eiibrts  to 
convict  him  of  heresy,  when  an  unforeseen  occurrence  obliged 
him  to  abandon  the  line  of  defence  which  he  had  hitherto 
pursued.  Dona  Isabella  Martinia,  a  widow  lady  of  respecta- 
bility and  opulence,  had  been  thrown  into  prison  as  a  sus- 
pected heretic,  and  her  property  confiscated.  The  inquisitors 
being  informed,  by  the  treachery  of  a  servant  in  the  family, 
that  her  sen,  Francisco  Bertran,  had  contrived,  before  the  in- 
ventory was  taken,  to  secrete  certain  coffers  contained  valua- 
ble elfccts,  sent  their  alguazil,  Luis  Sotelo,  to  demand  thein. 
As  soon  as  the  alguazil  entered  the  house,  Bertran,  in  great 
trepidation,  told  him  he  knew  his  errand,  and  would  deliver 
up  what  he  wanted,  on  condition  that  he  screened  him  from 
the  vengeance  of  the  Inquisition.  Conducting  the  alguazil 
to  a  retired  part  of  the  building,  and  breaking  dow-u  a  thin 
partition-wall,  he  disclosed  a  quantity  of  books  which  Con- 
stamine  Ponce  had  deposited  with  his  mother  for  the  purpose 
of  security,  some  time  before  his  imprisonment.  Sotelo  sig- 
nified that  these  were  not  exactly  what  he  was  in  search  of, 
but  that  he  would  take  charge  of  them,  along  with  the  colfers 
which  he  was  instructed  to  carry  to  the  Holy  Ollice.  Daz- 
zling as  were  the  jewels  of  Isabella  Martinia,  the  eyes  of  the 
iiiquisitors  glistened  still  more  at  llie  sight  of  the  books  of 
Conslantine.  On  examining  them,  they  found,  beside  vari- 
ous heretical  works,  a  volume  of  his  own  handw-riting,  in 
which  the  points  of  controversy  between  the  church  of  Home 
and  the  protestants  were  discussed  at  considerable  length. 
In  it  the  author  treated  of  the  true  church  according  to°the 


principles  of  Luther  and  Calvin,  and,  by  an  application  of  the 
difterent  marks  which  the  scriptures  gave  for  discriminating 
it,  showed  that  the  papal  church  had  no  claim  to  the  title. 
In  a  similar  way  he  decided  the  questions  respecting  justifi- 
cation, the  merit  of  good  works,  the  sacraments,  indulffences, 
and  purgatory ;  calling  this  last  the  wolf's  head,  and  an  in- 
vention of  the  monks  to  feed  idle  bellies.  When  the  volume 
was  shown  to  Constantinc,  he  acknowledged  at  once  that  it 
was  in  his  handwriting,  and  contained  Iiis  sentiments;  "It 
is  unnecessary  for  you  (added  he)  to  produce  further  evi- 
dence:  you  have  there  a  candid  and  full  confession  of  my 
belief.  I  am  in  your  hands;  do  with  me  as  seemeth  to  you 
good." 

No  arts  or  threatnings  could  prevail  on  hira  to  give  any  in- 
formation respecting  his  associates.  With  the  view  of  in- 
ducing the  other  prisoners  to  plead  guilty,  the  agents  of  the 
Holy  Office  circulated  the  report  that  he  had  informed  against 
them  when  put  to  the  question  ;  and  they  even  suborned  wit- 
nesses to  depone  that  they  had  heard  his  cries  on  the  rack, 
though  he  never  endured  that  inhuman  mode  of  examination. 
By  what  motives  the  judges  were  restrained  from  subjecting 
him  to  it,  is  uncertain.  I  can  only  conjecture  that  it  pro- 
ceeded from  respect  to  the  feelings  of  the  emiieror ;  for,  soon 
after  his  death,  Constantine  was  removed  from  the  apart- 
ment which  he  had  hitherto  occupied,  and  thrust  into  a  low, 
damp,  and  noisome  vault,  where  he  endured  more  than  his 
brethren  did  from  the  application  of  the  engines  of  torture. 
Oppressed  and  worn  out  with  a-mode  of  living  so  different 
from  wdiat  he  had  been  used  to,  he  was  heard  to  exclaim, 
"  O  my  God,  were  there  no  Scythians,  or  cannibals,  or  pa- 
gans still  more  savage,  that  thou  hast  permitted  me  to  fall 
into  the  hands  of  these  baptized  fiends  V  He  could  not  re- 
main long  in  such  a  situation.  Putrid  air  and  unwholesome 
diet,  together  with  grief  for  the  ruin  of  the  reformed  cause  in 
bis  native  countrj',  brought  on  a  dysentery,  which  put  an 
end  to  his  days,  after  he  had  been  nearly  two  years  in  con- 
finement. 

Not  satisfied  with  wreaking  their  vengeance  on  him  when 
alive,  his  adversaries  circulated  the  report  that  he  had  put  an 
end  to  his  own  life  by  opeiung  a  vein  with  a  piece  of  broken 
glass;  and  ballads  grounded  on  this  fabricated  story, 
and  containing  other  slanders,  were  indecently  hawked 
through  the  streets  of  Seville.  Had  there  been  the  least 
foundation  for  this  report,  we  may  be  sure  the  inquisitors 
would  have  taken  care  to  verify  it,  by  ordering  an  inquest  to 
be  held  on  the  dead  body.  But  the  calumn}-  was  refuted  by 
the  testimony  of  a  young  monk  of  San  Isidro,  named  Fer- 
nando, who  being  providentially  confined  in  the  same  cell 
with  Constantine,  ministered  to  him  during  his  sickness, and 
closed  his  eyes  in  peace. 

The  slanders  which  were  at  tlris  time  so  industriously  pro- 
pagated against  him,  only  serve  to  show  the  anxiety  of  the 
inquisitors  to  blast  his  fame  and  the  dread  which  they  felt 
lest  the  reformed  opinions  should  gain  credit  from  the  cir- 
cumstance of  their  havino-  been  embraced  by  a  person  of  so 
great  eminence  and  popularity.  In  this  object,  however, 
they  did  not  succeed  altogether  to  their  wish.  This  ap- 
peared when  his  effigy  and  bones  were  brought  out  in  the  pub- 
lic auto-de-fe  celebrated  at  Seville  on  the  '22d  of  December 
1560.  The  effigies  of  such  heretics  as  had  escaped  from  justice, 
by  flight  or  by  death,  usually  consisted  of  a  shapeless  piece 
of  patch-work  surmounted  by  a  head  ;  that  of  Constantine 
Pouce  consisted  of  a  regular  human  figure,  complete  in  all  its 
parts,  dressed  after  the  manner  in  which  he  appeared  in  pub- 
lic, and  representing  him  in  his  most  common  attitude  of 
.preacliing,  with  one  arm  resting'  on  the  pulpit  and  the  other 
elevated.  The  production  of  Ibis  figure  in  the  spectacle, 
when  his  sentence  was  about  to  be  read,  excited  a  lively  re- 
collection of  a  preacher  so  popular,  and  drew  from  the  spec- 
tators an  expression  of  feeling  by  no  means  pleasing  to  the 
inquisitors.  In  consequence  of  this  they  caused  it  to  be 
w-ithdrawn  from  the  prominent  situation  which  it  occupied, 
and  to  be  brought  near  to  their  own  platform,  where  they 
commenced  the  reading  of  the  articles  of  the  libel  on  which 
Constantine  had  been  condemned.  The  people,  displeased 
at  this  step,  and  not  hearing  what  was  read,  began  to  mur- 
mur; upon  which  Calderon,  who,  as  mayor  of  the  city,  pre- 
sided on  the  occasion,  desired  the  acting  secretary  to  go  to 
the  pulpit  provided  for  that  part  of  the  ceremony.  This  inti- 
mation being'  disregarded,  the  murmurs  were  renewed,  and 
the  mayor,  raising"  his  voice,  ordered  the  service  to  be  sus- 
pended. The  inquisitors  were  obliged  to  restore  the  efligy  to 
its  former  place,  and  to  recommeitcc  the  reading  of  the  sen- 
tence in  the  audience  of  the  people ;  but  the  secretary  was 


HISTORY  OF  THE  REFORMATION  IN  SPAIN. 


',r. 


instructed,  after  naming  a  low  of  llie  errors  into  which  llie 
deceased  had  fallen,  to  conclude  by  sayinjr,  that  he  had  vented 
others  so  horible  and  impious  that  they  could  not  be  heard 
without  pollution  by  vulsjar  ears.  After  this  the  effigy  was 
sent  to  the  house  of  the  Inquisition,  and  another  of  ordinary 
construction  was  conveyed  to  the  stake  to  he  burnt  along  with 
the  bones  of  Constantine.  The  inquisitors  were  not  a  little 
puzzled  how  to  act  respecting  his  works,  which  had  already 
been  printed  by  their  approbation ;  but  they  at  last  agreed  to 
prohibit  them,  "  not  because  they  had  found  any  thing  in 
them  worthy  of  condemnation,"  as  their  sentence  runs,  "but 
because  it  was  not  fit  that  any  honourable  memorial  of  a  man 
doomed  to  infamy  should  be  transmitted  to  posterity."  But 
they  had  a  still  more  delicate  task  to  perform.  The  history 
of  a  voj-age  to  Flanders  by  Philip  II.  when  prince  of  Astu- 
rias,  had  been  printed  at  Madrid  by  royal  authority,  in  which 
his  chaplain  Constantine  was  described  as  "  the  greatest  phi 
losopher,  the  profoundest  divine,  and  the  most  eloquent 
preacher,  who  has  been  in  Spain  for  many  ages."  Whether 
Philip  himself  gave  information  of  this  work,  we  know  not; 
but  there  can  be  no  doubt  that  ho  would  have  run  the  risk  of 
excommunication  by  retaining  it  in  his  library,  after  it  was 
stigmatized  by  the  inquisitorial  censors  of  the  press.  They 
ordered  all  the  copies  of  the  book  to  be  delivered  to  them, 
that  they  might  delete  the  obnoxious  panegyric;  "  and  on 
this  passage,"  says  one  who  afterwards  procured  a  copy  of 
the  History  in  Spain,  "  the  expurgator  of  the  book,  which  is 
in  my  hands,  was  so  liberal  of  his  ink,  that  I  had  much  ado 
to  read  it." 

Constantine  Ponce  was  not  the  only  protestant  who  fell  a 
sacrifice  to  the  noxious  vapours  and  ordure  of  the  inquisitorial 
prisons.  This  was  also  the  fate  of  Olmedo,  a  man  distin- 
guished for  his  learning  and  piety,  who  fell  into  the  hands  of 
the  inquisitors  of  Seville,  and  was  often  heard  to  exclaim,  that 
there  was  no  species  of  torture  which  ho  would  not  endure 
in  preference  to  the  horrors  of  his  present  situation.  Consid- 
ering the  treatment  which  the  prisoners  received,  it  is  won- 
derful that  many  of  them  were  not  driven  to  distraction.  One 
individual  only,  a  female,  had  recourse  to  Uie  desperate  rem- 
edy of  shortening  her  days.  Juana  Sanchez,  a  heala,  after 
having  been  long  kept  in  prison  at  Valladolid,  was  found 
guilty  of  heresy.  Coming  to  the  knowledge  of  her  sentence 
before  it  was  formally  intimated  to  her,  she  cut  her  throat 
with  a  pair  of  scissors,  and  died  of  the  wound  in  the  course 
of  a  few  days.  During  the  interval  every  elTort  was  employ- 
ed by  the  friars  to  induce  her,  not  to  repent  of  the  suicide,  but 
to  recant  the  errors  which  she  had  cherished.  She  repulsed 
tliera  with  indignation,  as  monsters  equally  devoid  of  human- 
ity and  religion. 

I  must  again  refer  my  readers  to  the  common  histories  of 
the  Inquisition,  for  information  as  to  the  modes  of  torture 
and  other  cruel  devices  used  for  procuring  evidence  to  con- 
vict those  who  were  imprisoned  on  a  charge  of  heresy.  One 
or  two  instances,  however,  are  of  such  a  character  that  it 
would  he  unpardonable  to  omit  them  in  this  place.  Among 
the  protestants  seized  in  Seville  was  the  widow  of  Fernando 
Nugnez,  a  native  of  the  town  of  Lepe,  with  three  of  her 
daughters  and  a  married  sister.  As  there  was  no  evidence 
against  them,  they  were  put  to  the  torture,  but  refused  to  in- 
form against  one  another.  Upon  this  the  presiding  inquisi- 
tor called  one  of  the  young  women  into  the  audience-chamber, 
and  after  conversing  with  her  for  some  time,  professed  an 
attachment  to  her  person.  Having  repeated  this  at  another 
interview,  he  told  her,  that  he  could  be  of  no  service  to  her 
unless  she  imparted  to  him  the  whole  facts  of  her  case  ;  but 
if  she  entrusted  him  with  these,  he  would  manage  the  affair 
in  such  a  way  as  that  she  and  all  her  friends  should  be  set 
at  liberty.  Falling  into  the  snare,  the  unsuspecting  girl  con- 
fessed to  him  that  she  had  at  different  times  conversed  with 
her  mother,  sisters,  and  aunt,  on  the  Lutheran  doctrines. 
The  wretch  immediately  brought  her  into  court,  and  obliged 
her  to  declare  judicially  what  she  had  owned  to  him  in  pri- 
vate. Nor  was  this  all  :  under  the  pretence  that  her  confes- 
sion was  not  sufficiently  ample  and  ingenuous,  she  was  put 
to  the  torture  by  the  most  excruciating  engines,  the  pulley 
and  the  wooden  horse  ;  by  which  means  evidence  was  ex- 
torted from  her,  which  led,  not  only  to  the  condemnation  of 
herself  and  her  relations,  but  also  to  the  seizure  and  convic- 
tion of  others  who  afterwards  perished  in  the  flames.  Another 
instance  relates  to  a  young  countryman  of  ourown.  AnEng- 
lish  vessel,  which  had  entered  the  port  of  St.  Lucar,  was 
visited  by  the  familiars  of  the  Inquisition,  and  several  of  the 
crew,  who,  with  the  frankness  of  British  seamen,  avowed  them- 
selves protestants,  were  seized  before  they  came  on  shore. 


Along  with  them  the  familiars  conveyed  to  prison  a  boy  of 
twelve  years  of  age,  the  son  of  a  respectable  merchaiit  to 
whom  the  principal  part  of  the  cargo  belonged.  The  pretext 
tor  his  apprehension  was,  that  an  English  jsalm-book  was 
found  in  his  portmanteau  ;  but  there  is  reason  to  believe  that 
the  real  ground  was  the  hope  of  extorting  from  the  father  a 
rich  ransom  for  his  sou's  .liberation.  HaviTig  been  piously 
educated,  the  youth  was  observed  to  be  regular  in  his  devo- 
tions, and  to  relieve  the  iksomeness  of  his  confinement  by 
occasionally  singing  one  of  the  psalms  which  he  had  com- 
mitted to  memory.  Both  of  these  were  high  offences  ;  for 
every  piece  of  devotion  not  conducted  under  the  direction  of 
its  ghostly  agents,  and  even  every  mark  of  cheerfulness  on 
the  part  of  the  prisoners,  is  strictly  prohibited  within  the 
gloomy  walls  of  the  Holy  Office.  On  the  report  of  the  jailer, 
the  boy's  confinement  was  rendered  more  severe ;  in  conse- 
quence of  which  he  lost  the  use  of  both  his  limbs,  and  it  was 
found  necessary,  for  the  preservation  of  his  life,  to  remove 
him  to  the  public  hospital. 

So  shameful  were  the  measures  taken  for  procuring  the 
conviction  of  the  prisoners  at  this  time,  that  a  lojal  investi- 
gation of  the  procedure  in  the  inquisitorial  tribunals  was  af- 
terwards demanded  by  persons  of  great  respectability  in  the 
church.  In  15G0,  Seuor  Enriquez,  an  ecclesiastic  of  rank  in 
the  collegiate  church  of  Valladolid,  presented  to  Philip  a  re- 
monstrance against  the  inquisition  of  that  city,  in  which  he 
charged  it  with  tyranny  and  avarice.  Among  other  things 
he  asserted,  that  in  the  cause  of  Cazalla  the  officers  had_allow- 
ed  the  nuns,  who  like  him  were  imprisoned  for  Lutheranism, 
to  converse  together,  that,  by  confirming  one  another  in  their  er- 
rors, the  judges  might  have  it  in  their  power  to  condemn  them, 
and  thus  to  confiscate  their  propertj'.  Having  accomplished 
the  object  which  they  had  in  view,  they  changed  their  mea- 
sures, kept  the  prisoners  apart,  and,  by  examinations  and 
visits,  promises  and  ihreatenings,  tried  every  method  to 
induce  them  to  recant  and  die  in  the  bosom  of  tlie  church. 

Nearly  two  years  having  been  spent  in  the  previous  steps, 
the  time  was  considered  as  come,  according  to  Spanish  ideas 
of  unity  of  action,  for  the  exhibition  of  the  last  scene  of  the 
horrible  tragedy.  Orders  were  accordingly  issued  by  the 
council  of  the  Supreme  for  the  celebration  of  public  autos- 
de-fe,  under  the  direction  of  the  several  tribunals  of  inquisi- 
tion through  the  kingdom.  Those  which  took  place  at  Se- 
ville and  V'alladolid  were  the  most  noted  for  the  pomp  with 
which  they  w^ere  solemnized,  and  for  the  number  and  rank  of 
the  victims.  Before  describing  these,  it  may  be  proper  to 
give  the  reader  a  general  idea  of  the  nature  of  these  ex- 
hibitions, and  the  order  in  which  they  were  usually  con- 
ducted. 

An  auto-dt-fe,  or  ad  of  faith,  was  cither  particular  or  gen- 
eral. In  the  particular  auto,  or  uiititlo,  as  it  is  called,  the 
offender  appeared  before  the  inquisitors  in  their  hall,  either 
alone  or  in  the  presence  of  a  select  number  of  witnesses,  and 
had  his  sentence  intimated  to  him.  A  general  auto,  in  which 
a  number  of  heretics  were  brought  out,  was  performed  with 
the  most  imposing  solemnity,  and  formed  an  imitation  of  an 
ancient  Roman  triumph,  combined  with  the  last  judgment.* 
It  was  always  celebrated  on  Sunday  or  holyday,  in  the 
largest  church,  but  more  frequently  in  the  most  spacious 
square,  of  the  town  in  which  it  happened  to  be  held.  Inti- 
mation of  it  was  publicl)'  made  beforehand  in  all  the  churches 
and  religious  houses  in  the  neighbourliood.  The  attendance 
of  the  civil  authorities,  as  well  as  of  the  clergy,  secular  and 
regular,  was  required;  and,  with  the  view  of  attracting  the 
multitude,  an  indulgence  of  forty  days  was  proclaimed  to  all 
who  should  witness  the  ceremonies  of  the  act. 

On  the  evening  preceding  the  auto,  such  of  the  prisoners 
as  were  penitent,  and  were  to  suffer  a  punishment  milder  than 
death,  were  assembled,  the  males  in  one  apartment  of  the 
prison,  and  the  females  in  another,  when  they  had  their  res- 
pective sentences  intimated  to  them.  At  midnight  a  con- 
fessor entered  the  cell  of  the  prisoners  who  were  sentenced 
to  the  slake,  and  intimated  to  them  for  the  first  time  the  fate 
which  awaited  them,  accompanying  the  intimation  with 
earnest  exhortations  to  recant  their  errors,  and  die  reconciled 
to  the  church  ;  in  which  case  they  obtained  the  favour  of  being 


*'  The  last  mentioned  resemblance  is  notlcccl  hi  a  letter  written  by 
a  Sloor  in  Spani  to  a  friend  in  Africa,  giving  bim  an  account  of  the 
sufferings  of  his  countrymen  from  the  Inquisition  :  "After  tliis  tliey 
meet  in  the  square  of  Hatabin,  and  there  having  erected  a  large  stage, 
thev  n^akc  all  resemble  tlic  da}  of  judgment;  and  he  that  reconciles 
himself  to  them  isclotlied  in  a  jelloM'  mantle,  and  the  rest  are  carried 
to  the  flames  with  efligics  and  horrible  figures.'*  (.Marmol,  Historia 
del  Kebelion  del  Heyno  de  Granada,  lili.  iii.  cap.  .5. J 


344 


CHRISTIAN     LIBRARY. 


strangled  Ijrlbre  their  bodies  were  committed  to  tlie  flames. 
On  such  occasions  tlie  most  heart-rending  scenes  sometimes 
took  place. 

Early  on  the  following-  morning  the  bells  of  all  the  churches 
began  to  toll, -when  the  officials  of  the  Inquisition  repaired  to 
the  prison,  and  having  assembled  the  prisoners,  clothed  them 
in  the  several  dresses  in  which  tiiey  were  to  make  their  ap- 
pearance at  the  spectacle.  Those  who  were  found  suspected 
of  having  erred  in  a  slight  degree  were  simply  clothed  in 
black.  The  other  prisoners  wore  a  sanbenito,  or  s])ecies  of 
loose  vest  of  yellow  cloth,  called  ziimarrn  in  Spanish.  On 
the  sanbenito  of  those  who  were  to  be  strangled  were  painted 
flames  burning  downwards,  which  tlie  Spaniards  call  fuec;n 
rcvvlto,  to  intimate  that  they  had  escaped  the  fire.  The  san- 
benito of  those  who  were  doomed  to  be  burnt  alive  was 
covered  with  figures  of  fianties  burning  upwards,  around  which 
\vere  painted  devils,  carrying  faggots,  or  fanning  the  fire. 
Similar  marks  of  infamy  ap])cared  on  the  pasteboard  cap, 
called  cvuzu,  which  was  put  on  their  heads.  Ai'ter  this  cere 
mony  was  over,  they  were  desired  to  partake  of  a  sumptuous 
breakfast,  W'hich,  o[i  their  refusal,  was  devoured  Ijy  the  me 
nials  of  the  office. 

The  persons  who  were  to  take  part  in  the  ceremony  being 
all  assembled  in  the  court  of  the  prison,  the  procession  mov 
on,  generally  in  the  following  order.  Preceded  by  a  band  of 
soldiers  to  clear  the  way,  came  a  certain  number  of  priests  in 
their  surplices,  attended  by  a  company  of  young  persons,  such 
as  the  boys  of  the  college  of  Doctrine  in  Seville,  who  chanted 
the  liturgy  in  alternate  choruses.  They  were  followed  by  the 
prisoners,  arranged  in  dilTcrent  classes  according  to  the  de- 
grees of  their  sup])osed  delinquencies,  the  most  guilty  being 
jdaced  last,  having  either  extinguislied  torches  or  else  crosses 
in  thf  ir  hands,  and  halters  suspended  from  their  necks.  Every 
prisoner  was  guarded  by  two  familiars,  and,  in  addition  to 
this,  those  who  were  condemned  to  die  were  attended  each 
by  two  friars.  After  the  ])risoners  came  the  local  magis- 
trates, the  judges,  and  otficcrs  of  state,  accompanied  by  a  train 
of  nobility  on  horseback.  They  were  succeeded  by  the  se- 
cular and  monastic  clergy.  At  some  distance  from  these 
were  to  be  seen  moving  forward,  in  slow  and  solemn  pomp, 
the  members  of  the  Holy  (Mice,  the  persons  who  principally 
shared  the  trium]di  of  the  day,  preceded  by  their  fiscal,  bear- 
ing the  standard  of  the  Inquisition,  composed  of  red  silk 
damask,  on  which  the  names  and  insignia  of  pope  Sixtus  IV. 
and  Ferdinand  the  (^alhoiic,  the  founders  of  the  tribunal,  were 
conspicuous,  and  surmounted  by  a  crucifix  of  massive  silver, 
overlaid  with  gold,  wliich  was  held  in  the  highest  veneration 
by  the  populace.  They  were  followed  by  The  familiars  on 
horseback,  forming  their  body  guard,  and  including  many  of 
the  principal  gentry  of  the  country  as  honorary  members. 
The  procession  was  closed  by  an  immense  concourse  of  the 
common  people,  who  advanced  without  any  regular  order. 

Having  arrived  at  the  place  of  the  auto,  the  inquisitors 
ascended  tlie  platform  erected  for  their  reception,  and  the 
prisoners  were  conducted  to  another  which  was  placed  op- 
posite to  it.  The  service  commenced  with  a  sermon,  usu- 
ally preached  by  some  distinguished  prelate;  after  which  the 
clerk  of  the  tribunal  read  the  sentences  of  the  penitents,  who, 
on  their  knees,  and  with  hands  laid  on  the  missal,  repeated 
tlieir  confessions.  The  presiding  inquisitor  then  descended 
from  the  throne  on  which  he  sat,  and  advancing  to  Jhe  altar, 
absolved  the  penitents  a  culpa,  leaving  them  under  the  obli- 
gation to  bear  the  several  puuishmenis  to  which  they  had 
been  adjudged,  whether  these  consisted  of  penances,  banish- 
ment, whipping,  hard  labour,  or  imprisonment.  He  then 
administered  an  oatli  to  all  who  were  present  at  the  spectacle, 
binding  them  to  live  and  die  in  the  communion  of  the  Roman 
church,  and  lo  uphold  and  defend,  against  all  its  adversaries, 
the  tribunal  of  the  Holy  Inquisition;  during  which  ceremony 
the  people  were  to  be  seen  all  at  once  on  their  knees  in  the 
streets.  The  more  tragical  part  of  the  scene  now  followed. 
The  sentences  of  those  who  were  doomed  to  die  having  be^n 
publicly  rear),  such  of  them  as  were  in  hoi}'  orders  were  ])ub- 
liely  degraded,  bjr  being  stripped,  piece  by  piece,  of  their 
priestly  vestments ;  a  ceremony  which  was  performed  with 
every  circumstance  calculated  to  expose  them  to  ignominy 
and  execration  in  the  eyes  of  the  superstitious  beholders. 
After  this  they  were  formally  delivered  over  to  the  secular 
judges,  to  suffer  the  punishment  awarded  to  heretics  by  the 
civil  law.  It  was  on  this  occasion  that  the  inquisitors  per- 
formed that  impious  farce  which  has  excited  the  indignation 
of  all  in  whose  breasts  fanaticism,  or  some  worse  principle, 
has  not  extinguished  every  sentimejit  of  common  feeling. 
When  they  delivered  Ihe  prisoner  into  the  hands  of  the  se- 


cular judges  whom  they  had  summoned  to  receive  him,  they 
besought  them  to  treat  him  with  clemency  and  compassion.* 
This  they  did  to  eseajie  falling  under  the  censure  of  irregii- 
liiriti/,  which  the  canons  of  the  church  had  denounced  against 
ecclesiastics  who  should  be  accessory  to  the  inflicting  of  any 
bodily  injury.  Yet  they  not  only  knew  what  would  be  the 
consequence  of  their  act,  but  liad  taken  all  the  precautions 
necessary  for  securing  it.  Five  days  before  the  auto-de-fe, 
they  acquainted  the  ordinary  royal  judge  with  the  number  of 
prisoners  to  be  delivered  over  to  him,  in  onler  that  the  proper 
quantity  of  stakes,  wood,  and  every  thing  else  requisite  for 
the  execution,  might  be  in  readiness.  The  prisoners  once 
declared  by  the  inquisitors  to  be  impenitent  or  relapsed  here- 
tics, nothing  was  competent  to  the  magistrate  but  to  pro- 
nounce the  sentence  adjudging  them  to  the  flames;  and  had 
he  presumed  in  any  instance  to  change  the  sentence  of  death 
into  perpetual  imprisonment,  though  it  were  in  one  of  the  re- 
motest forts  of  Asia,  Africa,  or  America,  he  would  soon  have 
felt  the  vengeance  of  the  Holy  OlHce.  Besides,  the  statutes 
adjudging  heretics  to  the  fire  liad  been  confirmed  by  nume- 
rous bulls  of  popes,  which  commanded  the  inquisitors  to 
watcli  over  their  exact  observance.  And  in  accordance  with 
this,  the}',  at  every  auto-de-fe,  required  the  magistrates  to 
swear  that  they  would  faithfully  execute  the  sentences  against 
the  jiersons  of  heretics,  without  delay,  "  in  the  way  and  man- 
ner prescribed  by  the  sacred  canons,  and  the  laws  which 
treated  on  the  subject."  Were  it  necessary  to  say  more  on 
this  topic,  we  might  add  that  the  very  appearance  of  the 
prisoners,  when  brought  out  in  the  public  spectacle,  pro- 
claimed the  unblushing  hypocrisy  of  the  inquisitors.  They 
implored  the  secular  judge  to  treat  with  lenity  and  compassion 
persons  whom  they  themselves  had  worn  to  skeletons  by  a 
cruel  incarceration, — not  to  shed  the  blood  of  him  from  whose 
body  they  had  often  made  the  blood  to  spring,  nor  to  break  a 
bone  of  her  whose  tender  limbs  were  already  distorted  and 
mangled  by  their  hellish  tortures! 

The  penitents  having  been  remanded  to  tbeir  several  prisons, 
the  other  prisoners  were  led  away  to  execution.  Some  writers 
have  spoken  as  if  they  were  executed  on  tlie  spot  where  their 
sentence  was  read,  and  in  the  presence  of  all  who  had  wit- 
nessed the  preceding  parts  of  the  spectacle.  This,  however, 
is  a  mistake.  The  stakes  were  erected  without  the  walls  of 
the  town  in  which  the  auto-de-fe  was  celebrated ;  but  though 
the  last  act  was  deemed  too  horrid  to  be  exhibited  on  the 
same  stage  with  those  which  we  have  described,  yet  it  was 
performed  ])ublicly,  and  was  witnessed,  not  only  by  the  mob, 
but  by  persons  who  froin  their  rank  and  station  might  have 
been  expected  to  turn  with  disgust  from  so  revolting  a  spec- 
tacle. 

Seville  contained  by  far  the  greatest  number  of  protestants 
under  confinement;  and  the  long  period  during  which  its 
prisons  had  been  crowded  gave  it  a  claim  to  the  benefit  of  the 
first  jail-delivery.  Valladolid,  however,  was  preferred ;  for  no 
other  reason,  apparently,  than  tliat  it  aflbrded  the  Inquisition 
the  opportunity  of  exhibiting  the  greatest  proportion  of  crimi- 
nals of  whom  it  could  boast  as  converts  from  heresy. 

The  first  public  auto-de-fe  of  protestants  was  accordingly 
celebrated  in  Valladolid  on  the  21st  of  May  1559,  being 
Trinity  Sunday,  in  the  presence  of  Don  Carlos,  the  heir  ap- 
parent to  tlie  crown,  and  bis  aunt  Joana,  queen  dowager  of 
Portugal  and  governess  of  the  kingdom  during  the  absence  of 
her  brother  Philip  II.;  attended  by  a  great  concourse  of  per- 
sons of  all  ranks.  It  was.  performed  in  the  grand  square, 
between  the  church  of  St.  Francis  and  the  house  of  the  Con- 
sistory. In  the  front  of  the  town-house,  and  by  the  side  of 
the  ]datform  occuidcd  by  Ihe  inquisitors,  a  box  was  erected, 
which  the  royal  family  could  enter  without  interruption  from 
the  crowd,  and  iihwhich  they  had  a  full  view  of  the  prisoners. 
The  spectacle  continued  from  six  oVIock  in  the  morning  till 
tuo  in  the  aflernoon,  during  which  the  people  exhibited  no 
synqitoms  of  impaiience,  nor  did  the  queen  retire  until  the 
whole  was  conelude<l.  The  sermon  was  preached  by  the 
celebrated  Melchior  Cano,  bishop  of  the  Canaries  ;  the  bishop 
of  Palencia,  to  whose  diocese  Valladolid  at  that  time  be- 
longed, performed  the  ceremony  of  degrading  such  of  the 

*  The  protcsUinl  liislorian  of  the  Inquisition,  de  Montcs,  sUitestlie 
niuUfi-  thus  : — \\  bun  the  person  wlio  is  rchixed  lias  confesscJ,  tlie 
iriiiuisitors,  on  clelivei-iiii;  liim  to  the  seculai- juilges,  "  beseech  lliem 
to  licit  him  with  niucli  commiseration,  anil  not  lo  break  a  bone  of 
his  body,  nor  shed  his  blood;'  but  wIrii  he  is  obsliiiato,  they  "  bc- 
soLih  ifiem,  it'  he  shall  show  any  symptoms  of  line  repentance,  to 
Ireal  him  with  much  commiseralion,"  &c.  (iMoutanus,p.  14S.)  1  do 
not  observe  any  such  distinction  in  the  aecounls  of  the  popish  histo- 
rians.   (Uorentc,  ii-  25(1-253-    Puigblantli,  i.  '2"9-2SI. ) 


HISTORY  OF  THE  REFORMATION  IN  SPAIN. 


345 


victims  as  were  in  holy  orders.  When  the  company  were 
assembled  and  had  taken  their  places,  Francisco  Baca,  the 
presiding  inquisitor,  advancing  to  the  bed  of  state  on  which 
the  prince  and  his  aunt  were  seated,  administered  to  them  the 
oath  to  support  the  Holy  Office,  and  to  reveal  to  it  everj'  thing 
contrary  to  the  faith  which  might  come  to  their  knowledge, 
witliout  respect  of  persons.  This  was  the  first  time  that  such 
an  oath  had  been  exacted  from  any  of  the  royal  family;  and 
Don  Carlos,  who  was  then  only  fourteen  years  of  age,  is  said 
from  that  moment  to  have  vowed  an  implacable  hatred  to  the 
Inquisition. 

The  prisoners  brought  forth  on  this  occasion  amounted  to 
thirty,  of  whom  sixteen  were  reconciled,  and  fourteen  were 
"  relaxed,"  or  delivered  over  to  the  secular  arm.  Of  the  last 
class,  two  were  thrown  alive  into  the  flames,  while  the  re- 
mainder were  previously  strangled. 

The  greater  part  of  the  first  class  were  persons  distinguish- 
ed by  their  rank  and  connexions.  Don  Pedro  Sarmieuto  de 
Uoxas,  son  of  the  first  marquis  de  Poza,  and  of  a  daughter 
of  the  conde  de  Salinas  y  Ribadeo,  was  stripped  of  his  orna- 
ments as  chevalier  of  St.  .lames,  deprived  of  his  office  as 
commander  of  Quintana,  and  commanded  to  wear  a  perpetual 
sanbenito,  to  be  imprisoned  for  life,  and  to  have  his  memory 
declared  infamous.  His  wife  Dona  INIercia  de  Figueroa, 
dame  of  honour  to  the  queen,  was  sentenced  to  wear  the  coat 
of  infamy,  and  to  be  confined  during  tlie  remainder  of  her 
life.  His  nephew  Don  Luis  de  Uoxas,  eldest  son  of  the 
second  marquis  de  Poza,  and  grandson  of  the  marquis  d'Al 
cagnizes,  was  exiled  from  the  cities  of  Madrid,  Yalladolid, 
and  Palencia,  forbidden  to  leave  the  kingdom,  and  declared 
incapable  of  succeeding  to  the  honours  or  estates  of  his 
father.  Dona  Ana  Henriquez  de  Roxas,  daughter  of  the 
marquis  d'Alcagnizes,  and  wife  of  Don  Juan  Alonso  de  Fon 
seca  Mexia,  was  a  lady  of  great  accomplishments,  under- 
stood the  Latin  language  perfectly,  and  though  only  twenty 
four  j'ears  of  age,  was  familiar  with  the  writings  of  the 
reformers,  particularlj-  those  of  Calvin.  She  appeared  in 
the  sanbenito,  and  was  condemned  to  be  separated  from  her 
husband  and  spend  her  days  in  a  monastery.  Her  aunt 
Dona  Maria  de  Roxas,  a  nun  of  St.  Catherine  in  Yalladolid, 
and  forty  j-ears  of  age,  received  sentence  of  perpetual  pen- 
ance and  imprisonment,  from  which,  however,  she  was  re- 
leased by  an  influence  which  the  inquisitors  did  not  choose 
to  resist.  Don  Juan  de  Ulloa  Percira,  brother  to  the  marquis 
de  la  Mota,  was  subjected  to  the  saine  punishment  as  the 
first-mentioned  nobleman.  This  brave  chevalier  had  distin 
guished  himself  in  many  engagements  against  the  Turks 
both  by  sea  and  land,  and  performed  so  great  feats  of  valour 
in  the  expeditions  to  Algiers,  Bugia,  and  other  parts  of  Af- 
rica, that  Charles  the  Fifth  had  advanced  hira  to  the  rank  of 
first  captain,  and  afterwards  of  general.  Having  appealed 
to  Rome  against  the  sentence  of  tlie  inquisitors,  and  repre- 
sented the  services  which  he  had  done  to  Christendom,  De 
Ulloa  was  eventually  restored  to  his  rank  as  commander  of 
the  order  of  St.  John  of  Jerusalem.  Juan  de  Vibero  Ca- 
zalla,  his  wife  Dona  Silva  de  Ribera,  his  sister  Dona  Con- 
stanza,  Dona  Francisea  Zunega  de  Baeza,  Marina  de  Saave- 
dra  the  widow  of  a  hidalgo  named  Juan  Cisneros  de  Soto, 
and  Leaner  de  Cisneros  (whose  husband  Antonio  Herczuelo 
was  doomed  to  a  severer  punishment),  with  four  others  of 
inferior  condition,  were  condemned  to  wear  the  sanbenito, 
and  bo  imprisoned  for  life.  The  imprisonment  of  Anthony 
Wasor,  an  Knglishraan,  and  servant  to  Don  Luis  de  Roxas', 
was  restricted  to  one  year's  confinement  in  a  convent.  Con- 
fiscation of  property  was  an  article  in  the  sentence  of  all 
these  persons. 

Among  those  who  were  delivered  over  to  the  secular  arm, 
one  of  the  most  celebrated  was  Doctor  Auo-ustin  Cazalla. 
His  reputation,  and  the  office  he  had  held  as^chaplain  to  the 
late  emperor,  made  him  an  object  of  particular  attention  to  the 
inquisitors.  During  his  confinement  he  underwent  frequent 
examinations,  with  the  view  of  establishing  the  charges 
against  himself  and  his  fellow-prisoners.  Cazalla  was  defi- 
cient in  the  courage  which  was  requisite  for  the  situation 
into  which  he  had  brought  himself.  On  the  4th  of  March 
1.550  he  was  conducted  into  the  place  of  torture,  when  he 
shrunk  from  the  trial,  and  promising  to  submit  to  his  judges, 
made  a  declaration,  in  which  he  confessed'  that  he  had  em- 
braced tlie  Lutheran  doctrine,  but  denied  that  he  had  ever 
tauglit  it,  except  to  those  who  were  of  the  same  sentiments 
with  himself.  This  answered  all  the  wishes  of  the  inquisi- 
tors, who  were  determineil  that  he  should  expiate  his  oti'ence 
by  death,  at  the  same  time  that  they  kept  him  in  suspense  as 
to  his  fate,  with  the  view  of  procuring  from  him  additional 
Vol.  H 2T 


information.  On  the  evening  before  the  auto-de-fe,  Antonio 
de  Carrera,  a  monk  of  St.  Jerome,  being  sent  to  acquaint 
him  with  his  sentence,  Cazalla  begged  earnestly  to  know,  if 
he  might  entertain  hopes  of  escaping  capital  punishment;  to 
which  Carrera  replied,  that  the  inquisitors  could  not  rely  on 
his  declarations,  but  that,  if  he  would  confess  all  that  the 
witnesses  had  deponed  against  him,  mercy  might  perhaps  be 
extended  to  him.  This  cautious  reply  convinced  Cazalla 
that  his  doom  was  fixed.  "  Well,  then,"  said  he,  "  1  must 
prepare  to  die  in  the  grace  of  God ;  for  it  is  impossible  for 
me  to  add  to  what  1  have  said,  without  falsehood."  He  con- 
fessed himself  to  Carrera  that  night,  and  next  morning.  On 
ilio  scafi'old,  seeing  his  sister  Constanza  passing  amoilg  those 
who  were  sentenced  to  perpetual  imprisonment,  he  pointed 
to  her,  and  said  to  the  princess  Joana,  "  1  beseech  your  hio-h- 
ness,  have  compassion  on  this  unfortunate  woman,  who  has 
thirteen  orphan  children !"  At  the  place  of  execution,  he 
addressed  a  few  words  to  his  fellow-prisoners  in  the  charac- 
ter of  a  penitent,  in  virtue  of  which  he  obtained  the  poor 
favour  of  being  strangled  before  his  body  was  committed  to 
the  fire.  His  confessor  was  so  pleased  with  his  behaviour 
as  to  say,  he  had  no  doubt  Cazalla  was  in  heaven.  His 
sister  Dona  Beatriz  de  Vibero,  Doctor  Alonso  Perez,  a  priest 
of  Palencia,  Don  Christobal  de  Ocampo,  chevalier  of  the 
order  of  St.  John  of  Jerusalem,  and  almoner  to  the  grand 
prior  of  Castile,  Don  Christobal  de  Padilla,  and  seven 
others,  shared  the  same  fate  as  Cazalla.  Among  these  were 
the  husband  of  the  woman  who  had  informed  against  the 
protestant  conventicle  in  Valladolid,  and  four  females,  one  of 
whom.  Dona  Catalina  de  Ortega,  was  daughter-in-law  to  the 
fiscal  of  the  royal  council  of  Castile.  They  were  all  protest- 
ants,  except  Gonzales  Baez,  a  Portuguese,  who  was  con- 
demned as  a  relapsed  Jew. 

The  two  individuals  who  on  this  occasion  had  the  honour 
to  endure  the  flames  were  Francisco  de  Vibero  Cazalla, 
parish  priest  of  Hormigos,  and  Antonio  Herezuelo,  an  advo- 
cate of  Toro.  Some  writers  say  that  the  former  heo-o-ed, 
when  under  the  torture,  to  be  admitted  to  reconciliation';''but 
it  is  certain  that  he  gave  no  sign  of  weakness  or  a  wish  to 
re<;ant  on  the  day  ot  the  auto-de-fe.  Seeing  his  brother 
.•\ugustin  Cazalla,  not  at  the  stake,  but  on  the  adjoinino- 
scalfold  among  the  penitents,  and  being  prevented  from 
speaking  by  the  gag,  he  signified  his  sorrow  by  an  express- 
ive motion  of  his  hands;  alter  which  he  bore  the  fire  without 
shrinking.  Herezuelo  conducted  himself  with  surpassintr 
intrepidity.  From  the  moment  of  his  apprehension  to  that 
of  his  death,  he  never  exhibited  the  least  symptom  of  a  wish 
to  save  his  life,  or  to  mitigate  his  sufferings,  by  compromis- 
ing his  principles.  His  courage  remained  unshaken  amidst 
the  horrors  of  the  torture,  the  ignominy  of  the  public  specta- 
cle, and  the  terrors  of  the  stake.  The  only  thing  that  moved 
him,  on  the  day  of  the  auto-de-fe,  was  the  sight  of  his  wife 
in  the  garb  of  a  penitent;  and  the  look  which  he  gave  (for 
he  could  not  speak),  as  he  passed  her  to  go  to  the  place  of 
execution,  seemed  to  say,  '•  This  is  hard  to  bear!"  He  lis- 
tened without  emotion  to  the  friars  who  teazed  him  with 
their  importunate  exhortations  to  repent,  as  they  conducted 
him  to  the  stake  ;  but  when,  at  their  instigation,  his  former 
associate  and  instructor.  Doctor  Cazalla,  began  to  address 
him  in  the  same  strain,  he  threw  upon  him  a  glance  of  dis- 
dain, which  froze  the  words  on  his  recreant  lips.  "The 
bachelor  Herezuelo  (says  the  popish  author  of  the  Pontifical 
History)  suffisred  himself  to  be  burnt  alive  with  unparalleled 
hardihood.  I  stood  so  near  him  that  I  had  a  complete  view 
of  his  person,  and  observed  all  his  motions  and  gestures. 
He  could  not  speak,  for  his  mouth  was  gagged  on  account  of 
the  blasphemies  which  he  had  uttered  ;  but  his  whole  beha- 
viour showed  him  to  be  a  most  resolute  and  hardened  person, 
who,  rather  than  yield  to  believe  with  his  companions,  was 
determined  to  die  in  the  flames.  Though  I  marked  him  nar- 
rowly, I  could  not  observe  the  least  symptom  of  fear,  or 
expression  of  pain ;  only,  there  was  a  sadness  in  his  counte- 
nance beyond  any  thing  I  had  ever  seen.  It  was  friglitful  to 
look  in  his  face,  when  one  considered  that  in  a  moment  he 
would  be  in  hell  with  his  associate  and  master,  Luther." 
Enraged  to  see  such  courage  in  a  heretic,  one  of  the  guards 
plunged  his  lance  into  the  body  of  Herezuelo,  whose  blood 
was  licked  uj)  by  the  flames  with  which  he  was  already 
enveloped. 

Herezuelo  and  his  wife.  Leaner  de  Cisneros,  were  divided 
in  their  death,  hut  it  was  in  the  time  of  it  only,  not  the  kind 
or  manner;  and  their  memory  must  not  be  divided  in  our  pa- 
ges. Leaner  w^as  only  twcntj'-two  years  of  age  when  she 
was  thrown  into  the  Lupiisition  ;  and  when  we  consider  that, 


346 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


during  her  imprisonment,  slie  was  precluded  from-  all  inter- 
course with  her  husband,  kept  in  ignorance  of  his  resolutions, 
and  perhaps  deceived  into  the  belief  that  she  would  find  hiin 
among  the  class  of  penitents  in  the  auto,  we  need  not  wonder 
that  one  of  her  tender  sex  and  age  should  have  fainted  in  the 
day  of  trial,  suffered  herself  to  be  overcome  by  the  persuasions 
of  the  monks,  or,  yielding  to  the  feelings  of  nature,  consentei' 
to  renounce  with  the  band  that  truth  which  she  continued  to 
believe'  with  the  heart.  Such  assaults  have  shaken,  and 
threatened  to  throw  to  the  ground,  pillars  in  the  church.  But 
Leanor  was  not  long  in  recovering  from  the  shock.  The 
parting  look  of  her'  husband  never  departed  from  her  eyes ; 
the  reileotion  tliat  she  had  inflicted  a  pang  on  his  heart,  during 
the  arduous  conflict  wliich  he  ha'd  to  maintain,  fanned  the 
flame  of  attachment  to  the  reformed  religion  which  secret!}' 
burned  in  her  breast;  and  having  resolved,  in  dependence  on 
that  strength  which  is  made  perfect  in  weakness,  to  emulate 
the  example  of  constancy  set  by  one  in  every  respect  so  dear 
to  her,  she  resolutely  broke  olf  the  course  of  penance  on  which 
she  had  entered.  The  consequence  of  this  was,  that  she  was 
again  thrown  into  the  secret  prisons.  During  eight  years 
that  she  was  kept  in  confinement,  every  effort  was  made  in 
vain  to  induce  her  to  renew  her  recantation.  At  last  she  was 
brought  out  in  a  public  auto-de-fe  celebrated  at  Valladolid  ; 
and  we  have  the  account  of  her  behaviour  from  the  same  pen 
which  so  graphically  described  that  of  her  husband.  "In  the 
year  1568,  on  the  2Gth  of  September,  justice  was  executed  on 
Leanor  de  Cisneros,  widow  of  the  bachelor  Herezuelo.  She 
suffered  herself  to  be  burnt  alive,  notwithstanding  the  great 
and  repeated  exertions  made  to  bring  her  to  a  conviction  of 
her  errors.  Finally,  she  resisted,  what  was  sufficient  to  melt 
a  stone,  an  admirable  sermon  preached,  at  the  auto  of  that 
day,  by  his  excellency  Don  Juan  Manuel,  bishop  of  Zamora, 
a  man  no  less  learned  and  eloquent  in  the  pulpit  than  illustri- 
ous in  blood.  13ut  nothing  could  move  the  impenetrable 
heart  of  that  obstinate  woman.'" 

One  part  of  the  solemnities  in  the  first  auto  at  Valladolid, 
though  not  so  shocking  to  the  feelings  as  some  others  which 
have  been  related,  was  nevertheless  a  flagrant  violation  both 
of  justice  and  humanity.  Dona  Leanor  de  Vibero,  the  mother 
of  Doctor  Cazalla  and  of  four  other  children  who  appeared  as 
criminals  in  this  anto-de-fe,  had  died  some  years  before,  and 
was  buried  in  a  sepulchral  chapel  of  which  she  was  the  pro- 
prietress. No  suspicion  of  heresy  attached  to  her  at  the  time 
of  her  death ;  but,  on  tlie  imprisonment  of  her  children,  the 
fiscal  of  the  inquisition  at  Valladolid  commenced  a  process 
against  her;  and  certain  witnesses  under  the  torture  having 
deponed  that  her  house  was  used  as  a  temple  for  the  Luther- 
ans, sentence  was  passed,  declaring  her  to  have  died  in  a  state 
of  heresy,  her  memor)'  to  be  infamous,  and  her  property  con- 
fiscated ;  and  ordering  her  bones  to  be  dug  up,  and,  together 
with  her  effigy,  publicly  committed  to  the  flames  ;  her  liouse 
to  be  razed,  the  ground  on  which  it  stood  to  be  sown  with 
salt,  and  a  pillar,  with  an  inscription  stating  the  cause  of  its 
demolition,  to  be  erected  on  the  spot.  All  this  was  done,  and 
the  last-mentioned  monument  of  fanaticism  and  ferocity 
against  the  dead  was  to  be  seen  until  the  year  1809,  when  it 
was  removed  during  the  occupation  of  Spain  by  the  French. 

There  were  still  a  great  number  of  protestant  prisoners  in 
Valladolid ;  but  though  the  processes  of  most  of  them  were 
terminated,  they  were  kept  in  confinement,  to  afford  a  grati- 
fying spectacle  to  the  monarch  on  his  arrival  from  the  Low 
Countries.  The  second  auto-de  fe  in  this  city  was  celebrated 
on  the  8th  of  October  1559.  Philip  IL  appeared  at  it,  atten- 
ded by  his  son,  his  sister,  the  jirince  of  Parma,  three  ambas- 
sabors  from  France,  with  a  numerous  assemblage  of  prelates, 
and  nobility  of  both  sexes.  The  inquisitor  general  Valdes 
administered  the  oath  to  the  king;  on  which  occasion  Philip, 
rising  from  his  seat,  and  drawing  his  sword  in  token  of  his 
readiness  to  use  it  in  support  of  the  Holy  Office,  swore  and 
subscribed  the  oath,  which  was  afterwards  read  aloud  to  the 
people  by  one  of  the  officers  of  the  Liquisition. 

Twenty-nine  prisoners  appeared  on  the  scaffold,  of  whom 
sixteen  wore  the  garb  of  penitents,  while  the  flames  painted 
on  the  sanbenitos  and  corozas  of  the  remainder  marked  them 
out  for  the  stake.  Among  the  former  were  Dona  Isabella  de 
Castilla,  wife  of  Don  Carlos  de  Seso,  her  niece  Dona  Cata- 
lina,  and  three  nuns  of  St.  Belen.  The  first  two  were  con- 
demned to  lose  all  their  property,  to  wear  the  sanbenito,  and 
be  imprisoned  during  life.  To  the  Lutherans  subjected  to 
penances  were  added  two  men,  one  of  whom  was  convicted 
of  having  sworn  falsely  that  a  child  had  been  circumcised, 
with  the  view  of  bringing  tlie  father  to  the  stake ;  the  other 
of  liaving  personated  an  alguazil  of  the  Holy  Office.     Tlie 


former  was  sentenced  to  receive  two  hundred  lashes,  to  lose 
the  half  of  his  property,  and  to  work  in  the  galleys  for  five 
years  ;  the  latter  to  receive  four  hundred  lashes,  to  lose  the 
whole  of  his  property,  and  to  vv'ork  in  the  galleys  for  life; 
a  striking  specimen  of  the  comparative  estimate  which  the 
Inquisition  forms  of  meditated  murder,  and  an  insult  on  its 
own  prerogatives. 

At  the  head  of  those  devoted  to  death  was  Don  Carlos  de 
Seso,  with  whose  name  the  reader  is  already  acquainted. 
Arrested  at  Logrono,  he  was  thrown  into  the  secret  prisons  of 
the  inquisition  ofV'alladolid  ;  and,  on  the  aSth  of  June  1558, 
answered  the  interrogatories  of  the  fiscal.  His  conduct  during 
the  whole  of  his  imprisonment,  and  in  the  formidable  scene 
by  which  it  terminated,  was  worthy  of  his  noble  character, 
and  the  active  part  he  had  taken  in  the  cause  of  religious  re- 
form. In  the  examinations  which  he  underwent,  he  never 
varied,  nor  sought  to  excuse  himself  by  affixing  blame  to  those 
whom  he  knew  his  judges  were  anxious  to. condemn.  When 
informed  of  his  sentence  on  the  night  before  his  execution,  he 
called  for  pen,  ink,  and  paper,  and  having  written  a  confess- 
ion of  his  faith,  gave  it  to  the  officer,  saying,  "This  is  the 
true  faith  of  the  gospel,  as  opposed  to  that  of  the  church  of 
Uome  which  has  been  corrupted  for  ages  ;  in  this  inith  I  wish 
to  die,  and  in  the  remembrance  and  lively  belief  of  the  passion 
of  Jesus  Christ,  to  offer  to  God  my  body  now  reduced  so 
low."  "  It  would  be  difficult  (says  one  who  read  this  docu- 
ment in  the  archives  of  the  Inquisition)  to  convey  an  idea  of 
the  uncommon  vigour  of  sentiment  with  which  he  filled  two 
sheets  of  paper,  though  he  was  then  in  the  presence  of  death." 
The  whole  of  that  night  and  next  morning  was  spent  by  the 
friars  in  ineflectual  attempts  to  induce  him  to  recant.  HeBp- 
peared  in  the  procession  with  a  gag  in  his  mouth,  which  re- 
mained while  he  was  in  the  auto-de-fe,  and  on  the  way  to  the 
place  of  execution.  It  was  removed  after  he  was  bound  to  . 
the  stake,  and  the  friars  began  again  to  exhort  him  to  con- 
fess. He  replied,  in  a  loud  voice,  and  with  great  firmness, 
"  I  could  demonstrate  to  you  that  you  ruin  yourselves  by  nbt 
imitating  my  example  ;  but  there  is  no  time.  Executioners, 
light  the  pile  which  is  to  consume  me."  They  obeyed,  and 
De  Seso  expired  in  the  flames  without  a  struggle  or  a  groan. 
He  died  in  the  forty-third  year  of  his  age. 

Pedro  de  Cazalla,  parish  priest  of  Pedrosa,  when  arrested 
on  the  25th  of  April  1558,  confessed  that  he  had  embraced 
the  protestant  doctrines.  Having  afterwards  supplicated  re- 
conciliation, he  could  obtain  only  two  votes  in  tlie  court  of 
Inquisition  for  a  punishment  milder  than  death,  and  the  de- 
cision of  the  majority  was  confirmed  by  the  council  of  the 
Supreme.  He  refused  to  make  confession  to  the  priest  sent 
to  intimate  his  sentence,  and  appeared  in  the  auto  with  the 
gag;  but  after  he  was  bound  to  the  stake,  having  asked,  or 
the  attendant  monks  having  represented  him  as  asking  a  con- 
fessor, he  was  strangled  and  then  cast  into  the  fire.  He  was 
only  in  the  thirty-fourth  year  of  his  age. 

Domingo  de  Koxas,  son  of  the  marquis  de  Poza,  two  of 
whose  children  appeared  in  the  former  auto,  was  seized,  in  the 
garb  of  a  laic,  at  Calahorra,  where  he  had  stopped,  in  his 
flight  to  the  Low  Countries,  in  order  to  have  an  interview 
with  his  friend  De  Seso.  Subsequently  to  the  13th  of  May 
1558,  when  he  made  his  first  appearance  before  the  Inquisi- 
tion, he  underwent  frequent  examinations.  The  inquisitors 
having  ordered  the  torture  to  be  administered  with  the  view 
of  extorting  from  him  certain  facts  which  they  were  anxious 
to  possess,  he  promised  to  tell  all  he  knew,  provided  they 
would  spare  him  the  horrors  of  the  question,  which  he 
dreaded  more  than  death.  Deluded  by  the  prospect  of  a  mer- 
ciful sentence  which  was  held  out  to  him,  he  was  induced  to 
make  certain  professions  of  sorrow,  and  to  throw  out  insinua- 
tions unfavourable  to  the  cause  of  archbishop  Carranza  ;  but 
as  soon  as  he  was  undeceived,  he  craved  an  audience  of  the 
inquisitors,  at  which  lie  did  ample  justice  to  that,  prelate,  with- 
out asking  any  mitigation  of  his  own  punishment.  On  the 
night  before  his  execution  he  refused  the  services  of  the  priest 
appointed  to  wait  on  him.  When  the  ceremonies  of  the 
auto  were  finished,  and  the  secular  judge  had  pronounced 
sentence  on  the  prisoners  delivered  over  him,  De  Roxas,  in 
passing  the  royal  box,  made  an  appeal  to  the  mercy  of  the 
king.  °"  Canst  thou.  Sire,  thus  witness  the  torments  of  thy 
innocent  subjects'  Save  us  from  so  cruel  a  death."  "No," 
replied  Philip  sternly  ;  "  I  would  myself  carry  wood  to  burn 
my  own  son,  where  he  such  a  wretch  as  thou."  De  Roxas 
was  about  to  say  something  in  defence  of  himself  and  his  fel- 
low-sulferers,  when,  the  unrelenting  despot  waving  his  hand, 
the  officers  instantly  thrust  the  gag  into  the  martyr's  mouth. 
It  remained,  contrary  to  the  usual  custom,  after  he  was  bound 


HISTORY  OF  THE  REFORMATION  IN  SPAIN. 


347 


to  the  stake;  so  much  were  his  judges  irritated  at  his  bold- 
ness, or  afraid  of  the  liberties  he  would  use.  Yet  we  are 
told,  that  when  the  fire  was  about  to  be  applied  to  the  pile, 
his  courage  failed,  he  begged  a  confessor,  and  having  re- 
ceived absolution,  was  strangled.  Such  appears  to  be  the  ac- 
count of  his  last  moments  inserted  in  the  records  of  the  In- 
quisition ;  but  private  letters,  written  from  Spain  at  the  time, 
give  a  different  representation :  "  They  carried  him  from  the 
scaffold  accompanied  with  a  number  of  monks,  about  a  hun- 
dred, flocking  about  him,  railing  and  making  exclamations 
against  him,  and  some  of  them  urging  him  to  recant;  but  he, 
notwithstanding,  answered  them  with  a  bold  spirit,  that  he 
would  never  renounce  the  doctrine  of  Christ." 

Juan  Sanchez,  at  the  commencement  of  the  persecution  of 
the  protestants  in  Valladolid,  had  made  his  escape  to  the 
Low  Countries,  under  the  assumed  name  of  Juan  de  Vibar. 
Thinking  himself  safe,  he  wrote  letters,  dated  from  Castrour- 
diales  in  the  month  of  ^lay  1558,  and  addressed  to  Dona  Cat- 
alina  Hortega,  in  whose  family  he  had  formerly  resided. 
That  lady  having  been  seized  as  a  suspected  Lutheran,  the 
letters  fell  into  the  hands  of  the  inquisitors,  who  sent  infor- 
mation to  Philip,  then  at  Brussels.  Sanchez  was  appre- 
hended at  Turlingen,  conveyed  to  Valladolid,  and  delivered 
over  to  the  secular  magistrate  as  a  dogmatising  and  impenl 
tent  heretic.  The  gag  was  taken  from  his  mouth  at  the  place 
of  execution,  but  as  he  did  not  ask  for  a  confessor,  the  pile 
was  kindled.  %Vhen  the  fire  had  consumed  the  ropes  by 
which  he  was  bound,  he  darted  from  the  stake,  and  uncon- 
sciously leaped  on  the  scaftbldused  for  receiving  the  confess- 
inos  of  those  who  recanted  in  their  last  moments.  The  friars 
instantly  collected  to  the  spot,  and  urged  him  to  retract  his 
errors.  Recovering  from  his  momentary  delirium,  and  look- 
ing around  him,  he  saw  on  one  side  some  of  his  fellow- 
prisoners  on  their  knees  doincr  penance,  and  ou  the  other  Don 
Carlos  de  Seso  standing  unmoved  in  the  midst  of  the  flames, 
upon  which  he  walked  deliberately  back  to  the  stake,  and 
calling  for  more  fuel,  said,  "I  will  die  like  De  Seso."  In 
censed  at  what  they  considered  as  a  proof  of  audacious  impi 
ety,  the  archers  and  executioners  strove  who  should  first  com 
ply  with  his  request.  He  died  in  the  thirty-third  yeat  of  his 
age. 

The  case  of  Dona  Marina  Guevara,  a  nun  of  St.  Belen, 
presents  some  singular  features  which  are  worthy  of  obser- 
vation. When  first  denounced  to  the  Inquisition,  she  owned 
that  she  had  given  entertainment  to  certan  Lutheran  opinions, 
but  with  hesitation,  and  in  ignorance  of  their  import  and  ten 
dency.  Her  petition  to  be  reconciled  to  the  church  was  re- 
fused, because  she  would  not  acknowledge  some  things 
wliich  the  witnesses  had  deponed  against  her,  and  because 
she  presisted  in  her  assertion,  that  she  had  not  yielded  a  cor- 
dial and  complete  assent  to  the  heresies  with  which  her  mind 
had  been  tainted.  \Vhen  the  depositions  were  communi- 
cated to  her  by  order  of  the  inquisitors,  she  replied,  that  it 
seemed  as  if  they  wished  to  instil  into  her  mind  errors  of 
which  she  was  ignorant,  rather  than  induce  her  to  abandon 
those  to  which  she  bad  incautiously  given  ear;  and  that  the 
oath  she  had  taken  would  not  permit  her  to  add  to  her  con- 
fession, or  to  acknowledge  crimes  of  wliich  she  was  not  con- 
scious, and  facts  which  she  did  not  recollect.  The  whole  of 
the  proceedings,  while  they  display  the  honourable  feelings  of 
Marina,  and  the  firmness  of  her  character,  depict,  in  strono- 
colours,  the  sternness  with  which  the  Holy  UlTice  adhered 
to  its  tyrannical  principles.  She  was  connected  with  per- 
sons of  high  rank,  including  Valdes  the  grand  inquisitor,  who 
used  every  means  for  her  deliverance."  But  the  ordinary 
judges  lent  a  deaf  ear  to  the  applications  made  by  their  supe- 
rior in  her  behalf,  which  they  resisted  as  an  interference  with 
their  jurisdiction,  and  a  proof  of  partiality  and  weakness,  un- 
worthy of  one  whose  office  required  him  to  be  insensible  to 
the  calls  of  nature  and  friendship.  Valdes  was  obliged  to 
procure  an  order  from  the  council  of  the  Supreme,  authoriz- 
ing Don  Tellez  Giron  de  Montalban,  the  cousin  of  the  pris- 
oner, to  have  a  final  interview  with  her,  in  the  presence  of 
the  leading  members  of  the  tribunal,  with  a  view  of  inducing 
her  to  yield  to  their  demands.  But  the  attempt  was  unsuc° 
cesslul.  Dona  Marina  resisted  all  the  entreaties  of  her  noble 
relative,  and  refused  to  purchase  her  life  by  telling  a  false- 
hood. The  inquisitors,  inflexible  to  their  former  purpose,  pro- 
ceeded to  pronounce  sentence  against  her;  and  on  the  day  of 
the  auto  she  was  delivered  to  the  secular  arm,  and  beino- 
strangled  -at  the  place  of  execution,  her  body  was  given  to 
the  flames.  This  act  proclaimed,  more  decidedly  than  even 
the  reply  made  by  Pliilip  to  the  son  of  the  marquis  de  Poza, 
that  there  was  no  safety  in  Spain  for  any  one  who  harboured  a 


thought  at  variance  with  the  Roman  faith,  or  who  was  not 
prepared  to  yield  the  most  implicit  and  absolute  obedience  to 
the  dictates  of  the  Inquisition. 

The  autos-de-fe  celebrated  at  Seville  were  still  more  mem- 
orable than  those  at  Valladolid,  if  not  for  the  rank  of  the 
spectators,  at  least  for  the  number  of  prisoners  exhibited  on 
the  scaflbld.  The  first  of  these  was  solemnized  on  the  24th 
of  September  1559,  in  the  square  of  St.  Francis.  It  was  at- 
tended by  four  bishops,  the  members  of  the  royal  court  of 
justice,  the  chapter  of  the  cathedral,  and  a  great  assemblao-e 
of  nobility  and  gentry.  Twenty-one  persons  were  delivered 
over  to  the  secular  arm,  and  eighty  were  condemned  to  lesser 
punishments. 

The  most  distinguished  individual,  in  point  of  rank,  who 
suffered  death  on  the  present  occasion,  was  Don  Juan  Ponce 
de  Leon,  son  of  the  count  de  Baylen,  and  a  near  relation  of 
the  duchess  de  Bejar,  who  was  present  at  the  spectacle. 
None  had  given  more  decided  proofs  of  attachment  to  the  re- 
formed cause,  and  none  had  more  diligently  prepared  himself 
for  suffering  martyrdom  for  it  than  this  nobleman.  For  years 
he  had  avoided  giving  countenance  to  the  superstitions  of  his 
country,  and  had  made  it  a  practice  to  visit  the  spot  where  the 
confessors  of  the  truth  suffered,  with  the  view  of  habituatino- 
his  mind  to  its  horrors,  and  abating  the  terror  which  it  was 
calculated  to  inspire.  But  the  stoutest  heart  will  sometimes 
faint  in  the  hour  of  trial.  The  rank  of  Don  Juan  inspired  the 
inquisitors  with  a  strong  desireto  triumph  over  his  constancy. 
Alter  extorting  from  him,  by  means  of  the  rack,  a  confession 
of  some  of  the  articles  laid  to  his  charge,  they  employed 
their  secret  emissaries  to  pursuade  him  that  he  would  consult 
bis  own  safety,  and  that  of  his  brethren,  by  confessing  the 
whole.  He  had  scarcely  given  his  consent  to  this  when  he 
repented.  On  the  night  before  his  execution  he  complained 
bitterly  of  the  deceit  which  had  been  practised  towards  him, 
and  having  made  an  undisguised  profession  of  his  faith,  re- 
jected the  services  of  the  priest  appointed  to  wait  upon  him. 
De  Montes  asserts  that  he  preserved  his  constancy  to  the  last, 
and,  in  support  of  this  statement,  appeals  to  the  official 
account  of  the  auto,  and  to  his  sanbenito  which  was  hung  up 
in  one  of  the  churches,  with  the  inscription  "  Juan  Ponce  de 
Leon,  burnt  as  an  obstinate  Lutheran  heretic."  But  Llorente 
says,  that  this  epithet  was  applied  to  all  who  were  sentenced 
to  capital  punishment,  and  that'  Don  Juan,  after  he  was 
bound  to  the  stake  and  saw  the  fire  about  to  be  kindled,  con- 
fessed himself  to  one  of  the  attendant  priests,  and  was  stran- 
gled. His  doom  entailed  infamy,  and  the  forfeiture  of  every 
civil  right,  on  his  posterity  ;  but  the  issue  of  his  elder  brother 
Jailing,  Don  Pedro,  his  son,  after  great  opposition,  obtained 
a  decision  from  the  royal  chancery  of  Granada  in  favour  of 
his  claims,  and  was  restored  by  letters  from  Philip  III.,  to 
the  earldom  of  Baylen. 

No  such  doubt  hangs  over  the  constancy  of  the  persons  to 
be  named.  Doctor  Juan  Gonzalez  was  descended  of  Moorish 
ancestors,  and  at  twelve  years  of  age  had  been  imprisoned  on 
suspicion  of  Mahometanism.  He  afterwards  became  one  of 
the  most  celebrated  preachers  in  Andalusia,  and  a  protestant. 
In  the  midst  of  the  torture,  which  he  bore  with  unshrinking 
fortitude,  he  told  the  inquisitors,  that  his  sentiments,  though 
opposite  to  those  of  the  church  of  Rome,  rested  on  plain  and 
express  declarations  of  the  word  of  God,  and  that  nothing  would 
induce  him  to  inform  against  his  brethren.  When  brought  out 
on  the  morning  of  the  auto,  he  appeared  with  a  cheerful  and 
undaunted  air,  though  he  had  left  his  mother  and  two  brothers 
behind  him  in  prison,  and  was  accompanied  by  two  sisters, 
who,  like  himself,  were  doomed  to  the  flames.  At  the  door 
of  the  Triana  he  began  to  sing  the  hundred  and  ninth  psalm ; 
and  on  the  scaffold  he  addressed  a  few  words  of  consolation 
to  one  of  his  sisters,  who  seemed  to  him  to  wear  a  look  of 
dejection  ;  upon  which  the  gag  was  instantly  thrust  into  his 
mouth.  With  unaltered  mein  he  listened  to  the  sentence 
adjudging  him  to  the  flames,  and  submitted  to  the  humiliating 
ceremonies  by  which  he  was  degraded  from  the  priesthood. 
\\  hen  they  were  brought  to  the  place  cf  execution,  the  friars 
urged  the  females,  in  repeating  the  creed,  to  insert  the  word 
Roman  in  the  clause  relating  to  the  catholic  church.  Wish- 
ing to  procure  liberty  to  him  to  bear  his  dying  testimony-, 
they  said  they  would  do  as  their  brother  did.  'i'he  gatr  beino- 
removed,  Juan  Gonzalez  exhorted  them  to  add  nothimr  to  the 
good  confession  which  they  had  already  made.  Instantly 
the  executioners  were  ordered  to  strangle  them,  and  one  of 
the  friars,  turning  to  the  crowd,  exclaimed  that  they  had 
died  in  the  Roman  faith  ;  a  falsehood  which  the  inquisitors 
did  not  choose  to  repeat  in  their  narrative  of  the  proceed- 
ings. 


348 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


The  same  constancy  was  evinced  by  four  monks  of  the 
convent  of  San  Isidro.  Among  these  was  the  celebrated 
Garcia  de  Arias,  whose  character  had  undergone  a  complete 
revolution.  From  the  moment  of  his  imprisonment  he  re- 
nounced that  system  of  cautiousness  and  tergiversation  on 
which  he  had  formerly  acted.  He  made  an  explicit  profess- 
ion of  his  faith,  agreeing,  in  every  point,  with  the  sentiments 
of  the  reformers ;  expressed  his  sorrow  that  he  had  concealed 
it  so  long ;  and  offered  to  prove  that  the  op])Osite  opinions 
were  grossly  erroneous  and  superstitious.  On  his  trial  he 
mocked  the  inquisitors,  as  persons  who  presumed  to  give 
judgment  on  matters  of  which  they  were  utterly  ignorant,  and 
renhinded  them  of  instances  in  which  they,  as  well  as  the 
qualificators  whom  they  called  to  their  assistance,  were  forced 
to  confess  their  incapacity  to  interpret  the  scriptures.  The 
priests,  as  a  necessary  pointof  form,  visited  his  cell,  but  none 
of  them  durst  enter  the  lists  in  argument  with  him.  Being 
advanced  in  years,  he  ascended  the  scaflold,  on  the  day  of 
the  auto,  leaning  on  his  staff,  but  went  to  the  stake  with  a 
countenance  expressive  of  joy  and  readiness  to  meet  the 
flames. 

Christobal  d'Arellano,  a  member  of  the  same  convent,  was 
distinguished  by  his  learning,  the  inquisitors  themselves  be- 
ing judges.  Among  the  articles  in  his  process,  read  in  the 
auto,  he  was  charged  with  having  said,  "that  the  mother  of 
God  was  no  more  a  virgin  than  he  was."  At  hearing  this, 
d'Arellano,  rising  from  his  seat,  exclaimed,  "It  is  a  false- 
hood; I  never  advanced  such  a  blasphemy;  I  have  always 
maintained  to  the  contrary,  and  at  this  moment  am  ready  to 
prove,  with  the  gospel  in  my  hand,  the  virginity  of  Mary." 
The  inquisitors  were  so  confounded  at  this  pulilic  contradic- 
tion, and  the  tone  in  which  it  was  uttered,  that  they  did  not 
even  order  him  to  be  gagged.  On  arriving  at  the  stake,  he 
was  thrown  into  some  degree  of  perturbation  at  seeing  one  of 
the  monks  of  his  convent  who  had  come  there  to  insult  over 
his  fate;  but  he  soon  recovered  his  former  serenity  of  mind, 
and  expired  amidst  the  flames,  encouraging  Juan  (Jhrisos- 
tomo,  who  had  been  his  pupil  and  was  now  his  fellow- 
sufferer. 

The  fate  of  .Tuan  de  Leon  was  peculiarly  hard.  He  had 
resided  for  some  time  as  an  artisan  at  Mexico,  and  on  his  re- 
trun  to  Spain  was  led,  under  the  influence  of  a  superstitious 
feeling  general  among  his  countrymen,  to  take  the  vow  in  the 
convent  of  San  Isidro,  near  Seville.  This  happened  about 
the  time  that  the  knowledge  of  the  truth  began  to  be  intro- 
duced into  that  monastery.  Having  imbibed  the  protestant 
doctrine,  Juan  lost  his  relish  for  the  monastic  life,  and  quit- 
ted the  convent  on  the  pretext  of  bad  health;  but  the  reoret 
which  he  felt  at  losing  the  religious  instructions  of  the  (f'ood 
fathers  determined  him  to  rejoin  their  society.  On  his  return 
to  San  Isidro  he  found  it  deserted  by  its  principle  inhabitants- 
whom  he  followed  to  Geneva.  During  his  residence  in  this 
city,  intelligence  came  that  Elizabeth  had  succeeded  to  the 
throne  of  England;  and  Juan  de  Leon,  with  some  of  his 
countrymen,  resolved  to  accompany  the  English  exiles  who 
were  preparing  to  return  home.  The  Spanish  court,  in  con- 
cert with  tlie  Inquisition,  had  planted  spies  on  the  road  from 
Milan  to  Geneva,  and  at  Frankfort,  Cologne,  and  Antwerp, 
to  waylay  such  Italians  or  Spaniards  as  left  their  native 
country  for  the  sake  of  religion.  Aware  of  this  fact,  Juan 
de  Leon  and  another  Spaniard  took  a  dilTerent  road,  but 
at  Strasburg  they  were  betrayed  to  a  spy,  who  pursued  their 
route  to  a  port  in  Zealand,  and  having  procured  a  warrant, 
seized  them  as  they  were  stepping  on  board  a  vessel  tor  Eng- 
land. As  soon  as  the  officers  presented  themselves,  Jua?i, 
aware  of  their  intentions,  turned  to  his  compaiuon,  and  said, 
"Let  us  go;  God  will  be  with  us."  After  being  severely 
tortured  to  make  them  discover  their  fellow-exiles,  they  were 
sent  to  Spain.  During  the  voyage  and  the  journey  by  land, 
they  were  not  only  heavily  chained  like  felons,  but  each  of 
them  had  his  head  and  face  covered  v.ith  a  species  of  helmet, 
made  of  iron,  having  a  piece  of  the  same  metal,  shapen  like 
a  tongue,  which  was  inserted  into  his  mouth,  to  prevent  him 
from  speaking.  While  his  companion  was  sent  to  VallaJo- 
lid,  Juan  was  delivered  to  the  inquisitors  at  Seville.  The 
sufferings  which  he  endured  from  torture  and  imprisonment, 
had  brought  on  a  consumption;  and  his  appearance,  on  the 
day  of  the  auto,  was  such  as  would  have  melted  the  hlsart  of 
any  humam  being  but  an  inquisitor.  He  was  attended  at  the 
stake  by  a  monk  who  had  passed  his  noviciate  along  witic 
him,  and  \yho  disturbed  his  last  moments,  by  reminding  him 
of  those  things  of  which  he  was  now  ashamed.  His  moulh 
being  relieved  from  the  gag,  he,  with  much  composure  and 
graveness,  made  a  declaration  of  his  faith  in  few  but   em- 


phatic words,  and  then  welcomed  the  flames  which  were  to 
put  an  end  to  his  sufferings,  and  to  convey  him  to  the  spirits 
of  just  men  made  perfect. 

Fernando  de  San  Juan,  master  of  the  college  of  Doctrine, 
and  Doctor  Christobal  Losada,  pastor  to  the  protestant  church 
in  Seville,  sulTered  with  the  same  fortitude  and  constancy. 
The  latter,  after  he  had  reached  the  place  of  burning,  was  en- 
gaged in  a  theological  dispute  by  the  importunity  of  the  friars, 
who  flattered  themselves  with  being  able  to  convince  him  of 
his  errors ;  but  perceiving  that  the  people  listened  eagerly  to 
what  was  said,  they  began  to  speak  in  Latin,  and  were  fol- 
lowed by  Losada,  who  continued  for  a  considerable  time  to 
carry  on  the  conversation  with  propriety  and  elegance  in  a 
foreign  tongue,  at  the  foot  of  that  stake  which  was  about  to 
consume  him  to  ashes. 

This  auto-de-fe  furnished  examples  of  Christian  heroism, 
equally  noble,  in  those  of  the  tender  sex,  several  of  whom 
"were  tortured,  not  accepting  deliverance,  that  they  might 
obtain  a  better  resurrection."     Among  these  were  Dona  Isa- 
bel de  Baena,  Maria  de  Virves,  Maria  de  Cornel,  and  Maria 
de  Bohorques.     The  first  was  a  rich  matron  of  Seville,  who 
had  permitted  the  protestants  to  meet  for  worship  in  her 
house,  which  on  that  account  was  laid  under  the  same  sen-- 
tence  of  execration  as  that  of  Leaner  de  Vibero  at  Valladolid. 
The  rest  were  young  ladies,  and  connected  with  the  most 
distinguished  families  in  Spain.     The  story  of  Maria  de  Bo- 
horques became  celebrated,  both  from  its  interesting  circum- 
stances, and  from  its  having  been  made  the  foundation  of  an 
historical  novel  by  a  Spanish  writer.     She  was  a   natural 
daughter  of  Don  Pedro  Garcia  de  Xeres  y  Bohorques,  a  Span- 
ish grandee   of  the  first  class,  and  had  not  completed   her 
twenty-first  year  when  slie  fell  into  the  hands  of  the  Inquisi- 
tion.    Great  care  had  been  bestowed  on  her  education,  and 
being  able  to  read  the  Bible,  and  expositions  of  it,  in  the 
Latin  tongue,  she  acquired  a  knowledge  of  the  scriptures 
which  was  possessed  by  few  men,  or  even  clergymen,  in  her 
native  country.     Egidio,  whose  pupil  she  was,  used  to  say 
he  always  felt  himself  wiser  from  an  interview  with  Maria 
de  Bohorques.     When  brought  before   the   inquisitors  she 
avowed  her  faith ;  defended  it  as  the  ancient  truth,  which 
Luther  and  his  associates  had  recovered  from  the  rubbish 
by  which  it  had  been  hid  for  ages;  and  told  her  judges,  that 
it  was  their  duty  to  embrace  it,  instead  of  punishing  her  and 
others  for  maintaining  it.     She  was  severely  tortured,  in  con- 
sequence of  her  refusal  to  answer  certain  questions  calculated 
to  implicate  her  friends.     From  deference  to  the  intercession 
of  her  relations,  or  from  the  desire  of  making  a  convert  of  one 
so  accomplished,  the  inquisitors,  contrary  to  their  usual  cus- 
tom, sent  first  two  Jesuits,  and  afterwards  two  Dominicans, 
to  her  cell,  to  persuade  her  to  relinquish  her  heretical  opin- 
ions.    They  returned  full  of  chagrin  at  their  ill  success,  but 
of  admiration  at  the  dexterity  with  which  she  repelled  their 
arguments.     On  the  night  before  the  auto  at  which  she  was 
to  suffer,  they  repeated  their  visit,  in  company  w'ith  two 
other  priests.     She  received  them  with  great  politeness,  but 
at  the  same  time  told  them  very  plainly,  that  they  might  have 
saved  themselves  the  trouble  which  they  had  taken,  for  she 
felt  more  concern  about  her  salvation  than  they  could  possi- 
bly feel ;  she  would  have  renounced  her  sentiments  if  she  had 
entertained  any  doubt  of  their  truth,  but  was  more  confirmed 
in  them  than  she  was  when  first  thrown  into  prison,  inas- 
much as  the  popish  divines,  after  many  attempts,  had  oppo- 
sed nothing  to  them  but  what  she  had  anticipated,  and  to 
which  she  was  able  to  return  an  easy  and  satisfactory  an- 
swer.    On  the  morning  of  the  auto-de-fe  she  made  her  ap- 
pearance with  a  cheerful  countenance.     During  the  time  that 
the  line  of  the  procession  was  forming,  she  comforted  her 
female  companions,  and  engaged  them  to  join  with  her  in 
singing  a  psalm  suitable  to  the  occasion,  upon  which  the  gag 
was  put  into  her  mouth.  ■  It  was  taken  out  after  her  sentence 
was  read,  and  she  was  asked,  if  she  would  now  confess  those 
errors  to  which  she  had  hitherto  adhered  with  such  obsti- 
nacy.    She  replied  with  a  distinct  and  audible  voice,   "  I 
neither  can  nor  will  recant."     When  the  prisoners  arrived  at 
the  place  of  execution,  Don  Juan  Ponce,  who  began  to  waver 
at  the  sight  of  the  preparations  for  the  fiery  trial,  admonished 
her  not  to  be  too  confident  in  the  new  doctrines,  but  to  weigh 
the  arguments  of  those  who  attended  to  give  them  advice. 
Dona  Maria  upbraided  him  for  his  irresolution  and  cowardice ; 
adding  that  it  was  not  a  time  for  reasoning,  but  that  all  of 
them  ought  to  employ  their  few  remaining  moments  in  med- 
itating on  the  death  of  that  Redeemer  for  whom  they  were 
about  to  sufler.     Her  constancy  was  yet  put  to  a  further  trial. 
After  she  was  bound  to  the  stake,  the  attending  priests,  hav- 


HISTORY  OF  THE  REFORMATION  IN  SPAIN. 


349 


ing  prevailed  on  the  presiding  magistrate  to  delay  tlic  light- 
ing of  the  pile,  and  professing  to  feel  for  her  yoiiih  and  talents, 
requested  her  merely  to  repeat  the  creed.  This  she  did  not 
refuse,  hut  immediately  began  to  explain  some  of  its  articles 
in  the  Lutheran  sense.  She  was  not  permitted  to  finish  her 
commentary;  and  the  executioner  having  received  orders  to 
strangle  her,  she  was  consumed  in  the  fire. 

The  effigy  of  the  licentiate  Zafra,  whose  providential  es- 
cape has  been  mentioned,  was  burnt  at  this  auto-de-fe. 
Among  the  penitents  who  appeared  on  the  present  occasion, 
one  deserves  to  be  mentioned  as  a  specimen  uf  the  lenity  with 
which  the  inquisitors  punished  a  crime  which,  in  S|)ain,  ought 
to  have  been  visited  with  the  most  exemplary  vengeance. 
The  servant  of  a  gentleman  in  Puerto  de  .Santa  Maria  having 
fastened  a  rope  to  a  crucifix,  concealed  it,  along  with  a  whip, 
in  the  bottom  of  a  chest,  and  going  to  the  Triana.  informed 
the  holy  fathers  that  his  master  was  in  the  habit  of  scourg- 
ing the  image  every-day.  The  crucifix  was  found  in  the  place 
and  situation  described  by  the  informer,  and  the  gentleman 
was  thrown  into  the  secret  prisons.  Happily  Tor  him,  he  re- 
collected a  quarrel  which  he  had  had  with  his  servant,  and  suc- 
ceeded in  proving  that  the  accusation  had  its  origin  in  per- 
sonal revenge.  According  to  the  regulations  of  the  Holy 
Office  the  servant  ought  to  have  sullered  death ;  but  he  was 
merely  sentenced  to  receive  four  hundred  strokes  with  the 
whip,  and  to  be  confined  six  years  in  the  galleys.  The  exe- 
cution appears  to  have  been  confined  to  tlie  first  part  of  the 
sentence,  which,  upon  a  principle  of  retaliation  worthy  of  the 
ingenuity  of  the  Inquisition,  was  considered  as  expiatory  of 
the  supposed  indignity  done  to  the  crucifix. 

The  second  grand  auto-dc-fe  in  Seville  took  place  on  the 
22d  of  December  15G0,  after  it  had  been  delayed  in  the  hopes 
of  the  arrival  of  the  monarch.  It  was  on  this  occasion  that 
the  effigies  of  the  deceased  doctors  Kgidiusaud  Constantino, 
together  with  that  of  Juan  Perez,  who  had  lied,  were  produ- 
ced and  burnt.  Fourteen  persons  were  delivered  to  the  secu- 
lar arm,  and  thirty-four  were  sentenced  to  inferior  punish- 
ments. 

Julian  Hernandez  was  in  the  first  class,  and  the  closing 
scene  of  his  life  did  not  disgrace  his  former  daring  and  forti- 
tude. When  brought  out  to  the  court  of  the  Triana  on  the 
morning  of  the  auto,  he  said  to  his  fellow-prisoners,  "  Cour- 
age, comrades !  This  is  the  hour  in  which  we  must  show 
ourselves  valiant  soldiers  of  .lesus  Christ.  Let  us  now  bear 
faithful  testimony  to  his  truth  before  men.  and  within  a  few 
hours  we  shall  receive  the  testimony  of  his  approbation  be- 
fore angels,  and  triumph  with  him  in  heaven."'  He  was 
silenced  by  the  gag,  but  continued  to  encourage  his  compan- 
ions by  his  gestures,  during  the  whole  of  the  spectacle.  On 
arriving  at  the  stake  he  knelt  down  and  kissed  the  stone  on 
which  it  was  erected;  then  rising  he  thrust  his  naked  head 
once  and  again  among  the  faggots,  in  token  of  Ids  welcoming 
that  death  which  was  so  dreadful  to  others.  Being  bound  to 
the  stake,  he  composed  himself  to  prayer,  when  Doctor  Fer- 
nando Rodriguez,  one  of  the  attending  priests,  interpreting  his 
attitude  as  a  mark  of  abated  courage,  prevailed  with  the  judge 
to  remove  the  gag  from  his  mouth.  Having  delivered  a  suc- 
cinct confession  of  his  belief,  Julian  began  to  accuse  Kodri 
gucz,  with  whom  he  had  been  formerly  acquainted,  of  hy- 
pocrisy in  concealing  his  real  sentiments'through  fear  of  man. 
The  galled  priest  exclaimed,  "  Shall  Spain,  the  conqueror 
and  mistress  of  nations,  have  her  peace  disturbed  by  a  dwarf  1 
Executioner,  do  your  office."  The  pile  was  instantly  kin- 
dled ;  and  the  guards,  envying  the  unshaken  firmness  of  the 
martyr,  terminated  his  sufferings  by  plunging  their  lances 
into  his  body. 

No  fewer  than  eight  females,  of  irreproachable  character, 
and  some  of  them  distinguished  by  their  rank  and  education, 
suffered  the  most  cruel  of  deaths  at  this  aulo-de-fe.  Among 
these  was  Maria  Gomez,  who,  having  recovered  from  the 
mental  disorder  by  which  she  was  overtaken,  had  been 
received  back  into  the  proteslant  fellowship,  and  fell  into  the 
hands  of  the  Inquisition.  She  appeared  on  the  scaffold 
along  with  her  three  daughters  and  a  sister.  After  the  read- 
ing of  the  sentence  which  doomed  them  to  the  flames,  one  of 
the  young  women  went  up  to  her  aunt,  from  whom  she  had 
imbibed  the  protestant  doctrine,  and,  on  her  knees,  thanked 
her  for  all  the  religious  instructions  she  had  received  from 
her,  implored  her  forgiveness  for  any  ofl'ence  she  might  have 
given  her,  and  begged  her  dying  blessing.  Raising  her  up, 
and  assuring  her  that  she  had  never  given  her  a  moment's 
uneasiness,  the  old  woman  proceeded  to  encourage  her  duti- 
ful niece,  by  reminding  her  of  that  sup])ort  which  their 
divine  Redeemer  had  promised  them  in  the  liour  of  trial,  and 


of  those  joys  which  awaited  them  at  the  termination  of  their 
momentary  sufferings.  The  five  friends  tk?n  took  leave  of 
one  another  with  ti  nder  embraces  and  words  of  mutual  com- 
fort. The  interview  between  these  devoted  females  was 
beheld  by  tlie  members  of  the  Holy  Tribunal  with  a  rigid 
composure  of  countenance,  undisturbed  even  by  a  glance  of 
displeasure;  and  so  completely  had  superstition  and  haldt 
subdued  the  strongest  emotions  of  the  human  breast,  that 
not  a  single  expression  of  sympathy  escaped  from  the  multi- 
tude at  witnessing  a  scene  which,  iu  other  circumstances, 
would  have  harrowed  up  the  feelings  of  the  spectators,  and 
driven  them  into  mutiny. 

Three  foreigners,  two  of  whom  were  Englishmen,  perished 
in  this  auto.  Nicolas  Burton,  a  merchant  of  Loudon,  hav- 
ing visited  Spain  with  a  vessel  laden  with  goods,  fell  into 
the  hands  of  the  Inquisition,  and  refusing  to  abjure  the  pro- 
testant faith,  was  burnt  alive.  The  remarks  of  Llorente  on 
this  transaction  are  extremely  just.  "  Let  it  he  granted,  if 
you  will  have  it  so,  that  Burton  was  guilty  of  an  imprudence, 
by  posting  up  his  religious  sentiments  at  Sau  Lucar  de  Bar- 
rameda,  an<l  at  Seville,  in  contempt  of  the  faith  of  the  Span- 
iards ;  it  is  no  less  true  that  both  charity  and  justice  required, 
that  in  the  case  of  a  stranger  who  had  not  his  fixed  abode  in 
Spain,  they  should  have  contented  themselves  with  warning 
him  to  abstain  from  all  marks  of  disrespect  to  the  religion 
and  laws  of  the  country,  and  threatening  him  with  punish- 
ment if  he  repeated  the  offence.  The  Holy  Office  had  no- 
thing to  do  with  his  private?  sentiments  ;  having  been  estab- 
lished, not  for  strangers,  but  solely  for  the  people  of  Spain." 
That  the  charge  against  Burton  was  a  mere  pretext,  if  not  a 
fabrication,  is  evident  from  the  fact,  that  William  Burke,  a 
mariner  of  Southampton,  and  a  Frenchman  of  Bayonne, 
named  Fahianne,  who  had  come  to  Spain  in  the  course  of 
trade,  were  burnt  at  the  same  stake  with  him,  although  not 
accused  of  any  insult  on  the  religion  of  the  country. 

Part  of  the  goods  in  Burton's  ship,  which  was  confiscated 
by  the  inquisitors,  belonged  to  a  merchant  in  London,  who 
sent  John  Frampton  of  Bristol  to  Seville,  with  a  power  of 
attorney,  to  reclaim  his  property.  The  holy  Office  had  re- 
course to  every  obstacle  in  opposing  his  claim,  and  after 
fruitless  labour  during  four  months  he  found  it  necessary  to 
repair  to  England  to  obtain  ampler  powers.  Upon  his  land- 
ing the  second  time  in  Spain,  he  was  seized  by  two  familiars, 
and  conveyed  in  chains  to  Seville,  where  he  was  thrown  into 
the  secret  prisons  of  the  Triana.  The  only  pretext  for  his  ap- 
prehension was,  that  a  book  of  Cato  in  English  was  found  in 
his  portmanteau.  Being  unable  to  substantiate  a  charge  on  this 
ground,  the  inquisitors  interrogated  him  on  his  religious 
opinions,  and  insisted  that  he  should  clear  himself  of  .the 
suspicion  of  heresy  by  repeating  the  .Ire  Maria.  In  doing 
this,  he  omitted  the  words,  "  ^Mother  of  God,  pray  for  us;" 
upon  which  he  was  put  to  the  torture.  After  enduring  three 
shocks  of  the  puUy,  and  while  he  "lay  flat  on  the  ground, 
half-dead  and  lialf-alive,"  he  agreed  to  confess  whatever  his 
tormentors  chose  to  dictate.  In  consequence  of  this,  he  was 
found  violently  suspected  of  Lutheranism,  and  the  property 
which  he  had  come  to  recover  was  confiscated.  He  appeared 
among  the  penitents  at  the  auto  at  which  Burton  sullered, 
and  after  being  kept  in  prison  for  more  than  two  years  was 
set  at  liberty. 

Among  those  who  appeared  as  penitents  were  several 
ladies  of  family  and  monks  of  different  orders.  Others  were 
severely  punished  on  the  most  trivial  grounds.  Diego  de 
Virves,  a  member  of  the  municipality  of  Seville,  was  fined 
in  a  hundred  ducats  for  having  said,  on  occasion  of  the  pre- 
parations for  Maunday-Thursday,  "Would  it  not  be  more 
acceptable  to  God  to  expend  the  money  lavished  on  this  cere- 
mony in  relieving  poor  families  r'  Bartolome  Fuentes  hav- 
ing received  an  injury  from  a  certain  priest,  exclaimed,  "I 
cannot  believe  that  God  will  descend  from  heaven  into  the 
hands  of  such  a  worthless  person;"  for  which  offence  he 
appeared  on  the  scaffold  with  a  gag  in  his  mouth.  Two 
young  students  were  punished  for  ''Lutheran  acts,"  in  hav- 
ino-  copied  into  their  album  some  anonymous  verses,  which 
contained  cither  a  eulogium  or  a  satire  on  Luther,  according 
to  the  manner  in  which  they  were  read. 

Gasper  be  Benavides,  alcayde,  or  head  jailer,  of  the  inqui- 
sition at  Seville,  was  convicted  of  a  course  of  malversation 
in  his  office.  There  was  no  species  of  oppression  which  this 
miscreant  had  not  committed  in  his  treatment  of  the  prison- 
ers, before  a  riot  excited  by  his  insufferable  cruelties  led  to  a 
discovery  of  his  guilt.  He  w  as  merely  declared  •'  to  have 
f.dled  in  zeal  and  attention  to  his  charge,"  and  condemned  to 
lose  his  situation,  to  appear  in  the  auto  with  a  torch  in  his 


350 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


hand,  and  be  banished  from  Seville.  Compare  this  sentence 
■with  the  punishments  inflicted  on  those  who  were  the  means 
of  bringing  his  knavery  to  light.  P^r  conspiring  against 
him,  and  inflicting  a  wound  on  one  of  his  assistants  which 
proved  mortal,  Jldchior  del  Salto  was  burnt  alive.  A  mu 
latto  of  fourteen  years  of  age,  named  Luis,  suspected  of 
being  an  accomplice  in  the  riol,  received  two  hundred  lashes 
and  was  condemned  to  hard  labour  in  the  galleys  for  life; 
while  Maria  Gonzalez  and  Pedro  Herrera,  servants  to  the 
alcayde,  were  sentenced  to  the  same  number  of  lashes,  and 
confinement  in  the  galleys  for  ten  years,  merely  because  they 
had  treated  the  prisoners  with  kindness,  and  permitted  such 
of  them  as  were  relations  to  see  one  another  occasionally  for 
a  lew  minutes.* 

The   treatment  of  one  individual,  who  was  pronounced 
innocent  in  this  auto-de-fe,  aff^ords  more  damnina  evidence 
against  the  inquisitors  than  that  of  any  whom  th?y  devoted 
quick  to  the  flames.    Dona  Juana  de  Bohorques  was  a  dauo-h- 
ter  ot  Uon  Pedro  Garcia  de  Xeres  y  Bohorques,  and  the  wife 
01  Uon  I'rancisco  de  Vargas,  baron  of  Hi-ruera.     She  had 
heen  apprehended  in  consequence  of  a  confession  extorted  by 
the  rack  Irom  her  sister  Maria  de  Bohorques,  who  owned  that 
she  had  conversed  with  her  on  the  Lutheran  tenets,  without 
exciting  any  marks  of  disapprobation.     Beino-  six  months 
gone  in  pregnancy,  Dona  Juana  was  permitted  to  occupy  one 
ot  the  public  prisons  until  the  lime  of  her  delivery;  hut  eio-ht 
Hays  alter  that  event  the  child  was  taken  from  her,  and  she 
was  thrust  into  a  secret  cell.     A  young  female,  who  was  af- 
terwards brought  to  the  stake  as  a  Lutheran,  was  confined 
along  with  her,  and  did  every  thing  in  her  power  to  promote 
Jier  recovery.     Dona  Juana  had  soon  an  opportunity  of  repay- 
ing (he  kind  attentions  of  her  fellow-prisoner,  who,  havino- 
been  called  before  the  inquisitors,  was  brought  back  into  he" 
dungeon  /aint  and  mangled,    i^carcely  had  the  latter  acquired 
sufficient  strength  to  rise  from  her  bed  of  flao-s,  when  Dona 
Juana  was  conducted  in  her  turn  to  the  place  of  torture.    Re- 
tusing  to  confess,  she  was  put  into  the  engine  del  iurro,  which 
was  applied  with  such  violence,  that  the  cords  penetrated  to 
the  bone  of  her  arms  and  legs;  and  some  of  the  internal  ves- 
sels being  burst,  the  blood  flowed  in  streams  from  her  mouth 
and  nostrils.     She  was  conveyed  to  her  cell  in  a  state  of  in- 
sensibility, and  expired  in  the  course  of  a  few  days.     The 
inquisitors  would  fain  have  concealed  the  cause  of  her  death 
but  It  was  impossible;  and  they  tho;ight  to  expiate  the  crime 
of  this  execrable  murder,  in  the  eyes  of  men  at  least,  by  pro- 
nouncing Juana  de  Bohorques  innocent  on  the  day  of  the 
auto-de-te,  vindicating  her  reputation,  and  restorino-  her  pro- 
perty to  her  heirs.     "  Under  what  an  overwhelming?  responsi- 
bility (exclaims  one  of  their  countrymen)  must  these  cannibals 
appear  one  day  betbre  the  tribunal  of  the  Deity'"     But  mav 
we   not  hesitate  in  deciding  the  question.  Whose  was  th'e 
greatest  responsibility  1  that  of  the  cannibals  or  of  those  who 
permitted  them  thus  to  gorge  themselves  with  human  blood ' 
bureiy  the  spirit  of  chivalry  had  fled  from  the  breasts  of  the 
Spanish  nobility,  else  they  never  would  have  suflered  their 
wives  and  daughters  to  be  abused  in  this  manner  bv  an  ipno- 
ble  junto  of  priests  and  friars,  supported  by  a  monardi  euu°ally 
base  unprincipled.  '       ■' 

Having  discharged  the  painful  task  of  describino-  the  four 
great  autos  in  \  alladolid  and  Seville,  it  may  be  proper  be- 
Jore  proceeding  with  the  narrative  of  the  extermination  of  the 
Protestants,  to  advert  to  the  severe  measures  adopted  against 
certain  diamhed  ecclesiastics  who  fell  under. the  suspiemn  of 
favouring  jieresy.  ' 

\\  e  have  had  occasion  repeatedly  to  mention  the  name,  and 
allude  to  the  trial  of  Bartolome  de  Carranza  y  Miranda,  arch- 
bishop of  Toledo.  After  sitting  in  the  council  of  Trent 
and  accompanying  Philip  IL  to  England,  where  he  took  an 


•Montanus,  p.  108-114.  Llorente,  ii.  2SP,  2yi-"93  Herrera 
at  the  eai-ncst  request  of  a  mothei-  and  her  dausjbter,  who  were  cou- 
S.e'rfrr'l'f  "'-''!'■  '-'';j"'7"l'--b- permitted  tbem  to  ccnerse 
thf  .ohL!  •■',"  ','""■■•     *^';  "'"■"■  '"^"'»  s'-'^moned  soon  after  to 

Het°aT?,;,M  ="'"'; '°  '"  '"'l-'sitors  confessed  what  he  had  done. 

Having  .S'  "'','"','  '"-■  »"'=«"';''.  ''■•""sl't  on  mental  dei^gement. 
Having  recovered,  he  appeared  in  the  auto  with  a  rope  about  his 

witha  ?t  nl'^^h  •,"'  """,''r  '"  '"  ''"'^"''y  «'''I'P"'' ''«  "■='s  >«-'i^«=<l 
he  was  bn^„  '.'  .?"''  'I'™""'S  I'i.nseir  from  the  ass  on  which 

"ou  d  1, ,?  !;'ll'";'-*f'-*''  1  ':™"'  ''"°'"  ^'"-'  "'ten'""?  alguazil,  and 
Xnce  lou,  I  ■  '"■  '"';', '""  ""^  "■<""■'  i-'t^-posed."  For  this 
°^-he'l,MvV-,h  !'■%"■'-'''-■  l''"'f  '"  '"'  ««»ti""nent  in  the  galleys, 
no    pum.t  people  e>en  to  be  msaue  wiUi  impunity.-     (Montanus, 


active  jiart  in  the  examination  of  the  protestants  who  were 
led  to  the  stake,  this  learned  man  was  rewarded  in  1553  with 
the  primacy;  but  he  had  not  been  many  months  in  his  diocese 
when  he  was  denounced  to  the  Inquisition  and  thrown  into 
prison  at  \  alladolid.     Some  historians  have  ascribed  his 
prosecution  entirely  to  the  envy  and  personal  hatred  of  his 
brethren,  particularly  Melchior  Cano,  bishop  of  the  Canaries, 
and  the  inquisitor  general  Valdes.     It  is  unquestionable  that 
the  proceedings  were  exasperated  by  such  base  motives;  but 
there  were  grounds  of  jealousy,  distinct  from  these,  which 
operated  against  the  primate.     Several  of  the  leadino-  persons 
among  the  Spanish  protestants  had  received  their  education 
under  Carranza,  who  continued  to  maintain  a  friendly  corres- 
pondence with  them,  and,  though  he  signified  his  disappro- 
bation of  their  sentiments  in  private,  did  "not  crive  information 
against  them  to  the  Holy  Office.     His  theolo.rical  ideas  were 
more  enlarged  than  those  of  his  brethren,  and  he  appears  to 
have  agreed  with  the  reformers  on  justification  and  several 
collateral  points  of  doctrine.     In  these  respects  his  mode  of 
thinking  resembled  that  of  Marco  Antonio  Flaminio,  cardinals 
1  ole  and  Morone,  and  other  learned  Italians.     Indeed  bis 
intimacy  with  these  distinguished  individuals  formed  part  of 
the  evidence  adduced  against  him.     His  Catechism,  which 
was  made  the  primary  article  of  charge  against  him,  besides 
Its  presumed  leaning  on  some  points  to  Lutheranism,  was 
ottensive  to  the  Inquisition,  because  it  was  published  in  the 
vulgar  tongue,  and  inculcated  the  doctrines  of  the  Bible  more 
than  the  traditions  of  the  church.     At  the  end  of  seven  years 
the  cause  was  transferred  to  Rome,  thither  the  primate  was 
conveyed ;  and  after  various  intrigues  and  delays,  pope  Gre- 
gory \I1I.  pronounced  a  definitive  sentence  on  the  Uth  of 
April  loTti,  finding  Carranza  violently  suspected  of  heresy 
confirming  the  prohibition  of  his  Catechism,  and  ordainiii^ 
htm  to  abjure  sixteen  Lutheran  [.repositions,  and  to  be  sus°- 
pended  tor  five  years  from  the  exercise  of  his  archiepiscopal 
functions.     I  he  sentence  had  scarcely  passed  when  the  pri- 
mate sickened  and  died,  having  been  eighteen  years  under 
process  and  in  a  state  of  confinement. 

The  prosecution  of  the  primate  gave  rise  to  others.    Eio-ht 
bishops,  the  most  of  whom  had  assisted  at  the  council" of 
I  rent,  and  twenty-five  doctors  of  theology,  includino-  the  men 
of  greatest  learning  in  Spain,  were  denounced  to°the  Holy 
Office ;  and  few  of  them  escaped  without  makinn-  some  hu- 
miliating acknowledgment  or  retractation.    Mancio°de  Corpus 
Christi,  professor  of  theology  at  Alcala,  had  .riven  a  favour- 
able opinion  of  the  Catechism  of  Carranza,  to  which  he  had 
procured  the  subscriptions  of  the  divines  of  his  university; 
but  hearing  that  a  prosecution  was  commenced  against  him, 
he  saved  himselt  irom  being  thrown  into  the  secret  prisons 
by  transmuting  to  the  inquisitors  another  opinion,  in  which 
he  condemned  three  hundred  and  thirty-one  propositions  in 
the  works  of  that  prelate,  whom  he  had  a  little  before  pro- 
nounced most  orthodox.    Luis  de  la  Cruz,  a  favourite  disciple 
of  Carranza,  was  thrown  into  the  secret  prisons,  in  conse- 
quence of   certain   papers  of  his  master  being  found  in  his 
possession,  and  the  intercourse  which  he  had  held  with  Doc- 
tor Cazalla  and  other  reformers.     Confinement  and  anxiety 
produced  a  tendency  of  blood  to  his  head,  accompanied  with 
tits  of  delirium,  which  rendered  it  necessary,  for  the  preserva- 
tion ot  his  life,  to  remove  him  to  the  episcopal  prison.     Not- 
withstanding this  and  the  failure  of  the  proof  brought  atrainst 
urn.  La  Cruz  was  kept  in  confinement  for  five  y?ars,  in  the 
hopes  that  he  would  purchase  his  liberty  by  blastino-  the 
reputation  and  betraying  the  life  of  his  patron.     Before''Car- 
ranza  was  formally  accused,  the  inquisitors  had  extracted  a 
number  of  propositions  from  his  catechism,  and  without  nam- 
ing the  author,  submitted  them  to  the  judgment  of  Juan  de 
I  egna,  professor  at  Salamanca,  who  pronounced  them  all 
catholic,  or  at  least  susceptible  of  a  good  sense.     After  the 
primate  was  laid  under  arrest,  De  Pegna  became  alarmed 
and  sent  an  apology  to  the  Holy  Olhce,  in  which  he  acknow- 
ledged himself  guilty  of  concealing  the  favourable  opinion 
which  Carranza  had  entertained  of  Don  Carlos  de  Seso.    This 
did  not  pacify  the  holy  fathers,  who  condemned  him  to  un- 
dergo different  penances  for  his  faults,  amono-  which  they 
reckoned  the  following:  that  he  did  not  censure  the  propo- 
sition, "  that  we  cannot  say  that  a  person  falls  from  a  state  of 
grace  by  committing  a  mortal  sin;"  and  that  he  had  o-iven  it 
as  his  private  opinion,  "that  even  although  the  primate  was 
a  heretic,  the  Holy  Office  should  wink  at  the  fact,  lest  tlie 
Lutherans  of  Germany  should  canonize  him  as  a  martyr,  as 
they  had  done  others  who  had  been  punished." 

In  the  mean  time  the  prosecution  aaainst  the  Lutherans  in 
V  alladolid  and  Seville  had  not  relaxed.     Every  means  was 


HISTORY  OF  THE  REFORMATION  IN  SPAIN. 


351 


used  to  excite  the  popular  odium  against  them.  The  abomina- 
ble calumnies  propagated  by  the  pagans  of  Rome  against  the 
primitive  Christians  were  revived  ;  and  U  was  believed  by  the 
credulous  vulo-ar,  that  the  protestants,  in  their  nightly  assem- 
blies, extino-uishcd  the  candles,  and  abandoned  themselves  to 
the  crrossest  vices.  On  the  feast  of  St.  Matthew,  m  the  year 
15r,f,  a  destructive  fire  broke  out  at  Valladolid,  which  con- 
sumed upwards  of  four  hundred  houses,  including  some  ot 
the  richest  manufactories  and  stores  in  the  city.  This  was 
ascribed  to  a  conspiracy  of  the  Lutherans;  and  every  year 
afterwards,  on  the  day  of  St.  Matthew,  the  inhabitants  ob 
served  a  solemn  procession,  accompanied  with  prayers  to  our 
Lord,  through  the  intervention  of  his  holy  apostle,  to  preserve 
them  from  this  plague  and  calamity.  In  the  course  ol  the 
same  year,  the  pope  sent  to  Spain  a  bull,  authorizing  a  jubilee, 
with  plenary  indulgences.  Among  other  things,  it  gave  au- 
thority to  confessors  to  absolve  those  who  had  involved  them- 
selves iu  the  Lutheran  heresy,  upon  their  prolessing  sorrow 
for  their  errors.  Though  the  object  of  the  court  of  Home  was 
to  amass  money,  this  measure  tended  to  mitigate  the  perse- 
cution which  had  niged  for  some  years;  but  the  inquisitors, 
determined  that  their  prey  should  not  escape  ihein,  prohibited 
the  bull  from  being  published  within  the  kingdom. 

The  Jour  autos-de-1'e  which  we  have  already  described,  al- 
though the  most  celebrated,  were  not  the  only  spectacles  at 
which  the  protestants  suffered  in  Valladolid  and  Seville.  It 
required  many  years  to  empty  their  prisons,  from  which  ad- 
herents to  the  reformed  faith  continued,  at  short  intervals,  to 
be  brouo-ht  out  to  the  scaffold  and  to  the  stake.  On  the  10th 
of  July  1563,  a  public  auto  was  celebrated  in  Seville,  at  which 
six  persons  were  committed  to  the  tlames  as  Lutherans.  Do- 
mingo de  Guzman  appeared  among  the  penitents  on  this 
occasion.  The  hope  of  an  archbishopric  had  been  lidu  out 
to  induce  him  to  recant;  and  his  brother,  the  duke  ol  Medina 
Sidonia,  exerted  himself  to  procure  his  release,  upon  undcr- 
goino-  such  a  slitrht  penance  as  would  not  interfere  with  his 
futur°e>rospects.  But  the  inquisitors  were  resolved  to  pre- 
vent the  advancement  of  one  who  had  embraced  the  reformed 
tenets;  and  after  causing  his  books,  which  exceeded  a  thou- 
sand volumes,  to  he  burnt  before  his  eyes,  they  condemned 
him  to  perpetual  imprisonment. 

An  occurrence  which  took  place  at  Seville  in  15G4,  diverted 
for  a  little  the  attention  of  the  public,  and  even  ot  the  inquisi- 
tors, from  the  adherents  of  the  reformed  doctrine.  Li  conse- 
quence of  complaints  that  the  confessional  was  abused  to  lewd 
purposes,  edicts  were  repeatedly  procured  from  Rome  to  cor- 
rect the  evil.  Several  scandalous  discoveries  having  been 
made  by  private  investigation,  and  the  public  clamour  in- 
creasing, the  inquisition  of  Seville  came  to  a  resolution,  of 
which  tliey  had  reason  to  repent,  that  an  edict  of  denunciation 
should  be  published  in  all  the  churches  of  the  province,  requir- 
ing, under  a  severe  penalty,  those  who  had  been  solicited  by 
prtests  in  the  confessional  to  criminal  intercourse,  o 
knew  of  this  having  been  done,  to  give  information  to  the 
Holy  Office  within  thirty  days.  In  consequence  ot  this  inti- 
mation, such  numbers  Hocked  to  the  Triana,  that  the  inquisi- 
-  tors  were  forced  once  and  again  to  prolong  the  period  ot 
denunciation,  until  it  extended  to  a  hundred  and  twenty  days. 
Among  the  informers  were  women  of  illustrious  birth  and 
excellent  character,  who  repaired  to  the  inquisitors  with  their 
veils,  and  under  disguise,  for  fear  of  being  met  and  recog- 
nized by  their  husbands.  The  priests  were  thrown  into  the 
greatest  alarm;*  the  peace  of  families  was  broken ;  and  the 
whole  city  rang  with  scandal.  At  last,  the  council  of  the 
Supren.e,  perceiving  the  odium  which  it  brought  on  the  church, 
and  its  tendency  to  prejudice  the  people  against  auricular  con- 
fession, interposed  their  authority,  by  quashing  the  invcsti- 
o-ation,  and  prohibiting  the  edict  of  denunciation  from  being 
repeated. f 


•  "On  the  other  side  it  was  a  joly  sport  to  see  llie  monkes  and 


friers  and  priestes  so  up  and  downe  hangir.g  downe  theyr  heads 


11 
in  dumpe  and  a  melancUolv,  by  raeanes  of  Theyr  guilty  "consciences, 
quaking  and  trembling,  and  looking  every  hower  when  some  ol  die 
familiars  should  take"  them  by  the  sieve,  and  call  them  coram  for 
these  matters.  In  so  ranch  that  a  number  feared  lest  as  great  a  plague 
■were  come  among  them  as  the  persecution  that  was  so  hole  about 
that  time  against" the  Ludierans."  .(.Skinner's  translation  of  Mon 
tanus,  sig.  K.  iij.)  , 

•I-  Montanus,  p.  10-i-18S.  Llorente  does  not  deny  the  facts  stated 
by  the  protestant  historian,  but  contents  himself  with  saying  that  he 
has  mistaken  the  year  1503  for  ].iO+,  and  that  "  the  denunciations 
Avere  much  fewer  than  he  pretends."  iToni.  iii.  p.  29.)  The  docu- 
ments whi'-h  enabled  the  cx-secretary  of  the  Inquisition  to  correct 
the  exaggeration,  must  have  put  it  in  his  power  to  slate  the  exact 
number-  "There  is  reason  in  what  ho  says  on  tliis  subject, that  while 


Valladolid  and  Seville  were  not  the  only  cities  whose  pri- 
sons were  crowded  with  the  friends  to  the  reformed  doctrine. 
From  15G0  to  1570,  one  public  auto-de-fe  at  least  was  cele- 
brated annu-iUy  in  all  the  twelve  cities  in  which. provincial 
tribunals  of  tlie  Inquisition  were  .then  established  ;  and  at 
each  of  these,  adherents  to  the  new  fuith  made  tlieir  appear-- 
ance.     On   the   8th    of  September    1560,    the  inquisition  ot 
Mvircia  solemnized  an  auto,  at  which  five  persons  were  sen- 
tenced to  different  punishments  for  embracing  Lutheranism ; 
and  three  years  after,  eleven  appeared  as  penitents  in  that 
city  on  the  same  charge.     It  was  in  the  last-mentioned  auto, 
that  a  son  of  the  emperor  of  Morocco,  who  had  submitted  to 
baptism  in  his  youth,  was  brought  on  the  scaffold  for  relapsing 
to  Mahometanism,  and  was  condemned  to  confinement  for  three 
years,  and  to  banishment  from  the  kinodoms  of  Valencia,  Ara- 
gon,  Murcia,  and  Granada.     On  the  ::5th  February  1560,  the 
inquisition  of  Toledo  prepared  a  grand  auto-de-fe  lor  the  en- 
tertainment of  their  young  queen,  lilizabeth  de  Valois,  the 
daughter  of  Henry  II.  of  France.     To  render  it  the  more 
olemn,  a  general  assembly  of  the  cortes'of  the  kingdom  was 
held  there  at  the  same  time,  to  take  the  oath  of  fidelity  to  Don 
Carlos,  the  heir  apparent  to  the  throne.     Several   Lutherans 
appeared  among  those  who  were  condemned  to  the  flames  and 
to  other  punishments.     On  this  occasion  the  duke  of  Bruns- 
wick delivered  up  one  of  his  retinue  to  the  (lames,  to  testify 
his  hatred  of  the  reformed  cause,  and  to  strike  terror  into  the 
minds  of  the   Germans,  Flemings,  and  French,  who  were 
present  and  were  greatly  suspected  of  heresy.     At  llie  same 
place  in  the  subsequent  year,  four  priests,  Spanish  and  French, 
were  burnt  alive  for  Lutheranism,  and  nineteen  persons  of 
the  same  persuasion  were  reconciled.     Among  the  latter  \vas 
one  of  the  royal  pages,  whose  release  was  granted  by  Philip 
and  Valdes,  at  the  intercession  of  the  queen.     In  15G5,  the 
same  inquisition  celebrated  another  .auto,  at  which  a  number 
of  protestants  were  condemned  to  the  fire  and  to  penances, 
under  the  several  designations  of  Lutherans,  faithful,^  and 
huguenaos,   or  hugonots.     The  metropolitan  city  of  Spain 
was  so  eager  to  signalize  its  zeal  against  heresy,  that  in  1571, 
not  to  mention  other  examples,  an  auto  was  held  in  it,  at 
which  two  persons  were  burnt  alive,  and  one  in  effigy,  while 
no  fewer  than  thirly-one  were  sentenced  to  different  punish- 
ments, as  Lutherans.     One  of  the  two  who  perished  in  the 
flames  was  Doctor  Sigisraond  Archel,  a  native  of  Cagliari  in 
Sardinia.     He  had  been  arrested  at  Madrid  in  156'2,  and  after 
suffering  for  many  years  in  the  prisons  of  Toledo,  had  con- 
trived to  make  his  escape  ;  but  his  portrait  having  been  sent 
to  the  principal  passes  of  the  frontier,  he  was  seized  before 
he  got  out  of  the  kingdom,  and  delivered  again  into  the  hands 
of  itis  judges.     \Vhe°n  the  depositions  of  the  witnesses  were 
communicated  to  him,  Sigismond  acknowledged  all  that  was 
laid  to  his  charge,   but  pleaded    that   so  far  from  being  a 
heretic  he  was  a  better  catholic  than  the  papists;  in  proof  of 
which  he  read,  to  the  great  mortification  of  the  court,  a  long 
apology  which  he  had  composed  in  prison.     He  derided  the 
ignorance  of  the  priests  who  were  sent  to  convert  him,  iu 
consequence  of  which  he  was  condemned  to  wear  the  gag  on 
the  scaffold  and  at  the  stake ;  and  the  guards,  envying  him 
the  glory  of  a  protracted  martyrdom,  pierced  his  body  with 
their  lances,  while  the  executioners  were  kindling  the  pile, 
so  that  he  perished  at  the   same  time  by  fire  and  sword. 
Though  the  greater  part  of  the  prisoners  exhibited  in  the 
autos°de-fe  of  Granada  and  Valencia  were  Jews  or  Mahomet- 
ans, yet  protestants  suffered  along  with  them  from  time  to 
time;  among  whom  our  attention  is   jiarticularly  fixed  upon 
Don  Miauel  de  Vera  y  Santaiigcl,  a  Carthusian  monk  of 
Portacelf,  as  belonging  to  the  convent  in  which  the  first  trans- 
lation of  the  Bible  into  the  Spanish  language  was  composed. 
None  of  the  provincial  tribunals  was  so  much  occupied  in 
suppressing  the  Reformation  as  those  of  Logrono,  Saragossa, 
and  Barcelona.     In  the  numerous  autos  celebrated  in  these 
cities,  a  great  part  of  those  who  appeared   on  the  scaffolds 
were  protestants.     But  the  chief  employment  of  the  inquisi- 
tors in  the  eastern  provinces  consisted   in  searching  for  and 
seizino-  heretical    books,  which   were  introduced  from  the 
frontiers  of  France  or  by  sea.     In   1568  the  council  of  the 
Supreme  addressed  letters  to  them,  communicating  alarming 
information  received  from  England  and  France.     Don  Diego 
de  Guzman,  the  Spanish  ambassador  at  London,  had  written 


in  some  instances  the  priests  were  guilty,  m  others  they  nuglit  be 
talsclv  accused  from  malice  or  from  mistake  on  Uie  part  ot  the 
nenitcnts;  but  did  it  not  occur  to  liim,  that,  on  eidicr  supposition, 
kuricular  confession  and  the  celibacy  of  the  clergv  arc  calculated  to 
have  the  most  pernicious  influence  on  public  morals. 


CHRISTIAN     LIBRARY. 


that  the  Englisli  were  boasting  of  the  eonverls  which  their 
doctrine  was  making  in  Spain,  and  particularly  in  Navarre. 
At  the  same  time  advertisement  was  given  by  the  ambassa- 
dor at  A'ieitne,  that  the  Calvinits  of  France  were  felicitating 
themselves  on  the  signing  of  the  treaty  of  peace  between  tbe 
French  and  Spanish  nionarchs,  and  entertained  hopes  that 
their  religion  would  make  as  great  progress  in  Spain  as  it 
had  done  in  Flanders,  Kngland  and  other  countries,  because 
the  Spaniards,  who  had  already  embraced  it  secretly,  would 
now  have  an  easy  communication  ihrongh  Aragon  with  the 
protestants  of  Beam.  From  Castrcs  and  from  Paris  the  in- 
quisitor general  had  received  certain  information  that  large 
quantities  of  books,  in  the  Castilian  tongue,  were  destined 
for  Spain.  These  were  in  some  instances  put  into  casks  of 
Champagne  and  Burgundy  wine,  with  such  address  that  they 
passed  through  the  hands  of  the  custom-house  officers  witl;- 
out  detection.  In  this  way  many  copies  of  the  Spanish  Bible, 
published  by  Cassiodoro  de  Heyna  at  Basle  in  15(if),  made 
their  way  into  Spain,  notwithstanding  the  severest  denuncia- 
tions of  the  Holy  Office,  and  the  utmost  vigilance  of  the 
familiars. 

But  the  Inquisition  was  not  satisfied  with  preventing  heret- 
ical men  and  books  from  coming  into  Spain;  it  exerted  itself 
with  equal  zeal  in  preventing  orthodox  horses  from  being 
exported  out  of  the  kingdom.  Incredible  or  ludicrous  as  this 
may  appear  to  the  reader,  nothing  can  be  more  unquestionable 
than  the  fact,  and  nothing  demonstrates  more  decidedly  the 
unjirincipled  character  of  the  inquisitors,  as  well  as  of  those 
who  had  recourse  to  its  agency  to  promote  their  political 
schemes.  As  early  as  the  fourteenth  century  it  had  been 
declared  illegal  to  transport  horses  from  Spain  to  France. 
This  prohibition  originated  entirely  in  views  of  political  econ- 
omy, and  it  was  the  business  of  the  officers  of  the  customs  to 
prevent  the  contraband  trade.  But  en  occasion  of  the  wars 
which  arose  between  the  papists  and  hugonots  of  France,  and 
the  increase  of  the  latter  on  the  Spanisb  borders,  it  occurred 
to  Philip,  as  an  excellent  expedient  for  putting  down  the 
prohibited  commerce,  to  commit  the  task  to  the  inquisition, 
whose  services  would  be  more  effective  than  those  of  a  hun- 
dred thousand  frontier  guards.  With  this  view  he  procured 
a  bull  from  the  pope,  which,  with  a  special  reference  to  the 
hugonots  of  France,  and  the  inhabitaijts  of  Beam  in  particu- 
lar, declared  all  to  be  suspected  of  heresy  who  should  furnish 
arms,  munitions,  or  other  instruments  of  war  to  heretics.  In 
consequence  of  this,  the  council  of  the  Supreme  in  1596  added 
to  the  annual  edict  of  denunciation  a  clause  obliging  all, 
under  the  pain  of  excommunication,  to  inform  against  any 
who  had  bought  or  transported  horses  for  the  use  of  the 
French  protestants ;  which  was  afterwards  extended  to  all 
who  sent  them  across  the  Pyrenees.  For  this  offence  num- 
bers were  fined,  whi])ped,  and  condenmed  to  the  galleys,  by 
the  inquisitorial  tribunals  on  the  frontiers.  Always  bent  on 
extending  their  jurisdiction,  the  inquisitors  sought  to  bring 
under  their  cogiiizance  all  questions  respecting  the  contra- 
band trade  in  saltpetre,  sulphur,  and  powder.  Philip,  how- 
ever, diverted  their  attention  from  this  encroachment  on  the 
civil  administration,  by  engaging  them  in  the  pursuit  of  royal 
game.  Ferdinand  the  catholic,  availing  himself  of  favoura- 
l)le  circumstances,  had  added  the  greater  part  of  the  kingdom 
of  Navarre  to  his  dominions;  and  Charles  V.,  in  a  fit  ol  de- 
votion, had,  by  his  testament,  enjoined  his  son  to  examine 
the  claim  which  the  r-panish  monarchy  had  to  these  territo- 
ries, and,  if  it  should  be  found  invalid,  to  restore  them  to 
tbe  original  proprietor.  So  far  from  doing  this  act  of  justice 
Philip  inteniled  to  annex  the  whole  of  that  kingdom  to  bis 
crown.  At  his  insligaliou  pope  Pins  IV.  in  laOS  issued  a 
bull,  excommunicating  Jeanne  d'Albret,  the  hereditary  queen 
of  Navarre,  and  offering  her  dominions  to  the  first  catholic 
jirince  who  should  undertake  to  clear  them  of  heresy.  With 
characteristic  duplicity  Philip  professed  to  the  French  court 
his  disapprobation  of  the  step  taken  by  his  holiness,  while, 
in  concert  with  the  inquisitor  general  Espinosaand  the  house 
of  Guise,  he  was  concerting  measures  to  seize  the  person  of 
the  queen  of  Navarre,  and  of  her  son,  afterwards  Henry  IV. 
of  France,  with  tlie  view  of  carrying  tliem  by  force  into 
Spain,  and  delivering  them  to  the  Inquisition.  This  dis- 
graceful conspiracy,  formed  in  15t)5,  was  defeated  only  by 
the  sudden  illness  of  the  olficer  to  whom  its  execution  had 
been  intrusted. 

The  public  is  not  unacquainted  with  the  cruelties  perpetra- 
ted by  the  inquisition  of  Goa,  within  the  settlements  of  the 
Portuguese  in  the  East  Indies.  Similar  atrocities  werecom- 
milted  by  .'he  Spaniards  in  the  New  World,  in  which  tbe  tri- 
bunal of  the  Inquisition  was  erected  at    Mexico,  Lima,  and 


Carthagena.  At  Mexico,  in  the  year  1574,  an  Englishman 
and  a  Frenchman  were  burnt  alive  as  impenitent  Lutherans, 
while  others  were  subjected  to  penances  for  embracing  the 
opinions  of  Luther  and  Calvin.  In  the  close  of  the  seven- 
teenth century,  Louis  Rame,  a  French  protestant,  was  de- 
tained as  a  prisoner  for  four  years  by  theinquisitors  of  Mex- 
ico;  and  several  natives  of  England  and  its  colonies  were 
forced  to  abjure  their  religion,  and  submit  to  rebaptization. 
A  splendid  auto-de-fe  was  celebrated  at  the  same  place  in 
1('>50,  at  which  William  Lamport,  an  Irishman,  was  con- 
demned to  the  flames,  "  for  being  infected  with  the  errors  of 
Luther,  Calvin,  Pelagius,  Wicliff,  and  John  Huss;  in  a  word, 
because  he  was  guilty  of  all  imaginable  heresies."  He  was 
the  author  of  two  writings,  in  one  of  which,  to  use  the  lan- 
guage of  his  indictment,  "  things  were  said  against  the  Holy 
Office,  its  erectioti,  style,  mode  of  process,  &c.  in  such  a 
manner,  that  in  tbe  whole  of  it  not  a  word  was  to  be  found 
that  was  not  deserving  of  reprehension,  not  only  as  being  in- 
jurious, but  also  insulting  to  our  holy  catholic  faith."  Of 
the  other  writing  the  procurator  fiscal  says,  "  that  it  contain- 
ed detestable  bitterness  of  language,  and  contumelies  so  filled 
with  poison,  as  to  manifest  the  heretical  spirit  of  the  author, 
and  his  hitter  hatred  against  the  Holy  Office."  On  the  day 
of  execution,  bejng  desirous  of  testifying  the  readiness  with 
which  he  met  death,  he  was  no  sooner  seated  at  tbe  foot  of 
the  stake,  and  his  neck  placed  in  the  ring,  than  he  let  him- 
self fall  and  broke  his  neck.  According  to  the  official  report 
of  the  auto-de-fe,  Lamport  trusted  "  tlial  the  devil,  his  famil- 
iar, would  relieve  him,"  and  as  he  walked  through  the  streets 
to  the  place  of  execution,  continued  looking  up  to  the  clouds 
to  see  if  the  superior  power  he  expected  was  coming;  but 
finding  all  his  hopes  vain,  he  strangled  himself. 

The  year  1570  may  be  fixed  upon  as  the  period  of  the  sup- 
pression of  the  reformed  religion  in  Spain.  After  that  date, 
protestants  were  still  discovered  at  intervals  by  the  Inquisi- 
tion, and  brought  out  in  the  autos-de-fe  ;  but  they  were  "  as 
the  gleaning  grapes  when  the  vintage  is  done."  Several  of 
these  were  foreigners,  and  especially  Englishmen.  The  pun- 
ishment of  Burton  and  others  produced  remonstrances  from 
foreign  powers,  which  were  long  disregarded  by  the  Spanish 
government.  All  that  Maim,  the  English  ambassador  at  the 
court  of  Madrid,  could  obtain,  was  a  personal  protection  on 
the  head  of  religion,  while  those  of  his  retinue  were  com- 
pelled to  go  to  mass  ;  and  having  caused  the  English  service 
to  be  performed  in  his  house,  he  was  for  some  time  excluded 
from  the  court,  and  obliged  to  quit  Madrid.  The  circumstan- 
ces in  which  Elizabeth  was  then  placed,  obliged  lier  to  act 
cautiously  ;  bnt  she  wrote  to  Mann,  desiring  him  to  remon- 
strate with  his  catholic  majesty  against  treatment  so  dishon- 
ourable to  her  crown,  and  so  opposite  to  that  which  the  Span- 
ish ambassador  received  at  London;  and  intimating  that  she 
would  recall  him,  unless  the  privilege  of  private  worship,  ac- 
cording to  the  rites  of  their  country,  were  granted  to  his  ser- 
vants. 

At  a  subsequent  period,  the  injury  done  to  commerce 
by  persecution  obliged  the  government  to  issue  orders,  that 
strangers  visiting  Spain  for  the  purpose  of  trade  should  not 
he  molested  on  account  of  their  religion.  The  inquisitors, 
however,  made  no  scruple  of  transgressing  the  ordinances  of 
the  court  on  this  point,  by  proceeding  from  time  to  time  against 
foreigners,  under  the  pretext  that  they  propagated  heresy  by 
books  or  conversation.  Among  many  others,  William  Litb- 
gow,  the  will-known  traveller,  was  in  1C'20  imprisoned  and 
put  to  the  torture  at  Malaga ;  and  in  1714  Isaac  Martin  was 
subjected  to  the  same  treatment  at  Granada. 

Of  fifty-seven  persons,  whose  sentences  were  read  at  an 
auto  held  in  Cuenca  in  1G54,  one  only  was  charged  with  Lu- 
theranisni.  In  ItiSO,  an  auto-de-fe  was  celebrated  at  Madrid, 
in  honour  of  the  niarriage  of  the  Spanish  monarch,  Don  Car- 
los II.,  to  Maria  Louise  de  Bourbon,  the  niece  of  Louis  XIV. 
of  France  ;  and  as  a  proof  of  the  taste  of  the  nation,  a  minute 
account  of  the  whole  jirocedure  on  that  occasion  was  publish- 
ed to  the  world,  with  the  approbation  of  all  the  authorities, 
civil  and  ecclesiastical.  Among  a  hundred  and  eighteen  vic- 
tims produced  on  the  scaffold,  we  meet  with  the  name  of  only 
one  protestant,  whose  effigy  and  hones  were  given  to  the 
flames.  This  was  Marcos  de  Segura,  a  native  of  Villa  de 
llbrique,  in  Granada,  whose  sentence  bears,  that  he  had  for- 
merly been  '  reconciled'  by  the  inquisition  of  Llerena,  as  a 
heretic  who  denied  purgatory,  but  who,  having  relapsed  into 
this  and  other  errors,  was  again  thrown  into  prison,  where  he 
died  in  a  state  of  impenitence  and  contumacy. 

Although  upwards  of  sixteen  hundred  victims  were  burnt 
alive  in  the  course  of  the  eighteenth  century,  we  do  not  per- 


HISTORY  OF  THE  REFOR.MATION  IX  SPAIN. 


ceive  that  any  of  them  were  protestants.*     But  the  reformed 
faith  can  number  among  its  confessors  a  Spaniard  wlio  suffer- 
ed in  the  nineteenth  centurJ^     Don  Jliguel  Juan  Antonio  So- 
lano, a  native  of  Verdun  in  Aragon,  was  vicar  of  Esco  in  the 
diocese  of  Jaca.     He  was  educated  according  to  the  Aristote- 
lian system  of  philosophy  and  scholastic  divinity;  but  the 
natural  strength  of  his  mind  enabled  him  to  throw  off  his 
early  prejudices,  and  he  made  great  proficiency  In  mathema- 
tics and  mechanics.     His  benevolence  led  him  to  employ  his 
inventive  powers  for  the  benefit  of  his  parishioners,  by  im- 
proving their  implements  of  husbandry,  and  fertilizing  their 
soil.     A  long  and  severe  illness,  which  made  him  a  cripple 
for  life,  withdrew  the  good  vicar  of  Esco  from  active  pursuits, 
and  induced  him  to  apply  himself  to  theological  studies  more 
closely  than  he  had  hitherto  done.     His  small  library  hap- 
pened to  contain  a  Bible  ;  and  by  perusing  this  with  impar- 
tiality and  attention,  he  gradually  formed  for  himself  a  sys- 
tem of  doctrine,  which  agreed  in  the  main  wilh  the  leadintr 
doctrines  of  the  prctestant' churches.     The  candid  and  hon- 
ourable mind  of  Solano  would  not  permit  him  either  to  con- 
ceal his  sentiments,  or  to  disseminate  them  covertly  amono- 
his  people.     Having  drawn  up  a  statement  of  his  new  views" 
he  laid  it  before  the  bishop  of  the  diocese  for  his  judn-ment, 
and  receiving  no  answer  from  him,  submitted  it  to  the  theo- 
logical faculty  in  the  university  of  Saragossa.     The  conse- 
quence was,  that  he  was  seized  and  thrown  into  the  prison  of 
the  holy  tribunal  at  Saragossa,  which,  in  the  infirm  state  of 
lus  health,  was  the  same  as  sending  him  to  the  crrave.     He 
contrived,  however,  by  the  assistance  of  some  ktnd  friends, 
to  make  his  escape,  and  to  reach  Oleron,  the  nearest  French 
town;  but  after  seriously  deliberating  on  the  course  wliich  he 
should  pursue,  he  came  to  the  resolution  of  assertino-the  truth 
in  the  very  face  of  death,  and  actually  returned  of  his  own 
accord  to  the  inquisitorial  prison.     On  appearing  before  the 
tribunal,  he  acknowledged  the  opinions  laid  to  his  charo-e,  but 
pleaded  in  his  defence,  that  after  long  meditation,  wilh  the 
most  sincere  desire  to  discover  the  truth,  and  without  any 
other  help  than  the  Bible,  he  had  come  to  these  conclusions 
He  avowed  his  conviction,  that  all  saving  truth  was  contain- 
ed in  the  holy  scriptures  ;  that  whatever  the  church  of  Kome 
had  decreed  to  the  contrary,  by  departing  from  the  proper  and 
literal  sense  ol  the  sacred  text,  was  false;  that  the  idea  of 
a  purgatory  and  lint kiis  jmf, -urn  v/as  a  mere  human  invention  ; 
that  it  was  a  sin  to  receive  money  for  sayino-  mass  ;   that 
tithes  were  fraudulently  introduced  into  the  Christian  church 
by  the  priests ;  that  the  exaction  of  them  was  as  dishonoura- 
ble on  their  part,  as  it  was  impolitic  and  injurious  to  the  cul- 
tivators of  the  soil ;  and  that  the  ministers  of  relio-ion  should 
be  paid  by  the  state  for  their  labours,  in  the  same  manner  as 
the  judges  were.     The  tribunal,  after  goino-  throutrh  the  or- 
dinary lorms,  decided  that  Solano  should  be  deli\°ered  over 
to  the  secular  arm.     The  inquisitor  general  at  that  time  was 
Arce,  archbishop   of  Saragossa,  the  intimate  friend  of  the 
t-rince  ol  Peace,  and  suspected  of  secret  infidelity.     Averse 
to  the  idea  of  an  execution  by  fire  during  his  adm'inistration, 
he  prevailed  on  the  council  of  the  Supreme  to  order  a  fresh 
examination  of  the  witnesses.     This  was  carried  into  execu- 
tion, and  the  inquisitors  renewed  their  former  sentence.    A.rce 
next  ordered  an  inquiry  into  the  mental  sanity  of  the  prisoner. 
A  physician  was  found  to  give  an  opinion  favourable  to  the 
known  wishes  ot  the  grand  inquisitor  ;  but  the  sole  oround  on 
which  It  rested  was,  that  the  prisoner  had  vented" opinions 
dilieient  from  those  of  his  brethren.     The  only  thin<r  that  re- 
mained was,  to  endeavour  to  persuade  Solano  to  retr"act  those 
opinions  which  had  been  condemned  by  so  many  popes  and 
general  councils.     But  this  attempt  was  altogether  fruitless 
lo  all  the  arguments  drawn  from  such  topics,~he  replied  that 
money  was  the  god  worshipped  at  Kome,  and  that,  in  al'l  the 
councils  which  had  been  held  of  late,  the  papal  influence  had 
decided  theological  questions,  and  rendered  useless  the  <rood 
intentions  of  some  respectable  men.     In  tl>e  mean  timet  his 
confinement  brought  on  a  fever,  during  which  the  inquisitors 


353 


redoubled  their  efforts  for  his  conversion.  He  expressed  him- 
self thankful  for  their  attention,  but  told  them,  that  he  could 
not  retract  his  sentiments  without  offending  God  and  betray- 
ing the  truth.  On  the  twentieth  day  of  his°sickness,  the  phy- 
sician informed  him  of  his  danger,  and  exhorted  him  to  avail 
himself  of  the  few  moments  which  remained.  "  I  am  in  the 
hands  of  God,"  said  Solano,  "and  have  nothing  more  to  do." 
Thus  died,  in  1805,  the  vicar  of  Esco.  He  was  refused  ec- 
clesiastical sepulture,  and  his  body  was  privately  interred 
within  the  enclosure  of  the  Inquisition,  near  the  back  o-ate, 
towards  the  Ebro.  His  death  was  reported  to  the  council  of 
the  Supreme,  who  stopped  further  proceedings,  to  avoid  the 
necessity  of  burning  him  in  efBgy. 

Such  are  the  details  of  the  unsuccessful,  but  interestino- 
attempt  to  reform  religion  in  Spain  during  the  sixteenth  cen- 
'"?'\    -^^J^l^n'=b°ly  as  the  results  were,  they  present  nothino- 
which  reflects  discredit  on  the  cause,  or  on  those  by  whom  h 
was  espoused.     It  did  not  miscarry  through  the  imprudence 
or  the  infidelity  of  its  leading  friends.     Oh  the  contrary,  we 
have  met  with  examples  of  the  power  of  relio-ion,  of  enlio-ht- 
ened  and  pure  love  to  truth,  and  of  invincible  fortitude,  com- 
bined with  meekness,  scarcely  inferior  to  any  which  are  to  be 
found  in  the  annals  of  Christianity.     To  fal'l.  by  such  weap- 
ons as  we  have  described,  can  be  disgraceful  to  no  cause. 
Ihefateof  the  Reformation  in  Spain,  as  well  as  in  Italy, 
teaches  us  not  to  form  hasty  and  rash  conclusions  respectina 
a  course  of  proceedings  on  which  Providence,  for  inscrutable 
reasons,  may  sometimes  be  pleased  to  frown.*     The  common 
maxim,^^that  "  the  blood  of  the  martyrs  is  the  seed  of  the 
church,"  \vas  remarkably  verified  in  the  primitive  ages  of 
Christianity ;  but  we  must  distinguish  what  is  effected  by  the 
special   interposition  and  extraordinary  blessing  of  heaven, 
from   what  will  happen  according  to  the  ordinary  course  of 
events.     In  the  nature  of  things,  it  cannot  but  operate  as  a 
great,  and  with  multitudes  as  an  insuperable,  obstacle  to  the 
reception  of  the  truth,  that,  in  following  the  dictates  of  their 
conscience,  they  must  expose  themselves  to  every  species  of 
worldly  evil ;  and  persecution  may  be  carried  to  such  a  pitch 
as  will,  without  a  miracle,  crush  the  best  of  causes;  for, 
though  It  cannot  eradicate  the  truth  from  the  minds  of  those 
by  whom  It  has  been  cordially  embraced,  it  may  cut  off  all 
the  ordinary  means  of  communication  by  which  it  is  propa- 
gated.    Accordingly  history  shows   that   true   religion    has 
been  not  only  excluded,  but  banished,  for  ages  from  extensive 
regions  of  the  globe,  by  oppressive  laws  and  a  tyrannical  ad- 
ministration. 

But  we  are  not  on  this  account  to  conclude  that  the  Span- 
ish martyrs  threw  away  their  lives,  and  spilt  their  blood  in 
vain.      Ihey  offered  to  God   a  sacrifice  of  a  sweet-smellino- 


*  The  last  person  who  ivas  cnmmittcd  to  tlie  (lames,  -nas  .1  beata 
burnt  ahve  nt  Seville,  on  the  7th  of  Xovcmber  17S1.  (Llorcntc  iv' 
-'  0)  I  nivscll  isays  Mr.  HIaiico  White)  saw  the  pile  on  which'the 
'ast  v.ctini  was  saci-ificed  to  human  inl-.llihilitv.  It  was  an  unhannv 
woman,whom  the  inquisition  of  Seville  commiucd  to  the  flames  un- 
-lei-  the  eha.ge  ot  hei-esv,  .about  fortj'  years  ago.  She  perished  in  a 
i,e^.,,l"7,i  "'"'"''  ''■-"' '"^'l  l''«  ^«n'e  ftte-  I  lament  from  mv 
,';,A  '1  I  ■  '^'■■""V''  ''■'"'■''  '^"PPOrt"!  their  mellirjj  limbs  w.as 
kst  0.  e,  -hnang  the  late  co„n,lsio„s.  It  should  have  bee,,  preserv- 
cd,  «,ll,  the  »;/;,//,/,fc  a„d  ,m„muM-  ea„o„  of  the  Council  of  T,-ent 
ove,-  ,t,  lo,-  the  detestation  nf  rut„,-e  ages."  tP,-n.-tl,aI  and  lnte,-„al 
i^^  ,dci,ce  asa,nst  Catliolicism,  p.  122—3  ) 
Vol.  Il._3  U 


The  following  worils  of  a  writer,  wliose  knowledge  of  facts  was 
not  equal  to  h.s  su-ong  natural   st-nse,  express  an  onrniou  which  is 
,iow  not  uncommon:   "I  believe  it  will  be  found,  that  when  Chris- 
t,a„s  have  resorted  to  the  sword,  in  order  to  resist  persecution  for 
the  gospel  s  sake,  as  did  the  Albigenscs,  the  Bohemians,  the  French 
1  rotestants  and  some  otliers,  «  ithin  the  last  600  years,  the  issue  has 
commonly  been,  that  they  have  perished  bv  it,  that  is,  they  have  l,een 
ovcicoracliy  their  enciues,  and  exterminated;  wherca's,  in  cases 
where  Ijie,,-  only  weapons  have  been  '  the  blood  of  tl,e  l^amb,  and  the 
word  ol  tlieir  test,moi,y,  loving  not  their  lives  unto  ileath,'  lliev  have 
overcome.  '     (Clir,st,a„  Patriotism,  by  Andrew  Fuller. )     The  facts 
which  have  been  Ia,d  belb,-e  the  reader  will  enable  hi,n  to  iudge  of  the 
truth  ol  the  last  part  of  this  assi-rtion.     Xor  is  the  first  part  less  incor- 
rect and  objectionable.     The  t,-uth  is,  that  the  Albigenses,  8:c.  who 
i-csisted,we,-enot  exterminated;  while  thelutlian  and'Spanishprotest- 
.ants  who  did  not  resist,  met  with  that  fate.     If  the  defensive  wars  of 
the  Albigenses,  &c.  were  unsuccessful,  it  ought  to  be  remembered  lliat 
those  ol  the  protestants  in  Gei-manv,-  S«  itzerland,  ScoUand,  and  the 
I.OW  Counti-ies,  were  crowned  « ith  success.     The  F,-eoch  protest- 
a,,ts  were  suppi-essed,  not  «  hen  thev  had  arms  in  fl.eir  hands,  but 
when  they  we,-e  liv,„g  peaceably  under  the  protection  of  the  public 
laith,  pledged  lo  then  in  edicts  which  had  been  repeatedlv  and 
solemnly  ratified.     It  is  to  be  hoped  that  the  public  mh,d  in  B,"-itain, 
miich  as  l,as  been  done  to  mislead  it,  is  not  yet  pi-epared  for  adopting 
pr,nc,ples  w  Inch  lead  to  a  condemnation  of  the  famous  Waldenses  and 
Uohemians,  for  standing  to  the  defence  of  their  lives, «  hen  proscribed 
and  v,olcntly  attacked  on  account  of  tlieir  religion.     They  lived  dur- 
ing the  period  of  Antichrist's  power,  and,  accordi,,"  to  ti,e  ado,-able 
plan  ot  providence,  wei-e  allowed  to  fall  a  sacrifice''' to  his  ra-'c-  but 
«  hile  thescr,ptui-es  fo,-etelI  this,  thev  mention  it  to  their  honour,  and 
not  ,n  the  w.ay  of  fixing  blame  on  tl.em.     "It  was  given  unto  tl,e  beast 
to  make  «ar  with  the  saints,  and  to  overcome  llicm."    Instead  of  be- 
,ng  ,-a„ked  with  those  who  perished  in  conscqnence  of  their  havin" 
taken  the  s«  ord  without  a  just  reason,  these  Christian  patriots  deservS 
rathe,-  to  be  n,imbe,-ed  wilh  Uiose  who  "tl,rough  fakl,  waxed  valiant 
in  hgbt,  tui-ned  to  flight  the  a>-n,ies  of  Ihe  aliens,  .and  others  were 
slam  with  the  sw  ord,"  all  of  «  hom,  "  having  obtained  a  good  ,-e,.ort 
lln-nugh  fenh    i-cce,ved  not  the  promises,  God  having  pi-ovided  son,e 
better  lli,ng  for  ns." 


S54 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


savour.     Their  blood  is  precious  in  liis  siglit ;  he  has  avenged 
it,  and  may  yet  more  signally  avenge  it.     They  left  their 
testimony  for  truth  in  a  country  where  it  had  been  eminently 
opposed  and  outraged.     That  testimony  has  not  altogether 
perished.     Who  knows  what  effects  the  record  of  what  they 
dared  and  suffered  may  yet,  through  the  divine  blessing,  pro- 
duce upon  that  unhappy  nation,  which  counted  them  as  the 
filth  and  offscouring  of  all   things,  but  was  not  worthy  ot 
them  I     Thoiio-h  hitherto  lost  on  Spam,  it  has  not  been  witli- 
out  ail    fruit  elsewhere.     The  knowledge  of  the  exertions 
made  by  Spaniards,  and  of  the  barbarous  measures  adopted 
to  put  them  down,  provoked  many  in  other  countries  to  tlirow 
off  the  Roman  vokc.and  to  secure  themselves  against  similar 
cruelties.     In  particular,  it  inspired  their  fellow-snbjccts  in 
the  Low  Countries  with  a  determination  not  to  permit  their 
soil  to  be  polluted  by  the  odious  tribunal  of  the  Inquisition, 
and  consolidated  that  resistance  which  terminated  in  the  es- 
tablishment of  civil  liberty,  in  connexion  with  the  reformed 
religion,  in  the  United  Provinces.     While  we  bow  with  rev- 
erence to  those  providential  arrangements  which  permitted  the 
standard  of  truth  to  fall  in  one  part  of  the  world,  we  cannot 
lout  reflect  with  gratitude  on  the  signal  success  vouchsafed  to 
it  in  others.     It  was  during  the  years  1559  and  15C0  that  the 
death-blow  was'  given  to  the  reformed  religion  in  Spain  ;  and 
durino-  the  same  period  the  religions  liberties  of  the  protest- 
ants  of  Germany  were  finally  secured,  the  reformed  church 
was  reo-ularly  organized  in  the  kingdom  of  France,  England 
was  fre°ed  from  popery  by  the  accession  of  Elizabeth,  and  the 
cause  of  the  Reformation,  after  struggling  long  for  existence, 
attained  to  a  happy  and  permanent  establishment  in  Scot- 
land. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

Protestant  Exiles  from  Spain. 


Those  who  have  taken  an  interest  in  the  preceding  narra- 
tive, will  feel  a  desire  to  know  something  of  the  fate  of  those 
Spaniards  who  escaped  the  horrors  of  the  dungeon  and  the 
stake  by  abandoning  their  native  country. 

From  the  time  that  violent  measures  were  first  adopted  to 
put  down  the  new  opinions,  individuals  who  had  incurred  the 
suspicions  of  the  clergy,  or  whose  attachment  to  country 
vielded  to  their  fears  or  to  their  passion  for  religious  liberty, 
beo-an  to  quit  the  Peninsula.  As  the  persecution  grew  hotter, 
the  emigration  increased  ;  nor  had  it  altogether  ceased  at  the 
close  oflhe  sixteenth  century.  Some  of  the  emigrants  cross- 
ed the  Pyrenees,  after  which  they  sought  out  abodes  in 
France  and  Switzerland  ;  others,  escaping  by  sea,  took  refuge 
in  the  Low  Countries  and  in  England. 

Antwerp  was  the  first  place  in  which  the  refugees  were 
formed  into  a  church.  The  reformed  opinions  had  been  early 
introduced  into  this  great  mart  of  Europe,  in  consequence  ot 
the  multitude  of  strangers  who  continually  resorted  to  it,  and 
the  superior  freedom  which  is  enjoyed  wherever  commerce 
flourishes.  It  was  to  the  merchants  of  Antwerp  that  the 
Spaniards  were  first  indebted  for  the  means  of  their  illumina- 
tion; and  they  continued  long  to  promote  the  good  work 
which  they  had  begun,  by  encouraging  translations  of  the 
scriptures  and  other  hooks  into  the  Spanish  language.  An- 
tonio de  Corran,  or  Corranus,  a  learned  native  of  Seville,  was 
pastor  of  the  Spanish  church  in  Antwerp  before  the  year  15G8,_ 
when  that  city  fell  into  the  hands  of  the  duke  of  Alva,  of 
sano-uinary  memory.  After  it  recovered  its  liberty,  the  ex- 
iles'^returned  to  their  former  asylum,  and  enjoyed  the  pastoral 
labours  of  another  native  of  Seville,  Cassiodoro  de  Reyna, 
the  translator  of  the  liible,  who  appears  to  have  continued 
with  them  until  1585,  when  the  city  was  again  brought  under 
the  Spanish  yoke,  after  a  memorable  siege  by  the  duke  of 
Parma.  Durintr  his  residence  there,  he  drew  up,  for  the  use 
of  his  hearers,  "the  Antwerp  Catechism,  which  he  published 
both  in  Spanish  and  French. 

Previously  to  his  settlement  at  Antwerp,  De  Reyna  had 
resided  at  Strasburg,  Frankfort,  and  other  imperial  cities, 
where  he  found  a  number  of  his  countrymen,  whom  he  would 
willingly  have  served  as  a  preacher.  But  the  German  divines 
received  him  coldly,  on  account  of  his  leaning  to  the  senti- 
ments of  Calvin  and  the  Swiss  churches,  on  the  subject  of 
the  eucharist.  On  this  account  he  retired  to  Basle,  and 
meeting  witli  a  kind  reception  in  that  seat  of  literature,  he 


finished  his  translation  of  the  Bible,  which  had  been  his  chief 
employment  for  several  years. 

The  Palatinate,  and  the  dominions  of  the  landgrave  of 
Hesse-Cassel,  opened  a  more  hospitable  retreat  to  the  refu- 
gees than  any  other  part  of  Germany.  It  was  in  Heidelberg 
That  De  Monies  published  that  work  which  first  laid  open  to 
the  eyes  of  Europe  the  mysteries  of  the  Spanish  inquisition, 
and  the  sufferings  which  his  protestant  countrymen  had  en- 
dured from  that  inhuman  tribunal;  while  a  confession  of 
faith  in  the  name  of  the  exiles  from  Spain,  along  with  an 
account  of  their  persecution,  came  from  the  press  of  Cassel. 
France  was  happily  in  such  a  state  as  to  offer  a  refuge  to 
the  Spanish  protestants,  when  driven  from  their  native  coun- 
try. Many  of  them  repaired  to  the  city  of  Lyons,  where 
means  of  religious  instruction  had  been  provided  for  them,  as 
well  as  for  their  brethren  who  had  fled  from  Italy.  The  French 
protestants  showed  themselves  uniformly  disposed  to  sympa- 
thize with  the  Spanish  refugees,  contributed  to  their  support, 
shared  with  them  that  degree  of  religious  liberty  which  they 
happened  at  the  time  to  enjoy,  and  admitted  several  of  them 
to  be  pastors  of  their  churches.  It  is  gratifying  to'  find  the 
French  synods  also  receiving  into  their  communion  Moors, 
who  had  escaped,  along  with  the  protestants,  from  the  inqui- 
sition of  Spain,  and  now  abjured  Mahometanism  under  cir- 
cumstances which  rendered  their  change  of  religion  less  ob- 
noxious to  suspicion. 

But  it  was  in  Geneva  and  England  that  the  greater  part  of 
Spanish  refugees  found  a  safe  harbour  and  permanent  abode. 
As  they  were  intimately  connected  with  the  Italian  refugees 
who  settled  in  these  places,  we  shall,  according  to  a  former 
promise,  combine  the  affairs  of  both  in  the  following  narra- 
tive. 

As  early  as  1543,  there  was  formed  at  Geneva  a  congrega- 
tion of  Italian  refugees,  which  had  the  chapel  of  the  cardinal 
d'Ostie  assigned  to  it  by  the  council,  and  was  under  the  pas- 
toral inspection  of  Bernardino  de  Sesvaz.  Its  meetings  were, 
however,  discontinued  after  a  short  time,  probably  by  the  re- 
moval of  some  of  its  principal  members;  and  they  were  not 
resumed  until  the  year  1551. 

The  person  to  whom  its  revival  was  chiefly  owing  was  Ga- 
leazzo  Caraccioli,  whose  life  presents  incidents  which  would 
excite 'deep  interest  in  a  romance.     He  was  the  eldest  son  of 
Nicol-Antonio  Caraccioli,  marquis  of  Vico,  one  of  the  grandees 
of  Naples.     His  mother  was  of  the  noble  f\imily  of  the  Ca- 
raffi,  and  sister  to  the  cardinal  of  that  name  who  was  raised 
to  the  pontifical  chair.     At  the  age  of  twenty,  he  married 
Vittoria.  daughter  to  the  duke  of  Nuceria,  who  brought  him 
a  large  fortune,  and  bore  him  six  children.     The  emperor 
Charles  V.,  who  was  under  obligations  to  the  marquis,  con- 
ferred on  his  son  the  office  of  gentleman-scvver ;  and  the  per- 
sonal accomplishments  of  Galcazzo,  the  uniform  correctness 
of  his  manners,  his  affability,  and  the  talents  which  he  dis- 
covered for  public  business,  led  all  who  knew  him  to  antici- 
pate his  gradual  and  certain  advancement  in  worldly  honours. 
Serious  Tmpressions,  accompanied  w^ith  a  conviction  of  the 
errors  of  the  church  of  Rome,  were  made  on  his  mind  by 
Valdes  and  Martyr,  at  the  time  that  the  protestant  tenets 
were  secretly  embraced  by  many  individuals  in  Naples;  and 
his  religious  dispositions  were  cherished  by  the  advices  of 
that   pious   and    elegant    scholar,    Marc-Antonio  Flaminio 
Having  accompanied  the  emperor  to  Germany,  his  acquaint- 
ance with  the  reformed  doctrine  was  enlarged  by  conversa- 
tion with  some  of  the  leading  protestants,  and  the  perusal  of 
their  writings;  and  his  attachment  to  it  was  confirmed  by  ■ 
an  interview  which,   on  his  way  home,  he  had  at  Strasburg 
with  Martyr,  who  had  lately  forsaken  his  native  country  tor 
the  sake  of  religion.   'After  his  return  to  Naples  he  endeav- 
oured to  prevail  on  such  of  his  countrymen  as  held  the  same 
views  with  himself  to  meet  together  in  private  for  their  mu- 
tual edification  ;  but  he  found  that  the  severe  measures  lately 
resorted  to  had  struck  terror  into  their  minds,  and  that  they 
were  resolved,  not  only  to  conceal  their  sentiments,  but  also 
to  practise  occasional  conformation  to  the  rites  of  the  popish 
worship.     He  now  entered   into  serious   deliberation    with 
himself  on  one  of  the  most  delicate  and  painful  questions 
which  can  be  forced  on  a  person  in  his  circumstances.   V\  hat 
was  he  to  do  1     Was  he  to  spend  his  whole  lile  in  the  midst 
of  idolatry,  in  the  way  of  concealing  that  faith  which  was 
dearer  to  his  heart  than  life,  and  incurring  the  threatening, 
"Him  that  confessed  me  not  before  men,  I  will  not  confess 
before  my  Father  and  his  angels  1"     Or,  was  it  his  duty  to 
leave  farther,  and  wife,  and  children,  and  houses,  and  lands, 
for  Christ's  sake  and  the  gospel's  l     The  sacrifice  of  his  se- 
cular dignities  and  possessions  did  not  cost  him  a  sigh  ;  but 


HISTORY  OF  THE  REFORMATION  IN  SPAIN. 


as  often  as  he  reflected  on  the  distress  which  iiis  departure 
would  inflict  on  his  aged  father,  who,  with  parental  pride, 
regarded  him  as  the  heir  of  his  titles,  and  the  stay  of  his  fam- 
ily,— on  his  wife  whom  he  loved  and  by  whom  he  was  loved 
tenderly,— and  on  the  dear  pledges  of  their  union,  he  was 
thrown  into  a  state  of  unutterable  anguish,  and  started  back 
with  horror  from  the  resolution  to  which  conscience  had 
brought  liim.  At  length,  by  an  heroic  efi"ort  of  zeal,  which 
few  can  imitate,  and  many  will  condemn,  he  came  to  the  de- 
termination of  bursting  the  tenderest  ties  which  perhaps  ever 
bound  man  to  country  and  kindred.  His  nearest  relations,  so 
far  from  being  reconcilable  to  the  idea  of  his  abandoning  the 
church  of  Kome,  had  signified  their  displeasure  at  the  pious 
life  which  he  had  led  for  some  years,  and  at  his  evident  dis- 
relish for  the  gaieties  of  the  court.  Having  no  hope  of  pro- 
curing their  consent,  he  concealed  his  design  from  them,  and, 
avaling  himself  of  the  pretext  of  business  which  he  had  to 
transact  with  the  emperor,  set  out  for  Augsburg,  whence  he 
speedily  repaired  to  Geneva.  The  intelligence°of  his  arrival 
at  that  place,  and  his  abjuration  of  the  Roman  religion,  while 
it  filled  the  imperial  court  with  astonishment,  plunged  his 
family  into  the  deepest  distress.  One  of  his  cousin's,  who 
had  been  his  intimate  friend,  was  despatched  from  Naples  to 


S55 


children  joined  in  the  entreaties  of  their  mother;  and  the 
eldest  daughter,  a  fine  girl  of  thirteen,  grasping  his  knees, 
relused  to  part  with  him.  How  he  disencra-red  himself  he 
knew  not;  for  the  first  thing  which  brought  him  to  recol- 
lection was  the  noise  made  by  the  sailors  on  reachinff  the 
opposite  shore  of  the  Gulf.  He  used  often  to  relate  to  his 
intimate  Iriends,  that  the  parting  scene  continued  lona  to 
haunt  his  mind ;  and  that,  not  only  in  dreams,  but  also  in  re- 
v-eries  into  which  he  fell  during  the  day,  he  thought  he  heard 
the  angry  voice  of  his  father,  saw  Vittoria  in  tears,  and  felt 
his  daughter  dragging  at  his  heels.  His  return  gave  great 
joy  to  his  friends  at  Geneva,  who,  in  proportion  to  the  confi- 

f,? "" .^^  /k*"^  ^'^POS'^d  in  his  constancy,  were  alarmed  for 
tne  salety  ot  his  person. 

,„  fj'-',"'"' K^  ""''■''". ''^'' ^^"^n '"  I'is  f«l'"gs,  it  contributed 
to  restore  his  peace  of  mind,  by  convincino-  him  that  he  could 
entertain  no  hope  of  enjoying  the  society  of  his  famUy  ex- 
cept  on  the  condition  of  renouncing  his  religion.  After  he 
had  remained  nine  years  in  exile,  he  consulted  Calvin  on  the 
propriety  ot  contracting  a  second  marriage.  That  reformer, 
who  took  a  deep  interest  in  the  character  of  his  noble  friend 
lelt  great  scruples  as  to  the  expediency  of  this  step,  but  ulti- 
mately gave  his  approbation  to  it,  after  he  had  consulted  the 
divines   of  N\iit'?o>-i<.nj    /»„,i  #i-„  r^  • *  ..      , 


him  to  return.  As  soon  as  his  refusal  was  known,  sentenfe  courl  of  Geneta  lavL  willv  "T'-  ^r"^'"?^^'  '^% 
was  passed  against  him,  and  he  was  deprived  of  all  the  pro-  divorce  aoa^nstVitto.wL.f^  pronounced  a  sentence  of 
perty  which  he  inherited  from  his  riother.  At  the  'iJ,s^Z"w!^ul!^^;:::/'^J^i:±f.':^t^'"^^-'-^ 
ol  Ins  lite,  he  went  to  Italy  and  met  his  father 


At  the  risk  sal  to  ii.|.^;  1.;  hu:b.;dr;;e^~;An:e^:::^^j:^;:3 
where  i;e-;emain;ru,;tirrh;^  marq:;rw:nV:;ih;?m;ro:;  :^^^ 

and  obtained,  as  a  special  favour,  that  the  sentence  pronounced 
against  his  son  should  not  extend  to  his  grandson.  •  Durino- 
his  father's  absence,  Galeazzo  was  waited  upon  by  the  cele° 
brated  1  racastoro,  who  used  his  great  eloquence  to  persuade 
him  to  comply  with  the  wishes  of  his  friends.  In  the  follow- 
ing year  he  met  his  father  a  second  time  at  Mantua,  when  an 
ofler  was  made  to  him,  in  the  name  of  his  uncle,  now  pope 
i^aul  XV  .,  that  lie  should  have  a  protection  against  the  Inqui- 
sition, provided  he  would  take  up   his  residence  within  the 


-  1  --  ---      — "  *«.i^    uj,    „io    jcaiucjiut;  wiiiua    iiie 

\  enelian  states ;  a  proposal  to  wliich  neither  his  safely  nor 
the  dictates  ot  his  conscience  would  permit  him  to  accede. 
All  this  time  he  had  been  refused  the  privilcoc  of  seeino-  his 
taniUy;  and  it  was  not  until  the  end  of  the  year  1557  th^at  he 
received  a  letter  from  his  wife  Vittoria,  earnestly  requestincr 
an   interview  with  him,  and  fixing  the  place  of  meedn<r! 
Having  obtained  a  safe-conduct  from  the  government  of  the 
Grisons,  he  immediately  set  out  for  Lesina,  an  island  on  the 
coast  ot  Dalmatia,  over  against  his  paternal  castle  of  Vico ; 
but,  on  his  arrival  at  the  appointed  place,  Vittoria,  instead  of 
making  her  appearance,  sent  two  of  her  sons  to  meet  their 
lather.     He  had  scarcely  returned  to  Geneva  from   this   fa- 
tiguing and   dangerous  journey,  when  he  received  another 
packet  from  his  wife,  apologizing  for  her  breach  of  encrao-e- 
inent,  and  begging  him  to  come  without  delay  to  the  same 
place,  where  she  would  not  fail  to  meet  him,  along  with  his 
father   and   chi  dren.     On  his  reaching   Lesina  the  second 
time,  none  ot  the  family  had  arrived ;  and  unable  to  brook 
further  delay,  he  crossed  the  Gulf  of  Venice,  and  presented 
himself  at  his  father's  gate.     He  was  received  with  every 
demonstration  of  joy,  and  for   some  days  the   castle   was 
thronged  with  friends  who  came  to  welcome  him.     But  it 
behoved  the  parties  to  come  at  last  to  an  explanation.     Tak 
ing  V  ittoria  aside,  Galeazzo  apologized  for  not  havino-  im- 
parted  to  her  the  secret  of  his  departure,  gave  a  full  account 
ol  the  reasons  of  his  conduct,  and  begged  her  to  accompany 
tuni  to  Geneva ;  promising  that  no  constraint  should  be  laid 
on  her  conscience,  and  that  she  should  be  at  liberty  to  prac- 
tise her  religion  under  his  roof.     After  many  protestations  of 
allection,  she  finally  replied,  that  she  could  not  reside  out  of 
Italy,  nor  in  a  place  where  any  other  reliaioii  than  that  of  the 
church  ot  Home  was  professed  ;  and  fufther,  that  she  could 
not  live  with  him  as  her  husband,  so  long  as  he  was  infected 
with  heresy.     Her  contessor  had  inculcated  upon  her  that  it 
was  a  damnable  sin  te  cohabit  with  a  heretic,  and   dreadino- 
the  influence  which  her  husband  might  exert  over  her  mind", 
had  prevented  her  from  keeping  her  first  appointment.     The 
day  hxed  tor  his  departure  being  come,  Galeazzo  went  to 
take  leave  of  his  father,  who,  laying  aside  the  affection  with 
Which  he  hau  hitherto  treated  him,  and  giving  way  to  his 
passion,  loaded  him  with  reproaches  and  curses.     On  quit- 
ting las  father's  apartment,  he  had  to  undero-o  a  still  severer 
triaJ  0   his  sensibility.     He  found  his  wife  and  children,  with 
a  number  of  his  friends,  waiting  for  him  in  the  hall.     Burst- 
ing into  tears,  and  embracing  her  husband,  Vittoria  besoucrht 
him  not  to  leave  her  a  widow,  and  her  babes  fatherless,  the 

1 


tinuea  to  hve  happily  in  a  state  of  dignified  frugality.  On 
being  informed  of  this  part  of  his  conduct,  we  feel  as  if  it  de- 
tracted from  the  hiah  unsullied  virtue  which  Galeazzo  had 
hitherto  displayed.  >Iis  second  nuptials,  though  contracted  ac- 
cording to  the  rules  of  the  canon  law,  gave  occasion  of  reproach 
0  the  keen  adversaries  of  the  Uelbrmation ;  but  they  did  not 
lower  him  in  the  estimation  of  his  acquaintance  of  either  reli- 
gious persuasion.  By  the  citizens  of  Geneva  he  was  all  alono- 
held  in  tl.e  highest  respect;  the  freedom  of  the  city  had  beeS 
conferred  on  him  soon  after  his  arrival  among  them;  a  house 
was  allotted  to  h.m  by  the  public;  and  he  was  admitted  a 
member  both  ot  the  great  and  small  council.  Princes,  am- 
bassadors, and  learned  men,  popish  as  well  as  protestant, 
who  visited  the  city,  regularly  paid  their  respects  to  the  marl 
quis  ;  a  title  which  was  always  given  him,  though  he  refused 
to  assume  It  even  after  the  death  of  his  father.  iN'othino-  o-ave 
greater  olTenee  to  the  papal  court,  and  the  government  of 
Aaples,  than  his  chosing  the  see  of  hereby  for  his  residence. 
It  was  probably  with  the  view  of  removing  this  prejudice,  and 
thereby  procuring  remittances  from  his  patrimonial  estate, 
hat  he  consented,  in  the  spring  of  1572,  to  a  proposal  made 
by  Admiral  Cohgni  to  take  up  his  abode  with  him  ;  but  pro- 
videntially he  was  prevented  from  removing  to  France  so 
soon  as  he  had  intended,  and  thus  escaped  the  massacre  of 
M.  liarlholomew,  which  took  place  in  August  that  year. 
Alter  residing  five  years  at  Nion  and  Lausanne  for  the  sake 
ot  economy  in  his  living,  he  returned  to  Geneva,  which  he 
did  not  again  leave  until  his  death,  which  happened  in  1586, 
in  the  sixty-eighth  year  of  his  age.  * 

The  first  thing  which  engaged  the  attention  of  Caraccioli,  ' 
alter  his  settlement  in  Geneva,  was  the  re-organizing  of  the 
Italian  congregation.  Laltantio  Ragnoni,  a  gentleman  of 
S,ienna,  whom  he  had  known  at  Naples,  having  arrived  a  few 
days  alter  him  and  given  proofs  of  his  oilhodoxy  and  qualifi- 
cations tor  public  teaching,  was  persuaded  by  him  to  under- 
take the  office  ot  pastor  to  his  countrymen.  They  accord- 
ingly recommenced  their  public  exercises  in  the  Maadalene 
Church,  which  was  assigned  to  them  by  the  council.  ^Carac- 
cioli himselt  became  one  of  their  ciders,  and  by  the  respecta- 
bility ot  his  character,  and  the  wisdom  of  his  counsels,  con- 
tributed more  than  any  other  individual  to  the  permanent 
prosperity  ot  that  church.  In  the  close  of  the  year  1553,  thev 
obtained  a  preacher  of  greater  abilities  in  Celso  Massimiliano, 
usually  called  Martinengo,  because  he  was  the  sonof  a  count 
ot  that  name  in  the  territories  of  Brescia.  He  had  entered  into 
the  order  ol  canons  regular,  and  having  imbibed  the  reformed 
doctrine  from  Peter  Martyr,  preached  it  for  some  time  with 
great  boldness  and  eloquence  ;  but  understandino-  that  snares 
were  laid  for  his  life,  he  fled  to  the  Valteline,  whincehe  came 
to  Basle,  with  the  intention  of  proceedino- to  England  By  the 
importunities  of  Caraccioli  he  was  induced  to  abandon  his  in- 
tended journey,  and  to  undertake  the  pastoral  charae  of  the 
Italian  church  at  Geneva.  On  his  death  in  1557,  Cah-in  exert- 
ed himselt  to  procure  for  them  the  services  of  Martyr  and  Zan- 
chi,  who  excused  themselves  on  account  of  their  engage- 
ments; and  Uie  church  appears  to  have  remained  under  fhe 


356 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


sole  inspection  of  Ragiioni  until  1551),  when  they  procured 
Nicola  Balbani,  who  continued  to  serve  them  with  much  ap- 
probation nearly  to  the  close  of  the  sixteenth  century.  It 
would  seem  that  this  situation  was  also  held  by  Jean  Bap- 
tiste  Rotan,  a  learned  man,  who,  on  removing  to  France,  in- 
curred the  suspicion  of  seeking  to  betray  the  reformed 
church  by  reconciling  it  to  Rome. 

The  peace  of  the  Italian  church  was  for  some  time  dis- 
turbed by  the  antitrinitarian  controversy.  Alciati,  a  military 
officer  from  Milan,  and  blandrata,  a  phisician  from  Piedmont, 
in  the  visits  which  they  made  to  Geneva,  privately  disseminat- 
ed their  sentiments,  which  were  adopted  by  Valentinus  Geiiti- 
lis,  anative  of  Cosenzain  Calabria,  who  had  joined  the  Italian 
congregation.  The  celebrated  lawyer  Gribaldo,  after  differ- 
ing with  Calvin,  had  taken  up  his  residence  at  Fargias,  a 
vifla  which  he  purchased  in  the  neighbouring  district  of  Gcx, 
within  the  jurisdiction  of  Bern,  from  which  he  kept  up  an  in- 
tercourse with  the  secret  agitators  in  Geneva.  They  had 
caused  great  uneasiness  to  Martinengo,  who,  in  recommending 
his  church  to  the  care  of  Calvin,  when  he  was  on  his  death- 
bed, adjured  that  reforiuer  to  guard  them  against  the  arts  of 
these  restless  spirits.  In  concert  with  Ragnoni,  their  surviv- 
ing pastor,  Calvin  exerted  himself  in  allaying  these  dissen- 
sions, and,  in  1558,  drew  up  a  confession  of  faith  for  the  use 
of  the  Italian  congregation.  This  was  subscribed  by  Gen- 
tilis,  under  the  pain  of  perjury  if  he  should  afterwards  con- 
tradict it;  but,  encouraged  by  Gribaldo,  he  began  again  to 
spread  the  opinions  which  he  had  reno\inced,  upon  which  a 
process  was  commenced  against  him,  which  issued  in  his  ex- 
pulsion from  the  city. 

The  internal  peace  of  the  Italian  church  being  restored,  it 
continued  to  flourish,  and  gained  fresh  accessions  every  year 
by  the  arrival  of  persons  from  the  different  parts  of  Italy. 
All  classes  in  Geneva,  .the  inagistrates,  the  ministers,  and  the 
citizens,  vied  with  each  other  in  their  kind  attention  to  the 
exiles  from  Italy,  who  were  admitted  to  privileges,  and  ad- 
vanced to  offices,  in  common  with  tlie  native  inhabitants  of 
the  city.  Nor  had  the  republic  any  reason  to  repent  of  this 
liberal  policy.  The  adopted  strangers  transferred  their  loyalty 
and  aflfections  to  Geneva;  and  among  those  who  have  served 
her  most  honourably  in  the  senate,  the  academy,  and  the  field, 
from  that  time  to  the  present,  we  recognize  with  pleasure 
Italian  refugees  and  their  descendants.  It  is  sufficient  here  to 
mention  the  names  of  Diodati,  Turretini,  Calandrini,  Bur- 
lamaqui,  Micheli,  Minutoli,  Butini,  and  Offredi. 

Individual  Spaniards,  who  found  it  necessary  to  fly  from 
the  Inquisition,  had  taken  refuge  in  Geneva  from  the  time 
that  Egidio  was  thrown  into  prison  at  Seville.  In  1557,  ad- 
ditions were  luade  to  their  number;  and  the  persecution  in- 
creasing during  the  two  subsequent  years,  emigrants  poured 
in  from°all  parls  of  the  Peninsula.  The  council  extended  to 
them  the  privileges  which  had  been  already  granted  to  the 
emigrants  from  Italy.  It  was  Juan  Perez,  to  whom  his 
countrymen  were  otlierwise  so  much  indebted,  w-ho  first 
formed  a  .Spanish  church  in  Geneva.  After  his  departure 
to  France,  they  enjoyed, the  pastoral  labours  of  De  Reyna 
and  otliers  of  their  learned  countrymen ;  but,  as  many  of 
their  members  removed  to  England  and  other  jdaces,  and  as 
the  most  of  them  understood  Italian,  they  adjoined  them- 
selves, before  the  close  of  tlie  century,  to  the  church  wluch 
was  placed  under  the  charge  of  Balbani.  One  of  the  most 
distinguished  of  their  number,  both  in  point  of  learning  and 
piety,  was  Pedro  Gales.  While  he  taught  Greek  and  juris-_ 
prudence  in  Italy,  he  had  fallen  under  the  suspicion  of 
heresy,  and  being  put  to  the  torture  at  Rome,  lost  one  of  his 
eyes.  Escaping  froiu  prison,  he  came  to  Geneva  about  the 
year  1580,  and  was  appointed  joint  professor  of  philosophy 
with  Julio  Paci,  an  Italian  lawyer.  During  an  interruption 
of  the  academical  exercises  caused  by  the  attempts  of  the 
duke  of  Savoy  on  Geneva,  Gales  was  persuaded  to  accept 
the  rectorship  of  the  college  of  Guienne  at  Bordeaux.  But 
finding  his  situation  unpleasant,  in  consequence  of  the  civi 
wars  which  then  raged  in  France,  and  the  envy  of  one  of  his 
colleagues,  he  left  it,  with  the  intention  of  repairing  to  the 
Netherlands.  On  his  journey  he  was  seized  by  some  of  the 
partisans  of  the  League,  and  delivered  first  to  his  countrymen, 
and  afterwards  to  the  Spanish  Inquisition,  by  whose  sentence 
he  was  conuuitted  to  the  flames,  after  making  an  undaunted 
profession  of  his  faith.  He  had  made  a  large  collection  of 
ancient  manuscripts  with  annotations  of  his  own,  part  of 
which  was  preserved,  and  has  been  highly  prized  by  the 
learned. 

England  had  tlie  honour  of  opening  a  harbour  to  protcst- 
aiits  of  every  country  who  fled  from  persecution  at  the  begin- 


ning of  the  Reformation.  The  first  congregation  of  strangers 
formed  in  London  was  the  Dutch  or  German,  which  met  in 
the  church  of  Austin  Friars,  under  the  superintendence  of 
the  learned  Polish  nobleman  John  a  Lasco.  It  was  followed 
by  the  erection  of  French  and  Italian  congregations.  As 
early  as  1551  there  was  an  Italian  church  in  London,  of 
which  Michael  Angelo  Florio  was  pastor.  On  its  restoration 
after  the  death  of  queen  Mary,  Florio  returned  ;  but,  owing 
to  some  irregularity  of  conduct,  he  was  not  admitted  to  his 
former  place,  which  was  conferred  on  Jeronimo  Jerlito.  The 
most  distinguished  of  its  members  were  Jaeomo  Contio,  bet- 
ter known  as  an  author  by  the  name  of  Acontius,  who  was 
suspended  for  some  time  from  communion,  on  suspicion  of 
his  being  infected  with  Arian  and  Pelagian  tenets ;  his  friend 
Battista  Castiglioni,  who  had  a  place  at  court,  and  taught 
Italian  to  queen  Elizabeth;  Julio  Borgarusci,  physician  to 
the  earl  of  Leicester;  Camillo  Cardoiiii,  a  Neapolitan  noble- 
man, whose  son  was  afterwards  made  governor  of  Calabria, 
as  a  reward  for  abjuring  the  protestant  religion,  and  Alberi- 
cus  Gentilis,  who  became  professor  of  civil  law  at  Oxford. 
The  foreign  Italian  congregation  appears  to  have  been  united 
to  the  French  in  the  course  of  the  sixteenth  century;  but  in 
1618  the  noted  Antonio  de  Dominis,  archbishop  of  Spalatro, 
preached  in  Italian  at  London,  and  had  one  of  the  family  of 
Calandrini  appointed  as  his  colleague. 

There  had  been  Spaniards  in  England  from  the  time  of 
Henry  the  VIII. ,  whose  first  queen  belonged  to  that  nation. 
Her  daughter  Mary  entertained  them  about  her  person,  and 
their  number  greatly  increased  after  her  marriage  to  Philip 
II.  of  Spain.  As  several  of  them  were  converted  to  protest- 
antism, some  writers  are  of  opinion  that  they  must  have  heard 
the  gospel  preached  in  their  native  tongue  during  the  reign  of 
Edward  VI.  But  it  does  not  appear  that  the  Spanish  pro- 
testants  were  formed  into  a  congregation  until  the  accession 
of  Elizabeth.  During  the  year  1559  they  met  for  worship 
in  a  private  house  in  London,  and  had  one  Cassiodo  for 
their  preacher.  In  the  course  of  the  following  year  they  pre- 
sented a  petition  to  secretary  Cecil  and  Grindal  bishop  of 
London,  for  liberty  to  meet  in  public.  They  had  hitherto 
refrained,  they  said,  from  taking  this  step,  by  the  advice  of 
persons  whom  they  greatly  respected,  and  from  fear  of  giving 
ofl'ence;  but  they  were  convinced  that  their  continuing  to  do 
so  was  no  less  discreditable  to  the  religion  which  they  pro- 
fessed, than  it  was  incommodious  to  themselves.  Their 
adversaries  took  occasion  to  say,  that  they  must  surely  har- 
bour some  monstrous  tenets,  detested  even  by  Lutherans, 
when  they  were  not  permitted,  or  did  not  venture,  to  assem- 
ble publicly  in  a  city  where  protestants  from  every  country 
were  allowed  this  privilege.  Some  of  their  countrymen  had 
withdrawn  from  their  assembly,  and  others  had  declined  to 
join  it,  lest  they  should  suffer  in  the  trade  which  they  carried 
on  with  Spain,  from  their  attendance  on  a  private  and  unau- 
thorized conventicle.  They  added,  that  if  the  king  of  Spain 
complained  of  the  liberty  granted  to  them,  they  would  desist 
from  the  exercise  of  it,  and  quit  the  kingdom  rather  than 
involve  it  in  a  quarrel  with  foreign  states.  The  government 
was  favourable  to  their  application,  and  it  would  seem  that 
they  met  soon  after  in  one  of  the  city  churches,  whose  min- 
isters, as  slated  in  their  petition,  were  willing  to  accommodata 
them.  London  was  not  the  only  place  which  furnished  them 
with  an  asylum  ;  but  in  other  towns  both  they  and  the  Ital- 
ians generally  assembled  for  worship  along  with  the  French 
emigrants.  With  the  view  of  counteracting  the  invidious 
and^unfounded  reports  circulated  against  their  orthodoxy,  the 
Spanish  protestants  in  England  drew  up  and  published  a 
confession  of  their  faith,  which  was  adopted  by  their  breth- 
ren scattered  in  other  countries.  This  document  proves  that 
the  Spanish  exiles,  while  they  held  the  doctrines  common  to 
all  protestants,  were  favourable  to  the  views  which  the  re- 
formed churches  maintained  in  their  controversy  with  the 
Lutherans  respecting  the  enoharist. 

The  countenance  granted  by  the  government  of  England 
to  protestant  exiles,  and  particularly  to  Spaniards,  gave  great 
offence  to  the  pope  and  to  the  king  of  Spain.  It  was  speci- 
fied as  one  of  the  charges  against  Elizabethj  in  the  bull  of 
Pius  V.  excommunicating  that  princess.  This  drew  from 
bishop  Jewel  the  following  triumphant  reply.  Having  men- 
tioned that  they  had  either  lost  or  left  behind  them  their  all, 
o-oods,  lands,  and  ho\ises,  he  goes  on  to  say  :  "Not  for  adul- 
tery, or  theft,  or  treason,  but  for  the.  profession  of  the  gos- 
pel. It  pleased  God  here  to  cast  them  on  land.  The  queen, 
of  her  trracious  pity,  granted  them  harbour.  Is  it  bec-ome  a 
heinous' Ibincr  to  show  mercy  !  God  willed  the  children  of 
Israel  to  love  the  stranger,  because  they  were  strangers  in 


HISTORY  OF  THE  REFORMATION  IN  SPAIN. 


357 


the  land  of  Egypt.  He  that  showeth  mercy  shall  find 
mercy.  But  what  was  the  number  of  such  who  came  in  unto 
us  ]  Three  or  four  thousand.  Thanks  be  to  God,  this  realm 
is  able  to  receive  them,  if  the  number  be  greater.  And  why 
may  not  queen  Elizabeth  receive  a  few  afflicted  members  of 
Christ,  which  are  compelled  to  carry  his  cross  ^  Whom, 
■when  he  thought  good  to  bring  safely  by  the  dangers  of  the 
sea,  and  to  set  in  at  our  havens,  should  we  cruelly  have 
driven  them  back  again,  or  drowned  them,  or  hanged  them, 
or  starved  them  ?  Would  the  vicar  of  Christ  give  this  coun- 
sel 1  Or,  if  a  king  receive  such,  and  give  them  succour, 
must  he  therefore  be  deprived  ?  They  are  our  brethren  ;  they 
live  not  idly.  If  they  take  houses  of  us,  they  pay  rent  for 
them ;  they  hold  not  our  grounds,  but  by  making  due  recom 
pence.  The}'  beg  not  in  our  streets,  nor  crave  any  thing  at 
our  hands,  but  to  breathe  our  air,  and  to  see  our  sun.  They 
labour  trul}',  they  live  sparefully;  they  arc  good  examples 
of  virtue,  travail,  faith,  and  patience.  The  towns  in  which 
they  abide  are  happy,  for  God  doth  follow  them  with  his 
blessings."  Referring  to  the  Spaniards  who  came  to  Eng- 
land in  the  reign  of  queen  ^lary,  the  bishop  thus  contrasts 
them  with  their  protestant  countrymen.  '-These  are  few, 
those  were  many ;  these  are  ])Oor  and  miserable,  those  were 
lofty  and  jjroud ;  these  are  naked,  those  were  armed ;  these 
are  spoiled  by  others,  those  came  to  spoil  us ;  these  are  dri- 
ven from  their  country,  those  came  to  drive  us  from  our 
country;  these  came  to  save  their  lives,  those  came  to  have 
our  lives.  If  we  were  content  to  bear  those  then,  let  ns  not 
grieve  now  to  bear  these." 

Tlie  Spanish  monarch  was  not  less  indignant  than  his  Ho- 
liness at  the  asylum  granted  to  his  protestant  subjects.  Not 
contented  with  persecuting  them  at  home,  he  liunled  them  in 
every  country  to  which  they  were  driven.  Large  sums  of 
money  were  appropriated  to  the  maintaining  of  spies,  and  de- 
fraying otherexpenses  incurred  by  that  disgraceful  traffic.  In 
France  and  Germany,  individuals  were  from  time  to  time  car- 
ried olf,  and  delivered  over  to  tlie  Inquisition.  Not  daring  to 
make  sucli  attempts  on  the  free  soil  of  England,  the  emissa- 
ries of  Spain  had  recourse  to  methods  equally  infamous. 
They  required  the  English  government  to  deliver  up  the  re- 
fugees as  traitors  and  criminals  who  had  lied  from  justice. 
Francisco  Farias  and  Nicolas  Molino,  two  respectable  mem- 
bers of  the  Spanish  congregation,  who  had  resided  eight  years 
in  this  country,  were  denounced  Ijy  one  of  their  countrymen 
■who  acted  as  a  spy  in  London.  In  consequence  of  this,  the 
Spanish  ambassador  received  instructions  from  his  court  to 
demand  of  Elizabeth,  that  they  should  be  sent  home  to  be 
tried  for  crimes  which  were  laid  to  their  charge  ;  and  to  induce 
her  to  conrply  with  the  request,  their  names  were  coupled 
with  that  of  a,  notorious  malefactor  who  had  lately  escaped 
from  Flanders.  If  these  innocent  men  had  not  had  friends  at 
court  who  knew  froin  experience  to  sympathize  with  the 
exile,  tliey  might  have  been  delivered  up  to  a  cruel  death. 
To  enable  it  to  meet  anj  future  demand  of  this  kind,  the  En- 
glish government  adopted  measures  to  obtain  an  exact  account 
of  all  the  members  of  the  foreign  congregations  who  had  come 
from  any  part  of  the' king  of  Spain's  dominions. 
.  In  the  year  15GS,  Corranus  cainefrom  Antwerp,  and  under- 
took the  pastoral  charge  of  the  Spanish  congregation  in  Lon- 
don. Having  been  involved  in  a  quarrel  with  Jerlito  and 
Cousin,  the  ministers  of  the  Italian  and  French  congregations, 
who  accused  him  of  error  and  defamation,  the  jiarties  "appeal- 
ed to  Beza,  who  referred  the  controversy  to  bishop  Griadal. 
■  The  commissioners  named  by  the  b-ishop  to  try  the  cause 
suspended  Corranus  from  preaching.  He  appears  to  have 
been  a  man  of  a  hot  temper;  but  his  learning  recommended 
him  to  secretary  Cecil,  by  whose  influence"  lie  suspension 
was  taken  off,  and  he  was  made  reader  of  divinity  in  the 
Temple.  AVIien  he  went  to  Oxford  at  a  subsequent  period, 
some  of  the  heads  of  colleges  scrupled  to  receive  him,  on  ac- 
count of  the  suspicions  formerly  entertained  as  to  his  ortho- 
doxy; but  their  objections  were  overcome,  and  he  was 
admitted  to  read  lectures  on  theology  in  the  university,  as 
well  as  to  hold  a  living  in  the  church  of  England.  Thouo-h 
there  is  no  evidence  that  Cypriano  de  Valera  ever  acted  as' a 
preacher  in  England,  yet  he  look  an  active  part  in  the  affairs 
of  the  foreign  churches.  But  his  labours  were  chiefly  by 
means  of  the  press,  in  which  respect  he  was  more  extensive- 
ly .beneficial  to  his  countrymen  than  any  of  the  exiles.  He 
arrived  in  England  soon  after  tlie  accession  of  Elizabeth,  and 
appears  to  have  spent  tjie  remainder  of  his  life  cliirfly  in  this 
country.  After  studying  for  some  time  at  both  universities, 
he  devoted  himself  to  the  writing  of  original  works  in  Span- 
isli,  and  the  translating  of  others  into  that  language.     The 


most  of  these  were  published  in  England,  where  also  his 
translation  of  the  Bible,  though  printed  abroad,  was  prepared 
for  the  press.  It  would  seem  that  the  circulation  of  the  last- 
mentioned  work  in  Spain  was  much  more  extensive  than  we 
could  have  expected. 

The  influx  of  Spanish  refugees  into  England  ceased  with 
the  sixteenth  century,  though  a  solitary  individual,  who  had 
found  the  means  of  illumination  in  his  native  country,  flying 
from  the  awakened  suspicions  of  the  inquisitors,  occasionally 
reached  its  hospitable  shore  after  that  period. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

Effects  which  the  Suppression  of  the  Reformation  produced  on 

Spain. 

Tyranny,  while  it  subjects  those  against  whom  it  is  imme- 
diately directed  to  great  sufl'erings,  entails  still  greater  misery 
on  the  willing  instruments  of  its  vengeance.  Spain  boasts  of 
having  extirpated  the  reformed  opinions  from  her  territory; 
but  she  has  little  reason  to  congratulate  herself  on  the  conse- 
quences of  her  blind  and  infatuated  policy.  She  has  paid, 
and  is  still  paying,  the  forfeit  of  her  folly  and  crimes,  by  the 
loss  of  civil  and  religious  liberty,  and  by  the  degradation 
into  which  she  has  sunk  among  the  nations. 

Other  causes,  no  doubt,  contributed  to  produce  this  melan- 
choly issue ;  but  that  it  is  to  be  traced  chiefly  to  a  corrujit  re- 
ligion, will  appear  from  a  general  comparison  of  the  condition 
of  Spain  with  other  European  nations,  and  from  an  examina- 
tion of  her  internal  state. 

It  is  a  fact  now  admitted  on  all  hands,  that  the  Reformation 
has  ameliorated  the  state  of  government  and  society  in  all  the 
countries  into  which  it  was  received.  By  exciting  inquiry, 
and  diffusing  knowledge,  it  led  to  the  discovery  and  correc- 
tion of  abuses;  imposed  a  check,  by  public  opinion,  if  not  by 
statute,  on  the  arbitrary  will  of  princes  ;  generated  a  spirit  of 
liberty  among  the  people;  gave  a  higher  tone  to  morals;  and 
imparted  a  strong  impulse  to  the  human  mind  in  the  career  of 
invention  and  improvement.  These  benefits  have  been  felt 
to  a  certain  degree  in  countries  into  which  the  reformed  reli- 
gion was  only  partially  introduced,  or  whose  inhabitants, 
from  local  situation  and  other  causes,  were  brought  into  close 
contact  with  protestants.  But  while  these  nations  were  ad- 
vancing with  different  degrees  of  rapidity  in  improvement, — 
acquiring  free  governments,  cultivating  literature  and  science, 
or  extending  their  commerce  and  increasing  their  resources, — 
Spain,  though  possessed  of  equal  or  greater  advantages,  be- 
came stationary,  and  soon  began  to  retrograde.  It  is  impossi- 
ble to  account  for  this  phenomenon  from  any  peculiarity  in 
her  political  condition  at  the  middle  of  the  sixteenth  centurj-. 
Italy  was  in  very  different  circumstances  in  this  respect,  and 
yet  we  find  the  two  countries  nearly  in  the  same  condition, 
owing  to  their  having  pursued  the  same  measures  in  retrard 
to  religion.  On  the  other  hand,  the  political  state  of  France, 
at  the  era  referred  to,  was  very  similar  to  that  of  Spain.  The 
nobles  had  been  stripped  of  their  feud-al  power  in  botli  coun- 
tries; the  French  parliaments  had  become  as  passive  instru- 
ments in  the  hands  of  the  sovereign  as  the  Spanish  cortes ; 
and  both  kingdoms  were  equally  exhausted  by  the  wars 
which  for  more  than  half  a  century  they  had  waged  against 
one  another.  But  the  bulls  of  the  Vatican  had  not  the°same 
free  course  in  France  as  in  the  Peninsula.  The  Reformation 
deposited  a  seed  in  that  country  which  all  the  violence  and 
craft  of  Louis  XIV.,  a  despot  as  powerful  as  Philip  II., 
could  not  eradicate;  and  though  persecution  drove  from  its 
soil  thousands  of  its  most  industrious  citizens,  yet,  as  there 
was  no  Inquisition  there,  literature  and  the  arts  survived  the 
shock.  The  consequence  has  been,  that,  after  coming  out  of 
the  storms  of  a  revolution  which  long  raged  with  most  des- 
tructive fury,  and  being  subjected  to  a  military  government 
of  unparalleled  strength,  France  still  holds  a  place  among  the 
great  pow-ers  of  Europe,  not  has  she  been  entirely  stripped  of 
her  liberties,  though  she  has  received  back  that  family  which 
formerly  reigned  over  her  willi  unlimited  authority  ;  while 
Spain,  after  being  long  subject  to  a  branch  of  the  same  fami- 
ly, and  participating  of  all  the  efl'ects  of  the  revolutionary 
period,  is  now  lying  prostra'e  and  in  chains  at  the  feet  of  a 
despot  and  his  ghostly  ministers. 

But  the  evils  whicli-Spain  has  brought  upon  herself,  by  her 
bigoted  and  intolerant  zeal  for  the  Roman  Catholic  religion, 


358 


CHRISTIAN   LIBRARY. 


•will  appear  in  a  more  striking  light  from  an  examination  of 
her  internal  state. 

The  unsuccessful  attempt  to  reform  religion  in  Spain  led 
to  the  perpetuation  of  the  tribunal  of  the  Inquisition,  not  only 
by  affording  a  pretest  for  arming  it  with  new  powers,  but  by 
increasing  "the  influence  which  it  already  exerted  over  the 
public  mmd.  It  became  the  boast  of  that  tribunal  that  it  had 
extirpated  the  northern  heresy,  and  henceforth  all  true  Span- 
iards were  taught  to  regard  it  as  tlie  palladium  of  their  reli- 
gion. This,  if  it  did  not  entail  the  miseries  of  tyranny  and 
io-norance  in  Spain,  at  least  sealed  the  entail.  To  the  super- 
ficial and  egotistical  philosophy,  which  is  too  often  to  be  met 
with  in  the  present  day,  we  owe  the  discovery,  that  the  In- 
quisition was  no  cause  of  the  decline  of  the  Spanish  nation, 
inasmuch  as  it  was  merely  the  organ  of  the  government. 
That  the  Spanish  monarchs  employed  it  as  an  engine  of  state, 
we  liave  seen,  and  that  it  could  not  have  tortured  the  bodies, 
or  invaded  the  property  of  the  subjects,  without  power  con- 
veyed to  it  by  the  state,  is  self-evident ;  but  it  is  equally  true 
that  it  was  in  itself  a  moral  power,  and  exerted  its  authority 
over  the  minds  of  both  princes  and  subjects.  When  Maca- 
iiaz  persuaded  Philip  V.  to  lay  restraints  on  the  transmission 
of  money  to  Rome,  his  Holiness,  by  means  of  the  Inquisi- 
tion, not  only  drove  the  minister  into  exile,  but  forced  his 
master  to  retract  the  law  which  he  had  passed,  and,  in  a  let- 
ter addressed  to  the  council  of  the  Supreme,  to  confess,  that, 
led  astray  by  evil  counsel,  he  had  rashly  put  his  hand  into 
the  sanctuary.  And  to  complete  its  triumph,  the  enlightened 
Macanaz,  while  in  France,  was  induced  to  write  a  defence  of 
the  Holy  Office,  which  is  appealed  to  by  its  apologists  in 
Spain  to  this  day.  \Vhen  at  a  recent  period  the  cortes 
wished  to  abolish  that  tribunal,  they  were  made  to  feel  that  it 
had  an  existence  independently  of  their  authority,  and  a  foun- 
dation deeper  than  that  which  mere  laws  had  given  it. 

13ut  civil  and  religious  despotism  are  natural  allies.  Though 
the  Inquisition  exalted  the  power  of  the  pope  above  that  of 
the  king,  and  its  advocates  have  sometimes  had  recourse  to 
the  principles  of  civil  liberty  to  vindicate  the  restraint  and 
dethronement  of  princes  who  proved  refractory  to  the  church,* 
yet  it  all  along  yielded  the  most  effective  support  to  the  arbi- 
trary measures  of  the  government,  and  exerted  its  influence 
in  crushing  every  proposal  to  correct  abuses  in  the  state,  and 
stifling  the  voice  of  complaint.  Under  other  forms  of  despo- 
tism, actions,  or  the  external  manifestation  of  liberal  opinions, 
have  been  visited  with  punishment;  but  in  .Spain  every  re- 
flection on  politics  was  denounced  by  the  monks  as  damna- 
ble heresy,  "and  proscribed  in  the  sanctuary  of  conscience. 

Ever  since  the  suppression  of  the  Keformation,  it  has  been 
the  great  object  of  the  inquisitors  and  ruling  clergy  to  arrest 
the  progress  of  knowledge.  AVith  this  view  they  have  exer- 
cised the  most  rigid  and  vigilant  inspection  of  the  press  and 
the  seminaries  of  education.  Lists  of  prohibited  books  have 
been  published  from  time  to  time,  including  vernacular  trans- 
lations of  the  Bihle,f  and  the  wrilings  not  only  of  the  reform- 
ers, but  also  of  Roman  catholics,  who  discovered  the  slight- 
est degree  of  liberality  in  their  sentiments,  or  who  treated 
their  subjects  in  such  a  way  as  to  encourage  a  spirit  of  inqui- 
ry. A  commentary  on  the  Pentateuch  by  Oleaster,  a  mem- 
ber of  the  council  of  Trent,  and  a  Portuguese  inquisitor,  wliich 
had  been  several  years  in  circulation,  was  ordered  to  be  called 
in  and  corrected,  because  the  author  had  ventured  to  depart 
from  the  Vulgate  and  the  interpretations  of  the  fathers.  The 
commentaries  of  Jean  Ferus,  a  French  monk,  who  had  avail- 
ed himself  of  the  learning  of  the  protestants,  were  censured  as 


*  The  treatise  of  the  Jesuit  Mariana,  De  lifge,  et  Regis  Institu- 
tiojte,  -whicli  was  biu-nt  at  Paris  by  the  hands  of  the  common  han^ 
man,  is  well  known  to  the  learned.     In  tlic  library  of  Lambeth,  there 
is  a  copy  of  the  \A'orks  of  Charles  L  with  the  corrections  made  on 
it  by  order  of  the  inquisition  of  Lisbon.     Furious  dashes  of  the  pen 
appear  across  those  passages  in  the  prayers  which  refer  to  tlie  pro 
testaiit  religion.     Describing  a  "  right  monarchy,"  the  British  mon 
arch  had  siiid,  "  where  counsel  may  be  in  many,  as  the  senses,  but 
the  supreme  power  can  be  but  in  one,  as  the  head."     The  inquisitors 
have  allow  ed  this  passage  to  suind  ;  but  over  against  it  on  the  mar- 
gin, they  have  written,  **  If  king,  false  ;  if  pope,  true."     (Catal.   of 
Archiepiscopal  Library  at  Lambeth,  Xo.  cccx.\ii.) 

t  The  prohibition  of  Bibles  in  the  Spanish  language  was  erased 
from  the  iiule.K  by  an  edict  dated  '20  Dec.  17S2  ;  and  yet  the  inquisi- 
tion of  Seville,  by  a  general  edict,  promulgated  1  Feb.  1790,  com- 
inaiuled  all  such  Bibles  to  be  denounced.  This  might  be  an  over- 
sight ;  but  it  is  certain  that  the  index  still  contains  a  prohibition  of 
two  books,. upon  this  ground,  that  they  point  out  the  advantages  of 
reading  the  scriptures.  Nor  was  it  the  intention  of  tlie  Inquisition 
to  give  the  Bible  to  the  common  peoiile  ;  and  accordingly  it  is  priuted 
iu  such  a  form  as  to  confine  it  to  the  vvealtliv. 


containing  "  the  heretical  sentiments  of  Luther ;"  and  for  re- 
printing them  in  Spain,  Michael  de  Medina,  guardian  of  the 
Franciscans  at  Toledo,  was  thrown  into  the  secret  prisons  of 
the  Inquisition,  and  was  saved  from  the  disgrace  of  making  a 
public  recantation,  only  by  a  premature  death.  Arias  Monta- 
nus  was  under  the  necessity  of  defending  himself  against  the 
charges  which  the  inquisitorial  censors  brought  against  his 
polyglot  Ilihle,  published  under  the  patronage  of  Philip  II. 
Luis  de  Leon,  professor  of  divinity  at  Salamanca,  having 
written  a  translation  of  the  Song  of  Solomon  in  Spanish,  to 
which  he  added  short  explanatory  notes,  was  confined. for 
five  years  in  the  dungeons  of  the  Inquisition  ;  and  his  poetical 
paraphrases  of  the  book  of  Job  and  other  parts  of  scripture, 
distinguished  for  their  elegance  and  purity,  were  long  sup- 
pressed. 

The  taste  for  theological  studies,  which  had  been  produced 
by  the  revival  of  letters  in  Spain,  survived  for  some  time  the 
suppression  of  the  Reformation.  It  was  cherished  in  secret 
by  individuals,  who,  convinced  that  the  protestants  excelled 
in  the  interpretation  of  scripture,  appropriated  their  writings 
in  whole  or  in  part,  and  published  them  as  their  own.  The 
Latin  Bible,  with  notes,  by  Leo  Juda,  and  other  Swiss  di- 
vines, after  undergoing  certain  corrections,  was  printed  at 
Salamanca  witli  the  approbation  of  the  censors  of  the  press  ; 
but  the  real  authors  being  discovered,  it  w'as  subsequently 
put  into  the  index  of  prohibited  books.  Hyperius,  a  reform- 
ed divine,  was  the  author  of  an  excellent  book  on  the  method 
of  interpreting  the  scriptures.  Having  removed  from  it  every 
thing  which  appeared  to  contradict  the  tenets  of  the  church 
of  Rome,  Lorenzo  de  Villavicencio,  an  Augustinian  monk  of 
Xeres  in  Andalusia,  published  that  work  as  his  own,  not 
even  excepting  the  preface ;  and  in  consequence  of  the  little 
intercourse  which  subsisted  between  Spain  and  the  north  of 
Europe,  nearly  half  a  century  elapsed  before  the  plagiarism 
was  detected.  Martini  Martinez  was  less  fortunate;  for  pub- 
lishing a  similar  work,  in  which  he  exalted  the  originals  above 
the  Vulgate,  he  was  subjected  to  penance,  and  prohibited  from 
writing  for  the  future.  Precluded  from  every  field  of  inquiry 
or  discussion,  the  divines  of  Spain  addicted  themselves  ex- 
clusively to  the  study  of  scholastic  and  casuistic  theology. 

The  same  tyranny  was  extended  to  othfr  branches  of  sci- 
ence, even  those  which  are  most  remotely  connected  with  re- 
ligion. All  books  on  general  subjects  composed  by  protest- 
an's,  or  translated  by  them,  or  containing  notes  written  by 
them,  were  strictly  interdicted.  A  papal  bull,  dated  17  Au- 
gust 1627,  took  from  metropolitans,  patriarchs,  and  all  but 
the  inquisitor  general,  the  privilege  of  reading;  prohibited 
books.  Nicolas  Antonio,  the  literary  historian  of  Spain,  was 
obliged  to  remain  five  years  in  Rome  before  he  obtained  this 
privilege,  with  the  view  of  finding  materials  for  his  national 
work.  The  Pontifical  History  of  Illescas  was  repeatedly 
suppressed,  and  the  author  constrained  at  last  to  put  his  name 
to  a  work  containing  statements  and  opinions  dictated  to  him 
by  others,  and  diametrically  opposite  to  those  which  he  had 
formerly  given  to  the  world.  While  the  native  historians  of 
Spain  were  prevented  from  speaking  the  truth,  histories  writ- 
ten by  foreigners  were  forbidden  under  the  severest  pains,  as 
satires  on  the  policy  and  religion  of  the  Peninsula.  The  con- 
sequence has  been,  that  the  Spaniards  entertain  the  most  er- 
roneous conceptions  of  their  own  history,  and  are  profoundly 
ignorant  of  the  affairs  of  other  countries. 

Not  satisfied  with  exerting  a  rigid  censorship  over  the 
press,  the  inquisitors  intruded  intro  private  houses,  ransacked 
the  libraries  of  the  learned  and  curious,  and  carried  off  and 
retained  at  their  pleasure  such  books  as  the}',  in  their  igno- 
rance, suspected  to  be  of  a  dangerous  character.  So  late  as 
the  beginning  of  the  eighteenth  century,  we  find  Manuel 
Martini,  dean  of  Alicant,  and  one  of  the  most  enlightened  of 
his  countrymen  in  that  age,  complained  bitterly,  in  his  confi- 
dential correspondence,  of  what  he  suflered  from  such  pro- 
ceedings. 

Universities  and  other  seminaries  of  education  were  watched 
with  the  most  scrupulous  jealousy.  The  professors  in  the  uni- 
versity of  Salamanca,  who  appear  to  have  shown  a  stronger 
predilection  for  liberal  science  than  their  brethren,  were  for- 
bidden to  deliver  lectures  to  their  students ;  and  similar  orders 
were  issued  by  Philip  II.  to  those  of  the  Escurial,  who  were 
instructed  to  confine  themselves  to  reading  from  a  printed 
book.  INIoral  philosophy  is  too  intimately  allied  both  to.  re- 
ligion and  politics  not  to  have  excited  the  dread  of  the  de- 
fenders of  superstition  and  despotism;  and,  in  fact,  the  feeble 
attempts  made  in  Spain  to  throw  ofl"the  degrading  yoke  have 
chiefly  proceeded  from  the  teachers  of  that  science.  This  ac- 
cordingly gave  occasion  to  repeated  interdicts,  besides  pro- 


HISTORY  OF  THE  REFORMATION  IX  SPAIN. 


359 


cesses  carried  on  against  individuals.  During  the  reign  of 
Don  Carlos  IV.,  the  prime  minister,  Caballero,  sent  a  circular 
to  all  the  universities,  forbidding  the  study  of  moral  philo- 
soph}^,  "because  what  his  majesty  wanted  was,  not  philoso- 
phers, but  loyal  subjects."  Even  natural  philosophy,  in  its 
various  branches,  was  placed  under  the  same  trammels,  and 
the  Copernican  system  is  still  taught  in  that  country  as  an 
hypothesis.  Medical  science  is  neglected ;  and  surgeons, 
before  entering  on  practice,  are  obliged  to  swear,  not  that 
they  will  exercise  the  healing  art  with  fidelity,  but  that  they 
will  defend  the  immaculate  conception  of  the  blessed  Virgin. 

The  great  events  which  distinguished  the  reign  of  the 
emperor  Charles  V.,  by  awakening  the  enthusiasm,  contri- 
buted to  develope  the  genius  of  the  Spanish  nation ;  and  the 
impulse  thus  given  to  intellect  continued  to  operate  long  after 
the  cause  which  had  produced  it  was  removed.  But  the 
character  of  the  degenerate  age  in  which  they  lived  was  im- 
pressed even  on  the  towering  talents  of  Cervantes,  Lope  de 
Vega  and  Calderon,  and  can  be  easily  traced  in  the  false 
ideas,  childest  prejudices,  and  gross  ignorance  of  facts  which 
disfigure  their  writings.  With  these  master  spirits  of  litera- 
ture the  genius  of  Spain  sunk ;  and  when  it  began  to  recover 
from  the  lethargy  by  which  it  was  long  oppressed,  it  assumed 
the  most  unnatural  form.  Imagination  being  the  only  field 
left-open  to  them,  Spanish  writers,  as  if  they  wished  to  com- 
pensate for  the  restraints  under  which  they  were  laid,  set 
aside  the  rules  of  good  taste,  and  abandoned  themselves  to 
all  the  extravagancies  of  fancy,  which  they  embodied  in  the 
most  inflated  and  pedantic  language.  Although  the  natural 
talents  of  the  inhabitants  are  excellent,  there  is  at  present  no 
taste  for  literature  in  Spain.  The  lectures  on  experimental 
philosophy  which  Solano  began  to  deliver  gratis  in  the  capital 
towards  tlie  close  of  the  last  century,  though  distinguished 
by  their  simplicity  and  elegance,  were  discontinued  for  want 
of  an  audience.  Reading  is  unknown  except  among  a  very 
limited  class.  Every  attempt  to  establish  a  literary  magazine 
has  failed,  through  the  listlessness  of  the  public  mind  and 
the  control  of  the  censorship.  And  the  spies  of  the  police 
and  the  Inquisition  have  long  ago  banished  every  thing  like 
rational  conversation  from  those  places  rn  which  the  people 
assemble  to  spend  their  leisure  hours. 

In  Italy  the  same  causes  produced  the  same  efleots.  Genius, 
taste  and  learning  were  crushed  under  the  iron  hand  of  in- 
quisitorial despotism.  The  imprisonment  of  Galileo  in  the 
seventeenth,  and  the  burning  of  the  works  of  Giannone  in  the 
eighteenth  century,  are  sufficient  indications  of  the  deplorable 
state  of  the  Italians,  during  a  period  in  which  knowledge  was 
advancing  with  such  rapidity  in  countries  long  regarded  by 
them  as  barbarous.  When  their  intellectual  energies  began 
to  recover,  they  were  directed  to  a  species  of  composition  in 
■which  sentiment  and  poetry  are  mere  accessories  to  sensual 
harmony,  and  the  national  love  of  pleasure  could  be  gratified 
without  endangering  the  authority  of  the  rulers.  To  ennoble 
pleasure  and  render  it  in  some  degree  sacred;  to  screen  the 
prince  from  the  shame  of  his  own  indolence  and  effeminacy; 
to  blind  the  people  to  every  consideration  but  that  of  the 
passing  moment ;  and  to  give  tlie  author  an  opportunity  to 
exert  his  talents  without  incurring  the  vengeance  of  the  In- 
quisition— is  the  scope  and  spirit  of  the  Italian  opera.  Later 
writers  in  Italy,  whose  productions  breathe  a  fiery  spirit  of 
liberty,  were  of  the  French,  or  rather  revolutionary  school, 
and  afford  no  criterion  for  judeinjr  of  the  national  feelings 
and  taste. 

In  Spain  the  increase  of  superstition,  and  of  the  numbers 
and  opulence  of  the  clergy,  has  kept  pace  with  the  growth  of 
ignorance.  The  country  is  overrun  with  clergy,  secular  and 
regular.  Towards  the  close  of  last  century  it  contained 
nearly  nine  thotisand  convents ;  and  the  number  of  persons 
who  had  taken  the  vow  of  celibacy  approached  to  two  hun- 
dred thousand.  The  wealth  of  the  church  was  equally  dis- 
proportionate to  that  of  the  nation,  as  the  numbers  of  the 
clergy  were  to  its  population.  The  cathedral  of  Toledo,  for 
example,  besides  other  valuable  ornaments,  contained  four 
large  silver  images,  standing  on  globes  of  the  same  metal;  a 
grand  massive  throne  of  silver,  on  which  was  placed  an  image 
of  the  Virgin,  wearing  a  crown  valued  at  upwards  of  a  thou- 
sand pounds;  and  a  statue  of  the  infant  Jesus,  adorned  with 
eight  hundred  precious  stones.  Six  hundred  priests,  richly 
endowed,  were  attached  to  it;  and  the  revenues  of  the  arch- 
bishop were  estimated  at  nearly  a  hundred  thousand  pounds. 
The  sums  which  are  extorted  by  the  mendicant  friars,  and 
which  are  paid  for  masses  and  indulgences,  cannot  be  calcu- 
lated; but  the  bulls  of  crusade  alone  yield  a  neat  yearly 
income   of  two  hundred   thousand   pounds   to  his   Catholic 


Majesty,  who  purchases  them  from  the  pope,  and  retails  them 
to  his  loving  subjects.*  Equally  great  are  the  encroachments 
which  superstition  has  made  on  the  time  of  the  inhabitants. 
[  Benedict  XIV.  reduced  the  number  of  holydays  in  the  states 
'of  the  church,  and  recommended  a  similar  reduction  in  other 
kingdoms.  But  in  Spain  there  are  still  ninety-three  general 
festivals,  besides  those  of  particular  provinces,  parishes  and 
convents;  to  which  we  must  add  the  bull-feasts,  and  the 
Mondays  claimed  by  apprentices  and  journeymen. 

Commerce  and  all  the  sources  of  national  wealth  are  ob- 
structed by  persecution  and  intolerance.  But  the  evil  is 
unspeakably  aggravated,  when  the  greater  part  of  the  property 
of  a  nation  is  locked  up,  and  a  large  proportion  of  its  inhab- 
itants, and  of  their  time,  is  withdrawn  from  useful  labour. 
Holland,  with  no  soil  but  what  she  recovered  from  the 
ocean,  waxed  rich  and  independent,  while  Spain,  with  a  third 
part  of  the  world  in  her  possession,  has  become  poor.  The 
city  of  Toledo  is  reduced  to  an  eighth  part  of  its  former  popu- 
lation; the  monks  remain,  but  the  citizens  have  fled.  Every 
street  in  Salamanca  swarms  with  sturdy  beggars  and  vaga- 
bonds able  to  work ;  and  this  is  the  case  wherever  the  clergy. 
iConvents  and  hospicios  are  numerous.  With  a  soil  which, 
by  its  extent  and  fertility,  is  capable  of  supporting  an  equal 
number  of  inhabitants,  the  population  of  Spain  is  not  half 
that  of  France. 

The  effects  produced  on  the  national  character  and  morals 
are  still  more  deplorable.  Possessing  naturally  some  of  the 
finest  qualities  by  which  a  people  can  be  distinguished — 
generous,  feeling,  devoted,  constant — the  Spaniards  became 
cruel,  proud,  reserved  and  jealous.  The  revolting  spectacles 
of  the  auto-de-fe,  continued  for  so  long  a  period,  could  not 
fail  to  have  the  most  hardening  influence  on  their  feelings. 
In  Spain,  as  in  Italy,  religion  is  associated  with  crime,  and 
protected  by  its  sanctions.  Thieves  and  prostitutes  have  their 
images  of  the  Virgin,  their  prayers,  their  holy  water,  and  their 
confessors.  Murderers  find  a  sanctuary  in  the  churches  and 
convents.  Crimes  of  the  blackest  character  are  left  unpun- 
ished in  consequence  of  the  immunities  granted  to  the  clergy. 
Adultery  is  common,  and  those  who  live  habitually  in  this 
vice,  find  no  difficulty  in  obtaining  absolution.  The  cortejos, 
or  male  paramours,  like  the  ciciibei  in  Italy,  appear  regularly 
in  the  family  circle.  In  great  cities  the  canons  of  cathedrals 
act  in  this  character,  and  the  monks  in  villages.  The  parish 
priests  live  almost  universally  in  concubinage,  and  all  that 
the  more  correct  bishops  require  of  them  is,  that  they  do  not 
keep  their  children  in  their  own  houses.  Until  they  begin 
to  look  towards  a  jnitre,  few  of  the  clergy  think  of  preservino- 
decorum  in  this  matter. 

The  dramatical  pieces  composed  by  their  most  celebrated 
writers,  and  acted  on  the  stage  with  the  greatest  applause, 
demonstrate  the  extent  to  which  the  principles  of  morality 
have  been  injured  by  fanaticism  and  bigotry.  In  one  of  them, 
after  the  hero  has  plotted  the  death  of  his  wife,  and  accom- 
plished that  of  his  parents,  Jesus  Christ  is  represented  as 
descending  from  heaven  to  effect  his  salvation  by  means  of  a 
miracle.  In  another,  an  incestuous  brigand  and  professed  as» 
sassin  preserves,  in  the  midst  of  his  crimes,  his  devotion  for 
the  cross,  at  the  foot  of  which  he  was  born,  and  the  impress 
of  which  he  bears  on  his  breast.  He  erects  a  cross  over  each 
of  his  victims;  and  being  at  last  slain,  God  restores  him  to 
life  in  order  that  a  saint  might  receive  his  confession,  and 
thus  secure  his  admission  into  heaven.  In  another  piece,  Al- 
fonzo  VI.  receives  the  capitulation  of  the  Moors  of  Toledo, 
and,  in  the  midst  of  his  court  and  knights,  swears  to  maintain 
their  religious  liberties,  and  to  leave  for  their  worship  the 
largest  mosque  in  the  citj'.  During  his  absence,  Constance 
his  queen  violates  the  treaty,  and  places  the  miraculous  im- 
age of  the  Virgin  in  the  mosque.  Alfonso  is  highly  indig- 
nant at  this  breach  of  faith,  but  the  Virgin  surrounds  Con- 
stance with  a  crown  of  glory,  and  convinces  the  king,  to  the 
great  delight  of  the  spectators,  that  it  is  an  unpardonable  sin 
to  keep  faith  with  heretics.  To  give  one  instance  more  ;  in 
another  piece,  the  hero,  while  leading  the  most  abandoned 
life,  is  represented  as  adhering  to  the  true  faith,  and  thus 
meriting  the  protection  of  St.  Patrick,  who  follows  him  as 


•  For  this  bull  the  nobles  pay  about  six  sliillings  and  four  pence, 
the  common  people  about  two  shillings  ami  four  pence,  in  Avagon. 
la  Castile  it  is  somewhat  t-heapei-.  ?^"o  cotifessor  will  grant  absolu- 
tion to  any  one  who  does  not  possess  it.  (.Townsend,  ii.  1/1-2. 
Doblado's  Letters,  p.  214.)  Dr.  Colbach  has  given  an  account  of 
this  traffic.  In  1709  a  privateer  belonging  to  Bristol  took  a  galleon, 
in  whicli  tliey  found  five  hundred  bales  of  these  precious  goods,  con- 
taining each  sixteen  reams,  and  amounting  in  all  to  38-i,000  bulls. 
Captain  Dampirr  says  lie  careened  bis  ship  with  them. 


300 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


his  good  gonius  to  inspire  iiirn  with  re]ientaiicc.  ^^  hen  about 
to  commit  a  murder,  in  addition  to  numbers  whicli  lio  had  al- 
ready perpetrated,  he  is  converted  by  an  apparition  of  him- 
self", and  exclaims,  "What  atonement  can  be  made  for  a  life 
spent  in  crime?"  to  which  a  voice  of  celestial  music  replies, 
"  Purgatory."  He  is  then  directed  into  St.  Patrick's  Purga- 
tory, and  at  the  end  of  a  few  days  comes  out  pardoned  and 
purified.  Still  more  precious  specimens  of  religious  absurd- 
ity and  fanaticism  might  have  been  given  from  the  aidos  sa- 
cruiiKntakx,  a  species  of  composition  which  continued  to  be 
popular  till  a  late  period,  and  has  employed  the  pens  of  the 
Biost  celebrated  writers  in  Spain. 

The  Italians  are  bound  to  religion  chiefly  by  the  ties  of  in- 
terest and  pleasure.  The  Spaniards  are  naturally  a  grave 
people;  their  devotional  feelings  are  strong;  and  had  they 
lived  under  a  free  government,  they  would  have  welcomed  a 
purer  worship,  when,  after  a  long  period  of  ignorance,  it  was 
unveiled  to  their  eyes,  and  might  have  proved  its  most  enthu- 
siastic and  constant  admirers.  But  their  minds  have  been 
subjugated  and  their  feelings  perverted  by  a  long  course  of 
debasing  slavery.  As  to  religion,  the  inhabitants  of  Spain 
are  now  divided  into  two  classes,  bigots  and  dissemblers; 
There  is  no  intermediate  class.  Under  such  an  encroaching 
.system  of  faith  as  that  of  the  church  of  Rome,  which  claims 
a  right  of  interference  with  almost  every  operation  of  the  hu- 
man mind,  the  prohibition  of  all  dissent  from  the  established 
religion  is  a  restraint  sufficienlh'  painful.  But  this  is  the 
least  evil.  Every  Spaniard  who  disbelieves  the  public  creed 
is  constrained  to  profess  himself  to  be  what  he  is  not,  under 
the  pain  of  losing  all  that  he  holds  dear  on  earth.  \\  hat  with 
masses,  and  confessions,  and  festivals,  and  processions,  and 
bowing  to  crosses  and  images,  and  purchasing  pardons,  and 
contributing  to  deliver  sonls  from  purgatory,  he  is  every  day, 
and  every  hour  of  the  day,  under  the  necessity  of  giving  his 
countenance  to  what  he  detests  as  a  Christian,  or  loathes  as 
the  cause  of  his  country's  degradation.  It  is  not  enough  that 
lie  contrives  to  avoid  going  to  church  or  chapel :  the  idol  pre- 
sents itself  to  him  abroad  and  at  home,  in  the  tavern  and  in 
the  theatre,  lie  cannot  turn  a  corner  without  being  in  dan- 
ger of  hearing  the  sound  of  the  hand-bell  which  summons 
hiju  to  kneel  in  the  mud,  till  a  priest,  who  is  carrying  th 
consecrated  host  to  some  dying  person,  has  moved  slowly  in 
his  sedan  chair  from  one  end  of  the  street  to  the  other.  If  hi 
dine  with  a  friend,  the  passing  bell  is  no  sooner  heard  thar 
the  whole  party  rise  from  table  and  worship.  If  he  go  to  the 
theatre,  the  military  guard  at  the  door,  by  a  well-known 
sound  of  his  drum,  announces  the  approach  of  a  procession 
upon  which  "  Su  Magestad  !  Dios,  Dios  1"  resounds  throuirl 
tlie  house;  the  play  is  instantly  suspended,  and  the  whole 
assembly,  actors  and  spectators,  fall  on  their  knees,  in  which 
attitude  they  remain  until  the  sound  of  the  bell  has  died  away, 
when  the  amusement  is  resumed  with  fresh  spirit.  Ho  ha^ 
scarcely  returned  to  his  inn,  when  a  friar  enters,  bearing  r 
larne  lanthorn  with  painteil  glass,  representing  two  persons 
enveloped  with  llames,  and  addresses  him,  "  The  holy  souls 
brother  !   Remember  the  holy  souls." 

Religion  in  its  purity^  is  calculated  to  soothe  and  support 
the  mind  under  the  unavoidable  calamities  of  life ;  but  when 
perverted  by  superstition,  it  aggravates  every  evil  to  which 
men  are  exposed,  by  fostering  delusive  confidence,  and  lead- 
ing to  the  neglect  of  those  natural  means  which  tend  to  avert 
danger  or  alleviate  distress.  In  .Spain  every  city,  every  pro- 
fession, and  every  company  of  artisans,  has  its  tutelary  saint, 
on  ■whose  miraculous  interposition  the  utmost  reliance  is 
placed.  The  merchant,  when  he  embarks  his  goods  foralbr- 
eign  country,  instead  of  insurimr  them  anainst  the  dano-ers  of 
the  sea  in  the  ordinary  way,  seeks  ibr  security  by  paying  his 
devotions  at  the  shrine  of  the  saint  under  whose  protection 
the  vessel  sails.  There  is  scarcely  a  disease  affecting  the 
human  body  which  is  not  submitted  to  the  healing  power  of 
some  member  of  the  calendar.  So  late  as  ISOI,  when  the 
yellow  fever  prevailed  in  Seville,  the  civil  authorities,  in- 
stead of  adopting  precautionary  measures  for  abating  the  vio- 
lence of  that  pestilential  malady,  applied  to  the  archhishop 
for  llie  solemn  praj'ers  called  lingnliran  ;  and  not  trusting  to 
these,  they  resolved  to  carry  in  procession  a  fragment  of  the 
true  cross,  preserved  in  the  cathedral  of  Seville,  which  had 
toruu'rly  chased  away  an  army  of  locusts,  together  with  a 
large  wooden  crucifix,  whicli,  in  l(il!>.  had  arrested  the  pro- 
gress of  the  plague.  The  inhabitants  flocked  to  the  church  ; 
and  the  consequence  was,  that  the  heat,  fatigue,  and  anxiety 
of  a  whole  day  spent  in  this  ridiculous  ceremony,  increased 
the  disease  in  a  tenfold  pro]ioriion. 

Popery,  by  the  false  light  and  repulsive  form   in  which   it 


represents  Christianity,  tends  naturally  to  produce  deism  and 
irreligion.  In  France,  where  a  certain  degree  of  liberty  was 
enjoyed,  it  led  at  first  to  the  covert  dissemination  and  after- 
wards to  the  bold  avowal  of  infidel  opinions,  by  those  who 
had  the  greatest  influence  over  the  ])ublic  mind.  In  countries 
where  a  rigid  system  of  police,  civil  and  ecclesiastical,  has 
been  kept  up,  its  operation  has  been  diflercnt,  but  not  less 
destructive  to  national  character  and  the  real  interests  of  reli- 
gion. The  great  body  of  the  unbelievers,  anxious  only  for 
present  enjoyment,  and  regarding  religion  in  no  other  light 
than  as  an  engine  of  state,  have  made  no  scruple  of  fostering 
the  popular  credulity,  that  they  might  share  its  fruits;  while 
those  of  more  generous  and  independent  spirit,  writhing  un- 
iler  the  degrading  yoke,  have  given  way  to  irritation  of  feel- 
ing, and,  confounding  Christianity  with  an  intolerant  super- 
stition, cherish  the  desperate  hope  that  religion,  in  all  its 
forms,  will  one  day  be  swept  from  the  earth,  as  the  support 
of  tyranny  and  the  bane  of  human  happiness.  It  is  well 
known  that  the  Italian  clergy  have  for  a  long  time  given  the 
most  unequivocal  proofs  that  they  disbelieve  those  doctrines, 
and  feel  indiflerent  to  those  rights,  from  which  the}'  derive 
their  maintenance  and  wealth.*  We  were  formerly  aware 
that  the  principles  of  irreligion  were  widely  diffused  among 
the  reading  classes  in  Spain;  but  more  ample  information, 
furnished  by  recent  events,  has  disclosed  the  fact,  that  this 
evil  is  not  confined  to  the  laity,  and  that  infidelity  is  as  com- 
mon among  the  educated  Spanish  clergy  as  vice  is  among 
the  vulgar  crowd  of  priests.  There  is  a  lightness  attached 
to  the  character  of  the  Italians,  which,  together  with  the  re- 
collection that  they  have  been  the  chief  instrument  of  enslav- 
ing the  Christian  world,  disposes  us  to  turn  away  from  the 
manifestations  of  their  irreligion  with  feelings  of  contempt. 
But  such  is  the  native  dignity  of  the  Spanish  character,  and 
its  depth  of  feeling,  that  we  dwell  with  a  mixed  emotion  of 
pity  and  awe  on  the  ravages  which  infidelity  is  making  on  so 
noble  a  structure.  Who  can  read  the  following  description 
by  a  Spaniard  without  the  strongest  sympathy  for  such  of 
his  countrymen  as  are  still  in  that  "gall  of  bitterness  and 
bond  iniipiity"  from  which  he  was  so  happily  rescued  I 
"Where  there  is  no  liberty,  there  can  be  no  discrimination. 
The  ravenous  appetite,  raised  by  a  forced  abstinence,  makes 
ibe  mind  gorge  itself  with  all  sorts  of  food.  I  suspect  1  have 
thus  imbibed  some  false  and  many  crude  notions  from  my 
French  masters.  But  my  circumstances  preclude  the  calm 
and  dispassionate  examination  which  the  subject  deserves. 
Exasperated  by  the  daily  necessity  of  external  submission  to 
doctrines  and  persons  I  detest  and  despise,  my  soul  overflows 
with  bitterness.  Though  I  acknowledge  the  advantages  of 
moderation,  none  being  used  towards  me.  I  practise  none,  and 
in  spite  of  my  better  judgment  learn  to  be  a  fanatic  on  my 
own  side.  Pretending  studious  retirement,  I  have  fitted  up 
a  small  room  to  which  none  but  confidential  friends  find  admis- 
sion. There  lie  iny  prohihited  books  in  perfect  concealment, 
in  a  well-contrived  nook  under  a  staircase.  The  Breviary 
alone,  in  its  back  binding,  clasps,  and  gilt  leaves,  is  kept 
upon  the  tabje,  to  check  the  doubts  of  any  chance  intruder." 
The  same  person  writes  at  a  subsequent  period  :  "  The  con- 
fession is  painful  indeed,  yet  due  to  religion  itself — I  was 
bordering  on  atheism.  If  my  case  were  singular,  if  my 
knowledge  of  the  most  enlightened  classes  of  Spain  did  not 
furnish  me  with  a  multitude  of  sudden  transitions  from  sin- 
cere faith  and  piety  to  the  most  outraijeous  infidelit}-,  I  would 
submit  to  the  humbling  conviction  that  either  weakness  of 
judgment  or  fickleness  of  character  had  been  the  only  source 
of  my  errors.  But  though  I  am  not  at  liberty  to  mention  in- 
dividual cases,  I  do  attest,  from  the  most  certain  knowledge, 
that  the  hislor}'  of  my  own  mind  is,  with  little  variation,  that 
of  a  great  portion  of  the  Spanish  clergy.  The  fact  is  certain  ; 
I  make  no  individual  charge;  every  one  who  conies  within 
the  description  may  still  wear  the  mask,  which  no  Spaniard 
can  throw  oft'  witliout  bidding  an  eternal  farewell  to  his 
country." 

It  is  evident  from  this  slight  sketch   that  there  are  many 
and  powerful  obstacles  to  the  regeneration  of  Spain.     Siiper- 


*  An  Eiiglisli  gentleman  «ho  liad  resided  long  in  Ilaly,  and  ob- 
tained Icirlgings  in  a  convent,  was  fi'equently  engaged  in  friendly  dis- 
cussions w'itli  llie  most  intelligent  it.dividiials  of  tlie  house  on  the 
points  of  diH'erence  between  the  churdies  of  Rome  and  England.  On 
tlie  termination  of  one  of  these  disputes,  after  the  greater  part  of  the 

onipany  had  retired,  a  young  monk,  v  ho  had  sup]iorted  the  tenets  of 
bis  churcli  with  great  ability,  turning  to  hisEnglisli  guest,  asked  him, 
if  he  really  believed  what  lie  had  been  defending.  On  his  answering 
seriously  in  the  affirmative,  the  monk  exclaimed,  Allorlei  crede  piu 

he  lutto  il  convcnto.  Then,  Sir,  you  believe  more  tlian  all  the 
convent.     (Uoblado's  Letters,  p.  476.) 


HISTORY  OF  THE  REFORMATION  IN  SPAIN. 


361 


stition  is  interwovea  with  her  national  habils  and  feelings ; 
and  civil  and  spiritual  despotism  are  bound  together  by  an 
indissoluble  league,  while  they  find  a  powerful  auxiliary  in 
the  depraved  morals  of  the  people ;  for  liberty  has  not  a 
greater  enemy  than  licentiousness,  and  an  immoral  people 
can  neither  preserve  their  freedom  when  they  have  it,  nor  re- 
gain it  after  it  has  been  lost.  But  what  augurs  worse  than 
perhaps  any  thing  else  for  Spain  is,  that  it  does  not  possess 
a  class  of  persons  animated  bj'  the  spirit  of  that  reformation 
to  which  the  free  states  of  Europe  chiefly  owe  their  political 
privileges.  Infidelity  and  scepticism,  besides  weakening  the 
moral  energies  of  the  human  mind,  have  a  tendency  to  break 
up  the  natural  alliance  which  subsists  between  civil  and  reli- 
gious liberty.  Those  who  are  inimical  or  indifferent  to  reli- 
gion cannot  be  expected  to  prove  the  firm  and  uncompromis- 
ing friends  of  that  liberty  which  has  religion  for  its  object. 
The}'  love  it  not  for  itself,  and  cannot  be  prepared  to  make  all 
sacrifices  for  its  sake.  Thus,  when  tyranny  takes  the  field, 
brandishing  its  two  swords,  the  right  arm  of  liberty  is  found 
to  be  palsied.  The  irreligious  or  sceptical  principles  of  those 
who  have  been  called  liberals  must  always  excite  a  strong 
and  well-grounded  prejudice  against  their  schemes.  If  they 
demand  a  reform  in  the  state,  the  defenders  of  abuse  have 
only  to  raise  against  them  the  cry  of  impiety.  Bigots  and 
hypocrites  are  furnished  with  a  plausible  pretext  for  putting 
them  down.  And  good  men,  who  may  he  convinced  of  the 
corruptions  which  adhere  to  both  church  and  state,  and  might 
be  willing  to  co-operate  in  removing  them,  are  deterred  from 


joining  in  the  attempt,  by  the  apprehension  that  it  may  lead  to 
the  overthrow  of  all  religion.  It  is  not  diflicult  to  trace  the 
operation  of  all  these  causes  in  defeating  the  struggles  for  li- 
berty which  have  been  made  within  these  few  years  in  Italy 
and  the  Peninsula. 

But  maj'  we  not  cherish  better  hopes,  as  the  result  of  those 
events  which  have  recently  induced  the  more  enlightened 
portion  of  the  Spanish  nation  to  turn  their  eyes  to  Britian 
instead  of  France,  from  which  they  formerly  looked  for  in- 
struction and  relief?  Let  us  hope  that  those  individuals  who 
have  taken  refuge  in  this  country,  and  whose  conduct  has 
shown  that  they  are  not  unworthy  of  the  reception  they 
have  met  with,  will  profit  by  their  residence  among  us ;  that 
any  of  them  who,  from  the  unpropitious  circumstances  ia 
which  they  were  placed,  may  have  formed  an  unfavourable 
opinion  of  Christianity,  will  find  their  prejudices  dissipated 
!  in  the  free  air  which  they  now  breathe ;  that  what  is  excel- 
i  lent  in  our  religion,  as  well  as  our  policy,  will  recommend 
itself  to  their  esteem  ;  and  that,  when  providence  shall  open 
an  honourable  way  for  their  returning  to  their  native  country, 
they  will  assist  in  securing  to  it  a  constitution,  founded  on 
the  basis  of  rational  liberty,  in  connexion  with  a  religion 
purified  from  those  errors  and  corruptions  which  have  wrought 
so  much  woe  to  Spain — which  have  dried  up  its  resources, 
cramped  and  debased  its  genius,  lowered  its  native  dignity  of 
character,  and  poisoned  the  fountains  of  its  domestic  and  so- 
cial happiness. 


Vol.  II.— 2  V 


FANATICISM. 


BY  THE  AUTHOR  OF 

NATURAL    HISTORY   OF    ENTHUSIASM. 


PREFACE. 

Strict  propriety  seldom  allows  an  author  to  obtrude  upon 
the  public  the  circumstances  that  may  have  attended  and  con- 
trolled his  literary  labours.  Yet  the  rule  may  give  way  to 
special  reasons ;  and  in  the  present  instance  the  reader  is 
requested  courteously  to  admit  an  exception. 

More  than  twelve  years  ago  the  Author  projected  a  work 
■which  should  at  one  view  exhibit  the  several  principal  forms 
of  spurious  or  corrupted  religion.  But  discouraged  by  the 
magnitude  and  difficulty  of  such  a  task,  he  after  a  while,  yet 
not  without  much  reluctance,  abandoned  the  undertaking. 
Nevertheless  the  subject  continually  pressed  upon  his  mind. 
At  length  he  selected  a  single  portion  of  the  general  theme, 
and  adventured — Natural  History  of  Enthusiasm. 

Emboldened  to  proceed,  the  Author  almost  immediately 
entered  upon  the  nearly  connected  and  sequent  subject  which 
fills  the  present  volume.  Yet  fearing  lest,  by  an  unskilful 
or  unadvised  treatment  of  certain  arduous  matters  which 
it  involves,  he  might  create  embarrassment  where  most  he 
desired  to  do  good,  he  laid  aside  his  materials. 

But  in  the  interval,  by  extending  his  researches  concerning 
the  rise  and  progress  of  the  fatal  errors  that  have  obscured 
our  holy  religion,  the  Author  greatly  enhanced  his  wish  to 
achieve  his  first  purpose.  He  therefore  resumed  Fanaticism  ; 
which  is  now  offered  to  the  candour  of  the  Reader.  He  next 
proposes,  in  advancing  towards  tlie  completion  of  his  oritri- 
nal  design,  to  take  in  hand  Superstition,  and  its  attendant, 
Credulitv. 

A  natural  transition  leads  from  Superstition  and  Credulity 
to  Spiritual  Despotism.  The  principal  perversions  of  Re- 
ligion having  thus  been  reviewed,  it  would  be  proper  to  de- 
scribe that  Corruption  of  Morals  which,  in  different  modes, 
has  resulted  from  the  overthrow  of  genuine  piety.  There 
would  then  only  remain  to  be  considered  Scepticism,  or 
Philosophic  Irreligion;  and  the  series  will  embrace  all  that 
the  Author  deems  indispensable  to  the  undertaking  he  has  so 
long  meditated. 


SECTION  I. 


MOTIVES  OF  THE  WORK. 


The  maladies  of  the  mind  are  not  to  be  healed  any  more 
than  those  of  the  body,  unless  by  a  friendly  hand.  Butllirough 
a  singular  infelicity  it  too  often  happens  that  these  evils,  deep 
as  they  are,  and  difficult  of  cure,  fall  under  a  treatment  that 
is  hostile  and  malign,  or,  what  is  worse,  frivolous.  Especially 
does  this  disadvantage  attach  to  that  peculiar  class  of  mental 
disorders  which,  as  they  are  more  profound  in  their  origin 
than  any  other,  and  more  liable  to  extreme  aggravation,  de- 
mand in  whoever  would  relieve  them,  not  only  the  requisite 
skill,  but  the  very  purest  intentions. 

Vitiated  religious  sentiments  have  too  much  connexion 
with  the  principles  of  our  physical  constitution  to  be  in  every 
case  effectively  amended  by  methods  that  are  merely  theo- 
logical ;  and  j'et,  drawing  their  strength  as  they  do  from  great 
truths  witli  which  the  physiologist  has  ordinarily  little  or  no 
personal  acquaintance,  and  which  perhaps  he  holds  in  con- 
tempt, he  is  likely  to  err,  as  well  in  theory  as  in  practice, 
when  he  takes  them  in  hand.  How  profound  soever  or  exact 
may  be  his  knowledge  of  human  nature,  whether  as  matter 
of  science  or  as  matter  of  observation,  the  subject,  in  these 
instances,  lies  beyond  his  range! — himself  neither  religious 
nor  even  superstitious,  he  has  no  sympathy  with  the  deep 
movements  of  the  soul  in  its  relation  to  the  Infinite  and  In- 
visible Being; — he  has  no  clue  therefore  to  the  secret  he  is 
in  search  of.  The  misapprehensions  of  the  frigid  philosopher 
are  vastly  increased  if  it  should  happen  that,  in  reference  to 
religion,  his  feelings  are  petulant  and  acrimonious.  Poor  pre- 
paration truly  for  a  task  of  such  peculiar  difficulty  to  be  at 
once  ignorant  in  the  chief  article  of  the  case,  and  hurried  on 
by  the  motives  that  attend  a  caustic  levity  of  temper  ! 

It  would  indeed  be  difficult  to  furnish  a  satisfactory  reason 
either  for  the  asperity  or  for  the  levity  with  which  persons  of 
a  certain  class  allow  themselves  to  speak  of  grave  perversions 
of  the  religious  sentiment;  for  if  such  vices  of  the  spirit  be 
regarded  as  corruptions  of  the  most  momentous  of  all  truths, 
then  surely  a  due  affection  for  our  fellow-men,  on  the  one 
hand,  and  a  proper  reverence  towards  Heaven  on  the  other, 
alike  demand  from  reasonable  persons  as  well  tenderness  as 
awe,  in  approaching  a  subject  so  fraught  with  fatal  mischiefs. 
Or  even  if  religion  be  deemed  by  these  sarcastic  reprovers  al- 
together an  illusion,  or  an  inveterate  prejudice,  infesting  our 
luckless  nature,  not  the  more,  even  in  that  case,  can  rancour 


FANATICISM. 


363 


or  levitv  become  a  wise  and  benevolent  mind,  seeing  thai 
ttiese  same  powerful  sentiments,  whether  true  or  false,  do  so 
deeply  affect  the  welfare  of  the  human  family. 

Or,  to  look  at  the  subject  on  another  side,  it  may  fairly  be 
asked  why  the  religious  passions  might  not  claim  from  su- 
percilious wits  a  measure  of  that  lenity  (if  not  indulgence) 
which  is  readilv  afforded  to  vices  of  another  sort.  If  Pride, 
abhorrent  as  it  is,  and  if  Ambition,  with  both  hands  dyed  in 
blood,  and  if  the  lust  of  wealth  making  the  weak  its  prey, 
and  if  sensual  desires,  devoid  of  pity,  are  all  to  be  gently 
handled,  and  all  in  turn  find  patrons  among  Sages— why 
might  not  also  Fanaticism?  why  might  not  Entliusiasm?  why 
.not  Superstition  1  It  would  be  hard  to  prove  that  the  deluded 
religionist,  even  when  virulent  in  an  extreme  degree,  or  when 
most  absurd,  is  practically  a  more  mischievous  person  than 
for  instance,  the  adulterous  despoiler  of  domestic  peace,  or 
than  the  rapacious  dealer  in  human  souls  and  bodies.  Let  it 
be  true  that  the  Hypocrite  is  an  odious  being? — yes,  but  is 
not  the  Oppressor'also  detestable?  And  what  has  become 
of  the  philosophic  impartiality  of  the  Sage  (self-styed)  who 
will  spend  his  jovial  hours  at  the  table  of  the  Cruel  or  the 
Debauched,  while  all  he  can  bestow  upon  the  victims  of 
religious  extravagance,  is  the  bitterness  of  his  contempt? 
There  is  a  manifest  inconsistency  here  of  which  surely  those 
should  be  able  to  give  a  good  account  who,  themselves,  are 
far  too  wise  than  to  be  religious. 

We  leave  this  difficulty  in  the  hands  of  the  parties  it  may 
concern,  and  proceed  to  say  that  emotions  altogether  strange 
to  frigid  and  sardonic  tempers,  must  have  conic  within  the 
experience  of  whoever  would  truly  comprehend  the  malady 
of  the  fanatic  or  the  enthusiast;  and  much  more  so,  if  he  is 
attempting  to  restore  the  disordered  spirit  to  soundness  of 
health.  Mere  intellectualists,  as  well  as  men  of  pleasure, 
know  just  so  much  of  human  nature  as  their  own  frivolous 
sentiments  may  serve  to  give  them  a  sense  of:  all  that  lies 
deeper  than  these  slender  feelings,  or  that  stretches  beyond 
this  limited  range,  is  to  them  a  riddle  and  a  mockery.  But 
it  may  happen  that  a  mind  natively  sound,  and  one  now 
governed  by  the  firmest  principles,  has  in  an  early  stage,  or 
in  some  short  era  of  its  course,  so  far  yielded  to  the  influence 
of  irregular  or  vehement  sentiments  as  to  give  it  ever  after  a 
sympathy,  even  with  the  most  extreme  cases  of  the  same 
order;  so  that,  by  the  combined  aid  of  personal  experience 
and  observation,  the  profound  abyss  wherein  exorbitant  re- 
ligious ideas  take  their  course  may  successfully  be  explored; 
nor  merely  explored,  but  its  fearful  contents  brought  forth 
and  described,  and  this  too  in  the  spirit  of  Inimani/i/,  or  with 
the  feeling  of  one  who,  far  from  affecting  to  look  down  as 
from  a  pinnacle  upon  the  follies  of  his  fellow-men,  speaks  in 
kindness  of  their  errors,  as  being  himself  liable  to  every  in- 
firmity that  besets  the  human  heart  and  iiiulerstanding. 

Never,  in  fact,  have  we  more  urgent  need  of  a  settled  prin- 
ciple of  pliilanthropy  than  when  we  set  foot  upon  the  ground 
of  religious  delusion.  Nowhere,  so  much  as  there,  is  it 
necessary  to  be  resolute  in  our  good-will  to  man,  and  fixed  in 
our  respect  for  him  too,  even  while  the  strictness  of  import- 
ant principles  is  not  at  all  relaxed.  Far  more  easy  is  it  to 
be  contemptuously  bland,  than  kind  and  firm  on  occasions  of 
this  sort.  We  have  only  to  abandon  our  concern  for  serious 
truths,  and  then  may  be  indulgent  to  the  worst  enormities. 
But  this  were  a  cruel  charity,  and  a  farce  too;  and  we  must 
seek  a  much  surer  foundation  for  that  love  which  is  to  be  the 
consort  of  knowledge. 

A  personal  consciousness  of  the  readiness  with  whi:h  even 
the  most  egregious  or  dangerous  perversions  of  feeling  at  first 
recommend  themselves  to  the  human  mind,  and  soon  gain 
sovereiirn  control  over  it,  is  needed  to  place  us  in  the  position 
we  ought  to  occupy  whenever  such  evils  are  to  be  made  the 
subject  of  animadversion.  And  if,  with  the  light  of  Chris- 
tianity full  around  us,  and  with  the  advantages  of  general 
intelligence  on  our  side,  we  yet  cannot  boast  of  having  enjoyed 
an  entire  exemption  from  false  or  culpable  religious  emotions, 
what  sentiment  but  ]iity  should  be  harboured  when  we  come 
to  think  of  tliose  who,  boru  beneath  a  malignant  star,  have 
walked  by  no  other  light  than  the  lurid  glare  of  portentous 
superstitions?  A  check  must  even  be  put  to  those  strong 
and  involuntary  emotions  of  indignation  with  which  we  con- 
template the  hateful  course  of  the  spiritual  despot  and  perse- 
cu'or.  Outlaw  of  humanity,  and  offspring,  as  he  seems,  of 
inl'ernals,  he  may  command  also  a  measure  of  indulgence  as 
tlie  child  of  some  false  system  which,  by  a  slow  accumula- 
tion of  noxious  qualities,  has  grown  to  be  far  more  malign 
thaii  its  authors  would  have  made  it.  Besides,  there  may  re- 
volve within  the  abyss  of  the  human  heart  (as  history  com- 


pels us  to  admit)  a  world  of  wondrous  inconsistencies;  and 
especially  so  when  religious  infatuations  come  in  to  trouble 
it.  How  often  has  there  been  seen  upon  the  stage  of  human 
affairs  beings — must  we  call  them  men  ?  who,  with  hands 
sodden  in  bfood— blood  of  their  brethren,  have  challenged  to 
themselves,  and  on  no  slender  grounds,  the  praise  of  a  species 
of  virtue  and  greatness  of  soul ! 

The  very  same  spirit  of  kindness  which  should  rule  us  in 
the  performance  of  a  task  such  as  the  one  now  in  hand,  must 
also  furnish  the  necessary  motive  for  the  arduous  undertak- 
ing. Is  it  a  matter  of  curious  description  only,  or  of  enter- 
tainment, or  even  with  the  more  worthy,  though  secondary 
purpose  of  philosophical  inquiry-,  that  we  are  to  pass  over  the 
irround  of  religious  extravagance  ?  Any  such  intention  would 
be  found  to  lack  impulse  enough  for  the  labour.  There  are 
however  at  hand  motives  of  an  incomparably  higher  order, 
and  of  far  greater  force,  and  these  (or  some  of  them  at  least) 
have  a  peculiar  urgency  in  reference  to  the  present  moment. 
To  these  motives  too  much  importance  cannot  be  attributed  ; 
and  it  will  be  well  that  we  should  here  distinctly  bring  them 
to  view. 

.■VU  devout  minds  are  now  intent  upon  the  hope  of  the  over- 
throw of  old  superstitions,  and  of  the  universal  spread  of  the 
Gospel.  But  the  spread  of  the  Gospel,  as  we  are  warranted 
to  believe,  implies  and  demands  iu  clear  separation  from  all 
those  false  sentiments  and  exaggerated  or  mischievous  modes 
of  feeling  which  heretofore,  and  so  often,  have  embarrassed 
its  course.  In  a  word,  Christianity  must  free  itself  from  all 
entanglement  with  malignant  or  exorbitant  passions,  if  it 
would  break  over  its  present  boundaries.  Is  the  world  to  be 
converted — are  the  nations  to  be  brought  home  to  God  ?  Yes  ; 
but  this  supposes  that  the  Christian  body  should  awake  from 
every  illusion,  and  rid  itself  of  every  disgrace. 

True  indeed  it  is,  and  lamentable,  that  the  families  of  man 
have  remained  age  after  age  the  victims  of  error:  yet  this  has 
not  happened  because  there  has  not  been  extant  in  every  age, 
somewhere,  a  repository  of  truth,  and  an  Instrument,  or 
means  of  instruction.  If  even  now  superstition  and  impiety 
share  between  them  the  empire  of  almost  all  the  world,  it  is 
not  because  nothing  better  comes  within  the  reach  of  the 
human  mind,  or  because  nothing  more  benign  is  presented  to 
its  choice.  No — for  absolute  Truth,  Truth  from  heaven,  has 
long  sojourned  on  earth,  and  is  to  be  conversed  with.  W  hy 
then  do  the  people  still  sit  in  darkness?  The  question  may 
painfully  perplex  us,  yet  should  never  be  dismissed.  Rather 
a  genuine  and  intelligent  compassion  for  our  fellow-men  will 
lead  us  to  prosecute  with  intense  zeal  any  inquiry  which  may 
issue  in  the  purification  of  the  means  of  salvation  confided  to 
our  care.  If  the  Gospel  docs  not  (as  we  might  have  ex- 
pected, and  must  always  desire)  prevail  and  run  from  land  to 
land — the  anxious  question  recurs — what  arrests  its  progress? 

Besides  employing  ourselves  then  in  all  eligible  modes  for 
propagating  the  faith,  every  one  competent  to  the  task,  should 
institute  a  scrutiny,  at  home  and  abro:id,  in  quest  as  well 
of  open  hinderances  to  the  progress  of  the  Gospel,  as  of 
the  more  latent  or  obscure  causes  of  obstruction.  The  great 
work  in  an  age  of  Missions,  should  it  be  any  thing  else  than 
the  re-inauguration  of  Christianity  among  ourselves?  If  re- 
ligion— religion  we  mean,  not  as  found  on  parchments  or  in 
creeds,  but  in  the  bosoms  of  men,  were  indeed  what  once  it 
was,  it  would  doubtless  spread,  as  once  it  did,  from  heart  to 
heart,  and  from  city  to  city,  and  from  shore  to  shore.  The 
special  reason  therefore — or  the  riiGEN'T  reason,  why  we 
should  now  dismiss  from  our  own  bosoms  every  taint  of  su- 
perstition, and  every  residue  of  unbelief,  as  well  as  whatever 
is  fanatical,  factious,  or  uncharitable,  is  this — that  the  world — 
even  the  deluded  millions  of  our  brethren,  may  at  length  re- 
ceive the  blessings  of  the  Gospel. 

Although  we  were  looking  no  further  than  to  the  personal 
welfare  of  individuals,  it  would  always  seem  in  the  highest 
degree  desirable  that  whoever  believes  the  Gospel  should 
cast  off  infirmities  of  judgment — preposterous  suppositions — 
idle  and  debilitating  fears,  and  especially  should  come  free 
from  the  taint  of  malign  sentiments.  But  after  we  have  so 
tboucrht  of  the  individual,  must  we  not  give  a  renewed  atten- 
tion to  the  influence  he  may  exert  over  others  ?  No  one  "  liv- 
eth  to  himself." — An  efficacy,  vital  or  mortal,  emanates  from 
the  person  of  every  jirofessor  of  the  Gospel. — Every  man 
calling  himself  (in  a  special  sense)  a  Christian,  either  saves 
or  destroys  those  around  him  : — Such  is  the  rule  of  the  dis- 
pensation under  which  we  have  to  act.  It  pleases  not  the  Di- 
vine Power  (very  rare  cases  excepted)  to  operate  independ- 
ently of  that  living  and  rational  agency  to  which  even  the 
scheme  of  human  redemption  was  made  to  conform  itself. 


364 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


The  Saviour  of  men  "  became  flesh,  and  dwelt  among  us," 
because  no  violence  could  be  done,  even  on  the  most  urgent 
and  singular  of  all  occasions,  to  the  established  principles  of 
the  moral  system. — The  harmony  of  the  intellectual  world,  in 
the  constitution  of  which  the  Divine  Wisdom  is  so  signally 
displayed,  must  not  be  disturbed,  notwithstanding  that  the 
Eternal  Majesty  himself  was  coming  to  the  rescue  of  the 
lost;  and  in  this  illustrious  instance  we  have  a  proof,  appli 
cable  to  every  imaginable  case,  and  always  Sufficient  to  con- 
vince us — That  the  saving  mercy  of  God  to  man  moves  only 
along  the  line  of  rational  and  moral  agency  ; — that  if  a  sinner 
is  to  be  "  converted  from  the  error  of  his  way,"  it  must  be  by 
the  word  or  personal  influence  of  one  like  himself.  Was  it 
not  (other  purposes  being  granted)  to  give  sanction  to  this 
very  mode  of  procedure,  that  he  who  "  was  rich"  in  the  ful- 
ness of  divine  perfections,  "  became  poor,"  that  we,  through 
the  poverty  of  his  human  nature,  "might  be  made  rich?" 
Vain  supposition  then  that  God,  who  would  not  at  first  save 
the  world  at  the  cost,  or  to  the  damage  of  the  settled  maxims 
of  his  government,  shall  in  after  instances  wave  them  ;  or  put 
contempt  in  private  cases  upon  that  to  which  he  attributed 
the  highest  importance  on  the  most  notable  of  all  occasions  I 

Christianity,  such  as  it  actually  exists  in  the  bosoms  of 
those  who  entertain  it,  is  the  Instrument  of  God's  mercy  to 
the  world  : — and  the  Effect  in  every  age  will  be  as  is  the  In- 
strument. In  these  times  we  have  not  quite  lost  sio-ht  of  this 
great  principle;  much  less  do  we  deny  it : — and  yet  every 
day  we  give  more  attention  to  other  truths,  than  to  this.  We 
honour  tiie  capital  doctrine  of  the  agency  of  the  Spirit  of 
Grace  in  the  conversion  of  men ;  and  then  we  turn  to  proxi- 
mate and  visible  means,  and  pay  due  regard  to  all  the  ordi- 
nary instruments  of  instruction.  And  thus  having  rendered 
homage  in  just  proportion,  to  the  Divine  Power  and  sove- 
reignty on  the  one  hand,  and  to  human  industry  on  the  other, 
we  think  too  little  of  that  Middle  Truth  which,  nevertheless, 
to  ourselves  is  the  most  significant  of  the  three,  namely — That 
the  moral  and  intelligent  imstrumentality  from  the  which  the 
Sovereign  Grace  refuses  to  sever  itself,  is  nothing  else  than 
the  vital  force  which  animates  each  single  believer. 

Does  not  the  Omnipresent  Spirit,  rich  in  power  to  renovate 
human  hearts,  even  now  brood  over  the  populous  plains  and 
crowded  cities  of  India  and  of  China,  as  well  as  over  the 
cities  and  plains  of  England  1  Is  not  God — even  our  God, 
locally  present  among  the  dense  myriads  that  tread  the  pre- 
cincts of  idol  worship  ? — Is  He  not  ever,  and  in  all  places  at 
hand  ;  and  wherever  at  hand,  able  also  to  save  1  Yes,  but 
alas!  the  moral  and  rational  instrumentality  is  not  present  in 
those  dark  places;  and  the  immutable  law  of  the  spiritual 
world  forbids  that,  apart  from  this  system  of  means,  the  souls 
of  men  should  be  rescued. 

Nor  is  the  bare  presence  of  the  moral  and  rational  instru- 
ment of  conversion  enough;  for  its  Power  resides  in  its 
Quality.  The  very  same  law— awful  and  inviolable,  which 
demands  ii%  presence,  demands  also  its  quality,  as  the  condi- 
tion of  its  efficiency.  Yes,  indeed,  awful  and  inviolable 
law; — awful  because  inviolable;  and  awful  to  the  Church, 
because  it  makes  the  salvation  to  mankind,  in  each  suc- 
cessive generation,  to  lean  with  undivided  stress,  upon  the 
purity  and  vigor  of  faith  and  charity,  as  found  in  the  hearts  of 
the  Christians  of  each  age,  severally  and  collectively  I 

There  miglit,  we  grant,  seem  more  urgent  need  to  make  in- 
quiry concerning  the  intrinsic  condition  of  the  Christian  body 
in  those  times  when  its  diffusive  influence  had  sunk  to  the 
lowest  point,  or  seemed  quite  to  have  failed,  than  when  this 
influence  was  growing.  And  yet,  inasmuch  as  hope  is  a  mo- 
tive imcomparably  more  efficacious  than  despondency,  we 
should  be  prompt  to  avail  ourselves  of  its  aid  whenever  i 
makes  its  auspicious  appearance.  But  the  present  hour  is  an 
hour  of  hope  ; — let  us  then  seize  the  fair  occasion,  and  turn  it 
to  the  utmost  advantage.  This  age  of  expectation  is  the  time 
when  vigilance  and  scrutiny,  of  every  sort,  should  be  put  in 
movement,  and  should  be  directed  inward  upon  the  Church 
itself:  for  in  the  bosom  of  the  Church  rests  the  hope  of  the 
conversion  of  the  world  ? 

How  culpable,  then,  and  how  ignoble  too,  must  we  deem 
that  spirit  of  jealousy  or  reluctance  which  would  divert  such 
a  scrutiny,  as  if  the  honour  of  the  Gospel  were  better  secured 
by  cloaking  the  faults  of  its  adherents,  than  by  labouring  to 
dispel  them !  Shall  we,  as  Christians,  wish  to  creep  under 
the  shelter  of  a  corrupt  lenity  ^  Shall  we  secretly  wish  that 
the  time  may  never  come — or  at  least,  not  come  while  we  live, 
when  the  inveterate  and  deep-seated  errors  of  tlie  reliaious 
body  shall  be  fairly  dealt  with,  and  honestly  spread  to  the 
light  ?    ll  may  indeed  be  true  that  when  we  have  to  denounce 


the  flagrant  evils  that  abound  in  the  world,  and  when  open 
impiety  and  unbelief  are  to  be  reproved,  we  should  use  a  se- 
rious severity;  but  then,  when  we  turn  homeward,  shall  we 
at  once  moderate  our  tones,  and  drop  our  voice,  and  plead  for 
a  sort  of  indulgence,  as  the  favourites  of  heaven,  which  we 
are  by  no  means  forward  to  grant  to  the  uninstructed  and  irre- 
ligious portion  of  mankind  !  Shall  our  thunders  always  have 
a  distant  aim?  Alas!  how  many  generations  of  men  have 
already  lived  and  died  untaught,  wliile  the  Church  has  deli- 
cately smothered  her  failings,  and  has  asked  for  an  inobser- 
vant reverence  from  the  profane  world  !  True  it  is  that  the 
vices  of  heathens  and  infidels  are  grievous  ;  but  it  is  also  true 
that  the  vices  of  the  Church,  if  much  less  flagrant,  and  less 
mischievous  in  their  immediate  operation,  are  loaded  with  a 
peculiar  aggravation,  inasmuch  as  they  destroy  or  impair  the 
ONLY  EXISTING  MEANS  for  the  repression  and  extermination  of 
all  error  and  all  vice! 

If  then  the  alleged  dependence  of  the  religious  welfare  of 
mankind  upon  the  vigor  and  purity  of  the  Christian  body  be 
real,  we  find  a  full  apology  for  whatever  methods  (even  the 
most  rigorous)  that  may  conduce  to  its  cleansing.  All  we 
need  take  care  of  is  the  spirit  and  intention  of  our  reproofs. 
Should  there  be  any,  callinghimself  a  disciple  of  Christ,  who 
would  protest  against  such  impartial  proceedings,  he  might 
properly  be  told  that  the  inquiry  in  hand  is  too  "momentous, 
and  is  far  too  extensive  in  its  consequences,  than  that  it 
should  be  either  diverted  or  relinquished  in  deference  to  the 
feelings  or  interests  of  the  parties  immediately  concerned. — 
'  Be  it  so,'  we  might  say  to  the  reluctant  and  faulty  Christian, 
he  it  so,  that  your  spiritual  delinquencies  are  not  of  so  fatal  a 
kind  as  to  put  in  danger  your  personal  salvation  (an  assump- 
tion, by  the  way,  always  hazardous)  and  let  it  be  granted 
that  you  are  chargeable  only  with  certain  infirmities  of  judg- 
ment, or  with  mere  exuberances  in  temper  or  conduct; — yes, 
but  these  faults  in  you,  as  a  Christian,  and  especially  at  the 
present  critical  moment,  exert  a  negative  power,  the  circle  of 
which  none  can  measure.  Can  you  then  desire  that  we 
should  exercise  a  scrupulous  tenderness  toward  you,  while 
we  forget  pity  towards  the  millions  of  mankind?  Nay, 
rather,  let  every  instrument  of  correction,  and  the  most  severe, 
be  put  in  play,  which  may  seem  needful  for  restoring  its  pro- 
per force  to  the  Gospel — the  only  means  as  it  is  of  mercy  to 
the  world.'  No,  we  must  not  flinch,  although  the  sensitive- 
ness and  the  vanity  of  thousands  among  us  were  to  be  intense- 
ly hurt.  Let  all — all  be  humbled,  if  such  humiliation  is  indeed 
a  necessary  process  that  shall  facilitate  the  conversion  of  the 
world. 

Such  then  is  the  prime  motive  which  should  animate  the 
difficult  labour  we  have  in  hand.  But  there  are  other  rea- 
sons, nor  those  very  remote,  that  may  properly  be  kept  in 
view  when  it  is  attempted,  as  now,  to  lay  bare  the  pernicious 
sentiments  that  have  so  often  and  so  severely  afflicted  man- 
kind— If,  just  at  the  present  moment,  there  seems  little  or 
no  probability  that  sanguinary  and  malignant  superstitions 
should  regain  their  lost  ascendancy,  can  we  say  it  is  certain 
that  no  such  evils,  congruous  as  they  are  with  the  imiversal 
passions  of  man,  shall  henceforth  be  generated,  and  burst 
abroad  '?  Manifest  as  it  is  that  the  human  mind  has  a  lean- 
ing toward  gloomy  and  cruel  excesses  in  matters  of  religion, 
whence  can  we  derive  a  firm  persuasion  that  this  tendency 
shall,  in  all  future  ages,  be  held  as  much  in  check  as  now  it 
is  ■? — Not  surely  from  broad  and  comprehensive  calculations, 
such  as  a  sound  philosophy  authenticates.  The  sujiposition 
that  human  nature  has  forever  discarded  certain  powerful 
emotions  which  awhile  ago  raged  within  its  circle,  must  be 
deemed  frivolous  and  absurd.  How  soon  may  we  be 
taught  to  estimate  more  wisely  the  forces  we  have  to  guard 
against  in  our  political  and  religious  speculations!  The 
frigid  indiflierence  and  levity  we  see  around  us  is  but  the 
fashion  of  a  day ;  and  a  day  may  see  it  exchanged  for  the  ut- 
most extravagance,  and  for  the  highest  frenzy  of  fanatical 
zeal.  Human  nature,  let  us  be  assured,  is  a  more  profound 
and  boisterous  element  than  we  are  apt  to  imagine,  when  it 
has  happened  to  us  for  a  length  of  time  to  stand  upon  the 
brink  of  the  abyss  in  a  summer  season,  idly  gazing  upon  the 
rippled  surface — gay  in  froth  and  sunbeams.  What  shall  be 
the  movements  of  the  deep,  and  what  the  thunder  of  its  rage, 
at  night-fall,  and  when  the  winds  are  up  ! 

Nothing  less  than  the  ample  testimon}-  of  history  can  sup- 
port general  conclusions  as  to  what  is  probable  or  not,  in  the 
course  of  events.  And  yet  even  the  events  of  the  last  few 
years  might  be  enough  to  prove  that  mankind,  whatever  may 
be  the  boasted  advance  of  civilization,  has  by  no  means  out- 
grown its  propensity  to  indulge  vindictive  passions.     Or  can 


FANATICISiM. 


365 


we  have  looked  around  during  our  own  era,  and  believe  that 
the  fascinations  of  impudent  imposture  and  egregious  delusion 
are  quite  spent  and  gone  1  Rather  let  it  be  assum^d  as  pro- 
bable, at  least  as  not  impossible,  that  whatever  intemperance, 
whatever  atrocitj-,  whatever  foil}-,  history  !a}S  to  the  charge 
of  man,  shall  be  repeated,  perhaps  in  our  own  age,  perhaps 
in  the  nest. 

The  security  which  some  may  presume  upon,  against  the 
reappearance  of  religious  excesses,  if  founded  on  the  pres- 
ent diffusion  of  intellectual  and  Biblical  light,  is  likely  to 
prove  fallacious  in  two  capital  respects.  In  the  first  place, 
the  inference  is  faulty  because  this  spread  of  knowledge  (in 
both  kinds)  though  indeed  wide  and  remarkable — or  remark- 
able by  comparison,  is  still  in  fact  very  limited,  and  its  range 
bears  an  inconsiderable  proportion  to  the  broad  surface  of  soci- 
ety, even  in  the  most  enlightened  communities.  Ifacertain 
number  has  reached  that  degree  of  intelligence  which  may  be 
reckoned  to  exclude  altogether  the  probability  of  violent 
movements,  the  dense  masses  of  soeiet)',  on  all  sides,  have 
hitherto  scarcely  been  blessed  by  a  ray  of  genuine  illumina- 
tion; moreover,  there  is  in  our  own  countrj',  and  in  every 
country  of  Europe,  a  numerous  middle  class,  whose  progress 
in  knowledge  is  of  that  sort  which,  while  it  fails  to  insure 
moderation  or  control  of  the  passions,  renders  the  mind  only 
so  niHch  the  more  susceptible  of  imaginative  excitements. 
Torpor,  it  is  true,  has  to  a  great  extent  been  dispelled  from 
the  European  social  system;  but  who  shall  say  in  what 
manner,  or  to  what  purposes,  the  returning  powers  of 
life  shall  be  employed  ?  In  now  looking  upon  the  popu- 
lace of  the  civilized  world,  such  as  the  revolutionarj-  ex- 
citements of  the  last  fifty  years  have  made  it,  one  might  fancy 
to  see  a  creature  of  gigantic  proportions  just  rousing  itself, 
after  a  long  trance,  and  preparirig  to  move  and  act  among  the 
living.  But,  what  shall  be  its  deeds,  and  what  its  tem- 
per ] — The  most  opposite  expectations  might  be  made  to  ap- 
pear reasonable.  Every  thing  favourable  may  be  hoped 
for ; — whatever  is  appalling  may  be  feared.  At  least  we 
may  affirm  that  the  belief  entertained  by  some,  that  great  agi- 
tations may  not  again  produce  great  excesses;  or  that  egre- 
gious delusions  maj-  not  once  more,  even  on  the  illuminated 
field  of  European  affairs,  draw  after  them,  as  in  other  ages, 
myriads  of  votaries,  rests  upon  no  solid  grounds  of  experience 
or  philosophy,  and  will  bo  adopted  only  by  those  who  judge 
of  human  nature  from  partial  or  transient  aspects,  or  who 
think  that  the  frivolous  incidents  of  yesterday  and  to-day 
afford  a  sufficient  sample  of  all  Time. 

But  a  persuasion  of  this  sort,  founded  on  the  spread  of  in- 
telligence, whether  secular  or  religious,  seems  faulty  in  an- 
other manner — namely,  in  attributing  to  knowledge,  of  either 
kind,  more  influence  than  it  is  actually  found  to  exert  over 
tlie  passions  and  the  imagination  of  the  bulk  of  mankind. 
Education  does  indeed  produce,  in  full,  its  proper  effect  to 
moderate  the  emotions,  and  as  a  preservative  against  delu- 
sion, in  cold,  arid,  and  calculating  spirits;  and  it  exerts  also, 
in  a  good  degree,  the  same  sort  of  salutary  influence  over 
even  the  most  turbulent  or  susceptible  minds,  up  to  that 
critical  moment  when  the  ordinary  counterpoise  of  reason  is 
overborne,  and  when  some  paramount  motive  gains  ascend- 
anc}'.  This  sudden  overthrow  of  restraining  principles — an 
overthrow  to  which  sanguine  and  imaginative  temperaments 
are  always  liable,  is  not  often  duly  allowed  for  when  it  is 
attempted  to  forecast  the  course  of  human  affairs.  We  form 
our  estimate  of  moral  causes  accordiiig  to  that  rate  of  power 
at  which  we  observe  ihera  now  to  be  moving;  but  fail  to 
anticipate  what  they  shall  become,  perhaps  the  next  instant, 
that  is  to  say,  when  existing  restraints  of  usage  or  feeling 
lia%'e  been  burst  asunder. 

The  rush  of  the  passions,  on  such  occasions,  is  impetuous, 
just  in  proportion  to  the  force  that  may  have  been  over- 
thrown ;  and  whatever  has  given  way  before  the  torrent,  goes 
forward  to  swell  the  tide.  There  are  those  who,  from  their 
personal  history,  might  confirm  the  truth  that,  when  they 
have  fallen,  their  fall  was  aggravated,  not  softened,  by  what- 
ever advantages  the}'  possessed  of  intelligence  or  sensibility. 
And  it  is  especially  to  be  observed  that,  when  the  balance 
of  the  mind  has  once  been  lost,  the  power  of  intelligence  or 
of  knowledge  to  enhance  the  vehemence  of  malignant  emo- 
tions, or  to  exaggerate  preposterous  conceits,  is  immeasura 
bly  greater  on  occasions  of  general  excitement,  or  of  public 
delusion,  than  in  the  instance  of  private  and  individual  errors. 
"Whence  in  fact  docs  knowledge  draw  the  chief  part  of  its 
controlling  force  over  the  mind,  but  from  the  susceptibility  it 
engenders  to  the  opinions  of  those  around  us  1  In  entering 
the  commonwealth  of  intelligence,  do  we  not  come  under  an 


influence  that  will  probably  out-measure  the  accession  we 
may  make  of  personal  power  1  It  is  only  on  particular  occa- 
sions that  we  regulate  our  conduct,  or  repress  the  violence  of 
passion  by  self-derived  inferences  from  what  we  know  ;  while 
ordinarilj'  and  almost  unconsciously,  we  a)>ply  to  our  modes 
of  action  and  to  our  sentiments,  those  general  maxims  that 
float  in  the  societj'  of  which  we  are  members.  If  every 
man's  personal  intelligence  absolutely  governed  his  beha- 
viour, the  empire  of  knowledge  would  indeed  be  much  more 
firm  than  it  is,  because  truth  would  take  effect  at  all  points  of 
the  surface  of  society,  instead  of  touching  only  a  f.'w.  But 
this  not  being  the  fact,  whatever  blind  impulse  awakens  the 
passions  of  mankind  affects  all,  individually,  in  a  degree  that 
bears  little  relation  to  the  individual  intelligence  of  each. 
The  movements  of  a  community  when  once  excited,  are  far 
more  passionate  and  less  rational,  than  an  estimate  of  its 
average  intelligence  might  lead  us  to  expect. 

If  it  be  so,  it  must  happen  that  when  once  a  turn  is  made 
in  the  general  tendency  of  men's  feelin<;s — when  once  a  cer- 
tain order  of  sentiment,  or  a  certain  course  of  conduct  has 
come  to  be  authenticated  ; — if,  for  example,  some  dark,  cruel, 
or  profligate  rule  of  policy  is  assented  to  as  necessary  or 
just,  all  men  in  particular,  in  yielding  themselves  to  the 
stream  of  affairs,  will  plunge  into  it  with  an  impetuosity  pro- 
[lortioued  to  their  personal  intelligence  and  energj'  of  mind. 
Every  man  in  assenting  to  the  general  conclusion,  because 
assented  to  by  others,  would  strengthen  himself  and  others, 
ill  the  common  purpose,  by  all  those  means  of  knowledge 
and  powers  of  argument  which  he  possessed.  If  the  error 
or  extravagance  had  been  his  own,  exclusively,  his  faculty 
and  furniture  of  mind  would  have  been  employed  in  defend- 
ing himself  from  the  assaults  of  other  tnen's  good  sense;  and 
human  nature  does  not,  under  such  circumstances,  often 
accumulate  such  force.  But  the  same  faculties  moving  for- 
ward with  the  multitude,  on  a  broad  triumphant  road,  swell 
and  expand  and  possess  themselves  of  the  full  dominion  of 
the  soul. 

At  this  present  moment  of  general  indifference  the  break- 
ing forth  of  any  species  of  fanaticism  may  seem  highly 
improbable.  We  ought  however  to  look  beyond  to-day  and 
yesterday; — we  should  survey  the  general  face  of  history, 
and  should  inspect  too  the  depths  of  the  human  heart,  and 
calculate  the  power  of  its  stronger  passions.  Disbelief  is 
the  cphemeron  of  our  times;  but  disbelief,  far  from  being 
natural  to  man,  can  never  be  more  than  a  reaction  that  comes 
on,  as  a  faintness,  after  a  season  of  credulity  and  supersti- 
tion. And  how  soon  may  a  revulsion  take  place !  How 
soon,  after  the  hour  of  exhaustion  has  gone  by,  may  the 
pleasurable  excitements  of  high  belief  and  of  unbounded  confi- 
dence be  eagerly  courted  I — courted  by  the  vulgar  in  compli- 
ance with  its  relish  of  whatever  is  pungent  and  intense ; — 
courted  by  the  noble  as  a  means,  or  as  a  pretext  of  power; — 
courted  by  the  frivolous  as  a  relief  from  lassitude ;  and  by 
the  profound  and  thoughtful,  as  the  proper  clement  of  minds 
of  that  order ! 

Whenever  the  turn  of  belief  shall  come  round  (we  are 
not  here  speaking  of  a  genuine  religious  faith),  empassioncd 
sentiments,  of  all  kinds,  will  follow  without  delay  :  nor  can 
any  thing  less  than  a  revival  of  Christianity  in  its  fullest 
force  then  avail  to  ward  off  those  excesses  of  fanaticism  and 
intolerance,  and  spiritual  arrogance,  which  heretofore  have 
raged  in  the  world.  The  connexion  of  credulitv  with  viru- 
LENX'E  is  deep  seated  in  the  principles  of  human  nqture,  and 
it  should  not  be  deemed  impertinent  or  unseasonable  at  any 
time  to  attempt  to  trace  to  its  origin  this  order  of  sentiments, 
or  to  lay  bare  the  fibres  of  its  strength  : — unless,  indeed,  we 
will  profess  to  think  that  man  is  no  more  what  once  he  was. 


SECTION  II. 

THE  MEANING  OF  TERMS RISE  OF  THE  MALIGN  EMOTIONS. 

Every  term,  whether  popular  or  scientific,  which  maybe 
employed  to  designate  the  affections  or  the  individual  dispo- 
sitions of  the  human  mind,  is  more  or  less  indeterminate, 
and  is  liable  to  many  loose  and  improper  extensions  of  the 
sense  which  a  strict  definition  might  assign  to  it.  This  dis- 
advantage— the  irremediable  grievance  of  inlfllectual  philos- 
ophy, has  its  origin  in  the  obscurity  and  intricacy  of  the 
subject ;  and  is  besides  much  aggravated  hy  the  changing 


3Gti 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


fashions  of  speech,  whieh  neither  observe  scientific  precision, 
nor  are  watclied  over  with  any  care.  Men  speali  not  entirely 
as  they  think;  but  as  they  thiiili  and  hear;  and  in  what 
relates  to  things  impalpable  few  either  think  or  hear  atten- 
tively. All  ethical  and  religious  phrases,  and  those  psycho- 
logical terras  which  derive  their  specific  sense  from  the 
principles  of  religion,  besides  partaking  fully  of  the  above- 
named  disparagements,  common  to  intellectual  subjects,  la- 
bour under  a  peculiar  inconvenience,  not  shared  by  any 
others  of  tliat  class.  For  if  the  mass  of  men  are  inaccurate 
and  capricious  in  their  mode  of  employing  the  abstruse  por- 
tion of  language,  they  entertain  too  often,  in  what  relates  to 
religion,  certain  capital  errors — errors  which  ordinarily  pos- 
sess the  force  and  activity  of  virulent  prejudices,  and  which 
impart  to  their  modes  of  speaking,  not  indistinctness  indeed, 
but  the  vivid  and  positive  colours  of  a  strong  delusion. 

3t  is  not  the  small  minority  of  persons  soundly  informed 
in  matters  of  religion,  that  gives  law  to  the  language  of  a 
country  ; — or  even  if  it  did,  this  class  is  not  generally  quali- 
fied, by  habits  or  education,  to  fix  and  authenticate  a  pbilo- 
sophical  nomenclature.  From  these  peculiar  disadvantages 
it  inevitably  follows  that  when,  by  giving  attention  to  facts, 
we  have  obtained  precise  notions  on  subjects  of  this  sort,  or 
at  least  have  approximated  to  truth,  it  will  be  found  imprac- 
ticable to  adjust  the  result  of  our  inquiries  to  the  popular 
and  established  sense  of  any  of  the  terms  which  may  otfcr 
themselves  to  our  option.  'J'he  mass  of  mankind,  besides 
their  backwardness  always  to  exchange  a  loose  and  vague, 
for  a  definite  and  restricted  notion,  do  not  fail  to  descry,  in 
any  definition  that  is  at  once  philosophical  and  relii^ious, 
some  cause  of  offence. — The  new-sharpened  phrase  is  felt  to 
have  an  edge  that  wounds  inveterate  prejudice,  and  rankles 
in  the  heart;  and  the  writer  who  is  seen  to  be  thus  whetting 
afresh  his  words,  is  deemed  to  entertain  a  hostile  purpose, 
and  is  met  with  a  correspondent  hostility.  Nor  is  much 
more  favour  to  be  looked  for  from  the  religious  classes  who, 
always  alarmed  at  tlie  slightest  change  in  venerable  modes 
of  speech,  will  scent  a  heresy  in  every  such  definition. 

If  then  new  terms  are  not  to  be  created  (a  procedure  al- 
ways undesirable),  and  if  the  intolerable  inconvenience  of  a 
ponderous  periphrasis  is  also  to  be  avoided,  the  best  that  can 
be  done,  amid  so  many  difficulties,  is  to  select  a  phrase 
which,  more  nearly  than  any  other  (of  those  commonly  in 
use)  conveys  the  notion  we  have  obtained ;  and  then  to  ap- 
pend a  caution,  explicit  or  implied,  against  the  misunder- 
standings to  which  the  writer,  from  the  peculiar  circumstances 
of  the  case,  is  exposed. 

In  the  instance  of  every  term  connected  with  religious 
principles  or  modes  of  feeling,  there  must  of  course  be  ad- 
milted  a  far  wider  departure  from  the  etymological  or  ancient, 
than  from  the  modern  and  popular  sense  they  bear.  If  the 
recent  and  vulgar  meaning  of  such  phrases  bo  incorrect,  or 
delusive,  how  much  more  so  must  be  the  remote  and  original 
meaning ! — Whither  does  the  etymon  carry  us,  but  to  alto- 
gether a  foreign  region  of  thought^  In  matters  of  religion 
a  revolution  has  taken  place,  upon  all  lettered  nations,  which, 
while  it  leaves  human  nature  the  same,  has  imparted  a  new 
substance,  a  new  form,  and  a  new  relative  position,  to  every 
notion  that  respects  Invisible  Power,  and  human  conduct. 

Preposterous  therefore  would  be  the  pedantry  of  a  writer 
who,  in  discoursing,  for  example,  of  Superstition,  or  Enthusi- 
asm, should  confine  himself  to  such  a  definition  of  those 
terms  as  might  comport  with  tl\c  sense  they  bore,  centuries 
ago,  in  the  minds  of  Lucian,  Plutarch,  Epictetus,  or  Aristotle  ! 
Even  many  of  the  less  lluctuating  ethical  abstractions  liave 
dropped  almost  the  whole  of  their  primeval  sig[iificance  in 
the  course  of  ages.  Is  Jut^tice,  in  the  sense  of  an  Athenian 
populace,  or  in  the  sense  of  the  "  Senate  and  People  of 
Rome,"  the  justice  either  of  English  law,  or  of  English 
opinion  1  Has  the  Virtue  of  Sparta  much  analogy  with  the 
virtue  of  Christian  ethics?  Where,  in  modern  times  (except 
indeed  among  the  slaveholders  of  Kcpublican  America)  where 
shall  we  find  a  meaning  of  the  word  Lilin-ly  which  has  even 
a  remote  resemblance  to  the  sense  attachcil  to  it  by  the  fero- 
cious lords  of  miserable  Lacedaemonian  helots'? 

The  passions  of  man  are  permanent;  but  the  difference  be- 
tween polytheism  and  true  theology — how  much  soever  true 
theology  may  in  any  instance  be  encumbered  or  obscured,  is 
so  vast,  as  to  leave  nothing  that  belongs  to  the  circle  of  reli- 
gious emotion  unchanged. 

Thus  it  is  that  the  Fanatic  of  the  Grecian  and  Roman 
writers  is  hardly,  if  at  all,  to  be  recognized  as  predecessor  of 
the  Fanatic  of  Christendom;  and  allhough,  for  purposes  of 
illustration,  or  of  mere  curiosity,  we  may  hereafter  glance 


(once  and  again)  at  some  of  the  ancient  and  long-obsolete 
forms  of  religions  extravagance,  it  is  with  the  modern  species 
(practical  inferences  being  our  prime  object)  that  we  shall,  in 
the  following  pages,  chiefly  be  conversant. 

In  a  former  instance  (Natural  History  of  Eulhnsiasm)  the 
author  was  not  insensible  of  the  disadvantage  he  laboured 
under  in  adopting  a  phrase  which  perhaps  more  than  any 
other  (the  one  he  has  now  to  do  with  excepted)  is  employed 
in  every  imaginable  diversity  of  meaning,  and  to  which,  in 
truth,  every  man,  as  he  utters  it,  assigns  a  sense  that  reflects 
his  personal  rate  of  feeling  in  matters  of  religion.  One  man's 
Enthusiasm  being  oidy  another  man's  Sobriety.  Before 
such  diversities  can  be  harmonized  not  only  must  mankind 
be  taught  to  think  with  precision,  but  must  come  also  to  an 
agreement  on  the  great  principles  of  piety. 

Discordances,  still  more  extreme,  belong  to  the  popular 
senses  of  the  word  Fanaticism  ;  for  inasmuch  as  it  takes  up 
a  more  pungent  element  than  the  term  Enthusiasm,  it  com- 
monly draws  some  special  emphasis  from  the  virulence  or 
prejudices  of  the  mouth  whence  it  issues: — the  word  is  the 
favourite  missile  of  that  opprobrious  contempt  wherewith 
Irreligion  defends  itself  in  its  difficult  position;  and  it  is 
hurled  often  with  the  indiscriminate  vehemence  that  belongs 
to  infuriate  fear.  The  sense  attached  to  a  term  when  su  em- 
ployed must  of  course  diflor  immensely  from  that  wMch  it 
hears  in  the  mind  of  the  dispassionate  observer  of  mankind, 
and  especially  of  one  who  takes  up  the  truths  of  Christianity 
as  the  best  and  most  certain  clew  to  the  philosophy  of  human 
nature. 

Once  for  all,  then,  the  author  requests  the  reader  to  remem- 
ber that  he  is  not  professing  to  be  either  lexicographer  or 
scholastic  disputant ;  nor  does  he  assume  it  as  any  part  of  his 
business  to  adjust  the  nice  proprieties  of  language;  but  aims 
rather,  on  a  ver)'  important  subject,  to  make  himself  under- 
stood, while  he  describes  a  certain  class  of  pernicious  senti- 
ments, which  too  often  have  been  combined  with  religious 
belief.  In  another  volume  spurious  and  imaginative  religious 
emotions  were  spoken  otT:  our  present  task  is  to  describe  the 
various  combinations  of  the  same  spurious  pietism  with  the 
Malion  Passions. 

After  quite  rejecting  from  our  account  that  opprobrious 
sense  of  the  word  Fanaticism  which  the  virulent  calumniator 
of  religion  and  of  the  religious  assigns  to  it,  it  will  be  found, 
as  we  believe,  that  the  elementary  idea  attaching  to  the  term 
in  its  manifold  applications,  is  that  of _/?f/ (7 /oHs/crrour  in  reli- 
gion, rendered  turbulent,  morose  or  rancorous,  by  junction 
with  some  one  or  more  of  the  unsocial  emotions.  Or,  if  a 
definition  as  brief  as  possible  were  demanded,  we  should  say, 
that  Fanaticism  is  Enthusiasm  i.nklamed  bv  Hatred. 

A  glance  at  the  rise  and  reason  of  the  irascible  emotions 
will  facilitate  our  future  progress.  Our  subject  being  an  in- 
stance of  the  combination  of  these  emotions  with  other  prin- 
ciples, we  ought  distinctly  to  have  in  view  the  elements  ;  and 
to  note  also  some  of  their  coalescent  forms. 

The  diflicnlty  that  attends  analysis  in  the  science  of  mind 
(science  so  called)  belongs  in  a  peculiar  manner  to  those  in- 
stances in  whieh  we  endeavour  to  trace  the  original  construc- 
tion of  passions  or  impulses  that  scarcely  ever  present  them- 
selves otherwise  than  in  an  exaggerated  and  corrupted 
condition.  It  is  usual,  if  an  object  of  philosophic  curiosity 
be  obscure  or  evanescent,  to  single  out  for  examination  the 
most  marked  examples  of  the  class.  But  to  take  this  course 
in  an  analysis  of  the  passions  is  to  seek  for  primitive  ele- 
ments where  most  they  have  lost  their  original  form,  and  have 
sulfered  the  most  injury. 

What  the  contour  and  symmetry  of  the  moral  form  was,  as 
it  cams  from  the  hand  of  the  Creator,  may  be  more  readily 
determined  in  the  dry  method  of  ethical  definition,  than  vividly 
conceived  of;  and  this  is  especially  true  of  those  emotions 
which  imply  the  presence  of  evil.  How  delicate  is  the  task 
— if  indeed  it  be  a  practicable  one,  to  trace  the  line  between 
nature  (in  the  best  sense)  and  deformity — between  the  true 
and  false,  in  these  instances  !  And  yet,  not  the  most  rancor- 
ous or  foul  of  the  malign  sentiments  can  be  thought  any  thing 
else  than  a  disordered  state  of  some  power  indispensable  to 
the  constitution  of  a  rational  and  independent  agent.  We 
need  then  take  care  lest,  in  our  haste  to  condemn  what  is  evil, 
we  should  denounce  as  such  that  of  which  (Jod  himself  is 
author,  and  which,  if  we  think  closely,  cannot  even  be  con- 
criveil  of  as  altogether  wanting  in  a  being  placed  where  man 
is  placed. 

Within  a  certain  line  there  can  however  be  no  difficulty  in 
deciding  between  good  and  evil.  It  is  quite  obvious  that  a 
passion  or  appetite,  subservient  to  some  specific  purpose,  is 


FANATICISM. 


.-507 


in  an  irregular  state  when  it  overpasses  or  fails  to  secure 
that  purpose; — the  end  must  orive  law  to  tlie  means ;  and 
where  the  end  may  clearly  be  defined,  the  limit  which  the 
means  should  reach  is  not  hard  to  ascertain.  Either  by 
Excess  and  too  great  intensity — or  by  Perversion,  or  mis- 
direction from  their  proper  object — or  by  Prolongation  from 
momentary  impulses  to  habits  and  permanent  qualities,  as 
well  the  animal  appetites  as  the  irascible  passions  assume  a 
pernicious  form,  and  derange  the  harmony  of  nature. 

Which  of  the  emotions  or  desires  is  it  that  may  justly 
claim  to  be  not  subservient,  but  paramount,  and  may  therefore 
safely  be  prolonged,  and  impart  themselves  as  qualities  to 
the  mind.  Nature  distinctly  informs  us,  by  rendering  them 
always  agreeable ;  while  some  uneasiness,  or  even  positive 
pain,  is  attached  to  the  continuance  of  every  one  of  those 
feelings  which,  in  her  intention,  are  only  to  measure  out  a 
momentary  occasion,  and  which  ought  to  rise  and  disappear 
in  the  same  hour. 

It  is  thus,  we  need  hardly  say,  with  the  bodily  appetites, 
which  disturb  the  system  (as  well  corporeal  as  mental)  when- 
ever they  do  more  than  accomplish  their  definite  purpose. 
Indispensable  as  these  impulses  are  to  the  machiery  of  life, 
they  take  a  noxious  quality  when  they  are  detained :  their 
property  should  be  to  evaporate  without  residuum.  Each, 
moreover,  has  its  specific  object,  and  throws  every  other 
function  into  disorder  if  it  become  fastidious  ;  and  each  too 
must  observe  its  due  amount  of  force. 

The  same  is  true  of  all  forms  of  the  irascible  emotions,  and 
which  never  go  beyond  their  purpose,  and  especiallj'  can  never 
pass  into  dispositions,  without  vitiating  the  character.  Each 
single  instance  of  excessive  excitement  contributes,  shall  we 
say,  the  whole  amount  of  its  excess  to  the  formation  of  a 
habit  of  the  same  class ;  and  then  these  habits — emotions 
parted  from  their  occasions,  soon  run  into  some  sort  of  per- 
version, or  become  misdirected.  Unoccupied  desire  strays 
from  its  path,  and  attaches  itself  perniciously  to  whatever 
objects  it  may  meet.  It  is  thus  that  human  nature  subsides 
into  the  most  corrupted  states.  A  certain  mode  of  feeling  is 
generated,  of  the  utter  unreasonableness  of  which  the  mind  is 
dimly  conscious,  and  to  rid  itself  of  the  uneasy  sense  of 
being  absurd,  rushes  on  towards  sentiments  still  more  pre- 
posterous, that  by  tlieir  aid  it  may  quite  surround  itself  with 
false  impressions,  and  lose  all  recollection  of  calm  truths. 
As  there  is  an  intoxication  of  the  animal  appetites,  so  is  there 
an  intoxication  of  the  malign  passions ;  and  perhaps  if  we 
could  completely  analyse  some  extreme  instance  of  dark  and 
atrocious  hatred — hatred  when  it  constiti^es  the  fixed  condi- 
tion of  the  soul,  we  should  find  that  the  miserable  being  has 
become  what  he  is  by  the  impulse  of  a  perpetual  endeavour  to 
drown  self-reproach  and  inward  contempt  in  deeper  and  deeper 
draughts  of  the  cup  of  poison. 

Up  to  that  point  where  the  subordinate  principles  of  our 
nature  become  transmuted  into  permanent  qualities,  impart- 
ing a  character  to  the  mind,  it  is  easy  to  discern  their  reason 
and  propriety  as  constituents  of  the  physical  and  moral  life: 
nor  can  we  fail  to  perceive  that  each  is  attended  with  a  pro- 
vision for  restraining  it  within  due  limits.  Thus  it  is,  as  we 
have  said,  that  while  the  machinery  of  animal  life  is  impell- 
ed by  the  sense  of  pleasure  which  is  attached  to  the  brief 
activity  of  the  appetites,  an  admonitory  uneasiness  attends 
the  excessive  indulgence  or  protracted  excitement  of  them. 
Consistently  with  this  same  regard  to  ulterior  purposes,  the 
irascible  emotions  iiv  their  7>aiive  stale,  are  denied  any  attend- 
ant pleasurable  sense ;  or  at  most  so  small  an  element  of 
pleasure  belongs  to  them,  that  the  pain  consequent  upon  their 
excess  or  their  continuance  is  always  paramount.  The  dash  of 
gratification,  if  there  be  any,  does  but  give  momentary  life  to 
the  rising  energy,  and  then  passes  olT. 

The  irascible  passions  can  be  allowed  to  have  respect  to 
nothing  beyond  the  preservation  of  life,  or  of  its  enjoyments, 
in  those  unforeseen  occasions  when  no  other  means  but  an 
instantaneous  exertion  of  more  than  the  ordinary  force,  both 
of  body  and  mind,  and  especially  of  the  latter,  could  avail  for 
the  purpose  of  defence : — anger  is  the  safeguard  of  beinos 
not  housed,  like  the  tortoise,  within  an  impenetrable  crust ; 
and  if  man  had  been  born  cased  in  iron,  or  were  an  ethereal 
substance,  he  would  probably  have  been  furnished  with  no 
passionate  resentments.  Nevertheless  every  good  purpose 
of  such  emotions  has  been  answered  when  the  faculties  have 
received  that  degree  and  kind  of  stimulus  which  the  exi- 
gency of  the  moment  demanded  ;  and  their  continuance  must 
be  always  (if  it  were  nothing  worse)  a  waste  and  a  perversion 
of  power ;  since  the  conservative  ends  they  may  seem  to  have 
in  view  are  far  more  certainly  secured  by  other  means  when  the 


sudden  peril  is  gone  bj'.  Malign  dixposiliuns  and  vindictive 
huhils  are,  shall  we  say,  miserable  incumbrances  of  the  mind  ; 
as  if  a  man  would  sustain  the  load  of  bulkj-  armour,  night 
and  da)',  and  carry  shield  and  lance,  though  probably  he  will 
not  encounter  a  foe  once  in  the  year.  The  checks  of  opinion, 
tlie  motives  of  mutual  interest;  and  at  last  the  provisions  of 
law,  and  the  arm  of  the  body  politic,  are  in  readiness  to  de- 
fend us  from  every  aggression,  those  only  excepted  which 
must  be  repelled  at  the  instant  they  are  made,  or  not  at 
all. 

That  brisk  excitement  of  the  faculties  which  a  sudden 
perception  of  danger  occasions,  not  merely  bears  proportion 
to  the  nearness  and  extent  of  the  peril,  but  has  a  relation  to 
its  (juality  and  its  supposed  origin.  This  excitement,  to 
answer  its  end,  must  possess  an  affinity  with  the  aggressive 
cause.  The  repellant  power  must  be  such  as  is  the  assail- 
ant power.  A  quick  sympathy  with  the  hostile  purpose  of 
an  antagonist  belongs  to  the  emotion  at  the  impulse  of  which 
we  are  to  withstand  his  attack.  Simple^ar,  and  its  attendant 
courage,  are  enough  if  the  danger  we  have  to  meet  arises 
from  material  causes  only ;  or  if  a  mechanical  injury  is  all 
that  is  thought  of.  But  anger,  and  the  courage  peculiar  to 
anger,  is  called  up  when  mind  contends  with  mTnd,  that  is  to 
say,  when  an  injury  is  to  be  warded  olf  which  (whether  truly 
so  or  not)  we  believe  to  spring  from  the  inimical  intention  of 
a  being  like  ourselves.  In  this  case  matter  and  its  proper- 
ties are  forgotten,  or  are  thought  of  as  the  mere  instruments 
of  the  threatened  harm,  while  we  rouse  ourselves  to  grapple, 
sonl  against  soul  with  our  foe. 

For  the  very  same  reason  that  some  knowledge,  more  or 
less  accurate,  of  the  laws  of  matter  (whether  acquired  by  the 
methods  of  science,  or  by  common  experience)  is  indispensa- 
ble as  our  guide  in  avoiding  or  repelling  physical  evils,  so  is 
an  intuition  of  motives  necessary  to  our  safety  when  it  is  a 
hostile  purpose  that  originates  the  danger  we  a're  exposed  to. 
Successfully  to  resist  an  impending  harm,  we  must  rightly 
conceive  of  its  occult  cause. 

There  may  be  those  who  would  ask—"  Why  should  we 
suppose  these  irascible  emotions,  liable  as  they  are  to  abuse, 
and  destructive  as  they  often  become,  to  be  original  ingredi- 
dients  of  our  nature ;  or  why  needs  man  be  fu'rnished''witli 
any  impulses  more  potent  or  complex  than  those  given  him 
as  a  defence  against  physical  injuries  1"  The  answer  is  not 
difficult. — An  additional  motive  and  a  more  vigorous  spring  is 
needed  in  the  one  case  which  is  not  requisite  in  the  other, 
because  the  danger  in  the  one  is  of  a  far  more  recondite  qual- 
ity than  in  the  other,  and  demands  a  commensurate  provision. 
If,  for  our  safety,  we  must  know  to  what  extent,  at  what  dis- 
tances, and  under  what  conditions,  fire  may  destroy  or  tor- 
ment us;  we  must,  for  a  like  reason,  know  the  nature,  extent, 
and  conditions  of  the  harm  that  may  arise  from  the  rage  of  a 
furious  man.  Now  it  does  not  appear  that  the  extreme  exi- 
gency of  the  moment  could  be  met  in  any  way  so  efficaciously 
—if  at  all,  as  by  this  sudden  sympathy  with  the  ill  intention 
of  our  encm}- — a  syinpathy  wli'ich,  as  by  a  flash  of  conscious- 
ness, puts  us  into  possession  of  his  evil  purpose.  The  rage 
or  the  malice  of  the  aggressor,  thus  reflected  (if  dimly  y'et 
truly)  upon  the  imagination  of  whoever  is  its  object,  informs 
him  with  the  rapidity  of  lightning,  of  all  he  should  prepare 
himself  to  meet.  May  we  not  properly  admire  the  simplicity 
and  the  fitness  of  this  machinery? 

It  is  quite  another  question,  and  one  which  does  not  now 
press  upon  us— Whence  comes  that  first  malignant  purpose 
or  hostile  intention  against  which  the  irascible  emotions  are 
provided  !  Evil  existing  as  it  does,  we  are  here  concerned 
only  with  the  arrangement  made  for  repelling  it.  Let  it  then 
be  remembered,  that  inasmuch  as  the  hostile  powers  of  mind 
are  far  more  pernicious,  because  more  various,  insidious  and 
pertinacious  than  those  of  matter  (which  can  move  only  in  a 
single  direction)  there  is  required  more  motive  and  more 
energy  to  resist  them.  Now  this  necessary  accession  of 
power  is,  might  we  say,  borrowed  for  the  moment  when  it  is 
wanted,  by  sympathy  from  the  aggressor.  He  who  rises  in 
fatal  rage  upon  his  fellow,  does,  by  the  contrivance  of  nature, 
and  at  the  very  instant  of  his  violent  act,  put  into  the  hand 
of  his  victim  a  weapon  that  may  actually  avert  the  stroke. 
The  vicious  and  exaggerated  condition  in  which  these  pas- 
sions usually  present  themselves  (a  condition  accidental,  not 
necessary)  should  not  prevent  our  assigning  to  the  wisdom 
and  benignity  of  the  Creator  what  conspicuously  exhibits 
both.  And  surely  it  is  becoming  to  us  to  rescue  (if  so  we 
may  speak)  the  praise  of  the  Supreme  in  those  instances 
where  most  it  is  obscured  by  the  evils  that  have  supervened 
upon  his  work. 


368 


CHRISTIAN     LIBRARY. 


Yet  all  we  see  around  us  of  the  wisdom  and  benevolence 
of  the  Author  of  Nature,  especially  as  displayed  in  the  con- 
stitution of  the  sentient  orders,  would  stand  contradicted  if 
it  appeared  that  passionate  resentments  were  otherwise  than 
painful.*  In  fact  we  do  not  find  them  to  be  entertained  as 
modes  of  trratificalion  until  after  they  have  gone  into  the  un- 
natural condition  of  permanent  qualities;  and  even  then  the 
gratification,  if  such  it  can  be  called,  is  wrung  out  from  the 
very  torments  of  the  heart.  When  indeed  these  dark  emotions 
have  formed  alliance  with  imaginative  sentiments,  they  at 
once  lose  a  portion  of  their  virulence,  and  borrow  a  sense  of 
pleasure,  which  may  become  very  vivid.  Some  remarka- 
ble cases  of  this  sort  our  proper  subject  will  lead  us  to  con- 
sider. 

'I'here  is,  however,  an  instance  that  may  seem  to  be  at  va- 
riance with  our  assumptions ;  and  it  is  one  which  should  be 
fairly  looked  at.  Of  what  sort  then  is  the  pleasure  of  con- 
summated revenge  ;  and  whence  does  it  spring  1 — or  must 
we  trace  it  to  the  original  constitution  of  the  mind  1  To  an- 
swer such  a  question  we  should  go  back  to  the  elements  of 
the  moral  sense.  Let  it  then  be  remembered  that  this  sense, 
indispensable  as  it  is  to  rational  agency  and  to  responsibility, 
implies,  not  only  a  consciousness  of  ph  asure  in  the  view  of 
what  is  good,  benign,  and  generous;  but  an  equal  and  cor- 
respondent feeling  (necessarily  jiainful)  towards  the  opposite 
qualities,  whether  of  single  actions  or  of  character.  We 
cannot  so  much  as  form  a  conception  of  a  moral  sense  that 
should  possess  one  of  these  faculties  apart  from  the  other: — 
as  well  suppose  the  eye  to  be  percipient  of  light,  but  uncon- 
scious of  darkness.  The  power  of  approval  is  a  nullity,  if  it 
do  not  involve  a  power  of  disapproval  and  disgust.  What 
sort  of  lanouid  and  vague  instinct  were  it,  which,  though  ca- 
pable of  high  delight  in  the  comtemplation  of  virtue  and  be- 
neficence, should  look  listlessly  and  without  emotion  upon 
the  infliction  of  wanton  torture,  or  upon  acts  of  injustice, 
fraud,  or  impurity  ?  We  may  indeed  imagine  a  world  into 
wliich  no  evils  and  no  discords  or  deformities  should  gain 
admission  ;  but  it  is  impossible  to  conceive  of  sentient  beings 
endowed  with  faculties  of  pleasure,  such  as  should  involve 
no  power  of  suffering.  Whoever  would  be  capable  of  exalt- 
ed happiness  must  undergo  the  possibility  of  misery,  equally 
intense ;  or  if  the  power  of  enjoyment  be  greater  than  the 
power  of  suft'ering,  the  whole  amount  of  the  difference  is  just 
so  much  torpor,  or  so  much  relaxation.  A  sense  or  facultj' 
may  indeed  be  numbed  or  paralyzed ;  but  although  such 
damage  should  secure  an  exemption  from  pain,  no  one  would 
boast  of  it  as  a  natural  perfection. 

The  sense  of  fitness,  whence  arises  our  acquiescence  in 
retributive  proceedings,  as  well  penal  as  remunerative,  im- 
plies an  uneasiness  not  to  be  dismissed,  or  even  an  intense 
consciousness  of  pain,  so  long  as  merited  punishment  is  di- 
verted, or  delayed,  or  its  ultimate  arrival  is  held  in  doubt. 
Few  emotions,  perhaps  none,  are  more  racking  than  that 
which  attends  the  indeterminate  delaj'  of  righteous  retribu- 
tion. And  then,  as  every  facultj'  of  pleasure  involves  a  lia- 
bility to  pain,  so  does  a  sudden  release  from  pain,  mental  or 
bodily,  bring  with  it  a  sensation  which,  if  we  must  hesitate 

to  call  it  pleasure,  it  will  be  hard  to  designate  at  all Thus 

the  extreme  uneasiness  that  attends  the  delay  of  retribution, 
is,  when  at  length  relieved  by  the  infliction  of  due  punish- 
ment, followed  by  an  emotion  (very  transient  in  benignant 
minds)  which,  if  it  may  not  be  called  pleasurable,  must  re- 
main undescribed.  We  have  only  to  add  that,  as  the  exag- 
gerations of  self-love  render  the  common  desire  of  retribution 
intense — shall  we  say  intolerable,  if  se/f  be  the  sufferer,  so, 
and  in  the  same  degree,  will  the  pleasurable  sense  of  relief 
he  enhanced  when,  after  a  doubtful  delay,  ample  retribution 
alights  on  its  victim. — The  continuance,  or  the  brief  duration 
of  this  malign  gratification  might  well  be  taken  as  a  guao-e 
of  the  nobility  or  baseness  of  the  mind  that  entertains  it.  If 
a  generous  spirit  admits  at  all  any  such  emotion,  it  will  refuse 
to  give  it  lodgment  longer  than  a  moment,  and  will  gladly 
return  to  sentiments  of  compassion  and  forgiveness.  On  the 
contrary,  a  mind,  by  disposition  and  habit  rancorous,  derives 
-from  an  achieved  revenge  a  sweetness  not  soon  spent,  and 
which  is  resorted  to  year  after  year  as  a  cordial. 

So  jealous  is  Nature  of  her  constitutions,  that  she  rigorously 
visits  every  infringement  of  them.  To  revolve  or  entertain 
any  desire  at  a  distance  from  its  due  occasion,  and  in  the  ab- 
sence of  its  fit  object,  is  always  to  undergo  some  degree  of 
corruption  of  the  faculties— a  corruption  which,  if  not°check- 
ed,  spreads  as  a  canker  even  through  the  powers  of  animal 


Sf 


Sf'ytt    TOI^V    ^roj,    TTitU    KUTTOVfJiiir^Z' 


life.  All  kinds  of  introverted  mental  action,  even  of  the  most 
innocent  sort,  are  more  or  less  debilitating  to  both  mind  and 
body,  and  trebly  so  when  attended  by  powerful  emotions. 
Might  it  not  be  said,  that  health — both  animal  and  intellec- 
tual, is  Emanative  movement,  or  a  progression  from  the  cen- 
tre, outwards  :  and  is  not  disease  a  movement  in  the  reverse 
direction  %  Assuredly  those  vices  are  the  most  destructive, 
the  most  rancorous,  and  the  most  inveterate,  which  are  pecu- 
liarly meditative,  or  the  characteristic  of  which  is  rumination. 

By  extending  themselves  beyond  their  immediate  occasion, 
the  irascible  passions  are  quickly  converted  from  acts  into 
habits.  Thus  anger  becomes  petulance  or  hatred  : — wrath 
slides  into  cruelty  ;  disgust  into  inoroseness ;  dislike  into  en- 
vy ;  and  at  last  the  whole  course  of  nature  is  "  set  on  fire ;" 
or  worse,  undergoes  the  tortures  of  a  slow  and  smothered 
combustion. 

The  transition  of  the  passions  from  momentary  energies  to 
settled  dispositions,  does  not  advance  far  (much  less  does  it 
reach  its  completion)  without  the  aid  of  what  may  be  termed 
a  reverherative  process,  not  very  difficult  to  be  traced.  That 
quick  sympathy  which  vivifies  the  impressions  of  anger,  by 
attributing  an  ill  intention  to  him  who  assails  us,  accompa- 
nies, and  even  in  a  higher  degree,  the  same  class  of  feelings 
in  their  transmuted  form  of  permanent  sentiments.  A  maliga 
temper  imputes  to  an  adversary,  not  a  momentary  hostility; 
but  an  evil  nature  and  a  settled  animosity  like  its  own.  The 
supposition  takes  its  measure  and  its  quality  from  the  senti- 
ment whence  it  springs  ;  and  as  the  irascible  emotion  has  now 
become  a  constant  mood  of  the  mind,  so  is  malignant  char- 
acter made  over  and  assigned  to  whoever  is  its  object.  Evil 
passions  at  this  stage,  are  fast  attaining  their  maturity,  and 
fail  not  soon  to  gain  absolute  mastery  over  the  soul.  The 
meditation  of  evil  abroad,  inflames  evil  at  home :  the  infatu- 
ated being  in  idea  challenges  its  adversary  to  take  a  lodge- 
ment even  within  the  palpitating  ramparts  of  the  heart,  so 
that  the  conflict  may  go  on  as  an  intestine  war  at  all  hours, 
and  in  all  seasons  :  night  does  not  part  the  combatants;  nay 
rather  is  it  then  that,  like  other  savage  natures  which  stalk 
forth  from  their  lairs  in  the  dark,  envenomed  hatreds  (while 
children  of  peace  are  sleeping)  wake  up,  and  rend  their  prey. 

If  auger  be  simply  painful,  hatred  involves  the  very  sub- 
stance of  miser)'.  How  should  it  then,  we  may  ask,  subsist 
in  the  human  mind,  the  first  instinct  of  which  is  the  desire  of 
happiness  ?  Strong  as  is  this  instinct,  it  takes  effect  only 
under  certain  conditions.  There  are  circumstances  which 
impel  us  to  hold  even  our  love  of  enjoyment  in  abeyance,  or 
which  make  us  refuse  to  taste  the  least  gratification  until  the 
disturbance  of  feeling  that  has  happened  is  adjusted.  Do  not 
minds  of  a  sensitive  order  repel  every  solicitation  of  pleasure 
so  long  as  one  beloved  suffers  ;  and  this,  even  when  the  ob- 
ject of  fondness  is  far  distant,  and  quite  beyond  the  reach  of 
any  active  service?  The  happiness  of  those  we  love,  if  in- 
deed we  be  capable  of  love,  is  an  indispensable  condition  of 
our  own.  And  there  are  other  necessary  conditions  of  per- 
sonal peace,  and  some  so  inseparable  from  human  nature  that 
they  can  never  be  evaded.  Of  these  we  have  already  men- 
tioned that  which  belongs  to  the  Retributive  sentiment,  and 
which  forbids  us  to  rest  while  the  author  of  a  wrong  enjoys 
impunity. 

A  sort  of  fascination  leads  on  the  tortured  soul  that  is  the 
victim  of  these  feelings  in  a  double  line  ;  on  the  one  hand  it 
eagerly  pursues  its  desire  of  revenge;  and  on  the  other,  la- 
bours with  indefatigable  zeal  to  establish  its  own  conviction 
of  the  malignant  nature  of  its  adversary.  In  its  efforts  to  ob- 
tain this  double  satisfaction,  it  revolves  hourly  all  evidences, 
real  or  imaginary,  of  the  innate  atrocity  of  its  foe  ;  for  if  this 
point  were  but  fully  settled,  self  would  be  cleared  of  the  im- 
putation of  wrong,  and  the  arrival  of  retribution  would  seem 
so  much  the  more  probable.  But  far  from  reaching  a  definite 
conclusion  of  this  sort,  with  which  it  might  rest  satisfied,  and 
so  return  to  the  common  enjoyment  of  life,  the  racked  spirit 
feels  from  day  to  day  that  the  very  cogitation  of  its  doubt  on- 
ly enhances  the  motives  that  give  it  force.  Inflamed  and  in- 
satiate, the  distracted  being  returns  ever  and  again  to  the  salt 
stream  that,  at  every  draught,  aggravates  its  thirst !  In  this 
fever  of  the  heart  the  assuagement  of  the  inward  torment  by 
the  destruction  of  its  adversary,  is  the  only  happiness  it  can 
think  of. 

And  yet  even  the  most  extreme  and  deplorable  instances 
that  could  be  adduced  of  the  predominance  of  the  malignant 
passions,  would  serve  to  attest,  at  once,  the  excellence  of  the 
original  constitution  of  human  nature,  and  the  indestructible 
property  of  its  moral  instincts.  Not  the  most  furious  or  iras- 
cible of  men  can  indulge  his  passion  until  after  he  has  attri- 


FANATICISM. 


3G9 


Ijuted  ail  ill  iiitL-ntioii  to  the  object  of  his  wrath.  To  be  angry 
with  that  which  is  seen  and  confessed  to  be  innoxious  or  de- 
void of  hostile  feeling,  is  a  reach  of  malignity  that  lies  be- 
yond the  range  oi  human  passions,  even  when  most  corrupted 
or  most  inflamed.  How  else  can  we  account  for  the  absurd 
use  which  the  angry  man  makes  of  the  prompopaeia  when  he 
happens  to  be  hurt,  torn  or  opposed  b}'  an  inanimate  object : 
the  stone,  the  steel,  the  timber,  which  has  given  him  a  fall, 
or  has  obstructed  his  impatience,  he  curses  on  the  hypothesis 
that  it  is  conscious  and  inimical :  nay,  he  would  fain  breathe 
a  soul  into  the  senseless  mass,  that  he  might  the  more  reason- 
ably revile  and  crush  it. 

And  so,  when  hatred  has  become  the  settled  temper  of  the 
mind,  there  attends  it  a  bad  ingenuity,  which  puts  the  worst 
possible  construction  upon  the  words,  actions,  looks  of  the 
abhorred  object.  Yet  why  is  this  but  because  the  laws  of  the 
moral  system  forbid  that  any  thing  should  be  hated  but  what 
actually  deserves,  or  is  at  the  moment  thought  to  deserve  ab- 
horrence 1  The  most  pernicious  and  virulent  heart  has  no 
power  of  ejecting  its  venom  upon  a  fair  surface  ;  it  must  slur 
whatever  it  means  to  poison.  To  hate  that  which  is  seen 
and  confessed  to  be  not  wicked,  is  as  impossible  as  to  be  an- 
gry with  that  which  is  not  assumed  to  be  hostile.  And  the 
most  depraved  souls,  whose  only  element  is  revenge,  feel  the 
stress  of  this  necessity  not  a  whit  less  than  the  most  benign 
and  virtuous.  AVhcther  the  universe  any  where  contains  spi- 
rits so  malignant  as  to  be  capable  of  hating  without  assign- 
ment of  demerit,  or  attributing  of  ill  purpose  to  their  adver- 
sary, we  know  not ;  but  certainly  man  never  reaches  any  such 
frightful  enormity.* 

What  is  the  constant  style  of  the  misanthrope?  "What  the 
burden  of  the  dull  echoes  that  shake  the  damps  from  the  roof 
of  his  cavern  1  Is  not  his  theme  ever  and  again,  the  malig- 
nity, the  cruelty,  the  falseness  of  the  human  race?  To  hate 
mankind  is  indeed  his  rule;  but  yet  he  must  calumniate  be- 
fore he  can  detest  it.  Nature  is  here  stronger  than  corrup- 
tion, and  a  tribute  is  borne  to  the  unalterable  jirinciples  of 
virtue,  even  by  those  unnatural  lips  that  breathe  universal 
imprecations  !  How  does  the  solitary  wretch,  prisoner  as  he 
is  of  his  own  malignity,  toil  from  day  to  day  in  tl\e  work  of 
ingenious  detraction  !  how  does  he  recapitulate  and  refute, 
untired  the  thousandth  time,  every  alleged  extenuation  of 
human  frailty  or  folly!  How  does  he  sfrive  to  justify  the 
bad  passion  that  rules  him ;  how  eagerly  does  he  listen  to  any 
new  proof  of  liis  poisonous  dogma — That  man  is  altogether 
abominable,  and  might  to  be  hated  !  Inwardly  he  feels  the 
slieer  absurdity  of  perpetual  malice,  and  is  always  defending 
himself  against  the  accusation  of  doing  immense  wrong  to 
his  species.  But  this  very  labour  and  this  painful  ingenuity 
refutes  itself;  for  if  human  nature  were,  as  he  affirms  it  to 
be,  simply  and  purely  evil,  his  own  bosom  would  not  be  thus 
tortured  by  the  endeavour  to  prove  mankind  abominable,  as  a 
necessary  condition  of  his  malice.  Most  evident  it  is  that  if 
man  were  not  formed  to  love  what  is  good  and  follow  virtue, 
he  would  find  himself  able  to  hate  his  fellows  without  first 
imputing  to  them  wickedness  and  crimes. 

There  might  he  adduced  a  still  more  frightful  case  of  ma- 
lignancy, which,  horrid  as  it  is,  furnishes  the  very  same  tes- 
timony in  favour  of  the  original  benign  structure  of  the  hu- 
man mind.  If  there  are  indeed  miserable  beings  that  harbour 
deliberate  animosity  against  Him  who  is  worthy  of  supreme 
affection,  as  well  as  reverence,  yet  this  hatred  must  always 
be  preceded  by  bhsphcniy.  In  word  or  in  thought,  there  must 
be  charged  upon  the  Sovereign  Ruler  injustice,  rigour,  malev- 
olence, before  impiety  can  advance  a  step  toward  its  bold 
and  dread  climax.  Thus  does  the  Supreme  Benevolence  se- 
cure and  receive  an  implicit  homage,  even  from  the  most  en- 
venoflied  lips;  for  why  should  the  divine  character  be  im- 
peached, if  it  were  not  that  the  fixed  laws  of  the  moral 
world— those  very  laws  of  which  God  is  author,  forbid  hatred 
to  exist  at  all  (at  least  in  human  nature)  except  on  a  pretext 
ichich  is  itself  i/rairn  from  the  maxims  of  goaJncss?  What 
proof  can  be  more  convincing  than  this  is.  that  these  same 
maxims,  these  rules  of  virtue  and  benevolence,  were  actuallv 
the  guiding  principles  of  the  creation,  and  must  therefore  be- 
long as  essential  attributes  to  the  Creator?  If  man,  b)'  the 
necessity  of  his  nature,  must  calumniate  and  blacken  whom- 
soever he  would  call  his  enemy,  is  it  not  because  he  is  so 


*  The  mere  supposition  may  seem  to  be  a  contradiction  in  terms ; 
lliat  wIiHt  is  not  biiteful  slioulil  be  buted.  But  the  analysis  of  emo- 
tions of  lliis  sort,  it"  carried  on  a  litll.:-  further,  brings  us  In  sonic  such 
nolion  as  tliat  of  nialisjnity  separable  from  an  object  confessed  to  be 
odious. 

Vol.  II.— 2  W 


constituted  as  to  detest  only  what  he  thinks  to  be  evil  ?  The 
fact  indeed  is  appalling,  that  rational  agents  should  any  where 
exist  who  can  set  themselves  in  array  against  the  source  and 
centre  of  all  perfection.  But  how  much  more  appallintr,  nay, 
how  horrible  a  thing  were  it,  to  find  any  beings  whose  nature 
allowed  them  to  hate  the  Sovereign  Goodness  without  first 
defaming  it! 

The  lower  we  descend  into  the  depths  of  the  malignant 
passions,  the  more  striking  are  the  proofs  we  meet  with  of  the 
vigour  of  the  prime  principles  of  the  moral  life.  There  are, 
alas  i  scarcely  any  bounds  to  the  degree  of  corruption  or  de- 
pravity which  man  may  reach,  but  corruption  or  decay  is 
something  far  less  than  destruction  of  elements ;  and  no  facts 
come  within  our  sphere  of  observation  which  would  imply 
that  the  original  principles  of  the  rational  economy  are  in  any 
case  annulled.  We  have  already  spoken  of  the  instinct  of  Ret- 
ribution, or  the  vehement  desire  to  see  wrong  visited  with 
punishment ;  and  we  discern,  in  even  the  darkest  purpose  of 
revenge  nothing  more  than  a  particular  instance  of  this  same 
instinct,  inflamed  and  misdirected  by  preposterous  self-love. 
No  case  can  be  more  conclusive  in  proof  of  this  position  than 
the  revenge  of  jealousy.  When  the  firmest,  and  the  most 
religious  of  the  social  ties  has  been  torn  asunder  by  the  hand 
of  ruthless  lust,  and  an  affection,  more  sensitive  than  any 
other,  is  left  to  bleed  and  ulcerate  in  open  air,  the  inner  struc- 
ture of  the  vindictive  passion  may  be  said  to  he  laid  open,  and 
it  is  seen  in  what  way  an  emotion  so  violent  as  to  lead  to  fa- 
tal acts,  yet  connects  itself  with  virtuous  sentiments,  and  in 
fact  springs  from  them.  The  revenge  of  jealousy  seems  to 
the  injured  man  to  be  justified  at  once  by  the  best  impulses 
of  our  nature,  by  the  express  sanction  of  God,  by  the  opinion 
of  mankind,  and  by  the  formal  institutes  of  society.  These 
authorities,  or  some  of  them,  lend  a  palliation  (deemed  al- 
most valid  bj'  the  common  feeling  of  men)  even  to  deeds  of 
a  murderous  kind;  and  they  actually  avail  to  put  out  of  view 
the  exaggerations  which  self-love  has  added  to  the  sense  of 
wrong.  Thus  it  is  that  some,  who,  in  no  other  case  would 
for  a  moment  harbour  so  hateful  and  torturing  a  passion,  yield 
to  its  sway  when  thus  injured,  and  feel  as  if  uncondemned  by 
even  the  strictest  rules  of  virtue.  It  is  true  that  principles 
of  conduct  of  a  higher  kind  are  applicable,  as  well  to  this,  as 
to  all  other  instances  of  injury,  and  are  fully  adequate  to  as- 
suage even  so  extreme  a  vindictive  impulse.  But  whether 
they  are  actually  brought  to  bear  upon  it  or  not,  it  is  certain 
that  the  revenge  of  jealousy  affords  evidence  that  the  elements 
of  the  moral  system  are  the  foundation  of  even  the  most  fatal 
of  the  malignant  passions,  and  in  their  most  aggravated 
forms. 

Let  leave  here  be  taken  to  draw  an  inference  which  suo-- 
gests  itself,  bearing  perhaps  upon  the  future  destinies  of  man. 
Does  not  then  the  history  of  human  nature  declare  that  all 
other  emotions  of  the  soul,  as  well  as  every  inducement  of 
interest  or  pride,  may  give  way,  and  be  borne  down  by  the 
sovereign  desire  of  retribution?  Has  not  this  feeling  more 
than  once  impelled  a  father  to  consign  his  sons  to  the  sword 
of  public  justice  ?  Has  it  not  strengthened  the  arm  of  a  man, 
not  murderous  in  disposition,  to  drive  an  assassin's  sword  in- 
to the  heart  of  his  friend  ?  Has  it  not  brought  together  an 
armed  nation  around  the  walls  of  a  devoted  city,  the  site  of 
which,  after  being  soaked  with  the  blood  of  men,  women, 
and  babes,  was  to  he  covered  with  perpetual  ruin?  Does  not 
this  same  robust  instinct  every  day  sustain  the  most  humane 
minds  in  discharging  the  sad  duty  of  conducting  a  fellow- 
man  to  death  ?  We  see,  too,  to  what  a  degree  of  phrenzy  the 
common  desire  of  retribution  may  be  inflamed  by  the  suonxes- 
tions  of  self-love.  Now  may  it  not  be  conceived  of  that  an 
equal  intensity  of  this  emotion  might  be  obtained  by  the 
means  of  some  other  sentiment  than  self-love,  and  by  one 
more  firm  because  more  sound  than  the  selfish  principle  ?  If 
so,  then  we  have  under  our  actual  inspection  powers  which, 
in  a  future  life,  may  be  found  vigorous  enough  to  carry  hu- 
man nature  through  scenes  or  through  services  too  appallino- 
even  to  tliiiik  or  speak  of.  If,  for  example,  it  were  asked — 
"Is  it  credible  that  man,  his  sensibilities  being  such  as  they 
are,  should  take  his  part,  even  as  spectator,  in  the  final  pro- 
cedures of  the  Divine  Government  ?"  We  might  fairly  reply 
by  referring  to  certain  signal  instances  of  the  force  of  the  vin- 
dictive passions,  and  on  the  ground  of  such  facts  assume  it 
as  possible  that,  whoever  could  go  so  far,  mio-ht  go  further 
still.  And  this  hypothetic  inference  would  not  be  invalida- 
ted m.erely  because  revenge  is  malign  and  evil :  for  although 
it  be  so,  the  fulcrimi  of  its  power  is  nothing  else  than  the 
unalterable  laws  of  the  moral  world  ;  we  only  want  therefore 
a  righteous  motive  to  supplant  the  se(/ish  one,  and  then  an 


370 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


equal,  or  perhaps  a  much  greater  force,  ^youl(l  be  displayed  jpearanee  of  virtue.     This  may  be  true,  but  can  wo  easily 
by  these  same  principles.  estimate  the  degree  in  which  war  universally  has  been  soft- 

If  it  be  allowable  to  advance  to  this  point,  we  then  shall  ened  and  relieved  in  its  attendant  horrors,  by  the  corrective 
need  only  one  more  idea  to  give  distinctness  to  our  conception ,  influence  of  these  very  mixed  emotions,  extravagant  and  false 
of  the  retributive  processes  of  the  future  world; — and  it  is  as  they  arel     And  is  it  certain  that  there  would  have  been 


this — that  the  infatuations  of  self-love,  which,  in  the  present 
state,  defend  every  mind  from  the  application  to  itself  of  the 
desire  of  retribution — in  the  same  manner  as  the  principle  of 
animal  life  defends  the  vital  organs  of  a  body  from  the  chem 
ical  action  of  its  own  caustic  secretions — that  these  infatua 
tions,  we  say,  being  then  quite  dispersed,  the  Instinct  of 
Justice — perhaps  the  most  potent  of  all  the  elements  of  the 
spiritual  life,  shall  turn  inward  upon  each  consciously  guilty 
heart,  so  that  every  such  heart  shall  become  the  prey  of  a 
reflected  rage,  intense  and  corrosive  as  the  most  virulent  re- 
venge! Whoever  is  now  hurrying  on  without  thought  of 
consequences  through  a  course  of  crimes,  would  do  well  to 
imagine  the  condition  of  a  being  left  without  relief  to  breathe 
upon  itself  tlie  flames  of  insatiable  hatred  ! 


SECTION  III. 

ALLIANCE  OP  THE  MALIGN  EMOTION'S  WITH  THE  IMAGINATION.* 

If  nature  denies  to  the  irascible  passions  any  attendant 
sense  of  pleasure,  she  absolutely  refuses  them  also,  at  least 
in  their  simple  state,  the  power  of  awakening  the  sympathy, 
or  of  exciting  the  admiration  of  those  who  witness  their  ebul- 
lition. These  harsh  elements  of  the  moral  system  must  be 
talien  into  combination  with  the  sentiments  of  a  different,  and 
a  happier  order,  and  must  almost  be  concealed  within  such 
sentiments,  before  they  can  assume  any  sort  of  beauty,  or 
appear  in  splendour.  That  such  combinations  do  actually 
take  place,  and  in  conformity  too  with  the  intentions  of  na- 
ture, is  true;  but  it  is  true  also,  that  by  the  very  means  of 
the  mixture,  the  worse  or  rancorous  element  is  vastly  mode- 
rated and  refined.  Let  it  be  granted,  for  example,  that  wars 
have  often  originated  in  the  military  ambition  and  false  thirst 
of  glory  to  which  certain  gorgeous  sentiments  give  an  ap- 


altogether  less  bloodshed  on  earth,  if  mere  sanguinary  rage, 
and  if  the  cupidity  of  empire,  had  been  left  to  work  their  ends 
alone?  For  every  thousand  victims  immolated  at  the  altar 
of  martial  pride,  have  not  ten  thousand  been  rescued  by  the 
noble  and  generous  usages  that  have  belonged  to  the  system 
of  warfare  among  all  civilized  nations?  Surely  it  maybe 
said  that,  unless  the  imaginative  sentiments  had  thus  blended 
themselves  with  the  destructive  passions,  the  ambition  of  men 
would  have  been  like  that  of  fiends,  and  the  human  family 
must  long  ago  have  suffered  extermination. 

Ideas  of  cliivalrous  virtue  and  of  royal  magnanimity  (ideas 
directly  springing  from  the  imagination)  much  more  than  any 
genuine  sentiments  of  humanity,  have  softened  the  ferocious 
pride  of  mighty  warriors.  For  though  it  may  be  true  that 
some  sparks  or  rare  flashes  of  mere  compassion  have,  once 
and  again,  gleamed  from  the  bosoms  of  such  men;  yet  as- 
suredly if  good  will  to  their  fellows  had  been  more  tlian  a 
transient  emotion,  the  sword  would  never  have  been  their  toy. 
But  the  imaginative  sentiments  are  a  middle  power,  in  the 
hands  of  nature,  which,  because  they  may  be  combined  more 
readily  than  some  higher  principles  with  the  gross  and  dark 
ingredients  of  the  human  mind,  serve  so  much  the  better  to 
chasten  or  ameliorate  what  cannot  be  quite  expelled.  Except 
for  emotions  of  this  order,  Alexander  would  have  been  as 
Tamerlane,  and  Tamerlane  as  the  Angel  of  Death. 

The  beneficial  provisions  of  Nature  are  especially  to  be 
observed  in  one  remarkable  fact — namely — that  the  alliance 
of  the  malign  passions  with  the  Imagination — an  alliance 
from  which  the  former  draw  both  their  mitigation,  and  an 
extension  of  their  field,  is  not  permitted  to  take  place  upon  the 
narrow  ground  of  self-love.  This  fact,  for  such  we  deem  it, 
deserves  to  be  distinctly  noticed. 

Nothing  appears  too  great,  sometimes,  to  be  grasped  by  the 
conceits  of  self-importance;  nothing  too  big  for  the  stomach 
of  vanity:  and  yet  it  is  found  that  the  Imagination  refuses  to 
yield  itself,  except  for  a  moment,  or  in  a  very  limited  degree, 
to  those  excitements  that  are  drawn  from  the  solitary  bosom 
of  the  individual.  Man,  much  as  he  may  boast  himself,  is 
by  far  too  poor  al  home  to  maintain  the  expense  of  his  own 
splendid  conceptions  of  personal  greatness.  Not  even  when 
he  revolves  the  vast  idea  of  his  immortality,  is  he  able  to 
accumulate  the  materials  of  sublimity,  without  looking  abroad 
and  beyond  himself,  in  search  of  objects  fitted  to  quicken  the 
emotions  of  greatness  and  dignity.  And  yet  surely  if  any 
idea,  purely  selfish,  had  power  to  call  up  and  sustain  such 
emotions,  the  idea  and  the  hope  of  endless  existence  might  do 
so.  But  whenever  we  meditate  upon  eternity,  and  think  of 
our  own  part  in  it,  we  dwell  much  more  upon  the  scenes,  the 
personages,  and  the  events  it  shall  connect  us  with,  than  con- 
ceive of  ourselves,  simply,  as  destined  to  live  for  ever.  It  is 
no  wonder  then  if  this  same  rule  holds  good,  when  nothing 
beyond  the  present  scene  of  things  is  contemplated.  We  can 
hardly  err  in  assigning  the  reason  of  a  mechanism  so  remark- 
able. If  human  nature  had  been  so  constituted  as  that  the 
imaginative  emotions  could  have  found  sufficient  range  within 
the  lone  precincts  of  the  soul,  and  if  there  had  been  opened 
to  every  one  (or  at  least  to  heroic  spirits)  a  world  of  splendid 
illusions — such  that  he  should  have  had  no  need  to  look 
abroad,  man  must  have  become,  in  a  frightful  sense,  an  insu- 
. —         ,  ^  .  ,.  ,  .lated  beino-;  nor  perhaps  would  any  other  impulse,  drawn 

of  self-love,  and  generate  cither  a  sullen  and  obdurate  pride  ^vh.ch  gj^j^gj.  ,-^^^  ,^j^  wants,  his  fears,  or  his  affections,  have  availed 
makes  every  other  being  an  enemy  as  a  supposed  irapugner  ot  rights  him  firmly  and  permanently  with  his  fellows.     No 

and  honours  that  are  its  due;  or  else  (and  especially  as  combined  '"  i-oniieti  iii.u  11.11113  aim  1  e.u  3     o„,„,,„;„„rl  ,han  thit 

M  uh  derangement  of  the  hepatic  functions)  begets  a  rabid  jealousy  conception  much  more  appallmg  can  be  entertained  than  that 
or  reptile  en\y—passion5  of  die  most  wretched  natures!  Our  modern  of  a  proud  demigod,  who,  finding  an  expanse  ot  greatness 
intellectual  science  yet  Avants  a  term  to  serve  in  the  place  of  tliat  w'ithin  his  own  bosom — an  expanse  wherein  he  could  take 
tlieologico-raetaphys'ic  one — thk  will.    Analysis  must  be  puslied  a  ample  sweep,  and  incessantly  delight  himself,  should  start  off 

litUe  further  th.an  ft  has  gone  before  the  deficiency  can  be  well  sup-  -  -  •  ,   .       ,,         .    ..  :_  .1 . c 

plied.  Meanwhile  let  us  say  that  the  malign  passions  have  a  charac- 
teristic alliance  with  "the  will" — an  alliance  if  not  clearly  to  be 
distinguished  from  those  it  forms  with  self-love,  yet  distinct  enougli 
to  arrest  attention.  As  a  single  example  we  might  name  that  unde- 
fined, and  not  easily  analysed,  cruelty  or  wanton  and  ti-anquil  deliglit 
in  torments,  bloodshed,  and  destruction,  which  has  given  a  dread  no- 
toriety to  some  few  names  in  history.  In  such  cases  it  has  seemed. 
as  if  the  spontaneous  principle  would  prove  its  force  and  its  inde- 
pendence in  tlie  mode  that  should,  more  etfectively  than  any  odier, 
make  all  men  confess  it  to  be  tree.  Instances  of  malignity  meet  us 
which  are  at  once  too  placid  to  be  charged  entire  upon  the  irascible 
emotions,  and  too  vague  to  be  accounted  for  by  the  inducements  of 
either  selfishness  or  pride,  and  « hicii,  if  they  do  not  declare  the 
presence  of  a  detei'mtning  ctninc  that  has  no  immediate  dependence 
upon  assignable  motives,  must  remain  quite  unexplained. 


*  Tlie  copiousness  of  our  subject  must  exclude  whatever  does  not 
directly  conduce  to  its  illustration.  Otlierwise  it  would  be  proper 
here  to'  mention  those  complex  dispositions  which  spring  from  tlie 
union  of  the  malignant  passions  with  the  elements  of  individual 
character.  The  irascible  sentiment,  for  example,  takes  a  specific 
form  from  the  peculiarities  of  Uie  animal  structui-e.  Combined  w  ith 
conscious  mucular  vigour,  and  a  sanguineous  temperament,  it  be- 
comes a  stormy  rage,  and  constitutes  either  the  bully,  or  the  dread 
devastator  of  kingdoms,  as  circumstances  may  determine.  The  same 
irascibility,  joined  with  a  feeble  constitution,  begets  petulance,  in 
those  various  forms  w  hich  depend  upon  the  particular  seat  of  debility; 
namely,  wliedier  it  he  tlie  nervous  system — die  arterial  system — the 
mesenteric  glands — the  li\  cr,  or  the  stomacli;  each  of  wliich  imparts 
a  peculiarity  to  the  temper.  An  attentive  observer  of  the  early  de- 
velopment of  character  will  also  leave  room,  in  any  theory  of  tlie 
passions  he  may  consti-uct,  for  a  hitherto  unexplored  and  undefined 
influence  of  conformation — ought  we  to  say  of  the  bmin,  or  of  the 
mind?  How  much  sover  (from  various  motives)  any  might  wish  to 
simplify  their  philosopliv  of  human  nature,  and  especially  to  exclude 
from  it 'certain  facts  wliich  give  rise  to  painful  perplexities,  they  can 
do  so  oidy  (as  we  tliink)  by  refusing  to  turn  the  eye  toward  the  real 
world. 

After  receiving  their  first  characteristic  from  the  physical  tem- 
perament, the  malign  emotions  next  ally  themselves  with  tlie  instinct 


from  the  populous  universe,  and  dwell  content  in  the  centre  of 
an  eternal  solitude! 

It  may  well  be  assumed  as  probable  that  the  Creator  has 
granted  to  none  of  his  rational  family  the  prerogative  of  so 
fatal  a  sort  of  self-sufficiency.  Assuredly  no  such  power  is 
oranted  to  man.  Even  those  instances  that  may  seem  the 
most  nearly  to  approach  the  idea  just  now  mentioned,  do  m 
fact,  when"  accurately  looked  at,  support  the  general  princi- 
ple. The  man  of  the  wilderness,  for  example,  is  still  a  social 
being,  though  in  a  very  perverted  manner;  and  we  should 
find ''convincing  proof  of  the  fact  if  we  could  only  listen  to 
those  often  rehearsed  and  monotonous  soliloquies  of  which 
the  o-reat  world— its  noise,  its  vanity,  and  its  corruptions  are 


FANATICISM. 


371 


the  theme.  Yes,  he  conirratulatcs  himself  anew  every  day 
that  mankind  is  far  remote  from  his  cell.  But  why  can  he 
not  drop  this  reference  altooether?  Why  not  cease  to  think 
of  what  he  does  not  see — does  not  feel  ^  It  is  hecause  the 
gloomy  and  vexed  imagination  of  the  solitary— spite  of  itself, 
can  find  none  but  the  faintest  excitements  within  its  own 
circle,  and  so  is  driven  to  roam  abroad  in  search  of  stimu 
lants.  The  world,  we  may  be  assured,  is  as  indispensable  a 
material  to  the  enthusiasm  of  the  anchoret  as  it  is  to  that  of 
the  busiest  and  most  ambitious  votary  of  fame.  Only  let 
some  breathless  messenger— like  those  that  brought  tidings  of 
dismay  to  the  Arabian  patriarch,  reach  the  cavern  of  the  her- 
mit and  announce  to  him  that  his  love  of  solitude  was  at 
length  ellectively  and  for  ever  sealed  by  the  utter  extinction  of 
the  human  race ; — solitude,  from  that  instant,  would  not  merely 
lose  all  its  fancied  charms,  but  would  become  terrible  and 
insufferable;  and  this  man  of  seclusion,  starting  like  a  maniac 
from  his  wilderness,  would  run  round  the  world,  in  search, 
if  happily  it  might  be,  of  some  straggling  survivors  ! 

Nor  is  it  a  few  foreign  materials  that  are  enough  to  give 
effect  to  the  alliance  of  the  imagination  with  the  selfish  prin- 
ciple. A  vigorons  enthusiasm  must  embrace  a  broad  field. 
Thus  patrician  pride,  and  the  arrogance  of  illustrious  blood 
must  not  only  go  very  far  back,  but  stretch  itself  very  widely 
too,  before  it  can  ac((uire  the  alacrity  or  the  force  that  dis- 
tinguislies  imaginative  sentiments.  The  pride  of  ancestry  is 
a  sullen  grace,  and  has  always  about  it  an  air  akin  to  inelan- 
choly  or  depression.  The  enthusiasm  of  the  very  meanest 
member  of  a  warrior-clan  is  tenfold  more  uniinute  than  that 
of  the  head  of  a  house  laden  with  the  decorations  of  heraldry. 
In  the  former  instance  the  imagination  grasps  the  compass  of 
the  community  of  which  the  individual  is  a  part :  in  the  latter, 
one  slender  line,  terminating  in  self,  is  all  that  engages  the 
fancy;  and  it  is  in  vain,  with  so  attenuated  an  object  only  in 
view,  that  pride  chides  itself  ior  its  dull  and  sluggish  move- 
ments. The  chief  must  think  of  his  people  more  than  of  his 
ancestry,  if  he  would,  on  any  special  occasion,  gain  a  power- 
ful spring  of  action.  In  truth  it  is  more  as  a  chief  than  as 
the  offspring  and  rejiresentative  of  an  illustrious  stock,  that 
the  energetic  patrician  exults  in  his  distinctions,  and  achieves 
deeds  worthy  of  the  name  he  bears. 

Martial  enthusiasm  especially  demands  the  social  elements 
as  its  ground  : — and  here  we  reach  that  very  compound  senti- 
ment which,  as  to  its  constrnction,  stands  immediately  parallel 
with  religions  rancour  and  Fanaticism.  The  one  species  of 
ardent  emotion  differs  from  the  other  more  in  adjnncts  and 
objects,  than  in  innate  quality  or  character.  The  battle-fury 
of  the  Clan  is  only  self-love,  inflamed  by  hatred,  and  ex- 
panded, by  aid  of  the  imagination,  over  the  width  of  the 
community  with  which  the  individual  consorts.  It  is  this 
envenomed  enthusiasm  that  renders  the  chief  of  the  horde 
(as  visible  centre  of  all  emotions)  the  object  of  a  more  zealous 
and  efficient  idolatry  than  is  offered  to  the  god  of  the  horde: 
and  it  is  this  that  lends  a  measure  of  nobility  and  importance 
to  even  the  most  abject  son  of  the  tribe.  It  is  this  feeling 
which  knits  the  phalanx,  shoulder  to  shoulder,  when  the  mar- 
shalled family  advances  to  meet  its  ancient  rival  in  the  field. 
It  is  this  passion — the  enthusiasm  of  gregarious  rage,  that 
puts  contempt  upon  death,  gives  a  brazen  firmness  to  the 
nerves  when  torture  is  to  be  endured,  seals  the  lips  in  im- 
penetrable si'oresy  when  a  trust  has  to  be  preserved;  and,  in 
a  word,  imparts  to  human  nature  a  terrible  greatness,  which 
we  are  compelled  at  once  to  abhor  and  to  admire. 

What  is  the  clangorous  music  of  barbarous  armies — what 
the  rhapsodies  of  their  poetry,  but  the  modulated  express- 
ions of  a  ferocity  which  the  imagination  has  already  inflamed, 
ennobled,  purified,  and  softened  !  Shall  the  frigid  philoso- 
pher alliim  that  music  and  poetry  are  incentives  to  the  des- 
tructive battle  passions  1  It  is  true  that  they  are  ;  yet  take 
away  such  incentives,  and  man  is  thrown  back  upon  his 
mere  malignity,  and  becomes  more  dreadful  to  his  species 
than  a  tiger. 

But  the  imagination  has  a  limit  beyond  which  it  does  not 
vigorously  act.  If  it  is  not,  as  we  have  said,  to  be  stimu- 
lated by  ideas  merely  selfish,  it  becomes,  on  the  other  hand, 
languid,  or  ceases  to  exert  an  eflScient  influence  over  the 
passions',  when  the  field  of  its  exercise  is  very  much  ex- 
tended. The  men  of  a  mighty  empire  that  embraces  many 
and  various  tribes,  know  little  of  the  intense  patriotism  or  of 
the  unconquerable  courage  that  distinguishes  the  heroes  of  a 
petty  clan,  or  small  community.  Self,  in  this  case,  cannot 
retain  its  hold  of  an  aggregate  so  vast;  and  although  the 
object  be  inuuensely  greater,  the  motive  is  incomparably  less 
than  in  the  other  instance.     If  it  were  not  that  general  intel- 


ligence and  a  better  knowledge  of  the  science  of  government, 
and  more  skill  in  war,  ordinarily  come  In  with  extended  em- 
pire to  supply  the  place  of  personal  enthusiasm,  the  history 
of  nations  would  present  (in  a  perpetual  series)  what  in 
fact  it  has  often  presented — the  destruction  or  subjugation  of 
larger  social  bodies  by  the  smaller.  But  thus  is  the  great 
polity  of  mankind  balanced: — men  possess  vastly  more  indi- 
vidual motive,  and  inore  spontaneous  power,  as  members  of 
a  small  than  of  a  large  community.  Meanwhile  the  greater 
bodies  have  at  command,  not  only  a  larger  sum  of  physical 
force,  hut  more  knowledge,  and  principle,  and  order,  than 
often  exists  in  petty  states.  So  it  is  that  the  small  and  the 
great  coexist  upon  the  same  surface ;  and  that  the  course  of 
conquest  has  been  alternate — in  one  age  a  fraction  has  broken 
up  the  mass — in  another  the  mass  has  absorbed  the  fractions. 

It  may  subserve  our  purpose  to  compare  still  more  dis- 
tinctly the  steady  martial  temper  that  ordinarily  belongs  to 
the  armies  of  a  great  empire,  with  the  ferocious  or  desperate 
valour  that  distinguishes  the  warriors  of  a  horde,  a  canton, 
or  a  petty  republic.  The  first  (extraordinary  occasions  ex- 
cepted) is  a  calm  perfunctory  courage,  drawing  much  more 
of  its  motive  from  usage,  opinion,  and  reasons  of  interest  or 
honour,  than  from  the  impulse  of  the  malignant  passions. 
An  accomplished  general  of  such  an  army  excludes  from  his 
calculation  of  what  ma}'  be  effected  by  the  tremendous  en- 
gine which  he  wields,  the  rage  or  the  rancour  of  the  individ- 
ual combatants.  But,  on  the  contrary,  this  very  mulus  ani- 
mt(s  constitutes  the  principal  ingredient  in  the  bravery  of  the 
clan ;  and  it  does  so  because  the  human  mind  readily  admits, 
under  these  circumstances,  of  an  exaltation,  which,  in  the 
other  case,  nothing  can  produce  short  of  the  most  unusual 
excitements.  The  irascible  passions  are  not  to  be  raised  to 
a  height  unless  self-love,  in  some  form,  is  immediately  en- 
gaged in  a  quarrel;  but  the  vast  interests  of  an  empire,  and 
the  immensity  of  an  army  that  covers  a  province,  and  that  is 
never  seen  as  a  whole,  are  quite  disproportioned  to  the  share 
each  individual  may  have  in  the  public  weal.  And  then,  as 
every  one  of  the  sentiments  that  infuse  generosity  into  the 
practice  of  war,  draws  much  of  its  force  from  the  imagina- 
tion, they  will  of  course  exist  in  the  greatest  vigour  where 
the  imagination  is  the  inost  wrought  upon.  There  are  how- 
ever very  few  minds,  or  they  are  minds  only  of  the  largest 
capacity  and  of  the  finest  conformation,  that  can  derive  the 
stimulants  of  a  vigorons  enthusiasm  from  the  idea  of  an  ex- 
tensive empire.  On  the  other  hand,  few  minds  are  so  insen- 
sitive as  not  to  entertain  a  degree  of  such  enthusiasm  when 
the  various  emotions  of  patriotism  and  civil  affection  spring 
up  from  a  space  that  may  all  be  seen  at  once  from  the  summit 
of  a  hill. 

And  it  is  on  the  very  same  principle,  as  we  shall  find,  that 
Fanaticism  must  attach  itself  always  to  a  limited  order  of 
things,  and  is  necessarily /or/ious.  What  is  fanaticism  but 
rancorous  Enthusiasm  1  And  inasmuch  as  enthusiasm  springs 
from  the  imagination,  it  must  embrace  a  circle  just  wide 
enough  to  give  it  powerful  impulse,  and  yet  not  too  wide  to 
exhaust  its  forces. 

The  valour  of  the  clan  not  only  stands  parallel  with  reli- 
gious fanaticism;  that  is  to  say,  has  one  and  the  same  Natu- 
ral History;  but  is  most  often  found  in  combination  with  it. 
The  two  classes  of  jiassion  are  so  nearly  allied  that  the  one 
readily  follows  upon  the  other.  The  vehement  patriotism  of 
the  horde  or  little  free  state  puts  the  minds  of  men  iiito  a 
ferment  that  will  not  long  fail  to  introduce  the  stirring  con- 
ceptions of  Invisible  Power:  and  when  so  brought  in,  the 
two  ingredients  become  intimately  blended  : — the  civil  and 
the  religious  frenzy  form  a  compact  sentiment  of  such  viva- 
city as  to  carry  human  nature — if  the  solecism  might  be 
admitted,  above  and  beyond  the  range  of  human  agency. 
While  the  gods  have  been  hovering  over  a  field  of  carnage, 
the  intrepidity  of  men  has  risen  to  the  audacity  of  immortals; 
and  their  ferocity  has  resembled  the  rage  of  fiends ! 

Although  it  may  be  true,  and  we  confidently  assume  it  to 
be  so,  that  a  beneficial  mitigation  and  refinement  of  the 
grosser  elements  of  our  nature  accrues  from  their  alliance 
with  imaginative  sentiments,  yet  it  does  by  no  means  follow 
that  such  sentiments  ought  to  sujiplant  the  genuine  principles 
of  morals,  wherever  these  may  take  effect.  No  one  would 
maintain  such  a  doctrine  in  the  abstract ;  nevertheless,  when 
we  turn  to  the  real  world,  we  find  that  true  virtue  and  piety 
have  always  had  to  contend  (and  often  with  little  success) 
against  those  splendid  forms  of  excellence  which  are  but  vice 
in  disguise,  and  which  owe  all  their  specions  graces  and  fair 
colours  to  the  admixture  we  are  speaking  of. 

The  unalterable  maxims  of  rectitude,  purity  and  mercy, 


372 


CHRISTIAN   LIBRARY. 


such  as  we  find  them  in  the  Scriptures,  being  well  under- 
stood and  firmly  instated  in  their  just  authority,  then  indeed 
we  may  allow  the  imarrination  to  take  the  part  that  belongs 
to  it  as  the  general  cement — or  as  the  common  medium  of 
the  various  ingredients  of  animal,  social,  and  intellectual 
life.  There  meets  us  however  a  special  difficulty  in  assign- 
ing its  proper  office  to  this  faculty  when  it  comes  to  mingle 
itself,  as  it  readily  does,  with  the  maligTi  emotions ;  and  this 
embarrassment  is  much  enhanced  by  those  modes  of  feeling 
which  are  found  to  have  got  possession  of  every  lettered 
people.  How  large  a  portion  of  the  pleasurable  excitement 
that  attends  the  reading  of  history  springs  directly  from  the 
recommendations  which  vindictive  or  inexorable  passions 
borrow  from  imaginative  emotions!  Then  in  the  world  of 
fiction — dramatic  or  poetic,  perhaps  half  of  the  power  which 
such  creations  possess  over  the  mind  is  attributable  to  the 
same  cause.  The  moralist  and  the  preacher  (especially 
when  he  has  to  do  with  the  educated  classes)  and  if  he 
would  discharge  his  office  without  showing  favour  to  invete- 
rate prejudices,  finds  that  he  has  to  loosen  many  of  the  most 
cherished  associations  of  sentiment,  and  must  denounce  as 
purely  evil  very  much  that  is  passionately  admired,  and  will 
be  eagerly  emulated. 

To  affirm  in  absolute  and  exclusive  terms  that  the  irasci- 
ble passions  ought  in  no  case  to  be  allowed  to  blend  with  the 
imagination,  so  as  may  fit  them  to  enkindle  emotions  of 
pleasure  or  admiration,  would  be  going  very  far,  and  might 
bring  an  argument  into  serious  embarrassments.  We  stop 
short  then  of  so  stern  a  conclusion,  and  shall  urge  only  this 
more  general  rule,  that  the  pjnciples  of  benevolence,  and  of 
forbearance,  and  meekness,  and  gentleness,  and  humility,  as 
taught  in  the  discourses  of  Christ,  and  as  enforced  by  his 
apostles,  should  in  all  instances  to  which  they  are  clearly 
applicable,  be  carried  fully  home,  notwithstanding  the  repug- 
nance of  certain  modes  of  feeling  commonly  honoured  as 
generous  and  noble;  and  moreover  that  every  one  professing 
obedience  to  the  Gospel  should  exercise  an  especial  vigilance 
toward  that  entire  class  of  sentiments  over  which  profane 
history,  romance,  poetry,  and  the  drama,  have  shed  a  glory. 
The  time  perhaps  shall  come — nay  we  devoutly  expect  it, 
when  by  the  universal  diffusion  of  a  sound  and  pure  Ethics 
— the  ethics  of  the  Bible,  no  room  shall  be  left,  no  need 
shall  be  felt  for  the  chastening  influence  which  hitherto  the 
imagination  has  exerted  over  the  ferocious  dispositions  of 
mankind.  Yes,  an  age  shall  come,  when  the  gods  and 
heroes  of  history  shall  hasten  to  those  shades  of  everlasting 
forgetfulness  which  have  closed  upon  their  patrons — the 
gods  and  heroes  of  mythology.  In  the  same  day  the  charm 
of  fiction  shall  be  dissolved,  and  the  gaudiness  of  fake  senti- 
ment, in  all  kinds,  shall  be  looked  at  with  the  cold  contempt 
which  now  we  bestow  upon  the  follies  of  fuhe  worship. 
Then,  too,  the  roinance  (as  well  practical  as  literary)  of  this 
nineteenth  century  shall  be  bound  in  the  bundle  that  contains 
the  decayed  and  childish  fables  of  olden  times,  and  both 
together  shall  be  consigned,  without  heed  or  regret,  to  sheer 
oblivion. 

The  slow  but  sure  progress  of  society  brings  with  it  many 
substitutions  of  this  sort,  in  which  a  less  rational  principle  of 
action  gives  way  to  one  that  is  more  so.  At  the  present  mo- 
ment we  occupy  just  that  mid-way  position  which,  while  it 
allows  us  to  gaze  with  idle  curiosity  upon  the  blood-stained 
stage  of  chivalry,  and  upon  the  deluged  field  of  lawless  am- 
bition, quite  forbids  that  any  such  modes  of  conduct  should 
find  a  place  among  us  as  living  realities.  We  are  too  wise 
and  virtuous  to  give  indulgence  to  that  to  which  we  largely 
give  our  admiration  !  May  not  yet  another  step  or  two  be 
taken  on  the  path  of  reason,  and  then  we  shall  cease  even 
to  admire  that  which  we  have  long  ceased  to  tolerate  1 

So  already  it  has  actually  happened  in  relation  to  those 
malign  and  sanguinary  religious  excitements  which  a  few 
centuries  ago  kindled  entire  communities,  and  inflamed  kings 
and  mendicants,  nobles  and  serfs,  priests  and  wantons,  ab 
stracted  monks  and  the  dissolute  rabble,  with  one  purpose  of 
sacred  ambition.  Though  we  now  peruse  with  wonder  and 
curiosity  the  story  (for  example)  of  the  Crusades,  there  are 
very  few  readers  in  the  present  day— perhaps  hardly  one, 
who  can  rouse  up  a  sympathy  with  that  vehement  feeling 
which  was  the  paramount  motive  of  the  enterprise.  Only 
let  us  strip  the  history  of  the  crusades  of  all  its  elements  of 
martial  and  secular  glory,  and  the  simple  rc/if;lnus  residue — 
the  proper  fanaticism  of  the  drama,  would  scarcely  touch  any 
modern  imagination.  How  much  more  is  this  true  of  those 
horrid  crusades  of  which  the  internal  enemies  of  the  Church 
of  Rome  have,  at  different  times,  been  the  victims!     All 


feeling  of  alliance  with  the  illusions  that  gave  impulse  to 
such  abhorrent  intestine  wars  has  (do  we  assume  too  much  1) 
utterly  passed  away,  nor  could  by  any  means  be  rekindled; 
and  the  two  emotions  of  pity  for  the  sufferers,  and  of  detest- 
ation of  the  actors  in  the  scenes  of  fratricide,  are  the  only 
sentiments  which  the  narrative  can  call  up.  Yet  there  was 
a  time  when  men — born  of  women,  and  fashioned  like  our- 
selves— yes,  and  men  softened  by  education,  and  not  unin- 
formed by  (Christianity — saints  and  doctors,  delicate  recluses, 
and  unearthly  contemplatists — men  who  slept  only  three 
hours  in  the  twenty-four,  and  prayed  six  or  ten — when  such 
men  gave  all  the  passion  of  their  souls,  and  all  the  eloquence 
of  their  lips,  to  the  work  of  hunting  thousands  of  their  fellows, 
innocent  and  helpless,  into  the  greedy  fires  of  the  Church  ! 

Thus  it  appears  that  the  vcr)'  order  of  sentiment  which 
once  was  allowed  and  lauded  as  magnanimous,  and  even 
divine,  we  have  learned  to  regard  as  either  purely  ridiculous, 
or  as  abominable.  A  like  reprobation  inevitably  aw-aits  (if 
mankind  is  really  advancing  on  the  road  of  virtue)  every 
mode  of  feeling  which,  being  essentially  malevolent,  draws 
specious  colours  from  the  imagination.  That  which  is  true 
and  just,  in  conduct  and  character,  must  at  lenght  supplant 
whatever,  if  stripped  of  its  decorations,  is  loathsome  or 
absurd.  So  certainly  as  the  calm  reason  of  Christianity 
spreads  itself  through  the  world,  will  the  ground  fall  in 
beneath  the  gorgeous  but  tottering  edifice  of  spurious  imagi- 
native virtue.  Let  but  the  irresistible  process  go  on  a  little 
further,  and  it  will  become  as  impracticable  to  uphold  in 
credit  the  still  extant  opinion  which  admits  of  honour  with- 
out justice  or  purity,  and  of  magnanimity  without  benevolence, 
and  of  that  thirst  of  glory  which  is  sheer  selfishness,  as  it 
would  be  now,  after  the  mechanic  arts  have  reached  an  un- 
thought-of  perfection,  to  keep  in  use  the  cumbrous  hand-ma- 
chines of  the  last  century. 

Much  of  the  conventional  law,  and  many  of  the  usages  of 
private  life,  and  especially  the  unwritten  code  of  international 
policy,  have  yet  to  undergo  a  revolution  as  great  perhaps  as 
that  which  makes  the  difference  between  the  twelfth  and 
the  eighteenth  centuries.  All  the  vices,  and  all  the  talents, 
and  all  the  institutions  interested  in  the  preservation  of  cor- 
rupt practices  may  oppose  the  advance  of  this  renovation ; 
but  nothing  short  of  the  overthrow  of  Christianity  and  of 
civilization  can  arrest  its  progress.  Nature  (we  use  the 
word  in  a  religious  sense)  nature  is  here  at  work  with  her 
noiseless  mighty  hand ;  whatever  is  spurious  is  marked  al- 
ready for  oblivion,  and  moves  on  to  its  home. 


SECTION  IV. 

FA>fATICISM  THE  OFFSPRING  OF  ENTHl'SIASM  ;  OR  COMBINATION 
OF  THE  MALIGN  EMOTIONS  WITH  SPURIOUS  RELIGIOUS  SENTI- 
MENTS. 

The  Imagination,  when  inflamed  by  anger,  or  envenomed 
by  hatred,  exerts  a  much  more  decisive  influence  over  the 
active  principles  and  the  character  of  men  than  otherwise 
ever  belongs  to  it.  Or  we  might  rather  say,  that  by  the  aid 
of  those  strenuous  elements  of  our  nature,  imaginative  senti- 
ments extend  their  empire,  and  bring  under  their  sway  minds 
of  a  robust  order  which  would  never  have  yielded  to  any  soft- 
er impulses.  A  thousand  fanatics  have  run  their  course  of 
mischief  who  would  have  spurned  religious  motives  alto- 
gether in  the  simple  form  of  enthusiasm.  Rancour  has  been 
the  true  reason  of  their  religion,  and  its  rule  and  end. 

And  as  the  empire  of  spurious  religious  sentiments  is  great- 
ly extended  by  their  alliance  with  the  malignant  passions,  so 
do  they  acquire,  from  the  same  quarter,  far  more  energ)'  than 
they  could  boast  in  their  simple  state.  A  malign  Enthusi- 
asm carries  human  nature  to  the  very  extreme  boundaries  of 
emotion  possible  to  man  ;  nothing  which  the  heart  may  know 
lies  beyond  the  circle  occupied  by  fanatical  extravagance; 
and  this  circle  of  vehement  sentiments  includes  many  enor- 
mities of  feeling  or  of  conduct  of  which  scarcely  a  sample  is 
to  be  found  in  a  country  and  in  an  age  like  our  own. 

In  truth,  little  more  than  the  trite  surface  of  human  nature 
meets  the  eye  among  a  people  like  ourselves.  Our  theories 
and  system  of  morals  hardly  take  account  cf  upper  and  lower 
instances,  while  tliey  are  busied  with  what  may  be  found  in 
the  mid  region  of  mixed  and  moderate  passions.  Living  as 
we  do  under  the  meridian  of  caution  and  mediocrity,  history. 


FANATICISM. 


37J 


when  most  faithful,  often  soilnds  like  fomance;  or  even  if  we 
give  credit  to  its  narration'!,  we  regard  its  lessons  as  of  little 
practical  significance  now,  inasmuch  as  whatever  is  virulent 
or  terrible  has  fallen,  we  think,  from  the  usaire  of  mankind. 

It  has  become  somewhat  difficult  even  to  place  ourselves  so 
far  in  sympathy  with  extreme  emotions  as  is  necessary  for 
understandins;  them.  In  all  things  what  is  profound  has  giv- 
en way  to  what  is  familiar ;  or  what  once  was  fact  is  now 
thought  of  only  as  fit  subject  for  fiction.  Men  of  the  present 
age  are  care-worn  much  oftener  than  melancholy  ;  merry  or 
jovial,  rather  than  joyous;  jagacious  or  ingenious,  more  than 
meditative  ;  and  so  keenly  attached  to  the  passing  moment,  as 
to  throw  up  their  interest  as  well  in  the  past  as  in  the  future. 
Order,  custom,  and  utility,  set  bounds — and  very  narrow 
bounds  to  all  modes  of  conduct :  tlie  spirit  of  raillery  quench- 
es, or  imposes  a  disguise  upon  whatever  emotions  are  not  tri- 
vial. It  is  not  indeed  to  be  regretteil  that  the  firm  constitu- 
tions of  society,  in  modern  times,  and  its  established  notions, 
repress  or  confine  so  much  as  they  do  tlie  profounder  and 
more  virulent  impulses  of  the  soul,  lint  the  fact  of  this 
change  and  improvement  should  always  he  kept  in  mind  when 
the  power  of  such  emotions  is  to  he  calculated,  or  when  con- 
jecture is  employed  upon  the  possible  events  of  another  age. 
A  free  and  equal  government  (and  this  is  its  praise)  super- 
sedes, nay  almost  extinguishes  the  stronger  passions.  Pri- 
vate life,  happily  is  too  secure,  and  public  affairs  are  too  well 
settled,  to  alford  those  sudden  and  extraordinary  excitements 
which  awaken  the  latent  energies  of  men.  It  is  despotism, 
plunging  a  rutliless  hand  into  the  bosom  of  domestic  peace — 
it  is  ambition,  immolating  a  thousand  victims  in  an  hour — it 
is  popular  fury,  led  on  or  repulsed  by  a  single  arm,  that  dis- 
play the  expansive  force  of  the  human  mind  when  urged  to 
the  utmost  excess  of  feeling. 

Kven  those  visible  and  natural  excitements  of  the  imagi- 
nation, whence  the  deeper  passions  are  wont  to  draw  much  of 
their  vigour,  are  denied  to  us.  England  has  all  the  beauties 
of  picture;  but  they  are  beauties  in  miniature.  What  we  look 
upon  around  us  is  the  scenery  of  poetry,  rather  than  of  trage- 
dy. And  it  is  a  fact,  if  not  constant,  yet  ordinary,  that  those 
portentous  corruscations  of  the  passions  which  ally  themselves 
readily  with  the  imagination,  have  burst  out  from  the  thick 
gloom  of  a  frowning  nature.  Such  excesses  have  chieflj'  ap- 
peared where  awful  scenery,  or  extreme  violences  of  climate 
have  seemed  well  to  <:omport  with  egregious  sentiments  and 
frenzied  actions.  Man  (that  is  to  say  when  once  effectively 
roused  to  action)  acts  quite  another  part  than  we  think  of,  if 
his  lot  be  to  roam  through  howling  solitudes — to  traverse 
boundless  and  burning  sands — to  hide  himself  among  cloud- 
covered  precipices — to  gaze  upon  the  unalterable  and  intoler- 
able splendour  of  the  sky  ; — if  often  he  stand  aghast  amid  the 
earthquake  or  the  hurricane,  or  be  overtaken  by  sultry  tern 
pests,  fraught  with  suffocation.  It  is  in  the  heart  of  forests 
that  are  the  ancient  domain  of  enormous  reptiles,  or  of  savage 
beasts — it  is  where  horror  and  death  lurk  iu  the  way,  that  the 
darker  passions  reach  their  fullest  growth,  and  are  to  be  seen 
in  their  proper  force.  All  the  principal  or  most  characteristic 
forms  of  fanaticism  have  had  their  birth  beneath  sultry  skies, 
and  have  thence  spread  into  temperate  climates  by  transport- 
ation, or  infection. 

No  such  rule  must  be  assumed  as  absolute — few  rules  that 
relate  to  human  nature  are  so,  but  it  is  one  as  uniform  as 
most,  that  where  neither  reason,  nor  the  genuine  affections, 
but  imagination,  acts  as  the  prime  impulse  iu  religion,  tlie 
malign  emotions  are  found  in  close  attendance,  and  seldom 
fail  to  convert  spurious  piety  into  an  energetic  rancour.  Then 
again  this  rancour  reacts  upon  the  enthusiasm  whence  it 
sprang; — the  child  schools  the  parent  (an  inverted  order  of 
things  not  unusual  where  the  progeny  has  much  more  vigour 
than  the  parent).  Enthusiasm,  when  it  has  come  to  sustain 
Fanaticism,  is  far  more  darkly  coloured,  is  more  profound, 
more  mysterious,  than  the  illusory  piety  that  has  no  such 
load  upon  its  shoulders.  Things  bright  and  fair,  although 
unreal,  are  the  chosen  objects  of  this;  but  the  other  asks 
whatever  is  terrific  and  destructive.  This  sort  of  transmuta- 
tion of  sentiments,  which  happens  when  the  enthusiast  be- 
comes the  fanatic — when  malignity  is  shed  upon  illusion, 
much  resembles  what  often  takes  place  in  feverish  sleep; — 
who  has  not  seen  in  his  dreams,  splendid  and  smiling  pa- 
geants, gradually  relinquishing  the  brilliant  colours  they  first 
showed,  just  as  if  the  summer's  sun  were  sinking  from  the 
skies ; — but  presently  a  murky  glimmer  half  reveals  menacing 
forms;  and  in  the  next  moment  some  horrid  and  gory  phan- 
tom starts  forth,  and  becomes  master  of  the  scene  ! 

The  false  religion  then  of  the  Fa.natic  includes  element; 


not  at  all  known  to  the  mere  Enthusiast;  and  before  we  de- 
scend to  the  particular  instances  it  will  be  advantageous  to 
ascertain  the  general  (if  not  universal)  characteristics  of  the 
spurious  malign  Religion  which  animates  his  bosom; — they 
may  be  reduced  to  three  capital  articles;  namely.  1st.  A  de- 
ference to  Maligxaxt  Invisible  Power;  '2d.  The  natural 
consequence  of  such  a  deference — rancorous  contempt  or 
detestation  of  the  mass  of  mankind,  as  religiously  cursed  and 
abominable;  and  3d.  The  belief  of  corrupt  favouritism  on  the 
part  of  Invisible  Powers,  towards  a  sect  or  particular  class  of 
men  ;  and  this  partiality  is  the  antithesis  of  the  relentless  t}-- 
rauny  of  which  all  other  men  are  the  objects. 

I.  We  have  named — A  Deference,  or  religious  rcmrd  to 
Malign-  I.wisible  Powers,  whether  Supreme  or  Subordinate, 
which  will  be  found  to  enter,  as  primary  ingredient,  into  every 
form  of  Fanaticism,  ancient  and  modern,  and  may  well  be 
called  its  Germ. 

To  believe  that  evil  has  affected  other  races  of  rational 
agents  besides  the  human,  and  that  such  depraved  and  ma- 
ignant  beings,  though  unseen,  infringe  in  some  manner  upon 
the  human  system — is  one  thing:  and  it  is  a  belief  which 
reason  admits,  and  revelation  confirms;  but  either  to  impute 
in  any  sort,  malignancy  to  the  Supreme  Power,  or  to  make 
subordinate  malignant  powers  the  objects  of  deference,  direct 
or  indirect,  or  to  grant  to  their  agency  the  prime  place  amono- 
religious  notions,  is  quite  another  thing;  and  it  is  a  perver- 
sion of  this  sort,  more  or  less  gross,  and  more  or  less  appa- 
rent, which  imparts  force  to  every  species  of  rancorous  reli- 
gious sentiment. 

On  a  field  like  this  the  imagination,  if  it  be  troubled  by  a 
gloomy  temper,  or  made  turgid  by  fierce  passions,  and  espe- 
cially if  it  be  saddened  by  actual  sufferings,  wilt  never  want 
scope  or  fail  of  excitements.  Nothing  less  in  fact  than  the 
hope  which  it  is  the  prerogative  of  true  religion  to  impart  can 
bar  llie  entrance  of  the  mind  into  this  realm  of  fear — a  realm 
upon  which  mankind  has  in  every  age  eagerly  sought  to  make 
incursions.  If  we  are  to  employ  phrases  iu  accordance  with 
the  facts  which  history  presents,  we  are  bound  to  affirm  that 
the  Xatl'ral  Religion  of  man,  is  the  fear  and  service  of  Ma- 
lignant Powers.  Gloomy  superstition  springs  up  involunta- 
rily in  the  human  mind,  depraved  as  it  is,  and  exposed  to  so 
many  pains,  wants,  and  cruelties,  and  liable  withal  to  death. 
Man  does  not  become  religious  by  mere  force  of  gratitude  : 
the  uiuioticed  benefits  of  every  hour  lead  him  not  to  the  shrine 
of  the  Supreme  Beneficence:  it  is  danger  and  sorrow  that 
drive  him  to  the  altar.  The  necessities  and  miseries  of  the 
animal  frame — the  confusion  and  misrule  that  prevail  in  the 
social  system — the  stifled  sense  of  guilt  in  every  bosom,  and 
the  boding  of  future  punishment,  as  well  as  the  hatreds  which 
woe  and  oppression  cherish,  are  active  and  pungent  elements, 
working  in  the  soul  with  incomparabi}'  more  force  than  be- 
longs to  the  mild  sentiments  that  may  be  engendered  either 
by  the  spectacle  of  the  order  and  beauty  of  the  material  world, 
or  by  the  fruition  of  the  common  goods  of  life. 

Tlie  theism  of  philosophers  has  never  availed  to  counter- 
act that  natural  tendency  which  draws  on  mankind  to  the 
worship  of  Evil  Powers.  Neither  the  ancient  nor  the  modern 
systems  of  abstract  philosophy  have  taken  any  strong  hold 
of  the  spirits  of  men;  and  the  failure  has  happened,  not  so 
much  because  such  systems  were  too  refined  or  too  abstruse 
for  vulgar  apprehension ;  but  because  they  have  not  made 
provision  for  the  actual  position  of  man  in  the  present  state. 
Sages  have  announced  the  Divine  perfections,  and  there  have 
stopped  ; — but  to  bring  these  perfections  to  bear,  in  any  mode 
of  elfective  relief,  upon  the  guilt  and  sorrows  of  mankind, 
was  a  problem  quite  beyond  their  power.  Let  it  be  granted 
that  philosophical  theism  may  be  true  in  some  far  distant  up- 
per sphere;  but  on  Earth  it  serves  to  explain  nothing;  it 
assuages  no  trouble  ;  it  is  no  more  applicable  to  the  real  occa- 
sions of  life,  than  are  the  dreams  of  the  poet.  The  sage  and 
the  poet  must  alike  be  looked  upon  as  mere  men  of  idleness 
and  speculation  ; — their  theories  of  the  world — the  one  ab- 
struse, the  other  gorgeous,  ask  to  be  carried  back  many 
ages,  or  carried  forward  as  many,  before  space  can  be  found 
where  they  may  be  lodged.  Stern  experience  indignantly  or 
contemptuously  rejects  both. 

Of  all  the  popular  modes  which  have  been  devised  for  coun- 
teracting the  tendency  of  mankind  to  malign  superstition, 
that  embodied  in  the  mythology  of  the  people  of  Greece  may 
claim  to  have  been  the  most  successful,  as  well  as  the  most 
rich  and  splendid.  This  system  of  worship — not  so  much 
the  work  of  design,  as  the  spontaneous  product  of  the  national 
mind,  avoided  provoking  the  resentment  of  tortured  hearts  by 
giving  a  direct  contradiction  to  gloomy  surmises  ; — it  did  not 


)74 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


inicrdici  san^minary  superstition  ;  but  ratlier  occupied  before- 
hand tlie  elements  of  terror,  and  worked  tiiem  up  as  the  ma- 
terials of  its  supernatural  machinery.  No  example  can  be 
adduced,  from  any  other  quarter,  of  so  skilful  a  substitution  of 
the  sublime  and  beautiful  for  the  terrific.  Delicious  intellect- 
ual voluptuousness,  with  poetry,  and  the  drama,  with  paint- 
ing, architecture  and  sculpture,  as  its  ministers,  got  the  start 
of  the  violent  passions,  and  of  natural  terrors  ;  and  without  in- 
sultiniT  human  woe  (as  philosophy  does)  and  without  giving 
Iiccns(3  to  ferocious  iinpulscs,  as  was  done  by  the  oriental  su- 
perstitions, it  soothed  every  liarsh  feeling  by  the  insinuating 
fascinations  of  melody,  symmetry,  and  colour.  The  Gre- 
cian imaginative  theology,  after  having  preoccupied  the  hu- 
man mind  by  its  exquisite  forms  of  ideal,  or  visible  and  tan- 
gible beauty,  gave  audience  to  the  more  fierce  and  malign  emo- 
tions in  their  subdued  and  tian([uil  hour:  or  it  brought  them 
over  unconsciously  to  such  a  mood. — Orpheus  was  immortal 
in  Greece,  and  always  present  in  the  temples  to  lull  the  an- 
gry or  destructive  desires  of  the  rude  populace.  The  lion  and 
the  leopard  arc  seen  stalking  along,  if  sullen,  yet  pacified,  in 
the  processions  of  revelry  and  joy. 

The  Malignant  Powers  had  indeed  their  titles  and  images, 
and  temples  in  Greece;  but  their  tyranny  was  not  permitted; 
and  in  accordance  with  this  proscription  the  priestly  order 
was  denied  the  means  of  extending  its  power.  Nothing  dark 
or  cruel  was  suffered,  in  a  crude  form,  to  irritate  the  minds 
of  the  people.  Although  Fanaticism  could  not  be  absolutely 
excluded  from  the  land  of  beauty,  it  received  there  more  ef- 
fectual modifications  than  any  where  else — the  very  circle  of 
pure  and  true  religion  excepted.  Hesiod,  Pindar,  Homer, 
jl^schylus,  .Sophocles,  Apelles,  Phidias,  were  in  fact,  though 
not  in  form,  tbe  Priests  of  the  Grecian  worship,  and  the 
doctors  of  its  theology;  and  if  they  did  not  professedly  teach 
religious  truth,  they  yet  disarmed  religious  error  very  much 
of  its  evil  influence. 

Historical  justice  demands  that  when  the  absurdities  and 
the  impurity  of  Grecian  polytheism  (both  indeed  very  gross) 
are  spoken  of,  its  extraordinary  influence  in  allaying  the  vio- 
lence of  fanaticism  should  be  distinctly  admitted.  On  this 
ground  no  other  superstition  of  the  nations  can  at  all  come 
into  comparison  with  it.  The  same  justice  should  moreover 
lead  us  to  acknowledge — to  acknowledge  with  bitter  grief, 
that,  in  later  times,  the  corruptions  of  the  Jewish  and  Chris- 
tian systems  imparted  a  virulence  of  fanaticism,  such  as  the 
contemporaries  of  Socrates  and  Plato  would  have  shuddered 
to  think  of.  The  arrogant  misanthropy  of  the  Jew — the  relent- 
less intolerance  of  the  Mohammedan,  and  most  of  all,  the  in- 
satiate bigotry  of  tbe  Papist,  were  forms  of  evil,  new  to  the 
world  when  they  severally  appeared,  and  gave  an  appear- 
ance of  reason  to  the  calumnies  of  philosophers,  who  affirmed 
that  the  western  nations  had  discarded  the  ancient  mythology 
to  their  cost. 

n.  The  conceptions  we  form  of  the  Divine  Being,  and  our 
feelings  toward  our  fellow  men,  are  always  dependent  one 
upon  the  other.  As  well  by  natural  influence,  as  by  mere 
contagion  of  sentiments,  a  belief  in  malignantdivinities,  or  an 
imputation  of  malevolence  in  any  form,  to  the  Supreme  Being, 
brings  w  ith  it  the  supposition  that  the  mass  of  mankind,  or 
at  least  that  certain  portions  of  mankind,  are  the  objects  and 
the  victims  of  Divine  malediction;  and  therefore  may  be,  or 
ought  to  be,  contemned,  tormented,  destroyed. 

Is  it  theory  only,  or  is  it  matter  of  history,  that  Malign 
Theology  has  invariably  been  followed  at  hand  by  intoler- 
ance, execrations,  cruelties^  Or  whichever  may  have  been 
precursor,  the  other  has  quickly  come  up.  Nor  is  a  simple 
association  all,  for  the  style  of  the  theoretic  error  will  be 
found  to  have  comported  with  the  character  of  the  practical 
mischief.  Thus  it  is  that,  as  the  belief  in  malevolent  divini- 
ties, or  the  imputation  of  malevolence  (under  any  disguise  of 
abstract  terms)  to  the  Supreme  Being,  contradicts  or  distorts 
the  genuine  notion  of  sovereign  and  impartial  Justice,  to  the 
tribunal  of  which  nothing  is  amenable  but  crime,  so  the  corres- 
pondent feeling  towards  mankind  which  such  a  belief  engen- 
ders, is  not  that  of  righteous  disapprobation  on  Me  6coree/' mora/ 
offences,  but  that  of  detestation  or  abhorrence,  on  the  myste- 
rious ground  of  ecclesiastical  impurit}'.  It  is  not  as  the  trans- 
gressors of  a  holy  law,  but  as  the  reprobate  of  Heaven, 
that  men  in  particular,  or  that  nations  are  to  be  shut  out  from 
the  circle  of  our  charities.  The  multitude  or  herd  of  mankind 
is  spurned  as  abondnable,  much  more  than  as  guilty.  And 
when  once  so  grievous  a  perversion  of  feeling  has  taken  place, 
then  the  whole  of  the  force  which  belongs  to  our  instinctive 
notions  of  retribution,  or  to  our  acquired  belief  of  future  judg- 
ment, is  thrown  into  the  channel  of  our  sectarian  aversions ; 


and  this  force,  like  a  mountain  torrent,  in  so  passing  from  an 
open  to  a  narrow  bed,  gains  new  impetuosity. — Ingenuous 
disapproval  becomes  covert  rancour:  virtuous  indignation 
slides  into  implacable  revenge ;  and  acrid  scorn  completely 
excludes,  not  only  all  indulgence  towards  the  frailty  of  men, 
but  all  compassion  for  their  sorrows. 

A  sense  of  justice  founded  on  genuine  notions  of  the  Di- 
vine character  and  government,  does  not  carry  the  mind  fur- 
ther than  to  a  mournful  acquiescence  in  the  infliction  of  due 
punishment  upon  the'guilty.  Butitis  quite  otherwise  with  that 
perverted  feeling  which,  while  it  draws  its  animation  from  ha- 
tred, derives  its  swollen  bulk  from  the  imagination. — The  im- 
agination inflamed  by  malignity,  respects  no  bounds  in  its  de- 
mand of  vengeance.  The  very  essence  of  Justice,  which  is 
strictly  to  observe  a  limit,  scandalizes  the  fanatic,  who  must 
heap  terror  upon  terror,  and  still  fails  to  satisfy  his  concep- 
tion of  what  might  be  fitting,  as  the  doom  of  the  accursed  ob- 
jects of  his  contempt.  There  is  in  the  human  mind,  when  pro- 
foundly moved,  a  strange  eagerness  to  reach  the  depths  of 
the  most  appalling  ideas ; — or,  shall  we  say,  to  tread  the 
very  lowest  ground  of  the  world  of  woe  and  horror.  This 
innominate  appetite  finds  its  proper  aliment  when  a  Mani- 
cha;an  belief  is  turned  wildly  loose  upon  the  field  of  human 
misery  : — carnage,  murder,  slavery,  torment,  famine,  pesti- 
lence, pining  anguish ; — or  hurricanes,  earthquakes,  vol- 
canic fires,  are  ail  so  many  articles  in  the  creed  of  the  malign 
being.  Under  the  influence  of  this  cavernous  inspiration, 
Pity  is  thought  of,  not  merely  as  contemptible,  but  as  impi- 
ous ; — Justice  is  injustice,  and  leniency  the  greatest  of 
crimes. — Are  we  here  only  giving  point  to  a  paragraph  ? — or 
has  not  history  often  and  again  verified  such  a  description  of 
the  enormities  which  the  human  heart,  badly  informed,  may 
entertain  1* 

III.  But  the  Fanatic,  inasmuch  as  he  is  an  Enthusiast 
born,  must  take  up  yet  another  and  a  more  sparkling  element 
of  character ;  and  it  is  nothing  else  than  the  supposition  of  cor- 
rupt favouritism  on  the  part  of  the  deity  he  worships,  toward 
himself  and  the  faction  of  which  he  is  a  member.  The  Fana- 
tic, and  this  we  must  keep  in  mind,  is  not  a  simple  misanthrope, 
nor  the  creature  of  sheer  hatred  and  cruelty : — he  does  not 
move  like  a  venomous  reptile  lurking  in  a  crevice,  or  winding 
silent  through  the  grass;  but  soars  in  mid  heaven  as  a  fiery  fly- 
ing serpent,  and  looks  down  from  on  high  upon  whom  he  hates. 
Imaginative  by  temperament,  his  emotions  are  allied  to  hope 
and  presumption,  more  closely  than  to  fear  and  despondency: 
he  firmly  believes,  therefore,  in  the  favour  of  the  supernal 
powers  towards  their  faithful  votaries;  and  in  expectation  of 
still  more  signal  boons  than  yet  he  has  received,  offers  him- 
self to  their  service,  as  the  unflinching  champion  of  their  in- 
terests on  earth. 

And  besides,  as  we  have  already  said,  the  imagination, 
v.hen  brought  into  play  by  self-love,  must  draw  its  excite- 
ments from  a  circle  which  it  can  embrace.  It  will  then  be  a 
tribe,  a  sect,  a  faction,  that  aflbrds  a  sphere  to  fanaticism ; 
and  the  infuriate  religionist,  how  unsocial  soever  in  temper, 
is  compelled  to  love  a  few,  so  that  he  may  be  able,  in  the 
strength  of  that  partial  feeling,  to  hate  the  many  with  full  inten- 
sity .-^The  supposition  of  special  favour  towards  ourselves, 
on  the  part  of  heaven,  will  corrupt  and  debilitate,  or  will  pu- 
rify and  invigorate  the  heart,  precisely  according  to  the  qual- 
ity of  the  notions  we  entertain  of  the  Divine  character.  The 
idea  of  personal  regard  and  affection  from  Him  who  love  only 
what  is  good  and  pure  like  Himself,  can  never  operate  to  im- 
pair the  principles  of  the  moral  sense  :  nay,  this  very  idea, 
when  freed  from  illusions,  imparts  elevation  to  virtue,  and 
makes  the  temper  and  conduct  of  man,  on  earth,  to  reflect  the 
brightness  of  heaven.  But  on  the  contrary,  theological  no- 
tions, when  sullied  or  distorted,  vitiate  in  an  extreme  decree 
every  sentiment  of  the  deluded  being  who  deems  himself  the 
darling  of  the  skies.  Let  but  such  a  pestilent  doctrine  be 
admitted  as  that  the  Divine  favour  is  bestowed,  not  merely  in 
disregard  of  virtue,  but  in  contempt  of  it,  and  then  religion, 
with  all  its  power,  goes  over  to  swell  the  torrent  of  impurity, 
cupidity,  and  malice.  Under  patronage  of  a  belief  like  this, 
virtue  and  vice  change  sides  in  the  court  of  conscience,  and 
the  latter  claims  sacred  honours. 

We  recapitulate  our  three  elements  of  Fanaticism,  which 
(as  we  assume)  will  be  discoverable,  in  different  modes  or 
proportions,  under  all  forms  of  religious  extravagance — name- 
ly— the  supposition   of  malignity  on  the  part  of    the  object 


*  A  tit  occasion  will  present  itsc-lf  for  cxeluding  ;iny  sinister  infer- 
ence «liich  might  be  dia«ii  from  lliese  allegalions  against  the  seri- 
ous verities  of  Christianity. 


FANATICISM. 


375 


of  reliirious  worship; — a  conscquot  delestatio;i  of  mankind 
at  lar^c,  as  ihe  subjects  of  Malignant  Power;  and  then  a 
credulous  conceit  of  the  favour  of  Heaven,  shown  to  a  few,  in 
contempt  of  the  rules  of  virtue. 

Now  we  might  follow  the  tract  of  history,  and  exhibit  the 
modifications  these  elements  have  undergone  in  the  rolij^ious 
systems  that  have  successively  ruled  in  the  world.  But  any 
method  which  observes  the  order  of  Time,  though  obvious 
and  siai])le,  is  laden  with  the  inconvenience  of  involving  fre- 
quent repetitions  of  general  principles.  It  will  be  belter  to 
sieze  upon  certain  leading  varieties  of  our  subject,  as  marked 
by  broad  distinctions,  easily  traced  in  every  age,  and  such  as 
may  be  recognized,  whenever  they  may  recur,  without  hazard 
of  mistake."  These  conspicuous  varieties  may  be  brought 
under  four  designations,  of  which  the  first  will  comprehend 
all  instances  wlierein  malignant  religious  sentiments  turn  in- 
ward upon  the  unhappy  subject  of  them:  to  the  second 
class  will  belong  that  more  virulent  sort  of  fanaticism  which 
looks  abroad  for  its  vistims :  the  third  embraces  the  combi- 
nation of  intemperate  religious  zeal  with  military  sentiments, 
or  with  national  pride,  and  the  love  of  power;  to  the  fourth 
class  must  be  reserved  all  instances  of  the  more  intellectual 
kind,  and  which  stand  connected  with  opinion  and  dogma. 
Our  first  sort  then  is  Austere;  the  second  Cruel;  the  third 
Ambitious  ;  and  the  fourth  Factious. 

Or,  for  the  purpose  of  fixing  a  characteristic  mark  upon 
each  of  our  classes,  as  above  named,  let  it  be  permitted  us  to 
entitle  them  as  follows — namely,  the /«/,  The  Fanaticism  of 
the  Scourge  ;  or  of  personal  infliction  :  the  sccourf,  the  Fanat- 
icism of  the  Brand  ;  or  of  immolation  and  cruelty  :  the  third, 
the  Fanaticism  of  the  Banner;  or  of  ambition  and  conquest: 
and  the  fmirth,  the  Fanaticism  of  the  Symbol;  or  of  creeds, 
docmalism,  and  ecclesiastical  virulence. 


SECTION  V. 


FANATICISM  OF  THE  SCOURfiE 


The  broadest  distinctions  in  the  exterior  character  of  men, 
and  the  most  marked  dissimilaritier;  in  their  modes  of  eon- 
duct,  do  not  infallibly  bespeak  a  dilTerence  equally  great  in 
the  elements  of  their  temper.  On  the  contrary,  it  is  some- 
times easy  to  trace  in  the  minds  of  those  between  whose 
visible  course  of  life  there  has  been  little  or  no  resemblance, 
a  close  analogy.  Yet  even  when  such  an  analogy  may  be 
discerned,  it  is  not  always  practicable  to  discover  the  causes 
of  the  external  diversity  which  distinguislies  them.  An 
obscure  peculiarity  of  the  bodily  temperament,  or  a  forgotten 
incident  of  early  life,  may  have  been  enongh  to  determine 
whether  certain  impetuous  passions  should  take  their  course 
abroad,  or  should  boil  as  a  vortex  within  the  bosom.  So  is 
it  that  when  a  stream  gushes  from  its  cleft,  the  mere  bend  of 
a  tree,  or  the  angle  of  a  rock,  may  be  all  the  reason  either  of 
its  taking  its  course  westward — to  measure  the  width  of  a 
continent ;  or  toward  the  east,  soon  to  find  a  home  in  some 
pent-up  gully,  or  sullen  cavern  of  the  mountains. 

Causes  so  inconsiderable  or  so  latent  we  must  not  hope 
always  to  detect.  It  will  be  enough  if  we  can  show  reason 
for  brincring  together  into  the  same  general  class,  men  who 
would  both  perhaps  have  recoiled  with  horror  or  with  dis- 
dain to  find  themselves  in  each  other's  company.  Yes,  we 
should  all  learn  much  of  the  secrets  of  our  personal  disposi- 
tions, and  see  our  peculiar  tempers  as  if  under  a  sudden 
blaze  of  light,  could  it  happen  that  some  superior  Intelli- 
gence, descending  upon  earth,  were  to  do  nothing  more 
as  Discriminator  of  character,  and  Censor  of  minds,  than 
silently  to  classify  the  crowd  of  men  by  the  rule  of  their 
original  propensities,  or  their  essential  merits.  We  should 
then  read  our  hearts  in  the  companions  with  whom  we  found 
ourselves  assorted. 

Why  has  the  fanaticism  of  one  man  devastated  the  world ; 
while  that  of  another  has  spent  itself  within  the  walls  of  a 
cloister^  we  may  not  be  able  to  say.  Nevertheless  there 
are  instances  of  this  sort  which  are  easily  explained.  As 
for  example  : — violent  or  malign  passions  sometimes  turn 
inward,  and  vex  the  heart  that  generates  them,  in  conse- 
quence of  the  mere  sluggishness  or  lassitude  of  the  animal 
system  which,  while  it  insulates  a  man  from  others,  as  if  he 
were  enveloped  in  an  indolent  fog,  yet  does  not  much  alTect 
the  interior  of  the  character.     There  may  exist  a  very  high 


rate  of  moral  or  intellectual  excitement,  where  the  manners 
and  mode  of  conduct  indicate  nothing  but  torpor.  Just  as, 
in  some  bottomless  lakes,  vehement  u'nder-currents  or  eddies 
make  sport  below,  while  the  surface  is  still  and  stagnant. 
Not  a  few  of  our  fanatics  of  the  self-tormenting  class  come 
under  this  description. 

There  is  too  to  be  found,  here  and  there,  a  pride  of  personal 
independence,  and  a  misanthropic  arrogance,  which,  as  it 
spurns  every  sort  of  mutuality,  compels  the  sonl  to  feed  on 
its  own  substance.  It  might  seem  enough  for  such  a  one  to 
refuse  to  draw  its  *a/(>/cc/io;(S  from  its  fellows  ;  but  there  is 
a  malignant  pride  more  excessive  than  this,  and  which  even 
refuses^ to  be  so  far  dependent  upon  other  men  as  to  call  them 
the  objects  of  its  hatred  or  revenge.  There  is  a  haughtiness 
so  enregious  that  a  man  will  contemn  and  torment  himself 
sooner  than  condescend  to  look  abroad  as  if  he  stood  in  need 
of  any  beings  as  the  objects  of  his  ireful  emotions.  Although 
nature  forbids  that  any  such  attempt  at  mental  insulation 
should  be  altogether  successful,  yet  the  endeavour  is  made 
and  is  renewed,  day  after  day,  by  spirits  of  the  order  we 
describe.  On  the  other  hand,  there  are  instances  in  which  a 
mild  meditative  humour,  perverted  by  some  false  system  of 
belief,  or  excessive  sensibilites  that  have  chanced  to  be  torn 
and  outraged  in  the  world,  or  much  physical  timidity  com- 
bined with  lofty  and  exquisite  sentiments,  produce  the  effect 
of  introverting  gloomy  emotions  upon  the  heart. 

Instances  of  a  mi.xed  or  mitigated  kind  present  themselves 
on  all  sides.  In  truth  the  cases  of  pure  fanatidxm  (our  defi- 
nition being  kept  in  view*)  are  rare;  or  rather,  are  not 
readily  separated  from  those  dispositions  with  which  it  natu- 
rally consorts.  Whether  certain  extravagant  modes  of  con- 
duct are  to  be  attributed  to  sheer  superstition;  or  whether 
there  be  nothing  in  them  worse  than  an  absurd  enthusiasm,  it 
may  be  impossible  to  affirm.  The  best  we  can  do  is  to  catch 
the  distinctive  features  of  each  kind,  as  the  ambiguous  in- 
stances pass  before  us.  Of  all  the  facts  which  might  be 
adduced  (and  they  would  soon  fill  volumes)  illustrative  of 
the  system  of  monkish  austerity,  very  few  broadly  and  in- 
contestibly  exhibit  the  vinihnt  motives  which,  nevertheless, 
the  entire  history  of  the  system  demonstrates  to  have  been 
in  secret  operation  throughout  it.  Especially  is  it  to  he  ob- 
served, that  the  prevalence  of  a  certain  accredited  and  admired 
style  of  expressing  the  monkish  doctrine  conceals,  or  half 
conceals,  the  passions  that  were  working  beneath  the  surface 
of  its  placid  sanctity.  No  one  who  is  conversant  with  the 
ascetic  writers  can  have  failcil  to  discern  the  strong  heavings 
of  human  nature  under  the  pressure  of  that  system,  even 
when  it  might  be  difficult  or  impossible  to  adduce  formal 
proof  of  the  hidden  commotion.  What  we  have  now  to  do  is 
broadly  to  characterize  this  species  of  fanaticism ; — not  such 
as  it  seems  in  the  encomiastic  pages  of  Thcodoret,  Sozomen, 
Isidore,  Macarius,  Palladius,  Cassian;  or  of  Basil  and  Ber- 
nard ;  but  such  as,  after  a  candid  perusal  of  these  writers,  we 
are  compelled  to  believe  it  to  have  been.f 

There  are  three  distinct  elements  upon  which  fanatical 
sentiment,  when  introverted,  employs  itself;  and  in  each  in- 
stance the  product  is  very  distinguishable. — These  are,  1st. 
The  miseries,  physical  and  mental,  to  which  man  is  liable. 
3d.  A  consciousness  of  personal  guilt,  and  dread  of  retribu- 
tion. And,  3d.  The  supposition  of  supererogatory  or  vicari- 
ous merit.  The  working  of  the  soul  upon  each  of  these 
excitements  demands  to  be  briefly  exhibited. 

1st.  There  is  a  rebellion  of  proud  hearts  against  the 
calamities  to  which  human  life  is  exposed,  such  as  impels 
sometimes  the  disordered  mind  to  take  up  its  biirden  of  woe 
spontaneously,  rather  than  9,'ait  till  it  be  imposed  "  If  pain, 
sorrow,  and  want,  are  to  be  my  companions,  1  vow  to  have 
none  beside.  I  will  run  forward  and  embrace  wretchedness. 
I  w-ill  live  for  Misery,  so  that  she  may  never  overtake  me,  or 
set  me  as  the  mark  of  her  arrow.  Disappointment  shall  for 
me  hold  no  shaft  which  I  will  not  have  wrenched  from  her 
cruel  hand,  ere  it  can  be  hurled.  The  power  of  bodily  pain 
shall  have  no  anguish  in  store  which  I  will  not  freely  have 
forestalled.  Fanzine,  thirst,  heat  and  cold,  shall  assail  me 
witli  no  new  lesson  of  distress.  No,  for  I  will  frequent  their 
school.  Every  pang  the  flesh  or  the  heart  can  ice!,  I  will 
prevent  by  existing  only  for  soitow.  Even  that  unknown  fu- 
turity of  evil  which  death  may  reveal,  I   will  penetrate  by 


•  Page  366. 

+  The  Author  having  in  another  volume  consiilpi-ed  the  Monkish 
institute  and  docu-ine  as  tlie  product  and  parent  ol'  Enthusiasm,  has 
now  only  to  advert  to  those  sti-on^i'r  featni-es  of  the  system  wliieli 
mark  it  as  Fanatical  or  viruleiit. 


376 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


continual  nioililation  of  liorrors.  .So  will  1  daily  converse 
with  ghastly  Jespair,  as  to  taste  betbreliand  the  very  worst, 
and  to  nnllily  fear  by  familiarity."  Modes  of  feeling  sucli 
as  this,  have  been  indulged  ;  and  perhaps  even  now  are  not 
wholly  unknown  to  some.  While  we  are  looking  only  on 
the  frivolous,  tlie  busy,  and  the  sensual  field  of  common  lifej 
as  spread  out  around  us,  it  may  be  hard  to  believe  that  the! 

liuman  mind  has  ever  travelled  on  a  path  so  deep-sunken 

But  if  we  turn  aside  a  little  from  the  beaten  road,  we  shall 
find  i[istances  of  this  sort  actually  to  belong  to  the  history  of 
man. 

A  desperate  and  sullen  pride  has  always  marked  the  orien- 
tal (polytheistic)  austerities;  and  in  India  we  see  unmasked, 
that  which  in  Europe  has  disguised  itself  under  (Christian 
modes  of  expression.  Very  little  that  olfends  against  the 
professed  humility  of  the  ascetic  life  is  to  be  found  on  the 
pages  of  the  writers  who  give  us  the  principles  and  rules  of 
the  system,  and  who,  for  tlie  most  part,  were  themselves  hap- 
py under  it,  as  Enthusiasts.  What  might  be  the  bitterness  of 
the  heart  in  those  wlio  were  its  victims,  we  are  left  to  sur- 
mise. There  were  more  motives  than  one  for  imposing  per- 
petual silence  upon  the  inmates  of  the  monastery.  The  foun- 
der of  the  order,  or  its  reformer,  might  talk  aloud,  and  dis- 
claim as  he  would  upon  the  felicity  of  his  condition  ;  for  with 
him  the  fanaticism  was  of  a  sort  that  might  be  known  and 
looked  at ;  but  not  so  with  the  fraternity  at  large.  A  de  Hance 
or  a  Eustache  de  Beaufort  may  speak: — but  their  compan- 
ions must  utter  no  whisper  of  their  sorrows.* 

2d.  A  proud  forestalling  of  misery,  such  as  we  have  just 
spoken  of,  ordinarily  combines  itself  with  the  consciousness 
of  guilt  and  tlie  dread  of  retribution;  and  both  together  lead 
to  the  same  voluntary  endurance  of  extreme  pains ;  he  who 
thinks  himself  both  a  Victim  and  a  Cul])rit  would  fain  take 
the  engine  of  retributive  torment  into  his  own  hand,  lest  it 
should  he  laid  hold  of  by  the  Vindictive  Power  he  dreads. 
And  the  hope  he  entertains  of  acting  always  as  proxy  for  the 
minister  of  Justice  in  his  own  case,  bears  proportion  to  the 
rigour  with  which  he  exercises  the  function  of  executioner. f 

Wliat  spectacle  in  nature  so  monstrous,  what,  at  first  sight, 
so  inexplicable,  as  that  of  an  excruciated  devotee  who  scorns 
even  to  writhe  or  to  sigh  under  tortures  which  other  men 
would  not  endure  an  hour,  to  save  or  to  obtain  a  mountain  of 
gold  !  Vet  he  sustains,  year  after  year,  his  burden  of  woe 
in  the  mere  strength  of  the  obduracy  of  his  soul ! — Bound  t( 
the  stake ; — yes,  but  bound  only  by  the  cords  of  pride  ! — 
Does  then  a  spectacle  like  this  ali'ord  no  lesson  1     After  we 


*  St.  Bernard,  intending  no  doubt  to  recommend  tlie  monastie 
state,  pleasantly  compares  the  monks  to  the  fisli  in  a  puddle  !  *'  Sunt 
c-t  in  sUvg'iiis  n^undi  pisccs,  (jui  in  claustris  Deo  servinnt  in  spiritn  et 
veritale.  Merito  shpiidcni  stagnis  moir.\sicria  comparantur,  ubi 
i[uodammodo  incarcerati  pisces  evagandi  non  habeant  libertatem." 
{Serin. in  Fest.  .S'.  Andr.  /ipost.)  And  a  horrid  prison,  accordiiisj  to 
Uis  own  confession,  \\  as  the  moiiastcry  :  "  Ditro  mc  carcevi  manci- 
l>avi."  {Epist.  ^237.)  So  much  so,  that  it  seemed  to  tlie  saint  him- 
self the  greatest  of  all  miracles  that  men  should  be  found  who  were 
billing  to  endure  its  discipline.  Let  us  hear  him  when,  on  a  higii 
(lay,  be  is  haranguing  the  traternily  :  '*  (-iuid  niirabilius,  kc.. — Quod 
nutjus  miraculnm,  quandn  tot  ju\enes,  tot  adolescentes,  tot  nobiles, 
nniversi  deniqne  quns  hie  video,  velut  in  carcere  aporto  tenentnr 
sine  vincides,  solo  Dei  timore  contixi:  (piod  in  tauta  perseverant 
afBictione  pa'hitenti-.e,  idtra  virlutem  humanam,  sn[n-anatnram,  con- 
tra consuetudinem  ?"  [Sunn,  in  dedicat.  eccl<fs.)  A  general  fact, 
on  the  ground  of  ■which  we  mav  argue  more  confidently  than  from 
the  disguised  language  of  men  whose  enslaved  spirits  knew  nothing 
of  ingenuousness,  is  this,  that  as  the  monastic  system  s]irung  up 
amid  the  persecutions  of  the  second  century,  so  has  it  flourished 
most,  and  been  can-ied  to  the  greatest  extremes,  iii  times  of  public 
calamity  and  disorder. — The  niiseriti*  of  llie  open  world  have  been 
reflected  upon  the  austerities  of  the  cell — that  camera  obscura.  It 
appears  plainly  that  the  excessive  abstinence  and  the  savage  habits 
of  the  Egyptian  eremites — so  much  adndred  by  the  Church  writers 
of  the  fourth  and  fifth  centuries,  were  little  n^ore  than  a  fantastic 
Ibrm  of  the  wretchedness  of  the  people  of  the  country.  As  much 
as  this  is  confessed  by  some  of  the  eulogists  of  these  horrid  saints. 
Thus  for  example  "Pallatlins. — As  to  what  relates  to  eating  and 
drinking  fspeaking  of  a  certain  ^Macarius  and  his  companions)  I 
ni-ed  say  little,  since  nothing  like  gluttony  is  to  be  found  tlicre,  even 
among  the  most  indulgent  of  the  monks,  who  live  at  lai-ge  ;  or  any 
thing  to  distinguish  them  from  the  people  of  the  country  ;  and  this 
as  well  by  reason  of  the  scarcitv  of  food,  as  from  the  impulse  of  a 
Divine  zeal — jcai  Ji^  tj.v  (TTruviv  tZv  ^pCv,  Jtai  Jta  tcv  k-xtu  6kv  ^t^X'^v. 
— Lansaic  His!,  c.  21. 

t  Christian  sentiments  modify  the  feelings  of  this  sort,  and  give 
them  a  more  humble  guise.  Krgo  qui  pceiiitentiam  agit,  offere  se 
ili'bet  ad  picnam.  ut  hie  puniatur  a  Domino,  non  ad  supplicia  leterna 
servetur:  nee  expectare  tempus,  sed  occurrere  divinse  indignationi. 
(Ambrose  in  Ps.  xxxvii.)  Do  the  apostles  speak  in  any  such  style  ' 
The  transition  was  easy  from  a  doctrine  like  this  to  tjic  exti'emest 
austerities. 


have  scoffed  at  the  folly,  or  wondered  at  the  infatuation  of  the 
voluntary  sufferer,  let  us  return  and  ask,  whether  so  strange 
a  perversion  of  the  power  of  the  spirit  over  the  body,  does 
not  furnish  evidence  of  an  overthrown  greatness  in  the  human 
mind,  such  as  the  atheist  and  sceptic  quite  leave  out  of  their 
theory  of  man  \  If  it  be  said  that  these  witless  personal  in- 
flictions take  place  in  consequence  only  of  an  enor  of  belief, 
and  may  properly  be  compared  to  the  ill-directed  fatigues  of 
a  traveller,  who,  on  wrong  information,  jiursues  a  worse  road 
wlien  he  might  have  found  a  better,  let  only  the  experiment 
be  tried  of  leading,  into  a  parallel  error,  any  being  to  whom 
the  body  and  its  welfare  is  the  supreme  and  only  interest  to 
be  cared  for.  Not  a  step  could  ever  be  set  by  such  a  being 
towards  a  folly  of  this  order.  The  liability  of  man  to  go  so 
far  astray  springs  from  those  ulterior  principles  that  are  in- 
volved in  his  nature,  and  which  bespeak  an  immortal  destiny. 
Every  such  practical  absurdity  is  an  implicit  proof  of  the  pre- 
sence of  a  latent  capacity  for  entertaining  the  highest  truths  ; 
and  if  man  be  the  only  fool  among  the  tribes  of  earth,  and  the 
only  wretch,  it  is  because  he  alone  might  be  wise,  virtuous 
and  happy. 

On  this  ground  the  voluntary  endurance  of  torment,  from 
motives  of  religion,  may  be  assumed,  as  demonstrative  evi- 
dence of  the  intrinsic  superiority  of  the  mental  over  the  animal 
principles  of  our  nature; — for  when  the  body  prevails,  as  too 
ollen  it  does,  over  the  mind,  it  is  by  the  means  of  seductions 
and  flatteries;  and  we  know  that  in  this  manner  the  noble 
may  readily  be  made  to  succumb  beneath  the  base.  But  when, 
as  in  the  instance  before  us,  the  mental  force  triumphs  over 
the  physical  will,  it  does  so  in  the  way  of  an  open  trial  of 
relative  strength  ; — and  the  stronger  principle  is  found  to  pre- 
vail. We  receive,  moreover,  from  these  extraordinary  facts, 
a  striking  proof  of  the  supremacy  of  the  moral  sense  in  the 
constitution  of  man  ;  for  it  this  chiefl5'  that  gives  impulse  to 
the  practices  of  self-torture.  And  again,  the  relation  of  man 
to  Invisible  and  Hetributive  Power,  is  by  the  same  means 
established  ;  the  secret  of  every  sort  of  self-inlliclion  is  a  tacit 
compromise  with  Future  Justice;  and  when  notions  such  as 
these  take  effect  in  a  paramount  manner,  carrying  all  other 
reasons  before  them,  we  have  evidence  that,  in  the  order  of 
nature,  Peligion  is  the  sovereign  motive. 

The  fanatic  is  much  in  error ;  yet  let  it  not  be  thought  that 
he  subverts  the  first  principles  of  virtue.  He  is  wrong  on 
certain  points  of  morality,  calling"  good  evil  and  evil  good; 
but  still  it  is  good  and  evil  that  are  the  elements  he  works 
upon.  And  so  in  Religion.  His  correspondence  is  with  a 
Power  of  retributive  Government  on  high;  but  he  thinks 
amiss  of  that  Power.  His  error  is  to  impute  an  intrinsic 
malignancy,  or  a  sheer  vindictive  purpose  to  the  Invisible 
-Vutbority ;  and  then  he  conceives  of  himself  as  having,  by  his 
transgressions,  fallen  into  the  hands  of  the  irresistible  avenger, 
who,  as  he  thinks,  can  take  advantage  of  mankind  only  so  far 
as  sin  brings  them  within  the  circle  of  his  wrath;  or  who, 
once  and  again  starts  forth  and  catches  an  opportunity  against 
men,  when  he  finds  them  unwary  or  at  fault. 

In  a  form  so  preposterous  as  this,  fanatical  belief  is  hardly 
perhaps  to  be  met  with,  except  on  the  banks  of  the  Ganges  or 
in  the  wilds  of  Africa.  We  describe  the  feeling  in  its  ex- 
tremes, and  then,  in  turning  to  instances  where  a  purer  creed 
has  softened  whatever  is  harsh,  and  where  an  accredited  theo- 
logical style  has  disguised  whatever  is  oflensive,  we  trace 
the  elements  of  the  very  same  order  of  feeling  under  the  con- 
cealments that  recommend  them.  We  inust  not  expect  to 
hear  from  the  Christian  ascetic  a  genuine  expression  of  the 
emotions  that  torment  his  bosom:  these  are  to  be  divined  by 
a  fair  interpretation  of  his  behaviour.  It  is  by  the  same  rule 
that  we  shall  presently  have  to  estimate  the  dispositions  of 
those  who  have  signalized  themselves  in  scenes  of  cruelty. 
To  read  the  extant  writings — the  epistles,  the  meditations,  the 
homilies,  of  some  of  these  sanguinary  personages,  one  would 
think  them  unconscious  of  every  thing  but  meekness  and 
charity. 

Dread  or  dismay,  when  of  long  continuance,  naturally  set- 
tles down  into  some  sort  of  calculation  or  of  compromise  with 
the  apprehended  danger.  And  it  is  thus  that  there  arises, 
within  the  troubled  spirit  of  the  man  whose  consciousness  of 
guilt  was  at  first  intolerable,  a  whispered  controversy  with 
the  vengeful  Power,  or  a  dull  wrangling  debate  concerning 
the  precise  amount  of  tlie  mulct,  and  the  mode  of  payment. 
The  culprit,  confessing  that  he  has  fallen  under  the  power  of 
his  adversary,  nevertheless  does  not,  after  a  while  despair  of 
making  term's  more  advantageous  than  at  first  he  had  thought 
of.  With  this  hope  he  looks  about  for  the  means  of  righting 
his  cause,  or  even  of  quite  turning  the  balance  in  his  favour. 


FANATICISM. 


377 


Yes,  and  he  goes  so  far  as  to  harbour  the  thought  (natural  to 
the  mind  when  it  is  the  pre)-  of  rancorous  emotions)  of  justi- 
fying-, to  such  an  extent,  the  difference  between  himself  and  the 
Avenger,  as  that,  if  after  all,  punishment  should  be  inflicted, 
it  shall  be,  and  shall  seem  to  others — unrighteous  and  cruel, 
so  that  while  writhing  under  it,  the  sufferer  may  console  him- 
self with  the  proud  consciousness  of  merit,  and  may,  even  on 
the  ground  of  severe  justice,  gain  a  right  of  retaliation. 

At  this  point  then  there  comes  in  hope,  and  a  new  emotion 
to  give  alacrity  to  the  fortitude  of  the  soul.  The  conscience- 
stricken  man  discovers  that  he  possesses  within  himself  (as 
if  it  were  an  inexhaustible  fund)  the  power  of  enduring  pri- 
vations and  pains: — he  may  deny  every  gratification,  he  may 
sustain  without  a  groan  the  most  extreme  anguish,  he  may 
live  only  to  suffer.  And  in  his  mode  of  estimating  the  ab- 
solving value  of  bodily  torment  he  reckons  that,  whatever 
price  may  be  put  upon  those  pains  or  wants  which  a  man 
endures  unwillingly,  and  from  which  he  has  no  means  of 
escaping,  the  merit  of  the  same  amount  of  affliction  borne 
voluntarily,  is  tenfold  greater.*  Whoever  then  has  the  for- 
titude to  inflict  misery  upon  himself,  may  boldly  defy  vindic- 
tive Power;  for  he  commands  the  means  of  adding  merit  to 
merit,  at  such  a  rate  of  rapid  accumulation  as  shall  presently 
outstrip  the  reckoning  of  the  adversary.f 

Fanaticism  (the  fanaticism  of  personal  infliction)  is  not 
ripened  until  it  approaches  this  point.  That  is  to  say,  it 
wants  spring  and  warmth ; — it  is  not  tumid  ; — it  has  no  hero- 
ism so  long  as  mere  dread,  and  the  sense  of  guilt,  are  upper 
most  in  the  mind.  But  when  pride  takes  its  high  standino- 
upon  the  supposition  of  merit  won,  and  when  Invisible  Powers 
are  deemed  to  have  been  foiled,  then  the  spirit  gets  freedom 
and  soars.  Pitiable  triumph  of  the  lacerated  heart  that  thus 
vaunts  itself  in  miseries  as  useless  as  they  are  horrid  ! — Must 
we  not  mourn  the  infatuations  of  our  nature,  as  we  watch  the 
ascent  of  the  soul  that  climbs  the  sky  only  to  carry  there  a 
sullen  defiance  of  Eternal  Justice! — So  the  bird  of  prey,  beat 

off  from  the  fold,  and  torn  with  the  shepherd's  shafts its 

plumage  ruffled,  and  stained  with  gore,  flaps  the  wino-  on 
high,  and  fronts  the  sun  as  if  to  boast  before  heaven  o?  its 
audacity  and  its  wounds! 

It  is  after  it  has  passed  this  stage,  or  when  fear  and  hu- 
miliation give  way  to  hope,  to  pride,  or  perhaps  to  revenge, 
that  secondary  motives  are  brought  in,  and  fanaticism  be- 
comes a  mixed  sentiment,  and  is  lowered  in  its  tone;  not 
seldom  degenerates  into  farce  or  hypocrisy,  and  at  length  per- 
haps quite  evaporates.  Secondary  motives  of  this  kind  would 
never  be  listened  to  if  it  were  not  for  the  alleviations  that 
arise  from  habit.  The  pains  of  mere  privation,  terrible  as 
they  seem  to  the  luxurious,  the  human  mind  soon  learns  to 
endure  without  repining;  nay,  it  derives  at  length  a  sombre 
satisfaction  from  the  very  paucity  of  its  sources  of  comfort. 
A  reaction,  such  as  this,  is  not  of  rare  occurrence.  Certain 
tenipers  are  alive  to  an  emotion  of  personal  independence 
which,  when  fully  kindled,  makes  it  delicious  to  a  man  to 
find  that,  in  comparison  with  those  around  him,  he  is  free 
from  solicitude,  because  free  from  wants;  that  a  mere  morsel 
of  the  coarsest  food  is  all  he  is  compelled  to  ask  from  the 
grudging  world ;  and  that  the  thraldom  of  artificial  life  is  a 
bondage  he  has  broken.:]: 


aTrcKtii/n-iar  yx.sfTtfZs/  tik  Siivi'i.     So  savs  Basil;  and  the  sentiment 
miglit  be  put  at  the  head  of  volumes  of  spurious  morality. 

t  ]Sot  a  tew  of  t]iose«  ho  peopled,  first  the  deserts,  and  afterwards 
the  nioDasteries  were  such  as  the  "Blessed"  eremite  whom  Palla- 
dius  describes  [Lamaic  Mist.c.  19.)— aUon.icide— we  take  his  word 
lor  It  that  he  was  not  a  murderer,  who,  in  terror  of  justice,  and  un- 
der horror  of  coi,science-^,J„/  ^;,j,„  ,;,,^,,  ^'jiT^Ka./ujSa,u  r«, 
t/i)t^i»— where,  unsheltered,  he  wandered,  lost  to  all  feeling,  three 
years;  hut  afterwards  built  for  himself  a  cell,  and  acquired  celebrity 
as  an  eminent  practitioner  of  austerities.  I  wished  to  know  from 
him,  says  our  author,  with  what  feeling  he  now  regarded  the  fatal 
.let  that  had  driven  him  into  solitude:— he  replied,  that,  far  from 
tJiMikmg  of  It  with  regret,  it  was  a  ground  of  tlmnksgivim;— 
>£>«vin-i.  yip  fj.rA  ef,„^,y  iTr'.biTi;  au-rufi^i;  i,  ix.M<ri!,!  <piycc.  I'lie 
profession  is  susceptible  of  a  good  meaning,  and  charitj- requires  that 
we  should  so  receive  it.  Nothing  indeed  would  be  more  outrageous 
tlian  to  deny  universally  the  piety  and  sincerity  of  even  the  most 
extravagant  class  of  the  anchorets.  Better  speak  on  such  subjects 
like  Alban  Butler  than  like  Gibbon. 

i  To  a  naked  eremite  St.  Bernard,  pro  signo  caritatis,  sent  a  cloak 
and  boots,  which  he  kindly  received,  and,  as  an  act  of  humility  and 
obedience,  put  on;  yet  presently,  like  a  U-iie  New  Zealandcr,  laid 
asKie  as  intolerable.  Et  nunc,  siid  he,  pro  amore  ipsius,  vestimenta 
transmissa  obedienter  accepi,  et  indui;  ilJtithiJt  tanu;i  ea  poHare  non 
vaieo,  quia  nee  opus  est  mihi;  nee  ipse  mandavit.  Dico  autem  vobis 
amicis  raeis  carissimis,  quia  nihil  est  mihi  molesUus  nuam  ul  cura; 
Vol.  II.— 2  X 


The  habitude  of  positive  pain,  as  well  as  that  of  mere  pri- 
vation, brings  too  its  relief: — there  is  a  torpor  partly  of  the 
nerve,  but  chiefly  of  the  mind,  which  more  and  more  blunts 
physical  sensibility ; — and  there  is  an  art  learned  in  the  school 
of  chronic  suffering,  which  teaches  so  to  shift  the  burthen  of 
anguish  as  that  it  may  not  any  where  gall  to  the  quick. 
Moreover,  there  is  a  power  of  abstraction  from  bodily  sensa- 
tions which  long  experience  calls  into  exercise,  and  which 
may  at  length  (even  while  matter  and  mind  continue  part- 
ners) almost  set  the  conscious  principle  at  large  from  its 
sympathy  with  mere  flesh  and  nen-e.  Pain,  at  its  first  onset, 
condenses  the  soul  upon  a  point;  or  brings  the  whole  of  the 
sensitive  faculty  to  the  one  centre  of  anguish ;  but  habit  of  pain 
loosens  this  concentration,  and  allows  the  mind  to  occupy  a 
wider  surface. 

The  eulogists  of  the  ascetic  saints  boast  often  of  the  abso- 
lute insensibility  to  pain,  to  thirst,  and  to  hunger,  which  some 
of  their  heroes  had  attained  to.     In  certain  instances  the 

leathern  girdle — zona  pellicea,  hoc  est,  ex  crudo  corio ad 

macerationem  procurandam — was  found,  after  death,  to  have 
lodged  itself  (shall  we  say  as  a  setoni)  in  the  integuments 
around  the  loins;  so  as  (in  ordinary  cases)  to  have  occasioned 
intense  suffering:  yet  never  had  the  secret  been  betrayed  to 
the  fraternity  by  any  indications  of  uneasiness.  Instances 
still  more  extreme,  and  far  too  revolting  to  describe,  abound 
in  the  monkish  records.  If  the  facts  are  admitted  as  true, 
and  they  cannot  altogether  be  rejected,  it  must  he  believed 
that  a  state  of  extreme  mental  abstraction  not  merely  diverts 
the  sense  of  pain,  but  prevents  also  that  physical  excitement 
which  ordinarily  attends  excruciating  torture,  and  which 
wastes  the  animal  force.  We  must  attribute  to  the  same  in- 
fluence of  the  mind  the  power  acquired  by  some  of  the  hermits 
of  northern  Europe  to  resist  the  most  intense  cold — unclothed 
and  iinsheltered.  The  instances  are  numerous,  and  are  too 
familiarly  spoken  of  to  be  reasonably  called  in  question.  In 
the  tenth,  eleventh,  and  twelfth  centuries,  the  forests  of 
France  and  Germany  were  haunted  by  naked  anchorites  who, 
round  the  year,  roamed  about,  refusing  even  the  comforts  of 
a  cavern,  aqd  were  wont  to  repose  at  night  on  the  fresh  fallen 
snow.* 

When  so  much  proficiency  as  this  has  been  made  by  the 
voluntary  sufferer,  he  gains  leisure  to  look  abroad.  Conque- 
ror, so  far,  of  himself — of  nature,  and  of  the  vindictive  pow- 
ers, the  fanatic  stalks  about  as  a  hero,  and  may  even  beo-in  to 

think  how  he  shall  turn  his  victory  to  profitable  accoimt. 

\  anity  and  ambition,  when  once  they  gain  a  lodgement  in  the 
heart,  imperceptibly,  yet  quickly,  sap  more  imaginative  and 
passionate  emotions.  This  substitution  of  ignoble  sentiments 
for  those  of  a  deeper  sort  meets  us  every  day.  In  truth  the 
constant  tendency  or  gravitation  of  the  human  mind  is  from 
the  more  to  the  less  vehement  class  of  emotions;  and  then  its 
progress  is  from  the  simple  and  ardent,  to  the  complex  and 
turbid,  in  its  habits  of  feeling.  It  is  thus  that  the  sincere 
enthusiast  so  often  becomes  (perhaps  unconsciously  to  him- 
self) a  religious  knave;  and  thus,  too,  that  the  man  who 
commenced  his  course  of  mortification  and  extravagance  un- 
der the  impulse  of  genuine  passions,  and  who,  at  the  outset, 
might  have  been  looked  at  with  wonder,  if  not  admiration' 
degenerates  into  the  chariatan  or  public  fool. 

3d.  It  is  not  till  after  the  fanatic  has  acquired  some  famil- 
arity  with  self-inflicted  torments,  and  is  at  ease  in  his  charac- 
ter of  voluntary  martyr,  and  especially  until  he  believes  him- 


carnis  sarcinara  odiosam,  cum  tanta  difficnltate  depositam,  lassatis 
et  doleiilibus  humeris  denuo  impoiiere  cogar. 

'  After  deducting  from  these  narratives  all  tlie  miracles,  the  bare 
fact  IS  miracle  enough.  These  stories  could  not  have  been  sheer 
mventions.  It  is  difficult  to  choose  among  the  abundance  of  exam- 
ples;—and  so  much  the  more  difficult,  because  it  is  hard  to  find  one 
in  which  tlie  venerable  language  of  Holy  Scripture  is  not  frightfully 
misapplied  to  the  follies  of  superstition.  The  author  of  tlie  Book 
lie  JMiraculis  Cistercienshim  JMonachonim,  thus  speaks  of  one  who 
pro  Christo  quotidie  moriens,  non  unam  tantum,  sed  innumeras 
cruces  et  mortes  sustinuil:  quia  quot  diebus  in  eremo  vixit,  quasi  tot 

martyria  duxit Annis  siquidem  quatuor  decem'solivagus 

ac  toto  corpore  nudus,  montibus  et  silvis  pro  Christo  amore  oberrans 
et  latitans  perdm-avit,  cojlum  hahens  pro  teeto,  aerem  pro  vcstiinento 
pecorinum  vietum  pro  cibo  humano.  Ten  years,  without  flinchin" 
from  his  purpose,  the  hermit  lived  abroad;'but  at  length  yielded  a 
little  to  the  weakness  of  nature.  Postmodum  autem  "quatuor  fere 
annis  ante  suara  dorinitionem,  in  corde  hyemis,  bruma  saivieiite 
asperrima,  cum  tellus,  nivibus  obrnta,  et  gelu  acriore  coercita  nee 
herbas  foris  exserei-et,  uec  radices  effbdi  sineret ;  tunc  a  facie  famis 
et  hujus  frigoris  sustinere  non  prxvalens,  tandem  ut  homo  jam  fere 
prxmortuus,  obeso  corpore,  pelle  sola  circumdatus,  cogebatur  in- 
terdum  deserta  deserere,  atque  ad  proxima  ruia,  voleiiiTo  noleiido 
descendcre.  ' 


378 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


self  to  have  reached  a  vantage  trrotind  in  relation  to  Vindic- 
tive Powers,  that  he  entertains  the  bold  ambition  of  underta- 
king to  suffer  vicariously  for  those  who  may  be  less  resolute 
than  himself.* 

Master  of  a  fund  of  supererogatory  merit— how  shall  he 
dispose  of  it  to  best  advantage  I  Can  any  thing  be  more  no- 
ble than  to  dispense  the  hardly-acquired  treasure  among  fee- 
ble souls,  who  are  quite  destitute  of  that  in  which  he  is  rich  1 
Absurdities  such  as  this,  if  not  now  common,  nevertheless, 
have  in  past  ages  often  prevailed,  and  are  not  only  what  may 
be  looked  for  if  we  calculate  the  influence  of  certain  motives 
upon  the  common  principles  of  human  nature.  That  law  ol 
our  mental  conformation  has  already  been  adverted  to  w  hich 
makes  it  highly  difficult,  or  quite  impracticable,  to  kindle  the 
imagination  within  the  home-circle  of  selfish  interests.  The 
fanatic,  therefore,  all  whose  sentiments  are  more  or  less  de^ 
pendent  upon  that  faculty,  very  soon  feels  a  need — a  craving, 
which  not  even  the  most  egregious  illusions  of  self-love  can 
satisfy.  He  must  then  spread  himself  over  a  larger  surface, 
and  take  up  many  more  elements  of  emotion.  Every  mind, 
and  especially  a  mind  highly  sensitive,  seeks  some  object  of 
meditation,  the  dimensions  of  which  it  does  not  exactly  mea- 
sure. In  moments  of  depression,  in  hours  of  languor,  we 
want  a  defence  against  the  chilling  calculations  of  mere  rea- 
son. And  the  more  a  man's  course  of  life  is  substantially 
absurd,  the  more  urgent  need  has  he  of  a  store  of  vague,  un 
limited  motives,  such  as  shall  be  in  no  danger  of  an  assault 
from  common  sense.  When  the  fanatic  has  began  to  tire  on 
his  wearisome  pilgrimage  of  ■«  ce,  how  may  he  reanimate  his 
purpose  if  he  can  think  himself  a  public  person  who  has  free- 
ly becoiue  responsible  for  other  men's  salvation ;  and  espe- 
cially if  he  can  believe  that  the  Vindictive  Powers  whom  he 
is  holding  at  bay  with  a  strong  arm,  are  watching  for  the  fall 
of  so  notable  a  champion,  and  would  rush  upon  the  spoil  were 
he  to  faint ! 

And  besides  ;  it  is  only  by  heading-up  the  merit  of  penance 
to  such  a  height  as  that  there  shall  always  be  a  large  amount 
in  store,  that  the  public  martyr  can  feel  to  be  himself  quite 
secure  against  the  demands  of  justice. — May  not  a  man  who 
is  every  day  expiating  the  sins  of  others  assume  it  as  certain 
that  his  own  are  discharged  '> — Thus  the  warfare  against  ghost- 
ly exactors  is  carried  on  upon  advanced  ground !  and  the 
knight-spiritual  has  a  space  in  the  rear  to  which,  if  pressed, 
he  may  retreat. 

A  contrast,  curious  at  least,  and  perhaps  instructive,  pre- 
sents itself,  when  we  bring  into  comparison  the  Mohamme- 
dan and  Popish  superstitions,  on  the  ground  of  the  encourage- 
ment they  have  severally  given  to  the  practice  of  voluntary 
inflictions.  Now  it  appears  that,  while  the  former  has  not 
been  exempt  from  extravagances  of  this  order,  they  have  al- 
ways constituted  a  main  element  of  the  latter;  the  Romish 
polity  and  doctrine  having  both  broadly  rested  upon  the  prin- 
ciple (variously  applied)  of  personal  austerity.  More  causes 
than  can  be  soon  enumerated  have  concurred  to  produce  this 
marked  dilTerence  between  the  religions  of  Asia  and  of  Eu- 


rope. The  oriental  faith  burst  upon  the  world,  full-orbed, 
among  an  energetic  and  enterprising  race.  It  was  the  reli- 
gion of  MEN,  and  the  faith  of  warriors.  But  the  faith  of  the 
West  was  the  slow-born  creature  of  the  cloister — the  religion 
of  recluses  and  of  priests  ;  the  child  of  sour  and  mopish  imbe- 
cility. The  one  was  modelled  in  the  youthful  season  of  na- 
tional existence  ;  the  other  during  a  course  of  melancholy  ages 
which  saw  the  human  mind  fall  back  from  the  high  position 
it  once  had  occupied,  to  the  point  of  extreme  depression. 

Yet  a  somewhat  different  doctrine  of  penitential  infliction 
has  sprung  up  from  intellectual  and  moral  degradation  in  the 
instance  of  the  Jewish  people.  Nothing  can  be  much  more 
absurd  or  ludicrous  than  the  Rabbinical  penances.  It  is 
hard  to  believe  that  the  mortification,  the  abstinence,  or  the 
punishment,  was  ever  thought  of,  either  by  those  who  issue 
the  injunction  or  by  those  who  listened  to  it,  otherwise  than 
as  an  acknowledged  mockery.  The  modern  children  of  Abra- 
ham, suffering  as  they  have  done  in  almost  every  age,  an<l  in 
every  country,  substantial  miseries  which  might  be  well 
reckoned  to  supersede  any  voluntary  pains,  and  yet  not  deem- 
inor  their  theology  complete  without  penances,  have  taken 
care  to  impose  upon  themselves  such  only  as  were  too  severe 
to  be  put  in  practice,  or  such  as  were  penal  only  in  name. 
Besides ;  the  Rabbinical  Judaism,  with  its  lumber  of  frivo- 
lous traditions,  has  left  no  room  for  the  working  of  these  pro- 
founder  sentiments  whence  the  monkish  austerities  drew  their 
motive.  The  religion  of  the  modern  Jew,  what  is  it  hut  a 
ponderous  vanity,  under  the  pressure  of  which  tlie  human  bo- 
som may  hardly  heave  1 — that  bundle  of  beggarly  eleinents 
which  he  bears  about  upon  his  shoulders,  allows  him  not  the 
liberty  of  emotion  which  men  of  other  creeds  enjoy,  and  which 
the  fanatic  of  any  creed  must  possess.* 

But  to  return  to  Mohammed,  and  to  mention  specific  cau- 
ses, it  must  be  noted  that  the  Arabian  teacher,  by  means  of  his 
prime  doctrine  of  the  merit  of  military  service  undertaken  for 
the  propagation  of  the  true  faith,  and  by  the  large  and  attract- 
ive rewards  promised  to  pious  valour,  appropriated,  to  the 
enterprises  of  active  life,  all  those  springs  of  action  w'hich, 
when  left  to  pend  upon  the  conscience,  impel  men  to  inflict 
upon  themselves  expiatory  tonnents.  Beings  of  the  very 
same  native  temperaments  who,  in  Christian  countries,  clad 
themselves  in  hair-cloth,  and  mercilessly  twanged  the  scourge 
over  their  own  shoulders,  put  on,  in  the  East,  the  caparison 
of  war,  and  wielded  the  scimeter,  and  this  because  the  Koran 
oflers  paradise  to  those  who  die  in  battle. f 

A  subsidiary  means  of  diverting  the  fanaticism  of  personal 


*  We  pass  by,  as  uninstructivc,  the  gross  examples  of  this  kind  of 
fanaticism  m  lii'ch  might  be  brought  from  India  or  Thibet,  and  ratlier 
adduce  instances  whieli,  though  milder  in  appearance,  may  well 
amaze  us  more.  Let  us  listen  to  St.  Bernard  :  Videtur  quidera  et  in 
nostrisaliquando  tribulatiouibus  esse  soxnulla  iibehtas,  cum  vide- 
licet pro  peccatis  proximonim,  libera  et  liberali  caritate;  laboreai 
poenitentiK  sustiuemus,lugentes  pro  eis,  jcjunantes  pro  eis,vapulan- 
les  pre  eis,  et  qua;  non  rapuimus  e\solventes. — {De  Siversis,  Senn. 
34,  c.  3.)  Yet  the  pious  and  respectable  abbot  of  Clairvaux  was  not 
the  inventor  of  this  doctrine  ;  nor,  on  the  other  hand,  had  it  reached 
its  maturity  in  his  time  ;  indeed  bis  own  language  is  often  irrecon- 
cileable  w  i'tli  the  preposterous  notion  of  supererogatory  merit.  Ubi 
ergo  macula  propria,  propria  quoque  purgalio  jure  requiretur,  says 
lie  ;  but  in  the  \ery  same  sermon  [di;  Om'rsis,  38)  he  leaves  room 
for  the  then  nascent  error. — Per  multas  eninitribulationes  in  regnum 
Uei  inti-are  nccesse  est ;  et  nemo  nisi  per  tribulationes  ingreditur, 
aut  proprias,  aiit  aUenas.  An  indistinct  beliefofa  transferable  merit 
in  the  good  works  and  vohuitary  penances  of  tlie  saints,  is  to  be  tra- 
ced in'  many  of  tlie  Christian  writers  from  the  fourth  century  and 
onward.  Sed  quid  mirura,  says  St.  Gregory  (Pope)  si  ad  absolu- 
tiouerapeccatoris  propria  merila  suftragantur,  quandoin  sacrieloquii 
auctoritate  discamus,  quia  alii  pro  aliis  liberati  sunt  ^ — (/«  /.  Re- 
giim,e.  14.)  And  Ambrose,  [de.  Panit.  lib.  i.  c.  15.)  .  .  .  .  Ut  per 
universos  ea  quie  superflua  sunt  in  aliquo  poeniteutiam  agente  \irilis 
misericordix  aut  compassionis  velut  collativa  quadani  admixitone 
purgentur.  Or  again  [Ea:pos.  Luc.  c.  5.)  Si  gravium  peccatorum 
diflidis  veniaiii,adbibe  precatores,  adliibe  Ecclesiam  qu:e  pro  te  pre- 
cetur,  cujus  contemplatione  quod  tibi  Dominus  negare  posset  ignos- 
cat.  The  task  is  unpleasing  and  invidious  to  gather  proofs  of  fatal 
error  from  die  pages  of  writers  who,  taken  altogether,  are  worthy  of 
respect — often  of  admiration.  We  stop  short;  then  with  the  speci 
mens  above  adduced. 


*  Maimonides  saw  in  Eg^pt  enough  of  the  follies  and  horrors  of 
monkery  to  sicken  him  of  austerities.  On  tliis  subject  he  speaks  like 
a  man  of  sense,  and  in  a  su-ain  of  which,  alas,  we  find  few  iusUinces 
among  die  Christian  writers  of  the  time.  He  condemns  as  positively 
sinful,  all  voluntary  inflictions,  not  directly  enjoined  by  the  law,  (see 
Bernard's  Selectio'm  from  the  Yad  HacJiazakah,  p.  170,  and  the  en- 
tire chapter).  The  doctrine  of  Kepentance,  as  we  find  it  in  this  wri- 
ter, might  with  advantage  to  the  Jew  be  compared  widi  the  Hoinish 
doctrine  on  the  same  point,  from  die  age  of  Pope  Giegory  I.  to  the 
present  day.  His  rule  of  confession  (p.  2'2'2)  is  incomparably  more 
sound  than' that  of  the  doctors  of  the  church.  But  -Maimonides  must 
not  be  t.aken  as  a  sample  of  Kabbinical  instruction  : — he  boldly  ap- 
pealed to  Moses  and  the  prophets. — The  Rabbis  issued  noUiing  which 

they  did  not  first  deform  and  render  absurd.     Qui,  kc die- 

busque  jEstivis  accedat  ad  locum  plenum  formicarum,  inter  quas 
nudus  sedeat.     Diebus  vero  hyberuis,  frangat  glaciem,  et  in  aquis 

sedeat  usque  ad  nares.     Qui,  fee sedeatque  in  aquis  diebus 

hvbernis,  quantum  temporis  rcquiritur  ad  coquendum  o<nm.     Qui, 

fee jejmiet  quadraginta  dies  continuos,  atque  singidis  diebus 

viipulet  bis,  aut  ter.     Qui,  &c sedeat  in  nive  et  gelu  per  ho- 

ram  unam  singulis  diebus  ;  sic  faeiat  per  totara  hyemera  quotidie 
semel,  aut  bis.  Diebus  vero  Kstivis  objiciat  se  muscis,  sive  vespis 
et  apihus  ;  aliosve  pcenas  subeat  morti  similes.  That  these  penances 
were  matters  of  form  only  one  might  infer  from  the  fact  that  a  forty 
day's  fast  is  enjoined  upon  whosoever  exacts  usury  (interest)  and 
th.at  the  taking  of  interest  even  from  the  Gentiles  is  reprobated.  See 
the  book  called  jRescliit  Coc/ima,  as  quoted  by  the  annotator  in  Rai- 
mond  Martin's  Pu^/o  Fidei.  It  is  curious  to  observe  that  the  prac- 
tice of  penance  has  never  comported  with  the  sentiments  and  habits 
of  a  trading  people. 

+  A'erilv'God  hath  purchased  of  the  true  believers  their  souls  and 
dieir  substance;  promising  tliem  the  enjoyment  of  paradise,  on  con- 
dition diat  they  fight  for  the  cause  of  God ;  whether  they  slay  or  be 
slain,  die  promise" for  the  same  is  assuredly  due  by  the  law,the  gos- 
gel,  and  the  Koran.  And  who  performeth  his  contract  more  lailh- 
fully  than  God  >  AVheii  ye  encounter  die  mibclievers,  strike  off  their 
heads  until  ye  have  made  a  great  slaughter  among  them,  and  bind 

them  in  bonds And  as  to  diose  who  fight  in  defence  of  God's 

ti-ue  religion,  God  will  not  sufter  dieir  works  to  perish  :  he  w  ill 
"uide  them  and  will  dispose  their  heart  aright,  and  he  will  lead  them 
mto  paradise,  of  which  he  hath  tcld  them.  [Sale's  Koran,  c.  9  and 
27.)  We  shall  presently  find  occasion  to  match  Uiese  passages  with 
some  of  similar  import  from  other  quarters. 


FANATICISM. 


379 


austerity,  was  also  llie  importance  attached  by  Moliammed  to 
alms-giviriCT — almost  the  only  positive  virtne  of  his  system 
The  aspirant  to  immortal  sensualities  could  not  indeed  every 
day  wet  his  sword  in  the  blood  of  infidels;  but  he  might  at 
all  times  j9«rcAasf,  if  not  always  conquer  forhimself  the  future 
])leasures.  Or  if  the  system  still  seemed  to  want  a  vent,  for 
those  feelings  which  give  rise  to  ascetic  practices,  it  was 
found  in  the  rigour  and  universal  obligation  of  the  annual  fast, 
which  afforded  to  every  Moslem  such  a  taste  of  mortification 
as  might  effectively  cool  the  ambition  of  voluntary  hunger 
The  frantic  austerities  of  the  Dervish  did  not  spring  out  of 
the  Mohammedan  theology  ;  but  either  grew  upon  it;  or  have 
been  merely  farcical  and  mercenary ;  or  have  been  practised 
in  cnntiimation  of  idolatrous  usages  which  the  faith  of  the 
Prophet  did  not  extirpate.* 

The  Roman  Superstition  embraced  many  more  elements  of 
meditative  emotion,  and  those  of  a  more  profound  sort  than 
were  included  in  the  Koran.  Although  if  we  are  to  speak  of 
it  as  a  whole,  and  especially  if  we  have  in  view  its  condition 
in  the  eighth  and  ninth  centuries,  Popery  was  a  more  corrupt 
system  than  that  of  the  Arabian  prophet,  so  that  INIohammed 
and  the  Caliphs  may  almost  claim  the  praise  of  religious  Re- 
formers ;  yet  did  it  retain  those  potent  principles  of  hope  and 
fear — of  remorse  and  compunction,  of  tenderness  too,  and  of 
keen  sensibility,  which  put  the  soul  into  deep  commotion. 
and  set  it  working  upon  itself.  On  tlie  contrar}',  Mohammed. 
by  strangely  admitting  into  his  theologv  the  expectation  of  a 
sensual  paradise,  the  pleasures  of  which  were  not  to  differ  in 
substance  from  the  delights  of  an  oriental  palace,  effectively 
cashiered  from  his  system  every  pure  and  spiritual  concep- 
tion of  virtue. f  For  if  the  heaven  which  a  man  is  tliinkingofas 
his  last  home  be  grossly  voluptuous,  of  what  avail  will  be 
fine  abstract  axioms  or  grave  discourses  to  teach  him  purity. 
No  perversion  such  as  this  ever  gained  ground  aniomr 
Christian  nations,  even  in  their  lowest  state  of  religious  de- 
gradation. And  as  some  spiritual  conceptions  of  the  Divine 
character,  as  well  as  some  just  notions  of  the  sanctity  of  the 
upper  world  were  generally  prevalent,  the  correspondent  be- 
lief of  the  guilt  and  danger  of  man  as  a  sinner  retained  its 
force.  Nevertheless  as,  at  the  same  time,  the  genuine  and 
evangelic  scheme  of  remission  of  sins,  was  nullified,  or  quite 
forgotten,  the  tormented  conscience  was  left  to  contend  as  it 
couhl  with  the  dread  of  future  retribution. 

The  doctrine  of  Purgatory  sprang  up  naturally  in  the  bo- 
soms of  men  from  this  mortal  conflict  of  fear  and  conscious 
guilt,  with  the  obscure  hope  of  impunity  ;  and  although  the 
"fond  thing,  vainly  invented,  and  grounded  upon  no  war- 
ranty of  Scripture,"  may  be  traced  in  its  elements  to  very 
early  times,  and  although  it  became  at  length,  in  its  practica" 
bearing,  a  device  well  adapted  to  serve  the  purposes  of  a  ra- 
pacious priesthood,  it  should  be  regarded,  in  its  essence,  as 
nothing  more  than  the  proper  product  of  elevated  and  spiritual 
notions  of  virtue,  cut  off  from  that  solace  which  the  Gospel 
affords.  Some  opinion  equivalent  to  the  doctrine  of  purga- 
tory, has  been  seen,  even  in  our  own  times,  to  be  associated 
with  the  two  conditions,  namely — a  damaged  Gospel,  and  a 
severe  morality. 

It  belongs  to  another  subject,  namely  Superstition,  to 
trace  the  origin  and  growth  of  the  doctrine  of  Purgatory. 
This  ancient  and  wideh'-diffused  dogma  went  hand  in  hand 
yviththat  which  led  to  the  invocation  of  saints,  and  the  belief 
of  their  efficient  intercession  in  the  court  of  heaven.  The 
latter  doctrine  seems  to  have  been  ripened,  or  to  have  reached  a 
definite  form  rather  earlier  than  the  former;  nor  is  the  mode 
of  its  birth  quite  so  obscure.  When  at  length  both  had  be- 
come the  accredited  doctrine  of  the  church,  a^hrisk  commerce 
between  the  visible  and  invisible  worlds  was  carried  on,  and 
in  this  traffic  the  clergy  were  the  brokers  and  the  gainers — 
the  gainers  to  an  incalculable  amount.:!^ 


*  Sooffeeism,  v  iih  its  varieties,  is  .1  far  more  ancient  and  a  more 
■widely  spread  system  llian  the  doctrine  of  the  proplict.  The  pliilo- 
sophic.pantlieist  of  Persia  and  Upper  India,  the  frantic  fakir,  and  tlie 
dervish,  are  personages  of  all  times,  and  of  almost  ail  countries. — 
The  ascetic  tribe  is  older  than  history,  and  presents  tlie  same  gen- 
eral features  wlierever  we  meet  with  it.  In  reading  Arrian's account 
of  the  Bramins,  or  Sophists,  as  he  calls  them,  of  India,  one  might 
believe  he  was  describing  so  many  Romish  saints.  oS  -rot  ■^uy.tu 
iiinZ<na.t  iTi  o-s<y/5-Tai,  (Indian  Hist.).  The  Koran  neither  created 
nor  cherished  infatuations  of  this  kind. 

t  The  contemplative  or  more  refined  class  of  ^Moslems  have  stre- 
nuously endeavonred  to  put  a  figurative  construction  upon  tliosc 
passages  of  the  Koran  which  describe  Paradise,  and  have  maintained 
that  the  prophet  never  intended  to  l)e  literally  understood.  The 
mass  of  Ids  followers  have  taken  things  as  thev  found  them. 

\  Not  only  die  docti-ine  of  Purgatory,  but  die  practical  abuses  of 


The  idea  of  future  expiatory-  torments  having  lodged  itself 
firmly  in  all  serious  and  devout  minds,  no  other  conse- 
quence could  be  looked  for  but  the  practice  of  penitentiary 
inflictions,  having  for  their  motive  the  hope  of  abating  the 
demands  of  justice  in  the  region  of  chastisement.  The  most 
excessive  abstinence,  a  shirt  of  haircloth,  a  bed  of  straw,  con- 
tinued watchings,  perpetual  silence,  sanguinary  flagellations, 
and  positive  tortures,  were  willngly  resorted  to  as  assuage- 
ments of  the  dread  which  the  belief  of  purgatory  inspired; 
and  if  we  are  to  wonder  at  all  in  looking  at  these  severities, 
our  amazement  must  be,  not  that  men  could  be  found  who 
were  willing  to  submit  heartily  and  permanently  to  the  rule 
of  St.  Benedict,  or  St.  Dominic;  but  rather  that  the  miseries 
of  the  monastic  life  were  not  carried  to  a  much  greater  extent 
than  we  actually  find  them  ordinarily  to  have  reached.  It 
would  not  have  seemed  strange  if  sincere  believers  in  the 
doctrine  of  purgatory  had  gone  the  length  of  the  ancient 
worshippers  of  Baal,  or  of  the  modern  devotees  of  Indian 
divinities.* 

It  is  in  the  glare  of  a  doctrine  such  as  this  that  we  should 
peruse  the  rules  of  the  ascetic  life,  and  the  blood-stained 
story  of  the  monastery.  Is  it  any  wonder  that  men  who  first 
had  tortured  themselves  at  the  instigation  of  this  belief  should 
think  it  a  light  matter  to  ply  the  rack  and  the  brand  upon 
others  ? — The  fanaticism  of  austerity  was  proper  parent  of  the 
fanaticism  of  cruelty.  But  the  mild  and  meditative  spirit  of 
Cristianity  happily  came  in  to  moderate,  in  some  degree,  that 
extravagance  into  which  the  human  mind  naturally  runs  when 
highly  excited  by  a  ferocious  theology. — The  Christian  fla- 
gellist  might,  it  is  probable,  draw  as  much  blood  from  his 
back  in  a  year,  as  did  the  frantic  priest  of  Moloch  from  his 
sides  and  arms; — or  perhaps  more;  but  yet  it  were  better 
done  with  the  scourge  than  with  the  knife.  The  Romish 
fanaticism  did  not  rise  to  a  horrid  and  murderous  pitch  until 
after  it  had  become  the  instrument  of  sacerdotal  rancour,  and 
had  been  directed  against  the  heretic. 

The  derivation  of  fanatical  cruelty  from  fanatical  austerity 
it  is  by  no  means  difficult  to  trace;  nor  is  the  line  of  descent 
far  extended.  Often  indeed  has  the  one  generated  the  other 
in  the  same  bosom  ;  or  if  the  history  of  the  Church  is  looked 
to,  it  will  be  seen  that,  within  the  circuit  of  a  century,  or 


it,  stand  forUi  almost  in  the  grossest  form  in  tlie  »  ritings  of  Gregory 
the  Great ;  and  it  w  ould  he  really  hard  to  choose  between  tlie  faith  of 

the  Christian  Pope,  on  this  subject,  and  that  of  his  contemporary 

Mohammed  ;— both  announcing  eternal  damnation  as  the  doom  of 
die  uninstructed  mass  of  mankind  ;  an<l  both  )>reaching  a  purgatorial 
state  to  those  whose  religious  advantages  were  of  the  higliest  kind. 
Assuredly  the  Koran  is  more  free  from  suspicion  of  a  sinister  purpose 
on  this  point  Uian  are  the  Dialogues  of  Gregory: — if  indeed  these 
dialogues  can  he  trusted  to  as  the  unaltered  productions  of  the  writer 

to  whom  they  are  atti-ibuted — or  are  his  productions  at  all a  noint 

deemed  questionable. 

A  service  perhaps  might  be  rendered  to  sincere  and  candid  Ro- 
manists if  the  history  of  this  doctrine — a  capital  article  in  bis  belief, 
and  one  which  he  knows  to  he  of  high  antiquity, could  be  satisfactorly 
traced.  Our  materials,  it  is  to  be  feared,  are  too  scanty  to  sustain  the 
inquiry  ;  for  between  the  close  of  the  apostolic  age  and  the  time  of 
Cyprian  or  TertuUian,  more  is  wanted  than  actually  exists  to  enable 
us  to  give  a  good  account  of  tlie  state  of  the  opinion  as  we  find  it  in 
the  pages  of  those  two  writers.  The  expression  so  often  quoted  by 
the  Romanists,  from  Tetullian, — Oblationes  pro  defunctis,  pro 
natalitiis  annua  die  facimus  [ile  Corona)  is  not  of  itself  conclusive  ; 
but  becomes  so  as  compared  w  ith  other  passages.  Die  mihi  sorer,  in 
pace  priemisisti  virura  tuuni  '  Quid  respondebit  ?  An  in  discordia  ' 
Ergo  hoc  magis  ei  vinota  est,  cum  quo  habet  apud  Denm  causam.  .  . 
Enimvero  et  pro  anima  ejus  orat,  et  refrigerium  interim  adpostulat 
ei,  ct  in  prima  resurrcctione  consortium,  et  offert  annuis  diebus 
dormitionis  ejus.  {De  Monogam).  Every  one  has  seen  quotations 
to  the  same  effect  from  Cyprian,  Clemens  Alexandrinus,  and  Cyril  of 
.lerusalem.  But  in  tiiese,  and  similar  instances,  the  true  import  of 
certain  phrases  is  to  be  gathered  from  each  writer's  general  strain 
on  those  topics  wbich  are  most  nearly  allied  to  the  oinnion  in  ques- 
tion :  especially  on  the  subject  of  repentance  and  remission  of  sins. 
The  doctrine  of  purgatory,  it  is  pretty  evident,  sprang  out  of  an  early 
corruption  of  those  principal  articles.  Here  we  find  a  confusion  o'f 
notions,  and  a  perverted  exposition  of  Scriptui-e,  in  almost  the  earliest 
ot  the  Christian  writers. 

*  The  Romish  writers  use  no  reserve  in  describing  the  pains  of 
die  purgatorial  state  ;  and  as  they  have,  in  Uie  doctrine  itself,  supplied 
to  the  Church  an  article  on  w  liii-h  Scripture  is  silent ;  so,  in  furnish- 
ing the  particulars,  have  diey  drawn  largelv  upon  that  special  know- 
ledge of  the  infernal  regions'  which  their  pVivdeged  commerce  with 
invisibles  has  supplied.  "A  soul,"  says  the  Rev.  Alban  Butler,  "for 
one  venial  sin  shall  suffer  more  than  all  the  pains  of  distempers,  die 
most  violent  colics,  gout,  and  stone,  joined  in  complication  ;  more 
than  all  the  most  cruel  torments  undergone  by  malefactors,  or  in- 
vented by  the  most  barbarous  tyrants;  inore  tb'an  all  the  tortures  of 
the  martyrs  summed  up  togedier.  This  is  the  idea  w  bich  the  fathers 
give  us  of  purgatory,  and  "how  long  many  souls  may  have  to  suffer 
there  we  know-  not." — Lives  of  tlie  Saints',  Noveni.  2. 


3S0 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


more,  those  outrages  upon  human  nature  which  had  been  go- 
ing on  in  the  cells"  of  the  monastery,  and  those  preposterous 
sentiments  which  the  ascetic  life  enkindled,  reached  their 
proper  consummation  when  the  friar  and  inquisitor  took  in 
hand  to  rid  the  church  of  her  enemies.  Far  was  any  such 
consequence  from  the  minds  of  the  early  and  illustrious  pro- 
moters of  the  monastic  system;  but  though  not  foreseen  by 
them,  it  demands  to  be  attentively  regarded  by  us,  since  the 
instruction  which  history  conveys  is  drawn  from  considering, 
rather  the  commencements  than  the  issues,  rather  the  germs 
than  the  fruits,  of  whatever  excites  admiration  or  surprise 
upon  the  stage  of  the  world's  aftairs. 

And  so,  if  it  be  intended  to  receive  in  the  most  efficacious 
manner  those  lessons  of  practical  wisdom  which  spring  from 
the  contemplation  of  individual  character,  we  must  select  as 
specimens,  not  the  most  distorted  instances,  but  those  rather 
wherein  the  peculiar  tendency  we  have  in  view  is  moderated 
by  fine  qualities  of  the  heart,  or  lost  almost  amid  the  splen- 
dour of  rare  mental  powers  and  accomplishments. — For  inas- 
much as  it  is  only  when  so  recommended  that  spurious  vir- 
tues produce  extensive  ill  effects,  our  caution  against  the  evil 
should  be  drawn  from  examples  of  that  very  order.  Let  the 
sardonic  historian,  whose  rule  it  is  to  exhibit  human  nature 
always  as  an  object  of  mockery,  crowd  his  pages  with  what- 
ever is  most  preposterous  in  its  kind.  A  better  motive  will 
lead  us  to  bring  forward  the  worthiest  exemplars ;  and  yet 
not  as  if  the  illustrious  dead  were  to  be  exhibited  that  it  might 
be  said  of  them  how  little  were  the  great !  but  rather  that  Uie 
admonition,  of  whatever  kind,  which  the  instance  presents 
may  come  with  the  fullest  force. 

FortrettiniT  then  the  frenzied  anchorets  of  the  Egyptian 
deserts,  of  the  rocks  of  Sinai,  and  of  the  solitudes  of  Syria, 
and  leavincr  unnamed  the  savage  heroes  of  the  Romish  calen- 
dar,* let  us  take  an  instance  in  which  a  due  admiration  of 
great  qualities  must  mingle  with  our  reprobation  of  mischie- 
vous sentiments.  Instead  of  a  St.  Symeon,  or  a  St.  Colum- 
ban,  we  turn  to  Basil — the  primate  of  Cappadocia.| 

But  how  obtain  the  simple  and  living  truth  in  the  instance 
we  have  chosen'!  Nothing  belonging  to  that  age  in  which 
the  Church  ascended  to  the  place  of  worldly  greatness  is  to 
be  found  in  its  native  form  and  real  colours.  Flattery  and 
clerical  arrog-ance  confound  all  distinctions,  violate  all  mod- 
esty, and  in  fhe  interested  idolatry  of  human  excellence,  com- 
mit frightful  outrages  upon  the  just  rules  of  piety.  Those 
calumniators  of  his  friend  and  patron  against  whom  Gregory 
Nazianzen  inveighs,:)^  could  not  have  injured  the  true  frame 
of  Basil  so  fatally  as  himself  has  done  by  his  hyperbolic  en- 
comiums. We  turn  as  well  with  suspicion  as  disgust  from 
the  turgid  oration, §  and  are  fain  to  relinquish  the  attempt  to 


*  No  literary  enterprise  can  "n-ell  be  named,  or  perhaps  thought  of 
more  undesirable — more  humiliating — at  least  if  a  man  retains  any 
feeling  of  self-respect,  tlian  tliat  which  the  worthy  and  learned  au- 
thor of  t!ie  Lives  of  tlie  Saints  has  executed.  The  Romish  Church 
is  rich  in  the  boast  of  upwards  of  a  tliousand  saints — a  number  so 
large  that  she  is  able  to  allot  as  many  as  tlircc  or  four  glorious  pa- 
trons, on  an  average,  to  each  day  of  the  year  !  Xow  most  men  would 
think  it  a  formidable  task  to  undertake  merely  a  cold  apology  of 
er'ery  one  of  any  thousand  frail  human  beings  that  could  be  brouglit 
together  in  a  list.  But  wliat  must  it  be,  not  simply  to  excuse,  but  to 
commend  every  one  of  a  thousand  ?  And  wliat,  not  only  to  com- 
mend, but  to  find  proof  that  every  one  is  a  fit  object  of  adoration,  and 
an  efficacious  mediator  between  God  and  man  '  Yet  such  is  the 
acliievemcnt  tlial  signalizes  the  name  of  Alban  Butler  !  A  thousand 
saints,  one  after  another,  to  be  hoisted  upon  the  ])edcstal  of  canoni- 
zation, or  defended  there  !  Truly  one  of  the  loftiest  of  these  envia- 
ble standing  places  should  be  reserved  for  the  anthor  himself  ! 
Tliose  who,  w  ithout  a  cause  to  serve,  or  a  churcli  to  prop  (or  to  pull 
down),  look  calmly  at  liuman  nature  as  it  is,  and  wlio  read  liistory 
for  themselves,  will,  with  a  sort  of  mournful  contempt,  bring  into 
comparison  the  foolish  exaggerations  of  Butler  on  tlie  one  hand,  and 
the  malign  representations  of  Gibbon  on  the  other  ;  and  will  learn  to 
hold  very  cheap,  as  well  eulogists  as  calumniators,  when  it  is  truth 
we  are  in  search  of. 

t  Let  ninety-nine  of  every  hundred  of  the  Saints  of  the  Calendar 
retain  their  ti'Ue.  If  tlie  Romanists  please;  it  shall  be  Saint  George, 
Saint  Uunstan,  Saint  Uorainic,  and  so  forth ;  but  we  are  disposed 
to  withhold  the  sullied  liouour  from  the  few  whom  we  believe,  not- 
withstanding tlie  misfortune  of  their  canonization,  to  have  been  good 
and  honest  men,  and  sincere  Christians.  And  certairdy  we  so  think 
of  Basil  of  Cappadocia-  He  governed  the  churches  of  that  province 
rather  more  than  eight  years,  during  the  reigns  of  Valentjnian  and 
A'alens. 

\  See  the  funeral  oration  in  praise  of  Basil,  Morell's  Greg.  Nazi- 
anzen, 1680,  Tom.  I.  pp.  360,  363. 

§  Tile  twentietli  oration  above  referred  to,  s7r;Ta<**/c5,  in  whicli 
Gregory  exhausts  the  powers  of  language  in  tlie  service  of  bis  de^ 
ceased  friend  and  spiritual  father,  upon  Mhom  indeed,  while  living 
he  had  lavished  the  liypcrpolas  of  praise  ;  as  in  the  sixth,  seventh, 


rescue  a  good  and  accomplished  man  from  the  suffocating 
embrace  of  his  eulogist.  Well  might  a  warning  be  taken  by 
the  Church,  even  now,  against  the  danger  of  indulging  the 
spirit  of  exaggeration  and  of  fond  adulatory  reo-ard  to  the 
illustrious  dead.  It  was  this  very  spirit  as  much  as  any  other 
influence  we  can  name,  which  effected  the  ruin  and  hastened 
the  corruption  of  early  Christianity.  Hence,  directly,  sprang 
some  of  the  ver}'  worst  errors  which  in  a  matured  state 
strengthened  the  despotism  of  Rome,  and  made  its  services 
idolatrous,  and  its  practices  abominable. 

A  reasonable  distaste  of  the  inflation  which  offends  the  eye 
so  often  on  the  pages  of  the  early  Christian  writers  (as  well 
as  motives  of  indolence  or  levity)  has  almost  cut  us  off  from 
correspondence  with  the  worthies  of  the' ancient  Church  ;  so 
that  men  whose  vigour  of  mind,  whose  copious  eloquence, 
and  whose  universal  learning,  should  attract  us  to  the  perusal 
of  their  works,  are  little  more  thought  of  than  the  demigods 
of  the  Grecian  mythology.  Yet  undoubtedly  by  this  obli- 
vion we  not  only  forfeit  the  advantage  of  justly  estimating 
tilings  that  are,  bj'  comparison  with  things  that  have  been  ; 
but  tail  of  that  special  and  highly  iinportant  benefit  which  an 
exact  knowledge  of  history  conveys,  namely — a  timely  cau- 
tion against  the  first  inroads  of  insidious  errors  and  spurious 
sentiments. 

It  may  be  too  much  to  affirm  that  Basil,  eminent  as  were 
his  qualities,  or  indeed  that  any  single  mind  could  have  turn- 
ed the  tide  which,  at  the  opening  of  the  fourth  centurj',  was 
in  full  course,  bearing  the  Christian  world — eastern  and  west- 
ern, fast  toward  that  swamp  of  superstition  wherein  all  its 
virtues  were  soon  after  lost.  Yet  it  is  certain  that  although 
he  might  not  have  had  power  to  divert  the  course  of  things, 
his  influence  was  great  and  extensive  in  accelerating  the  un- 
happy movement.  As  well  in  the  Latin  as  the  Greek  Church, 
and  during  many  successive  centuries,  the  writings  of  Basil 
formed  the  text  book  of  monkery,  and  gave  sanction  to  its 
follies.*  His  friend  and  biographer  assures  us,  and  his  own 
writings  attest  the  fact,  that,  not  like  many  who,  so  long  as 
their  private  interests  go  well,  trouble  themselves  not  at  all 
on  account  of  the  evils  that  may  prevail  abroad,  Basil  anx- 
iously occupied  himself  with  whatever  concerned  the  welfare 
of  the  Christian  community  throughout  the  world  :]  and  see- 
ing the  Church"  split  into  ten  thousand  sects,  and  distracted 
with  errors,"^:  laboured,  as  well  by  his  writings  as  by  per- 
sonal interposition,  to  remedy  the  existing  evils.  Nor  were 
his  labours  without  fruit.  The  specific  heresies  with  which 
he  contended  were  held  in  check  by  his  eloquence,  and  by 
the  weiglit  of  his  personal  character.  False  dogmas  he  dis- 
cerned, and  refuted  ;  but  alas,  the  false  temper  of  the  times — 
the  universal  wrong  tendency  of  men's  notions  of  religion  and 
piety,  this  he  did  not  discern;  on  the  contrary,  while  fight- 
ing with  errors  in  the  detail,  himself  immensely  promoted  the 
grand   error  which  had    already   poisoned  the  Church,  and 


and  nineteenth  orations,  and  in  various  places  of  his  Epistles.  Could 
the  simplicitv  of  the  Gospel,  and  the  honour  of  Christ  comport  with 
that  stvle  of  adulation  which  in  the  age  of  Gregory  was  accredited 
and  common  in  the  Church  '  The  epistle,  tlie  nineteenth,  in  which 
he  excuses  himself  from  tlie  charge  of  neglecting  his  friend,  would 
astound  the  modern  reader.  No  wonder  tliat  those  should  have  fall- 
en into  an  idolatry  of  the  saints  in  heaven,  who  had  already  gone  so 
far  in  worshipping  one  another. 

*  The  praises  of  Basil  and  of  his  institutions  are  on  the  lips  of 
most  of  the  contemporary  and  succeeding  church  writers,  as  well 
Latins  as  Greeks;  and  most  of  the  oriental  monkish  establishments 
\\  ere  founded  upon  the  model  of  which  he  was  the  author.  Isidore, 
(Lib.  I.  Epist.  61,)  reproaches  one  who,  while  he  professed  high  re- 
gard to  the  words  of  our  divinklx  ixsPiKEn  father — Basil,  practi- 
callv  set  his  autlioritv  at  naught.  Equivalent  expressions  are  em- 
ploved  bv  other  w  riters.  By  a  strange  catachrcsis  the  monastic  ride 
was  called  generally  by  the  writers  of  that  age  (as  by  Isidore  in  the 
epistle  liere  referred  to)  xaCv  (pixs^-jqi/ac,  and  the  institution  itself 
tlie  true  and  divine  philosophy.  See  a  fond  and  frequent  use  of  this 
phrase  in  the  epistles  of  Gregory  Nazianzen.  ,     „     ,      .    „ 

t  . . .  ax^'  i-!f-jZ  TBf  xEtf  aAsi-  ifmf  ac,  it=t/  x-iio^a  to  Tiit  4i/X»t  o^,«* 
7r(fi3.ya.y^y.7ra<rdL\  htu  TromTHl  Tiiv  oiji',K//sl'»v,  oa-m  o  iraiT»flof  >vi)-of 
'iTriJf^fjiiv.  Greg.  Naz.  Orat.  20.  His  assertion  is  borne  out  by  sev- 
eral passages  in  Basil's  own  writings,  from  which  it  appears  that  die 
state  of  the  Church  universal  was  tlie  subject  of  hrs  frequent  (and  not 
very  liappv)  meditations  :  for  instance,  in  his  treatise  on  the  Holy 
Spirit,  c.  30,  where,  with  athiiirable  force  of  language  and  vigour 
of  conception,  he  makes  a  comparison  between  the  distracted  state 
of  the  Church  and  a  sea-fight  during  a  storm  :  or  again  in  that  re- 
markable epistle  to  the  bishops  of  the  A\'est,  in  which  he  entreats 
them  to  send  delegates  to  the  eastern  clnircli,  who  might  raise  it  from 
the  dust.  The  same  catholic  and  patriarchal  solicitude  appears  iii 
his  epistles  to  Athanasius,  and  in  those  of  similar  import,  to  the 
bishops  of  Gaul  and  Italy.  Basil's  moiiasticisni  did  not  atall  seclude 
him  from  public  interests. 


FANATICISM. 


3S1 


•which,  alter  a  century  or  two,  laid  Wit  prostrate  as  a  corrupt-  cilable  with  high  attainments  in  piety.* — ^I'hat  Religion — or 


iiig  carcase,  !So  it  is  that  what  is  special  we  can  see  :  what 
is  general  escapes  our  notice.  A  hundred  times,  while  fol- 
lowing Basil  through  his  track  of  cogent  argument  and  splen- 


at  least  that  the  only  admirable  order  of  religion,  consists — 
not  in  the  worthy  and  fruitful  exercise  of  virtuous  principles 
amid  the  occasions  and  trials  of  common  life;  but  in  cutting 


did  illustration,  one  stops  to  ask,  \Vhy  did  not  so  compre-ioff  all  opportunities  of  exercise,  and  in  retreating  from  every 
hensive  and  penetrating  an  intelligence  question  itself,  and, trial  of  constancy: — ^That,  in  a  word,  piety  is  a  something 
question  the  Christian  body,  concerning  the  soundness  of  its!  which  in  every  sense  is  foreign  to  the  present  state,  and  can 


first  principles  of  practical  piety  1  Why  not  inquire  whether 
a  system  of  conduct  manifestlj'  at  variance  with  the  course 
of  nature,  and  with  the  constitutions  of  the  social  economy, 
was  indeed  enjoined  by  Scripture,  or  could,  in  its  issue,  be 


flourish  only  in  proportion  as  its  laws  and  constilulioDS  are 
contemned  and  discarded. 

The  first  practical  measure  necessary  for  giving  effect  to 
maxims  such  as  these,  was  of  course  that  of  breaking  up  the 


safe  and  advantageous  1  Not  a  surmise  of  this  sort,  so  far, conjugal  economy,  and  of  gathering  men  and  women  (destined 
as  we  can  find,  ever  disturbed  the  meditations  of  the  Cappa-^by  God  for  each  other  as  sharers  in  the  joys  of  life,  and  help- 
dociao  primate.  No; — but  these  only  maj"  fairly  blame  and  ers  in  its  labours  and  sorrows)  into  horrid  fraternities  and 
wonder  who  themselves  are  habituated  Id  entertain  and  in- comfortless  sisterhood  of  virginity.^  This  violence  once 
dulge  severe  inquiries  concerning  the  opinions  and  usages  j  done  to  nature — and  then  every  lesser  enormity  was  only  a 
they  most  zealously  affect.  |  proper  consequence  and  a  consistent  part  of  the  monstrous 

Far  from  seeming  fanatical  or  malignant,  the  monastic! invention.  All /analicism — all  cruelties,  all  impurities  were 
system,  as  it  stands  on  the  shining  pages  of  Basil,  bears  in  embryo  within  this  ecrg.t  Strange  does  it  seem — or 
quite  a  seductive  form.  His  discriplions  of  his  own  seclu-| strange  to  us  of  this  age,  that  the  authors  and  prompters  of 
sion  among  the  mountains  of  Pontus,  and  of  the  pleasures  of  |  the  unnatural  usage,  while  reading  the  evantjelic  records,  did 
abstracted  meditation  and  holy  exercise,  can  hardly  be  read  not  see  that  the  virtue  of  our  Lord  and  of  his  Apostles,  if  we 
without  kindling  an  enthusiasm  of  the  same  order.*  In  his  are  not  to  think  it  quite  inferior  to  that  of  which  the  monks 
ascetic  rules,  too,  there  is  very  much  of  admirable  and  elevated 'made  their  boast,  was  altogether  unlike  it,  and  iniKSt  have 
sentiment,  and  of  spiritual  discretion;  as  well  as  a  thorough  been  founded  on  different  maxims.  Of  our  Lord  it  is  said 
orthodoxy.  More  easy  is  it  to  yield  the  heart  and  judgment:  that  he  was  continually  accompanied  in  his  journeys  by  wo- 
to  the  persuasive  influence  of  the  writer,  tlian  to  stand  aloof, :  men  who  "  ministered  unto  him."  But  the  doctors  of  monk- 
and  call  in  question  his  principles.  jery  assure  us  that  the  society  of  woman  is  altogether  perni- 

Nor  perhaps,  apart  from  the  aid  of  that  comment  which  the,  cious,  and  wholly  incompatible  with  advancement  in  the 
after  history  of  the  Church  has  made  upon  those  principles,  |  Christian  life; — yes,  that  the  mere  touch  of  a  female  hand  is 
would  it  have  been  easy  to  demonstrate  their  pernicious  ten-  mortal  to  sanctity  !§  The  sanctity  of  the  monk,  then,  and 
dency :  and  yet  there  is  little  or  nothing  among  the  eiiormi-'the  purity  of  the  Son  of  God  had  not,  it  is  manifest,  any  kin- 
ties  of  the  ascetic  life  which  might  not  be  justified  on  the  dred  elements. — Of  the  Apostles  and  first  disciples  it  is  said 
grounds  assumed  by  Basil ;  as  for  example,  That  the  domes-  that  they  consorted  together  "  with  the  women,"  and  through- 


tic  constitution  of  man  is  abstractedly  imperfect,  and  irrecon 


•  It  M-as  customarj'  with  the  monks  of  a  later  age  to  select  for  the 
site  of  tbeir  esliiblishmentsthe  most  horrid  and  pestilential  swamps, 
and  this  professedly  with  the  intention  of  inortitying  llie  senses,  and 
of  rendering  life  as  undesirable  and  as  brief  too  as  possible.  Not  so 
Basil  :  fully  alive  to  the  beauties  of  nature,  lie  exults  in  his  enjoyment 
of  them.  The  following  deseriptjon,  though  perhaps  too  long  for  a  *  Throughout  the  ascetic  writings  of  Basil  every  thing  comraend- 
note,  tempts  us  to  turn  aside  a  moijient  from  our  path.  Addressing  able  or  desirable  in  tlie  spiritual  eeooomy  is  assumed  to  attack 
the  friend  of  his  youth,  Basil  says — In  Pontus  Ciod  hath  shown  me  a  exclusively  to  that  mode  of  life  wliitb  could  be  followed  only  in  the 


out  the  history  of  the  Acts  nothing  appears  to  have  attached 
to  the  manners  of  Christians  that  was  at  variance  with  the 
genuine  simplicity  and  innocence  which  is  the  characteristic 
of  a  virtuous  intercourse  of  the  sexes.  The  "angelic  life," 
described  and  lauded  by  every  Father,  fromTertullian,  to  the 
Abbot  of  Clairvaux,  is  not  any  where  to  be  traced  in  the  au- 


spot  precisely  situated  to  my  turn  of  mind  and  habits. — In  truth  it  is 
the  very  scene  which  heretofore,  while  idly  musing  I  had  been  wont 
to  picture  to  myself.  It  is  a  lofty  mountxiin,  enveloped  in  dense 
forests ;  on  its  notberu  front  it  is  vv'atered  by  gelid  streams  that 
sparkle  to  the  eye  as  they  descend.  At  the  foot  of  the  hill  a  grassv 
plain  spreads  itself  out,  and  luxuriates  in  the  moisture  that  distils 
perpetually  from  tlie  heiglits.  Around  the  level  space  tlie  woods, 
presenting  trees  of  every  species,  take  an  easy  sweep,  so  as  to  form  a 
natural  rampart.  Calypso's  isle,  so  much  praised  by  Homer,  one 
might  contemn  in  comparison  with  this  spot:  in  fact  itself  might 
almost  be  called  an  island,  since  it  is  completely  encircled  and  shut 
in — on  two  sides,  by  deep  and  precipitous  ravines ;  ou  anotJier,  by 
the  fall  of  a  never-failing  torrent,  not  easily  forded,  and  which  like  a 
wall  excludes  intruders.  In  the  rear  the  jagged  and  uneven  heights, 
witli  a  semicircular  turn,  rise  from  the  skirts  of  the  plain,  and  deny 
access,  except  tJnough  a  single  pass,  of  which  we  are  masters.  My 
habitation  occupies  the  ridge  of  a  lowering  height,  whence  the  laud- 
scape,  with  the  many  bends  of  the  river,  spreads  itself  fairly  to  the 
view ,  and  presents,  altogether  a  prospect  not  inferior,  as  I  think,  in 
gay  attractions,  to  that  which  is  offered  by  tlie  course  of  the  river 
Strymon,  as  seen  from  Ampliipolis.  That  stream  indeed  moves  so 
sliiggishly  in  its  bed,  as  hardly  to  deserve  the  name  of  river;  but 
this  on  the  contrary  (the  most  rapid  I  have  ever  seen)  rushes  on  to 
a  neighbouring  rock,  »  hence  tluow  n  off,  it  tumbles  into  a  deep  vortex 
in  a  manner  that  excites  the  admiration  of  every  beholder,  i'rom  the 
reservoir  thus  formed  we  are  abundantly  supplied  w  ith  water,  nor  only 
so,  for  it  nourishes  in  its  stormy  bosom  a  multitude  of  fishes.  AVhat 
might  I  not  say  of  the  balmy  exhalations  that  arise  from  this  verdant 
region,  or  of  the  breezes  tliat  attend  tlie  flow  of  the  river  '  or  some 
perhaps  would  rather  speak  of  the  endless  variety  of  flowers  tliat 
adorn  the  ground,  or  of  the  innumerable  singing  birds  tliat  make  oiu- 
woods  their  home.  For  my  own  part,  my  mind  is  too  deeplv 
engaged  to  give  much  attention  to  these  lesser  matters.  To  our 
commendation  of  this  seclusion  we  are  moreover  able  to  add  the 
praise  of  an  unbounded  fruitfulness  in  all  kinds  of  produce,  favoui-ed 
as  it  is  by  its  position  an;!  soil.  To  me  its  principal  charm  (and  a 
greater  cannot  be)  is  this — that  it  yields  me  the  fruits  of  tranquiUit)-. 
For  not  only  is  the  region  far  remote  from  the  tumult  of  cities,  but  it 
is  actually  unfrequented  by  travellers  of  any  sort,  a  few  huntsmen 
excepted,  who  make  tlieir  way  hither  in  search  of  the  game  wliich 
abounds  in  it.  This  indeed  is  anotlier  of  its  ailvantagcs  ;  for  though 
we  lack  the  ferocious  bear  and  tlie  wolf  that  aftlict  your  country,  we 
have  deer  and  goats,  sylvan  flock i,  and  hares,  and  other  animals  of 

the  sort 

Who  would  not  turn  monk  if  he  might  lead  the  angelic  life  in  a 
paradise  such  as  that  of  Basil  > 


monastery  ;  nor  does  he  think  it  practicable  to  maintain  faith  and 
virtue  in  the  open  world,  or  w  bile  encompassed  witli  tlic  cares  and 
duties  TiS  n'.inj  ..S/g;,  Not  so  Paul  and  Peter.  In  a  letter  to  his 
frienil  Gregory  Nazianzen,  after  describing  the  disti-actions  of  ordi- 
nary life,  and  the  cares  of  matrimony,  he  says — From  all  which  tliei-e 
is  only  one  way  of  escape — namely,  an  entire  separation  from  this 
world  : — not  indeed  a  being  absent  from  it  coijioreally  ;  but  a  rending 
of  the  soul  from  every  bodily  afteclion  ; — to  be  no  citizen — to  have 
no  home — no  property — no  friends — to  be  destitute,  and  in  absolute 
want — to  have  no  concerns  or  occupation — to  be  cut  ofl"  from 
commerce  with  the  world — to  be  ignorant  of  human  learning  ; — and 
so  to  prepare  the  heart  for  tlie  due  reception  of  the  divine  instruction. 
Such  were  the  principles  which  this  good  man  diffused  throughout  the 
Christian  w-orld  : — himself  did  by  no  means  carry  lliem  out  fully  into 
practice — this  part  was  left  for  his  admirers.  So  it  is  that  great 
minds  indulge  in  exaggerations  which  small  minds  interpret  literally 
to  their  cost.  It  would  be  useless  to  quote  fifty  passages  of  like 
import — a  hundred  might  be  found. 

■f  The  autlior  of  the  Lives  of  tlie  Saints  would  fain  rid  the  repu- 
tation of  St.  Basil  of  the  ambiguous  honour  of  having  written  the 
tract  on  A'irginitA'.  If  there  be  a  doubt  on  this  point,  \*e  will  assuredly 
give  the  Archbishop  and  the  ^Motih  of  Ciesarea  the  benefit  of  iL 
Whether  it  be  his  or  not,  the  doctrine  it  mantains  is  in  substance, 
tliough  not  in  so  unpleasing  a  form,  found  in  his  unquestioned  wri- 
tings. The  passages  that  might  the  most  aptly  be  quoted  in  this  in- 
stance, are  best  left  in  their  concealment  of  Greek. 

I  The  subject  of  celibacy,  and  its  influence  on  the  character,  must 
again,  and  more  copiously  be  treated.     See  next  section. 

§  We  turn  for  a  moment  from  Basil,  who  nevertheless  is  strong 
on  this  point.  "  So  far  as  possible,"  says  Isidore,  "  all  converse 
with  women  is  to  be  shunned :  or  if  this  cannot  altogether  be 
avoided,  they  should    be   spoken  with  only,   the  eye  fixed  on  the 

earth In  the  case  of  almost  all  who  have  fallen  by  tlieir  means 

death  /ittth  ente}-ed  iji  by  tite  iviudoivs  !  "  Lib.  I.  Epis.  G".  Cassian, 
and  still  more,  his  commentators,  miglit  be  quoted  at  large  on  mat- 
ters of  this  sort.  Gregory  the  Great  says — Qui  corpus  suum  conti- 
nentia:  dedicant,  habitarecum  feminis  iionpresuniant  ;  and  lie  tells  a 
long  story  to  enforce  his  advice.  Dialog.  Lib.  III.  c.  7.  Sulpitlus 
Severus  thinks  it  necessary  to  excuse  his  hero,  St.  Martin,  in  an 
insUmce  (refetred  to  in  Nat.  Hist,  of  Lnthus.  Sect.  IX.)  in  viiiich  he 
had  suffered  the  touch  of  a  woman  :  and  in  the  same  spii-it,  an  un- 
known monkish  writei* — 

Causa  gi-avis  scelerum  cessabit  amor  mulierum. 
Colloquium  quarum  nil  est  nisi  virus  amarum 
PrEebeiis,  sub  mellis  dulcedine,  pocula  fellis. 

*  Carman  Paiwnftintm. 


3S2 


CHRISTIAN     LIBRARY. 


thentic  story  of  the  first  and  purest  years  of  the  Christian  In- 
stitution. Why  was  not  a  fact  so  conspicuous  perceived  by 
Chrysostom,  by  Gregory,  by  Basil  1  Alas !  such  is  the  orig- 
inal limitation,  or  such  the  superinduced  infatuation  of  the 
human  mind,  that,  when  once  it  takes  a  wrong  path,  not  the 
most  eminent  powers  of  reason,  nor  the  most  extensive  ac- 
complishments avail  to  give  it  a  suspicion  of  its  error  ! 

All  that  could  be  done  by  a  vigorous  and  comprehensive 
mind,  well  furnished  with  Scriptural  principles,  to  render  the 
monastic  institution  as  good  as  its  nature  admitted,  was  ac- 
tually effected  by  Basil  ;*  and  his  ascetic  writings — his 
Kules,  the  longer  and  the  shorter,  and  his  monastic  constitu- 
tions, if  they  could,  in  translation,  be  purged  of  their  charac- 
teristic asceticism,  would  form  an  excellent  and  edifying  body 
of  instrnctions  in  the  practice  of  piety. — But  our  time  and 
labour  might  be  better  spent.  Happily  the  priiu-iplcs  and 
maxims  of  religion  we  can  draw  from  purer  sources  ;  and 
while  it  is  unquestionably  incund)entupon  the  few  who  aspire 
to  exercise  a  correct  and  comprehensive  judgiuent  concerning 
the  various  phrases  of  Christianity,  to  make  themselves  I'a- 
miliarly  conversant  with  the  voluminous  remains  of  ecclesi- 
astical literature,  it  is  certain  that  the  private  Christian,  with 
the  Bible  and  with  modern  expositions  in  his  hand,  need  not 
sigh  that  those  treasures  are  locked  up  froin  his  use. 

In  its  rancorous  stage  the  fanaticism  of  austerity  is  not  to 
be  looked  for  in  a  writer  so  great  and  good  as  the  Bishop  of 
Ca?sarea.  For  instances  of  this  we  must  turn  to  some  of  his 
contemporaries  of  less  note ;  and  to  those  who  afterwards 
followed  in  the  same  track.  Nevertheless  the  germs  of  ma- 
lignant religionism  (such  as  in  a  preceding  section  we  have 
briefly  stated  them  to  he)  are  not  wanting  even  in  Basil.  It 
is  evident,  for  example,  that  the  verj'  serious  impressions  he 
entertained  of  the  Divine  Justice,  and  its  hearing  upon  man, 
were  not  balanced,  as  in  the  minds  of  the  apostles,  by  a  clear 
and  auspicious  understanding  of  the  great  article  of  justifica- 
tion by  faith  : — his  faith  therefore  was  comfortless,  severe, 
and  dim. I  Again,  the  scriptural  belief  of  the  agency  and 
malice  of  infernal  spirits,  had  become,  in  that  age,  and  before 
it,  so  turgid  and  extravagant  that  it  tilled  a  far  larger  space 
on  the  circle  of  vision  than  properl_v  belongs  to  it.  In  troth, 
among  the  monks,  the  subject  of  infernal  seduction  quite  oc- 
cupied the  mind,  to  the  exclusion  almost  of  happier  objects 
of  meditation.  The  devil,  whatever  may  be  the  title  of  the 
piece,  is  the  real  hero  of  the  drama  of  monastic  piety : — that 
piety  theretbre  has  all  the  proper  characters  of  superstition. :(; 

Furthermore,  the  broad  distinction  made  between  what 
was  insolently  termed  "  the  common  life,"  and  the  "  angelic," 
or  monastic,  and  upon  which  Basil  so  much  insists,  could 
not  fail  to  generate,  as  in  fact  it  did,  a  supercilious  disdain  of 
the  mass,  not  of  mankind  at  large  merely,  but  of  the  Chris- 
tian community,  and  with  it,  a  preposterous  conceit  (ill  con- 
cealed beneath  the  cant  of  humility)  of  peculiar  privilege  and 


t  Kvidence  might  -ivitliout  ilitfieulty  be  Adduced  to  prove  timt  tlie 
monastic  institution,  such  as  it  had  IjtLOnie  in  tlie  times  of  Basil,  was 
rather  corrected  and  i)uiitieil,  than  rendered  still  more  extravagant 
by  tlie  influence  of  his  writings.  In  /us  mm  i:ge  tliereforc  (if  the 
tact  be  as  we  presume)  lie  was  a  Refornier.  His  influence,  on  the 
contrary,  as  extended  thougli  succeeding  ages,  lias  been  to  hold  in 
credit  a  system  which,  but  tor  the  sn]iport  ot  men  like  himself,  must 
soon  have  fallen  under  tlie  general  reprobation  and  contempt  of 
mankind.  Remove  from  this  institution  what  Kasil,  Chrysostom, 
Ambrose,  Augustine,  and  Kernard  (Ud  to  susUiin  it,  and  not  all 
the  exploits  of  a  thousand  fanatics  could  have  availed  to  keep  it 
going. 

t'l'he  disorders,  the  corruption,  and  die  religious  feuds  of  the  age 
liad  e\idently  affected  the  mnul  of  Dasil  in  a  manner  not  favourable 
to  his  dispositions.  A  genuine  lover  of  soliUide,  he  was  a  passion- 
ate admirer  of  Ideal  Perfection,  and  turned  with  alarm  and  distaste, 
as  w  ell  from  Ijic  church  as  the  «  orld,  in  the  actual  state  of  bodi.  Yet 
Ins  was  a  mind  of  the  [j-oxvrning  c/a^s.  From  public  interests  he 
conld  not  refrain; — not  his  paradise  in  tlie  depth  of  the  wilderness 
could  hold  him,  when  a  sphere  of  power  opened  itself  before  him  ; 
but  he  ascended  the  archiepiscopal  throne  an  anchoret  in  heart,  more 
even  llian  in  discipline  and  garb  ; — might  we  say,  an  anchoret  bv 
imaginative  taste.  Vii:  regard  his  ascetic  w  ritings  as  the  product  of 
the  original  incongruities  of  his  character:  seated  in  the  place  of 
power,  lie  aimed  not  so  much  to  govern  tbe  church-secular  and  actual ; 
and  as  a  Latin  would  have  done,  as  to  create  or  to  mould  a  celestial 
community  that  should  yield  itself  fully  to  his  plastic  hand. 

t  At  a  very  early  time  the  belief  of  Christians,  and  especially  of 
the  monks,  concerning  internal  agency,  had  assumed  a  form  ffoni 
wliicli  nothing  coidd  follow  but  the  follies  and  horrors  of  supersti- 
tion. A  far  extended  and  exact  iniiuiry  would  be  needed  to  place 
this  subject  in  a  just  light.  Thougb  intimately  connected  with  the 
rise  and  matui-ity  of  Fanaticism,  it  is  too  copious  a  theme  to  be  en- 
tered upon  in  this  volume.  It  demands,  however,  to  be  fullv  consid- 
ered if  we  would  obtain  a  compreliensive  and  satislactory  under- 
standing of  the  early  corruption  of  Christianity. 


celestial  dignity,  as  th^lBistinction  of  a  few.  Thus  was  it 
that  all  the  stones  of  the  foundation  of  the  pandemonium  of 
pride,  impurity,  and  cruelty,  were  laid  by  the  hands  of  men 
whom  we  must  venerate  and  admire. 

The  most  benign  in  its  elements,  and  yet  perhaps  the  most 
destructive  in  its  actual  consequences,  of  all  the  forms  of  fa- 
naticism (under  this  general  head)  remains  to  be  mentioned ; 
— we  mean  the  custom  of  pilgrimage.  What  enterprise  can 
seem  more  innocent  than  that  of  a  journey  to  gratifj'  the  tran- 
quil yearnings  of  pious  atfeetion  toward  a  sacred  spoti — But 
what  usage  more  fatal,  if  we  look  at  its  products  through  a 
course  of  ages  1  Well  may  it  be  questioned  whether  the  most 
ferocious  of  the  ancient  superstitions  ever  made  such  havoc 
of  human  life  as  have  the  tranquil  pilgrimages  of  the  eastern 
and  western  nations.  Even  the  merciless  military  executions 
perpetrated  by  zealot  kings  upon  their  own  subjects  at  the 
instigation  of  I'riar-confessors,  have  probably  not  caused  more 
death  and  misery  than  pilgrimage  has  occasioned.  The  reader 
might  startle  perhaps  to  hear  it  affirmed  that,  looking  only  to 
modern  times,  tbe  wars  that  have  raged  in  dilTerent  parts  of  Eu- 
rope and  Asia  have  not  wasted  the  human  species  to  a  greater 
amount  than  the  noiseless  processions  that,  during  the  same 
era,  have  been  streaming  toward  the  ccntrfcs  of  Brahminical, 
.Mohammedan,  and  Komish  superstition. 

Travel  by  sea  and  land — the  latter  not  less  than  the  former, 
does  indeed  include  a  hundred  chances  of  death  unknown  to 
the  resident  portion  of  mankind.  But  journeys  prompted  by 
motives  of  religion  seem  to  invite  and  concentrate  every  ill 
chance  that  can  possibly  belong  to  a  passage  from  country  to 
countr}'.  Among  the  many  routes  beaten  by  the  foot  of  man, 
which  catch  the  eye  as  we  look  broadl)'  over  the  earth's  sur- 
face, if  there  he  one  that  stares  out  from  the  landscape — 
whitened  with  bones,  we  shall  always  find  it  terminate  at 
some  holy  shrine.  A  spot  made  important  by  nothing  but 
the  dreams  of  superstition,  has  become,  by  the  accumulated 
mortality  of  ages,  the  very  Golgotha  of  a  continent ;  and  death 
has  fitly  erected  his  proudest  trophies  on  the  paths  that  have 
led  to  the  place  of  a  sepulchre. 

Besides  other,  and  incidental  reasons  of  the  difference,  it  is 
enough  to  say  that,  while  men  are  engaged  in  mercantile  ad- 
venture simply,  and  are  acting  upon  the  common  induce- 
ments of  worldly  interest,  they  naturally  foresee  dangers, and 
provide  against  them.  But  tbe  train  of  pilgrimage,  at  first 
mustered  bj-  Folly,  has  renounced  as  an  impiety,  the  guid- 
ance of  reason,  and  hurrying  onward,  every  da)'  with  a  more 
desperate  haste  than  before,  has  at  length  poured  itself  as  a 
torrent  along  the  very  valley  of  death. 

It  is  hard  to  conjecture  to  what  extent  the  mischief  might 
have  reached — especially  in  those  ages  when  the  frenzy  was 
at  its  height,  if  it  had  not  been  checked  by  the  saving  ad- 
mixture of  grosser  motives  with  the  pure  fanaticism  which 
was  its  prime  impulse.  How  greatly  are  we  often  indebted 
(if  pride  would  but  own  it)  to  those  whispered  suggestions 
of  common  prudence  which  we  should  indignantly  spurn  if 
they  dared  to  utter  themselves  aloud  !  Yes,  and  in  the 
wondrous  complexity  of  human  nature,  provisions  are  made 
for  the  clogging  or  diverting  of  every  power  that  tends  to  run 
up  to  a  dangerous  velocity.  Religious  delusion  is  in  fact  found 
to  coalesce  readily,  on  the  one  side  with  soft  sensualities,  and 
on  the  other — strange  amalgam! — with  mercenary  calcula- 
tions. Oftener  than  can  be  told  has  pious  heroism  slid  down 
by  a  rapid  descent  into  sordid  hypocrisy,  and  the  stalking 
devotee  of  yesterday  has  become  to-daj*  a  sheer  knave.  Just 
so  does  a  torrent  tumble  from  crag  to  crag  of  the  mountains, 
and  sparkle  in  the  sun  as  it  storms  along; — until,  reaching  a 
level  and  a  slimy  bed,  it  takes  up  the  impurity  it  finds — gets 
sluggish  as  well  as  foul,  and  at  length  creeps  silent  through 
the  oozy  channels  of  a  swamp. 

The  wan  and  wasted  pilgrim — shall  we  call  him  devotee 
or  pedlar? — who  left  his  home  warm  with  genuine  fervours, 
unluckily  for  his  reputation,  discovered  as  he  went,  the  secret 
of  profitable  adventure.  Become  dealer,  either  in  articles  df 
vulgar  merchandize,*  or,  still  better,  in  the  inestimable  wares 
of  superstition — rags — hones — pebbles — splinters,  be  took  his 
course,  barely  knowing  at  length  of  what  sort  his  errand  was, 
but  actually  reached  his  home  a  wealthy  trader,  who  had 
gone  forth  a  crazy  mendicant.  The  important  eflcct  how- 
ever of  a  transmutation  of  motives  such  as  this,  was  to  impart 
caution  and  forethought  to  the  pilgrim  enterprise;  for  it  is  a 
siiKTular  inconsistency  of  human  nature  that  men  will  ordina- 
rily take  much  more  care  of  life  /or  the  sake  of  goods  and 
property,  than  they  will  do  of  lite  by  itself.     If  it  had  not 

*  See  Robertson's  Disquisition  on  India,  sect.  3. 


FANATICISM. 


383 


been  for  these  mitigations,  pilgrimM^  during  certain  eras, 
might  almost  have  swallowed  uj^R-humaa  race  in  the 
countries  where  chiefly  the  madness  raged.* 

A  portion  only  of  this  system  of  religiocs  vagrancy  belongs 
to  our  immediate  subject;  for  it  is  very  far  Irom  being  true 
that  all  pilgrims  have  been  fanatics.  Some,  as  we  have  said, 
should  be  reckoned  mere  traders,  or  hucksters  under  pretext 
of  religion;  just  as  valiant  knights  were  often  freebooters, 
under  the  same  guise.  Some,  we  cannot  doubt,  have  been 
instigated  mainly  by  that  taste  for  adventure  and  love  of  rov- 
ing which,  in  certain  bosoms  is  an  irresistible  impulse.  Some, 
moreover,  and  not  a  few,  have  been  flogged  on,  through  their 
weary  way,  by  pure  superstitious  terror,  or  by  the  well- 
founded  dread  of  the  future  retribution  of  their  enormous 
crimes.  And  lastly,  we  must  except  those  (perhaps  not 
many)  whose  motive  may  have  been  gnly  a  mild  poetic  en- 
thusiasm, wholly  free  from  virulence  or  gloomy  fear,  and  not 
very  difficult  to  be  conceived  of,  if  we  are  ourselves  at  all 
open  to  imaginative  sentiments,  and  if  we  will  surrender  the 
fancy  awhile  to  the  seductive  ideas  that  are  called  up  by  long 
meditation  of  a  distant  and  hallowed  region. | 

There  was  a  time — long  gone  by,  when  the  streams  of 
pilgrimage  (if  the  anachronism  of  the  phrase  may  be  par- 
doned) flowed  from  all  points  around  the  Mediterranean  to- 
ward the  principal  centres  of  philosophy,  or  of  legislative 
science.  First  India,  or  Chaldea,  then  ligypt,  then  Greece, 
drew  from  all  lands  the  votaries  of  wisdom.  How  marvel- 
lously must  the  love  of  pure  wisdom  have  declined  since 
those  ages! — or  else  wisdom  has  become  the  produce  of  all 
climates'.  More  nearly  analogous  to  the  pilgrimages  of  later 
times,  though  still  very  unlike  them,  was  that  widely  ex- 
tended practice  which  brought  every  year  multitudes  of  the 
Greeks  of  all  the  settlements,  even  the  most  remote,  and  not 
a  few  of  the  still  more  distant  barbarians,  to  the  oracular 
temples  of  the  mother  country,  or  to  those  of  Ionia  and 
jEolia;— to  Oropus,  Aba,  Dodona,  Delphi.  Yet  although 
the  errand  in  these  cases  was  often  a  fruitless  one,  and  the 
belief  whence  it  arose  superstitious,  the  motive  (had  but  the 
premises  been  sound)  was  calm  and  rational,  and  not  at  all 
of  the  sort  to  kindle  the  imagination,  or  to  disturb  the  pas- 
sions. Instruction,  advice,  or  what  perhaps  might  be  equally 
serviceable — a  final  decision  on  some  perplexing  occasion  of 
public  or  private  life,  was  needed,  and  sought  for ;  and,  whether 
for  the  better  or  the  worse,  actually  obtained  from  the  minis- 
ters of  the  mephitic  cavern.  N  ow  it  must  be  granted  that  an 
authoritative  determination  (even  supposing  there  to  be  an 
equal  chance  of  truth  and  error)  might,  in  many  an  instance, 
well  repay  a  journey  of  three  hundred  miles,  or  a  voyage  ot 
five.  The  common  business  of  life,  and  the  all'airs  of  state 
too,  were  often  much  advantaged  among  the  Greeks  by  tlieir 
appeals  to  what  one  might  call  a  court  of  Chancery,  in  which 
the  god  gave  verdicts  generally  without  delays — always  with- 
out pleadings — and  most  often  for  moderate  fees. 

AVe  have  yet  to  search  for  the  pattern  or  the  origin  of  the 
practice  of  pilgrimage;  but  find  resemblances  ratlier  than  ac 
lual  analogies.  Such  may  be  deemed,  and  it  is  not  more 
than  a  resemblance,  that  usage  of  tlie  Jewish  people  which 
brought  the  male  population  of  the  country  three  limes  in  the 
year  to  the  centre  and  only  sanctioned  place  of  public  wor- 
ship. An  auspicious  institution — well  adapted  to  diffuse,  and 
to  keep  in  brisk  circulation  among  a  simple  and  agricultural 
people,  the  several  elements  of  social  and  religious  prosperity 
Then  it  is  evident  that  the  shortness  of  the  distances,  the  fre- 


*  It  -was  not  merely  as  venders  of  relics,  or  of  the  productions  of 
the  Kast,  that  the  pilj^rims  louiul  tlie  means  of  rclundini^  the  expenses 
of  their  journey;  tor  it  appears  to  have  been  customary  for  them  on 
tlieir  uay  home  to  perform  sacred  dramas  in  llie  streets  and  squares 
of  the  towns  through  which  they  passed.    Ceux,  says  a  French  wi-itcr, 

<iui  revenoient  de  Jerusalem  et  de  la  Terre  Salute, kc 

composoient  des  catiliques  sur  leurs  voyages,  y  meloient  le  recit  de 
la  vie  el  (le  la  mort  du  Fils  de  Uieu,  on  du  Judgment  dernier,  d'uiie 
maniere  grossiere,  mais  que  le  chant  et  la  simplicite  de  ces  tenqis 

la  scmbloicnt  rendre  patlielique Ces  l*eleriiis  qui  alloient 

par  troupes,  et  qui  s'arretoient  dans  les  rues  ct  dans  les  places 
imbliques  ou  ils  chanloient  le  Bourdon  a  la  main,  le  chapeau  et  le 
mantelet  cbargez  de  coquilles  et  d 'images  peiutes  de  diverses  ccu- 
leurs,  faisoienl  une  espcce  de  spectacle  t^ui  pIuL  .... 

t  Quam  dulce  est  peregrinis  post  mullam  longi  itineris  faligatio- 
nem,  post  plurima,  terr»  marisque  pericula,  'hi  taudam  quiescere, 
ubi  et  agnoscunt  suum  Dominum,  quievisse !  Puto  jam  pra;  gaudio 
lion  sentiunt  viie  laborem,  noc  gra\amen  reputant  expensarum;  sed 
tanquam  laboris  priemium,  cursusve  bravium  (^^aySsiiv)  assecuti ; 
juxla  Scripturx  sententiam,  gaudent  vehementer  cum  invenerint 
sepulcrum.  (St.  Bernard.  Exhort,  ad  Milites  Templi,  cap.  11.)  a 
tract  we  shall  have  occasion  asrain,  and  more  fully  to  refer  to.  See 
Sect.  VII.  ^  ^ 


quency  of  the  visit,  and  the  universality  of  the  obligation, 
must  have  obviated  the  evils  which  attend  the  custom  of  pil- 
grimage. No  danger,  ordinarily,  nor  perilous  adventure,  and 
no  extreme  privations,  could  beset  a  journey  of  fifty — a  hun- 
dred, or  a  hundred  and  fifty  miles,  through  a  home-land, 
densely  peopled  ;  nor  could  anj'  but  the  calmest  and  happiest 
sort  of  excitement  spring  up  on  an  occasion  which,  instead  of 
being  a  single  and  solemn  act  of  a  man's  life,  was  the  habit 
of  his  life.  But  the  main  circumstance  of  difference  is  this, 
that  the  resort  of  the  people  to  the  tabernacle  and  temple, 
being  a  national  duty,  and  a  general  or  universal  practice,  it 
could  never  be  made  the  ground  of  boasting  or  honour  to  in- 
dividuals, nor  could  be  thought  of  as  a  meritorious  enterprise, 
by  the  aspirants  to  religious  reputation. 

The  Mosaic  institution  seems  to  have  set  the  habit  of  jour- 
neying in  the  Jewish  character,  and  to  have  fixed  it  there  so 
lirmly  and  tranquilly,  that  in  afier  ages,  when  the  circum- 
stances of  a  visit  to  the  "  Holy  City"  were  altogether  altered, 
and  were  such  as  might  readily  have  kindled  an  active  fanati- 
cism, dangerous  to  the  governments  which  allowed  it,  the 
ancient  devout  serenity  held  its  place  in  the  feelings  and  man- 
ners of  the  people  of  the  dispersion.  Those  who,  during  the 
Persian,  Macedonian  and  Roman  eras  (the  early  portion  of  it) 
came  to  appear  before  the  Lord  from  the  remotest  settlements 
of  Libya,  or  Scythia,  or  India,  went "  from  strength  to  st.-rngth" 
with  a  feeling  nearly  the  same  as  that  of  their  happier  ancestors, 
whose  journey  lay  only  through  the  olive  vales  of  Palestine. 
It  is  not  until  we  approach  the  dark  hour  of  the  catastrophe 
of  the  city  that  we  meet  with  the  indications  of  a  different 
spirit.  Then  indeed  a  frenzj-  had  seized  the  obdurate  race, 
both  at  home  and  in  the  lands  of  its  exile;  and  the  resort  of 
the  scattered  nation  to  the  ill-fated  Jerusalem,  was  like  the 
rush  of  acrid  humours  to  the  heart  and  head  of  a  delirious 
man.  This  season  excepted,  the  Jewish  pilgrimages  to  the 
holy  city  were  not,  as  it  appears,  marked  by  fanatical  turbu- 
lence. The  purpose  of  the  worshippers  was  rational,  and 
their  religious  notions  were,  in  the  main,  of  a  substantial  and 
healthy  sort; — they  did  not  travel  a  thousand  miles — to  kiss 
a  stone,  or  to  purchase  a  relic ;  but  to  take  part  in  the  services 
of  that  Temple  where  alone,  in  all  the  world,  the  first  prin- 
ciples of  theology  were  understood,  and  the  true  God  adored. 
The  journey,  and  its  attendant  sentiments,  were  such  as  be- 
fitted its  object. 

It  is  a  preposterous  creed  that  makes  pilgrimage  fatal.  In 
this  case  Delusion  leads  the  way;  Crime  attends  the  route; 
and  Despair  and  Frenzy  at  the  lastcumes  up  to  urge  the  infatu- 
ated troop  toward  the  horrid  spot  w  here  Misery  and  Death  are 
to  be  glutted  with  victims.  Such,  in  brief,  and  with  circum- 
stantial differences  only,  have  been  the  i>ilgrimages  that  have 
beaten  the  roads  of  India,  of  Arabia  and  of  Palestine.  To  the 
latter,  we  should  remember,  is  due  the  blood-stained  glory  of 
giving  birth  to  the  Crusades;  for  if  there  had  been  no  resort 
of  the  pious  to  the  desolated  sepulchre,  there  would  probably 
have  been  no  heroes  of  the  cross : — if  no  Peter  the  Hermit, 
no  Tancred,  no  Godfrey,  no  Baldwin,  or  Richard ! 

Should  we  not  in  this  place,  note  the  fact  that  while  su- 
perstition, as  if  with  a  power  of  fascination,  has  always  been 
drawing  men  from  extensive  surfaces  toward  some  one  vortex 
of  delusion,  true  religion,  on  the  contrar}',  has  shown  itself 
to  possess  an  expansive  force,  which  has  rendered  it  a  point 
of  radiation,  or  an  emanative  centre,  whence  light  and  bless- 
ings have  flowed  to  the  remotest  circumference.  Is  a  crite- 
rion wanted  which,  by  exterior  facts  only,  might  discriminate 
between  a  false  and  a  true  belief!  little  hazard  would  be  run 
in  assuming  such  a  one  as  tliis — that  the  former  will  be  seen 
to  be  g-athering  up,  and  accumulating,  and  devouring; — while 
the  other  spreads  itself  abroad,  and  scatters  and  diffuses,  as 
widely  as  it  xmy,  whatever  benefits  it  has  to  confer.  Chris- 
tianity is  not  the  religion  of  a  shrine,  of  a  sepulchre,  of  a 
chair,  or  of  a  den;  but  of  all  the  broad  waj'S  of  the  world,  and 
of  every  place  where  man  is  found. 


SUPPLEMENTARY  NOTE. 

In  treating  of  the  Fanaticism  of  the  Scourge,  a  passing 
notice,  at  least,  of  the  miserable  Flagellants  of  the  13th  and 
14th  centuries,  may  be  looked  for.  The  pitiable  frenzy,  though 
of  fatal  consequence  for  a  lime,  and  horribly  suppressed, 
does  not  seem  to  merit  much  attention  cither  as  a  matter  of 
history  or  of  philosophy.  What  has  been  handed  down  con- 
cerning those  dolorous  vagrants,  is  familiar  to  most  readers. 
Froissart's  account  (Vol.  ii.  p.  203)  relates  to  the  last  erup- 
tion of  the  Flagellants.     "  This  year  of  our  Lord  1349,  there 


384 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


came  from  Germany  persons  who  performed  public  peniten- 
cies  by  whipping  tliemselves  with  Kcoura;es  having  iron 
hooks,  so  tliat  their  backs  and  shoulders  were  torn :  they 
chaunted  also,  in  a  piteous  manner,  canticles  of  the  nativity 
and  sufferings  of  our  Saviour,  and  could  not  by  their  rules, 
remain  in  any  town  more  than  one  night;  they  travelled  in 
companies  of  more  or  less  in  number  (it  is  elsewhere  affirmed 
that  they  amounted  sometimes  to  ten  thousand,  and  included 
persons  of  the  highest  rank)  and  thus  journeyed  through  the 
country,  performing  their  penitence  for  thirty-three  days, 
being  the  number  of  years  Jesus  Christ  remained  on  earth; 
and  then  returned  to  their  own  homes.  These  penitencies 
were  thus  performed  to  entreat  the  Lord  to  restrain  his  anger, 
and  withhold  his  vengeance ;  for  at  this  period  an  epidemic 
malady  ravaged  the  earth,  and  destroyed  a  third  part  of  its 
inhabitants."  This  fanaticism  was  of  too  turbulent  a  kind  to 
be  suffered  by  the  Church,  which,  after  severely  denouncing 
it,  and  in  vain,  at  length  let  loose  upon  it  the  armed  minis- 
ters of  her  power.  Eight  thousand  persons  were  massacred 
in  a  day  by  the  Teutonic  kirtghts  at  the  command  of  Pope 
Clement  VI.  There  is  reason  to  believe  that  some  articles 
of  the  dominant  superstition  had  been  called  in  question  by 
these  penitents. 


SECTION  VI. 


FANATICISM  OF  THE  BRAND. 


Galerius,  Alva,  Bonner,  cross  our  path  in  every  street  of 
a  populous  cit}' ;  and  moreover  the  agents  and  ministers  of 
such  formidable  personages  might  be  found  in  every  crowd. 
The  chief  and  his  company,  fit  for  the  labours  of  religious  cru- 
elty, we  must  not  think  have  passed  away  with  ages  long 
gone  by  ;  but  rather  believe  that  they  are  about  us  now,  and 
wait  only  the  leave  or  bidding  of  circumstances  to  re-act  their 
parts.  Or,  to  confess  in  a  word  the  whole  humiliating  truth 
it  is  Human  Nature,  such,  alas,  as  it  is  harboured  in  each 
of  our  bosoms,  that  oflers  itself  with  more  or  less  readi 
ness  to  the  excitement  of  malign  and  even  murderous  pas- 
sions ! 

At  once  therefore  justice  toward  the  signalized  authors  of 
persecution,  whom  we  are  apt  to  regard  as  beings  of  inferna" 
origin,  and  a  due  caution,  having  respect  to  the  possible 
events  of  some  day  which  may  yet  come  in  the  world's  his- 
tory, demand  that  instead  of  taking  a  distant  glance  at  the 
gloomy  tragedies  of  remote  times,  we  should  look  into  the 
heart  in  search  of  those  deep  sunken  motives  whence  the 
worst  atrocities  miglit  take  their  spring.  The  man  is  indeed 
to  be  envied  whose  spirit  contains  no  such  elements  as  might 
enable  him  to  institute  an  analysis  of  this  sort.  Few  will 
make  the  profession  ;  and  perhaps  among  those  who  would, 
there  may  be  one  or  more  that,  if  actually  drawn  into  the  eddy 
of  turbulent  passions,  would  be  found  foremost  in  deeds  of 
violence  ;  for  it  is  certain  that  the  prime  impulses  of  a  san- 
guinary fanaticism  act  and  re-act  one  upon  another  until  an 
emotion  is  generated  which  quite  bears  down  the  gentler 
feelings  of  our  nature. 

The  offence  given  to  self-love,  and  the  wound  inflicted 
upon  pride  by  resistance  in  matters  of  opinion,  is  deep  in 
proportion,  not  simply  to  the  importunre  of  the  question  de- 
bated, but  to  its  obscurity  also  ;  for  in  this  case  a  secret  dread 
of  being  at  length  overthrown  and  humbled,  adds  asperity  to 
arrogance.  It  is  obvious  then  that  no  subject  can  equal  reli- 
gion in  furnishing  occasion  to  these  keen  resentments.  The 
vastness  and  unlimited  range  of  the  matters  it  is  concerned 
^vith — the  infinite  importance  of  its  capital  truths,  and  tlie 
readiness  with  which  the  weight  of  what  is  substantial  may- 
be made  over  to  what  is  not  so — even  to  the  most  trival  of 
its  adjuncts,  fit  it  well  to  impart  the  utmost  vehemence  to 
whatever  feelings  attend  the  contests  of  mind  with  mind.  All 
this  hardly  needs  to  be  affirmed ;  nor  can  we  wonder  to  see 
the  bitterness  of  ordinary  strife  assuming,  when  religion  is 
the  subject  of  controversy,  a  solemn  virulence,  such  as  makes 
secular  contentions  seem  vapid  and  trivial.  Common  hatred 
now.  rises  to  an  immortal  abhorrence;  wrath  swells  to  exe- 
cration, and  every  ill  wish  breaks  out  in  anathemas. 

That  feelings  so  strong  should  vent  themselves  in  vindictive 
acts,  when  opportunity  serves,  is  only  natural ;  and  we  might, 
without  advancing  further,  account  in  this  manner  solely  for 
the  cruelties  in  which  religious  discords  have  so  often  ter- 


minated. But  there  seems  to  be  something  yet  deeper  in  the 
tendency  to  employ  torments  and  death  as  means  of  persua- 
sion. It  should  be  expected  that  a  course  of  action  so  pre- 
posterous as  that  of  destroying  men  in  professed  love  to  their 
souls,*  will  be  found  to  take  its  rise  from  a  sheer  absurdity: 
— such,  for  example,  as  that  of  putting  an  antagonist  into 
the  position  with  which  we  associate  the  idea  of  atrocious 
crimes  in  order  to  conjirrti  ourselves  in  the  belief  that  he  is  in- 
deed an  atrocious  criminal.  This  we  grant  is  reasoning  in  a 
circle;  but  it  is  a  logic  not  strange  to  the  human  mind.  A 
secret  influence  not  to  be  resisted,  impels  us  to  do  homage  to 
the  primary  elements  of  virtue,  even  when  most  we  are  vio- 
lating its  particular  precepts.  This  homage,  although  tacit, 
and  rendered  unconsciously,  is  not  the  less  real  in  its  effects. 
We  can  in  no  case  hate  and  curse  our  fellow-men  until  after 
WG  have  wrought  ourselves  up  to  the  persuasion  that  they  are 
condign  objects  of  such  treatment.  But  in  the  instance  of  re- 
ligious animosities  such  a  persuasion  is  not  ordinarily  to  be 
attained,  except  in  a  circuitous  track.  Even  the  slenderest 
pretext  for  charging  upon  our  opponent  moral  delinquencies 
is  often  wanting :  on  the  contrary,  perhaps  a  life  and  temper 
absolutely  blameless  put  to  shame  every  attempted  calumiiy. 
Woe  to  our  victim  if  this  be  the  case,  for  then  the  cruel  work 
of  vilifying  him  must  be  so  much  the  more  elaborate  !  To 
establish  to  our  own  satisfaction  the  guilt  of  our  enemy  by 
the  method  of  argument — by  fair  inference  and  evidence,  is  a 
process  too  slow  to  keep  pace  with  the  velocity  of  the  vindic- 
tive passions.  What  then  remains  but  by  the  forms  of  law 
— if  law  be  at  our  bidding,  and  by  the  sword  of  justice — if 
justice  be  our  obsequious  servant,  to  consign  the  hated  im- 
pugner  of  our  will  to  the  class  of  malefactors  1  When  once 
we  have  looked  upon  him  covered  with  ignominj- — and  if  we 
can  but  see  him  pale  with  the  paleness  which  a  dungeon 
sheds  on  the  face — and  if  we  do  hut  catch  the  clanking  of  a 
chain  about  his  neck  which  a  Barabbas  yesterday  wore  ;  yes, 
and  if  we  hear  him  groaning  under  torments  that  are  the  ne- 
cessary schooling  of  obdurate  wickedness — then  we  can  fill 
up  with  ease  what  before  was  wanting  to  tranquillize  a  just 
revenge.  The  circle  of  our  ideas  is  complete,  our  moral  in- 
stincts come  round  to  their  close  ;  we  breathe  again,  and  by 
inflicting  those  heavy  injuries  which  aie presumptive  evidence 
of  (/emm/,  we  prove  to  ourselves,  as  well  as  to  the  world, 
that  the  object  of  our  hatred  was  indeed  worthy  of  detesta- 
tion ! 

A  mode  of  reasoning  analogous  to  this  (if  reasoning  it 
should  be  called)  is  not  of  rare  occurrence.  "The  man  must 
l.e  odious,  or  should  I  thus  maltreat  himr'  and  then  greater 
outrages  must  be  committed,  if  it  be  only  to  justify  the  first 
assault.  The  bystanders  in  a  common  quarrel  may  often  fol- 
low angry  spirits  around  a  circle  of  this  sort.  Perhaps  in  the 
first  burst  of  resentment  a  much  more  grievous  imputation  Oi 
bad  motives  was  advanced  than  the  facts  of  the  case  would 
at  all  sustain  ;  or  indeed  that  the  accuser  had  himself  serious- 
ly intended.  But  his  position  is  now  taken,  and  hatred  can 
make  no  backward  step.  At  once  to  bring  over  to  his  side 
the  sentiments  of  others,  and  to  fill  out  his  own  vindictive 
emotions,  he  goes  on  to  deal  with  his  antagonist  as  if  the 
esacrrrerated  indictment  were  fully  established.  Then,  from 
the  overt  act  of  vengeance  an  inference  is  brought  back  upon 
the  demerit  of  its  object. 

Religious  rancour  once  generated,  whether  in  the  manner 
we  have  described,  or  in  some  other  which  we  have  failed  to 
penetrate,  gets  aggravation  from  incidental  causes,  some  of 
which  demand  to  be  mentioned.  Such  as  arise  from  specific 
opinions  we  shall  presently  have  occasion  to  speak  of.  To 
look  then  to  external  causes,  one  of  the  most  ordinary  and  ob- 
vious is  the  mixed  feeling  of  jealousy  and  interested  pride 
that  floats  about  the  purlieus  of  every  despotism,  and  espe- 
cially of  every  religious  despotism.  It  is  trite  to  say  that  cru- 
elty is  produced  or  exasperated  by  the  consciousness  of  im- 
potence; and  as  the  foundations  of  spiritual  tyranny  are  less 
ostensible,  and  more  precarious  than  those  of  secular  govern- 
ment, its  alarms  will  be  more  vivid,  its  jealousies  more  en- 
venomed, and  it;  modes  of  procedure  more  rigorous  and  in- 
temperate. The  natural  temper  of  men  being  supposed  the 
same,  it  can  hardly  happen  otherwise  than  that  the  rod  or 


*  Tlicre  is  no  truelty  comparable  to  that  M-hich  wraps  itself  in  a 
villanous  hypocrisy.  Tlic  Romish  Church  (nor  that  alone)  has  al- 
ways professed  tlie  tenderest  regard  to  tlie  spiritual  welfare  of  tliose 
wli'ora  she  was  about  to  let  drop  into  her  fires.  And  tlius  the  Holy 
Office,  in  the  instructions  wliicli  guide  its  agents,  provides  that — "If 
a  prisoner  falls  sick,  tlie  inquisitors  must  carefully  provide  him  w  ith 
every  assistance,  and  more  particularly  attend  to  all  that  relates  to 
HIS  sovL."     See  Llorentc. 


FANATICISISI. 


385 


staff  of  ghostly  supremacy  should  be  a  more  terrible  engine 
than  the  sceptre  and  the  sword  of  temporal  power.  Must  we 
not  admit,  too,  and  may  we  not  admit  without  offence,  that,  if 
once  he  gives  way  to  the'  taste  for  cruelty,  the  man  of  the 
cowl  and  cloister  will  prove  himself  a  more  inexorable  and  a 
more  ingenious  tormentor,  than  the  man  of  the  field  and 
cuirassi* 

In  its  very  worst  condition,  and  during  those  ages  when 
every  thing  human  was  broken  up  or  corrupt,  the  sacerdotal 
order,  looked  at  in  the  whole  of  its  inlluence,  must  be  allow- 
ed to  have  been  a  benefit  to  the  nations  :  and  how  incalcula- 
ble a  benefit  has  it  proved  in  happier  eras  !  Yes,  and  who 
shall  imagine  the  happy  fruits  of  the  same  institution  when 
it  shall  come  to  take  effect  upon  the  social  system  with  the 
unembarrassed  power  of  its  proper  motives  1  W  hat  now  we 
have  to  speak  of  is  the  special  sacerdotal  temper,  such  as  we 
find  it  when  all  those  motives  were  forgotten,  or  were  spurned. 

The  moral  sentiments  are  almost  always,  or  in  some  de- 
gree, put  in  danger  by  the  possession  of  privilege;  still  more 
so  if  the  beneficial  distinction  be  of  an  undefined  and  intangi- 
ble sort.  This  danger  is  much  enhanced  if  serious  priva- 
tions, or  disabilities,  are  the  price  paid  for  indistinct  honours  ; 
because  iu  that  case  a  perpetual  petulance,  or  dull  revenge, 
works  itself  into  the  character,  and  adds  the  bitterness  of  con- 
cealed envy  to  the  arrogance  of  rank ;  so  that  the  malign  sen- 
timents of  the  pauper  and  of  the  oligarch  are  concentred  in  the 
same  bosom.  If  moral  disadvantage  can  yet  be  aggravated, 
it  is  so  when  the  being  who  already  is  too  much  alienated 
from  his  species  by  the  destitution  of  real  sympathies,  and 
by  participation  in  a  ghostly  nobility,  is,  in  his  mode  of  life, 
actually  secluded  from  the  open  world,  and  breathes  the  poi- 
son of  a  cell. 

Nevertheless  the  pernicious  consequence  of  circumstances 
so  unfavourable  will  be  found  open  to  many  more  exceptions 
than  theory  may  lead  us  to  expect :  for  it  might  naturally  be 
thought  that  not  one  human  heart  in  a  thousand  would  fail  to 
become  depraved  from  long  exposure  to  influences  so  bad : 
whereas  in  fact  it  is  not  perhaps  more  than  a  third  of  every 
thousand  that  underoroesto  the  full  the  perversion  of  its  genu- 
ine sentiments ;  while  another  third  appears  scarcely  at  all 
impaired  by  a  process  that  might  seem  of  efficacy  enough  to 
break  down  the  virtue  of  a  seraph. 

Yet  our  anticipations  will  not  fail  us  in  relation  to  the 
third  or  the  fourth  of  any  body  of  men  so  cruelly  placed  in 
the  very  focus  of  spiritual  ruin.  Some  such  proportion  will 
always  exhibit  in  temper  (and  in  conduct  if  opportunity  per- 
mits) what  a  vicious  system  may  do  in  rendering  men — men 
like  ourselves,  abhorrent,  malign,  or  foul.  Especially  shall 
we  find  in  such  a  body  frequent  instances  of  a  peculiar  spe- 
cies of  ferocity,  like  to  nothing  else  in  the  circle  of  human 
sentiments;! — a  rancour  from  which  has  been  discharged  all 
that  is  vigorous  and  generous  in  manly  resentments,  and  all 
that  is  relenting  iu  those  of  woman  ; — a  rancour  which,  al- 
though some  few  single  examples  of  it  had  before  been  shown 
to  the  world  in  the  course  of  twenty  centuries,  had  never  at- 
tached to  a  body  as  its  characteristic  until  the  sacerdotal  in- 
stitution, under  the  fostering  care  of  the  Romish  Church, 
reached  its  maturity. 

'\\  hat  modern  heart  would  not  leap  with  fear  if  it  were  per- 
mitted to  us  for  an  hour  to  step  back  from  the  nineteenth  cen- 
tury to  the  age  of  Vespasian,  and  to  push  our  way  into  the 


*  Out  of  the  earliest  and  most  zealous  advocates  of  the  pnicticuof 
burning  heretics  is  said  to  have  been  the  Abbot  Tlicophanes,  who 
liimselt  suffered  extreme  severities  under  tlie  Iconoclast,  Leo  ^'. 
I'ain  (for  beside  his  voluntary  penances  he  was  subject  to  tlie  stone) 
was  llie  uiilnppy  man's  element ;  and  he  doled  it  out  to  others  h  itli 
a  freedom  corresponding  with  the  alacrity  with  which  he  bore  it  him- 
self. Tliis  connexion  between  tlie  infliction  and  the  endurance  of 
torments  has  been  a  very  frequent  one  ;  frequent  enough  to  brin" 
under  just  reprobation  every  specious  form  of  asceticism.  The  Ab^ 
hot  Theophanes,  Me  are  told,  commenced  liis  course  of  abnegation 
by  an  act  well  fitting  ihe  part  he  aiterw^ards  acted  as  author  or  j)ro- 
moter  of  ecclesiastical  cruelties.  "Being  arrived  at  man's  estate, 
lie  was  compelled  by  liis  friends  to  take  a  wife  ;  but  on  the  day  of  his 
marriage  he  spoke  in  so  moving  a  maimer  to  his  consort  on  the  short- 
ness anil  uiicertaint)'  of  this  life,  that  tliey  made  a  mutual  vow  of 
perpetual  chaviity.  .She  afterwards  became  a  nun  ;  and  he  for  his 
jiart  built  two  monasteries  in  ilysia. " — Lives  of  llie  Saints,  March 

tin  that  particular  species  of  ingenuity  which  exercises  itself  in 
the  invention  of  torments,  the  sacerdotal  artists  have  certainlv  out- 
strippeil  all  competitors.  Happy  is  the  reader  if  he  be  still  ignor- 
ant— iind  continue  so,  of  the  mechaiiicnl  secrets  of  ecclesiastical 
prison-houses.  Descriptions  of  tliis  sort  injure  the  mind  ;  thev  rack 
the  imagination,  and  engender  emotions  of  resentment  and  disgust 
which  do  not  well  cnmiiort  with  Christian  feelings. 
Vol.  II.— 2  Y 


theatre  of  imperial  and  popular  diversions,  just  when  the  gla- 
diator was  about  to  die  for  the  sport  of  a  philosophic  prince, 
and  of  sumptuous  citizens ;  or  when  hungry  beasts  were  to 
be  glutted  with  the  warm  flesh  of  the  nobility  of  a  conquered 
kingdom  !  And  yet  the  ancient  Roman  theatre,  with  its  mere 
sprinkling  of  blood,  and  its  momentary  pangs  and  shrieks, 
quite  fades  if  brought  into  comparison  with  that  Colisaeum 
of  papal  cruelty,  in  which  not  a  hundred  or  two  of  victims, 
but  myriads  of  people — yes,  nations  entire — have  been  gor- 
ged !  If  we  must  shrink  back,  as  assuredly  we  should,  from 
the  one  spectacle,  we  shudder  even  to  think  of  the  other. — 
Though  it  were  possible  to  summon  courage  enough  to  gaze 
upon  the  mortal,  yet  equal,  conflict  of  man  with  man  in  the 
theatre,  how  shall  we  contemplate  torments  and  burnings  in- 
flicted by  the  strong  upon  the  weak;  or  if  we  might  endure 
to  see  the  lion  and  the  panther  spring  upon  their  prey,  could 
we  force  ourselves  to  the  far  more  horrid  sight,  when  the 
priest  and  the  friar,  atbirst,  were  to  rush  upon  men,  women, 
and  babes ! 

Agitating  emotions,  whether  of  indignation  or  of  terror,  are 
however  to  be  restrained,  and  in  a  calmer  mood — a  mood 
compatible  with  the  exercise  of  reason,  and  which  may  allow 
us  even  to  intermingle,  where  it  can  be  dene,  excuses  and 
pity  for  the  perpetrators  of  crime  (often  far  more  unhappy 
than  the  sufferers),  we  should  survey  that  strange  scene  of  wo 
whereon  the  Romish  priesthood,  age  after  age,  has  figured. 

But  is  it  equitable,  some  may  ask,  to  single  out  the  Papal 
Hierarchy  as  the  prime  or  incomparable  example  of  religious 
ferocity?  Were  iiot  the  ancient  idolatries — Druidical  Syrian, 
Scythian  and  Indian,  cruel  and  sanguinary;  and  have  not  the 
more  modern  superstitions  of  Mexico  and  Hindoostan  been 
deeply  stained  with  blood  ?  This  is  true ;  but  a  broad  dis- 
tinction presents  itself,  which  places  the  papal  immolations 
and  tortures  on  a  ground  where  there  is  nothing  to  compare 
with  them.  It  might  be  enough  to  say  that  an  annual  or  tri- 
ennial sacrifice  of  a  few  victims,  or  the  gorging  of  captives 
reserved  for  that  very  purpose  from  the  slaughter  of  the  field, 
have  in  no  country  amounted  to  a  tenth  of  the  numbers  that, 
in  equal  portions  of  time,  have  fallen  around  the  altar  of  the 
Romish  church.  But  leaving  this  point,  there  is  a  clear 
difference,  much  in  favour  of  the  pagan  rites,  between  the 
shedding  the  blood  of  a  viclim  (using  the  term  in  its  restricted 
and  proper  sense)  at  the  impulse  of  a  sincere  superstitious 
dread;  and  those  executions  and  exterminations  that  have 
sprung,  not  from  horrors  of  conscience,  not  from  error  of  be- 
lief, but  from  a  sheer  rancour.  Superstition  does  indeed  tend 
to  blood,  and  often  is  guilty  of  it;  but  Fanaticism — lanaticism 
such  as  that  of  the  Romish  Hierarchy,  breathes  revenge,  and 
murder  beats  from  its  heart. 

Historic  justice  demands  however  that  another  comparison 
should  be  made,  and  it  is  one  which  seems  to  relieve  a  little 
the  horrors  of  the  papal  tyranny; — we  speak  of  c<^rse  of  the 
severities  under  which  the  Christians  of  the  first  three  centu- 
ries suffered,  from  the  pagan  predecessors  of  the  Popes,  on 
the  seven  hills.  Might  we  not  believe  that  the  demon  of 
blood,  though  dislodged  for  a  season  when  the  house  of  Ca"sar 
fell  in  ruins,  had  lurked  a  century  or  two  in  the  mists  of  the 
Tiber,  or  had  slept  in  the  swamps  of  Campania,  until  scent- 
ing its  new  occasion,  and  springing  up  refreshed,  it  entered 
with  greetings  the  halls  of  the  Vatican.  It  may  be  difficult 
or  impossible,  imperfect  as  is  our  information,  equitably  to 
decide  between  imperial  and  papal  Rome,  on  the  question  of 
ferocity.  Yet  some  points  of  difference  present  themselves 
very  clearly  ; — as,  1st.  The  imperial  persecutions  of  the 
Church  are,  in  most  instances,  to  he  attributed  to  the  perso- 
nal temper  or  the  fears  or  jealousies  of  the  emperors,  as  in- 
dividuals.* AVhereas  the  papal  cruelties  sprung  from  the 
system,  and  never  failed  to  be  displayed,  whatever  might  be 
the  character  of  the  Pontiff,  as  often  as  the  specific  provoca- 


*  The  first  persecution  (to  follow  the  ^Tilgar  computation)  was  the 
act  of  Xero — Religionum  usquequaque  conlemlor;  the  second  of 
Domitian — non  solum  magme,  sed  et  callidae  inopinaticque  sae\itia:  : 
what  shall  we  say  of  the  emperors  to  whose  jealousies  or  philosophic 
pride  are  attributed  the  third  and  fourth'  The  fifth  took  place 
under  Severus — natura  sxvus — vere  Pertinax,  vere  Severus.  The 
sixth  under  Maximin — a  genuine  savage,  as  jealous  as  fierce: — tlie 
seventh,  horrible  as  it  was,  should  be  attributed  to  the  political  fears 
and  energetic  resolves  of  Decius: — the  eighth  persecution  perhaps 
had  its  origin  in  the  envy  of  an  ohsure  individual.  The  austerity 
and  vigour  of  Aurelian,  ([ui  esset,  says  Lactantins,  natura  vesanus 
et  prieceps,  if  not  diverted,  would  probably  have  given  to  the  ninth 
more  than  a  name.  The  tenth  and  the  heaviest  was  the  fruit  partly 
of  the  personal  dispositions,  but  more  of  the  political  fears  of  its  tv.  o 
imperial  authors. 


386 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


tion  arose.*     2dly.  More  than  one  or  two  of  the  ten  persecu- 
tions (to  follow  the  common  computation),  appear  to  have 
been,  on  the  part  of  the  imperial  government,  a  desperate  en- 
deavour, prompted  by  serious  alarms,  for  ridding  the  state  of 
a  formidable  intestine  foe.    A  reluctant  use,  as  it  seems,  was 
made  of  means  so  severe,  but  which  were  deemed  indispensa- 
ble to  the  preservation  of  the  vast  and  shaken  edifice  of  the 
empire.f     Now  if  it  be  alleged  that  the  papal  persecutions 
had  often  similar  motives,  and  might  therefore  admit  of  a 
parallel  excuse,  we  must  rest  the  difference  on  the  nround 
that  the  maintenance  of  civil  polity  (if  the  means  be  Tawfun' 
is  a  duty  and  a  virtue  in  public  men  ;  while  we  can  recrard 
the  supporters  of  a  ghostly  domination  in  no  other  li<rht  Thau 
as  hatelul  usurpers  ;_never  can  it  be  a  virtue  to  uphold  that 

rt   \u    '%,«'«'^"'='^'  ="1-1  ""dw  any  condition,  is  wicked. 
Ihen  ^dly     Ihe  pagan  persecutions  were  (for  the  most  part) 
enacted  and  executed  by  men  schooled  in  the  field  of  /ar- 
f^A       .'T        "^  ^""""^^  barbarous  hordes.    They  were  men 
indurated,  too,  from  youth  by  the  spectacles  of  the  theatre— 
that  IS  to  say,  taught  ferocity  as  much  by  their  pastimes  and 
festivities,  as  by  their  campaigns.    From  the  hands  of  beings 
so  trained  what  could  be  looked  for?t     But  it  is  quite  other- 
wise with  the  popish  cruelties;  for  these,  in  every  a^e,  have 
been  devised  and  executed  by  men  of  the  cloister  f  men  emas- 
culate in  habit,  and  whose  nerves  should  have  had  the  sensi- 
bility which  sloth,  study  and  indulgence  engender.  An  atrocity 
perpetrated  by  the  hand  of  a  delicate  woman  is  always  deemed 
to  indicate  a  more  malignant  soul  than  if  it  be  the  act  of  a 
bandit  or  a  pirate.     By  the  same  rule,  should  not  the  priest 
be  somewhat  more  humane  than  the  soldier  ?    Yet  in  fact  the 
principals  and  the  agents  in  the  destruction  of  heretics  were 
men  who  had  personally  learned  none  of  the  bad  lessons  of 
war,  and  had  witnessed  no  scenes  of  torment  or  bloodshed 
but  those  in  which  themselves  were  the  actors.     Should  it  be 
forgotten,  while  this  comparison  is  pursued,  that  the  emperor 
and  the  senate,  the  proconsul  and  the  centurion,  knew  nothiuff 
more  than  the  darkness  of  paganism  could  teach  them;  but 
popes  and  cardinals,  legates,  priests  and  monks,  held  the 
L>ospel  of  peace  in  their  hand!§ 

b  Ji'h  ^'-"'-Iff^  =^".^  ^'°"^^^  °f 'h«  age  of  Roman  greatness 
have  brought  down  lor  our  inspection  the  form  and  visage  of 
the  Roman  soldier,  such  as  he  was  under  Nerva,  Trajan,°Au- 
rehus,  Domitian.  The  contracted  brow  declares  that  storms  of 
battle  have  beat  upon  it  often :  the  glare  of  that  overshadowed 

:'stel'd":Lrr.rl"r,t'i^5'AL '^^,'"«^'^,'l  "-'."•  breathes 


taring,  on  the  open  field^Tbdngt  fi™  /fi^ercTtud  rr" 
accustomed  to  crush  and  tramplS  upon  nan  ^Buruh.  V°",! 
.magine  himself  to  have  been^delivKntothe  h  nds  of  th 
Roman  soldier  armed,  not  as  a  warrior  but  as  exec  tier ' 
I  his  indeed  is  terror.  Alas,  then,  let  us  commiserate  the  fa  ; 
ot  our  brethren  and  sisters  in  Christ-the  early  mar  yrs'- 

IsTe  t  f:7  '"  '"'^'^  ^  ""i^"  'he  centurion'^  S!  ^uch 
as  «e  see  it  now  encircling  the  column  of  Trajan,  was  let 
loose  upon  a  flock  of  trembling  victims,  with  licence  and 
command  to  torture  and  to  kill  !*  "ceiise  and 

\et  we  have  not  reached  the  extreme  point  of  horror  •_ 
there  remains  a  picture  which  still  more  chills  the  Wood 

t^on^  as'bv  h^r^M  "^'  ''  ^^t"   ''^  '^  --d-ous^occu^f: 
tons   as  by  his  brutal  usages,  had  become  hard  and  cru^l- 
yet  there  was  no  mystery  in  his  rage  :-sava<.e  more  than 
malign   his  purposes  of  evil  sprung  ^nly  fromle  povoca 
tions  of  the  hour;  they  were  not  prrfound  asLll      We  turn 

ent  arTand  on"'""''*"^',''""?  the  Sculptures,  and  coins  of  an- 
cient art,  and  open  an  illuminated  codex— choice  treasure  nf 
a  monkish  library  At  the  head  of  homilies  and  p^T;  'and 
of  meditations   and  miracles,  and  set  in  flowers  oTpurpie  or 

fbho'tT  hr  ,h'"  '""n"'^-  "•'^--y  ''  "^'^  ''--i-d  ^ea?ot;- 
abbot  or  brother— a  Dominic  or  a  Fouquet.  How  delicatP 
was  the  bodily  frame  and  outward  texture  of  the  man  _the 
oft  contour  bespeaks  physical  and  mental  laxity ;  yTti"  there 
too,  in  the  mobile  features  an  indication  of  fhat  reso  ution 
impans""l7r  Tu'  f  "''-"■ ""'  'h^*  ^^hich  animalcourage 

ZleLc'e-  a  ^J  f '"V"'  '""''  '"S''*''^  "'■"'  ^  boundlefs 
insolence,— a  usage  of  submission  to  every  tyranny,  and  an 
arrogance  that  would  crush  a  world  when  provoked  meet  in 
thetortuous  brows.  Under  how  many  impenetrabe  cover" 
ings  are  the  secrets  of  that  heart  concealed  ;  if  we  are  to  judge 
by  the  wily  closing  of  the  lips,  and  the  wrinkled  temple! !  ■ 
Ihe  face,  taken  at  a  glance,  is  the  very  pattern  of  peni  ence 
and  ecstacy;  but  to  look  at  it  again  ii  I  find  it  want!nl  n 
the  traces  of  every  human  affection.  The  man,  beside  That 
hi.  occupations  have  not  been  of  the  sort  that  give  vio-our 
to  he  animal  system,  and  cheerful  alacrity  to  th?  raind,"has 
no  kindly  re  ationships,  no  natural  cares,  no  mild  hopes :  he 


a  steady  rage :  the  fixed  lips  d;;y  ^e;  y     theXid  am  and  l"  not   'o'  ff^-fhips,  no  nature 

1 ^  ™  """^  f'  "°'  '^o^'ial    not  domestic;  but  in  the  place  of  all  aenuine 

'"iP^lses,  harbours  the  rancid  desires  of  a  suppressed°concu 


itsdf  "fdt'irtrl'''"''"'"'  "^  '\  K°"''^'  '■^'^  '">  douM^;it.;;7^;;^e 

itsell  telt  m  the  measures  pursued  by  the  Church.     But  in  ouite  «« 
many  .nstances  the  handling  of  the  k^s  has  seemed  to  effect^"   ot^ 
metamorphosis  ot  dispositrons:-the  iartUnal  «as  one  "d  u^the 
i;£ftronr  '-""^  "'econegehas  had  reason  almost  todoul.t  tt 
idtut.tv  ol  the  person  whom  they  had  lifted  to  the  summit  of  „o«er 
Thus  the  very  man  who  had  been  singled  out  as  more    ike       han 
any  other  to  respect  his  oath,  a,>d  to  achieve  desired  refo  Wio  s 
lias  bee.i  the  one  most  audaciously  to  brave  the  ama-zement  of  hi^ 
comrades,  and  to  defy  the  clamour's  of  Cl.ristendour  'IMie  av°  Jlc 
date  ot  e.aeh  pontificate,  taking  the  entire  series  to  the  prcse.U  iim! 
has  been  little  more  than  se<en  years-and  those,  ?ene  allv      ,e  lasl 
3  ears  of  dccrep.d  age.     But  a  system  of  government  which    f- on 
rro^"nrZ.^°!T>!„^!-'"-f^-ertotrel,ht;'h:;r 


Sie"bodv"Z,f  fr!."'";:i  "i  '«""''.';.,"■"*  •='""•="='•='■'  ">"'•''  ■»°™  '•'■<"» 

"It  D0(ly  than  fi-om  the  liead.     The  averase  re; 


.Zrtil  exlstenc^"  '"  "'  "^^  "''"^  '''''""'  "^  -^f-- Verge  of 
t  Putting  out  of  view  the  violent  dispositions  of  Galerius   there  is 
abundant  reason  to  believe  that  the  fatil  decision  wli  1   bu^st  l?ke 

.under  over  the  Roman  world  from  the  palace  of  NicomcHlhw.s 
the  result,  m  the  mam,  of  purely  political  calculations  Notbin. 
b,oond  such  calculations  appears  (two  hundred  vears  be  brefto  live 

nHuenced  the  conduct  of  Trajan,  such  as  himself  holds  it  up  to  iew 
m  bis  letter  of  instructions  to  Pliny  ^ 

thia'c^e'r./oT"  >'"'dier  had  become  a  far  more  ferocious  bei„<.  in 
oarlwva  1,  ""'I"^™'-^  ,"'«"  ¥  "-"^  i"  that  of  the  consuls.  In'the 
bo  u  f-  /"'  "  ',;•'="''"''■  "'  "  "™""'  t^ommunitv,  and  had  s 
l.ome-h.s  v.rtues---h,s  personal  senUments;  in  the  fa  ter  i.e  rioVe 

-pi^r^s  t;!:-;ri:  °:^!-;::'  ■  •  •  -peditioi^^n:;::-:/:!; 

well  nf"™"?™"',"^  '■"  ?'"■"''  °''""-'  '"'ddle  ages  as  beimj  destitute  as 
the  mass  of';  "'''''■''%'''^  'J™''""''  '«^«™"'S'  -'d  Ibis  maVbetne  of 
am™.aft^i        'liv';'hj  ^"',-.'*''">.vnotof  the  princi.^l  actors  fn 

te.M.     Every  thi„"  i's     ,o  ",■     »'"« /hronRh  a  paragraph  «  ilhout  a 
)  tr.iii^  ,s  thought  of— but  the  moraliiy  of  tlic  enterprise! 


piscence.  Who  could  imagine  him  to  be  husband,  or  father, 
or  friend  or  neighbour,  or  citizen,  or  patriot?  Hover  where 
It  may,  this  is  an  alien  spirit-foreign  to  whatever  is  human: 
at  home  only  ,n  the  world  of  ghostly  excitements  :-it  haunts 
eartli;  not  dwells  upon  it. 

What  then,  think  we,  shall  this  being  show  himself  when  he 
comes  to  be  inflamed  by  spiritual  revenge,  and  quickened  by 
the  virulence  of  those  boundless  hatreds  which  a  malin-„ant 
superstition  engenders!  And  what  when  the  en-rines^of  a 
mighty  despotism  are  entrusted  to  his  zealous  hands°!  Horror 
has  now  nothing  worse  to  conceive  of  .—the  ghastly  ideal  of 
CTuelty  IS  filled  up.  Who  would  not  rush  from  the^asp  of 
the  irritated  ascetic  to  cling  to  the  knees  of  the  Roman  sol- 
dier, and  there  plead  for  human  compassion  ! 

let  IS  this  same  horrific  personage  human,  nor  perhaps 

been^b  "  Tu^:^  '! '''  ^,'^"''  ^"  '^at  the  bad  system  it  has 
been  h,s  wretched  lot  to  live  under,  has  done  to  pervert  him. 
1  he  t  ranciscan-the  Inquisitor,  once  sucked  the  breast  of 
woman,  and  joined  m  the  mirth  and  gambols  of  childhood- 
and  even  now,  if  it  were  possible  to  take  him  apart  for  a 
moment  from  his  rules  and  his  crucifix,  we  might  find  in  his 
bosom  the  germs  at  least  of  the  common  charities  of  life: 
yes,  doubtless  he  is  human;  and  if  the  sinewy  fabric  were 
exposed  by  the  knife  of  the  anatomist,  the  transformation 
mat  has  made  him  so  unlike  to  other  men  could  not  be  de- 
ected  —  J  he  brain,  for  aught  that  appears,  mio-bt  as  well 
have  entertained  reason  and  truth  as  another  brain ;— the 
heart,  for  aught  that  we  can  see,  might,  as  readily  as  another 
heart,  have  throbbed  with  pity. 

System  and  circumstance  deducted— the  Franciscan  or  the 
inquisitor  may  be  found  in  all  communities.— Look,  for  ex- 
ami)]e,  at  that  grave  and  abstracted,  yet  youthful  countenance 


I  he  cruelties  endured  by  the  Christians  were  often  inflicted  to 
appease  the  ferocity  of  the  rabble.  Kai  ja,  ku,  to,  "Att«^cv  tZ 
"'f-"  X^f'-,^/:'"^^  0  h  i/^^v.  itiUxi  Tanv  T/.«  9>,f.U.  Epist.  Vienn. 
ei  L.ugct.     bimilar  expressions  abound  in  tlie  earlv  martyrologies 


FANATICISM. 


387 


— palliJ,  and  somewhat  fallen  from  the  salient  outline  that 
should  bespeak  the  actual  years.  What  intensity  in  the 
glare  of  the  sunken  eye  !  \^  hat  fixedness  of  purpose  in  the 
lips !  and  the  movements  of  the  youth  seem  inspirited  with 
some  intention  beyond  simple  locomotion,  or  mechanical 
agency  : — as  he  walks  one  would  think  that  he  was  hastening 
onward  by  the  side  of  an  invisible  competitor  for  a  prize  at 
the  goal.  Or  hear  hirn  speak: — he  is  terse  and  precise:  his 
tones,  too,  have  a  certain  mystic  monotony  in  place  of  the 
natural  modulations  of  a  voice  so  young.  But  listen  to  his 
opinions;  how  vehement  are  they;  how  darkly  coloured  his 
representations  of  simple  facts  ; — exaggeration  swells  every 
sentence:  and  how  far  from  youthful  sre  his  surmises;  and 
his  verdicts  how  inexorable  ! — not  a  look,  not  a  word,  not  an 
action  of  his  belongs  to  the  level  of  ordinary  sympathies : 
all  is  profound  as  the  abyss,  or  lofty  as  the  clouds.  But, 
strange  to  say,  you  may  find  this  our  instance,  perhaps,  to  be 
one  of  a  community  that  boasts  itself  as  the  especial  enemy 
of  intolerance. — He  has  been  bred  in  the  heart  of  the  very 
straitest  sect  of  liberality,  and  would  die  gladly  in  the  sacred 
cause  of  religious  freedom!  Ah!  how  like  is  man  to  man, 
strip  him  only  of  a  garb ! — Take  now  our  fervent  youth,  and 
immure  him  a  year  or  two  with  twenty  like  himself,  in  some 
dim  seclusion: — there  work  upon  his  passions  with  what- 
ever is  acrid  in  the  system  he  already  holds,  and  draw  him 
on  with  a  little  art — the  art  of  sacred  logic,  from  inference 
to  inference,  until  he  comes  into  a  state  of  mind  to  which 
nothing,  the  most  exorbitant,  can  seem  strange.  You  must 
then  find  for  him  a  sphere  of  excitement;  and  without  beads 
or  a  cowl  he  will  act  the  part  of  the  worthiest  son  of  the 
Church  that  has  lived. 

We  return  to  matters  of  history. — By  what  rule  of  equity 
is  a  balance  to  be  held  between  the  cruelties  of  the  papacy 
and    the   exterminating   wars   of   the    Moslem   conquerors ! 
Without  allirniing  absolutely  on  which  side  the  scale  might 
turn,   certain    points  of  comparison  at  once   present  them- 
selves : — such  for  example  as  these. — The  fury  of  the  early 
propagators  of  the  doctrine  of  Mohammed  was  that  of  war- 
riors who,  having  launched  upon  the  great  enterprise  of  con- 
quering the  world,  could  not  mince  their  measures.     Or  if 
we  turn  to  those  w  ho  in  a  later  age  took  up  the  cause  of  the 
Prophet,  we  must  remember  that  the  ferocious  hordes  that 
pressed  upon  Christendom  were  Scvthian  before  they  were 
Mohammedan,  and  had  long  been  used  to  drink  the  blood  of 
their  enemies  from  skulls,  when  they  came  to  be  taught  a 
new  religion  from  the  Koran.     The  Moslem  conquests  (under 
the  caliphs)  were  a  storm  that  wasted  the  countries  it  passed 
over,  and  died  away ;  and  it  is  to  be  remembered  that  the 
conquerors,  when  once  firmly  seated  in  their  fair  possess- 
ions, exhibited  in  their  polity  and  manners  far  more  that  was 
liberal  and  humane  than  the  world  had  long  before  seen,  or 
than  it  saw  elsewhere,  during  many  ages  afterwards.*     Of 
the  intolerance  of  the  modern  Mohammedan  world,  Turkish 
and  Persian,  it  may  fairly  be  said  that,  though  in  a  sense 
attributable  to  the  religious   system  of  those  nations,  their 
despotic  policy  is  nothing  more  than  a  homogeneous  part  of 
tlie  oriental  economy.     This  intolerance  is  Asiatic,  rather 
than  Mohammedan.     What  hut  rigour  and  a  tyrannous  dog- 
matism can  be  imagined  to  find  a  place  among  nations  whose 
tlieory  of  government  springs  from  the  relation  of  lord  and 
slave  If     Whether  this  theory  belongs  to  the  climate,  or  to 
I  he  physical  conformation  of  the  race,  or  to  what  else,  we 
will  not  say  ;  but  come  whence  it  may,  it  is  much  older  than 
tliC  age  of  MohainmeJ  ;  nay — as  old  as  history. 

That  measure  of  liberty  of  opinion  (we  may  remark  in 
jiassing)  or  of  liberality  of  sentiment  and  of  sceptical  indif 
ference,  which  of  late  has  worked  its  way  through  the  widen- 
ing fissures  of  the  Persian  and  Turkish  governments,  is  not 
merely  inconsistent  with  the  abstract  idea  of  those  political 
structures,  but  incompatible  with  their  continuance.  If  al- 
ready the  dyke  of  despotism  had  not  bulged  and  gaped,  the 
insidious  element  of  freedom  could  not  so  have  penetrated 
its  substance : — the  fact  of  its  having  penetrated  is  at  once 
a  proof  of  decay,  and  a  prognostic  of  that  coming  rush  of 
waters  that  must,  within  a  century,  lay  waste  (lay  waste  to 


*  In  the  next  Section  the  Mohammedan  military  fanaticism  w  ill 
come  to  be  considei-ed, 

t  The  I'cailcr  may  iierhajis  think  that  the  sout1ici-n  states  of  tlie 
American  Union,  where  no  other  marked  distinction  exists  between 
man  and  maa,  except  that  of  lonl  and  slave — or  of  sallow  skin  and 
black,  present  an  instance  directly  at  variance  «ith  the  position 
advanced  above, — We  assume  this  very  instance,  on  the  contrar; 


fertilize)  the  eastern  world,  from  the  deserts  of  the  Indus  to 
the  mouths  of  the  Danube : — shall  we  add — to  the  shores  of 
the  Baltic,  and  the  banks  of  the  Elbe  ? 

But  the  elements  of  the  social  system,  and  the  principles 
of  its  construction  have  ever  been,   even  from  the  remotest 
times,  altogether  of  another  sort  in  the  west.     Notwithstand- 
ing all   oppressions  and  degradations,  the  love   of  liberty, 
through  a  long  course  of  ages,  yes,  during  the  lapse  of  three 
thousand  years,  has  clung  to  the  European  race.     If  some  of 
these  families,  anciently  as  free  as  others,  have,  in  modern 
times,  quite  sunk  to  the  dust  under  the  foot  of  despotism,  it 
has  only  been  by  the  presence  and  aid  of  the  spiritual  Power 
— by  the  Incubus  of  the  Church,  that  the  people  have  fallen. 
Popery  apart — every  nation  west  of  the  Euxine  had  long  ago 
been  free  : — nay,  had  never  been  enslaved.     The  papal  usur- 
pation (thinking  of  it  now  only  as  a  system  of  polity)  has 
resided  in  Europe,  not  as  a  form  of  things  in  harmony  with 
the  spirit  and  temper  of  the  region ;  but  malgre  the  aboriginal 
character  with  which  it  has  always  had  to  contend.*     Popery 
is  not  to  Europe  what  Moharamedism  is  to  Asia,  but  rather  a 
long  invasion  of  a  soil  which  nature  had  said  should  bear 
nothing  that  was  not  generous.     When  shall  the  European 
families  drive  the  exotic  tyranny  for  ever  from  their  shores! 
There  is  little  difficulty  then  in  finding  a  sufficient  reason, 
though  not  the  sole  reason,  for  the  incomparable  cruelties  of 
popery ;  its  restless  jealousies,  its  exterminations,  its  inexor- 
able revenge,  have  all  been  proper  to  it  as  a  precarious  and 
alien  despotism.     The  consciousness  of  an  inherent  hostility 
between  itself  and  the  temper  of  the  nations  it  has  seduced 
and  subdued,  has  made  it  a  tyranny  more  merciless  than  any 
other  mankind  has  tolerated.     Even  popery,  we  may  fairly 
believe,  mi^ht  have  been  less  sanguinary  had   it  from  the 
first  seated  Itself  in  some  congenial  torrid  climate — native  to 
abjectness  and  slavery. 

Were  it  true  that  this  ancient,  and  now  decrepit  Mother  of 
corruption  had  actually  disappeared  from  the  real  world;  or  even 
could  we  believe  without  a  doubt,  that  she  was  very  speedily 
to  vanish,  time  might  be  better  spent  than  in  searching  any 
deeper  for  the  secrets  of  her  power.  But  alas,  it  is  not  so ; 
and  moreover  it  is  true  that  a  portion  at  least  of  the  bad  quali- 
ties whence  this  power  arises,  attaches  to  other  systems  be- 
side the  Romish  Church,  and  may  be  discovered  in  dogmas 
not  covered  by  her  scarlet  mantle.  On  all  accounts  theti  we 
must  advance  in  our  scrutiny,  and  expose,  if  it  be  possible, 
the  hidden  impulses  of  that  malign  fanaticism  which  popery 
has  so  largely  engendered. 

With  this  purpose  in  view,  something  must  be  said,  1st, 
of  the  doctrine  of  the  Romish  Church ;  Sdly,  of  its  con- 
stitution as  a  polity  ;  and  something,  3dly,  of  its  sacerdotal 
institute. 

1.  We  are,  of  course,  to  speak  of  the  Romish  doctrine  only 
In  the  single  point  of  its  tendency  to  generate,  or  of  its  fitness 
to  sustain,  a  sanguinary  fanaticism. 

The  prominent  article  of  the  New  Testament,  and  which 
distinguishes  Christianity  from  all  other  religious  systems, 
is  a  doctrine  of  Mercy  incomparably  full,  free,  and  available. 
And  yet  this  happy  announcement  of  forgiveness  of  sins  takes 
its  stand  upon  a  much  more  distinct  and  alarming  assertion 
of  the  rigour  of  Divine  Justice,  and  of  the  extent  of  its  penal 
consequences,  than  hitherto  had  been  heard  of,  or  than  the 
natural  fears  of  conscious  guilt  would  suggest,  or  readily  ad- 
mit. This  ample  promise  of  Grace,  and  this  appalling  decla- 
ration of  Wrath,  may  fairly  be  assumed  as  the  prime  elements 
of  true  religion,  working  always,  and  intended  to  \york,  one 
upon  another,  for  the  production  of  those  vivid  emotions,  that 
are  becoming  to  man  in  his  actual  relation  to  God. 

What  less  than  the  most  serious  evils  can  then  accrue 
from  disjoining  in  any  manner  these  two  essential  and  correl- 
ative principles,  or  from  any  sort  of  tampering  with  the  effi- 
cacy which  the  one  shoufd  exert  upon  the  other  1  If,  for 
example,  the  doctrine  of  immutable  justice  and  future  wrath 
be  brought  into  question,  or  abated  of  its  force  rind  meaning, 
then  instantly  the  doctrine  of  mercy  loses  its  significance, 
its  moment,  and  its  attractions ;  and  fades  into  the  vague  idea 
of  an  indolent  clemency  on  the  part  of  the  Supreme  Ruler— 
an  idea  which  at  once  relaxes  the  motives  both  of  piety  and 
morality.  Such  (we  appeal  to  facts)  has  been  the  invariable 
result  of  every  attempt  to  reduce  the  plain  import  of  certain 
passages  in  the  Gospels.     Or,  on  the  other  hand,  if  the  rule 


Every  one  knows  that  the  several  eras  in  which  the  papal 
desnostism  consolidated  and  extended  ils  power  were  those  in  which 
the  civil  polities  of  Em-ope  were  in  the  feeblest  or  most  distracted 


the  most  pertinent  that  could  he  addnccil   in  confirmation   of  the  condition.    The  leivia^ant  watched  the  moment  always  when  the 
■  eneral  truth.  ' ''"'''  /">wfi-  of  the  nations  was  spent  or  fallen. 


SS8 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


and  method  of  lorgivcness,  as  declared  in  the  Scriptures,  bel  We  will  imagine  then  that  he  have  received  nn,l  firmlv 
many  way  abused,  then  will  the  theatened  wrath  take  a  embraced  this  IJomish  do<rma  as  true  How  1^^!!  nCf 
wrong  direction,  and  not  ftiil  (from  Us  own  intrinsic  quality)  our  general  sentiments  toward  the  bulk'of  mankind  or  what 
to  produce  the  most  dire  elTccts.  The  tremendous  doctrine  impression  does  it  convey  of  the  Divine  character  and  ^ov- 
ot  eternal  perdition,  loosened  from  Us  proper  hold  of  the  con-]ernment  ^     Under  such  an  influence,  in  ~ 


science,  will  remain  at  large,  and  be  at  the  disposal  of  the 
spiritual  despot,  to  be  drawn  on  this  side  or  that,  as  may  best 
subserve  the  purposes  of  intimidation  and  tyranny.  Nor  is 
this  all,  for  the  same  appalling  doctrine  so  perverted  by  the 
despot,  will  take  effect  upon  his  own  heart  and  imagination, 
and  school  him  to  act  his  part  as  the  unflinching  instrument 
of  every  horrid  barbarity. — The  zealot  tormentor,  taught  from 
the  pit,  wants  nothing  but  power  and  tools  to  render  him  in- 
deed terrible  and  ruthless. 

If  it  were  demanded  to  give  in  a  few  words  the  chief  in- 
centive of  the  ferocity  of  Romanism,  we  must  plainly  say, 
that  the  doctrine  of  eternal  damnation — as  held  and  perverted 
by  fhe  Romish  Church,  is  the  germ  of  its  cruelty.  Or  the 
truth  (such  we  deem  it)  may  be  expressed  in  general  terms — 
That  a  malignant  fanaticism  of  some  kind  {truculent  if  op^ 
portunity  permits)  will  attend  every  misrepresentation  or 
misapplication  of  what  the  Scriptures  alErm  concerning  fu- 
ture punishment.  It  should  be  added  that  an  error  of  this 
sort  naturally  follows  in  the  track  of  an  abused  doctrine  of 
grace. 

Let  it  be  noted  that  our  Lord  and  his  ministers  speak  of 
the  wrath  of  God  as  provoked  by  nothing  but  impiety  and 
immorality  ;  and  they  leave  us  in  no  doubt  of  what  it  is  spe- 
cifically which  they  mean  when  they  issue  their  comminations. 
It  is  the  blasphemer  and  the  impenitent;  it  is  the  murderer, 
the  thief,  the  liar,  the  slanderer,  the  impure,  the  adulterer, 
the  perjured  person,  and  the  rapacious;  or,  in  a  word,  the 
sensual,  the  malignant  and  the  unjust,  who  have  to  expect  the 
fiery  indignation — the  future  "  tribulation  and  anguish." 
Terrible  as  it  is,  this  doctrine  leans  with  its  whole  stress  to 
the  side  favourable  to  virtue;  nor  is  there  any  thing  mystic, 
indefinite,  or  obscure  attached  to  it.  If  any  complain  of  the 
severity  of  the  threat — let  them  forsake  the  evil  of  their  ways, 
and  its  severity  shall  not  touch  them.  Does  any  complain  ? 
nay  rather,  let  him  repent,  and  it  shall  go  well  with  him. 

And  not  only,  in  the  preaching  of  our  Lord,  and  in  the 
■writings  of  his  Apostles,  is  the  threatening  clearly  attached 
to  a  vicious  and  irreligious  life,  and  to  ?iothing  eke:  but  it  is 
employed  in  no  other  way,  and  for  no  other  purpose,  than  to  en. 
force,  or  to  give  solemnity  to  the  invitations  of  mercy.  How 
cogent  is  the  reason  why  men  should  humble  themselves 
before  Almighty  God,  and  instantly  sue  for  the  pardon  of 
sin  ! 

Thus  defined,  and  thus  employed,  the  doctrine,  appalling 
as  It  may  be,  was  clearly  an  engine  of  benevolence  : — it  must 
have  been  grossly  perverted  if,  in  any  case,  it  has  ceased  to 
deserve  this  commendation.  So  was  it  at  first,  and  so,  in  any 
age,  whoever,  after  the  example  of  Christ— the  Saviour  of  the 
^yp/ld — spends  life  and  strength  in  the  endeavour  to  lead  his 
s  to  the  arms  of  the  Divine  compassion,  because  there 

IS  a  "fearfnl    InnL-inn-  fnr  ni"   n-rnth"   ^vliipli    cti^U    f-tU    rin 


,  .    .L-   1     ,         .  '  ■■•  'he  first  place,  we 

learn  to  think  that  the  most  heinous  crimes— crimes 


aggra- 
mitted  in  the 


fellow 

remains  a  "fearfnl  looking  for  of  wrath"  which  shall  fall  on 
the  impenitent,  is  not  only  no  fanatic,  but  deserves  the  praise, 
and  will  win  the  recompense,  of  the  highest  and  purest  phi- 
lanthropy. 

Not  such  is  the  Romish  doctrine  of  wrath  ;  nor  such  the 
spirit  or  style  of  its  preachers;  nor  such  its  pit  of  perdition. 
\\  hat  is  the  Papal   Hell   but  the  State  Prison  of  the  Papal 
Tyranny]     The  future  w-oe,  converted  into  the  instrument  of 
its  oppresions,  has  made  it  natural  that  the  inflictions  of  the 
infernal  dungeon  should  be  taken  as  the  exemplars  of  sacer- 
dotal^ barbarity.     All  offences  of  a  moral  kind,  even  the  most 
atrocious,  having  come  under  the  managetnent  of  the  Church, 
and  being  made  the  subject  of  a  mercenary  commerce   be- 
tween her  and  the  transgressor,  so  that  while  he  submits  im- 
plicitly to  the  direction  of  the  priest  (who  farms  heaven)  he 
has  nothing  to  fear,  the  bearing  of  the  doctrine  of  retribution 
is  wholly  turned  off  from  the  consciences  of  men  ;  and  the 
genuine  association  of  ideas,  which  connects  sin  and  punish- 
ment, is  broken  up.     The  preacher  may  still  declaim  about 
the  righteous  judgment  of  God  ;  but  in  fact,  and  in  every 
Irian's  personal  apprehensions,  the  terror  of  justice  has  pass- 
ed off  obliquely,  and  is  no  more  thought  of  in  its  due  place, 
ihe  future  Retribution  remains  therefore  at  large  to  serve  the 
turns  of  the  hierarchy  :  it  is  nothing  else  than  an  ecclesiasti- 
ca   terror.     The  Romish  place  of  perdition  awaits— the  infi- 
del, and  the  neretic,  and  whoever  provokes  the  jealousies  of  the 
<  hurch.     Let  us  fix  our  minds  a  moment  upon  the  natural 
consequences  ot  this  perversion  of  so  momentous  an  element 
of  religion. 


vated  by  a  full  knowledge  of  religion,  and  com 
face  if  Its  sanctions,  enjoy  perpetual  impunity  by  the  means 
of  a  viUanous  and  interested  misprision  on  the  part  of  the 
unctiouaries  of  Heaven ;  so  that  in  fact  Justice  takes  no 
hold  of  those  whose  fortune  it  is  to  be  born  upon  a  canonical 
soil,  and  where,  the  dispensing  power  havi no- its  ao-ents,  par- 
dons are  always  in  the  market.  The  actuar  state^of  morals 
in  countries  where,  age  after  age,  nothing  has  been  tolerated 
tliat  might  serve  to  correct  the  proper  influence  of  popery— 
bpain,  Portugal,  Italy,  is  proof  enough  that  these  supposi- 
tions are  not  imaginary.* 

Yet  the  dogma  has  another,  and  perhaps  it  is  a  worse  as- 
pect. Imbued  with  its  spirit,  we  turn  toward  the  millions 
ot  mankind— pagan  and  Mohammedan,  whose  miserv  it  has 
been  to  have  possessed  no  religious  light— or  a  mere  o-fimmer, 
and  who,  if  we  are  to  trust  to  our  Lord's  rule  of  equity,  are  to 
be  "  beaten  with  few  stripes,"  for  this  proper  reason,  that  they 
knew  not  his  will  :— but  upon  these,  we  are  taucrht  to  think, 

the  unrelieved  weight  of  the  future  wrath  is  to  press These, 

because  they  have  no  holy  water,  no  holv  oil,  no  absolvino- 
priest,  are  to  sufler  without  mitigation.  Thus  have  we  sub° 
verted  the  order  of  reason  and  justice,  and  have  rendered  the 
righteous  retribution  of  Heaven,  which,  as  expounded  in  the 
scriptures,  is  altogether  of  a  sanatory  influence,  horribly  cor- 
rupt and  des])otic. 

The  practical  inference  is  natural  and  inevitable.— If  God 
thus  deal  with  his  creatures— inflicting  the  heaviest  penalties 
where  there  has  been  the  lowest  responsibility ;  and  allowino- 
a  mercenary  commutation  of  punishment  in  the  case  of  the 
most  aggravated  guilt,  why  may  not  man,  in  his  dealintrs 
with  his  fellows,  follow  in  the  same  track,  thouo-h  at  "a 
humble  distance  1  Who  can  afiirm  that,  to  carry  the  brand 
of  exterminating  war  into  the  heart  of  pagan  and  Mohamme- 
dan lands— to  hack  and  rip  up  and  dash  to  the  ground,  and 
burn,  detested  tribes  of  misbelievers — /niscreaiitsl  is  not  a  re- 
ligious work?  If  it  be  not  so,  then  the  harmony  that  should 
subsist  between  divine  and  human  virtue  is  broken.  Such 
has  actually  been  the  belief  and  practice  of  the  Romish 
Church  in  every  age.  Did  the  feeble  nations  of  the  Mexican 
Isthmus,  and  of  Peru,  fall  under  the  feet  of  the  most  Catho- 
lic people  of  Europe  1  Yes;  but  the  mere  avidity  of  gold 
would  not  have  prompted  so  many  torments  and  so  rnany 
massacres : — the  soldier  was  pushed  on  by  the  friar,  with 
this  very  dogma  of  perdition  burning  in  his  bosom. 

And  yet  an  inference  which  had  to  be  carried  out  a  thou- 
sand miles,  or  across  the  Atlantic,  would  no;  immediately 
afTect  more  than  a  portion  of  the  people  in  any  country.  Not 
so  the  inference  which  fell  upon  the  heretic  at  home.  In 
this  application  of  it  every  man — every  husband,  and  every 
wife,  every  father,  and  every  child,  might  be  concerned. f 
Especially  did  it  affect  the  sacerdotal  order,  through  all  its 
ranks,  and  at  every  moment;  naj',  every  motive  of  corporate 
interest,  and  pride,  and  jealousy,  bore  upon  it  with  the  great- 
est force.  The  heathen  world  out  of  view,  then  the  lake  of 
perdition  was  to  be  peopled  only  by  heretics,  and  by  the  con- 
tumacious impugners  of  Church  power.—"  Submit,  recant, 
and  be  saved  ;  persist  and  be  damned."— Such  was  the  voice 
of  the  Church,  and  such  the  rule  of  its  proceedings;  and  the 
history  of  Europe  during  a  full  thousand  years — a  history 
written  in  blood,  has  been  the  comment  on  the  rule. 

True  it  is,  that  the  Ecclesiastical  Hell  of  the  Romish  des- 
potism has,  of  late,  been  closed,  and  a  seal  set  upon  it  by  the 
strong  hand  of  the  civil  power,  or  the  stronger  hand  of  popu- 


*  The  state  of  manners  in  the  southern  countries  of  Europe  is  now 
unhappily  but  too  well  understood  in  England  ;  for  the  proflig-acy  of 
the  continent  has  of  late  been  shed  over  the  entire  surface  of  our 
ephemeral  literature.  No  reference  on  tliis  subject  need  be  made  to 
authorities.  If  it  be  alleged  that  ,the  manners  of  tlie  northern  and 
protestant  states  are  but  a  sliadc'  or  two  better  than  those  of  the 
south,  we  shall  llien  have  to  balance  tlie  unobstructed  influence  of 
popery  against  the  scarcely  at  all  obstructed  influence  of  infideliti.- — 
and  the  scale  is  seen  to  turn  a  little  in  favour  of  the  latter. 

+  Deinde  promiscua  raultiludo,  limore  perculsis  animis,  deferebant 
quosfjue  cerUitim,  nulla  nequc  propiiiquitatjs  neque  necessitudinis 
aut  beneficiorum  habita  ratione,  non  parcnti  Alius,  non  uxormarito, 
non  cliens  patrouo  parccbat.  Dt'latiories  autcm  eraut  plerunque  de 
rebus  frivolis  ;  ut  ([uisque  forte  aliquid  ob  superstitionem  in  aliquo 
reprehenderat.  .llelc/n'or  .'Idnm,  as  quoted  by  Bavle.  The  passage 
relates  to  the  estitblishment  of  a  court  of  the  Holy'Ofiice. 


FANATICISM. 


3S9 


lar  opinion ;  but  the  <losma  is  what  it  was,  and  where  it  was. 
The  pent-up  fire  of  its"  revenge  still  murmurs  throu<rh  the 
vaults  of  the  spiritual  edifice,  from  the  mouth  of  the  la?us 
to  the  Carpathian  mountains:  give  it  only  wmd,  and  hou 
should  it  ra^e  to  the  skies  !  The  ^^  a Ulenses  the  Lollards, 
the  Reformed  of  Germany,  Italy,  Spain,  Holland,  England 
and  the  Hnsucnots  of  France,  were  the  victims,  not  of  a 
cruel  an-e,  but  of  a  cruel  doctrine;  and  that  doctrine  is  as 
cruel  now  as  it  was  in  the  pontificate  of  Innocent  111. 

II.  A  vindictive  spirit  and  ferocious  acts  beloiig  of  neces- 
sity to  a  polity  such  as  that  of  the  Romish  Church.    Already 
we  have  ^mentioned  the  contrariety  which  ^"h^'.f.^.'^f  :;^-" 
the  aboriginal  European  temper  (as  compared  wnh  the  Abia- 
icVand  a  tyranny  so  excessive  as  that  of  the  Church,  and 
have  noted  the  consequent  severity  of  the  h.erarch.al  power 
But  this  is  not  all;  for  while  it  is  true  that  popery  is  al.eii    o 
the  climate  and  to  the  races  of  the  western  world,  it  exis  s 
also,  and  in  another  sense,  as  a  foreign  power  m  every  single 
country  of  Europe-Italy  excepted.     Need  we  then  defend 
the  general  principle  that  a  foreign  domination  is  more  jeal- 
ous.^and  oppressive,  and  less  placable  than  a  domestic  gov- 
ernment'    Or  if  there  be   exceptions  to  this  rule,  assuredly 
the  Romish  church  does  not  afford  one.     But  the  theme  is 
trite      Every  reader  of  modern  history  must  have  observed 
the  pernicious  influence  which  Italian  churchmen  and  moi.ks 
have  everted  in  the   councils  of  the  European  states.      This 
influence  has  made  itself  seen  in  the  rigour  of  those  measures 
which  kin<TS,  under  terror  of  excommunication,  liave  been 
compelled  to  adopt  for  the  maintenance  of  the  far-stretchr^  au- 
thority  of  Rome;-and  especially  when  the  skirts  ot   the 
Church  fell  over  countries  that  were  quickening  into  Iree- 

°Over  the  same  area,  or  nearly  so.  Imperial  Rortie  extended 
her  sway  ;  but  her  instruments  of  power  were  visible,  intelU- 
ble,and  readily  applied;  and  therefore  admitted  of  leniency 
and  reason  in  the  use  of  them.  A  military  despotism,  founded 
on  the  ri'^ht  of  conquest,  confides  in  its  means  of  securing 
obedienceT  and  is  often  less  afflictive  to  a  country  in  fact 
than  in  name.  It  must  be  otherwise,  and  always  has  been  so, 
with  a  crhostly  despotism.  The  conscious  indistinctness  ot 
the  n-roSnds  on  which  it  demands  submission  inspires  it  with 
an  anxiety  that  leads  it  to  overdo  its  severities.  And  then 
the  abominable  hypocrisy  of  not  itself  touching  the  sword  of 
justice  (alack,  the  cleanness  of  its  hands  '.)  but  of  setting  the 
civil  power  at  work  when  blood  is  to  be  shed,  can  never  fail 
to  render  its  executions  so  much  the  more  cruel  and  severe. 
To  be  tried  and  condemned  by  one  authority,  and  punished 
by  another,  is  a  hard  fate,  and  can  dilTer  very  little  Jrom  that 
of  becoming  a  victim  of  blind  fury.  ■       .1, 

Besides  as  the  spiritual  Despotism  rules  by  usurping  the 
imagination  of  men,  and  is  seated  upon  their  tears  of  an  aw 
ful  futurity,  it  will,  by  a  natural  connexion  or  harmony  ol 
causes  have  recourse,  when  provoked,  to  those  means  ot  in- 
timidation that,  by  the  horror  they  inspire,  call  up  the  faculty 
on  which  the  tyranny  takes  its  hold.  W  hen  endangered  by 
resistance,  it  will  endeavour  to  regain  its  ground  by  such  dis- 
plays of  intolerable  anguish  in  the  persons  of  Us  toes  as  shall 
fitly  symbolize  the  torments  that  await  them  in  the  world  to 
come.  The  doctrine  of  perdition,  as  held  by  the  Church,  will 
be  visibly  typified  in  the  modes  of  punishment  it  employs. 

Fire  is  the  chosen  means  of  its  chastisements.! 

«  The  native  free  spirit  of  the  European  stock,  which  in  Englaml 
l>-,s  Ion?  had  its  scope,  has  in  no  age  been  altogether  broken  do« .. 
i,'i  France  The  Gallican  Church,  century  alter  century,  has  hung 
loose  upon  Rome  ;  and  the  papal  court  has  well  felt  how  precarious 
were  her  spiritual  iiosscssions  west  of  the  Rhine  and  the  Rhone. 
The  horrors  of  St.  Bartholomew,  and  the  cruelties  pcrpeU-ated  by 
I  ouis  Xn"  «  ere  only  the  proper  expressions  ol  the  conscious  alarms 
oHhe  "Romish  power  in  regard  to  France.  When  shall  France  learn 
to  blush  at  once  at  her  atheism  and  at  her  superstitions  >  Is  ,  any 
thin-  but  her  atheism  and  her  superstitions  that  have  compelled  her 
to  c?de  to  England  the  first  place  of  moral  inlluente  ,n  the  world  at 
lar-c  and  of  t^reign  empire  !  The  horrors  committed  in  theNetlier- 
lands  bvthe  Uuke  of  Aha  aftbrd  another  illustration  of  the  rule  that 
has  "uided  the  Romish  despotism  in  measuring  out  its  vengeance. 

+  A  curious  comparison  might  be  drawn  between  different  nations 
on  the  point  of  the  modes  of  capital  punishment  in  use  among  them. 
The  subject  can  only  he  glanced  at  here  ;  but  well  deserves  a  more 
ample  treatment.  The  Jews  had  three  or  four  modes  of  inflicting 
death,  but  chiellv  used  the  most  summary— hangin-  or  stoning. 
The  Greeks  had"  seven  or  eight ;  yet  very  rarely  had  recourse 
to  those  which  were  excruciating  :— the  poisoned  cup  was  the  most 
usual ;  or  casting  from  a  precipice.  Rut  fine,  slavery,  or  banish- 
ment, were  raucii  oflcner  employed  than  capiU^  punishment,  i  lie 
Romans,  after  they  had  comiuered  the  world,  and  had  amalgamated 
the  usa-'es  of  barbarous  nations  with  the  ancient  practice  ot  the  Re- 
public, added  to  their  list  of  penal  terrors  several  excruciating  deaths; 


III  AVe  have  to  speak,  lastly,  of  the  Romish  clerical  in- 
stitution, and  to  exhibit  that  natural  connexion  ol  motives 
which  has  drawn  upon  the  temper  of  its  sacerdotal  order  a 
fanaticism  more  intensely  ferocious  thaa  the  world  has  else- 
where seen.  ,  ..      ,  „  „„,_ 

If  the  secular  influence  of  the  papal  superstition  be  now 
immensely  diminished,  and  if  the  engines  it  once  wielded 
have  been  broken;  if  no  lonaer  it  can  breathe  tl>«  «p  "^  ,^ 
into  the  hearts  of  kings  ;  anS  if  the  humility  it  eff-ec  ed  in  he 
twelfth  century,  is  forced  upon  it  in  the  nineteenth,  and  it 
therefore  the  danger  of  its  hurling  a  brand  again  '"W  '"^  f?" 
som  of  the  European  community  be  extremely  small—  t  is 
nevertheless  true  that  the  Romish  Clerical  Institution  docs 
still  exist  on  all  sides  of  us  :  and  that  its  elements  are,  in  the 
nineteenth  century,  precisely  what  they  were  in  tl^e  twellth. 
\nd  it  is  true  moreover  that  an  institution  so  incurab  y  perm- 
eious  should  be  looked  at,  notwithstanding  its  actual  leeble- 
ness  at  any  moment,  as  a  virulent  germ,  that  waits  on'y  a  la- 
vourable  season  to  spring  up  with  all  Us  native  properties 

"^ThV  errors  of  Romanism,  doctrinal  and  practical,  we  are  so 
much  accustomed  to  regard  as  objects  of  ' '''''''?''"' J^y^^K 
tion,  that  it  is  not  easy  at  once  to  look  at  them  in  the  light  of 
what  may  be  termed  their  physical  quality.  ^^  e  propose 
however  now  to  consider  the' Romish  cl"'^-=>\  >"f '—  to 
that  liMit.  (all  Biblical  argument  apart.)  and  especially  to 
trace  in  it  the  natural  generation  of  the  spirit  of  "|'elt.V- 

A  word  already  has  been  said  of  the  moral  peril  to  which 
the  sacerdotal  order,  under  even  the  most  auspicious  circum- 
stances is  exposed.     Of  the  several  points  of  .''■^^'''v^"'^?? 
there  alluded  'to,  we  now  select  only  one  ;-but  U  is  the  chief, 
and  it  is  that  one  which  onr  proper  subject  PO'"'s   O;     We 
affirm  then  that  the  law  of  celibacy,  taking  ellect,  a.  U  does, 
upon  a  lar<re  and  promiscuous  body  ot  men,  cannot  full  to 
produce,  iu\  certai'n  proportion  of  instances,  a  rancorous  fa- 
laticism.     The  broad  f\ict  that  it  has  done  so,  we  take  as  the 
ou ide  ^nd  support  of  our  argument,  and  turn  to  the  commoa 
minciples  of  human  nature  for  the  interpretation  ot  the  fact 
^  No  hin-T  intelligible  can  be  meant  by  the  phrasc-the   aws 
of  Na  uref  if  wc  do  not  understand-Divinc  Constitutions 
wise  and  Vood,  which  are  not  to  be  tampered  with   hu   at  otir 
cost      To^say  that  such  or  such  is  the  intention  of  nature,  is 
to  imply  tha^  some  severe,  and  often  incalculable  mischief 
will  accrue  when  that  specific  intention  is  thwarted.     The 
usao-es  of  nations,  or  their  political  insUtutions,  or  their  reli- 
.  ous  practices,  have  in  a  thousand  modes  <=°"  "^J"^^  *^ 
beneficent  purposes  of  the  Creator;  but  never  have  done  so 
without  enlailing  innumerable  woes.     ^  et  is  '  /emarkable 
that  in  such  cases  the  actual  .11  consc^quence,  °t\e"'  h^/  ."°^ 
been  altogether  of  the  sort  that  would  have  been  l""'^':'!  lor, 
or  has  n?t  been  apparently  the  direct  effect  of  the  special 
cause.     An  evil,  such  as  none  had  toreseen,  breaks  out  on 
the  one  hand  or  the  other,  and  stretches,  we  know  not  how 
fir      In  truth,  the  great  machine  of  the  world-mtellectual 
aid  pi  ysi^a!,'is  so  intricate,  and  so  -motely  compacted  part 
with  part,  th;t  when  we  disturb  a  power,  "«  .human  saga  ity 
can  say  where,  or  at  what  stage  our  pr.  sumption  will  meet  it^ 
minishment.     Thus  wc  shallfind  U  to  have  been  with  the 
^Ziy  of  the  Romish  priesthood.     The  direct  and  obvious 


E3=^t:i;sfs^.t2rar^^^ 
3mc^o^tS:r;3':^ie^^^-i^tl::r^ar 

Tost  horrible  of  all.     She  admits  indeed,  in  certain  cases,  of  Strang- 

n;:^'Js^:^f:^n,ii.g  ..^.^^^  o^  ^k::-':^^^^ 

nnlitv  are  those— 1st.  The  prodigious  number  of  the  Mctims  01  ner 
Lt^  s  2  That  all  but  aVery-few  of  these  -f  "- ^--gj'"!;.^  ' 
J\W  ..uiltless  of  crimes  visibly  injurious  to  society.  And  3d,  1  hat, 
wfle=o  her  polities  have  reserved  ignominious  and  excrucjaUng 
mmishments  for  rare  instances  of  obdurate  wickedness,  or  for  fright- 
•uUrimes  and  for  persons  of  the  vilest  rank,  the  Romish  pd'ty  has 
put  ou"  of  view  alfsuch  .ristinclions,  and  has,  without  i;e^P«t  lor 
auk  or  habits,  or  p.-rsonal  merit,  consigned  to  he  flames-nobles, 
nreh'te  mc  n  of  letfers,  women,  children.  Nothing  at  all  compara- 
'bctotiHI  ul  ferocit'v  of  the' Romish  e--"'i°-  '-%^'^,^!i'i";:^^ 
been  seen  in  the  world  --the  world  has  seen  no  such  judges  as  her 
priests. 


390 


CHRIS  T  IAN    LIBRARY. 


inconveniences  and  evils  of  tlie  institution  have  indeed  fol- 
lowed it  every  where,  and  have  been  seen  in  the  profligacy  it 
has  spread  over  the  face  of  society,  in  the  abomiudtions  it  has 
fostered,  and  in  the  personal  sorrows  it  has  entailed.  But 
these,  shall  we  say,  have  not  been  the  main  mischiefs  of  the 
system ;  for  we  regard  as  deeper  and  more  extensive  than 
any  of  them,  the  enconragement  it  has  given  to  exorbitant 
and  inexorable  opinions,  to  portentons  modes  of  feelimr,  to 
outrageous  courses  of  conduct,  and,  in  a  word,  to  the  spirit 
that  deliglits  in  destruction  and  torture.  The  sangninary  fa- 
naticism of  the  Ron  .h  Church  we  trace,  through  no  very 
circuitous  track,  to  the  unnatural  personal  condition  of  its 
ministers.* 

The  true  extent  of  the  violence  done  to  human  nature  by 
the  practice  of  religious  celibacy  has  been  in  a  great  measure 
concealed  from  notice  by  a  partial  fact  that  seems  to  excuse 
it.  It  is  always  true  that,  in  a  body  of  men  taken  at  random, 
a  certain  number  will  be  found  (we  need  not  hazard  a  con- 
jecture as  to  its  amount)  to  whom,  from  peculiarity  of  tem- 
perament, a  life  of  celibacy  caniiot  be  deemed  unnatural,  and 
to  whom  it  will  be  no  grievance.  At  least  it  may  be  affirm- 
ed of  such  that  some  moderate  and  accidental  motive  of  pru- 
dence, or  taste,  or  the  vexations  of  an  early  disappointment; 
or  perhaps  a  praiseworthy  regard  to  the  welfare  of  relatives, 
will  abundantly  suffice  to  reconcile  them  to  their  singular  lot. 
Then  beyond  this  small  circle  there  will  be  a  wider' one,  in- 
cluding not  a  very  few,  to  whom  a  motive  some  degrees 
stronger  will  prove  efficient  to  the  same  end.  A  vigorous 
selfishness,  abhorrent  of  disturbance  in  its  comforts,  or  fear- 
ful of  the  diminution  of  its  dainties,  will  answer  such  a  pur- 
pose ;— are  there  not  those  who  would  never  marry  lest  they 
should  be  compelled  to  dine  less  sumptuously  ?  Or  a  strong 
intellectual  taste  produces  the  same  effect :— there  have  been 
artists  and  philosophers,  many;  yes,  some  of  the  most  illus- 
trious of  men,  who,  having  wedded  a  fair  ideal,  have  sought 
no  other  love.  Still  more  (and  to  approach  our  specific  sub- 
ject) the  powerful  sentiments  of  religion,  have  in  very  many 
instances,  and  in  a  manner  not  culpable,  (sometimes  com- 
mendable,) separated  men  from  the  ordinary  lot,  and  rendered 
them  in  a  genuine  sense  virtuous,  as  well  as  happy,  in  single 
lilb.  Such  cases— exceptions  made  without  violence,  it^is 
proper  to  take  account  of;— they  are  Nature's  exceptions, 
and  those  who  come  fairly  under  the  description  shall  be 
styled,  if  they  please,  a  physical  aristocracy—born  to  illus- 
trate the  supremacy  of  Mind. 

Now  inasmuch  as  religions  motives — being  more  profound 
than  any  others,  can  never  be  brought  within  calculation,  so 
as  that  we  might  fix  a  limit  to  their  jiower,  it  must  be  deem- 
ed impracticable  to  ascertain  to  what  extent  they  may  operate 
safely,  and  without  engendering  much  positive  evil,  in  swell- 
ing the  company  of  the  unmarried.  A  large  space  should  be 
lelt  open  for  exceptions  of  this  kind;  and  we  should  be  slow- 
to  inculpate  motives,  or  to  condemn  a  course  of  conduct 
which,  in  the  ej'e  of  Heaven,  may  not  be  reprehensible.  In 
times  of  great  religious  excitement,  and  especially  durino-the 
undisputed  prevalence  of  enthusiastic  opinions,  who  shall  say 
whether  ten  or  twenty  in  a  hundred  might  not  devote  them- 
selves to  celibacy,  and  yet  neither  uudeTgo  nor  diffuse  a  sen- 
sible injury  ?  Human  nature  has  a  plialiliiy  that  admits  of 
its  adapting  itself  to  very  great  variations  of  sentiment  and 
practice. 

The  exceptive  f\ict,  such  as  we  have  stated  it,  was  mani- 
festly the  rudiment  of  the  ancicjit  religious  celibacv  ;  and  it 
ought  to  be  granted  that,  so  long  as  a  high  and  genuine  ex- 
citement lasted,  and  moreover  before  spiritual  despotism  came 
in  to  avail  itself  of  the  usage,  and  to  stretch  the  anomaly  be- 
yond its  natural  limits,  the  ill  consequences  would  not  be  ex- 
treme. But  how  immensely  dilferent  is  the  state  of  thmcrs, 
and  how  must  the  mischief  be  aggravated,  when  the  law  and 
custom  of  celibacy,  having  come  to  constitute  an  essential 
and  permanent  element  of  the  social  and  political  system  of  a 
country,  not  merely  takes  up  the  little  baud  oi  caUhes  by  des- 
tination of  nature ;  but  is  every  day  applied,  by  pries'tly  or 
paternal  tyranny,  to  temperaments  of  all  kinds,  and  with  a 
blind  cruelty  is  made  to  include  those  very  instances  upon 
which  it  will  not  fail  to  inflict  the  worst  imaginable  injuries ! 
In  thinking  of  the  celibacy  of  the  Romish  clergy,  we  are  too 
much  accustomed  to  regard  it  under  the  palliation  of  suppos- 


_  A  multiiilictv  of  mdependcnt  circumstances  had  influence  in 
ripenins  the  iwo  principles— namelv  of  clerical  celiljacv  an.l  eccle- 
siastical intolerance  :  but  it  is  lair  to  point  ont  the  coincident  s;ro«lh 
of  the  two  In  tnitl.  the  latter  followed  so  closely  and  constantlv 
upon  the  former  that  to  deny  all  cunnexion  of  causuion  is  to  be 
resolnteir  jntredulons. 


ing  that  it  is  an  institution  which  just  serves  to  draw  into  a 
company  the  scattered  individuals  of  that  frigid  class  which 
every  where  exists ;— whereas  in  fact  it  observes  no  such 
rule  of  selection.  The  age  at  which  youth  are  devoted  to  the 
service  of  the  Church  makes  it  certain  that,  in  by  far  the 
greater  number  of  instances,  this  decision  is  altogether  irres- 
pective of  any  physical  aptitude  to  submit  to  the  condition 
imposed  upon  the  ministers  of  religion.*  Might  we  advance 
a  step  further,  and  conjecture  that,  so  far  as  personal  fitness 
IS  at  all  thought  of,  there  is  a  double  probability  that  the  most 
unhappy  cases  will  be  thrown  into  the  toils  of  the  presump- 
tuous vow  %  Who  does  not  know  that  an  early  destination 
to  the  Church  very  often  is  the  consequence  (in  the  first 
place)  of  a  manifest  sluggishness  of  the  animal  and  mental 
faculties — a  sensual  and  indolent  propension,  which,  though 
it  must  cut  off  a  man's  chance  of  success  in  the  arduous  en- 
gagements of  common  life,  is  likely  to  be  no  bar  to  his  ad- 
vancement in  the  sacred  calling;  and  certainly  can  never  ex- 
pose him  to  cruel  mortifications  in  the  discharge  of  its  even- 
paced  functions.  But  alas,  what  will  the  oath  of  virginity 
probably  do  for  constitutions  of  this  order — the  very  idea 
must  be  dropped.  Or  (in  the  second  place)  a  youth  is  not 
seldom  devoted  to  the  clerical  profession  from  reasons  of  an 
opposite  kind,  namely,  a  precocious  display  of  intellectual 
tastes,  with  its  attendant  irritable  delicacy  or  debility  of  con- 
stitution, which  is  foreseen  to  preclude  laborious  employ- 
ments. And  yet  these  very  cases  (nine  out  of  ten  of  them) 
are  precisely  those  in  which  the  most  lamentable  consequen- 
ces must  ensue  from  the  violence  done  to  nature  by  the  sacer- 
dotal institute. 

The  high  importance  of  the  subject— the  incalculable  ex- 
tent of  the  evils  that  have  attached  to  it — the  actual  existence 
of  the  abuse  in  our  own  times;  and  (may  we  add)  some  ap- 
pearance of  the  rise  of  a  general  indignation  against  it  even 
in  the  heart  of  catholic  countries,  invite  and  may  excuse  (not- 

wiihstauding  the  difficulty  of  doing  so)  our  advancing; nay, 

the  subject  is  inseparable  from  the  specific  theme  we  have  in 
hand. 

Before  we  insist  upon  some  more  special  matters,  let  us 
for  a  moment  consider  what,  though  often  adverted  to,  can 
never  be  too  much  regarded — the  negative  influence  of  cleri- 
cal celibacy,  as  it  cuts  ofl"  from  the  tmhappy  class  of  men  to 
whom  it  applies,  the  very  means  which  (.iod  has  provided, 
and  the  only  generally  efficucioiis  means  of  generating  senti- 
ments of  compassion  and  tenderness  in  the  bosoms  of  men. 
Doubtless  there  are  born  a  few  milky  natures,  soft  and  sensi- 
tive, that,  without  wife  or  child,  feel  and  weep,  and  are  kind 
as  woman.  But  taking  men  at  large,  and  taking  them  ex- 
posed as  they  are  to  the  rude  operation  of  laborious  occupa- 
tions, and  to  the  ungentle  collisions  of  sordid  interest,  it  is 
only  as  husband  and  father,  and  as  possessors  of  the  enjoy- 
ments of  home,  that  the  rough  force  of  the  mind,  and  the 
harshness  of  the  temper,  are  broken  down— that  gross  self- 
ishness is  attempered ;  and  especially  that  the  habit  is  formed 
of  considering  and  of  realizing  by  sympathy,  the  pains, 
infirmities,  wants,  and  sorrows  of  others.|  It  is  in  this 
point  peculiarly  that  human  nature  needs  a  softening  power; 
and  admits  it  too.  Barbarities  often  of  the  worst  sort  spring 
from  the  mere  want  of  the  habit  of  regarding  the  feelings  5 
others;  but  this  habit  is  not  of  spontaneous  growth ;  it  must 
be  inwrought  by  the  repetition  of  proper  occasions. 


*  In  hoj  hood  ordinarily.  Altliongh  celibacy  was  not  imposed  upon 
the  secular  clergy  until  long  after  the  monkis'li  system  had  reached 
its  settleil  form,  yet  when  it  was  so  imposed,  w  hat  had  been  the 
usage  of  die  monastery  became  the  usage  of  the  clergy  universally. 
And  as  the  monastic  vow  was  often  take"!!  before  the  eighteenth  year 
(tor  we  fmd  Gregoi-y  the  Great,  fixing  that  as  the  earliest  age  in 
certain  e.rceptive  cases)  so  was  it  usual  for  the  sacerdotal  function  to 
be  chostMi  irrevocably  at  the  same  period  of  life.  Xay,  it  would  seem 
that  ordination,  and  church  preferment  even,  were  often  conferred 
upon  mere  striplings.  Scholares  pueri  et  impubercs  adolescentuli 
oh  sanguinis  dignitatem  promoventur  ad  ecclesiasticas  dignitates,  et 
de  sub  lerula  transferuntur  ad  principandum  presbyteris  ;  lietiores 
interim  quod  virgas  evaserint,  quam  quod  meruerint  principatum. — 
St.  Bernard  tie  Officio  Episco/jomm,  c.  7.  Cautions  against  tlie  ordi- 
nation ot  beardless  youths  are  of  frequent  occurrence,  proving  the 
abuse  to  have  been  common  :  Pueri  ad  sacros  ordines  nuUatcnus 
admittantur,  ne  taiito  periculosius  cadant,  quanto  citius  conscenderc 
ad  altiora  festinant.  In  later  times,  as  it  is  well  known,  the  transi- 
tioti  has  been  immediate  from  school  to  the  church.  It  has  been  tlic 
policy  of  the  .Jesuits  especially  to  make  their  selection  of  vouUis 
from  the  schools  under  their  care.  The  earliest  display  of  intellec- 
tual power  fixed  the  eye  of  the  superintendant ;  and  lorthwitli  the 
venom  ol  the  society's  fanaticism  was  shed  into  the  victim's  mind. 

i  L-voret  liberi  disciplina  quxdam  humanitatis,  at  cctlibes  telri 
et  sevcri. — JRacon, 


FANATICISM. 


391 


Vmid  the  stern  contentions  of  public  life,  or  under  the 
severe  labours  and  dangers  of  the  field,  a  man  is  learnu,?  to 
discard  as  an  incumbrance  every  ffentle  emotion,  and  is  arm- 
ino-  himself  to  bear  down  opposition.  But  he  comes  home 
(and  unless  unblessed  indeed)  is  schooled  in  another  and  a 
better  lesson.  Taken  even  at  the  lowest  calcula  ion,  he 
amount  of  this  counter-influence  is  vast  _\\  hat  would  be  the 
world  if  we  can  imagine  it  to  be  wholly  withdrawn  l-Look 
hut  to  the  rugsed  labourer,  impenetrable  and  insensible  as  he 
seems,  and  follow  him,  when  his  task  '^  fone  to  ihe^doo 
where  he  meets  helpless  playful  inlanry-where  he  finds  that 
his  wants  have  been  thought  ot-wherc  he  has  offices  of 
kindness  to  discharge  :-follow  him,  and  admire  the  provision 
made  for  correcting"  in  one  hour  the  ""gracious  .nfluences  of 
twelve'  Xor  is  our  supposition  romantic— W  hoever  has 
been  conversant  with  the  lower  classes,  and  whoever  has  an 
eye  and  an  ear  to  catch  the  expressions  of  human  chanties, 
as  rudely  uttered  or  uncouthly  displayed,  must  often  in  he 
crowd  that  gathers  in  a  street  about  distress,  have  detected 
home-taught  hearts,  and  paternal  sympathies,  where  the  as- 
pect and'the  tones  indicated  only  a  sensual  ferocity. 

Should  we  count  it  then  a  light  matter  to  come  in  upon 
the  circle  of  the  domestic  remedial  influence  (God  s  beneh- 
cent  ordinance)  with  our  monstrous  institutions,  and  at  a 
stroke  to  cut  olT  from  a  numerous  body  ot  men,  and  tor  ever, 
and  from  the  class  that  are  to  be  the  teachers  of  mercy  all 
their  part  in  the  economy  of  human  kindness  1  If  indeed  the 
desian  were  horrid,  the  means  would  be  fit;  but  il  it  be  reli- 
crious,  how  preposterous  are  the  means  ! 

Let  it  only  be  imagined  that  the  preservation  of  the  social 
system  demanded  some  necessary  office,  at  once  foul  and 
sanauinary,  hard  and  loathsome,  to  be  discharged,  and  that, 
to  secure  a  supply  of  wreiched  beings  to  go  through  with  the 
cruel  function,  it  were  deemed  proper  to  train  from  the  cra- 
dle a  certain  proportion  of  mankind.— Among  the  various 
means  that  might  be  devised  for  elTecting  the  initiation  ot 
such  a  miserable  class,  and  for  securing  to  it  an  education 
exclusive  of  every  gentle  sympathy,  and  of  rendering  our 
ao-ents  both  impure  and  rancorous,  what  measure  more  effica- 
cfous  could  he  imagined  than  that  of  imposing  upon  the 
unfortunate  band  the  very  celibacy  in  which  the  Komish 
Church  breeds  her  ministers? 

We  must  yet  look  at  this  institution  in  its  operation  upon 
specific  temperaments.  _  ,         .  ,  , 

It  is  fair  to  assume  that,  of  a  body  ol  men  taken  at  hazard 
from  the  mass,  and  placed  under  the  restraint  (or  rather  the 
vrofession)  of  continence,  a  considerable  portion— perhaps  a 
third,  will  very  early  in  their  course  throw  off  every  thing  but 
their  hypocrisy,  and  become  thoroughly  profligate.  The  no- 
torious condition  of  those  countries  where  nothing  has  forbid 
den  the  natural  expansion  of  the  Unmish  systpm,  would 
warrant  our  affirming  that  two-thirds  of  Us  clergy  come  under 
such  a  description.  Nay,  perhaps  our  English  credulity 
would  be  ridiculed  at  Madrid,  Grenada,  Lisbon,  Horence, 
Lima,  or  Rio  Janeiro,  if  we  persumed  that  any  more  than  a 
very  few  of  the  sacerdotal  class  were  not  utterly  debauched.* 
Now  if  men  of  this  sort  are  to  be  placed  by  the  side  of  the 
licentious  "  out  of  orders,"  then  the  dillerence  against  them 
will  consist  in  that  aggravation  of  crime  which  his  sacrilege 
and  blasphemy  heap  upon  the  head  of  the  Churchman.  As 
violator  and  corrupter  of  every  family  about  him,  he  makes 
his  way,  as  it  were,  through  the  presence  chamber  of  the 
Eternal  Majesty,  and,  as  he  goes,  formally  invites  the  Om- 
niscient Purity  to  look  upon  his  deeds  of  shame  '. 

It  cannot  but  happen  that  the  dissolute  priest— one  hour 
surpliced  and  before  the  altar,  and  the  next- where  we  must 
not  follow  him,  should  become  intensely  more  wicked  than 
the  secular  man  of  pleasure.  So  foul  at  heart  will  he  become, 
that  no  enormity  can  distaste  or  alarm  him.  Not  often  are 
such  men  in  any  sense  fanatics ;— of  enthusiasm  they  are  in- 
capable, and  rancour  is  not  their  characteristic.     Neverthe- 


less, in  times  of  general  excitement,  or  at  the  call  of  superiors, 
and  for  the  support  of  corporate  interests,  tbey  will  fall  into 
their  places  around  the  scafl'old,  or  the  stake,  with  much 
composure; — and  lend  their  hands  too  in  the  work  if  needed. 
Nay,  human  nature  admits,  when  it  has  reached  this  stage 
of  corruption,  of  an  infernal  frenzy  ;  sensuality  and  cruelly 
in  a  moment  collapsing,  and  the  herd  of  swine  suddenly 
seized  of  the  demon  of  malice  rush  on— not  themselves 
indeed  to  dash  from  the  precipice,  but  to  fall  upon  the  in- 
nocent. . 

To  omit  lesser  distinctions,  we  may  next  adduce  the  in- 
stance of  those,  and  they  will  not  be  a  few,  of  a  middle  sort, 
who  though  they  may  once  and  again  have  fallen  under  pecn- 
liar  temptations,  and  so  may  have  lost  that  mens  eonscia  recti 
which  their  vow  should  have  preserved,  are  nevertheless  or- 
dinarily retained  in  the  path  of  virtue  by  the  motives  proper  to 
their  order  ; — by  a  sense  of  professional  decorum,  by  ecclesias- 
tical pride,  and  by  sentiments  too  which,  for  want  of  an  un- 
exceptionable term,  must  be  called — religious.  And  yet  the 
continence  of  men  of  this  class  is  not  at  all  attributable  to 
coldness  of  temperament.  We  must  stop  short  of  a  full  ex- 
plication of  the  state  of  feeling  likely  to  grow  out  of  a  posi- 
tion such  as  this ;  it  may  however  be  said  that  the  human 
mind  can  hardly  be  placed  in  circumstances  more  pitiable  or 
injurious.  Quite  unlike  to  it  is  the  voluntary  celibacy  of  se- 
cular men  of  similar  constitution.  The  iron  girdle  of  a  solemn 
irrevocable  oath,  galling  the  conscience,  because  a  violated 
oath,  and  yet  not ^o  be  laid  aside— the  Chuchman's  prudery 
of  spotless  virtue,  wounded  to  the  quick  by  humiliating  re- 
collections, and  the  impulses  of  nature  fought  off  from  disad- 
vantageous ground,  leave  no  tranquilliiy,  allow  no  repose 
within.  Rather  a  tempest  of  passion  rages  in  the  bosom— a 
tempest  so  much  the  more  afflictive,  because  it  may  gain  no 
vent.* 

To  the  tumultuous  stage  of  this  mental  conflict  there  suc- 
ceeds perhaps,  either  a  dead  hopeless  debility,  most  pitiable 
to  think  of,  or  perversions  of  the  mind  still  more  sad.  Hut 
if  the  character  have  more  vigour,  and  docs  in  fiicl  repel  the 
assailants  that  would  tread  it  in  the  dust,  sncli  men  will  be 
found  in  a  slate  of  peculiar  preparation  fur  admitting  malig- 
nant excitements,— the  very  substance  of  the  soul  has  be- 
come combustible— a  spark  kindles  the  latent  heart,  and  the 
passions  blaze  to  heaven.  A  settled  feeling,  hard  to  define 
or  describe,  but  which  might  be  called  a  chronic  revenge,  of 
which  humanity  at  large,  and  all  forms  of  enjoyment  are  the 
objects,  is  the  habit  of  the  mind,  and  is  always  in  readiness 
to  be  shed  forth  upon  whatever  it  may  meet.  Some  grateful 
alleviation  of  the  inward  torment  is  obtained  by  merely  wit- 
nessing sanguinary  scenes ; — the  bidden  anguish  which  has 
so  long  silently  preyed  upon  the  heart,  is  divirted  for  an 
hour  \Wiile  torture  is' inflicted  upon  another;  and  the  woe  of 
the  soul,  which  might  not  express  itself  in  words,  or  hardly 
in  siirhs,  seems  to  be  vented  in  the  groans  of  a  victim. 

Su'ch  transitions  of  strong  and  turbid  emotions  from  one 
channel  to  another  are  not  very  unusual.  Few  sensitive 
minds  can  be  at  a  loss  in  recalling  analogous  instances  from 
the   pao-e  of  personal  history.     If  the  torrent  ot  feeling  is 


•  The  Romanists  can  have  no  more  right  to  boast  of  the  purity  of 
the  Calholic  clei-^v  of  Englaml,  or  to  appeal  to  the  manners  (coniess- 
edly  resnectable)  'or  English  priests,  as  a  fair  specimen  ot  the  sacer- 
dotal bodv,  than  modem  deists  have  to  take  a  parallel  ai  vimtage  ol 
the  mild  temper  and  irreproachable  character  ot  some  «bo  now  re- 
ject Chrislianilv.  To  juds;e  equitably  of  Ueism,  we  must  look  at  it 
where  it  has  received  no  correcting  influence  Irom  Clirisuanity. 
Popery  must  be  judsced  on  the  same  principle.  M  e  do  not  ask  what 
Romish  priests  are" when  surrounded  by  protestantism  ;  but  what 
where  the  system  develops  itself  without  restraint.  Most  readily 
and  cheerfully  is  it  gi-anted  that,  notwithstanding  the  crn.l  disad- 
vantages of  his  condition,  the  English  priest  is  ordinarily  correct  in 
behaviour,  and  etimable  as  a  member  of  society. 


•  It  were  better  to  sustain  in  patience  the  imputation  ol  adrancing 
exaggerated  statements,  and  of  giving  a  stronger  colour  to  an  argu- 
meia'tha.!  the  facts  of  the  case  would  juslily,  than  to  do  the  imin- 
iliated  reader  so  serious  an  iiijurv  as  to  bring  to  light  the  evidence 
that  bears  upon  this  question.  An  appeal  tlierelore  is  made  to 
whoever  has  actually  perused,  or  at  least  looked  11,10  llic  ascetic 
writers  from  Macarius,Ephraeni,  Felladius,and  Cassian  downwards 
to  those  of  tlie  twelfth  century.  On  the  ground  ot  the  cMdence 
which  might  from  those  sources  be  adduced,  a  general  result  may  be 
stated  under  three  heads — namely, 

1st  That  the  monastic  vow  and  the  life  of  celibacy  failed  to 
sKiCBE  THE  moFESsEn  OBJECT  of  the  institution  in  all  but  a  very 
few  insUmccs,  and  that  it  (//(/  not  promote  that  purity  ot  Uie  heart 
which  was  acknowledged  to  be  its  only  good  end. 

•'d  That  beside  the  evil  of  cutting  men  oh  from  the  common  en- 
joyments, duties,  and  sympathies  of  life,  the  work  of  nuimtauimg 
and  defending  their  chastity  (exterior  and  interior)  absorbed  almost 
the  whole  ei.?rgies  of  those  (a  very  few  excepted)  « ho  sincere  y 
laboured  at  it :— so  that  to  be  chaste,  in  tact  and  in  heart  w  as  pretty 
nearly  the  sum  of  what  the  monk  could  do,  even  wuh  the  aid  ot 
starvition,  excessive  bodily  tolls,  and  depletic  medicine— to  say 
nothing  of  his  prayers,  tears,  and  flagellations.  ,■  , 

Id  That  the  monastic  institulion,  even  dnring  its  earlier  ami 
better  era,  entailed  the  most  deplorable  miseries,  and  generated  the 
foulest  and  most  abominable  practices,  so  that,  for  every  veritable 
saint  which  the  monastery  cherished,  it  made  twenty  wretches,  whose 
moral  condition  was  in  the  last  degree  pitiable  or  loathsome. 

Now  shall  ^ve  leave  these  propositions  unsupported  by  prool  — or 
will  the  Romanist— the  pride  and  prop  of  whose  Church  is  monkery, 
challenge  us  to  make  good  our  allegations. 


392 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


choked  on  one  side,  it  swells  and  bursts  a  passage  in  another 
and  strange  as  it  may  seem — not  strange  perhaps  if  we  scru- 
tinize attentively  the  structure  of  the  passions,  it  is  a  (act  that 
the  gentle  and  genial  affections  have  a  specific  tendency 
when  cut  off  frum  their  natural  flow,  to  take  the  turn  of  ran- 
cour and  ferocity-  Tlie  spirit  baffled  in  its  first  desires  and 
defeated,  not  subdued,  suddenly  meets  a  new  excitement,  al- 
though altogctiier  of  a  different  order; — combines  with  tlie 
novel  element,  and  rushes  on,  it  knows  not  whither. 

Will  it  seem  paradoxical  to  affirm  that  some  of  the  most 
portentous  exhibitions  of  ungovernable  violence  that  have 
amazed  the  world,  or  have  been  signalized  in  histor)-,  have 
been  nothing  but  the  out-bursting  of  long  suppressed  passions 
of  some  other  kind  than  those  which  appear  1  We  venture 
to  say  that  certain  extreme  cases  of  religious  ferocity  might 
be  explained  (were  we  in  possession  of  the  secret  history  ot 
the  individuals)  on  this  principle :  and  then  would  be  cleared 
up  the  mystery  of  the  union  of  virtue  and  piety  (of  a  spuri- 
ous kind)  with  a  horrible  cruelty  of  temper.*  Could  we 
delve  in  some  spots  of  the  earth's  surface,  far  down  towards 
its  secret  caverns,  we  might  come  upon  the  laboratories  of 
nature,  where  chemical  agents  in  constant  turmoil  have,  age 
after  age,  convulsed  the  abyss — yet  unfelt  above.  Yes,  per- 
haps low  beneath  some  of  the  most  tranquil  and  smiling 
landscapes,  where  no  such  terror  has  been  ever  seen  or  sur- 
mised, furious  tempests  of  fire  are  continually  shaking  the 
infernal  vault.  But  in  a  moment,  b}'  the  heaving  of  the  cav- 
ern, a  new  element  rushes  down,  and  egress  too  is  made : — 
heat  tenfold  more  intense  than  before  is  suddenly  generated. 
The  very  bowels  of  the  world  swelter  and  are  molten : — the 
jagged  jaws  of  the  pit  are  sundered  ;  torrents  of  fire  rush  up, 
and  are  flung  to  the  clouds,  and  kingdoms  are  covered  with 
dismay. 

We  grant  at  once  that  our  comparison  in  appearance  goes 
beyond  the  occasion,  and  is  disproportioned  to  the  subject. — 
Let  it  then  be  condemned  as  inappropriate.  Nevertheless  the 
truth  remains  certain  that  the  mischiefs  occasioned  by  even 
the  most  dire  of  volcanic  eruptions  have  been  trivial,  if  eotn- 
jiared  with  the  sorrows,  and  pains,  and  devastations,  that 
have,  in  more  than  a  few  instances,  sprung  from  the  burning 
cavern  of  only  a  single  human  bosom.  What  is  the  descent 
of  a  river  of  lava  through  vineyards  and  olive  groves,  or  what 
the  overthrow  of  hamlets  and  the  burying  of  villages  or  cas- 
tles, compared  with  the  torments  and  imprisonments,  the 
conflagrations,  the  famines,  the  exterminating  wars,  and  the 
ages  of  national  degradation,  all  of  which  have  had  so  simple 
and  narrow  an  origin  as  the  fiery  malice  of  a  friar's  heart  ? 
Better  were  it,  incomparably  better  for  mankind,  that  a  new- 
volcano  should  heave  itself  from  the  abyss,  and  spout  sulphur 
in  the  centre  of  every  province  of  every  European  kingdom, 
than  that  Dominicians  and  Franciscans,  papal  legates  and 
Jesuits,  should  find  leave  to  repeat  the  massacres  and  execu- 
tions which  so  often  have  stained  the  soil  of  France,  and 
Spain,  and  Portugal,  and  Italy,  and  Germany,  and  Holland, 
and  England. 

There  is  yet  another,  and  a  very  different  order  of  men 
upon  whom  the  vow  of  celibacy  cannot  fail  to  produce  the 
most  pernicious  eflects.  We  mean  those  stern  natures  that 
are,  in  a  sense,  pure  and  clean,  but  not  so  much  by  poverty 
of  temperament,  as  by  hardness  of  mental  structure.  They 
are  not  cold  as  w-ater  but  cold  as  marble ;  not  solid  as  ice, 
but  solid  as  iron.  They  shed  no  tears,  and  have  no  power  of 
relenting,  because  there  are  no  humours  or  lymph  at  all  in 
their  constitutions.     Every  nerve  is  a  chord,  stretched  till  it 


*  Mr.  Butlei-  sti-enuously  denies  the  imputation  ordinarilj  cast 
upon  Guzman  (Sahit  Domhiic),  of  instigating  and  personally  enact- 
ing the  barbarities  of  tlie  Crusade  against  tlie  Albigenses.  It  is  pro- 
hablu  that  his  conduct  in  this  instance  was  in  harmony  with  that  of 
the  Cliurch  generally,  and  especially  of  his  spirituafprogeny — tlie 
Inquisitors,  who,  abliorring  to  soil  their  own  fingers  willi  lilood,  de- 
livered tlic  condemned  to  the  civil  power  to  discharge  tlie  last "  offices 
of  Mercy."  The  point  in  question  may  seem  of  iiifinitely  small  mo- 
ment. Nevertheless,  as  a  signal  and  unmatched  instance'  of  the  sort, 
the  character  of  the  Founder  of  tlic  Dominican  order  is  worthy  of 
the  labour  that  might  be  needed  to  set  it  clear  from  the  misrepresent- 
ations of  all  kinds,  which  cover  it.  The  author  hopes  to  be  able,  in 
a  luture  work,  to  give  the  result  of  an  examination  of  aulliorities 
touching  the  reputation  of  tliis  dread  personage.  We  find  modern 
Romanist  writers  far  more  discreet  and  cautious  on  points  of  this 
Kind  than  were  their  predecessors  of  the  sixteenth  centurv.  Thus 
while  the  x\ulhor  of  tlie  Lives  of  tlie  .Saints  takes  pains  to'  keep  the 
reputation  of  St  Dominic  clear  of  blood,  an  Italian  annalist,  speak- 
ing of  the  pontificate  of  Innocent  III.  plainly  says,  Nacque  allora 
I'eresia  di  Tolosa,  cbc  fu  da  S.  Domiiiico  amniorlat:t.  But  how  ex- 
tinguished '  not  until  fire  and  the  SMord  had  coincrled  the  finest 
countries  in  Kurope  into  a  « ilderness. 


vibrates,  and  which  will  sooner  snap  than  relax.  There  are 
born  a  few  men  {7ne?i,  for  they  have  bones  and  muscles — 
senses  and  bodily  organs)  and  especially  do  such  make  their 
appearance  under  the  wing  of  gloomy  superstitions,  who 
themselves  quite  exempt,  as  well  from  animal  appetites  as 
from  social  affections,  and  unconscious  of  the  soft  alternations 
of  hope  and  fear,  grief  and  joy,  look  with  grim  contempt  up- 
on humanity  ; — even  as  man  may  look  upon  the  most  ignoble 
of  the  brutal  orders. 

The  state  of  celibacy,  which  cost  such  men  no  struggle,  they 
will  esteem  their  glory,  as  being  a  fit  outward  sign  of  the  in- 
trinsic dignity  which  lifts  them  above  their  fellows.  Celib- 
acy to  such  is  but  a  visible  seal  of  spiritual  supremacy — a 
scutcheon  of  nobility  in  the  kingdom  of  heaven.  Conscious  of 
immaculate  and  unalterable  personal  sanctity  (if  continence 
be  sanctity)  and  conscious  of  a  sort  of  ecstatic  indifference 
under  the  voluntary  pains  of  penance — floggings,  fastings, 
and  vigils,  how  can  they  doubt  themselves  to  have  reached 
the  utmost  summit  of  virtue  1  Their  virtue,  is  it  not  seraphic, 
rather  than  human!  What  can  sully  such  excellence! — as 
easily  slur  the  bright  sky  of  noon,  as  contaminate  a  piety  so 
celestial  !* 

Yes,  but  of  all  the  preparations  for  atrocious  crime,  none 
is  more  ominous  or  complete  than  a  presumption  of  possess- 
ing superhuman  virtue.  Sanctity  of  this  heroic  and  immortal 
order  may  dip  its  hands  in  blood  and  fear  no  stain!  Illusions 
such  as  these,  egregious  as  they  may  seem,  are  not  foreign 
to  the  human  mind.  The  holy  arrogance  of  the  soul,  so  long 
as  it  can  be  held  entire,  is  a  warrant  that  will  cover  all  ex- 
tents of  guilt.  There  is  no  murder  in  murder,  no  falseness 
in  perjury,  no  sin  in  any  sin,  if  hut  the  perpetrator  is  inflate 
with  the  persuasion  of  himself  being  a  demigod  in  goodness. 
No  self-deception  so  extreme  can  be  maintained  by  men  who 
walk  along  with  others  upon  the  vulgar  level  of  human  in- 
terests ;  whoever  would  be  mad  at  this  rate,  assuredly  must 
not  be  citizen,  neighbour,  husband,  or  father;  for  the  duties 
and  offices  of  these  relations  teach  even  the  most  preposterous 
minds  some  common  sense.  It  is  celibacy  and  the  cell  that 
skreen  the  infatuation,  and  that  foment  it.f 

Surrounded  as  we  are  in  the  present  day,  happily,  by  cir- 
cumstances altogether  of  another  sort,  noihiiig  less  than  a 
vigorous  and  continued  effort  of  the  imagination  can  enable 
us  to  follow  those  links  of  transition  by  which,  so  often,  the 
stern  ascetic,  whose  devout  meditations  we  may  even  now 
peruse  with  pleasure  and  advantage,  has  passed  to  the  fer- 
vours of  a  truculent  zeal.  These  links  are  fewer  than  at  first 
we  may  think.  Let  any  one  conceive  himself  to  have  laid 
down,  as  he  may  put  off  a  garment,  every  social  affection, 
remote  and  intimate,  and  to  have  thrown  off  every  sympathy 


*  It  is  surely  more  than  a  mere  coincidence  that  tlie  very  age  in 
which  the  folly  of  conferring  celestial  titles  upon  illusli'ious  church- 
men reached  its  height,  was  the  era  also  wherein  the  execralile  in- 
tolerance of  the  papacy  burst  forth  w  ith  the  greatest  fury.  A\  hile 
torrents  of  blood  were  flo«  ing  in  the  east  and  the  v  est,  at  the  insti- 
gation of  spiritual  heroes,  the  interior  of  the  Church  blazed  witli  tlie 
superhuman  virtues  of  axgelical  doctors,  and  seraphic  doctors — 
and  so  forth.  Yes,  and  at  the  very  moment  that  the  duty  of  the 
civil  power  to  aid  the  Church  in  the  extermination  of  heretics  and 
infidels  was  loudly  preached,  the  fervours  of  the  saints  were  reaching 
such  a  pitch  (if  we  are  to  credit  their  devoted  biographers)  as  often 
to  lift  them  while  in  prayer  many  feet  from  the  ground.  "F.  Leo, 
the  secretary  of  St.  Francis  (of  Assisi),  and  his  confessor,  testified 
that  he  had  seen  him  in  prayer  raised  above  the  ground  so  high,  that 
his  disciple  could  only  touch  his  feet,  which  he  held  and  watered 
with  his  tears;  and  that  sometimes  he  saw  him  raised  much  higher." 
Lives  of  tlie  Saints,  October  4.  It  was  in  one  of  these  elevations  that 
the  saint  received  those  far-famed  stigmas  of  which  his  order  have 
so  much  boasted — unless  indeed  we  listen  to  the  story  wliich  affirms 
that  St-  Francis  and  .St.  Dominic,  while  together  at  Rome,  fell  out, 
and  actually  proceeded  to  blows  ;  when  the  latter  seizing  a  spit,  in- 
fiieted  some  severe  wounds  upon  his  unarmed  friend.  This  story 
perhaps  should  be  regarded  as  an  allegory,  intended  to  prefigure 
the  hot  animosities  that  afterv\ards  prevailed  between  the  ghostly 
progeny  of  the  t»  o  Founders.  It  is  remarkable  that,  besides  other 
"  bones  of  contention,"  these  very  stigmas  became  the  subject  of  a 
fierce  warfare  between  the  rival  orders;  the  Dominicans  having  the 
audacitii-  to  claim  for  their  founder  the  very  lionour  « liich  the  Fran- 
ciscans had  long  thought  their  own  without  dispute.  But  we  have 
wandered  from  our  purpose,  and  return  to  it  to  remind  tlie  reader 
that,  at  the  very  lime  when  tlie  miraculous  wound  in  the  (right)  side 
of  St.  Francis  was  oozing  gore  in  attestation  of  his  seraphic  pietv', 
the  soil  of  Languedoc  was  soaking  in  the  blood  of  the  luckless  in- 
habitants— blood  shed  at  the  instigation,  or  imder  tlie  eyes,  of  these 
same  superhuman  saints. 

+  There  are  exceptions.  Simon  de  Montfort  was  bred  not  in  the 
cell  but  the  camii;  and  although,  as  Mr.  Butler  assures  us,  "  his  zeal 
and  piety  equalled  him  to  tlie  apostolic  men  ;"  vet  had  he  acquired 
it  all  in  Uie  open  world. 


FANATICISM. 


393 


with  what  animatps  the  open  world,  and  to  be  mulct  at  once 
of  manhood  and  humanity,  and  with  a  sort  of  desperate  apa- 
thy to  look  down  upon  the  theatre  of  life.  Add  to  this  sup- 
position the  heats  of  a  turgid  piety,  and  then  ask  whether 
much  would  be  wanting  to  open  the  way  to  cruel  or  vindic- 
tive desires. 

Or  let  any  one  entertain  another  supposition — as  for  exam- 
ple, that  beinor  arraicrned  on  the  indistinct  ground  of  some 
political  offence,  in  relation  to  which  prejudice  and  passion 
irave  much  scope,  he  stood  at  the  bar,  and  saw  his  jury  to 
consist  of  a  dozen  cowled  anchorets,  just  summoned  from 
their  dens  of  morose  meditation.  \Yho  would  indulge  a  hope 
of  receiving  justice  from  such  a  band^  Aye,  would  not  a 
man  shudder  were  he  to  descry  only  one  such  being  among 
the  twelve;  and  must  he  not  believe  that  the  pertinacious 
rancour  of  that  one  would  eflect  his  destruction? 

Shall  we  pass  from  the  light  and  air  of  an  English  court, 
to  some  pestilent  cavern  of  the  Holy  Officci — an  atmos- 
phere in  which  Justice  has  never  borne  to  remain  even  an 
hour,  and  in  which  Mercy  never  spoke.*  The  reverend  as- 
sessors, with  their  obsequious  ministers — tools  in  hand,  are, 
we  will  imagine,  drawn  in  even  proportions  from  the  three 
classes  just  specified.  To  the  right  and  left  sit  those  of  the 
first  sort — the  luuliers  on,  whose  vote  for  the  use  of  the  rack 
and  pully  has  often  had  a  motive  more  detestable  than  even 
the  most  horrid  malice,  and  who  hasten  the  consent  of  the 
court  to  a  fatal  sentence  that  they  may  save  the  hour  of  some 
adulterous  appointment.  Next  are  those  of  our  second  class, 
in  whose  bosoms  mingled  passions,  and  alternate  irrecon- 
cilable desires,  are  beating  like  the  waves  of  a  tempest- 
troubled  sea.  To  them  is  not  tliis  very  hour  of  gloomy  ser- 
vice the  season  toward  which  lumultuous  emotions  have  lonor 
been  tending,  as  the  time  when  they  should  get  vent?  It  is 
then  that  the  grinding  torments  of  wounded  pride  or  despair 
are  to  relax  awhile;  as  if  the  culprit  (Jew,  or  Moor,  or  her- 
etic) who  is  to  groan  his  hour  upon  the  wheel,  were  to  take 
up  as  substitute  the  anguish  that  grasps  the  heart  of  his  judge. 
Nay,  we  do  not  carry  imagination  too  far; — it  belongs  to 
human  nature  thus  to  feel; — the  sight,  and  even  the  infliction 
of  extreme  suflTering,  loosens  for  a  moment  the  gripe  of  inter- 
nal distress.  The  vulture  of  remorse  or  revenge  ibrgets  his 
part  to  glare  upon  other  agonies,  and  rests  appeased  in  listen- 
ing to  another's  sighs. 

But  what  say  we  of  the  President  of  the  Court?  to  him 
we  must  allow  the  praise  of  loftier  motives.  Not  since  sun- 
set of  yesterday  has  he  tasted  bread,  or  moistened  his  shriv- 
elled, bloodless  lip.  Watching  and  prayer,  though  they 
have  not  spent  him,  have  wrought  up  the  chroiiic  fever  of 
his  pulse  to  a  tremulous  height,  that  almost  reaches  delirium. 
Yet  settled  and  calm  is  his  front,  and  his  eye  glazed: — the 
spirit,  how  is  it  abstracted  from  mortal  connexions !  human 
sympathies  are  as  remote  from  his  soul  as  are  the  warratli, 
the  fruits,  and  the  pleasures  of  a  sultry  Syrian  glen,  from  the 
glaciers  and  snow  that  encrust  the  summits  of  Lebanon. 
The  communion  of  the  soul  is  with  the  things  of  another 
world. — Alas  I  not  the  world  of  love  and  joy,  but  the  gulph 
of  misery  !  In  every  sense,  immediate  and  figurative,  this 
terrible  personage  is  son  and  minister  of  hell.  And  now  he 
comes  from  his  cell  to  his  chair  that  he  may  again  realize,  in 
a  palpable,  visible,  and  andible  form,  those  conceptions  of 
pain,  horror,  revenge,  perdition,  upon  which  the  monotonous 


meditations  of  his  cloister  are  employed.  The  dark  ideas 
that  haunt  his  imagination,  nisht  and  day,  stoop  the  wing 
to  this  hour,  in  which  the  implements  of  anguish  are  to 
bring  forth  shrieks  and  groans,  such  as  shall  irive  new  vivid- 
ness to  the  fading  impressions  of  misery  which  he  delights  to 
revolve. 

Idle,  ah  how  idle  is  the  hope  entertained  by  the  cold  and 
shuddering  culprit,  when,  as  brought  up  from  his  dungeon, 
he  rapidly  peruses  each  reverend  visage  in  expectation  of 
descrying  on  one,  or  upon  another,  the  traces  of  reason  and 
mercy  ! — Alas,  it  is  for  this  very  purpose,  and  no  other,  it  is 
to  sigh,  to  shrink,  to  writhe,  to  shriek,  that  he  has  been  drag- 
ged to  the  dim  chamber  of  the  Holy  Olfice : — he  stands 
where  he  stands,  because  the  men  who  sit  to  mock  him  with 
forms  of  law,  have  need  (each  in  a  special  manner)  of  the 
spectacle  of  his  misery. 

Does  the  history  of  popish  tyranny  bear  out,  or  does  it 
refute  our  descriptions  ? — let  them  stand  or  be  condemned  by 
an  appeal  to  records  that  are  open  to  every  eye. 

We  have  not  however  quite  done  with  the  heavy  theme  of 
that  preparation  which  the  Romish  Church  has  made  for 
training  her  ministers  to  become  the  scourges  of  humanity : 
and  let  it  be  remembered,  as  we  proceed,  that  a  just  horror 
of  the  system  should  generate  so  much  the  more  pity  for  the 
agents,  even  with  all  their  loathsome  vices  and  cruelties, 
who,  age  after  age,  have  undergone  its  influence.  The  doc- 
trine and  the  Institute  we  execrate: — for  the  men  we  mourn. 

It  might  well  seem  as  if  circumstances  so  unfavourable  to 
virtue  and  goodness  as  those  we  have  already  mentioned 
could  hardly  admit  aggravation.  But  in  fact  they  have  a 
climax.  The  practice  of  auricular  confession  would  entail  a 
thousand  evils  and  dangers  upon  the  parties  concerned,  even 
apart  from  the  unnatural  condition  to  which  one  of  these 
parties  has  been  reduced.  But  what  must  we  tliiidc  of  auric- 
ular confession  when  he  into  whose  prurient  ear  it  is  poured 
lives  under  the  irritation  of  avow  of  virginity  !  The  wretched 
being  within  whose  bosom  distorted  passions  are  rankling, 
is  called  daily  to  listen  to  tales  of  licentiousness  from  his 
own  sex  (if  indeed  the  ambiguous  personage  has  a  sex)  and 
infinitely  worse — to  the  reluctant  or  shameless  disclosures 
of  the  other.  Let  the  female  penitent  be  of  what  class  she 
may,  simple  hearted  or  lax,  the  repetition  of  her  dishonour, 
while  it  must  seal  the  moral  mischief  of  the  offence  upon 
herself,  even  if  the  auditor  were  a  woman,  enhances  it  be- 
yond measure  when  the  instincts  of  nature  arc  violated  by 
making  the  recital  to  a  man.  But  shall  we  imagine  the 
effect  upon  the  sentiments  of  him  who  receives  the  confess- 
ion? Each  sinner  makes  but  one  confession  in  a  given 
time,  but  each  priest  in  the  same  space  listens  to  a  hundred  ! 
\\  hat  then,  after  a  while,  must  that  receptacle  become  into 
which  the  continual  droppings  of  all  the  debauchery  of  a 
parish  are  falling,  and  through  which  the  copious  abomina- 
tion filters  ?* 


*  The  author  will  lie  thought  to  have  forgotten  that  the  gieat 
Ximencs  de  Cisiieros  ]>residcd  eleven  years  in  the  court  of  the  IiH|ui- 
s'.tioii.  Did  then  neitlier  Justice  nor  Alercy  accomiiany  tlic  carduial 
in  his  descents  to  tlic  vaults  of  the  Holy  Oflice'  Yes,  the  Justice 
and  llic  Mercy  of  the  Komisli  Cliurcli  went  with  liini  there,  liy 
what  rule  are  we  to  Uiiiik  of  men — tliut  of  their  professions,  or  that 
of  their  de;'<ls  '  IJurii.g  the  iiiiiuisitor-generalship  of  Xinienes,  fift\- 
thousand  Moors,  under  terror  of  ileatli  and  tortui-e,  received  the 
grace  of  baptism;  w  iiile  more  than  an  equal  number  of  the  refractory 
were  condemned.  Of  lliese,  two  lliousand  five  lunulred  antl  tliirly- 
six  he  burned  alive.  Or,  supposing  the  whole  number  to  have  been 
evenly  distributed  through  llie  period  of  his  presidentship,  it  will 
appear  tlial  between  Sunday  and  Sunday  of  every  week  of  those 
vears  he  conmiitted  (to  reject  the  odd  two  hundred  and  fortv-eiglit) 
four  n\eh  or  women  to  the  flames!  Let  it  lie  affirmed  that,  in  the 
"  New  Regulations,"  some  i-egard  was  ])aid  to  the  rights  of  the  ac- 
cused; yet  was  the  entire  process  a  horrible  snare,  so  contrived  as  to 
render  the  escape  of  the  \ictim  almost  impossible.  Besides,  is  not 
reason  insulted  by  talking  at  all  of  the  justice  of  the  ilclails  of  a 
judicial  process,  the  object  of  w  hich  was  to  maintain  an  execrable 
usurpation*  M'e  may  moui-n  indeed  that  a  mind  of  fine  qvialitv 
should  be  founil  in  company  with  a  I'orcpiemad:!;  but  we  must  not 
so  outrage  the  great  principles  ol'  virtue  as,  on  account  of  talents  or 
accomplishments,  to  skreen  one  murderer  of  tlionsands,  while  w-e 
consign  another  to  infamy. 

Vol.  II.— 2  Z  ' 


*  Neither  the  oath  of  secrecy,  nor  tlic  penalty  w  hich.  sanctions  it, 
has  prevented  the  disclosure  of  more  than  enough  of  tlie  abomina- 
tions of  the  confessional.  The  discreet  and  well-informed  Uomanisl 
will  not  challenge  evidence  in  justification  of  the  strong  language 
which  the  Author  uses  on  the  subject :  the  liomanist,  we  presimie, 
does  not  need  to  have  certain  notorious  books  named  to  him  in  w  hich, 
with  astounding  insensibility,  the  Confessarins  has  diMilged  the  mys- 
teries of  hisart.  Of  one  of  these  infamous  books  a  respecl^ible  Komish 
w  ritcr  s;iys,  Ce  prodigieux  volume  contient  un  examin  tres  subtil  de 
toules  les  impurities  imaginables  ;  c'estun  CLOAQUE,  qui  renfernie 
des  choses  horribles,  et  qu'on  n'oseroit  dire.  On  I'appelle  avec 
justice  un  ouvrage  honleux,  compose  avec  nn  cnriosite  enorme, 
horrible  et  odieiLX  par  la  diligence  et  I'exactitude  qui  y  regne,  apene- 
trer  dans  des  choses  monstreuses,  sales,  infames,  et  diaboliques.  II 
est  impossible  de  comprendre  comment  un  Aulheur  pent  avoir  re- 
iioiice  a  la  pudeur  jnsqu'a  ])unvoir  escrire  un  tel  livre,  puis  qu'au- 
jourd'jiuy  un  liomme  qui  n'a  pas  desponille  toute  honte  p;itit  eflioy- 
jiblement  en  le  lisaiit.  .\nd  again  spe:iking  of  the  s:ime  w  riter,  .... 
jirodigioso  volumine,  velut  Cloaca  ingenti,  fanda  infaudaquc  con- 
%oIvit. 

The  Church  rigorously  enjoins  the  faithful,  as  they  woidd  escape 
perdition,  to  make  the  most  intimate  and  circitmstantiul  disclosures  of 
their  guilt,  without  which,  it  says,  the  "sacred  physician  caimot  be 
qualified  to  apply  the  jtroper  remedy."  And  wc  are  not  left  in  doubt 
as  to  tlic  result.  Constat  enim,  says  the  Council  of  Trent,  sacerdotes 
judicium  hoc,  incognita  causa,  exercere  non  pottiisse,  nee  a'quitatem 
quidem,  illos  in  pa-nis  injungendis  servare  potuisse,  si  in  ^enere  ilnm- 
taxat,  et  non  potius  in  specie,  ac  sigilhitim,  sua  ijisi  pcccata  decla- 

rassent Without  the  most  unreserved  confession,  say  these 

doctors,  there  is  no  hope  of  remission — qui  secus  faciunt  et  scienter 
aliqua  retinent,  nihil  divintc  bonitati  per  sacerdotem  remittcndum 
proponunt.  Kor  was  it  enough  to  disclose  the  mere  facfs  of  gui!* ; 
the  Church  must  know  till  cireuwattwtiah ;  Colligitur  prajterea,  eliam 
ens    circunistantias   in   coiifessione   explicandas   esse,    f/tiix   sfjceiem 


394 


CHRISTIAN     LIBRARY. 


It  is  hard  to  suppose  that  the  Romish  Church,  in  constitut- 
ing her  liierarchy,  had  wittingly  kept  in  view  tlie  purpose  of 
rendering  her  clergy  the  lit  instruments  of  -whatever  atrocity 
her  occasions  migTit  demand  them  to  perpetrate ;  and  so  had 
brought  to  bear  upon  their  hearts  every  possible  power  of  cor- 
ruption. Not  content  with  cashiering  them  of  all  sanatory 
domestic  influences,  she  has  by  the  practice  of  confession, 
made  the  full  stream  of  human  crime  and  corruption  to  pass — 
foul  and  infectious,  through  their  bosoms  !  Having  to  con- 
struct at  discretion  the  polity  of  the  nations,  the  Romish  arch- 
itects have  so  planned  it,  as  that  the  sacerdotal  order  should 
constitute  the  Cluacce  of  the  social  edifice  ;  and  thus  have 
secured  for  Rome  the  honour  of  being,  through  these  chan- 
nels, the  great  Stercorary  of  the  world ;  How  fitly  in  the 
lano-uage  of  prophetic  vision  is  the  apostate  church  desig- 
nated— sitting  as  she  does  at  the  centre  of  the  common  drain- 
age of  Europe — as  the  Mother  of  abominations,  and  as  hold- 
ing forth  in  shameless  arrogance,  the  cup  of  the  filthiness  of 
her  fornications ! 

The  Church  of  Rome  is  without  doubt  entitled  to  the  pre- 
eminence we  have  given  her  as  the  Nurse  of  sanguinary 
fanaticism. — Her.  doctrine  begets  cruelty  ; — her  polity  de- 
mands it; — and  her  clerical  institute  trains  her  ministers  to 
the  service  she  has  need  of.  And  that  which  the  theory  of 
this  superstition  would  lead  us  to  expect,  history  declares  to 


peccati  mutant. — See  tlie  fifth  chapter  of  tlie  decrees  of  tlie  Council 
of  Trent. 

The  sacrament  of  confession,  when  it  came  to  be  tlius  explained 
and  enjoined,  naturally  drew  in  upon  the  Cliuith,  in  tenfold  (luantity, 
tlie  inipui'ilics  of  licentious  times.  Heretofore,  tliose  cliiefly  had 
come  to  the  priest  who  possessed  some  conscience  and  virtue,  and 
■whose  disclosures  -were  of  a  less  flagrant  sort.  But  afterwards,  that 
is  to  say  from  the  eleventh  and  twelfth  centuries,  the  custom  of 
confession  became  universal ;  and  the  most  abandoned  of  men  (and 
women)  retained  superstition  enough  to  desire  absolution  and  to  seek 
it  in  this  mamier  from  the  priest. — Accordingly  we  find  from  tliis 
time  abundant  indications  of  the  bad  proficiency  which  tlie  clergy 
made  in  the  knowledge  of  every  horrible  enormity.  On  this  point 
it  might  be  enough  to  refer  to  the  writings  of  Albert,  bishop  of 
Katisbon — if  a  book  v\hich  bears  his  name  has  not  unjustly  been 
attributed  to  him.  But  even  long  before  the  time  when  the  Sewehs  of 
the  Church  were  thus  deepened  and  widened,  it  is  clear  from  abundant 
evidence  that  tlie  practice  of  receiving  private  confessions  had  had 
jji'cat  influence  in  depraving,  both  the  secular  and  regular  clergy,  and 
in  spreading  on  all  sides  a  shameless  and  boundless  licentiousness. 
It  would  be  very  easy,  could  it  be  done  without  offending  the  just 
rules  of  propriety,  to  put  tliis  matter  beyond  dispute.  Little  more 
than  the  reputation  and  the  conceit  of  sanctity  could  be  left  to  men 
who,  being  themselves  bound  to  single  life  (we  must  not  call  it 
chastity)  were  able  to  write  what  some  noted  fathers  of  the  Church 
have  vvritten  on  oft'ensive  subjects.  This  sort  of  learning  tliuy 
frankly  acknowledged  themselves  to  have  acquired  at  flrst  or  second 

hand  from  penitents U  TrfU  ty-i  t;c  Ti^k  a-iSia-iiuetv  x«i  Trohia  kv 

ySia  ^raxajoc  linif,  t*ii/xs\o}»3-a/.tEi'»c  Trfh  'jdj'^t.l  yufJ.lx.ot,  aTi^biy^nTo 
nor  is  this  a  .solitary  instance  in  tlie  same  Father  (as  well  un- 
named). The  I'eplies  given  by  Basil  to  his  monks  on  certain  points 
of  discretion,  sufficiently  attest  the  evils  involved  in  the  practice,  even 
in  its  infant  state  ;  who,  by  the  way,  goes  all  tlie  lengtli  of  the  Coun- 
cil of  Trent  in  demanding  (from  tlie  monks  at  least)  a  discovery  of 
even  "  tlie  lightest  movements  of  the  soul,"  and  of  "  every  secret  of 
the  heart ;"  and  by  means  of  an  apt  illustration  persuades  them  to  a 
throwing  forth  from  the  inner  man,  whatever  is  noxious.  Some  of 
the  interrogations  addressed  to  Basil,  and  relating  to  confession,  are 
highly  significant ;  but  they  must  be  remitted  to  a  more  fit  occasion. 

How  far,  in  the  actual  practice  of  the  Uoniish  Church,  regard  w  as 
paid  to  the  temperament  and  character  of  tlie  man,  in  appointing  tlie 
confessarius,  it  is  not  easy  to  learn.  But  great  care  has  been  taken 
to  prevent  any  but  those  ibdy  appointed,  from  receiving  confessions  ; 
and  a  cure  also  to  prevent  promiscuous  confession.  A  priest  leaving 
his  care,  or  disabled  by  sickness  from  the  discharges  of  his  duties, 
named  a  substitute,  to  whom  alone  his  penitents  might  unburden 
their  consciences.  Among  the  many  instances  tliat  niigiit  be  ad- 
duced in  illustration  of  the  rule,  a  somewhat  curious  one  occurs  in 
the  minutes  of  the  trial  of  the  luckless  Joan  of  Arc. — Intcrroguce 
si  elle  se  confessoit  tons  les  ans,  dit  qu'ouy  a  son  propre  cure,  et  s"il 
estoit  empesche  elle  se  confessoit  a  un  autre  prcbstre,  par  le  conge 
dudict  cure;  nevertheless,  and  although  the  heroine  could  prove 
qu'elle  recevoit  le  corps  de  nostre  Seigneur  tons  les  ans  a  Pasques. 
she  was,  by  her  ferocious  and  hyprocritical  judges,  condamnee  a  estre 
arse  et  bruslce,  not  for  having  fought  in  the  cause  of  her  country, 
but — comrae  herctique. — I.'Hisloire  et  Cromqne  de  J\l'ormandis. 

We  return  for  a  moment  to  the  influence  of  auricular  confession 
upon  the  Priest,  and  conclude  tliis  note  in  the  words  of  Bayle 
II  arrive  a  ces  Critiques  (upon  Catullus  and  Martial)  ce  qui  arrive 
aux  Mcdecins  et  aux  Chirurgiens,  qui  a  force  de  manier  desulcercs, 
et  de  se  trouver  exposez  a  de  mauvaises  odeurs,  se  font  une  habitude 
de  n'en  etre  point  incommode?..  Dieu  veuiUe  que  les  Confesseurs 
et  les  Casuistes,  dont  les  orcilles  sont  PEgoct  de  toutes  les  im- 
mondices  de  le  vie  humaine,  se  piissent  vanler  d'un  tel  endurcisse- 
meiit.  11  n'y  en  a  que  trop  sans  doute  qui  n'y  parvieiinent  jamais, 
et  dont  la  vertn  fait  nanfrage  a  Pouie  ties  dereglemens  de  leurs 
penitents. 


have  had  actual  existence.  There  is  no  other  volume  of  hu- 
man alVairs  that  can  for  the  abundance  of  execrable  acts,  come 
into  comparison  with  the  story  of  the  papal  tyranny. — If  the 
Theorv  only  of  this  system  should  go  down  to  posterity,  and 
its  History  be  lost,  no  credit  would  be  given  to  the  affirma- 
tion that  a  scheme  so  unnatural  had  ever  found  a  place  in  the 
W'orld ;  much  less  that  it  had  maintained  its  influence  over 
civilized  nations  during  a  longer  course  of  ages  than  could  he 
boasted  by  the  firmest  and  most  extensive  secular  monarchies. 
Or  if  the  History  of  the  Romish  Church  were  to  descend  to 
distant  times,  and  the  theory  of  the  system  be  forgotten,  then 
must  it  certainly  be  thought  that,  during  the  thousand  years, 
or  more,  of  its  unbroken  power,  a  licence  extraordinary  had 
been  granted  to  infernal  malignants  to  usurp  human  forms, 
and  to  invade  earth  with  the  practices  of  hell ;  or  that  the 
world  from  the  seventh  to  the  seventeenth  century,  had  suf- 
fered a  dark  Millennium  of  diabolic  possession. 

But  while  we  have  outspread  before  us,  at  once  the  theory 
and  the  history  of  Popery,  we  are  able,  by  using  the  latter  as 
a  comment  upon  the  former,  and  the  former  as  a  key  to  the 
latter,  to  reconcile  those  notions  of  human  nature  and  Divine 
Providence  which  we  must  devoutly  cling  to,  with  the  hide- 
ous facts  that  admit,  alas,  of  no  dispute.  The  lesson  we 
gain  from  such  a  digest  is  this — and  one  of  more  moment  can 
hardly  be  found — That  human  nature,  plastic  as  it  is,  and 
susceptible  of  all  influences,  may,  by  long  exposure  to  the 
operation  of  a  pernicious  code,  an  immoral  institute,  and  a 
despotic  polity,  become  atrocious  in  a  degree  that  confounds 
every  distinction,  between  human  and  diabolical  wickedness. 
If  then,  in  any  measure,  we  have  gained  advantage  over  such 
a  system,  and  are  actually  driving  it  further  and  further  towards 
the  skirts  of  civilization,  with  how  keen  a  jealousy  should  we 
look — not  so  much  to  the  expiring  remains  of  that  same  sys- 
tem, near  us,  as  to  those  deep  principles  of  ghostly  usurpa- 
tion which  are  very  far  frotn  having  been  utterly  crushed 
and  destroyed,  even  in  the  freest  of  the  European  communities. 

Yet  in  the  heat  of  our  indignation,  let  justice  he  done  to 
Rome.  This  justice  makes  a  demand  upon  us  under  several 
heads.     The  topics  are  trite,  but  must  not  here  be  omitted. 

I.  The  specific  guilt  of  the  Papal  tyranny  is  that  of  having 
converted  to  the  purposes  of  its  spiritual  usurpation  those  con- 
genial corruptions  of  faith  and  practice  which  it  found  in 
readiness,  and  which  it  received  from  a  higher  age,  recom- 
mended by  the  unanimous  approval  of  Saints,  Doctors,  and 
illustrious  Writers.  But  neither  popes,  nor  cardinals,  nor 
councils,  can  fairly  be  accused,  except  in  some  single  and 
less  important  instances,  of  originating  (as  if  with  malign 
ingenuity)  the  elements  of  the  despotism  which  they  adminis- 
tered. This  main  point  of  Church  history  has  been  too 
much  obscured  by  Protestant  controversialists. 

II.  At  once  as  a  relief  to  the  sad  impression  of  human  na- 
ture made  by  the  history  of  popery,  and  as  a  tribute  too  to  the 
mighty  efficacy  of  Christianity,  even  when  most  corrupted, 
we  have  to  keep  in  view  the  actual  amount  of  virtue,  human- 
ity, piety — and  the  learning,  the  intelligence,  and  the  bright 
excellence  of  every  name,  which  has  existed  in  all  ages  un- 
der the  Papacy.  Let  us  call  this  amount  large — and  indeed 
it  is  so : — assuredly  the  proofs  of  its  extent  would  not  soon 
be  exhausted.  We  denounce  the  Romish  doctrine  and  polity, 
not  on  the  charge  that  it  excludes  all  religion  and  all  virtue; 
or  that  it  renders  the  ivliole  of  its  hierarchical  body  as  corrupt 
as  it  renders  many  ;  but  only  on  this  ground,  that  it  generates 
a  species  of  ferocity  more  malign  than  any  other  system  has 
produced,  and  that  it  never  fails  to  liave  at  its  service  a  for- 
midable number  of  inhuman  beings,  who  want  nothing  but 
occasion  to  cover  kingdoms  with  sorrow  and  blood. 

III.  Yet  the  main  article  of  the  measure  of  equity  which 
should  be  rendered  to  the  Church  of  Rome  is  this — That  even 
if  unrivalled  in  cruelty,  she  is  not  alone  in  it;  but  has  been,  if 
not  eclipsed,  worthily  followed  by  each  oflset  Church,  and 
by  almost  every  Dissident  community.* —  Those  that  have 
gone  olT  to  the  remotest  point  of  doctrine  and  polity — whose 
rule  of  belief  and  duty  has  been — in  every  article,  the  antithe- 
sis of  Rome,  and  those  too  that  have  filled  the  interval  at 
every  distance  from  the  extremes; — all  have  wrought,  in 
their  day,  the  engine  of  spiritual  oppression;  all  have  shown 
themselves,  in  the  hour  of  their  pride,  intolerant  and  merci- 
less; and  all  should  look  with  shame  to  their  several  histo- 
ries : — while  the  Church  of  Rome  looks,  or  might  look,  to 
hers  with  horror. 


*  It  would  be  an  injustice  not  to  say  that  the  Quakers  are  clear  of 
this  guilt,  and  to  their  many  peculiar  nurils,  add  tlic  praise  of  being, 
not  only  as  wise  as  serpents — but  harmless  as  do\cs. 


FANATICISM. 


395 


If  nations,  churches,  and  communilies,  as  well  as  individ- 
uals, have  a  future  retribution  to  fear;  then  has  almost  every 
existing  religious  body  a  just  cause  of  alarm.  If  a  day  is  to 
come  when  the  Righteous  Administrator  of  human  affairs, 
and  Head  of  the  Church,  is  to  make  manifest  his  detestation 
of  ecclesiastical  bloodshed  and  torments,  shall  the  Church  of 
Rome  stand  alone  at  the  bar,  or  have  no  companions  in  pun- 
ishment? Ought  we  not  to  think  more  worthily  of  the  Jus- 
tice of  Heaven  than  to  suppose  it? 

Leaving  so  high  a  theme,  let  the  general  inference  be  fully 
and  clearly  drawn — That  gloomy  doctrines  and  pernicious 
schemes  of  polity  are  therefore  to  be  execrated,  because,  even 
without  them,  or  where  ever}'  influence  is  the  most  favoura- 
ble, human  nature  scarcely  avoids  abusing  the  profound  ex- 
citements of  religion  as  the  incentives  or  the  pretexts  of  its 
malignant  passions. 


SECTION  vn. 


FANATICISM  OF  THE  BANNER. 


In  escaping  from  the  Consistory  to  the  Camp,  we  seem  to 
bri'athe  again.  Without  staying  to  inquire  whether  the  great- 
er sum  of  positive  evil  has  been  inflicted  upon  mankind  by 
the  fanatical  priest  or  the  fanatical  soldier,  it  is  certain  that 
the  sentiments  with  which  we  contemplate  the  one  course  of 
action  are  vastly  less  oppressive  than  those  excited  by  the 
other. 

Let  but  the  energies  of  men  be  spent  upon  a  broad  field 
and  under  tlie  open  sky ;  and  let  them  but  have  to  do  with 
interests  not  of  one  kind  only,  but  of  many;  and  let  but  their 
motives  of  action  embrace  the  principal  impulses  of  our  na- 
ture, and  especially,  let  those  who  run  such  a  course  freely 
expose  themselves  to  the  perils  and  sufferings  of  the  enter 
prise,  and  then  it  will  always  happen  that  admirable  talents 
and  fine  qualities  find  play ; — talents  and  qualities  such  as 
are  neither  seen  nor  thought  of  within  the  shades  of  sacred 
seclusions,  or  in  ecclesiastical  halls. 

None  but  minds  imbued  with  the  darkest  fanaticism  can 
feel  any  complacent  sympathy  with  the  character  and  deeds 
of  sacerdotal  despots  ;  on  the  other  hand  there  are  few  minds 
so  frigid,  or  so  pure,  as  not  to  kindle  in  following  the  story 
of  exploits  which  (criminal  as  they  may  have  been  in  their 
object  and  issue)  yet  sparkle  with  rare  instances  of  valour, 
and  are  graced  with  the  choicest  examples  of  fortitude,  mer- 
cy, and  magnanimous  contempt  of  selfish  interests. 

And  besides ;  there  is  this  capital  disparity  between  the 
fanaticism  of  the  Churchman  and  that  of  the  Soldier — that 
while  the  oppressions  and  cruelties  practised  by  the  former 
are  in  all  cases,  and  under  every  imaginable  condition — an 
ATRociTV,  destitute  of  palliation  or  excuse,  the  deeds  of  the 
other  have  often  been  instigated  by  motives  which  go  far  to 
soften  our  disapproval.  In  truth  there  are  certain  instances 
of  this  class  of  so  mixed  and  ambiguous  a  kind,  that  we  must 
shrink  if  called  upon  to  say  decisively  whether  the  actors 
should  be  commended  or  condemned.  It  is  easy  and  trite  to 
affirm  that  aggressive  and  ambitious  warfare  is  always  im- 
moral ; — and  how  flagrant  is  the  guilt  of  aggressive  war,  wa- 
ged under  sacred  banners,  or  at  the  alleged  bidding  of  Reli- 
gion !  But  often  the  question  of  national  existence  has  been 
inseparably  connected  with  the  question  of  faith  ;  and  the 
alternative  of  a  people  has  been  to  crouch  and  to  perish;  or 
to  defend  by  the  sword  at  once  their  Homes  and  Altars.  He 
must  be  a  stern  moralist  indeed,  who,  in  such  cases  would 
without  reluctance  pronounce  a  verdict  which  must  make  the 
oppressor  exult,  and  the  oppressed  despond. 

Compared  with  either  of  the  two  forms  of  fanaticism  des- 
cribed in  the  preceding  sections,  that  now  to  be  considered  is 
remarkable  on  account  of  its  diversified  combinations  with 
other  sentiments.  Patriotism  and  national  pride,  calculations 
of  policy,  the  inotives  of  trade,  the  desire  of  plunder,  and  the 
impulse  of  personal  passions — the  resentments  or  the  ambi- 
tion of  chiefs,  have  all  come  in  to  mingle  themselves  with 
that  more  profound  excitement  vv'hich  gave  the  first  impulse 
to  wars  on  account  of  religion.  On  the  ground  we  have  hith 
erto  traversed,  every  object  almost  has  shown  the  darkest 
colours,  and  has  repelled  the  eye  by  a  sombre  and  horrid 
uniformity — we  have  been  making  way  through  a  valley  of 
grirn  shadows — or  a  region  illumined  only  by  the  fires  which 
cruelty  has  lit  up  : — 


Spehinca  alta  fuit,  vastoquc  immanis  hialu, 
?5crupea,  luta  lacu  iii^ro  ueraorumque  tcnebris  ; 
Quam  super  haud  uUffi  poteraot  impune  volantes 
Tendere  iter  peniiis. — ■ 

Vestibulum  ante  ipsura  primisque  in  faucibus  Orci, 
Luctus  et  ultrices  posuere  cubilia  Curie  ; 
Palleutesque  habitant  Morbi,  tristisque  Sencctus, 
Et  Jletus,  et  malesuada  Fames,  et  turpis  F.gestas, 
Teiribiles  visu  fornise  ;  Letumque  Labosque  ; 
Turn  coDsauguioeus  Leti  Sopor,  et  mala  mentis 
Gaudia — 

But  from  these  regions  of  woe  we  are  to  emerge ;  and  the 
prospect  at  once  brightens  with  the  pomp  and  movement  of 
great  enterprises.  Empires  are  mustered  on  the  ground,  and 
the  many  nations  of  a  continent,  in  the  gaiety  of  their  various 
attire,  and  with  banners  spread  to  the  winds,  are  pouring  on 
from  side  to  side  of  the  field.  Or  in  other  quarters,  if  clouds 
hang  over  the  scene  of  action,  yet  there  the  constancy  of  hu- 
man nature  is  showing  itself  in  deeds  such  as  no  other  fields 
of  war  can  boast. 

If  then  hitherto  the  danger  has  been  lest  we  should  admit 
feelings  of  disgust  or  of  resentment  toward  our  fellows,  such 
as  the  spirit  of  the  Gospel  does  not  allow ; — the  danger  now 
is,  lest  a  complacency  should  be  awakened  which  the  inflex- 
ible maxims  of  its  morality  cannot  but  condemn. 

The  Romish  Superstition  has  afforded  the  most  signal 
instance  which  the  page  of  history  at  all  presents,  of  the  fa- 
naticism of  cruelty.  For  an  example  equally  signal  of  the 
fanaticism  of  martial  zeal  and  religious  ambition,  we  must 
turn  to  the  first  propagation  of  the  doctrine  of  Mohammed. 

To  profess,  or  to  feel  a  jealousy  toward  the  Mohammedan 
faith,  as  if  its  rival  merits  might  perhaps  bring  into  question 
those  of  Christianity,  would  be  a  ridiculous  affectation ;  or 
would  indicate  an  extreme  imbecility  of  judgment.  The  time 
surely  is  gone  by  in  which  it  might  be  proper  anxiously  to 
demonstrate  that  the  Bible  exhibits  every  quality  fitting  a 
revelation  from  God — the  Koran  none ; — or  none  after  deduct- 
iniT  the  materials  that  its  author  stole  from  the  Prophets  and 
the  Apostles.  The  balance  of  Truth  is  in  no  jeopardy  in  this 
instance  ;  and  therefore  without  solicitude  we  may  do  full 
justice  as  well  to  the  founder  as  to  the  first  propagators  of 
the  religion  of  the  eastern  world. 

In  fairness,  it  should  never  be  attempted  to  bring  Moham- 
med into  comparison  with  Him  who  came,  "  not  to  destroy 
men's  lives,  but  to  save."  Nothing  but  a  summary  condem- 
nation of  the  military  zealot  and  his  Caliphs  could  be  the 
issue  of  such  a  contrast ;  nor  does  it  afford  any  needed  advan- 
tage to  Christianity.  This  contrast  therefore  being  put  out 
of  view,  many  circumstances  demand  to  be  considered  that 
should  mitigate  at  least  the  feelings  with  which  we  are  ac- 
customed to  regard  the  rise  and  spread  of  Islam. 

Those  tides  of  the  northern  nations  which  at  length  swept 
away  the  Roman  greatness,  might  be  spoken  of  as  mere  evo- 
lutions of  the  physical  energies  of  the  great  social  system ; 
or  as  acts  in  the  natural  history  of  man,  and  acts  too,  the  re- 
urrence  of  which,  at  intervals  longer  or  shorter,  may  be  look- 
ed for,  unless  prevented  by  opposing  causes  of  another  order. 
Shall  it  be  deemed  utterly  incredible  that  the  very  same  re- 
gions which  heretofore  have  poured  their  ruinous  torrents 
over  southern  Europe  and  Asia,  may  again  do  sol  Must  it 
not  be  admitted  as  more  than  barely  possible,  that  the  decay 
of  the  commercial  and  military  greatness  of  England  and 
Prance — the  nnlv  European  nations  that  now  efliciently  sus- 
tain the  civilization  of  the  world,  would,  were  it  to  take 
place,  quickly  be  followed  by  a  Scythian  inundation,  such  as 
would  leave  (in  this  hemisphere  at  least)  hardly  a  vestige  of 
intelligence — and  none  of  liberty  1 

Now  certainly  in  this  sense  it  must  not  be  affirmed  that 
the  Saracenic  conquests  were  only  natural  expansions  of  a 
superabundant  power:  for  an  eruption  from  the  same  quarter 
has  happened  but  once  in  the  history  of  the  world ;  nor  does 
it  appear  that  it  would  have  happened  at  all  apart  from  the 
religious  impulse  whence  actually  it  sprang.  Had  not  the 
Merchant  of  Mecca  penetrated  the  seventh  heaven,  and  brought 
down  thence  a  spark  which  set  the  ambition  of  Arabian  bo- 
soms in  a  blaze,  the  very  name  of  Saracen — with  all  the 
splendours  that  surround  it,  had  hardly  found  a  place  on  the 
page  of  history.  Without  Mohammed  the  Bedoween  horse- 
men had  probably  continued,  age  after  age,  to  sweep  their 
native  deserts — a  terror  only  to  traders  and  pilgrims. 

This  being  admitted,  and  while  it  is  fully  granted  that  the 
motive  generated  by  the  new  religion  was  the  proper  incen- 
tive of  Mohammedan  warfare — the  support  of  its  fortitude, 
the  spring  of  its  courage,  and  the  reason  of  its  success ;  it  is 
[nevertheless  true  that  a  race  so  prince-like  and  so  bold  as  that 


396 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


whicli  occupied  the  Arabian  wilderness,  when  once  put  in 
movement,  and  made  to  feel  its  actual  and  its  relative  strength, 
would  necessarily  conquer  as  it  did  conquer,  and  spread  itself 
abroad  where  nothing  existed  that  could  match  its  force. 
The  countries  to  the  north,  to  tlie  east,  and  to  the  west,  lay 
as  a  rich  inheritance  of  which  the  actual  possessors  had  lost 
their  title  by  extreme  dcgeneracj',  and  which  seemed  to  ask 
to  be  seized  upon  by  men  worthy  to  enjoy  it.  The  Saracenic 
conquests,  as  we  assume  (though  not  in  the  same  sense  as 
those  of  the  northern  barbarians)  partook  of  a  physical  qual- 
ity, and  if  in  the  main,  conquests  of  proselytism,  were  also 
the  natural  out-bursts  of  national  energy  over  a  surface  which 
superstition  and  luxury  had  already,  and  long  before  van- 
quished. 

But  leaving  this  ground,  there  is  good  room  to  inquire 
whether  the  jiroject  of  bringing  or  of  driving  the  much  cor- 
rupted nations  by  force  and  terror  into  the  path  of  truth, 
might  not,  to  an  ardent  spirit,  seem  in  the  age  of  Mohammed 
both  lawful  and  noble. 

Possessed  of  the  first  elements  of  theology  (who  shall  say 
in  what  manner  obtained  1)  and  standing  in  the  position  which 
he  occupied,  surrounded  at  hand  by  polytheism,  and,  more 
remotely,  by  the  ruins  of  three  fallen  religious  systems,  was 
it  strange  that  Mohammed  should  have  deemed  the  sword  an 
instrument  of  necessary  severity,  and  the  only  instruinent 
which  could  be  trusted  to  for  efficaciously  reforming  the 
world  ] 

In  listening  to  the  apology*  which  the  Prophet  him- 
self offers  for  the  use  of  arms  as  a  means  of  conversion, 
the  belief  at  least  is  suggested,  that  he  had  mused  in  a  com- 
prehensive manner  upon  the  religious  history  and  the  actual 
state  of  mankind,  and  had  deliberately  come  to  the  persuasion 
that  the  interests  of  the  true  God  in  this  benighted  world 
w-ere  utterly  hopeless,  unless  at  length  they  might  be  promo- 
ted and  restored  by  the  terrors  of  war.f  ISIohammed  perhaps 
had  convinced  himself  that  so  worthy  and  holy  a  purpose 
would  well  excuse  any  means  that  might  bring  it  about. 
Christian  doctors  have  entertained  the  same  principle,  and 
have  made  a  worse  use  of  it ;  for  assuredly  we  must  hold 
the  fabrication  of  miracles  to  be  a  worse  immorality  than  the 
use  of  force  employed  because  the  pretension  to  miracles  was 
scorned :  and  again,  are  not  the  judicial  murders  perpetrated 
by  Spiritual  despots  more  horrid  than  the  open  carnage  of 
the  field  "i 

Looking  round  upon  the  world,  such  as  it  was  in  £he 
seventh  century,  what  appeared  to  have  been  the  result  of  the 
several  successive  endeavours  to  reclaim  the  nations  from 
their  inveterate  superstitions,  and  their  idolatries'?  Not  to 
insist  upon  the  then  decayed  state  of  the  religion  of  Zoroas- 
ter, IMoliammed  saw  his  countrymen,  as  well  as  many  of  the 
more  luxurious  people  of  Asia,  deep  sunk  in  the  follies  of 
polytheism.  And  some  of  these  nations  had  fallen  back  far 
from  the  position  they  once  occupied.:}: 

The  theology  and  institutions  of  Moses,  after  strugrgrling  to 
exist  on  a  single  and  narrow  spot  through  a  long  course  of 
ages,  were  then  to  be  discerned  onlj'  here  and  there  in  frag- 
ments, scattered  over  the  world,  like  the  broken  embellish- 
ments and  gilded  carvings  of  a  sumptuous  palace  which  some 
lawless  rout  has  overtaken  and  pillaged — strewing  the  earth 
with  shining  atoms  of  the  spoil.  Did  it  indeed  then  appear 
as  it  Jehovah,  the  God  of  Abraham,  had  anj'  purpose  in  re- 
serve for  converting  the  world  by  the  agency  of  the  Jewish 
people  ?     Rather  it  seemed  that  the  obd'urate  and  infatuated 


*  It  is  by  no  means  ahvays  easy  (especially  through  the  medium 
of  a  translation)  to  follow  the  chain  of  the  Prophet's  reasonings  or 
meditations  :  and  the  difficulty  is  increased  by  lliat  ambiguity  under 
which,  from  evident  motives  of  policy,  he  skreened  his  real  meaning 
when  be  had  to  speak  of  the  Jewish  and  Christian  economies,  the 
votaries  of  which  he  aimed  il"  possible  to  conciliate.  Notwithstand- 
ing these  obscurities,  some  such  mode  of  thinking  as  that  assumed 
above  for  aiobammcd,  m.ikes  itself  dimlv  apparent  in  many  passa- 
ages  of  the  Koran  ;  among  others,  the  4'2d  and  the  four  t'ollowing 
chapters  may  be  referred  to.  An  under-toue  of  apology,  in  wliicir, 
witliout  compromising  his  authority  as  the  apostle  of  (Sod,  lie  ex- 
cuses his  measures  as  founder  of  a  i-eligion,  runs  through  the  ram- 
bling incoherencies  of  Sloliammed. 

+  "  And  if  God  did  not  repel  the  violence  of  some  men  by  others, 
verily  monasteries,  and  churches,  and  synagogues,  and  the  temples 
ot  tlie  Moslems,  wherein  tlie  name  of  G'od  is  frequently  commemo- 
rated, would  be  utterly  demolished.  And  God  will  certainly  assist 
him  who  shall  be  on  his  side:  for  God  is  strong  and  miehty."— 
Aoran,  cluip.  22.  o  o    .r 

-t  "  Say,  Go  through  the  earth  and  see  what  hath  been  the  end  of 
those  who  have  been  before  you  ;  Uie  greater  part  of  them  wei 
idolaters.- —7io™n,  chap,  30. 


race  was,  in  every  religious  sense,  thrown  aside  and  forgotten 
as  a  broken  instrument.* 

Even  a  mind  much  more  enlightened  than  that  of  Moham- 
med (as  we  are  accustomed  to  think  of  him)  might,  while 
looking  at  Christendom  in  the  seventh  century,  have  come  to 
the  conclusion  that  the  fate  of  the  religion  of  Christ  after  an 
experiment  on  a  large  scale,  carried  on  through  six  hundred 
years,  forbade  it  to  be  any  longer  hojied  that  the  mild  means 
of  mere  instruction  would  permanently  avail  to  support  truth 
in  the  world.  A  pure  theology  and  a  pure  morality,  sanc- 
tioned by  miracles,  had,  as  a  system,  apparently  spent  itself; 
had  become  worse  than  impotent;  had  covered  the  territories 
of  ancient  civilization  with  the  noxious  growth  of  supersti- 
tion, so  that  idolatries — more  degrading  than  the  ancient  po- 
lytheism, because  men  not  divinities  were  the  objects  of  it, 
had  taken  full  possession  as  well  of  the  eastern  as  the  west- 
ern nations.!  Could  any  other  event,  at  that  time,  well  be 
looked  for  but  the  speedy  extinction  of  even  the  name  of 
Christianity,  and  the  giving  way  of  the  feeble  barriers  which 
still  preserved  the  south  from  the  savage  forms  of  worship 
of  the  Scythian  hordes  ■?  Mohammed — or  if  not  he,  any 
thoughtful  observer,  might  with  reason  have  regarded  the 
human  family  as  then  hastening  down'a  slippery  descent  to- 
wards the  bottomless  abyss  of  ignorance  ami  utter  atheism. 
He  might  thus  have  thought,  and  his  inference  would  be 
strong,  that  the  sudden  use  of  even  the  most  violent  means, 
was  lawful  and  good,  if  so  the  universal  catastrophe  of  the 
race  might  be  prevented. 

It  should  now  be  regarded  as  a  hopeless  endeavour  to  de- 
termine, without  doubt,  the  personal  character  of  Mohammed ; 
and  it  might  perhaps  be  better  to  direct  attention  rather  to  the 
system,  than  to  its  author.  The  supposition  that  he  was  a 
sheer  I'anatic  is  opposed,  if  not  quite  excluded,  by  the  de- 
scription given  of  the  suppleness  of  his  public  conduct,  of  the 
courteousness  of  his  maimers,  and  of  the  ready  and  well- 
judged  adaptation  of  his  means  of  influence  to  the  sudden  and 
various  occasions  of  the  perilous  enterjirise  he  had  taken  in 
hand.  The  supposition,  moreover,  it  is  hard,  we  will  not 
say  impossible,  to  reconcile  to  the  fact  of  his  having  sustained 
fraudulent  pretensions,  and  of  propagating  delusions  of  which 
he  could  not  have  been  himself  the  dupe.  On  the  other  hand, 
as  well  the  Koran  (although  itself  a  vast  plagiarism — a  booty, 
rather  than  the  fair  fruit  of  mental  labour)  and  the  political 
and  military  conduct  of  Mohammed,  bespeak  an  elevated  and 
impassioned  soul.  Those  have  not  looked  into  that  book, 
and  have  not  perused  the  story  of  the  Prophet's  public  life, 
who  can  think  him  a  vulgar  impostor,  or  believe  that  sub- 
tlety and  craft  were  the  principle  elements  of  his  character. 
If  it  be  true  that  the  author  of  the  Koran  has  stolen  his  ma- 
terials, }'et  must  a  man  have  had  greatness  and  elevation  of 
soul  to  have  stolen  as  he  has  done.  If,  on  the  rich  fields  of 
sacred  literature,  he  plundered — he  plundered  like  a  prince. 
The  spoil  which  he  gathered  so  largelj-  from  the  Jewish  and 
Christian  Scriptures:}:  might  be  likened  to  that  with  which 
certain  learned  and  munificent  conquerors  have  graced  their 
triumphs — the}'  have  indeed  trampled  upon  and  overthrown 
the  ancient  seats  of  arts  and  learning;  but  5-ct  have  first 
snatched  from  the  devastations  of  war  each  signal  monument 
of  greatness  and  beauty. 

Were  it  necessary  at  any  rate  to  offer  some  solution  of  the 
ambiguous  facts  of  Mohammed's  character,  recourse  might 
be  had  to  the  principle  that  a  mixture  of  incongruous  moral 
elements  does  often  take  place  by  means  of  a  sort  of  silent 
violence,  done  every  day  and  hour  to  reason  within  the  bosom. 
A  wise  and  tranquil  mind  will  not  rest  until  it  has  adjusted 
its  rules  of  action ;  has  determined  what  are  to  be  its  objects; 
and  (whether  on  the  best  model  or  not)  yet  brings  the  interior 
man  into  a  condition  of  harmony  and  order.  But  there  are 
minds,  perhaps  energetic,  and  rich  in  sentiment,  that,  con- 
scious of  the  utter  incompatibility  of  their  leading  impulses 
and  principles,  willfully  abstain  from  the  endeavour  to  recon- 


•  "The  likeness  of  those  who  were  charged  with  the  obseryancc 
of  the  law  (the  Jews)  and  then  observed  it  not,  is  as  the  likeness  of 
an  ass  laden  with  books." — Koran^  chap.  62. 

t  The  fiftli  chapter  of  the  Koran  afibrds  evidence  that  Mohammed 
was  well  aware  of  the  degeneracy  of  the  Christian  world.  "The 
Christians  have  forgotten  what  tlijy  received  from  God." 

:(  It  has  been  que'stioned  whetlicr  jMoharamed  had  ever  seen  the 
Christian  Scriptures.  That  tliey  were  familiar  to  him  it  is  hard 
not  to  believe  in  reading  the  Koi-an.  Or  even  if  the  actual  books 
had  not  come  under  his  eye,  the  phraseology  and  sentiments  of  tlie 
evangelists  and  apostles  be  was  certainly  not  ignorant  of;  these  were 
to  be  met  with  every  wlierc,  both  in  the  east  and  the  west.  Tlie  sort 
of  garbled  allusiBn'  to  the  very  text  of  the  New  Testament  which 
abounds  in  the  Koran  may  be  seen  at  the  close  of  chap.  48. 


FANATICISM. 


397 


cile  ihe  springs  of  action.  Despairin'r  to  reach,  or  not  even 
wishing  to  TOM-h,  that  unity  of  soul  wliicli  virtue  and  wisdom 
deliglil  in,  ihev  act,  and  think,  and  speak  in  alternate  charac- 
ters. iN'ow  the  better,  and  now  the  worse  interior  personage 
assumes  the  hour,  and  struts  upon  the  stajre.  Meanwhile 
the  wondering  world  gaze  perplexed,  and  disagree  upon  the 
enigma— whether  the  man  be  sage  or  sophisl-^hero  or  pol- 
troon.* 

Such  perhaps  was  Mohammed :  assuredly  not  truly  wise 
and  honest,  any  more  than  a  sheer  impostor.  Hut  whatever 
the  Originator  of  the  new  profession  might  he,  many  of  his 
companions  and  immediate  suc(-cssors — his  vicars,  possess 
an  unqurstiouahle  claim  to  the  praise  of  sincerity  and  genuine 
fervour;  and  they  have  left  to  the  admiration  of  posterity  some 
of  tbc  rarest  examples  of  greatness  of  soul.  If  Christianity 
were  at  all  implicated  in  the  comparison — which  it  is  not,  even 
remotely,  we  should  shrink  from  a  contrast  between  the 
Crusaders  of  the  twelfth  century,  and  the  Caliphs  of  the 
seventh  and  <  ighth.| 

Without  doubt  (as  we  shall  presently  see),  every  essential 
characteristic  of  fanaticism  belongetl  to  the  temper  and  con- 
duct of  the  Moslem  leaders ;  nevertheless  it  is  certain  that  the 
military  religious  maxims,  and  the  usages  of  war  established 
and  generalfy  adhered  to  by  the  Saracenic  conquerors,  were 
by  no  means  such  as  comport  with  the  indiscriminate  and 
unconditional  ferocity  of  men  thoroughly  rancorous,  or  na 
tively  cruel ; — far  otherwise.  Ordinarily  (for  instances  must 
be  excepted)  the  genuine  zeal  of  ])rosclytism  prevailed  over 
the  fury  of  war:  if  fanaticism  ran  through  the  exploits  and 
policy  of  the  martial  xealots,  it  was  still  a  fanaticism  that 
leant  more  lo  the  side  of  enthusiasm  than  of  malice,  and  that 
readily  admitted  a  generosity  which  the  ecclesiastic  (when 
he  lakes  the  sword)  seldom  thinks  of  and  which  the  soldier 
as  seldom  forgets.  Or  to  speak  a  volume  in  a  word,  the 
fanaticism  of  the  Mohammedan  conquests  was  that  of  war- 
riors, not  that  of  monks. 

Common  motives  of  policy,  to  the  exclusion  of  sincere 
motives  of  religion,  will  hy  no  means  suffice  to  account  for 
the  rule  early  adopted  by  Mohammed,  and  adhered  to  by  his 
immediate  successors,  of  oflering  to  1doi,ators  no  other  choice 
than  that  of  conversion  or  death ;:(:  while  any  who  professed 
the  worship  of  the  one  God — whether  Jews  or  Christians, 
might  purchase  bv  tribute  the  liberty  to  go  unhurt  and  at 
leisure  on  their  own  path  lo  perdition. §  So  long  as  the  doctrine 
of  the  Divine  Unity  were  but  acknowledged,  errors  of  pro- 
fession were  tolerated;  and  if  the  tribute  laid  upon  conscience 
was  heavy,  it  did  not  exceed  the  measure  customary  with 
Asiatic  conquerors,  'i'he  lenity  thus  shown  by  Mohammed 
to  the  followers  of  Moses  and  of  Christ,  places  his  conduct 
in  contrast  with  that  of  most  zealots,  whose  rule  has  been  to 
spend  their  indulgence  upon  whoever  stood  most  remote  in 
faith  from  their  standard ;  while  all  the  stress  of  their  inex- 
orable spite  was  made  to  press  upon  the  sectarists  of  the  nest 
shade.  Lot  the  Arabian  prophet  be  called  llcresiarch  and 
Impostor; — yes,  but  a  Ueforincr  too.  lie  kindled  from  side 
to  side  of  Ihe  eastern  world  an  extraordinary  abhorrence  of 
iilol  worship,  and  actually  cleansed  the  plains  of  Asia  from 
the  long  settled  impurities  of  polytheism.  Did  he  overthrow 
Christianity  in  Syria,  in  Africa,  in  Spain? — no,  Superstition 

*  Certain  zealous — should  we  say  Jealous  divines  of  our  own  age 
aiu)  country — liave  seemed  to  think  (Mu'istianit)'  safe  only  when 
Mohaninieil  was  crushed  under  the  weight  of  tliuir  anathemas.  This 
mode  of  tV'cling^  one  does  not  so  niuelt  \son(lei*  to  meet  wiib  among 
lliose  u  iiose  position  placed  them  in  actual  rivah-y  w  llli  llie  Mosh*ui 
faith.  It  is  tiviite  natural  to  hear  a  Spaniard — a  Spanisli  prii-st — an 
ini|uisitoi-,  speak  of  Mohammed  as — i^iganailor  del  mundo,  Profeta 
falso,  nuncio  tie  Sutanis,  el  peer  precursor  del  Aiitichristo,  cumpli- 
niiento  de  todas  las  heregias,  y  prodigio  de  toda  faUidad  ;  or  to  say 
all  in  a  word — un  demonio  encaruado. — F.  J.  li!<-tla,  Jii.ilona  itcl 
Fiilso  proffta  ,Ma!tojna.  Tlie  same  writer,  Impiisitor  as  he  was, 
iloes  not  woniler  tlial  pestilences,  and  earthquakes,  and  atmospheric 
prodigies  attende<l  the  birtlj  of  an  impostor  who  was  to  propagate 
his  religion  hy  violence,  and  to  persecute  the  Cliurch!  The  Church, 
at  least  the  writer's  Church,  amply  took  its  revenge  in  Uie  same 
kind. 

t  The  perusal  of  Mohammedan  history  lias  a  useful  tendency  in 
breaking  down  die  prejudice  which  leads  us  to  appropriate  the  com- 
mon virtues  to  cerlaiu  modes  of  thinking.     Genuine  piely  ilemands 


only;  for  Christianity  had  died  away  from  those  countries 
long  before. 

A  respect  for  man,  for  nalure — for  God,  a  respect  not  cha- 
racUristic  of  the  frenzied  z<-alot,  was  shown  in  the  injunction 
so  strictly  laid  upon  the  Moslem  armies— not  lo  destroy  the 
fruits  of  the  earth — not  to  disturb  the  labours  of  the  husband- 
man— not  to  cut  down  the  grateful  palm  or  the  olive — not  to 
poison  or  to  stop  the  wells— to  spare  the  old  and  the  young — 
the  mother  and  her  babes,  and  in  a  word,  to  abridge  war,  as  far 
as  might  be  done,  of  iis  horrors.  In  reading  these  military 
orders'",  and  in  following  the  march  of  the  caliphs  who  re- 
ceived them,  it  is  impossible  to  exclude  from  the  mind  the 
recollection  of  wars  waged  by  Christians — most  Christian 
kings,  not  against  distant  and  equal  foes,  but  upon  their  own 
uno'tlending  and  helpless  subjects — wars  which  left  nothing 
behind  thcin  but  smoking  ruins  and  a  blood-sodden  wilder- 
ness. Call  Mohammed  fanatic  or  impostor;  but  language 
wants  a  term — or  if  it  might  aflbrd  one,  the  rule  of  Christian 
propriety  forbids  it  he  used,  which  should  (illy  designate  the 
Philips,  the  Ferdinands,  tho  Louises  of  ounnodern  European 
history. 

The  Caliphs  possessed  an  incalnlahle  advantage,  as  com- 
pared (lor  example)  with  the  leaders  of  the  Crusades,  in  not 
being  the  tools  or  agents  of  a  sacerdotal  class;  but  in  uniting 
in  their  single  persons  every  ollice  that  naturally  commands 
the  submission  of  mankind.  The  combination  of  the  regal  or 
patriarchal,  the  military  and  the  sacred  functions,  in  one 
oUice,  whatever  inconveniences  it  may  have  enUiilcd,  yet 
served  to  attemper  and  to  invigorate  each.  The  same  vene- 
rated personage — now  calmly  administering  justice  as  civil 

chief now  fired  with  valour  and  at  the  head  of  armies;  and 

now — strange  spectacle,  in  the  pulpit,  enforcing  the  principles 
and  duties  of  religion,  would  be  likely,  in  recollection  of  his 
alternate  characters,  to  exercise  the  first  office  with  at  once  a 
religious  impartiality  and  a  martial  firmness — the  second  with 
buiiTanity,  and  the  third  with  a  liberality  of  feeling  larger 
than  belongs  to  the  mere  ecclesiastic,  and  borrowed  from  tho 
sentiments^proper  to  the  king  and  the  captain.  At  the  same 
time  the  people  would  be  apt  to  look— to  their  civil  Chief 
with  a  religious  affection,  to  their  General  with  the  confidence 
of  faith,  an'd  to  their  Teacher  as  to  one  whose  words  carried 
all  the  authority  which  Heaven  and  earth  together  can  confer. 
If  Christianity  bo  not  answerable,  as  certainly  it  is  not, 
for  the  arrogance  and  the  crimes  of  princes  and  prelates 
bearing  Christian  titles;  so  neither  should  we  call  in  question 
the  religious  system  of  .Mohammed  on  account  of  the  horrors 
and  devlistations  that  attended  the  Tartar  conquests  of  a  later 
period.  This  rule  of  equity  kept  in  view,  we  have  to  look 
simply  to  the  Koran  and  to  the  general  conduct  of  its  early 
promulgators. 

And  after  every  due  extenuation  has  been  admitted,  no- 
thing can  be  said  but  that  the  martial  zeal  of  the  Moslem 
was'^.in  egregious  fanaticism.  The  rise  and  the  characteris- 
tics of  this  vehement  impulse  is  a  proper  object  of  curiosity. 
In  not  generating  a  pure  and  universal  [ihilanlhropy,  Mo- 
hammed ism  was  not  worse  than  other  false  religions; — and 
in  this  respect  it  was  not  better.  Notwithstanding  its  just 
praise  of  teaching,  and  teaching  with  much  clearness  and 
energy,  the  great' and  first  principle  of  Theology,  it  quite 
failed  of  producing  that  unrestrained  good-will  to  man  which 
is  the  natural  consequence  of  love  to  God.  To  profess  to 
love  God,  while  on  any  pretext  we  entertain  a  rancorous  con- 
tempt of  our  fellow  men,  is  the  most  enormous  of  all  incon- 
-sistencics.  No  ingenuity  of  the  theologian  can  make  it  seem 
reasonable  that  those,  however  depraved  in  faith  or  manners, 
toward  whom  the  Universal  Parent,  as  Creator  and  Preserver, 
is  showing  kindness,  and  whom  He.  loads  daily  with  his 
benefits,  should  be  regarded  by  the  true  worshippers  of  God 
with  a  bitterness  which  God  himself  does  not  display.  Men 
who,  like  ourselves,  are  inhaling  the  vital  air— are  enjoying 
animal  existence — arc  receiving  nourishment  from  food — are 
sleeping  and  are  waking  refreshed  from  their  beds,  such, 
whatever  may  be  their  errors  or  their  crimes,  are  manifestly 
not  yet  shut  out  from  the  pale  of  Ihe  Divine  Indulgence: — 
God  has  not  yet  cursed  them ;— how  then  can  icc  dare  antici- 
pate His  wrath  !  The  feeling  that  would  prompt  us  so  to  do, 
or  the  dogmas  that  would  justify  such  a  feeling,  must  be 
hideouslyl'alse  and  wrong.     Yet  this  capital  flaw  attached 


n\i\e_^\\  a  geitnine  belief  a%  its  som-ce  and  support.     iUu  those  ex-  ^  ^.       ^ 

cellencies  of  conduct  and  character  which  may  exist  apart  from  from  the  first  to  the  religion  of  the  Prophet. 
Absolute  Truth  are  to  be  met  with  all  the  world  over;  and  certainly!  ^^  knowledo-e  of  God  is  found  to  avail  little  apart  trom  a 
tlie  .Moslem  nations  have  produced  tlieir  share  of  shining  examples.  LpQ^^lgjo-g  of  "ourselves  and  unless  some  genuine  emotions 
Thatmi,uure,  of  crimes  and  virtues,  whichbelongs  to  hjstory  gene- 1    J.  ^^^^^j-.^^  j^^^,^  broken  down  the   pride  of  the  heart,   the 

abstract  truth  of  the  Divine  Unity  and  perfections  seems  only 


i  met  with  as  well  in  Feiishta  as  in  William  of  Tyre. 
4  .\s  in  chaps.  4S  and  49. 


§  Chap.  9. 


to  inflame  our  arrogance,  and  to  prepare  us  to  be  inexorable 


i^ 


398 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


and  cruel.  So  it  was  in  the  system  of  I\Iohamnied  ; — it  had 
no  true  philanthropy,  because  it  had  no  humiliation,  no  ten- 
derness and  penitence — no  method  of  propitiation.* 

The  Koran  does  indeed  teach  and  inspire  a  profound  rever- 
ence toward  God ;  and  it  has  actually  produced  among  its 
adherents  in  an  eminent  degree,  that  prostration  of  the  soul 
in  the  presence  of  the  Supreme  Being  which  becomes  all 
rational  creatures.  But  at  this  point  it  stops.  Moslem  hu- 
miliation has  no  tears ;  and  as  it  does  not  reacli  the  depths  of  a 
heartfelt  repentance,  so  neither  is  it  cheered  by  that  gratitude 
which  springs  from  the  consciousness  of  pardon.  No  sluices 
of  sorrow  are  opened  by  its  devotions; — the  atiections  are  not 
softened  : — there  is  a  feverish  heat  among  the  passions,  but 
no  moisture.  Faith  and  confidence  toward  God  are  bold 
rather  than  submissive,  and  the  soul  of  the  believer,  basking 
in  a  presumption  of  the  divine  favour,  might  be  compared  to 
the  scorched  Arabian  desert,  arid,  as  it  is,  and  unproductive, 
and  liable  too  to  be  heaved  into  billows  by  the  hurricane. 

No  other  religious  system  has  gone  so  far  in  quashing  that 
instinct  of  guilt  and  shame  which  belongs  to  man  as  a  trans- 
gressor, and  which  impels  him  to  look  for  some  means  of 
propitiation.  The  divine  favour  is  secured  by  the  Koran  to 
whoever  makes  hearty  profession  of  the  unity  of  God  and  the 
apostleship  of  Mohammed.  Almsdeeds,  punctuality  in  devo 
tions,  and  above  all,  valour  in  the  field,  exclude  every  doubt 
of  salvation.  No  sentiment  found  a  place  that  could  open 
the  heart  to  the  upbraidings  of  conscience.  Islam  is  the 
Keligion  of  Pride; — the  religion  of  the  sword. f 

W'e  should  not  omit  to  notice  the  contrast  which  presents 
itself  between  the  Moslem  and  Christian  systems  on  this 
capital  point.  All  religious  history  may  be  challenged  to 
produce  an  exception  to  the  rule,  that  the  Christian  doctrine 
of  forgiveness  of  sins  is  the  only  one  which  has  generated  an 
eihcacious  and  tender-sjiirited  philanthropy. — It  is  this  doc- 
trine, and  no  other,  that  brings  into  combination  the  sensitive- 
ness and  the  zeal  necessary  to  the  vigour  of  practical  good- 
will toward  our  fellow  men.  Exclude  this  truth,  as  it  is 
excluded  by  sceptical  philosophy,  and  then  philanthropy  be- 
comes a  vapid  matter  of  theory  and  meditation.  Distort  it 
with  the  Church  of  Rome,  and  the  zeal  of  charity  is  exchanged 
for  the  rancour  of  proselytism.  Quash  it,  as  the  Koran  does, 
and  there  springs  up  in  the  bosoms  of  men  a  hot  and  active 
intolerance.  The  Christian  (and  he  alone)  is  expansively 
and  assiduously  compassionate;  and  this,  not  merely  because 
he  has  been  formally  enjoined  to  perform  the  "seven  works 
of  mercy;"  but  because  his  own  heart  has  been  softened 
throughout  its  very  substance — because  tears  have  become  a 
usage  cf  his  moral  life,  and  because  he  has  obtained  a  vivid 
consciousness  of  that  divine  compassion,  rich  and  free,  which 
sheds  beams  of  hope  upon  all  mankind. 

The  correspondence  is  natural  and  real,  though  it  may  not 
be  obvious,  between  the  notions  entertained  of  the  joys  of 
heaven,  and  the  conceptions  that  are  formed  of  the  world  of 
punishinent ; — the  latter  article  of  belief  takes  its  quality  in- 
versely from  the  former.  Is  it  not  seen  in  every  country  that 
the  palace  and  the  dungeon  are  correlatives'!  Wherever 
the  one  is  filled  with  extravagant  and  shameless  debauchery, 
the  other  is  found  to  he  furnished  with  racks,  and  will  be  the 
abode  of  forgotten  despair.  And  so  the  sensualities  of  Mo- 
hammed's  paradise  are  borne  out  by  parallel  horrors — gross 
and  barbaric,  which,  in  the  speciality  of  the  description 
given  of  them,  could  not  fail  highly  to  inflame  the  malignant 
passions. :j:  This  irritating  influence  reached  a  pitch  of  frenzy 
upon  the  field  of  battle;  for  there  the  question  of  salvation  or 
damnation  lay  on  the  ground  between  the  marshalled  armies 
to  be  fought  for  and  carried  by  the  stronger  arm.  Never 
jirrhaps  in  the  history  of  mankind  have  the  appalling  ideas 
of  the  invisible  world  so  much  and  so  distinctly  mingled  with 


*  The  phrase  "  God  ■will  fiwour  the  true  believers  and  forgive  their 
sins,"  very  often  occurs  in  the  Koran.  But  the  doctrine  of  pardon 
aiul  the  feelings  connected  with  it,  are  nowhere  expanded  or  defined. 
Final  salvation  t»u-ns  entirely  upon  personal  merit ;  see  chap.  "-ZS.  At 
the  last  day,  "they  whose  balances  shall  be  heavy  with  good  works, 
shall  be  iiappy  :  but  they  whose  balances  shall  be  ligiit,  are  tliose  \\  ho 
sliall  lose  their  souls,  and  shall  remain  in  hell  for  ever. "  Repentance, 
in  the  sense  of  the  Koran,  means  turning  from  idolatry  to  the  true 
faith,  see  chap.  'J.  Or  if,  as  in  chap.  4,  the  word  be  used  in  a  broader 
sense,  yet  is  the  range  allowed  to  contrition  very  limited.  Nothing 
like  a  system  of  propitiation  is  contained  in  Mohammed's  theology. 

+  "()  prophet!  God  is  thy  support,  and  such  of  the  true  believers 
who  follow  thee.— O  prophet!  stir  up  the  faithful  to  war:  if  twenty 
of  you  persevere  with  constancy,  they  shall  overcome  two  hundred," 
ice.  jLoiaii,  chap.  S.  "Eerily  God'  lovetli  those  who  fight  for  his 
religion  in  battle  array."     Chap.  CI. 

^  An  adduction  of  the  passages  may  be  well  excused. 


the  fury  of  mortal  strife  as  in  the  instance  of  Moslem  war- 
fare. To  the  eye  of  the  Saracen  the  smoke  of  the  infernal 
pit  appeared  to  break  up  from  the  ground  in  the  rear  of  the 
infidel  lines,  and  its  sulphurous  steam  obscured  the  embat- 
tled field.  As  the  squadrons  of  the  faithful  moved  on  to  the 
charge,  that  pit  yawned  to  receive  the  miscreant  host ;  and  in 
chasing  the  foe,  the  champions  of  God  and  his  prophet  be- 
lieved that  they  were  driving  their  antagonists  down  the  very 
slopes  of  perdition.  When  at  length  steel  clashed  upon 
steel,  and  the  yell  of  death  shook  the  air — the  strife  was  not 
so  much  between  arm  and  arm,  as  between  spirit  and  spirit ; 
and  each  deadly  thrust  was  felt  to  pierce  the  life  at  once  of 
the  bodjr  and  of  the  soul. 

Hatred,  which  is  softened  by  contempt  toward  a  fallen  and 
unresisting  foe,  is  embittered  by  the  same  feeling  so  long  as 
opposition  is  offered.  To  respect  our  adversary  is  to  admit 
those  sentiments  of  generosity  which  sprang  from  the.inter- 
chauged  sympathies  of  virtue ;  but  to  loathe  him,  is  to  resent 
his  hostility  as  an  impudent  presumption  that  assails  our  per- 
sonal honour.  The  Arabian  armies,  after  the  Peninsula  itself 
had  been  conquered,  scarcely  encountered  an  eneiny  that  they 
did  not  look  upon  with  a  just  disdain.  The  prophet  had  already 
told  them  thiit  misbelievers  were  dogs; — and  every  excur- 
sion they  made  beyond  their  native  deserts  served  to  verify 
his  words.  The  human  race  had  become  in  that  age  elfemi- 
nate  and  debauched  in  an  unexampled  degree.  Superstition, 
with  its  idle  solicitudes,  its  mummeries,  and  its  despotism, 
had  at  length  thoroughly  worked  itself  into  the  mind  of  the 
(once)  Christian  nations,  both  of  the  east  and  west.*  Tho 
profligacy  which  attends  a  decaying  empire,  and  the  hypo- 
crisy of  monkish  virtue  had  joined  together  in  the  work  of 
debasing  and  enfeebling  every  principle  of  human  action. 
The  common  sense  and  the  virtue  proper  to  that  "  common 
life"  against  which  all  the  doctors  of  the  Church,  during  four 
centuries,  had  inveighed,  and  from  which  they  had  elTectively 
removed  every  corroborative  and  elevating  motive,  had  disap- 
peared ;  no  healthy  mean,  no  sound  and  solid  foundation  re- 
mained to  support  the  social  structure :  The  objects  that 
met  the  eye  in  the  countries  swayed  by  the  Byzantine  empe- 
rors were  the  cowled  tenants  of  the  monastery — the  debauch- 
ed retainers  of  palaces,  or  the  faithless  and  insubordinate 
soldiers  of  the  mercenary  legions. 

When  the  princely  men  of  the  Arabian  desert,  great  as  they 
were  in  a  steady  phjsical  courage — great  in  a  condensed  and 
sententious  energy  of  understanding,  and  great  in  simplicity  of 
manners — a  simplicity  not  rude  but  poetic ;  when  these  heros- 
born,  broke  their  limits  and  trod  the  open  world,  their  feeling 
must  have  been  like  that  of  a  veteran  garrison  which,  having 
believed  itself  to  be  hemmed  in  by  superior  forces,  at  last  de- 
scends from  its  citadel,  and  in  scouring  the  plains  and  woods 
around,  meets  only  with  frightened  herds  and  flocks.  To 
dispossess  nations  so  nuworthy  of  the  bounties  of  nature,  to 
overthrow  governments  so  corrupt;  and  especially,  to  rid  the 
world  of  superstitions  so  absurd  and  foul,  might  seem  to  be  a 
work  worthy  of  the  servants  of  God. 

The  martial  fanaticism  of  the  Saracenic  armies  presents  a 
contrast  on  almost  every  point,  if  compared  with  that  of  the 
Crusaders.  Both  in  the  elements  and  in  the  circumstances, 
these  religious  enterprises  are  dissimilar.  The  zeal  of  the 
Moslem  armies  was  a  passion  for  proselyting  the  world  ;  that 
of  the  Crusaders  was  a  mixed  sentiment,  drawing  its  force 
from  historic  recollections,  from  the  desire  of  revenge,  from 
the  influence  of  superstition,  and  from  grosser  reasons  of  cu- 
pidity and  ambition.  The  Caliphs  waged  war  upon  Religious 
Error — wherever  found ;  and  the  task  they  undertook  was  to 
vanquish  the  souls  of  inen,  and  to  drag  them  captive  to  the 
throne  of  the  True  God  ; — the  intention  of  these  chiefs,  though 
misinformed,  was  elevated  and  comprehensive.  But  the 
Crusaders  (so  far  as  their  motive  was  strictly  religious)  thought 
only  of  a  local  conquest,  and  of  a  definite  triumph  : — give 
them  hut  possession  of  a  certain  cave  in  the  suburb  of  an  un- 
important dilapidated  town,  and  they  wished  no  more.  More- 
over the  enterprise  to  recover  the  Holy  City,  though  aggres- 
sive in  its  aspect,  was  also  in  a  sense  defensive,  for  not  merely 
did  the  Christian  nations  seek  protection  on  behalf  of  their 
pilgrims,  but  desired  to  regain  an  inestimable  possession 
which  Christendom,  by  every  claim  of  history  and  of  feeling, 
might  challenge  as  its  own. 

*  Mohammed,  it  is  certain,  drew  his  knowledge  of  Christianity 
and  of  Christians  chiefly  from  the  neighbouring  country — Egypt, 
where  perhaps  more  than  any  wliere  else  superstition  had  vilified 
humanity,  and  had  converted  every  principle  of  religion  into  a  pre- 
[losterou's  folly.  The  conquest  of  Egypt  fixed  u])on  the  minds  ot  the 
Caliphs  their  contempt  of  the  professors  of  tlie  Gospel. 


FANATICISM. 


590 


In  attendant  circumstances  also  the  two  enterprises  great- 
ly differed.  As  the  one  was  an  emanation  from  a  centre 
over  a  wide  surface,  and  the  other,  a  rushing  in  from  a  wide 
surface  toward  a  single  point,  so  the  characteristic  of  the 
first  is  tlie  grandeur  of  simplicitj-;  that  of  the  second,  the 
magnificence  of  accumulation.  There  was  a  harmony,  su- 
blime though  terrible,  in  the  early  diffusion  of  the  religion  of 
Mohammed  : — the  high-minded  and  never-conquered  Arab — 
the  same  being  in  all  ages  and  climates,  and  much  less  liable 
than  other  men  to  admit  modifications  of  his  opinions  or  man 
ners  from  foreign  sources,  presented  himself  haughtily  on  the 
frontiers  of  every  land — Africa,  Spaiu,  Persia,  India,  China, 
and  in  the  same  stern  and  sententious  language  summoned 
all  men  to  surrender  faith,  or  liberty,  or  lite. 

But  the  Crusades  poured  a  feculent  deluge,  upheaved  from 
the  long  stagnant  deeps  of  the  European  communities,  upon 
the  aflli'cted  Palestine.  The  dregs,  the  scum,  and  the  cream 
of  the  western  world — its  nobility  and  its  rabble,  in  promis- 
cuous rout,  flowed  toward  the  sepulchre  at  the  foot  of  Cal- 
vary. The  Saracenic  conquests  might  be  compared  to  a  sun- 
rise in  the  tropics,  when  the  deep  aziired  night,  with  its 
sparkling  constellations,  is  almost  in  a  moment  exchanged 
for  the  glare  of  day,  and  when  the  fountain  of  light  not  only 
darts  his  beams  over  the  heavens,  putting  the  stars  to  shame, 
but,  with  a  tyrannous  fervour  claims  the  world  as  his  own. 
The  Crusades  might  be  better  resembled  to  the  tornado, 
which,  sweeping  over  some  rich  Polynesian  sea,  and  rending 
up  all  things  in  its  course,  heaps  together  upon  a  distant 
shore  the  confused  wrecks  of  nature  and  of  human  industry. 

The  motley  host  that  dragged  its  length  across  the  plains 
of  the  lesser  Asia  was  not  more  various  in  its  blazonments 
and  banners  than  were  the  motives  of  the  crowd  ;  and  the 
many-coloured  embellishments  of  the  enterprise  as  they  glit 
tered  in  the  sun  under  the  walls  of  Nice,  or  of  Antioch 
might  be  regarded  as  s3-mbolizing  the  heterogeneous  impulses 
that  had  brought  so  many  myriads  from  their  homes.  I5ut  the 
accessory  motives,  whether  of  the  chiefs  or  the  rabble,  do  not 
belong  to  our  subjects  ; — the  spirit  of  adventure,  the  secular 
ambition,  the  cupidit}',  or  the  sheer  superstition  are  to  be  set 
off  as  accidents  merely  of  that  genuine  infatuation  which,  at 
intervals  during  nearly  two  hundred  years,  convulsed  the 
European  nations. 

If  there  had  been  no  crusade  in  the  age  of  ignorance,  would 
there  have  been  one  in  the  age  of  knowledge  ?  We  dare  not 
affirm  such  a  conjecture  to  be  probable;  and  yet  would  not 
grant  it  to  be  altogether  groundless.  The  folies,  the  miseries, 
and  the  ill  success  that  attended  the  endeavour  of  the  Eu- 
ropean states  to  possess  themselves  of  a  land  in  which  they 
had  every  right  sentiment  can  confer,  have  branded  with  re- 
probation an  enterprise  that  otherwise  might  have  seemed  not 
unreasonable,  even  to  the  men  of  more  enlightened  times. 
Let  the  case  be  stated  abstractedly.  That  the  most  powerful 
nations  of  the  world — a  great  community  of  nations,  profess- 
ing the  same  faith,  should  patiently  see,  on  their  very  border, 
a  land  every  foot  of  which  had  become  memorable  by  associa- 
tion with  the  events  of  their  religion,  trodden  down  by  an  inim- 
ical superstition,  while  themselves  were  barely  indulged  with 
leave  of  setting  foot  upon  it,  is  a  fact  that  would  not  have  been 
thought  probable  ;  and  which,  we  almost  believe,  would  not  to 
the  present  time  have  been  endured,  if  the  phrenzy  of  the 
twelfth  century  had  not  affixed  an  indelible  contempt  upon 
the  project  of  reclaiming  the  birth-place  of  Christianity  for 
Christendom. 

Had  there  been  no  crusade  in  the  twelfth  century,  there 
might  then  we  imagine  have  been  one  in  the  seventeenth  : — 
not,  assuredly,  in  the  nineteenth  ;  for  Christianity  at  the  pre- 
sent moment,  although  it  commands  too  much  regard,  and  is 
too  well  understood  to  allow  of  its  giving  sanction  to  religi- 
ous warfare,  yet  is  far  from  supporting  that  once  powerful 
feeling  which  made  the  sacred  sites  objects  of  impassioned 
curiosity.  The  very  reverse  was  true  in  the  age  of  L'rban  II, 
Too  little  understood  in  its  spirit  and  maxims  to  repress  the 
enterprise,  Christianity  nevertheless  then  held  an  undisputed 
sway  over  the  imaginations,  the  hopes  and  the  fears  of  the 
mass  of  mankind  throughout  Europe.  The  idea  of  aconquest 
so  desirable  being  once  presented,  nothing  could  be  more 
natural  than  that  the  crusading  zeal  should  flame  out,  and 
burn  from  year  to  year  with  a  constant  intensity.  This  ar- 
dour was  in  fact  not.  to  be  quenched  until  a  long  series  of  un- 
exampled miseries  and  misfortunes  had  rendered  the  design 
of  maintaining  the  Christian  power  in  the  East  hopeless.  If 
the  war  had  been  so  conducted  as  to  have  ensured  early  suc- 
cess— and  success  was  at  one  time  by  no  means  impossible, — 
the  history  of  all  nations  must  have  taken  a  dittercnt  turn. 


and  Asia,  perhaps,  and  Europe  might,  after  a  while,  have 
met  in  emulous  friendship  upon  the  spot  which  nature  has 
marked  out  as  the  true  metropolitan  site  of  the  world. 

The  fanaticism  of  the  Crusades  cannot  be  deemed  any 
thing  more  than  an  out-burst  of  that  exalted  and  imaginative 
superstition  which  had  become  ripe  in  every  country  of  Eu- 
rope. The  military  sentiment  moreover,  had  then  reached  a 
pitch  which  demanded  opportunity  to  spend  itself;  and  the 
two  vehement  principles — the  religious  and  the  military,  be- 
ing alike  under  the  control  of  the  sacerdotal  order,*  nothing 
else  could  well  happen  than  that  some  enterprise  of  conquest, 
directed  and  incited  by  the  ministers  of  religion,  should  en- 
gage the  energies  of  men.  Perhaps  the  Church  could  not  at 
all  have  retained  her  power  over  the  western  nations  in  the 
quickened  condition  they  were  just  entering  upon,  if  she  had 
not  at  that  very  moment  put  herself  at  the  head  of  the  ruling 
passion  of  the  ase. 

How  far  the  Chiefs  of  the  Church  discerned  her  critical 
interests  when  the  enterprise  was  first  started,  it  is  impossi- 
ble certainly  to  know.  But  that  the  Crusades  became  at 
length  a  matter  of  polic)-  and  calculation  at  Rome,  is  abund- 
antly evident.  Still  the  genuine  fanaticism  continued  to 
mingle  itself,  as  it  readily  does,  with  sinister  and  mercenary 
views;  and  ponlifl's  and  monks,  without  losing  sight  of  those 
palpable  objects  which  ordinarily  ruled  their  conduct,  sur- 
rendered themselves  heartily  to  the  current  of  the  general  en- 
thusiasm. 

In  each  succeeding  Crusade  there  appears  to  ha\TB  been,  on 
the  part  of  the  hierarchy,  less  of  the  pure  fanaticism  of  the 
enterprise,  and  more  of  political  calculation  ;  until  at  length 
the  latter  element  had  so  nearly  absorbed  the  former,  that  the 
Church  could  no  longer  even  feign  the  zeal  requisite  for  ex- 
citing and  maintaining  the  ardour  of  the  people.  It  was  just 
in  this  languishing  state  of  the  crusading  sentiment  that  a 
new  virulence  was  shed  into  it  by  Innocent  III.  who  finding 
that  the  effigy  of  the  Saracen  would  no  longer  serve  to  set 
the  vindictive  passions  of  Europe  in  a  flame,  substituted  that 
of  the  Heretic;  and  forthwith  Albigenses,  not  Moslems,  be- 
came the  victims  of  the  martial  frenzy  of  the  catholic  world. 

Already  we  have  found  occasion  to  regret  that  men  who 
stood  confessed  as  the  intellectual  leaders  of  the  age  in  which 
they  lived,  and  who,  by  right  at  once  of  ecclesiastical  rank, 
of  personal  character,  and  of  real  mental  power,  enjoyed  al- 
most an  unlimited  influence,  did  not  stop  to  ask  whether  the 
actual  course  of  human  affairs,  and  the  tendency  of  opinions 
and  practices  was  indeed  good  and  rational,  or  preposterous 
and  fatal.  Were  any  such  censorial  function  exercised  by 
the  ruling  minds  of  every  age,  and  were  there  a  court  of  pub- 
lic conscience,  wherein  right  and  wrong,  on  a  large  scale, 
should  be  calmly  examined,  not  only  might  single  flagitious 
acts  be  prevented;  but  the  insensible  progression  of  degener- 
acy might  be  retarded  ;  and  even  a  happ)'  return  frequently 
made  to  the  ])ath  of  reason  and  virtue.  In  casting  the  eye 
over  the  busy  scene  of  European  affairs  in  the  twelfth  cen- 
tury, it  is  natural  to  ask  if  the  great  community  of  the  west- 
ern nations  did  not  furnish  at  least  some  one  eminent  spirit, 
capable  of  applying  the  simple  rules  of  Christian  ethics,  and 
the  plain  maxims  of  common  sense,  to  the  project  of  the  Cru- 
sade. Or  allowing  the  infatuation — plausible  as  it  certainly 
appeared,  to  take  its  course  unchecked  at  the  first,  and  to  run 
itself  out  through  a  full  fifty  years,  was  it  not  natural  that  the 
few  accomplished  spirits  of  the  age  should  at  length  have 
brought  the  entire  folly  under  review,  and  have  stepped  for- 
ward to  disenchant  the  nations^ 

For  performing  such  a  work  of  reason  and  charity,  whom 
better  should  we  look  to  than  to  Bernard  of  Clairvauxl  Is 
his  personal  ability  to  discharge  such  an  office  questioned? 
It  was  personal  ability,  unaided  by  adventitious  means — it 
was  mere  power  of  mind  and  the  momentum  of  individual 
character  that  raised  him  to  a  position,  in  the  European  com- 
munity, of  more  extensive  influence  than  any  five  human  be- 
ings known  to  history  have  occupied.  A  simple  monk,  and 
then  as  abbot — emaciate,  demure,  downcast  in  look — a  mere 


*  The  ecclesiastics  ■svho  attended  the  Crusades  -u-cre  not  on  every 
occasion  able  to  hold  that  supremacy  at  \\liich  they  aspired.  A  no- 
table instance  of  their  failure  occurred  immediately  upon  the  capture 
of  Jerusalem.  Huict  iom-s  apres  la  prince  de  Hierusalem  les  prin- 
ces chrestiens  tindrent  conscil  pour  eslire  un  chef  d'entr'eux,  contre 
If  vouloir  dcs  Evesques  qui  vouloicnt  premierement  faire  eslection 
d'un  Patfiarche,  et  par  icclny  Patriarclie  estre  esleu  ct  sacre  apres 
un  Ho^■,  neantmoins  en  fin  fut  esleu  de  la  pluralite  le  due  Godefroy, 
Icquel  ils  mcncrent  ct  prescntcrcut  au  sainct  sepulchre,  avec  Hym- 
nes  ct  Cantiqucs,  dormant  louange  a  Dieu. —  C'roniquc  ch'  Aormati- 
lie. 


400 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


shadow  or  apparition  of  liumaiiity,  who,  if  seen  in  tlie  choir 
among  his  companions,  would  have  attracted  no  eye — this 
Bernard  had  come  to  sucli  authority  that  he  spolie  law  in  the 
ears  of  sovereign  pontitVs — made  princes  tremljlc,  or  rejoice, 
and  so  ruled  the  waves  of  the  po|)ular  mind  as  to  be  able  to 
raise  or  allay  the  storms  of  national  tumult  at  pleasure.  True 
indeed  it  is  that  no  mind,  how  energetic  soever,  could  have 
acquired  or  sustained  any  such  power  in  an  age  of  intelli- 
gence. It  was  the  superstition  of  the  times — at  once  pro- 
found and  vehement,  which  all'orded  means  and  opportunity 
for  the  exercise  of  an  autocracy  of  this  sort.  Yet  assuredly 
he  who  could  actually  win  and  hold  it,  must  be  regarded  as 
no  ordinary  being.  And  altliougli  the  age  was  blind,  credu- 
lous, and  infatuated,  Bernard  reared  his  influence,  in  the- main, 
not  by  cajolery  and  imposition,  but  by  those  arduous  and 
genuine  methods  which  an  upright  mind  has  recourse  to. — 
Learned  and  laborious  ;  self-denying,  calm  and  disinterested, 
copious  and  accomplished,  and,  need  it  be  said,  eloquent,  he 
could  well  support  in  personal  intercourse  with  men  of  any 
rank, the  reputation  which  he  possessed  by  common  fame.  If  in 
any  tiling  his  celebrity  rested  on  fictitious  pretensions,  he  might 
without  hazard  have  renounced  whatever  was  unsubstantial.* 

Might  not  then  this  potent  monk,  who  had  fair  opportunity 
of  gathering  up  the  lessons  i'urnished  by  the  history  and  ca- 
lamities of  the  first  Crusade,  have  discerned  and  have  assert- 
ed truth  and  morality,  as  applicable  to  such  an  enterprise, 
and  so  have  saved  myriads  of  lives,  and  have  prevented  innu- 
merable crimes?  Alas,  instead  of  thus  standing  in  the 
breach,  and  effecting  peace  between  Europe  and  Asia,  St. 
Bernard,  with  the  Gospel  on  his  lips,  incited  again  the  west- 
ern nations  to  make  a  furious  assault  upon  their  brethren  of 
the  East :  and  in  so  doing  became  actively  the  author  of  incal- 
culable miseries  and  bloodshed  ! 

However  little  analogy  there  may  appear  to  be  between 
our  own  position  in  the  nineteenth  century  and  that  of  the 
preachers  and  leaders  of  a  Crusade  in  the  twelfth,  it  may 
prove  not  uninstructive  to  examine  somewhat  more  closely  the 
remarkable  instance  before  us. 

The  violence  of  rude  minds  spends  itself  soon,  and  com- 
monly includes  the  means  of  its  own  correction.  But  when 
measures  essentially  unjust  and  absurd  are  promoted  by  men 
who,  having  under  command  their  own  passions,  are  able  at 
leisure  to  work  upon  the  passions  of  others — when  the  tones 
of  moderation  and  the  stores  of  learning  are  employed  for  per- 
verse uses — it  is  then  that  the  mischief  spreads  and  endures. 
Peter  the  Hermit  was  indeed  author  of  one  Crusade;  but 
could  never  have  excited  another.  St.  Bernard,  who,  with 
supercilious  brevity  |^  alludes  to  his  predecessor  as  an  ex- 
travagant fanatic,  not  merely  kindled  the  Crusade  of  11-18, 
but  gave  so  powerful  a  sanction  to  the  desire  of  conquering 
the  Holy  Land,  that  without  unfairness,  the  luckless  expedi- 
tions which  occupied  the  next  century  may,  in  great  part,  be 
charged  to  his  influence. 

If  those  of  the  epistles  of  St.  Bernard  which  relate  to 
the  Crusade,  and  if  his  Exhortation  to  the  Knights  Templars, 
could  be  read  without  knowledge  of  the  specific  intention,  or 
without  recollection  of  the  historical  facts  whereto  they  re- 
late, one  might  easily  believe  that  the  project  in  question  was 
one  fully  recommended  by  wisdom  and  benignity,  and  sanc- 
tioned by  Religion.  How  sedate  and  measured  is  the  lan- 
guage— how  temperate  the  incitements — how  discreet  the 
particular  advices — how  full-fraught  is  every  page  with  the 


serenitv,  the  forethought,  the  circumspection  becoming  a 
chief! — and  how  copious  is  the  adduction  of  Scripture!  al- 
most every  sentence  revolves  upon  a  text : — the  sio-hs  of  piety 
rise  in  fumes  from  every  paragraph — ejaculatory  prayer  in- 
pirils  many  a  sonorous  period.  Yes,  here  we  find  the  very 
substance  of  fanaticism  quite  stripped  of  whatever  one  would 
call  fanatical ;  and  graced  too,  by  whatever  appears  wise  and 
devout.  Already  we  have  turned  aside  to  contemplate  an 
instance  of  the  madness  of  asceticism,  gavely  mantled  and 
philosophic,  in  the  person  of  the  Cappadocian  primate;  now 
we  have  before  us  a  form  not  less  philosophic,  or  celestial ; — 
it  is  that  of  the  seraphic,  the  politic,  and  the  accomplished  Ber- 
nard— chief  patron  and  mover  of  the  madness  of  religious 
military  ambition  ! 

Those  who  will  say  that  illusions  and  infatuations  of  this 
elaborate  order,  tranquilly  afi'ecting  the  very  elements  of  the 
character,  belong  only  to  ages  of  mental  slavery  and  super- 
stition, and  are  not  now  to  be  looked  for  as  possible,  assuredly 
have  something  yet  to  learn  of  the  philosophy  of  human  na- 
ture ;  and,  not  improbably,  are  themselves  the  victims  of 
some  similar  deep-spread  error.  St.  Bernard,  calmly  seated 
in  his  cell — the  Gospels  open  before  him,  and  with  the  events 
of  the  first  Crusades  fresh  in  his  recollection,  thought  that 
nothing  was  more  praiseworthy  or  pious  than  to  lash  the 
passions  of  the  western  nations  to  a  now  fury  for  exterminating 
the  infidel  power  in  the  East.* 

That  identity  of  sentiment,  and  even  of  language  which 
characterises  the  same  fanaticism  under  circumstantial  differ- 
ences, it  is  curious  aiul  instructive  to  notice.  Bloliarnmed 
doubts  not  a  moment  the  lawfulness  of  propagating  the  true 
faith  by  the  sword: — the  very  same  plenary  conviction  runs 
through  the  pages  of  St.  Bernard.  The  prophet  of  Mecca 
says — Fight  for  God,  and  he  will  pardon  all  your  sins,  and 
infallibly  give  you  the  delights  of  Paradise.  The  monk  of 
Clairvaux.on  behalf  of  the  Church,  and  in  her  name,  assures 
to  every  Crusard  a  full  remission  of  all  sins,  and  the  blessed- 
ness of  a  martyr,  beyond  doubt,  if  he  fell  in  the  holy  war. I 
To  be  slain,  says  the  saint,  is  to  benefit  yourself; — to  slay, 
is  to  benefit  Christ!  Impartially  balanced,  whom  shall  we 
first  excuse,  or  whom  rigorously  condemn  1  The  one,  by 
violence  and  carnage  would  fain  vanquish  the  world  to  God : 
the  other,  by  the  like  means,  thought  to  achieve  a  revenge  for 
the  Church,  and  to  effect  a  clearance  of  a  single  superstition 
from  a  single  spot.:^  Both  egregiously  misunderstood  the 
Divine  Character;  both  frightfully  abused  the  language  and 
the  motives  of  religion: — the  ditVercnce  is  only  in  the  terms 
and  style,  and  in  the  magnitude  and  grandeur  of  the  project. 


•  Not  the  slightest  histoi-k-al  ditficulty  attaches  to  tlie  great  mass 
of  Church  wonders.  Foliv,  fraiiii,  and  preposterous  credulity  arc 
stamped  upon  tliem  in  tlie  plainest  characters.  The  perplexity 
arises  in  those  few  exceptive  instances  in  which  men  of  setise  (al- 
though superstitious)  and  men  wliose  lionesty  and  i»iety,  in  the  main, 
-we  cannot  readily  grant  to  be  questionable,  acted  a  prominent  part 
in  the  drama  of  miracles.  Not  tliat  tliis  perplexity  at  all  implies 
evidence  to  which  we  should  listen  in  favour  of  the  miracle  itself; 
for  this  is  altogether  wanting  ;  but  a  real  enigma  presents  itself  -h  hen 
we  endeavour  to  set  an  esteemed  and  respectable  name  quite  tree 
from  the  charge  of  collusion  -with  knaves.  St.  Bernard — if  we  lake 
the  word  of  his  biographers,  wrought  many  more  miracles  than  Paul 
probably  ha<l  done.  And  it  appeai-s  from  certain  expressions  in  his 
letters  an<l  tracts  that  lie  did  not  disclaim  the  reputation  of  a  won- 
iler-worker.  His  personal  credit  is  therefore  implicated  in  the  busi- 
ness. AVe  must  at  present  leave  the  riddle  as  -we  find  it ;  only  say- 
ing that  Hei-nard's  real  and  indubitable  merits  -were  such  as  might 
well  have  borne  the  deduction  of  all  the  prodigies  with  wliich  his 
t-ncomiasts  have  burdened  his  fame. 

+  Fuit  enim  in  \)riore  expedilione,  antequam  Jerosolyraa  ca])ere- 
tnr,  vir  quiilam,  Petrus  nomine,  cujns  et  vos  (nisi  fallor)  sfiepe  men- 
tioneiu  audistis.  Is  pnpulnm  qui  sibi  crediderat,  solum  cum  suis 
incedens  tantis  periculis  dedit,  nt  aut  nnlli,  ,-,ut  paucissimi  eorum 
cvaserinT,  <jni  non  corrnei-int,  aut  fame,  aut  gladio. — Ep.  3G3. 


*  Though  carried  a'\\'ay  by  the  specific  fanaticism  of  the  Crusade, 
St.  Bernard  did  not  forget  mercy  and  justice  in  all  instances.  In 
several  of  his  epistles  he  decisively  condemns  tlie  violences  of  "which 
the  .lews  w  ere  at  that  time  the  victims.  Audivimus  et  gaudemus, 
ut  in  vohis  ferveat  zelus  Dei:  sed  oportet  omnino  temperamenlum 
scientice  non  deesse.  Non  sunt  perseqncndi  Judiel,  non  sunt  tru- 
cidandi,  sed  nee  eftugandi  quidem.- — -J^Jj.  3fi3. 

t  Habes  nunc  forlis  miles,  babes  vir  bellicose, ubi  dimices  absque 
]iericulo:  ubi  et  vincere  gloria,  et  mori  lucrum.  Si  prudens  mercator 
es,  si  conquisitor  hujus  s-tcculi;  magnas  libi  nun<linas  imlico;  \ide  ne 
pereant.  Suscipe  crucis  signum,et  oiniiiitni  pariter,  de  qnibuscorde 
contrito  confessionem  feceris,  indnlgentiain  obtincbis.  ^Materia  ipsa 
si  emitur,  parvi  constat:  si  devoto  assumitur  huniero,  valet  s/«[?  ^/«6io 
regnum  Dei. — Ep.  363.  The  English  barons,  {Ep.  -123,)  are  told  by 
St.  Bernard  that  the  messenger  he  had  despatched  would  not  only 
explain  tlie  business  of  the  Crusade  at  large,  and  nai-rate  what  had 
been  eft'ected,  but  exhibit  to  thera — largissimam  veniam  quic  in 
literis  domini  Papic,  super  eos  qui  cruces  susceperunt,  continetur. 
The  Book,  de  Lande  Nova;  Militia,  ad  jMililes  Templi,  exhibits, 
page  after  page,  elevated  and  impassioned  religious  sentiments, 
thick-set  with  Scriptural  quotations,  and  the  whole  jmrport  of  this 
eloquence  is  to  stimulate  the  murderous  passions  of  mankind.  The 
lawfulness  of  the  enterprise,  and  its  merit,  and  the  cerUiinty  of  sal- 
vation to  those  who  should  fall  in  the  attempt,  are  even-  where,  and 
in  the  boldest  terms,  affirmed.  Securi  igitur  procedi'te  milites,  et 
intrepido  animo  inimicos  crucis  Christi  propellite,  certi  quia  neque 
mors,  neque  vita  poterunt  vos  seperare  a  caritate  Dei,  qua;  est  in 
Christo  Jesu;  illud  sanevobiscum  in  omni  periculo  replicantes:  Sive 
vivimus,  sive  moriniur  Domini  sumus  !  Quam  gloriosi  re\ertuntm- 
victores  de  prcclio!  quam  be;ili  moriuntur  martyres  in  projlio!  .  .  . 
Miles,  inquaiu,  Christi,  SErvnrs  ixterimit,  ixtekit  siicrntoH. 
Sibi  pr:Estat  cum  interit ;  Christo  cum  interimill  This  might  well 
be  given  as  a  pointed  version  of  more  than  one  passage  in  tlic  Koran; 
so  like  is  fanaticism  to  fanaticism,  all  the  world  oier. 

^  Commotaest  cl  oontremuit  terra,  quia  Rex  cojii  perdidit  terram 
suam,  terram  ubi  steterunt  pedes  ejus.  Inimiti  crucis  ejus  .... 
officinas  redemptionis  nostra;  evertere  moliuntur,  et  loca  Christi 
sanguine  dedicala  profanare  contendunt.  PrECcipue  autcm  illud 
Christiaiiie  religionis  insigne,  sepulcrum,  inquam,  in  quo  sepultus 
est  Dominus  majestatis,  ubi  facies  ejus  sudario  ligata  est,  omni  nisu 
nituiitur  evellere. — Ep.  4'23. 


FANATICISM. 


401 


Tlio  eloquence  of  St.  Bernard  was  every  where  triumph- 
ant. France  anJ  Germany  listened  in  rapture  to  his  sermons  : 
England*  yielded  to  his  epistles:  Europe  again  drew  the 
sword,  and  devoted  herself  to  God,  vowing  to  crush  his  ene- 
mies.f  Moreover  the  faults  and  precipitancy  of  the  former 
expedition  were  prudently  avoided  in  tliis  : — the  counsels  of 
the  preacher,  as  well  as  his  declamations,  were  duly  regard- 
ed.:}: Visions  and  miracles,  also,  not  a  few,§  sanctioned  the 
zeal  with  which  the  preacher  had  inspired  princes  and 
knights.  Even  to  think  ill  success  possible  was  an  impiety. 
Heaven  audibly  blessed  the  enterprise,  and  assured  a  pros- 
perous issue  !||  Luckless  confidence  !  the  intentions  of  heaven 
in  this,  as  in  so  many  other  instances,  had  been  utterly  mis- 
interpreted. Disaster  attended  the  expedition  throughout  its 
course,  and  a  failure  in  all  its  objects  disgraced  its  conclu- 
sion. But  it  is  unjust,  say  some  of  the  contemporary  reli- 
gious historians,  to  affirm  that  St.  Bernard's  Crusade,  though 
calamitous  to  the  eye  of  sense,  produced  no  fruits,  such  as 
miglit  be  held  to  redeem  the  saint's  reputation; — for  how 
many  thousand  soldiers  of  the  cross  did  it  send  with  a  pros- 
perous gale  to  heaven,  to  claim  the  promised  rewards  of  mar- 
tyrdom !^ 

'I'bis  ingenious  solution  of  the  perplexing  event  did  not  sat- 
isfy St.  Bernard  himself.  After  declaring  with  a  piety  we 
should  admiro,  that  he  would  rather  himself  sustain  in  silent 
patience  the  reproaches  of  the  profane,  than  that  the  glory  of 
God  should  be  assailed,  and  would  think  himself  happy  to 
serve  as  "  the  shield  of  God,"  receiving  in  his  person  every 
shaft  of  the  adversary ;  he  labours  to  find  cases  parallel  to 
his  own  among  the  histories  of  the  Old  Testament: — he  ob- 
liquely refers  to  the  miracl.s  wrought  by  him  in  attestation 
of  the  Predication  of  the  Cross;  and  then,  as  the  last  and 
best  recourse,  alleges  tlie  inscrutable  profundity  of  the  Divine 
Providence,  which,  as  he  scruples  not  to  affirm,  often  leads 
men  on  only  to  disappoint  and  thwart  them  ;  and  commands 
that  to  be  done  wliicb  it  intends  to  frustrate!  **Alas  how 
much,  even  by  the  religious,  is  the  Divine  Providence  out 
raged,  and  the  Divine  attributes  vilified  I  Every  thing  is  un 
derstood  sooner  than  the  simplest  principles  cf  morality  and 
religion.  We  passionately  plunge  into  enterprises  that  are 
wholly  unjustifiable  or  absurd — enterprises  clearly  incompat- 
ible at  once  with  the  dictates  of  common  sense,  and  the  pre- 


*  The  Epistle  just  quoted,  was  addressed  to  the  English  Barons, 
and  the  abbot  does  not  omit  tl»e  bliindistiinciits  that  might  conciliate 
llie  parties.  Et  quia  terra  vcstra  ftecmida  est  virorum  fortiuni,et 
luililari  juvcntute  rel'erla  ;  decct  vos  inter  primes,  et  cum  primis,ad 
sauctvim  opus  accedere,  et  armatos  ascendere  ad  scrviendum  Deo 
viventi. 

t  The  apologist  of  St.  Bernard  may  allege  tliat  lie  acted  on  lliis 
occasion  in  obedience  to  the  sovereign  Puntitf,  Eugenius  HI.,  in  w  ri- 
ling to  whom, on  tliu  subject,  he  says — Uc  cctero  miuidastis,  et  obe- 
divi.  Yet  even  this  same  pope  was  his  creature  :  lie  goes  on  to  de- 
chu'c  the  success  (»f  his  labours. — Et.  fcecundavit  ohedicntiam  prK- 
cipieutis  auctoritas.  Siquidcm  annunciavi  ct  locutus  sum,  multi- 
pi  icati  sunt  super  numerum.  Vacuantur  urbes  et  castella,  et  paine 
jam  non  inveuiunt  qncm  appreliendant  septem  mulieres  virmn  unum, 
adeo  ubiqne  vidux  \ivis  remanent  viris. — Ep.  24r. 

\  Beside  other  insUuices  of  prudence,  St.  Bernard  gave  proof  of 
Ills  good  si'use  in  utterly  dpclinitig  tliC  honoiu*  of  leading  in  person 
the  Crusade."  His  i'anuticism  savoured  far  more  of  the  cell  and  the 
pttl\iit,  lliaii  of  the  field. — Quoniodo  videlicet  in  Carnotensi  conventu 
((pioniuu  judicio  satis  n^iror)  me  (juasi  in  ducem  et  principem  militia? 
elegcnuit :  certum  sit  vobis  nee  consilii  mei,  nee  voluntatis  mea; 
fiiissevel  esse.  .  .  .  Quis  sum  ego,  &c. — Kp.  -5C. 

§  .  .  .  .  nlmirum,  says  the  Saint's  Notary,  cum  aliquando  vigenti, 
sen  etiam  plures  ab  iucommodis  variis  sanarentnr,  uec  facile  ali 
hujnsmodi  dies  ulla  vacaret. 

II  I'anatics  may  safely  enougli  perform  miracles — among  dieir  fol- 
lowers ;  but  they  commit  a  i'atal  hbnuler  when  they  turn  prophets. 
It  was  here  diat  SL  Bernard  made  shipwreck,  and  on  the  very  same 
lock  bis  imitators  in  eveiy  age  have  split.  The  hifatuations  of  the 
jjresent  day  are  nieeliiig  a  like  fate. 

t  Nee  tanien  ex  ilia  profeclione  Orientalis  Ecdesia  libcrari,  sed 
coclestis  meruit  iiupleri  ct  iKUn-i.  And  was  not  the  lot  of  those  who 
sui'vived  and  returned  to  sin,  more  lamentable  than  that  of  those  qu 
in  fructihiis  ]io?nitenti:c  purgatas  variis  tribulationibus  Christo  ani- 
mus reddiderunt  ' — ]  ila.  S.  Bern.  I.  iii.  c.  4.  If  the  Crusade  eflect 
ed  no  visible  good,  yet  did  it  secure  the  salvation  of  a  multitude  of 
souls,  says  the  Abbot  Otlio  ;  while  another  writer  assures  us,  on  in- 
fallible  testimony,  that  a  nmltitude  of  the  fallen  angels  were  restored 
on  the  occasion  1 

**  See  Epistle  28S,  and  especially  the  Apology  he  addressed  to  the 
Poije,  J)e  Coiisiilt^ratione,  1.  ii.  c,  1.  Scorners  asked  for  evidence 
that  the  Crusade  was  from  God.  Non  est  iiuoil  ad  ista  ipse  respon- 
deani,  parccnilnm  Ttreciindto:  metr.  Kesponde  tu  pro  me  et  pro  te 
ipso,  secunden>  ea  tpr.e  .audisli  el  vidi.sti ;  nut  eerie  secundum  r/uud 
tihi  innliiriiverit  Deiin  !  .  .  .  .  Etsi  necesse  sit  unum  lici'i  e  duo- 
bus,  nuilo  in  nos  nmrmur  hominum,  qnani  in  Deum  esse,  llonttm 
niibi,  si  digiietur  me  uti  pro  civpeo. 
Vol.  II.— 3  .\ 


cepts  of  the  gospel.  What  may  be  wanting  on  the  side  of 
reason  we  largely  supply  from  tiie  stock  of  faith  : — texts  and 
fervours  fill  out  the  bubble  of  our  confidence.  But  in  due 
season  the  folly  bursts : — natural  causes  produce  natural 
effects: — the  seed  we  had  sown  springs  up  in  its  proper  kind. 
How  reasonable,  then,  and  how  becoming  would  it  be  to  re- 
tract our  presumption,  and  to  confess  our  fault.  Instead  of 
admitting  any  such  pious  ingenuousness,  we  fretful!}-  talk  of 
the  unfathomable  depths  and  the  inscrutable  mysteries  of  the 
ways  of  God  !  and  sum  up  the  matter  perhaps,  as  does  St. 
Bernard,  with  a  grossly  misapplied  text — "  Blessed  is  every 
one  that  is  not  oti'ended  in  Him," — as  much  as  to  say,  God's 
ways  are  such  that  it  is  a  vast  merit  not  to  resent  them  !* 

Of  the  second  crusade  to  the  Holy  Land  the  Abbot  of 
Clairvaux  was  personally  the  author.  Another  far  more  mur- 
derous, and  more  fatally  successful,  may  justly  be  attributed, 
though  indirectl}',  to  his  influence.  About  half  a  century 
after  the  death  of  their  Founder,  the  Bernnrdins,  with  the 
zealous  Arnold  Amalric  at  their  head,  and  too  well  authorized 
by  tlie  language  and  conduct  of  their  spiritual  father,  charged 
themselves  with  the  business  of  assembling  the  catholic 
world  for  the  extermination  of  the  heretics  of  Langucdoc. 
With  how  much  of  horrid  glory  these  labours  were  crowned, 
the  histories  of  the  times  attest.  The  Romanist  of  the  pres- 
ent day  confides  in  the  truth  of  the  miracles  recorded  to  have 
been  performed  by  St.  Bernard  ; — indeed  he  cannot  question 
them  without  discarding  at  the  same  time  the  whole  of  that 
evidence  upon  which  his  church  rests  her  pretensions  as  the 
perpetual  organ  of  Christ  on  earth. — But  now  it  was  on  the 
credit  of  these  very  miracles  (should  we  not  rather  with  Paul 
call  them  "  lying  wonders") — it  was  on  this  warranty  ex- 
pressly, that  the  preachers  of  the  Alhigensian  (Crusade  incited 
that  detestable  expedition,  and  justified  the  massacres  and  tor- 
tures that  attended  its  course.  With  the  maxims  of  the  New 
Testament  before  him,  is  there  then  nothing  that  should  stag- 
ger the  faith  of  the  Romanist  in  these  blood-stained  prodi- 
gies? If  the  direct  and  immediate  use  to  which  they  were 
applied  was  carnage,  rape,  and  unutterable  ferocities ; — if 
the  clew  of  miracle  run.?  throughout  the  story  of  abomina- 
ble murder,  shall  a  man  who  owns  common  powers  of  reason 
and  conscience,  swallow,  with  a  blind  voraciousness,  at 
once  the  wonders  and  the  murders ;  or  shall  ho  do  so,  and 
claim  to  be  any  longer  respected  among  Men  and  Chris- 
tians?! 

The  fanaticism  of  religious  war  has  seldom  if  ever  been 

*  .  .  .  .  hoc  abyssus  tanta,  ut  videar  mihi  non  imracrito  pronun- 
tiare  beatum,  qui  non  fucrit  scandalizatus  in  eo. — Ue  Cunsid.  I.  'J. 
c.  1. 

t  An  uiconsistcncy  not  easy  to  adjust,  belongs  to  St.  Bernard's 
statements  of  the  duty  of  the  Chmxli  towards  heretics.  In  some 
places  he  seems  to  disallow  measures  of  violence  ;  while  iti  otliers 
he  plainly  recommeiuls  the  tise  of  force.  These  two  points  at  least 
are  pretty  ccrtiiin  :  1st.  That  whatever  he  might  say  or  sanction  iu 
compliance  with  the  practices  of  the  age,  or  in  submission  to 
authoritv^,  his  personal  or  original  dispositions  w  ere  not  of  a  ferocious 
kind  ;  but  the  reverse  :  ami  '2d.  That  whatever  his  personal  dis- 
positions might  he,  he  had  become  so  thoroughly  the  slaie  of  the 
Komlsh  despotism,  that  he  held  himself  ready  to  promote  whatever 
it  approved  and  enjoined.  So  it  is  commonly  lliat  men  of  mild 
tempers  are  employed  by  the  arrog-.mt  anil  the  tyrannous  as  their 
fittest  tools  iu  givirig  etiect  to  oppressive  or  sanguinary  acts.  In 
commenting  upon  Canticles  ii.  15.  "  Take  us  the  fo.\cs,  tjie  little 
foxes,  that  spoil  the  vines,  for  our  vines  have  teiitler  grapes  :"  this 
Father  observes,  that  the  little  foxes  are  insidious  heresies,  or  rather 
the  heretics  themselves,  and  adds,  Cajiiantur,  dico,  non  armis,  sed 
argumentis,  qtubus  refcllanlin-  errores  eorum  :  ipsi  vero,  si  fieri  po- 
test reconcillentur  Calholicx  ; — lliis  is  all  very  veil: — the  Church 
says,  Capite  eas  nobis,  catch  thcmy&r  us.  Vet  bis  doctrine  in  other 
places  is  of  a  diftereut  sort.  With  a  slippery  aml)iguity  of  phrases, 
he  gives  room  for  the  use  of  the  most  extreme  means — approves  the 
zeal  of  those  who,  in  tumultuous  furv  had  falkii  upon  heretics; 
though  he  will  not  ad\  ise  the  deed  ; — i'actum  non  suademns  ; — but 
concludes  that  the  sword  is  to  be  employed  against  those  w  ho  persist 
in  propagating  their  errors. — In  Ciintica,  Smn.  6G.  But  in  an 
epistle  to  llildefond,  count  of  Toulouse,  whom  he  accuses  of  favoiu*- 
ing  the  heretics  of  his  states,  all  the  truculent  rancour  of  the  genuine 
churchman  flows  forth  ;  ami  in  addressing  the  clergy  of  the  province 
after  his  return,  he  seems  quite  to  pant  from  tlielaboursof  extermi- 
nation ;  and  thus  concludes  his  advices. — Deprehensi  sunt  liqii . .  . 
dcprehcnsi,  sed  non  comprehensi.  Propterea  dilectissimi,/jt>rse7?«- 
mini  et  comprehendite  cos  :  et  nolite  desistere,  donee  penitus  bepe- 
REANT,  et  diftugiant  de  cunetls  finibus  vestris,  quia  non  est  lutnm  dor- 
mire  vicinlsserpentihus. — Ep.  •2i'-2  ad'ioi.osi.sos,  post  reditum siium. 
Such  are  the  strains  of  ecclesiastics,  even  some  of  the  best  of  them, 
when  irritated  hy  op])0sition.  'J'ho  reader  will  not  fail  to  notice  the 
indulgent  distinction  which  the  good  aljbot  observes  between  wolves 
and  loxes.  In  the  .sense  of  Bishop  I'onipiet,  the  men,  women,  and 
children  of  a  city  belonged  iniliscriniiiiately  to  the  former  class,  if 
heresy  was  liarhoured  at  all  amonir  them. 


403 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


graced  and  recommended  more  remarkably  than  in  the  in- 
stance of  the  canonized  hero  of  France,  whose  disasters  and 
death  may  be  said  to  liave  brought  the  crusading  enterprise 
to  a  close  ;— for  that  which  the  masnanimous  Godfrey  began, 
the  saint-like  Louis  concluded.  The  extant  effigies  of  this 
good  and  valiant  prince  so  well  correspond  with  his  recorded 
actions,  that  wc  cannot  but  look  upon  them  as  authentic* 
What  mildness  and  dignity — goodness,  humility,  and  yet 
fire  and  strength  beam  from  the  countenance!  It  is  a  face 
which  for  suavity  might  belong  to  the  most  refined  ages; — 
a  face  shining  w'ith  a  religious  elevation  seldom  indeed  ex- 
hibited in  the  series  of  royal  portraits.  And  such  in  trnth 
was  Louis  IX.  Disinterested  to  a  fanlt  in  his  conduct  to- 
ward neighbouring  powers  ; — a  peace-maker,  and  an  arbitrator 
inflexibly  just.  Industrious  in  the  discharge  of  public  busi- 
ness, lenient  and  moderate  in  exacting  dues,  accessible  and 
gracious  to  the  poor: — firm  toward  the  proud  and  powerful. 
Irreproachable  in  private  life — temperate  and  chaste.  And 
withal,  a  warrior  of  no  mean  reputation — justly  admired  as 
well  on  account  or  his  personal  valour,  as  of  his  conduct  in 
the  field  : — chivalrous  in  the  best  sense  of  the  term  ;  and  pi- 
ous in  a  sense  at  which  the  severity  of  modern  notions  must 
not  cavil. j- 

What  then  does  our  hero  want — unless  it  be  that  integrity 
and  vigor  of  reason  of  which  the  superstition  of  his  age  had 
cashiered  him?  If  one  might  bring  St.  Louis  into  parallel 
with  the  statesmen  and  warriors  of  classical  history — an 
Epaniinoiidas  or  Timoleon,  a  Scipio  or  a  Marius,  though  he 
claims  over  them  the  advantage  of  some  higher  sentiments 
and  purer  morals,  he  must  yield  to  them  all  the  preroga- 
tives of  that  erect  position  of  the  soul  which  belonged  to 
them  (although  superstitious  in  their  way)  as  exempt  from 
the  humiliation  indicted  by  sacerdotal  despotism.  The  Gre- 
cian and  Roman  public  worship  stood  subservient  to  the  civil 
and  military  powers  of  the  state;  while  that  of  the  Christian 
nations  (of  the  middle  ages)  not  merely  usurped  every  kind 
of  influence,  but  n  ith  the  arrogance  fitting  infinite  pretensions, 
trod  the  very  souls  of  men  in  the  dust.  Strong  emotions  of 
shame  and  indignation  spring  up  in  the  mind — shame  for 
the  degradations  of  humanity,  shame  for  the  abused  re- 
ligion of  Christ,  when  one  suddenly  turns  from  the  sculp- 
tures that  have  brought  down  to  our  times  the  forms  of 
the  Grecian  chiefs,  and  inspects  the  mosaics,  the  parchments, 
the  painted  windows,  and  the  bas-reliefs,  in  which  the  mag- 
nanimous Louis  is  shown,  stripped  to  the  waist  like  a  vaga- 
bond thief,  and  patiently  receiving  from  the  hands  of  emascu- 
late monks  the  discipline  of  the  whip  !  Or  shall  we  contem- 
plate the  monarch  of  France — not  only  king,  but  soldier  and 
statesman,  followed  by  the  bevy  of  his  court,  and  a  swarm 
of  ecclesiactics,  on  the  road  before  Sens,  pacing  the  rugged 
ground  barefoot,  on  his  way  to  meet — was  it  some  delegate 
from  the  upper  world — some  minister  of  heaven  before  whom 
mortality  must  tremble,  and  the  pride  of  kings  fall  in  the 
dust? — No — nothing  but  a  relic,  and  this  relic,  not  a  relic ; 
but  the  palpable  work  of  monkish  knavery.:}: 

Far  from  being  a  farcical  or  a  politic  compliance  with  the 
usages  of  the  times,  these  acts  of  devotion  were,  on  the  part 
of  Louis  IX.  unquestionably  the  result  of  his  sincere  and 
profound  convictions.  So  likewise  were  his  Crusades; — the 
infatuation  had  thoroughl3'  worked  itself  into  his  soul ;  and 
every  part  of  his  conduct  in  the  two  disastrous  expeditions — 
the  one  to  Egypt  and  Syria,  and  the  other  to  the  African  coast, 
exhibits  the  resolution,  the  consistency,  and  the  greatness 
which  distinguish  vigorous  minds  when  ruled  by  some  single 
and  paramount  motive.  This  motive  was,  in  many  important 
respects,  unlike  that  which  had  impelled  the  Crusaders  of  the 
preceding  century.  The  course  of  events  had  insensibly  given 
to  the  oriental  war  another  and  a  new  character.    With  God- 


*  Several  portraits  of  St.  Louis,  and  some  of  tlieni  well  cxccvited, 
are  c\tant  (or -were  so  before  the reTolutioii)  in  the  Chui'ches  dedicated 
to  him,  as  veil  as  in  MSS.  Tlicse  are  to  be  seen  ia  Moutitaucon's 
Antiquities  of  France. 

t  Louis  IX.  succeeded  his  fatliei-  in  1'2'26,  and  was  only  in  liis 
fourteenth  year,  and  subject  to  the  queen  mother,  when  he  acted  his 
part  in  the  Abominable  conduct  of  tlie  Church  and  Court  to«ai-ds 
llaymond  >  II. 

^  St.  Louis,  receiving  the  ^ace  of  penitence,  is  one  of  tlie  subjects 
represented  upon  the  windows  of  the  vestry  of  St.  Denis.  Baldwin 
"    Latin  emperor  of  Constantinople,  in  acknowledgment  of  the 


II 


French  king's  bounties  to  the  Clirislians  of  Palestine,  sent  him — the 
crown  of  thorns,  w  hich  had  been  preserved  in  the  imperial  palace  ; 
but  which  the  Venetians  had  lately  held  as  a  pledge  for  a  loan.  Louis 
discharged  thisdebt,  and  received' the  sacred  treasure.  Single  thorns 
broken  off,  were  I'orUiw  ith  conferred  upon  srvei-;il  of  the  Chiu'ches 
and  Abbeys  of  France 


frey,  Robert  of  Normandy,  and  Tancred,  the  project  was 
aggressive  and  spontaneous;  but  after  the  Christian  powers 
liad  made  a  permanent  lodgement  in  Palestine,  and  natural- 
ized themselves  there,  it  became  at  once  a  duty  of  humanity, 
and  a  demand  of  public  justice  to  defend  the  oriental  colo- 
nies. Accordingly  wc  now  hear  much  more  than  at  first,  of 
the  obligation  to  protect  and  to  rescue  the  afflicted  Christians 
of  the  eastern  church ;  and  it  is  this  plea,  rather  than  any 
motive  of  a  fanatical  or  superstitious  kind,  which  was  em- 
ployed in  the  time  of  St.  Louis  to  quicken  the  zeal  of  princes 
and  adventurers.* 

In  this  light  mainly  did  the  French  monarch  regard  the 
expeditions  he  conducted  ;  and  it  would  be  harsh  indeed  to 
affirm  that  those  attempts  might  not  appear  to  him  in  the 
fullest  degree  justifiable.  And  moreover,  as  the  final  motive 
had  gradually  become  of  a  dilTerent  sort,  so  were  the  imme- 
diate excitements  very  unlike  that  which  impelled  the  earlier 
invasions  of  the  Holy  Lar.d.  T'/ien  the  torrent  of  war  poured 
on  directly  to  the  revered  centre  of  devotion.  Although  the 
route  was  unavoidably  circuitous,  still  the  line  of  movement 
tended  always  towards  the  sacred  sites.  The  enthusiasm  of 
the  enterprise  mounted  up  therefore  at  every  step  of  the  march; 
nor  did  it  abate  until  the  soldiers  of  the  cross  had  waded 
through  rivers  of  Moslem  blood  in  their  way  to  the  foot  of 
Zion. 

liut  how  much  must  the  crusading  zeal  have  sunk,  and 
how  much  must  it  have  mingled  with  secondary  motives, 
w  hen,  instead  of  rushing  on  to  the  endeared  and  outraged  city 
of  human  redemption,  the  crusards  had  first  to  assail  the 
enemy  in  some  quarter  far  remote  from  those  spots;  for  in- 
stance, along  the  banks  of  the  Nile,  or  upon  the  burning  sands 
of  the  Numidian  coast,  and  fifteen  hundred  miles  from  the 
Holj'  City  !  and  as  the  impulse  was  by  this  means  slackened, 
so  probably  room  might  be  left  for  emotions  of  a  better  and 
;i  calmer  sort.  This  was  certainly  the  case  with  the  French 
king.  The  superstitions  of  his  times  apart,  for  which  St. 
Louis  was  not  responsible,  his  last  hours  exhibited  whatever 
is  becoming  to  the  faith  and  temper  of  a  dying  Christian. 

As  well  royal  pride  (if  any  sparks  of  sucli  a  feeling  lingered 
in  the  bosom  of  this  religious  king)  as  the  ordinary  excite- 
ments attendant  upon  a  martial  enterprise,  were  fallen  at  that 
moment  to  the  very  lowest  ebb.  After  winning  some  laurels 
of  little  value,  the  crusaders,  at  the  season  of  insuflerable 
heat,  had  encamped  upon  the  desert  within  sight  of  Tunis. 
Hut  they  had  scarcely  began  to  rest  when  pestilence  broke 
out,  and  threatened  to  leave  the  residue  of  the  army  at  the 
merej'  of  an  infuriated  foe.  One  of  the  first  to  fall  was  the 
son  of  the  king — designated  from  his  cradle  to  sorrow. f  Over 
his  grave  Louis  himself  sickened,  and  his  frame,  already 
wasted  by  a  long  course  of  austerities,  at  once  gave  way. 
Earthly  hopes  of  everj'  kind  were  waning  fast.  This  second 
expedition,  which  should  have  redeemed  the  calamities  of  the 
first,  it  was  now  certain  must  be  frustrated  : — even  whether 
space  would  be  secured  for  giving  Christian  rites  to  the  dying 
and  the  dead  was  doubtful : — whether  a  wreck  of  the  flower 
of  France  w'ould  return  to  tell  the  tale  of  disaster  seemed  un- 
certain. Horrors  thickened  on  every  side ;  and  worse  horrors 
impended.  But  though  the  earth  itself  should  remove,  and 
the  foundations  of  things  sublunary  be  broken,  the  dying 
monarch  admitted  no  despondency  : — the  surrounding  gloom 
did  not  darken  his  soul.  His  energies  as  a  man,  his  solici- 
tudes as  a  king,  his  afl'ection  as  a  father,  his  zeal  as  a  Chris- 
tian, were  not  relaxed.  Whatever  the  exigency  of  the  time 
demanded  to  be  done  or  arranged,  he  completed.  His  last 
acts  as  a  sovereign  were  directed  to  the  long  desired  object 
of  reconciliug  the  Latin  and  Greek  churches;  and  having 
surrendered  his  kingdom,  with  wise  and  pious  advices,  to  his 
son,  he  closed  his  eyes  on  worldly  pomps,  in  calm,  it  not 
assured  hope  of  entering,  in  due  season,  upon  the  joys  of 
eternity. 

So  is  the  grace  of  heaven  wont  to  relieve  the  darkest  histo- 
ries of  the  follies  and  crimes  of  nations,  by  unsullied  instances 
of  piety  and  goodness. 

The  rule  of  analogy  leads  on  by  natural  transitions  from 
scene  to  scene,  making  it  necessary  to  traverse  the  order  of 
Time.  Commencing  with  the  most  complete  instance  of 
spontaneous  or  aggressive  religious  warfare,  we  have  passed 


'  We  must  revert  to  St.  Bernard  to  do  him  the  justice  of  saying, 
that,  even  a  full  century  before  the  time  of  Louis  IX.  the  plea  of 
relieving  and  defending  the  Syrian  Christians  was  employed  as  an 
auxiliary  motive  for  undertaking  the  Crusade.     'Icmpus  et  opus  est 


existimo  ambos  educi  in  defriisionem  orientalis  ecclesiK. 
t  ,lobn  Tristan,  horn  in  Kgvpt,  at  the  time  of  bis  fadier': 


s  captivity. 


FANATICISINI. 


__^ 403 

and  sacred  language  of  his  religion — the  language  of  the  law 
and  the  prophets,  and  while  acquiring  in  its  stead  a  dialect 
which,  according  to  the  ordinary  course  of  human  affairs, 
should  have  infected  him  more  deeply  than  ever  with  poly- 
ihetic  notions,  learned  the  true  sense  of  Moses  and  the  pro- 
phets !  Thus,  in  forgetting  the  letter  of  Scripture,  he  got 
possession  of  its  spirit. 

Become  at  length  devoted  and  sincere  worshippers  of  the 
God  of  their  fathers,  and  punctilious  observers  of  the  ancient 
ritual,  and  now  restored  to  their  city  and  land,  it  seemed  as  if 
the  Jewish  people  was  setting  out  under  auspicious  circum- 
stances to  run  that  course  of  national  obedience  and  conse- 
quent prosperity  which  should  render  it  a  visible  and  perpetual 
witness  in  the  eye  of  all  nations  for  a  pure  theology.  Now 
were  bright  predictions  to  be  fulfilled,  and  now  was^the  world 
to  admire  a  people  loved  of  God — a  roj'al  priesthood — an  ex- 
emplar of  wisdom,  virtue,  and  felicity! 

So  it  might  have  been  thought ;  but  the  hour  was  come 
for  an  occult  law  of  retribution — a  latent  principle  of  the 
spiritual  economy,  to  take  effect  upon  the  chosen  race.  Those 
who,  age  after  age,  had  contemned  the  Divine  promise  of 
temporal  prosperity  as  the  reward  of  religious  obedience,  and 
had   so  long  and  so  perversely  "sinned  against  their  own 

mercies,"  were  now  to  be  dealt  with  on  a  different  rule a 

rule  which  drew  its  reason  from  higher  purposes  than  hereto- 
fore had  been  regarded.  The  Jewish  people  were  indeed  at 
this  time  willing  to  maintain  the  honours  of  Jehovah  ;  and 
they  were  allowed  to  do  so : — yet  it  must  be  under  the  con- 
dition (for  the  most  part)  of  tribulation  and  oppression.  The 
economy  of  earthly  benefits  which  had  remained  in  force 
under  Solomon,  Asa,  Jehosaphat,  Hezekiah,  was  super- 
annuated, and  was  displaced  by  an  economy  of  motives 
of  a  more  elevated  order.  Antiochus  is  suffered  to  try  the 
faith  and  constancy  of  those  whose  faithless  fathers  had 
been  given  into  the  hand  of  Assyrian  and  Babylonian  op- 
pressors. 

This  change  in  tlie  character  of  events  cannot  be  contem- 
plated without  perceiving  that  the  dawn  of  a  dzy  of  immortal 
hope  was  just  then  breaking  upon  the  mountains  of  Judeea;  a 
precursive  trial  was  therefore  to  be  made  of  that  higher  order 
of  things,  and  of  that  more  perfect  discipline  wherein  the 
welfare  of  the  soul  was  to  take  precedence  of  that  of  the  body 
— the  spiritual  to  be  preferred  to  the  natural — and  Eternity  to 
be  more  accounted  of  than  Time. 

A  marked,  and  a  correspondent  change  took  place  at  this 
era  of  Jewish  history  in  the  sentiments  of  the  people,  and 
especially  of  their  chiefs.  Instead  of  talking  exclusively  (as 
heretofore)  of  immediate  and  political  deliverance,  and  of 
national  aggrandizement,  they  mixed  with  such  secular  hopes, 
views  of  a  more  refined  and  prospective  sort.  They  had 
gradually  learned  to  look  through  the  dim  shadows  of  death 
for  the  rewards  of  piety  ; — they  turned  their  eye  from  the 
hills  of  Palestine,  and  with  a  steady  courage  endured  tor- 
ments and  met  death — that  they  might  obtain  "a  belter  re- 
surrection"* Not  a  less  remarkable  revolutiorf  of  feeling 
was  this  than  that  of  tlieir  final  abandonment  of  polytheism. 
It  was  in  truth  a  progression  of  the  national  mind  ;  and  a 
progression  that  involved  the  remote  and  universal  destinies 
of  the  human  family  ;  for  in  the  history  and  fiite  of  the  race 
of  Abraham  the  history  and  fate  of  all  nations  are  bound  up. 

The  acquisition  of  the  belief  of  a  future  life,  and  of  its  in- 
finite rewards  and  punishments  as  a  popular  dogma,  deepened 
and  expanded  to  an  immense  extent  the  range  of  the  religious 
emotions.  The  Jew  of  the  Asmonean  era  had  become  capa- 
ble of  sustaining  a  part  of  spiritual  heroism  such  as  his  an- 
cestors of  the  time  of  David  had  never  thought  of.  The 
"  mighty  threes"|  of  that  pristine  age  wtre  indeed  valiant  as 
warriors,  and  faithful  too  as  champions  of  the  God  of  Israel; 
but  Judas  Maccabeus,  his  companions  and  his  successors, 
drew  the  motives  of  their  constancy  from  considerations  far 
more  recondite  and  potent;  and  they  fought  and  bled  not 
merely  as  soldiers,  but  as  martyrs.":}: 


to  those  enterprises  that  were  of  a  mixed  kind,  and  have  fol- 
lowed them  until  they  assumed  a  defensive  aspect.  We  start 
anew  then  from  this  point  to  contemplate  the  memorable  ex- 
ample of  a  nation  gathering  its  strength  to  a  convulsive  and 
frenzied  effort  for  the  rescue  of  its  ancient  and  impassioned 
religious  hopes. 

As  the  terrible  catastrophe  of  the  Jewish  city  and  people 
is  fraught  with  horrors  beyond  perhaps  any  other  scene  of 
history,  so  did  the  sentiments  then  called  up — the  fanaticism 
of  national  pride,  reach  a  height  to  which  no  parallel  can  be 
found.  An  examination  of  the  moral  condition  and  political 
circumstances  of  the  Jewish  community  at  the  time  is  quite 
necessarj'  if  we  would  either  read  the  dismal  story  with  in- 
tellitrence,  or  afford  to  the  infatuated  sufferers  that  measure 
of  sympathy  which  they  may  well  claim.  And  with  this 
view  it  is  moreover  indispensable  that  we  should  dismiss, 
for  a  moment  at  least,  those  special  feelings  with  which,  as 
Christians,  we  are  accustomed  to  contemplate  the  vengeance 
that  overtook  the  betrayers  and  murderers  of  the  Lord,  and 
the  obdurate  enemies  of  his  gospel. 

Yet  is  it  difficult  to  disengage  the  mind  from  those  im- 
pressions which  give  to  the  events  of  the  Jewish  war  their 
supernatural  character;  in  truth,  this  stamp  of  extraordinary 
interposition  is  imprinted  upon  every  transaction  of  the  time: 
the  rebellion  itself — the  madness  of  the  endeavour,  on  the 
part  of  so  feeble  a  state,  to  resist  the  undivided  force  of  the 
Koman  empire — the  pertinacity  of  the  resistance — the  frenzy 
of  the  intense  feuds,  and  the  delirium  of  the  last  struggle, 
bear  the  marks  of  a  judicial  abandonment:  while,  on  the  other 
side,  the  singular  conduct  of  the  Roman  authorities,  as  well 
as  many  incidents  of  the  siege  and  capture  of  the  city,  exhibit 
visibly — must  we  not  admit,  the  irresistible  control  of  a  hand 
from  above.  Lookiiig  upon  the  city,  overshadowed  by  the 
bursting  cloud  of  fate,  the  seals  of  Divine  wrath  are  seen 
upon  its  palaces;  and  one  believes  to  hear  the  sullen  thunder 
that  announces  the  departure  of  Jehovah  from  the  ancient 
place  of  His  rest.  Or  turning  toward  the  encircling  armies, 
the  lioman  banners  appear  to  bear  an  inscription,  besjieaking 
Titus  as  the  minister  of  the  predicted  wrath  of  God. 

It  need  not  be  feared  lest,  while  affording  in  this  instance 
a  due  commiseration  to  an  unhappy  people,  we  should  make 
ourselves  sharers  in  their  peculiar  guilt.  Every  reader  of 
Jew  ish  history  learns  to  distinguish  between  the  urdinary 
and  the  theological  aspect  of  the  calamities  that  have  followed 
the  race.  Who  that  has  the  heart  of  a  man  hesitates  to  take 
part  with  the  persecuted  Israelites  against  the  inquisitor ;  or 
who  would  stand  aloof  a  moment,  if  an  occasion  offered  for 
defending  him  from  the  wanton  ferocity  of  the  feudal  baron 
or  the  Romish  priest'!  And  yet  these  very  sufferings,  and 
all  the  miseries  that  have  pursued  the  people  in  the  lands  of 
their  dispersion,  are  as  truly  a  retribution  from  heaven  of  their 
national  unbelief,  as  were  the  famine,  the  pestilence,  and  the 
carnage  that  attended  the  overthrow  of  Jerusalem.  If  it  be 
lawful  to  think  and  speak  with  indulgence  and  compassion 
of  the  Jew  of  the  tenth  and  fifteenth  centuries,  it  is  so  to  feel 
the  same  in  regard  to  his  ancestor  of  t!-.e  age  of  Vespasian. 
Do  we  want  a  sanction  for  sentiments  of  this  kind  ! — we  re- 
ceive one  that  is  absolute  and  conclusive  from  the  example 
of  the  Messiah  himself,  who  when,  with  prophetic  eye,  he 
beheld  the  city  as  if  then  torrents  of  blood  were  pouriiio- 
down  from  its  gates,  "  wept  over  it;"  and  without  forgetting 
its  crimes,  lamented  its  miseries. 

The  fanaticism  which  came  to  its  paroxysm  in  the  Jewish 
war  demands  to  be  traced  in  its  growth,  and  watched  in  its 
several  stages  of  enhancement.  To  do  so  is  nothing  more 
than  an  act  of  justice  toward  the  fallen  people;  and  moreover 
the  subject  has  (as  we  shall  afterwards  see),  a  special  and 
very  important  bearing  upon  a  question  which  arises  concern- 
ing the  influence  of  the  Mosaic  and  prophetic  dispensation  in 
forming  the  national  character. 

After  a  schooling  of  almost  a  thousand  j'ears  (from  Moses 
to  Daniel),  a  discipline  in  which  was  mingled  every  means  of 
grace  and  judgment;  yet  attended  with  only  partial  or  tempo- 
rary success,  the  Hebrew  people  had  at  length  firmly  em- 
braced^-never  again  to  lose  it,  that  first  lesson  of  theology 
which  it  was  the  main  design  of  the  Mosaic  institution  to 
convey.  Ever  prepense  to  the  degrading  service  of  fictitious 
divinities  while  secluded  among  the  glens  of  Palestine,  and 
while  their  obedience  might  have  insured  their  peace,  the 
nation,  when  at  last  transported  to  the  very  Pandemonium  of 
idol-worship,  sickened,  as  in  a  moment,  of  its  inveterate 
error,  and  w  ith  a  sudden  and  final  revulsion  of  heart,  learned 
to  loathe  the  very  names  of  the  gods  of  the  nations.  Singular 
revoletion!— the  Jew  in   Uabylon,  while  losing  the  ancient 


*  2  Mac.  vii.  t  '2  Sam.  xxiii. 

^  The  spirit  of  the  Jews  of  this  period,  and  their  religious  opin- 
ions, are  to  be  learned  much  belter  from  tlie  two  books  of  Alaccabees, 
than  from  the  polite  pages  of  Joseplius,  who  t^ikes  vast  pains  so  to 
dress  up  the  homely  pietj-  of  liis  ancestors  in  liellenic  phrases,  as 
should  render  it  oftensive  to  his  Gentile  friends  and  readers.  The 
simple  language  of  faith  and  pious  hope — hope  of  a  better  life,  the 
learned  autlior  of  tlie  Antiquities  translates  into  the  dialect  of  Gre- 
cian philosopliv  and  Grecian  heroism.  This  is  especially  to  be  ob- 
served in  the  speeches  ot  the  Je«  isli  worthies.  Witli  no  other  mate- 
rials than  Achat  he  obtained  from  tlie  books  of  the  Maccabees,  he 
expands  and  embellishes  the  simple,  afttjcting,  and  vigorous  express- 
ions of  devout  patriutisui  which  he  there  fouud,  ai.d  is  fain  to  pre- 


404 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


It  was  natural,  as  this  expansion  of  the  religious  notions 
of  the  Jews  took  place  iin<ler  circumstances  of  extreme  na- 
tional trouble,  and  reached  its  maturity  while  they  were 
struggling  for  their  political  .and  religious  existence,  that  it 
should  bring  with  it  those  tumultuary  feelings  which  are  pro- 
voked, as  well  in  vulgar  as  in  noble  minds,  by  witnessing 
wanton  violations  of  sacred  things,  persons,  places,  and 
iisaires.  During  the  three  centuries  preceding  the  destruc- 
tion of  Jerusalem,  and  while,  with  transient  intermissions, 
this  nation  of  true  worshippers  was  contending  against  the 
Macedonian,  Syrian,  and  Egyptian  kings,  or  fretting  under 
the  pressure  of  the  Roman  power,  there  was  going  on  a  slow 
accumulation  upon  the  national  mind  of  those  emotions — in- 
tense, profound,  and  ungovernable,  which,  after  many  a  por- 
tentous heave,  at  last  burst  forth  and  spread  an  universal 
ruin. 

But  this  progression  of  religious  feeling  passed  beyond  its 
sound  state;  the  ripening  reached  corruption.  The  people, 
while  they  firmly  retained  whatever  was  acrimonious  in  their 
national  ideas,  and  whatever  might  engender  S]iirilual  arro- 
gance, cast  oft'  those  purer  and  nobler  sentiments  that  had 
once  imparled  to  their  character  the  dignity  and  moderation 
of  true  virtue.  Thus,  although  their  external  allegiance  to 
Jehovah,  the  God  of  Abraham,  remained  irritably  steadfast, 
and  although  they  haughtily  challenged  every  point  of  hon- 
our that  belonged  to  them  as  the  only  depositaries  in  the 
world  of  an  unsullied  religion,  they  renounced  those  expan- 
sive sentiments,  so  frequently  introduced  by  the  prophets, 
which  have  a  benign  aspect  toward  all  the  families  of  man- 
kind.* 

Nor  was  this  all — though  indeed  it  might  have  been  enough; 
for  the  zealot  nation,  scrupulous  practitioners  of  whatever  in 
the  Mosaic  institutions  tended  to  insulate  them  from  the  com- 
munity of  mankind,  loaded  those  institutions  with  offensive 
exaggerations  ;  and  moreover  to  a  great  extent  superseded  the 
genuine  precepts  of  the  Pentateuch  by  a  comment  and  tradi- 
tion abominably  perverse.  So  it  was  that  the  whole  repul- 
sive rigidity  of  sectar'ism  wrapped  them  about  as  a  garment; 
while  they  held  few  or  none  of  the  compensations  of  a  purer 
morality.  At  once,  and  in  an  extreme  degree,  sanctimonious 
and  debauched,  the  Jews  (of  the  Christian  era)  were  in  that 
very  state  which,  more  than  any  other,  is  liable  to  pass  into 
violence.  Who  so  furious  and  rabid  as  the  scrupulous,  im- 
moral religionist,  heated  by  a  sense  of  injury  and  insult  1 

One  element  more,  and  only  one  remained  to  fit  the  Jew- 
ish people  for  the  terrible  part  they  were  to  act  in  bringing 
on  the  catastrophe  of  the  state.  This  was  the  spirit  of  faction, 
and  this  they  had  addmilted  to  the  full.  The  rise  of  the 
rancour  of  religious  strife  is  a  subject  too  extensive  to  be  en- 
tered upon  in  this  place  ;  but  it  is  one  that  might  well  claim 
deliberate  attention ;  and  the  more  so,  because  these  virulent 
and  peculiar  feelings  which  seemed  for  the  first  time  to  break 
out  upon  human  nature  about  a  century  before  the  birth  of 
Christ,  have  ever  since  (and  to  the  present  day)  kept  their 
place,  andTiave  had  a  great  share  in  determining  the  course 
of  events  throughout  Christendom.  At  present  it  may 
suffice  to  advert  to  the  fact  that,  at  the  time  we  are  speaking 
of,  the  bosom  of  almost  every  Jew,  besides  the  common  ma- 
levolence or  murky  pride  which  then  characterized  the  race, 
harboured  a  still  more  definite  and  vivid  animosity  against 
some  rival  party  :  each  mind,  while  revolving  around  the  one 
gloomy  centre  of  national  feeling,  revolved  also  about  the 
centre  of  its  sect.  Unhappy  people,  thus  to  exist  and  move 
in  an  element  of  hatred,  at  once  diffusive  and  condensed. f 

sent  his  readers  with  rhetorical  harangues,  after  the  fashion  of  Thu 
cvdides.     The  same  intention  is  copiously  displayed  in  the  Book  of 
the  Government  of  Reason. 

*  Josephus,  wlio  never  forgets  liis  solicitude  to  propitiate  the 
Roman  government,  and  to  conciliate  Gc-ntilc  readers,  takes  pains 
to  conceal  that  contempt  wliich  his  countrymen  indulged  toward  tlie 
polytheistic  world.  He  even  denies  in  a  formal  manner  that  the 
Jews  allowed  themselves  to  condemn  or  ridicule  other  modes  of 
worship.  "  For  my  own  part,  I  do  not  biing  into  question  other 
men's  religious  practices.  In  truth,  it  belongs  to  us  as  a  people  to 
l)rcserve  our  own  usages; — not  to  inculpate  tliose  of  other  nations. 
And  our  legislator  expressly  forbade  our  either  ridiculing  or  defam- 
ing those  whom  the  nations  around  us  regard  as  divinities." — 
^Igainst  Apian,  h.  %  This  was  a  bold  assertion,  and  one  which  his 
adversary  might  have  easily  refuted.  Are  not  the  gods  of  the  heathen 
contemptuously  handled  Ijy  David  and  the  prophets'  and  are  not  the 
worshippers  of  stocks  and  stones  declared  to  he  stupid  and  absurd' 
This  scorn  of  idols  an<l  idolators  had  increased,  not  diminished, 
among  the  Jews. 

t  When  he  refers  to  the  factions  tliat  distracted  the  Jewish  peo 
pie,  Josephus  employs  the  strongest  terms  which  language  affords. 
—  "One  might  justly  say  sedition  grow  upon  sedition;  or  tlie  state 


iSuch  were  the  pungent  sentiments  which  prepared  the 
Jewish  people  for  the  horrors  of  its  catastrophe.  Then  there 
was  added  to  these  feelings  a  specific  and  extraordinary  ex- 
citement, which  gave  intensity  to  every  passion  of  apolitical 
or  religious  sort.  This  was  the  fond,  and  now  desperate  ex- 
pectation of  the  appearance  of  their  Messiah. 

The  two  principles,  namely,  the  belief  of  a  future  life,  witli 
its  rewards  and  punishments,  and  the  hope  of  national  deliv- 
erance and  universal  empire  under  the  conduct  of  the  promis- 
ed Son  of  David,  had  kept  pace  one  with  the  other,  and  both 
had  gradually  become  more  and  more  distinct,  had  mingled 
more  in  the  popular  sentiments,  and  had  settled  into  familiar 
forms  of  expression,  so  that  what,  in  the  remoter  times,  was 
a  mystery,  or  an  esoteric  doctrine — conserved  by  seers,  and 
hidden  under  sj'mbols,  had  now  reached  the  populace,  and 
was  in  every  mouth.  The  hope  of  redemption  under  the 
Messiah,  which  existed  in  a  warm  and  natural  state  at  the 
time  of  the  advent  of  Him  who  was  indeed  the  Lord's  Christ, 
underwent  a  pernioious  revulsion  from  the  disap))ointment 
that  ensued  when  the  Son  of  Mary  was  rejected.  Pious  de- 
sire turned  then  into  a  wild  and  frenzied  wistfuluess — the 
prey  of  every  delusion.  The  articulate  language  of  prophe- 
cy— the  awakened  expectations  of  mankind  at  large,  and  the 
portents  of  the  times,  all  concurred  to  fix,  beyond  mistake, 
the  then  passing  years  as  the  destined  era  of  deliverance. — 
Scripture  and  the  comments  upon  it,  marked  almost  the  mo- 
ment,— while  the  events  of  the  age,  the  balancings  of  human 
affairs,  declared  the  times  to  be  fulfilled.  Yet  these  years 
hastened  on,  and  no  Saviour;  no  Saviour  from  Gentile  tyran- 
ny appeared.  In  the  interim  the  sacrilegious  foreign  power 
advanced  every  day  nearer  and  nearer  to  the  sanctuary  of 
God.  Unutterable  profanations  had  been  threatened,  and  even 
perpetrated :  but  a  little  more,  and  the  very  heart  of  the  Is- 
raelitisli  polity  must  receive  a  fatal  wound.  Yet  the  heavens 
were  not  rent ;  Jehovah  and  his  Anointed  stood  afar  from  the 
help  of  his  inheritance.  Must  it  not  be  to  try  the  constancy 
of  Israel  to  the  extremest  point,  and  to  enhance  the  arrogance 
of  the  oppressor  to  the  highest  degree;  so  that,  on  the  one 
side,  the  coming  deliverance  should  be  the  more  welcome, 
and  on  the  other,  the  vengeance  so  much  the  more  signal? 
Doubtless  God  would,  at  the  last,  visit  his  chosen  people. — 
Suddenly,  and  in  the  blaze  of  his  power  would  he  descend  to 
his  temple,  unfurl  on  the  heights  of  Zion  the  Banner  of  his 
love  and  wrath  ;  and  thence  advancing,  followed  by  the  tribes 
of  Jacob,  would  go  forth,  King  of  kings,  to  trample  on  the 
necks  of  all  mankind.* 

Fond,  and  yet  not — as  it  seemed,  irrational  hope!  Proof 
could  be  advanced  in  support  of  every  portion  of  this  vast 
conception.  No  expectation  comparable  to  this;  none  so 
great,  so  bright,  and  at  the  same  time  so  distinct,  had  ever 
been  indulged  by  any  people:  no  analogous  instance  stands 
upon  the  records  of  history :  an  ambition  so  dazzling  was 
known  only  to  the  Jew,  and  this  hope  had  been  rendered  the 
more  vigorous  by  compression  ;  the  weight  of  all  visible  pro- 
babilities weighed  it  down ;  nothing  less  than  the  Power  of 
Rome,  with  all  her  legions,  hereupon  the  expectation  of  Is- 
rael ;  and  yet  did  not  crush  it.  Judsa  against  the  world : 
no,  rather  God  and  his  Messiah,  against  the  potsherds  of  the 
earth ! 

Often  must  it  have  hajipened  to  the  haughty  Jew  to  gaze, 
in  sinister  contempt,  upon  the  military  pomp  of  the  Empire 
(at  Rome  or  in  the  provinces)  and  to  meditate  the  hour  when 
all  this  splendour  should  fade  before  the  throne  and  car  of  the 


might  be  compared  to  a  rabid  beast  tliat,  in  want  of  sustenance  from 
witbout,  rends  and  devours  its  own  entrails."  T(  tumxiStsu,  e.\- 
claims  the  historian,  .;  TXii/xov£TTaT»  ^ox/f,  TriTrcvSii;  inri  ^Pm/x- 
ctiuv,  c'x  ecu  Ta  t^/AZV\l-JL  iJi-jTii  7riftx.a.Sa.pyjvTi;  itT»K^cy. 

•Josephus,  from  obvious  motives  of  policy,  draws  a  veil  over  the 
subject  of  tlie  hope  his  countrymen  entertained  of  a  Prince  and  De- 
liverer who  should  rule  the  woi-ld.  To  have  given  its  just  promi- 
nence to  this  theme  would  have  been  highly  dangerous  both  to  him- 
self and  to  his  people.  His  allusion  to  it  is  brief  and  cautiou.s,  and 
is  accompanied  by  a  comment  designed  to  exclude  all  suspicion. — 
"But  what  chiefly  incited  the  Jews  to  die  war  was  au  amliiguous 
prediction  ■^(jwTixn  C/xfi^cKci,  found  in  their  sacred  writings,  the  pur- 
port of  which  was,  that,  about  tliat  time,  some  one  of  their  country 
should  rule  die  world.  This  prediction  they  appropriated  to  their 
own  race  ;  and  nianv  of  dicir  Rabbis  were  led  astray  by  the  inter- 
pretation. In  trutli'llie  made  pointed  to  Vespasian,  who  was  de- 
clared Emperor  in  Jnda>a."— y>e  Hello  Jnd.  L.  VI.  c.  12.  If  this 
were  indeed  the  "  chief  incentive"  of  the  war,  it  doubtless  held  a 
much  larger  place  in  the  sentiments  and  harangues  of  the  people  and 
their  leaders  than  appears  from  the  narrative  of  the  historian.  Jo- 
sephus knew  more  of  this  "  ambiguous  prophecy,"  and  of  its  mighty 
influence  over  the  national  feelings,  than  he  thought  it  prudent  to 
avow. 


FANATICISM. 


403 


Messiah.  Yes,  many  a  time  liad  he  brooijed  upon  the  thought 
that  Rome  and  her  pride  slioiild  ere  long  lie  in  the  dust  at  the 
sate  of  Jerusalem  ;  and  suppliants  from  the  capitol  kiss  the 
feet  of  the  princes  of  Zion  ! 

How  then  shall  we  measure  the  desperation  of  the  rage 
■when  a  hope  so  ancient  and  so  vast  was  drawing  to  its  crisis  1 
At  length  a  terrible  surmise  stole  upon  the  dismayed  heart  of 
the  people;  that  the  very  foundations  of  their  belief  were 
illnsory  !  The  dark  consimimalion  which  this  wretched  peo- 
ple, now  hemmed  in  by  an  irresistible  enemy,  had  to  fear, 
was  not  the  famine  and  thirst  of  a  siege,  or  massacres  within 
their  walls,  or  the  carnage  to  be  expected  from  the  irritated 
legions ;  it  was  not  the  overthrow  of  their  city,  the  ruin  of 
their  temple,  the  devastation  of  their  land,  the  extinction  of 
the  race;  a  worse  catastrophe  was  before  them  :  nothing  less 
than  a  plunge  into  the  bottomless  2ulf  of  atheism  :  it  was  the 
death  of  a  nation's  soul  that  was  at  hand.  If  indeed  at  the 
last  the  promise  should  fail,  if  the  Gentile  sword  should  be 
suffered  to  cut  off  root  and  branch  of  the  people  of  Abraham, 
what  then  were  the  Scriptures;  what  Moses  and  the  Pro- 
phets; what  Sinai  and  its  thunders;  what  the  long  series  of 
signs  and  miracles  which  liad  conveyed  to  this  people,  and  to 
this  alone,  a  genuine  faith  in  one  Godi  P>y  a  false  concate- 
nation of  inferences,  the  religious  convictions  of  the  Jewish 
people,  the  whole  of  their  belief  of  things  unseen,  was  made 
to  hang  upon  the  event  of  the  siege  of  the  holy  city.  Let  but 
the  abominable  signals  of  the  Roman  legions  be  planted  upon 
the  walls  of  the  temple,  and  then  Israel,  carrying  with  him 
all  his  hopes — the  a.aticipated  splendours  of  time,  and  the 
glories  of  eternity,  must  leap  from  the  height  into  the  shore 
less  abyss  of  despair ! 

Under  the  pressure  of  emotions  so  supernatural  and  extreme, 
if  more  could  have  been  endured  by  man  than  was  then  suf- 
fered, or  more  effected  than  was  performed,  it  had  actually 
been  sustained  and  done.  The  feeling  of  the  people  was  far 
more  profound  than  that  it  should  measure  itself  against  any 
pains  or  dangers  mortality  can  undergo.  The  visible  and 
sensible  woe  of  the  siege  did  but  faintly  symbolize  the  con- 
vulsive anguish  of  every  Jewish  heart.  It  was  as  when  a 
guilt-stricken  wretch  approaching  his  last  hour,  though  torn 
by  the  pangs  of  death,  forgets  the  wrench  of  bodily  pain  in 
the  torment  of  the  soul ; — the  writhing  of  the  limbs,  the  con- 
tortions of  the  features,  the  livid  hue,  the  glare  of  the  eye,  the 
sighs,  the  groans,  are  imperfect  expressions  only  of  the  mis- 
ery and  terror  of  the  spirit. 

To  attribute  an  absolute  authenticity  to  the  long  and  elabo- 
rate speeches  which  the  Jewish  historian  puts  into  the  mouth 
of  the  chiefs  of  the  factions  would  be  idle;  and  especially  so 
■where,  according  to  his  own  aceouiit,  all  or  most  of  those  who 
■were  actually  present  on  the  occasion  soon  afterwards  perish 
ed.  Nevertheless  there  is  a  sense  in  which  these  harangues 
deserve  attention;  for  Josephus,  familiarly  acqviainted  as  he 
was  with  the  sentiments  of  his  countrymen,  and  with  their 
style  of  thinking,  no  doubt  adhered  to  dramatic  truth  in  com- 
posing these  orations,  and  would  assign  to  the  speakers  lan- 
guage proper  to  the  character  of  the  persons.  Although 
graced  with  not  a  few  Grecian  turns,  the  matter  of  these  com- 
positions is  unquestionably  national.  Nay,  it  may  be  granted 
as  probable  that  broken  portions  of  an  actual  address,  on  some 
signal  occasion,  were  reported,  and  had  come  to  the  know- 
ledge of  the  historian.  By  the  same  rule  it  is  acknowledged 
that  while  the  speeches  of  Roman  Generals  and  Senators,  as 
given  by  I-ivy,  are  Livy's  speeches,  they  may  still  be  regard- 
ed, although  fictitious  in  a  strict  or  historical  sense,  as  au- 
thentic and  eharnctcristic  examples  of  Roman  feeling. 

With  this  caution  in  view,  it  is  a  matter  cf  some  curiosity 
to  examine  the  harangues  of  those  of  the  Jewish  leaders  who 
survived  the  destruction  of  the  city,  and  whose  fate  it  was  to 
receive  in  their  persons  the  last  strokes  of  Roman  vengeance. 
Supposing  it  to  float  somewhere  between  truth  and  fiction- 
true  in  elt-ments — fictitious  in  form,  the  address  of  Eleazar, 
chief  of  the  Assassins,  to  his  companions,  when  shut  up  in 
Masada,*  and  unable  longer  to  hold  out  against  the  Romans, 
may  be  adduced  as  a  highly  characteristic  exhibition  of  the 
ultimate,  or  fallen  and  melancholic  stage  of  martial  fanati- 
cism.   With  the  extinction  of  the  specific  hope  whence  it  had 

*  A  precipitous  and  strongly  forlitied  height,  overlooking  the 
northern  exti-emily  of  the  Dead  Sea.  The  Maccabees  first,  and  af- 
terwards Herod,  had  constructed  on  this  hill-top  \\hat  was  deemed 
an  impregnable  fortress.  As  such  it  had  been  always  held  by  the 
latter  in  a  state  of  readiness  to  serAC  him  as  a  place  of  refuge  in  the 
event  of  a  rebellion. 


sprung,  the  heat  and  vivacity  of  the  feelin";  had  passed  away, 
'caving  only  its  dcs|)eralion  : — ^the  fury  is  gone,  but  not  the 
folly.  The  once  boisterous  passion  assumes  even  something 
of  the  serenity  of  good  sense ;  but  yet  entirely  wants  the  con- 
sistency of  true  wisdom.  So  terrible  a  commotion  of  the  soul 
of  a  people  could  not  instantly  subside  ;  and  a  while  after  the 
roaring  of  the  storm  is  hushed,  the  billows  continue  to  liing 
their  huge  masses  sullenly  upon  the  shore. 

The  secular  hope  of  national  deliverance  and  military  glory 
was  that  which  had  inspired  the  constancy  of  the  people  up 
to  the  moment  when  they  beheld  their  temple  in  llames ;  but 
then,  of  necessity,  their  ill-placed  confidence  dissolved.  It 
was  that  very  temple  which  should  have  received  the  Mes- 
siah : — that  building,  as  they  firmly  believed,  no  power  in 
earth  or  heaven  could  overthrow;  for  it  was  destined  to  en- 
dure to  the  consummation  of  all  things.  But  the  temple  was 
now  actually  levelled  to  the  ground;  the  people's  hope  dis- 
■.ippeared  also,  and  with  it,  as  we  cannot  doubt,  the  religious 
faith  of  multitudes  of  those  who  perished  in  the  carnage  that 
followed.  In  that  last  hour  of  anguish  did  not  many  a  warm 
Pharisaic  heart  become  suddenly  cold  with  Sadducean  des- 
pair 1  Yet  others  there  were  whose  feelings  underwent  a 
revulsion,  and  in  whom,  when  the  worldly  seduction  had  lost 
its  power,  the  better  religious  sentiment  would  regain  its  in- 
lluence.  So  (if  we  may  regard  as  in  any  sense  genuine  the 
last  and  fatal  discourse  of  Eleazar)  was  it  with  that  desper- 
ate leader. 

"  Such,  brave  comrades,  such  is  our  immemorial  resolu- 
tion, that  to  God  alone — the  true  and  righteous  Lord  of  men, 
homage  is  to  be  rendered  ;  and  that  neither  from  the  Romans, 
nor  from  any  other  earthly  power,  is  servitude  to  be  endured. 
The  day  is  now  come  in  which  we  are  called  upon  to  seal 
our  profession  by  our  deeds;  unless  we  be  ourselves  unwor- 
thy of  that  profession.  And  this  is  certain,  that  if  the  servi- 
tude we  have  in  past  times  submitted  to  was  grievous,  what 
awaits  us,  should  we  fall  alive  into  the  hands  of  the  Roman, 
will  be  aggravated  by  intolerable  torments.  Were  not  ■we 
(the  Sicarii)  the  first  to  revolt  1 — are  we  not  also  the  last  to 
resist  1  1  hold  it  then  to  be  a  special  grace  of  Heaven,  to  us 
accorded,  that  we  possess  as  we  do  at  this  time,  the  means 
of  dying  honourably  and  free,  while  others  of  our  nation,  be- 
trayed by  their  tiillacious  hopes,  enjoyed  no  such  option. 

"  No  one  can  now  doubt  that  to-morrow's  sun  must  see  this 
fortress  in  the  hands  of  the  enemy.  But  there  remains  to  us 
the  undisputed  choice  of  a  noble  death ;  and  a  death  in  the 
arms  of  those  most  dear  to  us.  No,  ardently  as  he  desires 
to  take  us  alive,  he  is  as  unable  to  deprive  us  of  this  choice, 
as  we  are  to  resist  him  in  the  field.  Resist  the  Roman  in 
the  field  !  no,  this  we  should  long  ago,  and  from  the  first  of 
our  revolt  have  understood,  when  peradventure  it  might  have 
availed  us  to  know  it,  that  the  Divine  irrevocable  decree  has 
sealed  our  destruction  as  a  people.  The  Jewish  race,  once 
so  dear  to  God,  Ho  has  consigned  to  perdition.  Do  we  want 
proof  of  the  fact;  let  us  look  to  the  site  of  the  sacred  city,  at 
this  moment  smoking  in  its  ruins,  and  strewed  with  the 
bodies  of  thousands  of  the  people. 

"And  now,  my  companions,  indulge  not  any  such  pre- 
sumption as  if  we,  who  hitherto  have  escaped  the  common 
ruin,  were  not  sharers  in  the  common  guilt;  and  might  yet 
evade  the  universal  sentence  that  is  to  annihilate  the  race. 
Look  about  you,  and  see  how  God  himself  has  beef,  stripping 
us  of  the  vain  hope  we  had  clung  to.  What  avails  us  the 
possession  of  this  inaccessible  fortress  ■?  what  the  abundance 
of  provisions,  and  our  ample  stock  of  weapons  1  God's  out- 
stretched arm  has  rent  from  us  our  fond  conceit  of  safety. 
Think  you  that  the  flames  yesterday,  which  at  first  bore  upon 
the  enemy,  did  ot  their  own  accord  suddenly  turn  round  upon 
our  newfy-raised  defences'?  ■  No,  this  reverting  fire  was 
blown  by  Almighty  wrath— the  punishment  of  our  presump- 
tion ;  and  we  fi'nd  that  the  vengeance  of  God,  provoked  by 
our  sins,  is  more  inexorable  than  even  the  malice  of  the 
Romans. 

"  Already  therefore  doomed,  as  we  are,  by  God — let  us 
Jie: — die — our  wives  exempt  from  abuse — our  children  un- 
knowing bondage ;  and  then,  these  delivered  by  our  hands, 
we  shall  have  oTdy  to  discharge,  one  for  another,  a  generous 
oflice  and  mutually  ensure  the  death  and  sepulture  of  free- 
men 1  Our  treasures  we  will  consume.  How  will  the  Ro- 
man vex  to  be  defrauded  at  once  of  our  persons  and  of  our 
wealth ;  both  of  which  he  thinks  his  prey !  Yes,  but  we 
will  leave  him  our  stock  of  food — an  evidence  that  we  were 
not  urged  by  famine,  but  that  from  the  impulse  of  a  steady 
purpose,  we  had  preferred  death  to  slavery." 


406 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


Thus,  says  the  historian,  spoke  Eleazar.*  But  many  of 
his  auditors  quavered.  Some  indeed  met  the  ardour  of  their 
chief  with  a  Icindred  resolution,  and  would  at  once  have 
given  it  etTect.  Others,  held  hy  the  tenderness  of  nature, 
and  gazing  upon  their  wives  and  children,  doomed  thus  to 
die,  burst  into  tears,  and  refused  assent  to  the  fatal  resolu- 
tion. The  leader  beheld  with  anxiety  their  trepidation,  fear- 
ing lest  it  might  shake  even  the  more  courageous,  and  disap- 
point his  design.  As  if  inspired  with  high  thoughts,  his 
eyes  fixed,  and  in  energetic  tones,  he  ;igain  addressed  the 
crowd,  bringing  before  them  the  brightness  of  immortality. 

"  Was  I  deceived  then  in  believing  that  the  brave  had 
rather  die  than  live  dishonoured  ]  Comrades,  do  you  fear  to 
die  even  to  escape  evils  worse  than  death?  In  an  extremity 
like  this  ye  should  neither  hesitate,  nor  want  a  prompter. 
But  let  me  remind  you  of  that  which  from  childhood  we  have 
learned — which  our  fathers  and  the  sacred  writings  teach, 
and  which  our  ancestors  have  so  often  authenticated  by  their 
deeds — that  it  is  life,  ratlier  than  death,  which  should  be 
thought  of  as  calamitous.f  Death,  is  it  not  the  liberator  of 
souls'!  does  it  not  dismiss  them  to  the  pure  abodes  where 
none  of  the  ill  chances  of  mortality  can  enter  1  So  long  as 
we  are  bound  to  this  mortal  frame,  and  liable  to  the  evils  it 
inherits,  our  life  is  but  a  death.  Oh  unworthy  alliance  of  the 
divine  essence  with  a  fabric  that  must  die?  Organ  of  the 
soul's  power  and  will,  yet  does  the  body  weigh  it  down  to 
earth,  from  which  freed,  it  soars  to  its  native  region;  regains 
a  blessed  and  unbounded  liberty,  and  like  God  himself,  evades 
the  sight  of  mortals.  Yes,  unseen  does  it  enter  the  body  ; 
and  unseen  depart — a  pure  and  unmingled  essence ;  yet  ])0- 
tent — the  cause  of  life,  and  itself  immortal.  Witness  the 
independence  and  activity  of  the  so\il  in  sleep,  when  dis- 
charged for  a  while  from  the  warfare  of  llesh,  it  enjoys  its 
proper  delights,  and  taking  the  privilege  of  its  affinity  to  God, 
freely  pervades  all  places,  and  even  penetrates  futurity! 

"With  what  reason  then  can  we  fear  to  die,  who  court  the 
refreshment  of  sleep?  Preposterous  surely  for  those  to  grudge 
themselves  perpetual  freedom,  who  prefer  liberty  to  any 
other  of  the  goods  of  life  ?  This  readiness  to  put  off  mortal- 
ity we,  as  Jews,  ought  es])ecially  to  exhibit;  or  if  indeed  we 
must  go  to  learn  such  a  lesson  from  strangers,  let  us  look  to 
those  Indian  sages  who  loathingly  live  a  while  to  fulfil  the 
purposes  of  nature,  and  hasten  to  die  that  they  may  shake  off 
the  ills  of  animal  existence.  None  hinder  them  in  their  pur- 
pose ;  none  lament  their  exit;  but  rather  account  them  happy, 
and  commit  to  their  hand  epistles  of  love  to  their  kindred 
in  the  skies.  Gladly  do  they  ascend  the  pyre  where  all  the 
grossness  of  the  body  is  to  disappear.  Shall  we  then — 
better  taught  as  we  are  than  they,  be  less  prompt  to  urge  our 
course  to  immortality?     This  were  indeed  a  shame. 

"But  even  if  we  had  been  taught  to  think  the  present  life 
the  chief  good,  and  death  the  greatest  evil,  it  would  still  be 
certain,  that,  ]ilaced  as  we  are,  we  should  manfully  meet  our 
fate;  since,  as  well  the  will  of  God,  as  the  necessity  of  the 
moment,  commands  us  to  die.  J5elieve  it,  countrymen,  that 
long  ago  heaven  sealed  the  fatal  decree  which  none  of  the 
Jewish  race  can  evade,  and  which  consigns  us — guilty  as  we 
have  been,  to  utter  extinction.  Our  nation  has  fallen,  not  by 
the  power  of  Rome — not  even  by  our  errors  in  conducting  the 
war;  no,  a  stronger  hand  has  crushed  us — we  perish  beneath 
the  stroke'of  the  Almighty  ! 

"Time  would  fail  me  if  I  were  to  recount  the  many  signal 
instances  in  which,  contrary  to  all  probability,  and  even 
against  or  beyond  the  intention  of  our  enemies,  we  have  fal- 
len the  victims  of  Divine  vengeance.  Or  when  any  of  our 
race  has  escaped  inutiediate  carnage,  who  would  not  deplore 
their  lot  as  far  more  grievous ;  who  would  not  rather  die  than 
endure  what  such  have  sutfered  ?     Some,  torn  of  the  lash; 

*  Tlie  historian's  method  of  expanding  immensely  his  materials,  is 
shown  by  a  comparison  of  Uie  succinct  speeches  reported  in  the  Book 
of  Maccabees,  with  the  elaborate  orations  that  embellisb  his  work. 
In  the  present  instance  a  license  of  abridgment  and  compression  is 
freely  used,  the  result  of  which  may  perhaps  be  a  nearer  approach  to 
historic  truth.  So  long  a  discourse  as  that  wbichjosephus  attributes 
to  Eleazar  (occupying  five  folio  pages)  would  certaiidy  not  have  been 
uttered  or  listened  to,  under  such  circumstances. 

+  If  this  speech  be  regarded  as  nothing  more  than  *Jie  composition 
of  Joseplius,  it  will  iiot  the  less  serve  to  prove  a  fact,  important  in  its 
bearings — That  a  distinct  belief  of  immortality — a  belief  far  more 
distinct  than  appears  on  the  lace  of  the  canonical  prophetic  writings, 
had  long  been  entertained  among  the  Jews,  and  had  constituted  a 
isain  article  of  tbat  body  of  tradition,  which,  rather  thau  the  Sci-ip- 
tures,  governed  Ibe  Q[]inions,  the  sentiments,  and  the  practices  of  llie 
uation.  : 


some,  tormented  with  fire ;  some,  half  eaten  of  beasts,  and 
rescued,  to  be  thrown  to  Ihem  alive  for  a  second  repast !  Or 
were  they  permitted  to  live?  yes,  but  only  to  be  made  the 
sport  of  their  adversaries.  How  do  those  now  desire  to  die 
who  are  yet  compelled  to  breathe  ! 

"Alas  !  where  now  is  that  city  of  ours,  the  mother-city  of 
Juda,*  where — with  her  many  circling  ramparts — her  lofty 
towers  and  castles;  where,  filled  as  she  was  with  the  means 
of  war,  and  crowded  with  mayriads  of  valiant  men,  eager  to 
defend  her !  What  has  become  of  the  city  which  we  fondly 
believed  to  be  the  abode  of  God?  Rased  to  the  ground? 
nothing  now  marks  the  spot  where  once  stood  Jerusalem  ; 
nothing  but  the  ti^nts  of  her  destroyer !  Ah,  and  j'ou  may 
find  there,  as  relics  of  the  Jewish  people,  some  miserable 
ancients,  seated  in  the  dust;  or  a  few  women,  reserved  to 
dishonour. 

"  Which  of  us  then,  even  if  he  could  do  so  unhurt,  should 
endure  to  behold  another  sun?  Who  is  there  so  false  to  his 
country — who  so  imbecile — who  so  chary  of  life,  that  does 
not  vex  to  have  survived  so  long  as  this  ?  Would  we  had  all 
died  rather  than  have  seen  the  Holy  City  rased  by  tlic  axe  of 
the  enemy — and  the'l'emple,  with  horrible  impiety,  upheaved 
from  its  foundations!  Our  souls,  indeed,  have  lately  been 
fed  by  the  generous  hope  of  speedily  avenging^the  fall  of  our 
city  upon  the  foe.f  But  that  hope  now  vanishes,  and  leaves 
us  no  option  :  let  us  rush  then  upon  an  unsullied  death.  Let 
us  have  pity  upon  ourselves  ;  upon  our  wives  ;  upon  our  chil- 
dren, while  yet  we  have  the  power  to  do  so.  Death  indeed 
all  must  undergo;  but  not  injuries,  bonds,  insults ; — or  not 
uidess  our  cowardice  drives  us  to  meet  these  greater  evils. 
And  what  evils  gre  they  ?  Elate  with  confidence,  we  at  first 
defied  the  Roman  power :  once  and  again  we  have  scorned 
the  proffered  terms  of  our  exasperated  enemy  :  dare  we  think 
then  of  his  rage  if  he  takes  us  living?  Wretched  shall  the 
3'ounger  of  us  be  whose  strength  lasts  out  longer  torment! 
wretched  the  elders  who  have  no  power  to  sustain  the  trial ! 
One  shall  see  his  wife  led  away  to  suffer  violence ;  another, 
with  his  arms  bound,  shall  hear  the  cries  of  a  son,  vainly  im- 
ploring a  fatlier's  aid.  No,  this  shall  not  be  : — now,  now 
are  our  hands  free ;  now  are  our  swords  our  own  :  let  them 
then  do  for  us  the  kindly  office  !  Free  from  the  thrall  of  our 
enemies,  we  die  ;  free  with  our  wives  and  children,  we  launch 
from  life.  Our  law  enjoins  the  deed  ;  our  wives  and  our  chil- 
dren implore  this  grace  at  our.  hands;  God  himself  throws 
the  necessity  upon  us.  The  Roman  would  fain  prevent  it, 
and  is  all  alarm  lest  any  of  us  should  perish  before  he  can 
scale  our  defences.  We  hasten  then  to  offer  to  him,  instead 
of  his  'desired  revenge,  amazement  at  the  boldness  of  our 
death." 

All  started  up  as  if  seized  with  frenzy,  or  possessed  with 
demons,  to  give  instant  effect  to  the  advice  of  their  chief. 
Each  man  embraced  his  Wife,  his  child,  and  in  the  midst  of 
fond  kisses,  his  arm  unknowing  what  it  did,  gave  the  fatal 
plunge.  Each  thought  a  moment  of  the  miseries  from  which 
that  stroke  redeemed  his  loved  companion  and  progeny;  and 
all,  without  exception,  dared  the  horrid  act.  Pitiable  fate  of 
men  to  whom  it  seemed  the  least  of  evils  thus  to  make  a  car- 
nage of  their  women  and  babes  !  The  husbands  and  fathers, 
feeling  as  if  every  moment  they  now  survived  was  an  injury 
done  to  the  dead,  hurried  on  what  was  j'et  to  be  effected. 
Fire  was  put  to  whatever  the  fortress  contained.  Ten  of  the 
survivors,  chosen  by  lot,  fell  upon  their  companions  :  every 
man  in  dying  embraced  the  bloody  remains  of  his  own.  One 
then  chosen  from  the  ten,  slays  the  nine,  and  he,  taking  a 
last  look  around  to  ascertain  that  the  work  of  death  was  com- 
plete, rushed  on  his  sword. 

There  is  yet  a  form  of  popular  fury  which  ought  here  to 
find  a  place,  although  its  peculiarity  may  seem  to  disconnect 
it  with  any  other  kind.  We  mean  the  atheistic  fanaticism 
when  it  affects  a  community,  and  impels  it  to  assault  every 
mode  of  worship  with  intent  to  exterminate  religious  profess- 
ion. Of  this  dire  infatuation  modern  times  have  given  us  an 
example — the  first  in  the  history  of  mankind;  may  it  be  the 
last ! 

Atheism,  when  it  spreads  among  a  people  in  the  form  of 
an  active  and  positive  opinion — vauntingly  professed  and 
eagerly  disseminated,  is  something  very  different  from  ordi- 
nary irreligion.  or  reckless  and  profligate  impiety ;  and  it  will 

*  Philo,  Letj-al  ad  Cuinm,  well  calls  Jerusalem,  not  the  metropolis 
of  one  land,  Juda;a  only,  bat  of  many. 

t iwii  Si  ijua!  o'ux.  iij  ivrk  Uots  s/2ii/xjj»o'sv ; — a  highly  sig- 
nificant phrase. 


FAXATICIS^I. 


407 


be  found  to  display  each  well  known  characlerUtic  ot  a  viru- 
lent religious  creed  :  it  is  in  truth  nothing  else  than  akcrcsi/,- 
and  the  proselyting  Atheist,  how  much  soe%-er  his  pride  may 
resent  the  imputation,  is  a  mere  zealot;  yes,  and  a  zealot  sur- 
passing others  in  blind  malignancy.  Is  the  bigot  religionist 
dogmaTical,  acrimonious,  impudent?  is  he  a  demagogue,  and 
a  noisy  predicator  ot"  monstrous  paradoxes  ?  Just  such  is  the 
Atheist.  And  if  the  one  readily  seizes  the  occasion  to  act 
the  persecutor,  and  to  dip  his  hands  in  blood,  so,  as  we  have 
found,  does  the  other. 

An  opinion  that  attaches  only  to  scattered  individuals,  dis- 
plays notliiniT  more  than  a  sample  of  its  genuine  properties.- 
but' let  it  affect  large  masses  of  a  people,  or  take  possession  of 
a  community,  and  then  its  real  qualities  come  into  play. 
Every  ao-e  has  produced  a  few  petulant  sopliists,  who  would 
fain  persuade  themselves  and  the  world  that  tliey  had  at 
length  rid  their  natures  of  the  very  rudiments  ot  boliet,  and 
that  they  held  nothing  to  exist  which  could  not  be  handled 
and  seen,  tasted  or  smelt.  But  an  affectation  so  extreme  does 
not  readily  overthrow  the  common  sense  of  mankind  at  large  ; 
nor  would  it  ever  do  so  without  the  aid  of  peculiar  and  acci- 
dental incitements  of  a  political  kind.  In  fact  all  imaginable 
forms  of  monstrous  error  had  been  turned  up  in  the  chances 
of  four  thousand  years  before  this  of  national  Atheism— more 
monstrous  than  anv,  made  its  appearance.  That  tl:e  great 
body  of  an  instructed  people  should  yield  itself  a  prey  to  the 
madness  of  Atheism,  and  should  deliberately  endeavour  to 
rear  the  social  structure  upon  the  site  whence  every  vestige  of 
worship  and  religious  fear  had  been  removed,  was  indeed  a 
novelty  that  wouFd  not  have  been  reckoned  among  things  pos- 
sible, or  in  any  degree  likely  to  take  place. 

Yet  the  French  revolutionary  frenzy  actually  reached  this_ 
pitch;  and  it  is  well  remembered  what  was  the  temper  of 
this  last  prodiiiy  of  the  human  mind,  when  it  burst  the  shell. 
Its  parents  had  announced  that  it  would  be  rational,  just,  and 
moderate,  as  the  beautiful  creature  of  Philosophy  ;  hut  it  in- 
stantly proved  itself  to  be  rabid  and  blood-thirsty  like  an  olf- 
sprino-  of  the  Furies  ?  As  the  Atheism  of  the  jihilosopliers 
woul3  not  have  spread  over  the  land,  unaided  by  political  im- 
pulses, so  neither  would  the  political  passions  that  attended 
the  course  of  the  revolution,  alone  have  sustained,  and  for  so 
long  a  time,  that  sanguinary  exasperation  which  raged  through 
Fra'ice  year  after  year  ;  and  in  fact  the  massacres  and  the  ex- 
ecutions of  the  republican  era  were,  in  almost  every  instance, 
hurried  on  by  an  embittered  hatred  of  whatever  appertained 
to  religion :  legions  of  blasphemy  were  inscribed  on  all  the 
banners  of  blood.  The  civil  war  was  a  crusade  against  God  ; 
and  those  who  at  the  commencement  had  professed  it  to  be 
their  ambition  to  blot  out  the  name  of  Christ,  were  borne 
along  by  the  impulse  to  which  they  had  yielded,  and  could 
not  stop  until  they  had  spout  all  their  spite  in  the  endeavour 
to  dethrone  the  I\iost  High. 

We  need  only  change  the  phrases  current  among  the  popu- 
lace, and  substitute  one  set  of  emblematic  embellishments  for 
another,  and  then  the  horrid  scenes  of  the  French  revolution 
ary  civil  war  are  repetitions,  on  a  larger  scale,  of  those  exter- 
minating frenzies  that  so  often  have  desolated  the  fair  provin- 
ces of  that  country.  A  super-human  spectator  of  terrene 
affairs — ignorant  of  the  dialect,  and  of  the  circumstantials, 
would  qiute  have  failed  to  distinguish  the  bloodshed  and  de- 
vastations of  one  era  from  those  of  another;  and  far  from  sus- 
pecting that  the  truculent  savages  of  the  Revolution  were  the 
disciples  of  philosophers,  might  have  deemed  them  only  su- 
perstitious friars,  and  templars,  of  a  new  and  more  intolerant 
order. 

The  authors  of  this  confusion  discerned,  just  in  time,  the 
jeopardy  into  wliich  they  had  led  the  country: — they  has- 
tily retraced  their  steps,  and  so  mankind  lost  the  benefit  of 
the  spectacle  which  must  soon  liavc  been  witnessed  if  the 
Intolerance  of  Impiety  had  been  left  to  run  its  round.  Leave 
was  given  to  the  Maker  and  Ruler  of  the  Universe  to  resume 
his  place  in  the  fears — though  not  in  the  affections  of  the  peo- 
ple ;  for  it  had  been  found  that  without  the  stay  of  religion  the 
social  machine  could  not  safely  perform  its  movements.  The 
public  heralds  therefore  proclaimed  anew  the  Eternal;  and 
leave  was  granted,  to  the  credulous  at  least,  to  expect  a  future 
life,  and  to  fear  retribution. 

The  lesson  perhaps  may  long  serve  the  European  nations, 
and  no  second  attempt  be  made  of  a  like  kind.  Yet  what  has 
once  happened  must  no  longer  be  spoken  of  as  utterly  beyond 
probability.  This  assuredly  ought  to  be  confessed,  on  the 
ground  now  of  actual  experiment,  that  if  in  any  instance  the 
ordinary  or  common  and  sensual  impiety  of  the  mass  of  man 
kind  comes  to  be  quickened  by  a  stirring  spirit  of  disbelief— 


..  the  irreligion  which  hitherto  has  been  sluggish  or' frivol- 
ous, kindles'^into  a  petulant  bigotry,  and  utters  itself  in  acrid 
blasphemies  ;  and  especially,  if  the  same  atheistic  zeal  lurks 
in  the  bosoms  of  the  upper  classes,  and  ferments  at  the  centre 
of  government— then  little  will  be  wanted  to  put  these  forces 
in  movement,  or  to  direct  them  against  the  institutions  and 
the  parties  that  uphold  the  worship  of  God.  A  slight  and 
accidental  political  excitement  would  be  enough  to  bring  on 
the  crisis.  Whenever — if  ever— such  a  train  of  events  shall 
n  any  country  have  room,  it  will  be  seen  that,  if  Popery  be 
,1  bad  instigator  of  the  malignant  passions  of  the  people,  Athe- 
ism is  a  worse ;  and  that  the  fanaticism  of  impiety  should  be 
dreaded  even  more  than  that  of  superstition. 

The  history  of  modern  Europe,  and  of  our  own  country 
especially,  would  have  afforded  many,  and  strikinrr examples 
of  that  order  of  Fanaticism  which  brings  the  military  and  re- 
ligious sentiments  into  combination.  The  instances  are  pre- 
seiit  to  the  recollection  of  every  reader.  And  beside  that  a 
universal  enumeration  could  subserve  no  important  purpose, 
and  would  fill  volumes,  some  of  these  cases  are  of  that  am- 
biguous and  perplexing  kind,  which  a  writer  may  well  desire 
to'evade,  rather  than  meet  the  dilemma  of  either  giving  a  sanc- 
tion to  what  it  would  be  unsafe  to  approve,  or  of  sternly  con- 
demning what  we  ought  not  to  think  ourselves  competent  to 
adjudge' as  altogether  immoral.  Moreover,  other  cases  of 
this  order  involve  the  political  and  religious  prejudices  of  ex- 
istino-  parties;  and  are  not  to  be  spoken  of  without  kindling 
the  elnhers  of  faction.  To  call  the  originator  of  this  or  that 
body— a  fanatic,  would  be,  according  to  the  interpretation  ot 
some,  to  become  the  champion  of  the  opposite  system  ot 
opinions.  Or  to  brand  with  the  same  epithet  the  leaders  on 
both  sides,  would  be  to  wound  (and  still  more  deeply)  the 
fond  predilections  of  all.  There  are  pages  of  our  British  his- 
tory—English, Scottish,  and  Irish,  which  will  need  to  be 
written  anew,  when  our  religious  factions  shall  have  come  to 
their  end. 


SECTION  VIII. 


FANATICISM  OK  THE  SVMBOI.. 


The  arduous  part  of  our  subject  now  meets  us.  In  review- 
ing those  phases  of  error  which  have  long  ago  passed  away, 
we  occupy  a  vantage  ground,  and  may  at  leisure  measure  the 
proportions  of  the  distant  object.  But  every  circumstance  of 
the  inquiry  is  of  another  sort  when  it  is  the  extant  lorm  ot 
reliirion  which  comes  to  be  examined,  and  when  what  we 
should  calmly  and  impartially  speak  of.  arc  practices,  opinions 
and  modes  of  feeling,  regarded  as  excellent,  or  leniently  dealt 
with  as  venial,  by  our  contemporaries — our  friends— our  co- 
adjutors— ourselves. 

It  were  an  arrogance  in  any  man  to  assume  that  he  can 
exercise  an  absolutely  impartial  judgment  concerning  the 
thino-s  of  his  own  age.  No  human  mind  has  ever  reached 
such"  serene  elevation.  If  the  characteristic  and  prevailing 
errors  of  the  day  have  been  discerned  by  here  and  there  an 
individual,  himself  has  not  escaped  that  depressing  intluenco 
wich  attends  a  long-continued  and  anxious  meditation  ot  ob- 
jects that  show  a  frowning  face  to  whoever  refuses  ihem  his 
homage.  Conscious  then  of  a  disadvantage  not  to  be  avoided, 
and  careful  to  maintain  that  modesty  which  the  knowledge  of 
it  should  engender,  we  may  yet  advance,  enheartened  by  the 
anticipation °of  an  era,  perhaps  iiot  very  remote,  when  the  re- 
lio-ion  of  the  Scriptures,  having  at  length  passed  through  the 
cycle  of  its  degradations,  shall,  without  any  more  hindrance, 
bless  the  human  family. 

In  contemplating  the  errors  of  past  ages,  no  point  more 
important  presents  itself,  nothing  which  should  so  fix  our 
attention  as  the  fact  that  certain  extravagant  modes  of  feeling, 
or  certain  pernicious  practices— the  offspring  of  an  active  and 
virulent  fanaticism,  have,  after  a  while,  subsided  into  a  fixed 
and  tranquil  form,  such  as  has  allowed  them  to  win  the  ap- 
proval and  to  secure  the  support  of  the  calmest  and  most  en- 
lightened minds;  and  so  to  be  transmitted  through  successive 

ages accredited,  unquestioned,  ad  mind.  The  turbulent  stage 

of  fanaticism  would  do  the  church  little  harm  if  it  were  not 
succeeded  by  a  tarne  and  moderate  fanaticism — seemingly 
wise  and  temperate.  The  ]>arent  in  these  instances  is  an 
ephemeron;  but  the  progeny  has  had  a  longer  term  than  that 
of  the  pho>nix.    The  rugged  surface  of  our  globe,  such  as  it 


•108 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


is  seen  among;  tlie  Alps  or  Anilos,  imposes  awe,  as  if  tliose 
stupendous  piles  of  jirimeval  rork,  capped  with  the  snows  of 
thousands  of  winters,  were  the  very  symbols  of  protracted 
unchanging  duration — or  of  eternity  itself;  and  yet  is  it  not 
true  that  the  huge  masses  owe  their  stern  grandeur  and  their 
lofty  pride  to  terrible  powers  of  commotion  ! — these  mountains 
were  upheaved  when  our  world  was  in  her  fit  of  boisterous 
frenzy — when  convulsions  shook  her  centre.  Instead  then  of 
regarding  the  now  motinnless  forms  as  emblems  of  repose, 
we  should  deem  iheni  rather  the  relics  and  the  portents  too 
of  confusion. 

Nothing,  or  nothing  favourable,  should  be  inferred  on  the 
behalf  of  any  system  or  constitution  of  things  from  its  present 
tranquillity,  or  from  the  moderation  and  the  wisdom  that  in- 
vest it ;  or  from  the  accidental  benefits  which  it  may  claim  to 
have  produced.  The  blackest  superstitions  have  shown  an 
exterior  mildly  magnilicent:  the  extravagances  of  personal 
torture  have  worn  the  garb  of  seraphic  piety:  the  Fanaticism 
of  intolerance  has  shown  in  combiiialion  with  great  qualities; 
and  the  zeal  of  military  proselytism  has  made  alliance  with 
substantial  virtues.  There  is  nothing,  then,  to  wonder  at  if 
even  genuine  piety  and  the  brightest  personal  excellence  are 
found  to  exist  under  a  state  of  things  which  owes  its  origin 
to  an  impulse  essentially  fanatical.  The  question  is  always, 
not  whether  accomplishments  and  virtues  and  piety  exist 
within  this  or  that  system;  but  simply — whether  the  system 
itself  be  good  or  evil. 

The  Fanaticism  of  the  Symbol — or  a  malign  and  turbulent 
zeal  for  the  honour  of  a  creed,  supposes,  of  course,  the  pos- 
session of  a  written  aud  authoritative  canon  of  faith.  But 
then  this  rule  has  to  he  interpreted;  and  the  interpretation,  in 
each  instance,  insensibly  draws  to  itself  those  profound  emo- 
tions which  the  sacred  iniponanco  of  the  canon  calls  into 
play. 

It  docs  not  appear  that  sectarian  rancour,  in  any  distinct 
form,  had  shown  itself  before  the  time  when  the  .lewish  pro- 
jihetic  economy  having  been  sealed,  and  the  written  Testi- 
mony of  God  consigned,  in  a  defunct  dialect,  to  Interpreters, 
a  held  was  opened  to  diversities  of  opinion,  each  of  which 
challenged  to  itself  entire,  the  prerogatives  that  attach  of  right 
ta  the  original  document.  From  the  jioriod  when  exposition 
of  Scripture  became  the  business  of  a  class  of  men,  the  Jewish 
community  parted  into  sects  wliieh,  in  an  exasperated  condi- 
tion, were  the  main  causes  of  the  ruin  of  the  state,  the  destruc- 
tion of  the  city,  and  the  dispersion  of  the  race. 

In  this  instance  what  we  assuine  to  have  been  new  in  the 
history  of  human  nature,  was  not  the  existence  or  the  break- 
ing forth  of  the  diversities  of  opinion  ;  for  these  have  disturbed 
all  countries  in  all  ages;  nor  was  it  the  alliance  of  certain 
modes  of  thinking  on  abstract  subjects  with  temporary  and 
political  interests;  for  nothing  has  been  more  common  than 
such  associations.  I'nt  the  novelty  was  precisely  this — that 
the  tremendous  weight  of  God's  sanction — truly  believed  to 
belong  to  the  Canon  of  Faith,  was  claimed  by  each  party  in 
beluilf  of  its  special  exposition  of  the  rule.  So  fatal  anas- 
sumption  clTected  a  firm  coalescence  of  every  religious  senti- 
ment with  the  passionate  workings  of  self-love,  pride,  jealousy, 
and  the  sense  of  personal  and  corporate  welfare. 

Within  the  circle  of  these  feelings  every  proper  element  of 
Fanaticism  finds  room,  and  no  species  of  Fanaticism  has  been 
altogether  so  compact  or  so  permanent.  The  other  kinds  (as 
we  have  seen)  have  had  their  hour  and  have  vanished;  this 
has  settled  down  n])on  Keligion — documentary  religion,  as 
well  in  Europe  as  in  Asia,  and  now  in  America,  and  has 
become  the  inseparable  condition  of  all  forms  of  worship. 

We  say  every  proper  element  of  Fanaticism  displays  itself 
in  the  Fanaticism  of  the  Sjunbol.  As  for  example: — The 
Divine  Being,  when  so  outraged  as  to  be  made  the  patron  of 
a  virulent  faction,  appears  to  the  votary  altogether  under  a 
malign  aspect,  and  can  no  more  be  thought  of  such  as  He  is. 
Again,  the  irritation  excited  by  opposition  in  matters  of  opin- 
ion, when  heightened  by  a  vindictive  forelbonght  of  future 
judgment,  brings  with  it  the  most  )>eculiar  species  of  misan- 
thropy known  to  the  human  bosom;  and  an  arroo;ance  too, 
that  far  transcends  other  kinds  of  aristocratic  pride.  With 
an  atiathcmatizing  Deity — an  anathematized  world,  aud  him- 
self safe  in  the  heart  of  llie  uii/i/  C/inrcli,  the  zealot  wants 
nothing  that  can  render  him  malign  and  insolent. 

Mere  diversities  of  o]iinion  by  no  means  necessarily  in- 
volve virulent  or  acrimonious  sentiments.  Sad  indeed  would 
it  be  if  Christian  amity,  and  that  Irno  unison  of  hearts  and 
bands  which  the  church  should  exhibit,  could  not  be  hoped 
tor  until  an  absolute  vuiifurniity  of  notions  and  practices  is 
brought  about:  for  it  is  )dajn  that  so  Ions;  as  one  mind  pos- 


sesses more  native  power  and  more  accomplishments  than 
another,  there  must  be  inequalities  of  knowledge,  and  varieties 
of  apprehension.  Nothing  less  than  the  imparting  of  omnis- 
cience to  every  human  being  could  remedy  the  inconveniences 
that  arise  from  this  source.  Nor  in  fact  are  such  differences 
ever  found  to  throw  a  cloud  over  private  friendships,  or  to 
disturb  the  harmony  of  general  society,  while  angry  exaggera- 
tions and  the  swellings  of  wounded  pride  are  avoided. 

There  can  therefore  be  no  need  w  hatever  that,  as  a  resource 
against  the  evils  of  sectarian  virulence,  we  should  cither 
throw  ourselves  into  the  arms  of  Church  despotism,  and  re- 
nounce the  libert}'  of  reason;  or  give  way  to  the  relaxation  and 
the  apathy  which  would  render  us  altogether  indifferent  to 
tntth  and  error.  This  indeed  were  miserably  to  degrade  hu- 
man nature,  and  to  quash  its  noblest  ambition.  We  subtract 
the  premium  from  mental  industry,  we  remove  the  crown 
from  the  goal  on  the  course  of  knowledge,  when  we  discour- 
age the  zeal  with  which  vigorous  minds  pursue  Truth.  How 
should  mankind  ever  emerge  from  barbarism,  or  how  free 
themselves  from  the  tyranny  of  superstition,  if  the  first  lesson 
we  are  to  teach  them  is,  that  error  has  no  noxious  quality, 
and  truth  no  prerogative  ? 

To  affirm  or  to  insinuate  that  a  just  and  accurate  know- 
ledge of  Keligion  avails  little  to'  our  welfare,  is  not  only  a 
rank  absurdity,  but  must  be  regarded  as  a  pernicious  tamper- 
ing with  that  fatal  insensibility  which,  alas,  envelopes  hu- 
man nature.  Instead  of  teaching  the  indifl'erency  of  opinion, 
rather  let  every  man's  anxiety  to  obtain  for  himself  the  ines- 
timable pearl  of  genuine  knowledge  be  stimulated  to  the  ut- 
most; and  then,  not  only  will  this  jewel  be  individually  se- 
cured, but  the  strange  illusion  will  be  broken  up  whence 
fanatical  zeal  takes  its  rise. — Strange  illusion  indeed,  which 
impels  a  man  who  has  bestowed  little  or  no  industry  upon 
the  business  of  seeking  truth  for  himself,  to  ilse  efforts  so 
prodigious  for  forcing  it  upon  others  !  An  anomaly  surely  is 
this  in  the  common  law  of  self-love.  But  the  temper  and 
conduct  of  the  zealot  are  made  up  of  inconsistencies.  It  is, 
be  says,  the  well-being  of  his  fi  How  men  which  incites  his 
endeavours ;  and  yet  nothing  in  his  style  or  mien  bespeaks 
philanthropy.  A  disposition  the  very  reverse  of  good-will  one 
would  assuredly  assign  to  him.  Besides;  while  thus  anx- 
ious to  hear  a  faultless  creed  uttered  by  all  lips,  this  cham- 
pion of  the  faith  walks  up  and  down  in  a  much  corrupted 
world,  scarcely  heeding  the  many  grievous  degradations  under 
which  humanity  is  sulfering.  His  eye  can  glare  upon  wretch- 
edness and  upon  vice  in  their  most  melancholy  forms — and 
forget  what  it  sees.  Nay,  into  the  cup  of  human  woe  he  can 
himself  pour  the  bitterest  ingredients;  he  can  afflict  his  fel- 
low men  with  the  whip,  with  the  brand  ;  he  can  cast  them 
into  dungeons,  and  leave  them  there  to  die  in  the  pestilent 
damps  of  his  charity;  all  this  he  can  do,  and  still  persuade 
himself  that  it  is  zeal  for  God  and  love  to  man  which  prompts 
his  labours. 

Thus  absurd  is  the  huinan  mind  when  fairly  surrendered 
to  religions  delusions.  The  power  of  the  infatuation  in  these 
cases  seems  to  result  from  a  combination  of  the  opposite  feel- 
ings belonging  to  full  persuasion  and  secret  inis<jiving.  The 
controvertist  owes  the  heat  of  his  zeal  as  well  to  firiri  con- 
viction as  to  a  mistrustful  anxiety  concerning  the  truth  of  his 
dogmas:  and  the  faith  ami  the  doubt  are  alternately  attached 
to  the  authoritative  document  of  his  belief,  and  to  his  special 
intorpretalion  of  it.  It  is  this  very  oscillation  of  the  mind 
which  produces  the  turbulence  of  his  emotions.  If  the  im- 
agination he  liable  to  high  excitement  from  a  pressing  sense 
of  the  reality  and  theimpending  nearness  of  the  objects  ihaten- 
gage  it,  this  excitement  may  be  furnished  either  by  a  vivid 
faith  in  the  original  Canon,  or  by  confidence  in  the  Creed 
that  has  been  derived  from  it.  'Vhen — as  fear  and  jealousy 
bring  the  irascible  passions  into  play,  these  will  not  fail  ta 
take"  occasion  from — the  obscurity  of  the  subject  in  dis- 
pute— from  the  cogency  of  an  opponent's  argument — from  a 
conscious  incompetency  to  deal  with  matters  so  difficult,  and 
not  least,  from  those  qualms  which  follow  a  too  highly  stim- 
ulated exertion  (jf  the  faculties. 

In  matters  of  belief,  and  especially  w'hen  the  powerful  mo- 
tives of  religion  take  full  possession  of  the  mind,  we  invol- 
untarily lean  very  much  one  upon  another.  This  social  in- 
stinct is  perhaps  stronger  than  is  ordinarily  supposed ;  and  it 
is  very  likely  to  be  lost  sight  of  where  the  prevalence  of  an- 
gry passions  appears  to  deny  its  existence.  And  yet  it  is  in 
those  very  instances  most  intensely  at  work.  Man  proves 
himself  to  be  constituted  for  society,  as  well  by  his  hatreds 
as  by  his  allections.  Amid  the  dimness  and  the  intricacy  of 
the  present  scene,  wherein  Truth   evades   pursuit,  and  Error 


FANATICISM. 


409 


uses  a  thousand  aplifices  to  get  herself  courted,  the  perplexed 


usca  a  uiuusaim  amnces  lo  get  nerseii  courica,  tne  perpiexea  i  et  uonscience  claims  her  hour  with  all  men,  even  the 
spirit  fondly  looks  for  a  numerous  companionship  in  the  path  most  debauched ;  and  it  must  especially  be  so  with  those  whose 
it  takes.     Our  belief,  and  the  comfort  of  belief,  mount  with  habits  make  them  conversant  with  the  divine  rule  of  morality. 

the  tens,  and   hundreds,    and    thnnennds:-    that    arp   fzpt^n  tn  lip   Siipl,    nlthm.rtVi    t^^a-r^    #1ot.  lnA,%\^',nr^    ♦!,«    A^.l . i:  __    -. 


the  tens,  and  hundreds,  and  thousands,  that  are  seen  to  be 
joining  us  on  the  road : — we  cannot  believe  alone;  and  our 
doubts  too  are  in  the  power  of  others.  To  assail  our  convic- 
tions is  not  merely  to  wound  our  self-love,  and  to  irritate  our 
pride,  but  it  is  to  withdraw  something  from  the  interior 
warmth  and  vigour  of  the  soul.  Without  formally  confessing 
it  as  a  fact,  that  an  antagonist  has  robbed  us  of  our  assur- 
ance— for  the  contrary  would  be  affirmed,  our  feelings  are  the 
same  as  if  we  had  been  despoiled  of  that  precious  posses- 
sion ;  and  these  feelings  prompt  us  not  merely  to  resent  the 
injury,  but  to  recover  the  property  lost. 

Putting  out  of  View  theu  certain  accessory  motives  which 
will  presently  claim  to  be  mentioned,  the  zealous  champion 
and  propagator  of  a  Creed  has  an  interest  to  promote  that 
deeply'  engages  his  passions.  Pride  and  secular  advantages 
out  of  the  question,  it  is  a  matter  of  sincere  anxiety  with  him 
to  secure,  to  maintain,  and  to  extend  the  pale  of  his  party. 
He  looks  aghast  at  the  danger  of  being  deserted,  or  of  seeing 
a  host  on  the  opposite  heights.  No  endeavours  arc  too  great 
therefore  which  may  arrest  defection  while  it  is  small  and 
feeble.  Under  the  pressure  of  this  solicitude  it  is  no  wonder 
that  the  defender  of  the  Creed  should  avail  liimself  of  the 
extreme  means  of  persuasion.  Or  if  measures  of  violence 
are  not  at  hand,  he  snatches  up  the  weapons  of  spiritual  hos- 
tility. And  first,  a  strenuous  endeavour  is  made  so  to  iden- 
tify the  special  interpretation  with  the  Authoritative  Canon 
of  faith,  as  that  whoever  impugns  the  former  shall  stand  de- 
clared— the  enemy  of  God.  Instead  of  for  a  moment  admit- 
ting the  reasonable  and  modest  supposition  that  the  Interpre- 
tation may  perhaps  contain  more  than  the  Canon  will  sup- 
port, and  tliat  therefore  caution  should  be  used  in  doling 
out  anathemas,  every  artifice  of  an  elaborate  sophistry  is 
employed  to  keep  such  a  supposition  out  of  view.  Noth- 
ing less  than  the  peculiar  exigency  of  the  occasion  could  drive 

t  hp     1  anl  r\t      t  n  t/^   en      ^n— n~:  .v.,^    —    J„ .; i* L_      .' I-    .)    _. 


-..^..   *..^   yy^^xximi    tAlg^;ii\^jr     Ul     lilt   Ul^l,(I9tUll   UUUIU    UJIVC     i  IS    UCIUSIOUS  ;     ttOl 

zealot  into  so  egregious  a  dogmatism,  for  he  feels  that  pope's  pretensions 


the  _  __    _^._^ 

if  he  were  to  give  ground  but  an  inch,  he  must  forfeit  his 
usurped  right  to  fling  the  bolls  of  heaven.  If  the  Interpre 
tatiou  be  not  indeed  divine,  it  is  merely  human — a  simple 
opinion;  and  if  so,  must  be  submitted  to  the  comman  con- 
ditions of  argument.  The  headlong  champion  would  not  go 
so  far  as  he  does,  if  he  knew  how  to  stop  short,  or  if  the're 
were  any  middle  ground.  It  may  well  be  believed  that,  in 
many  an  instance,  the  acrimony  and  the  blas])hemous  arro- 
gance of  seetarists  have  scandalized  even  themselves  in  their 
more  sober  moments. — But  what  could  be  done  ? — As  well 
surrender  the  controversy  and  confess  defeat,  as  relinquish 
the  right  to  curse  in  the  name  of  God.  This  right  laid 
down,  and  how  meagre,  how  cold,  how  powerless  a^thing  is 
the  argument,  reduced  to  its  naked  merits !  Thepunishurenl 
affixed  by  the  laws  of  the  moral  world  to  the  first  offence  of 
entertaining  malignant  exaggerations,  is  the  necessity  it  in- 
volves of  running  on  to  still  worse  excesses.  Once  madly 
insult  reason  and  charity,  and  we  are  abandoned,  perhaps  for 
ever,  by  both. 

The  transition  is  rapid  and  almost  involuntary  from  the 
first  stage  of  fanatical  intemperance  to  ils  last: — the  ground 
in  these  regions  is  precipitous,  and  whoever  leaps,  leaps  into 
an  abyss.  The  facility  with  which  a  specific  gratification 
may  be  procured  is  a  main  circumstance  in  giving  impetuosity 
to  sordid  desires :  for  while  it  is  difficulty  that  enhances  the 
nobler  passions,  it  is  facility  that  enhances  the  baser.  So, 
especially,  does  it  happen  with  rancorous  and  vindictive  emo- 
tions. Only  allow  them  a  ready  means  of  reaching  their  con- 
summation, and  they  rush  on  ungovernably.  Now  the  peculi- 
arity of  the  position  which  the  religionist  occupies,  offers 
always  to  his  hand  the  most  tremendous  missiles  revenge  can 
covet.  On  the  field  of  common  life  many  obstacles  happily 
stand  in  the  way  to  prevent  the  completion  of  an  angry  re- 
solve:— the  dark  purpose  of  the  moment  postponed,  dies 
away,  and  is  forgotten.  But  it  is  not  so  in  the  spiritual 
world.  The  revenge  which  the  irritated  zealot  meditates  is 
ready— it  is  safe,  and  it  is  ample  : — how  then  should  it  be  fore- 
gone ■?  He  has  only  to  mutter  perdition — and  the  stab  is 
given.  A  murky  revenge  analogous  to  this  of  the  religionist 
has  been  common  among  barbarous  and  superstitious  hordes. 
I  he  malign  sorcerer— intimate  of  demons,  thinking  himself 
full  frauglit  with  venom  borrowed  from  the  infernaAvorld,  is 
well  content  to  dart  a  look  only  at  his  enemy ;  sure  that  the 
mere  glance  of  the  evil  eye  of  hatred  would  in  due  time  take 
effect— that  the  florid  cheek  must  fade— the  strength  decay, 
and  the  victim  fall.  ^ 

Vol.  II 3  B 


Yet  Conscience  claims  her  hour  with  all  men,  even  the 


..^...   wv,..  .  ^.^u..^    ..  .v..   ...V,  ui.iii^  luic  UI    lUUKUlLV* 

Such,  although  every  day  indulging  the  darkest  malio-nity, 
are  continually  reading  that  "  whosoever  hateth  his  brother 
is  not  of  God."  They  may  abstain  from  distinctly  bringino- 
the  criterion  home  upon  themselves  ;  and  yet  are  fain  to  have 
recourse  to  pleas  that  are  intended  to  parry  the  condemnatory 

inference  from  the  rule.     The  pretests  of  zeal  are  many  : 

and  if,  as  we  have  seen,  tormentors,  murderers,  de\-astators 
of  kingdoms,  can  quote  chapter  and  verse  in  justification  of 
their  barbarities,  those  who  only  curse,  but  do  not  kill  their 
opponents,  may  easily  do  the  same. 

Many,  as  is  evident  from  the  peculiar  character  of  theirde- 
votional  sentiments,  have  taken  a  somewhat  more  circuitous, 
but  a  still  more  effectual  method  for  lulling  conscience,  and 
for  turning  aside  from  themselves  the  rules  of  charity.  This 
method  has  been  (alas  the  inconsistencies  of  human  nature!) 
so  to  cherish  the  fervours  of  piety,  and  so  to  straiten  the  pat- 
tern of  their  external  behaviour,  as  should  seem  toremoveall 
suspicion  of  the  genuineness  and  elevation  of  their  personal 
religion.  By  amassing  to  a  prodigious  height  the  evidences 
of  sanctity,  a  commensurate  licence  has  been  obtained  for  the 
indulgence  of  hideous  passions.  ,A  man  who  every  day  as- 
cends the  mount  of  ecstasy,  and  holds  intimate  converse  with 
heaven,  surely  should  not  be  called  in  question,  when  he 
comes  down  to  earth,  on  account  of  an  inexorable  or  vindic~ 
tive  temper !  Examples  of  this  vcrj'  sort  are  abundant  (and 
some  have  already  been  referred  to)  on  the  pages  of  Romish 
pietism  ;  and  we  may  find  on  the  calendar  men°whose  breath 
was  pestilence,  whose  every  word  was  a  fiery  bolt,  persuad- 
ing themselves  and  their  admirers  that  they  enjoyed  celestial 
favours,  such  as  Gabriel  and  Michael  might  envy  !  To  as- 
sume that  the  accident  of  a  protestant  creed  quite  excludes 
any  parallel  enormity,  were  indeed  to  be  blind.  What  wo 
are  now  speaking  of  is — human  nature,  and  the  mysteries  of 
its  delusions ;  not  the  question  of  transubstaatiation,  or  of  the 


Among  those  who  make  themselves  conspicuous  as  the 
chiefs  and  leaders  of  the  fanaticism  of  dogmas  and  creeds, 
many  marked  distinctions,  arising  from  natural  temper! 
might  be  pointed  out;  but  it  must  suffice  here  to  mention  the 

two  orders  of  character  that  stand  foremost.     These  are 

The  Despotic  and  the  .\mbitious. 

There  have  been  Bajazets  and  Zingis  Khans  on  ihe  field 
where  the  quill  is  the  only  weapon  that  is  wielded.  But  how 
difficult  is  it  to  analyse  satisfactorily  the  emotions  that  con- 
stitute the  lust  of  power  where  nothing  that  is  secular  or  tan- 
gible— nothing  that  is  intelligibly  advantageous— nothin"-  that 
makes  a  man  richer  or  better,  is  to  spring  from  the  attaiimient 
of  his  purpose  !  While  the  earlier  and  immature  stages  of  a 
dominant  passion  retain  many  alliances  with  other  motives 
and  are  found  to  be  mixed  up  with  various  ingredients,  so  as 
to  afford  several  points  of  connexion,  whence  they  may  easily 
be  traced  to  ;their  sources,  and  brought  to  view ;  it  is  the 
characteristic  of  the  last  stage  of  such  passions  that,  havin<r 
let  go  every  such  alliance,  they  become  inexplicable,  an3 
defy  scrutiny:  a  simple  element  admit  of  no  analysis.  The 
passion  that  has  at  length  made  itself  exclusive  master  of  the 
breast,  closes  the  avenues,  and  enjoys  its  solitude.  Thus  it 
is  wilh  avarice.  So  long  as  any  one  purpose  for  which  money 
avails  is  kept  in  view,  we  may  conceive  of  the  miser's  avid- 
ity :  but  after  every  ordinary  desire  has  been  excluded  and 
renounced,  the  love  of  hoarding  can  be  described  only  as  an 
insanity,  to  which  it  is  vain  to  apply  the  principles  of  reason. 
VVhen  the  wretch,  shutting  out  the  pleasures  of  life,  its  pride, 
and  its  hopes,  clasps  his  shapeless  bags  as  a  sovereign  good 
— we  lose  hold  of  him— the  last  link  of  human  sympathy  is 
snapt,  and  he  seems  to  go  adrift  from  his  species. 

A  similar  mystery  belongs  to  the  lust  of  power  in  those 
cases  where  it  prevails  exclusively  of  the  hope  of  secular  or 
palpable  benefits  accruing  to  the  individual.  The  passion 
which  leads  a  man  to  subjugate  kingdoms  is  intelligible  ;  but 
how  shall  we  explain  the  feeling  that  makes  a  man  pant  to  bring 
the  realms  of  mind  under  bondage,  and  when  it  is  notliimseU' 
that  is  to  enjoy  the  homage  of  the  vanquished  world  ?  Now 
It  is  a  curious  fact,  that  the  individuals  who  have  exhibited 
in  the  extremest  degree  this  species  of  insatiable  arrogance 
have  themselves  occupied  a  subaltern  position  in  the  hierar- 
chy or  polity  to  which  they  rendered'  their  services;  and 
have  not  shown  any  very  active  personal  ambition,  as  if  the 
attainment  of  visible  supremacy  had  been  their  ultimate  motive. 

Minds  in  an  eminent  degree  fervent  and  energetic  never 
occupy  the  common  ground  of  TOlgar  interests  :  their  native 


410 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


region  is  a  higher  one — or  a  lower;  and  although  they  may 
seem  to  be  bus}',  and  perhaps  are  so,  with  the  ordinary  con- 
cerns that  fall  under  their  management,  these  palpable  ele- 
ments are  but  so  many  ciphers  of  a  more  important  intellect- 
ual process  that  is  going  on :  the  matters  handled  are  dice, 
by  means  of  which  a  great  game  is  played.  Such  spirits,  con- 
versintr  with  the  ideal  rather  than  with  the  actual  world,  see 
every  thing  in  symbol.  The  revolutions  and  advancements, 
the  perils  or  the  increase  of  a  hierarchy,  mean,  to  such,  more 
than  can  be  given  account  of  in  common  modes  of  computa- 
tion. While  the  poet  descries  on  the  face  of  natnre  the  types 
of  a  world  of  unsullied  beaut)-,  and  while  the  metaphysician 
o-athers  from  the  things  around  him  nothing  but  abstract 
truth,  there  is  a  class  of  men  wliose  conceptions  of  ideal  per- 
fection turn  upon  order — government,  and  the  unison  of  wills. 
Add  to  this  peculiar  intellectual  tasle  a  haughty  asperity  of 
temper,  and  bring  the  individual  to  his  position  within  some 
vast  edifice  of  despotism ;  and  he  will  exhibit  the  singular 
passion  we  are  speaking  of.  Or  shall  we  adduce  an  actual 
instance,  and  name  the  learned,  irascible,  dogmatic  Jerom  ? 
All  his  great  merits  duly  admitted,*  and  in  truth  Jerom 
stands  unrivalled  in  his  age,  both  for  accomplishments  and 
force  of  intellect,  it  can  yet  be  no  injustice  thus  to  point  him 
out  as  a  proper  specimen  of  that  theological  despotic  temper, 
which,  irrespectively  of  personal  advantages  or  aggrandize- 
ment, impels  a  man  to  refuse  to  others  the  liberty  of  thought 
and  utterance,  and  which  would,  if  it  were  possible,  impose 
eternal  silence  upon  the  world  of  mind — so  that  all  should 
bow,  not  indeed  to  himself,  but  to  the  authentic  standard  of 
belief  which  he  admires  and  defends. 

With  the  fairest  opportunities  again  and  again  presented 
to  him  of  ascending  to  whatever  position  he  might  please  of 
ecclesiastical  greatness,  and  of  grasping  the  fattest  things  of 
the  Church,  this  extraordinary  man  broke  away  from  the 
world,  and  from  the  pontifical  court,  and  freely,  and  without 
affectation,  took  up  his  abode  in  a  narrow  cell  at  Bethlehem. f 
If  at  length  a  little  sphere  of  personal  influence  gathered 
about  him,  it  was  by  no  efforts  of  his  own  that  he  thus  came 
to  be  courted  as  chief  of  a  community.:}:  Jerom  was,  in  the 
most  complete  sense — an  intellectualist:  it  cost  him  nothing 
to  tread  the  pomps  of  the  world  under  foot.  Few  perhaps 
have  relished  with  a  keener  taste  the  delights  of  a  literary 
course.  Upon  the  books  and  parchments  that  crammed  his 
cloister  he  gazed,  pen  in  hand,  with  fond  and  greedy  satis- 
faction ;  the  king  of  Babylon  looking  down  from  his  gardens 
upon  the  gilded  roofs  of  palaces,  all  his  own,  might  have 
thought  himself  less  happy.§ 

Yet  Jerom  wanted,  not  only  the  serenity  of  the  Christian 
temper,  which  may  render  a  man  happy  in  seclusion,  though 
conscious  of  powers  that  might  enable  him  to  shine  in 
the  first  ranks  of  life;  but  even  that  philosophic  placidity 
which  belongs  to  the  genuine  lover  of  physical  or  abstruse 
science.  He  was  the  Tlicologue — and  the  word  is  designa- 
tion enough.  So  long  as  there  might  be  heard,  from  any 
quarter  of  the  wide  world,  a  dissentient  whisper — a  breath  of 


*  The  power  of  miracles  -was  not  reckoned  among  this  saint's 
endowments,  and  it  is  singular  tliat  few  men  of  supciior  understand- 
ing made  any  boast  of  the  sort.  Erasmus  balances  the  disparage- 
ment ingeniously  ; — Quod  si  cui  niliil  absque  miraculox-um  portenlis 
placere  potest,  is  legal  Hieronymianos  libros,  in  quibus  tot  pone 
miracula  sunt,  quod  scntcntix.  No  attention  is  due  to  a  spurious 
Ijife  of  Jerom,  in  wliich  miraculous  powers  are  largely  claimed  for 
him. 

t  Jorom's  accomplislicd  biographer  (above  quoted),  will  not  allow 
the  stupid  monks  of  his  own  age  to  suppose  that  this  illustrious 
man — monk  as  he  is  called — led  a  life  Ih  any  sense  like  their  own — 
ca;remoniis  obstrictam.  And  lie  subjoins  an  animated  description  of 
the  ancient  monastic  institiUc — its  liberty,  its  elevation,  its  purity. 
Such,  we  grant,  it  might  be  when  a  B.asil  or  Jerom  presided;  but 
assuredly  not  so  wben  the  feeble  and  tlie  fanatical  were  left  to  them- 
selves.   Let  Palladins  bear  witness. 

^  Though  ordained  Presbyter,  and  nominally  charged,  as  Sulpitius 
testifies  [hialrjg.  I.),  with  the  care  of  the  Clun'ch  of  BetldeliL'ni;  be 
held  office  under  the  stipulation  that  bo  should  not  be  burdened  w  itb 
the  pastoral  duties.  His  only  external  care  seems  to  have  been  that 
of  tlie  consciences  of  the  ladies  who  put  their  spirimal  interests  un- 
der his  direction.  Of  the  mode  in  which  he  acquitted  himself  of  this 
duty  the  Epistk's  to  Marcella,  Enstocliium,  I'aula,  kc.  give  evidence. 
It  siiould  be  added  that  not  the  slightest  suspicion  atUiches  to  Jerom 
in  these  instances.  Those  who  would  indulge  railleries  on  the  occa- 
sion prove  that  thev  judge  of  the  characlei-s  of  men  by  the  rule  of 
their  own  vulgar  knowledge  of  human  nature. 

^  A  great  part  of  his  patrimony  Jerom  expended  in  the  collection 
of  a  library,  wbicli  his  writings  prove  to  have  included  the  principal 
literature  of  the  age.  These,  purchased  at  Rome  and  in  Eg\pt,  he 
carried  with  him  when  the  second  time  he  abandoned  public  life  and 
retired  to  Bethkliem. 


opposition  to  the  authentic  decisions  of  the  Church,  no  rest 
could  be  enjoyed,  and  no  mercy  could  be  shown:  the  o-ain- 
sayer  inust  be  crushed.  "  Never  have  I  spared  the  heretic," 
is  the  boast  of  this  doctor,  "  but  have  always  reckoned  and 
treated  the  enemies  of  the  Church  as  my  own."* 

None  could  dispute  Jerom's  merit  in  this  instance. f  Was 
there  any  where  displayed  a  disposition  to  call  in  question, 
even  in  the  most  modest  style,  the  immaculate  creed  or 
the  faultless  usages  of  the  Church  %  Jerom  started  up  from 
his  pallet,  and  with,  the  iron  rod  of  his  merciless  eloquence 
pursued  the  ollender  from  side  to  side  of  the  empire;  from 
Egypt  to  Britain;  from  Syria  to  Spain;  from  Numidia  to 
Gaul. 4:  It  is  edifying  to  follow  this  defender  of  a  perfect 
Church  on  those  peculiar  occasions  in  which  the  whole  forces 
of  his  mind  are  employed — not  to  sustain,  some  one  of  the 
capital  principles  of  faith — nor  some  article  of  discipline  ap- 
parently good  and  sanatory ;  but  a  confessed  and  egregious 
abuse ;  an  abuse  against  which  moderate  and  reasonable  men 
had  alreadj' raised  their  voices;  an  abuse  to  which  public 
opinion  was  then  actually  administering  a  partial  remedy;  an 
abuse  moreover,  which  presently  afterwards  the  very  chiefs 
of  the  Church  themselves  found  they  could  no  longer  uphold, 
and  were  compelled  to  denounce.  It  appears  that  scandalous 
irregularities  had  long  attended  the  nocturnal  services,  or 
vigils,  with  which  certain  festivals  were  honoured.  Yes; 
but  the  usage  was  "  a  venerable"  one;  it  had  been  authenti- 
cated : — The  Church — the  Church  approved  it : — popes  pro- 
nounced it  good :  but  more  than  all,  a  bold  and  contumacious 
dissident  had  come  forward  to  impugn  it.  The  night  vio-ils 
therefore,  with  all  their  debaucheries,  were  to  be  valiantly 
maintained,  and  maintained  too  by  the  most  inexorable  ascetic 
of  the  age  !  Amazing  solecism  !  this  doctor,  who  would  him- 
self cheerfully  have  burned  rather  than  sanction  the  marriao-e 
of  a  priest,  is  now  heard  pouring  execrations  upon  an  oppo- 
nent whose  extent  of  crime  was  to  assert  on  the  one  hand  the 
lawfulness  of  clerical  matrimony,  and  to  deny  on  the  other 
the  expediency  of  promiscuous  nocturnal  assemblages  in 
churches  !§ 

Athanasius,  with  a  magnanimity  that  has  extorted  praiso 
even  from  Gibbon,  suffering,  preaching  and  writing  in  defence 
of  a  doctrine  that  constituted  the  very  foundation  of  the  Chris- 
tian system,  is  well  entitled  to  indulgence  if  at  any  time  the 
heat  or  the  anxieties  of  a  momentous  controversy  lead  him 
into  intemperance  of  language.  But  what  indulgence  can  be 
due  to  the  despotic  Jerom,  whose  arrogance  bursts  all  bounds 
on  an  occasion  in  which  a  wise  man  would  either  have 
silently  listened  to  rebuke,  or  have  candidly  and  openly  ad- 
mitted the  propriety  and  seasonableness  of  his  opponent's  ob- 
jection ^ 

An  important  lesson  might  be  gathered  from  a  review  of 
the  circumstances  of  each  of  the  controversies  in  which  this 
learned  writer  engaged ;  but  we  must  at  least  pause  a  mo- 
ment upon  the  one  carried  on  against  first,  Jovinian,amI  then 
Vigilantius.il 

If  any  such  exchange  were  practicable,  we  might  well 
consent  to  throw  into  the  gulf  of  oblivion  one  of  the  most  vo- 


*  Procem.  adversus  Pelagianos. 

f  Erasmus  in  one  place  seems  to  deny  Jerom's  acerbity  of  temper, 
and  appeals  to  certain  mild  cxpostidatory  epistles  addressed  to  his 
friends.  But  the  proof  of  a  man's  disposition  is  to  be  gathered  from 
his  behavioiu-  towards  his  enemies.  Yet  the  same  writer  on  another 
occasion  says,  speaking  of  his  controversial  and  apologetical  pieces — 
In  utroque  vehemens  et  acer  Ilieronymus,  ut  nonnullis  parum  memor 
Christiana;  modestia:  videri  possit.  But,  says  he,  it  is  not  to  be  won- 
dered at  that  a  man  of  so  pure  and  holy  a  life  should  show  some 
impatience  toward  gainsayers. 

\  He  protests  however  that  it  was  Error,  not  Men,  that  he  hated. 
.Vut  ccrte,  si  in  errore  voluerint  permanere,  non  nostram  cnlpam 
esse,  qui  scripsimus,  sed  eorum,  &c.  His  opponents  atu-ibuted  the 
warmth  of  his  zeal  to  cn\T — Ego  solus  stun,  qui  cunctorum  gloria 
mordear  :  et  tarn  miser,  ut  his  quoque  invideam,  qui  non  mcrentur 
invidiam! 

§  The  candle-light  processions  and  nocturnal  scrviceswhich  formed 
part  of  the  ceremonial  of  the  Church,  were,  like  very  many  of  its 
pomps  and  superstitions,  adaptations  only  of  idolatrous  practices 
which  it  was  found  more  easy  to  transmute  than  to  abrogate.  The 
Paschal  vigils  were  the  Thesmophoria,  under  a  change  of  names. 
Who  shall  say  whether  decency  has  been  most  violated  by  the  wor- 
shippers of  Ceres,  or  the  observers  of  caiuUcmas!  The  derivation 
of  the  nocturnal  illuminations  from  Egypt  to  the  Grecian  worship, 
anil  the  adoption  of  the  custom  by  the  church,  is  traced  at  length  by 
Ciampinus,  Vetera  .Mr/m'immta,  Pars  I.  p.  I'.IO.  Euscbius  tells  us 
that  splendid  illuminations  were  employed  by  Constantineasa  means 
of  bringing  over  the  populace  of  Byzantium  to  Christianity. 

!|  Jerom  docs  not  abstain  from  the  pun  which  the  name  of  his 
opponent  so  natui'ally  suggests. — *'  Vigilantuts  ?  no,  call  him  rather 
I)onni(iantius.^' 


FANATICISM. 


411 


luminous  of  the  Fathers — even  Jerom  himself,  as  the  price  of 
recovering;  an  authentic  statement  of  tlie  opinions  anJ  argu- 
ments of  these  two  early  dissidents,  of  whom  in  fact  we  can 
now  learn  nothing  more  trustworthy  than  what  a  good  catholic 
of  Spain  or  Ireland  may  know  of  the  doctrines  of  Luther  and 
Calvin  by  the  favour  of  his  priest.  That  they  were  men  of 
unblemished  faith  and  piety,  as  well  as  of  vigorous  under- 
standing, cannot  be  absolutely  ascertained,  nor  are  even  their 
specific  opinions  to  be  clearly  determined.  Contumelious 
exaggeration  swells  every  sentence  of  the  passages  in  which 
their  opponents  depict  them.*  It  may  however  be  inferred 
pretty  clearly  that  the  one,  as  well  as  the  other,  inveighed 
against  each  of  the  principal  superstitions  of  the  times; — 
especially  against  the  vow  of  virginity,  and  the  merits  of 
monkery — the  mediation  of  saints — the  worship  of  relics,  and 
the  usage  of  promiscuous  vigils.  It  seems  also  that  the  ab- 
solving power  assumed  by  the  clergy,  and  the  secular  usurpa- 
tions of  the  hierarchy  were  called  in  question  by  them.  No 
valid  suspicion  attaches  to  the  proper  orthodoxy  of  these 
men  ;f  but  it  is  plain  that  the  assault  they  made,  though  di- 
rected against  single  points  only,  or  adjuncts  of  the  faith  and 
]iractice  of  the  Church,  involved  inseparably  the  fate  of  the 
entire  edifice  of  Keligion — religion  such  as  doctors  and  monks 
have  made  it.  Every  thing  must  have  fallen  to  the  ground — 
the  polity,  the  creeds,  the  power  of  Rome,  the  monasteries : 
iiota  stone  could  have  been  left  upon  another,  if  Jovinianand 
Vigilantius  had  succeeded  in  awakening  the  people  of  Chris- 
tendom from  their  trance,  and  had  brouglit  emperors  and 
secular  men  of  rank  to  listen  to  them  favourably.  Had  these 
Reformers  led  back  the  minds  of  men  to  the  Scriptures,  and 
to  the  simplicity  of  faith  and  the  soundness  of  morality — the 
horrors  of  more  than  a  thousand  years  of  superstition  might 
have  been  saved. 

Alas!  another  destiny  awaited  the  nations.  The  Church 
had  reached,  at  the  close  of  the  fourth  century,  the  edge  of  a 
steep ;  but  it  yet  stood  upon  ground  whence  a  return  was 
practicable.  Learning  and  intelligence  were  widely  diffused  ; 
and  of  the  aliment  of  knowledge  there  was  no  dearth  :  a  seal 
had  not  yet  been  set  upon  the  volume  of  Scripture.  The 
separate  existence  and  independence  of  the  Eastern  and 
Western — the  Greek  and  the  Latin  Churches,  secured,  or 
might  have  secured,  an  asylum  to  liberty.  Indications  too 
may  be  discerned  of  tlie  fact,  that  although  high  personages 
and  dignitaries  and  eloquent  writers,  held  together,  and  un- 
derstood their  common  interest,  tliere  v\'ere  individuals— 
perhaps  multitudes,  who  were  far  from  assenting  to  the  su- 
perstitions  of  tlie  age,  and  who,  with  the  scriptures  in  their 
hands,  dared  to  doubt,  though  hardly  to  s])oak  or  act.^ 

The  regeneration  of  the  Church  was  in  that  age  hypotheti- 
cally  possible,  and  actually  attempted ;  yet  it  utterly  failed. 
The  men  whose  intelligence  and  expansion  of  mind  should 
have  taught  them  to  listen  to  reproof,  and  who  should  have 
entertained — if  it  had  been  but  for  a  moment,  the  suspicion 
that  the  course  of  things  might  be  unsafe — these,  with  a 
headlong  intemperance,  rushed  upon  the  objectors,  and  tri- 
umphed. Ambrose,  Augustine,  and  Jerom,  the  three  illus- 
trious leaders  of  the  age,  joined  their  giant  strength,  and 
gave  to  the  Church  the  plunge  which  sent  it  down  to  the 
abyss.  Whatever  of  degrading  superstition,  whatever  of 
sanguinary  fanaticism,  wliatever  folly,  whatever  corruption, 
whatever  cruelty  belonged  to  the  religious  condition  of  Eu- 
rope under  the  sway  of  Hildebrand,  may  be  assigned  (as  a 
true  consequence)  to  the  part  taken  and  the  course  pursued 
by  the  great  men  we  have  named  :  the  fate  of  mankind 
through  a  long  night  of  ignorance  and  malign  tyranny  was 
sealed  when  Ambrose,  Augustine,  and  Jerom,  combined  to 
crush  dissent. 


*  Ais  Vij^ilaiUius  os  ftxlidum  i-ursus  aperirc,  ct  pvtovejn  spitrds- 
simitm  contra  sanctorum  mart^rum  proferre  lelicjuias. 

t  Jerom,  in  his  Catalogue  of  Church  ^^^itt■^s,  assigns  Vigilantius 
a  place  among  heretics,  onht  on  the  ground  of  his  opposition  to  the 
points  above  mentioned  :  had  his  oi'tiiodoxy  been  assailable,  tlicre  is 
no  doubt  we  should  have  heard  of  his  delinquency. 

\  Tile  frequency  and  the  seriousness  of  Augustine's  references  to 
tlie  heresy  of  Jovinian  pro^elliat  it  had  spread  to  an  alarming  extent : 
the  same  may  be  galliered  from  the  anxiety  of  Jei-om.  The  former. 
He  Mono  Conjiignli,  and  fietract.  li.  ii.  c.  i'Z,  says — vloviniani  ha-eesis 
sucrarum  virginum  meritnni  xquando  pudicitiK  conjvigali  Uintum 
vaUiit  in  m-be  Homa,  ut  nonnullas  etiam  sanclimoniales,  de  qiianim 
jnidicitia  suspicio  nulla  praecesserat,  dejccisse  in  nnptias  diceretiir 
A  III  lOugh  repressed  by  lheChureli,the  monstrous  docti-ine  coi.timle<l, 
it  is  added,  to  be  -whispered  and  insinuated  during  several  years. 
.I()\iniau  himself  was  exiled  to  tlie  island  of  I>oa — a  rock  on  Ihe 
lltvrian  coast,  where  he  died  : — such  was  the  tob-rauce  oftlie  fourdi 
centxiry  ! 


Shall  we  apportion  the  blame  among  the  three  1  If  it  were 
attempted  to  do  so,  a  distinction,  often  requisite,  must  be 
made  between  personal  criminality,  and  the  actual  ill  conse- 
quence of  a  fatal  course  of  conduct ;  for  while  it  is  Jerom  who 
must  bear  almost  alone  the  blame  of  indulging  a  despotic  and 
malignant  temper,  it  was  the  opposite  qualities  of  Augustine 
— his  mildness  and  his  piety,  that  gave  to  his  influence  a  per- 
manent efficacy.  Mankind"  would  have  sickened  at  the  arro- 
gance of  the  one,  if  the  other  had  not  stood  by  his  side.  The 
bishop  of  Milan  perhaps  should  take  station  between  the 
two.* 

Fanaticism,  as  we  assume,  combines  always  malign  and 
imacrinative  sentiments,  and  in  some  instances  the  former,  in 
others  the  latter,  predominate.  Thus,  in  the  case  of  the  des- 
potic champion  of  existing  establishments,  the  darker  ingre- 
dient prevails  over  the  brighter,  or  quite  excludes  it.  But 
with  the  ambitious  propagator  of  novel  dogmas,  or  the  fac- 
tious chief  of  a  sect,  the  imaginative  element  is  ordinarily 
paramount;  and  it  is  not  until  after  the  temper  has  been  im- 
paired by  exposure  to  irritation  that  the  irascible  and  vindic- 
tive passions  take  the  lead  in  the  character.  The  religious 
deinagogue  is  at  first  an  E  nthusiast  only,  and  rises  to  fanati- 
cism upon  the  winds  of  strife.  Moreover  the  natural  pro- 
o-ression  of  his  sentiments  involves  another  unfavourable 
turn  ;  for  the  public  course  he  pursues,  and  the  emergencies 
which,  as  head  of  a  party,  he  encounters,  present  many  occa- 
sions wherein  neither  his  enthusiasm  nor  his  fanaticism — 
neither  poetry  nor  tragedy,  will  bear  him  clear  of  the  perplex- 
ing embarrassments  that  surround  him.  He  has  recourse 
therefore  to  guile ;  and  from  that  fatal  moment  every  senti- 
ment assumes  a  new  relative  position,  or  itself  undergoes 
transformation.  It  is  as  when  a  single  drop  of  some  potent 
essence  is  sufTused  in  a  cheinical  compound ;  what  just 
before  was  colourless,  or  of  a  brilliant  hue,  is  now,  and  in  a 
moment,  turgid;  the  splendour  of  the  rainbow  is  gone;  an 
earthly  feculence  clouds  the  liquor;  heat  too  is  evolved,  and 
noxious  fumes  rise  from  the  surface. 

The  despot  remains  nearly  the  same  from  the  commence- 
ment to  the  close  of  his  career;  for  pride  and  hatred  are 
steady  qualities,  and  arrogance  is  stagnant.  But  the  dema- 
gogue, or  factious  leader,  passes  through  three  stages  of 
character  at  least;  and  when  he  come  to  the  goal  is  often 
hardly  to  be  recognized  as  the  being  who  started.  The 
despot,  too,  is  very  nearly  ihes  ome  personage  under  every 
diversity  of  ecclesiastical  system.  But  the  sectarist  or  schis- 
matic receives  a  specific  character  from  the  circumstances 
that  surroimd  him,  and  from  the  qualities  of  the  body  from 

hich  he  breaks  off.  This  accidental  influence  may  be 
either  for  the  worse  or  the  better ;  and  in  truth  when  the  body 
is  in  an  extreme  degree  corrupt,  and  the  objection  insisted 
upon-  by  the  separatist  is  in  the  main  reasonable,  we  cannot 
be  justified  on  the  ground  merely  of  some  extravagance  or 
vehemence  of  conduct,  to  designate  the  objector  as  a  fanatic. 
A  man  who  takes  up  a  righteous  cause  may  speak  or  act 
fanatically,  and  yet  well  deserve  our  respect  and  gratitude. 
He  alone  should  be  called  fanatic,  whose  course  of  conduct 
was  at  first  prompted  by  impetuous  passions;  and  who 
throughout  it,  shrinks  from  the  calm  ordeal  of  reason. 

Protestantism  has  been  reproached  on  account  of  its  fruit- 
fulness  in  factions :  the  same  reproach  unquestionably  at- 
taches, and  in  an  equal  degree,  to  the  ancient  Church,  and 
especially  in  the  era  of  its  highest  secular  prosperity.  But 
the  Church  of  Rome  boasts  of  her  unity  ;  and  she  may  be  al- 
lowed to  do  so.  Not  now  to  mention  the  terrible  means  she 
has  employed  to  quash  rising  schism,  we  should  bear  in  mind 
that  main  principle  of  her  polity  which  has  left  a  wide  field 

*  Jerom  had  much  more  to  do  w  itli  these  dissidents  than  either 
Ambrose  or  Augustine.  The  bishop  of  Milan,  in  an  epistle  to  pope 
Syricius,  reporting  tlie  result  of  a  council  of  seven  or  eight  bishops, 
held  there  for  the  condemnation  of  certain  heretics,  assm-es  his  holi- 
ness of  their  perfect  concurrence  w  iUi  tlie  papal  court : — Jovinianum, 
ke.  Sec.  quos  Sanctitas  Tua  daranavit,  sciasapiul  nos quoque,  secundum 
judicium  tuum,  esse  damnatos.  All  were  no  better  tlian  Manicliees, 
whose  impious  doctrine — clenientissimus  cxsecratus  est  imperator 
(Theodosius) — and  whose  sectators  had  been  expelled  from  jlilan. 

The  allusions  made  by  Augustine  to  Jovinian  arc  in  a  somewhat 
better  stvle ;  and  it  appears  from  them  that  his  opinion  was  formed 
upon  hearsay.  See /Je Pec.  J\Terit.ct  vemis.  b.  iii.  c.  ",  and  J)e  .Vii/ii. 
b.  ii.  c.  .'i ;  where  we  learn  that  Jo^  inian  had  first  dared  to  call  Am- 
brose— ^lanichee — the  common  epithet  tlicn  of  theological  contempt, 
and  flung  from  side  to  side  like  ^Mciltotlist  or  Cnh'inist.  Taking 
Augustine's  own  account  of  tlie  matter,  as  slated  a  little  further  on, 
ill  ibe  same  treatise,  it  must  be  granted  that  Jovinian  bad  some  reason 
on  bis  side  when  he  charged  the  (.'iiurpb  w  itb  favouring^  ATanicbteism 
by  her  idolatrv  of  virginity.  To  tlie  same  purport  sec  Contra  dims 
epist.  Pekiff.  h.  i.  c.  1.     Contra  Julian,  h.  i.  c.  H, 


412 


CHRISTIAN     LIBRARY. 


open  alwaj's  to  spiritual  enterprise  and  ambition.  Protestant 
Cliurches  have  failed  to  calculate  upon  certain  tinalterable 
tendencies  of  human  nature,  and  have  made  no  provision  for 
giving  vent  to  exuberant  zeal.  The  very  same  minds  which, 
during  the  first  four  centuries,  or  among  ourselves,  would 
have  headed  a  faction,  and  given  their  name  to  a  hostile  and 
separate  communion,  have,  under  the  fostering  care  of  the 
Papacy,  lent  their  extravagance  to  the  Church  itself,  and 
have  proved  its  most  efficient  supporters. 

Either  as  Founder  of  a  new  order,  or  as  Regenerator  of  an 
old  one,  energetic  and  ungovernable  spirits  saw  before  them 
at  all  times  an  open  field.  It  is  true  that  a  curbing  hand  was 
held  by  the  popes  upon  this  species  of  ambition ;  yet  the  res- 
traint was  not  more  than  enough  to  enhance,  by  difficulty,  the 
passion  for  enterprise.  The  young  and  frenzied  devotee,  after 
astounding  the  monasteries  of  his  native  province  by  unheard- 
of  severities — by  portentous  whims — by  wastings,  whippings, 
visions,  ecstacies;  and  after  imposing  upon  his  superiors  an 
unfeigned  terror  by  turbulences  of  behaviour — always  tho- 
roughly catholic,  and  therefore  so  much  the  more  difiiicult  to 
be  dealt  with,  obtained  their  ready  leave  (with  flaming  cre- 
dentials in  his  hand)  to  beg  his  way  bare-foot  from  Spain, 
France,  or  Germany,  to  Rome.  At  the  foot  of  the  Sovereign 
Pontiff  he  tlirew  himself  in  the  dust — prostrate,  body  and 
soul: — there  he  wept  and  raved  his  season  : — already  he  had 
vowed  himself  the  "dauntless  Chevalier  of  the  Virgin,"  and 
only  waited  permission  to  fight  her  battles,  and  those  of  the 
Church,  under  sanction  of  its  Head.  During  the  weeks  or 
months  of  suspense,  his  austerities  and  his  pretensions  rous- 
ed a  hundred  jealousies  among  the  comers  and  goers  of  the 
papal  court:  feuds  and  seditions  made  a  perpetual  din  under 
the  windows  of  the  Vatican ;  and  it  seemed  as  if  all  the  de- 
mons had  flocked  together  to  thwart  if  possible  the  holy  pur- 
pose of  the  new  adventurer,  from  whose  hand  they  expected 
many  a  terrible  buflet.  At  length  the  Holy  See,  having  prov- 
ed the  constancy  of  the  candidate ;  or  shall  we  rather  say, 
having  ascertained  that  his  frenzy  was  of  the  sort  which, 
though  it  might  be  managed,  could  not  be  repressed,  and  glad 
to  rid  itself  of  the  importunity,  granted  the  desired  sanction, 
and  signed  the  Brief.* 

The  Founder  or  the  Reformer,  now  big  with  a  licence  that 
would  reach  all  extents  of  absurdity,  paced  his  way  back — 
patrician  mendicant !  to  his  native  mountains.  Monasteries 
spring  up  about  him  in  each  cleft  of  the  rocks : — his  rule  at- 
tracts every  moon-stricken  brain  of  the  province ;  and  in  a 
year  or  two  he  moves  about,  the  admired  )iatron  of  insanity — 
far  and  near.  Such,  in  substance,  has  been  the  history  of 
scores  of  adventurers  who,  had  it  been  their  ill  luck  to  be 
born  on  protcstant  ground,  could  have  done  nothing  more 
illustrious  than  give  an  ignoble  name  to  an  ignoble  sect — have 
troubled  their  own  age  by  angry  divisions,  and  have  confer- 
red upon  three  centuries  after  them,  the  burden  of  some  hard- 
to-be-uttered  epithet  of  faction. 

Deprived  of  its  monkish  apparatus  (considered  only  as  a 
means  of  drawing  off  restless  ambition),  the  Romish  hierarchy 
could  not  have  stood  its  ground  so  long.  Only  let  us  follow 
up  to  its  consequences  the  supposition  that  it  had  had,  age 
after  age,  to  contend  with  the  dauntless  spirits  that  originated 
or  restored  the  several  orders — with  St.  Dominic,  and  St. 
Francis  ;  with  St.  Bernard,  with  Loyola,  and  with  De  Ranee  ; 
in  that  case  it  had  long  ago  been  rent  and  scattered  to  the 
winds. 


*  Tlie  career  of  Ignatius  Loyola  coml^ines,  iu  tlie  ynost  complete 
manner,  all  the  proper  eiemcMits  of  anihitious  sectarian  fanaticism  ; 
and  a  veil  written  lite  of  tliis  illustrious  founder  miglit  subserve 
odiei-  [lurposes  than  tliat  of  exiiiliitiug  llie  folly,  knavery,  and  super- 
stition, that  are  encouraged  by  lliu  papacy.  We  much  need — prot- 
estants  as  we  are,  to  liavc  placed  Ijefore  us,  and  for  oiu-  instruction, 
those  vivid  instances  of  delusion  and  extravagance  which  tlie  annals 
of  tlie  Romish  Ciiurch  so  abvmdantly  furnish.  Whoever  has  closely 
and  calmly  watched  the  growtli  and  maturity  of  fanatical  illusion  in 
the  case  of  certain  noted  individuals  that  still  figure  on  the  stage  of 
ghostly  ambition,  must  liavc  become  convinced  that  nothing  but  ac- 
cident's and  names — costume  and  phrase,  often  distinguishes  canon- 
ized from  uncanonized  heroes.  Alight  it  be  hoped  that  the  parties 
themselves,  or  at  least  their  well-read  chiefs,  would  look  into  die 
j^lass  of  history,  and  catching  there  their  own  resemblances,  draw  an 
inference  of  incalculable  imi)ortance  !  Would  any  one  who  retains 
a  particle  of  good  sense  or  sober  Christian  feeling  wish  to  find  that 
Ids  public  course  has  been,  iu  its  essential  motives, and  in  very  manj' 
of  its  circiunstauccs,  tbu  counterpart  of  that  of  men  whose  names  arc 
signalized  as  the  spiriuial  fathers  of  iiuiumerable  cruelties,  impos- 
Let  ( innzales  and  Itibadeneira  be  read  and 


tures,  anil  coi-rvipiii 

digested  by  any  wbo,  wbib-  panting  loi'  die  notoriety  of  mii-aclc,  are 

forgetting  Irulb,  bonniir,  rea*;ori,  taitlj,  lirlne 


So  far  as  considerations  of  this  sort  should  be  allowed  to 
influence  spiritual  affairs,  the  question  would  deserve  to  be 
entertained.  Whether  a  permanent  and  readily  available  pro- 
vision should  not  be  made  within  the  arms  of  a  protestant 
church  for  giving  a  range  to  those  extraordinary  dispositions 
and  talents  wliich  in  all  times  make  their  appearance,  and 
which,  if  not  preoccupied,  do  not  fail  grievously  to  trouble 
the  community  that  neglects  them. 

Fanaticism,  we  have  said,  has  first  an  active  or  turbulent, 
and  tlien  a  settled  and  moderated  form;  for  that  which  begins 
with  inflammatory  symptoms,  subsides  into  a  chronic  de- 
rangement. In  its  earlier  state  it  attaches  chiefly  to  minds  of 
inferior  quality ;  but  in  its  latter  it  insidiously  invades  the 
most  generous,  vigorous,  and  accomplished  ;  and  from  these 
it  draws  a  thousand  recommendations  that  ensure  to  it  credit 
and  perpetuity.  So  was  it  (as  we  have  seen)  with  the  frenzy 
of  asceticism,  which,  after  raging  among  the  vulgar — the  An- 
thonys and  the  Symeons  of  Egypt  and  Syria,  became  epi- 
demic in  the  higli  places  of  the  Church,  and  overpowered  the 
sense  and  piety  of  Basil,  Gregory,  Chrysostom,  Jorom.  So 
again  the  fanatic  cruelty  of  intolerance,  at  first  entertained 
only  by  the  basest  natures,  crept  at  length  upon  the  noble; 
and  a  Ximenes  is  seen  to  take  up  the  tools  of  a  Torquemada. 
And  so  with  the  fanaticism  of  religious  war;  where  Peter  the 
Hermit  and  Walter  the  Pennyless  led  the  way,  Godfrey  and 
Louis  follow,  with  Bernard  as  their  guide. 

The  very  same  kind  of  progression  has  had  place,  and  even 
with  worse  consequences,  in  the  history  of  the  Fanaticism  of 
dogmas  and  creeds.  The  authors  and  prime  agitators  of  con- 
troversy— the  men  whose  plebeian  names  descend  as  an  ob- 
loquy to  after  ages,  have  (with  a  few  exceptions)  possessed 
hut  a  poor  title  to  celebrity;  and,  apart  froin  the  turbulence 
of  their  tempers,  or  their  insatiable  ambition,  could  never  have 
attracted  the  attention  of  mankind.  But  the  agitation  so  en- 
gendered spreads;  and  at  length  none  can  well  avoid  ranging 
themselves  on  this  side  or  on  that  of  the  question :  great  tal- 
ents and  solid  virtues  are  drawn  into  the  vortex;  and  so  it 
happens  that,  while  the  ostensible  mischiefs  of  strife — the 
rancour  and  tlie  violence  of  the  feud  are  moderated,  its  es- 
sential evils  are  deepened,  and  rendered  permanent.  A  chris- 
tian country,  or  a  community,  is  in  this  manner  cast  into  a 
factious  condition,  and  in  that  state  abides  age  after  age. — 
But  factious  religionism,  how  much  soever  it  may  have  been 
tamed  and  curbed,  will  not  fail  to  be  encircled  by  wide  spread 
impiety,  and  infidelity,  as  the  direct  effects  of  the  scandal  of 
division.  Factions,  moreover,  benumb  the  expansive  powers 
of  Christianity,  and  prevent  its  spread.  They  create  too  a 
universal  coilfusibn,  entanglement,  and  perversion  of  religious 
notions.  No  inquiry  can  be  calmly  prosecuted,  no  results  of 
solitary  meditation  can  be  safely  reported,  nothing  can  be 
"ooked  at  in  its  native  form,  so  long  as  the  jealousies  and  the 
interests  of  eight  or  ten  ancient  and  corporate  factions  spread 
tnemselves  over  the  field  of  theology.  Even  those  few  insu- 
"ated  articles  of  Christian  belief  or  speculation,  or  of  abstruse 
science,  which  have  not  been  claimed  by  party  zeal,  are  often 
found  to  alarm  the  wakeful  fears  of  this  or  that  guardian  of 
seetarism,  merely  because  the  method  of  argument  which  may 

ave  been  employed  in  such  instances,  is  foreseen  to  have  a 
bearing  upon  matters  that  are  to  be  held  inviolable.  The 
opinion  in  itself  may  be  innocent  enough ;  but  tlie  logic  that 
sustains  it  is  dangerous.  Better  then'quash  at  once  the  sus- 
picious novelty,  which,  though  it  may  be  good  and  true,  is 
not  momentous,  than  favour  it,  and  so  open  the  door  to  no 
one  can  say  what  innovations  ! 

So  poor,  so  timid,  so  feeble,  so  inert,  so  grovelling,  so  in- 
fatuated is  the  human  mind  I  Truth,  which  alone  can  be  per- 
manently advantageous,  and  which  alone  can  reward  labour 
or  compensate  losses,  is  looked  at  and  listened  to  with  eagle- 
eyed  alarm ;  nor  is  entertained  until  she  has  protested,  ten 
times  over,  that  she  means  to  rob  us  of  nothing  we  dote 
upon. 

Less  than  two  hundred  years  ago — even  so  late  as  the  close 
of  the  seventeenth  century,  this  very  same  sectarian  infatua- 
tion, this  fanaticism  of  the  creed  and  symbol,  enthralled  the 
physical  and  abstruse  sciences,  throughout  Europe.  No  pro- 
cess of  nature,  no  mechanic  law,  could  be  investigated  or  dis- 
cussed apart  from  the  interference  of  the  fierce  jealousies  of 
rival  schools.  "  A  chemical  mixture  could  not  change  from 
blue  to  red,  from  transparent  to  opaque — an  apple  could  not  • 
fall  to  the  ground,  nay,  the  planets  might  not  swing  through 
their  orbits,  without  kindling  angry  feuds  in  colleges.  Not 
only  was  the  method  of  obtaining  knowledge  utterly  misun- 
derstood ;  but  it  was  not  believed,  or  not  felt,  that  Knowledge 
is  always  the  friend  of  man,  and  his  coadjutor ;  Error  bis  cue- 


FANATICISM. 


4i; 


my.  Tills  degraded  condition  of  the  human  lYiind  was  at  last 
remedied  by  nothing  but  the  bringing  to  bear  upon  the  Met- 
aphysic-Phvsics  of  Des  Carles  and  Aristotle,  a  method  of 
reasoning  so  absolutely  conclusive  that  resistance  was  found 
to  be  useless.  Prejudice  and  antiquated  jealousy  did  not 
freely  yield  themselves  up  and  dissolve: — they  were  under- 
mined, they  fell  in,  and  were  seen  no  more. 

This  deliverance  of  Philosophj- — a  very  recent  deliverance, 
though  effected  within  a  particular  precinct  of  inquiry  only, 
rapidly  extended  itself  over  the  entire  field  of  the  sciences. 
Whether  or  not  immediate  success  attended  the  pursuit  of 
knowledge,  every  thing  was  scouted  but  its  attainment.  The 
scientific  community  blushed  at  the  fond  folly  of  ranging 
itself  under  rival  leaders; — it  coalesced  as  one  body  or  pha- 
lanx, advancing  under  one  banner. 

Can  it  be  conceived  of  as  a  thing  even  possible  that  pure 
reason  should  have  had  sway  in  philosophy  so  long  as  the 
interests  of  sects  were  to  be  cared  for  1  Those  two  powers. 
Truth  and  Party,  were  not  in  fact  contemporary  scarcely  a 
year :  or  contemporary  only  as  Night  and  Day  are  so,  through 
the  hasty  moments  of  twilight.  Indeed  the  mere  existence 
of  factions  in  any  department  of  opinion,  is  a  conclusive  proof 
that  the  method  of  inquiry,  in  that  department,  lias  not  yet 
been  found  ;  or  at  least  is  not  generally  understood. 

Causes  which  need  hardly  be  specified,  have  hitherto  ex- 
cluded from  the  precincts  of  Theology  the  reform  that  has 
spread  through  every  department  of  natural  science.  The 
dogmatic  fanaticism  which  raged  at  the  time  of  the  Reforma- 
tion, passed  down  uncorrected  upon  the  political  and  ecclesi- 
astical constitutions  of  the  northern  nations  of  Europe,  and 
especially  upon  those  of  England,  and  it  now  firmly  grasps 
the  relio-iour.  commonwealth.  The  violence  of  religious  strife 
has  indeed  long  died  away ;  or  it  breaks  out  only  for  a  mo- 
ment; but  no  relief  has  yet  been  administered  to  the  settled 
ill  consequences  of  that  delirium.  So  far  as  we  are  religious 
at  all,  the  English  people  is  a  nation  of  sects,  and  our  Iheol 
ogy  is  necessarily  the  theology  of  faction.  Not  a  false  the 
ology — thank  God;  but  a  theology  that  is  confused,  entan 
gled,  and  imperfect,  gloomy ;  a  theology  which,  while  it  abund- 
antly breeds  infidelity  among  the  educated  classes,  fails  to 
spread  through  the  body  of  the  population,  and  but  dimly,  or 
only  as  a  flickering  candle,  illumines  the  world. 

The  recent  consolidation  of  religious  libcrt}',  while  it  may 
fairly  be  hailed  as  an  auspicious  event,  and  likely  to  bring 
about  at  length  the  disappearance  of  faction,  is  utterly  mis- 
understood by  those  who  regard  it  as  equivalent  to  the  enian 
cipation  of  Christianity.  Far  from  being  the  same  thing, 
this  overthrow  of  ecclesiastical  despotism  has,  in  its  imme 
diate  effects,  as  was  natural,  highly  inflamed  the  sectarian 
sentiment,  or  has  given  it  a  new  birth.  The  exultation  of 
the  triumphant  party,  and  the  discontent  of  the  defeated  party, 
have,  in  different  modes,  infused  an  energy  into  the  virulence 
of  both,  which  seems  not  unlikely  to  prolong  the  existence 
of  our  absurd  divisions,  perhaps  a  fifty  years. 

A  happier  destiny  may  sooner  break  upon  us  !  But  whether 
it  does  or  not,  it  is  certain  that  an  unobtrusive  power  has 
been  some  while  at  work  beneath  the  entire  ground  of  our 
sectarian  edifices — a  power  which  must  (unless  arrested)  in- 
evitably in  the  end  bring  them  down  to  the  abyss.  The 
philosophy  of  the  schools  sunk  to  rise  no  more  when  the 
true  method  of  science  gained  its  first  indisputable  triumph. 
But  although  the  same  method  is  not  formally  applicable  to 
theology,  yet  Ihe  principle  of  it  is  so,  and  is  actually  in  its 
incipient  stage  of  application — or  perhaps  has  gone  a  step 
beyond  that  stage.*     The  art  of  criticism  and  the  true  logic 

*  INIany  more  talk  of  the  Baconian  method  than  seem  to  be 
masters  of  it ;  or  than  have  probably  evt-r  read  ten  pages  of  the 
Novum  Organon,  The  assertion  may  be  hazarded  Oiat,  even  in  Ihc 
valks  of  piiysical  science,  multitudes  of  those  who  are  pretty  well 
versed  in  the  actual  products  of  the  modern  philosophy,  have  not  a 
conception  of  the  principle  of  investigation  as  set  on  foot  hy  Bacon. 
This  ignorance  is  still  more  prevalent  on  the  side  of  Intellectual 
Ethical,  and  Theological  Science,  To  speak  only  of  the  latter,  it  is 
deemed  a  thorouglily  Baconian  process  to  adduce,  in  scries,  all  the 
texts  that  hear  upon  a  certain  article  of  taith,  and  at  the  end  to  sum 
up  the  evidence.  This  is  called  Induction.  But  now  if  we  look  a 
littk'  closely  to  the  method  and  principle  of  interpretation,  asapplied 
to  each  passage,  we  shall  find  that  the  prime  maxim  of  the  dogmatic 
and  scholastic  divinity,  which  demands  that  every  thing  should  be 
judged  of  according  to  The  AxALOor  or  Faith,  and  nothing  ad- 
mitted which  cannot  be  reconciled  thereto,  or  which  may  by  infer- 
ence give  countenance  to  a  known  heresy,  rules  throughout.  This 
surely  is  not  to  learn  from  projihets  and  apostles,  but  to  teucli  them; 
and  it  is  precisely  the  method  which  swayed  so  long  the  dark 
realms  of  pseudo-philosophy.  In  theology  we  have  \\ie  forms  of  the 
inductive  metliod  often  where  there  is  little  ot  nothing  of  its  snli- 


of  Interpretation  must  restore  to  the  church  (under  that  gui- 
dance which  is  never  denied  when  ingenuously  sought)  the 
pure  meaning  of  Scripture.  The  charm  that  cements  petty 
communions  will  then  dissolve;  the  excellence  of  Truth  will 
be  felt,  and  the  fanaticism  of  dogmas  will  die  away,  when 
all  men  learn  to  hold  in  contempt  every  thing  in  religion,  but 
the  ascertained  sense  of  God's  Revelation.  Diversities  of 
opinion  must  indeed  remain  so  long  as  there  are  differences 
of  intellectual  and  moral  power ;  but  these  will  engender  no 
■  eat,  and  will  produce  no  divisions,  when  all  minds  shall  be 
moving  on  toward  one  and  the  same  centre. 

It  would  not  have  been  anticipated  as  possible,  that  among 
those  who  reverenced  the  Scriptures,  a  superstition  such  as 
that  of  the  papacy  should  at  all  have  had  existence.  But 
history,  in  two  many  instances,  and  in  this,  contradicts  rea- 
sonable calculations,  and  shows  that  the  perversity  of  man 
may  thwart  every  beneficient  provision  of  heaven.  In 
like  manner  it  might  have  been  thought  that  the  internal  con- 
stitution of  the  Inspired  Volume,  as  well  as  its  express  pre- 
cepts, would  have  precluded  the  factions  that  have  rent  the 
Church  in  every  age.  It  has  not  been  so;  nevertheless  this 
internal  constitution  well  deserves  our  attention.  It  is  only 
while  we  distinctly  regard  it  that  we  can  see  in  a  proper 
light  the  folly  of  those  disorders  which  fill  out  the  volume 
of  Church  history. 

Let  it  then  be  assumed  that  two  main  purposes  were  to  be 
secured  in  giving  a  written  rule  of  faith  to  mankind,  name- 
ly, first,  an  infallible  conveyance  of  that  Principal  Sense  of 
Revelation  which  is  essentia!  to  genuine  jiiety  ;  and  secondlj-, 
such  a  conveyance  of  the  adjunctive  or  secondary  portions 
of  religious  truth  as  should  render  despotic  determinations  on 
the  one  side,  and  scrupulous  schisms  on  the  other,  manifestly 
unreasonable.  We  have  to  see  in  what  manner  both  these 
ends  are  provided  for  by  the  actual  constitution  cf  the  canon 
of  Scripture. 

It  is  saying  little  to  affirm  that  no  composition,  whether 
historical  or  didactic  (if  the  language  in  which  it  is  written 
be  understood)  fails  to  convey  to  readers  of  ordinary  intelli- 
gence the  Principal  Intention  of  the  writer,  unless  indeed  he 
himself  be  wanting  in  sense,  or  designedly  conceals  his  mean- 
ing under  ambiguous  or  enigmatic  terms.  This  is  plainly  im- 
plied when  it  is  granted  that  language  is  a  good  and  sufiicient 
means  of  communication  between  mind  and  mind.  To 
affirm  any  thing  less  were  to  stultify  humanity,  and  to  break 
up  and  derange  the  entire  machinery  of  the  social  system. 
All  men  might  as  well  become  anchorets  at  once,  if  indeed 
language  is  found  to  be  a  fallacious  medium  of  intellectual 
exchange. 

And  what  is  true  of  oral  communication,  is  true  also  (with 
a  very  small  deduction)  of  written  communication.  More- 
over what  may  be  affirmed  concerning  the  written  conveyance 
of  thoughts  among  contemporaries,  becomes  liable  only  to 
an  inconsiderable  discount,  when  we  have  to  do  with  the 
writings  of  past  ages.  This  discount  is  much  reduced  if  the 
composition  in  question  forms  part  of  a  vast  collection  of 
contemporary  literature.  As  it  is  certain  that  men  must  be 
fools  or  knaves  when  permanent  misunderstandings  arise 
among  them  in  regard  to  the  main  inhntion  of  their  personal 
communications;  so  is  it  cerlain  that  the  principal  scope  of  a 
book,  ancient  or  modern,  is  always  to  be  known  where  both 
writer  and  reader  are  ingenuous. 

Nothing  less  then  than  an  extreme  perversity  of  judgment, 
such  as  renders  the  powers  of  language  nugatory,  can,  in  any 
case,  give  rise  an  entire  misunderstanding  of  an  author's 
principal  sense.  Admit  only  these  ordinary  conditions — that 
the  writer  was  honest  and  of  sound  mind — that  he  was  mas- 
ter of  the  language  he  employs,  and  that  he  made  it  his  seri- 
ous business  to  convey  to  his  reader  in  the  best  way  he 
could,  certain  capital  articles  of  information — historical  or 
moral,  and  then  it  follows,  without  an  exceptive  case,  that 
his  meaning  on  those  prime  articles  is  readily  attainable  by 
whoever  himself  owns  common  sense  and  a  competent  ac- 
quaintance with  the  writer's  languge.  To  take  apart,  for 
e.\ample,  any  one  of  the  canonical  writers,  it  is  absolutely 
certain  that  the  leading  facts  or  dogmas  which  he  means  to 
teach,  stand  upon  the  surface  of  his  composition.  lias  dis- 
agreement arisen  in  regard  to  these  main  facts  or  dogmas  1 — 


stance,  A  good  work  would  it  be  to  deduce  from  the  Novum  Orga- 
non those  capital  and  universal  principles  w  hich  are  indeed  applica- 
ble to  Intellectual  and  Sacred  Science.  Kliani  duljilavit  fjuispiam 
polius  quam  objiciet,  utrum  nos  dc  natural!  tantum  Philosophia,  an 
ctiam  de  Scientiisreliquis,  Logicis,  Kthicis,  Polilicis,  secundum  viam 
nostram  perficiendis  loquamur.    At  nos  ci;bte,  he  universis  H2ic, 

Hr.«  DICTA  SUNT,  INTELLICIMUS, 


414 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


nothing  less  than  tlie  egregious  wilfulness  of  the  human  minJ 
can  have  caused  it. 

On  the  ground  of  the  admitted  principles  of  language  and 
of  historic'evidence,  any  one  of  the  Gospels,  with  the  Acts, 
and  any  one  of  the  larger  epistles,  would  amply  and  induhi- 
tably  have  handed  down  to  us  the  substance  of  apostolic 
Christianity.  If  it  be  not  so — a  thousand  tomes  cannot  do  it. 
If  it  be  not  so,  we  might  stand  by  with  indiflerenee  and  see 
another  Amrou  throwing  his  brand  upon  a  pyre  that  should 
contain  every  existing  relic  of  anticpiit)'. 

But  the  Divine  indulgence  has  farexceedednecessarj' bounds 
in  affording  to  mankind  the  maitcrials  of  sacred  knowledge.  No 
parsimony  is  to  be  complained  of  on  the  part  of  the  Instruc- 
tor: irothingis  wanted  but  ingenuousness  in  the  scholar.  The 
great  articles  of  belief  and  duty  have  come  to  us  through  the 
instrumentality  of  nearly  forty  writers,  to  each  of  whom  was 
allowed  his  entire  and  undisturbed  mental  individiiulllij — his 
personal  temper  and  taste,  his  own  stlye,  both  of  sentiment 
and  of  language,  together  with  whatever  speciality,  either  of 
sentiment  or  of  language,  he  might  draw  from  the  intUience 
of  time  and  countr)'.  Each  writer,  while  the  track  of  liis 
thoughts  is  steered  by  an  unseen  hand,  moves  on  in  a  spon- 
taneous course.  Can  any  provision  he  added  to  this  arrange- 
ment which  should  promise  to  exclude  the  possibility  of  a 
failure  in  transinitting  the  elements  of  religious  knowledge] 
Let  it  be  imagined  that,  out  of  the  forty,  two  or  three,  or  even 
seven,  were  obscure,  abrupt,  elliptical,  mystic  :  yet  all  will 
not  be  so :  for  one  wiiose  stylo  is  emblematic  or  difficult, 
there  will  (on  common  principles  of  probability)  be  five  that 
are  natural  and  perspicuous. 

But  we  have  asked  for  another  security  against  failure  in 
the  conveyance  of  the  main  points  of  religion;  and  we  find  it 
in  the  fact  that  this  congeries  of  witnesses  has  been  drawn, 
not  from  one  century,  but  from  the  course  of  fifteen.  \Vhat- 
ever  diversity  time  can  impart  is  by  this  means  included — so 
broad  is  the  base  of  that  pyramid  which  was  to  stand  through 
all  ages,  pointing  man  to  llie  skies !  Are  we  then  to  be  told 
that  what  prophets  and  apostles  believed,  and  what  they 
taught  to  their  contemporaries,  and  what  they  intended  to 
transmit  to  posterity,  comes  down  to  us  under  an  impenetra- 
ble obscurity]  No  miracle  would  be  so  hard  of  belief  as 
this. 

It  need  not  be  added  that  the  correlative  security  of  ancient 
versions  and  interpretations,  in  endless  abundance  and  variety, 
surrounds  these  documents  of  our  faith,  and  every  way  pre- 
cludes the  chances  of  capital  error  in  relation  to  the  principal 
sense  of  the  whole. 

There  is  an  infirmity  of  the  mind  which  impels  us,  on  many 
occasions,  to  overlook  or  distrust  those  special  circumstances 
whereon  our  welfare  really  depends,  while  we  anxiously 
search  for  provisions  of  safety  that  either  are  utterly  unat- 
tainable, or  that  would  be  pernicious  if  possessed.  How  ot'ten 
have  feeble  minds  (and  perhaps  some  strong  minds)  wished 
that  a  perpetual  miraculous  interposition  had  been  accorded, 
such  as  should  have  exempted  the  Inspired  Writings  from 
the  accidents  and  ordinary  conditions  that  attend  other  com- 
positions, and  that  afiect  ancient  literature  in  the  course  of 
its  transmission  from  age  to  age.  Given  at  first  by  super- 
natural means — why  has  it  not  been  accompanied  and  pre- 
served by  miracle  through  the  periods  of  its  descent  to  our 
times] 

Need  we  reply — because  it  is  from  these  very  diparagemcnts 
(if  such  they  should  be  deemed),  that  are  to  be  gathered  the 
best  evidences  of  the  genuineness  of  the  document  itself.  And 
it  might  be  added — because  the  accidental  difficulties  or  ob- 
scurities that  belong  to  the  JScriplures  in  common  with  all 
other  literary  remains  of  antiquity,  have  a  direct  tendency  (if 
we  will  but  admit  it)  to  disturb  and  put  to  shame  the  sense- 
less superstition — the  doting  upon  particles,  and  worshipping 
of  iotas,  which  makes  duly  and  faitli  to  hang  upon  this  or  that 
etymology  or  syllable.* 


•  It  is  perhaps  quite  unnecessary  to  point  out  the  conspicuous  dis- 
tinction between  an  overweeniiisj  zeal  for  tliis  or  that  interpretation 
ot  single  passages  or  phrases— and  the  laudable  endeavour  of  the 
critic  to  ascertain,  first,  the  real  text  of  an  inspired  writer;  and  then 
the  actual  sense  in  «hich  his  words  were  understood  by  the  persons 
to  whom  they  were  addressed.  We  have  affirmed  above,  that  the 
Scriptures,  like  all  other  rational  compositions,  will  not  fail  to  con- 
vey their  principal  sense  to  eiery  ingenuous  mind,  if  the  language  in 
ivluch  they  -were  zmtlen  is  realli/  undfullii  kwjxnn  to  the  reader.  Now 
the  important  labours  of  the  Biblical  critic  are  directed  to  this  very 
purpos.-  of  putting  the  modern  reader  (so  far  as  is  possible)  into  the 
positioi  of  the  ancient  reader.  Dogmatic  interpretation  should  not— 
cannot  reasonably  commence,  unliftlic  language,  with  all  its  essential 
proprieties,  is  brought  untbr  our  falimiar  cognizance.     If  there  be 


Of  all  impracticable  miracles  (if  the  solecism  may  be  par- 
doned), the  most  impracticable  and  inconceivable  would  be 
that  which  should  exempt  a  mass  of  ancient  writing  from 
those  accidents  whence  ambiguity  or  difficulty  of  interpreta- 
tion, in  single  instances,  arises.  Any  such  interposition,  to 
have  been  ell'ectual,  must  not  only  have  extended  through  the 
original  document,  imparting  to  each  sentence,  phrase  and 
word,  an  insulated  perfection,  and  imbuing  each  verse  with  a 
sort  of  phosphorescence ;  but  must  have  pervaded  all  times  and 
places,  guiding  the  hand  of  every  drowsy  copyist,  and  inspir- 
ing every  translator.  Nor  would  even  this  have  been  enough ; 
for  the  miracle,  to  have  subserved  any  practical  purpose,  must 
have  reached  as  well  to  the  reader  of  Scripture,  as  to  the 
writers  and  transcribers : — all  minds  must  have  enjoyed  the 
very  same  measure  of  native  power — must  have  possesed  the 
same  preparatorj'  knowledge,  the  same  simplicity  of  purpose, 
the  same  temper,  industry  and  power  of  retention.  First  the 
book  a  perpetual  miracle;  and  then  every  reader  a  prophet! 
The  simpler  method  surely  would  have  been  for  a  voice  to 
have  sounded  incessantly  from  the  sky,  repeating  every  hour 
the  monotony  of  truth ! 

Tiie  Divine  machinery  is  of  another  sort;  and  our  gratitude, 
informed  by  reason,  should  follow  the  steps  of  that  wisdom 
which  adapts  common  instruments  as  well  to  extraordinary 
as  to  ordinary  occasions;  and  so  adapts  them,  as  to  include 
various  ends  in  one  and  the  same  system  of  means. 

Do  we  possess  the  rational  satisfaction  of  perusing  the 
liistory  of  our  Lord's  ministry  in  the  words  of  four  writers] 
Yes,  but  tliis  important  advantage  is  taxed  with  the  incon- 
venience (if  such  it  be)  of  presenting  frequent  diversities  of 
circumstance,  order  and  phraseology.  Now  can  we  really 
wish  that  the  evangelic  records  had  been  so  exempted  from 
the  operation  of  ordinary  causes  as  would  have  been  requisite 
for  excluding  every  diversity  ]  Are  we  willing  that  these,  the 
most  important  of  all  historical  compositions,  should  forfeit  the 
special  cliaruclcristics  that  mark  them  as  original  and  genuine 
writings,  for  the  sake  of  our  being  saved  the  infirm  disqui- 
etudes of  a  superstitious  tetnper]  Those  who  will,  with  a 
blind  and  perilous  pertinacit_v,  rest  their  lielief  upon  a  verbal 
exactitude,  meet  a  proper  rebuke  when  they  find  that  evan- 
gelists and  apostles,  with  the  freedom  that  is  natural  to  truth 
and  honesty,  are  negligent  of  matters  that  in  no  way  affect 
the  vast  affairs  committed  to  their  trust.  If  critics  are  some- 
times frivolous,  the  Apostles  were  no  triflers. 

\\  ho — or  who  that  understands  and  respects  the  laws  of 
testimony,  does  not  gladly  turn  from  secondary  evidence, 
though  more  methodical  and  perspicuous,  to  original  evidence, 
even  though  charged,  as  it  almost  always  is  when  genuine, 
with  incompleteness  in  the  details,  with  apparent  inconsist- 
encies, and  with  a  hundred  unexplained  allusions  T  The 
compiler  of  history  is  an  Interpreter  of  the  storj':  not  so 
the  contemporary  and  original  narrator  of  facts,  who  seldom 
or  never  turns  aside  from  the  vivid  objects  that  fill  his  mind, 
to  provide  for  the  ignorance,  or  to  prevent  the  cavils  of  pos- 
terity. Unless  we  be  slaves  of  superstition,  we  shall  then 
liail  with  pleasure  those  verj'  imperfections  (imperfections 
they  are  not)  which  mark  the  canonical  liooks — historical, 
didaclie  and  epistolatory,  as  unquestionably  genuine.  Thank- 
fully shall  we  embrace  those  obscurities  which  are  the  seal 
of  trutli.  Deprived  of  its  difiiculties,  every  well  informed 
mind  would  be  staggered  in  admitting  the  Bible  to  be  what  • 
it  professes. 

And  yet  from  this  distinctive  glory  of  the  documents  of  our 
religion  are  drawn,  by  the  superstition  and  the  overweening 
dogmatism  of  zealots,  endless  occasions  of  strife.  That  ab- 
rupt form  which  belongs  to  original  evidence,  is  a  rook 
whereon  wranglers  of  every  age  have  split.  Some  usage — 
some  circumstance  or  ceremonial,  infinitely  trivial,  but  whii-li 
a  compiler  of  history  might  probably  have  supplied  or  ex- 


any  usage  of  words,  any  principle  of  construction,  any  special  sense 
of  terms,  tlie  know  k-dge  of  which  is  important  to  an  exact  gram- 
matical rendering  of  tlie  sacred  test,  the  utmost  diligence  should  be 
employed  in  fixing  beyond  doubt  the  rule,with  its  exceptions.  A\  hen 
erudition  has  done  its  utmost  on  such  occasions,  it  has  done  notliing 
more  than  bring  our  modern  minil  into  contact  witli  the  mind  of  tlie 
writer.  Thus,  for  example,  the  inestimable  labours  of  Bishop  Mid- 
dleton,  and  others,  have  ju.st  served  to  annul  tlie  di sat! vantage  of 
receiving  the  testimony  of  the  apostles  on  the  most  important  doc- 
trine of  the  jSTew  Testament,  through  tlie  medium  of  a  dead  lan- 
guage. The  critic,  in  sucli  a  case,  and  so  far  as  his  laliours  extend, 
resuscitates  the  Greek  of  the  apostolic  age;  and  gives  us  the  Iieneiit 
of  listening  to  the  living  voice  of  Paul,  Peter  and  John.  Prepos- 
terous then,  as  well  as  illiberal,  is  the  objection  of  those  who  en- 
deavour to  evade  the  force  of  irresistible  evidence  by  saying  that 
the  doctrine  of  the  article  is  a  trivial  matter.  ^ 


FANATICISM. 


415 


plained,  is  left  open  to  conjecture  in  the  apostolic  record. 
Alas  the  lamentable  omission  !  Why  did  the  inspired  wri- 
ters grudge  us  the  single  decisive  particle  which  must  have 
excluded  doubt  ?  So  does  the  zealot  repine  in  secret  over  the 
sacred  page.  But  in  public  he  loudly  denies  any  such  defi- 
ciency of  evidence  in  reference  to  the  disputed  point.  Among 
his  followers,  and  in  presence  of  the  simple,  he  becomes 
hoarse  in  protesting  the  demonstrable  certainty  of  his  assump- 
tions. Language,  he  assures  us,  has  no  means  left  for  making 
plainer  than  it  is,  what  was  the  apostolic  usage  in  this  mat- 
ter ! 

A  sicrnal  advantage  it  is  that  the  Scriptures  (of  the  New 
Testament  especially)  have  traversed  the  wide  and  perilous 
waters  of  Time,  not  on  one  keel  only,  but  a  thousand.  No 
ancient  text  has  been  so  abundantly  secured  from  important 
corruption  as  the  text  of  the  New  Testament:  in  the  present 
state  of  critical  science,  who  entertains  a  doubt  of  its  substan- 
tial integrity  ■?  But  the  consequence,  the  inevitable  conse- 
quence oT  this  multifarious  transmission  of  copies  has  been 
the  origination  of  innumerable  verbal  variations.  Here  again 
the  superstition  which  dotes  upon  jots  and  tittles,  is  broken 
in  upon.  Heaven  has  treated  us  as  Men  ;  and  it  supposes 
that  we  shall  prefer  what  is  truly  valuable  to  what  is  trivial 
We  receive  a  most  important  confirmation  of  our  faith ;  but 
are  denied  the  fond  and  idle  satisfaction  of  posessing  a  Text 
for  every  particle  of  which,  and  for  the  position  of  every  sylla 
ble  and  letter,  Divine  authority  might  challenged.  Are  we 
still  disquieted  and  discontented?  It  is  manifest  then  that 
our  estimate  of  what  is  desirable  differs  widely  from  that  of 
the  Author  of  Revelation.  He  has  bestowed  upon  us  the 
better  and  the  greater  advantage;  we  fretfully  demand  the  less. 
Entertainment  (and  instruction  too)  migiit  be  drawn  from 
an  exhibition  of  certain  instances  in  which,  if  we  had  actu- 
ally possessed  fewer  means  of  information  than  we  do,  we 
might  have  pronounced  decisively  upon  points  that  are  made 
questionable  by  the  additional  evidence.  If  one  apostle  only 
had  spoken,  we  should  have  been  free  to  dogmatize  stoutly  ; 
but  two  have  glanced  at  the  matter;  and  we  are  plunged  into 
doubt !  Sometimes,  as  we  have  seen,  the  sacred  writers  say 
too  little;  and  anon  too  much!  The  very  copiousness  of 
our  means  of  knowledge  deducts  in  such  cases  from  our  cer- 
tainty ;  that  is  to  say,  it  disturbs  the  presumption  of  igno- 
rance and  baffles  the  arrogance  of  bigotry.  Are  there  those — 
one  mitrht  almost  believe  it  from  their  temper,  who  so  love 
darkness  rather  that  liglit,  that  they  would  willingly  sur- 
render the  three  testimonies,  or  the  five,  which  bear  upon  a 
controversy,  so  that  they  might,  with  unrebuked  fervour, 
assume  and  assert  their  factious  opinion  1 

While  it  is  certain  that  the  Scriptures  will,  like  all  other 
rational  compositions,  convey  their  principal  purport  to  every 
ingenuous  mind,  it  is  not  less  certain  that  these  books,  in  com- 
mon with  other  remains  of  ancient  literature,  must  present 
thousands  and  tens  of  thousands  of  questionable  points,  crit- 
ical, historical,  or  dogmatic.  On  this  ground  industry  and 
erudition  find  their  field  ;  and  what  labour  can  be  more  noble 
or  more  worthy  than  that  of  endeavouring  to  fix  or  to  eluci- 
date the  sense  of  writings  in  which  (beside  their  unparal- 
leled merits  as  human  compositions)  are  imbedded  the  inex- 
haustible treasures  of  heavenly  wisdom  !  IIow  honourable  are 
our  modern  Christian  Rabbis  employed  in  bringing  to  light, 
from  day  to  day,  some  hitherto  neglected  particle  of  the  "  true 
riches;"  and  how  thankfully  should  we — the  unlearned,  re- 
ceive these  products  of  the  diligence  of  our  Teachers  !  One 
might  properly  notice  here  the  benificent  provision  made  for 
perpetually  supplying  new  matter  of  instruction  to  the  Bib- 
lical teacher,  so  that  the  zest  and  expectation  of  the  taught 
need  never  become  languid.  Sacred  Science,  in  all  its  de- 
partments, having  been  diffused  miscellaneously  through  the 
substance  of  a  volume  so  large  as  the  Bible — and  an  ancient 
volume  too,  the  time  will  perhaps  never  come  (certainly  it 
has  not  3'ct  come)  in  which  it  might  be  said  that  the  sense  of 
every  portion  has  been  determined. — All  would  be  well  if  the 
simple  principle  could  be  remembered — That  although  the 
perfection  of  knowledge  in  matters  of  religion  is  an  object  of 
the  most  worthy  ambition  to  every  Christian  for  himself, 
something  immensely  less  than  the  perfection  of  religious 
knowledge  is  all  we  are  entitled  to  demand  from  others 
as  the  condition  of  holding  with  them  Christian  fellow 
ship. 

The  vexatious  question  of  Terms  of  Communion  presents 
one  of  those  instances — and  there  are  many  such,  in  which, 
while  formidable  difficulties  attach  to  the  Theory  of  the 
affair,  none  whatever,   or  none  that  are  serious,  are  found 


Science  often  stands  embarrassed,  where  Art  moves  on  at 
ease.  Science  is  indeed  the  proper  mistress  of  Art;  never- 
theless she  should  have  discretion  enough  to  be  willing  to  re- 
ceive lessons  of  homely  dexterity  from  her  menial.  Men  of 
speculation  arc  always  splitting  upon  the  reefs  in  these 
shallows.  Presuming  that  the  Abstract  is  always  purer,  and 
of  more  avail  than  the  Concrete,  they  reform — not  for  the  bet- 
ter, but  the  worse;  and,  impatient  of  ideal  faults,  plunge 
themselves  and  others  into  real  and  fatal  perplexities.  How 
often  does  the  unthinking  artisan  employ  simple  expedients 
which  the  philosopher  could  never  have  taught  him  ;  and  ac- 
tually carries  his  work  triumphantly  through  theoretic  im- 
possibilities, and  how  often,  in  the  business  of  govern- 
ment, does  common  sense,  with  ancient  usage  as  its  guardian, 
prove  itself  a  vastly  better  mistress  of  affairs  than  abstruse 
calculation. 

A  Consistory  of  Divines  mightspend  a  century  in  digesting, 
first  a  profession  of  faith,  and  then  a  code  of  morals  and  a 
rule  of  discipline,  such  as  should  stand  as  a  universal  law 
of  Church  communion.  In  the  mean  time  a  Christian  soci- 
ety fraught  with  the  vital  principle  of  piety,  and  faithful  to 
itself,  and  to  its  trust,  far  from  awaiting  impatiently  tlie  re- 
sult of  the  conference,  might  rather  hail  demur  after  demur, 
and  fervently  hope  that  the  sittings  of  this  Sanhedrim  of 
Christendom  might  be  protracted  to  the  consummation  of  all 
things.  Nothing  that  is  truly  important  need  he  foregone 
until  the  creed  and  code  should  be  brought  to  perfection; 
nothing  that  we  need  sigh  for  would  be  conferred  upon  us  by 
the  boon  when  at  length  it  should  he  granted. 

The  question — Ho'w  may  the  Church  be  preserved . from 
desecration  ? — if  propounded  in  cases  where  nothing  exists 
that  is  indeed  holj- — nothing  but  the  rites  and  semblances  of 
Christianity,  is  one  which  may  well  be  reserved  for  an  idle 
day.  And  no  such  question  need  be  discussed  at  all  where 
the  religion  of  the  New  Testament — its  faith,  and  its  moral- 
ity, actually  subsist. 

The  distinction  between  Christians  and  others  is  obvious — 
or  obvious  enough  for  the  practical  purposes  of  ecclesiastical 
government,  if  lo'oked  at  in  the  concrete,  and  under  the  day- 
light of  common  sense;  but  it  quite  eludes  research  if  sub- 
mitted to  analysis.  The  lli-i»g  are  never  much  at  a  loss  in 
recognizing  the  living;  and  no  artificial  process  will  avail  to 
enable  the  dead  to  exercise  any  such  discriminative  office. 
Is  it  demanded  to  frame  a  creed  and  a  rule  by  the  due  appli- 
cation of  which  secular  men — frivolous  and  perfunctory,  shall 
be  able  to  keep  charge  of  the  fold  of  Christ,  and  to  open  and 
shut  the  doors  of  the  Churchi     Absurd  problem!     Idle  en- 


deavour! The  Church  wants  no  such  rule,  and  needs  no 
such  guardianship;  and  a  better  employment  may  easily  be 
found  than  that  of  sitting  a  watch  and  putting  a  seal  at  the 
mouth  of  a  Sepulchre  ! 

The  duty  of  those,  whether  they  be  the  few  or  the  many, 
to  whose  hands  are  entrusted  ecclesiastical  powers,  is  not 
that  of  a  Rhadamanthus.  Responsibility  does  not  stretch 
beyond  natural  powers,  and  it  is  quite  certain  that  men  have 
no  power  to  search  each  other's  bosoms;  nor  should  they 
think  themselves  charged  with  any  such  endeavour.  The 
pretender  and  the  hyprocrite  belong  always  to  the  Divine 
Jurisdiction;  the  Church  will  be  asked  to  give  no  account  of 
them  so  long  as  they  successfully  conceal  the  fatal  fact  of 
their  insincerity.  The  exceptive  case  of  the  hypocrite  there- 
fore excluded,  not  a  shadow  of  difficulty — of  practical  diffi- 
cult}', attends  the  discharge  of  Church  guardianship.  Let 
but  a  communitj',  whether  more  or  less  extended  in  its  sphere, 
be  pure  in  manners — Pure,  not  sanctimonious;  let  the  Scrip- 
tures be  universally  and  devoutly  read  by  its  private  mem- 
bers, and  honestly  expounded  by  its  teachers;  and  in  this 
case  it  will  be  very  little  annoyed  by  the  intrusion  either  of 
heretical  or  licentious  candidates.  A  Church  of  this  order 
offers  nothing  which  such  persons  are  ambitious  to  possess  : 
they  will  stand  aloof.  Tests  will  be  superseded;  and  the 
rod  of  discipline  brought  out  only  on  the  rarest  occasions. 

It  is  the  heat  of  controversy  between  sect  and  sect,  that 
ordinarily  generates  the  malevolence  which  (according  to  our 
definition)  is  essential  to  fanaticism,  and  which  distinguishes 
it  from  enthusiasm.  Yet  there  are  cases  where,  without  this 
extrinsic  excitement,  modes  of  opinion  such  as  must  be 
deemed  extravagant,  have  assumed  a  gloomy  and  irritated 
aspect.  Instances  of  this  sort  have  of  late  abounded,  and 
some  reference  to  them  seems  proper. 

A  singular  revolution  has  marked  the  progress  of  religious 
sentiment  among  us  within  the  last  few  years ;  and  it  is  this, 
that  while  the  tendency  to  admit  enthusiastic  or  fanatical 


(unless   created)  to   belong   to   the   Practical   operation,  sentiments  belonged,  till  of  late,  almost  exclusively  to  the 


416 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


lower  and  uneducated  classes,  it  has  recently  deserted  the 
quarters  of  poverty  and  ignorance,  and  taken  hold  of  those 
who  are  clothed  in  piiri)le,  and  frequent  palaces.  The 
fanaticism  of  Want,  and  tlie  fanaticism  of  Plenty,  though 
identical  in  suhstance,  naturally  difler  much  in  form.  The 
characteristics  of  each  are  worthy  of  notice. 

We  know  and  tliinlc  far  too  little  of  the  feelings  that  are 
working  in  the  bosoms  of  the  abject  and  wretched  poor :  if 
we  knew  and  thought  more  on  this  subject  we  should  look 
with  dread  and  wonder  at  the  placid  surface  which,  in  com- 
mon, the  social  mass  exhibits.  The  personal  endurance  of 
famine,  cold,  and  discomfort,  from  day  to  da}',  and  tlie  worse 
ano-uish  of  seeing  these  evils  endured  by  children,  breeds  a 
fealing  which,  did  it  but  get  vent,  would  heave  the  firmest 
political  edifices  from  tlieir  foundations  :  but  the  wrilhings  of 
tortured  hearts  are  repressed,  diverted,  and  only  on  rare  occa 
sions  burst  fortli  in  tumultuous  acts.  With  many,  indeed, 
all  sentiment  and  moral  consciousness  gives  way  under  the 
pressure  of  woe;  or  is  dissi]iated  by  debauchery: — the  soul 
sinks  even  below  the  level  of  the  wretchedness  of  the  body : 
hope,  the  spring  of  life,  long  ago  took  her  flight,  and  is  totally 
forgotten:  every  ember  of  joy  and  virtue  is  quenched. 

Hut  with  some  of  the  Pariah  class  (numerous  in  every 
community)  enough  of  the  remembrance  of  hope  survives  to 
impart  sensitiveness  to  despair.  Tlie  poor  man,  though  he 
feels  every  day  that  he  has  given  ground  a  little  in  his  com- 
bat with  Want,  and  must  renew  the  strife  to-morrow  with 
wasted  strength,  and  from  a  worse  position,  and  although, 
when  he  throws  himself  on  his  pallet,  he  knows  that  the 
Misery  that  liaunts  his  hut  does  not  sleep  while  he  sleeps, 
but  will  be  busy  from  the  evening  till  the  morning,  in  sapping 
the  broken  fabric  of  liis  comfort;  although  he  knows  and 
feels  this,  yet  tlie  faint  conception  of  a  happier  lot  still  haunts 
him,  and  he  asks — Might  not  I  also  be  blessed  I  If  he  does 
not  distincllj'  expect  a  reverse  of  his  doom,  he  still  meditates 
the  abstract  possibility  of  an  amended  condition.  He  is  like 
the  shipwrecked  mariner  who  takes  his  seat  day  after  day  on 
the  highest  point  of  his  rocky  prison,  and  from  sun-rise  to 
sun-set,  peruses  the  horizon,  not  certain  but  what  a  sail  may 
appear,  and  may  make  toward  the  islet  of  his  despair.  Such 
things  (let  us  believe  it)  are  felt  and  born  by  myriads  near 
us,  even  while  we  are  gaily  gliding  from  scene  to  scene  of 
gain  or  festivity ! 

.  It  is  upon  elements  like  these  that  political  agitations 
■work  ;  and  our  amasemcnt  should  be,  not  that  once  and  again 
in  the  course  of  years  tumult  and  outrage  break  forth ;  but 
rather  that  the  public  peace  is  so  seldom  violated ;  and  that 
when  disturbed,  any  bounds  are  set  to  the  vindictive  passions 
of  the  million  who  have  so  long  suffered  in  silence. 

Experience  has  abundantly  proved,  even  to  the  conviction 
of  irreligious  statesmen,  tliat  the  influence  of  religious  motives 
upon  the  lowest  rank — taken  at  large,  is  decisively  favoura 
ble  to  public  order,  and  is  the  most  powerful  prop  of  civil 
government.  None  now  call  this  capital  political  truth  in 
question,  but  those — the  few,  whose  enormous  usurpations 
are  of  a  kind  that  can  be  secured  only  by  imposing  brutaliz- 
ing degradations  upon  the  helot  class.  None  now  deny  this 
first  axiom  of  political  science — that  religion  is  the  bond  of 
peace;  none  deny  it,  we  say,  but  the  Planter  and  his  Patron. 

The  cases  are  very  rare  in  which  a  just  and  patriotic  gov- 
ernment (or  even  a  despotic  one)  might  not  calculate  its 
security  by  the  rule  of  the  amount  of  religion  among  the 
labouring  population  of  the  country.  There  have  been  mo- 
mentary exceptions  ;  but  they  are  quite  intelligible,  and  when 
properly  understood  confirm  the  rule  which  makes  it  the 
interest  and  duty,  as  well  of  the  legislative  as  of  the  admin- 
istrative powers,  to  maintain,  and  to  extend,  and  to  invigorate, 
by  all  proper  means,  the  Public  Religion. 

The  fanaticism  of  poverty,  which  only  under  very  unusual 
provocations  takes  a  political  turn,  or  threatens  civil  institu- 
tions, somewhat  more  frequently  offers  itself  to  view  within 
its  proper  circle  of  religious  sentiment.  The  Gospel  is  the 
chartered  patrimony  of  the  poor ;  and  to  affirm  that  the  motives 
of  religion,  as  the}'  bear  upon  the  cares,  privations,  and  con- 
tempt of  a  low  condition,  ordinarily  pass  into  a  malign  state, 
would  be  the  same  thing  as  to  deny  the  divine  origin  of  this 
Gospel.  The  contrary  is  most  decisively  the  fact.  The 
jiarlial  evil  has  existence  only  when  the  theology  that  is 
promulgated  among  the  people  is  of  a  murky  and  arrogant 
kind ;  when  one  set  of  ideas  singly,  and  those  of  the  least 
benign,  is  presented  to  the  mind  of  the  ])eople;  and  when, 
either  by  abstruse  dogmas,  or  by  rigid  and  repulsive  usages 
— by  the  monotonous  assertion  of  mysterious  exclusive  privi- 
lege, and  by  a  stern,  scrupulous,  and  sancliraouious  discipline 


— a  discipline  more  careful  of  faith  than  of  morals — it  is  only 
by  such  means,  that  the  melancholy  impatience  belonging  to 
social  degradation  a  id  distress,  gives  a  dark  colour  to  the 
poor  man's  piety. 

Those  will  be  at  no  loss  in  verifying  or  in  rebutting  our 
present  allegation,  who  have  iieen  personally  conversant  with 
the  religious  sentiments  of  the  lower  classes  in  certain  de- 
partments of  our  ecclesiastical  commonwealth.  To  such 
might  be  recommended  an  inquiry  of  this  sort,  namely — How 
far  those  forms  of  doctrine  among  us  which  tend  to  favour 
malign  spiritual  arrogance,  and  which  confessedly  are  of 
ambiguous  moral  tendency,  and  how  far  certain  strait  and  ab- 
horrent rules  of  communion,  and  how  far  an  excessive  lean- 
ing to  the  democratic  principle  in  the  management  of  Church 
affairs — a  leaning  wholly  incompatible  with  pastoral  inde- 
pendence, how  far  these  evils — tfthey  any  where  exist,  savour 
of  what  may  be  termed  plebeian  fanaticism. 

But  the  favourites  of  Fortune,  as  well  as  her  outcasts,  have 
sometimes  their  Fanaticism  :  there  is  a  sleek  and  well-bred 
religious  delirium,  as  well  as  one  that  is  rude  and  squalid. 

Christianity  rarely  affects  the  opulent  and  the  noble,  except 
during  disastrous  epochs ;  or  in  those  gloomy  hours  of  a  na- 
tion's history,  when  all  things  earthly  are  in  jeopardy.  It 
would  seem  as  if  nothing  else  than  the  most  vehement  agita- 
tions could  be  enough  to  dispel  the  illusions  that  beset  luxury 
and  honour.  De  this  as  it  may,  the  coincidence  of  causes 
deserves  to  be  taken  account  of,  which,  in  such  seasons  of 
fear  and  tumult,  affords  to  the  Christian  of  elevated  rank  a 
necessary  counterpoise  for  his  religious  emotions,  and  tends 
to  impart  soberness  to  his  piety.  This  indispensable  coun- 
terpoise is  furnished  to  Christians  of  lower  station  by  the 
cares  and  labours  of  vulgar  life.  But  the  perils  and  vicissi- 
tudes of  a  revolutionary  era  bring  home  to  the  patrician  orders 
a  sense  of  the  precariousness  of  earthly  good  such  as,  during 
the  tranquil  flow  of  events,  they  are  hardly  ever  conscious  of. 
At  these  times  a  dilncult  part  is  to  be  performed,  and  danger- 
ous measures  are  often  to  be  attempted,  which  fully  engage 
every  energy  of  the  soul.  It  is  then  that  public  persons  are 
thrown  upon  their  principles,  are  compelled  to  look  to  the 
ultimate  reasons  of  their  conduct:  and  are  in  fact  taught  cer- 
tain severe  lessons  of  virtue,  such  as  are  never  dreamed  of  in 
the  summer  seasons  of  the  world's  affairs.  It  is  at  such  times 
that  religious  sentiments,  if  they  exist  at  all  in  the  bosoms  of 
the  great,  are  brought  into  act,  and  are,  by  that  means,  pre- 
served from  exaggeration. 

This  general  order  of  things  being  kept  in  view,  we  may 
the  more  readily  understand  the  somewhat  singular  appear- 
ance which  serious  piety  has  assumed  of  late  in  a  portion  of 
the  upper  classes  of  England.  The  time  we  have  lived 
through  has  indeed  been  a  season  of  momentous  cliange,  and 
has  furnished  excitements  of  the  most  unusual  kind.  And 
yet,  to  the  people  of  the  British  Islands,  the  throes  of  the 
world  and  the  sanguinary  convulsions  of  the  nations,  have 
offered  a  Spectacle,  rather  than  an  arena  of  action  and  trial. 
During  a  full  Ibrty  years,  the  English  have  stood  crowding 
their  cliffs  in  mute  astonishment,  and  have  gazed  upon  the 
distant  prospect  of  blazing  palaces,  or  demolished  thrones — 
of  embattled  fields,  or  of  cities  deluged  by  civil  feud  ; — they 
liave  caught  the  muttering  thunders  of  war  and  revolution; 
but  still  have  been  able  to  turn  the  eye  homeward,  and  have 
seen  the  smiling  serenity  of  order  and  plenty  spread  over  all 
their  land.  W'e  have  indeed  entertained  momentary  alarms, 
and  have  groaned  under  burdens  ;  but  have  hardly  been  called 
to  meet  the  brunt  of  danger: — the  stress  of  affairs  has  not 
lain  upon  us,  so  as  to  engage  the  higher  virtues. 

The  excitements  of  an  era  of  commotion  have  been  felt; — 
yet  apart  from  its  proper  correctives.  The  spread  of  religious 
feeling  among  the  rich  and  noble  may  fairly  be  attributed  (in 
measure)  to  the  salutary  impression  which  the  magnitude  and 
portentous  aspect  of  events  has  made  upon  all  minds.  Yet  it 
has  been  an  impression  without  a  conjlict — an  awe,  but  not  an 
exercise.  There  has  been  no  arduous  part  to  perform,  no 
sacrifice  to  make,  no  privation  to  be  endured.  All  this  while 
the  religious  nobles  have  reclined  upon  a  couch  as  soft  as  that 
of  the  irreligious  noble;  the  silken  banner  of  their  ease  has 
floated  in  a  summer's  sky : — they  have  fared  as  daintily,  and 
have  been  served  as  sumptuously,  as  if  their  portion  were  all 
in  this  world  : — they  have  undulated  from  theatre  to  theatre 
of  pious  entertainment,  and  have  met  acclamations  and  smiles ; 
yet  nothing  has  compelled  them  to  act  or  to  suffer  like  men. 

There  can  be  little  room  then  for  surprise  if  the  result  of 
this  peculiar  conjunction  of  influences  has  been  to  give  play 
to  exorbitances  of  opinion,  and  absurdities  of  conduct,  among 
those  of  the  rich  and  noble  who  have  admitted  religious  im- 


FANATICISM. 


pressions.  Some,  we  cannot  doubt,  the  ferment  of  whose 
piety  has  brought  our  Christianity  into  contempt,  would  have 
honoured  their  profession  of  it  by  exhibiting  the  courage  and 
devotion  of  confessors,  had  public  events  been  of  a  kind  to 
lead  them  into  any  such  arduous  sphere  of  action :  these  per- 
sons have  been  fain  to  yearn  for  miracles  in  easy  times,  that 
offer  no  crowns  of  martyrdom. 

Religious  sentiments  in  a  highly  excited  state,  and  not 
counterpoised  by  the  vulgar  cares  and  sorrows  of  humble 
life — not  taught  common  sense  by  common  occasions,  is  little 
likely  to  stop  short  at  mere  enthusiasm: — the  fervour  almost 
of  necessity  becomes  fanatical.  The  progress  of  the  feelings 
in  such  cases  is  not  difficult  to  be  divined.  That  sensilivl>- 
ness  to  public  opinion,  and  that  nice  regard  to  personal  repu- 
tation, and  that  keen  consciousness  of  ridicule,  which  belong 
to  the  upper  classes,  and  upon  which  their  morality  is  chiefly 
lounded,  tend,  in  the  instance  of  the  pious  oligarch,  to  gener- 
ate vivid  resentments  when  he  feels  that,  having  over-stepped 
the  boundaries  of  good  sense  and  sobriety,  he  has  drawn  upon 
himself  the  public  laugh.  The  intolerable  glance  of  scorn 
from  his  peers,  to  which  he  has  found  himself  exposed,  must 
be — not  retorted  indeed — not  avenged  ;  but  yet  returned  in 
some  manner  compatible  with  religious  ideas.  It  is  at  this 
very  point  of  commuted  revenge  that  fanaticism  takes  its  rise. 
Interpretations  the  most  excessive,  expectations  the  most 
dire,  comminations  the  most  terrible,  and  a  line  of  conduct 


417 


arrogantly  absurd,  set  wounded  patrician  pride  again  upon  its 
due  elevation — repair  the  damage  it  has  sustained;  and  sur- 
round it  with  a  hedge  of  thorns. 

If  (national  prejudice  apart)  it  may  be  said  that  the  Eng- 
lish character  possesses  a  peculiar  nobleness ;  and  if  it  be 
true  tliat  the  English  aristocracy  stands  foremost  as  by  em- 
phasis the  aristocracy  of  Europe;  and  if  moreover  it  may  be 
believed  that  Christianity  has  a  stronger  hold  of  the  Entrlish 
than  of  any  other  people,  may  not  a  time  reasonably  be  looked 
f'lr,  when  the  special  excellences  of  the  national  character, 
illustrated  by  rank  and  high  culture,  shall  admit  (without 
taint  of  fanaticism)  tlie  elevating  influence  of  unfeigned  piety, 
and  so  shall  exhibit  to  the  world,  under  the  very  fairest  and 
the  brightest  forms,  the  true  magnanimity  of  virtue. 

To  what  extent  the  advance  of  Christianity  among  the  na- 
tions has  been  obstructed  by  the  absurd  or  the  hosule  form 
into  which  it  has  been  thrown  by  its  professors,  none  can  pre- 
sume to  determine.  None  know  how  many  perplexed  and 
hesitating  minds,  distracted  with  doubts,  have  received  their 
final  and  fatal  shock  from  the  spectacle  of  folly,  pride,  and 
strife  which  the  Church  has  exhibited.  None  can  calculate 
what  might  have  been  achieved  by  the  zeal  and  energy  that 
have  been  consumed  in  dissentions,  or  quashed  by  despotism. 
Much  less  can  any  mortal  dare  to  surmise  how  far  the  out- 


Thus  It  has  been  in  every  age.  Evils  grievous  in  themselves, 
and  frightful  in  their  ultimate  consequences,  have  been  pal- 
liated by  those  who  should  have  checked  them ;  have  been 
admired,  or  have  been  cloaked;  have  been  trumpeted,  or  have 
been  excused  ;  but  never  honestly  and  unsparingly  dealt  with. 
No  principle  of  morals  can  be  more  unsound  than  that 
which  would  excuse  a  man  from  guilt  who  cares  not  to  rid 
himself  of  prejudices  or  of  scruples  that  are  ruinous  to  his 
fellows.  If  we  do  not  owe  the  cultivation  of  common  sense 
to  ourselves,  we  assuredly  owe  it  to  those  around  us.  No 
man  can  play  the  fool  without  peril  to  his  neighbours;  and 
when  the  Christian  does  so,  he  flings  perdition 'on  every  side 
of  him. 

Those  questions  of  ecclesiastical  polity  (if  such  there  be,) 
which  involve  real  difficulties,  and  which  wise  men  mitrht 
hesitate  to  touch — uncertain  and  complicated  as  are  all  human 
affairs,  may  well  be  reserved  until  other  points  have  been 
disposed  of  that  demand  nothing  but  the  puttino-  in  force  of 
the  plainest  principles  of  reason  and  piety.  Wh'o  shall  say 
how  much  light  would  suddenly  come  in  upon  the  obscurer 
matters,  if  once  the  simpler  were  taken  out  of  the  wayl 

To  adduce  the  specific  instances,  and  to  deal  with  them 
equitably,  would  consist  neither  with  the  limits  nor  the  pur- 
pose of  this  volume.  It  is  principles  only  we  have  to  do 
with  ;  and  in  the  establishment  of  general  truths,  must  still 
adhere  to  the  rule  of  drawing  examples  from  the  remotest 
quarters.  In  closing  then  this  section,  let  a  single  instance, 
illustrative  of  the  purport  of  it,  be  glanced  at. 

The  ancient  Church  might  stand  excused  from  the  blame 
of  defending,  with  too  much  acrimony,  the  great  elements  of 
Christian  faith,  assailed  as  they  were  by  a  hundred  heresies, 
audacious  and  absurd;  and  let  indulgence  be  afforded  in  rela- 
tion to  those  divisions  in  matters  of  discipline  which  mitrht 
fairly  perplex  honest  minds.  We  look  now  to  instances°of 
that  sort  which  entailed  extreme  contempt  upon  Christianity, 
and  sullied  all  its  glory,  for  the  sake  of  pertinacious  scruples 
meflably  trivial.  If  the  case  adduced  be  thought  altogether 
without  parallel  in  modern  times,  let  it  be  rejected  as  im- 
pertinent. 

Be  it  imagined  that  the  accomplished  author  of  the  treatise 

on  the  Sublime,"  hitherto  imperfectly  informed  of  the  Chris- 
tian doctrine,  and  doubtful  of  its  claims,  had  at  length  re- 
solved to  obtain  a  more  intimate  acquaintance  with  a  religion 
which  was  then  spreading  through  all  parts  of  the  world,  and 
spreading  in  defiance  of  imperial  edicts  and  popular  fury. 
The  philosophic  Longinus  has  learned  in  a  vaaue  manner 
that  the  Christians  profess  the  hope  of  a  glorious  immor- 
tality— that  they  hold  elevated  opinions  conceniinn-  the  Divine 
nature,  and  that  they  treat  with  derision  the  idle  mytholoaies 
and  immoral  superstitions  of  all  nations;*  and  he  is  told  that 


„ I     ,  ■'/,  .-.-—  -^....-v,  ......    .„,   "'<=  'J"^-  ■>""  "iimuiji  supersiiiions  01  a  1  nations;*  and  he    s  to  d  that 

ZfrLZ""!  V'^'T  t'''  ''^  these  same  means,  been  this  system  is  affirmed  to  have  been  imparted  immediately  from 
averted  altogether  Irom  the  theatre  ot  human  affa  rs.  so  that  find.     He  pvn„nt.  ,!,.„  ,i,o,  „.v„.,i..,i  .u.       '  "»■ '""-eiy  irom 


--0 —  — ...v..,vjr  \y,  ,,.  c,,.,,  iiuo,  ijy  tiicac  same  uiudiis,  oeeu 
averted  altogether  from  the  theatre  of  human  affairs,  so  that 
blessings  have  been  withheld— the  efficacious  influence  de- 
nied, and  the  world  abandoned  through  long  ages,  to  its  mel- 
ancholy course  of  superstition  and  ot  crimel 

The  dependency  of  cause  upon  cause  in  the  vast  and  occult 
machinery  of  the  moral  system,  lies  far  beyond  the  reach  of 
human  curiosity.  That  day  must  be  waited  for  which  is  to 
revea!  the  springs  of  the  movements  that  now  meet  the  eye, 
and  perplex  our  meditations.  But  might  not  a  time  come 
when  those  who  readily  confess  themselves  to  sustain  as 
Christians,  a  responsibility  toward  the  world  at  large,  and 
who  are  even  forward  in  claiming  their  several  shares  of  this 
responsibility — when  such,  pausing  a  moment  on  their  course 
of  zealous  enterprise,  shall,  with  an  ingenuous  dread  of  meet- 
ing at  last  the  Divine  reproof  instead  of  approval,  set  them- 
selves to  inquire  whether  the  Christianity  they  are  sendino- 
from  land  to  land,  is  not  loaded  with  some  fatal  disparao-e° 
ment,  such  as  forbids  its  wide  extension  1  ° 

But  it  is  asked— who  is  competent,  or  who  commands  the 
means  of  regenerating  our  ecclesiastical  existence  ?  Where 
i^sts  a  blame,  of  which  no  man  has  the  power  to  rid  himself? 
The  answer  to  such  an  inquiry  is  not  difficult;  for  the  indi- 
vidual culpability  which  rests  upon  Christians,  livino-  under 
a  corrupted  or  perverted  state  of  things,  is  that  of  resisting 
the  appeals  of  common  sense.  The  personal  guilt  is  that  o1" 
harbouring  fond  predilections,  and  of  jealousy°quashintr  any 
course  ot  inquiry  that  is  foreseen  as  likely  to  brino-  secfarian 
interests  into  jeopardy.  The  personal  blame  is  of  the  very 
same  kind  that  attaches  to  the  maintenance  of  other  species 
of  VICIOUS  infatuation.  If  the  actual  amount  of  this  crimi- 
nality be  small  in  the  instance  of  the  untautrht  and  the  un- 
thinking multitude,  it  reaches  a  height  we  wfu  not  estimate, 
with  the  few  whose  duty  it  is  to  care  for,  and  lead  the  many. 
Vol.  11.-3  C 


trod.  He  expects  then  that  whether  the  alleged  revelation 
be  true  or  false,  it  will  oiler  nothing  but  whatsis  momentous 
and  simply  great:— he  is  justified  in  expecting  nothino-  else. 
V\hile  he  yet  revolves  his  purpose  of  inquiry,  there  falls  by 
chance  into  his  hands  an  epistle  addressed  by  a  distincruished 
contemporary— a  Christian  bishop,  to  a  colleague.  The  writer, 
known  to  hira  already  by  common  fame,  stands  entitled  on 
every  ground  to  respect.  Head  of  the  Alexandrian  Church, 
and  theretore  second  to  few  or  none  in  official  importance,  a 
man  of  extensive  learning  too— no  barbarian;  but  versed,  like 


♦Juvenal  and  Lucian  had  led  the  way  in  the  woik  wlrich  the 
Christian  writers  achieved,  of  consigning  the  Grecian  mYtl,olo<.-y  to 
contempt.  Popular  veneration  toward  the  gods  had  almost  entirely 
been  loosened  by  railleries  which  drew  their  irresistible  force  from 
common  sense.  AVheii  the  Christians  brought  the  heavy  arras  of 
pure  trutli  to  bear  ujiou  these  decayed  absurdities,  the  victory  could 
not  be  long  doubtful.  TJie  Church  at  ibis  time  commanded  tlie 
services  ol  many  writers  qualified  by  vigorous  talents,  wit  and  ex- 
tensive learning,  for  the  part  assigned  them.  Some  of  the  pieces 
tnen  produced  wiih  the  design  of  exposing  polytheism  to  merited 
contempt,  are  ot  the  highest  merit.  Such  for  example  as— the  ad- 
mirable and  erudite  work  of  Aihenagoras,  Legatio  hro  Christiams 
addressed  to  the  Antonines  —The  Oratio  ad  Gra-cos  of  Tatian  •— 
1  he  caustic  Imsio  PIUlos.  Gmlil.  of  Hermias,  «liich,  tliough  aimed 
at  tbe  philosophic  sects,  went  also  to  undermine  the  ponular  super- 
stitions Justin  Martyr  claims  a  distinguished  place  in  the  list 
especially  on  account  of  his  excellent  Panenetic  to  ibe  Greeks  The 
.'Itlmomtw  ad  Grscos  of  the  learned  Clemens  Ale.xandriuns  is  of 
gi-eat  value,  and  contains  a  fund  of  various  erudition.  Origen  Contra 
Cesum,  takes  his  part  in  the  same  labour.  Tertullian  mightily  as- 
sails the  tolly  and  impurity  of  the  popular  worship;  and  not  le.ast  Is 
the  Octavim  of  Minucius  Felix.  These,  and  other  erudite  and 
eloquent  labours  of  the  early  church,  which  no  doubt  highly  con- 
duced to  the  ultimate  triumph  of  the  Gospel  throughout  the  enipire, 
merit  more  than  admiration— i'i;Rrs.iL. 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


418 .^ 

— — ; ;  J  „i  ;i„=nr,>,prs  of  Greece  :— lawav  the  epistle  of  Dioiiysius  with  indignant  scorn,  and  have 

"^ofV^  Si~^;  S  ar f  ::^:i  ^^in  JsaidL.  is  ^is  yon,  vaulted  ChristianHy..     Is  tt  to  n.a.„tain 


and  banishment  in  defence  of  his  faith;  a  man  moreover  of 
settled  moderation,  and  calm  judgment,  one  "^^o  ;;;^fJ'P- 
pealed  to  by  all  parties  as  umpire.  Such  was  Dionysius  of 
Alexandria ;  and  as  such,  not  improbably,  might  he  have  been 
known  to  his  contemporary,  Longinus.*  ;f ;,  Kp  ., 

If  then  indeed  Christianity  be  a  sublime  doctrine,  il  it  be  a 


this  system  of  servile  frivolity  that  you  die  at  the  stake  'i  Do 
you  ask  me  to  become  a  Christian'!  as  well  turn  Jew: — and 
how  much  better  remain  philosopher  !" 

The  fault  in  the  instance  we  have  adduced  was  not  that  of 
a  want  of  temper ;  for  we  must  admire  the  mild  and  concilia- 
tory tone  of  the  writer,  vested  as  he  was  with  authority :  nor 


ff  ,i,o„  inHpr.d  Chr  stianitv  be  a  sub  ime  doctrine,  U  it  oe  a  lory  lone  m  uie  «ii.m,  ,c=.cu  -o  „^  •.•"■;."■"•  " "v  •  ;-- 

If  then  indeed  *-!  ".^"^"   y  ";  r,hilosophv  imparted  by  God  was  it  a  fault  to  endeavour  to  ascertain  (if  the  means  of  doina 
revelation  of  tuture  l''e'\/ibe  a  philosophy  impare      j  ^^  ^  circumstance  of  an  event  beyond  all 


servile  and  childest  Superstitions  that  enslave  tne  error  in  us  uui.»c4i.r..^t=,  „„o  ...„■„.. . 

Fr'uiht  with  these  proper  anticipations,  the  philo-  purtance  to  attach  to  a  particular  which  confessedly  lay  be- 
l-raught  witn  tnese  prop  f  „,X,„  +  vond  the  ranae  of  revelation,  and  had  been  made  no  part_  of 


himself  to  man,  it  must  dignify  its  adherents,  it  must  embue 
them  with  a  o-rave  and  manly  reason,  it  must  exempt  them 
from  the  servile  and  childest  superstitions  that  enslave  the 
vulo-ar  Frauo-ht  with  these  proper  anticipations,  the  philo- 
sophic inquirer" opens  the  letter  of  the  Alexandrian  prelate.j 
Althouo-h  not  qualified  justly  to  estimate  those  expressions 
of  meekness  and  simplicity  which  present  themselves  on  the 
face  of  it— a  style  so  unlike  that  of  the  schools,  his  candour 
is  conciliated  by  the  modesty  of  a  man  whose  station  might 
have  rendered  him  arrogant.^  ,  ■       ,  j 

"  Dionysius  to  Basilides,  my  beloved  son  and  brother,  and 
collea<Tue  in  the  Lord— greeting.  You  wrote  to  n^e,  my  faith- 
ful and  learned  son,  concerning  the  hour  at  which  tasting 
should  cease  in  celebrating  the  Paschal  solemnity.  \  ou  re- 
port that  certain  of  the  fraternity  (of  Pentapolis)  affirm  that 
the  fast  should  end,  and  our  rejoicings  commence,  at  the 
moment  of  cock-crowing;  while  others  say  it  should  be  Irom 
the  evenincr.  The  brethren  of  Rome,  as  the  former  assert, 
are  accusto'mcd  to  await  the  crowing  of  the  cock;  whereas, 
on  our  part,  as  yon  say,  an  earlier  hour  is  observed.  \  our 
desire  is  to  ascertain  with  precision  the  very  mome,^,  and  to 
fix  decisively  the  proper  hour;  but  to  do  so  is  a  difficult  and 
uncertain  thincr.  All  are  indeed  perfectly  agreed  on  this  one 
point— that,  from  the  instant  of  our  Lord's  resurrection,  fes- 
tivity and  <rladness  should  commence;  and  that,  on  the  other 


was    11    a    itlUlL    LU    vriiUCdV  v^ui     Lw    tiov-i-i^"."  ^.^     w,.w  ... . _ 

SO  had  been  at  hand)  a  circumstance  of  an  event  beyond  all 
others  worthy  of  earnest  regard.  But  the  error — and  a  fatal 
error  in  its  consequences,  was  that  of  admitting  religious  im- 


yond  the  range  of  revelation,  and  had  been  made  no  part  of 
Christian  dufy.  Not  only  was  the  point  adstractedly  trivial, 
but  it  was  the  subject  of  no  injunction.  How  could  it  be 
imagined,  unless  through  a  circuit  of  false  assumptions,  that 
conscience  was  implicated  in  an  observance  concerning  \vhich, 
not  only  was  there  no  explicit  command,  but  no  certain  evi- 
dence bearing  upon  the  fact  whereon  the  observance  rested  "i 
Granting  the'paschal  solemnities  to  have  been  acceptable  re- 
ligious services,  and  granting  it  to  have  been  a  pious  act  to 
fast  in  commemoration  of  the  Lord's  death  and  burial,  and  to 
celebrate  his  return  to  life  with  hymns,  illuminations,  and 
other  festivities,  yet,  as  by  the  acknowledgment  of  all,  except 
zealots,  the  precise  moment  in  which  sorrow  was  turned  into 
o-ladness  could  not  be  ascertained,  and  must  remain  mere 
inatter  of  surmise,  was  it  not  an  egregrious  violation  of  com- 
mon sense  to  make  such  a  point  the  subject  of  anxious  con- 
troversy, and  the  occasion  of  ecclesiastical  disunion  1 

Dionysius,  it  is  true,  writes  and  decides  much  more  like  a 
Christian  than  like  a  supercilious  dignitary,  and  if  all  had 
been  such  as  himself,  the  foolish  disagreement  must  soon 
have  been  forcrotten.     But  what  was   likely  to  happeu  m  the 


tivity  and  gladness  should  commence;  and  that,  on  the  other  "l^^^  "  -'  l^'^^,,";- Basilides ^     A  few  perhaps,  the  lovers  of 
hani,  ..sting  -^.  hurnUia.mn  o    spirU  a.  p^^^^^        pre-     --^^^^W  "wHm!;;  tL  patriarcl^l  deLion.     Not  so 


cedino- timer  But  yourself,  in  your  epistle— versed  as  you 
are  in" the  divine  evangelic  records,  have  shown  that  nothing 
is  to  be  certainly  gathered  from  the  Gospels  concerning  the 
hour  of  the  resurrection.  The  Evangelists,  in  their  several 
modes  of  narrating  the  event,  declare  that  all  who,  at  ditlerent 
times,  visited  the  sepulchre,  found  the  Lord  already  risen. 
Yet  we  assume  that  they  neither  disagree,  nor  oppose  each 
other  as  to  the  fact;  and  inasmuch  as  the  point  has  become 
the  subject  of  controversy,  as  if  there  were  a  want  ot  con- 
sistency among  the  Evangelists,  let  us  with  due  humility  and 
caution  endeavour  to  trace  out  their  real  agreement."    _ 

Then  follows  a  careful  examination  ot  the  evidence,  in  con- 
cluding which  the  good  bishop  manifestly  endeavours  so  to 
pronounce  upon  the  perplexing  matter  as  should  corroborate 
strict  and  godly  discipline,  without  absolutely  precluding  in- 
dulgence toward  the  feeble,  or  even  the  lax.  "  Those,"  says 
he,""  who,  being  presently  wearied,  hasten  to  break  their 
fast,  even  before  midnight,  we  must  blame  as  negligent  and 
incontinent.  It  is  not  a  little,  according  to  the  adage,  to  iall 
short  in  the  course,  by  a  little.  But  on  the  contrary,  those 
who  hold  out  until  the  fourth  watch  of  the  night,  we  deem  to 
be  noble  and  strenuous.  Yet  will  we  not  angrily  assail  §  any 
who,  either  from  want  of  strength,  or  of  fixed  resolution, 
seek  refreshments  sooner.  . 

These  unquestionably  are  the  tones  of  moderation  and  ot 
wisdom;  the  style  well  becomes  the  Christian  pastor  and 
the  bishop.  But  what  was  the  controversj'itself  ^  And  what 
impression  must  the  anxious  agitation  of  questions  such  as 
these  iiave  made  upon  men  of  enlarged  understanding,  who 
looked  at  the  new  religion  from  a  distance,  and  with  cold 
curiosity  1  To  return  for  a  moment  to  our  supposition  ;  must 
we  not  regard   Longinus  as  almost  excused,  if  he  had  cast 


•  As  Principal  of  the  Catechetical  School  of  Alexandria, Dionysius 
had  early  diffused  his  reputation  very  widely.  He  was  esteemed  one 
of  the  most  distinguislied  of  Origen's  pupils.  Eusebius,  Eccles.  Hist. 
1.  vi.  c.  35 — 10.  . 

i  The  canonic  epistle  of  Dionysius,  quoted  above,  is  ot  unques- 
tioned authenticity.    It  is  accessible  to  the  reader  in  Routh's  lieliqus 

Sacrx,\o\.  U.  .  r  ,-     •   i- 

\  Dionysius,  after  giving  advices  on  sundi-y  pomts  ot  discipline 
tlien  deemed  important,  thus  concludes: — "In  these  things  (concern 
ing  vhicli,  to  do  lis  honour,  not  because  you  are  yourself  unable  to 
judge,  you  liave  propounded  questions),  I  advance  my  opinion,  not 
as  Master  .fijao-x-ixic,  but  with  all  simplicity,  and  as  it  is  becoming 
that  we  sbould,  on  terms  of  mutuality,  discuss  any  subject  of  debate. 
Concerning  tliis  my  opinion,  vou,  learned  son,  when  you  have  con- 
sidered it,  will  write  to  me  agiiin,  either  approving  my  decision,  or 
proposing  a  belter."  How  well,  bad  this  style  been  copied  by  Church 
dignitaries! 

§  jm;i  Trdyu  StiVi^Kn'fjtiv. 


peace,  would  hail  with  joy  the  patriarchal  decision.     Not  so 
the  fervent  and  the  dogmatic  ;  not  so  those  whose  piety  meant 
nothing  apart  from  virulence.     Such— and  are  there  not  such 
in  every  community  1— would  listen  to   the  canonic  letter, 
when  publicly  read  in  the  Church,  with  clouded  visages ; 
they  would  exchange  among  themselves  glances  of  insolent 
dissent;  they  would  cluster  about  the  church  doors  alter  the 
assembly  had  broke  up,  would   gather  to  themselves  open- 
mouthed  hearers,  would    inveigh  against  the  easiness  and 
worldly  indifference  of  men  in  high  station ;  they  would  im- 
peach  the   motives  and   the  piety,  first  of  the  Alexandrian 
patriarch,    and    then   of    his   surrogate— their    own   pastor. 
The  intrinsic  merits  of  the  question  would  be  hotly  agitated, 
and  its  vital  importance  be  insisted  upon  :  the  consciences  ot 
the  feeble  and  the  scrupulous,  of  women  and  slaves,  would 
be  entangled  and  placed  at  the  disposal  of  the  despotic  lead- 
ers of  the  sect.     These  leaders,  committed  to  a  course  ot 
open  opposition,  would  find  it  necessary  to  have  recourse  to 
every  means  of  exaggeration  and  irritation  tending  to  sustain 
the  zeal  of  their  adherents.    A  breach  with  the  Church  would 
be  deemed  indispensable  for  securing  the  rights  of  conscience  : 
fellowship  must  be  refused,  first  with  the  general  body  ot  be- 
lievers ;  next  with  those  who,  though  holding  mainly  with 
themselves  in  the  question  at  issue,  yet  hesitated  to  adjudge 
Christendom  entire  to  perdition  on  account  of  its  error  in  this 
sincrle  point.     Lastly  (if  indeed  the  absurdity  of  intolerance 
eve^r  reaches  an  ultimate  stage),  lastly,   all  correspondence 
must  be  cut  off  with  whoever  would  not  denounce  the  mod- 
erate middle  men  above  named.     In  the  end  the  little  flaming 
nucleus  of  immaculate  rigidity,  lasting  till  broad  day  ol  Eas- 
ter Sunday,  and  blessing  itself  in  the  straitness  of  its  circle, 
would  be  able  to  look  down  upon  all  the  world,  and  upon 
all  the  church,  as  wrong  and  lost!     Meanwhile  the  amiable 
Dionysius  grieves,  and  prays  too,  for  the  contumacious  band. 
But  should  he  not  remember  that  the  taction  drew  its  conse- 
quence from  his  own  error  in  granting,  tor  a  moment,  tliat 
Christian  duty  and  conscience  could  be  at  all  concerned  in  a 
controversy   of  this  frivolous   sorti     Should    he   not  have 
known  that  if  men  are  encouraged  by  persons  of  sense  and 
authority  to  attach  importance  to  idle  scrupulosities,  they  will 
not  fail  to  forget  solid  morality,  as  well  as  to  spurn  meekness 

cHlQ  loVG 

The  follies  of  one  age  differ  from  those  of  another  in  names 
only.  Let  those  boast  of  the  intelligence  of  the  nineteenth 
century,  who  think  it  furnishes  noparallels  to  the  infatuations 
of  the  third.  It  is  often  anxiously  asked— \\  hat  hinders  the 
procrress  of  ihe  Gospel  in  a  country  like  our  own,  and  in  an 
ao-e^of  liberty-and  knowledge'  It  might  be  quite  enough  to  rc- 
pTy,  that  the  hinderance  is  drawn  from  the  form  ot  impertinent 


FANATICISM. 


419 


and  childish  discord  which  has  been  thrown  over  it  by  some 
ot"  its  most  devoted  adherents.  It  then  our  Christianity  does 
not  triumph  as  it  ought,  we  will  not  vex  at  the  infidelity  of 
Lonffinus  ;  but  mourn  the  superstition  of  Dionysius. 


SECTION  IX. 

THE  RELIGION  OF  THE  BIBLE  NOT  FANATICAL. 

{The  Old  Testament.) 

The  mind  seeks  refreshment  in  contemplating  Truth,  after 
conversing-  long  with  the  follies  and  crimes  that  mark  as  well 
the  religious  as  the  civil  history  of  nations.  A  tranquil  de- 
light, a  delight  enhanced  by  contrast,  is  felt  when  we  return 
to  set  foot  upon  that  solid  ground  of  reason  and  purity  which 
the  Scriptures  open  before  us.  How  melancholy  soever,  or 
revolting  may  be  the  spectacle  of  human  affairs,  a  happier 
prospect  is  within  view.  In  the  religion  of  the  Bible  there 
is  certainty — there  is  unsullied  goodness — there  is  divinity. 
Let  the  inferences  be  what  they  may — and  we  should  take 
care  they  are  sound,  which  we  feci  compelled  to  draw  from 
the  general  course  of  events,  it  remains  always  true  that  the 
writings  of  the  prophets  and  apostles  present  a  system  of  be- 
lief, an  order  of  sentiments,  and  a  rule  of  morals  such  as  are 
altogether  consistent  with  the  highest  conceptions  we  can 
form  of  the  Divine  attributes.  The  Bible  is  God's  revela- 
tion :  none  doubt  it  who  retain  the  integrity  of  the  moral 
faculty,  who  command  the  powers  of  reason,  and  who  are  in 
formed  of  what  has  been  in  every  age  the  actual  condition  of 
humafl  nature.  The  Scriptures  are  from  Heaven.  Yet  we 
will  not  now  assume  this  truth,  but  narrowly  examine  (on  a 
single  and  peculiar  line  of  argument)  the  proof  of  it. 

Let  it  then  be  premised  that  it  is  not  by  avoiding  occasions 
of  danger,  but  by  efficiently  providing  against  them,  that  the 
Scriptures  lead  man  through  the  difficult  paths  of  the  spiritual 
world.  The  most  critical  positions  which  the  human  mind 
can  occupy  are  freely  entered  upon  by  the  writers  of  the  Bible; 
all  hazards  are  run,  and  a  clear  triumphant  course  is  pursued 
through  all.  If  an  affirmation  such  as  this  be  deemed  loose 
or  declamatory,  and  more  easily  advanced  than  substantiated 
let  strict  attention  be  girentotlie  historic  facts  and  documents 
whence  a  conclusion  should  be  drawn;  in  entering  upon 
this  ground  no  favour  is  implored,  no  rigour  of  scrutiny  is 
deprecated.  We  ask  for  what  we  may  demand — a  verdict 
according  to  the  evidence. 

On  all  f|uestions  relating  to  the  alleged  practical  influence 
of  opinions,  the  rational  inquiry  plainly  is — \ot  what  seems 
the  tendency  of  single  elements  of  the  system  : — but  in  what 
manner  are  its  various  elements  balanced  and  harmonized  ? 
\Vho  does  not  know  that  Effects  are,  in  every  case,  whether 
physical  or  intellectual,  as  the  cumbincd  causes  which  concur 
to  produce  them  ?  If  at  any  time  certain  ingredients  of  reli- 
gious truth  have  been  drawn  apart,  and  grossly  abused,  t-j 
the  injury  of  the  parties  themselves,  and  to  the  scandal  of 
others,  the  fault  is  not  in  the  inspired  Book.  The  sacred 
writers  require  nothing  short  of  a  submission  to  that  com- 
plete and  duly-adjusted  system  of  motives  which  they  promul- 
gate ;  and  it  would  have  been  a  virtual  dereliction  of  their 
authority  to  have  made  provision  against  the  misuse  of  those 
s!ii!(lc  principles  which  can  produce  no  mischief  so  long  as 
they  are  held  in  combination. 

Boldness — the  boldness  of  simplicity  is  the  style  of  the 
Bible  from  first  to  last.  Nowhere  does  it  exhibit  that  sort  of 
circumspection  which  distinguishes  the  purblind  and  uncer- 
tain discretion  of  man.  Man,  if  cautious  at  all,  is  overcautious, 
and  must  be  so,  because  he  knows  little  of  the  remote  rela- 
tions of  tilings,  and  almost  nothing  of  their  future  consequences. 
Although  one  event  only  shall  actually  occur,  in  a  given  case, 
five  or  ten  that  are  possible  must  be  provided  for.  But  the 
Divine  Omniscience  saves  itself  all  such  wasted  anxieties, 
and  takes  a  direct  course  to  its  proposed  end';  an  end  it  had 
forseen  from  the  beginning.  A  difference  of  the  very  same 
sort  distinguishes  human  and  divine  operations  whenever 
brought  into  comparison.  The  former  abound  with  provi- 
sions and  precautions  against  possible  accidents  ;  but  in  the 
latter,  provision  is  made  only  against  actual  and  foreseen 
evils  ;  and  therefore  when  examined  on  principles  of  hu- 
man science,  often  seem — shall  we  say — unsafe  and  incom- 
plete. 


To  take  the  separate  ingredients  of  religion  as  they  may  be 
gathered  from  the  Jew  ish  and  Christian  Scriptures,  one  might 
find  in  them,  apart,  every  incitement  of  tliose  perverted  senti- 
ments, which,  in  fact,  through  the  course  of  ages,  have  bor- 
rowed a  pretext  from  the  Bible.  No  conceivable  method  of 
conveying  complex  principles  could  afford  security  against 
such  a  misuse  of  the  heavenly  boon.  If  men  will  sever  that 
which  God  has  joined,  nothing  remains  but  that  they  should 
receive  into  their  bosoms  the  fruit  of  their  temerity.  The  in- 
spired writers,  as  may  be  proved  in  the  most  convincing  man- 
ner, were  themselves  no  fanatics ;  nor  will  their  readers  ever 
become  such,  while  thej'  admit  that  complement  of  motives 
which  the  theology  of  the  Scriptures  includes. 

We  have  said  that  the  Bible  does  not  avoid  difficult  posi- 
tions, nor  evade  critical  and  delicate  affirmations,  as  for  ex- 
ample : — 

Neither  the  Prophets  nor  the  Apostles,  in  the  representa- 
tions they  make  of  the  Divine  Nature  affect  that  vague  and 
theoretic  style  which  pleases  philosophy.  On  the  contrary, 
they  advance  without  solicitude  into  the  very  midst  of  the 
most  appalling  conceptions  of  the  Supreme  Majesty.  And 
instead  of  affirming  what  they  have  to  affirm  with  an  accom- 
paniment of  extenuations,  apologies,  and  cautions,  thej'  em- 
ploy language,  pungent  and  vigorous  in  the  highest  degree, 
and  leave  the  whole  force  of  their  emphatic  phrases  to  press, 
without  relief,  upon  the  imagination  and  consciences  of  men. 
Those  very  passages  of  terror,  which  the  Fanatic  delights  to 
rehearse,  he  may  find,  if  he  will  subtract  them  from  their 
places.  Yes,  and  when  he  enters  into  controversy  with  men 
of  an  opposite  temperament,  who  will  admit  nothing  into  their 
theology  but  what  is  lenient,  he  easily  triumphs  over  them  by 
adducing  decisive  examples  of  a  sort  which  can  never  be  re- 
conciled with  such  effeminate  opinions.  The  Divine  Being, 
as  made  known  to  mankind  by  Moses,  Samuel,  David,  Eli- 
jah, Isaiah,  Ezekiel:  or  by  Christ  himself,  and  Paul  and 
James,  is  not  the  quiescent  and  complacent  Power  which 
Theists  fondly  paint.  Rather  is  He  terrible  in  his  anger,  jeal- 
ous of  his  honour,  and  not  to  be  approached  without  fear. 

Wefind,moreover,  very  prominently  in  the  Holy  Scriptures, 
that  doctrine  of  the  universal  degeneracy  of  mankind,  and  of 
the  consequent  displacency  of  God,  n-hich  waits  only  for  mis- 
interpretation and  exaggeration,  to  become  what  the  fanatic 
demands,  as  the  second  capital  excitement  of  his  malign  and 
vindictive  temper.*  The  human  race,  he  will  say,  is  fallen, 
is  foul — is  guilty:  may  it  not  then,  ought  it  not  to  be  reli- 
giously  hated?  Is  not  man  spiritually  abominable?  Can  any 
expressions  of  detestation — can  any  severities  of  treatment 
be  deemed  excessive  or  improper  on  the  part  of  the  few  who, 
loyally  taking  side  with  God  against  the  rebel  race,  would 
speak  and  act  in  a  manner  becoming  the  boldness  of  a  true 
allegiance  1  Thus,  and  with  some  appearance  of  reason  too, 
may  the  fanatic  justify  his  gloomy  mood. 

To  complete  the  apology  which  he  might  frame  for  the  out- 
bursts of  his  arrogance,  and  for  his  factious  proceedings,  he 
will  allege  (and  so  will  obtain  possession  of  his  third  excite- 
mentf)  that  the  entire  history  and  economy  of  Revelation 
turns  upon  the  principle  of  special  favours  granted  to  nations, 
to  families,  and  to  individuals,  who  have  been  honoured  and 
benefitted  by  immense  advantages,  notwithstanding  enormous 
delinquencies.  In  fact  it  is  upon  this  verj'  ground  that  fana- 
tics of  every  age — Jewish,  Mohammedan,  and  Christian,  have 
taken  their  stand. 

Picked  passages  may  thus  be  made  to  furnish  all  that  is 
wanted  to  warrant  the  rancour  and  presumption  of  the  malign 
religionist.  But  how  poorly  will  he  defend  himself  when  the 
great  and  unalterable  principles  of  biblical  religion  are  duly 
brought  together,  and  are  made  to  bear  in  harmony  upon  the 
heart!  The  effect  then  is  altogether  of  an  opposite  kind;  so 
much  so,  that  even  the  enemies  of  the  Gospel  have  been  com- 
pelled to  confess  that  our  Bible  is  the  fountain  of  compassion, 
the  rule  of  benignity,  and  the  very  doctrine  of  meekness. 
That  such  is  indeed  the  fact,  may  be  sustained  first  in  the 
mode  of  a  comprehensive  statement  of  principles ;  and  then 
in  the  method  of  a  careful  induction  of  specific  instances.  The 
importance  of  the  subject  will  justify  our  pursuing,  for  a 
while,  both  these  lines  of  proof. 

We  have  then  to  make  good,  first  on  general  grounds,  the 
affirmation  that  the  Religion  of  the  Bible  is  not  of  fanatical 
tendency. 

When  the  delusions  of  a  depraved  self-esteem  are  thorough- 
ly dispelled,  so  that  moral  and  spiritual  objects  affect,  as  they 
ought,  the  conscience  of  a  man,  then,  what  before  acted  as 


'  Page  374. 


t  Ibid. 


420 


CHRISTIAN   LIBRARY. 


the  excitement  of  spurious  zeal,  or  as  the  occasion  of  malev- 
olence, takes  salutury  possession  of  the  mind,  and  produces 
the  mild  fruits  of  piety  and  charity.  Thus,  for  example,  if 
the  awful  justice  of  God  be  truly  understood  as  the  necessary 
condition  of  that  purity  which  is  essential  to  the  Divine  Na- 
ture, and  as  a  mode  oiily  of  Sovereign  Benevolence,  then  an 
inference  from  this  truth  comes  home  with  weight  upon  the 
personal  consciousness  of  guilt;  and  he  who  thus  sees  his 
own  peril  in  the  light  of  the  divine  justice,  is  thenceforth 
mainly  occupied  with  those  emotions  of  shame  and  fear,  which 
are  proper  to  a  culprit.  The  wish  to  make  a  vindictive  ap- 
plication of  the  same  truth  toothers  (though  it  be  applicable) 


MEN,  every  where  to  repent  and  believe  the  Gospel,"  exclu- 
siveness  of  feeling  is  denied  him;  nor  can  he  harbour  that 
grudging  of  grace,  which  distinguishes  the  fanatic.  Are  the 
blessings  of  Christianity  actually  enjoyed  only  by  few  1  Yes 
alas,  but  llie  Christian  (by  plain  inference  from  his  principles) 
is  taught  to  impute  to  himself  and  his  associates,  as  a  fault, 
that  such  is  the  fact.  Far  from  thinking  himself  entitled  to 
rest  inertly  upon  the  sunny  spot  of  Heavenly  favour  where  he 
reclines,  he  knows  himself  to  be  bound  to  take  no  ease  until 
his  neighbour — nay  until  all  men  obtain  a  share  in  his  privi- 
lege. If,  at  a  first  glance,  it  might  seem  that  the  peculiarity 
of  the  Gospel  gives  sanction  to  fanatical  presumption,  we  can 


is  foro-otten,  or  becomes  abhorrent  to  the  soul.     This  surely  no  longer  think  so  when  wo  recollect  the  solemn  res|ionsibil- 


is  not  a  mere  refinement  or  an  evasion  of  the  difficulty.  If 
the  fearful  retributive  energy  of  the  Divine  Character  be  a 
truth,  and  a  prime  truth  of  Scripture,  upon  whom  docs  it  bear  1 
Upon  all  transgressors,  without  exception,  and  therefore  upon 
each  singly.  "  But  I  am  such,"  says  the  now  convicted  man, 
"and  to  me  God  is  terrible,  inasmnch  as  He  has  the  power 
and  the  determination  to  punish  sin."  The  entire  current  of 
ideas  is  in  this  manner  turned,  when  once  a  belief  of  personal 
danger  has  been  thoroughly  awakened ;  and  so  it  happens 
that  the  man  who,  yesterday,  was  hurling  thunderbolts  at  his 
fellows,  and  exulting  in  the  displays  of  divine  displeasure, 
may  now  be  seen  prostrate,  as  in  the  dust,  and  unmindful  of 
every  thing  but  his  own  peril.  Nothing  more  is  needed  to 
bring  about  so  great  a  change,  but  that  the  Divine  attributes 
should  be  truly  understood  in  the  relation  they  bear  to  per- 
sonal responsibility. 

Pursuing  the  same  path,  we  come  to  the  second  excitement 
of  religious  malevolence,  as  before  enumerated;  that  is  to 
say — The  universal  corruption  of  human  nature,  and  the  ac- 
tual guilt  of  all  men.  But  is  it  true  that  this  pravity  is  of  a 
spiritual  kind,  and  does  it  aftectthe  depthof  the  human  heart  ? 
Then — a  spiritual  knowledge  of  the  doctrine  implies  a  vivid 
and  expanded  consciousness  of  the  fact,  as  the  moral  condi- 
tion of  the  individual.  To  an  enlightened  conscience  this 
personal  knowledge  of  the  evil  bias  of  the  heart,  is  nothing 
less  than  an  interpretation,  viva  voce,  of  the  Scripture  doctrine 
of  the  corruption  of  human  nature.  Mankind  at  large  is  spir- 
itually abominable  in  no  other  sense  than  that  in  which  "I 
am  so ;"  and  a  close  and  serious  familiarity  with  the  subject 
seldom  fails  to  impart  to  each  mind  an  impression,  as  if  the 
corruption  of  the  individual  heart  were  more  deep  and  deplo- 
rable than  that  of  others.  "  If  other  men  are  objects  of  the 
divine  displacency — I  much  more ;"  such,  whether  in  fact 
true  cr  not,  is  the  language  (in  very  many  cases)  of  genuine 
contrition.  But  this  introversion  of  feeling  places  the  dogma 
altogether  on  another  footing  than  it  might  before  have  occu- 
pied. Will  there  remain  in  a  bosom  that  entertains  these 
emotions  of  shame  and  compunction  any  residue  of  arrogance 
or  of  malice  towards  the  mass  of  mankind,  because  sharers 
in  the  same  depravity  7  Surely  not.  On  the  contrary,  a  ten- 
der sympathy,  a  patient  forbearance,  and  the  liveliest  zeal  of 
benevolence  are  found  to  consist  with  the  feeling  of  personal 
humiliation.  The  fanatic,  with  his  misanthropy  and  his  scorn, 
is  quite  shut  out.  He — infatuated  man — knows  nothing  of 
himself,  and  therefore  has  no  indulgence  for  others.  Let  the 
doctrine  of  the  corruption  of  human  nature  be  expounded  as  it 
may,  or  even  in  some  sense  exaggerated,  it  will  remain  in- 
noxious, so  long  as  it  thoroughly  penetrates  the  soul  that  re- 
ceives it ;  the  principle  becomes  poisonous,  only  when  thrown 
out  and  suffused. 

The  constituent  motives  of  genuine  contrition  seal  the  ex- 
clusion of  arrogance  from  the  heart  of  the  penitent,  even  when 
a  hope  of  the  special  favour  of  God  is  entertained  with  the 
utmost  distinctness.  If  it  be  true,  as  the  Scriptures  affirm, 
that  this  favour  towards  individuals  is  absolutely  free — if  it 
comes  irrespectively  of  original  merit,  and  if  the  continuance 
of  the  temper  of  humiliation  is  the  fixed  condition  upon  which 
a  consciousness  of  it  is  granted  to  the  believer,  then  nothing 
can  be  felt,  in  looking  at  home,  but  simple  gratitude ;  and  no 
emotion  indulged,  in  looking  abroad,  but  the  desire  that  others 
should  partake  of  boons  of  which  all  have  equal  need,  and  of 
which  none  can  claim  to  be  worthy. 

The  lurking  notion  on  which  the  fanatic  builds  his  self- 
gratulations,  when  he  glances  at  the  herd  of  men,  is  that  they 
are,  by  the  stern  law  of  some  intrinsic  disqualification,  forever 
excluded  from  the  hope  of  participating  in  the  divine  favour. 
His  arrogance  is  of  a  patrician  sort ;  and  he  would  fain  per- 
suade himself  that  an  eternal  impossibility  bars  the  access  of 
others  to  the  narrow  ground  he  occupies.  But  the  Chris- 
tian— taught  from  the  Bible,  learns  a  lesson  the  very  reverse 
of  this     Commissioned  and  enjoined,  as  he  is,  to  invite  "  all 


ity  laid  upon  all  Christians  to  propagate  their  i'aith  by  the 
mild  methods  of  instruction.  How  is  it  possible  for  a  man 
selfishly  to  contemn  others  on  account  of  a  privilege  or  dis- 
tinction which  he  holds  on  the  express  condition  of  imparting 
it,  by  every  means  of  persuasion,  to  all  around  him  1  No  one 
surely  can,  at  ihe  same  moment,  be  diligently  scattering  a 
benefit — and  exulting  in  his  exclusive  possession  of  it. 

The  scheme  of  religious  sentiment  contained  in  the  Scrip- 
tures, wants  then  only  to  be  received,  such  as  it  is,  without 
deduction — without  addition  ;  and  to  be  received  as  the  object 
of  personal  feeling,  and  it  becomes  altogether  benign  in  its 
influence.  Experience  may  be  appealed  to  in  proof  of  this 
assertion;  but  our  present  purpose  demands  that  we  turn  to 
the  Inspired  Writings,  and  examine  in  a  number  of  instances, 
the  character  and  tendency  of  the  sentiments  they  recommend. 
We  have  also  to  ascertain,  if  it  can  be  done,  what  were  the 
personal  dispositions  of  the  writers ;  and  to  see  whether  those 
who  promulgated  this  religion  were  themselves  free  from  the 
malign  temper  of  the  Fanatic. 

Peculiar  considerations  enhance  the  importance  of  the  in- 
quiry we  have  in  hand.  The  fact  (already  adverted  to)  is 
not  to  be  denied,  that  the  Jewish  people,  from  the  period 
when  their  aflairs  find  a  place  on  the  page  of  general  history, 
exhibit  an  extraordinary  instance  of  national  religious  ran- 
cour, and  stand  fortii  almost  as  the  Fanatics  by  eminence 
the  ancient  world.  It  becomes  then  a  question  by  no 
means  frivolous — W"hen  did  this  malign  temper  first  make  its 
appearance;  and  whence  did  it  derive  its  special  motives, 
and  its  aggravations  1  Now  fairly  to  deal  with  such  a  ques- 
tion, we  should  of  course  look  to  the  religious  institutes  of 
the  people,  as  contained  in  their  sacred  writings,  as  well  as 
examine  the  facts  and  circumstances  of  their  subseqent  his- 
tory. The  latter  we  have  already  briefly  considered  ;*  the 
former  is  now  our  business. 

Nothing  is  at  any  time  to  be  gained  in  the  behalf  of  reli- 
gion by  attempting  to  screen  the  Inspired  Books  from  the 
fair  scrutiny  to  which,  as  historical  ductimenis  merely,  they 
may  be  liable.  If  the  pious  frauds  and  forgeries  that  once 
were  accounted  lawful  and  praiseworthy,  are  to  be  shunned 
and  spoken  of  with  detestation ;  so,  doubtless,  should  we 
avoid  and  renounce  all  those  indirect  procedures  in  matters 
of  argument,  which  partake  of  the  same  spirit.  Whoever  is 
so  happy  as  to  possess  an  intelligent  conviction  of  the  divine 
origin  of  the  Bible,  feels  himself  free  from  the  anxiety  which 
has  its  source  in  ignorance  and  infirmity  of  judgment. 

We  have  before  remarked  that  the  intluence  of  a  system  is 
not  to  be  judged  of  by  the  single  elements  it  may  contain; 
but  by  that  balance  of  motives  for  which  it  provides.  Let 
then  this  equitable  principle  be  borne  in  mind  while  we  take 
a  survey  of  the  Jewish  institutions  (so  far  as  they  relate  to 
our  subject)  and  of  the  revelations  that  were,  in  the  course  of 
ages,  grafted  upon  the  Mosaic  economy. 

The  fiftt  grand  peculiarity  of  the  Hebrew  polity,  civil  and 
sacred,  was  (it  need  hardly  be  said)  the  seclusion  of  the  race 
from  the  great  community  of  mankind.  Now  it  is  certain 
that  a  privileged  seclusion,  and  especially  a  sacred  one, 
tends,  on  the  ordinary  principles  of  human  nature,  to  beget 
unsocial  and  fanatical  sentiments.  This  general  truth  might 
be  admitted,  even  in  the  fullest  extent,  and  room  would  yet 
be  left  to  allege,  that  an  incidental  or  possible  evil  of  this 
sort  was  well  compensated  by  the  momentous  purpose  of 
which  that  separation  was  the  necessary  means ; — the  pur- 
pose being  nothing  less  than  the  preservation  in  the  world  of 
the  doctrine  of  the  Divine  Unity,  and  the  maintenance  of  a 
pure  moral  code  as  the  law  of  an  entire  people.  But  we 
leave  untouched  any  such  ground  of  apology,  and  prefer  to 
ask — In  what  style  or  terms  was  the  seclusion  of  the  Hebrew 
race  eftected ''  The  answer  must  be,  that  it  was  brought 
about  in  a  mbde  so  mortifying  to  the  common  emotions  of 


'  Pages  404,  405, 


FANATICISM. 


421 


national  pride,  that  the  endurance  of  it  on  the  part  of  a  rude' 
and  factious  people  is  no  slender  proof  that  the  Legislator,] 
in  the  first  instance,  and  after  him  the  Prophets,  were  sus-j 
tained  in  the  exercise  of  their  authority  hy  miraculous  po^^-i 
ers.  Nothing  can  be  imagined  more  vehemently  at  variance 
with  the  usual  practice  and  policy  of  founders  of  nations,  or 
more  unlike  the  tones  of  patriotic  bards,  than  is  the  language 
incessantly  repealed  by  Moses,  and  by  the  inspired  teachers, 
as  they  succeed  each  other  through  the  course  of  ages.  One 
is  actually  tempted  to  suppose  that  he  and  they  aimed  at 
nothing  so  much  as  to  feel  and  ascertain  the  extreme  limit  of 
their  power  over  the  popular  mind,  by  outraging  to  the  ut- 
most its  self-love  and  vanity. 

Whatever  momentary  objurgations  might  have  had  place 
between  the  Hebrew  leader  and  the  refractory  tribes  that 
followed  him  into  the  desert,  or  whatever  terms  of  reproach 
might  have  been  used  by  him  on  particular  occasions,  it  did 
not  seem  necessary  that  such  ex])ressions  of  indignation — j 
almost  of  scorn,  which  the  provocation  of  the  time  called 
forth,  should  be  recorded  and  should  be  mingled  inseparately 
with  the  national  code  and  history,  and  so  be  handed  downj 
to  posterity.  Unless  a  definite  and  very  peculiar  object  hadj 
been  in  view,  what  Legislator,  gtiided  by  common  sense,! 
would  have  so  enhanced  the  probability  that  his  code  should 
soon  be  consigned  to  oblivion  as  is  done  by  inserting,  almost 
on  every  page  throughout  his  Institutes,  the  most  obnoxious  i 
and  disparaging  epithets,  and  the  most  humiliating  narra-l 
tionsi  Surely  a  higher  wisdom  than  that  of  the  human  le- 
gislator is  here  apparent; — or  else  there  is  less  wisdom  than 
the  most  simple  of  mankind  are  gifted  with.  Are  we  not 
compelled  to  confess,  if  the  case  be  attentively  considered, 
that  a  special  provision  is  made  in  the  Pentateuch  for  coun- 
teracting that  national  arrogance  which  the  favoured  seclusion 
of  the  people  was  of  itself  likely  to  engender  ?  This  same 
code  of  sacred  privilege,  and  of  separation  from  the  bulk  of 
mankind,  which  the  priests  were  enjoined  perpetually  to  re- 
hearse in  the  ears  of  the  people — this  Law,  which  was  not 
only  to  be  cherished  in  the  heart,  but  to  be  •'  taught  diligently 
unto  children — to  be  talked  of  in  the  house  and  in  the  way — 
in  lying  down,  and  in  rising  up  ;  which  was  to  be  bound  as 
a  sign  upon  the  hand,  and  as  frontlets  between  the  eyes, 
which  was  to  be  inscribed  upon  the  door-posts  and  upon  the 
gates  of  the  city  :"* — this  same  law,  so  reiterated,  and  so 
forced  upon  the  memory,  carried  with  it  incessant  and  pointed 
rebukes  of  the  national  vanity.  It  was  one  thing  for  Moses 
to  have  pungently  upbraided  a  contumacious  populace  in 
moments  of  sedition,  and  quite  another  for  him  to  consign 
these  same  reproaches  to  perpetuity,  by  weaving  thera  in- 
to his  history,  and  by  wedging  them  between  his  statutes. 
Yet  so  we  find  them  in  scores  of  places. — "  Ye  are  a  stiff- 
necked  people,  an  evil  nation ;  I  will  come  up  into  the  midst 
of  thee  in  a  moment,  and  consume  thee ;  Iherelbre  now  put  otf 
tbine  ornaments  from  thee,  that  I  may  know  whali'to  do  unto 
Uiee."t 

A  most  explicit  and  particular  caution  against  the  indul- 
gence of  national  pride  is  given  by  the  Leader  of  the  Hebrew 
tribes  when,  on  the  very  borders  of  the  promised  land,  he 
announced  to  the  people  the  terrible  part  they  were  to  act  as 
executioners  of  the  divine  displeasure  upon  the  corrupted 
occupants  of  the  soil.  Can  w'e  read  it  without  admiration  of 
the  courage  of  Moses ; — or  without  conviction  of  his  divine 
legation?  "Speak  not  thou  in  thine  heart,  after  that  the 
Lord  thy  God  hath  cast  out  the  nations  from  before  thee, 
saying — For  my  righteousness  the  Lord  hath  brought  me  in 
to  possess  this  land.  But  for  the  wickedness  of  these  nations 
the  Lord  doth  drive  them  out  from  before  thee.  Not  for  thy 
righteousness,  or  for  the  uprightness  of  thine  heart,  dost  thou 
go  to  possess  their  land.  L'nderstand,  therefore,  that  the 
Lord  thy  God  giveth  thee  not  this  good  land  to  possess  it  for 
thy  righteousness  -jfur  thou  art  a  utijf-necked  people.  Remem- 
ber, and  forget  not,  how  thou  provokedst  the  Lord  thy  God  to 
wrath  in  the  wilderness :  from  the  day  that  thou  didst  depart 
out  of  the  land  of  Egypt,  until  ye  came  into  this  place,  ye 
have  been  rebellious  against  the  Lord. — Ye  have  been  rebel- 
lious against  the  Lord  from  the  day  that  I  knew  you.":): 

Or  if  it  had  been  the  intention  of  their  Leader  indirectly, 
yet  etfectually  to  lay  the  pride  and  youthful  exultation  of  the 
people,  just  bursting  as  they  were  upon  the  stage  of  political 
existence,  and  just  setting  foot  upon  the  career  of  conquest, 
nothing  could  have  been  done,  or  thought  of,  more  conducive 
to  such  a  purpose,  than  the  uttering  that  tremendous  commi- 


native  prediction  of  the  ultimate  miseries  of  the  nation,  with 
which  he  takes  leave  of  them.  On  any  ordinary  principles 
it  might  justly  have  been  supposed  that  those  prophetic 
curses,  upon  which  history  has  made  so  long  and  sad  a  com- 
ment, would  have  operated  cither  to  break  the  heart  of  the 
people,  or  to  have  utterly  disaffected  their  minds  to  a  religious 
system  that  entailed  penalties  so  dreadful.  And  the  more 
so,  when  a  confident  or  positive  announcement  of  the  actual 
issue  was  subjoined  to  the  exhibition  of  blessings  and  curses. 
— "  I  call  heaven  and  earth  to  record  against  you. — For  I  know 
that  after  iny  death  ye  will  utterly  corrupt  yourselves,  and 
turn  aside  from  the  way  that  1  have  commanded  you ;  and 
evil  will  befall  }-ou  in  the  latter  days."* 

In  terms  then,  such  as  these,  was  it  that  the  seclusion  and 
the  sacred  privileges  of  the  race  were,  in  the  first  instance, 
sanctioned  !  And  the  tone  set  by  Moses  was  chinied-in  with 
by  each  of  the  seers  and  poets  in  the  long  succession  of  ages. 
The  buddings  of  religious  national  insolence  we  find  to  be 
nipped  at  once,  and  with  a  steru  severity,  by  eacii  divinely- 
commissioned  personage,  as  he  comes  on  the  stage  of  sacred 
history.  Reproof,  reproach,  if  not  contempt,  is  the  character- 
istic of  the  Jewish  canonical  writings.  Nor  is  so  much  as 
one  passage  to  be  found  there,  the  tendency  of  which  is  to 
cherish  the  feeling  that  might  naturally  have  sprung  from  a 
conscious  enjoyment  of  prerogatives  and  honours  conferred 
upon  the  nation  by  the  Sovereign  of  the  L'niverse.  Joshua, 
captain  and  conqueror,  like  Moses  the  legislator,  surrenders 
his  charge  and  dies,  with  language  on  his  lips  of  discourage- 
ment and  mistrust.f 

A  particular  and  yet  remarkable  instance  of  the  care  taken 
to  damp  the  arrogance  of  the  people  is  found  in  the  form  of 
thanksgiving  that  was  put  into  the  mouth  of  the  Israelite 
when  summoned  to  offer  the  first-fruits  of  the  j'ear  to  the 
Lord.  "  And  thou  shaft  go  unto  the  priest  that  shall  be  in 
those  days,"  with  the  basket  of  fruits  in  hand,  "  and  thou 
shall  speak  and  say  before  the  Lord  thy  God — A  Syrian 
ready  to  perish  was  my  father,  and  he  went  down  into  Egypt, 
and  sojourned  there  with  a  few,  and  became  there  a  nation, 
great,  might}',  and  populous.":):  Let  it  be  observed,  as  we 
pass,  that  the  entire  profession,  including  as  it  does  all  the 
elements  of  piety  and  benevolence,  might  with  much  effect 
be  placed  by  the  side  of  the  festal  liturgies  of  other  nations, 
wherein  the  exorbitant  absurdities  of  national  vanity  have 
usually  been  indulged  without  restraint. 

But  to  that  venerable  book  of  sacred  odes  and  public  an- 
thems, of  which  the  founder  of  the  Israelitish  monarchy  was 
the  chief  author,  we  ought  naturallj'  to  look  for  the  evidence 
we  are  in  search  of — \Vas,  we  ask,  that  spiritual  supercil- 
iousness which  religious  privilege  and  seclusion  are  wont  to 
engender,  cherished,  or  was  it  repressed — was  it  authenti- 
cated, or  was  it  mortified,  by  the  divinely-sanctioned  poetry 
of  the  Hebrew  people,  and  by  the  choruses  of  the  Temple  % 
First  let  the  peculiar  circumstances  of  the  people  and  of  their 
prince  at  the  juncture  when  the  Psalms  came  into  general 
use,  be  considered.  After  four  centuries  of  political  disquiet 
and  distress  ;  centuries  of  long  depression  and  trancient  tri- 
umph, and  just  after  the  failure  of  the  people's  first  essay  at 
royalty,  the  nation  had  rallied,  had  mustered  its  spirits,  had 
become  invasive,  had  imposed  fear  in  turn  upon  all  its  neigh- 
bours, had  trodden  on  the  necks  of  its  ancient  oppressors,  and 
was  now  fast  coming  into  quiet  possession  of  the  signal  ad- 
vantages of  its  soil  and  position  : — the  Hebrew  people  was 
rising  from  the  dust  and  putting  on  the  entire  of  the  bride- 
groom, and  was  soon  to  abash  its  rivals  by  the  splendours,  as 
well  as  by  the  strength  of  national  prosperity.  And  all  this 
dazzling  advancement  was  taking  place  under  the  hand  of  an 
obscurely-born  captain,  whom,  in  the  style  of  common  his- 
torj',  we  should  call  an  adventurer,  and  whose  unstable 
power  demanded  the  support  of  all  available  means  of  popu- 
larity. 

At  the  very  same  moment  the  primitive  worship,  as  en- 
joined to  the  people  by  Moses,  was  restored  and  settled,  and 
its  services  expanded  and  adorned.  This  then  assuredly  was 
the  season  in  which  the  politic  and  heroic  founder  of  a  mon- 
archy would  endeavour  to  exalt  to  the  highest  pitch  the  na- 
tional enthusiasm,  and  would  labour  to  exacerbate  all  well 
founded  pretensions;  and  especially  to  throw  into  the  shade, 
or  utterly  to  blot  out,  if  possible,  the  anciently  recorded  dis- 
honours of  the  nation.  Shall  we  not  find  him  avoiding,  as 
by  instinct,  the  obsolete  themes  of  the  people's  dishonour? 
His  discretion  surely  will  impel  him — king  and  poet  as  he  is 


•  Dcut.  vi.  6,  7,  8  ;  and  xi.  IS. 
\  Ueut.  ix.  4—7,  24. 


+  Exod.  xxxiii.  5 


•  Deut.  xxxi.  27 — 29 
\  Deut.  xxvi.  4 — 10. 


t  Josh.  xxlv.  1.5 — 27. 


422 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


to  strike  another  wire.  No,  it  is  quite  otlierwise,  for  this 
man  of  incipient  and  uncertain  fortune,  this  nursling  of  the 
sheepfold  and  the  desert,  employs  the  powers  of  song  for  no 
such  purposes  whatever.  David  wielded  those  two  sceptres, 
of  which  the  one  often  proves  quite  as  potent  as  the  other, 
in  the  instance  of  an  unsophisticated  people.  The  warrior- 
king  is  Seer  and  Bard ;  and  it  is  he  who  gives  forth  the 
sacred  anthems  of  public  worship!  Rare  conjunction  of 
talents  and  powers !  how  sliall  such  choice  means  he  employ- 
ed, so  as  most  effectually  to  enhance  the  proud  patriotism  of  the 

people to  blend  that  patriotism  with  the  influence  of  religion, 

and,  not  least,  to  shed  the  delusive  splendour  of  jioetry  and 
fable  over  the  early  history  of  the  race^  On  all  grounds  of 
ordinary  calculation,  and  on  every  known  principal  of  human 
nature,  and  according  to  the  uniform  tenor  of  history,  we 
should  expect  nothing  less  in  the  Psalms  of  David  than  my- 
thic exaggeration,  mixed  up  with  the  stirring  elements  of  sa- 
cred and  civil  fanaticism.  But  are  these  compositions  of  any 
such  sort?  Nothing  can  he  more  widely  opposed  to  the  an- 
ticipations we  might  have  formed.  These  sacred  odes  and 
solemn  anthems  subserve  no  purposes  of  kingly  policy,  and 
can  be  explained  only  when  we  adopt  the  belief  which  a 
single  apostolic  phrase  condensely  expresses — that  David 
"spake  by  the  Holy  Ghost." 

Before  we  turn  to  peculiar  passages,  it  is  pertinent  to  no- 
tice the  general  spirit  of  the  poems  attributed  to  David.  It 
must  be  confessed  then  that  an  air  of  sadness  pervades  them. 
They  abound  with  prayers  under  pressure  of  calamity ;  and 
are  thick  set  with  the  sighs  and  tears  of  a  heavy  heart. 
Nothing  indicates  that  the  royal  lyre  was  at  all  thought  of 
as  an  instrument  of  ambition  : — the  exploits  and  triumphs  of 
the  young  hero,  though  chaunted  by  the  damsels  of  Zion,  are 
not  made  the  themes  of  his  own  song.  Let  it  be  affirmed 
that  they  were  composed  in  the  early  years  of  his  exile,  and 
under  privation  ;  yet  they  were  not  afterwards  supplanted  by 
verse  more  befitting  the  glories  of  kingly  state. 

The  fifteenth,  which  is  the  first  of  these  compositions  that 
plainly  seems  intended  for  public  worship,  is  severely  didac- 
tic;  and  comes  to  its  close  without  a  single  note  of  joy. 
That  noble  ode  (the  18th)  which,  more  than  any  other,  is 
exultant,  being  the  one  that  signalizes  the  hnal  triuinph  of 
David  over  his  domestic  fueSj  is  remarkable  for  those  often- 
repeated  phrases  that  attribute  the  entire  success  of  his  course 
to  divine  interposition  : — if  it  be  a  conqueror  that  speaks  in 
these  metres,  he  is  such  because  the  instrument  of  power  from 
on  high.  Nor  is  the  pride  of  the  nation,  any  more  than  that  of 
the  prince,  flattered,  through  the  course  of  the  psalm.  The 
same  spirit  reappears  on  each  similar  occasion ; — it  is  piety, 
not  pride,  that  inspires  the  song  of  gratulation.  As  thus: — 
"  Some  trust  in  chariots,  and  some  in  horses ;  but  we  wi 
remember  the  name  of  the  Lord  our  God."  The  24th  psalm, 
like  the  15th,  is  manifestly  a  triumphant  anthem,  to  which 
all  the  powers  of  music  should  give  effect,  when  the  congre- 
gated people  met  on  the  hill  of  Zion.  First  mindful  of  the 
great  principles  of  practical  virtue,  apart  from  which  all  wor- 
ship is  monkery,  it  swells  into  the  loftiest  strain  of  celestia. 
rapture.  But  who  is  the  hero — and  what  is  the  subject ? — 
not  David  ;  it  is  not  he  whose  approach  is  announced  as 
"  the  glorious  King,"  and  whose  entrance  upon  the  precincts 
of  worship  is  to  be  proclaimed  hy  blast  of  trumpets.  But 
"The  Lord  of  hosts — He  is  the  King  of  glory!"  Judged  of 
by  the  severest  rules  of  criticism,  can  there  be  detected  in 
tliis  impassioned  anthem  even  so  much  as  a  stain  of  royal 
vanity  or  of  national  arrogance  f  Or  to  bring  the  question 
close  home  to  our  subject,  does  it  appear  that,  to  foment  tlie 
fanaticism  of  this  secluded  people  was  the  ruling  intention 
of  its  sacred  poetry  ?  We  appeal  for  an  answei  to  those  who 
have  read  history,  and  are  not  ignorant  of  human  nature. 

The  care  of  morals,  and  a  prompt  jealousy  for  the  Divine 
honour,  meet  us  wherever  we  might  most  expect  (on  natural 
principles)  to  find  excitements  of  another  sort.  Let  the  reader 
pursue  this  scrutiny,  and  adduce,  if  they  exist,  any  contrary 
instances ;  especially  let  him  look  to  such  of  these  odes  as 
have  a  prophetic  aspect  (for  the  future,  even  more  than  the 
past,  is  apt  to  inflame  the  imagination)  or  to  those  which 
seem  designed  for  public  worship — the  worship  of  an  assem- 
bled nation.  The  historical  odes  are  not  less  remarkably  ab- 
stinent of  flattery  to  the  popular  feeling,  and  indeed  must  be 
deemed  altogether  unparalleled  instances  of  national  poetic 
records,  inasmuch  as  the  spirit  and  design  of  each  of  them  is 
penitential,  rather  than  exultant.  Such  is  the  recapitulation 
of  the  Mosaic  story  in  the  78th  Psalm.  What  w^ere  the  things 
that  had  been  "heard  and  known,"  and  which  "the  fathers 
had  told"  to  the  sons  1  not  marvellous  tales  of  prowess,  and 


the  conquest  of  monsters  and  titans; — but  the  rebellions  of 
the  people's  ancestors,  and  the  patience  of  their  God.  And 
this  same  recapitulation  was  enjoined  as  a  "  statute  for  ever." 
that  each  generation,  as  it  rose  up,  might  learn  to  "  set  their 
hope  in  God,  and  not  forget  his  works ;  but  keep  his  com- 
mandments ;  and  might  not  be  as  their  fathers,  a  stubborn  and 
rebellious  generation — a  generation  that  set  not  their  heart 
aright,  and  whose  spirit  was  not  stedfast  with  God."  We 
should  mark  the  close  of  this  mortifying  recital,  which  ends 
in  the  establishment  of  the  throne  of  David,  who  was  "taken 
from  the  sheepfolds,  and  from  following  the  ewes  great  with 
young!"  A  cliinax  this,  which,  though  quite  in  harmony 
with  the  spirit  of  the  poem,  and  of  the  collection,  certainly 
does  not  betray  much,  either  of  royal  arrogance,  or  of  fabu- 
lous exaggeration. 

The  same  themes,  treated  in  nearly  the  same  spirit,  present 
themselves  in  the  three  consecutive  odes  (105,  6,  7  ;  and  also 
in  the  135tli);  which  last  beautifully  teaches  the  doctrine  of 
divine  providence,  in  the  best  of  all  methods  that  of  historical 
inference.  To  exalt  Jehovah,  to  humble  the  people  as  arace 
that  had  never  gratefully  received,  or  duly  improved  its  ex- 
traordinary privileges,  is  the  purport  of  tlie  whole ;  and  in 
reading  them  it  is  impossible  that  a  candid  mind  should  charge 
the  fault  upon  the  ancient  literature,  any  more  than  upon  the 
primitive  inslittilions  of  the  Jewish  people,  if,  in  a  subsequent 
age,  tlie  descendants  of  Abraham  are  found  to  have  been  dis- 
tinguished by  religious  and  national  arrogance.  That  the 
highly  important  prerogatives  of  the  race,  as  the  chosen  peo- 
ple of  God,  should  be  spoken  of  and  rejoiced  in,  is  only  what 
piety  and  gratitude  demand.  "The  Lord  showeth  his  word 
unto  Jacob  ;  his  statutes  and  his  judgments  unto  Israel.  He 
hath  not  dealt  so  with  any  nation;  and  as  for  his  judgments, 
they  have  not  known  them."*  This  was  nothing  more  than 
simple  fact.  But  the  statement  of  it  is  mixed  with  none  of 
the  scorn  or  virulence  that  betraj's  a  fanatical  temper,  and 
which  belonged  to  the  Jew  of  a  later  era  ! 

But  did  the  prophets  of  after  ages  work  upon  that  easily 
excited  feeling  of  spiritual  vanity  and  rancour  which,  at  the 
period  of  the  Roman  supremacy,  and  long  afterwards,  char- 
acterised the  Jewish  people]  To  answer  this  question,  we 
must  cast  the  eye  over  the  line  of  the  prophetic  ministry,  from 
the  age  of  Hosea  to  that  of  Malachi,  embracing  a  disturbed 
and  eventful  period  of  four  hundred  years.  Every  reader  of 
the  sacred  documents  knows  that  the  impression  which,  as  a 
mass,  they  make  upon  the  mind,  is  that  of  a  long  lamenta- 
tion, and  a  perpetual  reproof.  The  function  of  the  Hebrew 
prophet,  of  every  era,  if  we  were  required  to  describe  it  in  a 
single  term,  must  be  called  an  office  of  upbraiding.  These 
venerable  writings  are  immensely  remote  from  that  colour  of 
exaggeration  and  flattery  which  belongs  to  the  rhapsodies  of 
the  Bard  among  jiassionatc  and  rude  nations.  The  virulence 
of  Jewish  pride,  it  is  certain,  had  not  its  source  in  the  page 
of  the  prophets,  any  more  than  in  the  odes  of  David.  But 
we  are  to  adduce  passages. 

"  I  have  hewed  them  by  the  prophets  ; — I  have  slain  them 
by  the  words  of  my  mouth. "f  Descriptive  metaphor !  not 
only  proper  to  the  past,  but  truly  anticipative  of  what  was  to 
he  the  general  strain  of  the  prophetic  message  in  succeeding 
ages.  The  goodness  of  both  branches  of  the  Hebrew  stock, 
was,  we  are  told  by  Hosea,  "like  a  morning  cloud,  and  as 
the  early  dew;"  and  of  both  nations  this  ancient  seer  declares, 
that,  "they  had  forgotten  their  Maker,  and  were  like  a  de- 
ceitful bow.  Israel  is  an  empty  vine:" — "he  has  deeply 
corrupted  himself."^:  Both  Israel  and  Judah  are  invited  to 
return  to  their  God  ;  but  it  must  be  with  hearty  humiliations. 
In  not  a  sentence  of  this  venerable  composition  can  we  detect 
an  indication  of  the  existence,  at  that  time,  of  the  spiritual 
presumption  which  afterwards  marked  the  temper  of  the  peo- 
ple ;  much  less  is  any  such  spirit  favoured  by  the  prophet : 
on  the  contrary,  a  tone  of  disparagement  distinguishes  the 
whole  of  the  prophecy. 

A  remarkable  rebuke  of  that  malign  complacency  in  the  ex- 
ecution jf  Divine  wrath  which  is  too  often  admitted  by  gloomy 
and  turbid  minds,  meets  us  in  the  book  of  Jonah.  "Should 
I  not  spare  Nineveh,  that  great  city  ]"§  Such  is  the  style 
of  the  compassion  of  Heaven  (indubitable  mark  of  genuine- 
ness) and  how  unlike  the  petulance  of  the  seer,  who  would 
rather  have  stood  by  and  have  witnessed  the  instant  destruc- 
tion of  an  entire  people,  than  that  his  own  denunciations  should 
seem  to  be  falsified  !  If  at  any  time  we  find,  even  in  a  pro- 
phet of  Jehovah,  a  false  sentiment — that  sentiment  is  at  once 


*Ps.  cxivii.  19,  20. 

4  Hosea  vi.  4;  viii.  14^  x.  1. 


+  Hosea  vi.  5. 
§  Jonali  iv.  11. 


FANATICISM. 


423 


condemned  and  disowned.  So  true  is  it  that  the  Hebrew 
Scriptures,  far  from  being  of  fanatical  tendency,  counteract 
every  feelinn-  of  that  order. 

We  descend  the  stream  of  time,  yet  do  not  descry,  on  cither 
bank  of  the  current,  that  noxious  growth  of  religious  pride 
which  we  are  in  search  of.  We  meet  however  with  the  most 
pertinent  proofs  of  the  truth  of  our  general  doctrine — That  the 
Jewish  people,  though  favoured  and  seriuestercd,  and  taught 
to  think  themselves  advantaged  beyond  any  other  nation,  was 
so  dealt  with  on  the  part  of  the  prophets  as  to  divert  at  its 
very  spring,  the  risings  of  spiritual  presumption.  Let  us  hear 
on  this  point  the  eloquent  herdsman  of  Ttkoa.  "  Hear  this 
word  that  the  Lord  hath  spoken  against  you,  O  children  of 
Israel ;  against  the  whole  family  which  1  brought  up  from  the 
land  of  Egypt,  saying.  You  onlv  have  I  known  of  all  the 

FAMILIES  OF  THE  EARTH  ;    THEREFORE    I  WILL  PUNISH  YOU  FOR 

ALL  YOUR  INIQUITIES."*  Pungcnt  admixture  of  the  counter- 
active elements  of  religious  feeling!  as  if  the  privilege  and 
distinction  of  the  race  were  to  be  kept  in  mind,  only  as  a  spe- 
cial ground  of  dread  and  shame  I  If  this  single  passage  had 
been  duly  borne  in  mind  and  pondered  by  the  zeafots  of  the 
age  of  Vespasian,  the  fate  and  history  of  the  people  would 
have  been  other  than  they  were.  Each  portion  of  the  same 
prophecy  mingles  rebukes  and  promises,  along  with  a  stern 
enforcement  of  the  capital  principles  of  public  justice,  and  as 
we  read  we  are  compelled  to  confess  that  the  Seer  was  not 
cue  who,  by  whispering  soft  things  in  the  ear  of  the  great 
and  the  rich,  made  his  way  from  rustic  obscurity  to  fortune. 
"  Your  treading  is  on  the  poor; — ye  take  from  him  burdens 
of  wheat ;  therefore  (though)  ye  have  built  houses  of  hewn 
stone,  ye  shall  not  live  in  them  : — 1  know  your  manifold  trans- 
gressions, and  your  mighty  sins.  They  alliict  the  just ;  they 
take  a  bribe,  and  they  turn  aside  the  poor  in  the  gate."! — 
Nor,  on  the  other  hand,  did  tlie  prophet  flatter  the  mass  of  the 
people  by  cherishing  their  religious  insolence  ;  for  example — 
"I  hate — I  despise  your  feast  days,  and  I  will  not  smell  in 
your  solemn  assemblies.  Take  thou  away  from  me  the  noise 
of  thy  songs,  for  I  will  not  hear  the  melody  of  thy  viols.  But 
let  judgment  run  down  as  waters,  and  righteousness  as  a 
mighty  stream  l"^: 

One  of  the  most  animated  of  all  the  prophetic  descriptions 
of  the  future  glory  and  prosperity  of  the  descendants  of  Abra- 
ham, forms  the  sequel  of  an  announcement  of  wrath  immedi- 
ately near.  "  Alas  for  the  day  I  for  the  day  of  the  Lord  is  at 
hand;  as  a  dr^struction  from  the  Almighty  shall  it  come :" 
and  these  two  members  of  the  prediction  are  made  to  hinge 
upon  the  fact  of  national  repentance.  "  Then  will  the  Lord 
he  jealous  for  his  land,  and  pity  his  pcople."§  A  national 
hope,  not  so  enveloped  into  a  caution  or  reproof,  is  scarcely 
found  on  the  sacred  page. 

Isaiah,  the  prophet  who  more  clearly  than  any  other,  saw 
the  bright  futurity  of  his  people's  glory,  and  who  more  dis- 
tinctly than  any  other  spoke  of  the  Great  Deliverer  of  man- 
kind, observes  invariably  the  rule  his  predecessors  had  adhe- 
red to — namely,  of  holding  a  tight  check  upon  the  emotions 
of  national  pride.  This  is  ttte  theme  to  which  not  merely  he 
recurs  on  particular  occasions,  but  which  he  places  foremost, 
as  if  it  were  to  be  the  text  of  his  prophetic  ministry.  Morti- 
fying exordium,  truly,  of  his  message  to  a  nation,  favoured  of 
(!od  !  "  Hear,  O  heavens,  and  give  car,  O  earth;  for  the 
Lord  hath  spoken: — I  have  nourished  and  brought  up  chil- 
dren, and  they  have  rebelled  against  me  !  The  ox  knowetl^ 
his  owner,  and  the  ass  his  master's  crib ;  but  Israel  doth  not 
know,  my  people  doth  not  consider, — Ah,  sinful  nation, — a 
people  laden  with  iniquity  ; — why  should  ye  be  stricken  any 
more! — Ye  will  revolt  more  and  more: — the  whole  head  is 
sick,  and  the  whole  heart  faintt"||  To  dash  to  the  ground 
the  haughtiness  of  spurious  piety  is  the  very  first  business  of 
the  prophet.  "  Bring  no  more  vain  oblations ;  incense  is 
abomination  unto  me;  the  new  moons  and  sabbaths,  the  call- 
ing of  assemblies,  I  cannot  away  with ;  it  is  iniquity,  even 
the  solemn  meeting.  Your  new  moons,  and  your  appointed 
feasts,  my  soul  haleth.  They  are  a  trouble  unto  me;  I  am 
weary  to  bear  them. 'IT 


*  Amos  iii.  1,  2.  t  Amos  v.  11,12.  i  Amos  v.  23,  24. 

§  Joel  i.  15  ;  ii.  18.       ||  Isai.  i.  2—5. 

f  Is:ii.  i.  13.  It  would  be  superfluous  to  refer  the  diligent  reader 
of  the  Bible  to  the  many  passages  in  this  jiropliet  which  are  peril 
nent  to  our  present  argument.  It  there  are  any  m  lio,  while  indulging 
unfavoarable  impressions  of  the  religion  of  the  Scriptures,  have  never 
bestowed  serious  attention  upon  the  evidence  whence  alone  a  rational 
opinion  can  be  drawn,  and  if  this  note  should  meet  the  i-ye  of  any 
such  person,  the  author  recommends  him,  after  informing  himself 
competently  of  the  moral  and  religious  condition  of  the  European 


We  might  pause  liere,  and  after  resigning  (for  a  moment) 
all  those  claims  on  behalf  of  the  sacretl  volume  which  do  iti 
fact  overrule  the  question,  demand,  from  competent  and  dis- 
passionate minds,  a  reply  on  this  simple  historic  point — is 
the  ancient  Hebrew  literature  liable  to  the  charge  of  cherish- 
ing national  arrogance  and  religious  rancour,  or  does  it  not 
rather  provide  against,  and  repress,  and  reprove  the  risings  of 
any  such  odious  temper  ?  Does  it  appear  that  Jewish  fanati- 
cism drew  its  authority  from  the  prophets  ?  Or  another,  and 
a  parallel  question  might  be  put — do  the  prophets — in  that 
style  of  whicli  church  history  and  later  religious  literature 
furnish  ten  thousand  examples — exult  the  importance  of  re- 
ligious SLTvicts  and  cerimonits,  to  the  ditparagemcnt  of  morals? 
Fanaticism,  as  we  well  know,  takes  its  rise^in  the  hot-bed  of 
this  very  corruption.  Is  this  then  the  fault  that  attaches  to 
the  canonical  writings  of  the  Jews?  Let  the  passage  quoted 
just  above,  in  which  indignant  reprobation  is  cast  upon  even 
the  divinely  appointed  services  of  national  religion,  when 
deformed  as  they  were  at  that  time  by  hypocrisy,  be  read  in 
connexion  with  the  verses  that  immediately  follow : — "  Wash 
you,  make  you  clean,  put  away  the  evil  of  your  doings  from 
before  mine  eyes:  cease  to  do  evil;  learn  to  do  well;  seek 
judgment;  relieve  the  oppressed;  judge  the  fatherless;  plead 
for  the  widow."*  These  vigorous  expressions  seem  intended, 
if  one  might  so  speak,  to  burn  and  scorch  the  very  germs  of 
spiritual  pride,  hypocrisy  and  hatred  out  of  the  Jewish  mind. 
Certainly  our  conclusion  gathers  strength — that  the  Hebrew 
.Scriptures  are  not  fanatical. 

But  inasmuch  as  it  may  have  appeared,  while  traversing 
the  ground  we  have  lately  passed  over,  as  if  every  possible 
variety  of  fanaticism  found  its  example  somewhere  among  the 
extravagances  exhibited  by  the  Jewish  people  of  a  later  age, 
and  as  if  the  fanaticism  of  papal  Christianity,  and  of  Moham- 
medism  too,  were  but  another  fashion  of  that  which  had  its 
parentage  with  the  Jew,  it  becomes  especially  necessary  to 
demonstrate  that  this  bad  spirit  did  not  draw  its  origin  from 
the  early  and  aulhcntic  books  of  that  people,  but,  on  the  con- 
trary, received  from  them  every  imaginable  check. 

Already,  even  in  the  age  of  Isaiah,  the  people,  though  not 
yet  fanatics,  had  learned,  it  seems,  to  court  delusion,  and  to 
bend  their  ear  to  religious  flatteries.  They  "  said  to  the  seers, 
see  not,  and  to  the  prophets,  prophesy  not  unto  us  right  things : 
speak  unto  us  smooth  things,  prophesy  deceits. "f  Yet  this 
infatuated  preference  of  lying  oracles  to  the  true,  was  not 
only  rebuked  at  the  moment,  but  the  existence  of  so  grievous 
a  folly,  in  a  people  more  highly  favoured  than  any  other,  was 
to  be  recorded,  and  handed  down  as  a  warning  to  all  future 
limes.  "  Now  go;  write  it  before  them  in  a  table,  and  note 
it  in  a  hook,  that  it  may  be  for  the  time  to  come,  for  ever  and 
ever — that  this  is  a  rebellious  people,  lying  children,  children 
that  will  not  hear  the  law  of  the  Lord."f  And  we  should 
observe,  that  if  the  vehement  rebuke  itself  bo  remarkable,  the 
transmission  and  preservation  of  it  by  the  very  parties  against 
whom  it  was  launched,  as  a  perpetual  reproach,  yes,  a  re- 
proach that  was  to  vex  the  ear  of  each  successive  generation 
"  for  ever,"  is  a  still  more  striking  fact.  Why  was  not  a 
passage,  such  as  the  above,  silently  dropped  from  the  text 
by  the  scribes  of  a  later  agel  Why,  but  because  within  the 
olitary  circle  of  Jewish  history,  nothing  happens  in  mere 
conformity  with  the  ordinary  impulses  of  human  nature,  but 
every  thing  indicates  the  immediate  presence  of  a  controlling 
power  "not  of  men." 

The  latter  and  more  consolatory  portions  of  Isaiah's  pro- 
phecy are  (on  another  account)  as  remarkable  as  the  earlier, 
and  the  more  stern  portion.  In  these  no  one  can  fail  to  notice 
the  care  with  which  the  stirring  hopes  of  the  Israelitish  peo- 


and  Asiatic  nations  in  the  Homeric  and  succeeding  age,  and  after 
dismissing  from  the  mind  every  prci)Ossession,  and  every  modern 
association  of  ideas,  to  read,  and  to  read  continuously,  the  prophecy 
of  Isaiah,  and  to  note  as  he  goes  along,  whatever  bears  upon  the  fol- 
lowing capital  points,  namely  : — 

1.  The  unity,  majesty-,  crealive  power,  providential  sway,  justice, 
and  placability  of  God. 

2.  The  prime  articlts  of  moi-ality —justice,  temperance,  mercy, 
and  kindness  toward  the  w  eak  and  oppressed. 

3.  The  demerits  and  disgrace  of  the  ,Ic«ish  people  ;  and  the 
grounds  of  the  favour  nevertheless  shown  tliem  by  God. 

4.  The  anticipations  and  promises  which  relate  to  the  world  at 
large,  and  to  an  era  of  universal  peace. 

5.  The  negative,  but  immensely  important  merit  which  belongs  to 
lliis  writer,  of  abstaining  from  all  ascetic,  superstitious,  or  extrava- 
gant i-cligious  excitements. 

Let  it  then  be  inqtiired  if  a  book,  having  these  distinctions,  and 
produced  when  and  v. here  it  was,  does  not  pioclaim  beyond  a  doubt 
its  own  divinitv. 

•  Isai.  i.  16. "  +  Isai.  x.\x.  10.  %  Isai.  xxx.  8. 


424 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


pie  are  severed  from  emotions  of  arrogance,  and  are  connected 
with  the  spirit  of  humiliation,  and  with  the  rememhrance  of 
past  ofiences.  "  Comfort  )'e,  comfort  ye  my  people,  saith 
your  God,  Speak  ye  comfortably  to  Jerusalem,  and  cry  unto 
her,  that  her  warfare  is  accomplished,  that  her  iniquity  is 
pardoned;  for  she  hath  received  of  the  Lord's  hand  double 
for  all  her  sins."  "  I,  even  I  am  He  that  blotteth  out  thy 
transg-ressions,  for  mine  own  sake,  and  will  not  remember  thy 
sins."*  That  frequent  theme — the  singular  obduracy  of  the 
national  character,  comes  up  wherever  promises  of  restora- 
tion and  triumph  are  to  be  attorded.  "I  knew  that  thou  art 
obstinate,  and  thy  neck  an  iron  sinew,  and  tliy  brow  brass;" 
"  thou  wast  called  a  transgressor  from  the  womb."  "  O  that 
thou  hadst  hearkened  to  my  commandments!  then  had  thy 
peace  been  as  a  river,  and  thy  righteousness  as  the  waves  of 
the  sea!"f 

The  task  of  the  prophets,  as  we  have  observed,  was  that, 
almost  always,  of  reproof  and  denunciation.  But  according 
to  the  principles  of  human  nature  this  is  a  part,  which,  when 
it  comes  to  be  the  chief  business  of  a  man's  life,  tends  strongly 
to  overcloud  his  spirit,  and  to  embitter  his  temper;  the  more 
so  when  he  has  to  deal  with  great  affairs,  and  with  men  of 
hiifli  station — when  he  has  to  denounce  national  delinquen 
ties — to  arraign  the  noble,  and  to  challenge  even  kings  to 
answer  for  their  faults.  Let  any  one  imagine  himself  to  have 
received  a  commission  of  this  sort,  and  that  it  were  his  office 
to  chastise  his  country  and  its  rulers,  year  after  year,  with 
the  fiery  scourge  of  his  lips.  What  probably  would  be  his 
temper — what  the  tone  of  his  arrogance — what  his  self-suffi- 
ciencv,  and  what  that  rancour  which  the  contumacy  of  the 
common  people,  on  the  one  hand,  and  the  persecutions  of  the 
great  on  the  other  would,  after  a  wliilc,  impart  to  his  souH 
Scarcely  any  instance  of  a  sort  like  this,  can  be  found  within 
the  range  of  modern  history,  that  does  not  declare  the  ex- 
treme difficulty  of  avoiding  sour  or  fanatical  virulence,  when 
the  ofEce  of  public  reprover  has  to  be  discharged.  Yet  it 
was  precisely  in  a  position  of  this  kind  that  the  melancholic 
priest  of  Anathoth,  Jeremiah,  stood,  and  stood  alone,  during 
the  lapse  of  forty  dismal  years.  .  Isaiah,  his  predecessor,  had 
seen  the  evil  afar  olf;  but  Jeremiah  actually  waded  through 
the  troubled  waters  of  national  corruption  and  desolation. 
Tumult,  contumacy,  injurious  treatment,  public  ruin  and  per- 
sonal distresses,  followed  him  from  the  commencement  to 
the  close  of  his  career.  Even  if  there  be  no  room  to  expect, 
in  the  pages  of  one  like  Jeremiah,  the  indications  of  a  wish 
to  flatter  the  spiritual  pride  of  the  people,  may  we  not  con- 
fidently look  there  for  the  symptoms  of  that  personal  fanati- 
cism— that  malign  acerbity,  which  ordinarily  belongs  to  the 
character  of  a  public  accuser  ? 

Any  such  natural  anticipations  will  be  falsified  ;  for  if  there 
be  any  one  portion  of  the  Hebrew  Scriptures  that  peculiarly 
breathes  a  tender  and  plaintive  spirit,  it  is  the  prophecy  of 
Jeremiah.  In  reading  it  we  see  and  hear  the  injured  man  of 
grief  bewailing  the  miseries  of  his  country,  as  well  as  his 
own  misfortunes.  "  Oh  that  my  heail  were  waters,  and  my 
eyes  a  fountain  of  tears,  that  I  might  weep  day  and  night  for 
tlie  slain  of  the  daughter  of  my  people '."j:  This  is  not  the 
mood  of  the  murky  fanatic,  who  seeks  to  avenge  the  slights 
he  has  personally  received  from  his  countrymen,  by  exulting 
over  public  calamities.  At  the  moment  when  murderously 
set  upon  by  the  men  of  his  native  town,  the  prophet  pas- 
sionately appeals  to  the  divine  protection, §  and  receives  a, 
message  of  wrath  for  his  persecutors;  but  plainly  he  is  not  to 
be  deemed  vindictive  in  so  doing,  until  the  reality  of  his 
commission  has  been  disproved.  No  native  asperity  of  temper 
made  the  work  of  threatening  agreeable  to  him.  Witness  his 
exclamation — "  Woe  is  me,  my  mother,  that  thou  hast  borne 
me  a  man  of  strife,  and  a  man  of  contention,  to  the  whole 
earth  !"||  That  his  disposition  was  timid  and  mistrustful, 
much  more  than  pugnacious,  is  evident;  and,  as  is  quile 
natural  to  such  a  temper,  when  encircled  by  formidable  ad 
versaries,  he  eagerly  implores  aid  from  heaven,  whence  alone 
he  could  hope  for  deliverance.  But  it  is  otherwise  with  the 
fanatic,  who,  in  moments  of  excitement  and  danger,  almost 
always  shows  the  greater  daring;  nor  will  he  even  afi'ect 
to  say — "  I  have  not  desired  the  woeful  day — O  Lord  thou 
knowest:  that  which  came  out  of  my  lips  was  right  before 
Be  not  a  terror  unto  me,  thou  art  my  hope  in  the  day 

"tr       Tl .l.„. „.:,.:_      i;..:.,..; ._i Z 


thee. 


ot  evil."^  There  are  no  characteristic  distinctions  to  be  re- 
lied upon  at  all  among  the  passions,  if  we  may  not  safely 
discriminate  between  the  vehement  strivings  of  an  oppressed 


and  tender  spirit,  and  the  virulent  moodiness  of  the  religiou* 
misanthrope.  The  one  bewails  its  own  misfortunes  as  thus — 
"  Wherefore  came  I  forth  of  the  womb  to  see  labour  and  sor- 
row, that  m}'  days  should  be  consumed  with  shame;"* — the 
other  ruminates  revenge,  and  cheers  himself  in  the  prospect 
of  it. 

There  is  found  a  courage,  the  fruit  of  virtue,  in  instances 
where  the  native  courage  of  temperament  is  quite  wanting. 
A  firmness  of  the  former  sort  was  displayed  by  the  prophet 
when  at  length,  after  many  manaces  from  the  rulers,  he  was 
arraigned  as  a  traitor,  and  stood  in  immediate  peril  of  death. f 
The  constancy  lie  displays  on  this  occasion  brings  together 
meekness  and  resolution  in  genuine  combination.  "  As  for 
me,  behold  I  am  in  your  hand  ;  do  with  me  as  seemeth  good 
and  meet  unto  you.  But  know  ye  for  certain,  that  if  ye  put 
me  to  death,  ye  shall  surely  bring  innocent  blood  upon  your- 
selves, and  upon  this  city,  and  upon  the  inhabitants  thereof: 
for  of  a  truth  the  Lord  hath  sent  me  unto  you,  to  speak  all 
these  words  in  yonr  ears." 

But  if  we  wanted  a  searching  test,  by  means  of  which  to 
detcrminfe  the  question  of  a  man's  temper,  we  might  well 
find  it  in  such  a  particular  as  this — namely,  that  while  a  self- 
commissioned  and  fanatical  reprover  holds  back  whatever 
might  seem  emollient  or  consolatory,  and  is  really  unable  to 
strike  any  chord  that  is  not  harsh — the  true  messenger  of 
leaven,  on  the  contrary,  shows  whence  he  has  received  his 
instructions  by  frequently  reverting  (and  with  a  natural  ease) 
to  bring  hopes  and  mild  persuasives.  Now  this  characteris- 
tic especially  belongs  to  Jeremiah.  The  instances  are  very 
numerous  in  which,  even  with  the  heaviest  denunciations  on 
his  lips,  he  mingles  the  most  cheering  predictions,  and  the 
tenderst  advices.  "Therefore  fear  thou  not,  O  my  servant 
Jacob,  saith  the  Lord,  neither  be  dismayed,  O  Israel,  for  lo, 
I  will  save  thee  from  afar,  and  thy  seed  from  the  land  of  their 
captivity.  And  Jacob  shall  return,  and  shall  be  in  rest,  and 
be  quiet,  and  none  shall  make  him  afraid."  "And  out  of 
(his  ruined  palaces)  shall  proceed  thanksgiving,  and  the  voices 
of  them  that  make  merry.":j: 

To  announce  wrath,  which  makes  the  sad  burden  of  the 
true  servant  of  the  Lord,  is  the  spontaneous  task  of  the  gen- 
uine fanatic ;  and  because  it  is  the  task  he  has  chosen,  he 
refuses  to  take  up  any  other  theme.  On  this  principle  we 
do  not  hesitate  to  conclude  that  the  Jewish  prophets,  though 
from  age  to  age  the  messengers  of  divine  displeasure,  were 
incited  by  no  malignant  impulse :  and  the  criterion  is,  that 
not  one  of  them,  even  the  most  lugubrious,  fails  to  brighten  his 
scroll  of  woe  with  frequent  words  of  mercy,  and  many  sparkles 
of  distant  hope. 

EzEKiEL,  like  Jeremiah,  and  his  predecessors,  opens  his 
ministry  with  language  of  disparagement  towards  the  people 
to  whom  he  is  sent:  it  was  "a  rebellious  nation  ;  they  and 
their  fathers ;  impudent  children  and  stiff-hearted ;  they  are 
a  rebellious  house."§  Before  this  contumacious  people  was 
the  prophet  enjoined  to  spread  "  a  roll  of  a  book,  written 
within  and  without  with  lamentations,  and  mourning,  and 
woe."  But  if  such  he  the  pervading  colour  of  Ezekiel's  pro- 
phecy, as  of  others,  this,  like  others,  recommends  itself  as 
indeed  a  divine  message,  by  its  firm  and  very  copious  asser- 
tion of  the  great  principles  of  virtue  and  piety.  The  prophet's 
forehead  was  "  made  as  adamant,  and  harder  than  flint,"  to 
oppose  the  impudent  rebellion  of  the  people ;  but  it  was  still 
"  to  warn  the  wicked  to  turn  from  his  wickedness,  and  live." 
And  we  find,  too,  here  the  same  frequent  admixture  of  gra- 
cious promises,  and  bright  anticipations,  with  heavier  mat- 
ters. "  I  will  even  gather  you  from  the  people,  and  assem- 
ble you  out  of  the  countries  where  ye  have  been  scattered  ; 
and  1  will  give  you  the  land  of  Israel.  And  I  will  give  you 
one  heart ;  and  I  will  put  a  new  spirit  within  you  ;■  and  I 
will  take  the  stony  heart  out  of  your  flesh,  and  will  give  you 
a  heart  of  flesh,  that  ye  may  walk  in  my  statutes,  and  keep 
my  ordinances,  and  do  them ;  and  they  shall  be  my  people ; 
and  I  will  be  their  God."||  This  is  encouragement  without 
flattery  ;  and  hope,  bursting  through  the  black  clouds  of  divine 
indignation. 

We  find  in  Ezekiellf  significant  allusions  to  the  existence, 
in  his  time,  of  sanctimoniousness  and  hypocrisy — vices  that 
distinguish  the  mature  age  of  a  national  religion  ;  but  yet  there 
are  no  indications  of  the  rise  of  that  peculiar  temper  which,  a 
few  centuries  later,  became  characteristic  of  the  race.  Nor  in- 
deed does  any  evidence  present  itself  which  might  so  be  under- 


*  Isai.  XI.  1,  2. 

§  Jer  xi.  20. 


+  Isai.  xfviii.  7, 
II  Jer.  XV.  10. 


18. 


i  Jer.  ix.  1. 
i  Jer.  xvii. 


16. 


*  Jer.  XX.  18. 

§  Ezek.  ii.  3,  4.  10. 

*  Ezek.  xxxiii.  31. 


+  Jer.  xxvi.  10.  \  Jer. 

II  Ezek.  xi.  16 — 20,  and  xxxv. 


\\\\.  27,  28. 
.  to  the  end. 


FANATICISRI. 


425 


stood,  until  some  time  after  the  closin<r  of  the  sacred  canon. 
Had  the  spirit  of  fanaticism  actually  come  abroad  among  the 
Jewish  people  in  the  age  we  are  now  speaking  of,  some  in- 
direct proof  of  ihe  fact  would  infallibly  have  made  itself  ap- 
parent in  those  various  writings  that  contain,  or  refer  to  the 
national  sentiments,  during,  and  after  the  captivity.  It  was 
in  Babylon,  vexed,  afflicted,  humiliated,  and  yet  conscious 
of  a  dignity  far  superior  to  what  could  be  boasted  by  the 
lordly  oppressor,  that  the  Jew  would  naturally  (if  it  had  in- 
deed become  his  mood)  have  given  vent  to  the  rankling  pride 
of  his  bosom.  Or  it  was  while  tailing,  sword  in  hand,  amid 
the  ruins  of  the  holy  city — beset  by  jealous  foes,  scorned, 
dependant  for  protection  upon  an  idolatrous  government,  and 
now  thoroughly  disenchanted  of  the  ancient  polytheistic  pro- 
pensity— it  was  then,  and  under  circumstances  of  such  ex- 
traordinary excitement,  that  the  sons  of  Abraliam — friend  of 
(iod,  might  be  expected  to  swell  and  pant  with  the  gloomy 
and  vindictive  arrogance  of  spiritual  conceit.  Yet  we  do  not 
find  that  such  was  the  fact.  The  strong  corrective  influence 
of  the  sacred  writings,  as  well  as  of  the  extant  prophetic 
function,  held,  it  seems,  the  fanatical  tendency  effectually  in 
check. 

Fairly  considered,  in  this  specific  point  of  view,  the  selemn 
confession  of  national  disgraces  and  delinquencies,  uttered 
by  Daniel,  while  the  heavy  foot  of  the  Median  king  was  yet 
on  the  neck  of  the  people,  ought  to  be  taken  as  presumptive 
evidence  that  no  rancorous  national  fanaticism — the  usual 
product  of  grievous  sutTerings  in  minds  conscious  of  religious 
nobility,  had  then  sprung  up,  nor  belonged  to  the  Jew  of  the 
Captivity.  Proof  of  the  same  kind,  in  part  negative,  in  part 
positive,  may  be  drawn  from  the  manner  and  spirit  of  the 
prophets  who  closed  the  sacred  canon.  Haggai,  for  example, 
reproves,  humiliates,  and  encourages  the  people;  but  neither 
does  he  himself  excite,  nor  does  he  even  allude  to  the  existence 
of  that  peculiar  temper,  the  origin  of  which  we  are  in  quest 
of:  the  virulence  of  national  religious  malignancy  is  not  as 
yet  discoverable.  Zechariah  is  consolatory,  and  labours  to 
exhilarate  the  people  ;  nevertheless  he  sternly  insists  on  the 
great  matters  of  justice  and  mercy.  "Execute  true  judg- 
ment," says  he,  "  and  show  mercy  and  compassions,  every 
man  to  his  brother  ;  and  oppress  not  the  widow,  nor  the  fa- 
therless, the  stranger  nor  the  poor;  and  let  none  of  you  im- 
agine evil  against  his  brother  in  your  heart."*  This  prophet 
then,  we  conclude,  was  no  fanatic ;  for  it  is  the  special  cha- 
racteristic of  such  to  set  light  by  the  simple  truths  of  morali- 
ty, while  religious  pretensions  are  blown  up,  and  held  on 
high.  Nor  does  it  appear  as  if  the  Jews  of  his  time  were 
fanatical ;  for  although  grievous  faults  of  almost  all  kinds 
are  charged  upon  them,  no  allusion  whatever  is  made,  such 
as  suggests  the  belief  that  this  species  of  extravagance  had 
then  showed  itself. 

Ezra  and  N'ehemiah — priest  and  prince  stand  on  the  page 
of  history  as  noble  examples  of  religious  and  national  con- 
stancy, and  of  zeal  for  an  institute,  without  prcceptible  taint 
of  fanatical  virulence.  Their  conduct  and  expressions  are 
quite  becoming  to  men  who,  being  themselves  accountable 
to  a  very  jealous  foreign  power,  and  spitefully  watched  and 
hemmed  in  by  the  lawless  hordes  that  ravaged  the  country, 
had  to  discharge  the  difficult  part  of  restoring  a  long  desolated 
land,  of  reinstating  a  fallen  polity,  and  of  correcting  inveter- 
ate abuses.  So  far  as  we  may  safely  gather  indirect  evidence 
from  materials  so  brief  and  scanty,  these  two  Chiefs  might,  if 
brought  into  comparison  with  any  men  who  have  been  placed 
in  similar  circumstances,  challenge  high  praise  for  patriotism, 
courage,  and  moderation.  Ezra  and  Nehemiah,  we  say, 
would  have  been  heroes  in  the  world's  esteem  if  they  had 
not  been  Bible  heroes.  We  should  not  neglect  to  take  into 
our  account  the  copious  and  eloquent  historical  confession, 
uttered  in  the  face  of  the  assembled  people  by  their  leaders, 
after  a  public  reading  of  the  Law.f  The  introductory  phrase 
is  especially  pertinent  to  our  subject.  "And  the  seed  of 
Israel  separated  themselves  from  all  strangers"  (not  haugh- 
tily to  exult  in  their  distinctions,  nor  to  recount  the  early 
glories  of  their  now  fallen  state,  but)  "to  confess  their  sins 
and  Ihe  iniquities  nf  their  futlters.''''  No  single  excitement  of 
fanaticism — no  trace  of  it,  is  to  be  found  in  these  closing  me- 
morials of  canonical  Jewish  history.  Let  the  reader  if  yet 
he  doubts,  search  and  see. 

In  the  hasty,  yet  not  incautious,  review  we  have  taken  of 
the  Hebrew  Scriptures,  we  have  assumed  nothing  in  their  be- 
half; but  have  judged  of  them  precisely  as  we  should  of  the 
ancient  literature  of  any  other  people.     The  issue  of  our 


scrutiny  is  a  double  conclusion — -first,  that  these  writings  do  not 
encourage  the  spirit  and  feeling  which  the  consciousness  of 
religious  privileges  often  engenders ;  but  rather  (and  in  a 
very  remarkable  manner)  bear  with  all  their  stress  against 
the  rise  of  such  emotions  ;  and  secondly,  that  while  they  afford 
abundant  evidence  (evidence  given  without  reserve)  of  the 
prevalence  of  almost  every  immorality  and  disorder  among 
the  people,  no  indication  is  contained  in  them  of  the  existence 
of  that  national  fanaticism  which,  in  the  Roman  age,  raged 
in  Judea  so  vehemently. 

But  there  yet  remains  a  point  or  two  that  must  be  noticed. 
It  has  appeared  that  the  arrogance  of  the  Jewish  people  was 
not  fomented,  but  repressed  by  Moses,  and  by  the  poets  and 
prophets  of  succeeding  times.  This  however  is  a  half  only 
of  the  evidence  that  bears  upon  our  argument,  for  it  can  be 
proved  that  a  kindly  sentiment  towards  the  human  family  at 
large  was  pointedly  enjoined  by  the  same  authorities.  Sepa- 
ration, it  is  true,  was  the  fundamental  principle  of  the  Jew- 
ish polity;  but  then  it  was  separation  on  the  ground  only  of 
those  corruptions  and  enormities  that  prevailed  in  the  sur- 
rounding countries.  The  sole  object  or  intention  of  the 
national  seclusion  was  to  preserve  in  the  world  the  prime 
elements  of  morals  and  religion.  And  to  secure  this  inten- 
tion, and  to  secure  it  in  the  actual  condition  of  mankind  at 
the  time,  an  extraordinary  line  of  policy,  in  particular  cases, 
as  well  as  unique  institutions,  both  civil  and  religious,  were 
indispensable.  This  chosen  race  of  true  worshippers  must 
needs  assume  a  front  of  defiance  and  of  universal  reprobation, 
planted,  as  it  was,  on  the  confines  of  mighty  and  splendid 
idolatries.  But  then  the  reprobation  had  regard  to  nothing 
but  the  errors  and  the  horrid  vices  of  idolatry ;  consequently 
it  was  always  true  that,  whoever  among  the  nations  afar  off 
or  near,  would  renounce  his  delusions,  and  "cleave  unto  the 
God  of  Israel,"  was  welcomed  to  the  bosom  of  the  state. 
Thus  the  light  of  genuine  religion  was  diffused,  as  much  as 
conserved,  by  the  Mosaic  institutions;  and  explicit  provision 
was  made  for  the  unlimited  extension  of  the  benefits  they 
conferred. 

Durino-  the  purer  age  of  the  Israelitish  state  it  is  manifest 
that  the  propagation  of  true  religion  was  an  object  of  the 
fond  desires  and  prayers  of  the  pious.  The  people  were  in- 
structed to  connect  their  own  prosperity  with  the  welfare  of 
the  world.  Yes,  little  as  we  may  perhaps  have  heeded  the 
fact,  it  is  certain  that  expressions  of  the  most  expansive  phi- 
lanthropy echoed  in  the  anthems  of  the  Jewish  temple  wor- 
ship !  The  passages  challenge  attentiou. — "  God  bo  merci- 
ful unto  us,  and  bless  us,  and  cause  his  face  to  shine  upon 
us. — That  thy  way  may  be  known  upon  earth,  thy  saving 
health  among  all  nations.  Let  the  people  (the  nations) 
praise  thee,  O  God ;  let  all  the  people  praise  thee.  O  let 
THE  nations  be  GLAD  AND  SING  FOR  jov ;  for  thou  slialt  judge 
(preside  over)  the  people  righteously,  and  govern  the  nations 
upon  earth.  Let  the  people  praise  thee,  O  God  ;  let  all  the 
people  praise  thee.  Then  shall  the  earth  yiehl  her  increase, 
and  God,  even  our  own  God,  shall  bless  us: — God  shall 
bless  us,  and  all  the  ends  of  the  earth  shall  fear  him.*  No- 
ble utterance  this,  of  piety  and  universal  good-will !  and  how 
utterly  unlike  to  that  grudging  temper  which  had  taken  firm 
hold  of  the  Jewish  mind  in  the  time  of  its  reprobation. 

While  fixing  the  eye  u|)on  the  heights  of  the  southern 
Syria  in  the  age  of  Titus,  who  must  not  be  amazed  at  the 
singular  spectacle  of  a  petty  tribe,  having  its  face  sternly  set 
against  all  nations,  so  as  justly  to  be  styled — "haters  of 
mankind."  And  yet,  marvellous  are  the  revolutions  of  na- 
tional character;  this  same  region,  and  its  sacred  capital,  a 
few  centuries  before,  was  the  only  spot  on  all  the  globe  (as 
far  as  history  informs  us)  where  public  worship  ennobled 
itself  by  the  language  of  universal  good-will  to  man  ! 

Never  is  it  found  that  fimaticism  indulges  bright  and  un- 
restricted hopes  in  favour  of  the  bulk  of  mankind.  Certainly 
it  is  not  fanaticism  that  says — "  All  nations  whom  thou  hast 
made  shall  come  and  worship  before  thee,  O  Lord,  and  shall 
fflorify  thy  name."f  It  is  not  fanaticism  that,  in  the  moment 
of  rational  exultation,  challenges  all  men  to  partake  with 
itself  its  choicest  honours.  Yet  such  was  actually  the  style 
of  the  songs  that  resounded,  sabbath  after  sabbath,  from  the 
consecrated  palaces  of  Zion.  "  O  sing  unto  the  Lord  a  new 
song; — sing  unto  the  Lord,  all  the  earth.  Declare  his  glory 
among  the  heathen,  his  wonders  among  all  people.  Give  unto 
the  Lord,  O  ye  kindreds  of  the  people,  give  unto  the  Lord  glory 
and  strength.  Give  unto  the  Lord  the  glory  due  unto  his  name. 
Bring  an  offering  and  come  into  his  courts.     O  worship  the 


Ezek.  vii.  9,  10;  viii.  16,  17. 
Vol.  II 3  D 


t  Nth.  ix. 


*  Psalm  Ixvii. 


t  Psalm  Ixxxvi.  9. 


426 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


Lord  in  the  beauty  of  holiness  (Jerusalem)  fear  before  him  all 
the  earth."*  We  ask  now,  Is  it  fair  to  say  that  the  pristine 
religion  of  the  Jews  was  dark,  churlish,  or  misanthropic  1 
"  O  praise  the  Lord,  all  ye  nations,  praise  him  all  ye  people. "f 
Such  was  that  Judaism  (as  God  made  it)  of  which  the  Gospel 
gave  only  a  new  interpretation  !  But  the  degraded  Jew  of  the 
era  of  the  Gospel  had  so  perverted  the  faith  of  his  ancestors, 
that  when  Christianity  came  in  at  length  to  give  effect  to  the 
devout  desires  of  the  ancient  church,  he  gnawed  his  tongne  in 
very  spite.  Let  us  then  attribute  the  later  bad  spirit  strictly 
to  the  men  in  whom  it  is  found ;  and  do  justice,  as  well  to  the 
primitive  doctrine  of  this  extraordinary  people,  as  to  the 
brighter  system  which  sprung  out  of  it. 

Not  only  did  several  explicit  enactments  secure  permission 
to  aliens  to  take  their  part  in  the  sacred  Mosaic  rites — even 
the  most  peculiar  of  them,  but  innumerable  passages  of  the 
Pentateuch  and  of  the  prophets,  assert,  very  solemnly,  the 
rights  of  the  stranger,  and  protect  his  welfare,  along  always 
with  the  widow  and  the  fatherless. — "The  Stranger,  the 
widow,  and  the  fatherless,"  were  to  be  cared  for  and  cher- 
ished, as  an  indispensable  condition  of  the  Divine  favour  to 
the  nation.  "Take  heed  that  you  oppress  not  the  stranger, 
for  thou  wast  a  stranger  in  the  land  of  Egypt."  The  Mosaic 
law,  if  actually  scelusive,  and  if  in  one  sense  stern,  was  be- 
nign also,  as  well  as  just.  In  truth  the  Israelitish  Law 
stands  absolutely  alone  among  the  various  documents  of  anti- 
quity, as  an  efficient  Protector  of  the  feeble  and  destitute 
against  the  strong — of  the  poor  against  the  rich.  Nothing, 
in  the  eye  of  this  law,  made  men  abominable — but  vice  : — it 
authenticated  no  sanctity  apart  from  the  practice  of  justice 
and  mercy.  What  more  can  we  wish  for  or  think  of  in  a 
code  that  professes  to  come  from  heaven  1 

The  prophets  as  they  rose,  vigorously  maintained  the  Mo- 
saic provisions  in  favour  of  the  alien.  For  example — "  Let 
not  the  son  of  the  stranger  that  hath  joined  himself  to  the 
Lord  speak,  saying — The  Lord  hath  utterly  separated  me 
from  his  people.  The  sons  of  the  stranger  (i.  e.  all  men 
without  distinction,  not  of  the  Abrahamic  race)  that  join 
themselves  to  the  Lord,  to  serve  him,  and  to  love  the  name 
of  the  Lord,  to  be  his  servants,  every  one  that  keepeth  the 
sabbath  from  polluting  it,  and  taketh  hold  of  my  covenant; — 
even  them  will  I  bring  to  my  holy  mountain,  and  make  them 
joyful  in  my  house  of  prayer:  their  burnt  offerings  and  their 
sacrifices  shall  be  accepted  upon  mine  altar;  for  my  house 
shall  be  called  a  house  of  prayer  for  all  people. ":(:  The 
conversion  of  the  Gentiles  to  the  true  religion  is,  as  every 
reader  of  the  Bible  knows,  a  very  frequent  theme  with  the 
prophets ;  and  when  combined,  as  we  find  it,  with  pungent 
upbraidings  of  the  chosen  race,  on  account  of  their  inveterate 
obduracy,  must  be  held  to  constitute  the  strongest  counter- 
active influence  that  can  be  imagined  against  spurious  and 
repulsive  national  prejudices  in  matters  of  religion. 

To  what  extent,  during  the  lapse  of  many  centuries,  the 
.Jewish  institutions  and  Sacred  Books  actually  diffused  the 
blessings  of  true  religion  among  the  surrounding  nations  is  a 
point  not  now  to  be  ascertained.  Yet  evidence  is  not  want- 
ing in  support  of  the  supposition  that  the  influence  of  the 
Hebrew  polity  and  literature  spread,  in  some  directions,  very 
far,  so  that  the  splendour  of  Truth  which  fell  in  a  full  beam 
upon  Zion,  did  in  fact  radiate  on  all  sides,  and  was  "  as  a 
light  to  lighten  the  Gentiles,"  even  to  the  ends  of  the  earth. 
Without  assuming  to  know  more  than  history  enables  us  to 
speak  of,  we  may  safely  conjecture  that  the  successive  cap 
tivities  of  the  two  portions  of  the  Hebrew  race  subserved 
this  benignant  intention,  and  operated  to  scatter  the  elements 
of  virtue  and  piety  over  most  parts  of  the  eastern  world.  In 
like  manner  as  Christianity  was  at  first  diffused  by  means  of 
persecution,  so,  probablj',  had  Judaism  been  diffused,  again 
and  again,  by  the  conquest  and  desolation  of  its  native  soil. 
And  it  is  to  be  noted  that  those  who  thus  went  forth — the 
compulsory  missionaries  of  pure  theology,  left  the  land  of 
their  fathers  before  the  age  when  the  proud  and  churlish  tem 
per  which  afterwards  made  their  name  odious  in  all  the  world, 
had  sprung  up.§ 


*  Psalm  xcvi.  +  Psalm  civii.  |  Isai.  Ivi.  3.  6,  7. 

§  A  more  than  c\u*ious  subject  of  inquiry  pi'esents  itself  in  thi 
direction.  A  multitude  of  intimations,  scattered  over  the  remains  o 
ancient  literature,  supports  the  belief  that  the  Hebrew  theology  hat 
a  very  extensive  influence  throughout  the  eastern  world — au"  infhi 
ence  reflected  faintly  upon  Greece,  in  furnishing  to  mankind  the  ele 
ments  of  piety.  The  two  books  of  .Tosephus  against  Apion  an 
available  as  aids  in  such  an  inquiry;  and  we  might  turn  also  w  itl 
great  advantage  to  the  early  Christian  wrUers,  especially  those 
named  in  a  preceding  note  (p.  417),  who  supply  very  many  clews  for 


But  we  have,  in  a  former  Section,  affirmed,  that  fanati- 
cism has  its  rise  either  in  a  gloomy  conception  of  the  Divine 
Nature,  or  in  the  belief  which  attributes  the  immediate  and 
sovereign  control  of  human  affairs  to  malign  invisible  powers. 
A  main  consideration  then,  when  the  tendency  of  the  Hebrew 
Scriptures  becomes  matter  of  inquiry,  is  the  representation 
they  make  (taken  in  mass)  of  the  character  of  Jehovah.  In 
addition  to  what  has  already  been  said  on  this  point  some 
special  circumstances  should  be  adverted  to. 

We  naturally  read  the  Old  Testament  in  the  light  of  the 
New.  Or,  in  reading  the  Old,  we  carry  with  us  those 
brighter  or  more  refined  elements  of  Theology  to  which  the 
Gospel  has  given  prominence ;  and  then  we  measure  the  im- 
mature, or  undeveloped  principles  of  the  procursive  dispensa- 
tion by  the  standard  of  the  later.  Yet  a  different  mode  of 
procedure  is  demanded  by  historic  justice;  for  plainly  we 
ought  to  form  our  conceptions  of  the  religious  system  given 
to  the  descendants  of  Abraham,  by  paying  attention  to  the  po- 
sition in  which  it  stood  in  relation  to  the  sentiments  and  prac- 
tices of  the  nations  around  it,  during  the  ages  of  its  destined 
continuance.  Judaism,  such  as  we  find  it  in  the  writings  of 
Moses  and  the  Prophets,  is  not  so  properly  thought  of  as  a 
beam  of  light  from  heaven,  shining  on  a  certain  spot  of  earth  ; 
as  an  energy  of  resistance,  or  a  defensive  power,  maintaining, 
from  age  to  age,  a  difficult  position,  against  mighty  assail- 
ants on  all  sides.  Before  we  can  fairly  say  what  was  Juda- 
ism— we  must  know — to  what  it  was  opposed — and  what 
were  the  errors  it  kept  at  bay. 

Is  it  then  true  that  these  ancient  books  present  a  stern  and 
formidable  front  1  Is  the  Divine  Majesty,  as  spoken  of  by 
the  Seers  of  Israel,  girt  about  with  thick  clouds  of  the  sky, 
and  do  thunderbolts  play  around  the  footstool  of  his  throne? 
Yes;  but  what  were  those  idolatrous  delusions  of  which 
this  same  awful  revelation  made  itself  the  antagonist  ?  Noth- 
ing less  horrible  than  the  murderous  superstitions  of  the  Tyri- 
ans,  Sidonians,  Moabites,  Ammonians,  Egyptians,  Philis- 
tines, Babylonians.  These  were  the  adversaries  of  Jehovah, 
and  it  was  therefore  that  "  a  fiery  tempest  went  before 
Him."  The  terrors  that  made  Sinai  tremble  were  conserva- 
tive means — were  defensive  weapons — were  necessary  and 
benign  instruments,  employed  to  expel  from  the  rude  minds 
of  an  infant  nation,  the  cruel  and  foul  belief  and  worship  of 
Moloch,  of  Dagon,  of  Baal,  of  Thammuz.  The  sternness 
of  Jehovah  should  then  be  thought  of  as  we  regard  the  com- 
passionate vigour  of  a  parent,  who  strives,  at  all  costs,  to 
rescue  his  children  from  some  cruel  and  seductive  thral- 
dom. 

Mere  justice,  such  as  the  principles  of  historic  inquiry  de- 
mand, not  to  speak  of  religious  considerations,  requires  that 
we  should  read  the  Old  Testament  under  this  recollection, 
and  as  often  as  we  meet  with  that  which,  to  our  acquired  n'o- 
tions,  seems  rigorous,  or  vindictive,  we  are  bound  to  bear  in 
mind  the  sanguinary  temper,  and  the  detestable  usages  from 
which  this  same  rigour  was  to  preserve  the  tribes  of  Israel. 
The  lapse  of  four  and  thirty  centuries  permits  us  now  to  des- 
cry only  the  dim  forms  of  the  idolatory  that  had  gained  its 
acme  of  cruelty  among  the  nations  of  Canaan,  and  the  sur- 
rounding countries,  when  Moses  led  liis  people  into  the  Ara- 
bian deserts.  But  the  more  industriously  we  pursue  the  faint 
indications  of  antiquity,  the  more  clearly  do  we  discern  the 
reason  and  fitness  and  necessity  of  what,  in  the  Jewish  his- 
tory alarms  our  modern  notions  of  the  Divine  Nature. 

And  yet  let  it  be  distinctly  understood  what  the  real  char- 
acter of  that  severity  was  which  distinguishes  the  ancient 
Jewish  theology  ?  Jehovah,  was  He  terrible  1  Yes,  but  to 
whomi — To  NONE  but  the  corrupt,  the  unjust,  the  rapacious, 
the  impure.  Toward  the  faithful  and  the  obedient,  toward 
the  penitent  and  the  upright.  He  was  "  full  of  compasion, 
and  gracious,  slow  to  anger,  ready  to  forgive ; — a  God  par- 
doning iniquity,  and  passing  by  the  transgression  of  his  heri- 
tage." The  memory  of  every  one  conversant  with  the  Scrip- 
tures is  fraught  with  passages  of  similar  import;  and  it 
might  even  be  affirmed  that,  although,  in  the  New  Testa- 
ment, the  way  of  access  to  the  Divine  favour  is  set  open  in  a 
manner  of  which  the  Old  Testament  knows  little,  neverthe- 
less, if  we  are  in  quest  of  abstract  affirmations  of  the  placa- 
bility and  tenderness  of  God  toward  man,  or  if  we  want  af- 
fectiuo-  instances  of  Divine  condescension,  we  shall  find  such 
passages  in  greater  abundance  in  the  Old  Testament  than  in 
the  New.     Moreover  (and  this  fact  should  never  be  forgot- 

extending  it  still  further.  The  results  of  such  an  investigation 
would  be  consolatory  on  more  grounds  than  one.  The  beneficence 
of  Heaven  is  broader  than  we  olien  suppose. 


FANATICISM. 


4r, 


ten)  a  ^eat  and  leading  purpose  of  the  ancient  dispensation 
was  to  protect  the  human  mind  from  the  slavish  terror,  so 
natural  to  it,  of  those  subordinate  malignant  Powers, 
whose  tyrannous  rage  could  be  propitiated  only  hy  horrible 
rites.  In  this  sense,  emphatically,  Moses  and  the  Prophets 
struck  at  tlie  root  of  fanaticism,  by  instating  the  Holy  and 
Supreme  Benevolence  in  the  heart  of  man,  as  the  only  object 
of  dread,  and  by  dislodging  from  their  seats  the  host  of  fero- 
cious invisible  divinities. 

We  dare  then  conclude,  upon  impartial  and  attentive  con- 
sideration of  the  evidence,  Jirst,  that  the  religion  of  the  He- 
brew .Scriptures  is  not  of  fanatical  tendency  ;  and  then  that 
the  writers  of  those  books  were  not  men  of  exaggerated  and 
malign  tempers. 

In  reaching  this  conclusion  we  have  assumed  nothing  pecu- 
liar in  behalf  of  the  Hebrew  Scriptures  ;  but  have  looked  at 
them  as  we  should  at  any  other  ancient  writings,  and  have 
endeavoured  to  estimate  their  quality  and  influence  on  the  or- 
dinary principles  of  human  nature.  But  the  result  of  such 
an  examination  must  be — as  we  undoubtedly  believe,  to  es- 
tablish the  divine  original  of  these  books.  This  point  secured, 
and  it  is  secured  too  on  every  separate  line  of  argument  that 
is  applicable  to  the  subject,  and  then  the  fact — That  the  Jew- 
ish Lawgiver,  and  the  prophets,  and  the  poets  of  Israel  were 
men  immediately  commissioned  and  empowered  by  God,  af- 
lords  a  proper  solution  of  every  apparent  difliculty,  arising 
either  from  the  spirit  and  complexion  of  particular  passages, 
or  form  the  course  of  conduct  enjoined  in  special  instances. 

W  hat  can  be  more  manifest  than  the  propriety  of  this  mode 
of  treating  such  difliculties!  For  one  man  to  accost  another 
as  the  enemy  of  God — or  to  adjudge  him  to  perdition,  or  to 
strike  him  to  the  earth,  is  indeed  an  outrage  such  as  bespeaks 
in  the  assailants  the  most  dire  fanaticism,  or  absolute  insan- 
ity. But  the  case  is  altogether  altered  if  this  same  denunci- 
ator, or  executioner  of  the  wrath  of  Heaven  is  able  to  show 
Heaven's  credentials  actually  in  his  hand.  He  whom  God 
sends,  speaks  the  words  of  God — delivers  a  trust  which  he 
has  no  liberty  to  evade,  and  performs  a  part  that  can  have  no 
immorality,  because  it  proceeds  from  the  Source  of  Law. 
This  rule  applies,  without  an  exception,  to  all  those  instan- 
ces, so  often  and  so  idly  produced,  in  which  the  question 
hinges  exclusively  upon  the  fact  of  a  divine  injunction  given 
to  the  speaker  or  the  agent.  If  the  prophet,  or  the  chief  were 
indeed  inspired,  then  the  words  he  utters  or  the  deed  he  per- 
forms are  not  to  he  accounted  his ;  and  though  arrogant  or 
vindictive,  if  human  only,  are  fitting  and  just — if  divine. 
Concede  the  divinity  of  the  Scriptures,  and  then  every  such 
objection  is  merged,  or  becomes  ineffably  futile.  Deny  their 
tlivinity,  and  then  the  argument  is  altogether  unimportant. 


SECTION  X. 

THE   RELIGION  OF  THE   BIBLE  NOT  FANATICAL. 

{The  Ntw  Testament.) 

To  entertain,  even  hypothetically,  an  argument  such  as  the 
one  before  us,  may  seem  not  merely  superfluous,  but  impro- 
per. What,  it  may  be  asked,  has  the  world  seen  comparable 
to  Christianity  for  the  benignity  of  its  maxims  and  spirits! 
Where  are  we  to  find  charity,  where  meekness,  where  philan- 
thropy, if  not  in  the  Gospels '!  To  inquire  then,  as  if  the  issue 
were  doubtful,  whether  this  religion  be  rancorous  and  fanati 
cal,  might  appear  not  more  irreverent  than  preposterous. 

Be  it  so,  and  yet  we  must  advance  in  our  course  without 
fear.  To  a  timid  objector  it  is  enough  to  reply  that,  as  in 
fact  the  most  inordinate  species  of  fanaticism  have,  in  differ- 
ent eras,  sprung  out  of  the  profession  of  Christianity,  and 
have  iii  the  most  intimate  manner  blended  themselves  with 
its  principles,  there  is  a  very  urgent  necessity,  if  we  would 
deal  fairly  with  our  subject,  for  a  strict  search  into  the  au- 
thentic documents  of  our  faith,  with  this  specific  view;  and 
the  issue  of  such  an  inquiry,  as  we  are  persuaded,  can  be 
nothiuCT  else  but  to  prove — -Jirst,  That  these  writings  contain 
no  malign  excitements;  and  secundly.  That  the  writers  were 
personally  exempt  from  every  kind  of  spurious  and  rancorous 
sentiment.  The  question  having  already  been  briefly  consid- 
ered on  general  grounds  (pp.  419,  420),  we  have  now  only 
to  pass  (with  as  much  celerity  as  the  argument  admits)  through 
the  several  canonical  books,  noting  as  it  arises,  whatever 
fairly  bears  upon  the  question. 

W  e  are  met,  on  the  very  first  page  of  the  evang-elic  history. 


by  a  choir  of  supernal  beings,  announcing  the  Saviour's  birth, 
which  is  declared  to  bring  "peace  on  earth,  and  good  will 
to  men,"  as  well  as  "glory  to  God."  Has  this  angelic  pro- 
fession then  been  borne  out,  or  contradicted  by  facts  1  A  per- 
plexing question,  if  we  are  resolved  to  impute  to  systems,  or 
persons,  the  entire  mischief  that  has  chanced  to  stand  con- 
nected, ever  so  remotely,  with  them ;  but  by  no  means  per- 
plexing, if  we  mean  to  look  equitably  at  the  intrinsic  qualities 
of  a  system,  and  to  the  personal  dispositions  and  conduct  of 
the  men  who  have  yielded  themselves  the  most  completely  to 
its  influence.  On  this  ground  it  may  confidently  be  aftirraed 
that,  as  peace  and  philanthropy  are  the  grand  lesson  of  the 
Gospel,  so  have  they  been  its  actual  fruits. 

A  circumstance  that  ought  by  no  means  to  be  passed  over, 
is  the  sort  of  welcome  given  to  the  "  holy  child"  on  his  first 
entrance  upon  his  "Father's  house" — the  Jewish  temple. 
There  the  long  desired  "consolation  of  Israel"  is  affirmed  to 
be  "a  Light  to  lighten  the  Gentiles,"  as  well  as  the  glory 
of  the  chosen  people.  Early  check,  this,  to  the  then  preva- 
lent and  fast  ripening  national  arrogance  and  bigotry  of  the 
Abrahamic  race !  Although  thus  it  had  been  long  before 
"  written  in  the  prophets,"  no  principle  could  more  offend  the 
prejudices  of  the  times  than  this — That  the  Messiah,  the  King 
of  Israel,  should  bless,  rather  than  exterminate  and  vanquish, 
the  uncircumcised  families  of  the  earth. 

The  ascetic  habit  and  austere  style  of  the  Baptist,  as  we 
descry  him  amid  the  frowning  solitudes  of  the  Jordan,  and 
see  him  with  his  feet  washed  by  its  dark  waters,  seem  to  pro- 
mise something  not  in  harmony  with  those  cheering  persua- 
sive notes  of  mercy  to  mankind  we  had  lately  listened  to  from 
heaven.  And  so  in  fact  the  preaching  of  John  is  found  to  be 
in  "  the  spirit  and  power  of  Elijah" — a  ministry  of  reproof — 
a  piercing  call  to  repentance:  and  especially  a  sharp  rebuke 
of  national  sanctimoniousness  and  corruption  : — or  to  say  all 
in  a  word,  the  preaching  of  John  was  an  energetic  corrective 
of  the  hypocrisy  and  fanatical  presumption  of  his  countrymen. 
"  Bring  forth,"  he  cries,  "  fruits  meet  for  repentance ;  and 
think  not  to  say  to  yourselves,  '  We  have  Abraham  to  our 
father ;'  for  I  say  to  you  that  God  is  able  of  these  stones  to 
raise  up  children  to  Abraham ;" — Yes,  although  the  Jewish 
race,  with  all  its  proud  pretensions  were  swept  from  the  face 
of  the  earth,  Abraham  should  not  want  a  spiritual  progeny, 
for  the  Divine  power  would  (as  actually  it  did)  instate  the 
Gentiles  in  the  privileges  of  the  ancient  church.  The  Baptist 
then,  although  as  we  catch  a  glimpse  of  him,  while  eagerly 
listened  to  hy  a  promiscuous  crowd,  he  may  have  the  air  of  a 
virulent  declaimer,  is  not  such  in  fact ;  for  if  we  will  but 
draw  near,  and  give  attention  to  his  discourse,  we  find  him 
vigorously  assailing  the  national  arrogance,  and  we  hear  him 
humbling  his  hearers  in  their  own  esteem,  by  insisting  on 
those  capital  articles  of  morality  which  had  dropt  out  of  their 
scheme  of  punctilious  and  farcical  piety.  Moreover,  he  fails 
not  to  renounce  for  himself  the  honours  which  the  people 
would  have  paid  him: — but  this  surely  bespeaks  him  a  gen- 
uine prophet  of  the  Lord,  and  proves  that  he  was  no  aspiring 
scctarist. 

In  the  remarkable  narrative  of  the  temptation,  the  principal 
circumstance  (bearing  on  our  question)  is  an  assertion,  by  our 
Lord,  of  the  claim  of  God  to  human  reverence,  in  contradic- 
tion of  the  impious  homage  which  the  Rebel  Spirit  falsely 
challenged  to  himself,  as  master  of  the  world.  The  rebuke, 
"  Get  thee  hehind  me,  Satan,"  bore  against  all  forms  of  poly- 
theistic superstition,  the  essence  of  which,  under  whatever 
guise,  is  a  servile  deference  paid  to  malevolent  invisible 
power.  And  this  comprehensive  condemnation  of  the  worst 
of  all  errors  was  followed  up,  throughout  the  course  of  our 
Lord's  ministry,  by  his  exercising  a  rigorous  control  over  the 
infernal  legions :  The  malignant  power  was  no  longer  to 
usurp  the  regards  of  mankind ;  for  a  stronger  arm  than  his 
had  despoiled  him  of  the  "armour  wherein  he  trusted  ;"  and 
henceforward  the  Supreme  Benevolence  alone  was  to  be  looked 
to  by  man,  as  the  object  of  hope  and  fear.  The  tendency  of 
the  New  Testament  is  altogether  to  emancipate  the  human 
mind  from  its  ancient  thraldom  to  the  invisible  tyrants  ;  and 
it  does  this,  not  by  affirming  the  non-existence  of  such  beings, 
but  by  exposing  their  ijuile,  and  by  declaring  their  enchain- 
ment, under  the  hand  ot  the  Omnipotent  Son  of  God.  In  thus 
removing  the  grounds  of  superstition,  Christianity,  wherever 
it  takes  effect,  dries  up  the  source  of  fanaticism,  the  virulence 
of  which  is  drawn  from  the  belief  of  a  malevolent  administra- 
tion of  human  affairs.* 


*  The  subject  of  diabolical  agency  has  been  once  and  again  allu- 
ded to,  as  connected  with  fanatical  sentiments.     Had  it  been  possible 


428 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


Every  form  of  religious  rancour  is  implkitly  reproved  in 
Ihe  announcement  whicii  the  Divine  Deliverer  makes,  at  an 
early  stage  of  his  iniblic  ministry,  of  the  purpose  of  God  to- 
ward mankind ;— "The  Father  hath  so  loved  the  world  as 
to  give  his  only-beo-otten  Son,  that  whosoever  believeth  in 
him  should  not  perisl,  but  have  eternal  life.  For  the  Father 
sent  not  his  Son  into  the  world  to  condemn  the  world ;  but 
that  the  world  might  be  saved  through  him."  And  again, 
when  he  declares  that^ — "The  Son  of  man  is  not  come  to  des- 
troy men's  lives,  but  to  save  them."  Whether  it  be  the  self- 
tormenting  rigour  of  the  ascetic,  or  the  deadly  zeal  of  the  In- 
quisitor, or  the  martial  rage  of  the  Moslem  conqueror,  or  the 
crabbed  bigotry  of  the  modern  dogmatist;  each  is  utterly  con- 
demned, and  the  specious  pretexts  of  each  are  torn  away,  by 
this  first  axiom  of  Christianity— That  the  Gospel  is  at  once 
the  expression,  and  the  means-of  the  Divine  Benevolence 
TOWARD  MANKIND  AT  LARGE.  Any  Zeal,  therefore,  which  is 
not  benign,  is  not  a  godly  or  Christian  zeal ;  rather,  we  should 
deem  it\n  infernal  impulse  tliat  drives  on  those  who,  under 
pretence  of  religion,  torture  themselves,  or  others,  or  indulge 
sentiments  of  contempt  and  hatred  toward  mankind  in  the 
mass,  or  toward  particular  bodies  of  men  : — if  this  be  our  spi- 
rit, it  is  not  the  spirit  of  Jesus; — for  he  was  "the  Saviour  of 
all  men."  It  is  Satan — not  Christ,  who  is  the  author  of  cru- 
elties, and  the  patron  and  upholder  of  sects. 

The  broadest  and  the  firmest  foundation  being  thus  laid  in 
the  Gospel  for  philanthropy  (nothing  more  broad  can  be  ima- 
gined) those  condemnatory  announcements  which  bear  out  the 
message  of  mercy  are  wholly  deprived  of  the  pernicious  force 
that  otherwise  might  have  belonged  to  them,  Nothing  can 
destroy  men,  we  learn,  but  their  final  contempt  of  the  Divine 
forbearance.  All  men  therefore  are  to  be  regarded  as  salva- 
ble;  and  all  are,  in  a  genuine  sense,  the  objects  of  the  same 
Benevolence  which  has  rescued  ourselves  from  perdition.  To 
give  effect  to  this  divine  benevolence  (so  far  as  human  agency 
may  extend)  is  the  part  that  belongs  to  Christians;  nor  can 
any  motive  be  authentic  that  w  ill  not  freely  play  in  concert 
with  the  unrestricted  zeal  of  compassion. 

Our  Lord  in  his  discourse  with  the  Samaritan  woman  throws 
open  the  gate  of  religious  privilege  to  all  nations;  thus  shut- 
ting out  the  Jewish  arrogance,  and  at  the  same  time  securing 
the  special  authority  of  truth,  against  a  vague  and  spurious 
candour.  "Ye  (Samaritans)  know  not  what  ye  worship; — 
for  salvation  is  of  the  Jews."  It  is  they  who  are  the  keepers 
of  the  recorded  will  of  Heaven ;  it  is  from  among  them  that 
shall  spring  up  the  new  and  universal  religion.  Nevertheless 
this  new  religion,  although  of  Jewish  birth,  is  not  to  be  the 
property  of  the  worshippers  at  Jerusalem  only ;  but  shall 
comprehend  those  of  every  country  who  "  worship  the  Father 
in  spirit  and  truth."  The  Gospel  advances  always  on  a  pre- 
cise line,  nor  must  it  ever  be  turned  from  the  prescribed  track. 
Yet  is  this  line  "gone  forth  into  all  the  world,"  and  like  the 
equatorial,  must  girt  the  globe. 

The  motives  of  Christianity,  like  the  powers  of  nature, 
produce  their  genuine  fruits  only  in  combination:  whoever 
severs,  perverts  them.  Thus  when  it  was  said  to  the  first 
promulgators  of  the  Gospel,  just  about  to  "go  forth  as  sheep 
among  wolves" — "Happy  are  ye  when  men  speak  evil  of 
you,  and  persecute  you,  and  say  all  manner  of  evil  of  you 
falsely  for  my  sake,"  this  same  self-congratulation  which  it 
was  lawful  to  admit  under  injurious  treatment,  might  readily 
subside  into  a  malign  habit  within  the  bosom  of  the  oppressed 
sectarist,  if  it  were  not  balanced  by  that  other  exhortation, 
soon  subjoined,  and  so  emphatically  given — "  Love  your  ene- 
mies; bless  them  that  curse  you;  do  good  to  them  that  hate 
you;  and  pray  for  them  that  despitefully  use  you  and  perse- 
cute you."  The  fanatic  divides  these  counteractive  elements 
of  feeling.  He  blesses  himself  in  the  presumption  of  Divine 
favour,  and  if  he  does  not  loudly  curse  his  persecutor,  mut- 
ters an  anticipation  of  the  wrath  that  is  to  fall  upon  "  the  ene- 
mies of  God."  To  love  his  enemy,  and  heartily  to  wish  him 
well,  is  a  point  of  virtue  he  scarcely  pretends  to.  The  rule 
of  Divine  forgiveness  brings  these  very  same  motives  into 
close  contact.  Sternly  is  it  declared  that  he  who  grants  no 
pardon  to  others,  shall  receive  none  for  himself.  The  vindic- 
tive religionist  avoids  the  application  of  the  rule  to  his  own 
case,  only  by  renouncing  the  supposition  of  personal  guilt : 
he  who  has  no  sin,  needs  not  show  indulgence.  And  thus  in 
fact  we  find  an  egregious  conceit  of  the  favour  of  God  to- 


to  bring  the  queslion  w  Itliiii  narrow  limits,  the  author  would  have 
given  it  a  prominent  place  in  the  present  volume.  He  propo- 
ses to  treat  it  more  distintUy  in  his  projected  work  ou  Superstition. 


wards  himself,  to  be  always  the  germ  of  the  rancorous  senti- 
ments of  the  bigot. 

If  at  any  time  our  Lord — "  meek  and  lowly"  as  he  was, 
assumed  tlie  tones  of  indignant  reproof,  we  find  it  on  those 
occasions  precisely  when  the  sanctimonious  and  fanatical 
Scribe,  Pharisee,  and  Lawyer,  stood  before  him; — not  when 
surrounded  by  the  publicans  and  sinners  of  the  people.  Ne- 
ver before  had  haughty  and  hollow  religionism  received  so 
severe  a  reprimand  as  that  reported  by  the  Evangelist,*  in 
which  not  merely  is  the  veil  rent  from  the  face  of  hypocrisy; 
but  the  culprit's  false  heart  is  laid  open,  and  the  double-edged 
knife  pierces  to  the  "  dividing  asunder  of  the  joints  and  mar- 
row ;" — nay,  the  very  "  thoughts  and  intents  of  the  soul"  are 
exposed  to  the  gaze  of  all.  Neither  is  the  hypocrite  or  the 
fanatic  spared,  although  found  among  the  chosen  followers  of 
the  Lord.  "  Have  not  I  chosen  you  twelve,"  said  the  Lord ; 
"  and  one  of  you  is  a  devil  V  And  how  did  he  check  the  in- 
temperate zeal  of  those  of  them  who  would  have  called  down 
fire  from  heaven  to  avenge  the  inhospitality  of  certain  Samar- 
itans:— "Ye  know  not  what  spirit  ye  are  of."  And  again, 
as  if  to  shut  out  on  every  side  a  false  temper  in  matters  of  re- 
ligion, he  defended  the  harmless  trespass  of  his  followers  in 
the  corn  field,  against  the  punctilious  objection  of  the  Phari- 
sees. "  If  ye  had  known  what  that  meaneth,  I  will  have 
mercy  and  not  sacrifice,  ye  would  not  have  condemned  the 
innocent."  Is  not  this  answer  the  very  antithesis  of  fanati- 
cism ?  does  it  not  reach  the  core  of  spiritual  acerbity  ? 

So  far  as  the  public  ministry  of  Christ  may  be  termed  crim- 
inative and  severe,  the  object  of  it  was  that  special  disposi- 
tion whence  fanaticism  takes  its  rise,  namely — an  affected 
zeal  for  the  purity  of  religion,  showing  itself  in  a  conceit  of 
the  Divine  favour  toward  the  zealot  himself,  and  an  envious 
contempt  of  the  mass  of  mankind.  These  were  in  fact  the 
characteristic  vices  of  the  time,  and  it  was  against  these,  and 
these  only,  that  the  Divine  Teacher  directed  the  vehemence 
of  his  reprehension.  We  say  then  that  if  a  spurious  and  ma- 
lign zeal  is  found  to  be  the  national  fault  of  the  Jewish  peo- 
ple, at  the  era  of  Christianity,  the  teaching  of  Christ,  far  from 
fomenting  that  pernicious  temper,  in  the  most  bold  and  un- 
sparing manner  condemned  it. 

Yet  we  should  look  to  those  special  occasions  on  which 
the  temper  of  a  teacher,  or  the  tendency  of  a  system,  makes 
itself  apparent  in  some  incidental  and  indirect  manner.  Now 
we  actually  find  an  instance  of  this  sort,  and  a  very  signal 
one,  when  the  seventy  delegates,  after  having  borne  their 
message  through  the  towns  of  Jewry,  returned  to  their  Master 
with  joy,  saying — "  Lord,  even  the  daemons  are  subject  unto 
us  through  thy  name!"  Natural  exultation!  and  yet  the 
feeling  whence  it  sprang  was  of  a  dangerous  kind  ;  or  at  least 
was  one  that  urgently  demands  to  be  counterpoised  by  mo- 
tives of  quite  another  order.  How  readily  does  the  human 
imagination  kindle  at  the  thought  of  a  near  contact  with  In- 
visible Powers ! — and  if  moreover  these  Powers  are  thought 
of  as  malevolent,  the  darkest  and  most  terrible  passions  rush 
in  to  lend  their  force  to  the  conceptions  of  evil.  Should  it 
happen  too,  at  the  same  time,  that  an  open  triumph  has  been 
had  over  such  beings,  w'ho  long  had  made  sport  of  human 
frailty,  the  gloomy  excitement  of  the  soul  reaches  its  utmost 
point: — or  it  may  do  so.  Were  any  such  emotions  actually 
rife  in  the  bosoms  of  his  followers — and  we  must  not  affirm 
it  to  be  impossible,  our  Lord  did  by  no  means  check  the  mis- 
chief in  the  manner  which  the  frigid  sceptic  would  approve; 
he  did  not  avail  himself  of  that  fair  occasion  for  rooting  out 
of  the  minds  of  his  disciples  the  belief  altogether  of  malig- 
nant and  hostile  invisible  power;  far  from  it — he  solemnly 
authenticates  that  belief  when  he  says — "  I  beheld  Satan  as 
lightning  fall  from  heaven :"  and  again — "  I  give  you  au- 
thority over  all  the  power  of  The  Enemy."  But  the  senti- 
ments of  his  followers  were  not  to  be  left  to  rest  at  this  point; 
their  feelings  were  to  be  carried  forward,  as  all  genuine  re- 
ligious emotions  should,  into  the  bright  region  of  hope, 
humility  and  pious  gratitude.  "  Notwithstanding,  in  this 
rejoice  not  that  the  spirits  are  subject  unto  you;  but  rather 
rejoice  because  your  names  are  written  in  heaven.  To  com- 
plete" the  transition  from  a  less  benign  sentiment,  to  one  more 
congenial  with  the  spirit  of  the  Gospel,  Jesus  uttered  aloud  a 
thanksgiving  which,  by  a  manifest  implication,  conveyed  a 
very  humiliating  lesson  to  the  heart  of  the  hearers.  "  I  thank 
thee,  O  Father,"Lord  of  heaven  and  earth,  that  thou  hast  hid 
these  things  from  the  w'ise  and  prudent,  and  hast  revealed  them 
unto  babes .'"  If  among  the  seventy  there  was  found  a  proud, 
an  ambitious,  or  a  rancorous  spirit,  what  rebuke  could  it  have 

•  Matt,  xxiii. 


FANATICISM. 


429 


received  more  pointed  than  the  one  involved  in  the  terms  of 
this  address  to  heaven  ?  Fanaticism  can  take  no  liold  of  the 
hnman  mind  until  that  child-like  temper  vi-hich  Christ  here 
alfirnis  and  supposes  to  be  characteristic  of  his  disciples  has 
been  thrown  olf. 

■  Presentini;  itself  as  it  does  in  the  same  connexion,  we  ought 
to  notice  that  significant — nay,  severe  reproof  of  Jewish  arro- 
gance which  the  parable  of  the  compassionate  Samaritan  con- 
veys. \V  hat  irony  more  caustic  than  that  of  bringing  upon 
the  scene  the  Priest  and  Levite,  of  whom  we  catch  a  glimpse 
as  they  move  olT,  wrapped  in  sacerdotal  scrupulosity  and 
pride;  while  a  Samaritan  (hated  name),  comes  up  to  furnish 
the  lesson  of  piety  and  mercy!  We  ought  distinctly  to  con- 
ceive of  the  virulence  of  national  feelings  at  the  time,  if  we 
would  understand  the  cutting  force  of  this  apologue.  The 
parable  of  the  Prodigal,  in  like  manner,  obliquely,  but  not 
obscurely  assails  the  bad  and  grud'ging  temper  of  the  Jewish 
people,  and  holds  forth,  in  figure,  the  heavy  line  of  conduct 
which  the  zealots  of  that  nation  actually  pursued  when  after- 
wards they  saw  "  sinners  of  the  Gentiles"  coming  to  the  arms 
of  Divine  mercy,  and  numbered  with  the  family  of  God.  These 
incidental  instances  are  pertinent  to  our  subject,  inasmuch  as 
they  show  the  steady  purpose  of  our  Lord  to  place  his  doc- 
trine and  his  system  of  morals  in  direct  opposition  to  the 
existing  sentiments  of  his  countrymen.  He  mortified  every 
fond  prejudice,  as  well  as  reproved  every  scandal  of  the  times. 

The  difficult  point  of  practical  wisdom  in  the  conduct  of  a 
public  instructor  is  always  the  management  of  those  articles 
of  faith  that  wear  an  adverse  aspect  one  to  the  other.  This 
is  the  stumbling  stone  of  the  presumptuous  reasoner:  this  the 
occasion  of  ollVnce  to  the  feeble;  this  the  ordeal  of  discretion. 
Three  or  four  instances  might  be  named;  but  they  are  all  by 
implication  contained  in  the  two  main  principles — each  fully 
and  freely  affirmed  in  the  Christian  system — namely,  the 
Divine  Benevolence — absolute  as  it  is,  and  the  Divine  Justice, 
involving  tremendous  consequences  to  the  human  race.  It  i 
here  that  the  iron-sinewed  theologue,  with  his  paper  demon- 
strations, lias  outraged  at  once  the  Divine  Character,  and 
every  natural  sentiment  of  equity  and  goodness;  it  is  here 
that  the  murky  fanatic  shows  his  home  to  be  the  world  of 
evil ;  and  it  is  here,  on  the  other  side,  that  those  have  stumbled 
and  fallen  who  scruple  not  to  make  the  Divine  testimony 
nugatory  whenever  it  offends  them. 

How  dilferent  was  the  style  of  the  Divine  Teacher  in  this 
instance;  and  in  giving  attention  for  a  moment  to  his  method 
if  we  do  no  more,  we  shall  catch  a  note  or  two  of  that  celes- 
tial harmony  which  breathed  in  every  word  he  spoke,  and 
proclaimed  him  to  be  "  from  above." 

The  then  extant  belief  of  the  Jewish  people  (or  the  greater 
part  of  them)  on  the  subject  of  future  i>unishment,*  our  Lord 
did  not  mitigate;  nor  did  he  leave  it  where  he  found  it;  but 
affirmed  it  anew,  made  it  an  inseparable  part  of  liis  religion, 
and  gave  it  his  sanction  in  terms  as  distinct  and  irrefragable 
as  language  affords.  Compared  with  INIoses  or  with  the  pro 
phets,  or  witli  other  religious  institntors,  Christ  might  in  a 
sense  be  called  the  Herald  of  Wrath.  Not  one  of  hili  minis- 
ters (so  far  as  appears),  came  up  to  their  Master  in  the  ful- 
ness or  the  frequency  of  his  announcement  of  the  doom  of  the 
impertinent.  They,  though  with  firmness,  yet  with  modesty 
and  fear,  assert  the  terrors  of  Divine  Justice;  but  he  speaks 
like  one  whose  eye,  piercing  the  thin  veil  of  the  material 
world,  continually  ^zed  upon  the  mysteries  of  the  unseen. 
The  apostles  spoke  in  the  confidence  of  faith  ;  Christ  with  the 
vivacity  of  immediate  knowledge. 

And  yet,  who  like  Jesus  has  manifested  the  glory  of  the 
Father,  whose  glory  is  love?  By  what  means  then  did  he 
bear  in  his  hands,  together,  these  antagonist  elements  of  re- 
ligion? Certainly  it  was  not  by  labouring  to  extenuate  at 
one  time  what  he  had  too  boldly  affirmed  at  another.  Never 
did  he  insinuate,  or  throw  out  as  by  chance,  mitigations  which 
the  sceptic  might  catch  up,  and  expand  at  his  pleasure. 
Neither  did  he  enter  at  any  time  upon  exculpatory  reasons  in 
behalf  of  the  divine  administration  of  human  affairs;  nor  ojien 
the  way  to  abstruse  speculation,  such  as  should  establish  the 
eternal  consistencies  of  goodness  and  severity.  Not  a  sylla- 
ble did  he  furnish  as  text  to  the  learned  disquisitions  that 
have  entertained  the  schools.     Li  a  word,  our  Lord  made  no 


*  A  knowledge  of  the  opinions  an<l  modes  of  speaking  prevalent 
among  the  Jews  is  necessary  to  a  correct  undei-standing  of  our  Lord's 
language  on  this  serious  subject.  Pliilo  especially  should  be  searched 
for  this  purpose.  The  doctrine  he  holds  is  of  a  very  decisive  character 
— iT/  ol/Acii  »  dirifiuct.  Ka»;»  iTTiv,  b'ts/.k/'tjitoi',  i^iTrrifilvit,  xai 
fAtiii-r-ar  «-,?ej-6>t»ai  iv\afj.fit,s De  Profu^s.  "" 


direct  provision  against  those  abuses  or  ill  consequences  that 
might  flow  from  his  doctrine. 

Nevertheless  these  ill  consequences  are  in  fact  so  counter- 
acted, that  Christianity,  even  by  the  admission  of  its  enemies, 
taken  as  a  whole,  and'  taken  as  its  Author  left  it,  is  bright 
and  benign.  The  means  by  which  the  two  elements  of  wrath 
and  love  are  balanced,  so  far  as  they  may  be  traced,  bes]>eak 
the  same  wisdom  that  adjusts  and  balances  the  antagonist 
powers  of  nature.  The  first  and  most  obvious  counteractive 
means  we  have  already  had  occasion  (page  387)  to  speak  of 
— namel}-,  the  invariable  and  intelligible  annexation  of  the 
threatened  punishment  to  vicious  acts,  and  to  an  impious  life, 
so  that  the  doctrine  bears  always  directly  upon  ths  conscience, 
and  gives  its  aid  to  virtue. 

In  the  next  place,  our  Lord,  without  ever  attempting,  on 
abstract  ground  to  harmonize  the  divine  attributes,  exhibited 
the  glory,  beautv  and  sweetness  of  the  Paternal  Creator, 
and  Preserver,  and  Sovereign,  in  a  manner  never  before  thought 
of,  and  which  can  never  be  steadily  contemplated  by  any 
human  mind  without  imparting  sentiments  that  effectually 
exclude  morose  or  fanatical  emotions.  This  is  a  countervail- 
ing provision,  not  formal  indeed,  but  infallible,  and  of  irre- 
sistible force.  The  providence  of  God,  both  universal  and 
particular,  comprehensive  and  minute,  the  unremitted  care  of 
iile,  the  regard  to  the  wants,  and  fears,  and  hopes,  and  even 
comfort  of  all  creatures,  the  constant  attention  to  prayer,  the 
special  regard  to  the  poor,  the  feeble,  and  the  lowlj',  and  the 
Divine  forbearance  toward  the  disobedient — all  these  benign 
elements  of  theology  form  the  prominent  characteristics  of 
the  leaching  of  Christ. 

But  how  can  wereconcilc  such  exhibitions  of  tenderness  and 
love  with  the  actual  facts,  announced  by  the  saine  Teacher,  of 
the  ruin  and  miseries  of  man?  The  teacher  himself,  confid- 
ing in  the  real,  though  occult  consistency  of  what  he  declares, 
and  not  anxious  for  consequences,  throws  out  the  two  great 
principles,  and  leaves  them  to  work  as  they  ma}',  within  the 
human  bosom.  With  that  serenity  which  befits  the  Author 
of  Christianity,  as  .\uthor  of  all  things,  and  Sovereign  of  the 
universe,  he  puts  in  play  each  proper  impulse  of  the  moral 
economy.  Purblind  ]iliilosophy  maj'  call  them  incompatible. 
Nature  and  truth  shall  pronounce  them  one. 

We  have  yet  to  advance  a  step  further.  So  contracted  and 
exclusive  in  its  modes  of  feeling  is  the  human  mind,  that  if 
we  converse  much  and  long  with  terrible  or  afllictive  concep- 
tions, and  heartily  surrender  ourselves  to  the  impression  of 
certain  appalling  facts,  it  is  not  easy  to  avoid  becoming  sul- 
lenly inditferent  to  the  present  sufferings  of  mankind;  as  if 
it  were  of  little  moment  what  those  are  enduring  in  the  pre- 
sent life,  who  must  endure  worse  in  the  next.  Not  such 
were  the  sentiments  of  the  Savicur  of  the  world;  no  insensi- 
bility of  this  kind  affected  his  human  sympathies:  He  thought 
lightly  of  no  pain  or  want  that  attaches  to  mortality  :  infirmity, 
or  anguish,  or  hunger,  he  cared  for,  and  relieved.  "  He  bare 
our  infirmities,  and  himself  took  our  sickness."  The  benevo- 
lence of  the  Lord  Jesus  was  like  the  radiance  of  ilia  sun, 
which,  while  spreading  itself  over  the  broad  fields  of  the  uni- 
verse, even  to  the  utmost  verge  of  nature,  pervades  also  the 
most  obscure  recesses,  penetrates  every  depth,  and  brings 
liome  warmth  and  joy  to  the  meanest  orders  of  the  sentient 
world. 

(;ome  to  what  conclusion  we  may,  or  let  us  be  never  so 
much  perplexed  in  our  fruitless  endeavours  to  reach  any  con- 
clusion that  may  fully  reconcile  opposing  truths,  the  fact 
stands  before  us — a  fact  full  of  instruction,  that  He  whose 
doctrine  inspires  us  with  extreme  alarm  on  account  of  the 
great  mass  of  our  fellow  men,  nevertheless,  when  in  the 
desert  he  looked  upon  the  multitudes  that  had  left  their  homes 
to  follow  him,  "had  compassion  upon  them,"  and  would  by 
no  means  leave  them  to  sutler  even  a  transient  hunger  and 

fatigue.    The  same  spirit  pervades  every  action  ;  he  healed 

"as  many  as  were  brouglit  unto  him,"  he  rejected  none;  he 
made  no  conditions;  bnt  dispensed  good  with  a  royal  facility, 
as  well  as  with  sensitive  tenderness.  Nor  did  the  moment- 
ous importance  of  his  public  work  alienate  him  from  the 
suavities  of  personal  friendship.  Still  we  find  no  theoloo-ic 
explication  of  the  apparent  contrariety  of  Love  and  Justice; 
but  instead  of  it,  are  presented  with  a  living  exemplar  of  the 
harmony  of  the  two. 

Another  striking  characteristic  of  our  Lord's  sentiments,  as 
exhibited  in  his  mode  of  leaching,  bears  directly  upon  our 
subject.  This  is  the  style  and  materials  of  his  tropes  and 
apologues.  If  the  imagination  be  susceptible  of  vivid  im- 
pressions, it  is  scarcely  possible  to  entertain  frequently  con- 
ceptions of  terror  without  losing  the  taste  or  the  faculty  that 


430 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


finds  recreation  among  the  gay  beauties  and  simple  charms 
of  nature.  Fruits  and  flowers,  bright  skies  and  rustic  occu- 
pations, retain  no  hold  of  the  spirit  that  often  takes  its  flight 
throuoh  the  abyss  of  horrors.  To  stoop  and  to  gather  illus- 
trations, and  to  do  so  by  habit,  from  the  garden  and  the  field, 
and  from  the  humble  labours  of  domestic  life,  has  never  been 
the  manner  of  those  who  have  borne  heavy  tidings  to  their 
fellow  men — even  when  their  motive  has  been  sincere  and 
benevolent;  much  less  of  the  ireful  reformer,  the  glance  of 
•whose  eye  seems  to  scathe  whatever  dares  to  look  green  and 
happy. 

Yet  it  was  not  so  with  Jesus.  When  we  bear  in  mind  the 
ordinary  alliance  of  the  moral  sentiments  with  the  imagina- 
tion, and  think  how  naturally  subjects  of  a  vast  and  afflict- 
ive order  cloud  the  mind,  and  impart  to  it  an  inflexible 
rigour,  we  must  contemplate  with  amazement,  in  our  Lord's 
discourses  and  parables,  the  junction  of  elements  seemingly 
the  most  incongruous.  What  more  appalling — what,  if  in- 
deed we  follow  it  to  its  meaning,  what  more  distracting  to 
the  heart,  than  the  ailirmations  which  often  conclude  a  series 
of  parables  that  has  brought  together  the  smiling  beauties  of 
the  visible  creation,  and  the  gentle  familiar  suavities  of  com- 
mon life!  Considered  as  literature  merely,  our  Lord's  dis- 
courses, as  well  public  as  private,  take  their  place,  not  along 
with  the  vehement  and  impassioned  harangues  of  orators; 
but  with  the  mildest  and  most  attractive  class  of  pastoral  and 
dramatic  compositions.  Yet  what  were  the  truths  that 
stretched  a  dark  and  deep  foundation  beneath  this  fair  super- 
structure of  heavenly  wisdom'! — truths  which,  when  vividly 
perceived  by  other  men,  have  absorbed  the  soul,  and  given  a 
sombre  colour  to  every  sentiment.  Nowhere,  except  in  the 
discourses  recorded  by  the  Evangelists,  do  we  hear  such 
mingled  tones  of  terror  and  sweetness  issuing  from  the  same 
lips.  'J'he  apostles,  though  raised  above  the  common  level 
by  the  Spirit  that  dwelt  in  them,  yet  never  reached,  nor  even 
approached,  the  elevation  of  their  master.  Their  style  was 
liuman  ;  and  the  weighty  matters  of  their  message  to  mankind 
so  pressed  upon  their  hearts  that  they  became,  in  some  mea- 
sure, abstracted  from  the  smaller  interests  of  life,  and  insen- 
sible to  the  graces  of  nature.  Their  language,  though  figura- 
tive, is  always  urgent  and  grave,  and  befitting  men  whose 
task  is  felt  by  themselves  to  surpass  Iheir  powers. 

The  graceful  serenity  and  happy  ease  of  our  Lord's  mode 
of  teaching  should  command  our  profound  attention,  Jirst 
as  an  indirect  yet  irresistible  evidence  (v^'e  should  say  mani- 
fntalinii)  of  his  divinity,  and  of  his  absolute  superiority  to  all 
other  teachers;  and  secoiu//;/,  as  involving  a  proof,  far  belter 
than  any  metaphysic  demonstration  could  be,  of  the  interior 
consistency  of  the  benignity  and  justice  of  God.  The  more 
we  meditate  upon  this  subject  the  more  shall  we  be  convinced 
that  it  furnishes  all  we  ought  anxiously  to  wish  for  in  the 
way  of  explication  of  the  Divine  attributes.  He  in  whom 
were  concentrated  these  very  attributes — He  whose  purity 
was  the  purity  of  God,  and  whose  compassion  was  the  com- 
passion of  God,  is  heard  to  utter,  in  one  and  the  same  breath, 
the  language  of  inflexible  Justice  and  of  absolute  Love. 
Holiness  and  benevolence  then  are  one ;  ami  we  should  be 
content  to  confide  implicitly  in  such  a  proof  that  they  are  so. 

Hut  we  must  now  turn  from  the  Master  to  his  Disciples. 

There  inay  fairly  be  room  to  ask  whether,  after  their  ftlas- 
ter  had  left  them,  and  when  they  became  tlio  objects  of  the 
fury  of  their  countrymen,  and  entered  fresh  upon  a  field  of 
extraordinary  excitements,  the  first  disciples  maintained  meek- 
ness and  charity  of  temper;  or  yielded  to  those  emotions 
which  similar  circumstances  have  too  often  awakened.  A 
question  like  this  must  be  determined,  not  by  the  formal  tes- 
limony  of  the  parties  in  their  own  cause,  but  by  inferences 
drawn  from  incidental  allusions,  or  casual  expressions.  And 
is  it  credible  that  a  company  of  men  really  exorbitant  in  their 
modes  of  thinking,  and  gloomy  or  malign  in  their  tempers, 
should  hand  down  to  posterity  a  collection  of  memoirs  and 
letters,  such  as  shall  convey  no  indication  of  the  passions 
that  were  working  in  their  bosoms'!  This  were  indeed  the 
greatest  of  miracles,  and  we  reject,  without  scruple,  the  sup- 
position that  it  miffht  be  true. 

As  in  the  eye  of  irreligious  men  any  degree  of  feeling  in 
matters  of  religion  is  entliusiasm,  so  must  the  same  persons 
deem  any  sort  of  zeal  in  the  propagation  of  it  fanatical.  If 
it  be  enthusaism  to  pray,  it  is  certainly  fanaticism  to  travel 
from  city  to  city,  troubling  inen"s  minds  by  announcements 
of  future  judgment;  and  how  much  more  fanatical,  to  en- 
counter stripes  and  imprisonments  in  such  a  course,  or  actu- 
ally to  meet  a  violent  death,  rather  than  abandon  the  enter- 
prise of   converting  mankind   to  a  system  of  opinions  !     If 


now  it  be  enthusiastic  for  a  man  to  account  the  service  and 
worship  of  God  the  main  business  of  his  life,  unquestionably 
the  course  of  conduct  pursued  by  the  first  propagators  of  the 
Gospel,  as  well  as  by  all  who  have  since  trodden  in  their 
steps,  was  preposterous.  But  if  the  Gospel  be  indeed  from 
Heaven,  our  estimation  of  men  and  things  must  obey  another 
rule.  In  this  case  it  must  be  granted,  that  whatever  might 
be  the  immediate  conseriucnces  of  the  agitations  they  excited, 
and  even  although  the  public  tranquillity  was  much  disturbed 
in  all  quarters  of  the  Roman  empire  by  their  preaching, 
nevertheless,  the  pretinacious  zeal  of  the  apostles  was  strictly 
reasonable,  and  their  fortitude  and  courage  in  the  best  sense 
magnanimous.  There  still,  however,  remains  a  question 
which  may  be  prosecuted,  even  after  this  general  admission 
has  been  made,  namely,  whether  the  apostles  and  their  com- 
panions, in  fulfilling  the  extraordinary  part  assigned  to  them, 
at  all  forgot  personal  moderation,  charity,  and  benevolence; 
or  do  we  find  them,  when  placed  in  circumstances  of  peculiar 
excitement,  acrimonious,  vindictive,  ungovernable  1  In  a 
word,  is  their  language  and  conduct  that  of  fanatics,  or  such 
only  as  well  became  good  and  honest  men,  commissioned  to 
establish  in  the  world,  at  any  cost  to  themselves,  the  great 
principles  of  piety  ■! 

The  hour  of  trial  for  the  temper  of  the  disciples  of  Christ 
was  when,  after  having  got  possession  of  the  popular  favour, 
it  rested  with  themselves  either  to  fan  the  kindling  flame  of 
national  feeling,  and  turn  it  vindictively  upon  the  rulers  (a 
course  which  evidently  these  rulers  apprehended  as  proba- 
ble*), or  to  avail  themselves  of  the  attention  they  then  com- 
manded, for  the  purpose  of  enforcing  the  spiritual  objects  of 
their  ministry.  If  the  readiness  of  the  Jewish  rabble,  at  this 
period,  to  obey  every  violent  impulse  be  considered,  and  it 
be  recollected  too,  that  the  apostles  were  themselves  men  of 
the  lower  class,  and  destitute  of  motives  of  policy,  and  more- 
over, very  lately,  like  their  countrymen,  filled  with  expecta- 
tions of  secular  aggrandizement; — if  we  bear  in  mind  that 
Peter,  James,  and  John,  the  rustics  of  Galilee,  were,  only  a 
few  weeks  before  the  day  of  Pentecost,  dreaming  of  temporal 
dignities — palaces  and  regal  splendour,  we  are  then  qualified 
to  estimate  fairly  the  language  held  by  them  when  surrounded 
by  the  thousands  of  the  people  that  thronged  the  precincts  of 
the  temple.  Not  only  do  we  find  no  tampering  with  the 
national  passions  of  the  multitude,  but  the  tide  of  feeling  was 
sent  in  upon  every  man's  personal  sense  of  guilt;  the  most 
oftectual  of  all  means  this,  of  assuaging  tumultuous  excite- 
ments. Nor  were  even  the  just  feelings  of  indignation 
worked  upon  by  the  use  of  acrimonious  terms.  On  the  con- 
trary, the  most  indulgent  construction  which  the  facts  admit- 
ted was  put  upon  the  sanguinary  act  of  those  who  had 
crucified  "the  Holy  One — the  Lord  of  Glory."  "And  now 
brethren,"  says  Peter,  "  I  wot  that  through  ignorance  ye  did, 
as  did  also  your  rulers.  Repent,  therefore,  and  be  converted, 
that  your  sins  may  be  blotted  out. — For  God,  having  raised 
up  his  son  Jesus,  hath  sent  him  to  beess  vou,  in  turning 
away  every  one  of  you  from  his  iniquities." 

Assuredly  this  is  not  the  language  either  of  demagogues, 
or  of  fanatics  !  Whoever  would  aflirm  it  to  be  so,  must  en- 
tertain strange  notions  of  human  nature,  and  be  ignorant  too 
of  history.  The  demagogue  never  extenuates  the  conduct  of 
the  authorities  he  is  aiming  to  overthrow ;  the  fanatic  does 
not  bless,  but  curse.  The  same  simplicity  of  intention, 
reaching  just  to  the  point  of  firmness  and  fidelity,  but  not  go- 
ing beyond  it,  is  cons])icuous  in  Peter's  behaviour  before  the 
rulers  : — he  adhered  to  his  instructions — the  instructions  of 
heaven  ;  yet  neither  defied  his  judges,  nor  railed  upon  them  ; 
but,  appealing  to  their  common  sense,  left  himself  in  their 
hands.  "  Whether  it  be  right  in  the  sight  of  God  to  hearken 
unto  you,  more  than  unto  God,  judge  ye." 

The  pattern  of  behaviour  thus  set  by  the  apostles  on  the 
first  occurrence  of  persecution,  was  adhered  to  in  all  those 
instances  which  come  within  the  range  of  the  canonical  his- 
tory. The  story  is  ever  the  same  ;  on  the  one  part,  a  furious 
intolerance  and  cruelty ;  on  the  other,  firmness,  simplicity, 
and  patient  endurance  of  wrong.  Thus  it  was  that  the  pro- 
tomartyr  showed  of  whom  he  had  learned  the  lesson  of  meek- 
ness, when  dying  under  the  hands  of  a  ruffian  mob,  he  ex- 
claimed, "  Lord,  lay  not  this  sin  to  their  charge  !" 

In  Luke's  memoirs  we  soon  lose  sight  of  Peter  and  his 
companions,  and  must  look  to  their  epistles  for  evidence  on 
the  question  whether,  through  a  course  of  years,  their  spirits 
remained  unhurt  by  pesecutions  and  contempt.     Was  the  pa- 

*  "Behold,  ye  have  filled  .Terusalem  "with  your  doctrine,  and  in- 
tend to  bring  this  man's  blood  ujjon  us."     Acts  v.  2H. 


JUt^ 


FANATICISM. 


431 


tience  of  these  preachers  at  length  worn  out;  or  did  they  be- 
come as  they  grew  old  captious  and  imperious,  within  the 
church;  and  turbulent  and  morose  without  it  1  It  is  natural 
to  turn  first  to  the  epistles  of  Peter,  bo'h  on  account  of  liis 
official  pre-eminence  in  the  apostolic  college,  and  because  the 
impetuosity  of  temper  which  the  evangelic  narrative  attri- 
butes to  him,  would  make  it  probable  that,  if  any  of  the  twelve 
overstepped  the  line  of  meekness  and  moderation,  he  would 
be  the  one. 

Whatever  difference  of  spirit  may  present  itself  in  compar- 
ing the  angelic  history  of  Peter's  early  conduct  with  the  wri- 
tings that  convey  ihe  sentiments  of  his  matured  mind,  this 
alteration  ought  to  be  attributed  to  the  gradual  inlluence  of  the 
system  of  opinions  he  had  embraced  ;  and  if  we  are  asking. 
What  was  the  tendenc)'  of  that  system  ?  nothing  can  be  more 
fair  than  to  mark  its  operation  upon  a  mind  so  peculiarly  sus- 
ceptible of  strong  excitements.  Thus  for  example,  if,  iiot- 
withstanding  the  existence  of  certain  formal  precepts  of  a 
contrary  aspect,  the  real  operation  of  Christianity  had  been  of 
a  kind  to  cherish  contumacious,  ambitious,  or  virulent  dis- 
positions, nothin<r  could  have  prevented  the  display  of  that 
result,  after  it  had  been  ripened  by  the  various  occasions  and 
trials  of  thirty  years.  Chief  of  Ihe  new  sect,  and  distin- 
guished among  his  colleagues  by  the  delegation  to  his  hands 
of  certain  awful  powers,  Peter,  vehement  and  heady,  would 
have  become  arro'nint,  jealous  in  the  defence  of  his  suprem- 
acy, and  (like  prelates  of  after  ages)  a  strenuous  asserter  of 
apostolic  authority.  This  we  say,  must  infallibly  have  hap- 
pened, human  nature  being  the  same  iu  that  age  as  in  every 
other,  if  the  natural  operation  of  common  motives  had  not 
been  effectively  counteracted  by  the  system  to  which  this  ar- 
dent spirit  was  devoted.  It  is  in  fact,  a  circimistance  highl)' 
remarkable,  that  neither  of  the  epistles  of  Peter  contains  the 
slightest  allusion  to  the  special  distinction  conferred  upon 
him  by  his  Master;  nor  indeed  any  general  assertion  of  the 
sovereign  dignity  of  the  apostolic  office.  Humility  itself 
breathes  its  sweetness  iu  that  one  passage  which  refers  to 
pastoral  power.*  Or  if  we  do  not  feel  at  once  the  full  force 
of  this  proof  of  the  meekness  and  simplicity  that  the  Gospel 
engendered,  let  us  place  these  epistles  bj'  the  side  of  some 
specimens  of  episcopal  letters,  belonging  to  the  second  and 
third  centuries. 

We  well  know  what  are  those  points  of  collision  that  bring 
fire  from  the  soul  of  the  fanatic : — the  power  and  cruelty  of 
the  oppressor  he  can  speak  of  only  in  terms  of  sympathetic 
rancour.  But  it  was  not  thus  that  Peter  refers  to  tlie  author- 
ities under  which  Christians  had  already  suffered  the  most 
exasperating  injuries;  nor  was  it  in  any  such  mode  that  he 
laid  down  the  rule  of  patience  in  tribulation,  wrongfully  in- 
flicted. It  is  quite  certain — or  as  certain  as  any  moral  evi- 
dence founded  ou  the  constant  laws  of  the  moral  world  can 
make  it — That  the  aged  writer  of  the  two  epistles  in  question 
had  not  received  an  aggravation  of  the  native  faults  of  his  char- 
acter from  Christianity;  but  on  the  contrary,  that  these  ten- 
dencies were  corrected,  nay  dispelled  by  its  operation.  Evi- 
dence of  this  sort  can  never  approach  nearer  to  conclusiveness 
than  it  does  in  the  instance  before  us ;  and  we  hesitate  not 
to  draw  from  it  an  absolute  historic  inference — That  the  Gos- 
pel, .inch  as  it  was  in  the  age  of  Feler,  had  no  malign  or  fanatical 
quality. 

A  very  peculiar  style,  and  a  peculiar  spirit  too,  distinguish 
the  Epistle  of  James.  Besides  the  vigour,  spirit,  and  sim- 
ple m^ijesty  of  the  language,  which  carries  us  back  to  the  age 
of  the  prophets,  there  is,  throughout  it,  a  bold  and  strait-for- 
ward good  sense  that  scatters  at  a  stroke  the  pretexts  of  hy- 
pocrisy, and  the  illusions  of  religious  conceit.  This  venera- 
ble writer  enters  the  Church,  scourge  in  hand,  to  drive 
thence  those  corruptions  which  most  readily  find  a  lodgment 
under  sacred  roofs.  Nevertheless  the  mode  of  reproof,  and 
its  terms,  bespeak  atfection,  as  much  as  fidelity.  James  is 
severe,  or  rather  penetrating  ;  but  not  acrid  or  virulent.  Es- 
pecially he  assails  the  characteristic  faults  of  the  Jewish 

*  "  Presbyters  I  exhort,  who  am  a  fellow-presbyter,  &c. . .  . 
Keep  the  fold  of  God — exercising  the  episcopal  office  not  from  com- 
pulsion; but  readily  and  piously,  x^Tct  ^r.v:  neither  from  sordid 
motives,  but  iu  the  spirit  of  fervour;  noryet  its  domineering  over  tlic 
heritage  (tI-v  B?.;j^av-")  Thus  speaks  the  "Prince  of  the  Apostles" 
— the  "  Vicar  of  Christ" — the  "  holder  of  the  kevs" — the  "  first 
Sovereign  Pontiff";" — yes,  the  leader  of  the  Popes! — and  the  prede- 
cessor of  the  Gregorys,  the  Inuocents,  the  Leos,  t!ie  Alexanders,  of 
Rome! 

A  stylo  far  raore  becoming  to  ghostlv  lords  than  that  of  the  Apostle 
was  very  soon  adoped  by  Church  dignitaries,  a  sample  of  which  will 
properly  be  adduced  on  a  future  occasion. 


mind — the  religious  arrogance,  presumption,  and  laxity  ;  the 
asperity  of  mutual  crimination,  and  that  disposition  (so  re- 
markable in  this  people,  and  the  parent  of  faction)  to  assume, 
individually,  a  vindictive  and  intolerant  jurisdiction  over 
other  men's  conduct  and  opinions.  If  among  the  Jewish 
converts,  as  is  probable  from  other  evidence,  the  bad  passions 
that  infest  spurious  piety  were  then  making  their  appearance 
in  the  infant  Church,  this  apostolic  writer  at  once  discerned 
the  incipient  mischief,  and  employed  all  his  encrgi"  for  its 
exposure  and  repression. 

The  pretexts  of  hollow  piety  are  the  main  subjects  of  the 
epistle  of  James ;  but  a  single  passage,  of  a  different  purport, 
catches  the  eye  in  which  the  enemies  of  the  Gospel  are 
brought  under  rebuke.  "  Go  to  now,  ye  rich  men,  weep  and 
howl  for  your  miseries  that  shall  come  uuto  you.  Ye  have 
condemned  and  killed  the  just,  and  he  doth  not  resist  you." 
If  this  commination  be  viewed  in  a  general  light  only,  as 
applicable  to  all  instances  of  oppressive  arrogance,  it  will 
come  under  the  rule  that  is  applicable  to  very  ruany  passages 
of  the  Scriptures,  in  which  God,  the  Friend  and  Avenger 
of  the  poor  and  needy,  utters,  by  the  mouth  of  the  prophet, 
the  fierceness  of  his  displeasure  ag-ainst  the  proud  and  the 
rapacious  : — the  style,  the  terms,  and  the  matter  of  blaine,  are 
altogether  in  harmony  with  what  we  find  so  frequently  in 
Jeremiah,  Ezekiel,  and  the  minor  prophets.  This  language 
then,  of  stern  condemnation,  is  not  to  be  attributed  to  l/ie 
writer  as  characteristic  of  his  personal  dispositions,  until 
we  have  disproved  his  claim  to  be  considered  as  the  messen- 
ger of  Heaven. 

But  there  is  room  to  believe  that  a  more  special  refer- 
ence is  contained  in  the  passage.  The  epistle  was  written, 
as  it  seems,  a  few  years  only  (not  more  than  eight)  before 
the  destruction  of  Jerusalem,  and  at  a  time  when,  forewarned 
as  they  had  been  by  the  Lord,  and  probably  in  a  manner  more 
explicit  than  appears  in  the  Gosples,  the  Apostles  could  en- 
tertain no  doubt  of  the  near  approach  of  the  awful  catastro- 
phe of  the  nation.  The  signs  of  the  coming  desolation  were 
then  trathering  upon  the  heavens.  James,  head  of  the  Church 
at  Jerusalem,  and  constantly  resident  there,  could  not  look 
upon  the  infatuated  Hulers  of  the  people  without  descrying, 
as  if  inscribed  upon  the  front  of  their  pride  and  sumptuous 
mao-nificence,  the  divine  sentence  of  reprobation,  which  so 
soon  was  to  take  effect.  He  beheld  these  men  adding  to  all 
their  other  crimes  the  deeper  guilt  of  rejecting  the  Jtessiah, 
and  of  persecuting  his  followers.  How  then  could  he  be 
silent  when  he  saw  Christians  themselves,  with  a  servile 
easiness,  flattering  the  very  persons  upon  whom  the  wrath  of 
Heaven  was  just  about  to  alight  1  Do  not,  he  asks,  these 
same  arrogant  chiefs  oppress  you,  and  draw  you  before  the 
judn-ment  seats  1  and  is  it  iu  deference  even  to  your  persecu- 
tors'^, that  ye  despise  the  poor,  and  thrust  him  down  iu  your 
assemblies  to  the  place  of  contempt?  What  is  this  but  im- 
plicitly to  take  part  with  the  enemies  of  Christ,  against  your- 
selves ?  The  disposition  to  pay  court  to  the  profligate  and 
cruel  masters  of  Israel  must  be  checked  ;  and  it  is  effectively 
checked  in  the  passage  which  announces  the  unparalleled 
miseries  that  soon  after  fell  upon  the  Jewish  people.  And 
yet  the  inference  urged  upon  Christians  is  one  of  forbearance, 
not  of  revenge.  "  Be  ye  also  patient,  stablish  your  hearts; 
for  the  coming  of  the  Lord  draweth  nigh."  And  it  was  an 
inference  too  of  peace  and  kindness  among  themselves. 
"Grudtre  not  one  against  another,  brethren,  lest  ye  be  con- 
demned.    Behold  the  Judge  standeth  before  the  door." 

The  severity  of  Jude,  like  that  of  James,  is  aimed,  not  at 
the  mass  of  mankind,  but  at  the  Christian  community  itself, 
and  employed  chiefly  to  expos?  and  condeiun  those  very  dis- 
orders whence  fanaticism  takes  its  rise.  There  had  "  crept 
in  unawares"  among  the  Christians,  men,  not  only  of  disso- 
lute life,  but  of  vain,  turbulent,  and  factious  dispositions, 
who  "despised  dominion— spoke  evil  of  dignities,  and  of 
things  they  understood  not" — who,  from  the  wildness  and 
unpr'ofitable  exorbitancy  of  their  minds,  were  not  uijfitly  de- 
scribed as  "  clouds  without  water,  carried  about  of  w-inds  ; 
ragincr  waves  of  the  sea,  foaming  out  their  own  shame  ;  wan- 
dering stars,  to  whom  is  reserved  the  blackness  of  darkness 
for  ever."  These  men  were  "  separatists"  also,  and  seem 
to  have  wanted  little  or  nothing  which  might  entitle  theiB  to 
rank  with  the  most  virulent  or  debauched  of  those  who  after- 
wards made  the  name  of  Jew  a  shame 'and  terror  through  the 
world.  It  is  manifest  that  the  Jewish  fanaticism,  which  was 
then  fast  reachingits  height,  spread  itself  by  contagion  within 
the  precincts  of  the  primitive  church :  this  was  only  natural 
All  we  have  to  do  with  it  is  the  treatment  which  the  incursi 
evil  received  from  the  Apostles.     On  this  point  the  f' 


/ 


432 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


epistle  of  Jude  affords  the  most  satisfaatory  evidence.  Is  it 
severe'!  yes,  but  the  occasion  was  urgent;  for  there  seemed 
not  a  little  danger  lest,  by  its  mere  proximity,  the  Christian 
body  should  he  drawn  into  the  vortex  of  the  national  frenzy, 
and  swallowed  in  the  whirlpool  of  its  guilt  and  ruin.  Yet  if 
Jude  be  severe,  where  severity  was  necessary,  he  forgot  not, 
as  passionate  reprovers  so  often  do,  discrimination  and  ten- 
derness. "  Of  some,"  says  he,  "  have  compassion,  niakhig 
a  difference  ■■  and  others  save  with  fear,  plucking  them  out  of 
the  fire."  The  fanatic  deals  rather  in  sweeping  condemna- 
tions. 

Altliough  it  may  seem  peculiarly  superfluous  to  prove  that 
the  writings  of  John  are  of  mild  and  benign  tendency,  yet 
there  is  a  ground  on  which  even  tliese  may  properly  come 
under  our  examination.  It  is  well  known  that  very  serious 
corruptions  have  often  sprung  from  modes  of  thinking  appa- 
rently the  most  pure  or  sublime;  just  as  mighty  rivers  descend 
upon  the  common  level  of  the  world  from  heights  that  over- 
look the  clouds,  and  where  there  are  no  storms  to  feed  them. 
Human  nature  will  not  well  bear  to  he  lifted  to  a  stage  much 
above  that  of  ordinary  motives,  or  to  be  cut  off  from  all  cor- 
respondence with  such  motives.  The  dangerous  experiment 
lias  been  tried  a  thousand  times,  and  has  always  failed  :  it  is 
tried  anew  in  every  age  by  lofty  enthusiastic  minds.  Now, 
at  a  hasty  glance,  it  might  seem  as  if  the  first  epistle  of  John 
(a  treatise  rather  than  an  epistle)  was  of  that  very  sort  which 
eno-enders  a  supramundane  or  abstracted  style  of  piety ;  and 
so,  although  itself  free  from  rancorous  ingredients,  might,  at 
second  or  third  hand,  lieeome  the  source  of  unsocial  feelings. 
Abstract  or  philosophic  love  is  but  another  name  for  vision- 
ary selfishness  ;  so  it  has  proved  in  the  instance  of  mystics 
of  all  sects. 

But  in  such  cases  it  will  be  found  that  the  system  of  sen- 
timent has  been  made  to  rest  upon  dogmas,  metaphysic  or 
abstruse,  and  hard  to  be  expressed  in  familiar  terms.  The 
"  pure  love  of  God,"  and  of  "  all  creatures  in  him,"  has  been 
a  stagnation  of  the  soul,  reflecting  from  its  dead  surface,  not 
the  smiling  and  various  landscape  around  ;  but  the  mere  va- 
cancy of  the  skies.  Has  then  the  divine  love  which  John 
describes  and  recommends,  any  such  character  of  subtility  or 
refinement;  or  does  it  rest  at  all  upon  a  theoretic  basis? 
Every  reader  of  the  catholic  epistle  must  confess  that  it  is  not 
so.  In  the  first  place  the  siiigularly  inartificial  structure  of 
this  composition  (so  unlike  the  elaborate  rhapsodies  of  the 
mystic)  contradicts  the  supposition,  and  so  does  the  homeli- 
ness of  the  style,  which  instead  of  recommending  itself  to 
the  fastidious  taste  of  sensitive  recluses,  seems  specially 
adapted  to  the  uninstructcd  class  of  readers.  But  the  main 
circumstance  of  distinction  is  this — That  the  very  drift  of  the 
whole  treatise — the  point  which,  at  all  events  is  to  be  secur- 
ed, and  which  rises  to  view  in  each  paragraph,  till  it  seems 
a  tautology,  is,  that  no  profession  of  love  to  God  can  for  a 
moment  be  admitted  as  genuine,  or  as  better  than  "a  lie,"  if 
it  does  not  constantly  and  consistently  prove  itself  to  include 
the  love  of  benevolence  towards  all  around  us.  "  He  that 
loveth  not  his  brother  whom  he  hath  seen,  how  can  he  love 
God  whom  he  hath  not  seen?"  Now  this  plain  appeal  to 
common  sense  is  a  concise  refutation  of  the  principle  of  mystic 
religion,  which  we  find  to  be,  that  what  is  occult,  is  always 
more  worthy  than  what  is  sensible  or  visible.  But  St.  John 
makes  what  is  occult  subordinate  to  what  is  visible.  Or  it 
might  be  said  that  he  utterly  sets  at  naught  and  spurns  all 
modes  of  religious  sentiment  that  are  too  sublime  to  be  mea- 
sured by  the  very  simplest  maxims  of  common  virtue.  "  My 
little  children,  let  us  not  love  in  word,  neither  in  tongue  ;  but 
in  deed  and  in  truth."  Or  if  an  exhortation  so  clear  needed 
a  comment,  we  find  it  at  hand : — "  Whoso  hnth  this  world's 
good,  and  seeth  his  brother  have  need,  and  shutteth  up  his 
bowels  of  compassion  from  him,  how  dwelleth  the  love  of 
God  in  himl" 

The  epistle  of  John  ought  then  to  be  regarded  not  as  a 
germ  of  mysticism  :  but  on  the  contrary,  as  a  plain  and  point- 
ed caution  against  every  form  of  hyperbolic  piety.  The  ul- 
timate reason  of  this  caution  is  not  indeed  the  one  which  se- 
cular men  will  approve  ;  for  it  does  not  assume  all  elevated 
and  intense  emotions  fixed  on  unseen  objects  to  be  absurd  or 
pernicious.  Far  otherwise  ;  for  the  apostle  carries  the  no- 
tion of  true  piety  to  the  very  highest  point,  even  to  that  height 
of  "perfect  love,"  which  "  casteth  out  fear."  But  while  he 
does  so,  he  employs  all  his  force  to  strengthening  the  con- 
nexion (which  the  Mystic  labours  to  weaken)  between  the 
offices  of  piiy  and  charily,  and  those  exalted  motives  that 
should  animate  virtue.  In  a  word,  the  religion  of  John  is  not 
abstruse,  but  intelligible;  not  theoretic,  but  practical;  not 


monastic,  but  domestic  :  it  is  the  very  religion  which  the 
Soffee,  and  the  Platouist,  and  the  Pietist,  and  the  Monk,  spurn 
as  vulgar,  or  natural,  in  comparison  with  his  own,  which  he 
declares  to  be  "celestial." 

To  the  "  beloved  disciple"  was  assigned  the  task  of  closing 
the  sacred  canon,  and  of  setting  the  apostolic  seal  upon  the 
religion  of  Christ  after  the  lapse  of  a  period  which  saw  it 
exposed  to  perils  of  every  kind.  The  most  serious  and  fatal 
corruptions  had  in  fact,  before  the  death  of  John,  connected 
themselves  with  the  new  profession,  and  had  drawn  towards 
it — ^just  as  smaller  bodies,  and  the  scum  and  the  wrecks  of 
things,  rush  into  the  wake  of  a  stately  vessel  that  rapidly 
ploughs  the  waves.  Before  the  close  of  the  first  century 
there  was  much  room  to  fear  that  certain  impious  and  licen- 
tious doctrines,  bred  in  the  Bast,  should  so  far  borrow  (or 
rather  steal)  recommendations  from  the  Gospel,  as  to  bring 
the  Gospel  itself  into  disrepute,  as  well  as  to  pervert  many  of 
its  follovvers.  The  most  decisive  measures  on  the  part  of 
those  who  watched  for  the  welfare  of  the  community,  were 
absolutely  necessary  to  preserve  the  very  existence  of  the 
Church  amid  these  dangers.  The  Gnostic,  the  Cerinthian, 
and  others  of  the  like  order,  were  to  be  deprived  of  the  aid 
and  credit  they  drew  from  the  name  of  Christ.  "If  there 
come  any  unto  you,  and  bring  not  the  doctrine  (already  known 
and  authenticated),  receive  him  not  into  your  house,  neither 
bid  him  God  speed."  Sacred  truth  must,  when  put  in  peril, 
be  preferred  to  courtesy  or  hospitality:  and  he  who  will  be 
the  friend  of  all,  at  whatever  cost,  or  by  means  of  whatever 
compromise,  possesses  rather  the  semblance  of  charity  than 
its  substance.  VVe  ought,  on  this  rule,  to  keep  in  mind  the 
distinction  between  a  necessary  firmness,  or  even  severity,  in 
preserving  the  outworks  of  religion,  and  that  churlish  rigidity 
which  impels  a  man  to  become  a  sectarist.  The  first  is  known 
by  its  taking  its  stand  always  on  capital  or  primary  and  well 
understood  principles;  the  second  by  its  zeal  for  whatever  is 
secondary,  unimportant,  unintelligible  and  ambiguous. 

The  most  signal  and  significant  of  the  instances  that  belong 
to  the  review  now  in  hand  remains  to  be  considered. 

If  the  natural  disposition  of  Peter,  such  as  it  betrays  itself 
in  the  Gospels,  would  lead  us  to  look  narrowly  to  the  turn 
which  Christianity  gave  to  his  sentiments  and  conduct,  the 
temper  of  Paul,  much  more,  invites  scrutiny,  inasmuch  as  he 
makes  his  entry  upon  the  stage  of  church  history  in  the  very 
character  of  a  fanatic;  a  fanatic  too,  not  by  accident  or  exter- 
nal inducement,  or  secular  interest,  but  by  the  vehemence  of 
his  spirit,  and  the  original  bias  of  his  mind.  That  the  busi- 
ness of  persecution  was  undertaken  by  this  extraordinary 
youth  freely,  is  made  evident  by  what  we  afterwards  see  to 
have  been  his  character;  for  Paul,  it  is  certain,  was  no  sub- 
servient being — no  tool,  and  not  the  man  to  receive  direction 
from  others.  Zeal  so  furious,  in  so  young  a  bosom,  must  be 
held  to  mark  the  native  disposition  ;  and  perhaps  few  of  those 
who  have  figured  on  the  ensanguined  theatre  of  religious 
cruelty — from  Antioehus  to  our  own  Bonner  or  Laud,  would 
have  been  able  to  support  their  claims  to  a  bad  pre-eminence 
by  the  side  of  Saul  of  Tarsus,  if  the  dazzling  light  of  heaven 
had  not  met  him  on  his  way  to  Damascus,  and  turned  the 
course  of  his  life,  as  well  as  changed  his  heart.  The  defini- 
tion of  P^anatic  wants  little  which  it  does  not  find  in  this 
instance,  if  we  assume  as  our  guide  the  brief  narrative  of  his 
early  conduct,  as  commented  on  by  himself.  The  question 
presents  itself  then,  concerning  this  Fanatic-born — did  Chris- 
tianity amend,  or  did  it  aggravate  his  disposition^ 

There  are  on  record  a  few  instances  of  sudden  and  extraordi- 
nary conversions  which  have  passed  over  the  moral  faculties 
with  the  force  of  a  hurricane,  or  of  an  inundation,  sweeping 
away  almost  every  trace  of  what  heretofore  had  marked  the 
character : — the  man  has  not  remained  after  the  change  what 
he  was,  in  any  other  sense  hardly  than  that  of  bare  physical 
identity.  The  warrior  and  prince,  for  example,  laying  down 
his  pride,  his  plumes,  his  schemes  of  empire,  and  his  insa- 
tiate passions,  has  become  a  self-denying,  inane  monk! — the 
lips  which  a  while  ago  uttered  thunders  and  made  kingdoms 
tremble,  lisp  pater-nosters  through  the_  dull  watches  of  the 
night;  and  the  eyes  that  shot  fire  in  the  bloody  combat,  are 
moistened  with  feeble  tears,  or  )ieruse  the  floor  of  a  cell! 
Now  it  is  especially  to  be  noted  that  the  conversion  of  Saul 
was  not  of  this  sort;  it  was  no  dissolution  of  nature.  If  we 
had  met  him  (uninformed  of  what  had  happened),  some  years 
after  the  change  in  his  course  of  life,  and  having  known  him 
before  it  took  place,  we  should  perhaps  scarcely  have  divined 
the  fact  from  his  manner  or  appearance.  The  same  anima- 
tion— the  same  spirit  and  impetuosity — the  very  same  sparkle 
of  the  eye;  the  same  indefatigable  industry  and  impatience  of 


FANATICISM. 


rest.  We  should  have  seen  indeed  that  the  labours  and  cares 
of  active  life  had  marked  his  features;  but  assuredly  should 
not  have  said  that  the  bright  promise  of  eiiergry  and  intelli- 
gence had  been  blighted,  or  had  passed  otT,  into  a  dull  and 
flaccid  imbecility. 

The  narrative  contained  in  the  Acts  of  the  Apostles  abund- 
antly proves  that  Paul's  conversion,  though  it  turned  the 
current  of  his  native  energy,  did  not  in  any  degree  dry  it  up. 
Nor  cvrn  did  his  submission  to  the  maxims  of  the  Gospel 
(curbing  the  irascible  passions  as  they  do),  render  him  so 
tame  or  passive  in  matters  of  civil  right  and  privilege  as  perhaps 
might  have  been  imagined.  The  instances  are  of  a  remark- 
able kind,  and  they  serve  to  demonstrate  that,  while  receiving 
meekly  the  most  extreme  ill-treatment  which  his  profession 
of  Cbristianily  brought  upon  him,  and  from  which  Roman 
law  afforded  no  relief,  he  never  lost  sight  of  any  judicial  dis- 
tinction that  might  avail  to  skreen  him  from  lawless  rage,  or 
magisterial  tyranny. 

Neither  was  Paul's  spirit  as  a  man  broken,  nor  his  sensi- 
bilities blunted,  nor  the  vigour  and  fine  finish  of  his  under- 
standing impaired  by  bis  change  of  principles.  His  speeches 
on  public  occasions  afford  convincing  proof  to  the  contrary, 
in  each  of  these  particulars;  and  when  brouglit  into  compari- 
son, one  with  another,  present  a  very  rare  example  of  the 
faculty  which  enables  a  man  to  adapt  himself,  at  a  moment, 
to  the  prejudices  or  capacities  of  the  persons  he  addresses; 
or,  if  separately  viewed,  they  give  evidence  of  the  possession 
of  powers  not  often  assembled  in  the  same  individual.  There 
is  found  in  them  the  indications  of  fire  and  sensitiveness,  con- 
joined with  self-command,  courage  and  moderation.  There 
is  an  immoveable  attachment  to  principles,  together  with  the 
most  flexible  accommodation  of  the  mode  and  subject  of  dis- 
course to  the  personal  or  national  feelings  of  all  parties;  and 
a  rare  fecundity — we  might  say  exuberance  of  mind,  along 
with  the  strictest  adherence  to  the  ultimate  point  towards 
which,  from  the  first,  he  tends. 

The  actual  influence  of  Christianity,  such  as  it  was  in  its 
first  era,  is  then  subjected  to  an  expert mcntum  cruch  in  the 
case  of  the  Apostle  of  the  Gentiles.  Idle  would  it  be  to  say — 
such  and  such  dogmas  or  motives,  belonging  to  the  Gospel, 
or  implied  in  it,  and  affirmed  in  the  epistles  of  Paul,  could 
not  fail  to  have  a  malignant  or  uncharitable  influence.  In 
refutation  of  any  hypothetic  argument  of  ibis  sort,  we  boldly 
make  our  appeal  to  an  example  that  wants  nolliing  to  render 
it  conclusive.  Christianity  found  Saul  of  Tarsus  a  fanatic, 
both  by  temper  and  habit:  a  life  of  privations  and  injuries 
naturally  exacerbates  a  fiery  disposition,  and  beyond  doubt, 
"Paul  the  aged"  would  have  become  one  of  the  sternest  and 
most  implacable  of  fanatics  the  world  has  seen,  if  the  system 
he  embraced  had  actually  favoured  that  order  of  feeling;  or 
in  truth,  if  it  had  not  exerted  a  mighty  efficacy  altogether  of 
an  opposite  kind.  We  turn  then,  for  a  moment,  to  his  epistles. 
And  with  our  particular  object  in  view,  it  is  natural  to  distri- 
bute them  in  three  classes,  the  _/?rs<  consisting  of  those  which 
exhibit  the  doctrines  and  duties  of  religion  in  an  abstract 
form,  or  without  specific  reference  to  parlies  or  occasions. 
The  second  comprising  those  that  bear  upon  the  disorders  or 
controversies  existing  in  certain  communities ;  and  the  t/iird — 
including  the  private  and  clerical  epistles. 

I.  Of  the  FIRST  CLASS,  the  most  general,  or  impersonal,  is 
the  epistle  to  the  Hebrews;  and  the  fact  which  meets  us  at  a 
glance,  as  pertinent  to  our  in(|uiry,  though  of  a  negative  kind, 
ought  not  to  be  slighted.  The  elaborate  argument  of  this 
treatise  is  addressed  to  the  Jewish  converts  to  Christianity; 
now  when  a  man  has  broken  himself  off  from  a  communion 
of  which  once  he  was  the  zealous  supporter,  aiid  especially 
if  he  have  received  cruel  injuries  from  bis  former  friends,  it  is 
almost  a  constant  thing  to  find  him  casting  contempt  upon  th 
system  he  has  renounced,  and  taking  a  position  as  remote  as 
possible  from  the  one  whence  his  irritated  opponents  assai 
him.  And  why  should  not  the  rule  hold  good  in  the  instance 
before  us  ?  Spurned  and  persecuted  by  the  Jewish  authori 
ties,  and  made  the  minister  of  an  economy  which  avowedly 
was  to  supersede  the  ancient  dispensation,  what  would  have 
been  more  natural  than  that  he  should  exult  over  the  falling 
fabric  of  the  Mosaic  law,  and  indulge  in  the  bitterness  and 
irony  cominon  to  controversy,  and  especially  to  controversy 
in  the  hands  of  a  renegade.  But  in  contrariety  to  any  such 
supposition,  the  epistle  to  the  Hebrews  renders  a  homage  to 
the  Mosaic  institutions,  and  to  the  principles  and  practices  of 
the  Jewish  religion,  as  cordial  and  full,  as  could  have  been 
offered  by  Gamaliel  himself.  The  difference  between  Paul 
and  Gamaliel  related  only  to  the  intention,  or  to  the  interpre- 
tation of  the  Law,  and  its  rites.  The  Pentateuch  sustains  no 
Vol.  II.— 3  E 


disparagement  in  the  hands  of  the  apostle,  who,  though  he  was 
preaching  to  all  nations  an  economy  which  implies  the  abro- 
gation of  that  of  Mosps,  would  not  erect  the  new  upon  the 
ruins  of  the  old  ;  but  rather  builds  the  new  upon  the  old,  as 
its  immovable  foundation.  If  at  all  he  inculpates  the  ancient 
institute,  he  does  so  only  in  compliance  with  a  divine  decla- 
ration, to  that  effect,  uttered  long  before  : — "  If  that  first  cov- 
enant had  been  faultless,  then  should  no  place  have  been 
sought  for  the  second.  For  finding  fault  with  them,  he  sailh, 
Behold  the  days  come,  saith  the  Lord,  when  I  will  make  a 
new  covenant  with  the  house  of  Israel,  and  with  the  house  of 
Judah." 

And  if  the  author  of  this  treatise  does  not  vilify  the  party 
he  had  left,  neither  does  he  flatter  the  party  he  had  joined  : 
not  any  of  the  spite  on  the  one  side,  nor  of  the  partiality  on 
the  other  of  the  sectarist,  is  found  in  him.  "  I  have  many 
things  to  say,  and  hard  to  be  uttered,  seeing  ye  are  dull  of 
hearing,  and  instead  of  making  the  progress  which  might  have 
been  expected,  have  need  to  be  taught  afresh  the  very  ele- 
ments of  j'our  profession."  And  yet  this  reproof  does  not 
spring  from  a  petulance  which  will  be  always  finding  fault, 
even  with  friends  and  favourites;  for  the  kindest  expressions 
almost  immediately  follow.  "  Beloved,  we  are  persuaded 
better  things  of  you  : — God  is  not  unrighteous,  to  forget  your 
work  and  labour  of  love." 

Not  to  insist  upon  several  express  admonitions  to  a  peace- 
able and  charitable  behaviour,  and  to  patience  under  persecu- 
tion, we  may  safely  affirm  that  a  calm,  erudite,  and  refined 
argument,  such  as  that  of  this  treatise,  must  be  adjudged  the 
product  of  a  mind  habitually  serene,  as  well  as  devout,  and 
of  a  mind  which,  even  by  the  complication  of  its  inferences, 
is  proved  to  possess  that  equipoise  of  the  understanding, 
which,  whether  orisxinal  or  acquired,  never  consists  with  the 
prevalence  of  turbulent  and  rancorous  passions. 

The  epistle  to  the  IJomans,  if  in  some  respects  more  per- 
sonal than  that  to  the  Hebrews,  is  yet,  in  the  main,  a  theolo- 
gical and  ethical  treatise,  rather  than  a  letter,  and  is  in  the 
same  way  available  as  proof  of  the  calm  command  which  the 
writer  retained  of  the  reasoning  faculty — a  command  very 
likely  to  be  lost  in  a  long  course  of  ])erils,  privations,  changes 
of  scene,  injurious  treatment,  and  jiublic  labour;  even  if  the 
native  temperament  be  tranquil,  much  more  if  it  be  suscepti- 
ble of  strong  (•xcitements.  Is  it  to  be  believed  that,  if  the 
youthful  violence  and  bigotry  of  the  writer  had  been  kept  alive 
by  Christianitj',  the  combined  influence  of  original  temper,  a 
stimulating  system  of  opinions,  and  a  life  like  that  of  the  per- 
secuted Paul,  would  have  left  hiin,  at  sixty,  a  reasouer  such 
as  he  appears  in  the  epistle  to  the  Pomans? 

Some  kind  of  exaggeration  or  distortion  of  the  principles  of 
virtue,  characterises  always  fanaticism,  and  belongs  to  it  un- 
der every  modification.  If  at  any  time  there  arise  a  contro- 
versy between  common  sense  and  good  morals  on  the  one 
side,  and  some  exorbitant  and  turgid  pretension  to  heroic 
virtue  on  the  other,  no  such  event  will  ever  happen  as  that 
the  Fanatic  should  range  himself  on  the  side  of  the  former, 
against  the  latter: — quite  otherwise,  and  as  if  by  irresistible 
attraction,  does  he  pass  over  toward  whatever  is  dispropor- 
tioued,  tumid,  enormous,  violent;  and  as  certainly  he  assails 
whatever  is  just  and  modest.  With  a  like  certainty  do  dense 
mcphitic  vapours  subside  into  cav(>rus  and  sepulchres;  while 
inflammable  gases  mount  to  the  upper  sky.  Now  a  contro- 
versy, precisely  of  this  sort,  was  abroad  in  the  age  of  the 
apostles.  The  strait  and  rigid  portion  of  the  Jewish  people 
had  carried  to  the  utmost  extreme  the  national  propensity  to 
sanctimonious  pride,  in  contcinpt  of  every  plain  ])rinciple  of 
Mioralit}-.  The  Jew  ish  idea  of  virtue  and  piety,  at  that  time, 
might  fitly  be  compared  to  the  image  one  obtains  of  a  distant 
temple  or  palace,  when  seen  through  a  knotted  and  missha- 
pen lens  : — high  and  low  are  reversed  ;  the  pinnacles  seem  to 
prop  the  columns; — the  foundations  are  heaved  aloft; — 
chasms  gape  in  the  midst; — every  line  is  broken,  and  the 
wings  are  disjoined  from  the  body.  In  what  manner  then 
did  Paul  assail  these  illusions  ?  Not  as  a  fanatic  of  some  ad- 
verse school  might  have  done,  by  opposing  one  extravagance 
to  another.  But  (as  we  actually  find  in  the  first  three  chap- 
ters of  the  epistle  to  the  Romans)  by  leading  the  minds  of 
men  back,  in  the  most  vigorous  style  of  reprobatory  eloquence, 
to  the  great  principles  of  justice,  continence,  temperance,  and 
piety.  After  solemnly  asserting  the  righteous  government  of 
God,  with  what  force  does  he  bring  home  the  unquestioned 
maxims  of  law  upon  the  seared  pride  of  the  licentious  and 
self-complacent  Jew  !  "Behold,  thou  art  called  a  Jew,  and 
restest  in  the  law,  and  makest  thy  boast  of  God ! — through 
breaking  of  the  law  dishonourcst  thou  God  ^     Thou  teacher 


434 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


of  the  law,  dost  thou  steal,  commit  adultery,  and  sacrilege  1" 
This,  we  say,  is  sound  reason,  opposed  to  corruption,  eva- 
sions and  perversity  ;  and  it  carries  ample  proof  of  the  integ- 
rity of  the  writer's  understanding-. 

But  there  is  a  test  of  character  which  yet  remains  to  be 
sought  for.  Does  tlien  Paul  use  truth  and  reason  as  mere  in- 
struments of  violence  in  assailing  an  adversary  ?  (for  this  is 
sometimes  seen)  does  he  drive  with  indiscriminate  fury  over 
the  ground,  sweeping  all  things  before  him,  good  and  bad  1 
In  stripping  his  mistaken  countrymen  of  their  cloak  of  lies, 
does  he  rend  away  their  garment  also — their  genuine  advan- 
tage !  It  is  not  so.  After  bringing  his  arraignment  of  na- 
tional casuistry  to  a  just  conclusion — a  conclusion  utterly 
foreign  to  the  modes  of  thinking  then  in  vogue — namely.  That 
the  true  circumcision  "  is  that  of  the  heart,  in  the  spirit,  and 
not  in  the  letter,  whose  praise  is  not  of  men  but  of  God  ;"  he 
takes  up  instantly  the  opposite  position,  which  might  seem 
to  have  been  endangered,  and  becomes  himself  the  advocate  of 
Jewish  distinctions,  so  far  as  they  were  valid.  "What  ad- 
vantage then  hath  the  Jew  1  or  what  profit  is  there  of  circum- 
cision 1 — MUCH  liVERV  WAY."  This  is  precisely  the  course  of 
moderation  ; — this  is  that  gathering  up  of  an  argument  on  all 
sides,  which  a  wise  and  temperate  man,  who  is  labouring 
only  for  truth,  will  take  care  not  toleave  another  to  do  for  him. 
If  this  is  to  be  deemed  the  style  of  the  inflated  and  acrimoni- 
ous Fanatic,  or  of  the  partisan  and  bigot,  we  must  give  up 
every  attempt  to  establish  distinctions,  and  must  grant  that 
all  moral  characteristics  are  nugatory.  Let  us  only  imatjine 
ourselves  to  have  heard  the  young  .Saul  disputing  against 
Christianity  with  his  comrades,  on  his  road  to  DaiTiascus  ;  can 
we  suppose  that  his  argument  would  have  been  balanced  in 
any  such  equitable  manner]  It  is  conspicuous  and  unques- 
tionable that  the  Gospel,  such  as  P<iul  fuund  it,  instead  of 
fomenting  in  any  way  the  natural  intolerance  of  his  temper, 
had  actually  restored  the  equilibrium  of  his  mind,  and  had 
tauifht  the  zealot  to  be  just ! 

To  prove  that  all  men  stand  on  the  very  same  level  of 
guilt  in  the  righteous  estimation  of  the  Impartial  Judge,  is  an 
argument  the  fanatic  lets  alone,  if  he  does  not  impugn  it.  We 
shall  never  see  him  equalizing  pretensions  of  all  sorts,  in 
language  such  as  follows.  "  What  then,  are  we  better  than 
they!  No,  in  no  wise;  for  we  have  before  proved,  both 
Jews  and  Gentiles,  that  they  are  all  under  sin.  All  are  gone 
out  of  the  way — have  become  unprofitable  ; — there  is  none 
that  doeth  good — no,  not  one!"  This  doctrine  the  fanatic 
places  on  some  other  ground  than  that  of  the  universal  prin- 
ciples of  morality,  and  he  alwa3-s  appends  to  it  some  saving 
clause  or  evasion,  such  as  shall  turn  aside  from  himself  its 
humbling  inference. 

But  if,  in  Paul's  account,  condemnation  be  universal,  grace 
is  so  (00,  at  least  in  its  aspect  toward  mankind,  and  in  its 
proposals.  As  there  is  no  difference  in  guilt,  so  is  there  none, 
either  in  the  conditions  of  pardon,  or  in  the  eligibility  of  men 
to  the  Divine  Favour.  "  Is  God  the  God  of  the  Jews  only  ? 
Is  he  not  of  the  Gentiles  also?  Yes,  of  the  Gentiles  also." 
And  it  is  now  true,  as  the  same  \\riter  expresses  it  in  another 
place,  that,  under  the  banner  of  Christ,  there  are  no  exclu- 
bions  and  no  peculiarities.  "  Greek  and  Jew,  barbarian,  .Scy- 
thian, bond  and  free,  are  all  one  in  Christ  Jesus  :"  or  to  use 
the  equivalent  language  of  another  Apostle — That  God  puts 
no  dilference  between  man  aijd  man  ; — is  no  respecter  of  per- 
sons ;  but  that  "  in  every  nation  he  that  feareth  God,  and 
worketh  righteousness,  is  accepted  of  him."  Bright  expan- 
sion of  heavenly  glory  1  Welcome  news  from  on  high  !  with 
emphasis  may  we  say,  in  hearing  this  canon  of  grace — "The 
true  light  now  shineth  I"  But  what  we  have  specifically  to 
do  with  is  this  only — That  the  men  who  spent  all  their  strength 
as  preachers  and  writers  in  promulgating  such  a  doctrine,  and 
in  an  age  too  such  as  the  one  they  actually  lived  in,  were  as- 
suredly no  fanatics.  And  let  it  be  told  that  these  preachers 
of  universal  good-will  were  not  Grecian  sages,  but  Jews ; — 
Jews  born  and  bred  in  the  very  ferment  of  bigotry.  Moreover 
the  most  conspicuous  of  this  band  of  innovators  burst  upon 
the  world  in  the  very  character  of  a  sanguinary  zealot — "  a 
Hebrew  of  the  Hebrews" — a  sanctimonious  Pharisee — and  by 
early  propensity  "a  persecutor  and  injurious."  We  loudly 
defy  contradiction  in  affirming  then.  That  Christianity,  such 
as  the  Apostles  held  it,  was  not  fanatical. 

As  matter  of  argument  it  must  be  deemed  quite  superfluous, 
and  yet  as  matter  of  impression,  it  might  he  proper,  to  adduce 
the  preceptive  and  concluding  portions  of  tliis  same  epistle 
to  the  Romans  in  proof  of  the  symmetry  and  completeness  of 
that  moral  code  which  the  writer  promulgates  or  enforces. 
And  after  doing  so,  we  should  be  entitled  to  the  inference,  on 


another  ground,  that  he  was  no  fanatic ;  for  the  fanatic  never 
fails  to  exaggerate  or  deform  morality,  on  the  one  side,  or  on 
the  other.  We  must  not  however  omit  to  mention  (for  it  is 
of  peculiar  importance)  the  decisive  assertion  of  the  duty  of 
submitting  to  civil  powers  that  occurs  in  the  13th  chapter  of 
tliis  epistle.  Taking  with  us  our  modern  anxious  notions  of 
civil  liberty,  we  might  perhaps  covet  to  find  in  this  noted 
passage,  some  exceiition  made  in  favour  of  popular  rights. 
Be  this  desire  reasonable  or  not,  it  is  certain  that  so  full  and 
clear  a  statement  of  the  relative  duty  of  magistrate  and  sub- 
ject, ('?2  favour  nf  the  fiirmer,  is  in  a  high  degree  remarkable, 
as  coming  from  a  man  who,  through  a  long  course  of  years, 
had  endured  all  sorts  of  wrongs  froin  the  "powers  that  then 
were" — both  Jewish  and  Roman.  No  exasperation,  it  is  evi- 
dent, had  grown  as  a  habit  upon  the  writer's  mind.  He  did 
not  (fanatic-like)  seek  to  revenge  himself  upon  the  dignities 
and  thrones,  by  sapping,  in  the  opinions  of  the  infant  sect,  the 
foundations  of  political  obedience.  In  later  ages  it  is  hard  to 
find,  among  the  persecuted,  parallel  instances  of  forbearance. 

If  Christians  of  every  age  had  but  paid  deference  to  it,  the 
14th  chapter  of  this  epistle  contains,  within  the  compass  of  a 
few  verses,  a  comprehensive  refutation  of  every  pretext  of 
religious  faction,  whether  urged  by  the  refractory,  or  by  the 
despotic  party.  The  simplest  principles  are  always  those 
which  mankind  are  the  slowest  to  learn.  It  has  been  so  in 
philosophy;  it  has  been  so  in  the  business  of  civil  govern- 
ment; and  it  is  so  in  matters  of  religion.  A  doctrine  which, 
when  expressed  at  large,  seems  toe?  trite  or  obvious  to  be 
formally  announced,  and  which  asks  no  proof,  is  the  very 
point  that  the  perversity  of  the  human  mind  evades  or  shuns. 
To  whatever  causes  the  pertinacity  of  sectarism  may  be 
attributed  (a  question  foreign  to  our  subject)  it  remains  cer- 
tain that  Christianity,  as  taught  hy  the  .ipostlcs,  is  wholly 
guiltless  of  the  mischief.  The  chapter  just  named,  and  an- 
other of  like  import,*  abundantly  refute  the  calumny  that  the 
Religion  of  Christ  is  generative  of  discords.  The  wit  of  man 
could  devise  no  cautionary  provision  against  such  evils  more 
complete,  more  conclusive,  or  more  perspicuous,  than  the  one 
we  here  find.  Precept,  argument,  instruction,  have  done 
their  utmost.  With  what  freshness  and  vigour  do  good 
sense  and  charity  breathe  combined  in  every  phrase  and 
verse  of  this  chapter !  If  we  have  been  wading  through  the 
noisome  quags  of  church  squabbles  (ancient  or  modern)  the 
effect  upon  the  mind  of  turning  to  this  passage — bright  and 
clear,  is  like  that  of  escaping  from  a  pestilential  swamp, 
where  we  were  tormented  by  the  musquito,  to  a  hill-top  on 
which  the  gales  are  pure,  the  sky  clear,  and  the  prospect 
unbounded  !  To  quote  any  single  verse  of  the  chapter,  apart 
from  its  context,  were  a  damage ;  for  the  whole  is  closely 
woven  together  in  conformity  with  the  genuine  rules  of 
natural  and  manly  eloquence.  It  only  remains  to  remind  the 
reader  (after  he  has  turned  to  the  passage)  of  the  conclusion 
— That  the  writer  of  the  epistle,  whatever  might  have  been 
his  temper  in  earl)'  life,  was  no  fanatic  at  the  time  when  he 
addressed  the  Christians  of  Rome. 

Evidence  to  the  same  effect,  both  of  a  negative  and  positive 
kind,  might  be  drawn  from  the  epistles  to  the  churches  at 
Ephesus  and  at  Colosse.  Besides  the  purity  and  simplicity 
of  tlie  ethical  portions  of  these  letters,  which  bespeak  a 
sound  and  tranquil  mind,  the  only  special  points  to  be  ad- 
verted to,  are  the  explicit  assertion  in  both  epistles,  of  the 
equalization  of  religious  privileges,  and  the  nullity  of  those 
exclusive  pretensions  on  which  the  Jew  founded  his  con- 
tempt of  the  bulk  of  mankind. — "Christ,"  says  the  Apostle, 
"is  our  peace,  who  hath  made  Jew  and  Gentile  one,  having 
broken  down  the  middle  wall  of  partition." — Again:  "Ye 
therefore  are  no  more  strangers  and  foreigners ;  but  fellow- 
citizens  with  the  saints,  and  of  the  household  of  God."  We 
find  also  in  the  epistle  to  the  Colossians  a  very  remarkable 
(shall  we  say  a  prophetic)  caution  against  that  spirit  of  min- 
gled superstition  and  fanaticism — of  presumption  and  servil- 
ity, which  so  soon  made  its  appearance  in  the  Church,  and 
rapidly  spread,  and  actually  held  its  sway,  undisputed,  more 
than  a  thousand  years.  The  voluntary  {or  artificial)  humili- 
ations— the  worshipping  of  angels — the  sanctimonious  absti- 
nences— the  human  traditions — the  specious  piety,  and  the 
idle  tormenting  of  the  body;  in  a  word,  all  the  elements  of 
the  great  apostacy  are  here  designated  in  the  most  distinct 
manner;  or  as  if  the  many-coloured  corruptions  of  the  tenth 
century  had  vividly  passed  before  the  eye  of  the  writer. 
How  sound  and  healthy  is  that  piety  and  that  morality  which 
he  recommends  in  opposition  to  all  such  absurdities ! 


*  1  Cor.  xiii. 


FANATICISM. 


435 


II.  We  turn  next  to  ihosp  of  the  epistles  of  Paul  which, Ithatthe  Bibleany  whereconiaiiis,  it  may  be  pnou^h  tocompare 
in  a  more  direet  manner,  are  personal  communications  from  the  insulated  passage  with  the  general  tenor  ot  the  writer's 


the  writer  to  the  parties  addressed,  and  which,  as  they  relate 
to  local  controversies,  disagreements,  or  partialities,  rife  at 
the  moment,  may  he  expected  to  exhibit  more  of  the  writer's 
sensitiveness  than  a  bare  theological  treatise,  or  a  hortatory 
letter  is  likely  to  display.  The  genuine  character  and  dispo- 
sitions of  an  author  naturally  become  most  conspicuous  on 
those  occasions  when  he  is  wrought  upon  by  personal  feel- 
ings. Six  of  the  Pauline  epistles  come  under  this  descrip- 
tion ;  and  we  first  advert  to  those  that  are  altogether  of  an 
amicable  kind,  and  embody  the  writer's  lively  ali'ection  to 
two  favoured  societies. 

The  epistle  "to  the  faithful  at  Philippi"  is  a  warm  ex- 
pression of  feeling,  such  as  is  proper  to  an  endeared  personal 
friendship,   resting  on  the  basis  of  a  thorough  confidence 


letters  for  the  purpose  of  proving  that  '•  the  perdition  of  un- 
godly men"  was  as  far  as  possible  from  being  the  topic  to- 
ward which  his  thoughts  continually  tended,  and  upon  which 
(as  the  fanatic)  he  was  always  copious,  eloquent,  and  at  ease. 
But  we  are  bound  to  go  further ;  and  while  we  pause  (in  the 
next  chapter)  at  the  prophetic  description  of  the  great  apos- 
tasy that  seven  centuries  afterwards  should  reach  its  height, 
who  does  not  stand  back,  as  if  in  the  Divine  Presence,  and 
confess  that  it  is  not  Paul  b\it  the  Omniscient  God  who 
speaks  1  Every  phrase  of  terror — is  it  not  diep  as  the  thun- 
der of  Heaven  ?  When  the  Supreme  thus  distinctly  utters 
his  voice  from  on  high,  let  him  that  dares  come  forward  to 
arraign  the  style  1 

But  we  are  soon  brought  back  to  the  level  of  human  senti- 


The  tenderness  and  the  graciousness  that  pervade  it  are  much  '  ments,  and   again  see  the  writer's  genuine  character  in  the 
to  our  present  purpose;  and  so  is  that  spirit  of  lofty  and  ftr-|  casual  expression  of  his  mind,  as  occasions  arise.     "  If  any 


vent  piety  which  it  breathes  ;  for  these  are  conclusive  proof 
of  what  the  iiiiluence  of  Christianity  was  in  its  pristine  era. 
But  we  shall  pause  only  at  certain  specilic  indications  of  the 
temper  of  the  writer.  The  first  of  these  is  of  an  extraordi- 
nary sort,  and  may  appear  to  contradict  the  supposition, 
drawn  from  other  sources,  that  the  apostles  maintained  the 
honours  of  their  high  function  by  a  stern  and  ellicacious  re- 
buke of  factious  proceedings.     But  the  truth  seems  to  be 


man  obey  not  our  word  by  this  epistle,  note  that  man,  and 
have  no  company  with  him,  that  he  may  he  ashamed." 
Here  is  apostolic  vigour — necessary  for  the  general  good  ; 
nevertheless  the  culprit  is  not  forsfottcn ;  much  less  consign- 
ed to  vengeance.  "  Yet  count  him  not  as  an  enemy ;  but 
admonish  him  as  a  brother."  The  caution  this,  of  a  paternal 
heart. 
The  two  epistles  to  the  Christians  of  Corirth,  and  the  one 


that,  although  on  urgent  occasions,  and  when  they  had  to  1  to  those  of  Galatia,  are  marked  by  a  speciality  of  meaning  In 
deal  hand  to  hand  with  the  contumacious  sectarist  or  pcrni-'every  part,  and  also  by  a  frequent  admixture  of  personal  teel- 
cious  heretic,  they  used  with  promptitude  "the  power  which  ings;  yet  of  a  dili'erent  kind  from  that  which  distinguishes 
the  Lord  had  given  them,"  their  native  feelings,  abhorrent  of:  the  letters  last  mentioned.  Capital  errors,  and  practical 
the  despotic  and  jealous  course  customary  with  spiritual  dig-  abuses,  and  church  disorders  in  the  one  instance,  and  a 
nities,  restrained  them  from  employing  penal  powers,  if  by  Igrave  perversion  of  doctrine  in  the  other,  brought  into  play 
any  means  it  could  he  avoided.  \V  hat  Paul's  inner  disposi-|the  sterner  elements  of  the  apostolic  character,  and  we  see, 
tions  were  in  relation  to  contentious  or  ambitious  zealots,  wciby  this  means,  not  only  what  was  the  writer's  style  of  re- 
here  perceive. — "Some  indeed  preach  Christ  even  of  envy  proof;  but  what  was  the  temper  called  up  in  him  by  open 
and  strife — of  contention,  not  sincerely,  supposing  (intend-jand  irritating  opposition  to  his  just  authority.  Shall  it  not 
ing)  to  add  aflliction  to  my  bonds. —  What  then?  notwiih-j be  now,  that  young  Saul — the  tyro  of  Gamaliel,  is  to  reap- 
standing  every  way,  whether  in  pretence  or  in  truth,  Christ  pear  on  the  stage,  while  P.\ul,  the  disciple  of  Jesus,  stands 
is  preached,  and  I  therein  do  rejoice,  yea,  and  will  rejoice !" [aside  1 
Can  this  be  the  language  of  the  man  who,  some  thirty  years      The  evidence  is  before  us.     Nothing  can  be  more  free  and 


before,  had  been  seen  raging  up  and  down  through  the  streets 
of  Jerusalem,  and  cr.unniing  its  dungeons  with  innocent  wo- 
men and  children?  Christianity  truly  had  done  his  temper 
no  harm  in  the  interval? 

In   personal   conflict  with   these   vexatious   demagogues. 


natural  than  the  manner  of  these  compositions;  nothing  more 
lively  or  spirited.  If  we  want  native  expressions  of  a  wri- 
ter's very  soul,  here  we  have  them.  And  it  may  be  added 
that  while  these  three  epistles  abound  with  those  incidental 
allusions  to  facts  and  to  persons  which  place  their  genuine- 


Paul  might  perhaps,  from  a  sense  of  public  duty,  liave  as-;npss  f.!r  beyond  doubt,  they  present  also,  in  a  remarkable  de- 
sumed  another  tone;  but  we  see  that  when,  in  the  freedom  of  gree,  those  fresh  touches  of  human  sentiment — absolutely 
private  friendship,  he  refers  to  the  rancour  of  such  teachers!  inimitable,  which  alone  would  he  enough  to  assure  all  who 
toward  himself,  his  mind  was  not  that  of  the  despot,  or  of,  have  any  perception  of  truth  and  nature,  that  we  are  convers- 
the  fanatic. — It  is  evident,  on  the  contrary,  that  much  per-  ing  with  real  and  living  objects;  not  with  spurious  images, 
sonal  proficiency  in  the  virtues  of  self-command,  qualilied  The  first  topic  that  meets  us,  and  the  one  which  manifestly 
him  to  admonish  others — "to  be  of  one  accord,  of  one  mind  ;  1  was  uppermost  in  the  writer's  mind,  is  that  of  the  factions 
— to  do  nothing  through  strife,  or  vain-glory,  but  in  lowliness!  that  had  sprung  np  among  the  Corinthian  converts.  We 
of  mind  to  este«ra  others  better  than  themselves."  reach  then  here  the  very  point  of  our  experimenfum  cruets, 

A  similar  atfection  was  borne  bj-  the  apostle  to  the  Thessa-!ln  what  manner  does  the  religious  Chief  deal  with  the  divi- 
lonian  Christians:  and  on  the  strength  of  that  affection,  andjsions  of  those  who  (many  of  them)  were  calling  in  question 
in  the  spirit  of  conscious  integrity,  he  appeals  to  them  to  i  his  apostolic  authority  ?  Xow  not  to  insist  upon  that  general 
attest,  as  well  the  integrity  as  the  mildness  of  his  ministerial !  rule  of  policy  which  leads  a  chief  to  manage  factions  for  his 
conduct  among  them.  A  foreknowledge,  probably,  of  the | own  advantage  ;  or  to  play  one  party  against  another,  it  is 
vengeance  then  impending  the  Jewish  people,  and  near  to  certain  that,  if  a  man's  own  spirit  he  factious — if  he  harbour 
lall  upon  the  rebelliciis  city,  seems  to  be  couched  in  the  terms  a  secret  virulence,  the  tendencies  of  nature  will  draw  him  on, 
he  employs  when  speaking  of  his  outrageous  countrymen. 'ere  he  is  aware,  and  even  against  his  sense  of  personal  dis- 
Yet  it  cannot  be  said  that  the  passage  breathes  a  vindictive  cretion,  to  take  a  side,  and  to  join  in  the  fray.  Whatever 
spirit,  cT  that  it  is  unbecoming  the  occasion. — "The  wrath  tone  of  impartiality  he  may  assume,  or  how  sincerely  soever 
(that  specific  judgment,  long  ago  threatened)  is  come  upon  he  may  wish  to  compose  the  feud,  he  will  be  sure  to  throw 
them  to  the  utmost,  who  both  killed  the  Lord  Jesus,  as  they  in  some  pungent  matter  that  shall  increase  the  ferment.  But 
did  their  own  prophets;  and  have  persecuted  us,  and  please  Paul  on  this  occasion  neither  arts  the  wily  part  of  the  adroit 
not  God,  and  are  contrary  to  all  men — forbidding  the  progress  demagogue,  nor  the  involuntary  part  of  the  fanatic.  He  grants 
of  the  Gospel  among  the  Gentiles."  Yet  the  painful  theme  not  the  slightest  favour,  even  by  any  indirect  inference,  to  his 
is  instantly  dropped,  and  the  happier  sentiments — the  charac-;  personal  adherents  in  the  Corinthian  church.  But  on  the 
ttristic  sentiments  of  the  writer's  mind,  prevail.  jcontrary,  without  distinction,  condemns  and  contemns  the 

It  is  not  (as  we  need  hardly  atiirm)a  simple  declaration  of  sectarists  of  those  four  denominations.  "Every  one  of  you 
the  Divine  displeasure  against  siu,  or  the  authorized  announce-  saith,  I  am  of  Paul,  and  I  of  Apollos,  and  I  of  Cephas,  and 
ment  of  approaching  judgment,  that  indicate  the  fanatic  ;  for  I  of  Christ !  Is  then  Christ  divided?''  And  while  "one 
this  olhce  may  in  fact  be  the  highest  work  of  charity,  and  saith  I  am  of  Paul,  and  another  I  am  of  Apollos,  are  ye  not 
may  be  performed  under  the  impulse  of  the  wannts:  bencvo-  carnal  ?"  Yes,  "  babes  in  Christ"" — persons  who,  notwith- 
lence.  But  it  is  when  the  wrath  of  heaven  is  a  man's  chosen  standing  all  their  boasted  gifts,  were  in  fact  only  just  open- 
and  constant  theme,  and  when,  without  any  commission  to  ing  their  eyes  (if  so  much)  upon  the  world  of  truth.  And 
that  effect,  he  takes  upon  him  to  hurl  the  bolts  of  the  Most  \vho  is  Paul,  and  who  Apollos?  Will  you  say  Leaders  and 
High,  this  way  and  that — at  individuals  or  at  communities:  Princes  in  the  Church?  nay,  nothing  more  than  subservient 
it  is  then  that  we  justly  impute  malevolence,  as  well  as  a  agents  in  the  hand  of  the  Lord.  "  Let  a  man  so  account  of 
gloomy  extravagance  of  temper.  Now  when  we  find,  in  the  ns  as  the  ministers  (uieniaL)  of  Ch.rist,  and  stewards  only  of 
second  of  Paul's  epistles  to  the  believers  of  Thessalonica,' the  mysteries  of  God. 
one  of  the  most  appallintx  descriptions  of  the  future  wrath!     There  is  neither  suilc  nor  ainbilion  in  this:  nor  can  it  be 


436 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


ihought  to  savour  of  the  smothered  iiiflamniatory  style  of  one 
whose  factions  temper  is  always  o-ettingthebetter  of  his  sense 
of  interest  and  bis  motives  of  policy.  The  blow  is  aimed  at 
the  very  root  of  discord  ;  and  the  apostles  themselves  would 
retreat  from  the  place  of  honour  that  belonged  to  them,  if  no 
other  means  could  he  found  for  withdrawing  their  names 
from  the  banners  of  a  party.  "  In  handling  tliis  subject," 
says  Paul,  "I  have  thus  used  my  own  name  and  that  of 
Apollos,  that  ye  might  learn  in  us  (though  in  fact  we  be 
rightful  chiefs  in  the  Church)  not  to  think  of  any  above  what 
is  enjoined  ;  and  that  no  one  of  you  be  inflated  with  zeal  for 
one,  against  another." 

Yet  must  the  apostolic  authority  be  exerted  in  a  manner 
that  shall  inspire  the  disorderly  with  fear.  Yes,  but  it  is 
not  the  personal  antagonists  of  Paul  that  are  selected  as  the 
objects  of  the  supernatural  infliction :  a  shameless  violator  of 
the  common  principles  of  morality  is  the  victim.  "  In  the 
name  of  the  Lord  Jesus,  let  the  incestuous  man  be  delivered 
unto  Satan,  for  the  destruction  of  the  flesh  ;  that  the  spirit 
may  be  saved  in  the  day  of  the  Lord." 

NVhatever  incidental  evils  may  arise  from  that  separation 
and  seclusion  which  Christianity  involve,  they  would  all,  or 
nearly  all,  be  avoided,  if  the  apostolic  rule  were  but  adheicd 
to,  such  as  we  find  it  luminously  laid  down  in  these  epistles 
to  the  Corinthians,  and  which,  if  reduced  into  an  abstract 
form,  might  be  thus  expressed — That  the  rigours  of  church 
discipline  should  be  made  to  bear  upon  the  society  Itself,  while 
a  bland,  unscrupulous  and  unsanctimonious  courtesy  of  be- 
haviour on  the  part  of  Christians  towards  others,  allows  the 
leaven  of  the  Gospel  freely  to  mingle  itself  with  the  general 
mass  of  mankind.  AVhat  can  more  approve  itself  to  reason 
than  a  principle  like  this?  What  can  be  more  unlike  the 
supercilious  monasticism  and  the  morose  sectarism  of  the 
fanatic  1  Indeed  sectarists  and  fanatics  of  all  classes,  and 
in  every  age,  have  just  reversed  the  apostolic  canon.  That 
is  to  say,  they  have  enclosed  themselves  and  tlieir  sanctity  in 
a  coop  of  pride,  so  as  to  deprive  the  profane  world  of  the 
benefit  it  might  have  got  from  the  spectacle  of  virtue  so  ex- 
alted ;  and  at  the  same  time  have  expended  their  entire  fund 
of  indulgences — one  upon  another.  Nothing  has  been  so 
hard  as  to  get  admission  into  the  exquisite  circle  of  purity  ; 
nothing  so  easy  as  to  live  there  when  once  admitted  !  It  has 
been  like  climbing  a  painful  and  rugged  steep — to  find  at  the 
summit,  a  luxurious  level. 

The  apostle  would  have  it  quite  otherwise.  Let  us  stop 
to  gaze  a  moment  upon  his  golden,  but  much  neglected  maxim 
of  church  polity.  Alas,  that  the  roll  of  church  history  illus- 
trates its  excellence  so  often  by  contrarieties! 

"  I  have  here  been  enjoining  you  not  to  hold  any  intercourse 
with  persons  of  impure  manners;  (but  do  not  misunderstand 
me),  I  am  not  speaking  of  worldly  men,  whether  covetous  or 
rapacious,  or  idolatrous:  for  to  observe  any  such  rule  in  rela- 
tion to  them  would  be  to  exclude  yourselves  altogether  from 
the  social  economy.  On  the  contrary,  my  meaning  is,  that 
you  should  maintain  no  intimacy  with  one  who,  making  a 
profession  of  the  Gospel,  and  calling  himself  a  brother,  is 
licentious,  avaricious,  profane;  is  addicted  to  slander,  or  is 
intemperate  or  rapacious.  For  what  affair  of  mine  is  it  to 
exercise  jurisdiction  over  those  who  have  not  voluntarily 
placed  themselves  within  the  circle  of  church  censure?  Sucli 
belong  to  the  Divine  Tribunal.  But  judge  ye  those  of  your 
own  society:  and  in  the  present  instance  excommunicate  ihi 
same  flagitious  person." 

How  might  the  Church  by  this  time,  and  long  ago  have 
spread  itself  through  the  world,  and  its  purity  liave  been 
maintained,  if  regard  had  been  paid  to  the  simple  rule  we 
have  quoted  !  The  same  law  of  charity  and  integrity,  ex- 
panded and  applied  to  the  dillicult  question  of  social  commu- 
nication with  idolaters,  is  brought  forward  again  in  the  8th 
and  Kith  chapters.  .Shall  we  find  any  one  so  uncandid  or  so 
perverted  in  spirit  as  to  refuse  to  Paul  the  praise  of  high  good 
sense,  as  well  as  of  benignity  in  this  iiistancel  The  whole  of 
the  practical  instructions  that  fill  the  middle  chapters  of  the 
first  epistle  to  the  Corinthian  church,  are  eminently  charac- 
teristic of  a  calm  and  temperate  mind  ;  and  stand  in  full  op- 
position to  the  crooked  policy,  to  the  acrid  bigotry,  to  the 
imiiecile  conscientiousness,  and  to  the  foul  hypocrisy  that  so 
often  have  deformed  the  profession  of  the  Gospel. 

Must  apostolic  rigour  pursue  its  victim  with  inexorable 
wrath?  Far  from  it.  How  does  the  paternal  spirit  of  Paul 
rejoice  (in  the  second  epistli.'),  over  the  repentant  culprit! 
'•.Snllicient  to  such  a  man  is  this  punishment;  comfort  him, 
therefore,  lest  he  be  swallowed  up  with  over-mucli  sorrow. 
Wheretbre  I  beseech  you  that  ye  would  confirm  your  love 


toward  him."  A  father  in  the  midst  of  his  children  does  not 
sooner  relent,  or  hasten  more  to  meet  a  penitent  son,  than 
does  this  apostle,  as  we  see  him  administering  the  affairs  of 
the  infant  church. 

A  delicate  part  remained  to  be  performed  in  reference  to 
the  indispensable  duty  of  asserting  the  apostolic  power,  im- 
pugned as  it  had  been  by  a  factious  .lewish  party  at  Corinth. 
In  measure  the  argument  was  a  ])ersonal  controversy;  yet  did 
it  involve  cominon  principles.  The  occasion  was  precisely 
one  of  that  peculiar  and  difiicult  kind  on  which  a  public  per- 
son feels  that  he  must  defend  himself,  as  an  individual,  against 
those  who,  in  assailing  his  single  reputation,  mean  much 
more  than  to  tread  a  fair  name  in  the  dust:  in  such  a  case  the 
timid,  or  the  falsely  modest,  give  ground;  and  murky  pride 
throws  up  public  interests,  rather  than  descend  to  explanation 
fh  a  despised  antagonist;  while  the  arrogant  or  despotic 
cliief  comes  out  in  ire  to  repel  the  assault,  and  thinks  only 
how  best  to  save  his  personal  importance. 

The  course  taken  by  the  Apostle  is  quite  of  a  different  sort. 
The  mingled  strain  of  apology,  remonstrance  and  entreaty, 
which  closes  the  epistle  to  the  Corinthians,  brings  together, 
in  admirable  combination,  the  emotions  of  a  highly  sensitive, 
generous,  humble  and  yet  noble  mind,  striving  alternately 
with  itself  and  with  its  sense  of  public  duty.  The  abrupt 
transitions,  the  frequent  interrogations,  the  sudden  appeals, 
and  the  genial  wannth  of  the  whole,  impart  an  historic  life  to 
the  passage,  such  as  makes  the  reader  think  that  he  sees  and 
bears  the  speaker  actually  before  him.  It  is  saying  little  to 
affirm  that  a  composition  of  this  order  stands  immensely  re- 
mote from  the  suspicion  of  spuriousness : — if  this  be  not 
reality,  the  objects  that  now  press  upon  the  senses  are  not 
real ;  and  the  stamp  of  truth  which  marks  it,  involves  also 
the  truth  of  the  Christian  system,  liutthis  is  not  all;  for  if 
we  ought  in  any  case  to  rely  upon  the  universal  principles  of 
human  nature,  as  they  are  gathered  from  history  and  observa- 
tion, we  may  affirm  that  it  is  the  property  of  gloomy  or  ma- 
lignant opinions,  or  of  notions  that  are  preposterous  and  exag- 
gerated, to  impart  a  certain  fixedness  or  monotony  to  the  mind 
and  temper:  the  passions  become  set;  the  style  of  expression, 
even  if  vehement  and  copious,  is  of  one  order  only  :  the  themes 
of  discourse  are  few,  and  the  drift  is  ever  the  same.  Were  it 
demanded  to  assign  some  single  characteristic  which  should 
mark  the  fanatic  in  every  case,  the  same  cxclusiveness  might 
be  given  as  the  infallible  sign.  On  the  contrary,  a  free 
play  of  the  f\iculties  and  emotions,  and  a  graceful  versatility 
of  mind,  is  the  distinction  of  those  who  live  in  the  light, 
and  inhale  the  pure  breezes  of  day.  An  expansive  benevo- 
lence, conjoined  with  the  mild  affections  of  common  life,  not 
only  renders  the  heart  sensitive  on  all  sides,  but  imparts  an 
interchangeable  mobility  to  the  entire  circle  of  feelings,  so 
that  transitions  from  one  to  another  are  easy  and  rapid;  the 
character,  in  its  ireneral  aspect,  is  pleasantly  diversified.  The 
storms  of  December  are  of  one  hue,  and  rush  across  the  heavens 
in  one  direction ;  but  tlie  summer's  sky  has  many  colours, 
and  a  new  beauty  for  every  hour. 

Now  we  might  assume  the  rapid  interchange  of  subjects 
and  sentiments,  and  the  abruptness  of  the  style,  and  its  spark- 
ling vivacity,  in  the  passage  before  us,  as  sufficient  proof  of 
our  position,  that  the  mind  of  Paul,  far  from  having  been  rigidly 
fixed  in  one  mood  by  Christiaiiity,  had  actually  acquired, 
under  its  influence,  more  copiousness  of  feeling  than  his  early 
course  seemed  to  promise.  The  Gospel  had  made  him — we 
appeal  confidently  to  the  instance  now  before  us — the  Gospel 
had  made  Paul  a  man  o{  much  feeling,  and  of  inii7ii/  feelings. 
Hut  fanaticism,  if  it  quickens  some  single  sensibility,  remlers 
others  torpid,  and  after  a  while  reduces  the  character  to  the 
narrowest  range,  or  brings  on  intellectual  atrophy. 


We  have  yet  to  advert  for  a  momeJit  to  the  epistle  to  the 
Christian  societies  of  Galatia;  but  do  not  meddle  with  what 
lielongs  in  it  to  the  theologian,  and  which  has  often  enough 
been  treated  of:  w-hat  is  pertinent  to  our  immediate  purpose 
may  soon  be  said.  Written  about  the  middle  of  his  apostolic 
course,  and  at  the  season  of  ripened  manhood,  it  may  be  as- 
sumed to  exhibit  the  effect  of  Christianity  after  it  had  fully 
settled  itself  upon  the  moral  and  mental  habits  of  Paul,  and 
liefore  the  force  of  his  spirit  had  become  at  all  abaied.  We 
find  in  it,  as  we  might  expect,  the  highest  degree  of  vigour  and 
vivacity;  as  well  as  a  very  decisive  tone,  and  even  an  au- 
thoritative challenge  of  submission  to  his  dictates  in  matters 
of  religious  truth.  There  is  nothing  feeble  in  this  epistle; 
and  yet  we  meet  indications  of  that  paternal  tenderness  which 
distintruishes  liis  addresses  to  the  best-loved  churches:  there 
is  the  same  catidour  too  in  acknowledging  whatever  was 
laudable  among  these  societies;  and  moreover  such  a  mix- 


FANATICISM. 


437 


ture  of  abstract  argument  with  personal  persuasion  as  indi- 
cates the  writer's  desire  to  deal  reasonably  with  whoever 
would  listen  to  reason.  Five-sixths  of  the  wliole  composi- 
tion is  calm  explanation  of  facts,  or  adduction  of  evidence. 
But  this  is  not  tlie  style  of  offended  pride,  when  it  rankles  in 
the  bosom  of  an  intemperate  and  irritated  dignitary. 

Yel  the  main  feature  of  the  epistle  to  the  Galatians  is  the 
breadth  of  the  practical  principles  it  supports,  and  the  oppo- 
sition it  offers  to  the  bigotry,  superstition,  and  spiritual  pride 
of  the  .Jewish  teachers.  If  Paul  be  vehement,  it  is  always 
in  behalf  of  common  sense  and  liberality  :  if  he  be  indignant, 
it  is  when  he  mantles  to  break  the  chain  of  spiritual  despo- 
tism :  if  he  be  stern,  it  is  to  uphold  consistency.  Even  Pe- 
ter, he  "  withstood  to  the  face,"  on  account  of  culpable  com- 
pliances with  Jewish  sanctimoniousness.  The  obsolete  sys- 
tem of  national  seclusion  he  discards,  by  affirming  that  now, 
within  the  Christian  Church,  all  extrinsic  distinctions  are 
merged.  "There  is  neither  Greek  nor  Jew,  there  is  neither 
bond  nor  free,  there  is  neither  male  nor  female;  for  all  are 
one  in  Christ  Jesus."  That  superstition  too,  which  waits 
only  an  accidental  excitement  to  kindle  into  virulent  fanati- 
cism, he  treats  with  objurgation  and  contempt.  "  How  turn 
ye  again  to  the  weak  and  beggarly  elements,  whereto  ye  de- 
sire again  to  be  in  bondage !  Ye  observe  days,  and  months, 
and  times,  and  years.  1  am  afraid  of  you,  lest  1  have  bes- 
towed upon  you  labour  in  vain  V  ".Stand  fast  in  the  liberty 
wherewith  Christ  hath  made  us  free,  and  be  not  entangled 
again  with  the  yoke  of  bondage."  "  In  Christ  Jesus,  neither 
circumcision  availeth  any  thing,  nor  unoircumcision ;  but 
faith,  which  workelh  by  love."  And  yet  this  liberty  was  not 
libertinism.  "  Use  not  your  liberty  for  an  occasion  to  the 
flesh;  but  by  love  serve  one  another."  "  Walk  in  the  Spirit, 
and  ye  shall  not  fulfil  the  lusts  of  the  flesh." 

But  this  is  that  very  style  of  sound  sense  and  moderation, 
and  that  generalization  of  principles,  without  laxity, 
wliich  so  grievously  offends  the  imbecile  pietist,  the  scrupu- 
lous bigot,  and  the  virulent  fanatic.  It  is  the  style  of  Paul ; 
and  his  invariable  use  of  it  carries  forward  our  present  argu 
inent  toward  a  triumphant  issue. 

III.  The  four  epistles  to  individuals — especially  the  three 
that  are  clerical  or  olRcial,  demand  to  be  reviewed. 

The  question  in  hand  might,  with  very  little  hazard — per- 
haps with  none,  be  made  to  rest  upon  the  solitary  evidence 
of  the  epistle  to  Philemon.  If  we  knew  nothing  more  of  the 
writer's  temper  than  what  breaks  upon  us  through  the  tender- 
ness and  grace  of  this  short  letter  (and  were  informed  also 
that  the  same  person  had  commenced  bis  course  as  a  san 
guinary  zealot)  the  proof  would  be  complete,  that  the  system 
under  which  his  character  had  been  matured,  must  have  been 
of  the  most  benign  sort.  No  such  inconsistency  has  ever  pre- 
sented itself  on  tlie  various  field  of  human  nature  as  that  of  a 
man  who  being  by  constitutional  tendency  fierce  and  despotic, 
after  yielding  himself  through  a  long  course  of  years  to  the 
influence  of  a  gloomy  creed,  was  yet,  at  the  close  of  life,  such 
as  this  letter  declares  "  Paul  the  aged"  to  have  been.  It  is 
certain  then,  that  Paul's  creed  was  not  gloomy;  but  on  the 
contrary,  benign ;  and  benign  in  the  most  active  and  effica- 
cious sense.  Is  there  not  in  the  epistle  to  Philemon  a  mel- 
ody of  love,  struck  from  the  chords  of  a  nicely  attuned  heart] 
Yet  it  was  the  Gospel,  not  Nature,  that  so  attuned  it. 

If  a  man's  character  is  to  be  known  more  certainly  from  his 
conversation  with  his  intimate  friends  or  family,  than  from 
his  public  harangues,  so,  and  for  tlie  same  reasons,  a  private 
correspondence  is  more  available  for  such  a  purpose  than  a 
general  treatise.  And  again,  if  there  be  any  one  species  of 
personal  and  private  correspondence  which,  more  than  ano- 
ther, lays  open  a  writer's  secret  principles,  it  is  that  carried 
on  between  men  of  the  same  profession  or  calliug,  on  subjects 
involving  the  credit  and  interests  of  that  calling.  The  senti- 
ments of  public  persons  towards  the  commonalty  over  which 
they  exercise  a  control  founded  altogether  on  opinion,  are 
very  apt  to  assume  an  aspect  either  of  hostility,  or  of  crafti- 
ness. Then  when  such  official  persons  interchange  their  pri 
vatp  feelings,  and  especially  when  a  superior  of  the  order  con 
vcys  instructions  to  the  subaltern,  there  will  infallibly  peep 
out,  in  some  part,  the  sinister  sentiment — the  harboured 
grudge,  the  sly  maxims  oi  professional  prudence,  or  the  lurking 
acrimony  and  arrogance  toward  the  populace — if  in  fact  -.my 
such  oblique  motive  or  principle  exist  in  the  mind  of  the  wri- 
ter;  nor  will  any  discretion  avail  to  prevent  iis  appearance. 

Now  having  before  us  a  writer's  various  compositions,  if 
we  go  over  them  all,  beginning  with  those  of  a  general  or 
abstract  kind,  and  advance  to  such  as  are  more  specific,  and 
at  last  open  the  packet  of  his  private  and  professional  papers, 


we  compass  him  on  all  sides ;  we  beleaguer  his  very  soul — 
throw  open  the  "  keep"  of  his  heart,  and  leave  him  no  chance 
of  maintaining  his  concealment.  If  Paul  may  not  be  known 
from  his  two  letters  to  Timothy,  and  that  to  Titus,  no  writer 
can  at  all  be  judged  of  from  the  records  he  has  left  of  himself. 
The  genuineness  of  these  letters  is  abundantly  established, 
and  by  the  best  sort  of  proof.  No  one  competent  to  estimate 
literary  evidence  can  even  pretend  to  doubt  of  it.  Moreover 
they  were  composed  (the  last  of  them  especially)  very  near 
the  close  of  the  writer's  apostolic  course,  and  when  his  mind 
had  admitted  all  the  influence  it  could  admit  from  the  system 
to  which  his  life  had  been  devoted.  They  were  addressed 
loo,  to  subordinates  in  office ;  yet  to  men  endeared  and  familiar 
by  community  in  labours  and  sufferings.  What  forbids  us 
then — what  rule  of  historic  evidence,  acknowledged  as  valid, 
forbids  us  to  assume  these  same  letters  as  conclusive  Proof 
in  a  question  concerning  the  quality  and  tendency  of  Christi- 
anity in  its  first  stage  ? 

Let  now  some  speculative  reasoner  come  up,  and  say — 
"  The  view  that  is  presented  in  the  New  Testament  of  the 
moral  condition  of  mankind,  and  of  the  doom  of  the  impeni- 
tent, and  of  the  agency  or  interference  of  evil  spirits,  cannot 
but  have  a  pernicious  or  malign  influence  over  the  human 
mind."  In  rebutting  any  such  hypothetical  objection  we 
should  instantly  turn  from  theory  to  fact,  and  reply — If  the 
supposition  were  indeed  well  founded,  it  is  certain  that  the 
learned  zealot  of  Tarsus  must  have  fully  received  upon  the 
sensitive  surface  of  his  native  character  any  such  fanatical 
excitement,  and  it  is  certain  too,  that  a  thirty  or  forty  years  of 
injurious  treatment  would  so  have  aggravated  and  fixed  what- 
ever was  bad  in  his  natural  temper,  that  his  last  letters  would 
verily  have  reeked  with  venom.  But  is  it  so  in  fact?  Let 
these  letters  say.  Must  we  not  acknowledge  that,  how  sad 
and  appalling  soever  may  be  the  truths  on  the  ground  of  which 
the  Gospel  proceeds,  or  on  which  it  builds  its  superstructure 
of  mercy — the  efficacious  motives  it  brings  in  upon  the  human 
mind  are  far  more  than  enough  to  correct  the  gloomy  influence 
of  those  facts,  and  do  actually  avail  to  produce  the  most  per- 
fect examples  of  gentleness,  meekness,  and  universal  good- 
will ;  aye,  and  to  engender  this  bland  philanthropy  even  upon 
an  intemperate  spirit ! 

Our  evidence  on  this  point  has  a  more  extended  conse- 
quence than  may  at  first  appear,  and  is  such  as  to  justify  the 
share  of  attention  now  claimed  for  it. 

These  valedictory  letters  (for  we  may  so  deem  them)  in 
the  first  place  prove,  what  before  we  have  alleged,  that  the 
mildness  of  the  apostle's  character,  such  as  it  appears  in  the 
greater  part  of  his  writings,  was  not  the  consequence  of  a 
rostration  of  his  native  vigour,  or  an  enfeebling  of  that  con- 
stitutional vivacity  which  brought  him  so  early  upon  the  stage 
of  public  life.  The  sort  of  advice  he  gives  to  Titus  in  refer- 
ence to  the  factious  and  dissolute  Jews  of  Crete  (as  well  as 
similar  passages  in  the  epistles  to  Timothy)  makes  it  certain 
that  the  repellant  force  of  his  mind  remained  nndiminished. 
Paul  had  not  become  so  easy — much  less  imbecile,  as  to  wink 
at  disorders,  or  tamely  to  allow  either  the  apostolic  or  the 
episcopal  authority  to  be  sported  with. 

Yet  it  was  no  personal  homage  that  he  demanded,  such  as 
ambition  seeks  for.  "  I  was  before  a  blasphemer,  and  a  per- 
secutor, and  injurious" — an  eminent  example  of  that  mercy 
which  even  "  the  chief  of  sinners"  henceforward  may  hope  to 
receive.  The  first  point  insisted  upon  in  these  pastoral  ad- 
monitions is,  that  prayer  and  praise  should  be  offered  in  the 
christian  assemblies  continually  on  behalf  "  cf  all  men,"  espe- 
cially "for  kings,  and  all  that  are  in  authority.  For  this  is 
good  and  acceptable  in  the  sight  of  God  our  Saviour,  who 
will  have  all  men  to  be  saved,  and  to  come  to  the  knowledge 
of  the  truth."  Is  it  the  religious  misanthrope  who  speaks  in 
this  passage] — there  is  certainly  heard  in  it  no  growl  of  the 
Jewish  grudge  against  the  bulk  of  mankind;  nor  does  it  con- 
vey the  writer's  covert  revenge  against  the  Roman  or  Jewish 
authorities,  that  had  every  where  loaded  him  with  wrongs. 
One  might,  for  a  moment,  fancy  that  Paul  had  at  length  gained 
access  to  the  imperial  saloon — was  basking  in  the  sunshine 
of  the  court,  and  thence  was  issuing  mandates  to  the  chris- 
tian world  in  the  fulness  of  his  complacency.  Alas — he  was 
still  the  tenant  of  a  dungeon!  Mark  it;  this  command  to 
pray  for  kings  and  magistrates  was  sealed  by  a  hand  then  act- 
ually encumbered  with  the  chain  of  despotic  power! 

The  description  given  of  episcopal  qualifications  in  these 
letters  might  be  pertinently  adduced  as  proof  of  the  modesty 
and  soundness  of  the  writer's  conceptions  of  spiritual  supre- 
macy. To  estimate  fairly  this  description  we  ought  to  place 
in  comparison  with  it  certain  magnific  passages  that  might 


438 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


readily  be  quoted  from  even  the  most  moderate  of  the  Fathers. 
He  who,  as  we  have  seen,  is  neither  murk}'  and  contumacious 
towards  secular  authorities,  nor  exorbitant  and  preposterous 
in  his  notions  of  ecclesiastical  prerogative,  may  justly  claim 
a  rare  praise,  inasmuch  as  the  one  of  these  faults,  or  the  other, 
(if  not  Lboth  together)  has  ordinarily  belonged  to  men  who 
have  stood  at  the  head  of  religious  communities  in  times  of 
persecution. 

"  Alexander  the  coppersmith  did  me  much  evil : — the  Lord 
reward  him  according  to  his  works ;" — an  announcement,  this, 
of  rio-hteous  retribution,  and  in  harmony  with  the  established 
tone  of  divinely  cotnmissioned  men;  and  necessary  to  the 
maintenance  of  apostolic  authority.  But  we  find  that  the 
irksome  subject  is  glanced  at  only,  and  that  an  instantaneous 
transition  is  made  to  one  which,  although  painful  also,  serves 
to  bring  into  view  that  rule  of  discrimination  according  to 
which  the  apostle  meted  out  their  censures — "  making  a  dif- 
ference, and  of  some  having  compassion."  "At  my  first  an- 
swer" (arraignment)  says  Paul,  "  no  man  stood  with  me ; 
but  all  forsook  me;  Let  it  not  be  laid  to  their  charge!" 

A  criterion  of  a  man's  temper  might  with  great  safety  be 
drawn  from  the  simple,  though  not  obtrusive,  circumstance 
of  the  sort  of  transitions  he  is  accustomed  to  make  in  unpre- 
meditated converse  with  his  friends,  or  in  his  confidential 
correspondence.  It  is  in  these  sudden  turns  and  replications 
that  the  inner  texture  of  the  soul  is  exposed  to  view.  Every 
one  who  has  been  a  meditative  listener  to  the  familiar  talk  of 
mankind,  is  well  aware  of  the  significance  of  the  fact  we  here 
refer  to.  The  characteristic  of  the  mind,  and  of  its  individual 
affections,  is  not  so  well  furnished  by  what  a  man  says  on 
such  or  such  a  topic,  deliberately  brought  before  him,  as  by 
what  he  slides  into,  when  the  immediate  subject  is  dismissed. 
If  pride  rankle  in  the  bosom — if  murky  revenge  be  the  master 
passion — if  envy  bear  rule  within  the  hidden  world  ;  or  if 
spiritual  arrogance  be  the  yeast  that  ferments  in  the  soul,  we 
shall  readily  detect  the  disguised  malady  as  often  as  the  man 
makes  his  transition,  or  turns  off"  from  the  question  or  dis- 
course that  has  engaged  him. 

And  how,  on  the  other  hand,  docs  the  benignity — the  char- 
itable hope — the  kind  interpretation  of  what  is  ambiguous, 
break  out  from  the  casual  converse  of  a  tranquil  and  happy 
spirit !  Let  the  sky  be  never  so  much  darkened,  we  feel 
(when  in  such  company)  that  a  summer's  sun  is  somewhere 
above  the  liorizon  ;  and  ere  long  its  power  and  brightness  act- 
ually bursts  out,  even  from  the  midst  of  gloom  and  thunder. 
Now  by  this  very  rule,  and  it  is  perhaps  one  of  the  most  con- 
stant and  certain  of  any  that  may  be  advanced  as  a  clew  to 
the  secrets  of  the  human  heart,  wa  are  content  that  the  writer 
of  the  Pauline  epistles  should  be  judged,  and  the  quality  of 
his  deepest  motives,  and  the  colour  of  his  habitual  sentiments 
be  decisively  spoken  of.  We  say  then  that  the  writings  of 
Paul,  abrupt  and  elliptical  as  his  method  often  seems,  are  in 
a  special  manner  distinguished  by  a  frequent  beaming  forth 
of  hope  and  glory  when  least  one  expects  it.  He  writes  like 
a  man  who  descends  to  his  subject  from  a  higher  sphere  : — 
as  for  example,  when,  after  laying  down  the  rule  of  behaviour 
proper  to  a  servile  condition,  and  insisting  upon  submissive- 
ness  and  fidelity,  he  returns,  as  in  a  moment,  to  the  very  sum- 
mit of  joy.  "For  the  grace  of  God  that  bringeth  salvation 
hath  appeared  to  all  incn,  teaching  us,"  not  only  the  virtues 
of  common  life,  but  that  we  should  "  look  for  that  blessed 
hope,  and  the  glorious  appearing  of  the  great  God,  our  Sa- 
viour, Jesus  Christ."  Almost  immediately  we  meet  with  a 
sudden  transition  of  another  sort,  indicative  of  the  permanent 
humility  of  the  writer's  mind,  as  well  as  of  its  broad  benig- 
nity and  good-will.  "  Put  them  in  mind  to  be  subject  to  prin- 
cipalities, to  speak  evil  of  no  man,  to  be  no  brawlers;  but 
gentle,  showing  all  meekness  to  all  men.  For  we  ourselves 
also  were  sometimes  foolish,  disobedient,  deceived,  serving 
divers  lusts  and  pleasures,  living  in  malice  and  envy,  hateful, 
and  hating  one  another.  But  after  that  the  kindness  and  love 
of  God  our  Saviour  toward  man  appeared."  Is  not  this  the 
natural  turn  of  a  mind  at  once  humble,  pious,  and  benevolent  1 

"  This  thou  knowest  (or,  kuowest  thou  this  ?)  that  all  they 
which  are  in  Asia  be  turned  away  from  me,  of  whom  are  Phy- 
gellus  and  Hermogenes."  But  docs  resentment  lodge  in  the 
writer's  mind ;  or  is  the  subject  pursued  and  morosely  grasp- 
ed ?  What  meet  we  in  the  very  next  verse  i  "  The  Lord 
give  mercy  unto  the  house  of  Onesiphorus;  for  he  oft  refreshed 
me,  and  was  not  ashamed  of  my  chain.  But  when  he  was  in 
Rome  he  sought  me  out  very  diligently,  and  found  me.  The 
Lord  grant  nnto  him  that  he  may  find  mercy  of  the  Lord  in 
that  day  ;  and  in  how  many  things  he  ministered  unto  me  at 
Kphesus,  thou  knowest  very  well."     f^ome  universal  axiom 


of  a  happy  aspect  is  the  ordinary  corollai7  of  this  writer's  in- 
cidental advices  :  as  thus,  "  Refuse  profane  and  old  wives' 
fables;  and  exercise  thyself  rather  unto  godliness  ;  for  bodily 
exercise  profiteth  little;  but  godliness  is  profitable  unto  all 
things,  having  promise  of  the  life  that  now  is,  and  of  that 

which  is  to  come We  trust  in  the  living  God,  who 

IS  THE  Saviour  of  all  men,  specially  of  those  that  believe." 
"  From  men  of  corrupt  minds,  destitute  of  the  truth,  with- 
draw thyself;  but  godliness  with  contentmiiNT  is  great 
gain;  for  we  bfought  nothing  into  this  world,  and  it  is  cer- 
tain we  can  carry  nothing  out ;  having  therefore  food  and  rai- 
ment, let  us  be  therewith  content."  In  several  instances  the 
most  sublime  of  all  the  doxologies  which  the  Scriptures  con- 
tain are  those  thrown  by  Paul  into  the  midst  of  his  discussion 
of  lower  subjects.  Perhaps,  if  we  were  to  select  the  passa- 
ges in  his  epistles  from  which,  more  signally  than  from  any 
others,  the  brightness  of  the  upper  world  shines  out,  they 
would  be  those  that  most  aliruptly  turn  the  current  of  his 
discourse.  Yet  what  is  this,  if  we  are  to  lay  any  stress 
upon  the  constant  laws  of  the  human  mind,  but  proof  that  the 
happiest,  the  most  expansive,  and  the  most  elevated  senti- 
ments constituted  the  very  substance  or  inner  body,  of  the 
writer's  character,  so  that  every  rapid  transition  he  makes, 
and  every  sudden  movement  is  a  revulsion  from  the  sombre 
to  the  bright;  or  from  wrath  to  mercy  ;  or  from  duties  to  re- 
compences ; — in  one  word,  from  earth  to  heaven! 

Christianity  then,  such  as  we  find  it  in  the  Scriptures,  is 
benign — it  is  from  heaven;  and  even  had  it  utterly  vanished 
or  ceased  to  affect  mankind  in  the  same  age  that  saw  it  ap- 
pear, the  documentary  proof  of  its  divine  origin  would  have 
remained  not  the  less  complete  and  irresistible.  In  that  case 
— convinced  as  we  must  have  been  that  the  True  Light  had 
once,  though  but  for  a  moment,  glanced  upon  the  earth,  we 
should  have  looked  wistfully  upward  in  hope  that  the  great 
revolutions  of  the  heavens  would  at  length  bring  round  a  se- 
cond dawn,  and  a  lasting  day. 

But  it  is  far  otherwise;  and  in  coming  to  the  close  of  a 
course  that  has  presented  the  perversions,  net  the  excellences 
of  Christianity,  we  should  seek  relief  from  the  iinpression 
made  by  a  long  continued  contemplation  of  a  single  order  of 
objects — and  those  the  most  dire.  The  Gospel  has  had  mul- 
titudes of  genuine  adherents — Christ  a  host  of  followers,  in 
the  worst  times ;  or  if  the  first  three  centuries,  or  the  last 
three  of  Christian  history,  are  looked  to,  it  would  indicate  af' 
fection,  or  a  melancholy  and  malignant  temper,  to  estimate  at 
a  low  rate  the  extent  of  the  true  Church. 

Yet  the  terrible  fact  which,  though  predicted  by  the  apos- 
tles, would  have  astounded  themselves,  had  it  stood  before 
them  in  distinct  perspective,  remains  to  sadden  our  medita- 
tions— That  an  apostasy,  dating  its  commencements  from  a 
very  early  age,  spread  over  the  whole  area  of  Christendom, 
affecting  every  article  of  belief,  and  every  rule  of  duty ;  and 
that  it  held  itself  entire  through  much  more  than  a  thousand 
years. 

But  what  is  our  own  position  ]  what  stage  on  the  highway 
of  truth  has  the  Protestant  community  reached  1  are  the  re- 
formed churches  calinly  looking  hack,  as  from  an  elevation, 
and  under  the  beams  of  day,  upon  a  dark  landscape,  far  re- 
mote, and  hardly  distinguishable  1  or  should  it  not  rather  be 
confessed  that  our  reformations,  though  real  and  immensely 
important,  are  initiative  only  ^  This  is  certain,  that  the  evo- 
lutions of  the  Divine  Providence  exhibit  seldom  or  never  to 
the  eye  of  man  any  hurried  transition ;  but  that  it  renovates 
and  restores  by  successive  impulses,  and  these  at  distant  in- 
tervals. We  only  follow  then  the  established  order  of  things 
when  we  hope  that  there  is  yet  in  reserve  for  the  world  the 
boon  of  an  unsullied  Christianity. 

The  sinister  sense  in  which  men  of  a  certain  party  would 
snatch  at  such  a  supposition,  and  athrm  that  even  the  prime 
articles  of  truth  have  not  yet  been  disengaged  from  the  gen- 
eral apostasy,  except  by  the  sceptic  few,  is  peremptorily  ex- 
cluded by  the  fact  of  the  general  and  popular  difl'usion,  and 
devout  perusal  of  the  Scriptures.  For  if,  even  where  uidyer- 
sally  read  and  piously  studied,  the  Inspired  Books  fail  to 
convey  to  the  majority  their  principal  meaning,  it  is  certain 
that  they  are  better  discarded  than  any  longer  reverenced  as 
Instruments  of  religious  Instruction.  If  the  Church — take 
what  age  we  please — has  not  possessed  itself  of  the  vital  ele- 
ments of  sacred  knowledge  while  unrestrainedly  reading,  and 
while  diligently  studying  the  Scriptures,  then  the  labours  of 
those  who  would  tell  us  so,  are  idle ;  for  it  must  be  confessed 
that  the  pursuit  of  truth  at  all  on  the  field  of  Revelation,  is  a 
desperate  enterprise. 

Yet  this  granted — and  it  is  unquestionable,  an  attentive 


FANATICISiSI. 


439 


and  impartial  survey  of  the  religious  history  of  mankind  leads 
to  the  conclusion  (and  it  is  on  the  one  hand  a  consolatory,  as 
well  as  on  the  other  an  affective  conclusion)  that  the  possess- 
ion of  the  vital  elements  of  religion  may  consist  with  such 
perversions,  both  in  theory  and  sentiment,  as  deprive  Christi- 
anity of  its  visible  beauty,  and  forbid  its  propagation.  Most 
of  the  examples  adduced  in  the  preceding  sections  come 
under  the  range  of  this  principle ;  and  in  presenting  al- 
ways the  illustrious  and  the  mitigated  instances  rather  than 
the  exaggerated  or  the  base,  the  author  has  steadily  held  to 
his  purpose  of  bringing  home  to  every  mind  the  conviction 
that  no  degree  of  piety  should  be  allowed  to  protect  the  sys- 
tem under  which  it  appears  from  the  severest  scrutiny,  or 
from  grave  suspicions. 

If  it  be  asked  on  what  ground  any  such  suspicion  can  fairly 
rest  at  a  time  when  the  characteristics  of  freedom,  vigour,  and 
activity  broadly  attached  to  the  exterior  of  religious  profession, 
it  may  at  once  be  replied  that  there  must  be  room  for  serious 
and  unsparing  inquiries,  so  long  as  the  actual  products  bear  a 
very  slender  proportion  to  the  means  of  general  instruction — 
so  long  as  Christianity  fails  to  atfect  the  more  energetic  por- 
tion of  the  communit}- — so  long  as  zealous  endeavours  to 
propagate  the  faith  abroad,  though  not  altogether  unblessed,  are 
followed,  after  a  long  trial,  with  scanty  successes;  but  espe- 
cially have  we  cause  to  suspect  that  some  fatal  and  occult 


misunderstanding  of  the  Gospel  exists,  while  the  ecclesiasti- 
cal condition  of  the  religious  commonwealth  is  in  all  senses 
preposterous. 

Let  it  be  assumed  that  each  separate  article  of  our  creed  is 
well  warranted  by  Scripture  ;  it  may  notwithstanding  be  true 
that  indefinite  misconceptions,  affecting  the  Divine  character 
and  government,  or  that  certain  modes  of  feeling  generated 
in  evil  days,  and  still  uncorrected,  exist,  and  operate  to  be- 
numb the  impulsive  and  expansive  energies  of  the  Gospel. 
Our  interpretation  of  Christianity  may  be  good,  and  may  be 
pure  enough  for  private  use ;  it  may  be  good  in  the  closet, 
good  as  the  source  of  the  motives  of  common  life ;  and  crood  as 
the  ground  of  hope  in  death  and  yet  may  be  altogether  unfit 
for  conquest  and  triumph.  That  it  is  so  unfit,  should  be  as- 
sumed as  the  only  pious  and  becoming  explication  we  can  give 
of  the  almost  universal  ignorance  and  irreligion  of  mankind. 

^\  ith  no  very  easy  sense  of  the  greatness,  the  difficulty, 
and  the  peril  of  the  task  to  which  he  puts  his  trembling  and 
perhaps  presumptuous  hand,  yet  from  the  impulse  of  a  feeling 
not  to  be  repressed,  and  with  a  resolution  not  to  be  daunted, 
the  Author — imploring  aid  from  on  High,  will  ask  yet  again 

the  attention  and  the  concurrence  of  those  who,  like  himself 

invincibly  persuaded  of  the  truth  of  Christianity,  can  taste  no 
personal  enjoyments,  can  admit  no  rest,  while  it  faulters  on 
jits  course  through  the  world. 


HISTORY 


CRUSADES  AGAINST  THE  ALBIGENSES, 


THIRTEENTH    CENTURY. 


FROM  THE  FRENCH  OF 


J.  C.  L.  S.  DE  SISMONDI, 

HONORARY  MEMBER  OF  THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  WILNA,  OF  THE  ACADEMY  AND  SOCIETY   OF  ARTS  OF  GENEVA, 
OF  THE  ITALIAN  ACADEMIES  OF  GEORGOFILI,  CAGLIARI,  AND  PISTOIA,  ETC.  ETC. 


his  protection,  and  served  in  his  armies.  The  viscounts  of 
Narbonne,  of  Beziers,  and  of  Carcassonne,  regarded  him  as 
their  count.  The  lord  of  Montpellier  had  submitted  to  him. 
The  powerful  court  of  Toulouse,  surrounded  by  his  states 
and  vassals,  maintained,  with  difBculty,  his  ovpn  independ- 
ence against  him.  The  countships  of  Provence  and  of  For- 
calquier  belonged  solely  to  him,  whilst  the  other  vassals  of 
the  kingdom  of  Aries  were  eager  to  obtain  his  protection. 

Languedoc,  Provence,  Catalonia,  and  all  the  surrounding 
countries  which  depended  on  the  king  of  Aragon,  were  peo- 
pled by  an  industrious  and  intelligent  race  of  men,  addicted 
to  commerce  and  the  arts,  and  still  more  to  poetry.  They 
had  formed  the  provengal  language  ;  which,  separating  itself 
from  the  Walloon  Romon,  or  French,  was  distinguished  by 
more  harmonious  inflexions,  by  a  richer  vocabulary,  by  ex- 
pressions more  picturesque,  and  by  greater  flexibility.  This 
language,  studied  by  all  the  genius  of  the  age,  consecrated 
to  the  innumerable  songs  of  war  and  of  love,  appeared  at  that 
moment  destined  to  become  the  first  and  the  most  elegant  of 
the  languages  of  modern  Europe.  Those  who  used  it  had 
renounced  the  name  of  Frenchmen  for  that  of  Provengals  ; 
they  had  endeavoured,  by  the  means  of  their  language,  to 
form  themselves  into  a  nation  and  to  separate  themselves  ab- 
solutely from  the  French,  to  whom  they  were  indeed  inferior 
in  the  arts  of  war,  but  whom  they  greatly  excelled  in  all  the 
attainments  of  civilization. 


CHAPTER  I. 

First  Crusade,  from  1207  lo  1209. 

France,  during  the  feudal  period,  instead  of  forming  an  en- 
tire monarchy,  was  submitted  to  the  influence  of  four  kings  ; 
to  each  of  whom  a  number  of  grand  vassals  were  subordinate  ; 
so  that  the  North  of  France  might  be  considered  as  Walloon, 
a  name  afterwards  confined  to  the  French  Flemings,  and 
which  was  then  giving  to  the  language  spoken  by  Philip 
Augustus;  towards  the  West  was  an  English  France  ;  to 
the  East  a  German  France;  and  in  the  South,  a  Spanish  or 
Aragonese  France.  Till  the  reign  of  Philip  Augustus,  the 
first"  division  possessed  the  least  of  extent,  of  riches,  or  of 
power.  That  monarch,  by  a  concourse  of  fortunate  circura 
stances  rather  than  by  his  talents,  greatly  exalted  the  splen^ 
dour  of  his  crown,  and  extended  his  dominion  over  a  part  of 
France  much  more  important  than  his  own  inheritance.  At 
the  beginning  of  the  thirteenth  century,  the  division  which 
has  been  indicated  did,  however,  still  exist.  He  had  conquered 
more  th^n  half  of  the  English  France,  but  Aquitaine  still  be- 
longed to  England.  The  Germanic  France  had  the  same 
limits;  except  that,  of  the  three  kingdoms  of  which  it  was 
composed,  those  of  Lorraine  and  Burgundy  had  more  inti- 
mately than  formerly  united  themselves  with  the  Empire,  so 
that  their  history  was  no  longer  mingled  with  that  of  France. 
On  the  contrary,  the  kingdom  of  Provence  had  so  much  re-|  The  numerous  courts  of  the  small  princes  amongst  whom 
laxed  its  connexion  wifh  the  imperial  crown,  that  its  great  these  countries  were  divided  aspired  to  be  models  of  taste  and 
vassals  mio-ht  be  considered  absolutely  independent,  and  the, politeness.  They  lived  in  festivity;  their  chief  occupation 
most  powerful  of  its  states,  the  countship  of  Provence,  pos-j  was  tournaments,  courts  of  love,  and  of  poesy,  in  which 
sessed  by  the  king  of  Aragon,  might  be  justly  denominated  questions  of  gallantry  were  gravely  decided.  The  cities 
the  Aragonese  France.  were   numerous  and   flourishing.     Their  forms  of  govern- 

The  kin tr  of  Aragon  might,  as  well  as  the  king  of  Eng-lment  were  all  nearly  republican  ;  they  had  consuls  chosen 
land,  be  co'tisidered'a  French  prince.  The  greater  part  of  his ,  by  the  people,  and  had  long  possessed  the  privilege  of  form- 
states,  even  beyond  the  Pyrenees  and  as  far  as  the  Ebro,  ■  ing  communes,  which  rendered  them  nearly  equal  to  the  Ital- 
were  considered  to  belong  to  the  ancient  monarchy  of  Charle- 1  ian  republics  with  whom  they  traded. 

macrne,  and  owed  homage  to  the  crown  of  France.  Like  the  In  the  midst  of  such  growing  prosperity  was  this  lovely 
kin^  of  England,  the  king  of  Aragon  had  acquired,  either  by  region  delivered  to  the  fury  of  countless  hordes  of  lanatics,  its 
mar°riages,  or  by  grants  of°fief,  or  by  treaties  of  protection,  do-!  cities  ruined,  its  population  consumed  by  the  sword,  its  com- 
rainion  overagreatnumberofFrench  lords,  someof  whom  did' merce  destroyed,  its  arts  thrown  back  into  barbarism,  and 
homage  to  the  king  of  France,  others  to  the  emperor;  but  all :  its  dialect  degraded,  from  the  rank  of  a  poetic  language,  to 
of  whom,  nevertheless,  rendered  obedience  only  to  the  Span-'  the  condition  of  a  vulgar  jargon.  This  horrible^  revolution 
ish  monarch.  The  Counts  of  Beam,  of  Armagnac,  of  Big-  was  not,  in  its  commencement,  directed  by  the  French  gov- 
orre,  of  Cominges,  of  Foix,  and  of  Roussillon,  lived  under  I  ernment ;  but  some  of  its  consequences  were,  that  the  Pro- 


CRUSADES  OF  THE  ALBIGENSES. 


441 


vencals  ceased  to  be  a  nation  ;  that  the  influence  of  the  king 
of  Aragon  over  a  large  part  of  the  South  of  France  was  des- 
troyed ;  and  that  the  power  of  the  kings  of  France  was,  at 
last,  extended  to  the  Mediterranean  Sea, 

The  preaching  of  a  first  religious  reformation  amongst  the 
provengals  was  the  occasion  of  the  devastation  of  this  beau- 
tiful country.  Too  early  enlightened,  proceeding  too  rapidly 
in  the  career  of  civilization,  these  people  excited  the  jealousy 
and  hatred  of  the  surrounding  barbarians.  A  struggle  began 
between  the  lovers  of  darkness  and  those  of  light,  between 
the  advocates  of  despotism  and  those  of  liberty.  The  party 
that  wished  to  arrest  the  progress  of  the  human  mind  had  on 
its  side  the  pernicious  skill  of  its  chiefs,  the  fanaticism  of  its 
agents,  and  a  number  of  its  soldiers.  It  triumphed  ;  it  anni- 
hilated its  adversaries :  and  with  such  fury  did  it  profit  by 
its  victory,  that  the  conquered  party  was  never  able  to  rise 
again  in  the  same  province,  or  amongst  the  same  race  of 
men. 

In  the  countries  which  used  the  Provengal  tongue  the  cler- 
gy had  been  enriched  by  immense  dotations;  but  the  bish- 
oprics were  generally  reserved  for  members  of  powerful  fam- 
ilies, who  led  disorderly  lives,  whilst  the  curates  and  inferior 
priests,  taken  from  the  vassals  of  the  nobility,  their  peasants 
and  slaves,  retained  the  brutality,  the  ignorance,  and  the 
baseness,  of  their  servile  origin.  The  people  of  these  pro- 
vinces were  too  enlightened  not  to  feel  contempt  for  the  vices 
of  the  ecclesiastics;  and  so  general  was  this  contempt,  that 
expressions  the  most  offensive  to  churchmen  were  become 
proverbial.  I  would  rather  be  a  priest,  said  they  by  impre- 
cation, than  have  done  such  a  thing  !  Nevertheless,  the  dis- 
position of  the  people  was  towards  religion  ;  and  that  devo- 
tion which  they  could  not  find  in  the  church,  they  sought  for 
amongst  the  sectaries.  These  were  numerous  in  the  pro- 
vince ;  and  the  most  ancient  historian  of  the  persecution 
affirms,  that  Toulouse,  whose  name,  says  he,  ought  rather  to 
have  been  Tola  du/osa,  had  been  scarcely  ever  exempt,  even 
from  its  first  foundation,  from  that  pest  of  heresy  which  the 
fathers  transmitted  to  their  children. 

Those  very  persons  who  punished  the  sectaries  with  fright- 
ful torments  have  alone  taken  upon  themselves  to  make  us 
acquainted  with  their  opinions  ;  allowing,  at  the  same  time, 
that  they  had  been  transmitted  in  Gaul  from  generation  to 
generation,  almost  from  the  origin  of  Christianity.  We  cannot, 
therefore,  be  astonished  if  they  have  represented  them  to  us 
with  all  those  characters  which  might  render  them  the  most 
monstrous,  mingled  with  all  the  fables  which  would  serve  to 
irritate  the  minds  of  the  people  against  those  who  professed 
them.  Nevertheless,  amidst  many  puerile  or  calumnious  tales, 
it  is  still  easy  to  recognize  the  principles  of  the  reformation  of 
the  sixteenth  century  amongst  the  heretics  who  are  designated 
by  the  name  of  V'audois,  or  Albigeois.  Numerous  sects  existed 
at  the  same  time  in  the  province ;  and  this  was  the  necessary 
consequence  of  the  liberty  of  inquiry  which  formed  the  es- 
sence of  their  doctrine  :  all  agreed,  however,  in  regarding 
the  church  of  Rome  as  having  absolutely  perverted  Christian- 
ity, and  in  mantaining  that  it  was  she  who  was  designated 
in  the  Apocalypse  by  the  name  of  the  u-hc/re  of  Bubylon. 
Some,  however,  who  were  distinguished  by  the  name  of  Vau- 
dois,  or  VValdenses,  did  not  differ  from  her  on  the  points  which 
are  the  most  important,  whilst  others  had  given  such  license 
to  their  imaginations  as  almost  to  destroy  the  entire  system 
of  revelation.  They  attributed  the  Old  Testament  to  the 
principle  of  evil ;  for  God  was  there  represented,  they  said, 
as  a  homicide,  who  destroyed  the  human  race  by  a  deluge, 
Sodom  and  Gomorrah  by  fire,  and  the  Egyptians  by  the  in- 
undation of  the  Red  Sea. 

But,  with  respect  to  those  who  opened  the  career  to  the 
reformers  of  the  sixteenth  century,  we  recognize  their  teach- 
ing by  their  denial  of  the  real  presence  in  the  eucharist.  "  If 
the  body  of  Christ,"  said  they,  "was  as  large  as  our  moun- 
tains, it  must  have  been  destroyed  by  the  number  of  those 
whom  they  pretend  to  have  eaten  of  it."  They  rejected  the 
sacraments  of  confirmation,  of  confession,  and  marriao-e,  as 
vain  and  frivolous  ;  they  charged  with  idolatry  the  exposure 
of  images  in  the  churches ;  and  they  named  the  bells,  which 
summoned  the  people  to  the  adoration  of  these  images,  trum- 
pets of  demons.  Their  teachers  or  priests  were  contented 
with  a  black  coat,  instead  of  the  pompous  vestments  of  the 
catholic  clergy.  After  they  had  caused  their  proselytes  to 
abjure  idolatry,  they  received  them  into  their  church  by  the 
imposition  of  hands  and  the  kiss  of  peace.  Whilst  their 
enemies  endeavoured  to  blacken  their  reputation  by  charging 
them  with  permitting,  in  their  teaching,  the  most  licentious 
manners,  and  with  practising,  in  secret,  all  kinds  of  disorders, 
Vol.  II.— 3  F 


they  still  allowed  that,  in  appearance,  they  observed  an  irre- 
proachable chastity  ;  that,  in  their  abstinence  from  all  animal 
food,  their  rigour  exceeded  that  of  the  severest  monks;  that, 
through  their  regard  for  truth,  they  admitted  on  no  occasion 
any  excuse  for  falsehood  ;  that,  in  a  word,  their  charity  al- 
ways prepared  them  to  devote  themselves  to  the  welfare  of 
others.  Several  poems  of  the  Vaudois,  written  in  the  twelfth 
century,  and  recently  published,  confirm  the  resemblance 
between  the  doctrine  and  discipline  of  the  early  and  later 
reformers. 

Activity  and  zeal  for  proselytism  form  another  relation 
between  the  two  reformations.  Both  began  at  a  period  when 
the  human  mind,  eager  for  instruction,  examined  all  that  it 
had  found  established;  demanded  a  reason  for  all  obedience; 
and,  at  the  same  time  that  it  overturned  ancient  civil  domina- 
tions, to  establish  new  ones,  it  also  interrogated  the  ecclesi- 
astical powers,  to  ascertain  their  foundation.  The  adoption 
of  the  reformed  opinion  did  not  immediately  announce  itself 
as  a  heresy  ;  it  was,  in  the  eyes  of  the  initiated,  only  a  pro- 
ject of  sanctification  ;  it  was  an  engagement  to  greater  zeal, 
to  severer  morals,  to  higher  sacrihces,  to  a  more  constant 
occupation  with  spiritual  things.  Since  many  prelates  of  the 
church  had  given  the  example  of  such  reform,  those  who 
followed  them  did  not  consider  themselves  as  going  astray ; 
and  Rome  herself  had  sometimes  considered  the  Paterins,  the 
Catharins,  the  poor  of  Lyon,  and  all  those  new  religious 
societies,  as  so  many  orders  of  monks  who  were  rousino-  the 
fervour  of  the  public,  and  who  never  thought  of  shakiifo-  ofT 
her  yoke.  Innocent  III,  who  ascended  the  pontifical  throne 
in  the  vigour  of  his  age,  was  the  first  who  appeared  to  feel 
the  importance  of  that  independent  spirit  which  was  already 
degenerating  into  revolt.  His  predecessors,  engaged  in  a 
perilous  struggle  with  the  two  Henrys,  and  Frederic  Barba- 
rossa,  thought  their  entire  force  not  too  much  to  defend  them 
against  the  emperors;  and,  in  those  times,  had  themselves 
accepted  the  name  of  Paterins,  which  had  been  given  to  their 
most  zealous  partisans.  But  Innocent  III,  whose  genius  at 
once  embraced  and  governed  the  universe,  was  as  incapable 
of  temporising  as  he  was  of  pity.  At  the  same  time  that  he 
destroyed  the  political  balance  of  Italy  and  Germany ;  that 
he  menaced  by  turns  the  kings  of  Spain,  of  France,  and  of 
England;  that  he  affected  the  tone  of  a  master  with  the 
kings  of  Bohemia,  of  Hungary,  of  Bulgaria,  of  Norway,  and 
of  Armenia;  in  a  word,  that  he  directed  or  repressed  at  his 
will  the  Crusaders,  who  were  occupied  in  overturninor  the 
Greek  empire  and  in  establishing  that  of  the  Latins  at'Con- 
stantinople  ; — Innocent  III,  as  if  he  had  had  no  other  occupa- 
tion, watched  over,  attacked,  and  punished,  all  opinions  differ- 
ent from  those  of  the  Roman  church,  all  independence  of  mind, 
every  exercise  of  the  faculty  of  thinking  in  the  affairs  of 
religion. 

Though  it  was  in  the  countries  where  the  provencal  lan- 
guage was  spoken,  and  especially  in  Languedoc,  that  the 
reformation  of  the  Paterins  had  made  the  greatest  progress, 
it  had  also  spread  rapidly  in  other  parts  of  Christendom,  in 
Italy,  in  Flanders,  in  Lorraine,  in  Germany,  and  in  Spain. 
Innocent  111,  both  from  character  and  policy,  judged  that  the 
church  ought  to  keep  no  measures  with  the  sectaries  ;  that,  if 
it  did  not  crush  them,  if  it  did  not  exterminate  their  race,  and 
strike  Christendom  with  terror,  their  example  would  soon  be 
followed,  and  that  the  fermentation  of  mind,  which  was 
every  where  manifest,  would  shortly  produce  a  conflagration 
throughout  the  Roman  world.  Instead  therefore  of  making 
converts,  he  charged  his  ministers  to  burn  the  leaders,  to 
disperse  the  flocks,  and  to  confiscate  the  property  of  every 
one  who  would  not  think  as  he  did.  At  first,  he  required  of 
those  provinces,  where  the  reformation  had  made  but  small 
progress,  to  give  the  example  of  persecution  ;  and,  in  reality, 
many  leaders  of  the  new  church  perished  in  the  flames  at 
Nevers,  in  1198  and  tlie  following  years.  The  emperor 
Otho  IV,  who  regarded  himself  as  a  creature  of  Innocent  III, 
granted  him  an  edict  for  the  destruction  of  the  Paterins,  cal- 
led also  Gazari,  in  Italy.  But  there  was  a  certain  number  of 
lords  and  high  barons,  who  had  themselves  adopted  the  new 
opinions,  and  who,  instead  of  consenting  to  persecute,  pro- 
tected the  sectaries.  Others  saw  in  them  only  industrious 
vassals,  whom  they  could  not  destroy  without  alfectinor  their 
own  revenues  and  power.  Innocent  111,  therefore,  sought  to 
arm  a  present  interest,  and  brutal  avarice,  against  this  calcu- 
lating economy  of  the  barons.  He  abandoned  to  them  the 
confiscation  of  all  the  heretics'  property,  and  exhorted  them 
to  take  possession  of  it,  after  they  had  banished  those  whom 
they  had  plundered,  and  threatened  them  with  death  if  they 
returned  to  their  homes.     At  the  same  time.  Innocent  III, 


442 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


laid  under  an  anathema  those  of  the  lords  who  should  refuse 
to  sieze  upon  the  property  of  the  heretics,  and  placed  their 
dominions  under  an  interdict. 

The  province  of  Narbonne  was  more  particularly  the  object 
of  Iimocent's  attention.  In  the  year  1193,  the  first  of  his 
pontificate,  he  sent  into  it  two  monks  of  Citeaux,  brother 
Guy  and  brother  Regnier,  who  may  be  considered  as  having 
laid  the  foundations  of  the  Inquisition.  Tlicir  commission 
was  to  discover  and  pursue  heresy ;  being  invested,  for  that 
purpose,  with  all  the  authority  of  tlie  holy  See.  The  foUow- 
incr  year  the  pope  named  brother  Regnier  his  legate  in  the 
four  provinces  of  Embrun,  Aix,  Aries,  and  Narbonne,  and 
enjoined  upon  the  four  archbishops,  and  all  the  bishops,  to 
execute  scrnpulously  the  orders  of  this  monk.  Regnier  hav- 
inn-  fallen  sick,  Innocent  joined  to  him  Peter  of  Castelnau, 
archdeacon  of  Maguelonne,  whose  zeal,  more  furious  than 
that  of  his  predecessors,  is  worthy  of  those  sentiments  which 
the  very  name  of  the  inquisition  inspires. 

The  "mission  of  the  pope's  commissaries,  or  inquisitors, 
was  not  however  limited  to  scrutinizing  the  consciences  of 
the  heretics,  confiscating  their  property,  banishing,  or  send- 
ino-  them  to  the  stake ;  they  traversed  the  province,  accom- 
paliied  by  a  number  of  friars,  who  arrived  successively  to 
their  aid ;  they  preached  and  disputed  against  those  who  had 
wandered  from  the  faitli ;  and  especially,  when  the  lord  of 
the  place  favoured  the  new  opinions,  not  being  able  to  em- 
ploy force,  they  had  recourse  to  the  power  of  their  disputa- 
tions. They  caused  judges  of  these  intellectual  combats,  to 
be  named  beforehand,  and,  if  we  may  believe  their  own  rela- 
tions, they  always  came  off  victorious.  Accustomed  to  the 
sublilties  of  the  schools,  they  pressed  their  adversaries  with 
captious  questions,  or  unlooked-for  conclusions,  and  not 
unfrequently  led  them  to  absurd  declarations.  Diego  d'Aze- 
bez,  bishop  of  Ozma,  and  his  companion  St.  Dominic,  under- 
prior  of  his  cathedral,  who,  about  the  year  1204,  fixed  them- 
selves in  the  province,  to  preach  against  the  heretics,  had 
ranch  success  in  this  kind  of  disputation;  it  even  appears 
that  sometimes  they  wore  out  of  patience  with  their  antago- 
nists, for  being  so  unskilful.  But  when  the  missionaries  had 
embarrassed  their  adversaries,  or  had  vanquished  them  ac- 
cording to  all  the  scholastic  rules,  then  they  said  to  the 
inhabirants  of  the  places  where  they  had  found  them,  "  \Miy 
do  you  not  drive  them  outi  Why  do  you  not  exterminate 
^lieiii  V — "  We  cannot,"  they  replied  to  the  bishop  of  Ozma; 
"  we  have  been  brought  up  with  them,  we  have  relations 
amongst  them,  and  we  see  the  goodness  of  their  lives. — 
"Thu"s,"  says  a  contemporary  writer,  "does  the  spirit  of 
falsehood,  only  by  the  appearance  of  a  pure  and  spotless  life, 
lead  away  these  inconsiderate  people  from  the  truth." 

Another  cause,  it  is  true,  abated  the  persecution.  The  in- 
quisitors had,  by  their  arrogance,  oflended  all  classes  of 
society,  and  had  raised  up  against  themselves  a  cloud  of 
enemies.  Some  bishops  they  accused  of  simony,  others  of 
neo-ligence  in  the  fulfilment  of  their  duties;  and  under  such 
pretences  deposed  the  archbishop  of  Narbonne,  and  the  bish- 
ops of  Toulouse  and  Viviers.  They  otfended  also  all  the 
regular  clergy ;  and  at  the  same  time  tormented  the  count  of 
of'^Toulouse,  and  all  the  lords  of  the  country,  by  accusations 
continually  renewed.  Thus  they  deprived  themselves  of  the 
means  of  kindling  so  many  fires  as  they  could  have  desired. 
To  gain  a  little  popularity,  therefore,  they  took  great  pains 
to  confound  the  heretics  with  the  routiers,  or  hireling  sol- 
diers. The  companies  of  these,  generally  composed,  in  a 
great  measure,  of  strangers,  were  still  known,  in  the  South, 
by  the  name  of  bands  of  Catalans,  as  they  were,  in  the 
North,  by  that  of  Brabangons.  The  routiers  were  lawless 
banditti;  they  pillaged  the  churches  and  the  priests,  but  had, 
in  truth,  no  connexion  with  the  heretics,  and  took  no  interest 
in  doctrinal  questions  and  controversies.  They,  however, 
were  offended  with  the  preachings  directed  against  them,  and 
in  Iheir  turn  avenged  themselves  against  the  missionaries 
and  inquisitors. 

The  count  of  Toulouse,  Raymond  VI,  who  had  cultivated 
the  friendshi])  of  the  routiers,  and  who  had  employed  their 
arms  in  his  frequent  wars,  shared  also  their  resentments. 
We  know  but  imperfectly  the  history  of  the  count  of  Tou- 
louse before  the  crusade.  Raymond  VI,  who  succeeded  to 
his  father,  Raymond  V,  in  1124,  at  the  age  of  thirty-eight, 
had  already,  at  the  head  of  these  routiers,  of  whom  he  had 
made  himself  captain,  made  war  against  many  of  his  neigh- 
bours. He  had  disputed  with  the  barons  of  Banx,  and  with 
many  of  the  lords  of  Languedoc  and  Provence,  as  well  as 
with  some  of  his  own  vassals ;  and  this  was  apparently  tlie 
reason  of  his  seeking  the  alliance  of  Peter  II,  king  of  Aragon, 


whilst  his  father  and  his  ancestors  had,  on  the  contrary, 
endeavoured  to  repress  the  ambition  of  that  house.  Ray- 
mond VI  married  his  fourth  wife,  Eleanor,  sister  of  Peter  II, 
about  the  year  1200;  and  in  1205  he  promised  his  son,  after- 
wards Raymond  VII,  to  Sancha,  daughter  of  the  same  king, 
who  was  but  just  born. 

Raymond  VI  was,  in  the  spring  of  1207,  upon  the  borders 
of  the  Rhone,  occupied  with  the  war  which  he  was  carrying 
on  against  the  barons  of  Baux,  and  other  lords  of  those  coun- 
tries, when  the  legate,  Peter  of  Castelnau,  undertook  to  make 
peace  between  them.  He  first  made  application  to  the 
barons,  and  obtained  their  promise,  that  if  Raymond  VI 
would  acquiesce  in  their  pretensions,  they  would  employ  all 
their  assembled  forces  in  the  extermination  of  the  heretics. 
After  having  agreed  with  them  upon  the  form  of  a  treaty, 
the  legate  returned  to  the  count  of  Toulouse,  and  required 
him  to  sign  it.  Raymond  VI  was  nowise  inclined  to  pur- 
chase, by  the  renunciation  of  his  rights,  the  entrance  into  his 
states  of  a  hostile  army,  who  were  to  pillasje  or  kill  all  those 
of  his  vassals  whom  the  priests  should  indicate.  He  there- 
fore refused  his  consent,  and  Peter  of  Castelnau,  in  liis  wrath, 
excommunicated  him,  laid  his  country  under  an  interdict, 
and  wrote  to  the  pope  to  obtain  the  confirmation  of  the  sen- 
tence. 

Audacious  as  was  th^  conduct  of  his  legate.  Innocent  TII 
was  determined  to  support  him.  He  appears  to  have  sought 
for  an  opportunity  to  commence  hostilities;  being  well  per- 
suaded, that  after  the  progress  which  had  been  made  in  the 
public  opinion,  the  executioners  were  not  sufficient  to  des- 
troy heresy,  but  that  the  whole  people  must  be  exposed  to 
the  sword  of  the  military.  To  confirm  the  sentence  of  ex- 
communication pronounced  by  his  legate,  he  wrote  himself 
to  count  Raymond,  on  the  29th  of  May,  1207,  and  his  letter 
began  with  these  words  :  "  If  we  could  open  your  heart,  we 
should  find,  and  would  point  out  to  you,  the  detestable  abom- 
inations that  you  have  committed  ;  but  as  it  is  harder  than 
the  rock,  it  is  in  vain  to  strike  it  with  ,tbe  words  of  salva- 
tion :  we  camiot  penetrate  it.  Pestilential  man  !  what  pride 
has  seized  youi  heart,  and  what  is  your  folly,  to  refuse  peace 
with  your  neighbours,  and  to  brave  the  divine  laws  by  pro- 
tecting the  enemies  of  the  faith  1  If  you  do  not  fear  eternal 
rtames,  ought  you  not  to  dread  the  temporal  chastisements 
which  you  have  merited  b\'  so  many  crimes  V 

So  insulting  a  letter,  addressed  to  a  sovereign,  must  have 
revolted  his  pride ;  nevertheless,  the  monk,  Peter  de  Vaux 
Cernay,  tells  us,  "  the  wars  which  the  nobles  of  Provence 
carried  on  against  him,  through  the  industry  of  that  man  of 
God,  Peter  de  Castelnau,  and  the  excommunication  which  he 
published  in  every  place  against  the  count,  compelled  him, 
at  last,  to  accept  the  same  conditions  of  peace,  and  to  engage 
himself  by  oath  to  their  observance  ;  but  as  often  as  he  swore 
to  observe  them,  so  many  times  he  perjured  himself." 

Neither  Peter  de  Castelnau,  nor  the  pope,  knew  any  other 
means  of  conversion  than  war,  murder,  and  fire.  In  this 
same  year,  1207,  Innocent  III  thought,  for  the  first  time,  of 
preaching  a  crusade  against  the  sectaries ;  and  since  the 
|)rinces  of  the  country  apjieared  too  slow  in  exterminating 
them,  he  projected  the  calling  in  of  strangers  to  accomplish 
this  work.  On  the  17th  of  November,  he  wrote  to  Philip 
Augustus,  exhorting  him  to  declare  war  against  the  heretics, 
the  enemies  of  God  and  the  church;  and  promising  him,  in 
reward,  in  this  life,  the  confiscation  of  all  their  goods,  and  in 
the  other,  the  same  indulgences  as  were  granted  to  those 
who  combated  the  infidels  in  the  holy  land.  At  the  same 
time,  he  addressed  similar  letters  to  the  duke  of  Burgundy, 
to  the  counts  of  Bar,  of  Nevers,  and  of  Dreux  ;  to  the  count- 
esses of  Troie,  of  Vermandois,  and  of  Blois ;  and  to  all  the 
counts,  barons,  knights,  and  faithful,  of  the  kingdom  of 
France.  Before,  however,  these  letters  had  produced  any 
effect,  a  bloody  catastrophe  redoubled  the  rage  of  the  pope 
and  the  bigots,  and  kindled  the  sacred  war. 

Count  Raymond,  when  he  signed  the  peace  with  his  ene- 
mies, had  engaged  to  exterminate  the  heretics  from  li  is  states; 
but  Peter  de  Castelnau  very  soon  judged,  that  he  did  not  pro- 
ceed in  the  work  with  adequate  zeal.  He  went  to  seek  him, 
reproached  him  to  his  face  with  his  indulgence,  which  he 
termed  baseness,  treated  him  as  perjured,  as  a  favourer  of 
heretics,  and  a  tyrant,  and  again  excommunicated  him.  This 
violent  scene  appears  to  have  taken  place  at  St.  Gilles, 
where  count  Raymond  had  given  a  meeting  to  the  two  le- 
gates. 

1208.  This  lord,  exceedingly  provoked,  threatened  to  make 
Castelnau  pay  for  his  insolence  with  his  life.  The  two  le- 
gates, disregarding  this  threat,  quitted  the  court  of  Raymond  , 


CRUSADES  OF  THE  ALBIGENSES. 


443 


wiiliout  a  reconciliation,  and  came  to  sleep,  on  the  night  of]  all  the  property,  massacre  all  the  men,  and  violate  the  wo- 


tlie  Mill  of  Janu-.iry,  1-308,  in  a  little  inn  by  the  side  of  the 
Hlione,  which  river  they  intended  to  pass  the  next  day. 
One  cf  the  count's  gentleman  happened  to  meet  them  there, 
or  perhaps  had  followed  them.  On  the  morning  of  the  loth, 
after  mass,  this  gentleman  entered  into  a  dispute  with  Peter 
de  Castelnau,  res])ccting  heresy  and  its  punishment.  The  le- 
gate had  never  spared  the  most  insulting  epithets  to  the  ad- 
vocates of  tolerance ;  the  gentleman  already  irritated  by  the 
quarrel  with  his  lord,  and  now  ieeling  himself  personally  of- 
fended, drew  his  poignard,  struck  the  legate  in  the  side,  and 
killed  him.  The  intelligence  of  this  murder  excited  Inno- 
cent III  to  the  greatest  excess  of  wrath.  Raymond  VI  had 
by  no  means  so  direct  a  part  in  the  death  of  Castelnau,  whom 
the  church  regarded  as  a  martyr,  as  had  Henry  II  in  the 
death  of  Thomas  a  Becket.  But  Innocent  111  was  more 
haughty  and  implacable,  than  Alexander  III  had  been.  He 
immediately  published  a  bull,  addressed  to  all  the  counts, 
barons,  and  knights  of  the  four  provinces  of  the  .Southern 
Gaul,  in  which  he  declared  that  it  was  the  devil  who  had  in- 
stigated his  principal  minister,  Raymond,  count  of  Tou- 
lou°se,  agai[ist  the  legate  of  the  holy  see.  He  laid  under 
an  interdict,  all  the  places  which  should  afford  a  refuge  to 
the  murderers  of  Castelnau ;  he  demanded  that  Kaymond 
of  Toulouse  should  be  publicly  anathematised  in  all  the 
churches;  "and  as,"  added  he,  "following  the  canonical 
sanctions  of  the  holy  fathers,  we  must  not  observe  faith  to- 
wards those  who  keep  not  faith  towards  God,  or  who  are  sep- 
arated from  the  communion  of  the  faithful,  we  discharge,  by 
apostolic  authority,  all  those  who  believe  themselves  bound 
towards  this  count",  by  any  oath  either  of  alliance  or  of  fidelity ; 
we  permit  every  catholic  man,  saving  the  right  of  his  princi- 
pal lord,  to  pursue  his  person,  to  occupy  and  retain  his  terri- 
tories, especially  for  the  purpose  of  exterminating  heresy." 

This  first  bull  was  speedily  followed  by  other  letters  equally 
fulminatinnp,  from  Innocent  HI  to  all  who  were  capable  of 
assisting  in  the  destruction  of  the  count  of  Toulouse.  He 
addressed  Philip  Augustus,  exhorting  him  to  carry  on  in 
person  this  sacred  war  of  extermination  a^inst  heretics, 
(who  are,  said  he,  far  worse  than  the  Saracens,)  and  to  strip 
the  count  of  Toulouse  of  all  his  possessions.  He  wrote,  at 
the  same  time  to  the  archbishops  of  Lyons  and  Tours,  to  the 
bishops  of  Paris  and  Nevers,  and  to  the  abbot  of  Citeaux,  to 
engage  their  concurrence  in  this  holy  enterprise. 

Galono,  cardinal  deacon  of  St.  Mary  dcllo  Portico,  whom 
the  pope  sent  with  these  letters  to  France,  does  not  appear  to 
have  obtained  much  credit  with  king  Philip,  who  was,  at 
that  time,  more  occupied  by  his  rivalry  with  the  king  of 
England,  and  with  Otho  of  Germany,  than  with  heresy. 
But  tlie  monks  of  Citeaux,  who  had,  at  the  same  time,  received 
powers  from  Rome  to  preach  the  crusade  amongst  the  people. 
gave  themselves  to  the  work  with  an  ardour  which  had  not 
been  equalled  even  by  the  hermit  Peter,  or  Foulques  de 
Neuilly.  Innocent  HI,  impelled  by  hatred,  had  oliered  to 
those  who  should  take  the  cross  against  the  Provengals,  the 
utmost  extent  of  indulgence  which  his  predecessors  had 
ever  granted  to  those  who  laboured  for  the  deliverance  of  the 
holy  land.  As  soon  as  these  new  Crusaders  had  assumed 
the  sacred  sign  of  the  cross,  (which,  to  distinguish  them- 
selves from  those  of  the  East,  they  wore  on  the  lireast  instead 
of  the  shoulders,)  they  were  instantly  placed  under  the  protec- 
tion of  the  holy  see,  freed  from  the  payment  of  the  interest 
of  their  debts,  and  exempted  from  the  jurisdiction  of  all  the 
tribunals;  whilst  the  war  which  they  were  invited  to  carry 
on,  at  their  doors,  almost  without  danger  or  expense,  was  to 
expiate  all  the  vices  and  crimes  of  a  whole  life.  The  belief 
ill  the  power  of  these  indulgences,  which  we  can  scarcely 
comprehend,  was  not  yet  abated;  the  barons  of  France  never 
doubted,  that,  whilst  fighting  in  the  holy  land  they  had  the 
assurance  of  paradise.  But  those  distant  expeditions  had 
been  attended  with  so  many  disasters ;  so  many  hundreds  of 
thousands  had  perished  in  Asia,  or  by  the  way,  from  hunger, 
or  misery,  or  sickness,  that  others  wanted  courage  to  follow 
them.  It  was  then,  with  transports  of  joy,  that  the  faithful 
received  the  new  pardons  which  were  ottered  them,  and  so 
much  the  more,  that  far  from  regarding  the  return  the)'  were 
called  upon  to  make,  as  jiainful  or  dangerous,  they  would 
willingly  have  undertaken  it  for  the  pleasure  alone  of  doing  it. 
War  was  their  passion,  and  pity  for  the  vanquished  had  never 
troubled  their  pleasure.  The  discipline  of  the  holy  wars  was 
much  less  severe  than  that  of  the  political,  whilst  the  fruits  of 
victory  were  much  more  alluring.  In  them,  they  might,  without 
remorse,  as  well  as  without  restraint  from  their  officers,  pillage 


men  and  children.  The  crusaders  to  the  East  well  knew  that 
the  distance  was  so  great,  as  to  give  them  little  cliacne  of 
bringing  home  the  booty  which  they  had  gained  by  their 
swords;  but  instead  of  riches,  which  the  faithful  were  to 
seek  at  a  distance,  and  tear  from  barbarians,  of  whose  lan- 
miage  they  were  ignorant,  they  were  offered  the  harvest  of  a 
neighbouring  field,  the  spoil  of  a  house  which  they  might 
carry  to  their  own,  and  captives,  abandoned  to  their  desires, 
who  spoke  the  same  language  with  themselves.  Never 
therefore  had  the  cross  been  taken  up  with  a  more  unanimous 
consent.  The  first  to  engage,  through  the  commands  of  their 
pastors,  in  this  war,  which  was  denominated  sacred,  were  Eudes 
III,  duke  of  Burgundy  ;  Simon  de  Montfort,  count  of  Leices- 
ter ;  the  countsof  Nevers,  of  St.  Paul,  of  Auxerre,  of  Geneve, 
and  of  Forez. 

The  abbot  of  Citeaux,  Arnold  Amalric,  distinguished  him- 
self with  his  whole  congregation,  by  his  zeal  in  preaching  this 
war  of  extermination;  the  convents  of  his  order  (the  Bernar- 
dins),  of  which  there  were  already  seven  or  eight  hundred 
in  France,  Italy,  and  Germany,  appropriated  the  Crusade 
against  the  Albigenses  as  their  special  province.  In  the  name 
of  the  pope,  and  of  the  apostles  St.  Peter  and  St.  Paul,  they 
promised,  to  all  who  should  perish  in  this  holy  expedition, 
plenary  absolution  of  all  sins,  committed  from  the  day  of  their 
birth,  to  that  of  their  death.  But  whilst  the  Bernardins  were 
recruiting  soldiers  for  the  cross.  Innocent  HI  charged  a  new 
congregation  (at  the  head  of  which  he  placed  the  Spaniard, 
Saint  Dominic),  to  go  on  foot,  two  by  two,  through  the  vil- 
lages, to  preach  the  faith  in  the  midst  of  them,  to  enlighten 
them  by  controversial  discussions,  to  display  to  them  all  the 
zeal  of  Christian  charity,  and  to  obtain  from  their  confidence, 
exact  information  as  to  the  number  and  dwellings  of  those 
who  had  wandered  from  the  church,  in  order  to  burn  them 
when  the  opportunity  should  arrive.  Thus  began  the  order 
of  the  preaching  brethren  of  St.  Dominic,  or  of  the  inquisitors. 
The  new  bishop  of  Toulouse,  Foulques,  or  Fouquet,  a  native 
of  Marseilles,  who  had  formerly  distinguished  himself  as  a 
troubadour,  and  who,  quitting  love  and  poetry,  had  thrown 
himself  into  the  ranks  of  the  persecutors,  appears  to  have 
suggested  to  Innocent  HI  the  principal  rules  of  this  order, 
the  experiment  of  which  was  made  for  seven  years  in  his 
diocese,  before  the  pope  confirmed  it  in  the  council  of  Laleran. 
120S.  The  crusaders  were  not  ready  to  march  this  year, 
but  their  immense  preparations  resounded  throughout  Europe, 
and  filled  Languedoc  with  terror.  It  was  well  know'n  that 
the  countries  destined  to  vengeance  and  extermination,  by  the 
monks  of  Citeaux,  as  being  more  particularly  the  seats  of 
heresy,  were  the  states  of  Raymond  VI,  count  of  Toulouse, 
and  those  of  his  nephew,  Raymond  Roger,  viscount  of  Alby, 
Beziers,  Carcassone  and  Limoux,  in  Rasez.  Although  Ray- 
mond of  Toulouse  had  been  a  soldier  of  some  distinction,  he 
was  mild,  feeble  and  timid,  desirous  of  saving  his  subjects 
from  confiscations  and  punishments,  but  still  more  desirous  of 
saving  himself  from  persecution.  His  nephew,  on  the  con- 
trary, was  generous,  lofty  and  impetuous  :  he  was  twenty-four 
years  of  age;  he  had  succeeded  his  father  fourteen  years  be- 
fore, and  during  his  minority  his  states  had  been  governed  by 
guardians  inclined  to  the  new  doctrines.  These  two  princes, 
having  learned  that  Arnold,  abbot  of  Citeaux,  leader  of  the 
crusade,  had  been  nominated  by  the  pope,  his  legate  in  those 
provinces  from  which  he  designed  to  eradicate  heresy,  and 
that  he  had  assembled  a  council  of  the  chiefs  of  the  sacred 
war,  at  Aubenaz,  in  the  Vivarias,  went  thither  to  avert  the 
storm,  if  possible.  They  protested  that  they  were  strangers 
to  heresy;  that  the)'  were  innocent  of  the  death  of  Peter  of 
Castelnau ;  and  they  demanded  at  least  to  be  heard  before 
they  were  condemned.  The  legate  received  them  with  ex- 
treme haughtiness,  declared  that  he  could  do  nothing  for  them, 
and  that,  if  they  wished  to  obtain  any  mitigation  of  the  mea- 
sures adopted  against  them,  they  must  address  themselves  to 
the  pope.  Raymond  Roger  perceived  by  this  language  that 
nothinn-  was  to  be  expected  from  negotiation,  and  that  there 
remained  no  alternative  but  to  place  garrisons  in  all  their 
strong  towns,  and  to  prepare  valiantly  for  their  defence.  But 
Raymond  VI,  overwhelmed  with  terror,  declared  himself 
ready  to  submit  to  any  thing;  to  be  himself  the  executor  of 
the  violence  of  the  ecclesiastics  against  his  own  subjects;  and 
to  make  war  against  his  family,  rather  than  draw  the  crusaders 
into  his  states.  The  two  relations,  not  being  able  to  agree 
upon  the  conduct  they  were  to  pursue,  separated  with  re- 
proaches and  menaces.  Raymond  Roger  retired  into  his 
states,  and  immediately  put  himself  into  a  defensive  condi- 


444 


CHRISTIAN     LIBRARY. 


tilion ;  he  even  began  hostilities  against  the  count  of  Tou- 
louse, whose  attacks  lie  apprehendetl ;  whilst  Raymond  VI, 
after  having  assembled  his  most  faithful  servants  at  Aries, 
engaged  the  archbishop  of  Auch,  the  abbot  of  Condom,  the 
prior  of  the  Hospitalers  of  St.  Gilles,  and  Bernard,  lord  of 
Rabasteens,  in  Bigorre,  to  proceed  to  Rouen,  in  order  to  offer 
his  submission  to  Innocent  III,  and  receive  his  indulgence, 

Raymond  YI  at  the  same  time  applied  for  the  protection 
of  his  cousin,  Philip  Augustus,  king  of  France,  and  that  of 
Otho,  king  of  Germany.  The  former  at  first  received  him 
■with  fair  words,  but  afterward  took  occasion  from  the  solicita- 
tions of  Raymond  to  his  rival,  Otho,  to  refuse  hira  all  as- 
sistance. The  ambassadors  of  Raymond  to  the  pope  were, 
on  tlie  contrary,  received  with  apparent  indulgence.  It  was 
required  of  them  that  their  master  should  make  common  cause 
with  the  crusaders  ;  that  he  should  assist  them  in  extermi- 
nating the  heretics;  and  that  he  should  surrender  to  them 
seven  of  his  best  castles,  as  a  pledge  of  his  intentions.  Upon 
these  conditions  the  pope  not  only  gave  Raymond  the  hope 
of  absolution,  but  promised  him  his  entire  favour.  Innocent 
III  was,  however,  far  from  having  pardoned  Raymond  in  the 
bottom  of  his  heart.  For,  at  this  same  epoch,  he  wrote  to  the 
bishops  of  Riez  and  Conserans,  and  to  the  abbot  of  Citeaux, 
"  We  counsel  you,  with  the  apostle  Paul,  to  employ  guile 
with  regard  to  this  count,  for  in  this  case  it  ought  to  be  called 
prudence.  We  must  attack,  separately,  those  who  are  sepa- 
rated from  unity,  leave  for  a  time  the  count  of  Toulouse, 
employing  towards  him  a  wise  dissimulation,  that  the  other 
heretics  may  be  tbe  more  easily  defeated,  and  that  afterwards 
we  may  crush  him  when  he  shall  be  left  alone."  We  cannot 
but  remark,  that  whenever  ambitious  and  perfidious  priests 
had  any  disgraceful  orders  to  communicate,  they  never  failed 
to  pervert,  for  this  purpose,  some  passages  of  the  holy  Scrip- 
tures; one  would  say  that  they  had  only  studied  the  Bible  to 
make  sacrilegious  applications  of  it. 

All  the  fanatics  whom  the  preachings  of  the  monks  of  Ci- 
teaux had  engaged  to  devote  themselves  to  the  sacred  war,  be- 
gan to  move  ill  the  spring  of  the  year  1209.  The  indulgences 
of  the  crusade  had  been  offered  to  them  on  the  lowest  terms ; 
they  were  required  to  make  a  campaign  of  only  forty  days, 
(to  which  the  greater  part  of  the  vassals  were  obliged  by  the 
service  of  their  fiefs),  in  exchange  for  eternal  salvation.  The 
shorter  the  service  was,  the  better  it  suited  the  neighbourino- 
provinces. 

It  was,  in  fact,  principally  amongst  the  near  neighbours  of 
the  Albigenses,  that  the  Bernardins  found  means  to  draw 
after  them  nearly  the  whole  population.  Some  authors  have 
spoken  of  three  hundred,  or  even  of  five  hundred  thousand 
pilgrims  or  crusaders,  who  precipitated  themselves  upon 
Languedoc ;  the  abbot  of  Vaus  Cernay  reckons  but  fifty 
thousand  in  this  first  campaign,  and  the  smallest  number 
is  the  most  probable,  especially  in  that  age  when  very  nu- 
merous armies  were  so  seldom  seen.  We  must  not,  however, 
include  in  this  calculation  the  ignorant  and  fanatical  multi- 
tude which  followed  each  preacher,  armed  with  scythes  and 
clubs,  and  promised  to  themselves  that  if  they  were  not  in 
condition  to  combat  the  knights  of  Languedoc,  they  might, 
at  least,  be  able  to  murder  the  women  and  children  of  the 
heretics.  Several  places  had  been  assigned  for  the  assem- 
bling of  the  crusaders.  Arnold  Amalric,  abbot  of  Citeaux, 
legate  of  the  pope,  and  chief  director  of  the  crusade,  collected 
at  Lyons  the  greatest  number  of  combatants,  principally  those 
who  had  taken  arms  in  the  kingdom  of  Aries,  and  who  were 
vassals  of  Otho  IV;  the  archbishop  of  Bourdeaux  had  as- 
sembled a  second  body  in  the  Agenois;  these  were  subjects  of 
the  king  of  England ;  the  bishop  of  Puy  commanded  a  third 
body  in  the  Velay,  who  were  subjects  of  Philip  Augustus. 

When  count  Raymond  VI.  learned  that  these  terrible  bands 
of  fanatics  were  about  to  move,  and  that  they  were  all  directed 
towards  his  states,  he  hastened  to  represent  to  the  pope  that 
the  legate  Arnold,  who  conducted  them,  was  his  personal 
enemy,  and  "  it  would  be  unjust,"  said  he,  "  to  profit  by  my 
submission,  to  deliver  me  to  the  mercy  of  a  man  who  would 
listen  only  to  his  resentment  against  me."  To  take  from  the 
count  of  Toulouse,  in  appearance,  this  motive  for  complaint, 
Innocent  III  named  a  new  legate,  Milon,  his  notary  or  secre- 
tary; but  far  from  endeavouring,  by  this  means,  to  restrain 
the  hatred  of  the  abbot  of  Citeaux,  his  only  aim  was  to  de- 
ceive Raymond;  "  for  the  lord  pope  expressly  said  to  this 
new  legate,  let  the  abbot  of  Citeaux  do  every  thing,  and  be 
thou  only  his  organ ;  for  in  fact  the  count  of  Toulouse  has 
suspicions  concerning  him,  whilst  he  does  not  suspect  thee." 

The  nearer  the  crusaders  approached  the  more  the  count  of 


Toulouse,  who  had  given  himself  into  their  power,  was  struck 
with  terror.  On  the  one  hand,  he  endeavoured  to  gain  the 
affections  of  his  subjects  by  granting  new  privileges  to  some, 
and  pardoning  the  offences  of  others  who  had  incurred  his 
resentment;  on  tlie  other  hand  he  consented  to  purchase  his 
absolution  from  the  hands  of  the  pope's  legate,  by  the  most 
humiliating  concessions.  He  consigned  to  the  a])ostolic  no- 
tary seven  of  his  principal  castles,  as  a  pledge  of  his  fidelity; 
he  permitted  the  consuls  of  his  best  cities  to  engage  to  abandon 
him  if  he  should  depart  from  the  conditions  imposed  upon 
him ;  he  submitted  beforehand  to  the  judgment  whicli  the 
legale  should  pronounce  upon  fifteen  accusations  which  the 
agents  of  the  persecution  had  laid  against  him;  and  finally, 
he  suffered  himself  on  the  18th  of  .Line  to  be  conducted  into 
the  church  of  St.  Gilles,  with  a  cord  about  his  neck  and  his 
shoulders  naked,  and  there  receive  the  discipline  around  the 
altar.  After  all  these  humiliations  he  was  allowed  to  take 
the  cross  against  the  heretics,  and  it  was  by  favour  that  he 
was  permitted  to  join  those  who  were  about  to  attack  his 
nephew,  becoming  their  guide  for  that  purpose. 

The  principal  army  of  the  crusaders  descended  the  valley 
of  the  Rhone  by  Lj'ons,  Valence,  Montelimart  and  Avignon. 
The  count  of  Toulouse  went  to  meet  it  at  Valence;  he  con- 
ducted it  to  Montpellier,  where  it  passed  some  days.  In  this 
city  the  young  Raymond  Roger,  viscount  of  Beziers,  came 
also  to  seek  the  legate  with  a  view  of  making  his  peace.  Ac- 
cording to  the  ancient  chronicle  of  Toulouse,  he  told  him 
"  that  he  had  done  the  church  no  wrong,  and  wished  to  do 
none  ;  but  that  if  his  people  and  officers  had  received  and  sup- 
[lorted  an)-  heretics  or  other  persons,  in  his  domain,  that  he 
was  innocent  of  it  and  not  to  blame;  and  that  those  ought  to 
pay  and  satisf}',  and  not  he,  considering  his  disposition  ;  and 
that  the  said  officers  had  always  governed  his  territory  to  this 
hour;  praying  and  supplicating  the  said  legate  and  council, 
to  receive  him  to  mercy,  for  he  was  servant  to  the  church,  and 
for  her  wished  to  live  and  die  towards  and  against  every  one." 
To  which  the  legate  replied  that  what  he  had  to  do  was  to 
defend  himself  the  best  that  he  could,  for  he  should  show  him 
no  mercy.  * 

Indeed,  from  that  time,  the  viscount  of  Beziers  thought 
only  of  making  a  vigorous  defence.  He  called  to  him  all  his 
vassals,  all  his  friends  and  allies,  and  communicated  to  them 
the  offers  which  he  had  made;  he  informed  them  of  the  man- 
ner in  which  they  had  been  received,  and  found  them  as  de- 
termined as  he  was,  to  defend  themselves.  It  was  very  far 
from  being  the  case,  that  all  who  took  arms  with  him  were 
heretics,  but  the  mass  of  the  crusaders,  whose  arrival  they 
liad  beheld,  was  so  disorderly,  so  eager  to  shed  blood,  in 
honour  of  the  church,  so  impatient  for  action,  without  asking 
or  receiving  any  explanation,  that  no  one  dared  to  take  the 
chance  of  its  errors,  and  that  all  the  barons  and  knights  were 
eager  to  shut  themselves  up  in  their  castles,  to  summon  their 
peasants,  and  to  provision  themselves  there,  that  they  might 
be  able  to  resist  the  first  attack.  Some  castles,  at  Servian 
and  Puy-la-roque,  were  abandoned  at  the  approach  of  these 
fanatics;  others,  as  Caussadi  and  St.  Antonin,  where  there 
was  no  suspicion  of  heretics,  ransomed  themselves  by  heavy 
contributions.  Villemur  was  burned.  Chasseneuil,  after  a 
vigorous  resistance,  capitulated.  The  garrison  obtained  per- 
mission to  retire  with  what  they  could  carry,  but  the  inhabit- 
ants, being  suspected  of  heresy,  were  abandoned  to  the  mercy 
of  the  legate.  The  crusaders  regarded  their  capture  as  the 
object  and  recompense  of  their  enterprise.  Men  and  women 
were  all  precipitated  into  the  flames,  amidst  the  acclamations 
of  their  ferocious  conquerors  :  all  the  wealth  found  in  the  cas- 
tle was  afterwards  given  up  to  pillage. 

But  Raymond  Roger  had  chiefly  calculated  on  the  defence 
of  his  two  great  cities,  Beziers,  and  Carcassonne ;  he  had 
divided  between  them  his  most  valiant  knights,  and  the  rou- 
liers  who  were  attached  to  his  fortune.  He  had  first  visited 
Beziers  to  assure  himself  that  his  place  was  provided  with 
every  thing,  and  to  exhort  the  citizens  valiantly  to  defend 
their  lives.  He  had  then  shut  himself  up  in  Carcassonne,  a 
city  built  upon  a  rock  partly  surrounded  by  the  river  Aude, 
and  whose  two  suburbs  were  themselves  encircled  by  walls 
and  ditches.  The  citizens  of  Beziers  felt  themselves  intimi- 
dated, when  they  knew  that  their  young  viscount  quitted  them 
for  a  place  of  greater  strength ;  their  inquietude  redoubled 
when  they  saw  the  crusaders  arrive,  whose  three  bodies  uni- 
ted under  their  walls  after  the  middle  of  .Inly  1209.  They 
had  been  preceded  by  Reginald  of  Montpeyroux,  bishop  of 
Beziers,  who  after  having  visited  the  legate,  and  delivered  to 
him  a  list  of  those,  amongst  his  flock,  whom  he  suspected  of 


CRUSADES  OF  THE  ALBIGENSES. 


445 


heresy,  and  whom  lie  wished  to  see  consigned  to  the  flames, 
returned  to  his  parishioners,  to  represent  the  danjrers  lo  wliich 
they  were  exposed,  and  to  exhort  them  to  surrender  iheir  fel- 
low citizens  to  the  avengers  of  the  faith,  rather  than  to  draw 
upon  themselves,  and  upon  their  wives  and  children,  the  wrath 
of  heaven  and  the  church.  "Tell  the  leirate,"  replied  the 
citizens,  whom  he  had  assembled  in  the  cathedral  of  St.  Ni- 
caise,  "that  our  city  is  good  and  strong,  that  our  Lord  will 
not  fail  to  succour  us  in  our  great  necessities,  and  that,  rather 
Uian  commit  the  baseness  demanded  of  us,  we  would  eat  our 
own  children."  Nevertheless,  there  was  no  heart  so  bold  as 
not  to  tremble,  when  the  pilgrims  were  encamped  under  their 
walls;  "and  so  great  was  the  assemblage  both  of  tents  and 
pavilions,  that  it  appeared  as  if  all  the  world  was  collected 
tliere;  at  which  those  of  the  city  began  to  be  greatly  aston- 
ished, for  they  thought  they  were  only  fables,  what  their 
bishop  had  come  to  tell  them,  and  advise  them." 

The  citizens  of  Beziers,  though  astonished,  were  not  dis- 
couraged :  whilst  their  enemies  were  still  occupied  in  tracing 
their  camp,  they  made  a  sally,  and  attacked  them  at  unawares. 
But  the  crusaders  were  still  more  terrible,  compared  with  the 
inhabitants  of  the  south,  by  their  fanaticism  and  boldness, 
than  by  their  numbers.  The  infantry  alone  sufficed  to  repulse 
the  citizens  with  great  loss.  At  this  instant,  all  the  battal- 
ions of  the  besiegers,  precipitating  themselves  upon  them  at 
the  same  time,  pursued  them  so  eagerly  that  they  entered  the 
gates  with  them,  and  found  themselves  masters  of  the  city 
before  they  had  even  formed  their  plan  of  attack.  The  knights, 
learning  that  they  had  triumphed  vithout  fighting,  inquired 
of  the  legate,  Arnold  Amalric,  abbot  of  Citeaux,  how  they 
should  distinguish  the  catholics  from  the  heretics,  who  made 
tiiem  this  much  celebrated  reply:  "  A7//  llicm  all;  the  Lord 
mill  know  tvfll  those  tvho  ore  A/s." 

The  fixed  population  of  Beziers  did  not,  perhaps,  exceed 
fifteen  thousand  persons;  but  all  the  inhabitants  of  the  coun- 
try, of  the  open  villages,  and  of  the  castles  which  had  not 
been  judged  capable  of  defence,  had  taken  refuge  in  this  city, 
which  was  regarded  as  exceedingly  strong ;  and  even  those 
■who  had  remained  to  guard  the  strong  castles,  had,  for  the 
most  part,  sent  their  wives  and  children  to  Beziers.  This 
whole  multitude,  at  the  moment  when  the  crusaders  became 
masters  of  the  gates,  took  refuge  in  the  cliurches ;  the  great 
cathedral  of  Saint  Nicaise  contained  the  greater  number  ;  the 
canons,  clothed  with  their  choral  habits,  surrounded  the  altar, 
and  sounded  the  bells  as  if  to  express  their  prayers  to  the 
furious  assailants ;  but  these  supplications  of  brass  were  as 
little  heard  as  those  of  the  human  voice.  The  bells  ceased 
not  to  sound,  till,  of  that  immense  multitude,  which  had  taken 
refuge  in  the  church,  the  last  had  been  massacred.  Neither 
were  those  spared  who  had  sought  an  asylum  in  the  other 
churches ;  seven  thousand  dead  bodies  were  counted  in  that 
of  the  Magdalen  alone.  When  the  crusaders  had  massacred 
the  last  living  creature  in  Beziers,  and  had  pillaged  the  hou- 
ses of  all  that  they  thought  worth  carrying  otf,  they  set  fire  to 
the  city,  in  every  part  at  once,  and  reduced  it  to  a  vast  funeral 
pile.  Not  a  house  remained  standing,  not  one  human  being 
alive.  Historians  differ  as  to  the  number  of  victims.  The 
abbot  of  Citeaux,  feeling  some  shame  for  the  butchery  which 
he  had  ordered,  in  his  letter  to  Innocent  III,  reduces  it  to 
fifteen  thousand  ;  others  make  it  amount  to  sixty. 

The  terror  inspired  by  the  massacre  at  Beziers,  caused  all 
the  country  places  to  be  deserted.  None  appeared  strong 
enough  to  resist  an  arm)',  which,  in  a  single  day,  had  taken 
and  destroyed  the  capital.  The  inhabitants  preferred  taking 
refuge  in  the  woods  and  mountains,  to  waiting  for  such  ene- 
mies, within  the  enclosure  of  walls,  which  might  serve  them 
for  a  prison.  As  there  was  not  a  knight  in  all  France  whose 
dwelling  was  not  fortified,  the  number  of  castles,  in  the  two 
dioceses  of  Beziers  and  Carcassonne,  was  immense  ;  but  the 
crusaders  found  more  than  a  hundred  of  them  deserted.  They 
still  advanced,  however,  unsatiated  with  blood,  and  on  the 
1st  of  August  arrived  before  Carcassonne.  That  city  was 
then  entirely  built  on  the  right  of  the  Aude  ;  the  young  vis 
count  had  augmented  its  fortifications,  and  it  was  defended 
by  a  numerous  garrison.  On  the  following  day  an  attack  was 
made  upon  one  of  the  suburbs,  and  after  a  combat  of  two 
hours,  during  which  Raymond  Roger  on  one  side,  and  count 
Simon  de  Montfort  on  the  other,  gave  proofs  of  extraordinary 
valour,  it  was  taken.  The  assailants  then  proceeded  to  the 
attack  of  the  second  suburb,  but  were  repulsed  with  loss. — 
For  eight  days  the  besieged  continued  to  defend  it  with  sue 
cess  ;  they  at  last  evacuated  it,  and  having  set  it  on  fire,  they 
abandoned  it  to  their  enemies,  and  retired  into  the  city. 


King  Peter  II  of  Aragon,  whom  the  viscount  of  Beziers 
lad  acknowledged  as  his  lord,  beheld  with  chagrin  the  op- 
pression of  that  young  prince,  his  nephew.  He  came  to  the 
camp  of  the  Crusaders,  he  addressed  himself  to  the  count  of 
Toulouse,  his  brother-in-law,  whom  he  saw  compelled  lo  fol- 
low and  second  the  enemies  of  his  country  ;  he  offered  him- 
self as  mediator  between  him,  the  duke  of  Burgundy,  and  the 
egate,  on  one  side,  and  the  viscount  on  the  other.  Before 
they  entered  on  any  conditions,  the  abbot  Arnold  of  Citeaux, 
who  wished  to  obtain  some  information  as  to  the  state  of  the 
besieged,  engaged  the  king  of  Aragon  to  enter  himself  into 
the  city,  to  confer  with  Raymond  Roger.  The  young  vis- 
count, after  giving  his  lively  thanks,  said  to  him,  "If  yon 
wish  to  arrange  for  me  anj'  adjustment,  in  the  form  and  man- 
ner which  shall  appear  to  you  fitting,  I  will  accept  and  ratify 
it  without  any  contradiction;  for  I  see  clearly,  that  we  cannot 
maintain  ourselves  in  this  city,  on  account  of  the  multitude 
of  countrymen,  women,  and  children,  who  have  taken  refuge 
here.  W'e  cannot  reckon  them,  and  they  die  every  day  in 
great  numbers.  But  were  there  only  myself  and  my  people 
ere,  I  swear  to  you,  that  I  would  rather  die  of  famine,  than 
surrender  to  the  legate."  AVhen  the  king  of  Aragon  had  re- 
lated Ibis  discourse  to  the  Abbot  of  Citeaux,  he  could  better 
judge  what  sort  of  propositions  he  might  make  to  a  generous 
man,  with  the  assurance  that  they  would  not  be  accepted  ;  for 
whilst  he  dared  not  absolutely  repel  such  a  mediator  as  the 
king  of  Aragon,  yet  he  wished  not  to  have  a  peace  which 
should  suspend  the  massacres.  He  therefore  caused  the  vis- 
count to  be  informed,  that  the  only  terms  which  could  be 
granted  him  were,  that  he  might  quit  the  city  with  twelve 
others,  and  that  the  remainder  of  the  citizens  and  soldiers 
should  be  abandoned  to  his  good  pleasure."  "Rather  than 
do  what  the  legate  demands  of  me,"  replied  Raymond  Roger, 
'  I  would  suffer  myself  to  be  flayed  alive.  He  shall  not 
ave  the  least  of  ray  company  at  his  mercy,  for  it  is  on  my 
account  they  are  in  danger."  Peter  II  approved  the  gener- 
osity of  his  nephew,  and  turning  towards  the  knights  and  cit- 
izens of  Carcassonne,  to  whom  these  conditions  bad  also  been 
announced,  he  said  to  them,  "  You  now  know  what  you  have 
to  expect;  mind  and  defend  yourselves  well,  for  he  w-ho  de- 
fends himself  always  finds  good  mercy  at  last." 

The  king  of  Aragon  was  scarcely  departed  before  the  cru- 
saders made  an  assault  upon  the  walls.  They  endeavoured 
to  fill  the  ditches  with  faggots,  which  they  brought  for  that 
purpose,  encouraging  each  other  by  loud  shoutings.  But,  as 
soon  they  approached  the  walls,  the  besieged  poured  upon 
them  streams  of  boiling  water  and  oil,  they  crushed  them 
with  stones  and  projectiles  of  every  kind,  and  forced  them  to 
to  retire.  The  attack  was  prolonged  and  many  times  renewed, 
but  the  assailants  were  at  last  obliged  to  retreat  with  great 
loss.  The  time  was  now  approaching  when  the  greater  part 
of  the  crusaders  would  have  finished  their  forty  days'  ser- 
vice; they  had  reckoned  upon  a  miracle  in  their  favour,  and 
already  had  been  repulsed  in  two  assaults.  The  legate  re- 
marked in  his  army  some  symptoms  of  discouragement;  he 
therefore  emplo)'ed  a  gentleman  related  to  the  viscount,  who 
happened  to  be  with  him,  to  enter  into  the  city  and  renew 
the  negociations.  Raymond  Roger,  on  his  side,  greatly  de- 
sired an  honourable  capitulation,  for  he  began  to  perceive  the 
failure  of  water  in  the  cisterns  of  the  city,  which  the  extreme 
heat  of  the  season  had  dried  up.  He  was  so  fully  satisfied 
of  the  rectitude  of  bis  proceedings,  that  he  could  not  but  be- 
lieve, when  the  injustice  of  which  he  had  been  the  victim^ 
should  be  known,  that  it  would  excite  the  commiseration  of 
the  great  lords  and  the  ecclesiastics,  whom  zeal  for  Chris- 
tianity had  alone  armed  against  him.  He  persuaded  himself 
that  if  he  could  gain  a  hearing  he  should  be  able  to  remove  all 
the  difficulties  which  he  had  hitherto  encountered,  and  he  only 
asked  of  the  mediator  who  presented  himself,  to  procure  him 
a  safe  conduct,  that  he  might  repair  to  the  camp  of  tlie  cru- 
saders. He  obtained,  both  from  the  legate  and  the  lords  of 
the  army,  the  most  complete  guarantee  for  his  safety  and 
liberty,  and  the  promise  of  the  crusaders  was  confirmed  by 
oaths.  He  then  quitted  the  city,  attended  by  three  hundred 
knights,  and  presented  himself  at  the  tent  of  the  legate,  where 
all  The  principal  lords  of  the  army  were  assembled.  After 
having  nobly  and  powerfully  defended  his  conduct,  he  de- 
clared" that  he  submitted,  as  he  had  always  done,  to  the  orders 
of  the  church,  and  that  he  awaited  the  decision  of  the  council. 
But  the  legate  was  profoundly  penetrated  with  the  maxiin 
of  Innocent  III,  that  "  to  keep  faith  with  those  who  have  it 
not,  is  an  offence  against  the  faith."  He  caused  the  young 
viscount  to  be  arrested  with  all  the  knights  who  had  followed 


446 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


him,  and  confided  him  to  the  care  of  Simon  de  Montfort.    By  la  few  years  since,  he  had  sold  to  Pliilip  Augustus;  and  his 


this  treachery,  lie  thouwlit  to  strike  with  terror  the  souls  of 
the  inhabitants  of  Carcassonne;  bnt  the  etl'cct  of  it  was  pre- 
cisely to  withdraw  from  his  power  tlie  victims  whom  he  liad 
destined  to  tlie  flames.  The  citizens  were  acquainted  with  a 
secret 


passacre  by  which  they  could  escape  from  the  town.  It 
was  a  cavern,  three  leagues  in  lenirth,  which  goes  from  Car- 
cassonne as  far  as  the  towers  of  Cahardes.  During  the  night 
they  escaped  by  lliis  cavern,  abandoning  all  their  riches  to  the 
avidity  of  their  enemies.  The  next  morning  the  besiegers  were 
astonished  at  not  seeing  any  person  on  the  walls  of  the  city; 
but  it  required  a  considerable  time  to  convince  them  that  it 
was  entirely  deserted.  They  then  entered,  and  the  legate  took 
possession  of  the  spoil  in  the  name  of  the  church,  excommu- 
lucating  those  of  tlie  crusaders  who  should  have  appropriated 
the  smallest  part.  Nevertheless,  he  thought  himself  obliged 
to  dissemble  the  villainy  to  which  he  had  had  recourse,  and 
which  had  so  l)adly  succeeded.  He  announced  tliat  on  the 
the  Ifjlh  of  August,  the  day  of  the  occupation  of  the  city,  he 
had  signed  a  capitulation,  by  which  he  permitted  all  tlie  in 
habitants  to  quit  it  with  their  lives  only.  He  thought  it  also 
}iroper,  for  the  honour  of  the  holy  church,  not  to  let  it  be  sup- 
posed, that  all  the  heretics  had  escaped  him.  His  scouts 
had  collected  in  the  fields  a  certain  number  of  prisoners,  and 
amongst  the  fugitives  from  Carcassonne  some  had  been  over- 
taken and  brought  to  the  camp.  He  had  in  his  hands,  be- 
sides, the  three  hundred  knights  who  had  accompanied  the 
viscount.  Out  of  all  these  he  made  choice  for  execution  of 
four  hundred  and  filty  men  and  women,  who  might  be  sus- 
pected of  heresy.  P'our  hundred  he  caused  to  be  burned 
alive,  and  the  remaining  fifty  to  be  hanged. 

The  principal  object  of  the  crusade  was  now  accomplished  : 
the  count  of  Toulouse,  who  had  been  accused  of  favouring 
the  heretics,  bad  submitted  to  the  most  degrading  huniilia 
tions  to  make  his  peace.  The  viscount  of  Narbonne,  to  avoid 
the  visit  of  the  crusaders,  had  published  against  the  heretics 
laws  more  rigorous  than  even  tlie  cliiirch  demanded.  The 
viscount  of  Beziers  was  a  prisoner;  his  two  strongest  cities 
were  destroyed,  and  the  greater  number  of  his  castles  con- 
tained not  a  single  inhabitant.  The  French  lords,  who,  to 
gain  the  pardons  of  the  church,  had  marched  to  the  crusade, 
began  to  feel  some  shame  for  all  the  blood  which  had  been 
shed,  and  for  their  word  which  bad  been  falsified,  'i'he 
Knights  and  soldiers  having  fulfilled  the  term  of  their  servic(\ 
detiianded  their  dismissal ;  but  the  abbot  of  Citeaux,  the 
legate  of  the  pope,  alone  felt  that  he  had  not  done  enough. 
The  sectaries  were  frozen  with  terror;  they  had  concealed 
themselves;  they  were  silent;  they  would  even  be  so  long 
after  the  departure  of  the  crusaders.  IJut  they  were  not  de- 
stroyed; their  opinions  would  secretly  circulate;  resentinent 
for  the  outrages  already  sufTered  would  alienate  them  still 
more  from  the  church,  and  the  reformation  would  break  forth 
afresh.  To  turn  back  the  march  of  civilization,  to  ohliterute 
the  traces  of  a  migbty  progress  of  the  human  mind,  it  was 
not  suflicient  to  sacrifice,  for  an  example,  some  thousands  of 
victims:  the  nation  tiiust  be  destroyed  ;  all  who  had  partici- 
pated in  the  developinent  of  thought  and  of  science  must 
perish,  and  none  must  be  spared  but  the  lowest  rustics,  whose 
intelligence  is  scarcely  superior  to  the  beasts  whose  labours 
they  share.  Such  was  the  object  of  the  abbot  Arnold,  and 
he  did  not  deceive  himself  as  to  the  means  of  accomplish- 
ing it. 

Arnold  Amalric,  chief  of  the  order  of  ('iteaux,  and  legate 
of  the  pope,  having  assembled  a  council  of  the  crusaders,  re- 
quired them  to  dispose  of  the  conquests  they  had  inade  in 
favour  of  a  prince  who  would  complete  the  extirpation  ot 
heresy;  and  he  otVered  at  first  the  viscounties  of  Beziers  and 
of  Carcassonne  to  Eudes  HI.,  duke  of  Burgundy;  but  he  re 
fused,  saying,  "  tliat  he  bad  plenty  of  domains  and  lordships 
without  taking  that,  to  disinherit  the  said  viscount;  and  that 
it  appeared  to  him  they  had  done  him  evil  enough  without 
'despoiling  him  of  his  heritage."  This  noble  refusal  touched 
the  honour  of  the  other  great  lords.  The  count  of  Nevers, 
and  the  count  of  St.  Paul,  to  whom  the  legate  made  the  same 
propositions,  held  the  same  language.  The  abbot  of  Citeaux, 
to  give  more  weight  to  his  offers,  associated  with  himself 
two  bishops  and  four  knights,  and  the  council  of  the  crusaders 
agreed  that  these  seven  commissioners  should  regulate  the 
fate  of  the  conquered  countries.  In  their  name  Arnold  then 
oflfered  these  same  sovereignties  to  Simon  de  Montfort.  earl  of 
Leicester.  This  lord  of  a  castle,  ten  leagues  from  Paris,  was 
the  head  of  a  house  that  had  been  illustrious  for  two  hundred 
years,  and  which  is  traced  by  some  to  a  natural  son  of  king 
Robert.     He  had  possessed  the  countship  of  Evrenx,  which, 


mother,  who  was  an  English  woman,  had  left  him  as  an 
heritage  the  earldoin  of  Leicester.  He  had  distinguished 
imself  in  the  fourth  crusade,  from  which  he  was  recently 
returned.  Skilful  as  a  soldier,  austere  in  his  carriage,  fanat- 
ical in  his  religion,  cruel  and  perfidious,  he  united  every 
piality  which  could  please  a  monk.  He  was  too  ambitious 
to  refuse  the  oft'er  which  was  made  him  of  elevating  himself 
to  the  rank  of  the  grand  feudatories;  but  he  still  thought  him- 
self obliged  to  feign  a  refusal,  very  sure  that  they  would 
overcome  this  pretended  reluctance.  He  had,  indeed,  the 
pleasure  of  seeing  the  bishops  throw  themselves  at  his  feet, 
to  obtain  his  acceptance  of  what  he  the  most  desired. 

Simon  de  Montfort  then  took  possession  of  the  provinces 
which  the  legate  ofTered  him  as  a  gift.  He  received  the 
homage  of  those  of  the  vassals  of  the  two  viscounties  of  Be- 
ziers and  of  Carcassonne,  whom  terror  had  brought  to  the 
camp  of  the  crusaders,  and  who  were  eager,  at  this  price,  to 
make  their  peace  with  the  church.  He  imposed  on  his  new 
states  an  annual  rent,  payable  at  the  court  of  Rome,  and  he 
published  rigorous  ordinances  against  those  of  his  subjects 
who  should  not  anxiously  endeavour  to  free  themselves  from 
excommunication.  Yet  the  war  was  not  terminated;  many 
castles,  even  at  the  gates  of  Carcassonne,  served  as  refuges  to 
the  heretics,  whilst  every  day  numerous  bands  of  crusaders, 
having  finished  the  time  of  service  for  which  they  were  en- 
gaged, abandoned  the  army.  The  count  of  Nevers  rejected 
all  the  solicitations  of  the  legate,  and  departed  precisely  at 
the  termination  of  his  forty  days.  The  count  of  Toulouse  did 
the  same.  The  duke  of  Burgundy  consented  to  prolong  the 
campaign  a  little,  and  assisted  Simon  de  Montfort  to  take 
possession  of  Fanjaux,  Castres  and  Lombers,  as  well  as  at 
the  attack  upon  the  castle  of  Cabaret,  from  which  the  cru- 
saders were  repulsed  with  loss ;  but  three  days  after  this  aiJair 
he  returned  to  his  own  country. 

Notwithstanding  the  departure  of  so  many  of  the  crusa- 
ders, there  remained  to  Simon  de  Montfort  soldiers  enough  to 
continue  the  war.  Some  came  from  his  fiefs,  or  from  those 
of  his  wife's  family;  for  about  the  year  1190  he  had  allied 
hiinself  to  a  powerful  house  at  the  gates  of  Paris,  by  his 
marriage  to  Alice,  daughter  of  Bouchard,  of  Montmorency. 
Others  attached  themselves  to  a  skilful  general,  who  promised 
them  frequent  occasions  of  pillage,  and  perhaps  permanent 
establishments  in  a  conquered  country.  Many  also  were  still 
infiiienced  by  that  same  fanaticism  which  had  at  first  led  them 
to  the  crusade.  During  the  remainder  of  the  campaign,  Si- 
inon  de  Montfort  directed  their  arms  against  the  count  of 
Foix,  who,  as  well  as  the  viscount  of  Carcassonne,  was  called 
Raymond  Roger.  This  count  must  have  been  about  fifty-five 
years  of  age  ;  he  had  reigned  ever  since  1188,  and  had  accom- 
panied Philip  Augustus  to  the  third  crusade.  He  possessed 
the  greater  part  of  Albigeois,  which  was  regarded  as  the  seat 
of  the  new  doctrines;  and  he  w-as  himself  accused  of  having 
secretly  adopted  them.  In  the  first  terror  spread  by  the  mas- 
sacre at  Beziers,  the  count  of  Foix  dared  not  any  longer  con- 
tinue the  campaign  ;  he  retired  into  the  most  inaccessible  part 
of  his  states,  whilst  the  catholic  clergy  of  his  principal  cities 
rallied  round  Simon  de  Montfort.  This  last  was  received 
without  a  coinbat  into  Painiers  and  Albi.  The  castle  of  Mire- 
poix  was  also  delivered  to  him,  and  Montfort  bestowed  it  on 
Guy  de  Levis,  his  marslial,  in  whose  posterity  this  fief  has 
remained,  with  the  title  of  count.  The  count  of  Foix,  still 
troubled  by  a  storm,  which  nevertheless  began  to  abate  from 
those  countries,  demanded  to  treat.  Simon  de  Montfort,  who 
perceived  his  real  force  diminish  each  day,  and  who  never 
sufTered  his  fanaticism  to  blind  him  as  to  his  policy,  accepted 
bis  propositions ;  and  during  some  weeks  towards  the  end  of 
the  year  1-200  the  war  appeared  suspended  on  that  frontier. 

In  the  mean  time,  Simon  de  Montfort  detained  in  prison  the 
legitimate  sovereign  of  the  states  of  which  he  had  taken 
possession.  He  could  perceive,  even  amongst  his  compan- 
ions in  arms,  that  pity  towards  this  prince  had  already  suc- 
ceeded to  fury.  His  neighbours  loved  him ;  his  people  re- 
gretted him;  his  relation  and  lord,  the  king  of  Aragon.  might 
be  disposed  to  resume  his  protection.  Simon  de  Montfort 
gave  the  necessary  orders  that  Raymond  Roger  sliould  die  of 
a  dysentery  on  the  lotb  of  November,  in  a  tower  of  the  vis- 
countal  palace  at  Carcassonne,  where  he  was  carefully  guard- 
ed. He  then  took  care  to  display  his  body  to  his  subjects, 
and  to  give  him  an  honourable  funeral.  Yet,  by  the  public 
voice  he  was  accused  of  having  poisoned  him,  and  even  In- 
nocent III  acknowledged  that  he  perished  by  a  violent  death. 


CRUSADES  OF  THE  ALBIGENSES. 


447 


CHAPTER  II. 

Cunlinualion  uftke  Crusade  against  the  Mbif^oises,  to  l/ie  But- 
tle of  Muret,  IdUt— 1-213. 

Those  who  liad  marched  to  the  First  Crusade  against  the 
Alhigenses,  or  who  had  made  the  (-ainpaign  of  1-209,  regarded 
their  object  as  completely  attained,  and  the  war  as  termin- 
ated. Indeed,  desolation  had  been  carried  into  the  bosom  of 
the  country  where  the  reformation  had  commenced.  Two 
large  cities  had  been  destroyed,  and  thousands  of  victims  had 
perished  by  the  sword,  whilst  thousands  of  others,  driven 
from  their  burning  houses,  were  wandering  in  the  woods  and 
mountains,  and  sinking  each  day  under  the  pressure  of 
want.  Amongst  the  princes  who  had  wished  to  maintain  in 
their  dominions  a  certain  liberty  of  conscience,  one  had  per- 
ished in  prison,  and  had  been  replaced  by  the  most  pitiless 
of  persecutors.  Two  others  had  submitted,  and,  to  make 
their  peace,  refused  not  their  tribute  to  the  tires  of  the  inqui- 
sition, so  that,  every  day,  the  church  celebrated  the  sacrifice 
of  numerous  human  victims. 

The  ruin  of  so  fair  a  country,  the  contrast  between  its  for- 
mer opulence  and  its  present  desolation,  the  remembrance  of 
its  letes,  of  its  tournaments,  of  the  courts  of  love  assembled 
in  every  castle,  of  the  troubadours,  the  singers,  the  minstrels 
visiting  by  turns  the  lords  and  noble  ladies,  welcomed  at  their 
arrival,  loaded  with  presents  at  their  departure,  and  the  sight 
of  the  fires  for  executions,  of  deserted  villages,  of  burning 
houses,  would  soon  have  caused  the  fury  of  war  to  have  been 
succeeded  by  a  deep-felt  pity,  if  any  other  cause  than  religi- 
ous fanaticism  had  armed  the  hands  of  the  crusaders. 

Those  who  had  committed  so  many  crimes  were  not,  for 
the  greater  part,  bad  men.  They  came  from  that  part  of  Bur- 
gundy and  northern  France,  where  crimes  have  always  been 
rare,  where  long  contentions,  hatred  and  vengeance,  are  pas- 
sions almost  unknown — and  where  the  unhappy  are  always 
sure  to  find  compassion  and  aid.  The  crusaders  themselves 
were  always  ready  to  afford  each  other  proofs  of  generosity, 
of  support,  and  compassion ;  but  the  heretics  were,  in  their 
eyes,  outcasts  from  the  human  race.  Accustomed  to  confide 
their  consciences  to  their  priests,  to  hear  the  orders  of  Rome 
as  a  voice  from  heaven,  never  to  submit  that  which  apper- 
tained to  the  faith  to  the  judgment  of  reason,  they  congratu- 
lated themselves  on  the  horror  they  felt  for  the  sectaries. — 
The  more  zealous  they  were  for  the  glory  of  God,  the  more 
ardently  they  laboured  for  the  destruction  of  heretics,  the  bet- 
ter Christians  they  thought  themselves.  And  if  at  any  time 
they  felt  a  movement  of  pity  or  terror,  whilst  assisting  at 
their  punishment,  they  thought  it  a  revolt  of  the  flesh,  which 
they  confessed  at  the  tribunal  of  penitence;  nor  could  they 
get  quit  of  their  remorse,  till  their  ]iriests  had  given  them  ab- 
solution. Woe  to  the  men  whose  religion  is  completely  per- 
verted !  All  their  most  virtuous  sentiments  lead  them  astray. 
Their  zeal  is  changed  into  ferocity.  Their  humility  consigns 
them  to  the  direction  of  the  impostors  who  conduct  them. 
Their  very  charity  becomes  sanguinary;  they  sacrifice  those 
from  whom  they  fear  contagion,  and  they  demand  a  baptism 
of  blood,  to  save  some  elect  to  the  Lord. 

Besides,  never  had  more  energetic  means  been  employed  to 
confound  the  understanding  and  corrupt  the  human  heart. 
That  is  a  very  superficial,  and  a  very  false,  judgment,  which 
condemns  whole  nations  for  the  crimes  committed  in  their  bo- 
som. In  ])roportion  to  the  faithfulness  of  history,  are  the 
horrors  with  which  it  charges  all  great  societies  of  men  ;  and 
if  every  thing  were  known,  no  nation  would  have  much 
■wherewith  to  reproach  another.  Let  no  one,  then,  pride  itself 
because  all  has  not  been  told  concerning  it.  As  to  the  perse- 
cution of  the  Alhigenses,  it  w-as  not  the  work  of  the  French 
alone.  The  Italian,  Innocent  III,  first  gave  the  signal,  and 
he  also  bestowed  the  recompense.  He  continually  sharpened 
the  sword  of  the  murderers,  by  his  legates  and  missionaries. 
The  two  Spaniards,  the  bishop  of  Ozma  and  Saint  Dominic, 
(the  founders  of  the  inquisition)  first  taught  the  art  of  seeking 
out,  in  the  villages,  those  whom  the  priests  were  afterwards 
to  fasten  to  tlieir  stakes.  The  Germans,  invited  by  their 
monks,  came  to  take  a  part  in  this  work,  even  from  the  ex- 
tremities of  Austria;  and  the  English  Matthew  Paris  renders 
testimony  to  the  zeal  of  his  countrymen  in  the  same  cause, 
and  to  their  triumphant  joy  at  the  jniracle  (for  so  he  called 
the  massacre  of  Beziers)  which  had  avenged  the  Lord. 

But  if  we  are  bound  to  absolve  large  masses  of  men  from 
the  atrocities  committed,  in  the  name  of  religion,  against  the 
Alhigenses,  it  would  be  to  destroy  the  only  responsibilits' 


which  rests  upon  the  powerful,  the  only  resort  for  the  oppress- 
ed upon  this  earth,  not  to  hold  up  to  public  execration  the 
fanatical  monks  who  directed  this  movement,  and  the  ambi- 
tious who  profited  by  it.  Amongst  the  first,  the  vengeance 
of  public  opinion  ought  not  to  rest  only  upon  those  who  ac- 
companied the  crusaders,  in  their  expeditions,  who  dragged 
the  reformers  to  the  flames,  and  who  mingled  their  songs  of 
triumph  with  the  groans  of  their  miserable  victims;  these 
were,  at  least,  blinded  by  the  same  mad  passion  with  which 
they  had  inspired  the  combatants.  There  was  something 
more  personal,  more  deliberate,  more  coldly  ferocious,  in  those 
clouds  of  monks  who,  issuing  from  all  the  convents  of  the 
order  of  Citeaux,  spread  themselves  through  the  states  of  Eu- 
rope, occupied  all  the  pulpits,  appealed  to  all  the  passions  to 
convert  them  into  one,  and  showed  how  every  vice  mitrht  be 
expiated  by  crime,  how  remorse  might  be  expelled  by  the 
llames  of  their  piles,  how  the  soul,  polluted  with  every  shame- 
ful passion,  might  become  pure  and  spotless  by  bathing  in 
the  blood  of  heretics.  After  the  conquest  of  the  suspected 
country  had  been  accomplished,  after  peace  had  been  granted 
to  the  princes,  and  a  safeguard  to  the  submissive  people,  the 
monks  of  Citeaux  continued,  in  every  church,  to  preach  a  war 
of  extermination,  because  they  had  done  it  w  ith  success  in 
the  preceding  year,  and  because  they  were  unwilling  to  re- 
linquish the  honours  and  profits  of  their  mission.  By  con- 
tinuing to  preach  the  crusade,  when  there  were  none  to  com- 
bat, they  impelled,  each  year,  waves  of  new  fanatics  upon 
these  miserable  provinces;  and  they  compelled  their  chiefs  to 
recommence  the  war,  in  order  to  jirofit  by  the  fervour  of  those 
who  still  demanded  human  victims,  and  required  blood  to 
effect  their  salvation. 

1209.  After  the  dsparture  of  the  crusaders,  towards  the 
end  of  the  summer  of  1-309,  the  count  Raymond  VI  of  Tou- 
louse thought  himself  on  the  point  of  being  reconciled  to  the 
church,  to  which  he  had  given  sureti-s,  and  which  he  had 
served  in  the  preceding  campaign.  The  count  of  Foix  had 
made  his  peace  with  Simon  de  Montfort,  who  was  endeavour- 
ing to  establish  himself  in  the  viscounties  of  Carcassonne 
and  Beziers,  at  the  same  time  that  he  was  negocialing  with 
Don  Pedro,  king  of  Aragon,  then  at  Montpellier,  to  prevail 
on  him  to  receive  his  homaiie.  The  arrival  of  new  crusaders, 
conducted  by  Guy  abbot  of  Vaux-Cernay,  of  the  order  of 
Citeaux,  inspired  Simon  de  Montfort  with  fresh  courage.  On 
one  hand,  he  thought  it  time  to  throw  away  the  mask  with 
Raymond  VI.  count  of  Toulouse.  He  caused  him  to  be  ex- 
communicated by  the  two  legates,  and  laid  all  his  territory 
under  an  interdict,  after  which  he  began  hostilities  against 
him.  On  the  other  hand,  he  caused  the  abbot  of  Eaulnes, 
who  had  made  the  peace  between  him  and  the  count  of  Foix, 
to  be  assassinated  ;  he  then  accused  the  count  of  this  crime, 
and  declared  all  negociation  between  them  to  be  at  an  end. 
imon  de  Montfort  was,  however,  too  eager  in  attacking  ucw 
enemies  before  he  had  entirely  subjugated  the  old.  The  king 
of  Aragon,  after  amusing  him  with  long  negociations,  pe- 
remptorily refused  his  homage,  and  would  acknowledge  no 
other  viscount  of  Beziers  and  Carcassonne  than  Raymond 
Trencavel,  son  of  the  last  viscount,  two  years  of  an-e,  who 
was  then  under  the  care  of  the  count  of  Foix.  At  the  same 
lime,  he  solicited  the  knights,  who  held  from  these  two  vis- 
counties, to  take  arms  for  the  son  of  their  lord,  promisinn- 
them  powerful  succours.  Towards  the  end  of  November, 
they  all  revolted,  almost  at  the  same  time.  Many  of  the 
French,  the  creatures  of  Simon  de  Montfort,  w'ere  surprised 
in  the  castles  which  they  regarded  as  their  conquest.  Some 
became  victims  of  the  resentment  excited  in  the  country  by 
the  cruelties  of  the  crusaders;  and  at  the  end  of  the  year,  the 
domination  of  Simon  de  Montfort  in  Languedoc  was  reduced 
to  eight  cities  or  castles,  whilst  it  had  at'first  comprised  more 
than  two  hundred. 

Raymond  VI,  count  of  Toulouse,  would  have  been  afraid 
of  compromising  himself  still  more  with  the  court  of  Rome, 
if  he  had  given  any  appearance  of  exciting  these  revolts,  or 
of  making  common  cause  with  the  enemies  of  Simon  de 
Montfort.  Although  Montfort  had  already  commenced  hos- 
tilities against  him,  he  judged  it  more  expedient  to  repair 
first  the  court  of  Philip  Augustus,  and  afterwards  to  that  of 
the  pope,  than  to  remain  in  his  states,  and  defend  them  by 
open  force.  He  arrived  at  Rome  at  the  commencement  of 
the  year  1210,  and  addressed  himself  to  the  pope  to  obtain 
his  absolution.  He  was  prepared  to  make  great  concessions, 
that  he  might  avoid  the  fate  of  his  nephew,  the  viscount  of 
Beziers.  He  thought  no  longer  of  defending  his  heretical 
subjects  ;  it  was  sufficient  for  him  to  shelter  himself  from  the 
ambition  of  Simon  de  Montfort,  from  the  hatred  of  the  legate, 


448 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


Arnold,  abbot  of  Citeaux,  and  from  the  sanguinary  fury  of 
Fouquet,  bishop  of  Toulouse,  who  would  have  gladly  seen  the 
half  of  the  flock  entrusted  to  his  care  perish  on  the  scaffold. 

mo.  Innocent  III  found  himself,  at  that  time,  in  one  of 
those  moments  when  he  felt  the  power  of  the  resistance  he 
was  called  upon  to  conquer,  and  too  much  accustomed  to  des- 
pise. He  had  elevated  himself  to  universal  monarchy,  and 
gave  laws  to  the  two  empires  of  the  east  and  west.  In  that 
same  year  he  scolded  the  king  of  Portugal,  and  encouraged 
the  king  of  Caslille  ;  he  set  himself  as  judge  of  the  di- 
vorce of  the  king  of  Bohemia,  and  he  incited  the  king  of  Den- 
mark to  take  the  cross.  He  had  also  just  confirmed  the 
rule  which  St.  Francis  d'Assise  had  given  to  the  fraternity, 
the  most  devoted  to  the  holy  see  of  all  the  orders  of  monks. 
But,  on  the  other  hand,  the  emperor  Otho  IV',  whom  he  re- 
garded as  his  creature,  had  just  escaped  from  him,  and  incur- 
red excommunication  by  his  resistance  to  the  holy  see. 
John,  the  king  of  England,  lived  in  open  enmity  with  the 
church.  Philip  Augustus  had  dared  to  seize  upon  tlie  tem- 
poralities of  two  bishops.  A  system  of  opposition  to  the 
pope  appeared  to  be  preparing  in  the  Christian  world,  and, 
in  spite  of  all  his  pride.  Innocent  III  was  too  politic  not  to 
temporize  when  occasion  required. 

Whether  Innocent  proposed  only  to  separate  Raymond 
from  his  partisans,  to  inspire  him  with  a  deceitful  confidence, 
and  to  gain  time,  as  the  most  zealous  amongst  the  orthodox 
writers  affirm,  or  whether  he  really  felt  good  will  towards 
the  count  of  Toulouse,  and  was  ai'terwards  prevented  from 
pardoning  him  by  his  legates,  who  deceived  him,  as  some 
writers  the  most  disposed  to  tolerance  have  supposed,  cer- 
tain it  is  that  he  gave  this  prince  a  gracious  reception.  He 
released  him,  provisionally,  front  the  excommunication  pro- 
nouuced  against  him,  but  referred  him,  for  final  absolution,  to 
a  council  which  should  assemble  in  the  province  three  months 
after  the  count's  return.  The  purpose  of  this  council  was 
only  to  judge  whether  Raymond  was,  or  was  not,  guilty  of 
heresy,  and  whether  he  had,  or  had  not,  prompted  the  mur- 
derer of  the  legate  Peter  of  Castelnau.  These  were  the  two 
accusations  which  exposed  the  count  to  the  severest  penal- 
ties;  but  on  the  other  hand,  they  were  those  respecting 
W'hich  he  felt  himself  the  most  innocent,  and  of  which  he  was 
the  most  eager  to  purge  himself. 

1'210.  But  the  legate  Arnold,  abbot  of  Citeaux,  joined  to  the 
ambitious  zeal  of  the  pope  an  inplacable  hatred  against  count 
Raymond.  He  had  summoned  the  council,  to  which  Inno- 
cent III  had  referred  the  cause  of  the  count,  to  meet  at  Saint 
Gilles,  but,  before  its  assembling,  new  successes  of  binion 
de  Montfort  against  the  lords  of  the  castles,  who  still  de- 
fended either  the  independence  of  their  jurisdiction  or  that 
of  their  conscience,  and  new  judicial  massacres  had  inspired 
him  with  more  confidence  in  the  cause  which  he  wished  to 
see  triumphant.  Master  Theodise,  a  canon  of  Genoa,  whom 
the  pope  iiad  sent  to  advise  with  the  legate,  had  a  secret  con- 
ference with  him  at  Toulouse.  "  He  was,"  says  Peter  de 
Vaux-Cernay,  "a  circumspect  man,  prudent  and  very  zealous 
for  the  atTairs  of  God,  and  lie  desired  above  all  things  to  find 
somepretext  of  right  to  refuse  the  count  that  opportunity  of  jus- 
tifying himself  which  Innocent  had  granted  him.  He  agreed, 
at  last,  with  the  abbot  of  Citeaux  and  the  bishop  of  Riez,  that 
he  should  seek  some  cause  of  dispute  with  the  count,  respect- 
ing the  accomplishment  of  some  subordinate  conditions 
which  the  pope  had  enjoined  upon  him,  founding  himself 
upon  the  words  of  the  bull  of  Innocent  III — We  desire  that 
he  execute  our  orders. 

When  in  fact,  Raymond  VI  presented  himself  to  the  coun- 
cil of  St.  Gilles,  to  justify  himself,  and  offered  to  establish,  by 
indubitable  proofs,  that  he  had  never  participated  in  heresy, 
and  was  a  stranger  to  the  murder  of  the  legate,  Peter  of  Cas- 
telnau, Master  Theodise  stopped  him,  by  declaring  that  he 
had  not  yet  destroyed  all  the  heretics  of  the  county  of  Tou- 
louse; that  he  had  not  yet  suppressed  all  the  tolls,  whose 
abolition  was  demanded  by  the  pope;  that  he  had  not  yet 
abolished  or  restored  all  the  collections,  which  his  ofiicers  had 
made  upon  different  convents  ;  and  since  he  had  disobeyed 
the  orders  of  the  church  in  smaller  matters,  they  mighi  con- 
clude that  he  would,  the  more  certainly,  have  disobeyed  in 
the  two  crimes  of  which  he  was  accused.  Thus,  the  council, 
to  prevent  perjury  either  in  himself  or  his  witnesses,  refused 
him  the  permission  to  clear  himself  of  these  two  capital  accu- 
sations. When  the  count,  who  thought  himself  fully  assured 
that  this  day  would  establish  his  innocence,  hiard  this  unex- 
pected declaration,  he  burst  into  tears.  But  Master  Theodise 
remembered  a  passage  of  holy  Scripture,  by  which  to  free 
himself  from  feelings  of  humanity.     Hov/  great  soever  be  the 


overflow  of  waters,  said  he,  turning  his  tears  into  derision, 
they  will  not  reach  unto  God;  and  he  fulminated,  in  the 
name  of  the  church,  an  excommunication  against  the  count  of 
Toulouse.  The  council  of  St.  Gilles  did  not  assemble  till 
the  end  of  September,  and  its  rigour  augmented  in  proportion 
to  the  success  obtained  by  Simon  de  Montfort  in  the  course 
of  this  same  campaign.  During  the  winter,  Montfort  had 
been  reduced  to  stand  upon  the  defensive,  and  revolts  in 
every  part  of  the  province  had  sufficiently  proved  to  him  how 
much  his  yoke  was  detested.  But  the  monks  of  Citeaux  had 
recommenced  the  preaching  of  the  crusade  in  the  north  of 
France.  There  was,  said  they  to  those  ferocious  and  super- 
stitious warriors,  no  crime  so  dark,  no  vice  so  deeply  rooted 
in  the  heart,  the  very  trace  .of  which,  a  campaign  of  forty 
days,  in  the  south  of  France,  would  not  obliterate.  Paradise, 
with  all  its  glories,  was  opened  for  them,  without  the  neces- 
sity of  purchasing  it  by  any  reformation  in  their  conduct. 
Alice  of  Montmorency,  Simon  de  Montfort's  wife,  undertook 
the  direction  of  the  first  army  of  crusaders,  raised  by  the 
monks.  At  the  beginning  of  Lent,  her  husband  came  to  meet 
her  at  Pezenas,  and  no  sooner  found  himself  at  the  head  of 
an  imposing  foroe  than  he  gave  full  scope  to  his  cruelty." 

He  attacked,  in  the  first  place,  the  castle  of  Lauraguais  and 
Minervois.  The  feudal  state  of  independence  had  multiplied 
these  fortresses,  and  the  smallest  province  was  covered  with 
citadels.  They  did  not  at  all  however  appear  to  their  pos- 
sessors capable  of  sustaining  a  siege ;  the  terror  which  the 
crusaders  inspired  caused  a  great  number  to  be  abandoned. 
Simon  de  Montfort  generally  caused  all  their  inhabitants, 
whom  he  could  lay  hands  upon,  to  be  hanged  upon  gibbets. 
Some  castles,  calculating  too  favourably  upon  their  strength, 
endeavoured  to  resist  him;  that  of  Brom  was  taken  by  as- 
sault Ihe  third  day  of  the  siege,  and  Simon  de  Montfort  chose 
out  more  than  a  hundred  of  its  wretched  inhabitants,  and 
having  torn  out  their  eyes,  and  cut  off  their  noses,  sent  them, 
in  that  state,  under  the  guidance  of  a  one-eyed  man,  to  the 
castle  of  Cabaret,  to  announce  to  the  garrison  of  that  fortress 
the  fate  which  awaited  them.  The  castle  of  Alairac  was  not 
taken  till  the  eleventh  day,  and  even  then  a  great  part  of  its 
inhabitants  were  able  to  escape  from  the  ferocity  of  the  cru- 
saders. Montfort  massacred  the  remainder.  Farther  on  he 
found  castles  abandoned  and  absolutely  empty;  and,  not 
being  able  to  reach  the  men,  he  sent  .out  his  soldiers  to  des- 
troy the  surrounding  vines  and  olive-trees. 

1-210.  INIontfort  afterwards  conducted  his  army  to  a  more 
important  siege,  that  of  the  castle  of  Minerva,  situated  at  a 
small  distance  from  Narbonne,  on  a  steep  rock,  surrounded 
by  precipices,  and  regarded  as  the  strongest  place  in  the 
Gauls.  This  castle  belonged  to  Guiraud  of  Minerva,  vassal 
of  the  viscounts  of  Carcassone,  and  one  of  the  bravest  knights 
of  the  province.  The  army  of  the  crusaders  appeared  before 
Minerva,  at  the  beginning  of  June ;  the  legate  Arnold,  and 
the  canon  Theodise,  joined  it  soon  after.  The  inhabitants, 
amontr  whom  were  many  who  had  embraced  the  reform  of 
the  Aibio-enses,  defended  themselves  with  great  valour  for 
seven  weeks  ;  but  when,  on  account  of  the  heats  of  summer, 
the  water  began  to  fail  in  their  cisterns,  they  demanded  a 
capitulation.  Guiraud  came  himself  to  the  camp  of  the  cru- 
saders, one  day  when  the  legate  was  absent,  and  agreed  with 
Simon  de  Montfort  on  conditions  for  the  surrender  of  the 
place.  But,  as  they  were  proceeding  to  execute  them,  the  abbot 
Arnold  returned  to  the  camp,  and  iMontfort  immediately  de- 
clared that  nothing  which  they  had  agreed  upon  could  be 
considered  as  binding,  till  the  legate  bad  given  his  assent. 
"At  these  words,"  says  Peter  de  Vaux-Cernay,  "the  abbot 
was  greatly  afflicted.  In  fact,  he  desired  that  all  the  enemies 
of  Christ  should  be  put  to  death,  hut  he  could  not  take  upon 
himself  to  condemn  them,  on  account  of  his  quality  of  monk 
and  priest."  He  thought,  however,  that  he  might  stir  up 
some  quarrel  between  the  negociation,  profit  by  it  to  break 
the  capitulation,  and  cause  all  the  inhabitants  to  be  put  to 
the  sword.  For  this  purpose,  he  required  the  count  on  one 
part,  and  Guiraud  of  .Minerva  on  the  other,  to  put  into  writ- 
ing, without  communicating  with  each  other,  the  conditions 
on'which  they  had  agreed.  As  .\rnold  had  flattered  himself, 
he  found  some  difference  in  the  statements,  and  Montfort 
immediately  availed  himself  of  it,  to  declare,  in  the  name  of 
the  legate,  that  the  negociation  was  broken  off.  But  the  lord 
of  Minerva  instantly  replied,  that,  though  he  thought  himself 
sure  of  his  memory,  yet  he  accepted  the  capitulation  as_ 
Simon  de  Montfort  had  drawn  it  up.  One  of  the  articles  of 
this  capitulation  provided,  that  the  heretics  themselves,  if 
they  were  converted,  might  quit  the  castle,  and  have  their 
lives  saved.     W  ben  the  capitulation  was  read  in  the  council 


CRUSADES  OF  THE  ALBIGENSES. 


449 


■  of  war,  "  Robert  of  Mauvoisiu,"  says  the  mouk  of  Vaux- 
Ceriiay,  "  a  nobleman,  and  entirely  devoted  to  the  catholic 
faith,  cried,  that  the  pilgrims  would  never  consent  to  that; 
that  it  was  not  to  show  mercy  to  the  heretics,  but  to  put  them 
to  death,  they  had  taken  the  cross;  but  the  abbot  Arnold 
replied — fear  not,  for  I  believe  there  will  be  very  few  con- 
verted." The  legate  was  not  deceived  in  this  bloody  hope. 
The  crusaders  took  possession  of  the  castle  of  Minerva  the 
22d  of  July,  1210;  they  entered,  singing  Te  Deum,  and 
preceded  by  the  cross  and  the  standards  of  Montfort.  The 
heretics  were,  in  the  mean  time,  assembled,  the  men  in  one 
house,  the  women  in  another,  and  there,  on  their  knees,  and 
resigned  to  their  fate,  they  prepared  themselves,  by  prayer, 
for  the  punishment  which  awaited  them.  The  abbot,  Guy 
de  Vaux-Cernay,  to  fulfil  the  capitulation,  came,  and  began 
to  preach  to  them  the  catholic  faith;  but  his  auditors  inter- 
rupted him  by  a  unanimous  cry — "  We  will  have  none  of 
your  faiih,"  said  they,  "  we  have  renounced  the  church  of 
Rome  :  your  labour  is  in  vain  ;  for  neither  death  nor  life  n  ill 
make  ns  renounce  the  opinions  that  we  have  embraced." 
The  abbot  of  Vaux-Cernay  then  passed  to  the  assembly  of 
the  women,  but  he  found  them  as  resolute,  and  more  enthu- 
siastic still  in  their  declarations.  The  count  of  Montfort,  in 
his  turn,  visited  both.  Already  he  had  piled  up  an  enormous 
mass  of  dry  wood:  "Be  converted  to  the  catholic  faith," 
said  he  to  the  assembled  Albigenses,  "  or  ascend  this  pile." 
None  were  shaken.  ITiey  set  fire  to  the  pile,  which  covered 
the  whole  square  with  a  tremendous  conflagration; — and  the 
heretics  were  then  conducted  to  the  place.  But  violence 
was  not  necessary  to  compel  them  to  enter  the  flames  ;  they 
voluntarily  precipitated  themselves  into  them,  to  the  number 
of  more  than  one  hundred  and  forty,  after  having  commended 
their  souls  to  that  God,  in  whose  cause  they  suffered  martyr- 
dom. Three  women  only,  forcibly  retained  by  the  noble 
dame  of  Marly,  mother  of  Bouchard,  lord'  of  Montmorenci, 
were  saved  from  the  flames ;  and  terror  and  consternation 
succeeding  to  their  enthusiastic  fervor,  they  consented  to  be 
converted. 

The  capture  of  Minerva  was  quickly  followed  by  the  siege 
of  the  castle  of  Termes,  upon  the  frontiers  of  Roussillon 
This  castle  was  extremely  strong,  and  commanded  by  a 
valiant  captain,  Raymond  of  Termes.  He  made  a  long  re- 
sistance, and  tired  the  patience  of  the  crusaders,  who  would 
willingly  have  granted  an  advantageous  capitulation.  As 
the  pilgrims  after  a  service  of  forty  days,  which  was  sufli 
cient  to  obtain  the  indulgences,  quitted  the  armj',  Simon  de 
Montfort  found  himself,  on  many  occasions,  left  with  so 
small  a  force,  that  he  was  on  the  point  of  raising  the  siege. 
But  all  the  provinces  of  the  Gauls,  excited  by  the  same  fanati- 
cism, sent,  in  their  turns,  contingents  to  the  sacred  war. 
After  the  arrival  of  the  bishops  of  Chartres  and  Beauvais, 
who  had  conducted  thither  the  inhabitants  of  Orleanais,  and 
the  isle  of  France,  and  the  counts  of  Dreux  and  Ponthieu 
followed  by  their  vassals,  there  came  in  succession,  Bretons, 
Germans,  and  Lorrains.  The  strength  of  the  beseiged  sunk 
at  last,  after  four  months  combats,  under  so  many  repeated 
attacks,  and  so  much  the  more,  as,  having  filled  their  cisterns 
a  secoEid  time  from  the  rains  which  fell  during  the  great 
heats,  numerous  dysenteries,  from  that  cause,  prevailed 
amongst  them.  During  the  night  between  the  22d  and  23d 
of  iSoveniber,  they  attempted  to  escape  by  abandoning  the 
place.  They  did,  indeed,  pass  the  first  entrenchments,  and 
dispersed  themselves  in  the  mountains,  with  the  hope  of 
reaching  Catalonia;  but  the  moment  their  flight  was  per- 
ceived, a  general  cry  arose  in  the  army.  The  crusaders 
exhorted  each  other  not  to  let  those,  who  had  cost  them  so 
much  sweat  and  blood,  escape  from  punishment.  The  whole 
body  of  the  pilgrims  followed  the  fugitives,  the  greater  part 
of  whom  were  overtaken,  and  killed  on  the  spot;  others 
were  conducted  alive  to  Simon  de  Montfort.  Of  these,  he 
spared  Raymond,  lord  of  Termes,  and,  instead  of  burning 
him,  confined  him  at  the  bottom  of  a  tower  in  Carcassonne, 
where  he  suffered  him  to  languish  for  many  years. 

The  taking  of  two  such  strong  places  as  Minerva  and 
Termes  made  all  the  garrisons  of  the  neighbouring  castles  lose 
their  courage ;  they  dared  no  longer  trust  to  their  walls,  and 
the  army  advancing  into  the  Albigeois  to  the  left  of  the  Tarn 
found  all  the  places  deserted.  By  this  means  they  occupied 
the  castles  of  Constasse,  of  Puyvert,  of  Lombers,  and  a  great 
number  of  others;  but  the  miserable  inhabitants  were  not 
able  to  save  themselves  by  flight.  They  were  followed  into 
the  woods  and  mountains;  the  greater  part  perished  there  by 
the  sword,  and  those  that  were  brought  prisoners  to  the  camp 
■were  burned  for  the  edification  of  the  army. 
Vol.  II.— 3  G 


Whatever  care  the  legates  had  taken,  to  prevent  the  count 
of  Toulouse  from  justifying  himself.  Innocent  III  had  not  yet 
confirmed  the  sentence  of  excommunication,  which  had  been 
newly  fulminated  against  him.  So  powerful  a  feudatory  re- 
quired to  be  treated  with  greater  caution  than  had  been  used 
towards  the  inferior  lords,  who  were,  like  him,  accused  of  fa- 
vouring the  heretics.  Philip  Augustus  had  written  to  the 
pope  to  recommend  him  to  his  indulgence.  Don  Pedro,  king 
of  Aragon,  who  had  long  since  given  his  sister  in  marriage 
to  Raymond  VI,  and  had  afterwards  promised  his  own  daugh- 
ter to  his  son,  having  lost  that  daughter  at  an  early  age,  had 
married,  in  the  beginning  of  the  year  1211,  another  of  his 
sisters,  also  named  Sancha,  to  the  young  Raymond  VII,  and 
thus  strengthened  still  more  the  alliance  which  united  him  to 
this  house.  Simon  de  Montfort,  whose  fanaticism  never  pre- 
vented him  from  managing  his  temporal  interests  like  a  wily 
politician,  undertook  to  deprive  the  count  of  Toulouse  of  the 
support  which  he  found  in  Spain,  and,  for  this  purpose,  care- 
fully sought  to  gain  the  friendship  of  the  king  of  Aragon. 
Pedro  thought  perhaps  that  by  reconciling  himself  with  Mont- 
fort, he  might  afterwards  the  more  easily  serve  his  two  bro- 
thers-in-law. He  began  therefore  by  receiving  his  homage 
for  the  viscounties  of  Carcassonne,  and  of  Beziers:  after- 
wards he  consented,  by  a  strange  and  inexplicable  arrange- 
ment, not  only  to  betroth  his  son  Don  Jayme  or  James,  to  a 
daughter  of  Montfort,  but  to  commit  his  only  son,  then  three 
years  of  age,  to  that  lord  whom  he  disliked  and  distrusted. 
When  Don  Pedro  took,  irt  the  beginning  of  the  year  1211, 
this  strange  resolution,  he  was  impelled  perhaps  by  one  of 
those  fits  of  devotion  which  in  that  age  deranged  all  the  cal- 
culations of  policy ;  perhaps,  he  feared,  for  his  French  pro- 
vinces, the  attacks  of  those  swarms  of  crusaders,  whom  he 
saw  every  year  arrive,  and  was  willing,  at  any  price,  to  en- 
sure the  friendship  of  their  chief. 

1211.  But  neither  the  manoeuvres  of  Montfort,  with  regard 
to  the  count  of  Toulouse,  nor  his  alliance  with  the  king  of 
Aragon,  was  of  long  duration.  Informed  that  the  preachers 
of  the  crusade,  instead  of  growing  cool,  were  inflamed  by  his 
last  success,  and  that  the  crusaders  who  would  join  him  dur- 
ing the  year,  would  be  more  numerous  than  those  of  the  years 
preceding,  he  prepared  to  second  the  hatred  of  the  abbot  of 
Citeaux  and  the  bishop  Fouquet  against  the  count  of  Tou- 
louse, in  the  hope  of  joining  the  fine  sovereignty  of  that 
prince  to  his  former  conquests.  He  wished,  however,  to 
profit  to  the  last  by  the  weakness  of  Raymond,  and  by  his 
desire  to  be  reconciled  to  the  church,  and  he  awaited  the  result 
of  a  citation  of  the  legates,  who  had  summoned  him  to  appear, 
about  the  middle  of  February,  before  a  provincial  council, 
which  they  were  assembling  at  Aries.  Count  Raymond  and 
the  king  of  Aragon  attended  there  together,  and  were  no  sooner 
entered  into  the  city,  than  they  received  orders  not  to  quit  it 
without  the  permission  of  the  council.  A  note  containing 
thirteen  articles  was  afterwards  communicated  to  them,  on 
the  rccejjtion  and  execution  of  which,  the  fathers  of  the 
church  announced  thanliey  would  restore  tothecouiit  of  Tou- 
louse, all  his  territories  and  lordships,  when  it  should  please 
the  count  of  Montfort  and  the  legate.  Never  was  a  more  ab- 
surd and  insulting  treaty  proposed  to  a  sovereign  prince,  who 
was  still  in  full  possession  of  his  states.  Raymond  VI  was 
required  to  dismiss  all  the  soldiers  armed  for  his  defence ;  to 
rase  all  his  fortifications ;  to  exclude  from  the  strong  cities 
of  his  dominions  all  the  knights  who  might  serve  for  their 
defence;  to  renounce  all  the  customs  which  formed  the  great- 
er part  of  his  revenue;  to  reduce  all  the  inhabitants  of  his 
states,  both  nobles  and  plebeians,  to  wear  the  dress  of  peni- 
tence, and  submit  to  an  abstinence  almost  monastical ;  to 
deliver  to  Simon  de  Montfort  and  the  legate,  at  the  first  de- 
mand, all  those  of  their  subjects  whom  they  should  require, 
that  they  might  burn  them  according  to  their  good  pleasure  : 
in  fine,  to  proceed  himself  to  the  Holy  Land,  to  serve  amongst 
the  hospitallers  of  Saint  John  of  Jerusalem,  until  he  was 
recalled  by  the  legate.  The  indignation  and  surprise  of  count 
Raymond  and  the  king  of  Aragon,  at  reading  these  demands, 
was  proportionable  to  their  insolence.  They  had  been  prohi- 
bited from  quitting  Aries,  but  no  precautions  had  been  taken 
for  retaining  them  in  that  city.  They  instantly  set  out,  with- 
out taking  leave  of  the  bishops,  who,  throwing  off  all  dis- 
guise towards  the  count  of  Toulouse,  excommunicated  him 
afresh,  declared  him  an  enemy  to  the  church,  and  an  apos- 
tate from  the  faith,  and  abandoned  his  domains  to  the  first 
occupant. 

U  e  may  be  assured  that  these  churchmen,  when  they 
showed  themselves  so  arrogant  and  pitiless,  were  sensible  of 
the  augmentation  of  their  forces.     In  fact,  the  fanatic  Fou- 


450 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


quel,  bishop  of  Toulouse,  had  been  preaching  the  crusade  in 
France  with  great  success.  It  was  at  Toulouse,  especially, 
that  he  wished  to  kindle  the  flames;  it  was  in  the  flock  which 
God  had  confided  to  him  that  he  wished,  he  said,  to  separate 
the  sheep  from  the  goats.  Many  of  those  who  attended  on 
his  ministry,  who  conformed  to  all  the  laws  of  the  church, 
appeared  to  him  either  too  lukewarm  in  their  zeal,  or  suspi- 
cious in  their  faith,  and  he  wished  to  purify  them  by  fire. 
He  succeeded  in  causing  the  bishop  of  Paris,  Robert  de 
Courtenay,  count  of  Auxerre,  En^uerrand  dc  Coucy,  Joel  de 
Mayennei!  and  a  great  number  of  other  French  barons  and 
knights,  to  take  the  cross  against  the  Albigenses.  Tliese,  in 
the  course  of  the  same  campaign,  were  followed  by  Leopold 
duke  of  Austria,  Adolphus  count  of  Mens,  and  William  count 
of  Juliers.  Tlie  Holy  Land  was  nearly  abandoned  by  the 
western  knights,  since  they  could  gain  the  same  indulgences 
by  these,  as  it  were,  domestic  crusades.  About  the  10th  of 
March,  Simon  de  Montfort  found  himself  at  the  head  of  a  very 
large  army,  with  which  he  opened  the  campaign. 

His  first  attack  was  directed  against  the  castle  of  Cabaret, 
which  had  hitherto  braved  all  the  threats  of  the  crusaders : 
but  lontr  reverses  had  broken  the  spirit  of  the  Albigenses. 
Peter  Roger,  lord  of  Cabaret,  submitted  voluntarily  to  Mont- 
fort, and  opened  to  him  the  gates  of  his  fortress.  His  ex- 
ample was  followed  by  the  lords  of  many  other  castles,  in 
the  mountains  which  separate  the  diocese  of  Carcassonne 
from  that  of  Toulouse.  It  seemed  to  be  the  design  of  Mont- 
fort to  open  to  himself  these  passages,  by  treating  the  places 
with  a  humanity  which  he  rarely  exercised.  The  crusaders 
then  advanced  as  far  as  Lavaur  on  the  Agoiit,  five  leagues 
from  Toulouse.  Lavaur,  which  was  afterwards  raised  to  the 
rank  of  an  episcopal  city,  was  then  only  a  strong  castle.  It 
belonged  to  a  widow  named  Guiraude,  whom  her  brother, 
Aimery  de  Montreal,  had  joined  with  eighty  kniglits,  after 
havincr  been  despoiled  by  the  crusaders  of  his  own  fiefs. 
Aimery  and  Guiraude,  as  well  as  many  of  their  defenders, 
professed  the  reform  of  the  Albigenses.  They  had  opened  an 
asylum,  within  their  walls,  to  those  of  the  reformed  who 
were  persecuted  in  the  other  parts  of  the  province;  so  that 
their  fortress,  which  was  well  stored  with  provisions,  sur- 
rounded with  strong  walls,  and  girded  with  deep  ditches, 
was  considered  as  one  of  the  principal  seats  of  heresy.  This 
consideration  prevented  count  Raymond,  who  still  courted 
the  church,  from  openly  sending  them  assistance;  but,  he  is 
accused  of  having  caused  his  seneschal  to  enter  it  secretly 
with  a  body  of  knights.  During  this  time,  Fouquet  return- 
ino-  to  Toulouse  had  communicated  his  fanaticism  to  a  part 
of^the  inhabitants  of  that  city.  He  told  lliem  that  their  mix- 
ture with  the  heretics  rendered  them  an  object  of  horror  to  all 
Christians ;  and,  that  they  might  not  be  confounded  with 
them,  they  should  be  the  first  to  arm  themselves  against  those 
of  their  fellow-citizens  who  had  abandoned  the  catholic  faith. 
He  had  enrolled  them  into  a  society  which  named  itself,  ihe 
White  Company,  and  engaged  to  destroy  the  heretics  by  fire 
and  sword.  Having  thus  inflamed  their  zeal,  he  sent  five 
thousand  of  these  fanatics  to  the  siege  of  Lavaur. 

Whilst  this  siege  was  going  on,  count  Raymond  made 
one  more  attempt  at  reconciliation  with  llie  legate  and  Simon 
de  Montfort;  but  all  his  offers  having  been  rejected,  he  saw, 
at  last,  that  a  more  vigorous  conduct  was  his  only  resource; 
and  upon  this  he  ought  doubtless,  long  since,  to  have  deter- 
mined, if  so  much  resolution  had  belonged  to  his  character. 
He  formed  a  close  alliance  with  the  counts  of  Cominges 
and  of  Foix ;  with  Gaston,  viscount  of  Beam  ;  Savary  de 
Mauleon,  seneschal  of  Aquitaine,  and  the  other  lords  of  those 
provinces,  who  were  accused  of  tolerance  or  of  heresy,  and 
whose  interests  were  become  one  with  his  own.  These  lords, 
informed  that  the  German  body  of  crusaders,  from  the  duke 
of  Austria,  and  the  counts  of  Mons  and  Juliers,  had  advanced 
as  far  as  Montjoyre,  between  the  Tarn  and  the  Garronne,  and 
that  it  was  marching  to  the  siege  of  Lavaur,  six  thousand 
strong,  detached  a  chosen  body  of  troops,  under  the  command 
of  the  count  of  Foix,  of  his  son,  and  of  Guiraud  de  Pepieux, 
who  laid  in  ambush  for  the  Germans,  and  cut  them  in  pieces 
before  Simon  de  Montfort  could  come  to  their  assistance.  On 
the  other  side  count  Raymond  had  prohibited  all  his  subjects 
from  carrying  provisions  to  the  camp  of  the  crusaders,  who 
were  thereby  reduced  to  great  extremities.  But  they  were 
commanded  by  a  chief,  as  much  superior  to  the  other  captains 
by  his  skill  and  prudence,  as  he  outdid  the  rest  of  the  fanatics 
by  his  cold  ferocity.  Simon  de  Montfort  had  profited  by  all 
the  progress  which  the  art  of  war  had  made  in  that  age. 
He  had  himself  served  in  the  Holy  Land,  and  there  were  in 
his  camp  a  great  number  of  knights  who  had  combated  against 


the  Tnrks  and  the  Greeks,  and  who  had,  in  the  East,  acquir- 
ed the  knowledge  of  the  attack  and  defence  of  fortified  places. 
He  employed,  therefore,  to  overthrow  the  walls,  ingenious 
machines,  whose  introduction  was  quite  recent  amongst  the 
Latins,  and  which  were  as  yet  unknown  to  the  inhabitants  of 
the  Pyrenees. 

The  most  fearful  was  that  which  was  called  ihe  cat.  A 
moveable  wooden  tower,  strongly  constructed,  was  built  out 
of  the  reach  of  the  besieged.  When  it  was  entirely  covered 
with  sheepskins,  with  the  fur  outwards  to  guard  it  from  fire, 
and  provided  with  soldiers  at  its  openings,  and  on  the  plat- 
form at  its  summit,  it  was  moved  on  rollers  to  the  foot  of  the 
wall.  Its  side  then  opened,  and  an  immense  beam,  armed 
with  iron  hooks,  projected  like  the  paw  of  a  cat,  shook  the 
wall  by  reiterated  strokes,  after  the  manner  of  the  ancient 
battering  ram,  and  tore  out  and  pulled  down  the  stones  which 
it  had  loosened.  Simon  de  Montfort  had  constructed  a  cat, 
but  the  wide  ditches  of  Lavaur  prevented  him  from  bringing 
it  near  enough  to  the  walls.  The  crusaders,  under  the  orders 
of  Montfort,  laboured  unceasingly  to  fill  up  the  ditch,  whilst 
the  inhabitants  of  Lavaur,  who  could  descend  into  it  by  sub- 
terranean passages,  cleared  away  each  night  all  that  had  been 
thrown  in  during  the  day.  At  last  Montfort  succeeded  in  fill- 
ing the  mines  with  flame  and  smoke,  and  thereby  prevented 
the  inhabitants  from  passing  into  them.  The  ditches  were 
then  speedily  filled ;  the  cat  was  pushed  to  the  foot  of  the 
wall,  and  its  terrible  paw  began  to  open  and  enlarge  the 
breach. 

On  tlie  day  of  the  finding  of  the  holy  cross,  the  3d  of  May, 
1211,  Montfort  judged  the  breach  to  be  practicable.  The 
crusaders  prepared  for  the  assault.  The  bishops,  the  abbot 
of  Courdieu,  who  exercised  the  functions  of  vice-legate,  and 
all  the  priests  clothed  with  their  pontifical  habits,  giving 
themselves  up  to  the  joy  of  seeing  the  carnage  begin,  sang 
the  hymn  Veni  Creator.  The  knights  mounted  the  breach. 
Resistance  was  impossible;  and  the  only  care  of  Simon  de 
Montfort  was  to  prevent  the  crusaders  from  instantly  falling 
upon  the  inhabitants,  and  to  beseech  them  rather  to  make 
prisoners,  that  the  priests  of  the  living  God  might  not  be  de- 
prived of  their  promised  joys.  "Very  soon,"  continues  the 
monk  of  Vaux-Cernay,  "  they  dragged  out  of  the  castle  Aim- 
ery, lord  of  Montreal,  and  other  knights  to  the  number  of 
eighty.  The  noble  count  immediately  ordered  them  to  he 
hanged  upon  the  gallows ;  but  as  soon  as  Aimery,  the  stoutest 
among  them,  was  lianged,  the  gallows  fell;  for  in  their  great 
haste  they  had  not  well  fixed  it  in  the  earth.  The  count, 
seeing  that  this  would  produce  great  delay,  ordered  the  rest  to 
be  massacred ;  and  the  pilgrims,  receiving  the  order  with  the 
greatest  avidity,  very  soon  massacred  them  all  upon  the  spot. 
The  lady  of  the  castle,  who  was  sister  of  Aimery,  and  an 
execrable  heretic,  was,  by  the  count's  order,  thrown  into  a 
pit,  which  was  filled  up  with  stones;  afterwards  our  pilgrims 
collected  the  innumerable  heretics  that  the  castle  contained, 
and  burned  ihe.m  alive  with  tlie  utmost  joy." 

Open  hostilities  had  not  yet  commenced  between  Simon  de 
Montfort  and  the  count  of  Toulouse,  but  they  followed  im- 
mediately on  the  taking  of  Lavaur.  The  refusal  to  send  pro- 
visions to  the  besiegers  might  serve  as  a  pretext,  but  none 
was  wanted  for  attacking  those  who  were  excommunicated. 
The  castle  of  Montjoyre  was  the  first  place,  immediately  be- 
longing to  the  count  of  Toulouse,  before  which  the  crusaders 
presented  themselves ;  and  being  abandoned,  it  was  burned 
and  rased  from  top  to  bottom  by  the  soldiers  of  the  church. 
The  castle  of  Cassero  afforded  them  more  satisfaction,  as  it 
furnished  human  victims  for  their  sacrifices.  It  was  sur- 
rendered on  capitulation ;  and  the  pilgrims  seizing  nearly  sixty 
heretics,  burned  them  icith  infinite  joy.  This  is  always  the 
phrase  employed  hy  the  monk,  who  was  the  witness  and  the 
panegyrist  of  the  crusade.  A  great  number  of  castles  were 
afterwards  either  surrendered  to  the  crusaders  or  abandoned  ; 
and  these  crusaders  finding  themselves,  about  the  middle  of 
June,  reinforced  by  a  new  army  from  Germany,  undertook 
the  siege  of  Toulouse. 

This  city  was  very  far  from  having  been  converted  to  the 
reformation  of  the  Albigenses;  the  catholics  still  formed  the 
greater  number.  But  their  consuls  refused  either  to  renounce 
their  fidelity  to  their  count,  though  he  had  been  excommuni- 
cated, or  to  deliver  up  to  punishment  those  of  their  citizens 
who  were  suspected  of  inclining  towards  the  new  opinions. 
The  bishop  Fouquet  had  succeeded  in  forming  in  the  city  an 
association,  named  the  white  company,  who  engaged  to  pur- 
sue the  heretics  unto  death.  This  company,  by  its  own 
authority,  erected  a  tribunal,  belbre  which  it  carried  those 
whose  i'aith  it  suspected,  with  those  whose  conduct  it  ac- 


CRUSADES  OF  THE  ALBIGENSESl 


451 


cnsed,  or  against  whom  it  alleged  usurious  loans.  It  after- 
wards executed  its  own  judgments  by  open  force,  by  the 
destruction  and  pillage  of  their  houses.  The  partisans  of 
tolerance  very  soon  formed  a  counter  association,  which  they 
called  the  black  company ;  the  two  troops  frequently  came  to 
arms  in  the  streets,  with  ensigns  displayed ;  and  manj'  towers 
which  belonged  to  one  side  or  the  other,  were  alternately  be- 
sieged. "  Thus,"  continues  master  William  Puylanrens,  (a 
contemporary  historian),  "  did  our  Lord,  by  the  ministry  of 
his  servant  the  bishop,  instead  of  a  bad  peace,  excite  amongst 
them  a  good  war." 

But  whilst  the  bishop  was  endeavouring  to  kindle  war 
amongst  his  flock,  the  count  was  labouring  to  restore  peace 
amongst  liis  subjects.  At  the  return  of  the  five  thousand  men 
of  the  while  company,  who  had  been  at  the  siege  of  Lavaur, 
he  represented  to  them  that  their  dissentions  would  bring 
ruin  on  their  country;  that  an  attack  of  the  crusaders  would 
involve  them  all  in  one  common  destruction  ;  and  that,  what- 
ever might  be  their  differences  of  opinion,  they  ought  to  re- 
pair their  walls,  and  prepare  for  their  defence,  if  they  would 
not  expose  themselves  to  the  hazard  of  being  put  to  the  sword. 
He  succeeded  in  producing  a  reconciliation  between  the  two 
companies,  and  the  legate  took  occasion  from  it  to  subject  all 
the  Toulousians  to  a  sentence  of  excommunication.  On  his 
part,  the  bishop  Fouquet  recalled  his  clergy,  that  he  might 
save  his  priests  from  that  punishment  to  which  he  destined 
the  remainder  of  his  flock.  All  the  priests  of  Toulouse,  with 
the  provost  of  the  cathedral  at  their  head,  quitted  the  city, 
barefoot,  carrying  the  holy  sacrament  in  the  procession,  and 
singing  litanies.  However,  the  Toulousians  did  not  at  that 
time  suffer  the  fate  to  which  their  pastors  destined  them.  Ray- 
mond VI,  seconded  by  the  counts  of  Foix  and  of  Cominges, 
so  incommoded  the  besiegers  by  frequent  sallies,  killed  so 
many  of  them,  and  made  them  so  soon  endure  privations  and 
famine,  that  Simon  de  I\Iontfort  was  obliged  to  raise  the  siege 
on  the  29th  of  June,  and  soon  afterwards  saw  himself  aban- 
doned by  the  greater  part  of  the  crusaders,  whose  time  of 
service  had  expired. 

To  efliace  the  remembrance  of  this  check,  Simon  de  Mont- 
fort  extended  his  ravages  into  the  county  of  Foix,  which  he 
desolated  with  fire  and  slaughter.  He  then  passed  into 
Quercy,  the  lordship  of  which  he  compelled  the  inhabitants 
to  give  him.  But  at  the  same  time  the  count  of  Toulouse, 
having  collected  succours  from  all  his  allies,  came  in  his  turn 
to  besiege  Castelnaudary.  He  appeared  before  that  city  to- 
wards the  end  of  September,  with  the  counts  of  Foix  and  of 
Cominges,  the  viscount  of  Beam,  and  Savary  de  Mauleon. 
Although  the  crusaders  were  reduced  to  an  inferiority  of 
number,  Simon  de  Montfort  did  not  abandon  the  besieged. 
He  shut  himself  up  in  their  walls,  with  a  chosen  troop  of  his 
old  companions  in  arms,  who  did  not  exceed  one  hundred 
knights.  At  the  same  time  he  solicited  his  lieutenants,  his 
vassals  and  his  wife,  to  collect  all  the  soldiers  who  were  at 
their  disposal,  and  march  to  his  deliverance;  but  as  soon  as 
his  fortune  began  to  waver,  the  hatred  he  had  excited  through 
the  country  broke  out  in  every  part,  and  those  upon  whom  he 
had  reckoned  the  most  declared  against  him.  His  marsechal 
Guy  de  Levis,  and  his  brother-in-law,  Bouchard  de  Marli,  or 
Montmorency,  succeeded  at  last  in  collecting  a  numerous 
body  of  knights  from  the  diocesses  of  Narbonne,  Carcassonne 
and  Beziers.  These  were  crusaders,  who,  like  Montfort,  had 
gained  establishments  in  the  country, and  who  saw  that  with- 
out an  eflbrt  of  valour  their  conquests  would  be  lost.  The 
valiant  count  of  Foix  intercepted  them  about  a  league  from 
Castelnaudary,  attacked  and  dispersed  them  two  several 
times,  but  his  troops  having  broken  their  ranks  to  pillage  the 
vanquished,  were  attacked  anew  either  by  another  body  of 
the  crusaders  or  by  Montfort  himself,  who  at  the  head  of 
sixty  knights  had  sallied  from  Castelnaudary,  and  were  in 
their  turn  put  to  the  rout.  In  spite  of  this  success,  in  spite 
of  the  arrival  of  Alain  de  Rouci,  a  French  knight,  with  a  fresh 
body  of  crusaders,  the  affairs  of  Simon  de  INIontfort  continued 
to  decline  to  the  end  of  the  year.  The  count  of  Toulouse 
reconquered  all  the  strong  places  of  Albigeois,  and  in  more 
than  fift^'  castles  the  inhabitants  eagerly  expelled  or  massacred 
their  French  garrisons,  to  surrender  themselves  to  their  an- 
cient lord. 

The  hatred  against  the  crusaders  which  seemed  rooted  in 
the  hearts  of  all  the  inhabitants  of  the  country,  and  of  all 
who  spoke  the  provengal  language,  gave  occasion  to  the 
legates,  the  vice-legates,  the  monks  of  Citeaux,  and  to  all 
that  ecclesiastical  council  which  hitherto  had  directed  the 
crusade,  to  announce  that  it  was  time  to  complete  the  regen- 
eration of  the  country,  by  changing  the  secular  clergy.    They 


had  long  accused  the  bishops  of  lukewarmness.  or  inditier- 
ence  to  the  triumphs  of  the  church,  and  had  solicited  their 
destitution.  This  they  at  last  obtained,  in  the  year  1213, 
either  from  the  pope  or  from  the  timidity  of  the  persiecuted 
prelates  themselves.  Bernard  Raymond  de  Rochefort,  bishop 
of  Carcassonne,  consented  to  give  in  his  resignation;  and 
Guy,  abbot  of  Vaux-Cemay,  was  invested  with  his  bishopric. 
It  is  not  know  whether  Berenger,  archbishop  of  Narbonne, 
escaped  by  death  from  the  persecutions  which  he  had  so  long 
suffered,  or  whether  he  was  deposed  ;  but  Arnold  Amalric, 
abbot  of  Citeaux,  and  chief  of  all  the  legations  to  the  Albi- 
genses,  took  possession  of  this  archbishopric.  Amongst  the 
bishops  of  his  province,  who  assisted  at  his  consecration,  two 
others  were  taken  from  that  order  of  Citeaux,  which  had 
preached  and  conducted  the  crusade.  The  abbot  Arnold  did 
not,  however,  content  himself  with  the  spiritual  digiuty  which 
he  acquired,  as  the  fruit  of  his  labours  for  the  extirpation  of 
heresy.  To  the  archiepiscopal  throne  of  Narbonne,  and  to 
the  rich  revenues  of  that  metropolitan  see,  he  resolved  also 
to  join  the  ducal  crown.  The  count  of  Toulouse  bore,  at  the 
same  time,  the  title  of  duke  of  Narbonne,  and  the  viscount  of 
that  same  city  was  his  vassal,  and  owed  him  homage.  The 
abbot  Arnold,  in  excommunicating  Ra)'mond  VI,  had  aban- 
doned his  states  to  the  first  occupant,  and  he  had  taken  care, 
in  consequence,  to  be  the  first  to  occupy  the  duchy  of  Nar- 
bonne. He  had  taken  possession  of  the  arbishopric  on  the 
12th  of  March,  1212,  and  on  the  loth  he  demanded  homage 
of  the  viscount  of  Narbonne,  and  an  oath  of  fidelity. 

The  fanaticism  and  cruelty  of  a  monk  were  more  easily 
pardoned,  in  that  age,  than  the  cupidity  which  induced  him 
to  seize  upon  the  spoils  of  him  whom  he  had  persecuted. 
The  monks  of  Citeaux  began  to  sink  in  the  estimation  of  the 
people,  when  it  appeared  that  they  had  shed  so  much  blood 
only  for  the  opportunity  of  gaining  possession  of  those  epis- 
copal sees  which  they  coveted.  Perhaps  the  legate,  Arnold 
Amalric,  who,  by  this  conduct,  had  highly  offended  Simon  de 
Montfort,  and  had  dissolved  that  intimate  union  which  had 
hitherto  subsisted  between  those  two  ferocious  men,  endeav- 
oured to  cause  this  symptom  of  ambition  to  be  forgotten,  by 
rendering  new  services  to  the  church ;  or  perhaps  he  might 
be  drawn,  by  his  enthusiasm  alone,  to  a  new  crusade,  differ- 
ent from  that  which  he  had  hitherto  preached.  Be  this  as  it 
may,  he  had  scarcely  taken  possession  of  the  arbishopric  of 
Narbonne  before  he  passed  into  Spain,  to  aid  the  kings  of 
Castille,  of  Aragon,  and  of  Navarre,  against  Mehemed-el- 
Nasir,  king  of  \lorocco. 

This  Endr-al-Mumenim  had  been  called  into  Spain  by  the 
victories  of  the  Christian  kings  over  the  Moors  of  Andalusia. 
A  mnssulman  crusade  had  been  preached  in  Africa:  innume- 
rable swarms  of  warriors  had  crossed  the  strait  of  Cadiz ;  and 
the  victory  of  the  Moors  at  Alarcos,  on  the  18th  of  July. 
1195,  had  given  them  a  prodigious  ascendency  over  the  Chris- 
tians. After  losing  many  provinces,  Alphonso  IX,  of  Castille, 
had  been  obliged  to  demand  an  armistice;  but  this  truce  ex- 
pired in  1212.  The  fanaticism  of  the  Almohadaiis,  who  had 
annihilated  the  African  church,  gave  reason  to  apprehend  the 
entire  extirpation  of  Christianity  from  Spain.  Innocent  HI 
had  therefore  granted  the  preaching  of  a  new  crusade,  to 
succour  the  Spaniards.  The  abbot  Arnold,  archbishop  of 
Narbonne,  was  not  the  only  Gallic  prelate  who  passed  the 
Pyrenees;  the  archbishop  of  Bourdeaux  and  the  bishop  of 
Nantes  arrived  also  at  Toledo,  and  with  them  a  considerable 
number  of  barons,  knights  and  pilgrims,  from  Aquitaine, 
France  and  Italy.  This  multitude,  rendered  ferocious  by  the 
war  against  the  Albigenses,  distinguished  itself,  however, 
only  by  the  massacre  of  the  Jews  of  Toledo,  which  it  effected, 
notwithstanding  the  eftbrts  of  the  noble  Castillians  to  protect 
them ;  and  by  its  earnestness  to  put  to  death  the  RIoorish 
garrison  of  Calatrava,  in  contempt  of  the  capitulation.  The 
French  crusaders  afterwards  pretended  that  they  could  no 
longer  support  the  heat  of  the  Spanish  climate,  and  they  re- 
tired before  the  terrible  battle  of  Navas  de  Tolosa,  fought  on 
the  16th  of  July,  1212.  This  battle  saved  the  Christians  of 
Spain,  and  overturned  the  power  of  the  Almohadans, 

The  crusade  against  the  Moors  of  Spain  occasioned  but  a 
short  interruption  to  that  against  the  Albigenses.  Durino- 
the  winter,  Simon  de  Montfort  had  been  reduced  to  the  small 
number  of  knights  attached  to  his  fortunes;  but,  at  the  same 
time,  the  monks  of  Citeaux  had  recommenced  their  preach- 
ing, throughout  all  Christendom,  with  more  ardour  than  ever ; 
and  the  expedition  against  the  Albigenses,  to  which,  accord- 
inu-  to  their  assurances,  suck  high  celestial  favours  were  at- 
tached, was,  nevertheless,  so  short  and  so  easy,  that  the  army 
of  the  crusaders  was  renewed,  four  times  in  the  course  of  the 


452 


CHRISTIAN   LIBRARY. 


year,  by  pilgrims,  wlio,  after  forty  days'  service,  returned  to 
their  homes.  Guy  de  Montfort,  the  count's  brother,  (who 
had  just  returned  from  the  Holy  Land),  the  provost  of  the 
church  of  Cologne,  the  archbishop  of  Rouen,  the  bishop  of 
Laou,  the  bishop  of  Toul,  and  an  archdeacon  of  Paris,  were 
amongst  the  principal  chiefs  who,  in  the  year  121'2,  came  to 
range  themselves  under  the  banners  of  Montfort.  Tlieir  hope 
of  contributintr  to  the  slaughter  and  punishment  of  the  Albi- 
genses  was  not  entirely  disappointed,  but  they  had  no  op- 
portunity of  distinguishing  themselves  by  great  achievements 
in  arms.  Upon  the  arrival  of  these  fanatical  bands,  almost 
all  the  castles  of  the  Toulousians  were  abandoned  by  their 
inhabitants,  who  sought  a  refuge  in  the  cities  of  Toulouse  and 
Montauban,  almost  the  only  places  which  they  thought  proof 
against  a  siege.  But  the  crusade  had  been  preached  only  for 
the  destruction  of  heretics ;  the  indulgences  of  the  church 
were  only  promised  at  this  price.  All  the  prelates,  who  ar- 
rived in  Albigeois  surrounded  by  bigots  to  whom  they  had 
promised  the  forgiveness  of  their  sins,  would  have  thought 
their  vow  unfulhlled  if  they  had  not  avenged  God  against  his 
rebels.  Thej^  were,  however,  forced  to  content  themselves 
with  such  fugitive  peasants  as  they  could  surprise  in  the  fields, 
or  some  prisoners,  taken  in  the  castles  which  had  dared  to 
resist  them.  Those  of  Saint  Marcel  and  of  Saint  Antonin 
furnished  them  with  a  considerable  number  of  human  victims. 
But  when  Simon  de  Montfort  saw  that  the  greater  part  of  the 
population  of  the  countries,  where  heresy  had  prevailed,  was 
exterminated,  and  that  the  remainder  had  placed  themselves 
out  of  the  reach  of  his  attacks,  he  resolved  to  take  advantage 
of  the  zeal  of  the  crusaders,  by  conducting  them  into  Agenois, 
whose  entire  population  was  catholic,  and  to  make  them  gain 
their  indulgences  at  the  siege  of  la  Penne,  which,  after  an  ob- 
stinate resistance,  surrendered  on  the  25th  of  July.  The  siege 
of  Boissac,  which  followed,  was  remarkable  only  for  the  per- 
fidy which  Montfort  compelled  its  inhabitants  to  practice. 
He  refused  to  grant  them  their  lives,  till  they  had  consented 
to  sacrifice,  with  their  own  hands,  three  hundred  routiers,  who 
formed  their  garrison,  and  who  had,  to  that  time,  valiantly 
defended  them.  On  this  condition  the  gates  of  the  city  were 
opened  to  him  on  the  8th  of  September;  and  the  crusaders, 
contenting  themselves  with  this  carnage,  received  from  the 
citizens  a  sum  of  money,  to  save  their  houses  from  the  flames. 
Simon  conducted  his  army,  afterwards,  into  the  counties  of 
Foix  and  of  Cominges,  which  he  ravaged  afresh,  whilst  the 
count  Raymond  of  Toulouse,  despoiled  of  almost  all  his  states, 
passed  into  Aragon,  to  implore  the  intercession  of  his  brother- 
in-law,  the  king  Don  Pedro,  with  the  court  of  Rome. 

At  the  end  of  November,  1212,  Simon  de  Montfort  assem- 
bled a  parliament  at  Pamiers.  Under  this  title  was  commonly 
understood  a  diet,  or  conference  of  lords,  who  united  volun- 
tarily to  deliberate  and  decide  upon  their  own  interests.  The 
parliament  of  Pamiers  was  composed  of  archbishops  and 
bishops ;  of  French  knights  drawn  into  the  country  by  the 
crusades,  or  attached  to  the  fortunes  of  Montfort;  of  certain 
knights  who  spoke  the  provengal  language  ;  and  of  some  in- 
habitants of  the  principal  cities  of  the  country.  The  general 
of  the  crusade  wished  them  to  draw  up  statutes,  for  the  gov- 
ernment of  the  conquered  provinces,  and  it  vi-as  necessary 
that  each  order  of  his  new  subjects  should  be  represented  in 
his  parliament,  that  he  might  ensure  their  obedience.  But 
he  had  also  taken  care,  beforehand,  to  ensure  to  himself  a 
great  majority.  All  the  bishops  were  absolutel)'  devoted  to 
him ;  the  knights-crusaders  had  no  other  interest  than  his : 
the  inhabitants  of  the  country  were  intimidated;  and  the  stat- 
utes of  Pamiers  bear  the  impress  of  their  oppression,  and  of 
the  suspicions  of  the  conqueror.  Amongst  fifty-one  articles, 
some  of  which,  nevertheless,  are  favourable  to  the  peasants 
and  lowest  classes  of  society,  we  may  remark  the  prohibition 
to  rebuild  any  of  the  fortresses  which  had  been  destroyed, 
without  the  express  permission  of  the  count;  the  order  to  all 
the  catholic  women,  whose  husbands  were  amongst  the  ene- 
mies of  Montfort,  to  quit  the  estates  under  his  dominion  ;  the 
order  to  widows,  or  heiresses  of  noble  fiefs,  to  marry  none 
but  Frenchmen,  during  the  space  of  ten  years.  These  mar- 
riages, joined  to  the  confiscations  and  new  infeodations  which 
Montfort  granted  to  his  creatures,  multiplied,  in  the  province, 
the  noble  families  of  the  north  of  France,  who  adopted,  in 
their  legislation,  the  customs  of  Paris,  and  caused  the  ex- 
tinction of  the  greater  number  of  ancient  families,  who  prided 
themselves  on  descending  either  from  the  Romans  or  the 
Goths. 

It  was  not  in  vain  that  the  count  of  Toulouse  took  refuge 
with  the  king  of  Aragon,  and  implored  his  protection  at  the 
court  of  Rome.   This  king  was  held  in  high  consideration  by 


Innocent  111,  and  had  rendered  great  services  to  the  church. 
He  could  not  see,  without  regret,  his  two  sisters,  one  married 
to  the  count  of  Toulouse,  the  other  to  his  son,  stripped  of 
their  inheritance  by  Simon  de  Montfort;  or  that  all  the  prin- 
ces of  those  provinces,  the  allies  and  the  vassals  of  the  crown 
of  Aragon,  should  be  ruined  ;  that  Simon  should  have  refused 
to  himself  the  service  which  he  owed  for  his  viscounties  of 
Beziers  and  Carcassonne;  and  that  he  had  not  permitted  the 
other  feudatories  of  the  province  to  render  it,  even  in  those 
moments  of  danger  when  Spain  appeared  on  the  point  of  sink- 
ing under  the  invasion  of  the  Almohadans  ;  in  a  word,  that  he 
should  destroy  that  dominion,  which  Don  Pedro  himself,  and 
the  princes  of  Aragon,  his  ancestors,  had  gradually  obtained 
over  the  south  of  Gaul. 

The  ambassadors  of  the  king,  Don  Pedro,  at  the  court  of 
Rome,  did  their  utmost  therefore  to  convince  the  pope  that 
Simon  de  Montfort  was  only  an  ambitious  usurper ;  that, 
whilst  he  invoked  the  name  of  religion,  he  thought  of  nothing 
but  his  own  aggrandisement;  that  he  attacked,  indifferently, 
catholics  and  heretics ;  and  that  he  had  changed  a  crusade 
against  heresy  into  a  war  of  extermination  against  that  Pro- 
veuQal  nation  of  which  the  king  of  Aragon  prided  himself  in 
being  the  chief. 

Whether  it  was  that  Innocent  III  had  been  constantly  de- 
ceived by  his  legates,  and  that  the  ambassadors  of  the  king 
of  Aragon  showed  him  the  truth  fur  the  first  time ;  or  whether 
he  felt  some  pity  for  the  princes  and  people  to  whom  he  had 
already  occasioned  so  much  injury;  or  whether  he  at  last  be- 
gan to  suspect  those  whom  he  had  rendered  too  powerful,  and 
thought  it  more  conformable  to  the  policy  of  the  church,  to 
raise  from  the  ground  the  rival  of  Simon  de  Montfort,  and  op- 
pose him  to  his  conqueror,  than  to  complete  his  ruin;  he  en- 
tirely changed  his  language,  in  the  letters,  which,  at  the  be- 
ginning of  the  year  1213,  he  wrote  to  his  legates  and  to  Mont- 
fort. 

1213.  The  first  of  these  letters,  dated  the  18th  of  Janu- 
ary, is  addressed  to  the  legate  Arnold,  archbishop  of  N-ar 
bonne,  to  the  bishop  of  Riez,  and  to  master  Theodise  of  Ge- 
noa. In  this  letter  Innocent  III  reproaches  them  with  the 
murder  of  the  viscount  of  Beziers,  the  usurpation  of  provin- 
ces, even  where  there  was  no  heresy,  and  with  the  cupidit3'- 
they  had  displayed  throughout  the  whole  war.  He  informs 
them  that  Raymond  had  surrendered  himself,  with  his  son 
and  all  his  states,  into  the  hands  of  the  king  of  Aragon,  de- 
claring that  he  submitted  entirely  to  the  sentence  of  the 
church;  that  this  king,  in  possession  of  such  pledges,  an- 
nounced, on  his  part,  that  he  was  ready  to  execute  the  judg- 
ment of  the  church,  which  he  awaited ;  that  he  engaged  to 
provide  that  the  son  of  the  count  of  Toulouse,  who  had  never 
been  suspected  of  heresy,  should  be  brought  up  in  all  the 
rigour  of  the  catholic  faith  ;  and  he  undertook  that  the  father 
should  proceed  to  the  Holy  Land,  or  to  Spain,  according  as 
the  pope  should  command,  to  combat  the  infidels,  for  the  re- 
mainder of  his  days.  Don  Pedro,  whose  letter  Innocent  III 
almost  entirely  copied  into  his  own,  only  demanded,  that  they 
should  cease  to  preach  the  crusade  against  a  country  which 
had  already  submitted;  that  they  should  not  continue  to  in- 
vite the  French,  by  all  their  spiritual  rewards,  to  exterminate 
the  Languedocians  ;  that,  whatever  determination  Innocent  III 
should  take  against  the  count  of  Toulouse,  they  should  cease 
to  confouud  the  innocent  with  the  guilty ;  and  that,  should 
they  even  find  Rayinond  VI  in  fault,  they  should  not,  on  that 
account,  punish  his  son,  who  was  not  even  suspected,  or  the 
counts  of  Foix  and  of  Cominges,  and  the  viscount  of  Beam, 
who  had  been  involved  in  the  war  only  for  having  fulfilled 
their  feudal  duties  towards  the  count  of  Toulouse,  their  lord. 
After  having  inserted  in  his  letter  almost  the  entire  contents 
of  that  of  the  king  of  Aragon,  Innocent  III  reproved  his  legates 
in  a  language  which  they  were  not  accustomed  to  hear  from 
him.  He  reproached  them  with  their  cupidity  and  ambition  ; 
he  accused  them  of  having  shed  the  blood  of  the  innocent, 
and  of  having  invaded  lantls  where  heresy  had  never  penetra- 
ted ;  he  commanded  them  to  restore  to  the  vassals  of  the  king 
of  Aragon,  all  that  they  had  taken  from  them,  that  the  king 
might  not  be  diverted  from  the  war  which  he  was  maintain- 
ing against  the  infidels.  Two  following  letters,  written  by 
the  pope  to  Simon  de  IMontfort,  are  not  less  energetic,  and 
show  no  less  that  the  atrocities  of  the  war  in  Albigeois,  were 
at  last  known  at  Rome. 

The  king  of  Aragon  obtained  equal  success  in  an  embassy 
that  he  sent  to  Philip  Augustus.  He  engaged  this  king  to 
retain  his  son  Louis,  who  was  ready  to  set  out  for  the  cru- 
sade ao-ainst  the  Albigenses;  he,  at  the  same  time,  announced 
in  the  Isle  of  France,  in  Champagne  and  Burgundy,  that  the 


CRUSADES  OF  THE  ALBIGENSES. 


453 


pope  ceased  to  encourage  this  crusade,  and  exhoited  the 
faithful  rather  to  march  to  the  relief  of  the  Holy  Land.  The 
cardinal,  Robert  de  Courgon,  legate  of  the  pope  in  Franre, 
declared  himself  against  the  continuation  of  the  war  ;  so  that 
the  bishops  of  Toulouse  and  of  Carcassonne,  who  were  again 
going  through  the  provinces  of  the  North,  to  arm  them 
against  those  of  the  South,  found  much  difficulty  in  issuing 
their  indulgences.  At  the  same  time,  a  new  provincial  coun- 
cil was  called  at  Lavaur,  either  to  hear  the  justification  of 
Count  Raymond,  or  to  accept  the  submission  promised  by 
the  king  of  Aragon,  and  to  establish  peace  in  the  province. 

1-313.  But  Simon  de  Montfort  had  such  zealous  partisans 
in  the  bishops  of  the  province  of  Narbonne,  he  had  connected 
his  cause  so  intimately  with  theirs,  he  had  taken  so  much 
care  to  provide  the  monks  of  Citeaux,  the  principal  instiga- 
tors of  the  crusade,  with  all  the  pontifical  sees  which  had 
become  vacant,  that  he  was  sure  of  gaining  his  cause  before 
such  prejudiced  judges  as  those  to  whom  the  pope  had  re- 
ferred it.  In  fact,  the  authorit}'  of  the  holy  see  was  never 
more  completely  set  at  nought  by  its  agents.  Innocent  III 
had  repeatedly  given  positive  orders  to  the  bishops  of  the 
province,  to  hear,  and  to  judge  of,  the  justifications  of  count 
Raymond ;  and  the  bishops  assembled  at  the  council  of 
Lavaur,  in  the  month  of  January,  1213,  again  explicitly  re- 
fused to  hear  him,  or  to  admit  any  of  his  justifications.  They 
pretended  that  the  count  of  Toulouse,  by  not  executing  all 
the  orders  they  had  given  him  before,  and  by  causing  the 
murder  of  nearly  a  thousand  Christians,  through  the  war 
which  he  had  maintained  against  the  crusaders,  had  lost  all 
right  of  pleading  his  cause.  They  even  refused  to  extend 
the  benefits  of  the  pacification  to  the  counts  of  Foix  and  of 
Cominges,  and  to  the  viscount  of  Beam,  whom  they  declared 
to  be  supporters  of  heretics.  Above  all,  they  insisted  upon 
the  necessity  of  destroying  the  city  of  Toulouse,  and  of  ex- 
terminating its  inhabitants,  that  they  might  complete  the 
purification  of  the  province.  And,  as  they  had  this  object 
more  at  heart  than  all  the  others,  the  fathers  of  the  council 
first  addressed  a  common  letter  to  the  pope,  recommending 
it  to  him ;  and  then,  each  prelate  wrote  to  him  separately, 
earnestly  to  press  upon  him  the  entire  annihilation  of  that 
city,  which  they  compared  to  Sodom  and  Gomorrah,  and  the 
destruction  of  all  the  villains  who  had  taken  refuge  in  it. 

The  agreement  of  all  these  bishops  with  Simon  de  Mont- 
fort and  his  numerous  friends,  tlie  authority  of  the  crusaders, 
of  all  those  who  had  previously  marched  to  the  crusade,  and 
of  all  who  still  intended  to  do  so,  made  an  impression  upon 
Innocent  III.  It  was  he  who  had,  at  first,  excited  the  san- 
guinary spirits  which  then  lorded  it  over  Europe  ;  but  he  was 
himself,  afterwards,  the  dupe  of  their  concert.  It  was  but 
too  true,  that  the  whole  of  Christendom  then  demanded  the 
renewal-of  those  scenes  of  carnage,  that  it  prided  itself  on  the 
slaughter  of  the  heretics,  and  that  it  was  in  the  name  of  pub- 
lic opinion  that  the  fathers  of  Lavaur  required  new  massa- 
cres. Those  who  had  contributed  to  create  such  a  public 
opinion  were,  however,  on  that  account,  only  the  more  guilty. 
Innocent  III.  deceived  by  the  echo  of  his  own  voice,  thought 
that  he  had  showed  too  ninch  indulgence.  He  wrote  again 
to  the  king  of  Aragon,  the  21st  of  May,  1213,  to  revoke  all 
the  concessions  he  had  made,  to  accuse  him  of  having  taken 
advantage  of  the  Roman  court,  by  a  false  statement,  and  to 
confirm  the  excommunication  of  the  counts  of  Toulouse,  of 
Cominges,  of  Foix,  and  of  the  viscount  of  Beam. 

These  negociations,  at  the  court  of  Rome,  had  on  neither 
side  suspended  the  preparations  for  war ;  but  the  number  of 
the  French  crusaders  had  diminished,  through  the  pains 
which  the  king  of  Aragon  had  taken  to  announce  the  pacifi- 
cation of  the  province,  and  through  the  declarations  of  the 
pope's  legate  himself.  But  the  two  bishops  of  Orleans  and 
Auxerre,  thought  it,  on  this  account,  nmch  more  their  duty 
to  proceed  to  the  aid  of  Simon  de  Montfort,  and  they  joined 
him  at  Carcassonne  with  many  knights  from  their  province. 
On  the  other  hand,  the  king  of  Aragon,  flattering  himself 
that  if  his  brother-in-law  could  obtain  a  victory  over  Mont- 
fort, he  would,  by  this  means,  put  an  end  to  the  vacillations 
of  the  court  of  Rome,  passed  the  Pyrenees  with  a  thousand 
knights,  and  came  to  join  the  counts  of  Toulouse,  Foix,  and 
Cominges.  Don  Pedro  was  at  once  a  brave  warrior,  a  skil- 
ful politician,  and  an  elegant  troubadour ;  he  was  subject  to 
no  other  reproach  than  that  of  too  passionate  a  love  for  wo- 
men. At  this  very  time  he  wrote  to  a  lady  of  Toulouse,  that 
it  was  for  her  sake  he  was  come  to  combat  the  French 
knights,  that  he  should  he  indebted  to  her  beautiful  eyes  for 
the  valour  which  he  should  show  in  the  battle,  and  that  from 
them  he  should  expect  the  recompense  of  his  achievements. 


This  was  the  language  consecrated  to  the  gallantry  of  the 
age;  nor  is  there  an)'  reason  to  believe,  as  some  moderns 
have  supposed,  that  the  letter  was  addressed  to  one  of  his 
sisters  married  to  the  two  Raymonds  of  Toulouse.  It  fell, 
however,  into  the  hands  of  Simon  de  Montfort.  "Our  for- 
tune is  not  doubtful,'"  he  exclaimed,  "God  is  for  us.  He 
has  for  him  only  the  eyes  of  his  lady." 

The  king  of  Aragon,  having  united  his  forces  with  those 
of  the  counts  his  allies,  went  to  lay  siege  to  the  little  town 
of  Muret,  three  leagues  distant  from  Toulouse,  on  the  south- 
west. He  arrived  before  it  on  the  10th  of  September.  He 
had  joined  to  his  t!iousand  knights  of  Aragon,  those  of  thej 
counts  of  Toulouse,  of  Foix,  of  Cominges,  and  of  Gaston  di 
Beam,  which  might,  at  most,  form  a  number  equal  to  his 
own.  But  the  cavalry  of  the  Pyrenees  could  not,  any  more 
than  that  of  Spain,  be  compared  with  the  French  cavalry, 
either  in  respect  to  the  weight  of  the  armour,  or  the  strength 
of  the  horses.  The  Spaniards,  principally  accustomed  to 
contend  with  the  Mussulmans,  had  acquired  their  method  of 
fighting;  and  their  squadrons  more  resembled  light  cavalr)', 
than  the  heavy  horse  of  the  French.  Simon  de  Montfort, 
who  had  assembled  his  troops  at  Saverdun,  in  the  countship 
of  Foix,  had  with  him  about  a  thousand  knights,  or  Serjeants 
at  arms.  These  might  be  regarded  as  the  flower  cf  French 
knighthood;  they  were  men  enveloped  in  iron;  and  their 
bodies  seemed  as  iron  as  their  armour.  Amongst  them  was 
distinguished,  William  des  Barrcs,  uterine  brother  of  Mont- 
fort, the  ancient  rival  of  Richard  Crour-de-lion,  and  the  most 
renowned  of  all  the  warriors  of  France.  Many  others,  with- 
out equalling  him  in  reputation,  did  not  yield  to  him  either 
in  strength  or  courage.  Amongst  them  all,  not  a  heart  could 
be  found  susceptible  of  terror,  or  accessible  to  pity.  Equally 
inspired  by  fimaticism  and  the  love  of  war,  they  believed 
that  the  sure  way  to  salvation  was  through  the  field  of  car- 
nage. Seven  bishops,  who  followed  the  army,  had  blessed 
their  standards  and  their  arms,  and  would  be  engaged  in 
prayer  for  them  whilst  they  were  attacking  the  heretics. 
Thus  did  they  advance,  indifferent  whether  to  victory  or 
martyrdom,  certain  that  either  would  issue  in  the  reward 
which  the  hand  of  God  himself  had  destined  for  them. 
Simon  de  Montfort,  passing  the  Garonne  at  their  head,  en- 
tered, without  any  obstacle,  into  the  town  of  Muret,  and 
prepared  for  battle  on  the  following  day,  the  12th  of  Sep- 
tember. 

The  cavalry,  at  that  time,  formed  the  only  force  of  armies. 
A  warrior,  entirely  covered  with  iron  as  well  as  his  horse, 
overturning  the  infantry,  piercing  them  with  his  heavy  lance, 
or  cutting  them  down  with  his  sabre,  had  nothing  to  fear  from 
the  miserable  footmen,  exposed  in  every  part  to  his  blows, 
scarcely  armed  with  a  wretched  sword,  and  who  had  neither 
been  exercised  to  discipline  or  danger.  Nevertheless,  it  was 
the  custom  to  summon  these  also  to  the  armies,  either  that 
they  might  labour  at  the  sieges,  or  that  they  might  despatch 
the  vanquished,  after  a  defeat.  Simon  de  Montfort  had  as- 
sembled the  militia  of  the  cities  which  were  subject  to  him ; 
Raymond,  on  his  part,  had  caused  the  levies  of  the  Toulous- 
ians  to  march,  and  these  were  much  the  most  numerous. 
As  it  was  afterwards  attempted  to  find  out  something  miracu- 
lous, both  in  the  disproportion  of  number,  and  in  the  extent  of 
the  carnage,  the  historians  of  the  church  affirmed,  that  the  mili- 
tia, under  the  orders  of  the  king  of  Aragon,  amounted  to  sixty 
thousand  men  ;  they  allow,  however,  that  they  were  not  en- 
gaged. 

Simon  de  Montfort,  quitting  on  the  morning  of  the  12lh 
of  September,  the  gates  of  Muret,  in  order  to  seek  his  ene- 
mies, did  not  march  strait  towards  them,  but  kept  along 
the  side  of  Garonne,  from  the  eastern  gate,  so  as  to  make  it 
appear  to  the  king  of  Aragon  and  his  allies,  who  were  also 
under  arms,  that  his  design  was  to  escape.  But,  all  at  once, 
turning  sharply  upon  the  army  of  Don  Pedro,  he  repulsed  the 
count  of  Foix,  who  commanded  the  advanced  guard,  and  eii- 
countereil  the  body  led  by  the  king  of  Aragon  himself.  Two 
French  knights,  Alain  de  Roucy,  and  Florent  de  Ville,  had 
agreed,  unitedly  to  attack  the  king,  to  attach  themselves 
wholly  to  his  person,  and  to  suffer  no  assailant  to  divert  them 
from  the  pursuit,  until  they  had  killed  him.  Pedro  of  Aragon 
had  changed  armour  with  one  of  his  bravest  knights.  But, 
when  the  two  Frenchmen  had,  at  the  same  time,  broken  their 
lances  against  him  who  wore  the  royal  armour,  Alain,  seeing 
him  bend  under  the  stroke,  cried  out  immediately,  This  is 
not  the  king,  for  he  is  a  better  knight.  No  truly,  that  is  not 
he,  but  here  he  is,  instantly  replied  Don  Pedro,  who  was 
near  at  hand.  This  bold  declaration  cost  him  his  life.  A 
band  of  knights,  who  were  waiting  the  orders  of  Alain  and 


454 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


Florent,  surrounded  him  immediately,  and  neither  left  him, 
nor  |suft'ered  him  to  escape,  till  they  had  thrown  him  lifeless 
from  his  horse.  As  the  French  had  anticipated,  the  death  of 
the  king  of  Arrngon  occasioned  the  rout  of  his  army.  Simon, 
who  had  remain'ed  at  the  head  of  the  rear-guard  of  the  cru- 
saders did  not  come  up  witli  his  enemies  till  the  news  of  this 
event  had  already  circulated  amongst  them,  and  he  profited 
by  it  to  press,  more  vigorously,  the  three  counts,  and  Gaston 
de  Beam,  w-hom  he  compelled  to  flight.  Arrived  at  the  place 
where  Don  Pedro  had  fallen,  and  where  his  body  was  already 
stripped  by  the  infantry  of  the  crusaders,  it  is  said,  he  could 
not  forbear  shedding  a  few  tears;  but  this  apparent  compas- 
sion was  only  the  signal  for  now  displays  of  fury.  He  fell 
upon  the  infantry  of  the  Toulousians,  who  had  taken  no  part 
in  the  battle,  and  who,  abandoned  by  their  knights,  could 
make  no  resistance  against  a  powerful  cavalry ;  and  hav- 
ing first  cut  off  their  retreat,  he  destroyed  nearly  the  whole, 
either  by  putting  them  to  the  sword,  or  drowning  them  in  the 
waters  of  the  Garonne. 


CHAPTER  ni. 

SubynissioJi  of  the  Mbigmses — Revolt  and  New  War  to  the  Death 
of  Simon  de  Mmtfort,  121 1—1218. 


1214.  The  activity  of  Simon  de  Montfort  always  seconded 
his  unmeasurable  ambition.  He  never  estimated  riches  and 
power  any  otherwise  than  as  they  might  promote  the  acquisi- 
tion of  still  greater  riches  and  power.  He  had  never  known 
any  other  relaxation  from  his  victories  than  the  preparation 
for  new  conquests.  He  had  never  understood  any  other  way 
of  rending  himself  acceptable  to  God,  than  by  shedding  the 
blood  of  infidels,  nor  lelt  any  other  religious  emotion  than  the 
delight  of  being  the  spectator  of  their  torments.  Neverthe- 
less he  gained  no  extraordinary  advantages  from  the  battle  of 
Muret.  The  crusaders,  after  that  great  victory,  thought  their 
task  accoinplished,  and  their  duty  towards  God  fulfilled,  so 
that  they,  with  one  consent,  hastened  to  their  homes.  The 
court  of  Rome  hesitated,  for  fear  of  rendering  its  creature  too 
powerful.  Philip  Augustus  indirectly  placed  obstacles  to 
the  zeal  of  the  crusaders,  by  publishitjg  an  ordinance  to  limit 
their  privileges.  He  no  longer  permitted  them  to  withdraw 
from  the  defence  of  their  country,  by  abstaining  from  march- 
ing at  their  lord's  summons,  though  he  still  left  them  the 
choice  between  service  and  payment.  He  no  longer  permit- 
ted them  to  decline  the  jurisdiction  of  the  temporal  tribunals, 
either  when  they  were  accused  of  crimes,  or  when  they 
pleaded  for  their  fief  or  their  manor.  Besides,  the  Catalans 
and  the  Aragonese  were  indignant  at  seeing  the  son  of  the 
king,  whom  they  had  lost,  under  the  tutelage  of  him  who  had 
shed  his  father's  blood.  They  had  declared  war  against 
Simon  de  Montfort,  and  were  preparing  to  attack  him  on  the 
side  of  the  Pyrenees,  whilst  their  ambassador  to  Innocent  HI 
was  endeavouring  to  obtain  the  interference  of  the  court  of 
Rome,  in  defence  of  their  independence.  And  they  laboured 
so  etfectually,  that  Innocent  III,  by  his  letter  of  the  23d  of 
January,  1214,  commanded  Simon  to  restore  the  young  Don 
Jayme  to  his  subjects ;  which  order  was  executed,  at  Nar- 
bonne,  in  the  month  of  April  following. 

A  new  legate,  the  cardinal  Peter  of  Benevento,  had  this 
year  come  to  the  province.  He  had  fixed  his  residence  at 
Narbonne,  and  all  the  lords,  who  had  been  so  ill  treated  in 
the  last  war,  had  flocked  to  him  to  obtain,  by  his  interces- 
sion, their  reconciliation  with  the  church.  Much  more  ac- 
commodating, at  least  in  appearance,  than  his  predecessor, 
he  re-opened,  to  them  all,  the  door  of  the  sanctuary.  During 
the  month  of  April,  the  counts  of  Foix,  and  of  Cominges, 
were  reconciled  to  the  church ;  the  same  grace  was  after- 
wards extended  to  Raymond  YI,  and,  at  last,  to  the  inhabi- 
tants of  Narbonne  and  Toulouse.  It  is  true  that  by  the  oath 
which  these  lords,  and  the  consuls  of  the  cities,  took  to  the 
legate,  they  resigned  their  bodies  and  goods  to  his  disposal, 
without  any  guarantee;  they  engaged  to  obey  all  his  orders; 
opened  to  him  all  their  castles;  reserved  no  lordship;  nor 
made  any  stipulations  in  their  own  favour.  Raymond,  who 
had  previously  ceded  all  his  rights  to  his  son,  withdrew,  at 
the  same  time,  from  the  Narbonnese  castle,  the  ancient  resi- 
dence of  the  sovereigns,  and  went  to  dwell  with  his  son,  as  a 
simple  individual,  in  a  private  bouse  at  Toulouse,  waiting 
the   decision   of  the   sovereign  pontiff  whether  he   should 


retire  to   the  king  of  England,  to  the  Holy  Land,  or  to 
Rome. 

At  the  very  time  when  the  lords  of  the  Albigenses  were 
thus  submitting  themselves  to  the  discretion  of  the  church, 
a  new  army  of  crusaders,  conducted  by  the  bishop  of  Carcas- 
sonne and  the  cardinal  Robert  de  Courgon,  arrived  at  Mont- 
pellier.  "  How  great  was  then  the  mercy  of  God,"  cries 
the  monk  of  Vaux-Cernay,  "  for  every  one  may  see  that  the 
pilgrims  could  have  done  nothing  great  without  the  legate, 
nor  the  legate  without  the  pilgrims.  In  reality  the  pilgrims 
would  have  had  but  small  success,  against  such  numerous  ene- 
mies, if  the  legate  had  not  treated  with  them  beforehand.  It 
was  then  by  a  dispensation  of  the  divine  mercy,  that  whilst 
the  legate,  by  a  pious  fraud,  cajoled,  and  enclosed  in  his  nets, 
the  enemies  of  the  faith  who  were  assembled  at  Narbonne, 
the  count  of  Montfort,  and  the  pilgrims  who  were  arrived 
froin  France,  could  pass  into  Agenois,  there  to  crush  their  en- 
emies, or  rather  those  of  Christ.  O  pious  fraud  of  the  legate ! 
O  piety  full  of  deceit." 

Nevertheless,  this  treason,  which  the  pious  cenobite  cele- 
brates with  such  enthusiasm,  does  not  appear  to  have  pro- 
duced results  proportioned  to  the  admiration  with  which  it 
inspired  him.  The  campaign  was  devoted  to  the  besieging  and 
taking  of  several  castles  of  Quercy  and  Agenois,  some  of  which 
made  a  pretty  long  resistance,  and  cost  much  blood  to  the  cru- 
saders. In  the  greater  part  they  found  no  heretics,  which  re- 
duced the  soldiers  of  the  church  to  the  necessity  of  mourn- 
fully burning  the  castle,  or  at  the  most  of  only  putting  the 
inhabitants  to  the  sword,  as  in  an  ordinary  war.  ButatMau- 
rillac  they  were  more  happy.  "  I  must  not  pass  it  over," 
says  the  monk  of  Citeaux,  "  that  we  found  there  seven  here- 
tics, of  the  sect  called  Waldenses,  who  being  conducted  to 
the  legate,  and  having  confessed  their  incredulity,  were 
seized  by  our  pilgrims,  and  burned  with  unspeakable  joy." 

Simon  de  iMontfort  did  not  trust  to  his  arms  alone  for 
making  conquest.  In  1214  he  married  his  son  Amaurj',  to 
Beatrice,  daughter  of  Guigue  VI,  dauphin  of  Viennois,  in 
the  hope  that  she  would  one  day  inherit  Dauphiny;  for  this 
name  had  then  been  given  to  the  heritage  of  the  counts  of 
Albon,  which  had  passed  into  the  house  of  Burgundy,  and 
held  from  the  kingdom  of  Aries;  whilst  those  lords  had 
taken  the  title  of  dauphins  from  their  armorial  bearings.  On 
the  other  hand,  a  provincial  council,  summoned  at  Mont- 
pellier  for  the  month  of  December,  but  which  did  not  com- 
mence its  sittings  till  the  eighth  of  January,  1215,  was  to 
determine  the  fate  of  the  provinces,  formerly  occupied  by  the 
counts  of  Toulouse,  of  Beam,  and  of  Cominges,  whom  the 
cardinal  legate  had  reconciled  to  the  church  without  explain- 
ing the  conditions  that  he  should  impose  upon  them. 

1215.  The  inhabitants  of  Montpellier  did  not  consider  their 
lordship  as  one  of  those  which  the  council,  assembled  in  their 
city,  had  the  ri^bt  to  dispose  of.  The  marriage  of  Mary^ 
daughter  of  William  VIII  of  Montpellier,  with  Don  Pedro  of 
Aragon,  had,  in  1204,  subjected  their  city  to  the  king,  who 
had  "been  recently  killed  at  Muret.  But  the  inhabitants  of 
Montpellier  possessed  great  privileges  and  a  municipal  go- 
vernment. For  two  centuries,  at  least,  they  had  obeyed 
their  own  lords  residing  in  their  city,  to  those  houses  they 
were  strongly  attached.  Nor  was  it  without  regret  that  they 
saw  themselves  transferred  to  a  distant  monarch,  who  govern- 
ed them  negligently  by  a  subaltern,  and  who  on  all  occasions 
sacrificed  their  interests  to  those  of  his  own  subjects.  When 
Don  Pedro  was  killed,  at  the  battle  of  Muret,  they  considered 
their  connexion  with  the  crown  of  Aragon  as  dissolved,  and 
refused  to  acknowledge  his  son  Don  Jayme.  At  first  they 
thought  of  forming  themselves  into  a  republic,  after  the  ex- 
ainjile  of  the  Italian  cities,  with  whom  ttiey  had  constant coin- 
mercial  intercourse  ;  but  those  cities  acknowledged  in  the  em- 
peror a  supreme  lord,  whose  authority  over  them  had  been 
determined,  at  the  peace  of  Constance.  The  city  of  Montpel- 
lier thought  it  therefore  right  to  place  itself  in  the  same  rela- 
tion to  king  Philip  Augustus,  the  supreme  lord  of  all  France. 
They  regarded  him  as  too  distant  for  them  to  fear  any  abuse 
of  authority,  wliilst  they  flattered  themselves,  that  his  name 
only  would  protect  them  both  against  the  pretensions  of 
the  Aragonese,  and,  what  was  more  to  be  dreaded,  against 
the  ambition  of  Simon  de  Montfort.  Philip  Augustus,  in 
fact,  consented  to  take  under  his  safeguard,  for  five  years,  the 
lives  of  the  citizens  of  Montpellier,  their  goods,  and  their  city. 
He  made,  however,  this  condition,  that  his  protection  should 
remain  only  as  long  as  the  pope  should  not  give  orders  to 
the  crusaders  to  attack  them,  for  he  w^as  resolved  not  to  op- 
pose his  authority  to  that  of  the  church. 

It  appears  that  the  church  formed  no  projects  against  them, 


CRUSADE  OF  THE  ALBIGENSES. 


455 


and  that  there  was  no  ground  for  rejrarding  them  as  submit- 
ted to  the  jurisdiction  of  the  crusade;  but,  their  orthodoxy 
was  not  a  suflicient  security  against  the  enterprises  of  Simon 
de  Montfort.  When  all  the  bishops  of  the  province  were 
assembled  in  council  at  Montpellier,  to  decide  upon  the  so- 
vereignty of  the  countries  conquered  by  the  crusaders,  Mont- 
fort, who  wished  to  direct  that  assembly,  and  who  looked  to  it  to 
legitimate  those  titles,  which  he  held  by  perfidy  and  robbery 
alone,  formed  also  the  project  of  profiting  by  the  conferences 
which  he  might  have  with  the  prelates,  to  obtain  possession 
of  the  city'of  Montpellier.  The  citizens,  who  suspected  his 
designs,  would  not  permit  his  entrance  into  their  city,  and 
assigned  for  these  conferences  the  house  of  the  Templars, 
situated  without  their  walls.  But  Peter  of  Benevento,  cardi- 
dinal  legate,  abusing  the  respect  with  which  his  high  dignity 
inspired  the  guards  of  the  gates,  took  Simon  de  Montfort  by 
the  arm,  mingled  the  two  sons  of  that  count,  and  a  great  num- 
ber of  knights,  in  his  suite,  and  in  this  manner  entered  the 
city.  However,  when  the  citizens  of  Montpellier  saw  these 
knights  marching,  on  horseback,  through  their  streets,  a  uni- 
versal cry,  to  take  arms  and  defend  their  liberties,  soon  as- 
sembled them  in  crowds.  Tliey  barracadoed  the  streets,  and 
surrounded  the  church  of  Notre  Dame,  where  the  council 
was  setting,  and  Simon  de  Montfort  thought  himself  happy 
to  escape  from  the  city  through  a  by-way. 

This  little  check  did  not  prevent  Simon  de  Montfort  from 
succeeding  in  the  principal  object  of  his  ambition.  The 
council  of  Montpellier  was  composed  of  five  archbishops,  of 
Narbonne,  of  Auch,  of  Embrun,  of  Aries,  and  of  Aix,  with 
the  bishops  their  sutfragans,  to  the  number  of  twenty-eight. 
These  fathers  decreed,  with  a  unanimous  consent,  as  the 
monk  of  Vaux-Cernay  assures  us,  that  Simon  de  Montfort 
should  occupy  Toulouse,  and  all  the  other  conquest  which 
the  Clirislian  crusaders  had  made, and  should  govern  them  in 
quality  o/"/)rmce  and  monarch  of  the  country.  Count  Ray- 
mond VI,  who,  before  every  thing,  and  at  any  price,  wished 
to  be  reconciled  to  the  church,  ofiered  no  resistance  to  this 
decree.  He  left  the  monarch,  his  sovereign,  the  care  of  pro- 
testing against  so  strange  an  invasion  of  the  secular  power. 
He  delivered  the  Narbonnese  castle,  the  palace  of  the  sover- 
eigns, to  the  bishop  Fouquet,  who  came  with  armed  men  to 
take  possession  of  it,  and  went  to  lodge,  with  his  son  and  the 
two  countesses,  at  the  house  of  a  private  individual  of  Tou- 
louse, named  David  de  Roaix.  The  prelate  demanded,  at  the 
same  time,  hostages  from  the  city,  and  caused  to  be  deliver- 
ed to  him  twelve  out  of  the  twenty-four  consuls,  whom  he 
conveyed  to  Aries. 

The  conquest  of  the  province  appeared  to  be  completed. 
The  greater  part  of  the  Albigenses,  with  thousands  of  Catho- 
lics, had  perished  by  the  executioners.  The  light  of  the 
first  reformation  was  extinguished  in  blood,  and  even  Simon 
himself  was  much  more  occupied  with  governing  his  eon- 
quests,  than  with  exciting  new  persecutions.  But  the 
movement  impressed  on  the  minds  of  the  people,  by  the 
preachers  of  the  crusade,  did  not  cease  witli  the  suppres- 
sion of  heresy.  There  were  no  longer  any  Albigenses  to  sa- 
crifice, but  thousands  of  missionaries  still  contiimed  to  ram- 
ble about  the  towns  and  villages,  stirring  up  the  people,  by 
promising  them  the  joys  of  paradise  in  recompense  for  the 
blood  they  should  shed.  This  new  method  of  gaining  indul- 
gences was  so  much  more  easy  than  the  crusade  to  the 
lioly  land ;  the  expedition  might  be  accomplished  with  so 
little  fatigue,  expense,  or  danger,  that  there  was  not  a  knight 
who  did  not  wish  to  wash  away  his  sins  with  the  blood  of 
the  heretics;  and  thus  each  spring  produced  a  new  swarm 
of  crusaders.  At  the  commencement  of  the  year  1-315,  prince 
Louis,  son  of  Philip  Augustus,  wished,  in  his  turn,  to  per- 
form a  pilgrimage  and  to  serve  forty  days  against  the  Albi- 
genses. He  arrived  at  Lyons  the  19lh  of  April,  with  a  much 
more  considerable  force  than  he  could  have  assembled,  if  he 
had  only  been  going  to  combat  temporal  enemies,  such  as 
the  Flemings  or  the  f'^nglish.  The  bishop  of  Beauvais,  the 
counts  of  Saint  Paul,  of  Ponthieu,  of  Seez,  and  of  Alengon, 
the  viscount  of  Melun,  the  lords  of  Beaujeu  and  of  Mont- 
morency had  desired  to  participate,  with  a  great  number  of 
knights  of  less  illustrious  names,  in  this  work  of  sanctiflca- 
tion;  and  immense  was  the  number  of  citizens,  peasants 
and  adventurers,  who  had  followed  liis  standard,  to  live  for 
six  weeks  at  discretion  in  Languedoc,  to  pillage  houses  and 
castles,  and  to  sing,  in  chorus,  the  hymn  I'cni  Creator, 
around  the  stake  at  which  the  heretics  were  burning. 

When  Simon  de  Montfort  and  the  legate  were  informed  of 
the  approach  of  this  army,  which  was  marching  against  them 
although  the  war  was  terminated,  and  which  had  no  country 


to  ravage  but  that  now  become  their  property,  they  were 
greatly  alarmed.  They  feared  that  Louis,  if  he  once  got  into 
the  country,  would  either  defend  the  count  of  Toulouse,  his 
near  relation,  or  the  rights  of  the  crown,  usurped  by  the 
council  of  ^lontpellier.  Simon  de  Montfort  went  to  meet 
him  at  Vienne,  and  from  that  time  never  quitted  him.  The 
legate  on  his  side,  took  care  to  inform  the  prince  royal,  that 
coming,  as  a  crusader  and  pilgrim,  into  a  country  conquered 
by  the  crusaders,  he  neither  could  nor  ought  to  oppose  him- 
self, in  any  thing,  to  the  arrangements  which  had  been  made 
by  the  ecclesiastics. 

But  the  suspicions  of  these  two  ambitious  adventurers 
were  without  foundation.  Neither  prince  Louis  nor  his 
knights  had  any  political  object,  but  came  into  the  south 
solely  to  fulfil  their  vows.  He  visited,  in  company  with  Si- 
mon, the  cities  of  IMontpellier,  Beziers,  Carcassonne,  and 
Toulouse ;  he  permitted  the  count  of  Toulouse  and  his  son  to 
^0  and  seek  an  asylum  with  the  king  of  England;  and  re- 
turned by  Montauban,  at  which  place  it  appears  that  Simon 
de  Montfort  took  leave  of  him. 

It  was  now  two  years  since  Innocent  III  had  summoned, 
for  the  year  1215,  an  cpcumenical  or  general  council,  in 
which  the  whole  church  should  be  called  to  decide  the  great 
interests  which  were  then  simultaneously  in  discussion. 
This,  which  was  the  twelfth  of  the  general  councils,  and  the 
fourth  of  those  of  Lateran,  was  composed  of  seventy-one  me- 
tropolitans, of  four  hundred  and  twelve  bishops,  and  nearly 
eight  hundred  abbots.  Two  of  the  patriarchs  were  present, 
and  the  two  others  were  represented  by  their  deputies.  The 
two  orders  of  the  Franciscans,  and  the  Dominicans,  those 
terrible  soldiers  of  the  pope,  received  then  the  sanction  of  the 
universal  church  ;  a  new  expedition,  for  the  defence  and  re- 
covery of  the  Holy  Land,  was  resolved  upon,  which  was  the 
fifth  crusade;  some  heresies  were  condemned,  and  some 
canons  established  for  the  discipline  of  the  church  ;  and 
amongst  them  we  ought  particularly  to  remark  the  twenty- 
second,  which  imposed  on  each  Christian,  for  the  first  time, 
the  obligation  of  confessing  himself  once  in  the  year,  to  re- 
ceive the  communion  at  Easter,  and  which  transformed  a 
habit  of  devotion  into  a  duty,  the  observance  of  which  was, 
from  that  time,  enforced  by  the  heaviest  penalties.  In  fine, 
the  council  of  Lateran  put  an  end  to  the  preaching  of  the  cru- 
sade against  the  Albigenses,  and  disposed  of  the  countries 
conquered  by  the  crusaders. 

Count  Raymond  VI,  his  son  Raymond  VII,  and  the  counts 
of  Foix  and  Cominges,  had  all  proceeded  to  Rome  to  plead 
their  cause  before  the  assembled  church,  whilst  Simon  had, 
on  his  part,  sent  his  brother  Guy  de  Montfort.  The  counts 
presented  to  the  pope  a  recommendation  from  the  king  of 
England ;  they  threw  themselves  at  his  knees;  they  exposed 
the  cr3-ing  injustice  which  Montfort  had  committed  against 
them,  in  contempt  of  the  pontifical  authority  itself.  Many 
fathers  in  the  council  strenuously  defended  the  persecuted 
counts ;  they  spoke,  with  execration,  of  the  horrors  commit- 
ted in  the  province,  and  repeatedly  reproached  the  bishop 
Fouquet  with  having  destroyed  more  than  ten  thousand  per- 
sons of  the  flock  committed  to  his  care.  Innocent  III  him- 
self appeared  touched.  He  expressed  much  good-will  both 
to  Raymond  VI  and  his  son ;  but  the  greater  number  of  the 
lathers  were  heated  by  the  fanaticism  of  the  crusade,  and 
thought  that  all  disfavour  showed  to  Montfort,  would  tend  to 
thediscouragement  of  the  faithful;  and  they  at  last  agreed  with 
the  pope  to  publish  a  decree,  wliich  gave  to  Jlontfort  the  cities 
of  Toulouse  and  of  Montauhan,  the  countship  of  Toulouse, 
and  all  the  countries  conquered  by  the  crusaders,  reserving  to 
Raymond  VII  the  countsliip  of  ^'enaissin  and  the  marquisate 
of  Provence.  The  decision  respecting  the  countships  of  Foix 
and  Cominges  was  adjourned  ;  but  it  appears,  that  the  two 
counts  were  provisionally  put  into  possession  of  their  states. 

We  have  thus  traced  the  total  extinction  of  the  first  refor- 
mation. The  slaughter  had  been  so  prodigious,  the  massa- 
cres so  universal,  the  terror  so  profound,  and  of  so  long  dura- 
tion, that  the  church  appeared  to  have  completely  attained  her 
olijcct.  The  worship  of  the  reformed  Albigenses  had  every 
where  ceased.  All  teaching  was  become  impossible.  Almost 
all  the  doctors  of  the  new  church  had  perished  in  a  frightful 
maimer;  and  the  very  small  number  of  those  who  had  suc- 
ceeded in  escaping  the  crusaders,  had  sought  an  asylum  in 
the  most  distant  regions,  and  were  able  to  avoid  new  perse- 
cutions only  by  preserving  the  most  absolute  silence  respect- 
ing their  doctrines  and  their  ancient  destinies.  The  private 
believers,  who  had  not  perished  by  the  fire  and  the  sword,  or 
who  had  not  withdrawn  by  llight  Irom  the  scrutiny  of  the  in- 
quisilion,  knew  that  they  could  only  save  their  lives  by  bury- 


456 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY, 


ing  their  secret  in  their  own  bosoms.  For  them  there  were 
no  more  sermons,  no  more  praj'ers,  no  more  Christian  com- 
munion, no  more  instruction;  even  their  children  were  not 
made  acquainted  with  their  secret  sentiments. 

1216.  Tlie  triumph  appeared  so  complete,  that  the  perse- 
cutors, in  the  confidence  of  their  victory,  became  divided,  made 
war  reciprocally  against  each  other,  and  were  ruined.  We 
are  about  to  see  their  errors  at  the  end  of  the  reign  of  Philip 
Augustus,  and,  during  that  of  his  son,  the  relaxation  of  their 
vigilance,  and  the  a]iparent  resurrection  of  the  sect  which  they 
had  crushed.  But,  this  momentary  interruption  to  tlie  perse- 
cution served  only  to  render  it  the  more  destructive.  After 
the  extinction  of  the  fire,  some  scattered  sparlis  were  still  con- 
cealed under  the  ashes  ;  those  who  had  laboured  to  extinguish 
it,  by  turning  oft'  their  attention,  permitted  those  sparks  to 
kindle  a  new  fiaine ;  and  this,  having  devoured  all  the  com- 
bustible matter  that  remained,  was  then  quenclied  in  its  turn. 
The  momentary  toleration  in  Albigeois  recalled  thither  the 
preachers  and  the  sectaries  who  had  escaped  the  first  massa- 
cre, and  involved  them  all  in  the  second. 

Thus  the  reformation,  of  which  the  church  had  so  much 
need,  the  light  which  was  to  illuminate  the  mind,  restore  to 
morals  their  purity,  and  to  reason  its  empire,  was  repelled 
for  three  whole  centuries ;  and  even  much  longer  with  regard 
to  those  nations  which  spoke  the  romanesque  languages. — 
They  had  been  the  first  to  perceive  the  necessity  of  a  better 
economy  in  the  church ;  and  the  light  had  appeared  at  the 
same  time  in  Italy,  in  France,  and  in  Spain.  The  Paterins, 
the  Waldenses,  the  Albigenses,  had  spread  their  instructions 
through  all  the  countries  which  had  been  comprised  in  the 
western  empire;  whilst  the  intellect  of  the  Germanic  nations 
was  not  yet  sufficiently  advanced  to  admit  the  new  doctrines. 
But,  the  greater  part  of  those  preachers  of  a  purer  morality 
havinor  perished  in  the  flames  of  the  inquisition,  the  eft"ort 
which  the  romanesque  race  had  made  for  its  amelioration  hav- 
ing failed,  its  energy  remained  long  exhausted ;  the  chains 
which  had  been  imposed  upon  it  were  drawn  tighter  by  the 
very  eftbrt  which  had  been  made  to  break  them;  and  when 
the  new  reformers  appeared,  in  the  sixteenth  century,  the 
doctrines,  which  they  proposed  to  the  people,  had  lost  the  at- 
traction of  novelty,  and  only  awakened  the  terrors  which  the 
ancient  chastisements  had  left  in  every  soul. 

The  two  first  leaders  of  the  crusade,  those  who  had  signal- 
ised their  devotion  by  the  greatest  crimes  and  atrocities,  the 
count  of  Montfort  and  the  abbot  Arnold  of  Citeaux,  quarrelled 
about  the  division  of  their  conquests.  Arnold  had  seized  upon 
the  rich  and  powerful  archbishopric  of  Narbonne,  to  \\  hich 
he  pretended  that  sovereign  rights  were  attached.  Simon,  in 
taking  possession  of  the  spoils  of  Raymond  VI,  had  assumed 
the  title  of  duke  of  Narbonne  as  well  as  that  of  count  of  Tou- 
louse. In  this  conflict  of  jurisdictions,  the  inhabitants  of  Nar- 
bonne inclined  towards  the  archbishop,  which  was  a  sufficient 
reason  for  Montfort  to  accuse  them  of  being  suspected  of  her- 
esy, and  to  demand  the  demolition  of  their  walls.  Tlie  arch- 
bishop opposed  it;  Simon  entered  the  city  by  force,  ifi  spite 
of  the  opposition  of  Arnold,  and  displayed  his  ducal  standard 
in  the  viscount's  palace.  On  his  part,  the  archbishop  fulminat- 
ed an  excommunication  against  his  ancietit  colleague,  against 
that  Simon  de  Montfort,  who  had  gloried,  on  all  occasions,  in 
being  the  executioner  of  the  excommunicated.  During  the 
time  that  Montfort  remained  at  Narbonne,  Arnold  placed  all 
the  churches  of  the  city  under  an  interdict ;  a  sentence  to 
which  Montfort  payed  no  regard.  The  death  of  Innocent  III, 
whose  support  Arnold  had  implored,  and  the  succession  of 
Honorius  III,  retarded  the  decision  of  this  cause,  and  we  know 
not  how  it  terminated.  Simon  de  Montfort  continued,  how- 
ever, to  bear  the  title  of  duke  of  Narbonne,  and  he  threw  down 
many  parts  of  the  wall  of  that  city,  into  which  he  wished  to 
have  the  power  of  entering  at  all  times. 

Simon  de  Montfort's  other  capital,  Toulouse,  had  no  less 
aversion  for  its  new  lord.  Simon  quitted  Narbonne  to  pro- 
ceed thither,  and  summoned,  for  the  7th  of  March,  1216,  an 
assembly  of  all  the  inhabitants,  in  the  palace  of  the  counts, 
to  receive  their  homage  and  oath  of  fidelity.  In  return,  he 
and  his  son  engaged  towards  them,  by  an  oath  sufficiently 
vague,  to  observe  all  their  franchises.  Nevertheless,  he  ap 
peared  to  trust  much  more  to  force  than  to  the  alfeclion  of 
the  inhabitants,  for  the  guarantee  of  their  obedience;  and  for 
this  purpose,  he  laboured  with  activity,  on  the  one  hand,  to 
augment  the  fortifications  of  the  Narhonnese  castle,  and  on 
the  other,  to  ruin  those  of  the  city  and  its  suburbs.  Whilst 
these  two  works  were  going  on,  he  set  out,  in  the  mouth  of 
April,  for  the  court  of  Philip  Augustus,  to  receive,  from  that 
monarch,  the  investiture  of  the  liefs  which  the  crusaders  had 


conquered.  During  all  his  journey  he  was  received  and  hon- 
oured as  the  champion  of  the  faith;  the  most  pious  formed 
processions  to  meet  him,  and  thought  themselves  happy  if 
they  could  touch  his  garments.  Philip,  who  was  then  at 
Pont-de-l'Arche,  gave  him  the  most  favourable  reception,  in- 
vested him  with  the  dukedom  of  Narbonne,  the  countship  of 
Toulouse,  and  the  viscountships  of  Beziers  and  Carcassonne, 
and  acknowledged  him  for  his  vassal  and  liegeman.  Ray- 
mond VI  had,  however,  received  the  absolution  of  the  church, 
and  was  reconciled  to  it ;  but  though  he  was  cousin-german 
to  the  king  of  P^rance,  brother-in-law  to  the  emperor  Frederic 
and  the  king  of  England,  father-in-law  to  Sancho  king  of 
Navarre,  and  uncle  to  the  kings  of  Castille  and  Aragon,  he 
saw  himself  abandoned  by  them  all ;  or  at  least,  if  the  king 
of  England  continued  to  show  him  some  attachment,  he  could 
not  render  him  any  assistance. 

A  part  of  Provence,  which  the  house  of  Toulouse  possessed 
under  the  title  of  marquisate,  had  been  reserved  by  the  coun- 
cil of  Lateran  to  Raymond  VI  and  his  son.  Those  two  prin- 
ces, returning  by  Marseilles  from  that  assembly,  began  by 
causing  the  ProveuQals  to  acknowledge  their  authority.  They 
found  their  ancient  subjects  much  more  zealous  for  their 
cause,  since  they  had  experienced  the  exactions  and  arrogance 
of  the  count  of  Montfort  and  his  Frenchmen.  The  council  of 
Lateran  had  put  an  end  to  the  crusade  against  the  Albigenses. 
No  more  indulgences  were  preached,  the  pious  were  no  longer 
invited  to  repair  to  the  South,  in  order  to  massacre  heretics 
already  extirpated.     Simon  de  Montfort  was  reduced  to  his 

own  forces,  or  to  the  mercenaries  whom  he  could  enroll 

Marseilles,  Tarascon,  and  Avignon,  had  declared  for  the  two 
Raymonds,  and  the  younger,  on  taking  leave  of  Innocent  III, 
had  received  from  this  old  pope,  a  sort  of  acquiescence  in  his 
attempting  to  recover  his  heritage  by  force.  Raymond  VII, 
by  the  aid  of  the  Provengals,  formed  an  army,  with  which 
he  coinmenced  his  operations  against  Montfort;  he  began  by 
the  taking  of  Beaucaire,  whose  inhabitants  opened  their  gates 
to  him,  whilst  his  father  passed  into  Aragon,  to  seek  fornew 
succours. 

Raymond  VII,  though  master  of  the  citj'  of  Beaucaire,  had 
not  possession  of  the  castle,  where  a  French  garrison  still  de- 
fended itself.  He  undertook  the  siege  without  suffering  him- 
self to  be  discouraged  by  the  approach  of  Montfort,  at  the 
head  of  considerable  forces.  He  was  then  only  nineteen  years 
of  age,  and  he  defended  the  city  into  which  he  had  entered 
against  that  illustrious  captain,  whilst,  before  his  eyes,  he 
took  the  castle  which  Montfort  came  to  relieve.  In  this  dou- 
ble siege,  signalized  by  actions  of  great  valour,  the  Proven- 
gals  made  use  of  Greek  fire,  the  composition  of  which  they 
had  learned  in  the  Holy  Land. 

Raymond  VI  had,  on  his  side,  raised  an  army  in  Aragon 
and  Catalonia,  and  was  approaching  Toulouse,  which  had  al- 
ready declared  openly  in  his  favour.  But  Simon  de  Mont- 
fort, who  was  thus  attacked  on  two  opposite  frontiers,  so  that 
his  enemies  could  not  communicate  together  without  great 
difficulty  and  loss  of  time,  profited  by  this  circumstance  to 
conclude  a  truce  with  Raymond  VII,  and  hastened  to  the  de- 
fence of  his  capitid.  Raymond  VI  had  not  force  sulficient  to 
make  head  against  him,  and  retired  towards  the  mountains. 
The  Toulousians,  terrified  at  the  attachment  they  had  shown 
to  their  ancient  lord,  sought  pardon  of  Montfort.  All  the  lords 
of  the  army  supported  their  solicitations;  they  advised  him  to 
exact  the  fifth,  or  the  fourth  of  their  moveable  goods,  and  to 
content  himself  with  this  pecuniary  putushmenl,  which  would 
fill  his  treasury,  and  give  him  the  power  of  besieging  Beau- 
caire anew.  But  Simon  would  listen  to  no  other  counsels 
than  those  of  the  ferocious  Fouquet,  bishop  of  Toulouse,  a 
prelate  who  knew  no  pleasure  but  that  of  shedding  the  blood 
of  his  flock.  "  And  then,"  says  the  old  historian  ot  Toulouse, 
"spoke  the  bishop  of  Toulouse,  and  thus  he  said,  and  made 
him  to  understand,  that  he  should  do  and  finish  what  he  had 
already  determined  against  the  Toulousians,  assuring  him 
that  they  would  not  love  him  ever  so  little  except  by  force, 
and  exhorting  him  to  leave  them  nothing,  if  once  he  was 
within  their  city,  but  to  take  both  goods  and  people  as  much 
as  he  could  have  and  hold  ;  for  know,  my  lord,  added  he,  that, 
if  you  do  thus,  it  will  be  late  before  you  repent  of  it." 

To  preach  ferocity,  was  not  all  the  labour  of  the  bishop 
Fouquet;  he  took  upon  himself,  besides,  to  facilitate, by  per- 
fidy, the  execution  of  his  counsels.  He  entered  the  city  as  a 
messenger  of  peace ;  "  In  order  that  I  may,  said  he  to  the 
count,  make  all  the  people  come  out  to  meet  you,  that  you 
may  seize  and  take  them,  which  you  could  not  do  in  the  city." 
In  fact  he  solicited  his  flock  to  apply,  by  successive  deputa- 
tions of  men,  women,  and  children,  to  the  count  de  Montfort, 


CRUSADES  OF  THE  ALBIGENSES. 


457 


assuring  them  that  this  was  the  only  means  of  appeasing  him, 
and  (lisarmintr  his  anger.  The  most  considerable  persons  in 
the  city  thought  they  could  not  refuse  to  credit  their  pastor, 
who  swore  by  the  name  of  that  God  whom  he  was  commis- 
sioned to  preach  to  them,  that  his  ardent  charity  alone  dicta- 
ted the  advice  which  he  had  given  for  their  welfare.  Never- 
theless, as  the  citizens  of  Toulouse  arrived  successively  be- 
fore Simon  de  Montfort,  he  loaded  them  with  chains.  Al- 
ready niore  than  eighty  of  them  were  in  irons,  when  a  citizen, 
whom  they  were  going  to  treat  in  the  same  way,  escaped 
from  their  hands  and  called  his  fellow-citizens  to  arms.  The 
crowds  who  were  proceeding  from  the  gates  to  humble  them- 
selves before  the  count,  fled  back  to  the  city ;  but  rage  soon 
succeeded  to  terror :  they  armed  themselves,  barricaded  all 
the  straits,  and  awaited  the  attack  of  Montfort.  Already  had 
his  soldiers  entered  the  less  populous  parts  of  the  city.  "  Di- 
rected by  the  bishop,"  says  our  historian,  "they  had  already 
pillaged  and  plundered  the  greater  part  of  the  said  city,  and 
violated  women  and  girls  in  such  numbers,  that  it  was  sad  to 
See  all  the  ill  which  the  said  bishop  had  done,  in  so  short  a 
time,  to  ToulCTuse."  But,  indignation  redoubling  the  force 
of  the  citizens,  the  pillagers  were  driven  out  with  great  loss. 
Three  tiines  the  count,  with  his  cavalry,  charged  upon  the 
people,  in  different  quarters  of  the  city,  and  three  times  he 
was  repulsed,  with  great  slaughter.     At  last  he  threatened  to 

put  to  death  the  eighty  prisoners  whom  he  had  arrested 

Fouquet,  associating  with  himself  the  abbot  of  Saint  Sernin, 
again  entered  the  city  as  a  mediator.  The  two  prelates  de- 
manded of  the  Toulousians,  to  surrender  their  arms  and  for- 
tresses, engaging,  by  oath,  that  on  these  conditions,  the  count 
should  release  their  prisoners,  and  neither  touch  their  persons 
nor  their  goods,  but  protesting,  that  they  had  no  mercy  to  ex- 
pect, if  they  persisted  in  their  rebellion.  The  bishop,  Fou- 
quet, and  the  count  Simon  appear,  by  this  time,  to  have  been 
so  well  known  that  their  word  inspired  no  confidence ;  but 
the  fearful  danger  of  the  hostages,  the  critical  situation  of  the 
city,  and  more  than  all,  the  constant  repugnance  of  the  people 
to  believe  that  the  lords  and  the  priests  would  falsify  their 
oaths,  determined  the  Toulousians  to  submission.  Mutual 
oaths  were  exchanged  ;  the  arms  were  given  up  ;  the  fortresses 
were  surrendered  to  the  soldiers  of  Montfort ;  and  when  the 
citizens  had  thus  deprived  themselves  of  all  means  of  resist- 
ance, Montfort  put  the  most  considerable  persons  amongst 
them  in  irons,  and  sent  them,  with  the  prisoners  whom  he 
had  before  seized,  into  the  principal  castles  of  the  province, 
where  they  all  perished,  either  by  want,  or  by  a  violent  death. 
Then  he  commanded  the  rest  of  the  citizens  to  pay  him,  be- 
fore the  1st  of  the  following  November,  the  exorbitant  sum 
of  thirty  thousand  marks  of  silver,  in  order  to  ransom  their 
city  from  the  flames,  and  their  persons  from  a  universal  car- 
nage. There  remained  to  the  Toulousians  no  resource,  and 
they  were  obliged  to  submit  to  these  hard  conditions. 

11217.  Simon  de  Montfort,  who  regarded  all  that  his  neigh- 
bours retained  as  so  much  taken  from  himself,  renewed  the 
war  in  the  following  year,  as  well  with  Raymond  Roger, 
count  of  Foix,  with  whom  he  disputed  the  restitutions  he 
was  enjoined  to  make,  by  the  decisions  of  the  council  of 
Lateran,  as  with  Raymond  VII,  then  reduced  to  the  posses- 
sion of  Provence.  He  besieged  the  son  of  the  forincr,  Roger 
Bernard,  in  Montgrenier,  and,  after  six  weeks,  obliged  him 
to  capitulate.  He  then  engaged  with  the  latter  on  the  Rhone, 
and  hanged  all  the  inhabitants  of  the  castle  of  Bernis,  of 
which  he  had  rendered  himself  master.  Nevertheless,  the 
citizens  of  Beaucaire  and  of  St.  Gilles  resisted  all  his  attacks, 
although  these  two  places  were  part  of  the  concessions  made 
to  him  by  the  council  of  Lateran,  and  confirmed  by  Philip 
Augustus.  He  was  more  fortunate  in  Valentinois,  whither 
he  afterwards  carried  the  war.  He  had  obtained  there  sev- 
eral advantages,  when  he  learned  that  the  inhabitants  of 
Toulouse,  indignant  at  the  cruelty  and  perfidy  with  which 
they  had  been  treated  the  preceding  year,  had  secretly  recall- 
ed from  Aragon  their  count,  Raymond  VI,  who  on  the  13th 
of  September,  had  entered  into  his  capital. 

The  return  of  count  Raymond  VI  gave  occasion  for  a 
touching  manifestation  of  the  national  sentiments  wliich  were 
cherished  by  the  inhabitants  of  the  South  of  France.  This 
descendant  of  an  ancient  house,  long  signalized  in  the  service 
of  the  cross  in  the  Holy  Land,  possessed  no  qualities  which 
could,  properly  speaking,  be  regarded  as  grand  or  heroic. 
He  had  shown  neither  distinguished  talents  nor  force  of  cha- 
racter; he  had  early  been  induced  to  consent  to  what  he 
disapproved,  and  to  inscribe  his  name  amongst  those  of  the 
crusaders  who  came  lo  ravage  his  country,  and  who  secretly 
nourished  the  project  of  conquering  his  heritaee.  His  sub- 
VoL.  II.— 3  H 


mission  to  all  the  ecclesiastical  censures,  to  all  the  outrages, 
to  all  the  injustice,  which  the  legates,  the  provincial  councils, 
the  pope,  and  the  council- of  Lateran,  had  accuinulated  on  his 
head,  sufficiently  indicated  either  his  weakness,  or  his  super- 
stitious fears ;  and  his  retreat  from  the  Narbonnese  castle, 
and  then  from  Toulouse,  was  perhaps  the  effect  of  his  timid- 
ity. But  the  people  of  all  the  province  of  Albigeois,  did  not 
forget  that  he  had  incurred  the  hatred  of  his  oppressors  only 
by  his  indulgence  towards  them;  that  he  had  abhorred  blood- 
shed and  punishments,  and  that  in  spite  of  his  promises,  In 
spite  even  of  the  persuasion  with  which  they  had  succeeded 
in  inspiring  him,  that  his  religious  duly,  as  well  as  his  inter- 
est, demanded  these  persecutions,  he  had  always  checked 
the  zeal  of  the  executioners.  His  administration  had  been 
gentle;  public  liberty  in  the  cities,  commerce,  manufactures, 
science,  and  poetry,  had  made  rapid  advances  by  his  assist- 
ance and  encouragement.  If  his  civil  character  wanted  force, 
he  had  at  least  given  proofs  that  he  possessed  the  courage  of 
the  warrior,  and  the  talents  of  the  general.  His  young  son, 
Raymond  VII,  already  rendered  Illustrious  by  high  exploits 
before  his  twentieth  year,  appeared,  with  a  more  experienced 
constancy,  and  a  loftier  character,  to  promise  a  happier  relo-n. 

But  the  two  Raymonds  became  still  more  dear  to  the  peo- 
ple, by  their  contrast  with  Simon  de  Montfort  and  the  cru- 
saders. It  was  not  the  zeal  of  the  Albigensian  heretics 
which  was  awakened  for  the  house  of  Toulouse;  their  church 
was  drowned  in  blood,  their  race  had  disappeared,  their 
opinions  had  ceased  to  influence  society ;  but  in  their  name 
the  other  parts  of  the  population  had  been  the  objects  of 
martyrdom.  Hundreds  of  villages  had  seen  all  their  inhabit- 
ants massacred,  with  a  blind  fury,  and  without  the  crusaders 
giving  themselves  the  trouble  to  examine  whether  they  con- 
tained a  single  heretic.  We  cannot  tell  what  credit  to  orive 
to  the  numbers  assigned  for  the  armies  of  the  cross,  nor 
whether  we  may  believe  that  in  the  course  of  a  single  year 
five  hundred  thousand  men  were  poured  into  Lano-uedoc. 
But  this  we  certainly  know,  that  armies,  much  superior  in 
number,  much  inferior  in  disci])liue,  to  those  which  were 
employed  in  other  wars,  had  arrived,  for  seven  or  eight  suc- 
cessive years,  almost  without  interruption,  upon  this  desolated 
country;  that  they  entered  it  without  pay,  and  without  mana- 
zines;  that  they  provided  for  all  their  necessities  with  the 
sword;  that  they  considered  it  as  their  right,  to  live  at  the 
expense  of  the  country,  and  that  all  the  harvests  of  the  peas- 
ants, all  the  provisions  and  merchandise  of  the  citizens, 
w-ere,  on  every  occasion,  seized  with  a  rapacious  hand,  and 
divided  at  discretion,  amongst  the  crusaders.  No  calculation 
can  ascertain,  with  any  precision,  the  dissipation  of  wealth, 
or  the  destruction  of  human  life,  which  were  the  conse- 
(juences  of  the  crusade  against  the  Albigenses.  There  was 
scarcely  a  peasant  who  did  not  reckon  iti  his  family  some 
unhappy  one,  whose  life  had  been  cut  off  by  the  sword  of 
Montfort's  soldiers;  not  one  but  had  repeatedly  witnessed 
the  ravaging  of  his  property  by  them.  More  than  three- 
quarters  of  the  knights  and  landed  proprietors  had  been 
spoiled  of  their  castles  and'  fiefs,  to  gratify  some  of  the  French 
soldiers — some  of  Simon  de  Montfort's  creatures.  Thus 
spoiled,  they  were  named  Faiciils,  and  had  the  favour  granted 
them  of  remaining  in  the  country,  provided  they  were  neither 
heretics,  nor  excommunicated,  nor  suspected  of  having  given 
an  asylum  to  those  who  were  so;  but  they  were  never  to  be 
pennitted  to  enter  a  walled  city,  nor  to  enjoy  the  honour  of 
mounting  a  war-horse.  Every  species  of  injustice,  all  kinds 
of  affronts,  persecutions  of  every  name,  had  been  heaped  on 
the  heads  of  the  unhappy  Languedoclans,  whom,  since  the 
crusade,  it  had  been  the  custom  to  comprehend  under  the 
general  name  of  Albigenses.  Simon  de  Montfort  was,  to 
them,  the  representative  of  the  evil  spirit ;  the  prototype  of 
all  the  persecutions  they  had  endured.  The  name  of  Ray- 
iBond  Vl,  on  the  contrarj',  was  associated  with  those  happier 
times,  when  they  enjoyed  their  possessions  In  peace,  and 
when  they  could  witness  the  daily  increase  of  knowledge, 
industry,  and  liberty. 

The  terror  which  Simon  de  Montfort  had  inspired  was, 
however,  too  profound  to  allow  of  the  reception  of  Raymond 
VI,  at  Toulouse,  without  hesitation.  He  approached  that 
city  at  the  head  of  an  army  which  he  had  raised  In  Spain,  and 
which  had  been  increased  by  the  junction  of  the  counts  of 
Foix  and  of  Cominges.  Arrived  at  Salvetat,  four  leagues 
distant  from  his  capital,  he  had  put  to  flight  a  body  of  troops 
which,  under  the  standards  of  Montfort,  had  just  pillaged  the 
castle  of  Mazeres.  He  continued  his  march,  and  on  the  13th 
of  September  found  the  gales  of  Toulouse  open  ;  but,  though 
he  was  equally  wished  for  by  almost  all  the  inhabitants,  the 


45!i 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


most  timid  liad  shut  themselves  up  in  the  Narbonnese  castle, 
and  in  different  convents,  vvitli  the  wife  and  daughters-in-law 
of  Simon  de  Montfort,  that  they  might  not  be  accused  of 
having  favoured  their  ancient  master.  A  new  victory,  ob- 
tained by  Raymond  VI  over  Guy  de  Montfort,  Simon's  bro- 
ther, on  the  plains  of  Montolieu,  emboldened  the  most  fearful, 
and  united  all  the  citizens  of  Toulouse  around  their  count. 
Soon,  all  the  most  valiant  kniglits  of  Quercy,  Albigeois,  and 
Carcasses,  who  professed  an  ancient  attachment  to  the  house 
of  St.  Gilles,  were  seen  entering  their  city  with  standards 
displayed,  and  trumpets  sounding.  Amongst  them  were 
remarked  Gaspard  de  la  Barthe,  Roger  de  Cominges,  Ber- 
trand-Jourdainde  Lille,  Geraud  de  Gourdon,  Lord  of  Caraman, 
Bertrand  de  Montaigu  and  his  brother  Gaillard,  Bertrand  and 
Guitard  de  Marmande,  Stephen  de  la  Valette  and  Aymar  his 
brother,  Gerard  de  la  Clothe,  Bertrand  de  Pestillac,  and  Ge- 
raud d'Amanieu.  Each  of  them  was  followed  by  all  the 
serjeants-at-arms,  on  horseback,  whom  he  could  collect,  and 
the  entry  of  this  brilliant  calvacade  into  the  city  was  wel- 
comed with  transports  of  joy;  and  even  those  who  had  hith- 
erto concealed  themselves  were  now  inspired  with  resolution 
Simon  de  Montfort,  informed  of  this  revolution,  hastened  to 
conclude  a  truce  with  the  young  count  Raymond,  to  repass 
the  Rhone,  and  return  by  forced  marches  towards  Toulouse ; 
hut  a  part  of  his  army  was  composed  of  levies  made  in  that 
country,  and  no  Languedocian  served  him  except  through 
fear.  As  he  advanced,  and  the  news  from  Toulouse  was 
spread  amongst  his  soldiers,  he  saw  himself  deserted  by  all 
those  whose  hearts  had  remained  faithful  to  their  country, 
and  their  ancient  lord.  Near  to  Basiege  he  met  count  Guy, 
his  brother,  who  was  coming  to  join  him.  The  two  Mont- 
forts  agreed  to  hasten  an  attack  upon  Toulouse,  before  the 
walls  of  that  city  had  been  rebuilt,  and  whilst  the  citizens 
hesitated  between  affection  and  fear.  They  advanced,  tliere 
fore,  with  ladders,  as  far  as  the  edge  of  the  ditch ;  but,  at 
that  moment,  a  discharge  of  cross-bows  put  them  in  disorder, 
and  Guy  de  Montfort,  with  Guy  his  nephew,  count  of  Bi 
gorre,  both  fell,  dangerously  wounded.  Simon  was  then 
compelled  to  renounce  the  project  of  taking  the  city  by  sur- 
prise, and  he  resolved,  towards  the  end  of  September,  to 
undertake  a  regular  siege.  In  consequence  of  this  resolution, 
he  divided  his  troops  between  himself  and  his  son  Amaury,  in 
order  to  attack  the  city,  at  the  same  time,  on  each  side  of  the 
river.  Nevertheless,  he  suffered  himself  to  be  surprised  by 
the  count  of  Foix,  was  pursued  as  far  as  Muret,  and  near 
being  drowned  at  the  passage  of  the  Garonne,  in  tlie  very 
place  which,  four  years  before,  had  been  signalized  by  his 
most  glorious  victory,  and  was  obliged  to  bring  back  his 
troops  in  front  of  the  Narbonnese  castle,  where  he  joined 
his  son. 

All  the  other  cities  of  Albigeos  appeared  ready  to  follow 
the  example  of  Toulouse.  The  rebellion  was,  however,  ex- 
tinguished at  Montauban,  by  the  seneschal  of  Agenois,  and 
the  bishop  of  Lectoure,  who  commanded  for  Montfort:  the 
city  was  pillaged  and  burned  ;  but  this  act  of  severity  only 
served  to  redouble  the  hatred  of  the  Languedocians  acrainst 
the  French.  Fouquet,  bishop  of  Toulouse,  was  dispatched 
into  France  with  James  de  Vitry,  the  historian  of  the  last 
combats  of  tlie  Holy  Land,  to  preach  there  a  new  crusade, 
whilst  the  countess  of  Montfort  repaired  to  the  court  of  Philip 
Augustus,  to  solicit  his  aid.  Simon  had  recourse  also  to  pope 
Honorius  III,  who,  in  fact,  wrote  to  the  king  of  Aragon,  to 
dissuade  him  from  an  alliance  with  the  count  of  Toulouse. 
But  time  was  requisite  before  these  diflerent  measures  could 
form  a  new  army  for  the  heroes  of  the  crusade.  The  siege, 
in  the  mean  time,  proved  very  tedious:  it  was  prolonged 
through  the  winter,  and  lasted  nearly  nine  months.  The 
cardinal  legate,  who  shared  with  Simon  the  conduct  of  the 
army,  never  ceased  reproaching  him  with  his  slowness,  and 
attributed  his  want  of  success  to  a  failure  of  zeal  or  courage. 
In  the  mean  time  the  besieged  had  the  advantage  in  numbers 
and  boldness  over  the  assailants ;  every  day  they  darted  from 
their  walls  upon  the  enemy,  and  caused  them  great  loss. 
The  25th  of  June,  1218,  the  Toulousians,  in  a  sortie,  pushed 
towards  a  warlike  machine  (a  cat),  which  count  Simon  had 
just  constructed.  This  count  was  at  the  church  when  he  was 
informed  that  the  besieged  were  in  possession  of  his  machine, 
and  about  to  set  fire  to  it.  He  wished,  however,  to  finish  the 
hearing  of  the  mass  before  he  proceeded  to  battle;  but  at  the 
moment  of  the  elevation  of  the  host,  he  cried  like  Simeon, 
Let  thy  servant  henceforth  depart  in  peace,  for  my  eyes  have 
seen  thy  salvation.  He  called  for  his  arms,  put  himself  at 
the  head  of  liis  old  warriors,  and  once  more  repulsed  tbc  Tou- 
lousians.    He  was  standing  with  his  battalion,  before  the 


wooden  tower  which  he  had  just  reconquered,  when  an  enor- 
mous stone,  thrown  by  a  machine  from  the  wall  of  the  city, 
struck  him  on  the  head,  and  extended  him  lifeless  on  the 
ground.  The  moment  that  his  death  was  known  by  the  Tou- 
lousians, a  cry  of  joy  resounded  through  the  city.  AH  ran 
to  arms,  and  rushed  upon  the  besiegers  with  redoubled  fury. 
They  drove  them  beyond  their  tents  and  equipages,  took 
possession  of  a  part  of  these  effects,  and  destroyed  the  rest. 
Amaury  de  Montfort  collected  together  the  scattered  soldiers 
of  his  father,  received  the  homage  of  his  knights,  and  their 
oath  of  fidelity  as  successor  to  Simon  in  the  countship  of 
Toulouse,  and  for  a  whole  month  obstinately  persisted  in  the 
siege  of  the  city,  to  which  he  endeavoured  to  set  fire.  But 
his  army  was  discouraged,  and  daily  diminished  in  number, 
whilst  the  forces  and  the  ardour  of  the  besieged  were  aug- 
mented. He  w-as  at  last  obliged,  on  the  25tli  of  July,  to 
detenuine  on  raising  the  siege,  and  to  retire  to  Carcassonne, 
where  he  buried  the  body  of  his  father. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

Cnismlc  of  the  French  ai^^riinsl  the  Jlblgenses,  from  the  death  of 
Simun  dc  Montfort  tothc  death  of  Louis  VIIJ,  1218-1226. 

The  death  of  Simon  de  Montfort  marks  one  of  those  epochs, 
not  unfrequently  met  with  in  history,  when  the  historians  all 
forsake  us  at  once;  so  that  althougii  the  events  themselves 
continue  their  course,  it  becomes  very  difficult  to  exhibit  their 
connexion.  Curiosity,  it  is  true,  ought  at  the  same  time  to 
diminish ;  for  when  all  the  writers,  as  if  by  common  consent, 
lay  down  their  pens,  the  reason  must  be  that  either  fatigue 
or  exhaustion  has  reduced  the  nations,  if  not  to  an  absolute 
stagnation,  at  least  to  a  state  of  langour,  in  which  nothing 
strongly  excites  the  mind. 

The  reign  of  Philip  Augustus  had  been,  with  regard  to 
France,  more  fertile  in  historians  than  that  of  any  of  his  pre- 
decessors. But  Rigord,  the  first  of  these,  does  not  pursue 
his  recital  beyond  the  year  1209.  William  I'Amorique,  the 
king's  chaplain,  and  perhaps  the  best  amongst  the  writers  of 
the  age,  finishes  his  chronicle  in  1219.  Nevertheless  he  out- 
lived Philip,  and  in  the  poem  wliich  he  wrote  also  in  honour 
of  the  same  king,  he  relates  his  death  and  obsequies.  Peter 
de  Vaux-Cernay's  history  of  the  Albigenses  ends  with  the 
year  1218,  at  the  death  of  Montfort;  the  anonymous  author 
of  Toulouse,  in  1219;  and  the  oriental  history  of  James  de 
Vitry,  closes  in  1220,  soon  after  the  taking  of  Damietta;  so 
that,  in  every  part,  the  curtain  seemed  to  have  fallen  upon 
that  great  political  drama,  which  had  attracted  the  eyes  of 
Europe. 

1217 — 1321.  The  fifth  crusade,  which  was  commanded  hy 
the  council  of  Latcran,  formed,  during  several  years,  the  grand 
subject  of  interest  to  Christendom;  on  the  one  hand  it  attracted 
to  itself  the  whole  crowd  of  knights  and  soldiers  wlio  had 
been  accustomed  to  subsist  either  by  their  hire  or  by  pillage, 
to  seek  the  strong  excitements  of  war,  and  to  consider  security 
and  repose  as  a  slate  of  suffering;  and,  on  the  other,  it  pro- 
cured some  respite  to  the  count  of  Toulouse.  The  warlike 
devotion  of  the  French  had  resumed  its  first  direction  towards 
the  East,  and  the  efforts  of  the  bishop  Fouquet,  to  excite  new 
fanatics  to  the  massacre  of  the  Albigenses,  remained  almost 
without  effect. 

1218.  The  descent  of  the  crusaders  into  Egypt  was  fol- 
lowed by  more  than  a  year  of  bloody  combats,  in  which  the 
Mussuliuans  had  obtained,  notwithstanding  their  obstinate 
resistance,  such  small  success,  that  they  offered  to  surrender 
Jerusalem  to  the  Christians,  provided  they  would  agree  to 
evacuate  Egypt.  The  pride  of  the  legate  Pelagius,  cardinal 
of  Albano,  who  had  undertaken  to  conduct  the  army,  led  him 
to  reject  these  propositions.  He  thought  he  had  made  a  val- 
uable acquisition  when,  on  the  5th  of  November,  1219,  his 
army  entered  Damietta,  on  the  walls  of  which  no  more  de- 
fenders were  to  be  seen.  The  priests  who  accom]ianied  the 
soldiers  of  the  cross,  wrote  triumphantly  to  all  Christendom, 
that  eighty  thousand  Rlussulmans  had  perished  in  the  city; 
that  there  remained  only  three  thousand  inhabitants  when  they 
took  possession  of  it;  and  that,  with  the  exception  of  three 
hundred,  whom  they  had  reserved  for  the  ransom  of  some 
Christian  prisoners,  these  captives  had  themselves  ceased  to 
'ive. 

1220 — 1221.    Nevertheless,  if  the  capture  of  Damietta  de- 


CRUSADES  OF  THE  ALBIGENSES. 


459 


Hvered  iiicalculalile  treasure?  to  the  cupidity  of  the  Christians, [claimed  ag'ainst  this  attempt  of  the  man  of  God,  in  }iis  holy 
the  uiiburied  bodies  which  filled  all  the  houses,  soon  commu-  zeal,  to  cause  the  son  of  the  king  of  France  to  violate  his 
nicatcd  to  their  soldiers  a  fearful  pestilence.  This  brilliant  word.  The  archbishop  of  Auch  added,  that  these  prisoners 
army  rapidly  melted  away  by  mortality  and  desertion.    John  and  the  inhabitants  of^Iarmande  were  by  no  means  heretics. 


de  Brienne,  indignant  at  the  insolence  of  the  legate,  who  had 
dared  to  excommunicate  him,  quitted  Egypt  to  return  to  St. 
Jean  d' Acre;  and  at  the  same  time  a  great  number  of  the 
crusaders  set  out  for  Europe.  The  legate  Pelagius  foolishly 
took  that  moment  to  conduct  the  remainder  to  the  siege  of 
Cairo,  and  obliged  the  king  of  Jerusalem  to  join  him  there. 
The  communications  of  the  Christian  army  with  Damietta 
were  soon  cut  off;  all  the  dikes  of  the  Nile  were  thrown  down 
at  the  time  of  the  inundation,  and  the  Christians,  without 
provisions,  and  with  the  water  up  to  their  waists,  were  in- 
debted to  the  generosity  of  Malek-el-Kamel  for  a  capitulation, 
by  which  they  surrendered  Uamietta  on  the  30th  of  August, 
1'221,  and  abandoned  Egypt. 

1-218 — 1219.  This  crusade  for  the  recovery  of  the  Holy 
Land,  by  atTording  some  respite  to  the  count  of  Toulouse, 
enabled  him  to  establish  himself  in  the  government  of  the 
provinces  of  which  he  had  regained  possession.  The  young 
count  Raymond  VII,  who  had  joined  his  father,  was  received 
into  Ageiiois  with  the  most  lively  expressions  of  joy,  and  he 
afterwards  passed  through  the  greater  part  of  Quercy  and 
Hovergue.  In  the  month  of  November,  1218,  he  visited  also 
the  city  of  Nimes.  At  the  same  time,  count  Amaury  de 
Montfort  exerted  himself  to  the  utmost  to  retain  his  father's 
conquests.  He  caused  himself  to  be  acknowledged,  amongst 
other  places,  by  Albi,  a  city  which  had  given  its  name  to 
these  religious  wars,  and  which  had  nevertheless  performed 
but  a  small  part  in  them.  The  court  of  Rome  did  not  see 
without  regret  the  destruction  of  that  work  which  Innocent 
HI  had  accomplished  at  so  vast  an  expense.  Honorius  III 
took  count  Amaury  under  his  most  active  protection,  and,  to 
establish  him  in  his  conquests,  diverted  in  his  favour  the  half 
of  the  twentieth  which  had  been  imposed,  in  the  name  of  the 
crusade,  upon  the  clergy  of  France. 

1319.  Prince  Louis,  son  of  Philip  Augustus,  did  not  yield 
in  fanaticism,  or  in  hatred  against  the  heretics,  to  any  of  the 
monks  who  were  his  father's  subjects.  He  gladly  took  upon 
himself  that  new  expedition  against  the  Albigenses,  to  which 
the  twentieth  had  been  destined.  Peter  Alauclerc,  duke  of 
Brittany,  the  count  of  Saint  Paul,  thirty  other  French  counts, 
more  than  twenty  bishops,  and  six  hundred  knights,  took  the 
cross  to  follow  him,  accompanied  by  ten  thousand  archers. 
With  these  forces,  Louis  joined  count  Amaury  de  Montfort, 
before  the  castle  of  Marmande  which  he  was  besieging,  and 
the  defence  of  which  was  undertaken  by  count  Ceatulle 
d'Astarrac. 

The  old  count  Raymond  VI  had  thrown  all  the  cares  of 
war  and  government  upon  his  son,  Raymond  VII.  Worn  out 
with  grief,  and  weakened  by  superstition,  he  feared,  by  re- 
sisting the  church,  to  subject  himself  to  anathemas  still  more 
terrible  than  those  under  which  he  had  so  long  suffered. 
Nevertheless,  the  two  counts  of  Toulouse  had  endeavoured 
in  vain  to  induce  Philip  Augustus  and  his  son  to  abandon  the 
support  of  Montfort,  and  to  accept  of  them  for  their  feudato- 
ries, who  were  also  their  near  relations  and  faithful  vassals. 
Perhaps  it  was  to  leave  the  door  open  to  these  negociations 
that  Raymond  VII  would  not,  in  the  first  instance,  march  to 
the  assistance  of  the  castle  of  Marmande.  He  preferred  ex- 
tricating the  count  of  Foix,  Raymond  Roger,  from  his  diffi- 
culties, who  was  besieged  in  Basiege  by  two  of  Amaury's 
lieutenants.  Raymond  VII,  having  joined  the  count  of  Foix, 
attacked  his  enemies  in  concert  with  him,  and  obtained  a 
victory  which  was  attributed  to  his  personal  valour.  In  this 
victory  of  Basiege  the  principal  officers  of  Amaury  remained 
his  prisoners. 

But,  whilst  Raymond  was  vanquishing  the  crusaders  at 
Basiege,  Louis  and  Amaury  were  pressing  the  siege  of  Mar- 
mande. They  made  an  assault  upon  this  place,  by  which 
they  ohtaiiird  possession  of  the  exterior  works,  and  this  in- 
duced the  besieged  to  offer  to  surrender,  if  their  lives  and 
baggage  were  spared.  "  I  will  receive  you  to  mercy,"  said 
Louis,  "  and  suffer  you  to  go  away,  carrying  only  your  bodies 
with  j'ou."  The  besieged  accepted  these  conditions,  and 
presented  themselves  immediately  at  the  lent  of  the  king's  son, 
to  salute  him,  and  surrender  themselves  to  him.  But  when  the 
bishop  of  .Saintes  saw  the  count  d'Astarrac  and  his  knights 
enter  the  tent  of  Louis,  he  said  to  tlio  latter,  "  Sire,  my  advice 
is,  that  you  immediately  kill  and  burn  all  these  people  as  here- 
tics and  apostates,  and  that  none  of  them  be  iL'ft  alive;  and 
then,  that  you  do  neither  more  nor  less  to  those  of  the  city." 
The  count  of  St.  Paul  and  the  duke  of  Brittany,  however,  ex- 


any  more  than  count  Raymond,  and  that  the  church  treated 
him  very  hardlj',  in  not  receiving  him  to  mercy,  when  he 
submitted  to  its  wilt.  He  reminded  them,  besides,  that  a 
great  number  of  high  barons  and  knights  were  prisoners  at 
Toulouse,  and  that  by  violating  a  capitulation,  to  which  they 
had  sworn,  they  exposed  them  to  terrible  reprisals.  "  My 
lords,"  said  prince  Louis,  "  I  do  not  wish  to  injure  the  church, 
but  neither  ought  I  to  do  injury  to  the  young  count  or  his  peo- 
ple." He  then  permitted  the  captain  Centulle  d'Astarrac,  who 
had  commanded  at  Marmande,  to  proceed  with  his  gendarmes 
wherever  he  might  think  proper.  But,  during  this  time, 
Amaury  de  Montfort  had  entered  into  Marmande,  and  had 
given  command  to  execute  the  work  which  the  bishop  of 
Saintes  had  recommended  in  order  to  procure  the  blessing  of 
God  upon  their  arms.  All  the  inhabitants,  men,  women  and 
children,  to  the  number  of  five  thousand,  were  massacred. 
Louis,  after  testifying  some  displeasure  against  Amaury,  for 
having  thus  violated  the  royal  promise,  proceeded  with  him 
towards  Toulouse,  to  lay  siege  to  that  capital. 

The  news  of  the  massacre  at  Marmande,  instead  of  damp- 
ing the  courage  of  the  Toulousians,  convinced  them  that  they 
had  no  hope  of  deliverance,  but  from  the  most  determined 
defence.  Bertrand,  cardinal  priest  of  St.  John  and  Paul, 
whom  Honorius  had  appointed  in  1217  his  legate  in  Albi- 
geois,  had  sworn,  "  that  in  the  said  Toulouse,  should  remain 
neither  man,  woman,  boy,  nor  girl,  but  that  all  should  be  put  to 
death,  without  sparing  any,  old  or  young ;  and  that,  in  all 
the  city,  there  should  not  remain  one  stone  above  another, 
but  all  should  be  demolished  and  thrown  down."  This  oath 
had  been  related  to  count  Raymond,  who,  on  the  approach  of 
the  crusaders,  summoned  all  his  friends  and  allies  to  his  de- 
fence. In  fact,  a  thousand  knights,  well  armed  and  mounted, 
entered  Toulouse  to  share  his  fortunes.  Each  gate,  and 
each  barbican.,  or  counterfort,  was  specially  confided  to  three 
or  four  of  the  most  illustrious  knights,  with  their  servants  at 
arms.  The  defence  of  the  seventeen  gates  was  thus  provided 
for,  and  each  chief  had  sworn  "  well  and  truly  to  defend  his 
post,  towards  and  against  all,  both  for  life  and  death."  The 
capitouls,  or  magistrates  of  Toulouse,  on  their  parts,  present- 
ed themselves  before  the  young  count  and  his  knights,  and 
declared  to  him,  "  that  henceforth  they  abandoned  all  that 
they  had,  both  bodies  and  goods,  to  those  who  had  remained 
with  them  to  defend  their  city;  they  besought  him  to  spare 
them  in  nothing  which  should  be  needed,  both  for  strangers, 
and  familiars,  and  friends,  and  they  would  expect  their  watres- 
to  be  paid  according  to  their  will." 

1219.  These  generous  preparations  for  defence  were  crown- 
ed with  entire  success.  Louis  arrived  before  Toulouse  on 
the  16th  of  June,  with  Amaury  de  Montfort  and  the  cardinal 
Bertrand  :  he  very  soon  traced  a  line  of  circumvallation,  and 
began  the  attack  with  vivacity,  but  found  in  every  part  a  re- 
sistance superior  to  his  means.  He  lost  a  great  number  of 
men,  by  the  sword  of  the  enemy  and  by  sickness;  very  soon 
divisions  crept  into  his  camp,  whilst  the  most  zealous  cried 
out  treason,  as  soon  as  they  heard  any  of  the  crusaders,  speak 
of  moderation.  In  addition  to  this,  the  troops  of  Louis  were 
engaged  only  for  the  feudal  service  of  forty  days  :  this  term 
was  already  expired,  and  he  felt  at  last  the  impossibility  of 
retaining  them  longer.  He,  therefore,  resolved,  on  the  first 
of  August,  to  abandon  or  burn  his  warlike  machines,  to  raise 
the  siege,  and  retire  with  precipitation. 

1230.  The  yoke  of  the  house  of  IMontfort  and  its  lieuten- 
ants was  become  so  much  the  more  insupportable  to  the  peo- 
ple of  the  South,  as  the  religious  zeal  of  the  crusaders  pre- 
served them  from  no  crime.  The  two  brothers,  Folcaud  and 
Jean  de  Brigier,  the  most  celebrated  amongst  Amaury's 
captains,  were  not  less  signalized  by  the  infamy  of  their 
manners,  than  by  their  devotion.  In  their  seraglio  were  found 
married  women  taken  from  the  most  respectable  persons  in  the 
province  :  they  had  fixed  at  a  hundred  sols  d'or  the  ransom 
of  their  prisoners,  and  they  suffered  all  those  who  could  not 
pay  this  exhorbitant  sum  to  perish  with  hunger  at  the  bottom 
of  a  tower.  Raymond  VII  had  the  happiness,  in  1220.  to  take 
these  two  monsters  prisoners,  and  he  caused  their  heads 
to  be  cut  otT,  as  a  punishment  for  so  many  crimes.  About 
the  same  time  the  cities  of  Montauban  and  Casteliiaudari 
drove  out  Montfort's  garrisons,  and  raised  the  standard  of 
Raymond  VII.  Beziers  also,  with  all  its  viscountship,  re- 
turned to  its  allegiance  to  the  young  Trencavel,  son  of  the 
ancient  lord  of  that  city,  and  to  the  count  of  Foix,  his  tutor.    To 


460 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


stop  the  progress  of  rebellion,  Amaury  came,  at  the  beginning 
of  July,  1-2:20,  with  Guy,  his  brother,  count  of  Bigorrc,  to  lay 
siege  to  Castelnandari.  Guy  de  Bigorre  was  killed  there 
the  27th  of  July,  and  his  body  was  lionourably  sent  to  count 
Montfort,  by  Raymond  VII  who  had  shut  himself  up  in  the 
place.  Amaurj'  obstinately  persisted,  for  eight  months,  in 
the  siege  Castelnaudari,  and  thus  completely  exhausted  him- 
self both  of  men  and  money.  He  was  at  last  compelled  to 
raise  the  siege  in  the  begiiming  of  March  1221,  and  to  retire 
to  Carcassonne,  which  was  almost  the  only  place  remaining 
to  him  of  all  his  father's  conquests. 

1221.  About  the  middle  of  the  summer,  Amaury  again 
took  the  field,  and  was  with  his  army  at  Clermont  upon  the 
Garonne,  when  he  was  informed  that  the  inhabitants  of  Agen 
had  entered  into  a  treaty  with  the  house  of  Toulouse.  He 
sent  for  their  consuls  to  meet  him  on  the  tirst  of  August;  he 
granted  them  a  complete  amnesty  for  all  the  faults  they  mio-ht 
have  committed  ;  he  engaged  also,  for  the  future,  to  grant 
them  the  greatest  privileges,  but  could  inspire  them  with 
no  confidence.  The  people  had  learned  what  this  count  was 
capable  of,  when  he  was  the  strongest,  and  they  regarded 
this  moderation  as  only  a  proof  of  his  weakness.  Before  the 
end  of  the  month  of  August,  1221,  Agen  had  opened  its  gates 
to  Raymond  VII. 

Cardinal  Bertrand  felt  it  a  reproach  to  himself  that,  during 
his  legation  in  Albigeois,  these  provinces,  where  the  church 
had  shed  so  much  blood,  had  all  returned  to  their  ancient 
masters.  The  faithful  appeared  disgusted  with  the  crusaders; 
the  bishops  could  no  longer  succeed  in  exciting  fanaticism  ; 
the  legate  therefore  endeavoured  to  establish  a  body  more 
completely  devoted  to  the  destruction  of  the  heretics  and  the 
lukewarm.  With  the  authority  of  pope  Honorius  III,  he  in 
stituted  the  order  oftlie  hvly  faith  of  Jesus  Christ,  to  combat 
and  annihilate  those  who  do  not  profess  an  ardent  faith  for 
the  church  and  a  blind  obedience  to  all  the  secular  powers. 
We  have  the  letters  patent  of  Peter  Savaric,  humble  and. poor 
master  of  the  militia  vf  the  order  of  the  faith  of  Jesus  Christ, 
dated  at  Carcassonne,  9th  February,  1221,  by  which  he  pro- 
fesses that  the  vows  of  his  order  are  "  to  promise  aid  and 
succour  to  Amaury  de  Montfort  and  his  heirs,  for  the  defence 
of  his  person  and  domains ;  and  to  engage  to  discover  and 
destroy  the  heretics  and  rebels  against  the  church,  and 
all  others,  christians  or  infidels,  who  shall  make  war  against 
that  count."  In  the  events  of  our  days,  we  have  seen  the 
Santafedisti,  or  knights  of  the  holy  faith,  figure  in  Italy  and 
Spain,  professing  the  same  doctrines,  engaged  by  similar 
vows,  and  whose  actions,  as  well  as  their  language,  recall  to 
mind  the  crusade  of  Albigeois. 

Honorius  III  did  not  depend  alone  upon  the  knights  of  the 
faith  to  succour  Montfort.  He  addressed  himself  afresh  to 
Philip  and  Louis,  to  whom  he  granted,  as  the  price  of  an 
expedition  against  the  Albigenses,  a  new  twentieth,  to  be 
levied  upon  the  clergy.  But  Louis  having,  with  this  money 
collected  an  army,  conducted  it  into  the  domains  of  the  king 
of  England  in  Aquitaine  and  Poitou,  instead  of  attacking  the 
count  of  Toulouse.  Both  French  and  English  historians  are 
equally  silent  with  regard  to  the  events  of  this  campaitrn. 
Honorius  also  addressed  the  different  bishops  of  France,  and 
particularly  the  archbishop  of  Sens,  of  Rheims,  and  of  Bour- 
ges,  engaging  them  to  inquire  after,  to  sieze,  and  burn,  those 
of  the  Albigensian  heretics,  who  had  sought  a  refuge  in  their 
provinces.  This  severity  obliged  a  great  number  of  the  un- 
fortunate Languedocians  who  were  dispersed  to  great  dis- 
tances, to  return  to  their  country,  in  the  hope  that  they  should 
be  protected  by  the  same  men  who,  on  every  side,  had  risen 
against  the  house  of  Montfort  and  the  church. 

1222.  In  reality,  during  the  year  1222,  the  sectaries,  who 
had  been  driven  out  for  their  faith,  found  themselves  suffi- 
ciently numerous  in  the  places  where  their  fathers  had  suf- 
fered, to  give  them  the  hope  of  renewing  their  instructions, 
and  of  organizing  their  chur.ch.  If  we  may  credit  the  regis- 
ters of  the  inquisition  at  Toulouse,  about  a  hundred  of  the  prin- 
cipal Albigenses  held  a  meeting  at  a  place  named  Pieussau  in 
Ilasez,  and  Guillabertde  Castres,  one  of  their  ancient  preach- 
ers, who  had  escaped  the  researches  of  the  fanatics,  presided. 
This  assembly  provided  chiefs  for  the  desolated  churches,  the 
ancient  directors  of  which  had  perished  in  the  tlames.  Three 
new  preachers,  described  in  these  registers  by  the  titles  of  bish- 
op of  Rasez,  of  elder  son,  and  of  younger  son,  received,  from 
Guillabert  de  Castres,  imposition  of  hands,  and  the  kiss  of 
peace.  The  monks  of  Saint  Dominic  abandoned,  at  this 
moment,  by  the  secular  power,  were  reduced  to  the  necessity 
of  only  noting  these  circumstances  in  their  books,  against  the 
day  of  vengeance. 


In  the  mean  time  Amaury  de  Montfort  was  losing  the  hope 
of  entering  into  possession  of  his  father's  conquests.  The 
inhabitants  of  the  small  number  of  castles  which  still  remain- 
ed to  hiui,  were  watching  an  opportunity  to  revolt  and  sig- 
nalise their  vengeance  by  the  massacre  of  some  of  his  friends. 
INIonlfort  could  not  reckon  on  the  fidelity  of  any  man  who 
spoke  the  Provencal  language,  whilst  the  sword  was  always 
suspended  over  the  heads  of  all  his  servants  who  used  that 
of  the  French.  His  countship  of  Montfort,  and  all  his  patri- 
monial possessions  were  exhausted  of  men  and  money ;  that 
fanaticism  appeared  extinct  which  had  furnished  so  many  re- 
cruits to  his  father.  All  the  bulls  of  Honorius  HI  were  no 
longer  able  to  bring  a  single  crusader  into  Languedoc,  and  all 
those  who  wished  to  engage  in  the  sacred  war,  either  passed 
into  Egypt  or  to  the  Holy  Land,  Discouraged,  disgusted 
with  the  war,  affrighted  at  the  universal  hatred  of  whtch  he 
saw  himself  the  object,  Amaury  sent  the  bishops  of  Nismes 
and  of  Beziers,  to  Philip  Augustus,  to  ofi'er  him  the  cession 
of  all  the  conquests  of  the  crusaders  in  Albigeois;  and  at  the 
same  time  made  application  to  the  pope,  for  his  assistance  in 
obtaining  from  the  king  the  most  favourable  conditions. 

Honorius  HI  wrote  to  Philip  Augustus,  on  the  14th  of 
May,  1222,  advising  hira  to  accept  the  offers  of  Montfort ;  and 
representing  to  him,  that  it  was  his  bounden  duty  towards 
Christendom,  to  extirpate  the  heresy  which  was  beginning 
again  to  spring  up  in  his  kingdom  ;  assuring  him  at  the  same 
time,  that  if  lie  sent  a  powerful  army  into  the  South,  he 
would  be  recompensed  for  the  pains  he  should  take  to  purge 
the  land  of  these  sectaries,  by  the  acquisition  of  the  rich  fiefs 
which  were  offered  to  him  by  the  church.  But  Philip  Au- 
gustus had  at  this  period  lost  all  the  spirit  of  enterprise  and 
the  activity  of  his  youth;  he  was  frozen  with  age  and  sick- 
ness; he  held  out  the  possibility  of  an  approaching  war  with 
England,  since  his  truce  with  Henry  III  would  terminate  in 
1223,  and  refused  to  enter  into  any  negociation  either  with 
Montfort  or  the  pope. 

\\  hilst  these  things  were  going  on,  Raymond  VI  was  al- 
most suddenly  taken  from  his  family  by  a  malady  with  which 
he  was  seized  in  the  month  of  August,  at  Toulouse.  From 
the  first  attack  of  this  unknown  disease,  he  lost  the  use  of 
his  speech.  He  preserved,  however,  sulSeient  recollection  to 
give  many  signs  of  contrition;  amongst  other  things,  he  was 
trequently  seen,  during  his  agony,  to  kiss  the  cross  upon  the 
mantle  of  the  hospitalers  of  tit.  John,  with  which  he  was  co- 
vered. He  had  devoted  himself  to  this  order,  at  the  time  of 
the  persecution  of  which  he  had  been  the  object,  and  all  the 
misfortunes  he  had  experienced  had  not  sufficed  to  extin- 
guish his  devotion.  He  had  given  abundant  alms  to  the 
priests  and  the  monasteries ;  he  had  shown  himself  scrupu- 
lous in  the  performance  of  all  the  practices  of  piety  ;  and 
when  he  was  under  excommunication  he  was  seen  to  remain 
for  a  long  time  on  his  knees  in  prayer,  at  the  doors  of  the 
churches  which  he  dared  not  enter.  But,  the  monks  re- 
proached him  with  feeling  some  pity  for  tlie  heretics;  with 
taking  no  delight  in  the  torments  which  they  inflicted  upon 
them  ;  with  having  even  frequently  withdrawn  the  sectaries 
from  punishment.  They  persecuted  him  for  his  compassion, 
not  only  during  his  life,  but  even  for  ages  after  his  death. 
His  son  could  never  obtain  the  honours  of  sepulture  for  his 
body,  but  his  coffin  was  deposited  near  the  burial  ground  of 
St.  John  of  Toulouse,  waiting  the  permission  of  the  church 
for  its  interment.  It  was  still  there  in  the  fourteenth  century  ; 
but,  as  it  was  only  of  wood,  and  no  one  took  care  for  its  pre- 
servation, it  was  broken,  and  his  bones  dispersed  before  the 
sixteenth  century.  The  skull  alone  of  Raymond  VI  was 
long  preserved  in  the  house  of  the  hospitalers  of  St.  John  of 
Toulouse. 

1223.  The  death  of  the  count  of  Toulouse  was  speedily 
followed  by  that  of  Raymond  Roger  count  of  Foix,  th^bravest 
of  his  vassals,  and  who  had  perhaps  the  most  contributed  to 
the  recovery  of  his  states.  The  count  of  Foix  had  not  em- 
braced the  faith  of  the  Albigenses,  but  it  appears  that  his  wife 
and  many  persons  of  his  family  belonged  to  this  sect,  and 
that  he  had  himself,  if  we  may  believe  the  registers  of  the  in- 
quisition, sometimes  assisted  at  the  conventicles  of  the  sec- 
taries, but  without  making  abjuration.  He  was  then,  in  the 
eyes  of  the  church,  more  guilty  than  the  count  of  Toulouse, 
but  they  had,  notwithstanding,  treated  hiin  with  more  indul- 
gence, because  the  conquest  of  his  country  was  judged  more 
difficult.  He  died  in  the  end  of  March,  or  the  beginning  of 
April,  of  the  fatigues  he  had  endured  at  the  siege  of  Mire- 
pois,  which  envenomed  an  ulcer  that  had  long  tormented 
him.  The  death  of  these  two  counts  did  not,  however, 
weaken  the  cause  of  toleration.     Kavmond  VII  was  at  least 


CRUSADES  OF  THE  ALBIGENSES. 


461 


twenty-five  years  old  at  his  father's  death.  lie  was  beloved 
by  his  subjects,  whom  he  had  governed  for  many  years ;  he 
inherited  the  talent  of  his  ancestors  for  war,  and  added  to  it 
more  firmness  of  character  than  his  father  possessed,  and 
more  skill  in  government.  Roger  Bernard,  who  succeeded 
to  the  sovereignty  of  the  countship  of  Foix,  had,  on  his  part, 
signalized  himself,  for  a  long  time,  and  on  many  occasions, 
against  the  crusaders,  and  he  showed  himself  neither  less 
valiant,  nor  less  attached  to  the  count  of  Toulouse,  than  Ray- 
mond Roger. 

1-223.  These  two  princes,  therefore,  having  resolved  en- 
tirely to  drive  Amaury  de  Montfort  from  the  province,  be- 
sieged, in  the  spring  of  12-23,  la  Penne  in  Agenois,  and  Ver- 
dun upon  the  Garonne.  The  pope  had  sent  a  new  legale 
into  Albigeois,  cardinal  Conrad,  bishop  of  Porto,  who  wrote 
to  all  the  bishops  of  France  to  demand  succours,  whilst  Amau- 
ry approached  la  Penne  with  the  hope  of  intimidating  the 
two  counts,  but  was  soon  obliged  to  feel  the  inferiority  of  his 
forces.  As  his  troops  were  deserting  him,  and  he  ran  the 
risk  of  falling  into  the  hands  of  his  enemy,  he  made  proposi- 
tions of  peace.  A  thought  was  even  entertained  of  causing 
Raymond  VII  to  marry  a  sister  of  Amaury,  and,  upon  these 
overtures,  a  truce  was  siorned  between  the  two  parties.  Ray 
mond,  as  confiding  as  he  was  loyal,  hesitated  not  upon  this 
assurance  to  put  himself  into  the  hands  of  the  hereditary  ene- 
my of  his  family.  He  entered  into  Carcassonne,  and  passed 
a  whole  day  with  count  Amaury.  Through  a  pleasantry 
which  served  still  to  increase  his  danger,  perceiving  that 
his  attendants  were  alarmed  for  his  imprudence,  he  caused 
them  to  be  informed  that  he  had  been  arrested,  during  the 
night,  at  Carcassonne,  and  upon  this  news,  all  his  guard 
vrhom  he  had  left  without  the  city  took  to  flight.  The  two 
counts  only  laughed  at  the  terror  of  these  soldiers.  They  se- 
parated like  men  of  honour ;  but  not  being  able  to  accom- 
plish a  reconciliation,  recommenced  hostilities  at  the  end  of 
the  armistice. 

1223.  At  this  same  epoch,  cardinal  Conrad  convoked  a 
provincial  council,  in  the  city  Sens,  to  deliberate  on  the  afl'airs 
of  the  Albigenses;  and  one  of  the  motives  which  he  alleged 
for  the  church  putting  itself  into  a  posture  of  defence  aijainst 
the  heretics  was,  that,  according  to  his  statement,  they  had 
set  up  a  chief  or  pope,  who  had  established  himself  upon  the 
frontiers  of  Bulgaria,  of  Dalmatia,  of  Croatia,  and  of  Hun- 
gary. He  added,  that  a  great  number  of  Christians,  and 
even  bishops,  in  those  countries,  had  acknowledged  his  au- 
thority ;  that  the  dispersed  Albigenses  had  restored  to  him, 
and  received  his  decisions  as  oracles;  and  that  one  of  them, 
Barthelemide  Carcassone,  had  returned  into  bis  country  with 
the  authority  of  a  legate,  and  arrogated  to  himself  the  right 
of  naming  new  bishops. 

There  is  reason  to  believe,  in  fact,  that  the  opinions  of  the 
Paulicians  had  been,  for  the  first  time,  spread  in  the  West, 
through  Bulgaria.  The  letter  of  cardinal  Conrad  indicates, 
that  there  still  existed  a  connection  between  the  sectaries  of 
the  two  countries,  and  that  those  of  the  Sclavonian  language, 
to  whom,  two  centuries  later,  we  are  indebted  for  the  reform- 
ation of  John  Huss,  and  Jerome  of  Prague,  had  opened  an 
asylum,  and  offered  succours,  to  the  persecuted  Albigenses. 
But  it  is  not  probable  that  the  sectaries  had  given  themselves 
the  same  organization  as  the  church  of  Rome,  which  they  op- 
posed. The  papists  could  conceive  of  no  church  without  a 
pope;  but  he,  whom  they  imagined  in  Bulgaria,  and  even 
whose  name  they  do  not  tell  us,  disappeared  without  leavino- 
a  successor. 

The  chief  object  which  the  cardinal  legate,  and  Fouquet, 
bishop  of  Toulouse,  had  proposed  to  themselves  in  the  con- 
vocation of  this  council  was,  to  alarm  the  conscience  of  Phi- 
lip Augustus,  and  to  determine  him  to  send,  at  last,  a  power- 
ful army  against  the  Albigenses,  and  thus  to  accept  the  offers 
of  the  count  of  Montfort ;  but  Philip  seemed  to  have  contract- 
ed, in  the  last  years  of  his  life,  a  political  timidity,  which 
accorded  with  the  progress  of  his  age,  and  the  decline  of  his 
health ;  and  which  caused  him  to  reject  every  occasion  of 
aggrandizing  himself  at  the  expense  of  his  neighbours.  Wil- 
liam de  Puy-Laurent  assures  us,  upon  the  authority  of  Fou- 
quet, the  atrocious  bishop  of  Toulouse,  that  Philip  said  to  the 
bishop — "I  know  that  after  my  death  the  clergy  will  prevail 
upon  my  son  Louis  to  take  part  in  the  affairs  of  the  Albigen- 
ses; and,  as  he  is  weak  and  delicate,  he  will  not  be  able  to 
bear  the  fatigues,  and  will  die  in  a  little  lime.  Then  the 
kingdom  will  fall  into  the  hands  of  women  and  children,  and 
will  be  thereby  much  endangered."  This  prophecy,  never- 
theless, which  afterwards  was  often  repeated,  may  have  been 
given  after  the  event. 


At  the  time  when  the  bishop  Fouquet  was  impressinof,  upon 
Philip  Augustus,  the  necessity  of  putting  all  the  Toulousians 
to  the  sword,  it  became  necessary  to  attend  much  more  to  the 
politics  of  his  successor,  than  to  those  of  the  reigning  mon- 
arch. A  quartan  fever  which  had  commenced  towards  the 
middle  of  the  summer  of  1222.  was  continually  reducing  the 
strength  of  the  king.  It  lasted  him  during  a  whole  year,  but 
did  not  prevent  him  from  continuing  his  short  journeys  to  in- 
spect the  works  which  he  had  ordered.  Philip  Augustus  loved 
architecture,  and  monuments;  many  of  the  kings  his  prede- 
cessors had  built  churches,  but  he  was  the  first  to  ornament 
France  with  civil  architecture.  The  communes  had,  for  a 
long  time,  surrounded  themselves  with  walls  for  their  own 
defence ;  the  lords  had,  en  their  part,  carefully  fortified  their 
dwellings;  whilst,  on  the  contrary,  the  cities,  towns,  and 
villages,  which  belonged  to  the  crown,  had  been  scandalously 
neglected.  Philip  undertook  to  surround  them  all  with  walls  ; 
he  did  it  however  with  a  respect  to  the  rights  of  individuals, 
to  which  they  had  not  been  accustomed  on  the  part  cf  the  re- 
ceivers of  the  revenue ;  for  he  always  purchased  the  houses 
which  it  was  necessary  to  pull  down,  and  the  land  that  waa 
wanted  for  the  public  service.  He  was  able,  during  the  forty 
years  of  his  reign,  to  finish  all  these  walls,  and  thus  gave  a 
guarantee,  both  to  the  safety  of  the  state  and  to  the  police, 
which  had  not  been  known  before  this  time. 

These  immense  undertakings  did  not  exhaust  the  treasures 
of  Philip  Augustus.  He  had  established  order  in  the  finan- 
ces, and  as  his  reign  had  been  the  epoch  of  a  prodigious  in- 
crease in  the  population,  industry,  commerce,  and  agriculture 
of  France,  the  royal  revenues  had  augmented  with  that  pros- 
perity. But  the  king's  treasure  was  regarded  as  his  private 
and  personal  property.  All  that  he  had  economised,  all  that 
he  had  drawn  from  the  people,  and  had  not  employed  in  gov- 
erning them,  belonged  so  entirely  to  himself,  that  far  from 
beintr  obliged  to  leave  it  to  his  country,  he  did  not  even  feel 
an  obligation  to  leave  it  to  his  children.  It  is  true,  that  the 
priests  had  taken  care  to  inculcate  this  doctrine,  of  exclusive 
property,  into  tlie  hearts  of  kings.  They  had  all  agreed  to 
tell  them,  that  if,  at  any  time,  princes  were  guilty  of  over- 
whelming with  their  extortions  the  poor  contributors,  of  ruin- 
ing widows  and  orphans,  or  of  refusing  afterwards  to  the  pub- 
lic necessities  the  money  which  they  had  collected  by  iniqui- 
tous measures,  one  way  of  compensation  was  still  offered 
them,  a  way  which  would  change  all  their  crimes  into  so 
many  virtues,  and  would  thus  insure  their  salvation,  by  the 
very  consequences  of  their  evil  deeds ;  this  was  to  dispose, 
in  favour  of  the  church,  of  all  the  money  they  had  thus  ac- 
cumulated. Philip  Augustus  made  his  will,  upon  these  prin- 
ciples, in  the  month  of  September,  1222.  He  named  for  his 
executors,  Guarin,  bishop  of  Senlis,  Barthelemy  de  Eoye, 
and  brother  Aymard,  treasurer  of  the  temple,  and  assigned 
to  these  testamentary  executors  twenty-five  thousand  marks 
of  silver,  which  then  equalled  fil'ly  thousand  livres,  and  which, 
at  this  day,  would  amount  to  twelve  hundred  thousand,  that 
they  might,  according  to  their  consciences,  make  restitution 
whenever  the  king  had  done  any  injustice.  Philip  Augustus 
bequeathed  to  the  king  of  Jerusalem,  to  the  hospitalers  and 
teinplars,  fifty  thousand  marks  of  silver  each.,  that  this  king, 
and  those  two  military  orders,  might  each  maintain,  in  re- 
turn, for  three  years,  one  hundred  additional  knights  in  the 
service  of  the  Holy  Sepulchre :  he  assigned  to  them  also 
considerable  sums  to  assist  in  preparing  them  to  pass  the  sea 
the  year  following.  He  bequeathed  twenty  thousand  livres 
to  Amaury  de  Montfort,  to  be  employed  in  the  extirpation  of 
the  heresy  of  the  Albigenses;  for  it  was  neither  from  scruple 
of  conscience,  nor  from  a  sentiment  of  humanity,  that  he  had 
himself  always  refused  to  march  against  those  sectaries.  He 
bequeathed  to  the  abbey  of  fSaint  Denys,  all  his  crowns  and 
jewels;  to  the  abbey  of  Saint  Victor,  which  he  had  built  near 
the  bridge  of  Charenlon,  two  thousand  livres,  and  two  hun- 
dred-and-forty  livres  annually,  which  were  to  suffice  for  the 
maintenance  of  twenty  priests ;  he  left  twenty-one  thousand 
livres  to  the  poor  of  Paris,  and  only  ten  thousand  to  Iscm- 
burge  his  wife,  and  ten  thousand  to  his  natural  son  Philip. 
The  sum  which  he  destined  to  his  eldest  sen  remained  blank 
n  his  will,  apparently  that  he  might  receive  what  remained 
in  his  treasury  after  all  his  other  legacies  had  been  paid. 

1223.  In  spite  of  the  king's  malady,  the  council  which  had 
been  convoked  at  Sens  to  instruct  hiin  by  its  advice,  assem- 
bled there  in  July,  1223.  It  was  composed  of  six  archbish- 
ops, and  of  twenty  bishops,  with  a  great  number  of  abbots. 
Fouquet  bishop  of  Toulouse  was  the  only  one  of  tlie  Albigen- 
sian  prelates  who  was  present.  Philip  Augustus  had  pro- 
mised to  be  there,  but  perceiving  that  his  declining  health 


462 


CHRISTIAN     LIBRARY. 


■\voulJ  render  the  journey  dangerous,  he  very  soon  demanded 
that  the  council  should  be  transferred  to  Paris,  and  set  out 
himself  on  his  return  to  the  capital.  The  violence  of  his  ill- 
ness retained  him  at  Mantes,  where  he  died  the  14th  of  .Inly, 
r333,  in  the  fifty-eighth  year  of  his  age,  and  the  forty-fourth 
of  his  reign.  The  prelates  assembled  for  the  council  added 
to  the  pomp  of  his  obsequies ;  the  legato  and  the  archbishop 
of  Rheirns,  being  unwilling  to  cede  to  each  other  the  supreme 
rank,  officiated  at  the  same  lime,  at  two  dilTerent  altars.  Af- 
ter this  unusual  ceremony  Philip  Augustus  was  interred  at 
Saint  Denis. 

Count  Amaury  de  Montfort  profited  by  the  trace  which  he 
had  recently  concluded  with  the  count  of  Toulouse,  to  attend 
the  council  of  Sens,  and  he  was  therefore  at  court  at  tho  ac- 
cession of  Louis  VIII.  Louis,  before  he  set  out  for  Rheims, 
paid  to  Amaury  ten  thousand  marks,  in  part  of  what  his  father 
had  bequeathed  to  that  lord,  to  assist  in  maintaining  his  gar- 
risons in  Albigeois ;  and  at  the  same  time  hinted  to  him,  that 
he  should  be  disposed  to  make  an  excliaiige  with  him,  for  the 
conquests  made  by  the  crusaders,  and  engaged  him  to  break 
oil' all  negociation  with  Raymond  VIL  After  having  received 
this  subsidy,  the  count  of  Montfort  set  olV  for  Carcassonne. 

When  he  arrived  there  that  city  was  already  attacked  by 
the  counts  of  Toulouse  and  of  Foix,  who  had  brought  with 
them  the  young  Trencavel,  then  sixteen  years  of  age,  the  only 
son  of  that  Raymond  Roger,  viscount  of  Beziers  and  of  Car- 
cassonne, whom  Simon  had  so  barbarously  put  to  death. — 
Amaury,  having  collected  an  army  with  the  money  he  had 
received  from  Louis  VIH,  compelled  the  Languedocian  lords 
to  raise  the  siege ;  but  his  money  was  soon  expended,  and  the 
mercenaries  assembled  under  his  standards,  declared  that 
tlieir  services  should  cease  when  their  pay  was  discontinued. 
In  vain  did  Amaury  solicit,  by  turns,  the  bishops  of  the  pro- 
vince, the  citizens  of  Narbonne,  and  his  own  knights  ;  in  vain 
he  offered  to  pledge  liis  French  domains,  and  even  his  per- 
son ;  he  could  neither  find  money,  nor  retain  his  soldiers,  lie 
was,  after  a  short  time,  again  shut  up  in  Carcassonne,  by  the 
counts  of  Toulouse  and  of  Foix  ;  and  losing,  at  last,  all  hopes 
of  resistance,  he  signed,  on  the  11th  of  January,  122-1,  a  con- 
vention with  them,  by  which  he  engaged  to  use  all  his  efforts 
to  reconcile  the  two  counts  with  the  church  and  the  king  of 
Fiance.  He  delivered  to  them,  by  lliis  treaty,  Carcassonne, 
Minerva,  and  Penne  d'Agenois ;  he  stipulated  an  armistice, 
of  two  months,  for  six  small  places  that  still  belonged  to  hiin 
in  the  province,  with  a  guarantee  for  the  rights  of  individuals, 
acquired  during  the  war,  and  received  ten  thousand  silver 
marks  for  the  expences  of  his  journey.  The  next  day,  15th 
of  January,  1231,  he  set  out  for  the  North  of  France  with  all 
the  knights  devoted  to  his  fortune,  abandoning  for  ever  the 
country  where  his  liouse  had  reigned  fourteen  years. 

1224.  The  young  Trencavel,  still  under  the  government  of 
the  count  of  Foix,  took  possession  of  the  four  viscountships 
of  Carcassonne,  of  Beziers,  of  Rascz,  and  of  AIbi,  over  which 
his  father  had  reigned.  But,  at  the  same  time,  the  arch- 
bishop of  Narbonne,  and  the  bishop  of  Nisines,  of  Usez,  of  Be- 
ziers, and  of  Agde,  retired  to  Montpellicr,  either  fearing  tlie 
vengeance  of  those  to  whom  they  had  occasioned  so  much 
evil,  or  wishing  to  give  themselves  the  appearance  of  being 
persecuted.  From  thence,  they  wrote,  eight  days  after,  to 
Louis  VllI,  begging  him  not  to  confirm  tho  peace  which  had 
been  negociated.  "  Not  to  permit  the  unclean  spirit,  who 
had  been  driven  from  the  province  of  Narbonne,  by  the  min- 
istry of  the  Roman  cburcli  and  his  own,  to  return,  in  all  his 
power,  with  seven  spirits  more  wicked  than  himself,  but 
rather  to  employ  the  power  which  he  had  received  from  God, 
in  acquiring  the  territory  which  the  church  had  offered  him." 
Louis  VIII  appeared,  indeed,  eager  to  signalize  the  com- 
mencement of  his  reign,  by  the  conquest  of  Albigeois. 
Amaury  de  Montfort  having  arrived  at  Paris,  ceded  to  him, 
ill  the  month  of  February,  all  the  privileges,  which  the  church 
had  granted  to  his  father  and  himself,  over  the  countries 
conquered  by  the  crusaders.  He  exchanged  them  for  th( 
post  of  constable  of  France,  which  Louis  promised  to  Amaury 
But  this  treaty  ivas  conditional,  and  was  not  to  have  effect 
unless  the  Roman  church  should  accept  the  conditions  which 
the  king  had  oilured  by  the  archbishop  of  Bourges  and  tlie 
bishops  of  Langres  and  of  Chartres. 

The  church  appeared  to  desire,  with  so  much  ardour,  th 
extirpation  of  the  house  of  Saint  Gilles,  and  of  all  who  had 
shown  any  tolerance  towards  the  heretics,  that  Louis  had  no 
doubt  of  obtaining  from  the  pope,  if  he  took  the  cross,  all  the 
advantages  which  he  demanded  for  a  recompense.  He  re- 
quired that  the  crusade  should  be  preached  anew  throughout 
all   France,  with  the  express  mention,  that  the  indulgences 


should  be  fully  equal  to  those  which  might  be  gained  by  the 
crusade  to  the  Holy  Land.     He  required,  at  the  same  time, 
that  those  who  would  not  follow  him,  from  devotion,  should 
be  obliged  to  do  it  in  the  fulfilment  of  their  feudal  duties,  as 
if  the  kingdom  were  subject  to  a  foreign  invasion;  for  no 
invasion,  said  he,  is  more  fearful,  than  that  of  heresy.     Con- 
sequently, he  demanded  that  all  the  French  barons  who  re- 
fused, on  this  occasion,  to  accomplish  the  service  of  their 
fief,  should  be  excommunicated,  and  their  lands  put  under  an 
interdict.     To  be  more  sure  of  the  direction  of  these  ecclesi- 
astical thunders,  he  demanded  that  the  archbishop  of  Bourges 
should  be  assigned  him  as  cardinal  legate,  with  full  powers 
over  Albigeois.     He  required  the  pope,  by  letters  patent,  to 
deprive,  for  ever,  the  count  of  Toulouse,  the  viscount  of 
Carcassonne,  and  of  Beziers,  and   all  those  who  should  be 
allied  to  them,  or  should  make  war  in  concert  with  them,  of 
all  the  fiefs  they  might  have  in  the  kingdom  of  France,  and 
to  invest,  with  them,  for  ever,  the  king  and  his  descendants; 
lastly,  he  required  that,  in  order  to  finish  this  conquest,  the 
church  should  guarantee  to  him,  for  ten  years,  the  truce  then 
existing  with  the  king  of  England,  and  Should,  during  the 
same  time,  pay  him  sixty  thousand  livres  of  Paris  eacli  year; 
declaring,  that  if  all  these  conditions  were  not  accepted,  he 
should  consider  himself  under  no  obligation  to  pass  into  Albi- 
geois.    The  popes  have,  in  general,  preferred  the  European 
crusades,  which  tended  directly  to  extend  their  authority,  to 
those  of  the  Holy  Land,  which  had  rather  augmented   than 
diminished  the  independence  of  the  human  mind.     Never- 
theless, they  could  not  set  themselves  in  open  opposition  to 
the  opinion  of  Christendom;    and  besides,  they  frequently 
shared  the  fanaticism  which  they  had  tended  to  excite.     At 
the  very  moment  when  Honorius  III  received  the  proposi- 
tions of  Louis  VIII,  he  had  well-founded  hopes  of  repairing, 
by  a  new  crusade,  those  disasters  of  the  Holy  Land  which 
had  so  recently  tarnished  the  glory  of  his  pontificate.     The 
emperor  Frederic  II  had  been  engaged  to  Yolande  of  Jerusa- 
lem, daughter  of  Jean  de  Brienne,  and  the  kingdom  of  Judea 
had   been   promised   for   her   portion.      Frederic,  who  was 
sovereign  not  only  of  Germany  and  Upper  Italy,  but  of  Sicily 
and  Calabria,  could,  with  more  ease  than  any  other  European 
prince,  transport  llie  crusaders  from  his  own  parts  to  that  of 
Saint  Jean  d'Acre.     He  had  embraced  with  ardour  the  pro- 
ject of  conquering  Syria,  to  add  it  to  his  other  possessions ; 
and  on  the  5th  of  March  had  written  to  the  pope,  from  Catena, 
a  long  letter,  both  to  give  him  an  account  of  his  preparations, 
and  to  engage  him  to  remove  the  obstacles  wliich  the  situa- 
tion of  France  and  England  interposed  to  the  renewal  of  the 
sacred  war.     "The  king  of  Jerusalem,"  said  Frederic,  "  has 
recently  written  to  us  from  Germany,  that  he  was  going  to 
quit  that  country,  seeing  that  he  had  tliere  advanced  but  little 
tlie  interests  of  the  Holy  Land.     In  truth,  the  missionaries 
who  preach  the  cross  there  are  so  slandered   by  every  one, 
both  because  they  are  men  of  the  lowest  rank,  and  because 
they  have  no  authority  to  grant  indulgences,  that  nobody  will 
listen  to  them.     Other  letters,  tlrat  we  have  received  from 
different  parts,  of  the  world,  and  from  the  highest  and  most 
powerful  personages,  state,  that  we  are  accused,  as  well  as 
the  church,  of  proceeding  with  iiidill'erence  in  that  alTair.    The 
grandees  of  France  and  England,  as  we  have  been  informed 
by  the  king  of  Jerusalem,  do  not  appear  desirous  of  taking 
the  cross,  unless  a  long  truce  be  concluded  between  the  two 
kingdoms,  and  they  are  assured  of  going  and  coming  in  jieace. 
Many  of  the  most  powerful  amongst  those  that  have  taken 
the  cross,  even  jiretend  that  they  have  dispensations  from 
yuii  from  going  to  the  Holy  Land." 

Honorius  HI  had  already  given  his  assent  to  the  proposi- 
tions of  Louis  VHI,  and  the  prelates  who  were  his  ambassa- 
dors, had  returned  to  France,  when  the  pope  received  the 
letter  of  Frederic  II.  He  could  not  doubt  that  the  preachers 
of  the  crusade  in  Albigeois  were  those  who  had  traduced  the 
characters  of  tlie  vendors  of  indulgences,  and  that  the  persons 
whose  service  in  the  Holy  Land  he  was  reproached  for  hav- 
ing dispensed  with,  were  such  as  he  had  encouraged  to  con- 
vert their  vows  into  an  expedition  of  forty  days  on  the  banks 
of  the  Garonne.  How  could  he,  without  dishonouring  him- 
self, take  this  moment  for  publishing,  that  such  a  short 
campaign,  without  expense,  didiculty,  or  danger,  was  a  work 
as  meritorious  as  the  crusade  which  the  Eni]ieror  was  pre- 
paring to  lead  against  the  enemies  of  Christianity  1  The 
extent  of  the  preparations  that  Louis  was  making,  for  the 
war  against  the  Albigenses,  sufficiently  showed,  that  he 
would  not  suffer  a  single  Frenchman  to  pass  to  the  Holy 
Land,  if  that  war  continued.  Honorius  therefore  dispatched 
the  cardinal  bishop  of  Porto  to  Louis,  recommending  him  to 


CRUSADES  OF  THE  ALBIGENSES. 


463 


use  the  greatest  diligence,  to  communicate  the  emperor's 
letter,  to  withdravv  the  consent  he  had  o-ivcn  to  their  treaty, 
and  to  inform  him  that  the  count  of  Toulouse,  terrified  at  the 
preparations  of  the  king  of  France,  had  consented  to  submit, 
entirely,  to  tlie  church,  by  purging  his  province  of  heretics, 
according  to  the  mode  which  the  mere}-  of  the  inquisition 
had  adopted.  The  good  of  the  Holy  Land,  added  the  pope, 
demanded,  that  he  should  be  contented  with  these  guarantees, 
and  that  he  should  grant  peace  to  Raymond  V'll,  in  the  hope 
that  he  would  henceforth  act'with  equal  vigour  and  sincerity. 

Louis  VIII  thought  that  he  had  made  himself  sure  of  all 
the  support  of  the  church;  he  had  already  written  to  those 
communes  whose  assistance  he  reckoned  most  upon,  to  an- 
nounce to  them  that  he  would  march  with  his  army  three 
weeks  after  Easter,  and  requiring  them  to  support  him  vig- 
orously. He  was,  therefore,  exceedingly  enraged,  when  he 
saw  himself  thus  abandoned  by  the  pope;  he  wrote  to  him 
w-ith  much  ill  humour,  and  having  in  his  letter  recapitulated 
all  that  he  had  done  already  at  the  persuasion  of  the  church, 
he  finislied  with  these  words :  "  We  have  replied  to  the 
cardinal  bishop  of  Porto  that  since  the  lord  pope  would  not, 
at  present,  attend  to  our  reasonable  demands,  we  considered 
ourselves  discharged  from  the  burden  of  this  business,  and 
we  have  protested  as  much  publicly,  before  all  the  prelates 
and  barons  of  France." 

Raymond  V'll  endeavoured  to  profit  by  these  favourable 
circumstances,  to  make  his  peace  with  the  church.  He  was 
earnestly  supported  at  Rome  by  the  ambassadors  of  the  king 
of  England  ;  and  had  friends  in  the  college  of  cardinals,  who 
advised  him  to  pursue  his  advantages  in  arms,  whilst  he 
regociated  with  the  pope.  Whilst,  therefore,  he  took  pos- 
session of  Agde  and  of  several  castles,  he  charged  his  am- 
bassador at  Rome  to  dispense  money  liberally  in  the  sacred 
consistory,  in  order  to  gain  new  partisans ;  and  at  the  feast 
of  Pentecost,  he  went  to  Montpellier,  to  hold  a  conference 
■with  that  same  Arnold,  archbishop  of  Narbonne,  who  had 
done  so  much  evil  to  his  father,  as  legate  of  the  first  crusade 
against  the  Albigenses. 

The  count  of  Toulouse  felt  how  important  it  was  to  con- 
clude his  pacification,  whilst  they  were  still  willing  to  nego- 
ciate  with  him.  He  showed  himself  therefore  eager  to  give 
way  upon  every  article.  As  he  had  always  been  sincerely 
attached  to  the  faith  of  the  church,  it  cost  him  nothing  to  pro- 
mise conformity  to  it  in  future;  but  he  engaged,  besides,  to 
show  no  mercy  to  the  heretics ;  to  grant  to  count  Montfort  such 
conditions  as  might  save  his  honour;  to  augment  the  immuni- 
ties of  the  churches;  to  surrender  to  them  those  parts  of  his 
domain  with  which  they  had  been  gratified  by  his  enemies; 
and  even  before  he  had  obtained  any  guarantee,  he  executed 
a  part  of  these  restitutions.  Arnold,  embarrassed  by  this  un- 
hesitating compliance  with  all  his  demands,  knew  not  how 
to  contrive  to  retard  a  pacification  which  seemed  to  be  con- 
cluded. He  adjourned,  however,  the  conferences  to  the  21st 
of  the  following  August,  declaring  that  he  must  wait  for  new 
orders  from  Rome,  to  sign  the  definitive  treat}'. 

Rome,  on  the  reception  of  his  letters,  was  no  longer  in  the 
same  disposition.  Frederic  II  had  retarded  his  departure  in 
such  a  manner  as  to  occasion  doubt  to  Honorius  III,  respect- 
ing the  success  of  the  crusade  to  the  East.  War  had  broken 
out  between  the  kings  of  France  and  England,  and  that  war 
presented  a  still  greater  obstacle  to  the  impulse  which  the 
pope  had  hoped  to  give  to  all  Europe.  Whilst  he  was  in 
doubt  respecting  the  turn  which  all  these  events  might  take, 
the  holy  father  thought  it  imprudent  to  accept  the  submission 
of  a  prince  whom  he  might  perhaps  soon  have  a  favourabi 
opportunity  to  crush.  By  his  persuasion,  or  that  of  the  kinnr 
of  France,  Amaury  de  Montfort  sent  no  one  to  Montpellier 
with  powers  to  accept  the  indemnities  offered  by  the  count  of 
Toulouse.  Raymond,  nevertheless,  insisted  that  the  absence 
of  this  envoy  could  not  hinder  the  conference  agreed  upon 
between  him  and  the  archbishop  of  Narbonne  from  taking 
place.  On  the  25th  of  August  he  renewed  to  that  prelate  the 
promises  which  he  had  already  made  to  the  church ;  he  signed 
them,  and  engaged  by  oath  to  observe  them.  After  which, 
Arnold,  to  gain  time,  communicated  to  him  an  express  order 
of  the  pope,  to  send  those  declarations  to  Rome  by  a  solemn 
embassage,  and,  at  the  same  time,  informed  him,  that  Hono- 
rius III  had  manifested  the  most  violent  wrath  at  learning 
that  Raymond  VII  had  retaken,  from  the  bishop  of  Viviers, 
the  city  of  Argentiores,  which  had  belonged  to  the  house  of 
Saint  Gilles,  but  had  been  taken  from  his  father  by  the 
crusaders. 

1221.  The  ambassadors  of  Raymond  arrived  at  Rome  in 
the  month  of  October.     They  were  admitted  to  several  con- 


ferences, and  the  ambassadors  of  England  seconded  them 
with  all  their  power.  But  the  court  of  Rome  was  superla- 
tively skilled  in  the  art  of  spinning  out  negociations.  At  the' 
end  of  the  year  they  had  discussed  much  and  concluded 
nothing.  In  the  course  of  the  following  year  they  thought 
themselves  equally  occupied  with  their  master's  interests, 
because  that  every  day  new  explanations  were  demanded,  and 
every  day  they  removed  new  difiiculties.  It  was  not  till  1226 
that  they  found  out  how  they  had  been  tricked,  when  they 
were  dismissed  without  any  thing  being  granted  them. 

1224.  The  truce  between  France  and  England,  which  Louis 
VIII  wished  to  prolong  for  ten  years,  expired  at  Easter,  1224  ; 
but  Henr}'  III  desired  its  renewal  mucli  more  sincerely  than 
the  king  of  France.  He  had  given  orders  to  make  compen- 
sation for  all  the  damage  which  had  been  caused  by  his  sub- 
jects to  French  merchants,  and,  at  the  same  time,  had  ordered 
an  inquest  to  ascertain  also  the  damage  which  his  subjects 
had  experienced ;  for,  in  those  ages  of  violence,  there  were 
but  few  treaties  scrupulously  respected.  He  also  sent  am- 
bassadors to  the  king  of  France,  to  demand  that  the  truce, 
concluded  by  Philip  Augustus,  should  be  prolonged  for  four 
years,  on  the  same  conditions.  Honorius  III,  on  his  side, 
had  solicited  Louis  VIII  to  conclude  a  peace  with  the  king 
of  England;  or,  at  least,  to  bind  himself  by  a  long  truce.  He 
represented  the  advantage  this  would  prove  to  the  Holy  Land, 
by  removing  an  obstacle  to  the  expedition  of  Frenderic  II. 
But,  whether  Louis,  from  the  displeasure  which  arose  from  the 
ill  success  of  his  negociations  respecting  Albigeois,  wished 
to  humble  the  pope,  or  whether  be  desired  to  employ  the  pre- 
parations he  had  made  for  the  war  with  Raymond,  against 
another  enemy,  he  announced  to  Henry  III  the  renewal  of 
hostilities, "who,  on  his  side,  gave  notice  of  it  on  the  loth  of 
May,  to  all  the  barons  of  his  kingdom,  and  invited  them  to 
be  ready  for  war. 

Honorius  III,  who  protected  the  king  of  England,  who 
Iiad  quite  recently  declared  him  of  age,  and  in  consequence, 
had  ordered  all  his  counts  and  barons  to  restore  the  towns  and 
fortresses  which  they  held  as  a  guarantee  for  their  safety, 
would  also  have  gladly  restored  him  to  the  full  exercise  of 
absolute  power,  and  abolished  the  great  charter.  But  when 
he  perceived  that  the  nation  adhered  strenuously  to  its  rights, 
and  was  prepared  to  defend  them,  he  v.Tote  to  Henry  III  to 
engage  him  to  observe  his  oaths,  until  he  should  find  a  more 
favourable  occasion  to  violate  them;  "  we  suggest  in  particu- 
lar to  his  highness,"  said  he,  "  and  council  him  ;';?  c^ood faith, 
not  to  bring  forward  the  rights  of  the  crown,  just  at  this  time, 
and  not  to  scandalize  his  subjects  respecting  the  restitution 
of  his  revenues,  but  prudently  to  defer  to  a  better  opportunity 
this  pretension,  and  others  which  might  engender  scandal." 
Henry  III,  however,  did  not  follow  the  counsel  which  the 
pope  boasted  of  having  giving  with  such  good  faith.  He 
entered  into  disputes  with  the  earl  of  Chester  and  the  greater 
part  of  his  barons;  he  attacked  Foulques  de  Brent,  and  his 
brother,  in  their  castles;  he  hanged  the  defenders  of  several 
fortresses,  and  appeared  to  have  some  success  in  his  English 
expeditions;  hut  his  whole  army  was  occupied  in  retaining 
his  subjects  in  their  obedience,  and  he  had  no  soldiers  to  send 
into  France.  When  Savary  de  Mauleon,  who  was  charged 
to  defend  Poitou,  was  informed  of  the  approach  of  Louis  VIII 
with  a  numerous  anny,  he  in  vain  demanded  reinforcements 
and  subsidies,  for  the  treasury  was  empty.  The  counsellors 
of  Henry  III  judged,  however,  that  they  could  not  dispense 
with  embarking,  at  the  tower  of  London,  boxes  apparently 
filled  with  money,  to  inspire  the  soldiers  with  the  confidence 
tliat  they  would  very  soon  be  paid ;  but  when  these  chests 
were  opened  upon  their  arrival  at  Rochelle,  they  were  found 
to  be  filled  with  stones  and  bran. 

The  campaign  of  Louis  VIII,  against  the  former  possess- 
ions of  the  kings  of  England  and  France,  was  speedily  ter- 
minated, and  left  him  time  to  meet  in  the  beginning  of  No- 
vember, at  Vancoulours,  Henry,  king  of  the  Romans,  eldest 
son  of  Frederic  II.  These  two  princes  signed  a  treaty  of 
alliance,  and  reciprocally  engaged  to  conclude  no  arrange- 
ment with  the  king  of  England  without  the  consent  of  both. 

1225.  In  the  beginning  of  the  year  1225,  the  cardinal 
Romano  di  Sant.  Angelo,  was  sent  by  the  pope  to  Louis  VIII 
to  renew  the  negociations  respecting  the  Albigenses.  The 
zeal  of  Frederic  II  for  the  conquest  of  the  Holy  Land  was 
cooled,  or,  at  least,  the  difficulties  of  the  undertaking,  the 
revolts  which  were  continually  breaking  out  in  Germany  and 
Italy,  the  need  which  every  part  of  his  states  had  of  reform, 
and  of  the  inspection  of  the  monarch,  made  him  desire  to  defer 
his  voyage  to  a  more  convenient  time.  The  king  of  Jerusalem 
had  undertaken  to  obtain  from  Honorius  HI  that  the  crusade 


4G4 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


should  be  postponed  for  two  years.  The  state  of  the  Holy 
Land,  where  the  Christians  possessed  but  two  cities,  could 
not  suffer  from  this  delay.  Honorius  consented  ;  he  adjourned 
till  August,  l'2-27,  the  departure  of  Frederic  II ;  but  at  the 
same  tinne  imposed  upon  him  the  condition  of  conducting  at 
that  period  a  determinate  number  of  troops  to  the  Holy  Land, 
and  of  passing  at  least  two  years  in  Syria. 

These  two  years  might  suffice  to  annihilate  completely  the 
house  of  Saint  GiUes,  to  which  the  church  thought  it  impru- 
dent to  pardon  the  injuries  she  had /Bone  it.  Raymond  VH 
refused  no  sacrifice;  disputed  respecting  no  condition;  he 
only  demanded,  for  the  repose  of  his  conscience,  and  for  that 
of  his  subjects,  to  be  received  again  into  the  bosom  of  the 
church.  He  abandoned  the  heretics  to  all  the  rigours  which 
she  desired  to  exercise  towards  them;  and  the  learned,  the 
equitable  Benedictine,  author  of  the  history  of  Languedoc, 
not  being  able  entirely  to  free  himself  from  the  sentiments  of 
his  order,  repels  as  an  atruciuus  calumny,  the  charge  that  he 
demanded  liberty  of  conscience  for  the  Albigenses.  But  no 
reconciliation  was  possible,  between  this  prince  and  those 
who  could  only  be  satisfied  with  his  absolute  ruin.  Ray- 
mond at  last  thought  he  had  removed  all  the  difficulties  which 
had  been  opposed  to  him,  when  the  cardinal  Romano  de  Sant. 
Auuelo  published  against  bim  a  bull,  to  which  it  was  impos- 
sible to  reply,  as  it  was  impossible  to  understand  it.  It  con- 
tained only  the  miserable  conceits  and  witicisms  of  the  Vati- 
can. "  The  miserable  state,  or  rather  the  established  misery 
of  the  Narbonnensian  province,  and  of  tho  neighbouring  re- 
gions," said  the  pope,  "  has  long  tormented  us  with  anxiety, 
and  suspended  us  in  doubt.  In  our  anxiety,  we  sought  whether 
■we  could  not  find  a  way  and  manner  to  raise  the  interests  of 
the  faith  and  of  peace,  which  appeared  absolutely  cast  down 
in  these  countries;  in  our  doubt  we  hesitated  whether  this 
land  was  not  so  corrupted  that  all  labour  which  we  could  be- 
stow upon  it  would  be  useless.  In  truth,  this  land,  though 
laboured  with  much  sweat — though  sweated  with  much  la- 
bour— has  been  in  vain  forged  by  its  smith,  for  all  its  malice 
has  not  been  consumed,  all  its  rust  has  not  been  removed, 
even  by  the  fire  to  which  God,  by  a  hidden,  yet  a  just  judg- 
ment, has  delivered  the  infidelity  of  the  hearts  of  its  inhabit- 
ants, and  the  frost  of  their  malice.  Neither  the  fomentations 
of  caresses  nor  the  torments  of  flagellations  have  been  able 
to  soften  them.  They  have  so  hardened  their  hearts  against 
God,  that,  although  given  up  to  a  multitude  of  scourges,  they 
have  not  accepted  their  discipline.  Because  tliey  have  had 
some  success  against  the  chursh,  they  see  in  it  the  confirma- 
tion of  their  errors,  not  considering  that  the  felicity  of  sinners 
is  the  greatest  of  all  infelicities." 

The  statesman  would  have  blushed,  who  should  have  at- 
tempted to  kindle  a  temporal  war,  without  giving  better  rea- 
sons for  it  than  such  antitheses  as  these  ;  but  they  wers  quite 
sufficient  to  justify  a  religious  war.  However,  the  cardinal 
of  Sant.  Aiigelo,  who  was  employed  to  persuade  Louis  Vlll 
to  a  crusade  against  the  Albigenses,  was  also  commissioned 
not  to  break  off  the  negociation  with  Raymond  VII,  until  he 
■was  sure  of  success.  In  consequence,  he  invited  him  to  re- 
pair to  a  national  council,  of  all  the  church  of  France,  to  be 
held  at  Bourges  on  the  29th  of  November,  12-25,  thus  re- 
serving to  himself  all  the  summer,  to  treat  beforehand  with 
his  enemies. 

Although  the  Albigenses  of  Languedoc  could  ho  longer  re- 
ally give  any  inquietude  to  the  church  of  Rome,  yet  the  in- 
tolerance of  the  pope  was  awakened  by  other  symptoms  of 
mental  agitation  which  he  saw  around  him.  The  persecu- 
tions of  the  sectaries,  had,  by  dispersing  them,  spread  the 
germs  or  reformation  through  all  the  countries  of  the  roman- 
esque  language.  The  unhappy  sufferers,  who  had  been  treat- 
ed with  such  pitiless  cruelly,  and  who,  on  account  of  what 
they  had  endured  {puti),  were  designated  by  the  name  of 
Falcrins,  distinguished  themselves  by  the  purity  of  their  con- 
duct, as  well  as  by  that  of  their  doctrine;  the  contrast,  be- 
tween their  morals  and  those  of  the  priests,  was  apparent  to 
all  ;  they  did  not  profess  to  separate  from  the  church,  but 
only  desired  liberty  to  effect  their  salvation,  as  different  or- 
ders of  monks  had  done,  by  a  greater  austerity.  They  had 
multi])lied  in  Italy,  and  especially  in  Lorabardy,  and,  in  this 
same  year,  Honorius  HI  charged  the  bishops  of  IModena,  of 
Brescia,  and  of  Rimini,  to  inquire  after  them,  to  pull  down 
their  houses  and  destroy  their  race. 

1235.  The  greatest  obstacles  to  the  renewal  of  the  crusade 
against  the  Albigenses,  was  the  war  in  which  Louis  VIII 
was  engaged  with  the  king  of  England.  Henry  III,  profiting 
by  the  popularity  which  his  youib  had  still  left  him,  had  as- 
sembled a  parliainenl  at  Westminster ;  he  had  exposed  to  his 


subjects  the  injustice  which  had  been  done  him  in  his  conti- 
nental possessions,  and  had  demanded  their  aid  to  recover  the 
rich  provinces  of  which  the  crown  had  been  dispossessed. 
The  English,  occupied  in  their  island  with  circumscribing 
the  al)uses  of  the  royal  authority,  did  not  attach  any  great  va- 
lue to  the  possessions  of  their  king  in  France,  which  were  not 
submitted  to  their  laws.  They  acquiesced,  however,  in  the 
demands  of  Henry,  and  his  chief  justice,  Hubert  du  Burgh. 
A  fifteenth,  upon  movable  property,  had  been  judged  suffi- 
cient subsidy  to  form  a  fair  army ;  this  was  granted  him,  on 
condition  that  the  king  should  confirm  anew  the  great  charter, 
and  the  forest  charter,  which  he  had  repeatedly  sworn  to  ob- 
serve, and  which  he  had  observed  always  like  a  king.  Henry 
III  submitted  to  the  condition ;  he  sent  express  orders  into 
all  the  counties,  to  respect  the  privileges  of  the  people  ;  and, 
in  return,  he  raised  the  sums  which  had  been  granted  him. 
On  Palm-Sunday  he  despatched  for  Bourdeaux  his  brother 
Richard,  whom  he  hail  recently  knighted,  and  to  whom  he 
had  granted  the  titles  of  earl  of  Cornwall  and  of  Poitou,  with 
only  sixty  knights.  William,  earl  of  Salisbury,  and  Philip 
d'Aubignac,  were  given  him  as  counsellors ;  in  a  little  time 
they  assembled  around  him  the  principal  barons  of  Gas- 
cogny:  they  compelled  to  submission  those  who  before  re- 
jected his  authority,  or  who  had  embraced  the  French  party, 
and  with  this  little  array  they  undertook  at  last  to  besiege 
Reole. 

On  his  side,  Louis  VIII  had  held  many  parliaments  at  Pa- 
ris, and  had  occupied  the  lords  who  had  assembled  there, 
sometimes  about  the  affairs  of  the  Albigenses,  and  sometimes 
with  the  war  against  England.  When  he  received  the  news 
of  the  landing  of  the  English  at  Bourdeaux,  he  advanced  as 
far  as  Tours,  and  afterwards  to  Chinon ;  and  the  count  of 
Marche  engaged  in  a  trifling  combat  with  Richard,  lieutenant 
of  his  brother  Henry  II,  in  Aquitaine.  But,  on  either  side 
the  forces  were  inconsiderable  ;  the  two  princes  stood  equally 
on  the  defensive,  and  both  lent  an  ear  to  the  solicitations  of 
Honorius  HI,  and  his  legate,  the  cardinal  of  Sant.  Angelo, 
who  wished  either  to  engage  them  to  conclude  a  good  peace, 
or,  at  least,  to  renew  a  long  truce. 

Raymond  VH  well  knew,  that  his  ruin  was  the  ultimate 
object  of  all  the  negociations  between  the  king  of  France  and 
the  church.  The  29th  of  September  he  had  to  regret  the 
death  of  the  archbishop  of  Narbonne.  This  was,  neverthe- 
less, that  same  Arnold,  Abbot  of  Citeaux,  who  had  directed 
the  crusade  with  so  much  ferocity,  as  legate  of  the  holy  see ; 
but  his  ambition,  and  his  disputes  with  the  house  of  Mont- 
fort,  made  him  then  seek  for  support  in  that  of  Saint  Gilles. 
On  the  other  hand,  Henry  HI  had  himself  solicited  the  friend- 
ship of  the  count  of  Toulouse,  although  prudence  had  com- 
pelled him  to  require  that  their  alliance  should  for  some  time 
be  kept  secret.  Raymond  VTI,  encouraged  by  the  promises 
of  that  king,  proceeded,  at  the  end  of  November,  to  the  coun- 
cil of  Bourges. 

1225.  Tills  council  proved  very  numerous;  few  partial 
assemblies  of  the  church  had  presented  a  more  imposing  ap- 
pearance. There  were  reckoned  six  archbishops,  one  hundred 
and  thirteen  brshops,  and  one  hundred  and  fifty  abbots;  ano- 
ther historian  makes  the  number  of  archbishops  to  be  as  high 
as  fourteen.  The  legate  presided,  the  king  of  France  as- 
sisted with  his  court,  and  Raymond  VII  of  Saint  Gilles,  on 
the  one  part,  Amaury  de  Montfort,  on  the  other,  presented 
themselves  to  set  forth  their  claims  upon  the  countship  of 
Toulouse.  Amaury  displayed  the  titles  of  the  donations  made 
to  his  father  by  the  pope  and  by  king  Philiji,  and  maintained 
that  Raymond  had  been  irrevocably  deprived  of  his  heri- 
tage, by  the  highest  authority  in  the  church,  that  of  the 
oecumenical  council  of  Lateran.  Raymond,  on  his  part,  de- 
clared himself  ready  to  do  service  for  his  fiefs,  and  to  acquit 
himself,  both  towards  the  king  and  the  church  of  Rome,  of 
all  that  he  owed  to  them  on  account  of  his  heritage.  "  V^  onid 
you  submit,  in  this  matter,"  replied  Amaury,  "to  the  judg- 
ment of  the  twelve  peers  of  France'?  Let  the  king  first  re- 
ceive my  homage,"  replied  Raymond,  "  and  I  am  ready  to 
submit  to  it ;  otherwise,  perhaps  the  peers  would  not  ac- 
knowledge me  as  one  of  their  body."  The  legate  was  very 
far  from  being  desirous  that  the  cause  of  the  church  should 
be  debated  in  this  public  and  chivalrous  manner.  He  has- 
tened to  close  the  discussion  ;  he  enjoined  on  each  of  the 
archbishops,  to  assemble  his  bishops,  and  to  deliberate  with 
them  without  communication  with  his  brethren  ;  then  he  de- 
manded of  each  to  transmit  to  him  his  opiidon  in  writing,  and 
he  fulminated  an  excommunication  against  whoever  of  the 
prelates  should  reveal  the  secret  of  these  partial  delibera- 
tions. 


CRUSADES  OF  THE  ALBIGENSES 


465 


Nevertheless,  a  pretext  was  wanted  for  refusing  absolution 
to  a  prince,  who  desired  to  be  reconciled  to  the  church,  and 
for  directing  upon  him  all  the  forces  of  Christendom.  The 
legate,  therefore,  repeated  against  the  count  all  the  old  accu- 
sations of  heresy  and  revolt;  Raymond  VII,  addressing  the 
legate  with  the  most  earnest  prayers,  then  "besought  hfm  to 
come  in  jierson  and  visit  each  of  the  cities  of  his  province,  to 
make  inquiries  of  each  individual,  as  to  the  articles  of  his 
faith,  and  if  he  found  any  who  differed  from  the  catholic  be- 
lief, he  protested  that  he  was  ready  to  inflict  upon  him  the 
severest  punishment,  according  to  the  judgment  of  the  holy 
church.  In  like  manner,  if  any  city  was  found  rebellious,  ho 
affirmed  that  he  was  ready  with  all  his  power  to  compel  it, 
as  well  as  all  its  inhabitants,  to  make  satisfaction.  As  to 
himself,  he  offered,  if  he  had  sinned  in  any  thing  (which  he 
did  not  remember  to  have  done),  to  make  full  penitence  to 
God  and  the  holy  church,  like  a  faithful  Christian ;  and  if  it 
pleased  the  legate,  he  was  willing  equally  to  suffer  the  exam- 
ination of  his  faith.  But  the  legate  despised  all  these  things, 
and  the  count,  catholic  as  he  was,  could  obtain  no  favour, 
unless  he  would  renounce  his  heritage,  for  himself  and  his 
heirs !" 

Some  disputes  of  precedence  between  the  archbishops, 
some  demands  of  the  Romish  church  upon  the  chapters  of  the 
cathedrals,  in  each  of  which  the  pope  wished  n  have  two  pre- 
bends at  his  disposal,  made  a  diversion  of  the  labours  of  the 
council,  and  gave  opportunity  to  withdraw  the  affairs  of  the 
Albigenses  from  public  discussion.  The  legate  profited  by 
this  circumstance  to  conclude  the  treaty  between  Louis  VIII 
and  the  court  of  Rome.  He  acceded  to  all  the  demands 
which  Louis  had  formerly  made;  he  granted  to  those  who 
should  take  the  cross  against  the  Albigenses,  the  mostesten- 
sive  indulgences;  and  prohibited  the  king  of  England,  under 
pain  of  excommunication,  from  disquieting  the  king  of  France, 
as  long  as  he  should  be  engaged  in  the  service  of  God  and 
the  church,  even  respecting  the  territories  which  he  might  un- 
justly possess.  All  these  measures  bein^  taken,  tlie  legate  dis- 
missed the  council,  the  king  returned  to  Paris,  count  Raymond 
into  his  territories,  and  the  cardinal  then  declared,  that  the 
separate  opinion  which  he  had  received  from  each  archbishop, 
was,  "  that  Raymond  ought,  in  no  case,  to  be  absolved  on  ac- 
count of  the  offers  he  had  made;  but  that  the  king  of  the 
French  should  be  charged  by  the  church  with  this  affair, 
since  no  other  could,  so  well  as  he,  purge  the  land  from  the 
wickedness  of  the  heretics;  that,  in  fine,  to  recompense  the 
king  for  his  expenses,  the  tenth  of  all  the  ecclesiastical  re- 
venues should  be  assigned  to  him  for  five  years,  if  the  war 
lasted  so  long." 

1225.  In  accepting  this  commission  from  the  church,  Louis 
remembered  that  he  might  not  survive  the  war  he  was  about 
to  undertake.  He,  therefore,  made  his  will,  in  the  month  of 
June,  1225;  and  whilst  the  kings  his  predecessors  had  been 
contented  to  distribute,  by  such  acts,  their  movable  riches  for 
pious  purposes,  he,  for  the  first  time,  endeavoured  to  dispose 
of  the  crown  and  its  fiefs.  He  called  his  eldest  son  to  the 
succession  of  the  throne  of  France,  he  destined  Artois  to  the 
second,  Anjou  and  Maine  to  the  third,  Poitou  and  Auvergne 
to  the  fourth,  and  he  ordered,  besides,  that  the  countship"  of 
Boulogne,  with  which  his  brother  was  invested,  should 
return  to  the  crown,  if  this  brother  died  without  children. 

The  king  of  the  French  was  very  willing  to  accept  the  con- 
fiscations of  the  territories  belonging  to  the  count  of  Tou- 
louse, as  the  avenger  of  the  offended  church ;  but  he  wished 
at  the  same  time,  to  shield  himself  against  the  accusation  of 
cupidity  or  injustice,  by  the  authority  of  those  who  had  given 
him  this  counsel.  In  that  age  kings  were  not  accustomed  to 
take  upon  themselves  alone  the  responsibility  of  aovernment. 
They  felt  that  they  were  only  the  chiefs  of  a  confederation  of 
princes.  No  constitution  had,  it  is  true,  regulated  how  these 
princes  should  take  part  in  the  common  deliberations,  or  had 
guaranteed  their  right  of  suffrage  in  the  national  assemblies ; 
the  king,  however,  knew  that  it  would  be  nearly  impossible 
to  cause  the  great  vassals  to  execute  what  they  had  not  previ- 
ously determined  in  their  diet.  He  therefore  assembled  par- 
liaments ;  and  by  this  name  was  then  understood  conferences 
of  the  freest  nature  with  those  whom  he  wished  to  consult, 
and  whom  he  called  to  his  councils.  On  the  28ih  of  January, 
122tj,  Louis  VIII  convoked  at  Paris  one  of  those  parliaments 
or  assemblies  of  notables.  It  is  probable  that  the  lords  tempo- 
ral and  spiritual  voted  in  common;  nevertheless'their  acts  are 
come  down  to  us  separate.  On  the  one  hand,  Uventy-seven 
secular  lords,  on  the  other,  seventeen  archbishops  or  bishops, 
declared  by  letters  patent,  given  in  that  assembly,  that  they 
counselled  the  king  to  take  upon  himself  the  affair  of  the 
Vol.  II.— 3  1 


Albigenses,  and  promised  to  assist  him  with  all  their  power ; 
the  one  as  his  liege-men,  the  other  by  excommunicating  all 
his  enemies.  Amongst  the  first  were  seven  counts,  those  of 
Boulogne,  of  Brittany,  of  Dreux,  of  Chartres,  of  Saint  Paul, 
of  Rouci,  and  of  Vendome,  none  of  whom  ranked  amongst  the 
twelve  peers  of  the  realm  :  there  were  also  many  great  offi- 
cers of  the  crown,  and  the  chiefs  of  the  illustrious  houses  of 
Montmorency,  of  Courtenay,  of  Nesle,  and  of  Coucy  ;  these 
twenty-five  lords,  however,  can  by  no  means  be  considered 
as  representing  the  nobility  of  the  kingdom. 

Two  days  after,  the  SOlh  of  January,  the  king  took  the 
cross  with  all  his  barons  ;  and  the  legate  publicly  excommu- 
nicated as  a  condemned  heretic  Raymond  count  of  Toulouse, 
with  all  his  associates.  Amaury  de  Montfont,  with  the  ap- 
probation of  his  uncle  Guy,  ceded  to  the  king  all  his  preten- 
sions upon  the  domains  of  Albigeois,  iu  exchange  for  the  post 
of  constable  of  France;  the  legate  granted  to  Louis  one  hun- 
dred thousand  livres  annually,  to  be  taken  from  the  tenth  of  the 
ecclesiastical  possessions  of  the  kingdom,  and  he  sent  out 
missionaries  to  every  part  of  France,  with  power  to  absolve, 
from  all  their  sins,  those  who  should  repair  to  Bourges,  a 
month  after  Easter,  to  serve  in  the  army  which  Louis  would 
at  that  time  take  under  his  command. 

On  the  29th  of  March,  the  king  assembled  a  new  parlia- 
ment at  Paris,  to  concert  measures  for  the  expedition  which 
liad  been  resolved  upon.  Some  years  had  already  elapsed 
since  the  crusades  had  ceased,  so  that  tliose  who  had,  in  the 
interval,  arrived  at  the  age  of  manhood,  and  those  who,  hav- 
ing already  served  in  the  sacred  wars,  remembered  only  their 
pleasures,  equally  desired  a  fresh  opportunity  of  bathing  in 
the  blood  of  the  infidels.  The  great  lords  saw,  with  more  of 
suspicion,  the  oppression  of  one  of  the  first  peers  of  the  king- 
dom, and  the  union  of  his  vast  domains  to  the  crown.  They 
readily  perceived  that  if  their  king,  after  having  expelled  the 
king  of  England  from  his  domains,  should  also  conquer  those 
belonging  to  the  count  of  Toulouse,  the  power  of  an  individ- 
ual would,  in  France,  replace  their  feudal  republic;  but  the 
expedition  against  the  Albigenses,  had  been  decreed  by  the 
authority  of  the  realm  united  with  that  of  the  church,  so  that 
they  were  obliged  to  perform  the  service  of  their  fiefs  under 
the  double  penalty  of  forfeiture  and  excommunication.  Henry 
III,  who  would  willingly  have  made  a  diversion  on  the  side 
of  Guienne,  received  so  many  summonses  from  the  pope  to 
engage  him  to  remain  neuter,  that  he  consented  to  send  dep- 
uties on  the  22d  of  March  to  the  cardinal  legate,  to  renew  the 
truce.  James,  king  of  Aragon,  yielding,  in  like  manner,  to 
the  pope's  solicitations,  prohibited  his  people  from  assisting 
the  Albigenses,  although  he  was  himself  nephew  to  the  count 
of  Toulouse.  The  count  of  Roussillon  took  the  same  part, 
and  was  afterwards  imitated  by  Raymond  Berenger  count  of 
Provence  and  of  Forcalquier.  Hugues  X  de  Lusignan,  count 
of  la  Marehe,  who  had  caused  his  son  to  marry  a  daughter  of 
Raymond  VII,  sent  her  back  to  him,  declaring  that  after  the 
sunimons  of  the  king  and  the  church,  he  broke  off  all  con- 
nexion with  him.  And  whilst  the  unhappy  Raymond  saw 
himself  deserted  by  all  his  allies,  with  the  only  exception  of 
the  count  of  Foix,  he  learned  that  the  army  destined  to  anni- 
hilate him,  reckoned,  in  knights,  squires,  and  sergeants-at- 
arms,  fifty  thousand  horsemen. 

None  can  describe  the  terror  which  such  a  formidable  arm- 
ament inspired  in  the  country  destined  to  experience  its  fury, 
and  which  had  already  felt  all  the  horrors  of  religious  wars. 
The  people  knew  that  the  reformed  preaching  had  entirely 
ceased  in  their  province;  they  would  probably  themselves 
have  sacrificed  the  heretics,  had  they  known  where  to  find 
them,  from  resentment  for  the  ills  which  the  sectaries  had  al- 
ready brought  upon  them,  and  those  with  which  they  were 
still  menaced.  Those  same  inhabitants  of  the  countship  of 
Toulouse  who  saw  themselves  so  cruelly  persecuted  by  the 
Roman  church,  knew  in  their  consciences  tliat  they  were  nev- 
ertheless zealous  Roman  catholics ;  and  therefore  they  were 
fully  persuaded  that  the  crusaders,  as  they  were  informed, 
had  engaged  to  pass  through  the  territory  of  the  count  of 
Toulouse  from  one  extremity  to  the  other,  in  order  to  put  all 
the  inhabitants  to  the  sword,  and  people  it  with  another  race. 

Excessive  fear  dissolved  all  the  ancient  bands  of  affection, 
of  relationship,  and  of  feudal  subjection.  Whilst  Louis  was 
collecting  his  army  at  Bourges,  and  was  traversing  the  Ni- 
vernois,  and  when  he  arrived  at  Lyons  on  the  28th  of  May, 
for  the  feast  of  the  ascension,  he  received  deputations  after 
deputations  from  all  the  barons  of  the  states  of  Raymond  or 
from  the  cities  which  were  subject  to  him,  to  ofl'er  their  oath 
of  fidelity,  their  keys,  their  hostages,  all  the  guarantees,  in  a 
word,  of  their  entire  obedience  to  the  king  and  the  church, 


466 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


which  the  crusaders  couW  desire.  The  inhabitants  of  Avig- 
non were  amongst  tlie  number  of  those  who  had  long  ago 
offered  themselves  to  Louis.  They  placed  at  his  service,  the 
use  of  their  city  and  of  their  bridge  over  the  Rhone.  It  was, 
in  fact,  their  embassy  which  determined  Louis  to  choose  that 
ronte  for  entering  the  states  of  Raymond. 

\vianon,  as  well  as  Aries,  Marseilles,  and  Nice,  and  all 
the  country  situated  on  the  left  bank  of  the  Rhone,  belonged 
to  the  kino-dom  of  Aries,  or  to  the  empire,  and  not  to  the  king- 
dom of  France.     But  the  authority  of  the  emperor  over  that 
countrv  was  then  reduced  to  an  empty  name.     The  grand  vas- 
sals of  Provence  were  the  real  sovereigns,  and  the  four  cities 
we  have  named,  having  continually  been  increasing  the  priv- 
ilet^es  of  their  communes,  had  at  last  became  true  republics  ; 
governed  upon  the  model  of  the  cities  of  Lombardy,  by  a  po- 
destat,  with  annual  consuls  and  a  council  of  the  commune. 
Avicrnon  had,  nevertheless,  retained  a  great  affection  for  the 
house  of  Saint  Gilles  ;  and  this  city,  which  had  been  amongst 
the  first  to  open  its  gates  to  Raymond  VII  on  his  return  from 
the  council  of  Latcran,  had  submitted,  from  love  to  him,  to 
remain  twelve  years  under  an  excommunication.     The  inhab- 
itants of  Avignon  did  not  feel  themselves  strong  enough  to 
sustain  the  firlt  violence  of  the  crusade,  nor  did  they  think 
that  count  Raymond  himself  would  be  able  to  resist  it.  They 
therefore  offered  to  the  king  provisions  and  the  passage  of 
the  Rhone,  but  they  would  not  receive  an  army  so  ill  sup- 
plied, and  ill  disciplined,  as  his,  within  their  walls.     In  con- 
formity with  this  line  of  conduct,  the  podestat  and  consul  of 
the  city,  representing  the  community,  took  all  proper  mea- 
sures for  the  safety  of  their  republic.     They  repaired  their 
walls,  provided  tliemselves  with  arms  and  machines  of  war, 
and  brought  into  their  city  all  the  provisions  of  the  neigh- 
bouring- fields.     Raymond  VII,  on  whom  those  lands  depend- 
ed, took  no  oifence  at  the  advances  which  they  had  made  to 
his  enemy.     He  did  not  despair  of  his  safety,  hut  he  knew 
that  he  could  not  meet  the  formidable  army  which  was  com- 
intr  against  him,  in  the  open  field.     He  had  therefore  confined 
liis  endeavours  to  the  prolongation  of  the  war,  in  the  hope 
that  time  might  procure  him  some  favourable  changes.     On 
the  one  hand,  to  confirm  the  afiections  of  his  subjects,  he 
o-ranted  new  privileges  to  the  inhabitants  of  Toulouse,  and 
new  fiefs  to  Roger  Bernard,  count  of  Foix.  his  only  ally.— 
On  the  other,  he  concerted  with  the  city  of  Avignon,  after 
they  had  supplied   themselves,  to  destroy  all  the  grain  and 
forao-e  which  they  had  not  secured,  and  even  took  care  to 
break  up  all  the  meadows,  that  the  crusaders  might  find  no 
green  forage.  ,.  .    . 

The  bridtre  which  crosses  the  Rhone  from  Avignon  to  the 
suburbs  now  called   nite-Nciive,  and  formerly  Samf-Jndre, 
rests  xipon  a  small  island,  which  divides  the  course  of  the 
river.     It  is  of  stones,  and  the  city  on  one  side,  and  the  su- 
burb on  the  other,  enclose  it  like  two  iefes  de  ponf.     But  the 
matristrates  had  constructed  a  wooden  frame,  which  began 
from  this  island,  and  terminated  above  the  city.     By  this 
bridtre  of  wood,  Louis  VIII,  immediately  on  his  arrival,  pass- 
ed three  thousand  soldiers  ;  there  was  no  necessity  for  him  to 
demand  any  other  passage  ;  and,  as  the  city  did  not  acknow- 
ledo-e  him  as  its  lord,  either  immediate  or  sovereign,  he  ought 
to  have  contented  himself  with  the  offer  that  was  made  him, 
to  open  a  passao-e  for  hisarmv  without  the  walls,  and  honour- 
ably to  admit,  into  the  city,  himself  and  the  legate,  with  the 
most  distinguished  persons  of  the  court.     But,  the  legate  and 
the  priests  wished  to  punish  a  city,  which  had  remained  twelve 
.  years  in  impenitence,  under  the  weight  of  an  excommunica- 
tion :  the  crusaders  were  envious  of  the  riches  which  they 
expected  to  find  accumulated  in  it,  and  the  pride  of  the  king 
was  wounded  with  any  opposition  made  to  his  authority.    He 
declared  to  thp  podestats  and  consuls  of  Avignon,  that  he 
wished  to  pass  the  Rhone  by  the  stone  bridge,  and  for  that 
purpose  to  traverse  their  city  witli  his  lance  on  his  thigh,  at 
the  head  of  his  whole  army.     The  consuls,  worthy  of  the  en- 
ero-y  of  a  risino-  republic,  boldly  declared  that  they  would  not 
pemit  it,  and  Tmmediately  shut  their  gates  against  him. 

Louis  VIII  had  arrived  before  Avignon,  on  the  6th  of  June, 
12-3G,  the  eve  of  Pentecost;  but  it  was  not  till  the  10th  that 
he  commenced  the  siege.  The  negociations  of  the  preceding 
days  had  been  brought  so  near  to  a  conclusion,  that  the  citi- 
zens had  restored  fifty  hostages,  who  were  in  their  custody. 
Nevertheless,  on  the  9lh  the  legate  published  a  decree,  en- 
joining upon  the  king  to  purge  the  city  from  heretics  ;  and 
the  Fr^ench  having,  during  the  truce,  made  an  attempt;  to  sur- 
prise one  of  the  gates,  blood  was  spilled  on  both  sides,  and 
the  conferences  were  broken  off". 

However,  the  siege  of  Avignon  was  found  to  be  a  much 


more  difficult  enterprise,  than  the  legate  and  the  crusaders  had 
expected.  The  city  was  strong,  both  from  its  situation,  and 
from  a  double  enclosure  of  walls  ;  the  population  was  niimer- 
ous,  and  well  provided  with  arms  and  warlike  machines ; 
they  knew  all  the  dangers  to  which  their  resistance  exposed 
them  ;  and  the  fate  which  awaited  them  if  they  should  happen 
to  fall.  But  they  relied  upon  the  goodness  of  their  cause, 
and  the  protection  of  the  emperor  Frederic  II,  to  whom  Louis 
hastened  to  write  to  justify  his  aggression  ;"  and  the  love  of 
liberty  redoubled  the  bravery  of  its  defenders.  "They  re- 
turned," says  Matthew  Paris,  "  stones  for  stones,  arrows  for 
arrows,  -beams  for  beams,  spears  for  spears ;  they  invented 
machines  to  destroy  the  effect  of  those  of  the  besiegers,  and 
they  inflicted  mortal  wounds  upon  the  French." 

Although  the  siege  of  Avignon  lasted  three  months,  we 
have  no  olher  account,  than  that  contained  in  these  few  words, 
of  the  various  battles  wliich  were  fought  around  the  walls  of 
that  city.  We  only  know  that  they  were  very  destructive  to 
the  army  of  the  crusaders,  and  that  the  two  podestats  of  Avig- 
non, William  Raymond,  and  Raymond  de  Rial,  who  took,  at 
the  same  time,  the  title  of  bailiffs  or  representatives  of  the 
count  of  Toulouse,  showed  themselves  worthy  of  the  con- 
fidence of  the  people  and  the  prince.  The  fall  of  the  wooden 
bridge,  at  the  time  that  the  crusaders  were  crouded  upon  it, 
precipitated  a  'jreat  number  into  the  river;  many  more  were 
slain  in  the  assaults,  or  by  the  sorties  of  the  besiegers ;  but 
the  greatest  loss  which  the  army  of  Louis  experienced,  was 
caus'ed  by  disease  and  famine.  Provisions,  and  especially 
forage,  failed,  in  thai  burning  climate,  in  the  midst  of  sum- 


loraue,  laiitru,  iii  mat  uuiniii^    vmiiut-x^,  ...    ....^    ... — — 

merrto  the  most  numerous  body  of  cavalry  that  had  ever  been 
assembled  in  France.  Louis  was  obliged  to  send  foraging 
parties  to  a  great  distance,  but  they  almost  all  fell  into  the 
hands  of  Raymond  VII,  who,  avoiding  a  battle,  still  hovered 
on  the  flanks  of  the  besiegers.  The  camp  was  soon  surround- 
ed, in  every  direction,  with  the  carcases  of  horses  which  had 
died  either  from  privation  or  fatigue.  Their  stench  produced 
maladies  amongst  the  soldiers,  an'd  it  is  asserted  that  the  large 
flies  which  were  nourished  by  their  putrified  flesh,  and  which 
afterwards  attacked  the  men,  propagated  the  contagiori  by 
their  stings.  Guy,  count  of  Saint  Paul,  the  bishop  of  Limo- 
ges, and  Two  hundred  knights-bannerets  sunk  under  the  des- 
tructive fever  which  attacked  the  army  ;  and  Matthew  Paris 
makes  the  number  of  the  crusaders,  of  all  ranks,  who  perished 
in  this  siege,  amount  to  twenty  thousand  men. 

But  the  army  of  the  crusaders  had  not  all  remained  under 
the  walls  of  Avignon ;  detached  parties,  profiling  by  the  ter- 
ror which  they  inspired,  received  the  submission  of  the  neigh- 
bouring lords,  cities,  and  castles.  The  city  of  Nismes  plant- 
ed on  fts  walls,  on  the  5lh  of  June,  1226,  the  king's  standard, 
and  from  that  epoch  it  has  remained  in  the  immediate  domain 
of  the  crown ;  those  of  Puilaurens  and  of  Castres  followed 
the  example  in  the  days  following.  Carcassonne  and  Albi 
sent  their  deputies,  after  the  16th  of  June,  to  the  camp  before 
Avignon  to  deliver  the  keys  of  their  fortress.  The  number  of 
the  fords  who  capitulated  was  greater.  Raymond  VII,  though 
still  beloved  by  liis  subjects,  was  abandoned  at  the  same  time 
by  the  barons  and  the  communes. 

It  is  true  that  Louis  VIII  began  also  at  this  time  to  see 
some  of  his  vassals  withdraw  from  his  army.  Thibaud  IV, 
or  the  Posthumous,  count  of  Campaign,  set  them  the  exam- 
ple. This  prince,  at  that  time  twenty-six  years  of  age,  who 
was  reckoned  amongst  the  best  poets  of  the  new  French 
language,  who  called  himself  the  knight  of  the  queen  Blanche, 
and"  who  pretended  to  be  in  love  with  her,  though  she  was 
more  than  forty  years  of  age,  was,  nevertheless,  not  so  Idind- 
ed  by  gallantry,  as  to  be  indifferent  to  the  subjugation  of  the 
n-reat  feudatori'es.  It  is  believed  that  he  concerted  with  Peter 
Mauclcrc,  count  or  duke  of  Brittany,  and  with  Hugues  de 
Lusitrnau,  count  of  Marche  and  Angouleme,  to  save  the  count 
of  Toulouse  from  utter  ruin.  When  he  had  finished  the 
forty  days  to  which  he  was  hound  by  bis  feudal  service,  he 
demanded  of  Louis  VIII  leave  to  retire.  Louis  refused  him 
on  the  o-round  that  he  was  in  the  service  of  tlie  church,  whose 
laws  superseded  those  of  tlie  realm.  Thibaud  was  incensed; 
the  king  threatened  to  ravage  his  domains  ;  to  tliis  threat  the 
count  of  Champaign  paid  no  regard  and  quitted  liira.  The 
altercation  betweeii  them  was,  however,  so  violent,  that  when 
Louis  died,  a  short  time  al'ter,  there  was  a  report  current, 
that  this  great  lord,  the  lover  of  his  wife,  had  caused  him  to 

be  poisoned.  .  .    •  r 

Durino-  these  proceedings,  the  citizens  ot  Avignon,  alter 
haviuT  clused  inflnite  loss  to  the  army  of  the  crusaders,  con- 
sented^, at  last,  on  the  12lh  of  rteplember,  to  capitulate. 
Matthew  Paris  relates  that  they  only  engaged  to  receive, 


CRUSADES  OF  TFIE  ALBIGENSES. 


467 


witliin  their  walls,  llip  legate  and  the  high  lords  of  the  arm}',  but 
that  these  being  introduced  into  the  city  with  their  attendants, 
took  possession  of  the  gates  in  contempt  of  the  capitulation. 
Neither  the  king  nor  the  legate  thought  themselves,  in  con- 
science, obliged  to  keep  any  faith  with  exconnmunicated 
heretics,  but  they  owed  some  regard  to  Frederic  II,  and  it 
was  probably  on  his  account  that  they  contented  themselves 
with  requiring  three  hundred  hostages,  as  a  guarantee  for 
the  submission  of  the  citizens  to  the  commands  of  the  church 
and  the  legate ;  with  imposing  on  the  city  a  warlike  con- 
tribution ;  with  throwing  down  parts  of  its  walls  and  towers  ; 
and  with  putting  to  the  sword  the  Flemings  and  the  French 
who  were  found  in  the  garrison.  It  is  probable  that,  but  for 
the  recommendation  of  the  emperor,  all  the  inhabitants  would 
have  been  put  to  death. 

Louis  remained  a  short  time  at  Avignon  with  his  army. 
Fifteen  days  after  he  had  taken  the  city,  a  terrible  inundation 
of  the  Durance  covered  all  the  space  which  had  been  occu- 
pied by  the  French  camp.  If  the  soldiers  had  not  taken  their 
quarters  within  the  walls,  they  would  all  have  been  swept  away 
by  the  water,  with  their  tents  and  baggage.  At  this  epoch 
Louis  confided  the  government  of  Beaucaire  and  of  Nismes 
to  a  French  knight,  who,  from  that  time  took  the  title  of 
seneschal  of  the  two  cities.  The  king  afterwards  passed 
through  the  .province,  and  arrived  within  four  leagues  of  Tou- 
louse, magnilicently  entertained  and  feasted  by  the  bishop 
Fouquet,  who  followed  the  army;  respectfully  admitted  into 
their  castles  by  the  Languedocian  lords,  from  whom  he 
successively  received  an  oath  of  fidelity  ;  giving  a  seneschal 
to  Carcassonne,  as  he  had  done  to  Beaucaire;  rasing  the  city 
of  Linioux,  the  capital  of  Razez,  which  was  situated  upon  a 
hill  to  rebuild  it  on  a  plain;  and  in  fine,  receiving,  in  the 
month  of  October,  in  the  city  of  Pamicrs,  the  submission  of 
all  the  bishops  of  the  province. 

But  throughout  this  whole  expedition  Louis  VIII  had  not 
the  opportunity  of  signalizing  the  bravery  of  his  soldiers,  by 
a  single  warlike  exploit.  The  counts  of  Toulouse  and  of 
Foix,  who  had  renewed  their  alliance,  under  the  guarantee  of 
the  city  of  Toulouse,  avoided  every  battle,  and  every  kind  of 
action.  They  determined  to  suffer  the  crusaders  to  exhaust 
themselves  by  their  own  efforts,  supposing  that  if  Louis  re- 
turned into  their  province  in  the  following  year,  as'he  had 
threatened,  he  would  at  least  not  be  followed  by  so  large  a 
body  of  fanatics  ;  that  they  would  have  received  a  lesson  from 
the  mortality  and  sulierings  before  Avignon  ;  and  that  their 
persecuting  zeal  would  be  much  abated,  by  having  observed 
none  of  these  heretics  in  the  province,  of  whom  so  much  had 
been  told  them.  By  the  same  reasoning,  but  with  a  quite 
contrary  interest,  the  king,  the  legate,  and  the  bishop  Fouquet, 
earnestly  desired  to  find  in  the  country  where  they  had  made 
war,  some  of  those  enemies  of  the  church,  for  whose  extir- 
pation the  whole  of  France  had  been  put  in  motion.  Nothino- 
was  more  dillicult  than  this,  after  fifteen  years  of  persecution, 
during  which  they  had  either  been  expelled  or  put  to  death. 
It  was  with  the  greatest  exertions  that  they  at  last  discovered, 
at  Cannes,  in  the  diocese  of  Narbonne,  an  ancient  preacher 
of  the  Albigenses,  named  Peter  Isarn,  who  being  too  old  to 
quit  the  country,  had  concealed  himself  in  the  most  secret  re- 
treats. He  was  condemned  by  the  archbishop  of  Narbonne, 
and  burned  with  great  ceremony.  After  this  execution,  Louis 
prepared  for  his  return  :  he  entrusted  his  conquests  to  the 
government  of  Humbert  de  Beaujeu,  a  knight  distinguished 
both  for  his  birth  and  valour,  and  took  the  road  towards  Au- 
vergne  in  his  way  to  Northern  France. 

But  the  germs  of  that  malady,  whicli  had  caused  so  many 
ravages  during  the  siege  of  Avignon,  still  remained  in  the 
army,  and  the  fatigue,  the  heat,  and  the  inarch  across  an  un- 
healthy country  during  the  feverish  se;ison,  gave  them  addi- 
tional activity.  W  illiam,  archbishop  of  IJhcims,  the  count  of 
Namur,  and  Bouchard  de  Marli,  fell  the  first  victims  to  this  epi- 
demic. Louis  \'lll  on  his  arrival  at  iMonlpensier,  in  Auvergne, 
on  the  29th  of  October,  felt  himself  attacked  in  his  turn. 
He  was  obliged  to  rest  there,  and  soon  discovered  that  his 
malady  was  mortal.  On  the  third  of  November  he  called 
into  his  chamber  the  prelates  and  the  principal  lords  by  whom 
lie  had  been  accom])anipd,  viz.  thearclibisho])  of  Bourges  and 
of  Sens;  the  bishops  of  Beauvais,  of  Noyon,  and  of  Char- 
tres,  Philip  his  brotlier,  count  of  Boulogne,  the  count  of  Blois, 
Knguerrand  de  Coucy,  Archambaud  de  Bourbon,  Jean  de 
Nesle,  and  Etienne  de  Sancerre.  He  commended  to  them 
his  eldest  son,  then  only  twelve  years  of  age,  and  afterwards 
celebrated  as  Saint  Louis ;  he  confided  him  to  the  care  of  his 
wife,  Blanche  of  Castille;  he  demanded  of  his  prelates  and  ba- 
rons that  tlipy  would  promise   to  crown  him,  without  delay, 


as  their  lord  and  king,  and  pay  him  their  homage ;  and  he 
made  them  confirm  this  promise  by  a  solemn  oath.  The  ma- 
lady soon  reached  its  last  stage,  and  he  expired  on  the  Sth  of 
November,  122C. 


CHAPTER  V, 

.Iffairs  of  the  Mhigmses  from  the  Death  of  Louis   VIII,  1226, 
to  the  Peace  of  Paris,  1229  ;  and  its  final  ratification,  1242, 

At  the  death  of  Louis  VHI,  the  monarchy  which  had  been 
raised  to  a  high  degree  of  power,  by  the  skill  and  good  for- 
tune of  Philip  Augustus,  appeared  in  danger  of  falling  into 
that  state  of  turbulent  anarchy  from  which  he  had  with  diffi- 
culty rescued  it.  He  had  obtained  great  advantages  over  his 
vassals,  which  his  son,  during  his  short  reign,  had  not  had  time 
to  lose;  but  those  vassals  had  still  the  consciousness  of  their 
strength,  and  the  love  of  that  independence  of  which  they 
had  been  so  recently  deprived.  To  keep  them  in  their  obe- 
dience a  high  degree  of  energy  was  required  in  the  deposita- 
ries of  the  royal  authority,  and  that  authority  was  confided  in 
a  woman  and  a  child. 

Louis  VIII  had  married,  on  the  SSd  of  May,  1200,  Blanche, 
daughter  of  Alphonso  IX  of  Castille  ;  he  had  eleven  children 
by  her,  five  of  whom  survived  him.  Blanche  was  born,  ac- 
cording to  Bollandus,  in  1188,  and  most  probably  three  or 
four  years  sooner,  so  that  she  was,  at  the  death  of  her  hus- 
band, at  least  thirty-eight  years  of  age.  Louis,  the  eldest  of 
her  sons,  born  the  2Dth  of  April,  1215,  was,  at  that  time, 
eleven  years  and  a  half;  Robert  the  eldest  of  his  other  three 
sons,  was  ten  years ;  Alphonso,  the  second,  seven ;  the 
youngest,  Charles,  was  only  six,  and  the  daughter,  Elizabeth, 
was  only  two  years  old. 

Blanche  was  a  Spaniard,  and  possessed  of  the  qualities 
common  to  her  nation,  the  qualities  peculiar  to  great  minds. 
.She  was  handsome;  her  heart  was  ardent  and  tender;  reli- 
gion partly  occupied  it,  but  love  was  not  excluded  ;  and  her 
deportment,  especially  towards  the  king  of  Navarre,  and  the 
pope's  legate,  gave  some  colour  of  probability  to  the  reports 
which  her  enemies  circulated  against  her.  Jealous  of  her 
authority,  jealous  of  the  affections  of  those  whom  she  loved, 
even  when  she  married  her  sons,  she  was  still  watchful  to 
prevent  their  wives  obtaining  an  ascendancy  over  them  which 
might  interfere  with  her  own;  she  had,  besides,  inspired 
them  with  a  high  idea  of  her  prudence  and  capacity.  She 
possessed  their  love,  but  that  love  was  mingled  with  fear, 
and  even  when  she  placed  thein  on  the  throne,  she  did  not 
accustom  them  to  relax  in  their  obedience.  Although  she 
was  herself,  probably,  destitute  of  a  literary  education,  which 
was  in  those  times  rarely  given  even  to  men,  she  compre- 
hended the  advantage  of  useful  studies,  and  surrounded  her 
sons  with  those  who  were  the  most  capable  of  teaching  them 
all  that  was  then  known.  She  gave  to  the  masters  whom 
she  chose  an  authority  over  the  princes,  as  absolute  as  they 
could  have  had  over  the  children  of  a  citizen ;  and  as  the 
ferula  was  then  the  only  system  of  education  known  to  the 
pedants,  "  so,  as  the  blessed  king  himself  used  to  say,  the 
aforesaid  master  flogged  him  many  times  to  teach  him  things 
of  discipline."  But  above  all,  Blanche  endeavoured  to  in- 
spire her  children  with  the  same  religious  sentiments  by 
which  she  herself  was  actuated ;  and  the  education  which 
she  gave  them  constantly  tended  to  the  development  of  that 
piety,  and  that  ardent  faith,  which  was  the  spring  of  all  their 
actions. 

1227.  Blanche,  at  the  same  time  that  she  had  to  contend 
with  her  great  barons,  for  the  sovereign  authority,  and  to 
maintain  her  relations  with  the  king  of  England,  found  her- 
self charged  with  the  war  which  her  husband,  according  to 
the  exhortation  of  the  holy  see,  had,  in  the  preceding  year, 
carried  on  against  the  Albigenses.  But,  although  the  army 
of  Louis  VHI  had  been  almost  destroyed  there  by  sickness, 
the  regent  had  no  reason  to  fear  the  vengeance  of  the  inhabit- 
ants of  the  eountship  of  Toulouse,  to  whom,  under  the  pre- 
tence of  their  attachment  to  heresy,  so  much  evil  had  been 
done.  They  were  crushed  under  the  weight  of  long-pro- 
tracted calamities,  and  desired  nothing  so  much  as  a^short 
season  of  repose.  The  cardinal,  Romano  di  Sant.  Ano-elo, 
had  full  authority  from  the  pope  to  regulate  the  ecclesiasti- 
cal government  of  the  conquered  country.  In  the  beginning 
of  January,  he  gave  judgment  upon  the  demand  made  by  the 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


4GS 

citizens  of  Avisfiion,  to  be  reconciled  to  the  church.  He  pro- 
hibited them  from  affording  any  succours  to  the  count  of 
Toulouse  or  any  asylum  to  the  heretics.  He  condemned 
them  to  a  fine  of  a  thousand  marks  of  silver  to  the  church, 
and  of  six  thousand  to  the  army  of  the  crusaders.  He  com- 
manded them  to  demolish  their  walls,  their  ramparts,  and 
their  towers,  without  the  liberty  of  rebuilding  them,  unless 
they  should  obtain  permission  from  the  king  of  France  and 
the  church.  On  these  conditions  he  was  willing  to  free  them 
from  the  excommunication  which  they  had  incurred  ;  but,  at 
the  same  time,  he  destined  the  money  that  he  had  extorted 
from  them,  to  fortifying  the  castle  of  Saint  Andre,  on  the 
other  side  of  the  Rhone,  which  was  intended  to  keep  them 
in  obedience. 

During  lent,  in  the  same  year,  Peter,  archbishop  of  Nar- 
bonne,  presided  at  a  council  in  his  episcopal  city,  the  canons 
of  which,  to  the  number  of  twenty,  were  all  intended  to  re- 
double the  rigours  of  persecution  against  the  .Tews  and  the 
heretics,  the  count  of  Toulouse,  the  count  of  Foix,  and  the 
viscount  of  Beziers,  and  to  augment  the  authority  of  the 
ecclesiastics.  It  was  there  ordered,  that  a  testament  should 
not  be  held  valid,  unless  it  was  signed  in  the  presence  of  the 
curate;  and  that,  in  each  parish,  assistants  to  the  inqnisitors, 
under  the  name  of  synodical  witnesses,  should  be  instituted 
for  the  discovery  of  those  whoso  faith  might  be  suspected. 

In  spite  of  the  discouragement  of  his  subjects,  the  abandon- 
ment of  his  allies,  and  the  accumulation  of  sacerdotal  hatred, 
the  count  of  Toulouse  endeavoured  to  profit  by  the  retreat  of 
the  crusaders,  to  attack  Humbert  de  Beaujeu,  whom  Louis 
VIII  had,  at  his  departure,  left  as  his  lieutenant  of  the  pro- 
vince. He  could  only  take  from  him  the  castle  of  Haute- 
Rive,  fo\ir  leagues  from  Toulouse,  which  he  had  attacked 
during  the  winter;  but,  this  event  was  sufficient  to  excite  the 
French  clergy  to  make  the  court  of  Rome  resound  with  their 
clamours.  They  accused  the  queen  of  continuing  to  raise 
the  tenths  of  the  ecclesiastical  benefices,  granted  for  five 
years  to  her  husband,  without,  at  the  same  time,  continuing 
the  war  against  the  heretics,  which  alone  could  render  this 
exaction  legitimate.  They  even  obtained  an  order  from 
Gregory  IX,  who  had  succeeded  in  the  pontificate  to  Hono- 
rius  III,  to  suspend  the  payment.  The  cardinal  of  Sant. 
Angelo,  who  was  entirely  devoted  to  Blanche,  found  means 
to  revoke  the  order ;  but,  at  the  same  time,  gave  the  queen 
to  understand,  that  it  was  to  her  interest  to  continue  the  war. 
She  sent  some  assistance  to  Humbert  de  Beaujeu,  who,  by 
the  help  of  this  reinforcement,  was  enabled  to  lay  siege  to 
the  castle  Becede,  in  Lauraguais.  The  archbishop  of  Nar- 
bonne,  and  Fouquet,  bishop  of  Toulouse,  whom  the  Albi- 
genses  called  the  bishop  of  devils,  proceeded  to  this  siege. 
Pons  de  Villeneuve,  and  Olivier  de  Fermes,  who  commanded 
in  the  castle,  not  being  able  to  prolong  their  defence,  suc- 
ceeded one  night  in  escaping  with  part  of  their  garrison ;  the 
rest  were  either  knocked  on  the  head,  or  put  to  the  sword  by 
the  conquerors.  Fouquet  did,  however,  save  the  lives  of 
some  women  and  children ;  and  he,  in  like  manner,  rescued 
from  the  hands  of  the  soldiers,  though  it  was  that  they  might 
perish  in  the  flames,  Girard  de  la  Mote,  pastor  of  the  heretics 
of  Becede,  and  all  those  who  formed  his  flock. 

Thus,  the  cruelty  of  the  persecutors  was  not  yet  satiated ; 
still  it  frequently  displayed  itself  by  punishments,  and  during 
all  the  period  on  which  we  are  now  entering,  the  repressive 
measures,  adopted  by  the  councils,  acquired  each  year  more 
severity,  and  gave  to  the  inquisition  an  organization  still 
more  terrible.  Nevertheless,  that  fanaticism,  which  had 
armed  the  first  crusaders  against  the  Albigenses,  was  abated ; 
nobody  now  regarded  Christianity  as  in  danger  from  the  pro- 
gress of  reform,  nobody  was  anxious  to  save  the  church  from 
the  invasion  of  thought,  and  no  one  longed  for  the  moment 
when  he  might  rejoice  at  the  burning  of  the  heretics,  or  bathe 
himself  in  their  blood.  To  an  outrageous  phrensy  had  suc- 
ceeded a  calm  indifference;  }'et,  toleration  had  gained  nothing 
by  the  exchange.  Kings,  nobles,  priests,  and  people,  were 
all  agreed  in  thinking,  that  heretics  must  be  destro3'ed  by 
fire  and  sword.  An  injurious  name,  which  recalled  the 
Bulgarian  origin  of  the  sect,  was  given  to  all  who  had  under- 
taken to  bring  back  morals  to  their  purity,  faith  to  its  spirit- 
uality, and  the  church  to  its  original  simplicity.  A  cold 
contempt  alone  was  vouchsafed  to  those  beings  who  had 
been  animated  by  such  generous  sentiments,  and  had  suffered 
so  much  affliction,  as  if  they  had  in  them  nothing  human, 
nothing  capable  of  feeling,  nothing  with  which  the  heart  of 
man  could  sympathise.  Their  very  punishment  excited  no 
emotion,  not  even  that  of  hatred,  because  it  no  longer  re- 
ijnired  an  effort  to  crush  them. 


Reason,  however,  began  afresh  to  attempt  the  examination 
of  religious  questions;  but  it  was  not  to  those  controversies 
treated  of  by  the  Albigenses,  that  attention  was  directed. 
From  them  the  most  undaunted  speculators  turned,  with  a 
well-founded  horror.  The  schools  of  Paris  had  been  contin- 
ually acquiring  importance;  new  scholars  flocked  there,  not 
only  from  France,  but  from  all  Kurope,  to  attend  the  lessons 
of  celebrated  masters.  A  numerous  body  of  professors,  who 
were  indebted  for  their  pecuniary  advantages,  their  rank  in 
society,  and  their  fame,  to  the  exercise  of  all  the  faculties 
of  the  mind,  had  raised  themselves,  still  more  than  they  had 
elevated  the  youths  confided  to  their  care.  Erudition  had 
made  indubitable  progress;  skill  in  managing  both  the  thoughts 
and  the  language,  in  disputes,  had  increased  with  exercise; 
it  is  not  so  certain  that  the  understanding  had  gained  either 
in  justness  or  in  extent.  The  school  of  theology  at  Paris, 
famed  through  all  Europe  for  its  orthodoxy,  placed  its  glory 
in  maintaining  that  reputation  without  spot ;  yet,  this  body 
of  teachers  could  not  help  finding  itself  in  opposition  to  the 
monastic  orders,  who  also  undertook  the  work  of  instruction. 
Their  rivalsliip  contributed  to  attach  the  French  theologians 
to  the  defence  of  the  independence  of  their  national  church; 
it  was  by  prescribing  the  boundaries  of  the  temporal  and 
spiritual  powers,  by  their  oppositions  to  the  encroachments 
of  the  court  of  Rome,  that  they  signalized  their  spirit  of 
reform,  and  never  in  any  examination  of  the  doctrine,  nor 
even  in  that  of  the  discipline  of  tlie  church. 

In  the  midst  of  the  troubles  of  an  agitated  regency,  with 
numerous  risings  and  revolts  of  the  barons  within  the  realm, 
and  threatenings  and  dangers  from  without,  Blanche  had  the 
talent  to  terminate  the  conquest  of  the  Albigenses,  and  to 
gather  the  fruits  of  the  policy  of  Philip  Augustus,  of  the  zeal 
of  Louis  VIII,  and  of  the  fanatical  fury  of  their  subjects.  The 
rivalship  of  Philip  Hurepel,  the  count  of  Boulogne,  and  uncle 
oi  Louis  IX,  the  enmity  and  distrust  of  the  barons,  and  the 
relationship  which  connected  her  with  Raymond  VII,  did  not 
divert  her  from  those  projects  of  aggrandisement  which  she 
had  formed  in  concert  with  the  cardinal  di  Sant.  Angelo. 
France  has  been  indebted  to  her  for  the  acquisition  of  a  noble 
province,  and  forgetting  at  what  a  price  it  was  purchased,  she 
has  viewed  with  indulgence  both  her  policy  and  her  means 
of  success.  It  would  be  unjust  to  attribute  to  individuals  the 
errors  of  their  age.  Intolerance  and  persecuting  fanaticism 
were  virtues  in  the  eyes  of  Blanche,  and  she  is  not  responsi- 
ble for  the  instruction  of  her  doctors.  But  cupidity,  cruelty 
and  want  of  faith  in  political  transactions,  were  sanctioned  by 
no  religious  instruction.  We  are  no  more  able  to  exculpate 
from  these  vices  the  great  of  the  middle  ages,  than  those  of 
our  own  days.  The  frequency  of  examples  cannot  justify 
that  which  conscience  reprobates.  Yet  the  picture  of  the 
crimes  of  former  ages  does  not  excite  sensations  which  are 
altogether  painful ;  it  shows  to  what  a  degree  ignorance  is 
contrary  to  morality,  and  how  greatly  the  increase  of  know- 
ledge has  been  favourable  to  the  progress  of  virtue. 

r2'28.  At  the  commencement  of  the  year  1228,  Raymond 
count  of  Toulouse  again  took  the  field,  flattering  himself  that 
he  should  find  the  royal  party  discouraged  by  the  civil  wars 
with  the  barons,  and  the  crusaders  weakened  by  the  departure 
of  the  most  enthusiastic  amongst  them  for  the  Holy  Land. 
Guy  de  Montfort,  brother  of  the  ferocious  Simon,  was  killed 
at  the  siege  of  Vareilles.  Raymond  afterwards  took  possess- 
ion of  Castel  Sarrazin.  In  the  neighbourhood  of  that  place,  he 
placed  an  ambush  for  a  body  of  troops  belonging  to  Humbert 
de  Beaujeu,  and,  having  taken  a  great  number  of  prisoners, 
he  abandoned  himself  to  those  sentiments  of  hatred  and 
vengeance  which  the  horrors  of  the  war  had  excited  both  in  his 
soldiers  and  himself.  The  captives  were  mutilated  with  an 
odious  cruelty;  a  second  advantage  caused  additional  French 
prisoners  to  fall  into  his  hands,  and  a  second  time  he  treated 
them  with  the  same  barbarity.  Perhaps,  also,  a  mistaken 
policy  made  him  thus  brave  the  laws  of  humanity.  Dis- 
couragement had  seized  the  hearts  of  the  Languedocians  ;  their 
constancy  had  been  exhausted  by  a  succession  of  such  com- 
bats, and  so  many  sufferings  ;  and  Raymond  VII  thought  that 
he  should  render  them  warlike  by  permitting  them  to  become 
ferocious.  But,  on  the  contrary,  those  who  had  degraded 
themselves  by  taking  the  character  of  executioners,  ceased  to 
merit,  in  war,  the  title  of  soldiers.  His  success  finished  with 
his  clemency. 

Humbert  de  Beaujeu  received  but  little  assistance  from 
France ;  the  prelates,  however,  effected  for  him  what  the 
queen  could  not  then  undertake.  In  the  middle  of  June,  the 
archbishops  of  Auch  and  Bourdeaux  arrived  at  his  camp,  with 
a  great  number  of  bishops;  they  had  been  preaching  tlie  cross 


CRUSADES  OF  THE  ALBIGENSES. 


469 


in  their  respective  dioceses,  and  they  brought  him  a  numerous 
and  fanatical  army-  Fouquet,  bishop  of  I'oulouse,  had  never 
quitted  the  crusaders,  and  he  exceeded  them  all  in  sanguinary 
zeal.  He  believed  himself  called  to  purify,  by  fire,  his  episco- 
pal city,  and  he  determined  Beaujeu  to  draw  near  to  Toulouse 
The  affrighted  citizens  shut  themselves  up  within  their  walls, 
abandoning  the  surrounding  country,  and  flattering  themselves 
still  to  be  able,  by  lengthening  out  the  war,  to  weary  the  pa- 
tience of  the  besiegers.  It  was  their  own  bishop,  Fouquet, 
who  suggested  the  method  of  wounding  his  people  in  what 
he  knew  to  be  the  most  sensible  part,  and  of  rendering  this 
war  for  ever  fatal  to  their  country.  By  his  advice  the  French 
captains  conducted,  every  morning,  their  troops  to  the  gates 
of  Toulouse,  and  then  retiring  to  the  mountains,  each  day  by 
a  different  route,  they  commanded  them,  through  all  the  space 
they  passed  over,  to  cut  down  the  corn,  tear  up  the  vines, 
destroy  the  fruit  trees,  and  burn  the  houses,  so  tiiat  there  re- 
mained not  a  vestige  of  the  industry  or  of  the  riches  of  man. 
Each  day  the  general  traced  in  this  manner  a  new  radius,  and 
during  three  months  he  uninterruptedly'  continued,  thus  me- 
thodically, to  ravage  all  the  adjacent  country.  At  the  end  of 
the  campaign,  the  city  was  only  surrounded  by  a  frightful 
desert,  all  its  richest  inhabitants  were  ruined,  and  their  cour- 
age no  longer  enabled  them  to  brave  such  a  merciless  war. 
(Some  lords  had  alreadj-  abandoned  them;  the  two  brothers, 
Oliver  and  Bernard  de  Termes,  submitted  their  castles  ou  the 
21st  of  November,  to  the  archbishop  of  Narbonue,  and  to 
marshal  de  Levis,  who  received  it  in  the  name  of  the  king, 
of  whom  the  brothers  de  Termes  engaged  to  hold  all  the  rest 
of  their  lordship.  Nearly  at  the  same  time  count  Itaymond 
listened  to  the  propositions  of  peace  which  were  made  by  the 
abbot  of  Grandselve;  on  the  Ittth  of  December,  l-JiS,  he  gave 
full  powers  to  this  abbot  to  negociate  in  his  name  with  the 
king,  the  queen  mother,  and  tlie  cardinal  di  Sant.  Angelo, 
engaging  lo  ratify  whatever  treaty  should  obtain  the  consent 
of  his  cousin  Thibaud,  count  of  Campagne,  whom  he  took 
for  arbitrator  of  liis  differences  with  his  cousin  the  queen. 
The  instructions  to  the  abbot  of  Grandselve  show  that  Ray- 
mond VII,  overwhelmed  with  terror  as  well  as  his  subjects, 
110  longer  preserved  any  hope  of  defending  himself.  It  might 
even  be  supposed  that  the  victories  of  his  enemies  appeared 
to  him  a  judgment  from  heaven,  and  that  he  thought  himself 
obliged,  in  conscience,  henceforth  to  share  the  persecuting 
fanaticism  against  which  he  so  long  had  struggled.  In  fact, 
he  demanded  neither  liberty  of  conscience  for  his  subjects  nor 
the  preservation  of  his  own  sovereignty ;  be  abandoned  all 
thoughts  of  maintaining  any  longer  his  independence;  he  con- 
sented to  surrender  himself  disarmed,  and  without  guarantee, 
into  the  hands  of  his  enemies,  and  to  leave  to  them  the  dis- 
posal of  his  heritage.  He  only  desired  to  covenant  for  the 
possession  of  a  small  part  of  his  states,  to  secure  to  himself 
not  a  sovereignty,  but  a  revenue,  which  should  cease  with 
his  life. 

12'2y.  Early  in  the  year  1229  the  cardinal  legate  held  two 
provincial  councils,  one  at  Sens,  the  other  at  fSenlis,  to  pre- 
pare the  articles  relative  to  the  pacification  of  Albigeois.  He 
afterwards  repaired  to  Meaux,  where  the  king,  the  queen 
Blanche,  the  count  Raymond  VII,  the  deputies  from  Toulouse, 
the  archbishop  of  Narbonne,  and  the  principal  bishops  of  his 
province  successively  arrived.  The  treaty  which  had  been 
concerted  between  the  cardinal  di  Sant.  Angelo  and  the  abbot 
of  Grandselve,  was  afterwards  read.  It  was  the  most  extra- 
ordinary that  any  sovereign  had  ever  been  required  to  sign. 
Kacli  of  its  articles,  says  William  de  Puy  Laurens,  contained 
a  concession  which  might  alone  have  sufficed  for  the  ransom 
of  the  count  of  Toulouse,  had  he  been  made  prisoner  in  a 
universal  rout  of  all  his  army.  Raymond,  nevertheless,  did 
not  hesitate  to  give  his  consent  lo  it. 

The  definitive  treaty  was  signed  at  Paris  the  12th  of  April, 
1239.  By  this  act,  Raymond  VTl  abandoned  to  the  king  all 
that  he  possessed  in  the  kingdom  of  France,  and  to  the  legate 
all  that  he  possessed  in  the  kingdom  of  Aries.  After  tliis 
universal  renunciation,  the  king,  as  if  by  favour,  granted  him, 
as  a  fief,  for  the  remainder  of  bis  life,  a  part  only  of  what  he 
had  taken  from  him,  namely,  a  portion  of  the  dioceses  of  Tou- 
louse, of  Albigeois  and  of  Quercy,  with  the  entire  dioceses 
of  Agenois  and  of  Rouergue.  These  provinces  which  the 
king  restored  to  him  were,  moreover,  to  form  the  portion  of 
his  daughter  Jane,  then  nine  years  of  age,  whom  he  named: 
his  sole  heiress,  and  whom  he  engaged  to  deliver  immediately 
into  the  hands  of  Blanche,  that  she  might  bring  her  up  under 
her  own  eyes,  and  afterwards  marry  her  to  one  of  her  sons,  at 


son  the  daughter  of  a  prince  so  long  proscribed,  and  so  con- 
stantly excommunicated,  Blanche  sufficiently  manifested  that 
she,  at  least,  did  not  consider  him  a  heretic,  that  she  felt  no 
horror  at  being  allied  to  him,  and  that  on  the  part  of  the  court 
of  France,  the  crusade  was  rather  political  than  religious.  Its 
real  design  was  to  obtain  possession  of  the  domains  belong- 
ing to  the  most  powerful  of  the  grand  vassals,  though  its 
ostensible  object  was  the  suppression  of  heresy. 

Toulouse,  with  all  the  provinces  reserved  lo  Raymond  VII, 
were,  after  his  death,  to  pass  to  his  daughter,  and  lo  the 
children  which  she  might  have  by  her  marriage  with  one  of 
the  king's  brothers.  In  failure  of  these,  the  fiefs  were  to  re- 
vert to  the  crown,  without  ever  passing  to  any  other  children 
whom  Raymond  VII  might  have  by  a  new  marriage.  On  the 
other  hand,  the  remainder  of  his  states,  amounting  to  nearly 
two-thirds  of  the  whole,  were  to  be  given  up  to  the  king,  im- 
mediately after  the  treaty  of  Paris,  to  be  united  to  the  crown; 
that  is,  the  dukedoms  Narbonne,  Beziers,  Agde,  Maguelonne, 
Usez  and  Viviers,  as  well  as  all  that  the  count  possessed  or 
pretended  to  possess  in  Velay,  Gevaudan  and  the  lordship  of 
[jodeve ;  together  with  the  fief  of  the  marshal  of  Levis,  in  the 
Touloussain,  with  the  half  of  the  Albigeois. 

These  were  but  a  small  part  of  the  sacrifices  to  which  Ray- 
mond VII  was  obliged  to  submit.  He  promised  lo  pay  twenty 
thousand  marks  of  silver  in  four  years,  half  for  the  benefit  of 
the  churches,  whilst  the  remainder  should  be  employed  in 
rebuilding  the  fortifications  of  the  places,  which  he  gave  up 
to  his  enemies  ;  to  restore  to  all  the  ecclesiastics  the  whole  of 
the  possessions  which  had  been  taken  from  them  during  the 
war ;  to  rase  the  walls  and  fill  up  the  ditches  of  Toulouse, 
whilst,  at  the  same  time,  he  should  receive  a  French  garrison 
into  the  Narbonnese  castle,  which  served  as  a  citadel  to  that 
great  city  ;  to  rase,  likewise,  the  fortifications  of  thirty  others 
of  his  cities  or  fortresses ;  lo  deliver  eight  of  them  into  the 
custody  of  the  king:  lie  also  promised  never  to  raise  any  for- 
tification in  any  other  place  in  his  states;  to  dismiss  all  the 
roulicrs,  or  those  soldiers  who  made  a  trade  of  hiring  them- 
selves to  any  who  wished  to  enrol  them  ;  in  a  word,  to  oblige 
all  his  subjects  to  swear,  not  only  to  observe  this  treaty,  but 
also  that  they  would  turn  their  arms  against  him  if  he  should 
ever  depart  from  it.  Even  this  was  not  all;  Raymond  VII 
was  compelled  lo  promise  that  he  would  henceforth  make  war 
against  all  those  who,  to  this  moment,  had  remained  faithful 
to  him,  and  especially  against  the  count  of  Foix  ;  and  that  he 
would  pay  to  every  individual  who  should  arrest  a  heretic, 
two  marks  for  each  of  his  subjects  who  might  be  thus  carried 
before  the  tribunals.  It  appears,  however,  that  Raymond  felt 
himself  so  debased  by  these  extorted  conditions,  that  he  him- 
self demanded  to  be  retained  a  prisoner  at  the  Louvre,  whilst 
they  were  beginning  to  execute  the  treaty  ;  and  that  he  sub- 
mitted to  the  obligation  of  serving  five  years  in  the  Holy 
Land,  when  he  should  leave  his  prison,  that  he  might  not  be 
the  witness  of  the  entire  ruin  of  his  country.  Nevertheless, 
the  love  of  repose,  the  dread  of  the  huntiliatiotis  he  might 
have  to  endure  in  an  army  of  fanatics,  or  perhaps  some  new 
hopes,  engaged  him  afterwards  to  free  himself  I'rom  this  last 
condition. 

The  union  of  part  of  Albigeois  to  the  domain  of  the  crown, 
and  the  submission  of  all  the  rest  to  those  fanatical  priests 
who  had  called  thither  the  crusaders,  were  the  forerunners  of 
inexpressible  calamities  to  these  provinces.  But,  that  which 
erhaps  exceeded  all  the  others,  was  the  permanent  estab- 
iishment  of  the.  inquisition.  This  was  principally  the  work 
of  the  council,  assembled  at  Toulouse,  in  the  month  of  No- 
vember, 1229,  and  composed  of  the  archbishops  of  Narbonne, 
of  Bourdeaux,  and  of  Auch,  with  their  suffragans.  In  the 
month  of  the  preceding  April,  an  ordonance  of  Louis  IX  had 
renewed,  in  the  countries  which  had  fallen  under  his  domin- 
ion, the  severest  pursuits  against  the  heretics. 

The  inquisition  was  not,  at  this  epoch,  abandoned  solely 
to  the  Dominicans.  It  was  only  by  a  slow  progress,  during 
all  the  reign  of  Saint  Louis,  that  it  was  brought  to  that  com- 
plete and  fearful  organization,  with  which  a  fanatical  party 
desires,  at  this  day,  its  re-establishment  in  Spain.  The 
council  of  1229,  composed  chiefly  of  prelates,  had  sought  to 
render  it  subordinate  to  the  episcopal  power.  The  bishops 
were  to  depute,  into  each  province  a  priest,  and  two  or  three 
laics,  to  seek  after  (having  first  engaged  themselves  by  oath) 
all  the  heretics  and  their  abettors — "  Let  them  visit  carefullj'," 
says  the  first  canon,  "  each  house  in  their  parish,  and  the  sub- 
terranean chambers,  which  any  suspicion  shall  have  caused 
to  be  remarked  ;  let  them  examine  all  the  out-houses,  the  re- 


her  discretion.     Blanche  destined  her  for  Alphonso  the  third, 'treats  under  the  roofs,  and  all  the  secret  places,  which  we 
who  was  likewise  but  nine  years  old.     In  accepting  for  her  order  them,  besides,  every  where  to  destroy  :  if  they  find  there 


470 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


any  heretics,  or  any  of  their  abettors  or  concealers,  let  themland  the  love  of  life  sometimes  soften  a  heart,  which  cannot 
in  the  first  place  provide  that  they  may  not  escape ;  then  let  be  afl'ected  in  any  other  manner.     Letthom  speak  to  him  also 


them,  with'all  haste,  denounce  them  to  the  archbishop,  the 
bishop,  the  lord  of  the  place  or  his  bailiffs,  tliat  they  may  be 
punished  accordintr  to  their  deserts. 

An  instruction  as  to  the  manner  of  proceeding  against  her- 
etics, was  composed  before  the  end  of  the  same  century,  for 
the  use  of  tlie  inquisitors.  Some  extracts  from  this  curious 
book,  published  by  the  fathers  Marteue  and  Durand,  of  the 
congregation  of  .Saint  Maur,  will  give  a  better  understanding 
respecting  an  institution  which  henceforward  exercised  so 
great  an  inliuence  over  the  church  and  people  of  France.  "  In 
this  manner,"  it  is  said  at  the  beginning,  "the  inquisitors 
proceed  in  the  provinces  of  Carcassonne  and  Toulouse. — 
First,  the  accused  or  suspected  of  heresy  is  cited  ;  when  he 
appears,  he  is  sworn  upon  the  holy  Gosjiels,  that  he  will  fully 
say  all  that  he  knows  for  a  truth,  respecting  the  crime  of  her- 
esy or  Vaudoisic,  as  well  concerning  hiuiself  as  others,  as 
wtdl  concerning  the  living  as  the  dead.  If  he  conceals  or 
denies  any  thing,  he  is  put  in  prison,  and  kept  there  until  he 
shall  have  confessed  ;  but  if  he  says  the  truth,  (that  is,  if  he 
accuses  either  others  or  himself)  his  confession  is  diligently 
written  down  by  a  notary  public When  a  sufficient  num- 
ber have  confessed  to  make  a  sermon"  (thus  they  then  called, 
what  we  at  this  day  name  from  a  Portuguese  word,  auto  da  fi) 
"the  inquisitors  convoke,  in  a  suitable  ])lace,  some  juris- 
consults, minor-brothers,  and  preachers,  and  the  ordinaries, 
(the  bishops)  without  whose  counsel,  or  that  of  their  vicars, 
no  person  ought  to  be  condemned.  When  the  council  is  as- 
sembled, the'lnquisitors  shall  submit  to  it  a  short  extract  from 
the  confession  of  each  person,  but  supjiressing  his  name— 
They  shall  say,  for  example,  a  cDrtain  person,  of  such  a  dio- 
cese, has  done  what  follows,  after  which  the  counsellors  re- 
ply, "let  the  inquisitors  impose  upwi  him  an  arbitrary  pe- 
nance, or  let  this  person  be  immured,  or  in  fine,  let  him  be 
delivered  to  the  secular  arm."  After  wliich  they  are  all  cited 
for  the  following  Sinulay.  On  this  day,  the  inquisitors,  in 
the  presence  of  Ihe  prelates,  the  aljbots,  the  bailitfs,  and  all 
the  people,  cause  those  to  be  first  called  who  have  confessed 
and  persisted  in  their  confession;  for,  if  they  retract,  they  are 
sent  back  to  prison,  and  their  faults  oidy  are  recited. 

"They  begin  with  those  who  are  to  have  arbitrary  penan- 
ces :  to  thcin  they  give  crosses,  they  impose  pilgrimages, 
greater  or  smaller  according  to  their  faults  ;  to  those  who  have 
perjured  themselves,  they°give  double  crosses.  All  these 
havinn-  gone  out  with  their'crosses,  they  recite  the  faults  of 
those^vho  are  to  he  immured,  making  them  rise,  one  after 
the  other,  and  each  remain  standing  whilst  his  confession  is 
read.  When  it  is  finished,  the  inquisitor  seats  himself,  and 
gives  his  sentence  sitting,  first  in  Latin,  then  in  French. 

Finally  they  recite  the  faults  of  the  relapsed,  and  the  sen- 
tence being  pronounced,  they  arc  delivered Neverthe- 
less, those'^who  are  delivered  as  relapsed,  are  not  to  be  burn- 
ed the  same  day  they  are  delivered  ;  but,  on  the  contrary,  they 
ought  to  be  engaged  to  confess  themselves,  and  receive  the 
eucliarist,  if  they  "require  it,  and  if  they  give  signs  of  true  re- 
pentance, for  thus  wills  the  lord  pope." 

But  this  was  only  the  external  form  of  procedure.  An  in- 
quisitor, of  the  same  period,  has  given  a  more  detailed  in- 
struction to  his  brethren,  respecting  the  manner  of  directing 
the  interrogatories.  This  instruction,  also,  has  been  printed 
by  the  sanie  two  Benedictine  fathers,  in  a  collection  of  religi- 
ous writings;  it  is  worthy  of  being  placed  entire  under  the 
eyes  of  the  reader,  and  it  is  not  without  regret,  that  we  con- 
fine ourselves  to  giving  short  extracts  from  it. 

"Even  he  who  is  the  most  profoundly  plunged  in  heresy," 
says  the  anonymous  author,  "may  sometimes  be  brought 
back,  by  the  fear  of  death,  or  the  hope  that  he  shall  be  per- 
mitted to  live,  if  he  confess  sincerely  the  errors  which  he  has 
learned,  and  if  he  denounce  any  others  whom  he  may  know 
to  belong  to  this  sect.  If  he  refuses  to  do  it,  let  him  be  shut 
up  in  prison,  and  given  to  understand,  that  there  are  witnesses 
against  him,  and  that  if  he  be  once  convicted  by  witnesses, 
there  will  be  no  mercy  for  him,  hut  he  will  be  delivered  to 
death.  At  the  same  lime  let  his  food  be  lessened,  for  such 
fear  and  sufferintj  will  contribute  to  humble  him.  Let  none 
of  his  accomplices  be  perinitled  to  approach  him,  lest  they 
encourage  him,  or  teach  him  to  answer  with  artifice,  and  not 
to  betray  any  one.  Let  no  other  approach  him,  unless  it  be, 
from  time  to  lime,  two  adroit  believers,  who  may  advise  him 
cautiously,  and  as  if  they  had  coinpassion  upon  him,  to  de- 
liver himself  from  death,  to  confess  where  he  has  erred,  and 
upon  what  points,  and  who  may  promise  him  Ihat  if  he  do 
this  he  shall  escape  being  burned.     For  the  fear  of  death  j  I 


in  an  encouraging  manner,  saying,  "  Be  not  afraid  to  confess, 
if  yon  have  given  credit  to  these  men  when  they  said  such 
and  such  things,  because  you  believed  them  virtuous.  If  you 
heard  them  wTuingly,  if  yon  assisted  them  with  your  proper- 
ty, if  you  confessed  yourself  to  them,  it  was  because  you  lov- 
ed all  whom  you  believed  to  be  good  people,  and  because  you 
knew  nothing  ill  respecting  them.  The  same  might  happen 
to  men  much  wiser  than  you,  who  might  also  be  deceived  by 
them.  If  he  begins  then  to  soi'ten,  and  to  grant  that  he  has, 
in  some  place,  heard  these  teachers  speak  concerning  the 
gospels  or  the  epistles,  you  must  then  ask  him,  cautiously,  if 
these  teachers  believed  such  and  such  things,  for  example,  if 
they  denied  the  existence  of  purgatory,  or  the  efficacy  of  pray- 
ers for  the  dead,  or  if  they  pretended  that  a  wicked  priest, 
bound  by  sin,  cannot  absolve  others,  or  what  they  say  about 
the  sacraments  of  the  church  1  Afterwards,  you  must  ask 
them,  cautiously,  whether  they  regard  this  doctrine  as  good 
and  true,  for  he  who  grants  this,  has  thereby  confessed  his 

heresy Whereas,  if  you  had  asked  him  Iduntly  whether 

he  believed  the  same  things,  he  would  not  have  answered, 
because  he  w'ould  have  suspected  that  you  wished  to  take 
advantage  of  him  and  accuse  him  as  a  heretic  ....  These  are 
very  subtle  foxes,  and  you  can  only  take  them  by  a  crafty 
subtilty." 

We  will  add  here  a  last  instruction  given  by  the  inquisitor, 
the  author  of  this  work  to  his  brother,  drawn  from  his  personal 
experience.  "  Note,"  says  he,  "  that  the  inquisitor  ought  al- 
ways to  suppose  a  fact,  without  any  proof,  and  only  inquire 
after  the  circumstances  of  the  fact.  For  example,  he  should 
say.  How  many  times  hast  thou  confessed  thyself  to  the  her- 
etics? or,  in  what  chamber  have  the  heretics  slept  in  thy 
house?  or  similar  things. ■' 

"In  like  manner  the  inquisitor  may,  from  time  to  time, 
consult  a  book,  as  if  he  had  the  life  of  the  heretic  written 
there,  and  all  the  questions  that  he  was  to  put  to  him." 

"Likewise,  when  a  heretic  confesses  himself  to  him,  he 
ought  to  impose  upon  him  the  duty  of  accusing  his  accom- 
plices, otherwise  he  would  not  give  a  sign  of  true  penitence." 

"Likewise,  when  a  heretic  either  does  not  fully  confess 
his  errors,  or  does  not  accuse  his  accomplices,  you  must  say 
to  him  in  order  to  terrify  him.  Very  well,  we  see  how  it  is. 
Think  of  thy  soul,  and  fully  renounce  heresy,  for  thou  art 
about  to  die,  and  nothing  remains  hut  to  receive  with  true 
penitence  all  that  shall  happen  to  thee.  And  if  he  then  says : 
Since  I  must  die,  I  had  rather  die  in  my  own  faith  than  in  that 
of  the  church;  then  it  is  certain  that  bis  repentance  was 
feigned,  and  he  may  be  delivered  up  to  justice." 

We  have  thought  it  our  duly  to  dwell  the  longer  on  this 
new  method  of  procedure  against  the  heretics,  and  on  the 
instructions  given  to  the  judges  for  the  examination  of  con- 
sciences, because  the  form  which  was  prescribed  to  them  for 
their  interrogatories,  was  soon  after  introduced  into  the  crim- 
inal procedure,  where  it  produced  a  revolution  in  the  state  of 
France.  It  was  by  artifices  similar  to  these,  by  such  moral 
tortures,  that  it  was  endeavoured  to  extort  confessions  from 
the  accused,  as  soon  as  the  suppression  of  the  judicial  com- 
bats rendered  the  office  of  the  judge  more  complicated.  The 
priests,  as  more  skilful,  as  more  accustomed  by  the  confess- 
ional to  penetrate  into  the  secrets  of  conscience,  gave  the 
example,  and  in  some  measure  established  the  theory  of 
interrogatories.  Nevertheless,  it  appears  that  at  this  period 
they  had  not  added  torture,  properly  so  called,  to  their  other 
means  of  investigation.  There  is  no  mention  made  of  it  in 
either  of  the  instructions  for  the  inquisitors,  which  we  have 
under  our  eyes.  Half  a  century  later  its  use  became  as  fre- 
quent as  it  was  atrocious,  both  in  the  civil  and  ecclesiastical 
tribunals.  The  interrogatory  of  the  suspected  was  not  the 
only  part  of  the  procedure  in  which  the  practice  of  the  inqui- 
sition infiuenced  the  courts  of  justice;  the  inquest  by  Avit- 
nesses  received  from  it  also  a  new  character.  Every  thing 
had  l)een  public  in  the  ancient  French  jurisprudence,  bolli 
under  the  Merovingians,  where  the  citizens  judged  each 
other  in  their  mul/i,  and  under  the  first  of  the  Capets,  in  the 
baronial  courts,  where  the  peers  of  the  accused  sate  in  judg- 
ment upon  him.  But  the  monks,  on  the  contrary,  surrounded 
themselves  with  thick  darkness;  all  was  secret  in  their  in- 
quests ;  they  suppressed  the  confrontation  of  witnesses,  and 
even  concealed,  from  the  accused,  the  names  of  those  who 
had  deposed  against  them. 

The  heretics  supported  their  doctrines  by  tlie  authority  of 
the  holy  Scriptures ;  the  first  indication  of  heresy  was,  there- 
ore,  considered  to  be  the  citation  either  of  the  epistles  or  the 


CRUSADES  OF  THE  ALBIGENSES. 


471 


gospels;  secondly,  any  exhortation  agjainst  lyin^ ;  and  finally, 
any  signs  of  compassion  shown  to  the  prisoners  of  the  inqui- 
sition. The  counoil  of  Toulouse  for  the  first  time  decided, 
that  the  reading-  of  the  holy  books  should  not  be  permitted 
to  the  people.  "  We  prohibit,  says  the  fourteenth  canon,  p. 
430,  the  laics  from  having  the  books  of  the  Old  and  New- 
Testament  ;  unless  it  be  at  most  that  any  one  wishes  to  have, 
from  devotion,  a  psalter,  a  breviary  for  the  divine  offices,  or 
the  hours  of  the  blessed  Mary  ;  but  we  forbid  them,  in  the 
most  express  manner,  to  have  the  above  books  translated 
into  the  vulgar  tongue."  The  following  article  merits  also 
attention.  "  We  command  that  whoever  shall  be  accused  of 
heresy  or  noted  with  suspicion  shall  be  deprived  of  the 
assistance  of  a  physician.  Likewise  when  a  sick  person 
shall  have  received  the  holy  communion  of  his  priest,  it  is 
our  will  that  he  be  watched  with  the  greatest  care  to  the  day 
of  his  death  or  convalescence,  that  no  heretic  or  one  sus- 
pected of  heresy  iiiay  have  access  to  him." 

The  establishment  of  the  inquisition  in  Languedoc,  was 
not,  however,  followed  by  a  number  of  executions  propor- 
tioned to  the  expectations  of  the  orthodox.  Many  of  the 
converted  were  obliged  to  wear  upon  their  breast  two  crosses 
of  a  different  colour  from  their  clothes,  to  quit  places  sus- 
pected of  heresy,  and  to  establrsh  themselves  in  cities  zeal- 
ous for  the  catholic  faith,  where  the  eyes  of  all  were  drawn 
upon  them  by  the  costume  to  which  they  had  been  con- 
demned. Others,  who  were  regarded  as  more  culpable,  or 
more  suspected,  were,  in  spite  of  their  conversion,  imprisoned  I 
for  the  Remainder  of  their  lives,  or,  in  the  language  of  the 
inquisition,  were  immured.  But  as  for  those  who  were 
called  perfect  heretics,  or  the  relapsed,  it  became  very  diffi- 
cult to  find  any  in  the  province.  It  was  in  vain  that  the 
bishop  Fouquet,  having  converted  one  of  the  most  celebrated 
of  the  sect,  William  de  Soliers,  caused  him  to  be  reestab- 
lished, that  he  might  testify  his  zeal  in  denouncing  his  an- 
cient fellow-religionists.  It  was  in  vain  that  he  ordered,  by 
a  most  particular  favour,  that  the  testimony  of  this  new- 
convert  should  be  considered  equal  to  that  of  one  of  the  faith- 
ful who  had  never  erred.  The  reformed  church  had  already 
been  destroyed  by  the  precediiig  mass-acres;  some  few  indi- 
viduals who  were  timid,  and  unstable  in  their  faith,  had 
alone  been  able  to  escape  by  frequently  denying  their  belief. 
It  was  upon  them  that  the  inquisition  exercised,  hencefor- 
■ward,  all  its  severity.  Terror  became  exteme,  suspicion 
universal,  all  teaching  of  the  proscribed  doctrine  had  ceased, 
the  very  sight  of  a  book  made  the  people  tremble,  and  igno- 
rance was  for  the  greater  number  a  salutary  guarantee. 

The  reform  had  arisen  from  the  first  advancement  in 
literature,  from  the  first  ajiplication  of  reason  to  religious 
instruction;  by  thickening  the  darkness,  by  striking  the 
minds  of  men  with  terror,  they  could  not  fail  to  arrest  this 
fermentation,  and  to  bring  back  their  consciences  to  a  blind 
submission  and  to  their  hereditary  belief. 

By  a  strange  contrast,  the  university  of  Toulouse  sprung 
from  this  persecution.  It  was  founded  with  the  inquisition, 
and  by  those  who  wished  to  inthral  the  human  mind.  But 
it  was  the  desire  of  the  church,  that,  in  the  very  place  where 
the  reprobated  doctrines  had  been  taught,  there  should  hence- 
forth be  no  other  teachers  than  her  own,  nor  any  other  study 
but  that  of  the  orthodox  theology.  Consequently  the  count 
of  Toulouse  was  enjoined  to  maintain  in  his  capital,  for  ten 
years,  at  his  own  expense,  professors  and  masters  of  theology 
and  canon  law.  But  it  is  impossible  at  the  same  time  to 
excite  andrestrain  the  human  mind.  Encouragement  given 
to  one  science  is  favourable  to  others.  The  school  of  canon 
law,  which  was  founded  at  Toulouse  and  which  collected 
together  a  number  of  young  men,  showed  the  uecessity  of 
establishing  also  a  school  of  civil  law,  then  another  for  liter- 
ature, and  the  university  was  thus  gradually  completed,  in 
some  respects,  in  spite  of  those  to  whom  it  owed  its  founda- 
dation. 

1-229.  Wliilst  Raymond  VII  delivered  up  his  country  to 
its  persecutors,  he  submitted  himself  on  the  l'3th  of  April  to 
the  most  humiliating  penance.  He  repaired,  with  his  feet 
naked,  and  with  only  his  shirt  and  trowsers,  to  the  church  of 
Notre-Dame  at  Paris;  there  the  cardinal  Romano  di  Sant. 
Ano-elo,  met  him,  and,  after  administering  the  discipline  upon 
his^naked  shoulders,  conducted  him  to  the  foot  of  the  grand 
altar,  where  he  declared  that,  on  account  of  his  humility  and 
devotion,  he  pronounced  his  absolution;  under  this  condition, 
however,  that  he  should  again  fall  under  the  preceding  ex- 
communication if  he  failed  to  observe  the  treaty  of  Paris. 
Raymond  was  afterwards  confined,  for  six  weeks,  in  his  pri- 
son of  the  Louvre,  whilst  his  daughter  was  delivered  to  the 


king's  commissioners,  his  strong  castles  were  opened  to 
them,  and  the  wall  of  his  capital,  to  tlie  extent  of  three  thou- 
sand feet,  was  thrown  down.  On  his  release  from  captivity, 
Louis  IX  received  his  homage  for  the  fiefs  which  still  re- 
mained to  him,  knighted  him  on  the  3d  of  June,  the  day  of 
Pentecost,  and  allowed  him  to  return  to  his  country. 

As  long  as  the  bishop  Fouquet  lived,  the  residence  of  Ray- 
mond VII  at  Tolouse  was  embittered  by  the  ferocity  of  a 
prelate,  who  thought  that  he  could  only  honour  God  by  sac- 
rificing human  victims,  and  who  had  long  been  obliged  to 
tear  from  their  lord  those  whom  he  demanded  to  offer  upon 
his  altars.  Daily  denunciations,  and  every  kind  of  humilia- 
tion, caused  the  count  of  Toulouse  to  live  in  coutinu-al  dread 
of  new  excommunications,  and  a  new  crusade.  Happily, 
Fouquet  at  last  died,  on  Christmas-day,  1331,  after  an  epis- 
copate of  twenty-eight  years,  and  Raymond  VII  then  experi- 
enced a  diminution  of  the  severities  to  which  he  had  hitherto 
been  exposed.  He  obtained  from  the  court  of  Rome,  first  a 
respite,  and  afterwards  a  dispensation  from  proceeding  to  the 
Holy  Land,  according  to  his  engagement;  and  if  he  could 
succeed  in  silencing  the  reproaches  of  honour  -and  conscience, 
he  might,  from  that  time,  enjoy  a  sort  of  peace,  in  the  domains 
which  were  still  spared  to  him. 

Notwithstanding  the  engagement  w-hich  count  Raymond 
had  entered  into,  and  which  he  jiartly  executed,  to  make  war 
ujion  the  count  of  Foix,  he  continued  to  interest  himself  for 
that  ancient  ally,  and  succeeded  in  obtaining  peace  for  him 
on  the  lUlh  of  June,  1229,  on  conditions  analogous  to  his  own. 
But  his  other  ally,  the  young  Trencaval,  heir  of  the  viscounties 
of  Beziers  and  Carcassonne,  could  obtain  no  mercy.  All  his 
heritage  was  already  united  to  the  domain  of  the  crown,  and 
he  h-dd  no  resource  but  to  retire  to  the  court  of  the  king  of 
Aragon.  On  the  other  hand,  two  French  houses  were  formed 
in  Albigeois,  and  preserved  their  est-ablishment  as  a  monu- 
ment of  the  crusade.  One  was  that  of  Simon  de  Montfort, 
whose  nephew  Philip,  son  of  Guy,  obtained  in  fief  from  Louis 
IX,  the  lordship  of  Castres,  or  that  part  of  Albigeois  situated 
on  the  left  of  the  Tarn ;  the  other  was  that  of  Levis,  wlip 
retained,  under  the  name  of  mareschall's  estate,  that  portion 
of  the  diocese  of  Toulouse  which  was  afterwards  detached  to 
form  the  diocese  of  Alirepoix  and  Pamiers. 

The  pacification  of  Albigeois,  and  the  submission  of  Ray- 
mond of  Toulouse,  made  also  a  change  in  the  political  state 
of  the  provinces  situated  on  the  left  side  of  the  Rhone,  or  in 
the  kingdom  of  Aries.  Raymond  VII  possessed  there  an 
extensive  domain,  designated  by  the  name  of  Marquisate  ot 
Provenge,  out  of  the  fragments  of  which  was  afterwards 
formed  the  principality  of  Orange  and  the  countship  of  Ve- 
naissin.  He  had  ceded  this  territory  to  the  pope,  and  to 
cardinal  Romano  di  Sant.  Angelo,  in  his  name,  but  as  it  was 
then  suffering  under  a  famine,  the  leg-ate  gave  the  pope  to 
understand  that  the  charge  of  it  woufd  be  burdensome,  and 
that  the  church  w-oulil  he  a  gainer  by  remitting  it  to  queen 
Blanche.  Adam  de  Milly,  vicegerent  to  the  king  of  France, 
in  the  province  of  Narbonne,  and  the  seneschal  of  Beaucaire 
were  therefore  charged  with  the  administration  of  these  pro- 
vinces, till  the  church  should  restore  the  possession  to  Ray- 
mond VII.     Nevertheless,  the  cession  made  to  the  church  by 


this  prince,  of  that  part  of  his  domain,  is  almost  the  sole 
origin  of  the  pretensions  of  the  court  of  Rome  to  the  sove- 
reiiinty  of  the  countship  of  Venaissin. 

The  queen  Blanche  had  by  the  treaty  of  Paris  united  to  the 
states  of  her  son  a  very  important  province,  which  for  the 
first  time  placed  the  domain  of  the  crown  of  France  in  com- 
munication with  the  Mediterranean  Sea,  on  which  it  displayed 
about  thirty  leagues  of  coast.  This  acquisition  of  fields 
covered  with  the  richest  harvests  of  the  South,  of  cities  which 
had  been  animated  by  commerce  and  industry,  of  a  population 
which  had  already  developed  its  understanding  and  tasted  of 
liberty,  really  augmented  the  royal  authority  more  than  any 
other  fief  of  the  same  extent  in  a" less  favourable  climate  could 
have  done.  It  would  appear,  however,  that  Blanche  hoped 
to  conceal  from  the  eyes  of  the  vassals  of  the  crown  and  from 
her  rivals  the  importance  of  these  acquisitions,  for  she  neither 
formed  a  new  administration  nor  appointed  new  officers  to 
govern  her  conquests.  Louis  VIII,  after  taking  possession 
of  Beaucaire  and  Carcassonne,  had  intrusted  to  a  seneschal 
the  command  of  each  of  these  cities.  Blanche  extended  their 
jurisdiction,  so  that  they  might  embrace  all  the  countries 
which  she  had  obtained  from  the  count  of  Toulouse.  The 
remainder  of  Languedoc  which  had  been  left  to  Raymond 
VII  was  not  finally  united  to  the  crown  till  the  year  1271, 
and  the  death  of  count  Raymond's  daughter. 

All  kinds  of  oppression  now  pressed  at  once  upon  the 


472 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


people.  They  suffered,  at  the  same  time,  from  the  arbitrary 
extent  and  the  capricious  exercise  of  the  royal  authority, 
from  the  power  of  the  nobles,  from  the  power  of  the  priests, 
and  from  the  power  of  the  proprietors  of  the  soil,  wlio  claimed 
also  a  property  in  the  persons  of  their  villains.  But  in  this 
state  of  universal  sutferinn;,  the  people  of  Prance,  as  well  as 
those  of  the  rest  of  Europe,  appeared  to  resi(rn  themselves  to 
the  ills  which  were  inflicted  on  their  bodies,  and  only  de- 
manded liberty  for  their  souls.  The  sanctuary  of  conscience 
was  the  only  one  the  entrance  to  which  they  still  endeavoured 
to  defend,  surrounded  as  they  were  by  such  a  host  of  tyrannies. 
We  cannot  reflect  without  emotion,  that  tormented  by  neces- 
sities, by  cares  and  by  sorrows,  the  independence  of  the  mind 
was  the  only  boon  they  demanded,  and  that  this  was  refused 
them  by  their  suspicious  masters,  with  the  same  unfeelintr 
cruelty  as  the  rest. 

1131 — 1236.  'J'he  reform  which  had  commenced  in  Albi- 
fjeois  had  been  extinguished  there  by  the  arms  of  half  Europe. 
Blood  never  ceased  to  flow,  nor  the  flames  to  devour  their 
victims  ill  these  provinces,  now  abandoned  to  the  dark  fanati- 
cism of  the  inquisitors.  But  that  terror  vi-hich  had  dispersed 
the  heretics,  had  also  scattered  sparks  through  all  Europe, 
by  which  the  torch  of  reason  might  be  again  rekindled.  No 
voice,  no  outward  appearance  announced  the  preaching  of 
reform,  or  troubled  the  public  tranquillity.  Yet,  the  proscribed 
Albigenses,  who,  far  from  their  country,  had  found  an  asy- 
lum in  the  cottage  of  the  peasant,  or  the  poor  artisan,  whose 
labours  they  shared  in  profound  obscurity,  had  taught  their 
hosts  to  read  the  gospel  in  common,  to  pray  in  their  native 
tongue  without  the  ministry  of  priests,  to  praise  God,  and 
gratefully  submit  to  the  chastisements  which  his  hand  in- 
flicted, as  the  means  of  their  sanctification.  In  vain  did  the 
inquisition  believe  that  it  had  compelled  human  reason  to 
submission,  and  established  an  invariable  rule  of  faith.  In 
the  midst  of  the  darkness  which  it  had  created,  it  saw,  all  at 
once,  some  luminous  points  appear  where  it  would  least  have 
expected  them.  Its  eflbrts  to  extinguish,  served  only  to 
scatter  them,  and  no  sooner  had  it  conquered  than  it  was 
compelled  to  renew  the  combat. 

Gregory  IX,  who  had  deemed  the  very  soil  of  Languedoe 
polluted,  by  its  having  produced  so  many  sectaries,  and  that 
the  count  of  Toulouse  could  not  be  innocent,  whilst  he  had 
so  many  heretics  among  his  subjects,  all  at  once  discovered, 
with  alarm,  that  even  at  Rome  he  was  surrounded  with  here- 
tics. To  give  an  example  to  Christendom,  he  caused  a  great 
number  of  them  to  be  burned  before  the  gates  of  Santa  Maria 
Majora ;  he  afterwards  imprisoned  in  the  convents  of  la  Cava, 
and  of  the  monte  Cassiuo,  those  who  were  priests  or  clerks, 
and  who  had  been  publicly  degraded,  with  those  that  had 
given  signs  of  penitence.  At  the  same  time  he  caused  the 
senator  of  Rome  to  promulgate  an  edict,  which  determined 
the  different  punishments  to  be  assigned  to  the  heretics,  to 
those  who  encouraged  them,  to  those  who  should  give  them 
an  asylum,  and  to  those  who  neglected  to  accuse  them ;  al 
ways  dividing  the  confiscations  between  the  spy  who  de- 
nounces, and  the  judge  who  condemns,  that  the  scaffolds 
might  never  be  left  without  victims;  a  combination  which  the 
Roman  court  has  not  renounced  to  this  day.  He  sent  the  seu 
ators'  edict  and  his  own  bull  to  the  archbishop  of  Milan,  to 
engage  him  to  follow  his  example.  He  afterwards  profited 
by  his  recent  reconciliation  with  Frederic  II,  to  announce  to 
him  that  Catharins,  Paterins,  Poor  of  Lyons,  and  other  here- 
tics, formed  in  the  school  of  the  Albigenses,  had,  at  the  same 
time,  appeared  in  Lombardy  and  in  the  two  Sicilies,  and  to 
obtain  from  his  friendship  an  edict  which  has  gained  him  the 
eulogium  of  the  annalist  of  the  church,  and  has  been  deposited 
in  the  pontifical  archives.  By  this  edict  the  emperor  com- 
manded all  podestats  and  other  judges,  immediately  to  deliver 
to  the  flames  every  man  who  should  be  convicted  of  heresy 
by  the  bishop  of  his  diocese,  and  to  pull  out  the  tongue  of 
those  to  whom  the  bishop  should  think  it  proper  to  show 
favour,  that  they  might  not  corrupt  others,  by  attempting  to 
justify  tliemselves.  After  having  thus  raged  in  Italy  against 
the  fugitive  Albigenses  and  their  disciples,  Gregory  IX  did 
not  forget  to  pursue  them  in  France.  He  wrote  to  the  arch- 
bishop of  Bourges,  and  to  the  bishop  of  Anxerre,  to  exhort 
them  to  show  themselves  worthy  of  the  sacred  ordination  they 
had  received,  by  committing  to  the  flames  all  the  heretics  that 
had  been  discovered  at  la  Charite  upon  the  Loire. 

The  pope  might  have  concluded,  from  seeing  the  apostles 
of  the  Albigensian  reformation  spread  through  a  great  part  of 
Europe,  that  he  had  but  ill  served  his  church,  by  granting 
them  no  respite  in  their  own  country.  He  did  not,  however, 
reason  thus,  but  on  the  contrary,  endeavoured  to  redouble  the 


ardour  of  the  persecutions  in  the  countship  of  Toulouse,  by 
giving  Raymond  VII  to  expect  that  he  would,  on  this  condi- 
tion, restore  to  him  the  marquisate  of  Provence.  Raymond, 
either  converted  or  terrified,  no  longer  refused  any  act  of  in- 
quisition or  of  cruelty  against  his  unhappy  subjects.  In  1232 
he  consented  to  associate  himself  with  the  new  bishop  of 
Toulouse,  to  surprise  by  night  a  house  in  which  they  dis- 
covered nineteen  relapsed  men  and  women,  whom  they  caused 
to  perish  in  the  flames.  Notwithstanding  this  shameful  conde- 
scension, the  condition  of  count  Raymond  was  scarcely  ame- 
liorated. Sometimes  he  was  suspected  by  the  bishops  of  his 
states  of  not  seconding  them  sincerely  in  their  persecutions. 
Sometimes  it  pleased  them  to  humble  him,  only  to  imitate 
their  predecessors,  or  perhaps  to  enrich  themselves  with  his 
spoils.  Gregory  IX  was  himself  obliged  to  recommend  him 
to  the  bishop  of  Tournay,  his  legate  in  the  province,  inviting 
him  "to  water  him  kind!)',  as  a  young  plant,  and  to  nourish 
hirn  with  the  milk  of  the  church." 

Others  of  the  Albigenses  had  found  a  refuge  in  the  province 
of  Gascony,  which  depended  on  the  king  of  England,  but 
where  the  authority  of  the  government  was  almost  absolutely 
disregarded,  so  that  the  heretics,  masters  of  the  strong  castles, 
defended  themselves  by  open  force.  Gregory  IX  wrote  to 
the  knights  of  Saint  James  of  Galicia,  to  exterminate  them 
with  fire  and  sword,  and  he  charged  the  archbishops  of  Auch 
and  of  Bourdeaux,  to  give  every  kind  of  succour  to  these 
knights. 

Rome  was  soon  after  alarmed  by  the  news,  that  the  same 
reform  w  hich  had  been  so  often  extinguished,  yet  was  always 
breaking  out  afresh,  had  first  appeared  in  the  centre  of  Ger- 
many, and  that  the  city  of  Stettin  was  subjected  to  those 
same  heretics,  who,  as  they  thought,  had  been  extirpated  in 
Languedoe.  Gregory  addressed  bulls  to  the  bishops  of  Min- 
den,  of  Lubeck,  and  of  Rachhasbourg  in  Styria,  to  induce 
them  to  preach  up  a  crusade  against  the  heretics.  In  order 
to  excite  greater  horror  against  these  sectaries,  the  most  fear- 
ful things  were  related  concerning  them,  which  excited  as 
much  astonishment  as  they  did  abomination.  A  hideous  toad, 
said  the  pope,  was  presented  at  once  to  the  adoration  and  the 
caresses  of  the  initiated.  The  same  being,  who  was  no  other 
than  the  devil,  afterwards  took,  successively,  different  forms, 
all  equally  revolting,  and  all  offered  to  the  salutations  of  his 
worshippers.  Such  an  accusation  could  not  fail  of  success. 
The  fanatics  took  arms  in  crowds,  under  the  conduct  of  the 
German  bishops.  The  duke  of  Brabant  and  the  count  of 
Holland  joined  them,  and  took  the  command  of  this  army  of 
the  cross.  Those  amongst  the  sectaries,  who  were  not  in  a 
condition  to  carry  arms,  or  who  had  not  taken  refuge  in  the 
strong  places,  were  first  brought  to  judgment;  and,  in  the 
year  1233,  "an  innumerable  multitude  of  heretics  was  burned 
alive,  through  all  Germany  :  a  still  greater  number  was  con- 
verted." The  army  of  the  crusaders  afterwards  marched 
against  Stettin:  the  sectaries  had  the  boldness  to  arrest  ihein 
in  the  open  field  ;  b\it  six  thousand  of  them  were  destroyed  in 
the  combat,  others  were  driven  into  the  Oder  and  drowned, 
and  the  whole  race  was  exterminated. 

Gregory  IX,  rejoicing  in  his  success,  thoughthe  might  now 
occupy  himself  with  converting  the  powerful  military  colony 
of  Saracens,  which  Frederic  II  had  established  at  Nocera. 
As  these  mussulmans  spoke  the  Italian  language,  he  commis- 
sioned the  dominican  friars  to  go  and  preach  Christianity  to 
them.  But  Frederic,  who  had  already  disputed  with  the  pope, 
and  who  very  well  knew  that  he  might  quarrel  with  him 
again,  was  not  greatly  pleased  with  these  proselyting  ell'orts 
to  shake  the  fidelity  of  the  only  soldiers  of  his  army  who 
were  not  dependent  upon  the  monks.  Religion  was  with  him 
only  a  branch  of  politics,  and  after  having  established,  in 
each  province,  and  in  each  city  of  the  two  Sicilies,  a  tribunal 
composed  of  a  priest  and  a  laic,  fur  the  burning  of  the  here- 
tics, he  had  brought  before  this  tribunal  all  the  rebels  whom 
he  had  vanquished ;  and,  amongst  others,  had  burned,  to  the 
great  scandal  of  the  holy  father,  some  insurgents  at  Messina, 
who  were  guilty  of  no  other  heresy  than  that  of  having  re- 
sisted his  will. 

Gregory  IX,  therefore,  turned  towards  France,  the  only 
country  in  Christendom  where  persecution  was  unniiligated, 
and  fully  satisfied  his  heart.  It  was  there  that  he  established 
that  tribunal  to  which  he  confided  the  defence  of  the  faith,  ren- 
dering it  independent,  not  only  of  the  civil  power,  but  also  of 
the  prelates  and  all  the  secular  clergy.  The  family  of  Saint 
Dominic,  or  the  order  of  the  preachers,  known  in  France 
under  the  name  of  Jacobins,  which  this  father  had  founded, 
appeared  to  Gregory  fittest  to  receive  this  trust.  Saint  Do- 
minic died  at  Boulogne  on  the  6th  of  August,  1221.    He  pro- 


CRUSADES  OF  THE  ALBIGENSES. 


tested  on  bis  death  bed,  in  the  presence  of  his  brethren,  that 
he  bad  preserved  his  virginity  to  that  hour.  Such  chastity 
in  a  monk  was  reckoned  a  thing  hitherto  unheard  of,  and 
almost  miraculous;  and  the  indefatigable  zeal,  with  which  he 
had  consecrated  his  life  to  the  extermination  of  the  heretics, 
was  greatly  admired.  On  the  13th  of  July,  1233,  Gregory 
IX  commissioned  three  priests  to  inquire  into  the  miracles 
which  had  been  wrought  by  the  invocation  of  Saint  Dominic, 
or  around  his  tomb,  and  upon  the  3d  of  July,  123 1,  his  canon- 
ization was  definitively  pronounced. 

It  was  at  the  same  period  when  the  court  of  Rome  was  oc- 
cupied with  the  canonization  of  Saint  Dominic,  that  it  pub- 
lished, in  the  month  of  April,  1233,  the  bull  by  which  it  con- 
fided to  the  dominicians  alone  the  exercise  of  the  Inriuisition, 
under  pretence  of  preventing  the  bishops  from  being  inter- 
rupted in  the  exercise  of  their  pastoral  functions.  The 
provinces  of  Bourges,  Bourdeaux,  Narbonne,  Audi,  Vienne, 
Aries,  Aix,  and  Embrun,  which  comprehended  all  that  part 
of  France  where  the  Provengal  language  was  spoken,  were 
particularly  confided  to  them,  though  their  authority  and 
power  to  proceed  by  sentence  against  the  accused,  extended 
over  the  whole  kingdom.  Gregory  IX  the  same  year  ad- 
dressed a  great  number  of  letters  to  Louis  IX,  exhorting  him 
"  to  unite  his  zeal  with  that  of  the  monks  of  the  order  of 
preachers,  and  to  inflict  upon  the  relapsed  heretics,  convicted 
by  the  inquisitors,  their  merited  punishments."  He  also  re- 
commended the  dominicians  to  all  the  prelates  of  the  kingdom, 
to  the  count  of  Toulouse,  and  of  Foix,  and  to  all  the  other 
counts,  viscounts,  barons,  and  seneschals,  of  France,  with  all 
the  barons  of  Aquitaine,  prayino-  them  to  favour  these  monks 
in  the  execution  of  their  commission.  The  bishop  of 
Tournay,  legate  of  the  holy  'see,  to  whom  Gregory  IX 
had  committed  the  final  organization  of  the  inquisition, 
named  two  dominicans  at  Toulouse  and  two  in  each  city 
of  the  province,  to  form  the  tribunal  of  the  faith.  He 
gave  them  an  instruction  in  which  he  enumerated  the  er- 
rors of  the  heretics,  and  the  series  of  questions  by  which, 
without  alarming  them,  they  might  be  brought  to  implicate 
themselves  sufficiently,  or  to  denounce  their  accomplices. 
In  the  exposition,  made  by  the  bishop  of  Tournay,  of  the  er- 
rors of  the  Albigenses,  we  find  nearly  all  the  principles  upon 
which  Luther  and  Calvin  founded  the  reformation  of  the  six- 
teenth century.  Thus  the  Albigenses  did  not  believe  in 
transubstantiation,  in  the  efficacy  of  indulgences,  in  thevalid- 
itj'  of  absolution,  or  in  the  inability  of  those,  who  were 
not  priests,  to  perform  the  mysteries  of  religion.  But  the 
bishop  of  Tournay  pretends,  that  the  heretics  mingled  with 
these  articles  of  belief,  which  he  denounces  as  their  peculiar 
tenets,  absurd,  disgusting,  or  atrocious,  practices,  which 
he  also  details,  to  render  them  odious  to  the  populace. 

Whilst  the  bishop  of  Tournay  was  labouring  at  the  new  or- 
ganization of  the  inquisition,  it  appeared  to  him  that  the  count  of 
Toulouse  showed  neither  sufficient  severity  noractivity  in  the 
pursuit  of  heresy.  He  therefore  accused  him  to  the  king  of  not 
having  fully  executed  the  orders  of  the  holy  see,  or  the  treaty  of 
Paris.  In  the  autumn  of  1233,  Raymond  VII  was  constrain- 
ed to  repair  to  Melun,  with  the  legate,  the  archbishop  of  Nar- 
bonne, and  many  other  bishops,  to  hold  a  conference  with 
Louis  IX  and  his  mother.  At  that  meeting  the  inquisition 
received  a  new  sanction  from  the  authority  of  the  king.  Ray- 
mond subscribed  the  statutes  which  were  presented  to  him. 
By  those  statutes,  which  were  afterwards  published  in  his 
name  and  have  come  down  to  us,  he  engaged  to  pursue  and  ex- 
terminate those  who  had  killed  the  persecutors  of  the  heretics, 
and  to  reward  with  a  mark  of  silver,  whoever  should  de- 
nounce, arrest,  or  cause  to  be  arrested,  a  heretic;  to  cause 
every  house  to  be  pulled  down  in  which  an  asylum  had  been 
offered  to  one  of  the  proscribed,  or  even  where  he  might  have 
found  a  burial ;  to  confiscate  the  goods  of  those  who  should 
have  rendered  them  any  kind  office  ;  to  destroy  every  lonely 
cottage,  every  grotto,  every  fastness,  where  they  might  find  a 
refuge;  to  take  from  the  children  of  the  heretics,  and  confis- 
cate, whatever  property  they  might  have  inherited  from  their 
parents;  to  punish,  by  the  confiscation  of  all  their  goods,  and 
that  without  prejudice  to  corporal  punishments,  all  those  who, 
being  called  upon  by  the  inquisitors  to  assist  in  the  arrest  of 
a  heretic,  should  either  refuse,  or,  by  design,  should  sufler  the 
accused  to  escape.  In  these  same  statutes,  imposed  upon 
count  Raymond,  numerous  articles  were  added  to  the  preced- 
ing, to  reach  those  who  should  endeavour  by  quitting  their 
homes,  or  conveying  their  property  by  fictitious  sales,  or  by 
other  means,  to  escape  from  the  rapacity  of  the  othcers. 
These  articles  agreed  on  at  Melun  were  afterwards  published 
at  Toulouse  on  the  ISth  of  February,  1231.  A  council  held 
Vol.  II.— 3  K 


at  Beziers,  in  the  same  year,  under  the  presidency  of  the 
legate,  added  still  more  to  this  oppression  by  permitting  any 
of  the  faithful  to  arrest  every  suspected  person,  in  any  place 
whatsoever,  upon  an  accusation  of  heresy,  and  by  threatening 
with  the  heaviest  penalties  those  who  should  in  any  way  ob- 
struct these  private  arrests,  as  soon  as  the  word  heresy  was 
pronounced. 

The  reader  is,  doubtless,  wearied  with  the  repetition  of 
the  same  decrees,  the  same  menaces,  and  the  same  horrors ; 
but  if  we  did  not  follow  the  persecutors  in  the  annual  renewal 
of  their  laws,  and  of  their  sanguinary  acts,  we  should  give  a 
very  false  idea  of  the  progress  of  power,  and  of  the  sufferings 
of  the  people.  Heresy  was  not  destroyed  by  those  violent 
shocks,  after  which  we  may  at  least  be  permitted  to  enjoy 
the  peace  and  silence  of  the  tomb.  These  disastrous  revolu- 
tions were  succeeded  by  a  protracted  agony,  but  tranquillity 
was  never  restored  ;  persecution  was  never  suspended,  even 
by  the  death  of  its  victims.  The  only  expedient  for  main- 
taining the  unity  of  the  faith  which  the  church  had  ever 
known,  was  to  burn  those  who  separated  from  it.  For  two 
hundred  years  the  fires  had  been  kindled,  yet  every  day 
catholics  abandoned  the  faith  of  their  fathers  to  embrace  that 
which  must  conduct  them  to  the  flames.  It  was  in  vain  that 
Gregory  IX  had  destroyed  in  1231  all  the  heretics  who  had 
been  concealed  at  Rome,  and  in  the  states  of  the  church ; 
numerous  letters  addressed  by  him  in  1235  to  all  the  bishops 
of  that  part  of  Italy,  announced,  that  notwithstanding  the 
severity  of  the  inquisitors,  the  paterins  had  made  fresh  pro- 
gress. A  council  was  also  held  the  same  year  in  France,  at 
Xarbonne,  where  the  archbishops  of  Narbonne,  of  Aries,  and 
of  Aix,  presided,  which  addressed  a  circular  to  the  inquisi- 
tors of  the  three  provinces,  declaring,  likewise,  that  heresy 
had  broken  out  afresh. 

Amongst  the  twenty-nine  articles  of  this  circular,  which 
was  to  serve  for  instruction  to  the  inquisitors,  there  is  none 
where  the  punishment  of  death  is  expressly  pronounced, 
though  in  most  of  them  it  is  understood  by  the  hypocritical 
phrase  o(  delivering  the  criminal  to  the  secular  arm.  In  fact 
death  was  the  invariable  consequence  of  revolt  or  relapse,  and 
the  great  business  of  the  council  of  Narbonne,  appears  to 
have  been  (§  10, 11, 12,)  to  multiply  the  cases  in  which,  by  a 
fiction  of  law,  they  might  apply  the  punishment  of  relapse 
or  revolt.  The  forms  of  procedure  prescribed  by  this  circu- 
lar are  perhaps  more  important  than  even  the  definition  of 
the  crimes.  "  As  to  those  you  are  to  arrest,"  say  the  pre- 
lates, §  ly,  "  we  think  proper  to  add,  that  no  man  can  be  ex- 
empted from  imprisonment,  on  account  of  his  wife,  how- 
ever young  she  may  be  ;  no  woman,  on  account  of  her  hus- 
band ;  nor  both  of  them  on  account  of  their  children,  their  re- 
lations, or  those  to  whom  they  are  most  necessary.  Let  not 
any  one  be  exempted  from  prison,  on  account  of  weakness, 
or  age,  or  any  similar  cause.  If  you  have  not  succeeded  in 
arresting  them,  hesitate  not  to  proceed  against  the  absent,  as 
if  they  were  present,  §  22  ;  take  particular  care,  in  conformity 
with  the  discerning  will  of  the  apostolic  see,  not  to  publish 
by  word  or  sign  the  names  of  the  witnesses ;  and  if  the 
culprit  pretends  that  he  has  enemies  and  that  they  have  con- 
spired against  him,  ask  the  names  of  those  enemies,  and 
the  cause  of  that  conspiracy,  for  thus  you  will  provide  for 
the  safety  of  the  witnesses,  and  the  conviction  of  the  accused. 
§21.  On  account  of  the  enormity  of  this  crime,  you  ought  to 
admit,  in  proof  of  it,  the  testimony  of  criminals,  of  infa- 
mous persons,  and  of  accomplices.  §26.  He  who  persists  in 
denying  a  fault,  of  which  he  may  be  convicted  by  witnesses, 
or  by  any  other  proof,  must  be  considered,  without  hesitation, 
as  an  impenitent  heretic. 

Such  favour  shown  to  informers,  such  precipitation  in  pro- 
nouncing the  ruin  of  a  family,  struck  with  terror  those  who 
were  the  most  attached  to  the  catholic  faith,  and  even  those 
who  had  to  reproach  themselves  with  their  share  in  the 
preceding  persecutions.  The  patience  of  the  Languedocians 
was  exhausted;  the  capitouls  of  Toulouse,  who  formed  the 
municipal  magistracy,  wished  to  oppose  the  continuance  of 
these  inquests.  They  could  no  longer  bear  the  spectacle 
daily  presented  to  them  b}'  the  inquisitors,  of  digging  up 
the  half-piitrified  bodies  of  those  against  whom  informations 
had  been  laid,  and  after  the  mockery  of  a  trial,  dragging 
them  on  a  hurdle  to  the  flames,  through  all  the  streets  of 
the  city.  The  capitouls  expelled  from  the  city  the  chaplains 
of  the  parochial  churches,  wlio  had  been  employed  b}'  the 
inquisitors  in  citing  witnesses,  and  they  prohibited  the  lat- 
ter from  appearing  or  deposing  in  future.  The  friar,  Wil- 
liam Arnold,  grand  inquisitor,  would,  not  recognize  the  au- 
thority of  the  magistracy,  and  he  took  his  departure  on  the 


474 


CHRISTIAN     LIBRARY. 


5tli  of  November,  1C35.  The  next  day  the  forty  jacobin 
monks,  who  ^\-cre  in  the  convent  of  St.  Dominic,  quitted 
the  city  in  procession.  On  the  10th  of  the  same  month,  ex- 
communication was  pronounced  against  Toulouse,  and  Ray- 
mond VII,  who  happened  then  to  be  with  Frederic  II  in  Alsace, 
was,  nevertheless,  included  in  the  same  sentence,  although  he 
hastened  to  make  his  submission,  and  recall  the  inquisitors. 
It  was  not  till  the  end  of  the  year  1236  that  he  could  obtain 
his  absolution  ;  and  Gregory  IX  charged  it  as  a  crime  against 
the  emperor,  that  he  had  communicated  with  this  count,  in 
spite  of  the  sentence  that  had  been  passed  upon  him. 

In  France,  as  well  as  throughout  the  rest  of  Europe,  in  the 
middle  age,  wherever  great  cities  were  found,  there  was  also 
a  principle  of  liberty  ;  whenever  these  great  cities  were  adja^ 
cent,  and  could  combine  their  efforts,  there  was  a  principle  of 
political  power  for  the  people.  The  early  multiplication  of 
cities,  in  certain  regions,  is  a  fact  which  it  is  not  always  easy 
to  explain.  The  first  rays  of  histor}',  in  the  middle  age,  dis- 
cover to  us  a  population,  numerous  and  united  in  certain  pro- 
vinces, and  thin  and  scattered  in  others.  W  hether  these  cities 
had  been  preserved  from  the  early  times  of  the  Roman  em- 
pire, or  whether  the  richness  of  the  soil,  commerce,  and  a 
wiser  government,  had  enabled  them  to  repair  their  losses, 
we  cannot  determine.  Next  to  Italy,  Provence  and  Langue- 
doc,  displayed  the  richest  and  most  populous  cities.  The 
war  against  the  Albigenses  had  not  been  able  to  destroy  this 
superiority  in  riches  and  population.  The  spirit  of  the  com- 
munes, which  was  fermenting  in  all  the  cities  of  France,  as- 
sumed a  more  republican  character  in  these  provinces. 

The  south  of  France,  which,  by  the  riches  of  its  cities,  and 
the  spirit  of  its  inhabitants,  presented  at  that  time  the  image 
of  Italy,  was,  besides,  not  uniformly  submitted  to  the  same 
monarchy.  The  immediate  authority  of  Louis  IX  only  ex- 
tended over  the  two  districts  of  Beaucaire  and  Carcassonne. 
Provence  held  from  the  empire;  Aquitaine  belonged  to  the 
king  of  England ;  Montpellier,  Perpignan,  and  some  neigh- 
bouring lordships,  to  the  king  of  Aragon;  and  a  part  of  Lan- 
guedoc  to  the  count  of  Toulouse.  These  were,  it  is  true,  all 
three  vassals  of  the  crown  of  France ;  but  vassals  so  power- 
ful, that  the  will  of  the  king  was  not  even  consulted,  about 
extending  or  restraining  the  privileges  of  the  citizens.  No- 
thing indicates  to  us  that  Louis  IX  had  occupied  himself  with 
the  republican  fermentation,  in  the  cities  of  the  south.  On 
the  contrary,  it  was  more  connected  with  the  policy  of  the 
Emperor  Frederic  II,  who,  at  this  period  attracted,  much 
more  than  the  young  king  of  France,  the  attention  of  all  Eu- 
rope ;  and  the  revolutions  which  were  now  preparing  in  Italy, 
must  also  have  had  an  influence  upon  all  the  cities  of  the  pro- 
vengal  language. 

Frederic  II  and  Gregory  IX,  too  proud  and  too  ambitious 
to  divide  their  power  between  them,  had  given  way  afresh  to 
mutual  animosities.  New  subjects  of  dispute  seemed  every 
day  to  arise,  and  every  day  their  correspondence  became  more 
bitter,  and  their  mutual  recriminations  announced  an  approach- 
ing explosion.  They  were,  nevertheless,  still  at  peace,  though 
each  suspected  the  other  as  the  secret  ally  of  all  his  enemies. 
Each,  in  fact,  nourished  the  popular  passions  in  the  states  of 
his  rival ;  not  from  a  desire  of  favouring  justice  or  liberty,  the 
rights  or  the  happiness  of  the  people,  but  only  in  order  to 
embarrass  and  weaken  him,  whom  at  present  he  dared  not 
call  his  enemy.  Frederic  excited  Pietro  Frangipani  to  stir 
up  the  Romans  against  the  government  of  the  pope,  and  to 
name  independent  magistrates,  whilst  Gregory  IX  correspon- 
ded with  the  citizens  of  Milan,  who  had  renewed  the  siege  of 
Lombardy,  and  still  kept  the  field  against  the  emperor. — 
Frederic  II  took  under  his  protection  the  republics,  or  the  im- 
perial cities  in  Provence,  which  had  declared  themselves  free, 
because  Raymond  Berenger,  count  of  Provence,  and  father- 
in-law  of  Saint  Louis,  had  shown  himself  zealous  in  the  cause 
of  the  church.  Although  the  kingdom  of  Aries  held  from  the 
empire,  Frederic  II  well  knew  that  he  should  derive  no  ad- 
vantage from  this  pretended  sovereignty.  Far  from  feeling 
any  jealousy  at  the  extension  which  the  cities  of  Marseilles 
and  Avignon  sought  to  give  to  their  privileges,  he  knew  that 
by  declaring  himself  their  protector,  against  their  direct  lord, 
he  should  attach  them  so  much  the  more  to  himself,  as  he 
should  render  them  more  free,  and  that  the  occupation  which 
he  should  thereby  give  to  Raymond  Berenger,  would  prevent 
him  from  assisting  the  pope  in  Lombardy. 

Of  the  four  republics  of  Provence,  that  of  Nice  had  already 
fallen.  It  had  been  reduced  on  the  9th  of  November,  lOOy, 
in  spite  of  all  the  aid  afforded  by  the  republic  of  Genoa,  to 
open  its  gates  to  Raymond  Beringer,  and  acknowledge  him 
as  absolute  sovereign.     The  republic  of  Aries,  which  the 


count  of  Provence  next  attacked,  resisted  till  1239,  when  it 
was  also  compelled  to  submission.  But  the  two  cities  of 
Avignon  and  Marseilles  displayed  more  vigour.  They  col- 
lected forces,  repulsed  the  soldiers  of  the  count  of  Provence, 
and  bestowed  the  command  of  their  troops,  with  prerogatives 
rather  honorary  than  real,  upon  Raymond  VII,  count  of  Tou- 
louse, who  was  so  much  the  dearer  to  them,  because  they 
saw  him  exposed  to  the  animosity  of  the  prelates. 

But  the  republican  spirit  not  only  manilesled  itself  in  the 
towns  of  Provence,  it  equally  animated  the  counsels  of  all 
the  cities  of  the  South.  We  have  seen  it  exhibited  at  Tou- 
louse in  the  resistance  made  by  the  capitouls  to  the  inquisi- 
tors. It  had  been  displayed  in  the  cities  submitted  to  the 
domain  of  king  Louis,  in  Narbonne  and  Nismes,  as  well  as 
at  ]\Iontpellier  and  Perpignan,  which  held  from  the  king  of 
Aragon,  and  at  Bayonne  and  Bourdeaux,  which  depended  on 
the  king  of  England.  A  letter  written  about  this  time,  by 
the  consuls  of  the  town  of  Narbonne,  to  the  consuls  of  Nis- 
mes, shows  us  that  both  those  cities,  though  dependant  on 
the  king  of  France,  called  themselves  republics  ;  that  the  spi- 
rit of  liberty  in  all  the  cities  equally  revolted  against  religious 
tyranny  and  civil  despotism  ;  and,  that  the  neighbouring  cities 
exerted  their  elTorts  to  form  a  coalition,  and  to  combine  their 
resistance. 

"To  the  venerable  and  discreet  Consuls  of  Nismes,  the 
Consuls  of  the  town  of  Narbonne,  health.  May  the  admin- 
istration of  your  republic  be  just,  botli  as  to  temporals  and 
spirituals.  We  desire  to  make  known  to  your  discretion  the 
dissension  which  has  happened  between  us  and  the  archbi- 
shop of  Narbonne,  as  well  as  some  of  the  preaching  breth- 
ren, by  whom  our  community  is  enormously  oppressed,  though 
it  is  ready  to  obej'  the  right,  and  hear  devoutly  the  orders  of 
the  church.  And  as,  according  to  your  equity,  you  ought  to 
have  compassion  on  those  that  are  unjustly  oppressed,  and  to 
obviate  the  ills  which  they  suffer,  we  supplicate  your  pru- 
dence, in  which  we  have  entire  confidence,  not  to  fear,  through 
fatigue,  to  listen  to  our  entire  relation  of  facts,  since  it  cannot 
be  abridged.  (We  feel  ourselves,  however,  obliged  to  sup- 
press a  part.)  As  we  have  said,  although  we  are  ready  to 
conform  to  right  in  every  thing,  our  archbishop,  who  wishes 
to  destroy  our  consulate,  has  involved  us  in  a  sentence  of  ex- 
communication, with  all  our  counsellors,  all  who  pay  the 
tribute  which  we  levy  for  the  government  of  our  republic, 
with  all  the  collectors.  He  has  also  submitted  to  a  general 
interdict  our  whole  university,  our  wives,  and  our  children. 
As  the  height  of  severity,  he  has  forbidden  under  pain  of  an- 
athema, to  all  our  notaries,  who  hold  any  public  office,  toper- 
form  any  act  for  any  member  of  the  community.  He  has  pro- 
hibited to  the  physicians  the  practice  of  medicine,  and  to  the 
priests  to  admit  any  one  to  communion  and  penitence,  unless 
it  be  in  the  article  of  death,  and  also  by  paying  eight  livres 
and  a  denier  to  be  released  from  that  sentence." 

The  consuls  of  Narbonne  afterwards  relate,  with  long  de- 
tails, the  causes  and  circumstances  of  their  quarrel  with  the 
archbishop,  and  the  vexations  they  endure  on  the  part  of  the 
inquisitors.  They  affirm  that  these,  despising  all  the  rules 
of  justice,  thought  of  nothing  but  to  get  possession  of  the 
property  of  the  rich,  even  when  they  were  exposed  to  no  sus- 
picion of  heresy.  They  add,  that  when  the  inquisitors  had 
plundered  them,  sometimes  they  dismissed  them  without 
trial,  and  sometimes  they  caused  them  to  perish  in  prison, 
without  pronouncing  any  sentence  upon  them.  They  then 
proceed  to  give  examples  of  the  interrogatories  of  the  inquis- 
itors, to  which  it  was  impossible  to  reply  without  being  con- 
victed of  heresy.  The  greater  part  of  these  questions  are  as 
improper  to  be  repeated,  as  they  were  incapable  of  being  an- 
swered, being  frivolous,  captious,  and  indecent;  but  they  af- 
terwards passed  to  others  of  a  somewhat  different  kind. — 
"They  demanded  of  these  simple  laics,  if  the  host  which  the 
priest  consecrated  contains  all  the  body  of  Jesus  Christ  1  If 
the  laic  answers  that  it  contains  the  entire  body  of  Jesus 
Christ,  the  inquisitor  directly  replies:  You  believe  then  that 
when  four  priests,  who  are  in  one  church,  consecrate  each  of 
them  a  host,  as  they  ought  to  do,  each  of  these  hosts  contains 
the  body  of  Jesus  Christ?  If  the  laicreplies  that  he  believes 
so,  you  think  then,  replies  the  inquisitor,  that  there  are  four 
Gods  1     Then  the  affrighted  laic  affirms  the  contrary." 

This  letter,  which  was  written  about  the  year  1234,  ap- 
pears rather  destined  to  be  a  protest,  or  an  appeal  to  public 
opinion,  than  a  demand  of  effective  succour.  The  distance 
between  the  cities  of  southern  France  was  too  great  to  allow 
of  the  one  marching  its  militia  to  the  assistance  of  the  others. 
Neither  do  we  know  what  reply  the  citizens  of  Nismes  ad- 
dressed to  those  of  Narbonne.     Perhaps  this  letter  gave  oc- 


CRUSADES  OF  THE  ALBIGENSES. 


475 


casion  to  a  more  close  alliance ;  perhaps  an  association  of  the 
cities  began  to  be  formed  in  the  provinces  of  the  provencal 
language;  and  as,  by  following  the  example  of  the  league  of 
Lombardy,  it  might  proceed  to  acquire  greater  consistency, 
perhaps  it  occasioned  some  apprehension  to  Gregory  IX ; 
perhaps  he  feared,  above  all,  the  alliance  which  he  saw  ready 
to  be  formed  between  several  of  these  cities,  the  count  of 
Toulouse,  and  the  emperor  Frederic  II.  At  least,  and  with 
out  our  being  able  to  explain  the  reason,  an  order  of  the  court 
of  Rome  was,  in  1237,  addressed  to  the  inquisitors  of  Langue- 
doc,  to  intimate  to  them,  that  they  should  suspend  all  inquiry 
after  the  heretics  ;  and,  in  fact,  throughout  this  province,  from 
the  year  1237  to  the  year  1241,  the  inquisition  remained  in  a 
state  of  total  inactivity. 

12-10.  To  the  agitation  which,  during  that  period,  was  ex- 
cited throughout  all  France,  by  a  double  crusade  against  the 
Greeks  at  Constantinople,  and  the  Mussulmans  at  Jerusalem, 
a  state  of  languor  and  discouragement  succeeded,  when  the 
ill  success,  by  which  both  had  been  attended,  became  fully 
known.  The  great  lords,  who  returned  from  these  two  ex- 
peditions, entered  quietly  into  their  states,  with  few  soldiers, 
few  equipages,  and  no  money;  ashamed  of  their  failure,  of 
their  precipitate  return,  and  of  the  condition  in  which  they 
had  left  their  companions  in  arms.  The  most  powerful  of 
them  disappeared,  for  some  time,  from  the  scene,  and  seemed 
to  wait  quietly  till  their  reverses  were  forgotten,  whilst,  in 
the  period  which  immediately  followed  their  return,  history 
is  occupied  only  with  the  lords  who  had  taken  no  part  in 
these  expeditions. 

Amongst  these,  Raymond  VII,  count  of  Toulouse,  was  still 
one  of  the  most  powerful.  He  began  to  revive  after  his  long 
sufferings.  The  proceedings  of  the  inquisition  had  been,  for 
a  time,  suspended  in  his  country,  and  he  endeavoured  to  profit 
by  the  repose  which  he  enjoyed,  and  by  the  reverses  which 
his  enemies  had  experienced,  to  recover,  in  part,  that  consid- 
eration which  he  had  lost  by  the  disastrous  treaty  of  Paris. 
In  this  hope,  he  cultivated  the  friendship  of  Frederic  II,  who 
appeared,  at  that  time,  sufficiently  powerful  to  protect  him 
against  his  enemies,  the  priests.  During  his  misfortunes, 
Raymond  VII  had  always  found  his  neighbour,  Raymond 
Berenger,  count  of  Provence,  ready,  for  his  own  advantage, 
still  more  to  aggravate  them.  This  count  had  embraced  the 
part  of  the  church  against  Frederic  II,  and  the  emperor,  by  a 
sentence  pronounced  at  Cremona,  in  the  month  of  December, 
1239,  had  put  Raymond  Berenger  IV  to  the  ban  of  the  em- 
pire, and  had  granted  his  countship  of  Forcalquier  to  the 
count  of  Toulouse.  Raymond  VII,  in  consequence,  in  the 
month  of  January,  1240,  assembled  his  army  on  the  borders 
of  the  Rhone  to  attack  the  Provengals. 

Raymond  soon  took  possession  of  a  number  of  small  places 
in  Provence,  and  amongst  others,  of  the  castle  of  Trinque- 
taille,  in  the  island  of  Camargue,  opposite  to  Aries.  He  af- 
terwards undertook  the  siege  of  that  great  city,  which  Ray- 
mond Berenger  had  compelled  to  submit  to  himself.  The 
Marseillois,  who  saw,  in  the  subjugation  of  that  neighbouring 
republic,  the  fate  with  which  they  themselves  were  menaced, 
ardently  desired  to  restore  Aries  to  liberty,  and  seconded  the 
attempts  of  Raymond  with  all  their  power.  The  citizens  of 
Aries,  in  the  mean  time,  joined  themselves  to  the  garrison  of 
the  count  who  defended  their  walls,  that  they  might  not  re- 
main exposed  to  the  horrors  which  were  always  reserved  for 
the  vanquished.  The  resistance  was  prolonged  during  great 
part  of  the  summer,  and  the  count  of  Toulouse  was  at  last 
obliged  to  raise  the  siege.  He  then  returned  by  the  countship 
of  Venaissin,  and  remained  some  time  at  Avignon,  to  estab- 
lish peace  in  that  republic,  where  troubles  had  arisen  on  ac- 
count of  the  election  of  a  podestat. 

Several  knights  of  the  district  of  Carcassonne,  subjects 
consequently  of  the  king  of  France,  took  upon  themselves  to 
testify  their  zeal  against  the  count  of  Toulouse,  by  going  to 
the  assistance  of  the  count  of  Provence,  but,  falling  into  an 
ambuscade,  they  were  put  to  the  rout.  Raymond,  however, 
recognising  them  as  French  subjects,  thought  only  of  appeas- 
ing the  anger  which  the  king  might  feel  at  the  action.  He 
immediately  wrote  to  the  king,  expressing  his  desire  to  re- 
main at  peace  with  France,  and  throwing  the  blame  of  the 
defeat  they  had  received,  upon  their  own  imprudence.  On 
the  other  side,  Henry  HI,  king  of  England,  had  written  to 
Frederic  II,  to  recommend  to  his  clemency  the  count  of  Pro- 
vence, his  father-in-law,  and,  as  he  received  from  the  emperor 
a  favourable  reply,  it  appeared  that  peace  was  about  to  be  es- 
tablished upon  the  borders  of  the  Rhone,  when  all  at  once, 
the  young  Trengavel,  son  of  that  Raymond  Roger,  viscount 
of  Bcziers  and  of  Carcassonne,  whom  Simon  de  Montfort  had, 


in  1209,  caused  to  perish  in  his  prisons,  appeared  in  the  coun- 
try to  claim  the  heritage  of  his  fathers.  He  was  accompanied 
by  Oliver  de  Termes,  Jourdain  de  Saissac,  and  a  great  num- 
ber of  other  knights,  who  had  been  proscribed  under  suspi- 
cion of  heresy,  and  had  afterwards  distinguished  themselves 
in  Aragon  and  Valencia,  in  the  war  against  the  Moors.  Their 
memory  was  still  dear  to  their  ancient  vassals  ;  and  they  were 
especially  preferred  to  the  new  masters,  whose  yoke  the  peo- 
ple had  ever  since  been  obliged  to  support.  At  their  arrival, 
therefore,  the  whole  country  rose  in  their  cause.  In  this  mo- 
ment of  danger,  the  archbishop  of  Narbonne  and  the  bishop 
of  Toulouse  shut  themselves  up  in  Carcassonne,  to  confirm 
the  citizens  in  their  fidelity  to  the  king  of  France.  They  ex- 
pected to  have  made  sure  of  them,  by  causing  them  to  renew 
their  oaths;  the  inhabitants  of  the  town  of  Carcassonne  how- 
ever rose  in  the  night  of  the  18th  of  September,  after  celebra- 
ting the  feast  of  the  nativity  of  the  virgin,  and  received  Tren- 
cavel  within  their  walls. 

Louis  IX,  early  informed  of  the  approach  of  those  ancient 
exiles,  took  active  measures  to  arrest  a  revolt  which  appeared 
to  him  as  much  directed  against  heaven  as  against  himself. 
He  dispatched  into  Languedoc  his  chamberlainTjohn  de  Beau- 
mont, with  many  other  knights,  to  collect  an  army  with  all 
expedition.  Trencavel,  apprised  of  the  approach  of  the 
French,  and  not  having  been  able  during  a  month  that  he  had 
occupied  the  suburbs  of  Carcassonne  to  obtain  possession  of 
the  city,  felt  that  he  could  not  maintain  himself  there,  and 
abandoned  it  on  the  11th  of  September,  to  shut  himself  up  in 
Montreal.  He  sustained  there  a  long  siege,  and  when  at  last 
he  was  forced  to  surrender  the  place  to  John  de  Beaumont,  it 
was  by  an  honourable  capitulation,  which  permitted  him  to 
retire  into  Catalonia  with  all  his  knights.  But,  on  the  other 
hand,  the  inhabitants,  and  all  those  who  not  being  gentlemen 
were  judged  unworthy  of  being  included  in  the  capitulation, 
were  treated  by  John  de  Beaumont  with  that  rigour  in  which 
the  fanatics  glory  when  they  imagine  themselves  called  upon 
to  avenge  the  cause  of  God.  Nangis  gives  us  no  details  ;  he 
only  says  of  the  king's  lieutenant,  We  may  with  truth  apply 
to  him  the  words  of  Scripture,  "In  his  wrath  he  stamped  the 
earth  with  his  feet,  and  the  nations  were  dumb  with  astonish- 
ment, at  beholding  his  fury." 

During  the  expedition  of  Trencaval,  Raymond  coimt  of 
Toulouse  had  remained  in  suspense  respecting  the  part  he 
ought  to  take  ;  but  when  he  saw  that  lord  obliged  again  to 
quit  the  country,  his  partisans  given  up  to  punishment,  the 
French  flocking  to  range  themselves  under  the  royal  stan- 
dards, and  Louis  IX  employing  all  his  activity  to  arrest  the 
rebellion,  he  was  afraid  of  seeing  the  crusades  against  Albi- 
geois  renewed  in  all  their  fury,  and  resolved  upon  disarming 
the  church  and  the  French  by  an  entire  submission.  He 
treated  first  with  the  cardinal  legate,  James  bishop  of  Prenes- 
tum.  He  engaged,  before  the  1st  of  March,  1241,  to  aban- 
don the  cause  of  the  emperor,  who  had  been  again  excommu- 
nicated by  Gregory  IX,  and  who  was  endeavouring  to  avenge 
himself  upon  the  weakest  cities  of  the  states  of  The  church. 
Raymond  even  promised  to  assist,  with  all  his  power,  the 
Roman  church  against  Frederic  II  who  called  himself  emperor, 
and  against  all  who  supported  his  pretended  rights.  Ray- 
mond afterwards  set  out  for  the  court  of  France,  and  having 
found  Louis  IX  at  Montargis,  swore  to  him  on  the  14th 
of  March  to  assist  him  "  towards  and  against  all,"  to  drive 
from  his  country  the  fai/di/s,  or  those  who  had  been  proscrib- 
ed on  account  of  their  faith,  and  to  assist  the  king  in  destroy- 
ing them  in  that  part  of  Languedoc  which  belonged  to  him. 
Raymond,  on  his  return  to  Toulouse,  made  peace  also  with 
Raymond  Berenger,  count  of  Provence,  and,  on  the  18th  of 
April,  at  Lunel,  signed  a  treaty  with  the  king  of  Aragon. 

1242.  Raymond  VII  made  still  one  more  struggle  to  free 
himself  and  his  country,  before  the  chains  of  slavery  were  final- 
ly and  irrevocably  riveted  upon  him.  He  took  advantage  of 
the  war  between  England  and  the  French  barons,  and  Louis 
IX,  to  form  a  league  with  the  kings  of  Spain,  who  possessed 
fiefs  in  France,  and  the  great  lords  of  the  Provengal  language. 
Although  abandoned  in  the  moment  of  trial  bj'  the  nreater 
part  of  his  allies,  he,  in  the  month  of  April,  1242,  held  an 
assembly  of  the  lords  at  the  foot  of  the  Pyrenees,  who  were 
for  the  greater  part  his  vassals,  and  who  agreed  in  concert 
with  him  to  declare  war  against  France.  Roger  count  of 
Foix  was  the  first  who  promised  to  second  him  with  all  his 
forces;  the  counts  of  Armagnac,  of  Cominges,  and  of  Rho- 
dez,  and  a  great  number  of  viscounts  and  lords  made  similar 
engagements  with  him. 

About  the  middle  of  June,  the  combined  army  of  the  Lan- 
guedocians  entered  the  provinces  which  Raymond  VII  had 


476 


CHRISTIAN   LIBRARY. 


ceded  to  Louis  IX,  by  Ihe  treaty  of  Paris.  In  a  short  time 
they  conquered  the  greater  part  of  Rasez,  of  Minervois,  of 
Narbonnois,  and  of  Termenois.  Raymond  was  introduced 
into  Narbonne  by  the  viscount  of  that  city,  but  the  archbishop 
fled  at  his  approach,  and,  on  his  arrival  at  Beziers,  fulminated 
an-ainst  him,  on  tlie  21st  of  July,  a  sentence  of  excommu- 
nication. The  inhabitants  of  the  country,  seeing  their  lord 
end^aTed  in  war  with  those  same  Frenclimen,  who  had  been 
the  agents  of  all  the  persecutions  of  the  church,  and  had  de- 
livered them  up  to  the  merciless  tribunal  of  the  faith,  thought 
the  moment  arrived  to  free  themselves  from  the  insupportable 
tyranny  of  the  inquisitors.  Some  Albigensian  heretics,  who 
had  taken  refuge  in  the  castle  of  Mirepoix,  set  out  in  the 
night  of  the  28th  of  May,  and  surprised  the  castle  of  Avig- 
nonet,  where  William  Arnold  had  lately  established  the  su- 
preme tribunal  of  the  inquisition.  Four  Dominicans,  two 
Franciscans,  and  seven  Nuncios  or  familiars  of  the  inquisi- 
tion, of  whom  this  tribunal  was  composed,  were  cut  in  pieces. 
These  monks,  who  had  ordered  so  many  murders,  who  had 
been  insensible  to  the  sorrows  of  so  many  families,  awaited 
their  murderers  on  their  knees  and  singing  Tt  Deum,  without 
endeavouring  either  to  defend  or  save  themselves.  They 
already  anticipated  the  enjoyment  of  the  glory  of  the  martyrs, 
so  sincerely  did  they  imagine  themselves  serving  God  wlxen 
they  bathed  his  altars  with  the  blood  of  human  victims. 

The  inactivity  of  the  kings  of  Spain,  tlie  success  of  Louis 
in  the  lower  Poitoii,  the  defection  of  the  count  of  Marche 
and  the  lords  of  Aquitaine,  and  the  flight  of  Henry  III,  were 
enough  to  abate  the  courage  of  Raymond  VII.  N  evertheless, 
no  army  at  present  manaced  his  countship  of  Toulouse,  and 
he  wished  to  judge  of  the  state  in  which  his  ally,  the  king  of 
England,  was  placed.  He  came,  therefore,  to  meet  him  at 
Bourdeaux,  where  he  signed  the  treaty  of  the  28th  of  August, 
by  which  their  alliance  was  confirmed,  and  both  engaged  not 
to  treat  separately  with  the  king  of  France.  But,  whoever 
had  seen  the  king  of  England  near,  could  have  no  confidence 


in  him,  orinany  league  of  which  he  was  the  chief.  Raymond 
soon  perceived  that  all  his  allies  were  turning  against  him. 
Louis  had  given  orders  to  the  count  of  Marche,  to  expiate  his 
rebellion  by  attacking  the  count  of  Toulouse.  He  had  joined 
with  him,  liowever,  as  an  inspector,  Mauclerc,  the  ancient 
duke  of  Brittanj'.  Raymond  soon  after  received  a  letter  from 
the  count  of  Foix,  tlie  ally  upon  whom  he  reckoned  the  most, 
which  announced  that  being  no  longer  willing  to  persevere 
in  a  desperate  cause,  he  withdrew  his  homage,  and  that  he 
had  treated  with  the  king,  who  had  taken  him  under  his  imme- 
diate protection.  Whatever  resentment  Raymond  might  tes- 
tify at  this  defection,  there  is  reason  to  suspect  that  he  had,  at 
this  very  time,  despatched  the  bisho])  of  Toulouse  to  the  king, 
to  treat  for  his  own  submission.  The  conditions  which  this 
prelate  demanded  not  having  been  acceded  to,  Raymond  VII 
wrote,  on  the  20tli  of  October,  to  Saint  Louis,  submitting  to 
him  unconditionally,  and  demanding  mercy  for  himself  and 
his  associates,  with  the  exception  of  the  heretics,  upon  whom 
he  promised  to  execute  severe  justice,  as  well  as  upon  those 
who  had  killed  the  inquisitors. 

Louis,  who  bad  sent  a  fresh  body  of  troops  against  Ray- 
mond, under  the  orders  of  the  bishop  of  Clermont  and  Im- 
bert  de  Beaujeu,  and  who  had  demanded  of  an  assembly  of  the 
Galilean  church,  held  at  Paris,  a  twentieth  of  the  ecclesias- 
tical revenues,  to  defray  the  expense  of  a  new  crusade  against 
the  Albigenses,  suffered  himself  nevertheless  to  be  moved  by 
the  solicitations  of  Raymond  ;  and  so  much  the  more,  as 
they  were  powerfully  recommended  by  queen  Blanche,  cousin 
of  the  count  of  Toulouse.  Commissaries  from  the  king  met 
Raymond  in  Lauraguais,  the  22d  of  December,  1242,  and 
agreed  with  him  that  the  treaty  of  Paris  should  be  restored 
in  its  full  extent.  Soon  after,  Raymond  set  out  for  Lorris, 
in  Gatinois,  where  the  king  had  appointed  to  meet  him.  He 
renewed  his  homage  to  him  in  the  month  of  January,  1243, 
and  peace  was  thus  restored  to  all  that  part  of  France  where 
the  Provencal  language  was  spoken. 


THE 


LIFE    OF    BISHOP    WILSON. 


BY   THE   REV.   RICHARD  B.    HONE,  M.  A. 


CURATE    OF    PORTSMOUTH. 


CHAPTER  I. 

Introduction — His  Early  Life. 

Amongst  the  most  delightful  associations  connected  with 
the  world  of  spirits,  is  that  idea  which  originates  in  our  be^ 
lief  in  the  communion  of  saints,  and  which  represents  to 
us  the  children  of  God,  who  have  lived  upon  earth  at  various 
periods  of  time,  as  forming  one  fold  under  the  one  great  shep 
herd. 

The  Scriptures  countenance  and  warrant  this  interesting 
notion,  for  in  them  we  find  our  blessed  Saviour  himself  hold- 
ing out  to  his  followers  the  prospect  of  being  in  Abraham's 
bosom,  and  of  setting  down  in  the  company  of  Abraham, 
Isaac,  and  Jacob  ;  and  encouraging  his  disciples,  both  by  the 
tenor  of  his  prayers  and  his  promises,  to  expect  that  after 
death  they  should  be  assembled  together,  and  thus,  once  more 
united,  should  be  with  Him,  and  behold  his  glory  and  par- 
take of  his  joy  for  ever. 

Of  those  who,  in  humbly  pursuing  the  paths  of  faith  and 
holiness  are  looking  forward  to  be  introduced  to  this  com- 
pany of  the  redeemed, — there  are  few  who  have  not  fixed  upon 
a  chosen  circle  of  just  men  made  perfect,  from  whose  society 
they  expect  more  particular  pleasure.  The  idea  is  so  natu- 
ral, so  intimately  blended  with  all  our  better  feelings,  and 
really  forms  so  beautiful  and  strong  a  tie  to  the  invisi- 
ble world,  that  it  is  one  which  it  cannot  be  wrong  to  enter- 
tain. 

This  chosen  circle,  doubtless,  consists  in  the  first  place  of 
those,  whom  having  seen,  we  have  known  and  loved.  Kin- 
dred and  friends  who  have  died  in  the  Lord  attach  us  to  the 
citizens  of  heaven,  and  cause  us  to  remember  Zion  with  a 
more  vivid  interest. 

**  'Tis  sweet,  as  year  by  year  wc  lose 
Friends  out  of  sight,  by  faith  to  muse 
How  grows  in  Paradise  our  store," 

C/tnstian  Year. 

But  it  includes  others  also,  belonging  to  distant  countries 
or  times,  whose  hands  we  have  never  clasped,  whose  voices 
we  have  never  heard,  whose  bodily  presence  we  have  never 
seen,  but  with  whose  minds  and  characters  we  have  become 
intimately  acquainted  and  strongly  attached.  The  simple- 
minded  Christians  of  primitive  times — the  confessors  who,  be- 
ing faithful  unto  death,  went  to  receive  a  crown  of  life — 
the  staunch  defenders  of  the  faith,  especially  when  their  con- 
scientious firmness  and  boldness  in  their  Lord's  behalf  was 
associated  with  gentleness  of  spirit — these  claim  and  possess 
the  alfection  of  the  sincere  Christian;  they  are  even  admired 
and  revered  by  those  who  have  no  very  deeply-rooted  senti- 
ments of  religion.  But  still  that  company  comprises  others, 
perhaps  even  more  beloved  than  these,  whose  lives  may  not 
have  been  distinguished  by  any  very  remarkable  incidents, 


yet  to  whom  we  are  linked  in  the  closest  union.  They  are 
those  to  whom  we  owe  the  thoughts  and  impressions  from 
which  we  derive  the  greatest  satisfaction  ; — those  who,  in  be- 
queathing to  us  wholesome  counsel,  have  inscribed  in  their 
holy  pages  a  picture  of  their  own  minds ;  and  concerning 
whom  we  are  thus  able  to  gather  incidentally  (hat  they  must 
have  been  wise  and  amiable  companions,  who  did  good 
in  their  generation  by  a  holy  life  and  conversation.  'W'e  think 
that  it  must  have  been  a  great  privilege  to  have  taken  sweet 
counsel  with  them  during  their  sojourn  on  earth,  and  we  con- 
template with  peculiar  pleasure  the  prospect  of  commencing 
an  uninterrupted  intercourse  with  them,  in  the  better  world 
whither  they  are  gone. 

Such  feelings  are  particularly  connected  with  the  name  of 
him  who  is  best  known  as  "  the  good  Bishop  Wilson."  We 
are  wont  to  fancy  that  a  purer,  gentler  spirit  has  seldom  in- 
habited an  earthly  tabernacle;  and  multitudes  of  persons  who 
may  never  have  read  or  heard  one  incident  of  his  life,  love 
and  venerate  the  name  of  one  whose  Private  Thoughts,  and 
Preparation  for  the  Lord's  Supper,  and  the  little  volumes  of 
whose  simple  Sermons,  have  been  their  familiar  closet  com- 
panions, and  who  lias  thus  bound  them  to  himself  by  helping 
them  forward  in  the  right  way,  through  the  influence  of  the 
same  feelings  and  convictions  which  confirmed  his  own  faith, 
and  animated  his  own  piety. 

Thomas  Wilson  was  born  in  the  village  of  Burton,  in  the 
county  palatine  of  Chester,  on  the  20th  of  December,  1663. 
We  are  not  informed  what  occupation  his  parents  followed, 
but  they  apparently  moved  in  humble  life,  since  in  one  of 
his  papers  he  speaks  of  his  education  raising  him  above  his 
father's  house;  and  says,  that  though  honesty  and  industry 
secured  the  family  from  poverty,  yet  it  was  far  from  being 
rich.  In  the  subject  of  this  memoir,  therefore,  we  have  one 
of  those  instances  which  are  happily  of  such  frequent  occur- 
rence in  this  country,  of  the  elevation  of  a  person  who  had 
none  of  the  advantages  of  wealth  or  high  connexion,  to  a  high 
and  important  situation.  But  if  his  parents  were  not  great, 
they  were  good;  and  he  confessed  that  he  owed  much  to 
them.  In  his  diary  he  mentions  them  with  gratitude  as 
"honest  parents,  fearing  God;"  and  in  a  prayer  which  he 
composed  and  used  in  their  behalf,  and  which  throughout 
betokens  a  conviction  that  they  merited  the  warmest  filial 
affection,  he  makes  an  express  acknowledgment,  on  the  part 
of  his  brothers  and  sisters  as  well  as  himself,  that  they  could 
never  be  sufiiciently  thankful,  either  to  God  or  their  parents, 
for  the  care  taken  of  them  by  the  latter,  and  for  all  their  godly 
instructions. 

It  is  diflicult  to  estimate  how  large  a  portion  of  the  evil 
and  the  good  which  exist  in  the  world  flows  from  the  early 
management  of  children ;  but,  as  we  know  that  the  most  im- 
portant consequences  are  dependent  upon  it,  we  cannot  but 
feel  regret  that  there  are  no  means  of  introducing  us  to  the 


478 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


domestic  circle  in  the  little  parlour  at  Burton,  where  we  early  exercised  the  charity  which  Goldsmith  so  much  corn- 
might  have  observed  the  planting,  the  watering,  and  the  mends  in  the  "Village  Preacher"  of  sweet  Auburn,  though 
growth  of  the  good  seed  in  the  heart  of  him,  who  was  there  |  his  income  fell  short  of  that  possessed  by  the  latter,  being 


led  I'rom  a  child  to  know  the  Holy  Scriptures,  which  made 
him  wise  unto  salvation,  through  faith,  which  is  in  Christ 
JesHS. 

His  classical  education  was  entrusted  to  Mr.  Harpur,  an 
eminent  schoolmaster  at  Chester;  and  at  a  proper  age  he 
was  sent  to  the  University  of  Dublin,  with  an  allowance  of 
twenty  pounds  a  year;  a  sum  which,  however  small  it  may 
be  thought,  was  in  those  days  sufficient,  we  are  told,  "for  a 
sober  student,  in  so  clieap  a  country  as  Ireland." 

The  medical  profession  was  that  towards  which  his  thoughts 
and  studies  were  at  first  directed.  But  occurrences,  appar- 
ently trifling,  are  often  appointed  by  Divine  Providence  to 
alter  the  current  of  our  plans.  While  at  college,  young 
Wilson  became  acquainted  with  the  Rev.  Michael  Hewetson, 
one  of  the  prebendaries  of  St.  Patrick's  cathedral,  and  arch- 
deacon of  Kildare;  the  acquaintance  ripened  into  intimacy, 
and  the  archdeacon,  judging  that  his  friend  possessed  a  dis- 
position and  talents  which  might  be  employed  advantage- 
ously in  the  work  of  the  ministr)',  persuaded  him  to  turn  his 
thoughts  towards  the  sacred  office  of  a  minister  of  Christ. 

"During  his  residence  in  Dublin,  he  conducted  himself," 
says  his  first  biographer,  "  with  the  utmost  regularity  and 
decorum;  and  by  his  diligent  application  made  a  great  profi- 
ciency in  academical  learning.  He  continued  at  college  till 
the  year  1G8G,  when,  on  St.  Peter's  day,  the  29th  of  June,  he 
was,  at  the  immediate  instance  and  desire  of  his  friend  INIr. 
Hewetson,  ordained  a  deacon  by  Dr.  Morcton,  bishop  of 
Kildare,"  in  the  cathedral  church  of  that  diocese,  which  was 
consecrated  on  the  same  day.  On  that  occasion,  he  and  the 
archdeacon  jointly  presented  a  small  silver  paten  for  the  ser- 
vice of  the  communion  table,  on  the  inside  of  which  was 
engraved  this  inscription : 

DEO  ET  ALTARI  ECCLESI.E  CATHEDRALIS 
S'T^^  BRIDGID.B  DARENSIS  SACRUM;  with  I  H  S 
in  the  middle; — and  on  the  reverse.  Ex  unitis  Devotionibns 
maxime  Amicorum  Mich.  Hewetson  et  Tho.  Wilson  :  Ille 
Presbyter,  et  Prebendarius  Ecclesia  Cathedralis  S'ti  Patri- 
cij,  Dubl :  Hie  ad  sacrum  Diaconatus  Ordinem  solemniter 
admissus  die  Consecrationis  hujus  Ecclesia;,  viz.  Festo  S'ti 
Petri  1686."* 

A  heart  so  devout  as  Wilson's  could  not  fail  to  be  strongly 
impressed  by  the  solemn  engagements  into  which  he  had 
that  day  entered.  A  beautiful  prayer,  preserved  in  a  memo- 
randum book,  records  his  feelings  and  desires  on  that  occa- 
sion;  he  beseeches  God,  who  gave  him  a  will,  to  give  him 
also  power  and  strength  to  serve  Him  in  the  sacred  ministry, 
to  which  he  was  on  that  daj'  dedicated ;  and  the,  following 
passage  conveys,  in  a  few  words,  his  views  of  that  holy 
calling;  "  Give  me,  O  Lord,  I  humbly  beg,  a  wise,  a  sober, 
a  patient,  an  understanding,  a  devout,  a  religious,  a  coura- 
geous heart ;  that  I  may  instruct  the  ignorant,  reclaim  the 
vicious,  bear  with  the  infirmities  of  the  weak,  comfort  the 
afflicted,  confirm  the  strong;  that  I  maybe  an  example  of 
true  piety,  and  sincere  religion ;  that  I  may  constantly  speak 
the  truth,  boldly  rebuke  vice,  and  cheerfully  sutler  for  right- 
eousness' sake.  Let  my  great  Lord  and  Master,  let  his  ex- 
ample, be  always  before  my  eyes.  Let  my  days  be  spent  in 
doing  good,  in  visiting  the  sick,  helping  their  infirmities,  in 
composing  diffisrences,  in  preaching  the  glad  tidings  of  sal- 
vation, and  in  all  the  works  of  mercy  and  charity  by  which  I 
shall  be  judged  at  the  last  day. — Give  us  all  grace,  that  we 
may  often  and  seriously  lay  to  heart  the  nature  and  import- 
ance of  our  calling;  that  these  thoughts  may  make  us  dili- 
gent and  zealous,  and  that  our  zeal  may  be  ever  concerned  in 
matters  of  real  moment 

Nor  did  he  permit  the  solemn  act  of  that  day  to  fade  from 
his  memory,  for  he  ever  after  set  apart  the  anniversary  for 
reflection  and  devotion,  and  for  the  more  express  considera- 
tion of  his  ministerial  obligations,  and  the  manner  in  whici 
he  had  discharged  them. 

His  further  stay  in  Ireland  was  short;  for  in  December  of 
the  same  year  he  was  licensed  to  be  curate  of  New-church,  a 
chapelry  in  the  parish  of  Winwick,  in  Lancashire,  of  which 
Dr.  Sherlock,  his  maternal  uncle,  was  then  rector.     Here  he 


*  The  following  is  a  translation  of  these  words: — Dedicated  to 
(;od,  and  for  the  use  of  the  altar  of  the  cathedral  church  of  St.  Brid 
gel  ol  Kildare,  by  the  united  devotion  of  two  dear  friends,  Michael 
Hewetson  and  Thomas  Wilson:  The  former  a  Preshvter  and  Pre- 
bendary of  Ibe  Cathedral  Cburcli  of  St.  Patrick,  in  Dublin;  the  latter 
sulemidy  admiited  to  the  holy  order  of  Deacons  on  the  daj-  of  Uie 
consecration  of  this  Cliurth,  \i-/..  on  St.  Peter's  dav,  ICSr,. 


only  thirty  pounds  a  year.  Yet  was  he  also  "passing  rich," 
for  he  contrived,  then  and  ever  after,  to  set  apart  a  stated 
portion  of  his  income  for  charitable  purposes. 

In  the  society  of  Dr.  Sherlock  he  possessed  very  great 
advantages,  and  had  opportunities  of  studying  a  character, 
which  he  seems  in  many  respects  to  have  imitated,  and  of 
which  he  expressed  his  admiration  and  love  in  a  memoir, 
which  he  commences  in  the  following  terms : — "  When  I 
have  said  that  he  was  horn  of  very  honest  and  religious 
parents,  the  pious  reader  will  not  be  offended  that  he  finds 
nothing  more  considerable  in  the  account  of  his  family."  He 
then  proceeds  to  state,  that  after  various  sufferings  and  re- 
verses during  the  troublesome  times  of  the  great  rebellion, 
Dr.  Sherlock  found  a  refuge  in  the  family  of  Sir  Robert 
Bindlosse,  of  Borrick,  in  Lancashire,  to  whom  he  became 
domestic  chaplain.  It  is  remarkable,  that  at  this  time,  and 
in  this  neighbourhood,  George  Fox,  the  quaker,  was  then 
making  a  stir;  and  hearing  of  his  reputation  for  learning  and 
piety,  desired  to  bring  him  round  to  his  views.  Accordingly, 
he  commenced  a  correspondence,  which  ended  in  Sherlock's 
publishing  several  sinall  tracts  upon  the  subjects  in  contro- 
versy between  them,  which,  his  biographer  says,  "by  the 
blessing  of  God,  had  their  effect." 

Sir  R.  Bindlosse  afterwards  recommended  Dr.  Sherlock  to 
the  notice  of  Charles,  eighth  earl  of  Derby,  who  reposed  so 
much  confidence  in  him,  that  at  the  restoration  he  gave  him 
a  commission  to  settle  the  aflfairs  of  the  church  in  the  Isle  of 
Man,  "which  during  the  great  rebellion  had  suffered  in  its 
doctrine,  discipline  and  worship."  "This  difficult  work  he 
went  through  (while  his  fellow-coinmissioners  settled  the  civil 
affairs),  to  the  entire  satisfaction  of  the  lord  and  people  of  that 
island,  which,  by  the  blessing  of  God,  continues  as  uniform 
in  her  worship,  as  orthodox  in  her  doctrine,  and  as  strict  and 
regular  in  her  discipline  as  any  Christian  church  in  the  world." 
Upon  his  return  from  that  "  happy  island,"  he  was  appointed 
to  the  valuable  living  of  Winwick. 

His  mode  of  living  was  frugal  and  simple ;  he  was  hospita- 
ble, and  so  "exceeding  charitable,"  that  at  his  death  he  left 
"  not  above  one  year's  profits"  of  his  living,  and  "  even  these 
in  a  great  measure  to  pious  uses."  He  always  entertained 
in  his  house  at  least  three  curates,  for  the  service  of  his  church 
and  chapels.  So  that  on  account  of  the  doctor's  primitive 
example,  as  also  the  choice  that  he  made  of  persons  to  serve 
at  the  altar,  Winwick  became  a  very  desirable  place  for  young 
divines  to  improve  themselves  in  the  work  of  the  ministry. 
Dr.  Sherlock  died  in  peace,  at  the  age  of  76,  June  20th,  1689. 
Mr.  Wilson,  after  having  remained  in  deacon's  orders  rather 
more  than  three  years,  was  ordained  a  priest  by  the  bishop  of 
Chester,  October  20th,  1689;  and  on  this  occasion  he  entered 
in  his  memorandum-book  a  series  of  resolutions,  by  which  he 
thought  fit  to  bind  himself,  "  in  the  beginning  of  his  days," 
not  to  obtain  church-preferment  by  promise  or  reward ;  never 
to  give  a  bond  of  resignation;  not  to  hold  two  livings  with 
cure  of  souls;  and  to  reside  and  do  the  duties  himself,  when- 
ever it  should  please  God  to  bless  him  "  with  a  parish  and  a 
cure  of  souls." 

Full  five  years  passed  away  in  the  discharge  of  the  quiet 
yet  interesting  duties  of  a  country  pastor  in  this  place.  With 
all  its  responsibilities,  anxieties  and  disappointments,  there 
is  no  employment  more  fruitful  in  peace  and  joy,  "if  a  man 
be  found  faithful."  That  Mr.  Wilson  was  so,  his  previous 
character,  and  the  even  tenor  of  a  good  life  going  onward  to 
perfection,  which  we  shall  see  in  his  whole  deportment,  may 
be  deemed  satisfactory  evidence.  And  it  is  all  the  evidence 
that  we  possess.  Delightful  as  it  would  have  been  to  have 
watched  him  acting  in  the  spirit  of  his  Deacon's  Prayer, — 
zealously  cultivating  pure  religion  and  sound  knowledge  in 
his  own  heart;  and  then  carrying  a  spark  from  that  holy  altar 
to  light  up  a  kindred  flame  in  the  hearts  of  his  people :  teach- 
ing the  poor  of  this  world  to  be  rich  in  faith;  preaching  peace 
by  Jesus  Christ ;  turning  sinners  from  the  error  of  their  ways ; 
administering  comfort  in  the  chamber  of  woe; — he  has  left 
no  record  of  these  good  works,  nor  have  his  biographers  been 
able  to  furnish  any  memorial  of  them. 

In  the  year  1692  he  was  introduced  to  a  new  scene  of  ex- 
ertion, by  being  appointed  domestic  chaplain  to  William  earl 
of  Derby,  and  preceptor  to  his  son,  James  lord  Strange,  with 
a  salary  of  thirty  pounds  a  year.  The  earl  was  the  patron  of 
Dr.  Sherlock's  living  of  Winwick,  and  there  can  be  little 
doubt  that  through  this  circumstance  he  became  acquainted 
with  the  character  and  capabilities  of  Mr.  Wilson. 


LIFE  OF  BISHOP  WILSON. 


479 


In  Latham  park,  then  the  seat  of  the  earl  of  Derby,  there 
is  an  ahiis-house,  consisting  of  several  tenements,  with  a 
chapel  annexed,  and  shortly  after  the  commencement  of  his 
residence  in  the  earl's  family,  he  was  appointed  to  the  master- 
ship of  that  charitable  institution,  which  prodnced  to  him 
twenty  pounds  a  year. 

The  memorandum  in  which  he  declares  his  intention  of 
increasing  the  proportion  of  his  income  devoted  to  pious  uses, 
in  consequence  of  this  addition  to  his  means,  will  not  be  read 
without  interest. 

'■^  Memorundum. — Easter-day,  1693.  It  liaving  pleased  God, 
of  his  mere  bounty  and  goodness,  to  bless  me  with  a  temporal 
income  far  above  my  hopes  or  deserts,  and  I  having  hitherto 
given  but  one  tenth  part  of  my  income  to  the  poor,  I  do  there' 
fore  purpose,  and  1  thank  God  for  putting  it  into  ni}'  heart, 
that  of  all  the  profits  which  it  shall  please  God  to  give  me, 
and  which  shall  become  due  to  me  after  the  6th  of  August 
next  (after  which  time  I  hope  to  have  paid  my  small  debts) 
I  do  purpose  to  separate  the  fifth  part  of  all  my  incomes,  as 
1  shall  receive  them,  for  pious  uses,  and  particularly  for  the 
poor.— T.  W." 

"August,  1693. — The  God  that  gave  me  a  will  to  make  this 
solemn  purpose,  has  given  me  grace  not  to  repent  of  it,  and 
he  will  give  me  grace  to  my  life's  end.     Amen." 

During  his  residence  in  lord  Derby's  family,  which  con 
tinned  for  about  six  years,  a  few  incidents  occurred  which 
demonstrate  his  soundness  of  princi]ile  and  simple-minded 
ness,  and  clearly  show  what  spirit  he  was  of. 

When  lord  Derby  offered  him  the  valuable  living  of  Bad- 
desworth  in  Yorkshire,  making  it  a  condiiion  that  he  should 
continue  with  him  as  chaplain  and  tutor  to  his  son,  he  refused 
to  accept  it,  as  being  inconsistent  with  "the  resolves  of  his 
conscience  against  non-residence."  He  also  refused  to  hold 
the  living  of  Grappenhall  in  Cheshire,  during  the  minority  of 
Mr.  Boardman,  then  an  infant,  as  being  contrary  to  another  of 
his  resolves. 

The  reflections  on  his  recovery  from  a  dangerous  illness, 
in  1693,  and  the  resolutions  to  walk  more  watchfully  for  the 
future,  betoken  a  full  understanding  of  the  purposes  and  ad- 
vantages of  the  afflictions  which  Gud  sends  upon  the  children 
of  men,  and  a  desire  neither  to  despise  the  chastenings  of  the 
Lord,  nor  to  faint  when  rebuked  of  Him. 

His  conduct  on  one  occasion  towards  lord  Derby,  in  a  case 
of  considerable  delicacy,  and  one  in  which  he  risked  liis  pre- 
sent comfortable  situation  and  all  his  expectations,  shows  him 
to  have  been  actuated  by  no  other  feeling  than  that  it  was  his 
duty  to  do  good,  when  it  seemed  to  be  in  the  power  of  his 
hand  to  do  it.  His  noble  patron  was  very  much  involved  in 
debt,  through  extravagance  and  carelessness;  and  Mr.  Wilson, 
trusting  that  God,  who  had  favoured  him  up  to  that  period  of 
his  life,  would  still  "  give  a  blessing  upon  his  honest  endeav- 
ours," and  sure  that  even  if  he  were  thrown  upon  the  world, 
he  should  "  have  the  glory  and  satisfaction  of  having  done  a 
great  good  work,"  resolved  to  seek  an  interview  with  lord 
Derby  on  the  subject.  After  a  short  conversation  he  left  the 
room,  placing  in  his  lordship's  hand  a  letter,  which  began  as 
follows: 

"  My  Lord, — Nothing  but  a  sense  of  duty  and  gratitude 
could  have  put  nie  upon  taking  such  a  liberty  as  this,  but 
because  I  have  reason  to  believe  it  concerns  your  lordship,  I 
can  willingly  hazard  all  the  future  favours  your  lordship  de- 
signs me,  rather  than  be  unconcerned  and  silent  in  a  matter 
of  this  moment,  though  I  have  no  reason  to  fear  such  a  con- 
sequence." The  letter  proceeded  to  declare  that  dishonour 
was  done  to  the  noble  family,  and  ruin  brought  upon  many 
worthy  persons  by  the  irregularity  of  the  payments ;  and  con- 
cludes by  saying,  that  none  but  a  faithful  servant  would 
expose  himself  to  the  consequences  of  speaking  with  such 
boldness,  and  therefore  that  in  this  character,  as  well  as  that 
of  a  dutiful  chaplain,  he  presumed  to  subscribe  himself.  This 
letter  bears  the  date  of  October  22,  1696. 

The  result  was  equally  honourable  and  satisfactory  to  both 
parties.  The  earl  saw  at  once  that  nothing  but  the  best  mo- 
tives could  have  induced  his  chaplain  to  take  this  step,  and 
was  equally  convinced  that  there  was  much  need  for  reforma- 
tion ;  and  to  effect  this  desirable  object,  he  applied  itnmedi- 
ately  for  the  advice  and  assistance  of  Mr.  Wilson,  and  thus  in 
a  short  time  removed  the  cloud  which  obscured  his  reputation, 
and  relieved  the  distresses  of  those  whom  his  extravagance 
was  ruining. 

A  (ev!  remarks  which  Mr.  Wilson  made  in  his  Life  of  Dr. 
Sherlock,  show  that  he  was  fully  alive  to  the  responsibilities 
and  difficulties  belonging  to  the  situation  which  he  now  held. 
"The  office  of  a  chaplain,"  he  says,  "is  an  employment  that 


requires  as  much  Christian  courage,  conduct  and  piety,  to 
discharge  it  faithfully,  (where  there  are  so  many  temptations, 
and  so  much  need  of  virtue  to  overcome  them),  as  any  state 
of  life  whatever;  and,  therefore,  it  often  happens  that  such  as 
seek  or  accept  that  charge  in  hopes  of  preferment,  do  find  a 
necessity  of  quitting  either  those  hopes  or  a  good  conscience." 

And  it  is  probable  that  his  own  conduct  on  this  occasion 
was  influenced  by  his  recollection  of  the  example  of  his  uncle, 
who  was  once  placed  in  a  similar  situation,  as  is  related  in 
the  following  manner: — 

Dr.  Sherlock's  patron,  sir  Robert  Bindlosse,  "  had  a  just 
esteem  for  the  church  and  her  ministers,  both  at  that  time 
under  a  cloud:  and  being  every  way  what  they  called  an  ac- 
complished gentleman,  it  was  no  wonder  that  very  many  were 
fond  of  the  honour  of  conversing  with  him;  which  had  this 
unhappy  effect,  that  it  made  liim  in  love  with  company,  and 
many  of  the  evils  that  attended  it;  and  too  many  of  the  family 
followed  his  example.  To  make  some  amends,as  they  thought, 
for  these  liberties,  they  expressed  an  uncommon  concern  for 
the  interests  of  the  sutTering  church;  not  considering  that  if 
we  shall  be  shut  out  of  heaven  for  our  sins,  it  will  be  no  great 
comfort  to  us  what  church  we  were  members  of  on  earth. 

"  The  chaplain  saw  this  with  grief,  and  therefore,  after 
general  discourses  and  intimations  that  had  little  or  no  effect, 
he  applied  to  his  patron  more  closely,  and  in  a  letter  he  wrote 
to  him  laid  down  his  and  the  vices  of  the  family,  in  terms 
so  home  and  serious,  and  yet  so  manly,  that  one  could  not 
imagine  a  mind  so  void  of  goodness  as  to  be  offended  with 
his  holy  freedom.  He  desired  him  to  consider  W'hat  injury 
he  did  to  the  distressed  church  for  which  he  always  express- 
ed so  commendable  a  zeal.  He  intimated  to  him  that  this 
was  both  the  cause  of  her  sufferings,  and  that  w  hich  made 
her  the  scorn  of  her  enemies  ;  that  her  friends  did  her  more 
dishonour  than  her  enemies  could  do  her  hurt,  so  that  she 
may  truly  say  in  the  words  of  Zachariah,  xiii.  6,  '  These  are 
the  wounds  I  received  in  the  house  of  my  friends!'  He  as- 
sured him,  that  for  his  own  part,  he  durst  not  seem  to  coun- 
tenance such  criminal  liberties,  lest  the  enemy  should  say 
that  the  ordinances  of  the  Gospel  were  profaned  with  the 
consent  of  her  ministers.  And  then,  forgetting,  or  rather  des- 
pising his  own  interests,  the  uncertainty  of  the  times,  and  all 
the  expectations  he  might  have  from  a  person  of  so  good  an 
interest  in  the  world,  he  earnestly  pressed  either  to  be  barken- 
ed to  in  this  matter,  or  to  be  immediately  discharged  from  his 
office. 

"  His  patron  was  so  far  from  being  offened  with  this  first 
liberty  of  his  faithful  chaplain,  that  he  heard  hitn  with  sub- 
mission, knowing  well  whose  ambassador  he  was  ;  and  ever 
after  honoured  him  as  his  friend." 

The  prayer  which  Mr.  Wilson  constantly  offered  up  in 
private  for  the  faniil)',  has  been  preserved  in  the  memo- 
randum book,  from  which  other  extracts  have  been  already 
made. 

But  little  is  known  of  the  character  and  disposition  of  lord 
Strange,  or  of  his  progress  while  under  the  care  of  Mr.  Wil- 
son. His  tutor's  desire  was,  "  to  instruct  him  in  all  the  ways 
of  religion,  piety,  and  honour,"  that  he  might  bo  "useful  to 
the  world,  and  that  his  station  and  power  might  be  beneficial 
to  mankind."  One  little  anecdote  only  has  been  preserved 
concerning  him.  One  day,  as  lord  Strange  was  going  to  set 
his  name  to  a  paper  which  he  had  not  read,  INIr.  VVilson 
dropped  some  burning  sealing-wax  on  his  finger:  the  sudden 
pain  made  him  very  angry;  but  his  tutor  soon  pacified  him 
by  observing,  that  he  did  it  in  order  to  impress  a  lasting  re- 
membrance on  his  mind  never  to  sign  or  seal  any  paper  which 
he  had  not  first  attentively  examined.  Lord  .Strange  died  at 
Venice  in  1699,  the  year  after  the  removal  of  Mr.  Wilson  to 
another  sphere  of  action. 

Had  George  Herbert  lived  a  little  after  this  period,  we 
might  have  supposed  that  the  example  of  this  excellent  man 
suggested  the  following  remarks,  extracted  from  the  second 
chapter  of  his  Country  Parson.  "  Let  not  chaplains  think 
themselves  so  free  as  many  of  them  do,  and  because  they  have 
different  names  think  their  office  different.  Doubtless  they 
are  parsons  of  the  families  they  live  in,  and  are  entertained 
to  that  end,  either  by  an  open  or  implied  covenant.  Before 
they  are  in  orders,  they  may  be  received  for  companions  or 
discoursers  ;  but  after  a  man  is  once  minister,  he  cannot  agree 
to  come  into  any  house  where  he  shall  not  exercise  what  he 
is,  unless  he  forsake  his  plough  and  look  back.  Wherefore 
they  are  not  to  be  over-submissive  and  base,  but  to  keep  up 
with  the  lord  and  lady  of  the  liouse,  and  to  preserve  a  bold- 
ness with  them  and  all,  even  so  far  as  reproof  to  their  very 
face,  when   occasion  calls,  but   seasonably  and  discreetly. 


480 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


They  who  do  not  thus,  while  they  remember  their  earthly  lord, 
do  much  forget  their  heavenly  :  they  wrong  the  priesthood, 
neglect  their  duty,  and  shall  be  so  far  from  that  which  they 
seek,  with  their  over-submissiveness  and  cringing,  that  they 
shall  ever  be  despised.  They  who,  for  the  hope  of  promotion, 
neglect  any  necessary  admonition  or  reproof,  sell,  with  Judas, 
their  Lord  and  Master." 

The  year  1697  was  the  last  in  which  he  was  to  reside 
■with  the  family  of  the  earl  of  Derby,  for  early  in  the  follow- 
ing year  he  was  appointed  to  the  bishopric  of  Sodor  and 
Man. 

The  circumstances  attending  this  appointment  were  singu- 
lar and  characteristic.  The  nomination  to  the  see  was  vest- 
ed in  bis  patron,  the  earl  of  Derby,  subject  to  the  approbation 
of  the  king;  and  it  had  been  sufl'ercd  to  continue  vacant  from 
the  death  of  Dr.  Baptiste  Leviiiz  in  1693.  After  a  lapse  of 
four  years,  the  earl  ofl'ered  the  bishopric  to  his  chaplain,  who 
declined  it,  alleging  that  he  was  unequal  to  so  great  a  charge, 
as  well  as  unworthy  of  it.  Thus  the  matter  rested  till  Dr. 
Sharp,  archbishop  of  York,  complained  to  king  William  that 
a  bishop  was  wanting  in  his  province,  to  fill  the  see  of  Man. 
The  king  was  thus  induced  to  send  for  the  earl  of  Derby, 
who  was  then  master  of  the  liorse,  and  urged  the  necessity 
of  immediately  nominating  a  bishop ;  upon  \fhich  the  earl 
again  pressed  the  preferment  on  j\Ir.  Wilson  who  (to  use  his 
own  expression)  was  thus  '•  forced  into  the  bishopric."  On 
the  15th  of  January  1697-8,  he,  being  Ciift  created  doctor  of 
laws  by  the  archbishop  of  Canterbiiry,  was  confirmed  bishop 
of  Man,  at  Bow  church,  by  Dr.  Oxenden,  dean  of  the  Arches: 
and  the  next  day  he  was  consecrated  at  the  Savoy  church  by 
archbishop  Sharp,  assisted  by  the  bishops  of  Chester  and 
Norwich. 

We  have  now  arrived  at  a  period  in  this  good  man's  life 
when  he  begins  to  be  better  known.  And  as  his  name  is  in 
no  way  connected  with  the  politics  of  the  day,  or  with  public 
events,  we  may  be  permitted,  instead  of  following  the  order 
of  dates,  to  bring  together  in  each  of  the  succeeding  chapters 
such  little  notices  as  show  his  temper  and  spirit  in  some  dis- 
tinct point  of  view;  and  we  hope  that  they  will  combine  to 
present  an  eminent  and  engaging  example  of  one  who,  in 
the  direction  of  his  life,  endeavoured  by  prayer,  watchful- 
ness, and  diligence,  to  keep  a  conscience  void  of  offence  to 
wards  God  and  towards  man.  His  discharge  of  the  duties 
of  the  episcopal  office  may  naturally  claim  our  first  attention. 


CHAPTER  H. 
His  Conduct  as  a  Bishop, 

"  A  bishop  is  a  pastor  set  over  other  pastors.  Tlicy  were  to  ordain 
elders.  They  mig;lit  receive  an  accusation  against  an  elder.  Tliey 
were  to  cliarge  tliem  to  preach  such  and  such  doctrines  ;  to  stop 
the  mouths  of  deceivers;  to  set  in  order  the  things  tliat  were 
wanting." 

Bishop  Wilsox's  Sacra  Pnvata. 

Such  was  bishop  Wilson's  opinion  of  the  nature  of  that 
high  office  in  the  church  of  Christ  with  which  he  was  now 
invested;  and  as  far  as  we  can  judge  from  the  memorials  of 
his  life  which  have  been  preserved,  he  endeavoured,  by  the 
grace  of  God,  to  discharge  its  duties  faithfully  to  the  end  of 
las  days.  And  happy  indeed  was  that  island  in  being  the 
object  of  his  paternal  care.  At  the  age  of  thirty-four  he°was 
enthroned  in  the  cathedral  of  St.  Germain,  on  the  11th  of 
April  1608,  six  days  after  his  landing  in  the  island. 

His  devotional  exercises  on  this  occasion  indicate  a  heart 
fully  sensible  of  the  goodness  of  God  manifested  in  his  ele- 
vation, and  a  desire  that  it  might  not  be  bestowed  upon  him 
in  vain.  He  confesses  his  unworthiness  of  the  great  tavours 
he  received  ;  beseeches  guidance  and  a  blessing  upon  himself 
and  his  charge  ;  seeks  protection  from  tlie  temptations  which 
may  be  peculiar  to  bis  new  condition;  and  particularly  asks, 
that  if  affliction  be  required  for  his  correction,  it  may  not  be 
withheld. 

A  few  months  after,  on  the  occasion  of  his  laying  the  foun- 
dation-stone of  a  new  chapel,  to  be  built  at  his  own  expense, 
he  writes  in  his  memorandum-book  the  following  prayer,  ex- 
pressive of  the  same  sense  of  the  obligations  that  were  upon 
Jiim,  and  the  same  desire  to  fulfil  them. 


"  Bless,  O  Lord,  thy  holy  church,  and  particularly  this 
part  of  it,  where  thou  hast  made  me  an  overseer  and  guide. 
O,  my  great  master,  let  me  not  satisfy  myself  in  building 
and  beautifying  the  places  dedicated  to  thy  honour,  but  assist 
me  by  thy  Holy  Spirit,  that  I  may  use  my  utmost  endea- 
vours to  make  every  one  of  these  people  living  temples  of  the 
living  God,  that  they  may  believe  in  Thee,  the  chief  corner- 
stone ;  and  that  by  this  faith,  both  they  and  I  may  at  last 
come  to  worship  Thee  in  heaven,  and  to  give  Thee  praise 
and  glory  for  all  thy  mercies  bestowed  upon  us;  for  Thou  art 
worthy,  O  Lord,  to  receive  glory,  and  honour,  and  power,  for 
Thou  hast  created  all  things,  and  for  thy  pleasure  they  are,  and 
were  created." 

His  official  residence,  Bishop's-court,  was  at  this  time  in  a 
.•ery  dilapidated  state  ;  owing,  in  part,  to  its  having  continued 
without  an  inhabitant  for  eight  years  ;  he  was  therefore  oblig- 
ed to  rebuild  the  dwelling-house,  and  almost  all  the  offices, 
from  the  ground.  The  expense  of  these  and  other  necessary 
improvements  amounted  to  fourteen  hundred  pounds  ;  a  heavy 
outlay,  when  we  consider  that  the  money-payments  of  his 
bishopric  did  not  exceed  three  hundred  pounds  a-year.  One 
only  regret  seems  to  have  possessed  his  mind  with  regard  to 
this  large  expenditure;  "It  having  pleased  God,"  he  says, 
"  to  bring  me  to  the  bishopric  of  Man,  I  find  the  house  in 
ruins,  which  obliges  me  to  interrupt  my  charity  to  the  poor 
in  some  measure." 

It  was  also  soon  after  his  appointment  that  the  earl  of  Der- 
by again  offered  to  him  the  living  of  Baddesworth,  to  hold  in 
commendam.  For  this  new  proof  of  his  noble  patron's  regard 
he  was  duly  thankful,  but  as  he  still  felt  the  propriety  of  the 
resolutions  which  he  had  made  at  an  early  period  of  his  min- 
istry, he  declined  accepting  the  offer.  In  this  instance,  as 
well  as  in  his  conduct  on  many  other  occasions,  he  presented 
a  noble  example  of  a  strict  adherence  to  the  dictates  of  his 
conscience,  and  showed  that  he  would  not  allow  his  worldly 
interest  to  give  a  fair  appearance  to  what  he  really  believed 
to  be  wrong. 

In  order  to  our  forming  a  right  judgment  of  his  conduct  as 
a  governor  of  the  church,  it  is  requisite  that  we  should  be 
acquainted  with  a  few  particulars  relative  to  the  scene  of  his 
exertions. 

The  Isle  of  Man  is  situated  in  the  Irish  sea,  and  nearly  at 
an  equal  distance  from  the  English  and  Irish  coasts,  in  lati- 
tude between  fifty-four  and  fifty-five  degrees  north,  and  long- 
itude about  five  degrees  west.  It  is  about  thirty  miles  in 
length,  varies  from  eight  to  twelve  miles  in  breadth,  and  is 
about  eighty  miles  in  circumference.  We  should  form  a  very 
erroneous  idea  of  the  place  and  the  people  of  whom  bishop 
Wilson  had  the  spiritual  charge,  if  we  were  to  judge  by  their 
present  condition.  The  towns  are  handsome  and  extensive; 
large  sums  have  been  expended,  (particularly  since  the  com- 
mencement of  the  present  century,)  in  erecting  churches,  cha- 
pels, a  college,  schools,  places  of  public  amusement,  hotels 
and  boarding-houses,  markets,  piers,  and  light-houses.  Ele- 
gant mansions  and  tasteful  villas  are  scattered  throughout  the 
island,  a  considerable  number  of  English  fattiilies  have  set- 
tled there,  and  the  society  differs  in  no  respect  from  that  of 
our  larger  island.  By  the  last  census  the  population  appears 
to  be  41,000,  Some  soldiers  of  the  British  army  are  always 
quartered  there.  Blanufactories  of  paper,  cloth,  linen,  and 
other  commodities,  are  in  full  work  ;  and  the  number  of  ships 
belonging  to  the  island  in  1829,  was  217,  of  tlie  aggregate 
burden  of  5714  tons. 

In  all  these  particulars  the  Isle  of  Man  has  undergone  a  re- 
markable change  since  the  days  of  bishop  Wilson.  When 
he  was  appointed  to  the  see,  the  population  did  not  exceed 
15,000.  In  the  time  of  Bede,  that  is,  in  the  eighth  century, 
it  had  not  amounted  to  more  than  2,000.  In  the  early  part  of 
the  bishop's  residence  there,  the  island  was  frequented  by 
very  iew  strangers;  the  higher  classes  of  the  inhabitants  con- 
sisted of  those  who  held  tiie  soil  under  the  lord  of  the  island  ; 
the  poor  were  employed  in  agriculture  and  fishing,  living 
chiefly  upon  oat-cake  and  salted  herrings,  and  dwelling  in 
cottages  built  of  sods,  often  without  a  window,  and  with  an 
aperture  in  the  roof  for  the  passage  of  the  smoke.  Indeed, 
habitations  of  this  sort  are  still  to  be  seen  in  the  more  retired 
parts  of  the  island. 

The  social  state  of  the  people  at  that  period  was  probably 
somewhat  like  the  present  condition  of  the  Waldenses,  or  of 
the  flock  of  Oberlin  in  the  Ban  de  la  Roche,  both  of  which 
have  recently  been  made  so  well  known  to  us  by  numerous 
publications.  Indeed,  not  only  did  the  bishop  exercise  his 
ministry  in  a  sphere  similar  to  that  of  Oberlin,  but  he  was 
also  a  man  of  the  same  spirit.     Both  were  boh',  zealous,  dis- 


LIFE  OF  BISHOP  WILSON. 


481 


interested  ;  both  were  distinguished  for  simplicity,  intesrity, 
and  sweetness  of  temper  ;  both  were  ardently  loved  and  highly 
revered  ;  and  both  diligently  helped  forward  a  poor,  simple, 
and  unlettered  people  on  their  way  to  heaven. 

The  Manksmen  are  represented  as  being  then  contented 
and  happy;  and  so  honest  that  theft  was  unknown  amongst 
them.  Their  laws  were  for  the  most  part  nothing  more  than 
unwritten  principles  of  equity,  and  bore  the  signiticant  name 
of  Breast-laws;  and  bishop  Wilson  says,  in  his  HUtory  of 
the  Me  of  Man,  which  was  written  after  the  year  1739,  that 
is,  full  forty  years  after  his  arrival  there,  that  "  it  is  but  of 
late  years  that  attorneys,  and  such  as  gain  bj'  strife,  have  ever 
forced  themselves  into  business ;  and  except  what  these  get 
out  of  the  people,  lawsuits  are  determined  without  much 
charges."  He  also  expresses  his  opinion  of  the  general  cha- 
racter of  the  people  in  the  following  terms  : — "The  natives 
are  in  general  an  orderly,  civil,  and  peaceable  people,  well- 
instructed  in  the  duties  of  Christianity  as  professed  in  the 
church  of  England,  more  constant  in  their  attendance  on  the 
public  worship  of  God,  and  behaving  with  more  seriousness 
and  decency,  than  in  many  other  places  where  there  are  bet- 
ter opportunities  of  instruction." 

"  The  inhabitants  have  a  great  many  good  qualities  ;  they 
are  generally  very  charitable  to  the  poor,  and  hospitable  to 
strangers ;  especially  in  the  country,  where  the  people,  if  a 
stranger  come  to  their  houses,  would  think  it  an  unpardonable 
crime  not  to  give  him  a  share  of  the  best  they  have  them- 
selves to  eat  or  drink.  They  have  a  significant  proverb 
(which  generally  shows  the  genius  of  a  people),  to  this  pur- 
port, '  When  one  poor  man  relieves  another,  God  himself  re- 
joices at  it.'  " 

Such  was  the  flock  of  which  bishop  Wilson  found  himself 
the  pastor  and  patriarch.  And  considering,  as  he  did,  that 
he  was  appointed  to  watch  over  their  souls,  and  that  he  was 
bound  by  the  most  sacred  ties  to  use  all  diligence  in  building 
them  up  in  their  most  holy  faith,  and  to  preserve  them  from 
the  infection  of  corrupt  doctrine  and  evil  practice,  he  betook 
himself  at  once  to  serious  inquiry  as  to  the  most  like!)'  means 
of  discharging  this  duty  efficiently.  After  mature  delibera- 
tion, he  came  to  the  conclusion  that  the  primitive  church  had 
exercised  a  wholesome  discipline,  warranted  by  holy  Scrip- 
ture, for  the  warning  of  heedless  persons  to  walk  more  warily, 
and  for  the  punishment  of  evil-doers ;  and  he  w-ished  that  the 
church  over  which  he  presided  might  be  regulated,  as  nearly 
as  possible,  according  to  that  model.  Such  a  discipline  ap- 
peared more  likely  to  be  useful  and  efficacious,  since  all  the 
iuhabitants  of  the  island  at  that  time  belonged  professedly  to 
one  church,  and  therefore  an  offender  who  might  be  separated 
from  the  congregation  would  be  the  more  likely  to  be  brougiit 
to  repentance  by  that  punishment,  because  there  was  no  other 
Christian  communion  with  which  he  could  take  refuge. 

Bishop  Wilson  found  some  ancient  laws  in  the  island  which 
had  been  framed  for  this  very  purpose;  and  all  that  he  now 
saw  occasion  to  do,  was  to  revise  and  arrange  them,  and  to 
adapt  them  to  the  present  condition  of  the  church  of  Christ. 
This  was  put  into  execution  in  the  year  1703,  when  certain 
Ecchsiastical  Constitutions  were  at  his  suggestion  adopted  by 
a  full  convocation  of  the  clergy;  and  all  the  official  persons 
in  the  island,  including  the  lord,  subscribed  the  same,  in  to- 
ken that  they  "  found  them  very  reasonable,  just,  and  neces- 
sary." 

The  preamble  of  this  document  clearly  shows  the  design 
■with  which  it  was  drawn  up.  It  is  as  follows: — "In  the 
name  of  our  great  Lord  and  Master,  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ, 
and  to  the  glory  and  increase  of  his  kingdom  amongst  men ; 
We,  the  bishop, 'archdeacon,  vicars-general,  and  clergy  of  the 
Isle,  who  do  subscribe  these  articles, — that  we  may  not  stand 
charged  with  the  scandals  which  wicked  men  bring  upon 
religion,  while  they  are  admitted  to,  and  reputed  members  of, 
Christ's  church;  and  that  we  may,  by  all  laudable  means, 
promote  the  conversion  of  sinners,  and  oblige  men  to  submit 
to  the  discipline  of  the  gospel;  and  lastly,  that  we  may  pro- 
vide for  the  instruction  of  the  growing  age  in  Christian  learn- 
ing and  good  manners  ; — have  formed  these  following  consti 
tutions,  which  we  oblige  ourselves  (by  God's  help)  to  ob 
serve ;  and  to  endeavour  that  all  others  within  our  several 
cures  shall  comply  with  the  same." 

The  constitutions,  thus  prefaced,  were  in  many  respects 
well  calculated  to  repress  vice ;  they  would  have  been  free 
from  all  exception  if  they  had  not  authorised  the  use  of  tem- 
poral restraints  for  the  purpose  of  enforcing  the  observance  of 
religious  duties.  They  appear  however  to  have  been  attended 
■with  good  in  that  little  society,  impeding  the  growth  of  evil, 
and  restoring  the  straying  sheep  to  right  paths. 
Vol.  II.— 3  L 


Bishop  Wilson  saw  that  under  particular  circumstances 
such  discipline  would  only  tend  to  irritate  and  harden  ofl^end- 
ers,  or  to  drive  them  to  some  other  communion  ;  he  acknow- 
edged  that  it  could  not  be  maintained  in  Enorland,  "  by  reason 
of  the  schisms  and  heresies  which  abounded  there."  But  he 
felt  that  no  such  impediment  existed  within  his  own  diocese ; 
he  hoped  that  the  measures  pursued  by  the  church  would 
produce  that  godly  sorrow  which  worketh  true  repentance, 
and  in  this  hope  he  possessed  the  sympathies  of  those  who 
were  anxious  for  the  moral  and  religious  well-being  of  their 
native  island.  As  for  himself,  there  could  be  no  doubt  of  his 
exercising  authority  with  paternal  mildness.  So  pious,  kind, 
and  meek  a  pastor  would  never  rule  his  sheep  in  a  spirit  of 
severity;  and  even  if  other  evidence  were  wanting,  we  miTht 
find  it  in  the  love  with  which  the  people  regarded  their  bishop, 
and  which  proved  that  he  dealt  with  them  tenderly  and  kindly. 

We  may  perhaps  connect  his  views  of  church  government 
with  his  recollecrions  of  Dr.  Sherlock,  his  respected  relative. 
That  good  man,  by  his  pious  exertions,  had  made  his  parish 
a  pattern  to  all  around  ;  and  while  he  was  singularly  humble 
and  devout,  he  was  also  bold  in  rebuking  vice,  and  by  the 
exercise,  in  extreme  cases,  of  ecclesiastical  discipline,  kept 
his  people  free  from  gross  evils  and  abuses. 

Lord  Chancellor  King  commended  very  highly  bishop 
Wilson's  Constitutions,  and  observed,  that  "  if  the  ancient  dis- 
cipline of  the  church  were  lost,  it  might  be  found  in  all  its 
purity  in  the  Isle  of  Man." 

But  bishop  Wilson  considered  an  united  and  zealous  body 
of  faithful  ministers  as  the  best  means,  by  the  blessino-  and 
grace  of  God,  of  diffusing  holiness  and  sound  religious  prin- 
ciples. Lamenting,  in  one  of  his  charges,  the  vices  and  cor- 
ruptions ■n-hich  were  creeping  into  this  once  "  quiet  little  na- 
tion," he  says,  "  the  most  effectual  ■way  to  prevent  this  will 
be,  for  all  of  «s,  that  are  appointed  to  watch  over  the  flock  of 
Christ,  to  employ  our  thoughts,  our  zeal,  and  our  time,  in  pro- 
moting of  true  piety;  in  labouring  to  make  men  good;  and 
in  converting  sinners  from  the  error  of  their  ways,  that  we 
may  preserve  Ihe  power,  as  well  as  the  form  of  godliness." 
He  therefore  encouraged  his  clergy  in  all  their  labours,  and 
led  them  on  to  cultivate  the  Lord's  vineyard  with  renewed 
diligence  and  care.  From  the  first,  his  couduct  towards  them 
presents  an  example  which  it  is  more  easy  to  admire  than  to 
equal.  The  kindness  and  gentleness  for  which  he  ever  prayed 
were  tempered  by  a  sense  of  duty  in  the  discharge,  accordino- 
to  his  ability,  of  the  functions  of  his  responsible  office.  He 
had  a  watchful  eye,  and  a  firm  hand  when  it  was  needful,  but 
his  great  desire  was  to  be  loved  rather  than  feared,  to  be  con- 
sidered as  in  all  things  their  equal  except  in  the  exercise  of 
his  duty  as  a  bishop  ;  he  wished  rather  to  be  thought  of  as  the 
cheerful  adviser  and  faithful  counsellor,  than  as  the  officer  in- 
vested with  power. 

"His  affection  for  his  clergy,"  says  Mr.  Stowell,  "was 
strong  and  uniform.  He  was  attentive  to  all  their  wants, 
and  laboured  incessantly  to  advance  their  temporal,  spiritual, 
and  eternal  interests.  He  regarded  their  exigencies  as  his 
own,  and  was  watchful  to  supply  them  as  far  as  was  in  his 
power.  He  made  additions  to  their  glebes,  contributed  to 
the  repairs  and  improvements  of  their  houses,  and  increased 
their  comforts  in  a  variety  of  ways.  There  are  few,  even  of 
the  present  race  of  clergy,  who  do  not  feel  the  effects  of 
bishop  W'ilson's  benefactions.  Many  of  the  conveniences 
which  they  enjoy  are  the  fruits  of  his  beneficence,  and  part 
of  the  bread  which  they  eat  is  raised  from  ground  purchased 
by  his  liberality.  He  maintained  a  constant  intercourse  with 
his  clergy,"  and  took  great  pleasure  in  contemplating  the 
unanimity  which  prevailed  amongst  them,  declaring,  in  one 
of  his  addresses  to  them,  how  happy  he  was  in  the°love  and 
obedience  of  all  his  clergj',  and  that  he  had  lived  with  them 
in  perfect  love  and  unity  for  more  than  three-and-twenty 
years,  and  had  their  interest  at  heart  as  much  as  his  own. 
"  He  encouraged  them  to  apply  to  him  in  every  difficulty,  he 
assisted  them  in  the  prosecution  of  their  studies,  he  animated 
them  to  more  vigorous  efforts  in  their  ministry,  he  sympa- 
thized with  them  in  distress,  and  took  a  hearty  concern  in  all 
their  affairs.  The  elder  clergy  he  treated  as  his  brethren, 
the  younger  as  his  children.  He  considered  all  of  them,  in 
a  great  measure,  as  members  of  his  family,  and  received  them 
under  his  hospitable  roof  with  the  most  affectionate  welcome. 
They  frequently  spent  days  and  weeks  at  his  house,  and 
always  returned  to  their  own  homes  happier,  ■H-iser,  and 
better.  In  all  their  distresses,  whether  personal  or  profess- 
ional, whether  of  a  private  or  public  nature,  they  were  sure 
to  meet  with  the  best  counsels  and  the  sweetest  consolations 
at  Bishop's-court.     Even  in  tlie  most  delicate  circumstances 


482 


CHRISTIAN   LIBRARY. 


of  domestic  life,  they  found  in  thoir  bisliop  a  counsellor  and  a 
friend.  He  mentions  in  his  private  memoranda  his  intention 
of  visitino-  the  family  of  one  of  his  clergy,  in  which  he  under- 
stood some  unhappy  disagreements  prevailed,  and  his  resolu- 
tion to  endeavour  to  heal  the  domestic  breach,  and  restore 
peace  and  harmony.  This  minute  attention  to  the  personal 
and  domestic  comforts  of  his  clergy  marks  an  interest  in  their 
welfare  truly  paternal.  He  distinguished  with  peculiar  re- 
gard those  of  them  who  were  faithful  in  the  discharge  of 
their  duty,  admitted  them  to  all  the  familiarities  of  the  most 
intimate  friendship,  and  felt  high  delight  in  their  society. 
Some  of  them,  who  have  within  these  few  years  been  re- 
moved from  this  imperfect  state,  were  accustomed  to  speak 
of  the  venerable  bishop  in  the  glowing  language  of  gratitude 
and  affection  ;  and  with  a  kind  of  holy  rapture  to  recount  his 
virtues  and  enumerate  his  charities.  His  name  was  no  sooner 
mentioned  than  the  countenance  began  to  brighten,  the  recol- 
lection of  past  days  to  revive,  the  voice  to  assume  a  softer 
tone,  and  "  narrative  old  age"  to  relate  a  thousand  acts  of 
beneficence  and  piety  associated  with  that  name.  _ 

"The  mention  of  bishop  Wilson  was  sure  to  introduce  an 
interesting  and  useful  conversation,  to  bring  to  recollection 
some  pious  remark  which  he  had  uttered,  some  labour  of 
love  which  he  had  performed,  or  some  important  advice 
which  he  had  given.  No  wonder  that  his  clergy  should  have 
felt  such  an  attachment  to  his  person,  and  have  retained  such 
a  veneration  for  his  memory.  Their  obligations  to  him  were 
numerous  and  powerful. 

"  From  the  time  they  first  disclosed  their  intention  of  de- 
voting themselves  to  the  service  of  the  sanctuary,  he  formed 
a  coiitiexion  with  them  somewhat  similar  to  that  which  sub- 
sisted between  Eli  and  tSamuel.  He  watched  over  their 
conduct,  (and  enjoined  those  who  should  sign  their  testimo- 
nials to  be  watchful  over  them,)  he  guided  their  studies,  and 
directed  their  pursuits.  For  a  year  belbre  their  entrance  on 
tlie  holy  ministry,  he  took  them  to  reside  in  his  family,  that 
they  micrht  be  continually  under  his  inspection  and  have  the 
benefit  of  his  daily  instructions.  This  invaluable  privilege 
tended  to  form  the  young  candidates  to  genuine  piety  and 
extensive  usefulness.  They  had  the  advantage  ot  a  pious 
and  enlightened  instructor  to  assist  them  in  the  hourly  prose- 
cution of  their  studies,  to  elucidate  what  was  obscure,  to  ex- 
pound  what  was  difficult,  and  to  enforce  what  was  important. 
He  took  particular  pains  to  bring  the  young  students  to  an 
accurate  and  distinct  knowledge  of  the  Greek  Testament. 
They  every  day  read  a  portion  of  it  to  him,  and  heard  his 
remarks  and  observations  on  the  passage  read.  He  recom- 
mended to  their  perusal  the  best  writers  in  divinity,  conversed 
with  them  on  the  subject  of  personal  religion,  and  both  by 
precept  and  example  laboured  earnestly  to  render  them  able 
ministers  of  the  New  Testament. 

"All  their  readings  and  studies  were  directed  to  this  im 
portant  end.  His  great  desire  was  to  form  them  after  the 
model  of  primitive  Christianity,  to  lead  them  'to  read,  mark 
learn,  and  inwardly  digest'  the  Holy  .Scriptures,  to  influence 
them  to  love  and  live  the  Gospel,  and  to  follow  the  steps  ol 
prophets,  apostles,  confessors,  and  martyrs,  and,  above  all, 
to  have  the  same  mind  in  tlicm  which  was  also  in  Christ 
Jesus.  , 

"A  better  school  of  divinity  these  candidates  for  the  sacred 
office  could  scarcely  have  attended.  The  scriptural  lessons 
which  they  were  daily  learning  from  their  books  they  hourly 
beheld  exemplified  in  the  life  of  their  revered  instructor. 
The  work  of  faith,  the  labour  of  love,  the  patience  ot  hope, 
were  continually  before  their  eyes.  Every  hour  presented  a 
comment  on  some  lesson  of  Christianity,  or  an  illustration  ol 
some  christian  grace  and  virtue.  The  conversation,  the  in- 
struction, the  prayers,  and  the  example,  of  this  apostolica 
prelate  were  admirably  calculated  to  form  zealous  and  usetui 
pastors.  The  students  under  his  care  enjoyed  peculiar  ad- 
vantao-es  of  a  literary,  moral,  and  religious  nature.  Uithout 
the  formality  of  college  lectures,  the  bishop  was  daily  com- 
inunicating  the  substance  of  such  lectures  in  a  more  attractive 
manner  and  a  more  engaging  style.  His  table-talk  was 
often  as  instructive  as  the  professor's  dissertation,  and^his 
general  conversation  conveyed  valuable  lessons  ot  piety.' 

Considering,  as  he  once  expressed  it,  "that  the  best  men 
have  sometim'es  need  of  being  stirred  up,  that  they  may  not 
lose  a  spirit  of  piety,  which  is  but  too  apt  to  languish,  _  he  Ire- 
([uently  addressed  his  clergy  in  circular  Letters  and  Charges, 
.  many  of  which  still  remain  to  prove  what  an  excellent  and 
walclilul  friend  and  adviser  they  possessed  in  him. 

For  the  same  purpose  he  wrote  a  work  entitled  Pifrnchiaha : 
or  Instruclions  to  the  Clergy;  a  treatise  full  of  useful  suggest- 


ions. It  is  prefaced  by  an  admirable  address  to  the  clergy 
on  the  duty  of  studying  the  Scriptures,  the  necessity  of  per- 
onal  religion,  of  diligence  in  opposing  error  and  vice,  and  of 
privately  teaching  and  admonishing  the  people.  This  work 
was  written  in  the  year  1708,  but  not  printed  for  many  years 
after.  The  bishop,  however,  circulated  it  by  means  of  tran- 
scribed copies ;  and  this  circumstance  may  explain  the  pur- 
port of  the  following  letter  which  a  descendant  of  the  clergy- 
man to  whom  it  was  written  has  permitted  us  to  copy  from 
the  curious  and  highly  interesting  original  manuscript. 

For  the  Reverend  Mr.  Crebbin,  Vicar  of  Kk  St  Anne. 

"  Mr.  Crebbin,  .Tune  7th,  1737. 

"  I  send  you  the  paper  you  desire,  yon  will  be  careful  to 
return  it  in  1-1  days  at  farthest.  1  have  given  Copys  to  most 
of  the  Elder  Clergy.  It  is  worth  a  pastor's  while  to  look 
over  it,  if  it  were  but  to  pick  out  what  he  may  think  conve- 
nient to  the  Instruction  of  his  Flock,  for  such  purpose  it  was 
drawn  up  30  yeares  agoe,  &  I  am  now  solicited  to  print  it 
w'li  several  othr  little  papers  relating  to  the  Dutys  of  a  Paro- 
chial Jlinister,  and  pray  God  it  mav'  answ  ye  end. 
"  I  am  yor  P'riend  &  Brothr, 

"Tho.  Sodob  &  Man." 

Before  we  pass  on  to  other  matters,  we  will  make  one 
more  extract  from  Mr.  Stowell's  work.  "  The  clergy  re- 
garded him  as  their  father  and  their  friend.  Some  of  them, 
wliose  conduct  constrained  him  to  exercise  a  degree  of  neces- 
sary severity  towards  them,  were  so  fully  persuaded  of  the 
purity  of  his  motives  and  the  kindness  of  his  intentions,  that 
they  felt  no  sensation  of  resentment,  but  through  life  retained 
unbounded  respect  for  his  memory,  and  ever  spoke  of  him 
with  the  highest  gratitude  and  esteem.  At  the  expiration  of 
nearly  half  a  century  after  his  decease,  aged  ministers  have 
been  heard  to  recount  the  virtues  of  bishop  Wilson  with  tears 
of  affection  trembling  in  their  eyes.  The  memories  of  the 
descendants  of  the  last  race  of  clergymen  in  the  Isle  of  Man 
are  deeply  impressed  with  the  good  report  which  they  have 
heard  from  their  fathers  of  this  reverend  prelate,  and  to  the 
latest  posterity  his  deeds  of  charity  shall  he  told  for  a  memo- 
rial of  him." 

In  the  year  1707,  the  universities  of  Oxford  and  Cambridge 
honoured  themselves  by  conferring  on  bishop  Wilson  the 
degree  of  doctor  of  divinity.  And  about  the  same  time  he 
became  a  member  of  the  venerable  Society  for  Promoting 
Christian  Knowledge. 

In  1710  business  called  him  to  England,  and  as  all  vessels 
from  the  Isle  of  Man  were  for  some  reason  required,  just  at 
that  time,  to  perform  quarantine  before  entering  any  of  the 
ports  in  England,  he  crossed  in  an  open  boat  to  Scotland, 
and,  landing  at  Kirkcudbright,  was  persuaded  by  the  earl  of 
Galloway  and  some  others  to  whom  he  was  known,  to  visit 
Edinburgh,  where  his  acquaintance  was  much  sought  after. 
On  his  departure  from  that  city,  a  great  number  of  nobility, 
o-enlry,  and  clergy,  conducted  him  nearly  as  far  as  Carlisle. 

In  the  following  year  we  meet  with  similar  tokens  of  his 
good  name  having  extended  itself  through  the  towns  and 
Uages  of  England.  On  his  way  to  London,  bearing  a  com- 
mission to  make  some  arrangements  relative  to  the  excise, 
the  people  crowded  round  him  in  the  places  through  which 
passed,  testifying  their  deep  respect,  and  asking  for  his 
blessing.  Queen  Anne  was  delighted  to  see  him,  desired 
liira  to  preach  before  her,  and  called  him  the  silver-tongued 
bishop.  She  also  offered  to  him  an  English  bishopric,  but 
he  begged  to  be  excused,  saying  that  "  with  the  blessing  of 
God,  he  could  do  some  good  in  the  little  spot  that  he  tlicn 
resided  on;  whereas,  if  he  were  removed  into  a  larger  sphere,  he 
might  be  lost,  and  forget  his  duty  to  his  flock  and  to  his  God." 
'i'he  feeling  which  influenced  him  in  this  case  is  more 
fully  declared"  in  the  Hacra  Frivaia,  in  the  following  words: 
"  When  men's  labours  are  attended  with  tolerable  success, 
yet  because  either  they  can  better  their  temporal  condition, 
or  think  that  a  more  public  station  would  be  more  suitable  to 
their  great  capacities,  they  leave  their  station  for  one  more 
full  of  dangers,  without  any  prospect  of  being  more  service- 
able to  God,  or  to  his  church  and  the  souls  of  men ;  not 
considering  that  this  is  the  voice  of  pride,  self-love,  and 
covetousness ;  and  an  evil  example  to  others,  to  whom  we 
do  or  should  (ireach  humility,  as  the  very  foundation  of 
Christianity.  To  leave  a  clergy  and  a  people  to  whom  one  is 
perfectly  well  known,  lo  go' to  another  to  whom  one  is  a 
stranger,  and  this  for  the  sake  of  riches,  which  arc  supposed 
to  ha%e  been  renounced  :  this  was  unknown  to  the  first  ages 
of  Christianity." 


LIFE  OF  BISHOP  WILSON. 


48  3 


Let  this  example  not  only  excite  the  admiration  of  men, 
but  moderate  their  ambitious  desires,  and  infuse  into  their 
hearts  a  like  spirit  of  contentedness  and  self-denial! 

It  may  seem  strange  to  say,  that  durino;  the  greater  part  of 
the  life  of  this  excellent  man,  corrupt  principles  and  practice 
were  establishing  themselves  amongst  the  people  whose  af- 
fection he  so  largely  possessed.  Yet  such  was  the  case.  In 
his  Charges,  year  after  year,  he  deplores  the  increasing  evi- 
dences of  forgetfulness  of  God :  and  a  growing  population, 
which  exceeded  20,000  many  years  before  his  death,  daily 
became  more  tainted  with  vice  as  they  became  more  nume- 
rous. He  consequently  speaks  mournfully  of  the  loss  of  their 
ancient  reputation  ;  a  reputation  not  ill-deserved,  since,  in 
the  early  part  of  his  residence  amongst  them,  he  had  no  lock 
to  his  outer  door,  nor  any  other  fastening  than  a  latch. 

These  sprinklings  of  tares  amongst  the  wheat  may  be  easily 
attributed  to  the  right  quarter.  Tliroughout  his  charges  we 
find  him  lamenting  the  effects  of  the  great  influx  of  strangers. 
"  We  are  most  unjustly  reproached,"  he  says,  in  his  Charge 
of  1721,  "  for  being  enemies  to  strangers.  I  wish  to  God  we 
had  been  more  enemies  to  such  of  them  as  have  from  time  to 
time  corrupted  our  manners  and  our  principles,  and  afterwards 
raised  an  evil  report  upon  the  whole  community,  for  the  vices 
of  those  whom  they  themselves  have  corrupted." 

From  other  sources  we  learn  that  these  strangers  were  per- 
sons who  made  the  island  their  residence  in  order  to  carry  on 
more  securely  a  lucrative  contraband  trade.  It  had  nothing 
else  to  tempt  them,  for  neither  were  there  any  manufactures, 
nor  a  surplus  produce  from  the  soil,  nor  were  the  people  rich 
enough  to  give  encouragement  to  speculators  by  making  large 
purchases  of  imported  goods.  But,  from  its  central  position, 
it  became  the  grand  resort  and  warehouse  of  smugglers,  who 
shipped  off  their  goods,  as  occasion  offered,  to  England, 
Scotland  and  Ireland.  To  adopt  the  words  of  Mr.  Britton,  in 
his  Buiuties  of  England  and  JVales — "  Merchants  from  various 
countries  flourished  in  every  town ;  and  the  expression  of  the 
traveller,  that  the  whole  isle  was  become  a  horde  of  smug- 
glers, was  hardly  too  strong  to  characterize  the  number  of  its 
inhabitants  who  were  engaged  in  the  different  branches  of  its 
illicit  traffic."  He  further  says,  that  "  the  insular  revenue  of 
the  lord  was  considerably  augmented  by  the  clandestine  com^ 
merce  of  his  people." 

It  appears  that  these  elements  of  demoralization  were  not 
introduced  into  the  "liltle  quiet  nation"  for  some  time  after 
bishop  Wilson's  arrival  there.  But  in  a  few  years  the  smug 
glers  carried  on  their  transactions  to  so  great  an  extent  as 
materially  to  affect  the  British  revenues,  and  to  bring  the 
subject  before  parliament  at  dilTerent  times  subsequently  to 
the  year  17i!(j. 

Another  source  of  grief  and  discouragement  to  the  bishop 
was  the  want  of  countenance  and  support  from  the  chief  civil 
power,  which  he  latterly  had  reason  to  complain  of.  His 
good  friend  and  patron,  the  earl  of  Derby,  his  pupil's  father, 
(lied  in  1702;  and  neither  his  brother  James,  the  tenth  earl 
who  succeeded  him,  nor  the  officers  whom  he  brought  into  the 
island,  appear  to  have  entertained  that  respect  and  regard  for 
the  bishop  which  were  so  generally  conceded.  But,  whatever 
might  be  the  cause,  it  is  certain  that  the  civil  authorities  bore 
considerable  animosity  towards  the  ecclesiastical  jurisdiction, 
and  took  occasion  to  show  it  by  the  unjust  exercise  of  power. 
In  one  case  the  governor  prevented  the  execution  of  a  sentence 
of  the  spiritual  court;  he  also  oppressed  a  clergyman  by  im 
posing  an  illegal  fine  and  imprisonment.  And  so  manifest 
was  the  intention  of  undermining  and  subverting  the  estab- 
lished regulations  of  the  church,  that  it  was  necessary  either 
to  annul  them  altogether,  or  to  bring  matters  to  an  issue 
The  bishop  resolved  to  abide  by  the  existing  laws,  and  still 
continued  to  enforce  them  with  his  usual  temper  and  mildness, 
and  without  any  regard  to  the  personal  inconvenience  or  hos 
tility  to  which  he  might  be  subjected  in  the  performance  of 
his  duty. 

In  1722,  a  case  occurred  which  brought  him  in  direct  col 
lision  with  captain  Home,  the  governor  of  the  island. 

Archdeacon  Horrobin  was  chaplain  to  the  governor;  he 
appears  to  have  been  tainted  with  some  serious  errors  of  a 
socinian  character,  and  to  have  held  his  ecclesiastical  supe- 
riors in  no  great  respect,  being  desirous  of  setting  aside  the 
constitutions,  and  not  scrupling  to  act  in  direct  disobedience 
to  them.  Bishop  Wilson  charges  him  with  "  having  deliv- 
ered several  things  from  the  pulpit  not  agreeable  to  truth  and 
sound  doctrine;  and,  by  an  obstinate  defence  of  them,  after 
he  was  seriously  admonished  to  forbear  giving  offence,  hav- 
ing done  what  in  hira  lay  to  involve  in  endless  disputes  a 
church,  which  at  his  coming  he  found  in  perfect  peace  and 


unity."  The  errors  alleored  atjainst  him  bear  so  close  an 
affinity  to  those  arhich  bishop  Wilson  reprobates  in  one  of  his 
charges,  as  being  disseminated  by  a  book  intitled  the  Inde- 
pendent Whig,  at  that  time  diligently  circulated  by  the  gov- 
ernor and  his  party,  that  it  seems  natural  to  trace  the  senti- 
ments of  the  chaplain  to  that  source. 

The  instance  of  his  open  breach  of  discipline  was  one  in 
which  his  name  stands  implicated  with  that  of  the  governor's 
lady.  The  case  is  stated  in  nearly  the  following  terms,  by 
bishop  Wilson,  in  a  letter  to  the  earl  of  Derby,  the  lord  of  the 
island. 

"  The  archdeacon  having  repulsed  one  Mrs.  Puller  from 
the  sacrament,  gave  me  notice  thereof  in  order  to  an  hearing; 
amongst  other  reasons  he  gave  for  so  doing,  one  was,  that 
madam  Home,  the  governor's  lady,  had  informed  him  that 
she  had  seen  certain  improprieties  between  sir  James  Poole 
and  the  said  gentlewoman,  which  he  thought  a  sufficient 
reason  for  expelling  her  from  the  Lord's  table,  which  he  did 
without  any  previous  admonition. 

"  !Sir  James  and  the  gentlewoman  complaining  of  this  as  a 
grievous  slander,  demanded  of  us  power  to  charge  the  arch- 
deacon to  make  it  good,  or  to  suffer  as  a  slanderer.  The  arch- 
deacon, to  free  himself,  brought  madam  Home,  who  owned 
herself  to  be  the  author  of  the  information;  and  having  no 
evidence  to  support  the  charge,  and  also  refusing  to  declare 
how  the  matter  was,  (unless  she  might  do  it  upon  oath,  which 
the  law  did  not  admit  of,  in  regard  she  could  not  be  both  ac- 
cuser and  witness),  sir  James  and  the  gentlewoman  demanded 
the  benefit  of  the  law,  which  was  to  clear  themselves  upon 
oath  ;  which  they  did,  after  a  very  solemn  manner,  with  lawful 
compurgators,  and  then  petitioned  for  reparation  for  such  an 
unjust  reproach  cast  upon  them.  This  we  could  not  in  justice 
deny,  and  therefore  madam  Home  was  only  to  ask  their  for- 
giveness for  the  slander,  and  that  under  such  penalties  as  the 
law  directs. 

"  This,  my  lord,  is  plain  matter  of  fact :  and  were  we  to  die 
for  it,  we  could  not  have  done  otherwise,  if  we  resolved  to 
act  agreeably  to  the  law,  our  oaths  and  duty."  It  was  even 
proposed  as  a  sufficient  compensation,  that  she  should  ac- 
knowledge her  offence  "privately,  before  the  vicar  of  the 
parish,  asking  forgiveness  for  the  great  injury  done." 

Captain  Home,  however,  was  probabl)'  pleased  at  havincr 
an  opportunity  of  resisting  the  ecclesiastical  law,  as  well  as 
piqued  at  the  injury  done  to  his  consequence  by  this  treatment 
of  his  wife.  She  therefore  refused  to  make  an  apolog}',  and 
the  consequence  was,  that  sentence  was  promulgated,  exclud- 
ing her  from  the  holy  communion  till  reparation  should  bo 
made.  Notwithstanding  this,  the  archdeacon  administered 
the  sacrament  to  her  as  before  ;  and  the  bishop,  feeling  that 
to  omit  punishing  this  offence  was  virtually  to  annul  the  law 
and  to  neglect  his  duty,  suspended  llie  offender. 

The  archdeacon  was  highly  indignant  at  this  treatment,  but, 
instead  of  applying  to  the  archbishop  of  York,  who  was  the 
proper  judge  to  appeal  to  in  such  a  cnse,  he  made  his  appeal 
to  his  friend  the  governor,  who,  under  pretence  that  the  bishop 
had  exercised  powers  not  entrusted  to  him  by  the  law,  fined 
him  fifty  pounds,  and  his  two  vicars-general  (who  had  been 
officially  concerned  in  the  suspension),  twenty  pounds  each. 
This  fine  they  all  refused  to  pay,  as  an  illegal  demand,  upon 
which  the  governor  sent  a  party  of  soldiers,  and  on  the  29th 
of  June,  1722,  the  bishop,  Dr.  Walker  and  i\Ir.  Curghay,  were 
arrested  and  conveyed  to  the  prison  of  castle  Rushin,  where 
they  were  kept  closely  confined  for  nine  weeks,  no  persons  be- 
ing admitted  within  the  walls  to  see  or  converse  with  them. 

An  universal  sentiment  of  indignation  possessed  the  people 
when  they  heard  of  the  imjirisonment  of  their  pastor  and  friend. 
They  assembled  in  crowds,  and  their  first  impulse  was  to  pull 
down  the  house  of  the  governor.  Bishop  ^Vilson  was  per- 
mitted to  address  them  from  the  prison-walls,  and  he  besought 
them  to  use  violence  to  no  man,  at  the  same  time  assuring 
them  that  he  meant  to  "  appeal  to  Ca?sar,"  meaning  the  king; 
and  that  he  did  not  doubt  that  his  majesty  would  give  him 
redress,  if  he  was  unworthy  of  those  bonds.  With  this  the 
people  were  restrained  from  violence,  but  daily,  during  his 
imprisonment,  they  showed  their  affectionate  sense  of  his 
goodness  and  kindness,  by  assembling  in  crowds  round  the 
walls  which  confined  him  and  his  brethren. 

As  a  further  means  of  pacifying  and  comforting  the  people, 
he  sent  a  circular  letter  to  his  clergy,  three  days  after  his 
commitment,  and  directed  it  to  be  read  publicly  in  the  churches 
throughout  the  island.    This  letter  was  as  follows: 

"  Mv  Brethren, — Though  our  persons  are  confined  to  this 
place,  yet  our  affection  for  you,  and  our  concern  for  the  flock 


484 


CHRISTIAN 'LIBRARY. 


over  vvliich  tlie  Holy  Ghost  hatli  made  us  overseers,  and  our 
prayers  for  both,  are  at  full  liberty.  And  we  doubt  not  but 
our  authority,  in  matters  spiritual  at  least,  will  be  obeyed  by 
you  and  by  all  such  as  fear  God,  for  our  great  Master's  sake, 
who  has  promised  to  be  with  us  always,  even  unto  the  end  of 
the  world. 

"  I  desire,  therefore,  and  require  of  every  one  of  you,  that  you 
make  regular  presentments  to  my  registrar  of  all  unquiet,  dis 
obedient  and  criminous  persons  witliin  your  several  parishes, 
that  we  may  correct  and  punish  them  according  to  such 
authority  as  we  have  by  God's  word. 

"  1  beg  that  you  will  be  more  than  ordinarily  diligent  in 
discharging  the  several  duties  of  your  sacred  calling;  this 
will  be  the  best  testimony  of  yonr  affection  for  us.  And  I 
beseech  you,  let  no  unworthy  thoughts  enter  your  hearts, 
nor  unbecoming  words  come  out  of  your  mouths,  against  those 
that  have  given  us  this  trouble. 

"  If  we  suffer  for  righteousness'  sake,  that  is,  for  doing  our 
duty,  it  will  turn  very  much  to  our  account.  And  if  we  have 
been  mistaken  in  any  thing,  there  are  proper  judges  superior 
to  us  all,  who  will  be  able  to  clear  up  these  difficulties,  to  the 
satisfaction  of  all  good  men  and  lovers  of  peace. 

"  And  that  none  of  your  people  may  transgress  the  bounds 
of  duty  and  obedience  to  the  civil  magistrate,  (who  is  God's 
minister  in  temporal  matters,  as  we  are  in  spirituals),  and  so 
come  to  suffer  as  evil  doers,  I  pray  you  communicate  this 
letter  and  my  hearty  desires  to  whom  you  shall  think  ht,  that 
they  may  be  convinced  that  neither  they  nor  we  havo  any 
reason  to  be  uneasy  at  what  has  befallen  us. 

"And  if  to  this  you  afford  us  your  daily  prayers,  which,  as 
your  bishop,  I  require,  that  we  may  both  perceive  and  know 
w^hat  things  we  ought  to  do,  and  also  have  grace  and  power 
faithfully  to  fulfil  the  same;  that  this  church  may  be  always 
ordered  and  guided  by  faithful  and  true  pastors,  such  as  may 
constantly  speak  the  truth,  boldly  rebuke  vice,  and  patiently 
suffer  for  righteousness'  sake;  you  will  then  do  what  becomes 
worthy  sons  of  a  father  and  bishop,  who  every  day  of  his  life 
remembers  you  at  the  throne  of  grace. 

"  2d  Julii,  1722.  Tho.  Sodor  and  Man." 

In  the  same  spirit  of  submission  to  the  will  of  God  in 
chastening  him,  the  following  entry  was  found  in  his  diary  : — 
St.  Peter's  Day,  1722.  I  and  my  two  vicars-general  were 
fined  ninety  pounds,  and  imprisoned  in  castle  Rushin,  for 
censuring  and  refusing  to  take  off  the  censure  of  certain  of- 
fenders: which  punishmeut  and  contempt  I  desire  to  receive 
from  God  as  a  means  of  humbling  me." 

The  bishop  and  his  two  friends,  finding  that  there  was  no 
prospect  of  the  governor's  relenting,  were  advised  to  pay  the 
fines,  and  then  appeal  to  the  king  in  council ;  and  accordingly, 
after  a  close  confinement  of  two  months,  they  were  released 
on  the  31st  of  August.  The  day  of  their  liberation  was  a  day 
of  general  joy.  Old  and  young,  rich  and  poor,  assembled 
from  all  parts  of  the  island,  and  formed  such  a  procession  as 
had  never  before  been  witnessed.  The  populace  wished  to 
spread  their  clothes  under  the  bishop's  feet,  and  when  he 
refused  to  accept  this  demonstration  of  their  regard,  they 
strewed  his  path  with  flowers.  The  road  leading  from  Cas- 
tletown to  Bishop's-court,  for  more  than  three  miles  was 
thronged  with  persons  on  foot  and  horseback;  and,  for  want 
of  better  music,  multitudes  had  provided  themselves  with 
pipes  of  elder-wood.  A  bonfire  at  Kirk-Michael  added  to 
these  testimonies  of  love  and  joy. 

His  cause  was  fairly  investigated  and  tried  before  the  king 
in  council,  who,  on  the  4th  of  July,  1721,  issued  an  order, 
declaring  that  the  judgments  or  sentences  given  by  the  gov- 
ernor and  his  officers  "  be  reversed  and  set  aside,  in  regard 
they  had  no  jurisdiction,"  and  that  the  fines  be  returned. 

This  afiair  entailed  upon  bishop  Wilson  considerable  per- 
sonal injury.  The  comfortable  habitations  called  prisons  in 
England,  are  far  different  from  tho  place  of  his  confinement; 
it  was  a  cold  and  damp  cell ;  and  he  contracted  then  a  disor- 
der in  his  right  hand,  which  deprived  him  of  the  free  use  of 
his  fingers,  in  consequence  of  which  he  was  obliged  ever 
after,  when  he  wrote,  to  grasp  the  pen  with  his  whole  hand. 

The  expense  also,  incurred  in  bringing  this  case  of  oppress- 
ion before  the  privy  council,  was  seriously  felt  by  the  bish- 
op ;  and  though  a  considerable  subscription  was  raised  in 
England  to  defray  it,  yet  still  there  remained  heavy  claims 
upon  his  small  purse.  His  solicitor,  indeed,  advised  him  to 
prosecute  the  governor  in  the  English  courts  of  law,  to  re- 
cover compensation  for  his  great  expense;  but  to  this  he  would 
not  consent,  declaring  that  having|now  established  the  disci- 
pline of  the  church,  he  felt  no  "resentment  for  the  personal 


injury  he  had  undergone,  but  sincerely  and  fully  forgave  his 
persecutor. 

During  his  confinement  in  castle  Rushin,  the  magistrates, 
officially  assembled,  forwarded  an  address  to  the  bishop  and 
the  other  ecclesiastical  judges,  in  which  they  paid  this  testi- 
mony to  their  merits  on  the  only  point  on  which  bishop  Wil- 
son had  ever  been  called  in  question.  "  As  to  the  charge  of 
exercising  a  spiritual  tyranny,  we  do  solemly  testify,  (as  we 
are  in  duty  bound,)  that  there  is  no  cause  to  us  known  for  so 
strange  an  imputation  ;  being  verily  persuaded  that  you  have 
been  so  far  from  assuming  to  yourselves  any  undue  authority, 
that  the  church  was  never  better  governed  than  in  your  time, 
nor  justice  more  impartially  administered  in  the  ecclesiastical 
courts  of  this  isle." 

When  this  affair  was  concluded,  the  king  offered  him  the 
bishopric  of  Exeter,  which  he  declined  to  accept.  His  ma- 
jesty then  promised  to  defray  the  expenses  out  of  the  privy 
purse,  but,  dying  soon  after,  the  promise  was  never  ful- 
filled. 

What  became  of  archdeacon  Horrobin  is  not  mentioned  by 
the  biographers  of  bishop  Wilson.  We  are  only  informed 
that  he  presented  a  petition  to  the  bishop  for  the  removal  of 
his  suspension ;  to  which  an  answer  was  given,  that  it  could 
only  be  done  when  he  should  acknowledge  the  legality  of  the 
sentence  which  had  been  passed  upon  him,  and  "  promise  for 
the  future  to  avoid  giving  any  occasion  of  disturbing  the 
peace  and  unity  of  the  church  ;  and  this  with  a  sincerity  be- 
coming a  Christian,  and  in  terms  bespeaking  a  real  convic- 
tion." 

The  afffiction  of  their  beloved  friend  and  bishop  appears  to 
have  soften  and  improved  the  hearts  of  the  people.  He  al- 
ways used  to  say,  "  that  he  never  governed  his  diocese  so 
well  as  when  he  was  in  prison  ;  and,  for  his  own  share,  if  he 
could  have  borne  the  confinement  consistently  with  his  health, 
he  would  have  been  content  to  have  abode  there  all  his  life 
for  the  good  of  his  flock,  who  were  then  more  pious  and  de- 
vout than  at  any  other  time." 

It  must  be  obvious  to  every  reader,  that  the  bishop  of  that 
diocese  could  not  have  acted  otherwise  in  this  case,  consist- 
ently with  the  law.  But  it  will  also  have  been  observed, 
that  the  bishop  was  really  disposed  to  maintain  a  somewhat 
strict  ecclesiastical  discipline  as  a  means  of  promoting  purity 
in  the  church;  and,  therefore,  in  order  that  his  character  may 
not  be  misunderstood,  we  shall  subjoin  in  a  note  to  this 
chapter  a  few  extracts  from  his  writings,  in  which  his  senti- 
ments on  the  subject  are  plainly  set  forth. 


Nuic: — Containing  some  passages  from  the  writings  of 
bishop  W'ilson,  in  which  he  speaks  of  Church-government 
and  of  the  office  of  a  bishop. 

"The  duties  of  a  bishop,  by  the  laws  of  God,  and  the 
church  are : 

"  To  intrust  the  people  committed  to  his  charge  out  of  the 
Holy  Scriptures,  and  to  teach  or  maintain  no  doctrine  but 
what  may  be  proved  from  thence.  Sundai/.  [This  little 
sketch  of  episcopal  duties  is  probably  thus  marked  out  as 
furnishing  to  him  daily  matter  for  reflection  and  self-examina- 
tion.] 

"To  exercise  himself  in  these  Holy  Scriptures;  to  call 
upon  God  for  the  true  understanding  of  the  same.     Monday. 

"  To  use  all  faithful  diligence  in  driving  away  all  doctrines 
contrary  to  God's  word,  and  to  encourage  others  to  do  so. 
Tuesday. 

"  To  deny  all  ungodliness  and  worldly  lusts,  and  to  live  a 
sober,  righteous,  and  godly  life,  so  as  to  be  an  example  unto 
others.      Wednesday. 

"  To  maintain  and  set  forward,  as  much  as  may  be,  quiet- 
ness, love,  and  peace  among  all  men ;  and  to  correct  and 
punish  the  unruly,  criminous,  and  disobedient,  as  far  as  God's 
word  and  the  laws  of  the  land  do  require  and  will  warrant. 
Thursday. 

"  To  be  faithful  in  ordaining,  sending,  or  laying  hands  upon 
others.  Friday. 

"To  be  gentle  and  merciful  for  Christ's  sake,  to  poor  and 
needy  people,  and  to  all  strangers  destitute  of  help.  Satur- 
day."    Sacra  I'rivala. 

"If  ever  church  discipline  w-ere  necessary,  it  is  certainly  so 
now,  when  not  only  evil  practices  (which  have  ever,  God 
knows,  been  too  rife),  but  evil  books  and  evil  notions  (not 
heard  of  before  in  this  place),  are  become  very  common." 
Charge,  .Tune  172t). 

"  However  church  discipline  may  be  weakened  and  des- 


LIFE  OF  BISHOP  WILSON. 


485 


pised  in  England,  by  reason  of  the  schisms  and  heresies 
which  abound  there,  yet  here,  God  be  praised,  it  is  not  so ; 
we  have  power  and  authority  both  from  God  and  tlie  laws,  to 
rebuke  gainsaycrs  ;  and,  while  we  are  unanhnous  and  fuithful 
in  the  discharge  of  our  duty,  we  may  hope  that  our  people 
will  not  be  corrupted  with  novel  opinions.  Now  the  most  ef- 
fectual way  to  prevent  this  will  be,  for  all  of  us,  that  are  ap- 
pointed to  watch  over  the  flock  of  Christ,  to  employ  our 
t/toughts,  our  zeal,  and  our  time,  in  promoting  of  true  piety ; 
in  labouring  to  make  men  good  ;  and  in  converting  sinners 
from  the  error  of  their  ways,  that  we  may  preserve  the  power 
as  well  as  the  furm  of  godliness."      Charge,  1720. 

"We  knew  very  well  the  sin  and  danger  of  a  rash  excom- 
munkutUm.''' — Then  after  stating  that  he,  with  the  presbyters 
of  his  diocese,  being  called  together,  "according  to  primitive 
usage,"  had  patiently  heard  the  whole  case  of  the  archdeacon, 
and  weighed  well  the  nature  and  value  of  the  evidence,  he 
proceeds  :  "  it  was  then,  and  not  till  then,  you  know,  that  we 
proceeded  to  the  last  sentence,  after  the  most  solemn  appeal 
to  God,  and  invocation  of  his  holy  name  and  aid.  So  that  it 
must  be  very  rash  and  great  uncharitahlcness  in  any  body  to 
judge  of  our  proceedings  by  hearsay;  as  if  he  had  forgotten 
the  apostle's  rule,  which  yet  at  that  very  time  we  had  before 
us.  To  do  nothing  by  partiality."  Charge,  1720. 

"  Prudence  is  very  necessary  in  dangerous  times;  it  being 
no  small  fault  to  give  occasion  to  the  raising  of  storms  against 
the  church  and  her  ministers,  for  want  of  having  a  due  regard 
to  the  times  and  to  the  passions  of  carnal  men."  Sacra  Pri- 
vata. 

"  Every  Christian,  when  he  is  baptized,  is  admitted  into 
the  church  upon  a  most  solemn  promise  to  live  as  a  Christian 
onght  to  do;  if  he  does  not  do  so,  those  very  ministers  who 
admitted  him  are  bound  to  exhort,  to  rebuke,  and  to  censure 
him  ;  and  if  these  methods  will  not  do,  to  cxcommunieutc  him; 
that  is,  to  cut  him  off  from  the  body  of  Christ  and  from  God's 
favour  and  mercy.  Not  that  he  may  be  lost  forever,  but  that 
he  may  see  his  sad  condition,  and  repent  and  be  saved." — 
Form  of  Excommunicutiun. 

"  Let  us  take  care  that  we  use  this  authority,  as  the  apostle 
directs,  for  edification  and  not  fur  destruction."  lb. 

"  It  is  a  part  of  that  ministry  which  we  have  received  by 
the  imposition  of  hands,  and  which  we  most  humbly  pray  God 
to  enable  us  to  exercise  to  his  glory,  to  the  putting  a  stop  to 
the  growing  vices  of  the  age,  and  to  the  edification  of  the 
church  of  Christ,  which  he  hath  purchased  with  his  blood 
Amen."  lb. 

"  If  God  be  satisfied  with  a  pastor,  it  is  of  little  importance 
whether  he  please  or  displease  men."     Sacra  Privata. 

"They  whose  duty  it  is  to  punish  offenders  should  take 
great  care  not  to  be  influenced  by  pride,  hypocrisy,  passion, 
false  zeal  or  malice ;  but  to  punish  with  reluctancy  and  com- 
passion, as  having  a  sense  of  their  own  misery  and  weakness, 
which  perhaps  render  them  more  guilty  iu  the  sight  of  God." 
Sacra  Prirata. 

"  Excommunication  is  only  for  the  contumacious;  not  to 
insult  but  to  cure."  lb. 

"The  public  good  is  the  sole  end  of  church  discipline.  The 
interest  of  the  governors  of  the  church  is  no  way  concerned 
in  it,  but  oidy  the  advantage  of  their  flock.  That  sinners  may 
be  converted  :  that  contagion  may  bo  hindered  from  spread- 
ing ;  that  every  one  may  be  kept  to  his  duty,  and  in  obedience 
to  the  laws  of  God  ;  that  judgments  may  be  averted  from  the 
public:  and  that  God  in  all  things  may  be  glorified:  that 
differences  among  neighbours  may  be  made  up,  and  charity 
improved."  lb. 


CHAPTER  III. 

His  Domestic  Character. 

"  The  parson  is  very  exact  in  the  governing  of  his  house,  maki 
it  a  copy  and  model  for  his  parish.    Herbert. 

*'  Grant,  O  Lord,  that  my  care  and  conduct  in  the  church  of  God, 
may  appear  in  tlie  order  and  piety  of  my  own  family.  O  Heavenly 
Lord  and  Master,  bless  us,  and  take  us  under  thy  gracious  protec- 
tion ;  and  make  us  an  houseliold  fearing  God,  and  examples  to  others 
of  order,  diligence,  faithfulness,  and  piety."  £ishop  H'itson. 


A  few  months  after  his  appointment  to  the  see  of  Man 
bishop  Wilson  returned  to  England  for  the  purpose  of  being 
aiarried  to  Mary,  the  daughter  of  Thomas  Patten,  Esq.,  a 


gentleman  who  traced  his  descent  by  a  direct  line  from  a 
brother  of  the  devout  bishop  William  of  Waintleet,  the  muni- 
ficent founder  of  Magdalen  College,  at  Oxford,  and  whose 
family  had  long  resided  at  Warrington,  a  town  not  very  far 
from  the  parish  of  Winwick,  in  which  bishop  Wilson  had 
passed  so  manj'  years  of  his  ministry.  Before  taking  so  im- 
portant a  step  he  did  not  fail  to  implore  the  guidance  and 
blessing  of  God,  which  he  felt  to  be  essential  to  his  happiness 
in  every  condition  of  life.  "  Make  her,"  he  prayed,  "  whom 
Thou  wilt  make  my  wife  a  meet  help  for  me,  that  we  may 
live  together  to  thj-  honour  and  glory  in  this  world,  and  be 
made  partakers  of  everlasting  glory  in  the  world  to  come." 
Another  prayer  composed  for  their  daily  use  was  also  found 
amongst  his  papers,  and  it  is  here  subjoined  because  it  shows 
the  spirit  and  temper  in  which  they  wished  to  live  together. 

^-  ^  rr'7  *»  '^"  ^^  ^"'^  every  morning  together,  be- 

M.  5  "  '"""•         I     fore  ice  stir  abroad. 
O  God,  by  whose  favour  and  providence  we  are  made  one 
flesh,  look  mercifully  upon  us  from  heaven,  and  bless  us,  and 
make  us  instrumental  to  the  eternal  welfare  of  each  other. 

"  Give  us  grace  that  we  may  faithfully  perform  our  mar- 
riage vows,  that  we  may  live  in  perfect  love  and  peace  to- 
gether, in  a  conscientious  obedience  to  thy  laws,  and  in  a 
comfortable  prospect  of  happiness  all  our  days.  Grant,  if  it 
be  thy  gracious  will,  that  we  may  live  to  see  our  children 
christianly  and  virtuously  brought  up;  or  if  in  thy  wisdom 
thou  shah  order  it  otherwise,  be  pleased  in  mercy  to  provide 
for  their  everlasting  happiness.  In  the  mean  time,  give  us 
wrace  that  we  may  teach  them,  and  our  household,  the  fear 
of  God,  and  be  examples  to  them  of  piety  and  true  religion. 

Continue  to  us  such  a  share  of  the  good  things  of  this  world 
as  to  Thee  seems  most  meet  for  us;  and  whatever  our  condi- 
tion shall  be,  enable  us  to  be  content  and  thankful.  Vouch- 
safe us  a  share  in  the  happiness  of  the  nest  life;  and  thy 
blessed  will  be  done  for  what  shall  happen  to  us  in  this. 

"Hear  us,  O  God,  for  Jesus  Christ  hia  sake,  the  Son  of 
thy  love.  Amen,  Jlmen." 

Mrs.  W' ilson  proved  to  be  a  most  worthy  and  suitable  com- 
panion for  this  excellent  man,  being,  according  to  his  own 
description,  endued  with  great  modesty  and  meekness  of  spi- 
rit, remarkable  for  the  discharge  of  her  duty  to  her  parents, 
and  for  her  love  to  her  relations  ;  he  praises  God  for  her  great 
love  to  him  and  his  friends,  for  her  fidelity  to  her  marriage 
vows,  for  her  tender  affection  to  her  children,  for  her  per- 
formance of  all  the  offices  of  a  kind  and  pious  mother,  for  her 
peculiar  care  of  her  family,  and  the  prudence  and  mildness 
with  which  she  governed  it;  for  her  unaffected  modesty  in 
her  own  and  her  children's  apparel,  and  the  great  humility  of 
her  conversation  with  all  sorts  of  persons  ;  for  her  great  com- 
passion for  the  poor  and  miserable,  and  her  cheerful  compli- 
ance with  him  in  relieving  them. 

Unfortunately,  however,  very  few  notices  of  Mrs.  Wilson 
have  been  preserved,  and  this  sketch  of  her  character  is  taken 
from  one  of  her  husband's  prayers  composed  at  the  time  of 
her  death. 

Their  children  were  lour  in  number.  Amongst  the  special 
favours  which  he  recounts  in  the  Private  Thought",  is  the 
having  "  an  excellent  wife,  and  four  lovely  children." 

The  following  memorandum,  addressed  to  his  children, 
was  found  amongst  his  papers:  "My  children,  if  I  do  not 
live  to  tell  you  why  I  have  saved  no  more  for  you  out  of  my 
bishopric,  let  this  satisfy  you  :  that  the  less  you  have  of  goods 
gathered  from  the  Church,  the  better  the  rest  that  I  leave  you 
will  prosper.  Church-livings  were  never  designed  to  make 
families,  or  to  raise  portions  out  of  them,  but  to  maintain  our 
families,  to  keep  up  hospitality,  to  feed  the  poor,  &c.  And 
one  day  you  will  be  glad  that  this  was  my  settled  opinion: 

and  God  grant  I  may  act  accordingly  ! I  never  expect, 

and  I  thank  God  I  never  desire,  that  you  or  your  children 
should  ever  be  great :  but  if  ever  the  providence  of  God  should 
raise  any  that  proceed  from  my  loins  to  any  degree  of  worldly 
wealth  or  honour,  I  desire  they  will  look  back  to  the  place 
and  person  from  w  hence  they  came ;  this  will  keep  them  hum- 
ble and  sober-minded." 

How  soon  is  the  brightest  sky  overcast  with  clouds !  Two 
of  his  children  died  in  infancy.  They  were  taken  away,  in- 
deed, from  the  evil  to  come,  and  redeemed  by  that  Saviour 
whom  they  did  not  live  to  know  upon  earth  :  but  still  such 
separations  are  never  joyous,  but  grievous.  Another  child 
was  removed  in  her  fourteenth  year.  And  previously  to  this 
latter  loss,  Mrs.  Wilson  herself  was  parted  by  death  from 
her  afllicted  husband,  on  the  7th  of  March  1705,  not  seven 
years  after  their  marriage.     On  the  5th  of  the  preceding  Sep- 


480 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


tember  he  had  accompanie<l  lier  to  Warrington,  for  the  benefit 
of  her  native  air,  wliich,  it  M'as  hoped,  would  prove  of  service 
to  her  then  declining  licaltli :  and  hecontinned  with  her,  pray- 
ing for  her  and  comforting  her,  till  the  day  when  she  resigned 
her  sonl,  full  of  the  hope  of  a  blessed  immortality,  into  the 
hands  of  her  heavenly  Father.  Some  of  his  reflections  and 
prayers  on  this  trying  occasion  will  be  read  with  interest,  as 
they  throw  a  light  upon  the  character  of  both  of  them. 

HIS  PRAYER  IN  HIS  WIFe's  SICKNESS. 

"  Whom  the  Lord  loveth  he  chasteneth,  and  scourgeth  every 
son  whom  he  receiveth." — Hcb.  xii.  6. 

O  Lord,  infinitely  merciful,  thy  very  corrections  are  the 
effect  of  thy  love  :  therefore  do  thy  faithful  servants  rejoice 
in  the  midst  of  their  sorrows,  steadl'aslly  believing  that  all 
things  shall  work  together  for  good  to  those  that  love  God 
and  trust  in  his  mercy. 

For  thou,  O  Lord,  dost  convince  us,  by  the  afflictions  that 
thou  bringest  upon  us,  that  nothing  deserves  our  love  but 
Thee,  that  no  being  in  heaven  or  on  earth  can  help  us  besides 
Thee  ;  and  that  the  sufierings  of  this  life  are  not  to  be  com 
pared  with  the  happiness  of  the  next. 

This  is  our  faith  and  confidence,  that  every  good  gift  cometh 
from  above;  and  that  our  sorrow  for  our  olYences,  our  desires 
of  being  reconciled  unto  Thee,  our  purposes  of  amendment, 
are  all  the  fruits  of  thy  Holy  Spirit,  which  does  nothing  in 
vain ;  and  which,  if  we  resist  not  thy  grace,  will  form  our 
souls  for  the  happiness  of  a  better  life. 

Gracious  God,  let  it  so  happen  unto  this  thy  servant,  visited 
with  thine  hand,  that  she  may  take  her  sickness  patiently ; 
and,  with  a  perfect  submission  to  tliy  will,  bear  whatever 
Thou  shalt  be  pleased  to  lay  upon  her;  that  the  sickness  of 
her  body  may  contribute  to  the  health  of  her  soul ;  and  that, 
being  made  perfect  through  sull'ering,  she  may  be  owned  by 
her  blessed  Saviour,  who  through  afiiictions  entered  into 
glory. 

Give  her  grace  that  she  may  know  wherein  she  has  ofTend- 
cd  Thee,  that  she  may  truly  repent  of  all  the  errors  of  her 
life  past.  And  do  Thou,  O  merciful  God,  for  the  sake  of 
Jesus  Christ,  accept  of  her  repentance,  and  be  reconciled  to 
her,  who  has  no  hope  but  in  thy  great  mercy,  that  she  may 
rot  suffer  the  pains  of  sickness  vviiliout  the  comforts  of  grace 
and  the  hopes  of  being  beloved  by  Tliee. 

Grant,  U  Lord,  that  her  faith  in  thy  sight  may  never  be 
reproved,  b\it  that  she  may  steadfastly  believe  the  great  truths 
of  the  Gospel,  the  promise  of  pardon  and  grace  to  penitent 
sinners,  the  promise  of  eternal  life  to  those  that  die  in  the  true 
faith  and  fear  of  God,  that  .lesus  Christ  is  the  resurrection 
and  the  life,  that  wiiosoever  believeth  in  Him,  though  he  were 
dead,  yet  shall  he  live.  Increase  this  knowledge  and  confirm 
this  faith  in  thy  servant,  that  she  may  be  numbered  amongst 
thy  saints  in  glory  everlasting. 

Pour  into  her  heart  such  love  towards  thee,  that  she  may 
love  Thee  above  all  things,  obey  thy  commands,  and  submit 
to  thy  wise  dispensations;  that  she  may  for  thy  sake  love  all 
mankind,  forgive  all  that  have  injured  her,  and  desire  to  be 
forgiven  of  all  those  whom  she  may  have  ofl'ended  in  thought, 
word,  or  deed. 

Thy  loving  kindness,  O  Lord,  is  better  thanlife  itself.  O 
satisfy  her  with  thy  mercy,  that  she  may  with  a  willing  mind 
give  up  that  breath  which  she  received  from  Thee;  that, 
when  she  shall  depart  this  life,  she  may  rest  in  Jesus  Christ ; 
and  that,  at  the  general  resurrection  at  the  last  day,  she  may 
be  found  acceptable  in  thy  sight,  and  receive  that  blessing 
which  thy  well-beloved  Son  shall  then  pronounce  to  all  that 
love  and  fear  Thee,  saying,  "Come,  ye  blessed  children  of 
my  Father,  receive  the  kingdom  prepared  for  3'ou  from  the 
foundation  of  the  world." 

Grant  this,  we  beseech  Thee,  O  heavenly  Father,  througl 
Jesus  Christ  our  Mediator  and  Redeemer.  Jlmen,  Amen. 

PRAYSK  ON  THE  DEATH  OF  HIS  WIFE. 

"  When  thou  with  rebukes  dost  chasten  man  for  sin,  thou  ma- 
kest  his  beauty  to  consume  away  like  a  moth." — Psal. 
xxxix.  11. 

O,  merciful  God,  who  in  thy  wise  providence  dost  so  order 
even  natural  events,  that  they  serve  both  for  the  good  of  th 
universe  and  for  the  conviction  of  particular  sinners,  so  that 
men  shall  have  reason  to  acknowledge  thy  glorious  attributes. 
I  do  with  great  sorrow  of  heart,  but  with  all  submission  to 
thy  good  pleasure,  confess  thy  mercy  as  well  as  justice  to 
me,  in  the  afflictions  and  chastisements  of  this  day.     I  will 


therefore  hold  my  peace  and  not  open  my  mouth,  because  it 
is  thy  doing,  and  my  deservings. 

0  Lord  give  me,  I  most  humbly  beseech  Thee  of  Thy  great 
mercy,  true  repentance  for  all  the  errors  of  my  life  past,  and 
especially  for  those  which  may  have  been  the  occasion  of 
this  day's  sorrows. 

God  speaketh  once,  yea  twice,  yet  man  perceiveth  it  not." 
— Job  xxxiii.  14. 

1  acknowledge  thy  voice,  O  merciful  God:  I  acknowledge 
also  my  own  transgressions,  and  thy  groat  goodness  in  afllict- 
ing  me :  I  do  in  all  humility  accept  of  the  punishment  of 
mine  iniquity,  and  do  ascribe  it  to  thy  grace  that  even  now  I 
have  perceived  it  to  he  thy  voice. 

"We  are  verily  guilty  concerning  our  brother." — Gen. 
xlii.  21. 

Blessed  be  God  that  my  punishment  is  not  as  great  as  my 
crimes,  which  have  deserved  thy  severest  stroke ;  for  I  am 
verily  guilty  of  many,  very  many  grievous  sins;  the  follies  of 
youth,  the  wilful  presumptuous  sins  of  my  riper  years, 
the  breach  of  the  vows  that  are  upon  me. 

O  that  thy  grace,  which  has  wrought  this  sense  and  sorrow 
in  my  soul,  may  perfect  the  good  work  imtil  I  have  obtained 
thy  pardon,  and  be  confirmed  in  every  good  word  and  work, 
till  thou  art  pleased  to  call  me  hence. 

Good  God  of  mercy,  give  me  grace  that  I  may  never  again 
provoke  Thee  to  repeat  this  voice ;  but  that  I  may  faithfully 
perform  the  vows  that  are  upon  me  ;  that  I  may  work  out  my 
salvation  with  fear  and  trembling;  knowing  that  though  the 
Lord  is  long-suffering  to  them  that  fear  him,  yet  he  is  a  con- 
suming fire  to  the  obstinate  and  hardened  sinner. 

For  Jesus  Christ  his  sake,  who  by  his  merits  has  purcha- 
sed  pardon  and  grace  for  penitent  sinners,  hear  me,  answer 
me,  and  let  thy  merciful  kindness  be  my  comfort  according 
to  thy  word  unto  thy  servant.  Amen. 

MEDITATIONS. 

Cy  the  sadness  of  thecountenance,  the  heart  is  made  better." 
— Eccles.  vii.  3. 

How  good  is  God,  when  by  his  very  displeasure  we  are 
gainers !  He  is  pleased  to  exercise  me  with  the  loss  of  my 
dear  wife,  an  excellent  woman,  in  the  very  bloom  of  her 
years,  in  the  very  midst  of  our  satisfactions;  and  yet  upon  a 
just  account  I  have  no  reason  to  complain  or  to  fret  against 
God,  since  I  have  a  comfortable  assurance  (through  the  merits 
of  Christ,)  that  she  is  at  rest,  and  secure  under  the  custody 
of  the  blessed  angels  until  the  great  day  of  recompense.  And 
for  myself,  though  I  want  hers,  yet  I  do  not  want  the  com- 
fort of  God's  Holy  Spirit,  whose  influence  I  feel  in  the  cheer- 
ful submission  of  my  will  to  the  will  of  God,  in  the  sorrow 
for  my  ofl'ences  which  this  aftliction  has  wrought  in  me,  in 
purposes  of  amendment,  and  in  an  earnest  desire  of  living  so 
circumspectly  in  this  world,  that  in  the  next  we  may  meet  in 
joy  in  the  bosom  of  Jesus,  when  we  shall  never  part,  never 
sorrov.-  more.     Even  so,  blessed  Jesus,  so  let  it  be! 

But  though  I  find  my  passions,  under  this  affliction,  much 
subdued,  my  heart  tender  and  capable  of  receiving  good  im- 
pressions, my  soul  full  of  holy  purposes,  my  breast  warmed 
with  charity  and  a  tender  love  for  the  whole  creation  of  God  ; 
yet  I  know  that  the  heart  is  deceitful  above  all  things;  and 
therefore  lest  these  good  eflects  should  soon  be  forgotten,  let 
me  set  down  a  few  memorandums  of  what  now  passes  within 
my  breast.  Let  me  often  remember,  that  when  1  saw  that  death 
had  closed  my  dearest  consort's  eyes,  and  that  there  was  no 
more  to  be  done  for  her  eternal  welfare,  how  many  sad  thoughts 
possessed  my  heart. 

I  then  with  an  angry  sorrow  reflected, — How  many  oppor- 
tunities have  1  lost  of  doing  my  duty  and  promoting  her  hap- 
piness, (for  sure  there  are  degrees  of  bliss),  which  had  I  con- 
scientiously performed,  would  now  have  been  matter  of  solid 
comfort  to  me !  For  though,  by  the  mercy  of  God  in  Jesus 
Christ,  which  is  not  confined  to  our  imperfect  endeavours  and 
assistance,  my  dear  wife  is,  I  doubt  not,  in  peace;  having, 
according  to  the  allowances  made  by  a  merciful  God  to  hu- 
man frailty,  led  a  pious,  unblameable,  useful  life,  yet  I  can- 
not but  condemn  myself  for  having  neglected  many  things 
which  would  have  been  exceeding  comfortable  to  her  when 
alive,  and  to  me  now  she  is  dead;  which  the  gracious  Clod 
forgive  me.' 

She  needs  not  my  sorrow  now,  nor  my  assistance;  but 
since  I  am  still  in  the  body,  and  still  subject  to  failings,  let 
this  consideration  make  me  wiser  for  the  time  to  come,  for 
this  will  sooner  or  later  be  my  own  case ;  I  must  come  to  die ; 


LIFE  OF  BISHOP  WILSON. 


4S7 


and  all  my  duties  of  my  calling  and  of  Christianity,  tliat  I  am 
convinced  I  have  left  undone,  will  then  he  matter  of  sad  re- 
flection;  I  shall  then  wish,  but  in  vain,  that  the  time  were  to 
be  spent  again  that  I  have  lost;  but  time  will  be  no  more; 
only  sorrow  will  be  my  portion. 

I  will  therefore,  by  God's  grace,  do  that  duty  in  its  season 
which  He  has  appointed  me ;  and  whatever  my  hand  findeth 
to  do  I  will  do  it  with  all  my  might,  for  the  night  cometh 
when  no  man  can  work ;  and  if  that  night  take  me  unawares, 
tinder  what  terrible  concern  shall  I  be  then,  under  what  doom 
shall  I  be  afterwards! 

Grant,  O  God,  that,  having  these  thoughts  much  in  my 
heart,  I  may  not  despise  the  day  of  grace,  but  that  I  may, 
whenever  my  Lord  comes,  be  ready  to  give  up  my  account 
■with  joy. 

It  is  with  me  now  as  it  was  with  the  sons  of  Jacob,  when 
they  were  in  affliction:  TVe  are  vcrilrj  guilty  concerning  our 
hrother.  The  many  and  great  offences  of  my  life  appear  be- 
fore rae  in  all  their  ciroumslances  truly  terrible  :  and  though 
by  the  good  grace  of  God  (for  which  I  am  truly  thankful), 
and  throu:ih  the  merits  of  Jesu?  Christ,  who  is  our  advocate 
and  the  propitiation  for  the  sins  of  all  true  penitents,  I  have 
confessed  and  forsaken  those  sins,  yet  the  remembrance  of 
them  is  truly  grievous  unto  me. 

O  that  I  may,  from  this  consideration,  steadfastly  resolve  to 
leave  no  sin  unrepented  of  till  the  days  of  sorrow  and  sick- 
ness come  upon  me;  that  I  may  not  for  the  time  to  come  do 
any  thing  which  may  be  an  occasion  of  sad  affliction  to  me 
at  the  hour  of  death.  But  in  the  hour  of  death  and  in  the  day 
of  judgment  let  this  he  iny  support  and  comfort,  that  I  have 
repented  of  all  the  errors  of  my  life,  and  that  I  have  brought 
forth  fruits  meet  for  repentance.  Grant  this,  for  Jesus  Christ 
his  sake,  O  gracious  God.  Amen. 

Thomas,  the  only  remaining  child  of  bishop  Wilson,  who 
lived  to  a  good  old  age,  and  survived  his  father,  was  born  in 
1703.  lie  received  his  early  education  from  bis  father,  was 
afterwards  sent  to  a  school  in  Yorkshire,  and  entered  eollc<Te 
as  a  commoner  of  Christ-Church,  Oxford,  in  the  year  1721. 
His  father's  reputation  disposed  many  persons  of  distinction 
to  look  kindly  upon  him.  In  1738,  he  was  presented  by  the 
lord  chancellor  to  the  living  of  St.  Stephen,  Walbrook,  and 
was  afterwards  made  chaplain  and  sub-almoner  to  king  George 
the  second,  and  perbendary  of  Westminster.  A  tablet  in  the 
chancel  of  St.  Stephen's  church  records  that  he  died  on  the 
15lh  of  April  1784,  aged  80  years. 

Bishop  Wilson  wrote  a  letter  to  his  son,  on  his  promotion 
to  the  stall  in  Westminster  Abbey,  froni  winch  the  following 
is  an  extract. 

"I  am  both  surprised  and  pleased  with  the 

unexpected  favours  conferred  upon  you,  both  by  the  king  and 
the  bishop  of  Salisbury.  I  hope  in  God  you  will  answer  the 
great  ends  of  his  providence  in  raising  you  such  friends,  and 
in  putting  into  your  hands  such  unlooked-for  talents,  in  order 
to  improve  them  to  his  glory  and  your  own  salvation.  For 
my  own  part,  I  have  ever  received  such  favours  with  fear, 
lest  1  should  be  tempted  to  dishonour  God  by  liis  own  gifts ; 
and  it  shall  be  my  daily  prayer  for  you,  that  you  may  never 
do  so.  This  was  the  case  with  the  wisest  and  greatest  of 
men,  whose  history  and  fall  was  part  of  this  day's  service  of 
the  church.  [1  Kings,  x,  xi.] 

"  Enclosed  you  have  a  letter  to  his  majesty.  Perhaps  you 
may  not  approve  of  the  style  his,  instead  oi your  majesty,  but 
I  know  it  to  be  more  becoming,  and  will  be  better  accepted 
by  a  foreigner,  and  therefore  it  shall  so  pass. 

'•I  have  also  written  to  the  bishop  of  Salisbury,  to  whom 
my  most  grateful  service  and  thanks  [are  due].  According 
to  my  notion  of  writing  to  his  majesty,  I  ought  not  to  have 
subscribed  my  name;  but  I  have  done  it  lest  you  should  liave 
thought  otherwise." 

The  letter  to  the  king,  here  referred  to,  is  as  follows : 

"  May  it  please  the  king's  most  sacred  majesty  !  to  receive 
the  most  grateful  acknowledgments  of  the  ancient  bishop  of 
Man,  for  his  majesty's  great  condescension,  and  late  royal 
favour,  to  the  son  of  a  bishop,  whose  obscure  diocese  and  re- 
mote situation  might  justly  have  forbade  him  all  expectations 
of  so  high  a  nature  from  a  royal  hand.  May  both  the  father 
and  the  son  ever  act  worthy  of  so  distinguished  a  favour  !  And 
may  the  King  of  kings  bless  his  majesty  with  all  the  graces 
and  virtues  which  are  necessary  for  his  high  station,  and  for 
his  eternal  happiness, — enable  his  majesty  to  ovorcomo  all 
the  difficulties  he  shall  meet  with  abroad,* — and  bring  him 


*  The  king  was  then  at  Hanover. 


back  to  his  kingdoms  here  in  peace  and  safety,  and  finally  to 
an  everlasting  kingdom  herealter, — which  has  been  and  shall 
be  the  sincere  and  constant  prayer  of  his  majesty's  most  grate- 
ful, dutiful,  and  faithful  subject  and  servant. 

"Tho.  Sodor  ANn  Man. 
•'/s/c  of  Man,  May  3,  17-13.'' 

In  proceeding  to  repeat  the  few  particulars  which  have 
been  transmitted  to  us,  relative  to  the  even  tenour  of  bishop 
Wilson's  daily  life,  we  cannot  but  express  our  regret  that  the 
simple  manners  and  devotional  habits  witnessed  in  his  house- 
hold are  so  seldom  seen  in  our  own  days.  Before  the  family 
entered  upon  the  various  occupations  of  the  day,  that  is  at 
six  o'clock  every  suinmcr  morning,  and  at  seven  in  the  win- 
ter, the  whole  household,  including  the  workmen  and  domes- 
tic servants,  assembled  in  the  chapel,  and  prayer  was  offered 
up  by  himself,  or  by  one  of  the  students  who  were  residing 
with  him  preparatory  to  holy  orders.  In  the  evening  they 
met  again  for  suplication  and  thanksgiving. 

The  bishop  w'as  deeply  impressed  with  the  necessity  and 
usefulness  of  family  worship.  "  Have  you  setup  an  altar  in 
jour  house  V  was  a  question  which  he  was  wont  to  put  to 
those  who  were  just  beginning  to  keep  house.  And  publicly 
he  took  opportunities  of  recommending  family  religion  as  a 
wholesome  preservative  against  degeneracy  and  profligacy ; 
asking,  "  How  should  we  expect  that  all  sorts  of  vices  should 
not  abound  in  families  where  God  is  not  owned  nor  his  graces 
asked  for  V  And  he  declared  his  belief,  that  if  those  who 
could  not  read  would  but  assemble  their  children  and  servants 
and  offer  up  the  Lord's  Prayer,  "it  would  plant  the  fear  of 
God  in  their  hearts;  and  they  would  be  afraid  of  doing  many 
things  which  they  commit  without  any  concern." 

The  day  then  passed  in  works  of  piety  and  usefulness,  till 
the  hour  of  dinner  arrived,  at  which  time  lie  was  as  remarka- 
ble for  exercising  hospitality  towards  his  clergy  and  others, 
as  he  was  at  all  times  for  his  liberality  towards  indigent  per- 
sons. His  table  was  abundantly  but  plainly  furnished  ;  it 
might  be  described  in  the  very  words  of  George  Herbert; — 
'•  His  fare  is  plain  and  common,  but  w  holcsome :  what  he 
hath  is  little,  but  very  good  ;  it  consisteth  most  of  mutton, 
beef,  and  veal;  if  he  adds  anything  for  a  great  day,  or  a 
stranger,  his  garden  or  orchard  su])plics  it,  or  his  barn  and 
farm-yard :  he  goes  no  further  for  any  entertainment,  lest  he 
go  into  the  world,  esteeming  it  absurd  that  he  should  exceed, 
who  teacheth  others  temperance.  But  those  which  his  home 
produceth  he  refuseth  not,  as  coming  cheap  and  easy,  and 
arising  from  the  improvement  of  things  which  otherwise 
would  be  lost.  Wherein  he  admires  and  imitates  the  won- 
derful providence  and  thrift  of  the  great  Householder  of  the 
world."  These  were  precisely  the  sentiments  of  bishop 
Wilson,  and  it  is  very  likely  that  he  was  led  to  these  views 
by  tliis  very  passage,  in  a  book  which  he  adinired  and  valued. 
He  himself  describes  hospitality  as  not  consisting  "  in  making 
great  entertainments,  but  in  providing  a  sober  and  suitable 
refreshment  for  such  as  are  in  want,  and  for  such  as  come  to 
visit  us." 

Many  persons  of  note,  whom  his  fame  had  reached,  desir- 
ed to  enjoy  his  conversation,  amongst  whom  Dr.  Pococke, 
after  his  return  from  his  travels,  went  to  see  the  aged  bishop 
of  Man  in  the  year  1750,  and  sent  him  his  works  richly 
bound,  to  announce  his  arrival.  The  bishop  received  him 
with  a  graceful  welcome,  but  told  him  that  "  he  ought  not  to 
approach  the  poor  bishop  of  Man  w  ilh  a  present,  as  if  he  were 
an  eastern  prince." 

His  temper  was  composed  and  calm,  and  he  was  never  ex- 
cited to  violent  or  unguarded  language.  In  conversation  he 
was  remarkably  cheerful  and  entertaining.  He  lived  in  a 
perpetual  sunshine  of  happy  spirits.  He  found,  as  Herbert 
says,  "that  pleasantness  of  disposition  is  a  key  to  do  good; 
not  only  because  all  men  shun  the  company  of  perpetual  se- 
verity, but  also  for  that  when  they  are  in  company,  instruc- 
tions seasoned  with  pleasantness  both  enter  sooner  and  root 
deeper." — Country  Parson. 

Mr.  Moore,  one  of  the  clergymen  of  the  island,  who  knew 
him  well,  describes  him  as  being  "of  admirable  simplicity  of 
manners;  of  a  most  engaging  behaviour,  affability,  and 
sweetness  of  temper.  In  liis  private  conversation  he  was 
agreeable  and  entertaining;  lively  and  facetious  without  levi- 
ty ;  and  always  consistent  with  the  dignity  of  his  character; 
never  at  a  loss  for  something'  pertinent  and  proper  to  embel- 
lish and  illustrate  his  discourse;  on  these  ipccasions  nothing 
ever  proceeded  from  liis  mouth  but  what  was  good  to  the  use 
ofedil'ying,  and  ministered  not  only  grace  but  also  pleasure 
and  delight  to  the  hearers."    Mr.  Corlet  another  of  liis  clergy 


488 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


writes,*  that  he  recognizes  in  the  devotional  works  of  bishop 
Wilson,  the  frequent  remarks  of  his  daily  conversation.  "  Of- 
ten, and  often  again,  did  I  recollect,  as  I  read,  that  I  had 
heard  from  his  own  lips  the  very  sentiments  then  before  me, 
and  the  heavenly  smile  wherewith  he  delivered  them.  Uiit 
perhaps  I  tire  you;  better  judges  than  I  have  said,  and  will 
yet  say,  more  to  the  purpose,  but  not  one,  unless  yourself, 
from  a  warmer  heart,  recollecting  the  blessed  man  as  I  saw 
and  heard  him !" 


CHAPTER  IV. 
Ilis  Sunduy. 

Simple,  grave,  sincere; 
111  doctrine  uncorrupt,  in  langunge  plain; 
And  plain  in  raanner;  decent,  solemn,  chaste, 
And  natural  in  gesture;  much  impressed 
llimsflf,  as  conscious  of  his  awful  charge, 
And  anxious  mainly  that  the  flock  he  feeds 
May  feel  it  too;  aftectionate  in  look 
And  tender  in  address,  as  -well  becomes 
A  messenger  of  grace  to  guilty  man; 
Behold  die  picture ! 

Cowper's  Task. 


His  thoughts  are  full  of  making 
it  to  his  best  c-ains. 


the  best  of  the  day,  and  conti-ivins 
HEUBEnT's  Country  Parson. 


Bishop  Wilson  cultivated  the  society  of  his  clergy,  and 
endeavoured  to  make  them  feel  that  the  sincere  servant  of 
Christ  would  always  find  in  him  a  real  and  affectionate  friend 
So  greatly  was  he  averse  to  any  appearance  of  the  pride  of 
station,  that  in  the  ordinary  intercourse  of  life  it  would  have 
been  difficult  to  discover  from  his  demeanour  that  his  oilice 
was  invested  with  any  authority  or  worldly  dignity;  indeed 
he  always  wished  his  clergy  to  feel  that  the  chief  bond  of 
union  consisted  in  their  being  embarked  in  the  same  sacred 
cause,  as  stewards  of  the  mysteries  of  God  ;  and  his  first 
thoughts  and  anxieties  were  ever  directed  to  the  quickening 
of  their  zeal,  and  increasing  their  efficiency  in  the  work  they 
had  to  do.  Amongst  other  plans  which  he  pursued  to  this 
end,  was  a  frequent  participation  in  their  labours.  And  in- 
deed he  felt  that  though  he  had  not  the  express  charge  of  any 
particular  congregation,  yet  that  he  was  nevertheless  obliged, 
as  a  minister  of  Christ,  still  to  watch  for  the  souls  of  men  as 
one  that  must  give  account,  and  that  he  might  devote  himself 
the  more  to  that  work,  because  the  see  (comprising  only  the 
seventeen  parishes,  into  which  the  island  is  divided),  required 
a  comparatively  small  portion  of  his  time  for  the  discharge  of 
the  episcopal  functions.  Hence  it  came  to  pass,  that  during 
the  fifty-eight  years  of  his  pastoral  life  he  rarely  failed  on  a 
Sunday  to  preach  the  Gospel,  catechise  and  expound,  or  ad- 
rninisler  the  communion,  in  some  one  of  the  churches  of  his 
diocese.  Being  an  excellent  horseman,  he  set  out  when  the 
family  devotions  of  the  morning  and  the  early  meal  were 
ended,  and  arrived  a  little  before  service  at  the  place  where 
he  intended  to  officiate,  without  having  given  any  previous 
notice.  He  thus  had  the  best  opportunities  of  judging  whether 
all  things  were  done  decently  and  in  order,  as  well  as  of  using 
his  personal  exertions  to  promote  the  glory  of  God  and  the 
salvation  of  so\ds.  Often,  while  the  sabbath-bell  was  call- 
ing the  poor  people  together  to  worship  God  in  the  unorna- 
mented  but  not  unsanctified  structures  dedicated  to  his  Holy 
■  Name,  they  descried  the  welcome  and  well-known  form  of 
their  good  bishop  emerging  from  the  defiles  which  intersected 
their  bold  and  rugged  mountains,  and  hastening  to  oft'er  up 
with  them  his  humble  praises  and  prayers  to  God. 

And,  in  the  exercise  of  this  ministry,  never  preacher  appears 
to  have  had  less  regard  for  human  praise,  or  a  more  earnest 
desire  to  make  the  people  wise  unto  salvation.  One  of  his 
prayers  was  this:  "  May  I,  O  Sovereign  Pastor,  always  so 
speak,  as  that  my  tlock  may  hear  and  understand  me;  so  con- 
verse with  them,  as  that  1  may  know  litem, ■  and  lead  such  a 
life  as  that  they  may  safely  follow  me."    And  the  same  desire 


•  Lelter  to  the  TUv.  P.  Moore,  dated  April   IS,  1781,  twenty-6i.x 
years  after  tltc  bishop's  dcaUi. 


is  repeated  in  various  forms  of  expression  throughout  his  book 
of  private  devotions. 

His  style,  like  his  mind,  was  a  pattern  of  simplicity;  it 
was  so  plain  that  none  could  go  away  from  the  church  asking 
one  another  the  meaning  of  what  they  had  heard ;  and  his 
sentiments  were  so  eminently  pure  and  devout,  that  the  word 
of  God  in  his  mouth  was  seen  to  be  truth.  He  studiously 
adapted  his  instructions  to  the  wants  and  attainments  of  the 
Mauksraen,  avoiding  in  his  own  preaching,  and  advising  his 
lergly  to  avoid,  such  questions  as  minister  to  disputes  rather 
tlian  to  godly  edifying.  And  while  he  thus  preached  the 
Gospel  to  the  poor,  his  appeals  derived  no  small  degree  of 
force  and  efficacy  from  an  alfectionate  and  animated  delivery, 
and  a  life  which  exemplified  w  hat  he  taught.  In  the  bautiful 
and  valuable  sermons  which  have  been  bequeathed  to  pos- 
terity, he  instructs,  exhorts,  expostulates,  entreats  and  warns 
his  hearers,  in  a  manner  that  can  hardly  fail  to  search  and 
prove  the  heart;  and  it  will  be  found  that  the  leading  topics 
of  his  discourses  were  the  same  which  he  recommended  to 
others,  "  the  bondage  of  man  by  sin, — the  necessity  of  a  de- 
iverer, — the  manner  of  our  redemption, — the  danger  of  not 
closing  with  it, — the  power  of  grace  to  deliver  ns."  And 
blessed  are  they  whose  purity  of  doctrine  and  holiness  of  life 
are  liable  to  as  few  exceptions  as  his,  and  who  labour  as 
eariLCStly  and  diligently  in  the  cause  of  their  Master  and 
Saviour.     On  them  the  second  death  hath  no  power. 

His  biographers  do  not  say  that  he  ever  preached  in  the 
Manks  language,  but  they  inform  us  that  he  early  applied 
himself  to  the  study  of  it,  and  that  he  was  able  to  converse 
with  the  natives  in  their  own  tongue. 

As  the  bishop  was  zealous  in  promoting  the  religious  edu- 
cation of  the  poor,  so  he  was  strongly  impressed  with  the  idea 
that  the  most  important  encroachments  might  be  made  upon 
the  kingdom  of  darkness  by  the  constant  practice  of  catechis- 
ing young  persons ;  and  he  established  it  as  the  general  usage 
in  the  churches,  after  the  afternoon  service,  instead  of  a  ser- 
mon. He  says,  that  he  considers  it  "  of  more  use  to  the  souls 
both  of  the  learned  and  ignorant,  than  the  very  best  sermon 
from  the  pnlpit;"  and  once,  being  applied  to  for  permission  to 
substitute  a  sermon,  he  on  these  grounds  refused  to  grant  it.  In 
a  charge  delivered  in  his  eighty-fifth  year,  he  states  his  opin- 
ion, that  "  this  is  a  truth  not  to  be  questioned,  that  the  plainest 
sermon  from  the  pulpit  will  not  be  understood  by  nor  profit 
any  who  has  not  been  well  instructed  in  the  principles  of 
Christianity  contained  in  the  Church  Catechism.  So  that  our 
preaching  is  in  vain  to  all  such — which,  I  fear,  is  often  the 
case  of  a  great  part  of  our  hearers. 

The  most  unlearned  know  by  nature  the  things  contained 
in  the  law  as  soon  as  they  hear  it  read :  but  these  are  the 
things  which  they  want  to  be  particularly  and  often  made 
sensible  of;  namely,  the  extreme  danger  a  sinner  is  in  while 
he  is  under  the  displeasure  of  a  holy  and  just  God,  who  can 
destroy  both  body  and  soul  in  hell : — how  a  sinner,  made 
sensible  and  awakened  with  the  danger  he  is  in,  may  be  re- 
stored to  God's  favour; — of  the  blessing  and  comfort  of  a 
Redeemer; — wdiat  that  blessed  Redeemer  has  done  and  suf- 
fered to  restore  us  to  the  favour  of  God ; — what  means  of 
grace  he  has  appointed  as  absolutely  necessary  to  preserve 
us  in  the  favour  of  God  and  in  the  way  of  salvation. 

Christians  too  often  want  to  be  set  right,  and  very  par- 
ticularly to  be  instructed  in  the  nature  of  repentance,  of  that 
repentance  to  which  God  has  promised  mercy  and  pardon, 
and  of  faith  which  is  saving,  and  accompanied  with  good 
works  and  an  holy  and  Christian  life. 

"These  ?c!e  fuundatiun  principles,  and  such  as  every  pastor 
of  souls  is  obliged  to  explain,  as  he  hopes  ever  to  do  good  by 
his  other  labours  and  sermons. 

"  We  say  to  explain,  not  only  in  set  discourses  from  the 
pulpit,  but  in  a  plain  familiar  manner  from  the  desk,  where 
questions  may  be  asked,  and  things  explained,  so  as  both  old 
and  young  may  be  edified. 

"  Preaching  will  always  be  our  duty,  but  of  little  use  to 
those  who  understand  not  the  meaning  of  the  W'ords  wc  make 
use  of  in  our  sermons,  as,  God  knows  too  many  must  be  sup- 
posed not  to  do,  for  want  of  their  being  instructed  in  their 
younger  years." 

The  public  ministrations  of  the  day  being  over, — prayer, 
preaching,  catechising, — how  shall  we  describe  the  good 
bishop's  departure  from  amongst  the  village  congregation 
better  than  in  the  words  of  Goldsmith: 

The  service  past,  arourid  the  pious  man 

AVitli  steady  zeal  the  honest  rustics  ran; 

Y.\\\  cliikli'en  foUow'd  with  endearing  wile. 

And  [iluck'tl  his  guu  II  to  share  the  good  nian's  smile; 


LIFE  OF  BISHOP  WILSON. 


4S9 


His  ready  smile  a  parent's  warmlli  expressed, 
Their  welfare  pleased  him,  and  Uieir  eares  distress'd; 
To  Iheni  his  heart,  his  love,  his  griefs  were  given, 
Eut  all  Uis  serious  thoughts  had  rest  in  heaven ! 

Deserted  Village. 


CHAPTER  V. 
In  his  Closet. 

O!  happy  hours  of  heavenward  thought! 

How  riehly  erown'd  !  how  well  improved! 
In  musing  o'er  the  law  he  taught, 

In  waiting  for  the  Loi-d  he  loved! 

Christian  Year. 

True  religion,  while  it  leads  us  to  reverence  the  outward 
observances  of  Christianity,  and  teaches  us  to  reverence  them 
as  appointed  sources  of  edification,  persuades  us  also  of  the 
necessity  of  the  more  secret  exercises  of  devotion,  and  thereby 
kindles  the  light  which  shines  in  the  world.  And  so  bishop 
Wilson  felt;  he  looked  upon  communion  with  God  and  his 
own  heart  in  his  chamber,  as  indispensable  means,  under 
God's  blessing,  of  sanctifying  the  soul  which  desires  to  be 
happy  in  heaven,  and  of  forming  an  approved  and  successful 
minister  of  .lesus  Christ.  He  repeated  with  much  satisfac- 
tion the  saying  attributed  by  Dr.  Lightfoot  to  some  learned 
man,  that  "  he  got  more  knowledge  by  his  prayers  than  by  all 
his  studies;"  and  has  recorded  it  as  his  own  opinion,  that  a 
man  may  have  the  skill  to  give  Christian  truths  a  turn  agree- 
able to  the  hearers,  without  affecting  tlicir  hearts.  Human 
learning  will  enable  him  to  do  this.  ]t  is  prayer  only  that 
can  enable  him  so  to  speak  as  to  convert  the  heart." 

It  is  no  small  privilege  to  be  admitted  into  the  closet  of^ 
such  a  person,  and  to  be  ))resent  at  the  devotional  exercises 
of  one  whose  life  bears  evidence  that  he  continually  resorted 
to  this  fountain  for  refreshment.  K  very  purpose  of  his  heart, 
every  event  which  occurred,  brought  him  to  the  throne  of 
grace.  His  writings,  many  of  them,  as  we  believe,  never 
intended,  and  certainly  not  written,  for  the  public  eye,  show 
that  on  all  occasions,  whether  he  received  blessings  or  endured 
afflictions,  he  hastened  to  communion  with  his  God,  as  a  child 
to  his  affectionate  parent.  When  the  bounty  of  God  was  en- 
larged to  him,  he  seemed  overwhelmed  with  a  sense  of  his 
unworthiness  of  such  favours,  and  the  guilt  ho  should  incur 
by  ungrateful  conduct;  when  sorrow  came,  he  confessed  that 
mercy  was  in  the  chastening  of  the  Lord,  he  looked  back  to 
discover  the  purposes  of  the  Almighty  in  correcting  him,  and 
then  set  himself  to  press  forward  more  sedulously  in  his  pre- 
paration for  that  world  where  there  is  no  sorrow.  Like  the 
Psalmist,  he  could  say,  "  Whom  have  I  in  heaven  butTlicel 
and  there  is  none  upon  earth  that  I  desire  beside  Thee!  My 
flesh  and  my  heart  faileth,  but  God  is  the  strength  of  my 
heart,  and  my  portion  for  ever!" 

In  his  private  meditations  he  studiously  turned  spiritual 
things  to  some  practical  account,  always  making  such  perso- 
nal application  of  Scripture  as  might  conduce  most  to  his 
growth  in  grace,  and  taking  it  as  a  lamp  to  his  feet  and  a 
light  to  his  paths,  in  his  daily  walk  through  life. 

His  well  known  and  heavenly  book  of  private  meditations, 
devotions  and  prayers,  entitled  Sacra  Privata,  is  divided  into 
fourteen  daily  portions,  and  presents  to  us,  in  great  part,  the 
subjects  of  his  thoughts  and  petitions  during  that  portion  of 
each  day  of  his  life,  in  which  he  "entered  into  his  closet  and 
shut  to  the  door,"  and  conversed  with  his  Father  who  "  seeth 
in  secret."  And  none  can  follow  his  footsteps  into  that  retire- 
ment, and  muse  upon  the  holy  things  upon  which  he  em- 
ployed his  own  heart  and  mind,  without  being  in  some  degree 
warmed  with  a  kindred  fervour,  and  feeling  the  truth  of  his 
remark  that  "  freiiuent  prayer,  as  it  is  an  exercise  of  holy 
thoughts,  is  a  most  natural  remedy  against  the  power  of  sin." 
It  is  a  holy  and  beautiful  book,  and  often  has  it  soothed  the 
anguish  of  a  spirit  tried  by  bodily  suffering ;  often  has  it  aided 
ana  enlivened  the  devotions  of  the  dying  Christian,  and  caused 
him  to  forget  for  a  while  the  sorrows  of  this  present  life.  The 
good  bishop,  though  dead,  still  speaketh ;  his  voice  is  still 
heard  in  accents  of  counsel  and  of  comfort;  he  humbles  the 
readers  to  the  dust  with  a  sense  of  sin,  makes  them  feel  their 
need  of  a  Saviour,  and  gladdens  them  with  the  tidings  that 
God  has  amply  provided  for  that  need ;  he  leads  them  on  from 
strength  to  strength,  renewing  their  humble  confidence  in 
Vol.  II.— 3  M 


Christ,  and  giving  fresh  fervour  to  their  prayers  for  such  a 
measure  of  God's  grace  as  may  prepare  tliem,  before  they  go 
hence,  for  the  glorious  company  of  the  redeemed,  by  changing 
them  into  the  image  of  Christ.  It  becomes  those  who  have 
seen  its  fruits  thus  to  tell  its  praises. 

It  is  frequently  the  business  of  a  biographer  to  gather,  from 
various  and  distant  quarters,  the  remarks  and  fragments  of 
the  conversations  of  the  wise  and  good.  In  the  iTttle  book 
of  which  we  are  now  speaking,  the  golden  sayings  of  bishop 
Wilson  are  written  with  his  own  hand ;  and"  perhaps,  after 
all,  those  pages  contain  his  best  biography,  since,  in  placino- 
him  before  us  as  a  christian  man  and  christian  minister,  the? 
do  but  repeat  those  very  remarks  and  opinions  which  one  of 
his  clergy  declared  that  he  had  often  heard  from  his  own  lips, 
in  the  ordinary  intercourse  of  life.* 

The  following  heads  of  self-examination  may  o-ive  us 
some  idea  of  his  occupation  in  his  secret  chamber."  They 
are  suggested  by  the  words  in  the  Acts  (vi.  4),  "We  will 
give  ourselves  over  continually  to  prayer,  to  the  ministry  of 
the  word." 

"  Have  I  done  so  this  day  1  Have  I  been  mindful  of  the 
duties  of  my  proper  calling  ?  Do  I  make  it  the  great  concern 
of  my  life  to  promote  the  eternal  interests  of  my'flock?  Have 
I  read  the  Holy  Scriptures,  in  order  to  instruct  my  people 
and  to  preserve  them  from  error]  Do  I  call  upon  God  for 
the  true  understanding  of  the  Holy  Scriptures?  Do  I  deny 
all  ungodliness  and  worldly  lusts,  so  as  to  be  an  example 
unto  others?  Have  I  endeavoured  to  keep  up  the  discipline 
of  this  Church  by  correcting  the  criminous?  Have  I  an  eye 
to  such  as  are  in  Holy  Orders,  and  to  such  as  are  desitrn- 
ed  for  the  ministry?  Have  I  been  charitable  and  kind^to 
poor  and  needy  people?  Do  I  make  the  Gospel  the  rule 
of  my  private  life,  and  Jesus  Christ  my  pattern?  Do  I  en- 
deavour after  holiness?  Do  I  live  as  in  God's  presence? 
Is  my  conversation  unblamcable?  Do  I  give  the  praise  of 
this  to  God  through  Jesus  Christ?" 

The  honesty  and  strictness  with  which  he  prosecuted  these 
inquiries,  and  searched  out  his  spirit,  are  manifest  from  the 
subjoined  memorandum  made  so  early  as  the  year  1G99,  which 
gives  a  correct  idea  of  the  frequent  employment  of  his  soli- 
tary hours  :  "  Upon  a  serious  review  of  my  time  past,  I  find 
that  I  have  been  too  negligent  of  the  duties  of  my  callincr;  I 
do  therefore  resolve  solemnly,  (being  heartily  sorry  for  what 
is  past,)  that  for  the  time  to  come  I  will  rectify  (by  the  o-race 
of  God)  my  ways  in  these  following  instances  : 

"  1st.  More  diligently  follow  my  studies.  2d.  Immedi- 
ately regulate  my  devotions,  and  attend  them  constantly. 
3d.  Preachmoreconstantly  than  I  have  done.  '1th.  Compose 
prayers  for  the  poor  families  in  order  to  have  them  printed. 
5th.  Endeavour  with  all  my  might  to  draw  my  heart  from  the 
things  of  the  world. 

"  And  that  I  may  not  forget  these  purposes,  I  resolve  that 
this  memorandum  shall  remain  as  a  record  against  me,  until 
I  have  thoroughly  amended  in  these  particufars.  The  God 
of  Heaven  give  me  grace  to  set  about  the  work  immediately, 
and  give  me  strength  to  finish  it !     Amen,  Amen." 

Many  publications  were  the  fruits  of  his  hours  of  retire- 
ment ;  some  of  these  are  mentioned  incidentally  in  other  parts 
of  this  memoir,  the  rest  are  as  follows  : 

1.  A  History  of  the  Isle  of  Man. 

2.  A  Life  of  his  uncle.  Dr.  Sherlock. 

3.  The  Principles  and  Duties  of  Christianity,  published  in 
Manks  and  English,  in  1G99  ;  and  afterwards  printed  in  an 
altered  form  in  1740,  and  entitled  The  Knowledge  and  Prac- 
tice of  Christianity  made  easy  to  the  meanest  capacities;  or 
an  Essay  towards  an  Instruction  for  the  Indians;  which 
will  likewise  be  of  use  to  all  such  who  are  called  Chris- 
tians, but  have  not  well  considered  the  meaning  of  the  Re- 
ligion they  profess;  or  who  profess  to  know  God,  but  in 
works  deny  him.  In  twenty  dialogues.  Of  this  work  he 
says,  in  a  letter  to  his  son,  "  I  have  the  poorest  opinion  of 
my  own  abilities,  and  I  can  approve  of  little  that  I  have  done 
on  this  head ;  but  since  it  has  gone  so  far,  there  is  no  draw- 
inor  back." 


•  The  writer  of  these  pages  cannot  help  expressing  his  regret  that 
the  Sacra  frivata  should  now  be  usually  priTited  without  the  obser- 
vations upon  the  clerical  character.  He  ventures  to  think  that  good 
would  result  from  their  wider  circulation  amongst  the  minsters  of 
Christ  themselves,  and  that  no  harm  can  possibly  arise  from  the  peo- 
ple being  led  to  expect  quite  as  much  from  their  spiritual  instructors 
as  is  there  set  down.  We  have  indeed  the  treasure  in  earthern  ves- 
sels, but  then  our  bishop  has  encouraged  no  expectations  of  any  thing 
else;  and  what  he  represented  to  be  the  duly  of  others  he  scrupu- 
lously exacted  of  himself. 


490 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


4.  A  Commentary  upon  the  Holy  Bible. 

5.  A  Short  Introduction  to  the  Lord's  Supper.  A  work 
not  superseded,  perhaps  not  surpassed,  by  any  other  upon 
the  same  subject.  Writing  to  his  son,  who  had  sent  to  him 
some  letters  which  were  highly  commendatory  of  his  publi- 
cations, he  says,  "  I  am  not  elated  with  the  letters  you  en- 
closed me  ;  if  any  good  is  likely  to  be  done,  far  be  it  from 
me  to  take  the  praise  to  myself;  let  it  be  ascribed  to  the  good 
Spirit  of  God  ;  and  let  me  take  the  shame  to  myself  for  the 
many  faults  I  plainly  see  in  it,  and  for  the  negligence  with 
which  it  is  performed.  May  God  forgive  me  tliese,  and  par- 
don the  things  I  have  been  wanting  in,  and  the  good  I 
mio-ht  and  have  not  done  in  the  way  of  my  duty,  in  a  lon^, 
lono- life,  and  in  my  proper  calling;  and  I  shall  bless  his 
name  for  ever !" 

G.  Short  Observations  on  the  Historical  Books  of  the  Old 
Testament. 

7.  Morning  and  Evening  Prayers  and  Meditations  for 
Families,  and  for  Persons  in  Private. 

8.  Maxiois  of  Piety  and  of  Christianity. 

9.  Forms  of  Prayer  for  several  public  occasions.  Amongst 
these  is  a  Form  of  Prayer  for  the  Herring  Fishery.  Th 
bishop  says,  in  his  History  of  the  Isle  of  Man,  that  "•  former- 
ly herrings  were  the  great  staple  commodity  of  this  Isle,  of 
which,  (within  the  memory  of  some  now  living),  near  twenty 
ty  thousand  barrels  have  been  exported  in  one  year  to  France 
and  other  places.  The  time  of  herring-fishing  is  between 
July  and  All-hallows'  tide.  The  whole  tleet  of  boats,  (every 
boat  being  about  the  burden  of  two  tons)  are  under  the  gov- 
ernment of  the  water-bailiff  on  the  shore,  and  under  one  called 
a  vice-admiral  at  sea,  who,  by  the  signal  of  a  flag,  directs 
them  when  to  shoot  their  nets,  &c In  acknow- 
ledgment of  this  great  blessing,  and  that  God  may  be  prevail- 
ed with  to  continue  it,  (this  being  the  support  of  the  place), 
the  whole  fleet  duly  attend  divine  service  on  the  shore,  at  the 
several  ports,  every  evening  before  they  go  to  sea  ;  the  re- 
spective incumbents  on  that  occasion  making  use  of  a  form  of 
prayer,  lessons,  &c.  lately  composed  for  that  purpose."  This 
pious  practice  is  still  continued. 

10.  Instructions  for  an  Academic  Youth,  and  a  Catechet- 
ical Instruction,  both  intended  for  Candidates  for  Holy 
Orders. 

In  addition  to  these,  many  prayers,  memoranda,  and  a 
few  letters  on  clerical  subjects,  have  been  printed  in  the  ac- 
counts of  his  Life,  by  the  Rev.  Mr.  Cruttwell  and  the  Rev. 
Mr.  Stowell. 

This  chapter  may  appropriately  conclude  with  an  extract 
from  a  letter  written  by  the  celebrated  Dr.  Samuel  Johnson 
to  the  son  of  this  admirable  prelate; — "To  think  on  bishop 
Wilson  with  veneration  is  only  to  agree  with  the  whole 
christian  world.  I  hope  to  look  into  his  books  with  other 
purposes  than  those  of  criticism,  and,  after  their  perusal,  not 
only  to  write  but  to  live  better." 


CHAPTER  VI. 

His  Beneficence. 

Unskilful  he  to  fawn,  or  seek  for  pow'r. 
By  doctrines  fashion'd  to  the  varying  hour: 
Far  other  aims  his  heart  had  Icaru'd  to  prize, 
Alore  bent  to  raise  the  wretched  than  to  rise. 
His  liome  was  known  to  all  the  vagrant  train, 
He  chid  their  wandering,  but  relieved  their  pain. 
***** 
But  in  liis  duty  prompt,  at  every  call 
He  watch'd  and  wept,  he  prayed  and  felt  for  all. 
And,  as  a  bird  each  fond  endearment  tries 
To  tempt  its  new-fledged  oftspriiig  to  the  skies, 
He  tried  each  art,  reproved  each  <lull  delay, 
AUui'ed  to  brighter  worlds,  and  led  the  way. 

Goldsmith's  Deserted  Village. 

The  small  revenues  of  the  bishopric  of  INIan  amounted  in 
the  time  of  bishop  Wilson  to  no  more  than  three  hundred 
pounds  a-year,  and  he  found  that  the  lands  annexed  to  it  were 
nothing  better  than  tracts  of  pasturage  for  sheep.  It  soon 
occurred  to  him  to  turn  these  lands  to  more  profitable  account 


by  husbandry  ;  and  by  skilful  management  he  soon  made  them 
produce  more  than  was  required  to  supply  his  house  ;  a  por- 
tion of  the  residue  was  bartered  for  other  commodities  which 
his  farms  did  not  furnish ;  and  what  remained  was  devoted 
to  ciiaritable  ])urposes.  Thus  it  happened  that  he  was  able 
to  employ  considerable  sums  in  promoting  the  glory  of  God 
and  the  good  of  man. 

He  wished  to  act  in  accordance  with  the  sentiment  which 
was  thus  expressed  (we  believe)  by  bishop  Fleetwood,  "  Let 
us  proportion  our  alms  to  our  incomes,  lest  God  should  pro- 
portion our  incomes  to  our  alms." 

In  the  spirit  of  this  maxim  he  always  appointed  a  certain 
portion  of  his  income  for  pious  uses,  and  at  various  intervals 
we  find  him  increasing  the  sum  thus  appropriated.  The  fol- 
lowing is  one  of  his  memoranda  of  this  kind. 

"Siihop's  Court,  Feb.  18,  1718. 

"  To  the  glory  of  God ;  I  find  by  constant  experience  that 
God  will  be  no  man's  debtor,  I  find  that  I  have  enough  and 
to  spare ;  so  that  for  the  future  I  dedicate  four-tenths  to  pious 
uses,  one  tenth  of  tlie  demesnes  and  customs  which  I  receive 
in  monies,  and  of  my  English  estate  as  above.  And  the  good 
Lord  accept  his  poor  servant  in  this  service,  for  Christ's 
sake.    Amen." 

His  charity  to  the  poor  was  so  enlarged  that  the  destitute 
never  came  to  his  door  in  vain.  Being  told  that  unworthy 
persons  were  often  the  objects  of  his  bounty,  he  replied,  "  I 
would  rather  give  to  ten  unworthy,  than  that  one  deserving 
object  should  go  away  without  relief."  Mr.  Moore  says  in 
the  sermon  preached  at  the  bisho])'s  funeral,  "  His  charity  and 
beneficence  to  the  poor  and  needy  shine  the  brightest  and 
most  distinguished  of  all  his  other  numerous  virtues  and  gra- 
ces. Feeding  the  hungry,  clothing  the  naked,  comforting  the 
afllicted,  administering  to  the  distresses  of  all,  the  stranger, 
the  fatherless,  and  the  widow — these  acts  of  humanity  and 
christian  charity  were  the  joy,  the  delight,  the  great  employ- 
ment and  pleasure,  of  his  soul.  And  to  this  it  was  owing, 
that  during  his  episcopate,  no  country  in  the  christian  world 
had  fewer  public  beggars  to  be  seen  therein  :  for  he  kept  the 
poor  from  almost  every  body's  doors  but  bis  own." 

In  order  to  supply  the  poor  with  clothing,  he  kept  tailors 
and  shoemakers  in  constant  employjnent  at  his  own  house.— 
And  as  his  pecuniary  means  were  small,  he  commonly  pro- 
cured the  materials  for  that  purpose  by  bartering  the  produce 
of  his  farm.  It  is  related  that  one  day,  giving  orders  to  his 
tailor  to  make  for  him  a  cloak,  he  desired  that  it  might  be 
(juite  plain,  and  have  merely  a  button  and  loop  to  keep  it  to- 
gether. "But  my  lord,"  said  the  tailor,  "  what  would  be- 
come of  the  poor  button  makers  and  their  families  if  every 
one  thought  in  that  way  ^  they  would  be  starved  outright." 
"  Do  you  say  so,  John  ?"  replied  the  bishop,  "  why  then  but- 
ton it  all  over,  John." 

Some  occasions  of  a  most  trying  nature  occurred  to  draw 
forth  all  the  energies,  as  well  as  to  awaken  the  most  tender 
feelings,  of  this  generous  mind.  A  small  duty  was  paid  by 
all  vessels  putting  into  the  ports  of  the  island,  and,  as  the 
contraband  trade  increased,  a  portion  of  this  was  employed  in 
rendering  the  harbours  more  convenient  and  secure.  Thus 
many  hands  were  drawn  away  from  agricultural  labour  to 
carry  on  these  works,  and  many  more  were  employed  about 
the  shipping  in  various  capacities.  The  neglect  of  the  land 
was  a  necessary  consec]uence ;  the  consumption  of  corn  be- 
came greater  than  the  produce ;  and  the  Manksmen  were  de- 
pendent upon  England  for  the  supply  of  their  wants.  Hence 
in  dear  or  scarce  years  they  were  in  the  greatest  distress,  and 
sometimes  even  experienced  the  miseries  of  famine. 

Such  was  the  wretched  condition  of  the  people  in  the  year 
1740.  Their  crops,  never  sufficient,  were  in  the  preceding 
harvest  remarkably  light.  The  bishop  writes  to  his  son  (July 
15,  1739)  "  The  severest  drought  that  I  ever  knew.  A  great 
deal  of  corn  will  never  be  mowed  or  reaped;  and  the  poor 
farmers,  not  being  able  to  dispose  of  their  cattle,  will  many 
of  them  be  ruined,  I  fear."  England  had  equally  suffered 
by  this  unpropitious  weather.  The  dearth  produced  high 
prices,  and  an  embargo  was  laid  upon  the  exportation  of  corn. 
it  was  a  wretched  winter  to  the  poor  people  of  Man,  and  the 
bishop's  heart  was  with  them  in  their  misery.  He  distribu- 
ted all  his  own  corn,  he  then  purchased  to  the  extent  of  his 
means,  and  sold  it  out  at  a  low  rate  in  small  proportions,  so 
as  to  economise  to  the  utmost.  In  February  1740,  he  writes 
again,  "Never  was  such  a  scarcity  of  corn!  A  ship  laden 
wnth  barley,  was  put  in  by  bad  weather.  I  would  have  bought 
fifty  pounds'  worth,  but  it  could  not  be  sold,  the  master  hav- 
ing given  large  bonds  to  land  it  at  Whitehaven,  but  he  was 
cast  away  going  thither.     What  this  poor  place  will  do,  God 


LIFE  OF  BISHOP  WILSON. 


491 


only  knows.     I  shall  give  as  long  as  1  have  any  ;  and  money, 
if  any  be  to  be  bought." 

Disease  is  generally  the  companion  of  famine,  and  it  vis- 
ited tlie  island  with  much  severity  on  this  occasion.  The 
bishop,  wlio  had  acquired  some  knowledge  of  physic  at  the 
University,  and  had  exercised  it  for  the  relief  of  his  poor 
neighbours  all  his  life  long,  now  attended  the  sick  and  pre- 
scribed fur  them.  They  had  fresh  proofs  of  the  goodness  of 
God  in  sending  a  man  of  such  an  excellent  spirit  to  dwell 
amongst  them. 

In  their  greatest  extremity,  when  the  corn  of  the  island  was 
nearly  exhausted,  the  inhabitants  despatched  a  letter  to  the 
duke  of  Athol,  (who  had  succeeded  to  the  lordship  of  the 
isle,  by  the  death  of  the  earl  of  Derby,)  and  to  Dr.  Wilson, 
in  London,  representing  their  appalling  situation,  and  beseech- 
ing them  to  use  their  earnest  endeavours  and  their  interest  to 
effect  the  removal  of  the  embargo  which  withheld  from  them 
the  very  means  of  existence. 

The  application  was  made,  but  without  success,  and  as  the 
case  admitted  of  no  delay,  the  duke  and  Dr.  Wilson  immedi- 
ately contracted  for  two  ship-loads  of  corn  from  Holland. — 
Meanwhile  a  small  vessel,  bound  to  Dumfries  with  a  cargo 
of  Welsli  oats,  was  driven  into  Douglas  by  a  contrary  wind, 
where  the  cargo  sustained  considerable  injury  ;  and  the  people 
of  the  town,  urged  by  famine,  and  knowing  that  the  means  of 
relief  were  actually  perishing  before  their  faces,  boarded  and 
took  possession  of  the  vessel  without  resistance.  The  action, 
though  riotous,  was  conducted  with  good  order,  for  they 
measured  out  the  corn  wiih  great  exactness,  stored  it  in  the 
school-house,  and  compelled  the  churchwardens  to  take  the 
care  and  custody  of  it,  and  to  sell  it  out  at  prime  cost,  re- 
serving the  money  for  the  proprietor  of  the  cargo. 

Thus  a  temporary  relief  was  afforded,  at  least  for  that  part 
of  the  island,  until  the  ships  arrived  from  Holland  just  lime 
enough  to  save  the  inhabitants  from  starving.  Further  sup- 
plies were  afterwards  obtained,  by  the  embargo  being  removed 
for  a  certain  time  and  to  a  certain  quantity,  in  consequence  of 
another  pressing  appeal  to  the  king  from  Dr.  Wilson,  in 
whicli  ho  says,  "  Your  jietitioner's  father,  and  the  inhabitants 
of  that  place,  labour  under  the  inexpressible  want  of  provis- 
ions, especially  bread-corn;  so  that,  if  not  speedily  relieved, 
many  thousands  are  in  imminent  danger  of  being  starved  ; 
and  what  adds  to  their  melancholy  circumstances  is,  that  it 
has  pleased  God  to  afflict  them  with  a  pestilential  tlux,  owinc 
in  a  great  measure  to  the  want  of  wholesome  food." 

The  sup|ily  now  sent  saved  the  whole  people  from  destruc- 
tion, yet  still  the  poor  would  have  been  very  scantily  provi- 
ded but  for  the  help  of  their  good  bishop.  He  writes  thus  to 
his  son ;  "  What  I  give  at  home  to  poor  people,  I  give  gratis  ; 
having,  through  God's  blessing,  about  one  hundred  and  fifty 
Winchester  bushels  to  spare.  But  my  method  in  the  four 
towns  has  been  to  buy  it  at  the  market-price,  (which  is  hio-h 
enough  indeed,)  and  to  order  it  to  be  sold,  but  only  to  poor 
people,  and  not  above  two  pecks  to  any  one  body." 

In  another  letter  it  is  stated,  "  I  have  given  this  year  about 
five  hundred  bushels  of  barley,  which  have  been  the  support 
of  very  many  families.,  as  well  as  private  persons,  which  other- 
wise must  have  perished,  I  verily  believe." 

The  year  1T45  was  another  time  of  great  want  and  suffer- 
ing amongst  the  poor.  The  circumstances  of  their  distress, 
and  the  bisho|i's  help  in  their  time  of  need,  are  suflieiently 
shown  in  the  following  extracts  from  his  letters  to  his  son. 

"  June  I  1,  1TJ5.  Our  harvest  last  year  was  so  difficult  to 
be  saved,  that  it  has  reduced  us  to  as  great  straits  as  we  were 
in  four  years  ago,  only  we  have  the  liberty  of  having  corn 
from  England  and  Wales  brought  to  us,  but  at  an  excessive 
price;  and,  which  is  slill  worse,  there  is  amongst  the  people 
very  little  monies  to  be  had  to  purchase  it.  1  have  already 
given  most  of  my  own  stock  of  all  sorts  of  grain,  and  I  be- 
lieve 1  shall  be  obliged  to  lay  out  twenty  or  thirty  pounds 
more  before  August.  Ten  pounds  worth  of  barley  Mr.  Mur- 
ray has  promised  me  this  week,  which  is  coming  from  Wales, 
and  I  hope  for  as  much  more.  It  is  generally  sold  for  twenty- 
four  shillings  our  lioll :  but  before  this  came  in,  some  of  our 
wicked  farmers  sold  it  for  upwards  of  thirty;  or  five  or  six 
shillings  a  Winchester  bushel. 

"  V\e  have  also  had  a  very  great  loss  of  black  cattle  and 
sheep  through  the  whole  country,  occasioned  by  the  badness 
of  the  fodder,  and  the  cold  and  wet  season,  havintr  had  scarce 
three  days  together  without  rain  or  snow  since  September 
last.  In  short,  I  can  foresee  nothing  but  distress  of  one  kind 
or  other." 

"  July  15,  1745.  A  most  sad  dear  year,  even  as  hard  with 
the  poor  as  1741  ;  for  though  there  is  corn  enough,  (at  a  very 


dear  rate,)  yet  the  people  have  no  monies.  We  are  perfectly 
drained.  I  have  bought  already  near  one  hundred  bushels, 
and  shall  make  it  up  that  quantity  before  new  corn  comes  in, 
besides  my  own  growth.  No  prospect  of  a  fishery.  A  fine 
crop  upon  the  ground,  except  the  mountains  and  the  Cur- 
ragh.'* 

But  bishop  Wilson's  charity  did  not  confine  itself  to  the 
relief  of  temporal  necessities.  Besides  private  exertions  in 
his  master's  cause,  which  none  who  have  read  his  thoughts 
on  that  subject  can  doubt,  he  contributed  towards  the  general 
improvement  of  these  unlettered  islanders,  with  a  liberality 
which  we  can  hardly  tell  how  his  means  supplied.  He  must 
often  have  exceeded  the  contents  of  his  "  poor's  box,"  and 
must  always  have  administered  his  little  funds  with  a  simnj- 
ar  prudence  and  discretion.  He  caused  parts  of  the  Scrlp- 
turesf  and  several  good  books  to  be  translated  and  printed  in 
the  Manks  language  ;  he  took  part  in  founding  and  supplyino- 
parochial  libraries  ;  he  distributed  bibles  and  testaments  ;  pu° 
the  schools  in  his  diocese  on  such  a  footing  as  to  render  them 
seminaries  of  strict  morals  and  sound  learning;  and  built,  or 
assisted  in  building  and  endowing,  several  churches  and  cha- 
pels. 

Nor  were  his  clergy  omitted  from  his  schemes  of  benevo- 
ence.  He  used  great  exertions  to  recover  some  losses, 
which  without  such  assistance  they  could  never  have  ob- 
tained ;  he  increased,  as  far  as  he  was  able,  their  incomes, 
and  repaired  their  houses;  and  established  a  fund  for  their 
widows  and  orphans,  contributing  largely  to  it  himself.  His 
own  account  of  the  clergy,  given  in  the  History  of  the  Isle  of 
Man,  shows  that  they  stood  in  much  need  of  such  kindness 
as  he  extended  to  them. 

"The  clergy  are  generally  natives;  and  indeed  it  cannot 
well  be  otherwise,  none  else  being  qualified  to  preach  and 
administer  the  sacraments  in  the  Klanks  language;  for  the 
English  is  not  understood  by  two-thirds  at  least  of  the  island, 
though  there  is  an  English  school  in  every  parish;  so  hard 
is  it  to  change  the  language  of  a  whole  country. 

"The  livings  are  generally  small:  the  two  parsonao-es 
are,  indeed,  worth  near  sixty  pounds  a-year;  but  the  vicara- 
ges, the  royal  bounty^:  included,  are  not  worth  above  twenty- 
five  pounds,  with  which,  notwithstanding,  the  frugal  clergy 
have  maintained  themselves  and  pretty  numerous  families 
very  decently :  of  late,  indeed,  the  ;^reat  resort  of  strangers 
has  made  provisions  of  all  sorts  as  dear  again  as  formerfy." 

When  we  consider  all  the  benevolent  acts  of  this  warm- 
hearted man,  he  seems  to  have  looked  upon  the  whole  popu- 
lation of  the  island  as  his  family,  and  to  have  sought  out 
every  opportunity  of  doing  them  good.  George  Herbert, 
whose  well-known  book,  entitled  The  Country  Parson,  he 
always  loved  and  recommended,  in  describing  the  parson's 
charity,  presents  a  true  picture  of  bishop  Wilson.  "  All  his 
works  relish  of  charity.  When  he  riscth  in  the  morning,  he 
bethinketh  himself  what  good  deeds  he  can  do  that  day," and 
presently  doeth  them,  counting  that  day  lost  in  which  he  hath 
not  exercised  his  charity.  He  first  considers  his  own  parish," 
(with  the  bishop  it  was  his  diocese)  "and  takes  care  that 
there  be  not  a  begger  or  idle  person  in  his  parish,  but  that  all 
be  in  a  competent  way  of  getting  their  livino-." 

Yet,  with  all  this,  the  Isle  of  Man  contained  not  within  its 


*  The  Curragh  is  a  large  ti-act  of  land  lunning  the  breadth  of  the 
island  between  Ballaugb  and  Hamsea.  It  was  formerly  a  bog,  wliii-h, 
being  drained,  proved  one  of  the  richest  parts  of  the  island.  Bishop 
Wilson's  llislori/  oft/u-  Me  ofJMan. 

+  A  translation  of  tlie  Scriptures  into  the  Manks  language  was 
eommeucLd  under  the  superintendence  atid  at  Uic  cost  ot'bishop  Wil- 
son. The  Gospel  of  St.  Matthew  was  printed  before  his  dealli,  anil 
the  other  Evangelists  and  tlic  Acts  were  at  that  time  ready  for  the 
press.  It  is  related  that  bisliop  Hildesliy,  Wilson's  successor,  en- 
tered with  great  interest  and  zeal  upon  the  completion  of  lliis  ardu- 
ous and  valuable  undirtaking,  and  that  he  often  said,  "He  only 
wislicd  to  live  to  see  it  finished,  and  then  lie  should  be  content  to  die." 
Througli  the  liberal  assistance  of  tlie  Society  for  Promoting  Chris- 
tian Knowledge,  tliis  great  work  was  completed.  On  Saturday,  No- 
vember 'i'i,  177'i,  he  received  tlie  last  part  of  the  Uible,  ami  sang, 
that  evening,  the  song  of  Simeon  (Luke  ii.  2y),  widi  much  feeling, 
ill  the  presence  of  his  family.  On  Sund.ay  he  addressed  his  family 
after  evening  prayers  on  die'  uncertainty  of  life,  next  day  he  was  de- 
prived of  his  senses  liy  a  paralytic  .seizure,  and  in  a  week  he  was  no 
iiiore.  Agreeably  to  his  o«n  desire,  he  v\  as  buried  by  the  side  of 
bishop  Wilson,  wishing  to  be  united  in  deadi  wiUi  a  man  whose  ex- 
ample he  had  endeavoured  to  imitate  through  life. 

\  This  was  the  sum  of  100/.  per  annum  granted  in  the  I'eign  of 
king  Charles  the  Second,  payable  out  of  the  excise  for  ever,  for  the 
better  maintenance  of  iioor  vicars  and  schoolmasters,  "that,  through 
tlie  ])overty  of  the  (lUice,  tlie  cliurcb  might  never  want  fit  persons'to 
perform  divine  offices,  and  to  instruct  the  people  in  necessary  truths 
and  duties." 


493 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


borders  a  more  humble  mind  than  his.  I  he  language  in 
which  he  speaks  of  ihe  charities  of  his  uncle.  Dr.  i^herlock, 
expresses  what  he  thought  of  the  good  which  was  done  by 
his  own  hand.  "If  he  gave  alms  to  the  poor,  and  denied 
himself  many  satisfactions  which  he  could  easily  have  pur- 
chased, he  did  not,  however,  pretend  to  merit  by  these  exer- 
cises of  piety  any  more  than  a  steward  pretends  to  merit  by 
being  faithful,  or  a  sick  man  by  being  orderly." 

Aiid,  in  an  account-book,  in  which  he  entered  the  sums 
employed  from  time  to  time  for  pious  uses,  these  words  were 
found  written  ;  "  A  very  small  page  will  serve  for  the  number 
of  our  good  works,  when  vast  volumes  will  not  contain  our 
evil  deeds." 


CHAPTER  VII. 

His  old  age,  and  latter  days. 

Adieu  most  -northy  prelate,  now  released 

From  mortal  toils!     Tliou  ivhom  indulgent  Heav'n 

Lent  us  so  long,  (if  long  in  life  can  be,) 

"Who  well,  attentive,  iiudiluUy  hast  watch'd 

Tliy  little  sea-girt  see,  contented  there 

Still  to  remain,  devoted  to  thy  charge. 

Thy  care  the  naked  fed,  the  hungry  clothed, 

KeiievM  the  friendless  orphan  in  his  want. 

And  caus'd  the  widow's  heart  to  sing  for  joy. 

The  ear  which  heard  thee  blessM  thee,  and  the  eye 

That  saw  thee  sparkled  willi  all  grateful  beams. 

Each  day,  each  hour,  still  properly  employ'd, 

Shone  with  the  merit  of  Uiy  pious  deeds. 

Thy  task's  discharg'd,  mature  for  heav'n  thou'rt  gone. 

Ancient  thyself,  to  the  Ancient  of  all  days  ;  ^ 

There  in  a  moment,  glorious  meed,  thy  staff 

Episcopal,  and  rocliet,  are  exchanged 

For  dazzling  robes  and  a  triumphal  palm! 

Li7ies  on  the  Dealh  ofSishop  JVilson, 
by  Br.  Cooper  of  Chester. 


The  name  of  bishop  Wilson  is  so  little  connected  with 
other  names  or  incidents  of  note,  that  we  have  not  seen  any 
necessity  for  adhering  to  the  order  of  time  in  this  little  narra- 
tive •  and  we  rather  thought  that  to  take  a  distinct  sketch  ot 
his  character  in  different  points  of  view  would  convey  a  more 
correct  idea  of  what  he  really  was,  and  secure  to  him  that 
affection  and  reverence,  to  obtain  which  he  only  requires  to 
be  known.  But  our  memoir,  few  as  its  details  have  been,  is 
now  drawincr  to  its  close,  and  we  propose  to  gather  up  the 
frao-ments  wMiich  remain  relative  to  that  period  ot  his  lite 
when  he  might  fairly  be  termed  an  old  man ;  and  these  we 
shall  arrange  in  the  order  of  their  occurrence. 

Here  then  we  have  to  contemplate  tlie  aged  christian  bishop, 
still  proceedincr  in  his  wonted  course  of  usetulness,  and  not 
retiriiig  from  the  duties  of  a  minister  of  Christ  while  health 
and  life  were  spared  to  him. 

In  tlie  year  1735,  at  the  age  of  seventy-two,  he  made  hts 
last  visit  to  England,  and,  while  in  London,  he  did  not  omit 
the  opportunity  of  being  presented  to  king  George  the  Second, 
and  his  consort,  queen  Caroline.  He  came  into  the  drawing- 
room  in  his  usual  simple  dress,  having  a  small  black  cap  on 
the  top  of  his  head,  with  his  hair  flowing  and  silvery,  and 
his  shoes  fastened  with  leathern  thongs  instead  of  buckels. 
His  appearance  excited  some  sui'prise,  and,  joined  with  his 
well-known  piety  and  virtues,  awakened  feelings  of  the  deep- 
est veneration.  It  is  related,  that  as  soon  as  he  entered  the 
presence-chamber,  the  king,  stepping  out  of  the  circle  of  his 
courtiers,  and  advancing  towards  the  bishop,  took  him  by  the 
hand  and  said—"  My  lord,  I  beg  your  prayers." 

Nor  was  the  queen  less  impressed  with  reverence  for  his 
character;  she  wished  to  keep  him  in  England,  and  with 
that  view  offered  him  translation.  One  day  when  she  was 
conversing  with  him,  she  turned  round  to  her  levee  and  said 

"  See  here,  my  lords,  is  a  bishop  who  does  not  come  tor 

translation!"  "No,  and  please  your  majesty,"  was  his 
remark,  "  I  will  not  in  my  old  age  leave  my  wife  because 
she  is  poor !" 

Nothing  could  have  been  more  distressing  to  bishop  V\  ilson 
than  to  observe  the  growing  corruption  of  manners  and  prin- 

•.  1     _   :.-    .1  _- •     LL  K.il.,    ^ ;..»   .^^*;^.i   "    •It'  li  n  /^r»/>.i  f^inln    iprm    it. 


He  found  it  poor,  indeed,  an<l  unlettered,  hut  then  it  was  free 
from  the  crimes  with  which  the  annals  of  most  countries  are 
stained;  and  anxiously  did  he  use  his  best  endeavours,  by 
active  personal  exertions,  by  stimulating  his  clergy,  by  fer- 
vent prayer,  and  by  precautionary  measures,  to  preserve  it 
from  contamination.  But  as  we  have  seen,  notwithstanding 
all  these  exertions,  wickedness  and  impiety  established  thein- 
selves  in  the  soil,  and  gained  continual  strength;  this  he 
lamented  in  private  and  public,  and  he  urged  those  in  au- 
thority, as  well  as  the  spiritual  guides  of  the  people,  to  stem 
the  torrent  of  evil  which  threatened  to  overwhelm  the  island. 
By  this  disappointment  of  the  hopes  he  once  entertained  of 
building  up  Zion  there  as  an  honour  and  a  praise  in  the  earth, 
he  was^reminded  that  his  reward  as  well  as  his  rest  were  not 
to  be  looked  for  in  this  world. 

During  his  absence  in  London,  three  unhappy  persons  had 
been  tried  for  the  crimes  of  burglary  and  robbery ;  and  on  his 
return  he  found  them  lying  under  sentence  of  death.  How 
must  he  have  mourned  over  the  change  since  the  time  when 
the  door  of  Bishop's-court  needed  no  other  fastening,  by  day 
or  night,  than  a  latch,  and  that  merely  to  keep  out  the  wind, 
and  not  from  fear  of  any  ruder  aggressor. 

On  this  occasion  he  addressed  a  circular  letter  to  the  clergy 
of  the  island,  desiring  them  to  pray  for  the  criminals,  and  to 
warn  their  congregations  of  the  wages  of  sin  in  this  world 
and  the  next.  And  from  the  pulpit  he  himself  addressed  an 
impressive  exhortation  to  the  people,  in  which,  in  his  own 
plain  and  touching  manner,  he  spoke  to  them  as  to  children, 
of  the  danger  and  the  wickedness  of  such  crimes  as  those 
which  were  then  about  to  pay  the  pealty  of  death. 

At  a  later  period,  in  the  year  17-lt!,  he  pursued  the  same 
course,  on  the  mournful  occasion  of  the  condemnation  of  a 
murderer.  He  wrote  a  circular  letter  to  his  "very  dear 
brethren,"  in'which  he  expressed  a  hope  that  none  ot  them 
w  ould  omit  that  seasonable  occasion  of  "  speaking  trom  the 
pulpit,  and  other  ways,"  in  such  a  manner  as  to  awaken  most 
lively  impressions  of  the  heinousness  of  that  crime,  and  the 
great  danger  of  advancing  in  wickedness  from  the^ smallest 
beoinnino-s  to  the  greatest  enormities.  "  If  people,"  he  said, 
"vvill  take  themselves  from  under  God's  protection  by  leav- 
ing off  to  pray  daily  to  God ;  if  they  fall  into  a  careless  and 
idfe  way  of  living,  run  into  loose  and  wicked  company,  hear 
profane'people  make  mock  at  a  sin;— if  they  fall  into  a  habit 
of  profaning  the  Lord's  day  by  idleness,  sinful  diversions,  or 
neo-lectincr  "the  public  worship  of  God ;— these  things  will 
cerlainly  grieve  the  Holy  Spirit  of  God,  by  which  alone  we 
can  be  kept  from  the  ways  of  sin  and  damnation. 

"We  have  here,  therefore,  a  good  occasion  of  amonishing 
younn-  people,  whether  men  or  women,  to  take  care  of  the 
beo-inliinCTS  of  sin.  Nobody  is  exceeding  wicked  all  at  once  ; 
tbedeviris  too  cunning  to  startle  men  with  temptations  to 
crreat  and  frio-htful  crimes  at  first ;  but  if  he  can  tempt  them  to 
feave  off  theT--  prayers,  to  take  God's  name  in  vain,  to  drink, 
to  swear,  to  hear  filthy  discourse,  and  to  speak  of  the  vices  of 
others  with  pleasure,  he  will  soon  tempt  them  to  crimes  oi  a 
damning  nature."  ,  r 

In  1739  he  was  engaged  in  extricating  his  poor  clergy  trom 
some  difficulties  in  which  they  were  involved  by  the  death  of 
the  earl  of  Derby.  The  lordship  of  the  Isle  of  Man  then 
passed  into  the  hands  of  the  duke  of  Athol,  and  certain  papers 
relating  to  the  ecclesiastical  revenues  were  missing,  by  which 
a  considerable  portion  of  the  small  incomes  of  the  clergy  was 
endano-ered.  And  on  this  occasion,  as  before,  they  were 
ultimalely  relieved  from  their  uncomfortable  situation  by  the 
successful  exertions  of  bishop  Wilson. 

He  still,  in  his  old  age,  continued  the  practice  of  riding  oil 
on  Sunday  to  take  a  share  of  the  duties  in  some  distant  parish, 
without  reo-ardincr  the  fatigue  of  travelling  on  roads  which  are 
described  as  havmg  been  perilous  even  for  horsemen  in  win- 
ter, and  for  carriages  at  all  times.  In  April  1739,  being  then 
in  his  seventy-sixth  year,  he  writes  thus  to  his  son— "  1  have 
been  as  well  as  ever  I  can  expect  to  be  at  this  age ;  1  was 
oblio-ed  last  Sunday  to  preach  at  Peel  [eight  miles  distant 
front  Bishop's-court,]  ride  there  and  back  again  on  a  most 
stormy  day  ;  and  yet  I  thank  God,  I  am  not  the  worse  for  it. 

In  his  seventv-ninth  and  eightieth  years  he  continued  to 
preach  occasionally,  as  appears  from  his  letters  to  his  son ; 
and  in  the  year  1743,  we  have  an  account  of  his  state  ot 
health  from  his  own  pen,  in  a  letter  to  his  son  s  wiie. 


Mv  DE  \R  Daughter,— I  have  the  pleasure  of  yours  of  the 
8th  of  the  last  month.  You  put  too  great  a  value  upon  the 
ittle  favours  I  can  show  you.     My  great  aim  and  desire  is. 


ciples  in  that 


'link 


rowing  corruption  ol  manners  ana  prin-  little  lavonrs  i  uau  ^i,u.,  j^...     .^  ;•  -  ,  .^  ^  :^ 

qui.  t  nation,"  as  he  once  could  term  it.  that  my  son  and  you  may  make  one  another  so  easy,  as  that  it 


LIFE  OF  BISHOP  ^VILSOX. 


493 


may  be  a  means,  through  the  blessing  of  God,  of  lengthening! 
your  days  to  a  good  old  age  ;  and  that  at  last  we  may  all  meet 
in  the  Paradise  of  God. 

"  -My  eyes,  I  thank  God,  are  much  better,  though  my  sight 
is  a  Jittle  duller  than  formerly  ;  but  that  is  what  I  ought  to 
expect  at  eighty  years. 

'•  You  have  a  share  in  my  prayers  every  day  of  my  life  ; 
and  if  1  am  so  happy  as  to  find  favour  with  God,  1  have  some 
reason  to  hope  that  my  prayers  afterwards  may  be  accepted  at 
the  Throne  of  Grace,  for  our  happy  meeting,  through  the 
merits  of  the  Lord  Jesus. 

"  Tho.  Sodoh  and  Man. 

"Oct.  II,  1743." 

Even  so  late  as  the  year  1749,  when  he  was  in  his  8Gth 
year,  he  had  not  discontinued  taking  horse  exercise.  "  I  have 
at  last  got  a  horse,"  he  says,  "  and  now  and  then  ride  into 
the  fields."     Leiler,  October  II,  IH'J. 

In  his  90th  year  he  held  an  ordination  ;  as  he  had  also  done 
tlie  year  before;  in  his  91st  year,  he  consecrated  a  chapel  at 
IJarasea ;  and  was  still  able  to  meet  his  clergy  at  the  annual 
convocation,  and  to  address  to  them  a  charge  as  usual. 

The  infirmities  of  old  age,  however,  were  taking  fast  hold 
upon  him.  His  eyes  were  growing  dim,  and  his  natural  force 
was  abated.  In  June,  1751,  he  wrote  thus  to  the  newly-ap- 
pointed governor  of  the  island: 

"Honoured  Governor, — 1  hope  my  great  age,  and  the  in- 
firmities that  attend  it,  will  be  some  excuse  for  my  forgetting 
so  long  to  inquire  after  your  health,  and  settling  in  your  gov- 
ernment. I  promise  to  make  some  amends  for  that  fault,  by 
my  daily  prayers  that  God  may  bless  you,  and  make  you  a 
happy  instrument  of  good  to  this  people,  and  comfort  and 
satisfaction  to  yourself;  this  being  the  duty  of,  honoured  sir, 
your  affectionate  friend  and  humble  servant, 

"  Tho.  Sodor  and  Man." 

He  was  old  and  full  of  days,  and  this,  combined  with  the 
occasional  attacks  of  severe  bodily  ailment,  left  him  no  room 
to  doubt  that  he  would  soon  he  gathered  lo  kis  people.  Nor 
was  it  an  unHelcorne  thought.  He  had  long  been  accustom- 
ed to  contemplate  the  future  world,  so  far  as  revelation  lifts 
the  veil  which  rests  between  it  and  us  ;  and  he  rejoiced  to 
have  found  the  new  and  living  iw/y,  which  would  conduct  liim 
safely  from  the  grave  to  immortal  glory.  While  he  felt  weak 
in  himself,  a  firm  reliance  on  his  Saviour's  merits  preserved 
him  from  any  fear  of  evil  in  the  valley  of  the  shadow  of  death, 
and  feeling  assured  that  the  mercy  and  goodness  of  God 
would  follow  him  for  ever,  the  prospect  of  the  change  which 
awaited  him  was  far  from  being  unpleasing.  He  could  un- 
derstand St.  Paul's  willingness  rather  to  l/e  absent  from  the 
body,  and  felt  that  it  was  belter  to  depart  and  be  with  Christ. 
A  reference  to  the  Sacra  Privata  will  show  that  these  were 
the  settled  and  familiar  thoughts  of  his  mind.  Hence  he  was 
careful  fur  iwtlting,  and  in  a  very  remarkable  degree  the  peace 
uj  God,  u-Kich  passelh  all  understanding,  kept  his  heart  and 
mind.  But  he  always  rightly  considered  that  this  life  was 
the  appointed  season  in  which  to  prepare  for  the  enjoyment 
of  the  society  of  heaven,  and  therefore  in  his  prayers  he  fer- 
vently implored  the  grace  of  the  Spirit  of  God  to  make  him 
meet  for  that  rest  which  remaineth  for  his  people. 

His  humility  was  deeply  rooted  in  a  conviction  of  the  de- 
pravity of  human  nature,  and  of  its  evidences  in  his  own 
heart.  And  although  the  chief  aim  of  his  sermons  and  other 
writings  was  to  induce  all  whom  his  instructions  should  reach, 
to  give  all  diligence  to  '-add  to  their  faith  virtue,  and  to  vir- 
tue knowledge,  and  to  knowledge  temperance,  and  to  temper- 
ance patience,  and  to  patience  godliness,  and  to  godliness 
brotherly  kindness,  and  to  brotherly  kindness  charity,"  yet 
lie  never  forgot  that  the  glory  to  be  revealed  is  not  of  debt  but 
of  grace.  We  might  show  this  by  repeated  quotations  from 
his  writings ;  but  nothing  can  evince  it  more  clearly  than 
some  words  which  were  casually  heard  as  they  fell  from  his 
lips  a  short  time  before  his  death.  He  was  just  coming  forth 
from  the  retirement  of  his  chamber,  expressing  the  thoughts 
of  a  full  heart,  and  unconscious  of  any  listener  but  God,  ex- 
claiming,— "  God  be  merciful  to  me  a  sinner — a  vile  sinner — 
a  miserable  sinner  !" 

As  he  drew  nearer  to  the  confines  of  the  next  world,  he 
became  more  fit  to  partake  of  its  spiritual  enjoyments.  A 
student  who  resided  with  him,  and  watched  the  gradual  de- 
cay of  nature,  observed  that  God  was  indeed  preparing  him 
for  the  change,  and  causing  his  light  to  shine  more  and  more 


unto  the  perfect  day  ;  his  benignity  became  still  more  remarka- 
ble, his  conversation  more  sweet  and  heavenly,  his  prayers 
more  frequent  and  fervent.  The  same  student  could  often, 
from  his  chamber,  overhear  the  bishop  making  known  his  re- 
quests to  God,  and  repeating  portions  of  psalms  and  hymns 
and  spiritual  songs.     Here  was  an  instance  that — 

Heaven  waits  not  the  last  moment;  owns  lier  friends 
On  tliis  side  death,  and  points  them  out  to  men; 
A  lecture^  silent,  but  of  sovereign  power, 
To  vice  coufusion,  and  to  virtue  peace! 

Yorxo. 

The  immediate  cause  of  bishop  Wilson's  death  was  a  cold 
caught  by  walking  into  his  garden  after  evening  prayers,  in 
very  damp  weather.  And  nature  held  out  but  a  very  short 
time  against  the  assault  of  the  last  enemy.  His  fever  be- 
ing accompanied  by  delirium,  prevented  our  receiving  any  of 
those  beautiful  and  persuasive  instructions  which  are  so  often 
learned  at  the  bedside  of  the  dying  Christian  ;  yet  was  there 
a  light  shining  through  the  cloud  which  rested  upon  his  mind; 
for  his  words  betokened  that  if  his  mind  had  wandered  from 
earthly  things,  it  had  settled  upon  heavenly. 

His  spirit  was  soon  after  admitted  to  the  glorious  liberty 
of  the  sons  of  God.  He  died  March  the  7th,  1755,  in  the 
ninety-third  year  of  his  age,  and  the  fifty-eighth  of  his  conse- 
cration. 

One  feeling  of  sorrow  pervaded  the  island  on  hearing  the 
melancholy  tidings -of  the  decease  of  this  generous,  excellent, 
and  venerable  friend.  A  concourse,  from  which  few  were 
absent  except  the  sick  and  infirm,  assembled  to  follow  his 
remains  from  Bishop's-court  to  the  grave,  a  distance  of  two 
miles  ;  and  tears  and  signs  and  tender  thoughts  did  more 
honour  to  the  departed  than  the  pomp  and  parade  of  more 
costly  funerals.  The  b'ldy  was  borne  by  the  tenants  of 
the  estate,  and  the  Rev.  Philip  Moore  preached  the  funeral 
sermon. 

A  plain  monument  in  the  church-yard  of  Kirk-Michael  de- 
notes the  spot  where  the  mortal  remains  of  this  holy  man 
were  deposited,  surrounded  by  the  ashes  of  many  who,  poor 
perhaps  in  this  world,  but  rich  in  faith,  were  through  his 
means  made  heirs  of  the  kingdom  which  God  hath  promised 
to  them  that  love  him.     The  following  is  the  inscription: 

Sleeping  in  Jesus, 

here  lieth  the  body  of 

THOMAS  WILSON,  D.  D. 

Lord  Bishop  of  this  Isle, 

who  died  March  the  7th,  1755, 

aged  93, 

and  in  the  fifty-eighth  year  of  his  consecration. 

This  monument  was  erected 

by  his  son  Thomas  Wilson,  U.  D. 

a  native  of  this  parish, 

who,  in  obedience  to  the  express  commands  of  his  father, 

declines  giving  him  the  character  he  so 

justly  deserved. 

Let  this  island  speak  the  rest. 

The  principal  features  of  bishop  Wilson's  character,  as  far 
as  we  have  the  means  of  ascertaining  it,  have  been  so  parti- 
cularly noticed  in  this  memoir,  it  can  only  be  necessary  to 
say  here  in  a  very  few  words,  that  we  have  represented  him 
as  being  a  zealous,  devout,  single-minded  and  really  good 
man;  as  a  bishop,  aiming  to  do  all  to  the  glory  of  God;  most 
exemplary  as  a  son,  a  husband,  and  a  father;  of  a  peculiarly 
sweet  disposition  and  temper  ;  that  he  was  benign,  generous, 
disinterested  ;  rarely  equalled  in  his  unbounded  beneficence 
to  all  who  stood  in  need  of  his  assistance;  of  great  fortitude, 
and  remarkable  simplicity ;  and  though  not  possessed  of  any 
extraordinary  mental  faculties,  yet  eminently  endued  with 
good  sense.  Never,  perhaps,  did  a  purer  spirit  wing  its 
way  from  the  earthly  house  of  this  tabernacle  to  the  build- 
ing of  God,  the  house  not  made  witli  hands,  eternal,  in  the 
heavens. 

It  may  not  be  uninteresting  to  the  reader  to  know  that  when 
he  enters  St.  Paul's  cathedral,  the  dark-coloured  steps  on 
which  he  treads  were  the  produce  of  quarries  in  the  Isle  of 
Man,  and  the  gift  of  bishop  Wilson. 


494 


CHRISTIAN   LIBRARY. 


APPENDIX, 

CONTAINING  A  FEW   PASSAGES    FROM    BISHOP   WILSOn's  PAPERS, 
ILLUSTRATIVE  OF  THE   PRECEDING   BIEMOIRS. 


Resolutions  made  at  the  time  of  his  Ordination  ;  see  p.  478. 

1st.  I  resolve  never  to  give  any  person  any  manner  of  bribe 
or  gift,  nor  make  any  manner  of  contract  or  promise,  for  a 
church  preferment,  though  never  so  good,  and  the  considera- 
tion liow  inconsiderable  soever  it  be. 

"2dly.  That  I  will  never  give  a  bond  of  resignation  upon 
any  consideration  whatever;  being  fully  persuaded,  that  when 
God  sees  me  fit  for  such  an  employment,  he  can  bring  mc 
into  it  without  subjecting  me  to  these  conditions  (which  1 
verily  believe  are  unlawful),  and  if  I  can  never  have  any 
ecclesiastical  preferment  but  upon  these  terras,  1  am  satisfied 
it  is  God's  will  I  should  have  none. 

"3dly.  Considering  the  scandal  and  injur}' of  pluralities 
to  the  church,  I  resolve  never  to  accept  of  two  ctuirch  livings 
with  cure  of  souls  (if  such  sliould  ever  be  in  my  choice), 
though  never  so  conveniently  seated. 

"4thly.  I  resolve,  that  whenever  it  shall  please  God  to 
bless  me  with  a  parish  and  a  cure  of  souls,  I  will  reside  upon 
it  myself,  and  not  trust  that  to  a  curate  which  ought  to  be  m}' 
own  particular  care. 

"  That  I  may  not  ensnare  myself  by  residence,  I  mean  such 
as  the  bishop  of  the  diocese  shall  delermiue  not  only  to  be 
consistent  with  the  laws  of  the  land,  but  such  as  an  honest 
conscientious  man  may  venture  his  salvation  upon;  because, 
for  aught  I  know,  some  such  cases  there  may  be." 


Rejlections  after  his  rccmery  from  the  fiver  lahich  seized  him 
Sej)t.  29,  1693;  seep.  479. 


1  humbly  beg,  to  serve  Thee  with  this  life  which  is  thine. 
Thou  needest  not,  O  God,  my  service,  but  accept  of  my  am- 
bition of  serving  Thee,  I  would  do  something  that  might  be 
acceptable  to  my  great  benefactor.  Thou  desirest  no  sacrifice, 
else  I  would  give  it  Thee;  I  offer  my  life  to  be  employed  in 
thine  immediate  service,  to  which  I  have  dedicated  it.  I  will 
preach  thy  way  unto  the  wicked ;  and  by  my  ministry,  if 
Thou  seesl  good,  sinners  shall  be  converted  unto  Thee.  They 
shall  taste  and  see  how  gracious  the  Lord  is  to  those  whom 
he  chastises  in  his  love. 

"  Blessed  are  all  they  that  put  their  trust  in  him ;  and 
blessed  be  the  name  of  the  Lord,  who  has  indulged  me  this 
opportunity  of  returning  my  hearty  thanks  for  this  mercy  in 
particular,  which  I  do  this  day  commemorate.  To  whom, 
with  the  Son  and  the  Holy  Ghost,  be  ascribed  all  praise, 
honour  and  glory,  by  me,  and  all  that  are  sharers  of  these 
mighty  blessings.     Amen." 


"  1st.    That  very  day  se'nnight  before,  I  was  guilty  of  a 
very  great  fault,  which  1  am  sure  was  very  ofl'ensive  to  God 
and  which  I  had  not  repented  of;  and  perhaps  had  not  done 
it  to  this  day,  but  had  gone  on  in  my  wickedness,  if  God 
had  not  by  this  or  some  other  fatherly  correction  diverted  me. 

"2dly.  I  began  my  journey  (contrary  to  a  former  resolu 
lion),  on  a  .Sunday,  which,  without  great  necessity,  I  think  I 
ought  not  to  have  done ;  that  day  being  particularly  appointed 
for  God's  service. 

"  3dly.  I  cannot  but  reflect  how  very  dangerous  a  thing  it 
is  to  leave  the  settling  of  a  man's  temporal  and  spiritual  af- 
fairs till  he  is  seized  with  sickness;  since  1  find  by  a  just 
experience,  how  very  unfit  one  then  is  for  any  manner  of 
business. 

"  4thly.  That  my  recovery  and  second  life  was  manifestly 
owing  to  God,  is  what  I  cannot  but  acknowledge;  that  there- 
fore, as  I  ought  never  to  forget  the  mercy,  so  ought  I  to  spend 
the  remainder  of  this  life  to  the  honour,  and  in  the  service,  of 
the  author  of  it;  which,  by  the  grace  of  God,  I  will  do. 

"  5thly.  I  am  now  most  sensible  that  sickness  is  an  ex- 
cellent means  of  bringing  us  nearer  to  God.  As  then  I  am, 
by  what  God  has  wrought  in  me,  extremely  satisfied  that  it 
was  the  great  blessing  of  my  life,  I  ought  (as  my  Master's 
service  obliges  me  to  it),  to  take  all  occasions  of  making 
God's  fatherly  correction  useful  to  those  who  are  chastised  by 
this  or  any  other  aflliction. 

"And  may  the  good  and  merciful  God,  who  has  put  these 
good  reflections  into  my  heart,  may  He  give  me  grace  never 
to  forget  them,  nor  the  blessing  I  this  day  received.  May  I, 
dear  (iod,  never  provoke  Thee  to  plague  me  with  diseases, 
nor  bring  thy  punishments  upon  me,  which  Thou  never  dost, 
unless  we  force  Thee  by  our  repeated  transgressions.  This. 
I  confess,  with  all  sense  of  sorrow,  was  my  case;  and  Thou, 

0  God,  hadst  been  less  kind  to  me,  hadst  thou  been  less  severe. 

1  acknowledge  thy  justice,  and  I  acknowledge  thy  favour. 
CouldstThou  have  been  just  and  not  merciful,  I  had  been 
utterly  destroyed;  hadst  thou  been  merciful  and  not  just,  1 
might  have  gone  on  in  my  wickedness,  till  I  had  brought  down 
destruction  upon  my  own  head.  It  is  good  for  me  that  I  have 
been  in  trouble,  for  1  have  since  learned  to  keep  thy  com- 
mandments; but  it  had  not  been  good  forme,  had  I  not  fallen 
into  the  hands  of  a  merciful  God.  Since,  therefore.  Thou 
didst  in  great  mercy  restore  me  to  my  former  health;  since 
Thou  hast  given  me  a  new  life,  give  me  grace  likewise,  w  iih- 
out  which  my  life  will  be  no  blessing  to  me;  give  me  grace. 


'■^  Rejledions  upon  my  own  present  circumstances,  October  21, 
169G." 

This  was  the  day  before  his  conversation  with  the  earl  of 
Derby ;  see  p.  479. 

"It  has  pleased  God  to  call  me  out  of  a  family  (which 
through  its  honesty  and  industry,  by  God's  blessing,  has 
secured  it  from  poverty,  yet  is  far  from  being  rich),  to  a  post 
w  hich  my  own  merits  and  prudence  could  never  have  brought 
me  to.  The  several  steps  1  have  made  to  this  place  have  been 
very  extraordinary,  and  such  as  plainly  appear  to  have  been 
by  the  direction  and  goodness  of  God  ;  from  which  I  cannot 
but  conclude,  that  since  God  has  thus  raised  me,  it  must  cer- 
tainly be  for  some  wise  and  good  end ;  and  that  I  might  be 
obliged,  by  all  the  force  of  interest  and  gratitude,  to  do  my 
duty  in  this  state  of  life  to  which  I  am  called.  It  is  true,  it 
may  at  first  sight  appear  very  hazardous,  to  use  that  lib- 
erty and  freedom  which  may  seem  necessary  to  advise  and 
reclaim  that  great  man  whom  I  serve.  But  then  I  am  to  con- 
sider, that  were  I  really  to  lose  all  my  expectations,  as  well 
as  what  I  have  gotten,  I  am  but  where  I  was  when  God  at 
first  showed  me  his  favour.  Nay,  my  education  will  still  set 
me  above  mj'  father's  house. 

"  But  this  is  not  what  I  ought  to  fear:  for  cannot  God  who 
raised  me  without  myself,  cannot  He  raise  me,  or  keep  me 
up,  though  my  ruin  should  be  designed  and  attempted'!  And 
perhaps  it  may  never  come  to  this:  for  who  knows,  but  God 
may  o-ive  a  blessing  to  my  honest  endeavours!  And  then  I 
am  sure  it  will  be  the  greatest  advantage,  as  well  as  honour 
of  my  whole  life,  and  an  ease  to  my  soul  all  my  days;  and 
if  he  only  falls  out  with  me,  and  discharges  me  his  family,  I 
have  the  glorj'  and  satisfaction  of  having  done  a  great  good 
work. 

"  Now,  if  I  neglect  this,  which  I  take  to  be  my  duty,  or 
for  fear  of  danger  or  any  temporal  consideration,  put  it  otf  in 
hopes  of  a  better  occasion,  I  may  justly  expect  that  God  who 
raised  me  (it  may  be  for  this  very  purpose),  when  I  am  found 
so  backward  in  his  service,  will  level  me  with  the  meanest 
of  my  father's  house.  My  fortune  is  in  his  hand  entirely ;  and 
He  that  could  find  a  way  to  raise  me  without  myself,  can  find 
out  a  way  to  ruin  me  in  spite  of  my  best  endeavours. 

"And  since  in  my  conscience  I  know  that  I  have  not  the 
least  pretence  to  what  I  enjoy,  but  all  is  owing  to  his  provi- 
dence and  goodness,  I  am  his  debtor  for  it;  and  I  have  no 
other  way  of  making  a  return,  but  by  doing  my  duty  honestly, 
and  leaving  the  event  to  God. 

"And  may  that  Eternal  Goodness  inspire  me  with  a  reso- 
tion  answerable  to  this  good  and  great  design  !  May  no  weak 
and  cowardly  apprehensions  fright  me  from  my  duty !  May 
1  fear  Him  only  who  has  power  over  my  soul,  as  well  a3 
body,  to  destroy  them  both  if  I  am  disobedient  to  the  heavenly 
command. 

"  Ins])ire  mc.  O  God,  with  a  zeal  and  courage  becoming 
my  profession,  that  I  may  rebuke  vice  boldly,  and  discounte- 
nance wickedness  wherever  I  find  it,  and  be  jealous  for  thy 
glorv  in  the  presence  of  the  greatest  men  on  earth.  Above 
all,  O  Lord  Almighty,  make  me  to  do  some  good  in  this  stalioQ 
in  which,  by  thy  providence,  is  my  present  lot;  that  when 
Thou  sbalt  please  to  remove  me  (whether  for  the  better  or 
worse,  thy  will  be  done),  I  may  not  repent  of  having  done 
nothing  which  thou  requirest  of  me.  Grant  thrs.  Oh  my 
great  and  bountiful  Lord  and  Master,  for  the  sake  of  Jesus 
Christ.     Amen." 


LIFE  OF  BISHOP  WILSON. 


495 


His  Prayer  ivlien  he  ivii.s  Enthrontd  in  the  Cathedral  nf  Si.  Ger- 
main, /n  I'eel  Vnst/e,  Jlpril  11,1  G98 ;  sec  p.  480. 

"  In  an  humble  and  thankful  sense  of  thy  ^eat  goodness 
to  a  very  sinful  and  very  unworthy  creature,  I  look  up  to 
Thee,  O  gracious  Lord  and  benefactor,  who  from  a  low  ob- 
scurit)'  hast  called  me  to  this  high  office,  for  grace  and  strength 
to  fit  me  for  it.  What  am  I,  or  what  is  my  father's  house, 
that  Thou  shouldst  vouchsafe  us  such  instances  of  thy  notice 
and  favour?  I  am  not  worthy  of  the  least  of  all  the  mercies 
which  Thou  hast  showed  unto  thy  servant. 

"  O  (iod,  grant  that,  by  a  conscientious  discharge  of  my 
duty,  I  may  profit  those  over  whom  I  am  appointed  thy  min- 
ister, that  I  may  make  such  a  return  as  shall  be  acceptable 
to  Thee. 

"  Give  me  such  a  measure  of  thy  spirit  as  shall  be  sufficient 
to  support  me  under,  and  lead  me  through,  all  the  difficulties 
I  shall  meet  with. 

"  Command  a  blessing  upon  my  studies,  that  I  may  make 
full  proof  of  my  ministry,  and  be  instrumental  in  converting 
many  to  the  truth. 

"  Give  me  skill  and  conduct,  that  with  a  pious,  prudent 
and  charitable  hand,  I  may  lead  and  govern  the  people  com- 
mitted to  my  care;  that  I  may  be  watchful  in  ruling  them, 
earnest  in  correcting  them,  fervent  in  loving  them,  and  patient 
in  bearing  with  them. 

"Let  thy  grace  and  blessing,  O  father  of  mankind,  rest 
upon  all  those  whom  I  bless  in  \\\y  name ;  and  especially 
upon  those  who,  together  with  me,  are  appointed  to  watch 
over  thy  flock. 

"  Bless  every  member  of  this  church;  support  the  weak, 
confirm  and  settle  tliose  that  stand,  and  feed  our  flock,  to^ 
gether  with  ourselves,  through  Jesus  Christ  the  chief  shep- 
herd. Lord,  who  is  sufficient  for  so  great  a  work?  Thou 
O  Lord,  catist  enable  the  meanest  of  thy  creatures  to  bring  to 
pass  what  Thou  hast  determined ;  be  pleased  to  make  me  an 
instrument  of  great  good  to  this  church  and  people ;  and  grant, 
that  when  I  have  preached  to  and  governed  others,  I  myself 
may  not  be  lost  or  go  astray. 

"  Preserve  me  from  the  dangers  of  a  prosperous  condition, 
from  pride,  and  forgetfulness  of  Thee,  from  a  proud  conceit 
of  myself,  and  froin  disdaining  others.  Rather  turn  me  out 
of  all  earthly  possessions,  than  Ihcy  should  hinder  me  in  my 
way  to  heaven. 

"  If  affliction  be  needful  for  me,  let  me  not  want  it ;  only 
give  me  graee  thankfully  to  receive  and  bear  thy  fatherly  cor- 
rection, that  after  this  life  is  ended  in  tliine  immediate  ser- 
vice, I  may  have  a  place  of  rest  amongst  thy  faithful  servants 
in  the  paradise  of  God,  in  sure  hopes  of  a  blessed  resurrec- 
tion, througli  Jesus  Christ.     Amen." 


The  Prayer  ivhicli  he  used  before  his  Sermons. 

"Almighty  God,  maker  of  all  things,  judge  of  all  men, 
graciously  receive  the  supplications  and  prayers  of  this  con- 
gregation, for  themselves  and  for  all  estates  and  conditions 
of  men. 

"  Lord,  in  mercy  grant  unto  ns,  and  unto  all  sinners,  a  true 
sense  of  our  errors,  and  grace  to  amend  whatever  we  have 
done  amiss,  that  iniquity  may  not  be  our  ruin.  Lot  not  those 
judgments  fall  upon  us  which  our  sins  have  justly  deserved  ; 
and  grant  that  thy  great  mercy  and  forbearance  may  oblige 
us  to  bring  forth  fruits  meet  for  repentance. 

"  Have  mercy  upon  the  work  of  thy  hands,  that  all  the 
world  may  come  to  thi^  knowledge  of  Thee,  and  of  thy  good- 
ness in  Jesus  Christ;  that  all  who  are  weary  with  the  bur- 
then of  their  sins,  may  know  where  to  find  rest  unto  their 
souls. 

"  Preserve  thy  church  in  the  midst  of  this  uncertain  world, 
and  prepare  her  for  what  thy  providence  shall  bring  forth ; 
that  neither  prosperity  may  corrupt  thy  faithful  servants,  nor 
adversity  discourage  them  from  professing  the  truth. 

"  Keep  this  church  and  nation  in  the  peaceable  enjoyment 
of  thy  word  and  sacraments;  and  grant  that  we  may  live  an- 
swerable to  the  means  of  grace  which  tliy  providence  hath 
afforded  us. 

"Bless  all  the  reformed  churches;  keep  them  from  all 
wicked  and  dangerous  errors ;  and  bring  into  the  way  of  truth 
all  such  as  have  gone  astray  ;  that  thy  kingdom,  and  the  name 
of  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  may  be  glorified. 

"  O  God!  whose  kingdom  ruleth  over  all,  bless  these  na- 
tions to  which  we  belong ;  that  peace,  and  truth,  and  justice — 
that  true  religion  and  piety,  may  be  secured  aiid  countenan- 


ced ;  that  all  ignorance  and  profaneness,  and  whatever  else 
opposeth  thy  Divine  will  made  known  to  us,  may  be  elTect- 
ually  discharged.  To  this  end  we  pray  God  to  hear  us,  for 
the  king's  majesty,  that  his  days  may  be  many,  his  govern- 
ment happ}-,  his  commands  just  and  equal,  and  his  people 
faithful  and  obedient : — for  the  royal  family,  that  we  may  be 
blessed  with  a  succession  of  princes  fearing  God : — for  all 
such  as  are  in  council  and  authority,  (and  especially  for  the 
high  court  of  parliament,)  that  they  may  consult  the  honour 
of  God,  the  true  interest  of  his  church,  and  the  welfare  of  the 
people: — for  the  bishops  and  pastors  of  Christ's  flock,  that 
they  may  constantly  speak  the  truth,  boldly  rebuke  and  op- 
pose vice,  and  be  living  examples  of  those  graces  and  virtues 
which  they  recommend  to  others:  and  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ  be 
always  with  them  according  to  his  promise;  and  grant  unto 
the  people  of  their  flocks  that  they  may  profit  by  them  daily. 

"  Blessed  God  and  lover  of  souls,  preserve,  by  Th)'  grace, 
those  that  are  in  the  way  of  life;  enlighten  the  minds  of  the 
ignorant ;  awaken  the  consciences  of  the  careless  ;  silence  the 
gainsayers  ;  convert  the  profane  ;  and  bring  them  all  to  Thine 
everlasting  kingdom. 

"  We  commend  unto  the  terider  mere}'  of  God,  all  sick  and 
dying  persons;  all  that  are  in  affliction  of  mind  or  body,  or 
under  any  pressing  calamity  ;  all  that  are  poor,  and  have  none 
else  to  help  them  ;  and  especially  all  such  as  sutler  persecu- 
tion for  a  righteous  cause. 

"  Lord,  pity  and  sanctify  the  miseries  of  this  life,  lo  tho 
everlasting  benefit  of  all  that  snfler;  that  the  tears  of  the  op- 
pressed, tlie  pains  of  tlie  aftlicted,  the  wants  of  the  poor,  may 
all  help  forward  and  end  in  the  salvation  of  their  immortal 
souls. 

"  We  beseech  God  to  hear  our  prayers  for  all  those  that 
never  pray  for  themselves ;  that  they  may  see  the  danger,  be- 
fore it  is  too  late,  of  living  without  God  in  the  world. 

'•  And  God  Alinighty  grant  that  we  may  all  of  us  have  wor- 
thy thoughts  of  His  iriajesty — for  His  great  power  in  creating 
us — for  His  wonderful  providence  in  preserving  us — for  His 
great  goodness  in  redeeming  us  by  Jesus  Christ;  for  whose 
doctrine  and  example,  and  for  the  examples  of  all  His  faith- 
ful servants,  we  pray  God  make  us  truly  thankful,  and  grant 
us  grace  to  follow  their  steps,  that  we  may  with  them  bo 
made  partakers  of  a  blessed  resurrection. 

"Tliat  we  may  obtain  these  blessings,  and  whatever  else 
is  needful  for  us,  let  us  all  join,  and  with  one  heart  and  voice 
pray  to  God  in  that  perfect  forin  of  words  which  Jesus  Christ 
hath  taught  us — '  Our  Father  which  art  in  heaven,'  &c." 

Two  of  the  letters  which  Dr.  Wilson,  the  bishop's  son,  re- 
ceived after  the  publication  of  his  father's  life  and  writings, 
will  give  an  additional  interest  to  this  memoir. 


I.  Letter  from  Bishop  Home. 

"I  am  charmed  with  the  view  the  books  afford  me  of  the 
good  man  your  father,  in  his  diocese  and  in  his  closet.  The 
Life,  the  Haera  Privalu,  the  Maxims,  tlie  Purocliialia,  &c.  &c. 
exhibit  altogether  a  complete  and  lovely  |)ortrait  of  a  christian 
bishop  going  through  all  his  functions  with  consummate  pru- 
dence, fortitude,  and  piety ;  the  pastor  and  father  of  a  happy 
island  for  near  threescore  years  !  The  case  is  really  an  unique 
in  ecclesiastical  story. 

"The  Sermons  are  the  atfectionate  addresses  of  a  parent  to 
his  children,  descending  to  the  minutest  particulars,  and  adapt- 
ed to  all  their  wants.  In  a  delicate  and  fastidious  age,  they 
may  perhaps  be  slighted  for  their  plainness  and  simplicity; 
but  they  were  just  what  they  should  be  for  the  place  and  for 
the  people.  To  use  an  illustration  of  his  own,  he  is  the  best 
physician  who  cures  the  most  patients:  and  at  the  last  great 
day,  may  they  who  value  themselves  on  their  learning,  their 
elegance,  and  their  eloquence,  give  as  good  an  account  of 
their  stewardship  as  the  bishop  of  Sodor  and  Man !" 

11.  Letter  from  Mr.  IVilliam  Matthews,  of  Bath,  one  of  the 
Society  of  Friends. 

Walcot,  12t.h  month  12,  1780. 
"  My  worthy  friend — There  are  times  when  our  minds  are 
particularly  impressed  with  sentiments  of  a  social  kind,  and 
our  souls  expand  in  the  feeling  of  religious  good.  Such  are 
the  times  when  coinmunication  will  not  only  be  sincere,  but 
carry  with  it  an  evidence  of  that  truth  which  reduces  to  one 
level  the  little  and  the  great.  Our  minds  are  blessed  various 
ways  ;  but  all  good  is  derived  from  the  one  immortal  source 
of  it,  even  from  God  himself.  Yet  I  desire  to  receive  and 
esteem  as  1  ought,  those  instrumental  means  which  Divine 
Providence  is  appointing  in  aid  of  human  weakness. 


496 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


"  I  am  now  reading  with  admiration  and  deliglit  tlie  works 
of  thy  late  venerable  father,  so  lately  given  as  another  scrip- 
tural blessing  to  mankind.  And  while  1  read,  I  cannot  but 
secretly  applaud  the  twofold  motive  by  which  they  were 
brought  forth  and  ushered  into  tlie  world :  in  the  old  age  of 
his  son ;  a  last  testimony  of  filial  reverence,  and  a  laudable 
concern  for  the  good  of  the  present  and  succeeding  genera- 
tions !  Suffer  me,  then,  to  congratulate  thee  on  living  to  see 
the  publication  of  this  invaluabfe  work.  Thy  only  remaining 
solicitude  must  be  that  of  all  good  men,  that  the  public  in 
general  may  be  wise  enough  to  read  it  with  a  serious  and 
devout  attention.  But,  alas  !  my  gcod  friend,  so  general  is 
the  folly  of  the  multitude,  so  great  their  depravity  of  mind, 
that  wisdom  is  treated  with  contempt;  and  the  writings  of 
the  wise  and  good,  inspired  from  heaven  for  the  purpose  of 
salvation,  must  give  way  to  the  amusements  of  a  comedy, 
and  be  rejected  for  the  poison  of  a  ludicrous  romance !  There 
are  other  classes  of  readers,  too,  from  whom  little  must  be 
expected;  speculative  men,  whose  principal  aim  is  to  find 
out  some  new  thing,  that  they  may  be  wiser  in  their  own 
conceit,  and  able  to  amuse  their  fellow-creatures  without  the 
requisite  qualifications  for  making  them  better :  such  men 
■will  perhaps  affect  to  treat  the  most  spiritual  part  of  this  ex- 
cellent work  as  the  fruit  of  a  mind  unnecessarily  burthened 
with  a  weight  of  extreme  devotion;  others,  admitting  in 
theory  all  due  reverence  to  the  christian  religion,  yet  under 
the  influence  of  prejudice  in  matters  of  mere  opinion,  may 
not  receive  the  work  with  that  willing  mind  which  would 
lead  them  to  look  into  a  book  published  by  some  favourite 
sectary,  or  some  wild  enthusiast.  But  as  the  memory  of 
the  just  is  blessed,  so  are  their  works.  And  though  there 
were  among  the  Jews  those  who  disregarded  Moses  and  the 
Prophets ;  and  the  present  age  aboundeth  with  those  who 
will  neitlier  hear  them  nor  the  Gospel  of  Him  who  is  risen 
from  the  dead :  yet  shall  the  words  of  the  wise  remain,  to 
be  as  goads  and  as  nails  fastened  by  the  masters  of  assem- 
blies, which  are  given  from  one  Shepherd.  They  are  not 
given  forth  in  vain,  for  they  are  parts  of  that  universal  and 
eternal  Word  of  God,  which  shall  accomplish  the  work 
whereunto  he  hath  sent  it. 

"The  Scrmo7is,  I  think,  are  simple,  clear,  and  interesting, 
beyond  any  body  of  discourses  which  1  have  seen.  The 
other  parts  are  certainly  not  inferior  in  their  kind.    But  what 


a  rich  fund  of  pure,  sublime,  and  heavenly  devotion  is  the 
Sacra  Prirala!  There  we  find  the  true  picture  of  a  truly 
bristian  mind.  A  progressive  series  of  faithful  exercises,  in 
communion,  through  Jesus  Christ,  with  God  the  Father,  who 
seeth  and  heareth  in  secret,  and  who,  with  the  abundant 
graces  of  his  Holy  Spirit,  rewardeth  his  children  openly. 
Such  were  the  primitive  apostles  and  preachers  of  the  gos- 
pel of  Christ;  such  was  the  bishop  of  Man;  and  such  as 
they  were  must  all  men  be,  who  ever  come  to  be  adorned 
with  the  real  beauty  of  holiness.  They  only  are  pleasant  in 
their  lives,  and  in  their  death  they  are  not  divided ! 

"The  Sacra  Pr'ivata  is  a  treasure  to  which  I  often  resort  in 
my  short  relaxations  from  the  cares  of  the  day;  and  I  am 
fully  convinced,  that  nothing  short  of  apostolical  wisdom, 
piety,  and  purity  of  soul,  could  bring  forth  such  fervent 
strains  of  devotion.  May  it,  and  the  works  at  large,  be 
blessed  to  thousands  and  tens  of  thousands,  while  the  name 
of  the  author  shall  be  had  in  everlasting  remembrance. 

"In  coming  to  a  conclusion  of  these  few  sentences,  I  must 
indulge  in  a  more  particular  and  affectionate  address  to  thy- 
self. I  think  of  thee  with  that  unfeigned  esteem  and  regard 
which  an  honourable  and  peaceful  old  age  inspires.  Honour- 
able in  itself,  and  deriving  a  peculiar  honour  from  a  father  so 
truly  great  and  good  ! 

"  I  consider  thee  as  one  whom  the  course  of  nature  is  soon 
to  remove  from  among  the  living,  and  number  with  the  gen- 
erations that  are  gone  before.  Such  must  be  a  time  of  great 
seriousness ;  a  time  for  that  resignation,  which  I  am  per- 
suaded thou  feelest,  to  the  Divine  Disposer  of  all  events. 
To  be  resigned  in  such  a  situation  is  the  most  happy  of  all 
privileges;  a  last  great  instance  of  that  goodness  and  mercy 
which  followed  the  royal  psalmist  all  the  days  of  his  life, 
and  which  we  humbly  trust  had  not  forsaken  good  Hezekiali 
when  he  turned  his  face  to  the  wall  and  wept! 

"  I  have  no  pretensions  to  ceremonious  addresses  or  con- 
clusions, and  they  would  ill  become  us  both ;  but  in  the 
fervent  spirit  of  christian  good-will,  I  wish  thy  every  day  of 
declining  from  this  world  may  produce  new  comfort  from 
another,  and  the  belter  cumfvrttr.  And  that  thy  last  day  may 
bring  thee  to  a  communion  with  thy  father's  spirit,  made  per- 
fect for  a  glorious  immortality. 

"  Thy  very  sincerely  affectionate  friend, 

"William  Matthews." 


SERMONS 


THE  RIGHT  REV.  JOSEPH  BUTLER,  D.  C.  L. 


LORD  BISHOP  OF  DURHAM. 


PREFACE. 

Though  it  is  scarce  possible  to  avoid  judging,  in  some  way 
or  other,  of  almost  every  thing  which  offers  itself  to  one's 
thoughts;  yet  it  is  certain,  that  many  persons,  from  diflerent 
causes,  never  exercise  their  judgment,  upon  what  comes  be- 
fore them,  in  the  way  of  determining  whether  it  be  conclu- 
sive, and  holds.  They  are  perhaps  entertained  with  some 
things,  not  so  with  others;  they  like,  and  they  dislike:  but 
whether  that  which  is  proposed  to  be  made  out  be  really  made 
out  or  not;  whether  a  matter  be  stated  according  to  the  real 
truth  of  the  case,  seems  to  the  generality  of  people  merely  a 
circumstance  of  no  consideration  at  all.  Arguments  are  often 
wanted  for  some  accidental  purpose:  but  proof  as  such  is 
what  they  never  want  for  themselves ;  for  their  own  satisfac- 
tion of  mind,  or  conduct  in  life.  Not  to  mention  the  multi- 
tudes who  read  merely  for  the  sake  of  talking,  or  to  qualify 

themselves  for  the  world,  or  some  such  kind  of  reasons;  there  jterminate%t  become  so  by  the  train  of  reasonin<r  and  the 
are,  even  of  the  few  who  read  for  their  own  entertainment,  place  they  stand  in  ;  since  it  is  impossible  that  worlds  can  al- 
and have  a  real  curiosity  to  see  what  is  said,  seyeral,  which  ways  stand  for  the  same  ideas,  even  in  the  same  author,  much 
IS  prodigious,  who  have  no  sort  of  curiosity  to  see  what  is  less  in  different  ones.  Hence  an  argument  may  not  readily 
true:   1  say,  curiosity;  because  it  is  too  obvious  to  be  men-  be  apprehended,  which  is  different  from  its  beino- mistaken  ■ 


Thus  by  use  they  become  satisfied  merely  with  seeing  what 
is  said,  without  going  any  further.  Review  and  attention, 
and  even  forming  a  judgment,  becomes  fatigue;  and  to  lay 
any  thing  before  them  that  requires  it,  is  putting  them  quite 
out  of  their  way. 

There  are  also  persons,  and  there  are  at  least  more  of  them 
than  have  a  right  to  claim  such  superiority,  who  take  for 
granted,  that  they  are  acquainted  with  every  thing;  and  that 
no  subject,  if  treated  in  the  manner  it  should  be,  can  be  treat- 
ed in  any  manner  but  what  is  familiar  and  easy  to  them. 

It  is  true  indeed,  that  few  persons  have  a  right  to  demand 
attention  ;  but  it  is  also  true,  that  nothing  can  be  understood 
without  that  degree  of  it,  which  the  very  nature  of  the  thing 
requires.  Now  morals,  considered  as  a  science,  concerning 
which  speculative  difficulties  are  daily  raised,  and  treated 
with  regard  to  those  difficulties,  plainly  require  a  very  pecu- 
liar atteniipn.     For  here  ideas  never  are  in  themselves  de- 


enfipn. 
iteTout 


tioned,  how  much  that  religious  and  sacred  attention,  which 
is  due  to  truth,  and  to  the  important  question,  What  is  the 
rule  of  life?  is  lost  out  of  the  world. 

For  the  sake  of  this  whole  class  of  readers,  for  they  are  of 
different  capacities,  different  kinds,  and  get  into  this  way  from 
different  occasions,  I  have  often  wished,  that  it  had  been  tliL 
custom  to  lay  before  people  nothing  in  matters  of  argument 
but  premises,  and  leave  them  to  draw  conclusions  themselves  ; 
which,  though  it  could  not  be  done  in  all  cases,  might  in 
many. 

The  great  number  of  books  and  papers  of  amusement, 
which,  of  one  kind  or  another,  daily  come  in  one's  way,  have 
in  part  occasioned,  and  most  perfectly  fall  in  with  and  hu- 
mour, this  idle  way  of  reading  and  considering  things.  By 
this  means,  time  even  in  solitude  is  happily  got  rid  of,  with- 
out the  pain  of  attention  :  neither  is  any  part  of  it  more  put  to 


and  even  caution  to  avoid  being  mistaken  may,  in  some  cases, 
render  it  less  readily  apprehended.  It  is  very  unallowable 
for  a  work  of  imagination  or  entertainment  not  to  be  of  easy 
comprehension,  but  may  be  unavoidable  in  a  work  of  another 
kind,  where  a  man  is  not  to  form  or  accommodate,  but  to 
state  things  as  he  finds  them. 

It  must  be  acknowledged,  that  some  of  the  followino-  Dis- 
courses are  very  abstruse  and  difficult;  or,  if  you  please,  ob- 
scure ;  but  I  must  take  leave  to  add,  that  those  alone  are 
judges,  whether  or  no  and  how  far  this  is  a  fault,  who  are 
judges,  whether  or  no  and  how  far  it  might  have  been  avoid- 
ed—those only  who  will  be  at  the  trouble  to  understand  what 
is  here  said,  and  to  see  how  far  the  things  here  insisted  upon, 
and  not  other  things,  might  have  been  put  in  a  plainer  manner  ; 
which  yet  I  am  very  far  from  asserting  that  they  could  not. 

Thus  much  however  will  be  allowed,  that  general  criticisms 


tbe  account  of  Idleness,  one  can  scarce  forbear  saying,  is  spent  concerning  obscurity  considered  as  a  distinct  thing  from  con- 
readino-''  '^°"=^''  "''"'  ^""^^  ^'^''  "^  """  "'"''^  '^  ^P^"'  '"  *'"''°"  =*"<'  perplexity  of  thought,  as  in  some  cases  there  may 
^*'t'i!""'        ill-  'be  ground  for  them  ;  so  in  others,  they  may  be  nothino-  more 

I  bus  peop.e  habituate  themselves  to  let  things  pass  through  at  the  bottom  than  complaints,  that  every  thina  is  not  to  he 
ttieir  minds,  as  on^e  may  speak,  rather  than  to  think  of  them,  understood  with  the  same  ease  that  some  thin'gs  are.     Con- 


y 


49S 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


fusion  and  perplexity  in  writing,  is  indeed  without  excuse, 
because  any  one  may,  if  he  pleases,  know  whether  he  under- 
stands and  sees  through  what  he  is  about :  and  it  is  unpar- 
donable for  a  man  to  lay  his  thoughts  before  others,  when  he 
is  conscious  that  he  himself  does  not  know  whereabouts  he 
is,  or  how  the  matter  before  him  stands.  It  is  coming  abroad 
in  disorder,  which  he  ought  to  be  dissatisfied  to  find  himself 
in  at  home. 

But  even  obscurities  arising  from  other  causes  than  the  ab- 
struseness  of  the  argument  may  not  be  always  inexcusable. 
Thus  a  subject  may  be  treated  in  a  manner,  which  all  along 
supposes  the  reader  acquainted  with  what  has  been  said  upon 
it,  both  by  ancient  and  modern  writers  ;  and  with  what  is  the 
present  state  of  opinion  in  the  world  concerning  such  subject. 
This  will  create  a  difficulty  of  a  very  peculiar  kind,  and  even 
throw  an  obscurity  over  the  whole  before  those  who  are  not 
thus  informed  ;  but  those  who  are  will  be  disposed  to  excuse 
such  a  manner,  and  other  things  of  the  like  kind,  as  a  saving 
of  their  patience. 

However,  upon  the  whole,  as  the  title  of  Sermons  gives 
some  right  to  expect  what  is  plain  and  of  easy  comprehen- 
sion, and  as  the  best  auditories  are  mixed,  I  shall  not  set 
about  to  justify  the  propriety  of  preaching,  or  under  that  title 
publishing,  Discourses  so  abstruse  as  some  of  these  are  :  nei- 
ther is  it  worth  while  to  trouble  the  reader  with  the  account 
of  my  doing  either.  He  must  not  however  impute  to  me,  as 
a  repetition  of  the  impropriety,  this  second  edition,  but  to 
the  demand  for  it. 

Whether  he  will  think  he  has  any  amends  made  him  by 
the  following  illustrations  of  what  seemed  most  to  require 
them,  I  myself  am  by  no  means  a  proper  judge. 

There  are  two  ways  in  which  the  subject  of  morals  may  be 
treated.  One  begins  from  inquiring  into  the  abstract  rela- 
tions of  things  :  the  other  from  a  matter  of  fact,  namely,  what 
the  particular  nature  of  man  is,  its  several  parts,  their  econo- 
my or  constitution ;  from  whence  it  proceeds  to  determine 
■what  course  of  life  it  is,  which  is  correspondent  to  this  whole 
nature.  In  the  former  method  the  conclusion  is  expressed 
thus,  that  vice  is  contrary  to  the  nature  and  reason  of  things: 
in  the  latter,  that  it  is  a  violation  or  breaking  in  upon  our  own 
nature.  Thus  they  both  lead  us  to  the  same  thing,  our  obli- 
gations to  the  practice  of  virtue ;  and  thus  they  exceedingly 
strengthen  and  enforce  each  other.  The  first  seems  the  most 
direct  formal  proof,  and  in  some  respects  the  leasLliable  to 
cavil  and  dispute:  the  latter  is  in  a  peculiar  manner  adapted 
to  satisfy  a  fair  mind;  and  is  more  easily  applicab'e  to  the 
several  particular  relations  and  circumstances  in  life. 

The  following  Discourses  proceed  chiefly  in  this  latter 
method.  The  three  first  wholly.  They  were  intended  to  ex- 
plain what  is  meant  by  the  nature  of  man,  when  it  is  said 
that  virtue  consists  in  following,  and  vice  in  deviating  from 
it;  and  by  explaining  to  show  that  the  assertion  is  true.  That 
the  ancient  moralists  had  some  inward  feeling  or  other,  which 
they  chose  to  express  in  this  manner,  that  man  is  born  to  vir- 
tue, that  it  consists  in  following  nature,  and  that  vice  is  more 
contrary  to  this  nature  than  tortures  of  death,  their  works  in 
our  hands  are  instances.  Now  a  person  who  found  no  mys- 
tery in  this  way  of  speaking  of  the  ancients ;  who,  without 
being  very  explicit  w'ith  himself,  kept  to  his  natural  feeling, 
went  along  with  them,  and  found  within  himself  a  full  con- 
viction, that  what  they  laid  down  was  just  and  true;  such  a 
one  would  probably  wonder  to  see  a  point,  in  which  he  never 
perceived  any  difficulty,  so  laboured  as  this  is,  in  the  second 
and  third  Sermons ;  insomuch  perhaps  as  to  be  at  a  loss  for 
the  occasion,  scope,  and  drift  of  them.  But  it  need  not  be 
thought  strange  that  this  manner  of  expression,  though  famil- 
iar with  them,  and,  if  not  usually  carried  so  far,  yet  not  un- 
common amongst  ourselves,  should  want  explaining;  since 
there  are  several  perceptions  daily  felt  and  spoken  of,  which 
yet  it  may  not  be  very  easy  at  first  view  to  explicate,  to  dis- 


tinguish from  all  others,  and  ascertain  exactly  what  the  idea 
or  perception  is.  The  many  treatises  upon  the  passions  are 
a  proof  of  this ;  since  so  many  would  never  have  undertaken 
to  unfold  their  several  complications,  and  trace  and  resolve 
them  into  their  principles,  if  they  had  thought,  what  they 
were  endeavouring  to  show  was  obvious  to  every  one,  who 
felt  and  talked  of  those  passions.  Thus,  though  there  seems 
no  ground  to  doubt,  but  that  the  generality  of  mankind  have 
the  inward  perception  expressed  so  commonly  in  that  man- 
ner by  the  ancient  moralists,  more  than  to  doubt  whether  tliey 
have  those  ])assions  ;  yet  it  appeared  of  use  to  unfold  that  in- 
ward connction,  and  lay  it  open  in  a  more  explicit  manner, 
than  1  had  seen  done  ;  especially  when  there  were  not  wanting 
persons,  who  manifestly  mistook  the  whole  thing,  and  so  had 
great  reason  to  express  themselves  dissatisfied  with  it.  A 
late  author  of  great  and  deserved  reputation  says,  that  to 
place  virtue  in  following  nature,  is  at  best  a  loose  way  of 
talk.  And  he  has  reason  to  say  this,  if  what  I  think  he  in- 
tends to  express,  though  with  great  decency,  be  true,  that  i 
scarce  any  other  sense  can  be  put  upon  those  words,  but  act- 
ing as  any  of  the  several  parts,  without  distinction,  of  a  man's 
nature  happened  most  to  incline  him. 

Whoever  thinks  it  worth  while  to  consider  this  matter 
thoroughl}',  should  begin  with  stating  to  himself  exactly  the 
idea  of  a  system,  economy,  or  constitution  of  any  particular 
nature,  or  particular  any  thing;  and  he  will,  I  suppose,  find, 
that  it  is  a  one  era  whole,  made  up  of  several  parts;  but  yet, 
that  the  several  parts,  even  considered  as  a  whole,  do  not  com- 
plete the  idea,  unless  in  the  notion  of  a  whole  you  include  the 
relations  and  respects  which  those  parts  have  to  each  other. 
Every  work,  both  of  nature  and  of  art,  is  a  system:  and  as 
every  particular  thing,  both  natural  and  artificial,  is  for  some 
use  or  purpose  out  of  and  beyond  itself,  one  may  add,  to  what 
has  been  already  brought  into  the  idea  of  a  system,  its  con- 
duciveness  to  this  one  or  more  ends.  Let  us  instance  in  a 
watch — suppose  the  several  parts  of  it  taken  to  pieces,  and 
placed  apart  from  each  other :  let  a  man  have  ever  so  exact  a 
notion  of  these  several  parts,  unless  he  considers  the  respects 
and  relations  which  they  have  to  each  other,  he  will  not  have 
any  thing  like  the  idea  of  a  watch.  Suppose  these  several 
parts  brought  together  and  any  how  united:  neither  will  he 
yet,  be  the  union  ever  so  close,  have  an  idea  which  will  bear 
any  resemblance  to  that  of  a  watch.  But  let  him  view  those 
several  parts  put  together,  or  consider  them  as  to  be  put  to- 
o-ether  in  the  manner  of  a  watch ;  let  him  form  a  notion  of  the 
relations  which  those  several  parts  have  to  each  other — all 
conducive  in  their  respective  ways  to  this  purpose,  showing 
the  hour  of  the  day ;  and  then  he  has  the  idea  of  a  watch. 
Thus  it  is  with  regard  to  the  inward  frame  of  man.  Appe- 
tites, passions,  affections,  and  the  principle  of  reflection,  con- 
sidered merely  as  the  several  parts  of  our  inward  nature,  do 
not  at  all  give  us  an  idea  of  the  system  or  constitution  of  this 
nature;  because  the  constitution  is  formed  by  somewhat  not 
yet  taken  into  consideration,  namely,  by  the  relations  which 
these  several  parts  have  to  each  other;  the  chief  of  which 
is  the  authority  of  reflection  or  conscience.  It  is  from  con- 
sidering the  relations  which  the  several  appetites  and  passions 
in  the  inward  frame  have  to  each  other,  and,  above  all,  the 
supremacy  of  reflection  or  conscience,  that  we  get  the  idea  of 
the  system  or  constitution  of  human  nature.  And  from  the 
idea  itself  as  it  will  fully  appear,  that  this  our  nature,  i.  e.  con- 
stitution, is  adapted  to  virtue,  as  from  the  idea  of  a  watch  it 
appears,  that  its  nature,  i.  e.  constitution  or  system,  is  adapted 
to  measure  time.  What  in  fact  or  event  commonly  happens 
is  nothing  to  this  question.  Every  work  of  art  is  apt  to  be 
out  of  order:  but  this  is  so  far  from  being  according  to  its 
system,  that  let  the  disorder  increase,  and  it  will  totally  des- 
troy it.  This  is  merely  by  way  of  explanation,  what  an 
economy,  system,  or  constitution  is.  And  thus  far  the  cases 
are  perfectly  parallel.     If  we  go  further,  there  is  indeed  a 


BISHOP  BUTLER'S  SERMONS. 


499 


difference,  nothing  to  the  present  purpose,  but  too  important 
a  one  ever  to  be  omitted.  A  machine  is  inanimate  and  pass- 
ive;  but  we  are  agents.  Our  constitution  is  put  in  our  own 
power.  We  are  charged  with  it ;  and  therefore  are  accountable 
for  any  disorder  or  violation  of  it. 

Thus  nothing  can  possibly  be  more  contrary  to  nature  than 
vice ;  meaning  by  nature  not  only  the  several  parts  of  our 
internal  frame,  but  also  the  constitution  of  it.  Poverty  and 
disgrace,  tortures  and  death,  are  not  so  contrary  to  it.  Misery 
and  injustice  are  indeed  equally  contrary  to  some  different 
parts  of  our  nature  taken  singly;  but  injustice  is  moreover 
contrary  to  the  whole  constitution  of  the  nature. 

If  it  be  asked,  whether  this  constitution  be  really  what  those 
philosophers  meant,  and  whether  they  would  have  explained 
themselves  in  tliis  manner;  the  answer  is  the  same,  as  if  it 
should  be  asked,  whether  a  person,  who  had  often  used  the 
word  resentment,  and  felt  the  thing,  would  have  explained 
this  passion  exactly  in  the  same  manner  in  which  it  is  done 
in  one  of  these  Discourses.  As  I  have  no  doubt,  but  that 
this  is  a  true  account  of  that  passion,  which  he  referred  to 
and  intended  to  express  by  the  word  resentment :  so  I  have 
no  doubt,  but  that  this  is  the  true  account  of  the  ground  of 
that  conviction  which  they  referred  to,  when  they  said,  vice 
was  contrary  to  nature.  And  though  it  should  be  thought  that 
they  meant  no  more  than  that  vice  was  contrary  to  the  higher 
and  better  part  of  our  nature;  even  this  implies  such  a  con- 
stitution as  I  have  endeavoured  to  explain.  For  the  very 
terms,  higher  and  better,  imply  a  relation  or  respect  of  parts 
to  each  other;  and  these  relative  parts,  being  in  one  and  the 
same  nature,  form  a  constitution,  and  are  the  very  idea  of  it. 
They  had  a  perception  that  injustice  was  contrary  to  their 
nature,  and  that  pain  was  so  also.  They  observed  these  two 
perceptions  totally  different,  not  in  degree,  but  in  kind ;  and 
the  reflecting  upon  each  of  them,  as  they  thus  stood  in  their 
nature,  wrought  a  full  intuitive  conviction,  that  more  was 
due  and  of  right  belonged  to  one  of  these  inward  perceptions, 
than  to  the  other;  that  it  demanded  in  all  cases  to  govern 
such  a  creature  as  man.  So  that,  upon  the  whole,  this  is  a 
fair  and  true  account  of  what  was  the  ground  of  their  convic- 
tion ;  of  what  they  intended  to  refer  to,  when  they  said,  virtue 
consisted  in  following  nature :  a  manner  of  speaking  not 
loose  and  undeterniinate,  but  clear  and  distinct,  strictly  just 
and  true. 

Though  I  am  persuaded  the  force  of  this  conviction  is  felt 
by  almost  every  one;  yet  since,  considered  as  an  argument, 
and  put  in  words,  it  appears  somewhat  abstruse,  and  since 
the  connexion  of  it  is  brolven  in  the  three  first  Sermons,  it 
may  not  be  amiss  to  give  the  reader  the  whole  argument  here 
in  one  view. 

Mankind  has  various  instincts  and  principles  of  action,  as 
brute  creatures  have;  some  leading  most  directly  and  imme- 
diately to  the  good  of  the  community,  and  some  most  directly 
to  private  good. 

Man  has  several  which  brutes  have  not ;  particular!}'  re- 
flection or  conscience,  an  approbation  of  some  principles  or 
actions,  and  disapprobation  of  others. 

Brutes  obey  their  instincts  or  principles  of  action,  accord- 
ing to  certain  rules;  suppose  the  constitution  of  their  body, 
and  the  objects  around  them. 

The  generality  of  mankind  also  obey  their  instincts  and 
principles,  all  of  them;  those  propensions  we  call  good,  as 
well  as  the  bad,  according  to  the  same  rules;  namely,  the  con- 
stitution of  their  body,  and  the  external  circumstances  which 
they  are  in.  [Therefore  it  is  not  a  true  representation  of 
mankind  to  affirm,  that  they  are  wholly  governed  by  self-love, 
the  love  of  power  and  sensual  appetites:  since,  as  on  the  one 
hand  they  are  often  actuated  by  these,  without  any  regard  to 
right  or  wrong;  so  on  the  other  it  is  a  manifest  fact,  that  the 
same  persons,  the  generality,  are  frequently  influenced  by 
friendship,  compassion,  gratitude;  and  even  a  general  abhor- 


rence of  what  is  base,  and  liking  of  what  is  fair  and  just, 
takes  its  turn  amongst  the  other  motives  of  action.  This  is 
the  partial  inadequate  notion  of  human  nature  treated  of  in  the 
first  Discourse;  and  it  is  by  this  nature,  if  one  may  speak  so, 
that  the  world  is  in  fact  influenced,  and  kept  in  that  tolerable 
order  in  which  it  is.] 

Brutes,  in  acting  according  to  the  rules  before  mentioned, 
their  bodily  constitution  and  circumstances,  act  suitably  to 
their  whole  nature.  [It  is  however  to  be  distinctly  noted, 
that  the  reason  why  we  affirm  this  is  not  merely  that  brutes 
n  fact  act  so;  for  this  alone,  however  universal,  does  not  at 
all  determine  whether  such  course  of  action  be  correspondent 
to  their  whole  nature :  but  the  reason  of  the  assertion  is,  that 
as  in  acting  thus,  they  plainly  act  conformably  to  somewhat 
in  their  nature,  so,  from  all  observations  we  are  able  to  make 
upon  them,  there  does  not  appear  the  least  ground  to  imagine 
them  to  have  any  thing  else  in  their  nature  which  requires  a 
different  rule  or  course  of  action.] 

Mankind  also  in  acting  thus  would  act  suitably  to  their 
whole  nature,  if  no  more  were  to  be  said  of  man's  nature  than 
what  has  been  now  said ;  if  that,  as  it  is  a  true,  were  also  a 
complete,  adequate  account  of  our  nature. 

But  that  is  not  a  complete  account  of  man's  nature.  Some- 
what further  must  be  brought  in  to  give  us  an  adequate  notion 
of  it;  namely,  that  one  of  those  principles  of  action,  conscience 
or  reflection,  compared  with  the  rest  as  they  all  stand  totrether 
in  the  nature  of  man,  plainly  bears  upon  it  marks  of  authority 
over  all  the  rest,  and  claims  the  absolute  direction  of  them 
all,  to  allow  or  forbid  their  gratification;  a  disapprobation  of 
reflection  being  in  itself  a  principle  manifestly  superior  to  a 
mere  propension.  And  the  conclusion  is,  that  to  allow  no 
more  to  this  superior  principle  or  part  of  our  nature,  than  to 
other  parts;  to  let  it  govern  and  guide  only  occasionally  in 
common  with  the  rest,  as  its  turn  happens  to  come,  from  the 
temper  and  circumstances  one  happens  to  be  in;  this  is  not 
to  act  conformably  to  the  constitution  of  man  :  neither  can  any 
human  creature  be  said  to  act  conformably  to  his  constitution 
of  nature,  unless  he  allows  to  that  superior  principle  the  ab- 
solute authority  which  is  due  to  it.  And  this  conclusion  is 
abundantly  confirmed  from  hence,  that  one  may  determine 
what  course  of  action  the  economy  cf  man's  nature  requires, 
without  so  much  as  knowing  in  what  degrees  of  strength  the 
several  principles  prevail,  or  which  of  them  have  actually  the 
greatest  influence. 

The  practical  reason  of  insisting  so  much  upon  this  natu- 
ral authority  of  the  principle  of  reflection  or  conscience  is, 
that  it  seems  in  great  measure  overlooked  by  many,  wlio  are 
by  no  means  the  worse  sort  of  men.  It  is  thought  sufficient 
to  abstain  from  gross  w-ickedness,  and  to  be  humane  and  kind 
to  such  as  happen  to  come  in  their  way.  Whereas  in  reality 
the  very  constitution  of  our  nature  requires,  that  we  bring  our 
whole  conduct  before  this  superior  faculty ;  wait  its  deter- 
mination ;  enforce  upon  ourselves  its  authority,  and  make  it 
the  business  of  our  lives,  as  it  is  absolutely  the  whole  busi- 
ness of  a  moral  agent,  to  conform  ourselves  to  it.  This  is 
the  true  meaning  of  that  ancient  precept.  Reverence  thyself. 

The  not  taking  into  consideration  this  authority,  which  is 
implied  in  the  idea  of  reflex  approbation  or  disapprobation, 
seems  a  material  deficiency  or  omission  in  lord  Shaftsbury's 
Inquiry  concerning  Virtue.  He  has  shown  beyond  all  con- 
tradiction, that  virtue  is  naturally  the  interest  or  happiness, 
and  vice  the  misery,  of  such  a  creature  as  man,  placed  in  the 
circumstances  which  w'e  are  in  this  world.  But  suppose  there 
are  particular  exceptions:  a  case  which  this  author  was  unwil- 
ling to  put,  and  yet  surely  it  is  to  be  put:  or  suppose  a  case 
which  he  has  put  and  determined,  that  of  a  sceptic  not  con- 
vinced of  this  happy  tendency  of  virtue,  or  being  of  a  contrary 
opinion.  His  determination  is,  that  it  would  be  ivitlwut  rem- 
edy. One  may  say  more  explicitly,  that  leaving  out  the  au- 
thority or  reflex  approbation  of  disapprobation,  such  a  one 


500 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


would  be  under  an  obligation  to  act  viciously  ;  since  interest, 
one's  own  happiness,  is  a  manifest  obligation,  and  tliere  is 
not  supposed  to  be  any  other  obligation  in  the  case.  "  But 
does  it  much  mend  the  matter,  to  take  in  that  natural  authori- 
ty of  reflection  1  There  indeed  would  be  an  obligation  to 
virtue  ;  but  would  not  the  obligation  from  supposed  interest 
on  the  side  of  vice  remain  V  If  it  should,  yet  to  be  under 
two  contrary  obligations,  i.  e.  under  none  at  all,  would  not  be 
exactly  the  same,  as  to  be  under  a  formal  obligation  to  be  vi- 
cious, or  to  be  in  circumstances  in  which  the  constitution  of 
man's  nature  plainly  required  that  vice  should  be  preferred. 
But  the  obligation  on  the  side  of  interest  really  does  not  re- 
main. For  the  natural  authority  of  the  principle  of  reflection 
is  an  obligation  the  most  near  and  intimate,  the  most  certain 
and  known:  whereas  the  contrary  obligation  can  at  the  utmost 
appear  no  more  than  probable  ;  since  no  man  can  be  certain 
in  any  circumstances  that  vice  is  his  interest  in  the  present 
world,  much  less  can  he  be  certain  against  another:  and  thus 
the  certain  obligation  would  entirely  supersede  and  destroy 
the  uncertain  one;  which  yet  would  have  been  of  real  force 
without  the  former. 

In  truth,  the  taking  in  this  consideration  totally  changes 
the  whole  state  of  the  case ;  and  shows,  what  this  author 
does  not  seem  to  have  been  aware  of,  that  the  greatest  degree 
of  scepticism  which  he  thought  possible  will  still  leave  men 
under  the  strictest  moral  obligations,  whatever  their  opinioi 
be  concerning  the  happiness  of  virtue.  For  that  mankind 
upon  reflection  felt  an  approbation  of  what  was  good,  an 
disapprobation  of  the  contrary,  he  thought  a  plain  matter  of 
fact,  as  it  undoubtedly  is,  which  none  could  deny,  but  from 
mere  affectation.  Take  in  then  that  authority  and  obligation, 
which  is  a  constituent  part  of  this  reflex  approbation,  and  it 
will  undeniably  follow,  though  a  man  should  doubt  of  every 
thiuT  else,  yet,  that  he  would  still  remain  under  the  nearest 
and  most  certain  obligation  to  the  practice  of  virtue;  an  ob- 
ligation implied  in  the  very  idea  of  virtue,  in  the  very  idea  of 
reflex  approbation. 

And  how  little  influence  soever  this  obligation  alone  can 
be  expected  to  have  in  fact  upon  mankind,  yet  one  may 
appeal  even  to  interest  and  self-love,  and  ask,  since  from 
man's  nature,  condition,  and  the  shortness  of  life,  so  little, 
so  very  little  indeed,  can  possibly  in  any  case  be  gained  by 
vice;  whether  it  be  so  prodigious  a  thing  to  sacrifice  that 
little  to  the  most  intimate  of  all  obligations;  and  whicli  a 
man  cannot  transgress  without  being  self-condemned,  and, 
unless  he  has  corrupted  his  nature,  without  real  self-dislike: 
this  question,  I  say,  may  be  asked,  even  upon  supposition 
that  the  prospec^t  of  a  future  life  were  ever  so  uncertain. 

The  observation,  that  man  is  thus  by  his  very  nature  a  law 
to  himself,  purused  to  its  just  consequences,  is  of  tlie  utmost 
importance ;  because  from  it  it  will  follow,  that  though  men 
should,  through  stupidity  or  speculative  scepticism,  be  igno- 
rant of,  or  disbelieve,  any  authority  in  the  universe  to  punish 
the  violation  of  this  law  ;  yet,  if  there  should  be  such  authori- 
ty, they  would  be  as  really  liable  to  punishment,  as  though 
they  had  been  beforehand  convinced,  that  such  punishment 
would  follow.  For  in  whatever  sense  we  understand  justice, 
even  supposing,  what  I  think  would  be  very  presumptuous  to 
assert,  that  the  end  of  divine  punishment  is  no  other  than  that 
of  civil  punishment,  namely,  to  prevent  future  mischief;  upon 
this  bold  supposition,  ignorance  or  disbelief  of  the  sanction 
would  by  no  means  exempt  even  from  this  justice :  because 
it  is  foreknowledge  of  the  punishment  which  renders  us  ob- 
noxious to  it ;  but  merely  violating  a  known  obligation. 

And  here  it  comes  in  one's  way  to  take  notice  of  a  mani- 
fest error  or  mistake  in  the  author  now  cited,  unless  perhaps 
he  has  incautiously  expressed  himself  so  as  to  be  misunder- 
stood ;  namely,  that  it  is  malice  only,  and  not  goodness,  which 
can  make  vs  afraid.  Whereas  in  reality,  goodness  is  the  na- 
tural and  just  object  of  the  greatest  fear  to  an  ill  man.     Ma- 


lice may  be  appeased  or  satiated;  humour  may  change,  but 
goodness  is  a  fixed,  steady,  immovable  principle  of  action. 
If  either  of  the  former  holds  the  sword  of  justice,  there  is 
plainly  ground  for  the  greatest  of  crimes  to  hope  for  impuni- 
ty:  but  if  it  be  goodness,  there  can  be  no  possible  hope, 
whilst  the  reasons  of  things,  or  the  ends  of  government,  call 
for  punishment.  Thus  every  one  sees  how  much  greater 
chance  of  impunity  an  ill  man  has  in  a  partial  administration, 
than  in  a  just  and  upright  one.  It  is  said,  that  the  interest  or 
good  of  the  whole  must  be  the  interest  of  the  universal  Being,  and 
that  he  can  have  no  other.  Be  it  so.  This  author  has  proved, 
that  vice  is  naturally  the  misery  of  mankind  in  this  world. 
Consequently  it  was  for  the  good  of  the  whole  that  it  should 
be  so.  What  shadow  of  reason  then  is  there  to  assert,  that  this 
may  not  be  the  case  hereafter  ?  Danger  of  future  punish- 
ment (and  if  there  be  danger,  there  is  ground  of  fear)  no 
more  supposes  malice,  than  the  present  feeling  of  punishment 
does. 

The  Sermon  upon  the  character  of  Balaam,  and  that  itpon 
Sclf-Deceit,  both  relate  to  one  subject.  I  am  persuaded,  that 
a  very  great  part  of  the  wickedness  of  the  world  is,  one  way 
or  other,  owing  to  the  self-partiality,  self-flattery,  and  self- 
deceit,  endeavoured  there  to  be  laid  open  and  explained.  It 
is  to  be  observed  amongst  persons  of  the  lowest  rank,  in  pro- 
portion to  their  compass  of  thought,  as  much  as  amongst 
men  of  education  and  improvement.  It  seems,  that  people 
are  capable  of  being  thus  artful  with  themselves,  in  propor- 
tion as  they  are  capable  of  being  so  with  others.  Those  who 
have  taken  notice  that  there  is  really  such  a  thing,  namely, 
plain  falseness  and  insincerity  in  men  with  regard  to  them- 
selves, will  readily  see  the  drift  and  design  of  these  Dis- 
courses, and  nothing  that  I  can  add  will  explain  the  design 
of  them  to  him,  who  has  not  beforehand  remarked,  at  least, 
somewhat  of  the  character.  And  yet  the  admonitions  they 
contain  may  be  as  much  wanted  by  such  a  person,  as  by 
others ;  for  it  is  to  be  noted,  that  a  man  may  be  entirely  pos- 
sessed by  this  unfairness  of  mind,  without  having  the  least 
speculative  notion  what  the  thing  is. 

The  account  given  of  Resentment  in  the  eighth  Sermon  is 
introductory  to  the  following  one  apon  Forgiveness  of  Inju- 
ries. It  may  possibly  have  appeared  to  some,  at  first  sight, 
a  strange  assertion,  that  injury  is  the  only  natural  object  of 
settled  resentment,  or  that  men  do  not  in  fact  resent  deliber- 
ately any  thing  jjut  under  this  appearance  of  injury.  But  I 
must  desire  the  reader  not  to  take  any  assertion  alone  by 
itself,  but  to  consider  the  whole  of  what  is  said  upon  it: 
because  this  is  necessary,  not  only  in  order  to  judge  of  the 
truth  of  it,  but  often,  such  is  the  nature  of  language,  to  see 
the  very  meaning  of  the  assertion.  Particularly  as  to  this, 
injury  and  injustice  is,  in  the  Sermon  itself,  explained  to 
mean,  not  only  the  more  gross  and  shocking  instances  of 
wickedness,  but  also  contempt,  scorn,  neglect,  any  sort  of 
disagreeable  behaviour  towards  a  person,  which  he  thinks 
other  than  what  is  due  to  him.  And  the  general  notion  of 
injury  or  wrong  plainly  comprehends  this,  though  the  words 
are  mostly  confined  to  the  higher  degrees  of  it. 

Forgiveness  of  injuries  is  one  of  the  very  few  moral  obli- 
gations which  has  been  disputed.  But  the  proof,  that  it 
is  really  an  obligation,  what  our  nature  and  condition  re- 
quire, seems  very  obvious,  were  it  only  from  the  considera- 
tion, that  revenge  is  doing  harm  merely  for  harm's  sake. 
And  as  to  the  love  of  our  enemies:  resentment  cannot  super- 
sede the  obligation  to  universal  benevolence,  unless  they  are 
in  the  nature  of  the  thing  inconsistent,  which  they  plainlj'  are 
not. 

This  divine  precept,  to  forgive  injuries  and  love  our  ene- 
mies, though  to  be  met  with  in  Gentile  moralists,  yet  is  in  a 
peculiar  sense  a  precept  of  Christianity  ;  as  our  Saviour  has 
insisted  more  upon  it  than  upon  any  other  single  virtue. 
One  reason  of  this  doubtless  is,  that  it  so  peculiarly  becomes 


BISHOP  BUTLER^S  SERMONS. 


501 


an  imperfect,  faulty  creature.  But  it  may  be  observed  also, 
that  a  virtuous  temper  of  mind,  consciousness  of  innocence, 
and  good  meaning  towards  every  body,  and  a  strong  feeling 
of  injustice  and  injury,  may  itself,  such  is  the  imperfection  of 
our  virtue,  lead  a  person  to  violate  this  obligation,  if  he  be 
not  upon  his  guard.  And  it  may  well  be  supposed,  that  this 
is  another  reason  why  it  is  so  much  insisted  upon  by  him 
who  kiuw  w/iai  ica^  in  Tiiaii, 

The  chief  design  of  the  eleventh  Discourse  is  to  state  the 
notion  of  self-love  and  disinterestedness,  in  order  to  show  that 
benevolence  is  not  more  unfriendly  to' self-love,  than  any 
other  particular  affection  whatever.  There  is  a  strange  affec- 
tation in  many  people  of  explaining  away  all  particular  affec- 
tions, and  representing  the  whole  of  life  as  nothing  but  one 
continued  exercise  of  self-love.  Hence  arises  that  surprising 
confusion  and  perplexity  in  the  Epicureans*  of  old,  Hobbes, 
the  author  of  Reflections,  Sentences,  et  Maximes  Morales,  and 
this  whole  set  of  writers;  the  confusion  of  calling  actions 
interested  which  are  done  in  contradiction  to  the  most  mani- 
fest known  interest,  merely  for  the  gratification  of  a  present 
passion.  Now  all  this  confusion  might  easil}-  be  avoided, 
by  stating  to  ourselves  wherein  the  idea  of  self-love  in  gen- 
eral consists,  as  distinguished  from  all  particular  movements 
towards  particular  external  objects;  the  appetites  of  sense, 
resentment,  compassion,  curiosity,  ambition,  and  the  rest. 
When  this  is  done,  if  the  words  se/fok  and  interested  cannot 
be  parted  with,  but  must  be  applied  to  every  thing;  yet,  to 
avoid  such  total  confusion  of  all  laiiguage,  let  the  distinction 
be  made  by  epithets :  and  the  first  may  be  called  coqI  or 
settled  selfishness,  and  the  other  passionate  or  sensual  self- 
ishness. But  the  most  natural  way  of  speaking  plainly  is,  to 
call  the  first  only,  self-love,  and  the  actions  proceeding  from 
it,  interested :  and  to  say  of  the  latter,  that  they  are  not  love 
to  ourselves,  but  movements  towards  somewhat  external : 
honour,  power,  the  harm  or  good  of  another:  and  that  the 
pursuit  of  these  external  objects,  so  far  as  it  proceeds  from 
these  movements  (for  it  may  proceed  from  selflove),  is  no 
otherwise  interested,  than  as  every  action  of  every  creature 
must,  from  the  nature  of  the  thing,  be ;  for  no  one  can  act 
but  from  a  desire,  or  choice,  or  preference  of  his  own. 

Self-love  and  any  particular  passion  may  be  joined  together; 
and  from  this  complication,  it  becomes  impossible  in  number- 
less instances  to  determine  precisely,  how  far  an  action,  per- 
haps even  of  one's  own,  has  for  its  principle  general  self-love, 
or  some  particular  passion.  But  this  need  create  no  con- 
fusion in  the  ideas  themselves  of  self-love  and  particular 
passions.  We  distinctly  discern  what  one  is,  and  wliat  the 
other  are :  though  we  may  be  uncertain  how  far  one  or  the 
other  influences  us.  And  though,  from  this  uncertainty,  it 
cannot  but  be  that  there  will  be  different  opinions  concerninof 
mankind,  as  more  or  less  governed  by  interest;  and  some 
■will  ascribe  actions  to  self-love,  which  others  will  ascribe  to 
particular  passions  :  yet  it  is  absurd  to  say  that  mankind  are 
wholly  actuated  by  either;  since  it  is  manifest  that  both  have 
their  influence.  Fot  as,  on  the  one  hand,  men  form  a  gen- 
eral notion  of  interest,  some  placing  it  in  one  thintr,  and 
some  in  another,  and  have  a  considerable  regard  to  it  throuoh- 
out  the  course  of  their  life,  which  is  owing  to  self-love ;  so, 
on  the  other  hand,  they  are  often  set  on  work  by  the  particu- 
lar passions  themselves,  and  a  considerable  part  of  life  is 
spent  in  the  actual  gratification  of  them,  i.  e.  is  employed, 
not  by  self-love,  but  by  the  passions. 

*  One  need  only  look  into  Torquatus's  account  of  the  Epicurean 
system,  in  Cicero's  first  book  De  Fiiiibus,  to  see  in  what  a  surprising 
manner  this  was  done  by  them.  Thus  the  desire  of  praise,  and  of 
being  beloved,  he  explains  to  be  uo  other  than  desire  of  safely:  regard 
to  our  country,  even  in  the  most  virtuous  cliaraeter,  to  be  nothing  but 
regard  to  ourselves.  Tlie  author  of  Refections,  &c.  .Morales,  says, 
Curiosity  proceeds  from  interest  or  pride;  which  pride  also  would 
doubtless  liave  been  explained  to  be  self-love.  Page  85,  ed.  17^5. 
As  if  there  were  no  such  passions  in  mankind  as  desire  of  esteem,  or 
of  being  beloved,  or  of  knowledge.  Hobbes's  account  of  the  aftec- 
tions  of  good-will  and  pity  are  instances  of  the  same  kind. 


Besides,  the  very  idea  of  an  interested  pursuit  necessarily 
presupposes  particular  passions  or  appetites ;  since  the  very 
idea  of  interest  or  happiness  consists  in  this,  that  an  appetite 
or  affection  enjoys  its  object.  :It  is  not  because  we  love  our- 
selves that  we  find  delight  in  such  and  such  objects,  but 
because  we  have  particular  affections  towards  them.  Take 
away  these  affections,  and  you  leave  self-love  absolutely 
notliing  at  all  to  employ  itself  about;  no  end  or  object  for 
it  to  pursue,  excepting  only  that  of  avoiding  pain.  Indeed 
the  Epicureans,  who  maintained  that  absence  of  pain  was 
the  highest  happiness,  might,  consistently  with  themselves, 
deny  all  affection,  and,  if  they  had  so  pleased,  every  sensual 
appetite  too :  but  the  very  idea  of  interest  or  happiness  other 
than  absence  of  pain  implies  particular  appetites  or  passions; 
these  being  necessary  to  constitute  that  interest  or  happiness. 

The  observation,  that  benevolence  is  no  more  disinterested 
than  any  of  the  common  particular  passions,  seems  in  itself 
worth  being  taken  notice  of;  but  is  insisted  upon  to  obviate 
that  scorn,  which  one  sees  rising  upon  the  faces  of  people 
who  are  said  to  know  the  world,  when  mention  is  made  of  a 
disinterested,  generous,  or  public-spirited  action.  The  truth 
of  that  observation  might  be  made  appear  in  a  more  formal 
manner  of  proof:  for  whoever  will  consider  all  the  possible 
respects  and  relations  which  any  particular  affection  can 
have  to  self-love  and  private  interest,  will,  I  think,  see  de- 
monstrably, that  benevolence  is  not  in  zmy  respect  more  at 
variance  with  self-love,  than  any  other  particular  affection 
whatever,  hut  that  it  is  in  every  respect,  at  least,  as  friendly 
to  it. 

If  the  observation  be  true,  it  follows,  that  self-love  and 
benevolence,  virtue  and  interest,  are  not  to  be  opposed,  but 
only  to  be  distinguished  from  each  other;  in  the  same  way 
as  virtue  and  any  other  particular  affection,  love  of  arts,  sup- 
pose, are  to  be  distinguished.  Every  thing  is  what  it  is,  and 
not  another  thing.  The  goodness  or  badness  of  actions  does 
not  arise  from  hence,  that  the  epithet,  interested  or  disinter- 
ested, may  be  applied  to  them,  any  more  than  that  any  other 
indifferent  epithet,  suppose  inquisitive  or  jealous,  may  or 
may  not  be  applied  to  them ;  not  from  their  being  attended 
with  present  or  future  pleasure  or  pain  ;  but  from  their  being 
what  they  are  ;  namely,  what  becomes  such  creatures  as  we 
are,  what  the  state  of  the  case  requires,  or  the  contrary.  Or 
in  other  words,  we  may  judge  and  determine,  that  an  action 
is  morally  good  or  evil,  before  we  so  much  as  consider, 
whether  it  be  interested  or  disinterested.  Tliis  consideration 
no  more  comes  in  to  determine  whether  an  action  be  virtu- 
ous, than  to  determine  whether  it  be  resentful.  Self-love  in 
its  due  degree  is  as  just  and  morally  good,  as  any  affection 
whatever.  Benevolence  towards  particular  persons  may  be 
to  a  degree  of  weakness,  and  so  be  blameable:  and  disin- 
terestedness is  so  far  from  being  in  itself  coinmendable,  that 
the  utmost  possible  depravity  which  we  can  in  imagination 
conceive,  is  that  of  disinterested  cruelty. 

Neither  does  there  appear  any  reason  to  wish  self-love 
were  weaker  in  the  generality  of  the  world  than  it  is.  The 
influence  which  it  has,  seems  plainly  owing  to  its  being  con- 
stant and  habitual,  which  it  cannot  but  be,  and  not  to  the 
degree  or  strength  of  it.  Every  caprice  of  the  imagination, 
every  curiosity  of  the  understanding,  every  affection  of  the 
heart,  is  perpetually  showing  its  weakness,  by  prevailing  over 
it. 

Men  daily,  hourly  sacrifice  the  greatest  known  interest 
to  fancy,  inquisitiveness,  love  or  hatred,  any  vagrant  incli- 
nation. The  thing  to  be  lamented  is,  not  that  men  have  so 
great  regard  to  their  own  good  or  interest  in  the  present 
world,  for  they  have  not  enough ;  but  that  they  have  so  little 
to  the  good  of  others.  And  this  seems  plainly  owing  to  their 
being  so  much  engaged  in  the  gratification  of  particular  pas- 
sions unfriendljf  to  benevolence,  and  which  happen  to  be 
most  prevalent  in  them,  much  more  than  to  self-love.  As  a 
proof  of  this  may  be  observed,  that  there  is  no  character  more 


502 


CHEilSTIAN    LIBRARY. 


void  of  friendship,  gratitude,  natural  affection,  love  to  their 
country,  common  justice,  or  more  equally  and  uniformly 
hardhearted,  than  the  abandoned  in,  what  is  called,  the  way 

of  pleasure hardhearted  and  totally  without  feeling   in 

behalf  of  others;  except  when  they  cannot  escape  the  sight 
of  distress,  and  so  are  interrupted  by  it  in  their  pleasures. 
And  yet  it  is  ridiculous  to  call  such  an  abandoned  course  of 
pleasure  interested,  when  the  person  engaged  in  it  knows 
beforehand,  and  goes  on  under  the  feeling  and  apprehension, 
that  it  will  be  as  ruinous  to  himself,  as  to  those  who  depend 
upon  him. 

Upon  the  whole,  if  the  generality  of  mankind  were  to  cul- 
tivate within  themselves  the  principle  of  self-love;  if  they 
were  to  accustom  thejnselves  often  to  set  down  and  consider, 
what  was  the  greatest  happiness  they  were  capable  of  attain- 
ing for  themselves  in  this  life,  and  if  self-love  were  so  strong 
and  prevalent,  as  that  they  would  uniformly  pursue  this  their 
supposed  chief  temporal  good,  without  being  diverted  from 
it  by  any  particular  passion;  it  would  manifestly  prevent 
numberless  follies  and  vices.  This  was  in  a  great  measure 
the  Epicurean  system  of  philosophy.  It  is  indeed  by  no 
means  the  religious  or  even  moral  institution  of  life.  Yet, 
with  all  the  mistakes  men  would  fall  into  about  interest,  it 
would  be  less  mischievous  than  the  extravagances  of  mere 
appetite,  will,  and  pleasure :  for  certainly  self-love,  though 
confined  to  the  interest  of  this  life,  is,  of  the  two,  a  much 
better  guide  than  passion,  which  has  absolutely  no  bound 
nor  measure,  but  what  is  set  to  it  by  this  self-love,  or  moral 
considerations. 

From  the  distinction  above  made  between  self-love,  and 
the  several  particular  piinciples  or  affections  in  our  nature, 
we  may  see  how  good  ground  there  was  for  that  assertion, 
maintained  by  the  several  ancient  schools  of  philosophy 
against  the  Epicureans,  namely,  that  virtue  is  to  be  pursued 
as  an  end,  eligible  in  and  for  itself.  For,  if  there  be  any  prin- 
ciples or  affections  in  the  mind  of  man  distinct  from  self-love, 
that  the  things  those  principles  tend  towards,  or  that  the  ob- 
jects of  those  affections,  are,  each  of  them,  in  themselves  eli- 
gible, to  be  pursued  upon  its  own  account,  and  to  be  rested 
in  as  an  end,  is  implied  in  the  very  idea  of  such  principle  or 
affection.  They  indeed  asserted  much  higher  things  of  vir- 
tue, and  with  very  good  reason ;  but  to  say  thus  much  of  it, 
that  it  is  to  be  pursued  for  itself,  is  to  say  no  more  of  it,  than 
may  truly  be  said  of  the  object  of  every  natural  affection  what- 
ever. 

The  question,  which  was  a  few  years  ago  disputed  in 
France,  concerning  the  love  of  God,  which  was  there  called 
enthusiasm,  as  it  will  every  where  by  the  generality  of  the 
world  ;  this  question,  I  say,  answers  in  religion  to  that  old 
one  in  morals  now  mentioned.  And  both  of  them  are,  I 
think,  fully  determined  by  the  same  observation,  namely,  that 
the  very  nature  of  affection,  the  idea  itself,  necessarily  im- 
plies resting  in  its  object  as  an  end. 

I  shall  not  here  add  any  thing  further  to  what  I  have  said 
in  the  two  Discourses  upon  that  most  important  subject,  but 
only  this:  that  if  we  are  constituted  such  sort  of  creatures,  as 
from  our  very  nature  to  feel  certain  affections  or  movements 
of  mind,  upon  the  sight  or  contemplation  of  the  meanest  in- 
animate part  of  the  creation,  for  the  flowers  of  the  field  have 
their  beauty;  certainly  there  must  be  somewhat  due  to  him 
himself,  who  is  the  Author  and  Cause  of  all  things;  who  is 
more  intimately  present  to  us  than  any  thing  else  can  be,  and 
with  whom  we  have  a  nearer  and  more  constant  intercourse, 
than  we  can  have  with  any  creature:  there  must  be  some 
movements  of  mind  and  heart  which  correspond  to  his  per- 
fections, or  of  which  those  perfections  are  the  natural  object : 
and  that  when  we  are  commanded  to  love  the  Lord  our  God 
with  all  our  heart,  and  ivith  all  our  mind,  and  with  all  our  soul; 
somewhat  more  must  be  meant  than  merely  that  we  live  in 
hope  of  rewards  or  fear  of  punishments  from  him;  somewhat 


more  than  this  must  be  intended :  though  these  regards  them- 
selves are  most  just  and  reasonable,  and  absolutely  necessary 
to  be  often  recollected  in  such  a  world  as  this. 

It  may  be  proper  just  to  advertise  the  reader,  that  he  is  not 
to  look  for  any  particular  reason  for  the  choice  of  the  greatest 
part  of  these  Discourses;  their  being  taken  from  amongst 
many  others,  preached  in  the  same  place,  through  a  course  of 
eight  years,  being  in  great  measure  accidental.  Neither  is 
he  to  expect  to  find  any  other  connexion  between  them,  than 
that  uniformity  of  thought  and  design,  which  will  always  be 
found  in  the  writings  of  the  same  person,  when  he  writes 
with  simplicity  and  in  earnest. 

Stanhope,  Sept.  16,  1729. 


SERMON  I. 


VPON  HUMAN  NATURE. 


For  as  we  have  raany  members  in  one  body,  and  all  members  have 
not  the  same  office  :  so  we  being  many  are  one  body  in  Christ,  and 
every  one  members  one  of  another. — Horn.  xii.  4,  5. 

The  Epistles  in  the  New  Testament  have  all  of  them  a  par- 
ticular reference  to  the  condition  and  usages  of  the  Christian 
world  at  the  time  they  were  written.  Therefore  as  they  can- 
not be  thoroughly  understood,  unless  that  condition  and  those 
usages  are  knovvn  and  attended  to:  so  further,  though  they 
be  known,  yet  if  they  be  discontinued  or  changed  ;  exhorta- 
tions, precepts,  and  illustrations  of  things,  which  refer  to 
such  circumstances  now  ceased  or  altered,  cannot  at  this  time 
be  urged  in  that  manner,  and  with  that  force  which  they  were 
to  the  primitive  Christians.  Thus  the  text  now  before  us,  in 
its  first  intent  and  design,  relates  to  the  decent  management 
of  those  extraordinary  gifts  which  were  then  in  the  church, 
but  wliich  are  now  totally  ceased.  And  even  as  to  the  allu- 
sion that  we  are  one  body  in  Christ ;  though  what  the  Apostle 
here  intends  is  equally  true  of  Christians  in  all  circumstan- 
ces;  and  the  consideration  of  it  is  plainly  still  an  additional 
motive,  over  and  above  motal  considerations,  to  the  discharo-e 
of  the  several  duties  and  offices  of  a  Christian  :  yet  it  is  man- 
ifest this  allusion  must  have  appeared  with  much  greater 
force  to  those,  who,  by  the  many  difficulties  they  went  through 
for  the  sake  of  their  religion,  were  led  to  keep  always  in  view 
the  relation  they  stood  in  to  their  Saviour,  who  had  under- 
gone the  same;  to  those,  who,  from  the  idolatries  of  all  around 
them,  and  their  ill-treatment,  were  taught  to  consider  them- 
selves as  not  of  the  world  in  which  they  lived,  but  as  a  dis- 
tinct society  of  themselves  ;  with  laws  and  ends,  and  princi- 
ples of  life  and  action,  quite  contrary  to  those  which  the  world 
professed  themselves  at  that  time  infiuenced  by.  Hence  the 
relation  of  a  Christian  was  by  them  considered  as  nearer  than 
that  of  affmity  and  blood  ;  and  they  almost  literally  esteemed 
themselves  as  members  one  of  another. 

It  cannot  Indeed  possibly  be  denied,  that  our  being  God's 
creatures,  and  virtue  being  the  natural  law  we  are  born  un- 
der, and  the  whole  constitution  of  man  being  plainly  adapted 
to  it,  are  prior  obligations  to  piety  and  virtue,  than  the  con- 
sideration that  God  sent  his  son  into  the  world  to  save  it,  and 
llie  motives  which  arise  from  the  peculiar  relation  of  Chris- 
tians, as  members  one  of  another  under  Christ  our  head. — 
However,  though  all  this  be  allowed,  as  it  expressly  is  by 
the  inspired  writers;  yet  it  Is  manifest  that  Christians  at  the 
time  of  the  revelation,  and  Immediately  after,  could  not  but 
insist  mostly  upon  considerations  of  this  latter  kind. 

These  observations  show  the  original  particular  reference 
of  the  text;  and  the  peculiar  force  with  which  the  thing  in- 
tended by  the  allusion  in  it,  must  have  been  felt  by  the  prim- 
itive Christian  world.  They  likewise  alTord  a  reason  for 
treating  It  at  this  time  in  a  more  general  v,'Zj. 

The  relation  which  the  several  parts  or  members  of  the 
natural  body  have  to  each  other  and  to  the  whole  body,  is 
here  compared  to  tlio  relation  which  each  particular  person 
in  society  lias  to  other  particular  persons  and  to  the  whole 
society  ;  and  the  latter  Is  intended  to  be  illustrated  by  the 
former.  And  if  there  he  a  likeness  between  these  two  rela- 
tions, the  consequence  is  obvious :  that  the  latter  show's  us 
we  were  intended  to  do  good  to  others,  as  the  former  shows 


BISHOP  BUTLER'S  SERMONS. 


503 


us  thai  the  several  members  of  ihe  natural  body  were  intend- 
ed to  be  instruments  of  good  to  each  other  and  to  ihe  whole 
body.  But  as  there  is  scarce  any  ground  for  a  comparison 
between  society  and  the  mere  material  body,  this  without  the 
mind  being  a  dead  unactive  thing;  much  less  can  tlie  com- 
parison be  carried  to  any  length.  And  since  the  apostle 
speaks  of  the  several  members  as  havintr  distinct  offices, 
which  implies  the  mind  ;  it  cannot  be  thought  an  unallowable 
liberty,  instead  of  the  body  and  its  members^  to  substitute  the 
whole  nature  of  man^  and  all  the  variety  of  internal  principles 
which  beloTii^  to  it.  And  then  the  comparison  will  be  between 
the  nature  of  man  as  respecting  self,  and  tending  to  private 
good,  iiis  own  preservation  and  happiness;  and  the  nature  of 
man  as  having  respect  to  society,  and  tending  to  promote 
public  good,  the  happiness  of  that  society.  These  ends  do 
indeed  perfectly  coincide;  and  to  aim  at  public  and  private 
good  are  so  far  from  being  inconsistent,  that  they  mutually 
promote  each  other :  yet  in  the  following  discourse  they  must 
be  considered  as  entirely  distinct;  otherwise  the  nature  of 
man  as  tending  to  one,  or  as  tending  to  the  other,  cannot  be 
compared.  There  can  no  comparison  be  made,  without  con- 
sidering the  things  compared  as  distinct  and  different. 

From  this  review  and  comparison  of  the  nature  of  man  as 
respecting  self,  and  as  respecting  society,  it  will  plainly  ap- 
pear, tliat  there  are  as  real  and  the  same  kind  of  indications 
in  human  nature,  that  we  were  made  for  society  and  to  do 
good  to  our  fellow-creatures,  as  that  we  were  intended  to  take 
care  of  our  own  life  and  health  and  private  good  ;  and  that  the 
same  objections  lie  against  one  of  these  assertions  as  against 
the  other.     For, 

First,  There  is  a  natural  principle  of  benevolence*  in  man ; 
which  is  in  some  degree  to  society  what  self-love  is  to  the 


ndividuaL  And  if  there  be  in  mankind  any  disposition  to 
friendship ;  if  there  be  any  such  thing  as  compassion,  for  com- 
passion is  a  momentary  love;  if  there  be  any  such  thing  as 
the  paternal  or  filial  affections;  if  there  be'any  affection  in 
human  nature,  the  object  and  end  of  which  is  the  good  of 

nother;  this  is  itself  benevolence,  or  the  love  of  another. 
Be  it  ever  so  short,  be  it  in  ever  so  low  a  degree,  or  ever  so 
unhappily  confined,  it  proves  the  assertion,  and  points  out 
what  we  were  designed  for,  as  really  as  though  it  were  in  a 
higher  degree  and  more  extensive.  1  must  however  remind 
you  that  though  benevolence  and  self-love  are  different ;  though 
the  former  tends  most  directly  to  public  good,  and  the  latter 
to  private:  yet  they  are  so  perfectly  coincident, that  the  great- 
est satisfactions  to  ourselves  depend  upon  our  having  benevo- 
lence in  a  due  degree;  and  that  self-love  is  one  chief  security 
of  our  right  behaviour  towards  society.  It  may  be  added, 
that  their  mutual  coinciding,  so  that  we  can  scarce  promote 
one  without  the  other,  is  equally  a  proof  that  we  were  made 
for  both. 

Secondly,  This  will  further  appear  from  observing  that  the 
several  passions  and  affections,  which  are  distinct*  both  from 
benevolence  and  self-love,  do  in  general  contribute  and  lead 
us  to  public  good  as  real!}'  as  to  private.  It  might  be  thought 
too  minute  and  particular,  and  would  carry  us  too  great  a 
length  to  distinguish  between  and  compare  together  the  seve- 
ral passions  or  appetites  distinct  from  benevolence,  whose 
primary  use  and  intention  is  the  security  and  good  of  society; 
and  the  passions  distinct  from  self-love,  whose  primary  in- 
tention and  design  is  the  security  and  good  of  the  individual. | 


*  Suppose  a  man  of  learning  to  be  writing  a  grave  book  upon 
human  nature^  and  *.o  show  in  several  parts  of  it  that  he  ha<l  an  in- 
sight into  the  subject  he  was  considering;  amongst  other  things  the 
following  one  would  require  to  be  accounted  for;  the  appearance  of 
benevolence  or  good-will  in  men  towards  each  otiier  in  the  instances 
of  natural  relation,  and  in  others.  Cantiousof  being  deceived  with  out- 
ward show,  he  retires  within  liimself  to  see  exactly  what  that  is  in  tlie 
mind  of  man  from  whence  this  appearance  proceeds;  and,  upon  deep 
reflection,  asserts  the  principle  in  tlie  mind  to  be  ordy  the  love  of 
power,  and  delight  in  the  exercise  of  it.  Would  not  every  body  think 
here  was  a  mistake  of  one  word  for  another  ^  that  the  philosoplier 
was  contemplating  and  accounting  for  some  other  human  action^^ 
some  other  behaviour  of  man  to  man?  And  could  acty  one  be  tho- 
rougldv  satisfied,  that  what  is  comniordy  called  benevolence  or  good- 
will was  really  the  affection  meant,  but  only  by  being  made  to  un- 
derstand that  this  learned  person  had  a  general  hypothesis,  to  which 
the  appearance  of  good-will  could  no  ollierwise  be  reconciled^  That 
■what  has  this  appearance  is  often  nothing  but  ambition;  that  delight 
in  superiority  oiten  (suppose  always)  mixes  itself  wiOi  benevolence, 
only  makes  it  more  specious  to  call  it  ambition  than  hunger,  of  the 
two:  but  in  reality  that  passion  does  no  more  account  for  the  whole 
appearances  of  good-will  than  this  appetite  does.  Is  there  not  often 
the  appearance  of  one  man's  wishing  that  good  to  another  which  he 
knows  himself  unable  to  procure  him;  and  rejoicing  in  it,  though 
bestowed  by  a  third  person  ,^  And  can  love  of  power  any  way  possi- 
bly come  into  account  for  this  desire  or  deliglit  *  Is  there  not  often 
the  appearance  of  men's  distinguishing  between  two  or  more  per- 
sons, preferring  one  before  another,  to  do  good  to,  in  cases  where 
love  of  power  cannot  in  the  least  account  for  the  distinction  and 
preference?  For  this  principle  can  no  otherwise  distinguish  between 
objects,  than  as  it  is  a  greater  instance  and  exertion  of  power  to  do 
good  to  one  rather  than  to  another.  Again,  suppose  good-will  in 
the  mind  of  man  to  be  nothing  but  delight  in  the  exercise  of  power: 
men  might  indeed  be  restrained  by  distant  and  accidental  considera- 
tion; but  these  restraints  being  removed,  they  would  have  a  disposi- 
tion to,  and  delight  in  mischief  as  an  exercise  and  proof  of  power: 
and  this  disposition  and  delight  wouUl  arise  from,  or  be  the  same 
principle  in  the  mind,  as  a  disposition  to,  and  delight  in  charity. 
Th''.s  cruelty,  as  distinct  from  en\y  and  resentment,  would  be  ex- 
actly the  same  in  the  mind  of  man  as  good-will  :  that  one  tends  to 
the  happiness,  the  other  to  the  misery  of  our  fellow-crealures,  is,  it 
seems,  merely  an  accidental  circumstance,  which  the  mind  has  not 
the  least  regard  to.  These  are  the  absurdities  which  even  men  of 
capacity  run  into,  when  they  have  occasion  to  belie  their  nature,  and 
will  perversely  disclaim  that  image  of  God  which  was  originally 
stamped  upon  it,  the  traces  of  which,  however  faint,  are  plainly  dis- 
cernible upon  the  mind  of  man. 

If  any  person  can  in  earnest  doubt  whether  there  be  sxich  a  thing 
as  good-will  in  one  man  towards  another,  (for  the  question  is  not 
concerning  either  the  degree  or  extensiveness  of  it,  but  concerning 
the  affection  itself),  let  it  be  observed,  that  whetlier  man  be  thus,  or 
otherwise  constituted,  what  is  the  inward  frame  in  this  particular,  is 
a  mere  question  of  fact  or  natural  liistory,  not  provable  immediately 
by  reason.  It  is  therefore  to  be  judged  of  and  dctei-mined  in  the 
same  way  other  facts  or  matters  of  natural  history  are,  by  appealing 
to  the  external  senses,  or  inward  perceptions,  respectively,  as  the 
matter  under  consideration  is  cognizable  by  one  or  the  other;  by 
arguing  from  acknowledged  facts  and  actions;  for  a  great  number  of 
actions  in  the  same  kind,  in  different  circumstances,  and  respecting 


different  objects,  will  prove  to  a  certainty*,  what  principles  they  do 
not,  and,  to  the  gi'eatest  probability,  what  principles  they  do  proceed 
from :  and  lastly,  by  the  testimony  of  mankind.  Now  that  there  is 
some  degree  of  benevolence  amongst  men,  may  be  as  strongly  and 
plaiidy  proved  in  all  these  ways,  as  it  could  jiossibly  be  [)roved, 
snp[iosirig  there  was  this  affection  in  our  nature.  And  should  any 
one  think  fit  to  assert,  that  resentment  in  the  mind  of  man  was 
absolutely  nothitig  but  reasonable  concern  for  our  own  safety,  the 
falsity  of  this,  and  what  is  the  real  nature  of  that  passion,  could  be 
shown  in  no  other  way  than  tliose  in  which  it  may  be  shown,  that 
there  is  such  a  thing  in  some  decree  as  real  good-will  in  man  towards 
man.  It  is  sufficient  that  the  seeds  of  it  be  implanted  in  oiu'  nature 
by  God.  There  is,  it  is  owned,  much  left  tor  us  to  do  upon  our  own 
heart  and  temper;  to  cultivate,  to  improve,  to  call  it  forth,  to  exer- 
cise it  in  a  steady,  uniform  manner.    This  is  our  work;  this  is  virtue 

d  religion. 

*  Every  body  makes  a  distinction  between  self-love,  and  the  sev- 
eral particular  passions,  ajjpeiites  and  affections;  and  yet  they  are 
often  confounded  again.  That  they  are  totally  different,  will  be 
seen  by  any  one  ^\ho  will  distinguish  between  the  passions  and  aiipe- 
tites  {liemaelTes^  and  endeax'ouriug^  after  the  means  of  their  gratifica- 
tion. Consider  the  appetite  of  hmiger,  and  the  desire  of  esteem  ; 
these  being  the  occasion  both  of  pleasure  and  pain,  the  coolest  setf- 
love^  as  well  as  the  appetites  and  ])assion<;  themselves,  may  put  us 
upon  making  use  of  tlte  proper  melhotk  of  obtaimn^  that  pleasure, 
and  avoiding  that  pain;  but  \.\\c  feelmgs  tliemselvcs,  the  pain  of 
hunger  and  shame,  and  the  delight  from  esteem,  are  no  more  self- 
love  than  they  are  any  thing  in  the  world.  Though  a  man  hated 
himself,  he  would  as  much  feel  the  pain  of  hunger  as  he  would  that 
of  the  gout;  and  it  is  plainly  supposable  there  may  be  creatures  with 
self-love  in  them  to  the  highest  degree,  uho  may  be  quite  insensible 
and  indifferent  (as  men  in  some  cases  are),  to  the  contempt  and 
esteem  of  those  upon  whom  their  happiness  does  not  in  some  further 
respects  depend.  And  as  self-love  and  the  several  particular  pas- 
sions and  appetites  are  in  themselves  totally  different,  so  that  some 
actions  proceed  from  one,  and  some  from  the  other,  will  be  manifest 
to  any  who  will  observe  the  two  following  very  supposable  cases. 
One  man  rushes  upon  certain  ruin  for  the  gratification  of  a  present 
desire:  nobody  will  call  the  principle  of  this  action  self-love.  Sup- 
pose another  man  to  go  through  some  laborious  work  upon  promise 
of  a  great  reward,  without  any  distinct  knowledge  what  the  reward 
will  be;  this  course  of  action  cannot  be  ascribed  to  any  particular 
passion.  The  former  of  these  actions  is  plainly  to  be  imputed  to 
some  particular  passion  or  affection,  the  latter  as  plainly  to  the  gen- 
eral affection  or  principle  of  self-love.  That  there  are  some  par- 
ticular pui-suils  or  actions  coueerning  which  we  cannot  determine 
how  far  they  are  owing  to  one,  and  how  far  to  the  other,  proceeds 
from  this,  that  the  two  principles  are  frequently  mixed  together,  and 
run  up  into  each  other.  This  distinction  is  fui-ther  explained  in  the 
eleventh  sermon. 

+  If  any  desire  to  see  this  distinction  and  comparison  made  in  a 
particular  instance,  the  appetite  and  passion  now  mentioned  may 
serve  for  one.  Hunger  is  to  be  considered  as  a  private  appetite; 
because  the  end  for  uhich  it  was  given  us  is  the  preservation  of  the 
indivithial.  Desire  of  esteem  is  a  public  passion;  because  the  end 
for  which  it  was  given  us  is  to  regulate  oiu'  behaviour  towards  so- 
ciety. The  respect  which  this  has  to  private  good  is  as  remote  as  the 
respect  that  has  to  public  gooH;and  the  appetite  is  no  more  self-love 
than  the  passion  is  benevolence.  The  object  and  end  of  the  former 
is  merely  food;  the  object  and  end  of  the  latter  is  merely  esteem; 
but  the  latter  can  no  more  be  gratified,  without  contributing  to  the 
good  of  society,  than  the  former  can  be  gratified,  without  contrlbut- 
mg  to  the  preservation  of  the  individual. 


504 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


It  is  enough  to  the  present  argument,  that  desire  of  esteem 
from  others,  contempt  and  esteem  of  them,  love  of  society  as 
distinct  from  affection  to  the  good  of  it,  indignation  against 
successful  vice,- that  these  are  public  affections  or  passions; 
have  an  immediate  respect  to  others,  naturally  lead  us  to 
regulate  our  behaviour  in  such  a  manner  as  will  be  of  service 
to  our  fellow-creatures.  If  any  or  all  of  these  may  be  con- 
sidered likewise  as  private  affections,  as  tending  to  private 
good,  this  does  not  hinder  them  from  being  public  affections 
too,  or  destroy  the  good  influence  of  them  upon  society,  and 
their  tendency  to  public  good.  It  may  be  added,  that  as  per- 
sons without  any  conviction  from  reason  of  the  desirableness 
of  life,  would  yet  of  course  preserve  it  merely  from  the  appe- 
tite of  hunger;  so  by  acting  merely  from  regard  (suppose)  to 
reputation,  without  any  consideration  of  the  good  of  others, 
men  often  contribute  to  public  good.  In  both  these  instances 
they  are  plainly  instruments  in  the  hands  of  another,  in  the 
hands  of  Providence,  to  carry  on  ends,  the  preservation  of  the 
individual  ami  good  of  society,  which  they  themselves  have 
not  in  their  view  or  intention.  The  sum  is,  men  have  various 
appetites,  passions,  and  particvilar  atfections,  quite  distinct 
both  from  self-love  and  from  benevolence;  all  of  these  have  a 
tendency  to  promote  both  public  and  private  good,  and  may 
be  considered  as  respecting  others  and  ourselves  equally  and 
in  common;  but  some  of  them  seem  most  immediately  to 
respect  others,  or  tend  to  public  good  ;  others  of  them  most  im- 
mediately to  respect  self,  or  tend  to  private  good  ;  as  the  former 
are  not  benevolence,  so  the  latter  are  not  self-love;  neither 
sort  are  instances  of  our  love  either  to  ourselves  or  others, 
but  only  instances  of  our  Maker's  care  and  love  both  of  the 
individual  and  tlie  species,  and  proofs  that  he  intended  we 
should  be  instruments  of  good  to  each  other,  as  well  as  that 
we  should  be  so  to  ourselves. 

Thirdly,  There  is  a  principle  of  reflection  in  men,  by  which 
they  distinguish  between,  approve  and  disapprove  their  own 
actions.  We  are  plainly  constituted  such  sort  of  creatures 
as  to  reflect  upon  nnr  own  nature.  The  mind  can  take  a 
view  of  what  passes  within  itself,  its  propensions,  aversions, 
passions,  atfections.  as  respecting  such  objects,  and  in  such 
degrees;  and  of  the  several  actions  consequent  thereupon. 
In  this  survey  it  approves  of  one,  disapproves  of  another, 
and  towards  a  third  is  affected  in  neither  of  these  ways,  but 
is  quite  indifferent.  This  principle  in  man,  by  whicli  he 
approves  or  disapproves  his  heart,  temper,  and  actions,  is 
conscience;  for  this  is  the  strict  sense  of  the  word,  though 
sometimes  it  is  used  so  as  to  take  in  more.  And  that  this 
faculty  tends  to  restrain  men  from  doing  mischief  to  each 
other,  and  leads  them  to  do  good,  is  too  manifest  to  need 
being  insisted  upon.  Thus  a  parent  has  the  affection  of  love 
to  his  children  :  this  leads  him  to  take  care  of,  to  educate, 
to  make  due  provision  for  them ;  the  natural  affection  leads 
to  this  :  but  the  reflection  that  it  is  his  proper  business,  what 
belongs  to  him,  that  it  is  right  and  commendable  so  to  do ; 
this  added  to  the  affection  becomes  a  much  "more  settled 
principle,  and  carries  him  on  through  more  labour  and  diffi- 
culties for  the  sake  of  his  children,  than  he  would  undergo 
from  that  affection  alone,  if  he  thought  it,  and  the  course  of 
action  it  led  to,  either  indifferent  or  criminal.  This  indeed 
is  impossible,  to  do  that  which  is  good  and  not  to  approve  of 
it;  for  wliich  reason  they  are  frequently  not  considered  as 
distinct,  though  they  really  are:  for  men  often  approve  of 
the  actions  of  others,  which  they  will  not  imitate,  and  like- 
wise do  that  which  they  approve  not.  It  cannot  possibly  be 
denied,  that  there  is  this  principle  of  reflection  or  conscience 
in  human  nature.  Suppose  a  man  to  relieve  an  innocent 
person  in  great  distress  ;  suppose  the  same  man  afterwards, 
in  the  fury  of  anger,  to  do  the  greatest  mischief  to  a  person 
who  had  given  no  just  cause  of  offence;  to  aggravate  the 
injury,  add  the  circumstances  of  former  friendship,  and  obli- 
gation from  the  injured  person;  let  the  man  who  is  supposed 
to  have  done  these  two  different  actions,  coolly  reflect  upon 
them  afterwards,  without  regard  to  their  consequences  to 
himself:  to  assert  that  any  common  man  would  be  affected 
in  the  same  way  towards  these  different  actions,  that  he  would 
make  no  distinction  between  them,  but  approve  or  disapprove 
them  equally,  is  too  glaring  a  falsity  to  need  being  confuted. 
There  is  therefore  this  princijjle  of  reflection  or  conscience  in 
mankind.  It  is  needless  to  compare  the  respect  it  has  to 
private  good,  with  the  respect  it  has  to  public;  since  it 
plaiidy  tends  as  much  to  the  latter  as  to  the  former,  and  is 
commoidy  thought  to  tend  chiefly  to  the  latter.  This  faculty 
is  now  mentioned  merely  as  another  part  in  the  inward  frame 
of  man, _  pointing  out  to  us  in  some  degree  what  we  are  in- 
tended fur,  and  as  what  will  naturally  and  of  course  have 


some  influence.  The  particular  place  assigned  to  it  by  nature, 
what  authority  it  has,  and  how  great  influence  it  ougtit  have, 
shall  be  hereafter  considered. 

From  this  comparison  of  benevolence  and  self-love,  of  our 
public  and  private  affections,  of  the  courses  of  life  they  lead 
to,  and  of  the  principle  of  reflection  or  conscience  as  respect- 
ing each  of  them,  it  is  as  manifest,  that  we  were  made  for 
society,  and  to  promote  the  happiness  of  it,  as  that  we  were 
intended  to  take  care  of  our  own  life,  and  health,  and  private 
good. 

And  from  this  whole  review  must  be  given  a  different 
drauglit  of  human  nature  from  what  we  are  often  presented 
with.  Mankind  are  by  nature  so  closely  united,  there  is 
such  a  correspondence  between  the  inward  sensations  of  one 
man  and  those  of  another,  that  disgrace  is  as  much  avoided 
as  bodily  pain,  and  to  be  the  object  of  esteem  and  love  as 
much  desired  as  any  external  goods:  and  in  many  particular 
cases,  persons  are  carried  on  to  do  good  to  others,  as  the  end 
their  affection  tends  to  and  rests  in;  and  manifest  that  they 
find  real  satisfaction  and  enjoyment  in  this  course  of  beha- 
viour. There  is  such  a  natural  principle  of  attraction  in  man 
towards  man,  that  having  trod  the  same  tract  of  land,  having 
breathed  in  the  same  climate,  barely  having  been  in  the  same 
artificial  district  or  division,  becomes  the  occasion  of  con- 
tracting acquaintances  and  familiarities  many  years  after: 
for  any  thing  may  serve  the  purpose.  Thus  relations  merely 
nominal  are  sought  and  invented,  not  by  governors,  but  by 
the  lowest  of  the  people ;  which  are  found  sufficient  to  liold 
mankind  together  in  little  fraternities  and  copartnerships : 
weak  tics  indeed,  and  what  may  afford  fund  enough  for  ridi- 
cule, if  they  are  absurdly  considered  as  the  real  principles  of 
that  union  :  but  they  are  in  truth  merely  the  occasions,  as 
any  thing  may  be  of  any  thing,  upon  which  our  nature  carries 
us  on  according  to  its  own  previous  bent  and  bias;  which 
occasions  therefore  would  be  nothing  at  all,  were  there  not 
this  prior  disposition  and  bias  of  nature.  Men  are  so  much 
one  body,  that  in  a  peculiar  manner  they  feel  for  each  other, 
shame,  sudden  danger,  resentment,  honour,  prosperity,  dis- 
tress ;  one  or  another,  or  all  of  these,  from  the  social  nature 
in  general,  fVom  benevolence,  upon  the  occasion  of  natural 
relation,  acquaintance,  protection,  dependence;  each  of  these 
being  distinct  cements  of  society.  And  therefore  to  have  no 
restrair/t  from,  no  regard  to  others  in  our  behaviour,  is  the 
speculative  absurdity  of  considering  ourselves  as  single  and 
independent,  as  having  nothing  in  our  nature  which  has  res- 
pect to  our  fellow-creatures,  reduced  to  action  and  practice. 
And  this  is  the  same  absurdity,  as  to  suppose  a  hand,  or  any 
part,  to  have  no  natural  respect  to  any  other,  or  to  the  whole 
body. 

But  allowing  all  this,  it  may  he  asked,  "  Has  not  man  ' 
dispositions  and  principles  within,  which  lead  him  to  do  evil 
to  others,  as  well  as  to  do  goodi  Whence  come  the  many 
miseries  else,  which  men  are  the  authors  and  instruments  of 
to  each  other  1"  These  questions,  so  far  as  they  relate  to  the 
foregoing  discourse,  may  be  answered  by  asking.  Has  not 
man  also  dispositions  and  principles  viithin,  which  lead  him 
to  do  evil  to  himself,  as  well  as  good?  Whence  come  the 
tnany  miseries  else,  sickness,  pain,  and  death,  which  men 
are  instruments  and  authors  of  to  themselves  ? 

It  may  be  thought  more  easy  to  answer  one  of  these  ques- 
tions than  the  other,  but  the  answer  to  both  is  really  the  same  ; 
that  mankind  have  ungoverned  passions  which  they  will 
gratify  at  any  rate,  as  well  to  the  injury  of  others,  as  in  con- 
tradiction to  known  private  interest:  but  that  as  there  is  no 
such  thing  as  self-hatred,  so  neither  is  there  any  such  thing 
as  ill-will  in  one  man  towards  another,  emulation  and  resent- 
ment being  away;  whereas  there  is  plainly  benevolence  or 
good-will:  there  is  no  such  thing  as  love  of  injustice,  op- 
pression, treachery,  ingratitude  ;  but  only  eager  desires  after 
guch  and  such  external  good  ;  which,  according  to  a  very 
ancient  observation,  the  most  abatjdoned  would  choose  to 
obtain  by  innocent  means,  if  they  were  as  easy,  and  as  effec- 
tual to  their  end  ;  that  even  emulation  and  resentment,  by 
any  one  who  will  consider  what  these  passions  really  are  in 
nature,*  will  be  found  nothing  to  the  purpose  of  this  objec- 


*  Emulation  is  merely  the  desire  and  hope  of  equality  with,  or 

supei-ioriLy  over  others,  with  whom  we  comiiare  ourselves.  Therfc 
docs  not  appear  to  be  any  other  ffn'ef  in  the  natur-il  passion,  but  only 
Ihat  -imnt  wliich  is  imiilied  in  desire.  However,  this  may  be  so 
strong  as  to  be  the  occasion  of  great  ffrief.  To  desire  tlie  attain- 
ment of  ibis  K|uality  or  superiority  by  the  particnhir  means  of  others 
bfing  liroii^lit  down  to  our  own  level,  or  bilow  it,  is,  I  Ihink,  the 
distinct  hotioTi  of  i-nvy.  From  wliencc  it  is  easv  t,n  see,  that  tlio  real 
end,  wiiich  tlie  natural  passion  emulation,  and  which  the  unlawful 


BISHOP  BUTLER'S  SERMONS. 


505 


tion;  and  that  the  principles  and  passions  in  the  mind  of 
man,  which  virc  distinct  both  from  self-love  and  benevolence, 
primarily  and  most  directly  lead  to  right  behaviour  with 
regard  to  others  as  well  as  himself,  and  only  secondarily  an' 
accidentally  to  what  is  evil.  Thus,  though  men,  to  avoid 
the  shame  of  one  villany,  are  sometimes  guilty  of  a  greater, 
yet  it  is  easy  to  see,  that  the  original  tendency  of  sharae  is  to 
prevent  the  doing  of  shameful  actions  ;  and  its  leading  men 
to  conceal  such  actions  when  done,  is  only  in  conserjuence  of 
their  being  done ;  ;'.  e.  of  the  passions  not  having  answ'ered 
its  first  end. 

If  it  be  said,  that  there  are  persons  in  the  world,  who  are 
in  great  measure  without  the  natural  affections  towards  their 
fellow-creatures ;  there  are  likewise  instances  of  persons 
without  the  common  natural  affections  to  themselves :  hut 
the  nature  of  man  is  not  to  be  judged  of  by  either  of  these, 
but  by  what  appears  in  the  common  world,  in  the  bulk  of 
mankind. 

I  am  afraid  it  would  be  thought  very  strange,  if  to  confirm 
the  truth  of  this  account  of  liuman  nature,  and  make  out  the 
justness  of  the  foregoing  comparison,  it  should  be  added, 
that,  from  what  appears,  men  in  fact  as  much  and  as  often 
contradict  that  part  of  their  nature  which  respects  self,  and 
which  loads  them  to  their  own  private  good  and  happiness ; 
as  they  contradict  that  part  of  it  which  respects  society,  and 
tends  to  public  good ;  that  there  are  as  few  persons,  who 
attain  the  greatest  satisfaction  and  enjoyment  which  they 
might  attain  in  the  present  world ;  as  who  do  the  greatest 
good  to  others  which  they  might  do ;  nay,  that  there  are  as 
few  who  can  be  said  really  and  in  earnest  to  aim  at  one,  as  at 
the  other.  Take  a  survey  of  mankind  :  the  world  in  general, 
the  good  and  bad,  almost  without  exception,  equally  are 
agreed,  that  were  religion  out  of  the  case,  the  happiness  of 
the  present  life  would  consist  in  a  manner  wholly  in  riches, 
honours,  sensual  gratifications;  insomuch  that  one  scarce 
hears  a  reflection  made  upon  jjrudence,  life,  conduct,  but  upon 
this  supposition.  Yet  on  the  contrary,  that  persons  in  the 
greatest  aflluence  of  fortune  are  no  happier  tlian  such  as  have 
only  a  competency ;  that  the  cares  and  disappointments  of  am- 
bition for  the  most  part  far  exceed  the  satisfactions  of  it;  as 
also  the  miserable  intervals  of  intemperance  and  excess, 
and  the  many  untimely  deaths  occasioned  by  a  dissolute 
course  of  life;  these  things  are  all  seen,  acknowledged,  by 
every  one  acknowledged;  but  arc  thought  no  objections 
against,  though  they  expressly  contradict  this  universal  prin- 
ciple, that  the  happiness  of  the  present  life  consists  in  one  or 
other  of  them.  Whence  is  all  this  absurdity  and  contradic- 
tion ?  Is  not  the  middle  way  obvious  ?  Can  any  thing  be 
more  manifest,  than  that  the  happiness  of  life  consists  in 
these  possessed  and  enjoyed  only  to  a  certain  degree;  that  to 
pursue  them  beyond  tliis  degree,  is  always  attended  with 
more  inconvenience  than  advantage  to  a  man's  self,  and  often 
with  extreme  misery  and  unhappiness.  Whence  then,  I  say, 
is  all  this  absurdity  and  contradiction?  Is  it  really  the 
result  of  consideration  in  mankind,  how  they  may  become 
most  easy  to  themselves,  most  free  from  care,  and  enjoy  the 
chief  happiness  attainable  in  this  world  1  Or  is  it  not  mani- 
festly owing  either  to  this,  that  they  have  not  cool  and  rea- 
sonable concern  enout;h  for  themselves  to  consider  wherein 
their  chief  happiness  in  the  present  life  consists;  or  else,  if 
they  do  consider  it,  that  they  will  not  act  conlbrmably  to 
what  is  the  result  of  that  consideration  ,  /.  e.  reasonable  con- 
cern for  themselves,  or  cool  self-love  is  prevailed  over  by 
passion  and  appetite.  So  that  from  what  appears,  there  is 
no  ground  to  assert  that  those  principles  in  the  nature  of  man, 
which  most  directly  lead  to  promote  the  good  of  our  fellow- 
creatures,  are  more  generally  or  in  a  greater  degree  violated, 
than  those,  which  most  directly  lead  us  to  promote  our  own 
private  good  and  happiness. 

The  sum  of  the  whole  is  plainlj'  this.  The  nature  of  man 
considered  in  his  single  capacity,  and  with  respect  only  to 
the  present  world,  is  adapted  and  leads  him  to  attain  the 
greatest  happiness  he  can  for  himself  in  the  present  world. 
The  nature  of  man  considered  in  his  public  or  social  capacity 
leads  him  to  a  right  behaviour  in  society  to  that  course  of  life 
which  we  call  virtue.  Men  follow  or  obey  their  nature  in 
both  these  capacities  and  respects  to  a  certain  degree,  but 
not  entirely  :  their  actions  do  not  come  up  to  the  whole  of 
what  their  nature  leads  them  to  in  either  of  these  capacities 


or  respects,  and  they  often  violate  their  nature  in  both,  i.  e. 
as  they  neglect  the  duties  they  owe  to  their  fellow-creatures, 
to  which  their  nature  leads  them  ;  and  are  injurious,  to  which 
their  nature  is  abhorrent;  so  there  is  a  manifest  negligence 
in  men  of  their  real  happiness  or  interest  in  the  present  world, 
when  that  interest  is  inconsistent  with  a  present  gratifica- 
tion ;  for  the  sake  of  which  they  negligentlj',  nay,  even  know- 
ingly, arc  the  authors  and  instruments  of  their  own  misery 
and  ruin.  Thus  they  are  as  often  unjust  to  themselves  as  to 
others,  and  for  the  most  part  are  equally  so  to  both  by  the 
same  actions. 


SERMON  II.  III. 


UPON    HUMAN    NATIRL'. 


For  when  tlic  Gentiles,  which  have  not  the  law,  do  bv  nalurc  the 
tilings  contained  in  the  law,  these,  having  not  the  law,  are  a  law 
unto  themselves. — Horn.  ii.  14. 


one   envy  aims  at,  is  exactly  the  same;  namely,  that  equality  or 
superiority:  and  consequently,  that  to  do  niiscliief  is  not  the  end  of 
envy,  but  merely  the  means  it  makes  use  of  to  attain  its  end.     As  to 
resentment,  see  the  eighth  senuun. 
Vol.  U.— 3  O 


As  speculative  truth  admits  of  different  kinds  of  proof,  so 
likewise  moral  obligations  may  be  shown  by  different  methods. 
If  the  real  nature  of  any  creature  leads  him  and  is  adapted 
to  such  and  such  purposes  only,  or  more  than  to  any  other ; 
this  is  a  reason  to  believe  the  author  of  that  nature  intended 
it  for  those  purposes.  Thus  there  is  no  doubt  the  eye  was 
intended  for  us  to  see  with.  And  the  more  complex  any  con- 
stitution is,  and  the  greater  variety  of  parts  there  are  which 
thus  tend  to  some  one  end,  the  stronger  is  the  proof  that 
such  end  was  designed.  However,  when  the  inward  frame 
of  man  is  considered  as  any  guide  in  inorals,  the  utmost  cau- 
tion must  be  used  that  non-e  make  peculiarities  in  their  own 
temper,  or  any  thing  which  is  the  effect  of  particular  customs, 
though  observable  in  several,  the  statidard  of  what  is  com- 
mon to  the  species  ;  and  above  all,  that  the  highest  principle 
he  not  forgot  or  excluded,  that  to  which  belongs  the  adjust- 
ment and  correction  of  all  other  inward  movements  and  affcc- 
tions,  which  principle  will  of  course  have  some  influence,  but 
which  being  in  nature  supreme,  as  shall  now  be  shown, 
ought  to  preside  over  and  govern  all  the  rest.  The  difficulty 
of  rightly  observing  the  two  former  cautions ;  the  appear- 
ance there  is  of  some  small  diversity  amongst  mankind  with 
respect  to  this  faculty,  with  respect  to  their  natural  sense  of 
moral  good  and  evil  ;  and  the  attention  necessary  to  survey 
with  any  exactness  what  passes  within,  have  occasioned  that 
it  is  not  so  m.uch  agreed  what  is  the  standard  of  the  internal 
nature  of  man,  as  of  his  external  form.  Neither  is  this  last 
xactly  settled.  Yet  we  understand  one  another  when  we 
speak  of  the  shape  of  a  human  body  :  so  likewise  we  do  when 
we  speak  of  the  heart  and  inward  principles,  how  far  soever 
the  standard  is  from  being  exact  or  precisely  fixed.  There  is 
therefore  ground  for  an  attempt  of  showing  men  to  them- 
selves, of  showing  them  what  course  of  life  and  behaviour 
their  real  nature  points  out  and  would  lead  them  to.  Now 
obligations  of  virtue  shown,  and  motives  to  the  practice  of  it 
enforced,  from  a  review  of  the  nature  of  man,  are  to  be  con- 
sidered as  an  appeal  to  each  particular  person's  heart  and 
natural  conscience :  as  the  external  senses  are  appealed  to  for 
the  proof  of  things  cognizable  by  them.  Since  then  our  in- 
ward feelings,  and  the  perceptions  we  receive  from  our  exter- 
nal senses,  are  equally  real ;  to  argue  from  the  former  to  life  and 
conduct  is  as  little  liable  to  exception,  as  to  argue  from  the 
latter  to  absolute  speculative  truth.  A  man  can  as  little  doubt 
whether  his  eyes  were  given  him  to  see  with,  as  he  can  doubt 
of  the  truth  of  the  science  of  optica,  deduced  from  ocular  ex- 
periments. And  allowing  the  inward  feeling,  shame  ;  a  man 
can  as  little  doubt  whether  it  was  given  him  to  prevent  his 
doing  shameful  actions,  as  he  can  doubt  whether  his  eyes 
were  given  him  to  guide  his  steps.  And  as  to  these  inward 
feelings  themselves  ;  that  they  are  real,  that  man  has  in  his 
nature  passions  and  affections,  can  no  more  be  questioned, 
than  that  he  has  external  senses.  Neither  can  the  former  be 
wholly  mistaken;  though  to  a  certain  degree  liable  to  greater 
mistakes  than  the  latter. 

There  can  be  no  doubt  but  that  several  propensions  or  in- 
stincts, several  principles  in  the  heart  of  man,  carry  him  to 
society,  and  to  contribute  to  the  happiness  of  it,  in  a  sense 
and  a  manner  in  which  no  inward  principle  leads  him  to  evil. 
These  principles,  prupensions,  or  instincts  which  lead  him 
to  do  good,  are  approved  of  by  a  certain  faculty  within,  quite 


506 


CHRISTIAN   LIBRARY. 


distinct  from  these  propensions  themselves.     All  this  hath 
been  fully  made  out  in  the  foresoinjT  discourse. 

But  it  may  be  said,  "  What  is  all  this,  though  true,  to  the 
purpose  of  virtue  and  religion  ?  these  require,  not  only  that 
we  do  good  to  others  when  we  are  led  this  way,  by  benevo- 
lence or  reflection,  happening  to  be  stronger  than  other  prin- 
ciples, passions,  or  appetites  ;  but  likewise  that  the  xvhoh 
character  be  formed  upon  thought  and  reflection ;  that  every 
action  be  directed  by  some  determinate  rule,  some  other  rule 
than  the  strength  and  prevalency  of  any  principle  or  passion. 
"What  sign  is  there  in  our  nature  (for  the  inquiry  is  only 
about  what  is  to  be  collected  from  thence)  that  this  was  in- 
tended by  its  Author?  Or  how  does  so  various  and  fickle 
a  temper  as  that  of  man  appear  adapted  thereto  1  It  may 
indeed  be  absurd  and  unnatural  for  men  to  act  without  any 
reflection ;  nay,  without  regard  to  that  particular  kind  of  re- 
flection which  you  call  conscience;  because  this  does  belong 
to  our  nature.  For  as  there  never  was  a  man  but  who  ap- 
proved one  place,  prospect,  building,  before  another,  so  it 
does  not  appear  that  there  ever  was  a  man  who  would  not 
have  approved  an  action  of  humanity  rather  than  of  cruelty; 
interest  and  passion  being  quite  out  of  the  case.  But  interest 
and  passion  do  come  in,  and  are  often  too  strong  for  and 
prevail  over  reflection  and  conscience.  Now  as  brutes  have 
various  instincts,  by  which  they  are  carried  on  to  the  end  tlie 
Author  of  their  nature  intended  them  for  :  is  not  man  in  the 
same  condition  ;  with  this  difference  only,  thatThis  instincts 
(i.  e.  appetites  and  passions)  is  added  the  principle  of  reflec- 
tion or  conscience  ?  And  yet  brutes  act  agreeably  to  their 
nature,  in  following  that  principle  or  particular  instinct  which 
for  the  present  is  strongest  in  them  :  does  not  man  likewise 
act  agreeably  to  his  nature,  or  obey  the  law  of  his  creation, 
by  following  that  principle,  be  it  passion  or  conscience,  which 
for  the  present  happens  to  l)e  strongest  in  him  ?  Thus  dif- 
ferent men  are  by  their  particular  nature  hurried  on  to  pursue 
honour,  or  riches,  or  pleasure:  tliere  are  also  persons  whose 
temper  leads  them  in  an  uncommon  degree  to  kindness,  com- 
passion, doing  good  to  their  fellow-creatures :  as  there  are 
others  who  are  given  to  suspend  their  judgment,  to  weigh 
and  consider  things,  and  to  act  upon  thought  and  reflection. 
Let  every  one  then  quietly  follow  his  nature;  as  passion,  re- 
flection, appetite,  the  several  parts  of  it,  happen  to  he  strong- 
est: but  let  not  the  man  of  virtue  take  upon  him  to  blame  the 
ambitious,  the  covetous,  the  dissolute;  since  these  equally 
■with  him  obey  and  follow  their  nature.  Thus,  as  in  some 
cases  we  follow  our  nature  in  doing  the  works  contained  in 
the  law.  so  in  other  cases  we  follow  nature  in  doing  contrary." 

Now  all  this  licentious  talk  entirely  goes  upon  a  supposi- 
tion, that  men  follow  their  nature  in  the  same  sense,  in  vio- 
latintr  the  known  rules  of  justice  and  honesty  for  the  sake  of 
a  present  gratification,  as  they  do  in  following  those  rules 
when  they  have  no  temptation  to  the  contrary.  And  if  this 
were  true,  that  could  not  be  so  which  St.  Paul  asserts,  that 


man,  without  regard  cither  to  the  kind  or  degree  of  it.  Thus 
the  passion  of  anger,  and  the  affection  of  parents  to  their  chil  - 
dren,  would  be  called  equally  natural.  And  as  the  same  per- 
son hath  often  contrary  principles,  which  at  the  same  time 
draw  contrary  ways,  he  may  by  the  same  action  both  follow 
and  contradict  his  nature  in  this  sense  of  the  word ;  he  may 
follow  one  passion  and  contradict  another. 

II.  yature  is  frequently  spoken  of  as  consisting  in  those 
passions  which  are  strongest,  and  most  influence  the  actions  ; 
which  being  vicious  ones,  mankind  is  in  this  sense  naturally 
vicious,  or  vicious  by  nature.  Thus  .St.  Paul  says  of  the 
Gentiles,  who  tvere  dead  in  trespasses  and  sins,  and  ivalkeJ  ac- 
cording to  the  spirit  of  disobedience,  that  they  were  by  nature 
the  children  of  wrath.  They  could  be  no  otherwise  children 
ofivraih  hy  nature,  than  they  were  vicious  by  nature. 

Here  then  are  two  different  senses  of  the  word  nature,  in 
neither  of  which  men  can  at  all  be  said  to  be  a  law  to  them- 
selves. The)'  are  mentioned  only  to  be  excluded  ;  to  prevent 
their  being  confounded,  as  the  latter  is  in  the  objection,  with 
another  sense  of  it,  which  is  now  to  be  inquired  after  and 
explained. 

III.  The  apostle  asserts,  that  the  Gentiles  "do  by  Nature 
the  things  contained  in  the  law."  Nature  is  indeed  here  put 
by  way  of  distinction  from  revelation,  but  yet  it  is  not  a  mere 
negative.  He  intends  to  express  more  than  that  by  which 
they  did  not,  ^hat  by  which  tliey  did  the  works  of  the  law  ; 
namely,  by  nature.  It  is  plain  the  meaning  of  the  word  is 
not  the  same  in  this  passage  as  in  the  former,  vvhere  it  is 
spoken  of  as  evil ;  for  in  thio  latter  it  is  spoken  of  as  good ; 
as  that  by  which  they  acted,  or  might  have  acted  virtuously. 
What  that  is  in  man  by  which  he  is  naturally  a  law  to  himself, 
is  explained  in  the  following  words  :  "  Which  show  the  work 
of  the  law  written  in  their  hearts,  their  consciences  also  bear- 
ing witness,  and  their  thoughts  the  mean  while  accusing  or 
else  excusing  one  another."  Iftherebea  distinction  to  be 
made  between  the  works  written  in  their  hearts,  and  the  wit- 
ness of  conscience  ;  by  the  former  must  be  meant  the  natural 
disposition  to  kindness  and  compassion,  to  do  what  is  of  good 
report,  to  which  this  apostle  often  refers:  that  part  of  the  na- 
ture of  man,  treated  of  in  the  foregoing  discourse,  which  with 
very  little  reflection  and  of  course  leads  him  to  society,  and  by 
means  of  which  he  naturally  acts  a  just  and  good  part  in  it, 
unless  other  passions  or  interests  lead  him  astray.  Yet  since 
other  passions,  and  regards  to  private  interest,  which  lead  us 
(though  indirectly,  yet  they  lead  ns)  astray,  are  themselves 
in  a  degree  equally  natural,  and  often  most  prevalent;  and 
since  we  have  no  method  of  seeing  the  particular  degrees  in 
which  one  or  the  other  is  placed  in  us  by  nature;  it  is  plain 
the  former,  considered  merely  as  natural,  good  and  right  as 
they  are,  can  no  more  be  a  law  to  us  than  the  latter.  But 
there  is  a  superior  principle  of  reflection  or  conscience  in 
every  man,  which  distinguishes  between  the  internal  princi- 
ples of  his  heart,  as  well  as  his  external  actions  :  which  passes 


men  are  by  nature  a  law  to  themselves.     If  by  following  nature  jjudgment  upon  himself  and  them  ;  pronounces  determinately 
were  meant  only  acting  as  we  please,  it  would  indeed  belsomeactions  to  be  in  themselves  just,  right,  good  ;  others  to  be 


ridiculous  to  speak  of  nature  as  any  guide  in  morals  :  nay  the 
very  mention  of  deviating  from  nature  would  be  absurd  ;  and 
the  mention  of  following  it,  when  spoken  by  way  of  distinc- 
tion, would  absolutely  have  no  meaning.  For  did  ever  any 
one  act  otherwise  than  as  he  pleased  ?  And  yet  the  ancients 
speak  of  deviating  from  nature  as  vice;  and  of  following  na- 
ture so  much  as  a  distinction,  that  according  to  them  the  per- 
fection of  virtue  consists  therein.  So  that  language  itself 
should  teach  people  another  sense  to  the  words  following  ?ia- 
ture,  than  barely  acting  as  we  please.  Let  it  however  be  ob- 
served, that  though  the  words  A«hi«;i  nu/ureare  to  beexplain-|in  his  heart,  which  is  to  have  some  influence  as  well,  as 
ed,  yet  the  real  question  of  this  discourse  is  not  concerning  others ;  but  considered  as  a  faculty  in  kind  and  in    nature 


in  themselves  evil,  wrong,  unjust;  which,  without  being  con- 
sulted, without  being  advised  with,  magisterially  exerts  itself, 
and  approves  or  condemns  him  the  doer  of  them  accordingly: 
and  which,  if  not  forcibly  stopped,  naturally  and  always  of 
course  goes  on  to  anticipate  a  higher  and  more  effectual  sen- 
tence, which  shall  hereafter  second  and  affirm  its  own.  But 
this  part  of  the  office  of  conscience  is  beyond  my  present  de- 
sign explicitly  to  consider.  It  is  by  this  faculty,  natural  to 
man,  that  he  is  a  moral  agent,  that  he  is  a  law  to  himself:  but 
this  faculty,  I  sa)',  not  to  he  considered  merely  as  a  principle 


the  meaning  of  words,  any  other  than  as  the  explanation  of 
them  may  be  needful  to  make  out  and  explain  the  assertion, 
that  every  man  is  naturally  a  law  to  himself,  that  every  one  may 
find  within  himself  the  rule  of  right,  and  obligations  to  follow  it. 
This  St.  Paul  affirms  in  the  words  of  the  text,  and  this  the 
foregoing  objection  really  denies  by  seeming  to  allow  it.  And 
the  objection  will  be  fully  answered,  and  the  text  before  us 
explained,  by  observing  that  nature  is  considered  in  different 
views,  and  the  words  used  in  different  senses:  and  by  show- 
ing in  what  view  it  is  considered,  and  in  what  sense  the  word 
is  used,  when  intended  to  express  and  signify  that  which  is 
the  guide  of  life,  that  by  which  men  are  a  law  to  themselves. 
I  say,  the  explanation  of  the  term  will  be  sufficient,  because 


supreme  over  all  others,  and  which  bears  its  own  authority  of 
being  so. 

This  prerogative,  this  natural  supremacy,  of  the  faculty 
which  surveys,  approves  or  disapproves  the  several  aflTections 
of  our  mind  and  actions  of  our  lives,  being  that  by  which  men 
are  a  law  to  themselves,  their  conformity  or  disobedience  to 
which  law  of  our  nature  renders  their  actions,  in  the  highest 
and  most  proper  sense,  natural  or  unnatural;  it  is  fit  it  be 
further  explained  to  you  :  and  I  hope  it  will  be  so,  if  you  will 
attend  to  the  following  reflections. 

Man  may  act  according  to  that  principle  or  inclination  which 
for  the  present  happens  to  be  strongest,  and  yet  act  in  a  way 
disproportionate  to,  and  violate  his  real  proper  nature.     Sup- 


from  thence  it  will  appear,  that  in  some  senses  of  the  word  pose  a  brute  creature  by  any  bait  to  be  allured  into  a  snare, 
nature  cannot  be,  but  that  in  another  sense  it  manifestly  is,  a  by  which  he  is  destroyed.     He  plainly  followed  the  bent  of 


law  to  us. 
I.  By  nature  is  often  meant  no  more  than  some  principle  in 


his  nature,  leading  him  to  gratify  his  appetite  :   there  is  an 
entire  correspondence  between  his  whole  nature  and  such  an 


BISHOP  BUTLER'S  SERMONS. 


507 


action:  such  action  therefore  is  natural.  But  suppose  a  man,]  others :  insomnch  that  you  cannot  form  a  notion  of  this 
foreseeincr  the  same  flanker  of  certain  ruin,  should  rush  into  itifaculty,  conscience,  without  taking  in  judgment,  direction, 
forlhe  sake  of  a  present  gratification;  he  in  this  instance  superinlender.cy.     This  is  a  conslilutnt  part  of  the  idea,  that 


\vould  follow  his  strongest  desire,  as  did  the  brute  creature 
but  there  would  be  as  manifest  a  disproportion  between  the 
nature  of  a  man  and  such  an  action,  as  between  the  meanest 


is,  of  the  faculty  itself:  and,  to  preside  and  govern,  from  the 
very  economy  and  constitution  of  man,  belongs  to  it.  Had 
it  strength,  as  it  had  right;  had  it  power,  as  it  had  manifest 


work  of  art  Mud  the  skill  of  the  greatest  master  in  that  art :  auihorify,  it  would  absolutely  govern  the  world, 
wtiich  disproportion  arises,  not  l^rom  considering  the  action  This  gives  us  a  further  view  of  the  nature  of  man  ;  shows 
singly  in  itself,  or  in  its  consefjitencc-i ;  but  from  cumpariaon  of  us  what  course  of  life  we  were  made  for:  not  only  that  our 
it  with  the  nature  of  the  agent.  And  since  such  an  action  is  i  real  nature  leads  us  to  be  influrnced  in  some  degree  by  reflec- 
utterly  disproportionate  to  "the  nature  of  man,  it  is  in  the  strict-  tion  and  conscience;  but  likewise  in  what  degree  we  are  to 
est  and  most  proper  sense  unnatural;  this  word  expressing  be  influenced  by  it,  if  we  will  fall  in  with,  and  act  agreeably 
that  disproportion.  Therefore  instead  of  the  words  (/«;>ro;)or-  to  the  constitution  of  cur  nature:  that  this  faculty  was  placed 
tlonnle  to  his  nature,  the  word  unnatural  may  now  be  put;  within  to  be  our  proper  governor;  to  direct  and  regulate  all 
this  being  more  familiar  to  us  :  but  let  it  be  observed,  that  it  under  principles,  passions,  and  motives  of  action.  This  is  its 
stands  for  the  same  thing  precisely.  right  and  office  :  thus  sacred  is  its  authority.     And  how  often 

Now  what  is  it  which'rcnders  such  a  rash  action  unnatural?  soever  men  violate  and  rebelliously  refuse  to  submit  to  it. 
Is  it  that  he  went  against  the  principle  of  reasonable  and  cool ,  fcr  supposed  interest,  w  hich  they  cannot  otherwise  obtain,  or 
self-love,  considered  merely  as  a  part  of  his  nature  !  No  :  for. for  the  sake  of  passion,  which  they  cannot  otherwise  gratify  ; 
if  he  had  acted  the  contrary  way,  he  would  equally  have  gone  j  this  makes  no  alteration  as  to  the  natural  right  and  offta  of 
against  a  principle,  or  part  of  his  nature,  namely,  passion  or  conscience. 

appetite.     But  to  deny  a  jjresent  appetite,  from  foresight  that       Let  us  now  turn  this  whole  matter  another  way,  and  sup- 
the  gratification  of  it  would  end  in  immediate  ruin  or  extreme  pose  there  was  no  sucli  thing  at  all  as  this  natural  supremacy 


misery,  is  by  no  means  an  unnatural  action  :  whereas  to  con 
tradict  or  "O  airainst  cool  self-love  for  the  sake  of  such  grati- 


of  conscience;  that  there  was  no  distinction  to  be  made  be- 
tween  one  inward  principle  and  another,  but  only  that  of 


iication,  is"so  in  the  instance  before  us.  Such  an  action  then  strength;  and  see  what  would  be  the  consequence 
being  unnatural;  and  its  being  so  not  arising  from  a  man'sj  Consider  then  what  is  the  latitude  and  compass  of  the  ac- 
going  against  a  principle  or  desire  barely,  nor  in  going  against  tions  of  man  with  regard  to  himself,  his  fellow-creatures,  and 
that  "principle  or  desire  which  happens  for  the  present  to  belthe  Supreme  Beingl  What  are  their  bounds,  besides  that 
strongest;  it  necessarily  follows,  that  there  must  be  some  of  our  natural  power?  With  respect  to  the  two  first,  they 
other'difference  or  distinction  to  be  made  between  these  two  are  plainly  no  other  than  these:  no  man  seeks  misery  as  such 
principles,  passion  and  cool  self-love,  than  what  1  have  yet  for  himself;  and  no  one  unprovoked  does  mischief  to  another 
taken  notice  of.  And  this  difference,  not  being  a  difference  for  its  own  sake.  For  in  every  degree  within  these  bounds, 
in  strength  or  degree,  I  call  a  difference  in  nature  and  in  kind.  I  mankmd  knowingly  from  passion  or  wantoniiess  bring  ruin 
And  since,  in  the  instance  still  before  us,  if  passion  prevails  and  misery  upon  themselves  and  others.     And  impiety  and 


over  self-love,  the  consequent  action  is  unnatural;  but  if  self- 
love  prevails  over  passion,  tlie  action  is  natural  :  it  is  man 
ifest  that  self  love  is  in  human  nature  a  superior  principle  to 


prcfaneness,  1  mean,  what  every  one  would  call  so  who  be- 
lieves the  being  of  God,  have  absolutely  no  bounds  at  all. — 
Men  blaspheme  the  Author  of  nature,  formally  and  in  words 


passion.  This  may  be  contradicted  without  violating  thatj renounce  their  allegiance  to  their  Creator.  Put  an  instance 
nature;  but  the  former  cannot.  So  that,  if  we  will  act  con-  then  with  respect  to  any  one  of  these  three.  Though  we 
formably  to  the  economy  of  man's  nature,  reasonable  self-love  should  suppose  profane  swearing,  and  in  general  that  kind  of 
must  govern.  Thus,  w'ithout  particular  consideration  of  con-  impiety  now  mentioned,  to  mean  nothing,  yet  it  implies  wan- 
science,  we  may  have  a  clear  conception  of  the  superior  nature\x.on  disregard  and  irreverence  towards  an  infinite  Being,  our 
of  one  inward  principle  to  another;  and  see  that  there  really  Creator;  and  is  this  as  suitable  to  the  nature  of  man,  as  rev- 
is  this  natural  superiority,  quite  distinct  from  degrees  of,  erence  and  dutiful  submission  of  heart  towards  that  Almighty 
strength  and  prevalency.  Being?     Or  suppose  a  man  guilty  of  parricide,  with  all  the 

Let  us  now  take  a  view  of  the  nature  of  man,  as  consisting  circumstances  of  cruelty  which  such  an  action  can  admit  of. 
partly  of  various  appetites,  passions,  affections,  and  partly  ofjThis  action  is  done  in  consequence  of  its  principle  being  for 
the  principle  of  reflection  or  conscience ;  leaving  quite  out  all  the  present  strongest:  and  if  there  be  no  difference  between 
consideration  of  the  different  degrees  of  strength,  in  which!  inward  principles,  but  only  that  of  strength  ;  the  strength  be- 
eitlier  of  them  prevail,  and  it  will  further  appear  that  there  is  ling  given,  you  have  the  whole  nature  of  the  man  given,  so 
this  natural  superiority  of  one  inward  principle  to  another,  j  far  as  it  relates  to  this  matter.  The  action  plainly  corres- 
and  that  it  is  even  part  of  the  idea  of  reflection  or  conscience,  i  ponds  to  the  principle,  the  principle  being  in  that  degree  of 

Passion  or  appetite  implies  a  direct  simple  tendency  to-  strength  it  was :  it  therefore  cerresponds  to  the  whole  nature 
wards  such  and  such  objects,  without  distinction  of  the  of  the  man.  Upon  comparing  the  action  and  the  whole  na- 
means  by  which  they  are  to  be  obtained.     Consequently  it  ture,  there  arises  no  disproportion,  there  appears  no  unsuita- 


will  often  happen  there  will  be  a  desire  of  particular  objects, 
in  cases  where  they  cannot  he  obtained  without  manifest  in- 
jury to  others.  Reflection  or  conscience  comes  in,  and  dis- 
approves the  pursuit  of  them  in  these  circumstances  ;  but  the 


bleness  between  them.  Thus  the  murder  of  a  father  and  the 
nature  of  man  correspond  to  each  other,  as  the  same  nature 
■and  an  act  of  filial  duty.  If  there  be  no  difference  between 
inward  principles,  but  only  that  of  strength  ;  we  can  make  no 


desire  remains.  Which  is  to  be  obeyed,  appetite  or  reflec-  distinction  between  these  two  actions,  considered  as  the  ac- 
tion? Cannot  this  question  be  answered,  from  the  economy  tions  of  such  a  creature;  but  in  our  coolest  hours  must  ap- 
and  constitution  of  human  nature  merel}',   without  saj-ing  prove  oi:  disapprove  them  equally :  than  which  nothing  can 


which  is  strongest?  Or  need  this  at  all  come  into  consider- 
ation? W'ould  not  the  question  be  ;n/f'///g'/4/y  and  fully  an- 
swered by  saying,  that  the  principle  of  reflection  or  conscience 
being  compared  with  the  various  appetites,  passions,  and 
alTociions  in  men,  the  former  is  manifestly  superior  and  chief, 
without  regnrd  to  strength  ?  And  how  often  soever  the  latter 
happens  to  prevail,  it  is  mere  usurpation  ■■  the  former  remains 
in  nature  and  in  kind  its  superior;  and  every  instance  of  such 
prevalence  of  the  latter  is  an  instance  of  breaking  in  upon 
and  violation  of  the  constitution  of  man. 

All  this  is  no  more  tlian  the  distinction,  which  every  body 


be  reduced  to  a  greater  absurdity. 


SERMON  IIL 


The  natural  supremacy  of  reflection  or  conscience  being 
thus  established:  we  may  from  it  form  a  distinct  notion  of 
what  is  meant  by  human  nature,  when  virtue  is  said  to  con- 
is  acquainted  with,  between  mere  power  and  authority:  only  sist  in  following  it,  and  vice  in  deviating  from  it. 
instead  of  being  intended  to  express  the  difference  between  As  the  idea  of  a  civil  constitution  implies  in  it  united 
what  is  possible,  and  what  is  lawful  in  civil  government ;  strength,  various  subordinations,  under  one  direction,  that  of 
here  it  has  been  shown  applicable  to  the  several  principles  in  the  supreme  authority;  the  different  strength  of  each  particu- 
the  mind  of  man.     TIeus  that  principle,  by  which  we  survey,  {lar  member  of  the  society  not  coming  into  the  idea  ;  whereas. 


and  either  approve  or  disapprove  our  own  heart,  temper,  and 
actions,  is  not  onU-  to  be  considered  as  what  is  in  its  turn  to 
have  some  influence ;  which  may  be  said  of  every  passion, 
of  the  lowest  appetites :  but  likewise  as  being  superior;  as 
from  its  very  nature  manifestly  claiming  superiority  over  all 


if  you  leave  out  the  subordination,  the  union,  and  the  one 
direction,  you  destroy  and  lose  it:  so  reason,  several  appe- 
tites, passions,  and  affections,  prevailing  in  different  degrees 
of  strength,  is  not  that  idea  or  notion  of  human  nature,-  but 
that  nature  consists  in  these  several  principles  considered  as 


508 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


having  a  natural  respect  to  each  other,  in  the  several  passions 
being  naturally  subordinate  to  the  one  superior  princijile^  of 
reflection  or  conscience.  Kvery  bias,  instinct,  propension 
within,  is  a  natural  part  of  our  nature,  but  not  tlie  whole: 
add  to  these  the  superior  foculty,  whose  office  it  is  to  adjust, 
manage,  and  preside  over  them,  and  take  in  this  its  natural 
superiority,  and  you  complete  the  idea  of  human  nature. — 
And  as  in  civil  government  the  constitution  is  broken  in  upon, 
and  violated  by  power  and  strength  prevailing  over  authority  ; 
so  the  constitution  of  man  is  broken  in  upon  and  violated  by 
the  lower  faculties  or  principles  within  prevailing  over  that 
which  is  in  its  nature  supreme  over  them  all.  Thus,  when  it 
is  said  by  ancient  writers,  that  tortures  and  death  are  not  so 
contrary  to  human  nature  as  injustice  ;  by  this  to  be  sure  is  not 
meant,  that  the  aversion  to  tlie  former  in  mankind  is  less 
strong  and  prevalent  than  their  aversion  to  the  latter :  but  that 
the  former  is  only  contrary  to  our  nature  considered  in  a  par- 
tial view,  and  which  takes  in  only  the  lowest  part  of  it,  that 
which  we  have  in  common  with  the  brutes ;  whereas  the  lat- 
ter is  contrary  to  our  nature,  considered  in  a  higher  sense,  as 
a  system  and  constitution  contrary  to  the  whole  economy  of 
man.* 

And  from  all  these  things  put  together,  nothing  can  be 
more  evident,  than  that,  exclusive  of  revelation,  man  cannot 
be  considered  as  a  creature  left  by  his  Maker  to  act  at  ran- 
dom, and  live  at  large  up  to  the  extent  of  his  natural  power, 
as  passion,  humour,  wilfulness,  happen  to  carry  him;  which 
is  the  condition  brute  creatures  are  in  :  but  that/row  his  muke, 
constitution,  or  nature,  he  is  in  tht  strictest  and  most  proper 
sense  a  law  to  himself.  He  liath  liie  rule  of  right  within  :  what 
is  wanting  is  only  that  he  honestly  attend  to  it. 

The  inquiries  which  have  been  made  by  men  of  leisure 
after  some  general  rule,  the  conformity  to,  or  disagreement 
from  which,  should  denominate  our  actions  good  or  evil,  are 
in  many  respects  of  great  service.  Yet  let  any  plain  honest 
man,  before  he  engages  in  any  course  of  action,  ask  himself, 
Is  this  I  am  going  about  right,  or  is  it  wrong?  Is  it  good, 
or  is  it  evil  'i  I  do  not  in  the  least  doubt,  but  that  this  ques- 
tion would  be  answered  agreeably  to  truth  and  virtue,  by 
almost  any  fair  man  in  almost  any  circumstance.  Neither 
do  there  appear  any  cases  which  look  like  exceptions  to  this 
but  those  of  superstition,  and  of  partiality  to  ourselves.  Su- 
perstition may  perhaps  be  somewhat  of  an  exception :  but 
partiality  to  ourselves  is  not;  this  being  itself  dishonesty. 
For  a  man  to  judge  that  to  be  the  equitable,  the  moderate,  the 
right  part  for  him  to  act,  which  he  would  see  to  be  hard,  un- 
just, oppressive  in  another;  this  is  plain  vice,  and  can  pro- 
ceed only  from  great  unfairness  of  mind. 

But  allowing  that  mankind  hatli  the  rule  of  right  within 
himself,  yet  it  may  be  asked,     "What  obligations  are  we 


*  Every  man  in  his  physical  nature  is  one  individual  single  agent. 
He  has  likewise  properties  and  principles,  c-uch  of  whicli  in-ay  be 
considered  separately,  and  without  regard  to  the  respects  wliich  they 
have  to  each  otlicr.  'Neither  of  tlicsu  are  the  natui-e  ive  ai-e  taking 
a  view  of.  Hut  it  is  tlie  inward  frame  of  man  considered  as  a  si/stem 
or  constitiUi'm :  wliose  several  parts  are  united,  not  by  a  physical 
principle  of  individuation,  but  by  the  respects  they  have  to  each 
other  ;  the  chief  of  which  is  llie  subjection  which  the  appetites,  pas- 
sions, and  particular  afioctions  have  to  the  one  supreme  principle  of 
reflection  or  conscience.  The  system  or  constitution  is  t'oruied  by 
and  consists  in  these  respects  and  this  subjection.  Thus  the  body  is 
a  system  or  constitution :  so  is  a  tree  :  so  is  every  machine.  Consider 
all  the  several  parts  of  a  tree  without  the  natural  respects  they  have 
to  each  other,  and  you  have  not  at  all  the  idea  of  a  tree  ;  but  add 
these  respects,  and  this  gives  you  the  idea.  'I'he  body  may  be  im- 
paired by  sickness,  a  tree  may  decay,  a  machine  be  out  of  order, 
and  vet  the  system  and  constitution  of  them  not  totally  dissolved. — 
There  is  plainly  somewliat  which  answers  to  all  tliis  in  the  moral 
constitution  of  man.  'W'hoever  will  consider  his  own  natiu-e,  will 
see  that  the  several  appetites,  passions,  and  particular  afiections,  have 
dift'erent  respects  amongst  lliemselves.  l"hey  are  restraints  upon, 
and  are  in  a  proportion  to  each  other.  This  proportion  is  just  and 
perfect,  when  all  those  under  principles  are  perfectly  coincident  with 
conscience,  so  far  as  tlieir  nature  permits,  and  in  all  cases  inider  its 
absolute  and  entire  direction.  The  least  excess  or  delect,  the  least 
alteration  of  the  due  proportions  amongst  themselves,  or  of  their 
coincidence  with  conscience,  though  not  proceeding  into  action,  is 
some  degree  of  disorder  in  the  moral  constitution.  But  perfection, 
though  plainly  intelligible  and  unsupposalde,  was  never  attained  by 
any  man.  If  the  liighcr  principle  of  reflection  maintains  its  place, 
and  as  much  as  it  can  corrects  that  (iisordcr,  and  hinders  it  trom 
breaking  out  into  action,  this  is  all  diat  can  be  expected  from  such  a 
creature  as  man.  And  though  the  appetites  and  passions  liave  not 
their  exact  due  proportion  to  eacli  other  ;  though  they  often  strive 
for  mastery  with  judgment  or  reflection  :  yet,  since  tlie  superiority 
of  this  principle  to  all  others  is  the  chief  respect  which  forms  the 
constitution,  so  far  as  this  superiority  is  maintained,  the  character, 
the  man,  is  gooil,  worthy,  virtuous. 


under  to  attend  to  and  follow  it]"'  I  answer:  it  lias  been 
proved  that  man  by  his  nature  is  a  law  to  himself,  without 
the  particular  distinct  consideration  of  the  positive  sanctions 
of  that  law;  the  rewards  and  punishments  which  we  feel, 
and  those  which  from  the  light  of  reason  we  have  ground  to 
believe,  are  annexed  to  it.  The  question  then  carries  its  own 
answer  along  with  it.  Your  obligation  to  obey  this  law,  is  its 
being  tbe  law  of  your  nature.  That  your  conscience  approves 
of  and  attests  to  such  a  course  of  action,  is  itself  alone  an 
obligation.  Conscience  does  not  only  offer  itself  to  show  us 
the  way  we  should  walk  in,  but  it  likewise  carries  its  own 
authority  with  it,  that  it  is  our  natural  guide;  the  guide  as- 
signed us  by  the  Author  of  our  nature:  it  therefore  belongs 
to  our  condition  of  being,  it  is  our  duty  to  walk  in  that  patli, 
and  follow  this  guide,  without  looking  about  to  see  whether 
we  mviy  not  ])0ssibly  forsake  thern  Vi-ith  impunity. 

However,  let  us  hoar  what  is  to  be  said  against  obeying 
this  law  of  our  nature.  And  the  sum  is  no  more  than  this. 
"  Why  should  we  be  concerned  about  any  thing  out  of  and 
beyond  ourselves?  If  we  do  find  within  ourselves  regards  to 
others,  and  restraints  of  we  kiiov>-  not  how  many  dilTcrent 
kinds ;  yet  these  being  embarrassments,  and  hindering  us 
from  going  the  nearest  way  to  our  own  good,  why  should  we 
not  endeavour  to  suppress  and  get  over  them?" 

Thus  people  go  on  v.ith  words,  which,  when  applied  to  hu- 
man nature,  and  the  condition  in  which  it  is  placed  in  this 
world,  have  really  no  meaning.  For  does  not  all  this  kind 
of  talk  go  upon  supposition,  that  our  happiness  in  this  world 
consists  in  somewhat  quite  distinct  from  regard  to  others; 
and  that  it  is  the  privilege  of  vice  to  be  without  restraint  or 
confinement?  \Vhcreas,  on  the  contrary,  tbe  enjoyments,  in 
a  manner  all  the  cominon  enjoyments  of  life,  even  the  plea- 
sures of  vice,  depend  upon  these  regards  of  one  kind  or  an- 
other to  our  fellow-creatures.  Throw  off  all  regards  to  others, 
and  we  should  be  quite  indifferent  to  infamy  and  to  honour; 
there  could  be  no  such  thing  at  all  as  ambition ;  and  scarce 
any  such  thing  as  covctousness  ;  for  we  should  likewise  be 
equally  indifferent  to  the  disgrace  of  povert)',  the  several  ne- 
glects and  kinds  of  contempt  which  accompany  this  state  ; 
and  to  the  reputation  of  riches,  the  regard  and  respect  they 
usually  procure.  Neither  is  restraint  by  any  means  peculiar 
to  any  course  of  life  ;  but  our  very  nature,  exclusive  of  con- 
science and  our  condition,  lays  as  under  an  absolute  necessity 
of  it.  We  cannot  gain  any  end  whatever  without  being  con- 
fined to  the  proper  means  which  is  often  the  most  painful  and 
uneasy  confinement.  And  in  numberless  instances  a  pre- 
sent appetite  cannot  be  gratified  without  such  apparent  and 
immediate  ruin  and  misery,  that  the  most  dissolute  man  in 
the  world  chooses  to  forego  tlte  pleasure,  rather  than  endure 
the  pain. 

Is  the  meaning  then,  to  indulge  those  regards  to  our  fellow- 
creatures,  and  submit  to  those  restraints,  which  upon  the 
whole  are  attended  with  more  satisfaction  than  uneasiness, 
and  get  over  only  those  which  bring  more  uneasiness  and  in- 
conveuienee  than  satisfaction?  "Doubtless  this  was  our 
meaning."  You  have  changed  sides  then.  Keep  to  this;  be 
consistent  with  yourselves;  and  you  and  the  men  of  virtue 
are  in  general  pefectly  agreed.  But  let  us  take  care  and 
avoid  mistakes.  Let  it  not  be  taken  for  granted  that  the 
temper  of  envy,  rage,  resentment,  yields  greater  delight  than 
meekness,  forgiveness,  compassion,  and  good-will :  especially 
when  it  is  acknowledged  that  rage,  envy,  resentment,  are  in 
themselves  mere  misery ;  and  the  satisfaction  arising  from 
the  indulgence  of  them  is  little  more  than  relief  from  that 
misery ;  whereas  the  temper  of  compassion  and  benevolence 
is  itself  delightful ;  and  the  indulgence  of  it,  by  doing  good, 
alTords  new  positive  delight  and  enjoyment.  Let  it  not  be 
taken  for  granted,  that  the  satisfaction  arising  from  the  repu- 
tation of  riches  and  power,  however  obtained,  and  from  the 
respect  paid  to  them,  is  greater  than  the  satisfaction  arising 
from  the  reputation  of  justice,  honest}',  charity,  and  the  es- 
teem which  is  universally  acknowledged  to  be  their  due.  And 
if  it  be  doubtful  which  of  these  satisfactions  is  the  greatest, 
as  there  arc  persons  who  think  neither  of  them  very  consider- 
able, yet  there  can  be  no  doubt  concerning  ambition  and  covct- 
ousness, virtue  and  a  good  mind,  considered  in  themselves, 
and  as  leading  to  dilferent  courses  of  life;  there  can,  I  say, 
be  no  doubt,  which  temper  and  which  course  is  attended  with 
most  peace  and  tranquillity  of  mind,  which  with  most  perplex- 
ity, vexation,  and  inconvenience.  And  both  the  virtues  and 
vices  which  have  been  now  mentioned,  do  in  a  manner 
equally  imply  in  them  regards  of  one  kind  or  another  to  our 
fellow-creatures.  And  with  respect  to  restraint  and  confine- 
ment:  whoever  will  consider   the  restraints  from  fear  and 


BISHOP  BUTLER'S  SERMONS. 


509 


shame,  the  dissimulation,  mean  arts  of  coiiceahnent,  servile 
coiupliances,  one  or  other  of  which  belong  to  almost  every 
course  of  vier,  will  soon  be  convinced  that  the  man  of  virtue 
is  by  no  means  upon  a  disadvantage  in  this  respect.  How 
many  instances  are  there  in  which  men  feel  and  own  and  cry 
aloud  under  the  chains  of  vice  with  which  they  are  entlualled, 
and  which  yet  they  will  not  shake  off!  How  many  instances, 
in  which  persons  manifestly  go  through  more  pains  and  self- 
denial  to  gratify  a  vicious  passion,  than  would  have  been 
necessary  to  the  con:iue3t  of  it  I  To  this  is  to  be  added,  that 
when  virtue  is  become  habitual,  when  the  temper  of  it  is  ac- 
quired, what  was  before  confinement  ceases  to  be  so,  by  be- 
coming choice  and  delight.  Whatever  restraint  and  guard 
upon  ourselves  may  be  needfcd  to  unlearn  any  unnatural  dis 
lortion  or  odd  gesture  ;  yet,  in  all  propriety  of  speech,  natural 
behaviour  must  be  the  most  easy  and  unrestrained.  It  is 
manifest  that,  in  the  common  course  of  life,  there  is  seldom 
any  inconsistency  between  our  duty  and  what  is  called  in- 
terest: it  is  much  seldomer  that  there  is  an  inconsistency  be- 
tween duty  and  what  is  really  our  present  interest;  meaning 
by  interest,  happiness  and  satisfaction.  ^elf-love,  t!ien, 
though  confined  to  the  interest  of  the  present  world,  does  in 
general  perfectly  coincide  with  virtue ;  and  leads  us  to  one 
and  the  same  course  of  life.  But,  whatever  exceptions  there 
are  to  this,  which  are  much  fewer  than  they  are  commonly 
thought,  all  shall  be  set  right  at  the  final  distribution  of 
things.  It  is  a  manifest  absurdity  to  suppose  evil  prevailing 
finally  over  good,  under  the  conduct  and  administration  of  a 
perfect  mind. 

The  whole  argument,  which  1  have  been  now  insisting 
upon,  may  be  thus  summed  up,  and  given  you  in  one  view. 
The  nature  of  man  is  adapted  to  some  course  of  action  or 
other.  Upon  comparing  s.ome  actions  with  this  nature,  they 
appear  suitable  and  correspondent  to  it:  from  comparison  of 
other  actions  with  the  same  nature,  there  arises  to  our  view 
some  unsuitablencss  or  disproportion.  The  correspondenc^e 
of  actions  to  the  nature  of  the  agent  renders  them  natural : 
their  disproportion  to  it,  unnatural.  That  an  action  is  cor- 
respondent to  the  nature  of  the  agent,  does  not  arise  from  its 
being  agreeable  to  the  princi])le  which  happens  to  be  the 
strongest ;  for  it  may  be  so,  and  yet  be  quite  disproportionate 
to  the  nature  of  the  agent.  The  correspondence  therefore,  or 
disproportion,  arises  from  somewhat  else.  This  can  be  noth- 
ing but  a  difference  in  nature  and  kind,  altogether  distinct 
from  strength,  between  the  inward  principles.  .Some  then 
are  in  nature  and  kind  superior  to  others.  And  the  corres- 
pondence arises  from  the  action  being  conformable  to  the 
higher  principle;  and  the  unsuitableness  from  its  being  con- 
trary to  it.  Reasonable  self-love  and  conscience  arc  the 
chief  or  superior  principles  in  the  nature  of  man:  bacause  an 
action  may  be  suitable  to  this  nature,  though  all  other  prin- 
ciples be  violated;  but  becomes  unsuitable,  if  either  of  those 
are.  ("onscience  and  self-love,  if  we  understand  our  true 
happiness,  always  lead  us  the  same  way.  Duty  and  interest 
are  perfectly  coincident :  for  the  most  part  in  this  world,  but 
entirely  and  in  every  instance  if  we  take  in  the  future,  and 
the  whole;  this  being  implied  in  the  motion  of  a  good  and 
perfect  administration  of  things.  Tiius  they  who  have  been 
so  wise  in  their  generation  as  to  regard  only  their  own  sup- 
posed interest,  at  the  expense  and  to  the  injury  of  others,  shall 
at  last  find,  that  he  who  has  given  up  all  the  advantages  of 
the  present  world,  rather  than  violate  his  conscience  and  the 
relations  of  life,  has  infinitely  better  provided  for  himself,  and 
secured  his  own  interest  and  happiness. 


SERMON  IV. 

UPON  THE  GOVERNMENT  OK  THE  TONGUE. 

If  any  man  among  you  seem  to  be  religious,  and  Lridleth  not  his 
tongue,  but  deceiveth  his  own  heart,  this  man's  religion  is  vain. — 
James  i.  2G. 

The  translation  of  this  text  would  be  more  determinate  by 
being  more  literal,  thus:  "If  any  man  among  you  seemeth 
to  be  religious,  not  bridling  his  tongue,  but  deceiving  his  own 
heart,  this  man's  religion  is  vain."  This  determines,  that  the 
words,  hut  cleeeivclh  his  own  heart,  are  not  put  in  opposition 
to,  ■iee7iietli  to  be  rclii^ious,  but  to,  bridlelli  not  his  tongue.  The 
certain  determinate  meaning  of  the  text  then  being,  that  he 


who  seemeth  to  be  religious,  and  bridleth  not  his  tongue,  but 
in  that  particular  deceiveth  his  own  heart,  this  man's  re- 
ligion is  vain ;  we  may  observe  somewhat  very  forcible  and 
expressive  in  these  words  of  St.  James.  As  if  the  apostle 
had  said.  No  man  surely  can  make  any  pretences  to  religion, 
who  does  not  at  least  believe  that  he  bridleth  his  tongue: 
if  he  puts  on  any  appearance  or  face  of  religion,  and  yet  does 
not  govern  his  tongue,  he  mtist  surely  deceive  himself  in  that 
particular,  and  think  he  docs:  and  whoever  is  so  unhappy  as 
to  deceive  himself  in  this,  to  imagine  he  keeps  that  unruly 
faculty  in  due  subjection,  when  indeed  lie  docs  not,  whatever 
the  other  part  of  his  life  be,  his  religion  is  vain;  the  govern- 
ment of  the  tongue  being  a  most  material  restraint  which 
virtue  lays  us  under ;  without  it  no  man  can  bo  truly  re- 
ligious. 

In  treating  upon  this  subject,  I  will  consider. 

First,  What  is  the  general  vice  or  fault  here  referred  to :  or 
what  disposition  in  men  is  supposed  in  moral  reflections  and 
precepts  concerning  Ijriilting  the  tongue. 

Secondly,  When  it  may  be  said  of  any  one,  that  he  has  a 
due  government  over  himself  in  this  respect. 

I.  Now  the  fault  referred  to,  and  the  disposition  supposed, 
in  precepts  and  reflections  concerning  the  governnient  of  the 
tongue,  is  not  evil-speaking  from  malice,  nor  tying  or  bearing 
false  witness  from  indirect  selfish  disigns.  The  disposition 
to  these,  and  the  actual  vices  themselves,  all  come  under 
other  subjects.  The  tongue  may  be  employed  about,  and 
made  to  serve  all  the  purposes  of  vice,  in  tempting  and  de- 
ceiving, in  perjury  and  injustice.  But  the  thing  here  sup- 
posed and  referred  to,  is  talkativeness:  a  (Hsiiosition  to  be 
talking,  abstracted  from  the  consideration  of  what  is  to  be 
said  ;  with  very  little  or  no  regard  to,  or  thought  of  doing, 
either  good  or  harm.  And  let  not  any  imagine  this  to  be  a 
slight  matter,  and  that  it  deserves  not  to  have  so  great  weight 
laid  upon  it;  till  he  has  considered,  what  evil  is  implied  in 
it,  and  the  bad  eflects  which  follow  from  it.  It  is  perhaps 
true,  that  they  who  are  addicted  to  this  folly  would  choose 
to  confine  themselves  to  trifles  and  indifferent  subjects,  and 
so  intend  only  to  be  guilty  of  being  impertinent,  but  as  they 
cannot  go  on  for  ever  talking  of  nothing,  as  common  matters 
will  not  afford  a  sufficient  fund  for  perpetual  continued  dis- 
course: when  subjects  of  this  kind  are  exhausted,  they  will 
go  on  to  defamation,  scandal,  divulging  of  secrets,  their  own 
secrets  as  well  as  those  of  others,  any  thing  rather  than  be 
silent.  They  are  plainly  hurried  on  in  the  heat  of  their  talk 
to  say  quite  diflercnt  things  from  what  they  first  intended, 
and  which  they  afterwards  wish  unsaid:  or  improper  things, 
which  they  liad  no  end  in  saying,  but  only  to  afford  employ- 
ment to  their  tongue.  And  if  these  people  expect  to  be  hoard 
and  regarded,  for  there  are  some  content  merely  v.'ith  talking, 
they  will  invent  to  engage  your  attention :  and,  when  they 
have  heard  the  least  imperfect  hint  of  an  aflair,  they  will  out 
of  their  own  head  add  the  circumstances  of  time  and  place, 
and  other  matters  to  make  out  their  story,  and  give  the  ap- 
pearance of  probability  to  it,  not  that  they  have  any  concern 
about  being  believed,  otherwise  tlian  as  a  means  of  being 
heard.  The  thing  is,  to  engage  your  attention  ;  to  take  you 
up  wholly  for  the  present  time  :  what  rclloclions  will  be  made 
afterwards,  is  in  truth  the  least  of  their  thoughts.  And 
further,  when  persons,  who  indulge  themselves  in  these  lib- 
erties of  the  tongue,  are  in  any  degree  olTcndcd  w  ith  another, 
as  little  disgusts  and  misunderstandings  will  bo,  they  allow 
themselves  to  defame  and  revile  such  a  one  without  any  mod- 
eration or  bounds;  though  the  offence  is  so  very  slight,  that 
they  themselves  would  not  do,  nor  perhaps  wish  him  an  in- 
jury in  any  other  way.  And  in  this  case  the  scandal  and  re- 
vilings  are  chiefly  owing  to  talkativeness,  and  not  bridling 
their  tongue  ;  and  so  come  under  our  present  subject.  The 
least  occasion  in  the  world  will  make  the  humour  break  out 
in  this  parlicular  way,  or  in  another.  It  is  like  a  torrent, 
which  must  and  will  flow ;  but  the  least  thing  imaginable 
will  first  of  all  give  it  either  this  or  another  direction,  turn  it 
Into  this  or  that  channel :  or  like  a  fire ;  the  nature  of  which, 
when  in  a  heap  of  combustible  matter,  is  to  spread  and  lay 
waste  all  around ;  but  any  one  of  a  thousand  little  accidents 
will  occasion  it  to  break  out  first  either  i)i  this  or  another  par- 
ticular part. 

The  subject  then  before  us,  though  it  docs  run  up  into, 
and  can  scarce  be  treated  as  entirely  distinct  from  all  others; 
yet  it  needs  not  be  so  much  mixed  or  blended  with  them  as 
it  often  is.  Every  faculty  and  power  may  be  used  as  the 
instrument  of  premeditated  vice  and  wickedness,  merely  as 
the  most  proper  and  effectual  means  of  executing  such  de- 
signs.    But  if  a  man,  from  deep  malice  and  desire  of  revenge, 


510 


CHRISTIAN     LIBRARY. 


should  meditate  a  falsehood  with  a  settled  design  to  ruin  his 
neighbour's  reputation,  and  should  with  great  coolness  and 
deliberation  spread  it;  nobody  would  choose  to  say  of  such  a 
one,  that  he  had  no  governuierit  ol'  his  tongue.  A  man  may 
use  the  faculty  of  speech  as  an  instrument  of  false-witness, 
who  yet  has  so  entire  a  command  over  that  faculty,  as  never 
to  speak  but  from  forctliought  and  cool  design.  Here  the 
crime  is  injustice  and  perjury  :  and,  strictly  speaking,  no  more 
belonCTs  to  the  present  subject,  tlian  perjury  and  injustice  in 
any  other  way.  But  there  is  such  a  thing  as  a  disposition  to 
be  talking  for  its  own  sake ;  from  which  persons  often  say 
any  thing,  oond  or  bad,  of  others,  merely  as  a  subject  of  dis- 
course, according  to  the  particular  temper  they  themselves 
happen  to  he  in,  and  to  pass  away  the  ]iresent  time.  Tliere 
is  likewise  to  be  observed  in  persons  such  a  strong  and  eager 
desire  of  engaging  attention  to  what  they  say,  that  the)-  will 
speak  good  or  evil,  truth  or  otherwise,  merel}'  as  one  or  the 
other  seems  to  be  most  barkened  to,  and  this,  though  it  is 
sometimes  joined,  is  not  the  same  with  the  desire  of  being 
tho\irrbt  important  and  men  of  consequence.  There  is  in  some 
such  a  disposition  to  he  talking,  that  an  offence  of  the  sliglit- 
est  kind,  and  such  as  would  not  raise  any  other  resentment, 
yet  raises,  if  1  may  so  spe.ik,  the  resentment  of  the  tongue, 
puts  it  into  a  flame,  into  the  most  ungovernable  motions. 
This  outrage,  when  the  person  it  respects  is  present,  we  dis- 
tinguish in  the  lower  rank  of  people  by  a  peculiar  term  : 
and  let  it  be  observed,  that  though  the  decencies  of  behaviour 
are  a  little  kept,  the  same  outrage  and  virulence,  indulged 
when  he  is  absent,  is  an  otlence  of  the  same  kind.  But  not 
to  distinguish  any  farther  in  this  manner:  men  run  into  faults 
and  follies,  which  camuit  so  properly  be  referred  to  any  one 
general  head  as  this,  that  they  have  not  a  due  government 
over  their  tongue. 

And  this  unrestrained  volubility  and  wantonness  of  speech 
is  the  occasion  ol'  numberless  evils  and  vexations  in  life.  It 
begets  resentment  in  him  who  is  the  subject  of  it;  sows  the 
seed  of  strife  and  dissension  amongst  others;  and  inflames 
little  disgusts  and  ofl'ences,  which  if  let  alone  would  wear 
away  of  themselves:  it  is  often  of  as  bad  effect  upon  the 
good  name  of  others,  as  deep  envy  or  malice :  and,  to  say  the 
least  of  it  in  this  respect,  it  destroys  and  perverts  a  certain 
equity  of  the  utmost  importance  to  society  to  be  observed ; 
namely,  that  praise  and  dispraise,  a  good  or  bad  character, 
should  always  be  bestowed  according  to  desert.  The  tongue 
used  in  such  a  licentious  manner  is  like  a  sword  in  the  hand 
of  a  madman;  it  is  employed  at  random,  it  can  scarce  pos- 
sihlv  do  any  good,  and  (in-  the  most  ])art  does  a  world  of  mis- 
chief; and  iin]dies  not  only  gi-cat  folly  and  a  trifling  spirit, 
but  great  viciousncss  of  mind,  great  indiflerence  to  truth  and 
falsity^,  and  to  the  reputation,  welfare  and  good  of  others,  f^o 
much  reason  is  there  for  what  .St.  James  says  of  the  tongue. 
"  It  is  a  fire,  a  world  of  iniquit}-,  it  defileth  the  whole  body, 
setteth  on  fire  the  course  of  nature,  and  is  itself  set  on  fire 
of  hell.''  This  is  the  faculty  or  disposition  which  we  are 
required  to  keep  a  guard  upon  :  these  are  the  vices  and  fol- 
lies it  runs  into,  when  not  kept  nnder  due  restraint. 

II.  AVherein  the  due  government  of  the  tongue  consists, 
when  it   may  be  said   of  any   one  in  a  moral  and  reli- 
gious sense  that  he  bridkth  his  lungue,  I  come  nov.'  to  con- 
sider. 

The  due  and  proper  use  of  any  natural  faculty  or  power, 
is  to  be  judged  of  by  tlie  end  and  design  for  wliicli  it  was 
given  us.  The  chief  purpose,  for  which  the  faculty  of  speech 
was  given  to  man.  is  plainly  that  we  might  communicate 
our  thoughts  to  each  other,  in  order  to  carry  on  the  aflairs 
of  the  world;  for  business,  and  for  our  improvement  in 
knowledge  and  learning.  But  the  good  Author  of  our  na- 
ture designed  us  not  only  necessaries,  but  likewise  enjoy- 
ment and  satisfaction,  in  that  being  he  hath  graciously  given, 
and  in  that  condition  of  life  he  hath  placed  us  in.  There 
are  secondary  uses  of  our  faculties:  Ihej'  administer  to  de- 
light, as  well  as  to  necessity  :  and  as  they  are  equall}'  adapt- 
ed to  both,  there  is  no  doubt  but  he  intended  tliem  for  our 
gratification,  as  well  as  for  the  support  and  continuance  of 
our  being.  The  secondary  use  of  speech  is  to  please  and  be! 
entertaining  to  each  other  in  conversation.  This  is  in  every 
respect  allowable  and  right :  it  unites  men  closer  in  alliances  j 
and  friendships  ;  gives  lis  a  fellow-feeling  of  the  prosperity  j 
and  unhappiness  of  each  other;  and  is  in  several  respects; 
serviceable  to  virtue,  and  to  promote  good  behaviour  in  the 
world.  And  provided  there  be  not  too  much  time  spent  in 
it,  if  it  were  considered  only  in  the  way  of  gratification  and 
delight,  men  must  have  strange  notions  of  God  and  of  reli- 
gion, to  think  that  he  can  be  olleiided  w  ilh  it.  m-  that  it  is  any 


way  inconsistent  with  the  strictest  virtue.  But  the  truth  is, 
such  sort  of  conversation,  though  it  has  no  particular  good 
tendency,  yet  it  has  a  general  good  one :  it  is  social  and 
friendly,  and  tends  to  promote  humanity,  good-nature,  and 
civility. 

As  the  end  and  use,  so  likewise  the  abuse  of  speech,  relates 
to  tlie  one  or  other  of  these  ;  either  to  business  or  to  conversa- 
tion. As  to  the  former:  deceit  in  the  management  of  business 
and  atl'airs  does  not  properly  belong  to  the  subject  now  before 
us  ;  though  one  may  just  mention  that  multitude,  that  endless 
number  of  words  with  which  business  is  perplexed  ;  when  a 
much  fewer  would,  as  it  should  seem,  better  serve  the  pur- 
pose :  but  this  must  be  leftto  those  who  understand  the  matter. 
The  government  of  the  tongue,  considered  as  a  subject  of  it- 
self, relates  chiefly  to  conversation;  to  that  kind  of  discourse 
which  usually  fills  up  the  time  spent  in  friendly  meetings, 
and  visits  of  civility.  And  the  danger  is,  lest  persons  enter- 
tain themselves  and  others  at  the  expense  of  their  wisdom 
and  their  virtue,  and  to  tlie  injury  or  ofl'ence  of  their  neigh- 
bour. If  they  will  observe  and  keep  clear  of  these,  they  may 
be  as  free,  and  easy,  and  unreserved,  as  they  can  desire. 

The  cautions  to  be  given  for  avoiding  these  dangers,  and 
to  render  conversation  innocent  and  agreeable,  fall  under  the 
following  particulars:  silence;  talking  of  indifl'erent  things; 
and  w'hich  makes  up  too  great  a  part  of  conversation,  giving 
of  characters,  speaking  well  or  evil  of  others. 

The  wise  man  observes,  that  "  there  is  a  time  to  speak,  and 
a  time  to  keep  silence."  One  meets  with  people  in  the  world 
who  seem  never  to  have  made  the  last  of  these  observations. 
And  yet  these  great  talkers  do  not  at  all  speak  from  their 
having  any  thing  to  say,  as  every  sentence  shows,  but  only 
from  their  inclination  to  be  talking.  Their  conversation  is 
merely  an  exercise  of  the  tongue;  no  other  human  faculty  has 
any  share  in  it.  It  is  strange  these  persons  can  help  reflecting 
that  unless  they  have  in  truth  a  superior  capacity,  and  are  in 
an  extraordinary  manner  furnished  for  conversation ;  if  they 
are  entertaining,  it  is  at  their  own  expense.  Is  it  possible, 
that  it  should  never  come  into  people's  thoughts  to  suspect, 
whether  or  no  it  be  to  their  advantage  to  show  so  very  much 
of  themselves  ?  "  O  that  you  would  altogether  hold  your 
peace,  and  it  should  be  your  wisdom."  Remember  likewise 
there  are  persons  who  love  fewer  words,  an  inoffensive  sort 
of  people,  and  who  deserve  some  regard,  though  of  too  still 
and  composed  tempers  for  you.  Of  this  number  was  the  son 
of  Sirach ;  for  he  plainly  speaks  from  experience,  when  he 
says,  "  As  hills  of  sands  are  to  the  steps  of  the  aged,  so  is  one 
of  many  words  to  a  quiet  man."  But  one  would  think  it 
should  be  obvious  to  every  one,  that  when  they  are  in  com- 
pany with  their  supeiiors  of  any  kind,  in  years,  knowledge 
and  experience:  when  proper  and  useful  subjects  are  dis- 
coursed of,  which  they  cannot  bear  a  part  in  ;  that  these  are 
times  for  silence:  when  they  should  learn  to  hear  and  be  at- 
tentive; at  least  in  their  turn.  It  is  indeed  a  very  unhappy 
way  these  people  are  in  :  they  in  a  manner  cut  themselves  out 
from  all  advantage  of  conversation,  except  that  of  being  en- 
tertained with  their  own  talk:  their  business  in  coming  into 
company  not  being  at  all  to  be  informed,  to  hear,  to  learn, 
but  to  display  themselves,  or  rather  to  exert  their  faculty, 
and  talk  without  any  design  at  all.  And  if  we  consider  con- 
versation as  an  entertainment,  as  somewhat  to  unbend  the 
mind;  as  a  diversion  from  the  cares,  the  business,  and  the 
sorrows  of  life ;  ii  is  of  tlie  very  nature  of  it,  that  the  discourse 
be  mutual.  This,  I  say,  is  implied  in  the  very  notion  of  what 
we  distinguish  by  conversation,  or  being  in  company.  At- 
tention to  the  continued  discourse  of  one  alone,  grows  more 
painful  often  than  the  cares  and  business  we  come  to  be  di- 
verted li'om.  He,  therefore,  who  imposes  this  upon  us  is 
guilty  of  a  double  oll'ence;  arbitrarily  enjoining  silence  upon 
all  the  rest,  and  likewise  obliging  them  to  this  painful  at- 
tention. 

1  am  sensible  these  things  are  apt  to  be  passed  over,  as  loo 
little  to  come  into  a  serious  discourse;  but  in  reality  men  are 
obliged,  even  in  point  of  morality  and  virtue,  to  observe  all 
the  decencies  of  behaviour.  The  greatest  evils  in  litis  have 
had  tlieir  rise  from  somewhat  which  was  thought  of  too  little 
importance  to  be  attended  to.  And  as  to  the  matter  we  are 
now  upon,  it  is  absolutely  necessary  to  be  considered.  For 
if  people  w  ill  not  maintain  a  due  government  over  themselves, 
in  regarding  proper  times  and  seasons  for  silence,  but  ivill 
be  talking,  they  certainly,  whether  they  design  it  or  not  at 
first,  will  go  on  to  scandal  and  evil  speaking,  and  divulging 
secrets. 

If  it  were  needt'nl  to  say  any  thing  further  to  persuade  men 
to  learn   this  lesson  of  silence,  one  might  put  them  in  mind 


BISHOP  BUTLER'S  SERMONS. 


511 


how  insignificant  they  render  themselves  by  this  excessive 
tallvuliveness;  insomuch  that,  if  they  do  chance  to  say  any 
thinff  which  deserves  to  bp  attended  to  and  regarded,  it  is 
lost  in  the  variety  and  abundance  which  they  utter  of  another 
sort. 

The  occasions  of  silence  then  are  obvious,  and  one  would 
think  should  be  easily  distinguished  by  every  body :  namely, 
wlien  a  rn^.n  has  nothing  to  say ;  or  notliing  but  what  is  better 
unsaid;  better,  either  in  regard  to  particular  persons  he  is 
present  with  ;  or  from  its  beiig  an  interruption  to  conversation 
itself;  or  to  conversation  of  a  more  agreeable  kind;  or  better, 
lastly,  with  regard  to  himself.  I  will  end  this  particular 
with  two  reflections  of  the  wise  man;  one  of  which,  in  the 
strongest  manner,  exposes  the  ridiculous  part  of  this  licen- 
tiousness of  the  tongue;  and  the  other,  the  great  danger  and 
viciousness  of  it.  '•  When  he  that  is  a  fool  walketli  by  the 
way  side,  his  wisdom  faileth  him,  and  he  saith  to  every  one 
that  he  is  a  fool."  The  other  is,  "  In  the  multitude  of  words 
there  wanteth  not  sin." 

As  to  the  government  of  the  tongue  in  respect  to  talking 
upon  indifferent  subjects;  after  what  lias  been  said  concern- 
ing the  due  government  of  it  in  respect  to  the  occasions  and 
times  for  silence,  there  is  little  more  necessary  than  only  to 
caution  men  to  be  fully  satisfied  that  the  subjects  are  indeed 
of  an  indilTerent  nature;  and  not  to  spend  too  much  time  in 
conversation  of  this  kind.  But  persons  must  be  sure  to  take 
heed  that  the  subject  of  their  discourse  be  at  least  of  an  indif- 
ferent nature;  that  it  be  no  way  offensive  to  virtue,  reli"'ion, 
or  good  manners;  that  it  l)e  not  ofa  licentious  dissolute  sort, 
this  leaving  always  ill  impressions  upon  the  mind  ;  that  it  he 
no  way  injurious  or  vexatious  to  others;  and  that  too  much 
time  be  not  spent  this  way,  to  the  neglect  of  those  duties 
and  offices  of  life  which  belong  to  tlieir  station  and  condition 
in  the  world.  However,  though  there  is  not  any  necessity 
that  men  should  aim  at  beinij  important  and  weight}-  in  every 
sentence  they  speak:  j-et  since  useful  subjects,  at  least  of 
some  kinds,  are  as  entertaining  as  others ;  a  wise  man,  even 
when  he  desires  to  unbend  his  mind  from  business,  would 
choose  that  the  conversation  might  turn  upon  somewhat  in- 
structive. 

The  last  thing  is,  the  government  of  the  tongue  as  relating 
to  discourse  of  the  affairs  of  others,  and  giving  of  characters. 
These  are  in  a  manner  the  same;  and  one  can  scarce  call  it 
an  indifferent  subject,  because  discourse  upon  it  almost  per- 
petually runs  into  somewliat  criminal. 

And  first  of  all,  it  were  very  much  to  be  wislied  that  this 
did  not  take  up  so  great  a  part  of  conversation,  because  it  is 
indeed  a  subject  of  a  dangerous  nature.  Let  an}-  one  consider 
the  variijns  interests,  competitions  and  little  misunderstand- 
ings wliich  arise  among  men,  and  he  will  soon  see  that  he  is 
not  unprejudiced  and  impartial;  that  he  is  not,  as  1  may 
speak,  neutral  enough  to  trust  himself  with  talking  of  the 
character  and  concerns  of  his  neighbour,  in  a  Iree,  careless 
and  unreserved  manner.  There  is  i)erpetually,  and  often  it 
is  not  attended  to,  a  rivalship  amongst  people  of  one  kind  or 
another,  in  respect  to  wit,  beauty,  learning,  fortune,  and  that 
one  thing  will  insensibly  influence  them  to  speak  to  the  dis- 
advantage of  otiiers,  even  where  there  is  no  formed  malice 
or  ill  design.  Since,  therefore,  it  is  so  hard  to  enter  into  this 
subject  without  offending,  the  first  thing  to  he  observed  is, 
that  people  sliould  learn  to  decline  it;  to  get  over  that  strong 
inclination  most  have  to  be  talking  of  the  concerns  and  be- 
haviour of  their  neighbour. 

But  since  it  is  impossible  that  this  subject  should  be  wholly 
excluded  conversation  ;  and  since  it  is  necessary  that  the  char- 
acters of  men  should  be  known  :  llic  next  thing  is,  that  it  is  a 
matter  of  importance  what  is  said;  and,  therefore,  that  we 
should  be  religiously  scrupulous  and  exact  to  say  nothing, 
either  good  or  bad,  but  what  is  true.  1  put  it  thus,  because 
it  is  in  reality  of  as  great  importance  to  tlie  good  of  society, 
that  the  characters  of  bad  men  should  he  known,  as  that  the 
characters  of  good  men  should.  People,  who  are  given  to 
scandal  and  detraction,  may  indeed  make  an  ill  use  of  this 
observation;  but  truths  which  are  of  service  towards  regu- 
lating our  conduct,  are  not  to  be  disowned,  or  even  concealed, 
because  a  bad  use  may  be  made  of  them.  This  however  would 
be  effectually  prevented,  if  these  two  things  were  attended  to. 
First,  That  though  it  is  cr4ually  of  bad  consei^uence  to  society, 
that  men  should  liave  either  good  or  ill  characters  which  they 
do  not  deserve ;  yet,  when  you  say  somewhat  good  of  a  man 
which  he  does  not  deserve,  there  is  no  wrong  done  him  in 
particular;  whereas,  when  you  say  evil  of  a  man  which  he 
does  not  deserve,  here  is  a  direct  formal  injurv,  a  real  piece 
of  injustice  done  him.    This>  therefore,  makes  a  wide  differ- 


ence, and  gives  us,  in  point  of  virtue,  much  greater  lalitnde 
in  speaking  well  than  ill  of  others.  Secondlv,  A  good  man  is 
friendly  to  his  fellow-creatures,  and  a  lover  of  mankind;  and 
so  will,  upon  every  occasion,  and  often  without  any,  say  all 
the  good  he  can  of  every  body:  but  so  far  as  he  is  a  good 
man,  will  never  be  disposed  to  speak  evil  of  any,  unless  there 
be  some  other  reason  for  it,  besides  barely  that  it  is  true.  If 
he  be  charged  with  having  given  an  ill  character,  he  will 
scarce  think  it  a  sufficient  justification  of  himself  to  say  it  was 
a  true  one,  unless  he  can  also  give  some  further  account  how 
he  came  to  do  so;  a  just  indignation  against  particular  in- 
stances of  villany,  where  they  are  great  and  scandalous;  or 
to  prevent  an  innocent  man  from  being  deceived  and  betrayed, 
when  he  has  great  tru€l  and  confidence  in  one  who  does'  not 
deserve  it.  Justice  must  be  done  to  every  part  of  a  subject 
when  we  are  considering  it.  If  there  he  a  nian  who  bears  a 
fair  character  in  the  world,  whom  yet  we  know  to  be  without 
faith  or  honesty,  to  be  really  an  ill  man;  it  must  be  allowed 
in  general,  that  we  shall  do  a  piece  of  service  to  society,  by 
letting  such  a  one's  true  character  be  known.  This  is  no 
more  than  what  we  have  an  instance  of  in  our  Saviour  him- 
self; though  he  was  mild  and  gentle  beyond  example.  How- 
ever, no  words  can  express  too  strongly  the  caution  which 
should  be  used  in  such  a  case  as  this. 

Upon  the  whole  matter:  If  people  would  observe  the  ob- 
vious occasions  of  silence,  if  they  would  subdue  the  inclina- 
tions to  tale-bearing,  and  that  eager  desire  to  engage  atten- 
tioii,  which  is  an  original  disease  in  some  minds  ;  Uiey  would 
be  in  little  danger  of  offending  with  their  tongue;  and  would, 
in  a  moral  and  religious  sense,  have  due  governinent  over  it. 

I  will  conclude  witli  some  precepts  and  reflections  of  the 
Son  of  Sirach  upon  this  subject.  "Be  swift  to  hear;  and,  if 
thou  hast  understanding,  answer  thy  neighbour;  if  not,  lav 
thy  hand  upon  thy  mouth.  Honour  and  shame  is  in  talk.  A 
man  of  an  ill  tongue  is  dangerous  in  his  city,  and  he  that  is 
rash  in  his  talk  shall  be  hated.  A  wise  man  will  hold  his 
tongue  till  he  see  opportunity ;  hut  a  babbler  and  a  fool  will 
regard  no  time.  He  that  uscth  many  words  shall  be  abhor- 
red ;  and  he  that  taketh  to  himself  authority  therein,  shall  be  ' 
hated.  A  backbiting  tongue  hath  disquieted  many ;  strong 
cities  hath  it  pulled  down,  and  overthrown  the  houses  of 
great  men.  The  tongue  of  a  man  is  his  fall ;  but  if  thou  love 
to  hear  thou  shalt  receive  understanding." 


SERMON  V. 


I'PON    COMPASSION. 


Rejoice  with  them  that  do  rejoice,  and  weep  «ith  thera  that  weep. 
Jiom.  xii.  1.1. 

Every  man  is  to  he  considered  in  two  capacities,  the  private 
and  public;  as  designed  to  pursue  his  own  interest,  and  like- 
wise to  contribute  to  the  good  of  others.  Whoever  will  con- 
siiler,  may  see,  that  in  general  there  is  no  contrariety  between 
these;  but  that  from  the  original  constitution  of  man,  and  the 
circumstances  he  is  placed  in,  they  perfectly  coincide,  and 
mutually  carry  on  each  other.  But,  amongst  the  great  vari- 
ety of  affections  or  principles  of  action  in  our  nature,  some  in 
their  primary  intention  and  design  seem  to  belong  to  the  single 
or  private,  others  to  the  public  or  social  capacit}'.  The  affec- 
tions required  in  the  text  are  of  the  latter  sort.  When  we 
rejoice  in  the  prosperitj'  of  others,  and  compassionate  their 
distresses,  we,  as  it  were,  substitute  them  for  ourselves,  their 
interest  for  our  own ;  and  have  the  same  kind  of  pleasure  in 
their  prosperity,  and  sorrow  in  their  distress,  as  we  have  from 
reflection  upon  our  own.  Now  there  is  nothing  stranse  or 
unaccountable  in  our  being  thus  carried  out,  and  affected  to- 
wards the  interests  of  others.  For,  if  there  be  any  appetite, 
or  any  inward  principle  besides  self-love  ;  wh}'  may  there  not 
be  an  affection  to  the  good  of  our  fellow-creatures,  and  delight 
froin  that  affection's  being  gratified,  and  uneasiness  from 
things  going  contrarj'  to  it.* 


*  There  being;  manifestly  this  appearance  of  men's  suhstituiing 
otiiers  for  themselves,  and  being  carried  out  and  affected  towards 
tjteni  as  towards  themselves  ;  some  persons,  w  ho  have  a  system  Mfiicli 
excludes  every  afiFe^ion  of  this  sort,  ha^e  taken  a  pleasant  method 
to  solve  it  ;  and  tell  you  it  is  not  anotbei*  you  are  at  all  concerned 
about,  but  your  self  onhi^  when  you  feci  the  affection  called  compas- 
sion, i.  e.  Here  is  a  plain  matter  of  fact,  M'hich  men  cannot  recon- 


513 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


Of  these  two,  delight  in  the  prosperity  of  others,  and  com- 
passion for  their  distresses,  the  last  is  felt  much  more  gene- 


cile  with  the  general  account  tlicy  think  fit  to  give  of  things  :  they 
therefore,  instead  of  that  manifest  latt,  substitnte  another,  which  is 
reconcileable  to  their  own  scheme.  i"or  does  not  every  body  by 
compassion  mean  an  affection,  the  object  of  wliich  is  another  in  dis- 
tress '  Instead  of  tlds,  but  designing  to  have  it  mistaken  for  this, 
they  speak  of  an  affection  or  passion,  tlie  object  of  wliich  is  ourselves, 
or  danger  to  ourselves.  Hcbbes  defines //;Vj/,  imagination,  or  fiction 
offatifre  calamity  to  onrselves,  liroceeiling  from  the  sense  (he  means 
s\"]il  or  knowledge]  of  another  man's  calamittj.  Thusfearand  com- 
passion would  be  the  same  idea,  and  a  fearful  and  a  compassionate 
man  llie  same  cliaracter,  which  every  man  immediately  sees  are  to- 
tally different.  Further,  to  those  who  give  any  scope  to  their  affec- 
tions there  is  no  pei-ccption  or  inward  feeling  more  universal  than 
this  :  that  one  who  has  been  merciful  and  compassionate  throughout 
the  course  of  his  behaviour,  should  himself  be  treated  with  kindness, 
if  he  happens  to  fall  into  cii-cumstanccs  of  distress.  Is  fear,  then,  or 
cowardice,  so  great  a  recommendation  to  the  favour  of  tlie  bulk  of 
mankind  '  Or  is  it  not  plain,  that  mere  fearlessness  (and  therefore 
not  the  contrary)  is  one  of  the  most  popular  <iualifications  ?  This 
shows  diat  mankind  are  not  affected  towards  compassion  as  fear,  but 
as  somewhat  totally  different. 

Nothing  would  more  cNpose  such  accounts  as  these  of  the  affec- 
tions w  hich  are  favourable  and  friendly  to  our  fellow-creatures,  than 
to  substitute  tlie  definitions,  which  this  author,  and  others  who  fol- 
low his  steps,  give  of  such  affections,  instead  of  tlie  words  by  which 
they  ai-e  commonly  expressed.  Ilobbes,  after  having  laid  down,  tbat 
pity  or  compassion  is  only  fear  for  ourselves,  goes  on  to  expLain  the 
reason  vvhv  we  pity  our  friends  in  distress  more  than  olheis.  Now 
substitute  the  defi'nition  instead  of  the  wonl  /j/.V/ in  this  place,  and 
the  inquiry  will  be,  why  we  fear  our  friends,  8cc.  w  bich  words  (since 
he  really  does  not  mean  why  we  are  afraid  of  tlieni)  make  no  ques- 
tion or  sentence  at  all.  So  that  cohunon  language,  the  w  ords  to  com- 
passionate, to  pity,  caimnt  be  accommodated  to  his  account  of  com- 
jiassion.  The  very  joining  of  the  words  to  pity  our  friends,  is  a  di- 
rect contradiction  to  his  definition  of  pity  ;  Ijecause  those  words,  so 
joined,  necessarily  exjiress  tliat  our  friends  are  the  objects  of  the 
passion  :  whereas'his  definition  of  it  asserts,  that  ourselves  (or  danger 
to  ourselves)  are  the  only  objects  of  it.  He  might  indeed  have  avoid- 
ed this  absurdity,  by  plainly  saying  w  hat  he  is  going  to  account  for ; 
namely,  why  the  sight  of  the  innocent,  or  of  our  friends  in  distress, 
raises  greater  fear  i'or  ourselves  than  die  sight  of  other  persons  in 
distress.  But  had  he  put  the  thing  thus  plainly,  the  fact  itself  would 
liave  been  doubted  ;  that  "the  sight  of  our  friends  in  distress  raises 
in  us  o-reater  fear  for  ourselves,  than  the  siglit  of  others  in  distress." 
And  in  the  next  place  it  would  immediately  have  occurred  to  every 
one,  that  the  fact  now  mentioned,  which  at  least  is  doubtful,  w  heUier 
true  or  false,  was  not  the  same  with  this  fact,  which  nobody  ever 
doubted,  that  "  the  sight  of  our  friends  in  distress  raises  in  us  greater 
compassion  than  die  "sight  of  others  in  distress:"  every  one,  I  say, 
would  have  seen  that  these  are  not  the  same,  biU  t-j;o  different  incpii- 
ries  ;  and  consequently,  diat  fear  and  coniiiassion  are  not  tlie  same. 
Suppose  a  person  to  be  in  real  danger;  and  by  some  means  or  other 
to  have  forgot  it;  any  trifling  accident,  any  sound  might  alarm  him, 
recall  the  danger  to  his  remembrance,  and  renew  his  fear  :  but  it  is 
almost  too  grossly  ridiculous  (though  it  is  to  show  an  absurdity)  to 
speak  of  that  sound  or  accident  as  an  object  of  compassion  ;  and  yet, 
according  to  Mr.  Hobbes,  our  greatest  friend  in  distress  is  no  more 
to  us,  no  more  the  object  of  compassion,  or  of  any  affection  in  cur 
lieart :  neither  the  one  nor  Uic  other  raises  any  emotion  in  our  mind, 
but  only  the  diouglits  of  our  liableness  to  calamity,  and  die  fear  of 
it;  and'both  equally  do  this.  It  is  fit  such  sort  of  accounts  of  human 
nature  should  be  shown  to  be  what  they  really  are,  because  there  is 
raised  upon  them  a  general  scheme  wliich  undermines  the  whole 
foundation  of  common  justice  and  honesty.  See  Hobbes  of  Human 
JValure,  c.  9,  §  10. 

There  are  often  three  distinct  perceptions  or  inwaril  feelings  upon 
sight  of  persons  in  distress  :  real  sorrow  and  concern  for  the  misery 
of  our  fellow-creatures  ;  some  degree  of  satisfaction  from  a  con- 
sciousness of  our  freedom  from  that  misery  ;  and  as  the  mind  passes 
on  fi-om  one  thing  to  another,  it  is  not  unnatural  from  such  an  occa- 
sion to  reflect  upon  our  liableness  to  the  same  or  other  calamities. 
The  two  last  frequently  accompany  the  first,  Imt  it  is  the  first  on!y 
which  is  proper  compassion,  of  which  the  distressed  are  objects, 
and  which  directly  carries  us  with  calmness  and  thought  to  their  as- 
sistance. Any  one  of  diese,  from  various  and  complicated  reasons 
mav  in  particular  cases  prevail  over  the  otiier  two ;  and  there  are,  1 
suppose,  instances,  where  die  bare  sight  of  ilistiess,  w  illiout  our  feel- 
ing any  co]n]iassion  for  it,  may  be  the  occasion  of  either  or  both  of 
the  two  latter  perceptions.  One  might  add,  that  if  there  be  really 
any  snch  thing  as  the  fiction  or  imagination  of  danger  to  ourselves 
from  the  sight  of  the  misery  of  others,  which  Hobbes  speaks  cJ',  and 
which  he  has  absurdly  mistaken  for  the  whole  of  compassion  ;  if 
there  he  any  thing  of  this  soi't  common  to  mankind,  distinct  from 
the  reflection  of  reason,  it  would  be  a  most  remarkable  instance  of 
what  was  furthest  from  the  thoughts,  namely,  of  a  mutual  sympathy 
between  each  iiarticular  of  the  species,  a  fellow-feeling  common  to 
mankind.  It  would  not  indeed  be  an  example  of  our  substituting 
others  for  ourselves,  but  it  would  he  an  example  of  substituting 
onrselves  for  otliers.  And  as  it  would  not  be  an  instance  of  benevo- 
lence, so  neither  would  it  be  an  instance  of  self-love  :  for  this  ])han- 
tom  of  danger  to  ourselves,  naturally  rising  to  view  ui>on  sight  of 
the  distresses  of  others,  would  be  no  more  an  instance  of  luve  to 
ourselves,  than  the  pain  of  hunger  is. 


rally  than  the  former.  Though  men  do  not  universally  re- 
joice with  all  whom  they  see  rejoice,  yet,  accidental  obsta- 
cles removed,  they  naturally  conijiassionate  all,  in  some  de- 
gree, whom  they  see  in  distress  ;  so  far  as  they  have  any  real 
perception  or  sense  of  that  distress  :  insomuch  that  words  ex- 
pressing this  latter,  pity,  compassion,  frequently  occur; 
whereas  we  have  scarce  any  single  one,  by  which  the  former 
is  distinctly  expressed.  Congratulation  indeed  answers  con- 
dolence :  but  both  these  words  are  intended  to  signify  certain 
forms  of  civility,  rather  than  any  inward  sensation  or  feeling. 
Tills  difference  or  inequality  is  so  reinarkable,  that  we  plainly 
consider  compassion  as  itself  an  original,  distinct,  particular 
affection  in  human  nature;  whereas  to  rejoice  in  the  good  of 
others,  is  only  a  consequence  of  the  general  affection  of  love 
and  good-will  to  them.  The  reason  and  account  of  vvhich 
matter  is  this:  when  a  man  has  obtained  any  particular  ad- 
vantage or  felicity,  his  end  is  gained  ;  and  he  does  not  in  that 
particular  want  the  assistance  of  another :  there  was  there- 
lure  no  need  of  a  distinct  affection  towards  that  felicity  of 
another  already  obtained ;  neither  would  such  affection  di- 
rectly carry  him  on  to  do  good  to  that  person  :  whereas  men 
in  distress  want  assistance;  and  compassion  leads  us  directly 
to  assist  them.  The  object  of  the  former  is  the  present  feli- 
city of  another;  the  object  of  the  latter  is  the  present  misery 
of  another.  It  is  easy  to  see  that  the  latter  wants  a  particular 
affection  for  its  relief,  and  that  the  former  docs  not  want  one, 
because  it  does  not  want  assistance.  And  upon  supposition 
of  a  distinct  affection  in  both  cases,  the  one  must  rest  in  the  ex- 
ercise of  itself,  having  nothing  further  to  gain  ;  the  other  does 
not  rest  in  itself,  but  carries  us  on  to  assist  the  distressed. 

But,  supposing  these  afl'eclions  natural  to  the  mind,  par- 
ticularly the  last,  "  Has  not  each  man  troubles  enough  of 
his  own'!  must  he  indulge  an  affection  which  appropriates  to 
liiniself  those  of  others  1  which  leads  him  to  contract  the  least 
desirable  of  all  friendships,  friendships  vv'ith  the  unfortunate? 
Must  we  invert  tlie  known  rule  of  prudence,  and  choose  to 
associaie  onrselves  with  the  distressed"!  or,  allowing  that  we 
onght,  so  far  as  it  is  in  our  power  to  relieve  them,  yet  is  it 
not  better  to  do  this  from  reason  and  duty?  Does  not  passion 
and  affection  of  every  kind  perpetually  mislead  us!  Nay,  is 
not  passion  and  affection  itself  a  weakness,  and  what  a  per- 
fect being  must  be  entirely  free  from !"  Perhaps  so  ;  hut  is  it 
mankind  I  am  speaking  of;  imperfect  creatures,  and  who 
naturally  and,  from  the  condition  we  are  placed  in,  necessa- 
rily depend  upon  each  other.  With  respect  to  such  creatures, 
it  would  be  found  of  as  bad  consequence  to  eradicate  all  na- 
tural affections,  as  to  be  entirely  governed  by  them.  This 
would  almost  sink  us  to  the  condition  of  brutes;  and  that 
would  leave  us  without  a  sulfieient  principle  of  action.  Rea- 
son alone,  whatever  any  one  may  wish,  is  not  in  reality  a 
sufhcient  motive  of  virtue  in  such  a  creature  as  man;  but  this 
reason  joined  with  those  affections  which  God  has  impressed 
upon  his  heart:  and  when  these  are  allowed  scope  to  exer- 
cise themselves,  but  under  strict  government  and  direction  of 
reason ;  then  it  is  we  act  suitably  to  our  nature,  and  to  the 
circumstances  God  has  placed  us  in.  Neither  is  affection 
itself  at  all  a  weakness ;  nor  does  it  argue  defect,  any  other- 
wise than  as  our  senses  and  appetites  do;  they  belong  to  our 
condition  of  nature,  and  are  wliat  we  cannot  do  without.  God 
Almighty  is,  to  be  sure,  unmoved  by  passion  or  appetite,  un- 
changed by  affection;  but  then  it  is  to  be  added,  that  he 
neither  sees,  nor  hears,  nor  perceives  things  by  any  senses 
like  ours ;  but  in  a  manner  inhnitely  more  perfect.  Now,  as 
it  is  an  absurdity  almost  too  gross  to  be  mentioned,  for  a  man 
to  endeavourr  to  get  rid  of  his  senses,  because  the  Supreme 
Being  discerns  things  more  perfectly  without  them  ;  it  is  a 
real,  though  not  so  obvious  an  absurdity,  to  endeavour  to 
eradicate  the  passions  he  has  given  us,  because  he  is  without 
them.  For,  since  our  passions  are  as  really  a  part  of  our 
constitution  as  our  senses  ;  since  the  former  as  really  belong 
to  our  condition  of  nature  as  the  latter;  to  get  rid  of  either  is 
equally  a  violation  of  and  breaking  in  upon  that  nature  and 
constitution  he  has  given  us.  Both  our  senses  and  cur  pas- 
sions are  a  supply  to  the  imperfection  of  our  nature:  thus 
they  show  that  we  are  sucli  sort  of  creatures,  as  to  stand  in 
need  of  ihose  helps  which  higher  orders  of  creatures  do  not. 
But  it  is  not  the  supply,  hut  the  Hehcieney ;  as  it  is  not  a 
remedy,  but  a  disease,  which  is  the  iinpcrfeclion.  However, 
our  appetites,  passions,  senses,  no  way  imply  disease:  nor 
indeed  do  they  imply  deficiency  or  imperfection  of  any  sort; 
but  only  this,  that  the  constitution  of  nature,  according  to 
which  God  has  made  us,  is  such  as  to  require  them.  And 
it  is  far  from  being  true,  that  a  wise  man  must  entirely  sup- 
[iiess  compassion,   and   all    felluw-feeling  for  clhcrs,  as    a 


BISHOP  BUTLER'S  SERMONS. 


513 


weakness  ;  and  trust  to  reason  alone  to  teach  and  enforce  upon 
liim  the  practice  of  the  several  charities  we  owe  to  our  kind  ; 
that,  on  the  contrary,  even  the  bare  exercise  of  such  affections 
would  itself  be  for  the  o;ood  and  happiness  of  the  world ;  and 
the  imperfection  of  the  higher  principles  of  reason  and  reli- 
gion in  man,  the  little  influence  they  have  upon  our  practice, 
and  the  strength  and  prevalency  of  contrary  ones,  plainly 
require  these  affections  to  be  a  restraint  upon  these  latter,  and 
a  supply  to  the  deficiencies  of  the  former. 

First,  The  very  exercise  itself  of  these  aflfections  in  a  just 
and  reasonable  manner  and  degree,  would  upon  the  whole 
increase  the  satisfactions,  and  lessen  the  miseries  of  life. 

It  is  the  tendency  and  business  of  virtue  and  religion  to 
procure,  as  much  as  may  be,  universal  good-will,  trust,  and 
friendship  amongst  mankind.  If  this  could  be  brought  to 
obtain;  and  each  man  enjoj'ed  the  happiness  of  others,  as 
every  one  does  that  of  a  friend  ;  and  looked  upon  the  success 
and  prosperity  of  his  neii;hbour,  as  every  one  does  upon  that 
of  his  children  and  family;  it  is  too  manifest  to  be  insisted 
upon,  how  much  the  enjoyments  of  life  would  be  increased. 
There  would  be  so  much  happiness  introduced  into  the  world, 
without  any  deduction  or  inconvenience  from  it,  in  proportion 
as  the  precept  of  rejuicing  with  those  who  rejoice  7i3.s  univer- 
sally obeyed.  Our  Saviour  has  owned  this  good  affection 
as  belonging  to  our  nature,  in  the  parable  of  the  lost  sheep  ,- 
and  does  not  think  it  to  the  disadvantage  of  a  perfect  state,  to 
represent  its  happiness  as  capable  of  increase,  from  reflection 
upon  that  of  others. 

Bui  since  in  such  a  creature  as  man,  compassion  or  sorrow 
for  the  distress  of  others  seems  so  far  necessarily  connected 
with  joy  in  their  prosperity,  as  that  whoever  rejoices  in  one 
must  unavoidably  compassionate  the  other;  there  cannot  be 
that  delight  or  satisfaction,  which  appears  to  be  so  consider- 
able, without  the  inconveniencies,  whatever  they  are,  of  com- 
passion. 

However,  without  considering  this  connexion,  there  is  no 
doubt  but  that  more  good  than  evil,  more  delight  than  sorrow, 
arises  from  compassion  itself;  there  being  so  many  things 
which  balance  the  sorrow  of  it.  There  is  first  the  relief 
which  the  distressed  feel  from  this  affection  in  others  towards 
them.  There  is  likewise  the  additional  misery  which  they 
would  feel  from  the  reflection,  that  no  one  commiserated  their 
case.  It  is  indeed  true,  that  any  disposition,  prevailing  be- 
3'ond  a  certain  degree,  becomes  somewhat  wrong ;  and  we 
have  ways  of  speaking,  which,  though  they  do  not  directly 
express  that  excess,  yet,  always  lead  our  thoughts  to  it,  and 
give  us  the  notion  of  it.  Thus,  when  mention  is  made  of 
delight  in  being  pitied,  this  always  conveys  to  our  mind  the 
notion  of  somewhat  which  is  really  a  weakness  :  the  manner 
of  speaking,  I  say,  implies  a  certain  weakness  and  feebleness 
of  mind,  which  is  and  ought  to  be  disajiproved.  But  men 
of  the  greatest  fortitude  would  in  distress  feel  uneasiness, 
from  knowing  that  no  person  in  the  world  had  any  sort  of 
compassion  or  real  concern  for  them;  and  in  some  cases, 
especially  when  the  temper  is  enfeebled  by  sickness,  or  any 
long  and  great  distress,  doubtless,  would  feel  a  kind  of  relief 
even  from  the  helpless  good-will  and  ineffectual  assistances 
of  those  about  them.  Over  against  the  sorrow  of  compassion 
is  likewise  to  be  set  a  peculiar  calm  kind  of  satisfaction,  which 
accompanies  it,  unless  in  cases  where  the  distress  of  another 
is  by  some  means  so  brought  home  to  ourselves,  as  to  become 
in  a  manner  our  own;  or  when  from  weakness  of  mind  the 
affection  rises  too  high,  which  ought  to  be  corrected.  This 
tranquillity  or  calm  satisfaction  proceeds  partly  from  con- 
sciousness of  a  right  affection  and  temper  of  mind,  and  partly 
from  a  sense  of  our  own  freedom  from  the  misery  we  com- 
passionate. This  last  rnay  possibly  appear  to  some  at  first 
sight  faulty;  but  it  really  is  not  so.  It  is  the  same  with  that 
positive  enjoyment,  which  sudden  ease  from  pain  for  the  pre- 
sent affords,  arising  from  a  real  sense  of  miser}',  joined  with 
a  sense  of  our  freedom  from  it ;  which  in  all  cases  must  afford 
some  degree  of  satisfaction. 

To  these  things  must  be  added  the  observation,  which 
respects  both  the  affections  we  are  considering;  that  they 
who  have  got  over  all  fellow-feeling  for  others,  have  withal 
contracted  a  certain  callousness  of  heart,  which  renders  them 
insensible  to  most  other  satisfactions,  but  those  of  the  grossest 
kind. 

.Secondly,  Without  the  exercise  of  these  affections  men 
would  certainly  be  much  more  wanting  in  the  offices  of  charity 
they  owe  to  each  other,  and  likewise  more  cruel  and  injurious, 
than  they  are  at  present. 

The  private  interest  of  the  individual  would  not  be  suffi- 
ciently provided  for  by  reasonable  and  cool  self-love  alone  ; 
Vol,  II.— 3  P 


therefore  the  appetites  and  passions  are  placed  within  as  a 
guard  and  further  security,  without  which  it  would  not  be 
taken  due  care  of.  It  is  manifest  our  life  would  be  nco-lected, 
were  it  not  for  the  calls  of  hunger,  and  thirst,  and  weariness; 
notwithstanding  that  without  them  reason  would  assure  us, 
that  the  recruits  of  food  and  sleep  are  the  necessary  means  of 
our  preservation.  It  is  therefore  absurd  to  imagine,  that 
without  affection,  the  same  reason  alone  would  be  more  effect- 
ual to  engage  us  to  perform  the  duties  we  owe  to  our  fellow- 
creatures.  One  of  this  make  would  be  as  defective,  as  much 
wanting,  considered  with  respect  to  society,  as  one  of  the 
former  make  would  be  defective,  or  wanting,  considered  as 
an  individual,  or  in  his  private  capacity.  Is  it  possible  any 
can  in  earnest  think,  that  a  public  spirit,  i.  e.  a  settled  rea- 
sonable principle  of  benevolence  to  mankind,  is  so  prevalent 
and  strong  in  the  species,  as  that  we  may  venture  to  throw 
off  the  under  affections,  which  are  its  assistants,  carry  it  for- 
ward and  mark  out  particular  courses  for  it ;  family,  friends, 
neighbourhood,  the  distressed,  our  country?  Tlie  common 
joys  and  the  common  sorrows,  which  belong  to  these  relations 
and  circumstances,  are  as  plainly  useful  to  society,  as  the  pain 
and  pleasure  belonging  to  hunger,  thirst,  and  weariness,  are 
of  service  to  the  individual.  In  defect  of  that  higher  prin- 
ciple of  reason,  compassion  is  often  the  only  way  by  which 
the  indigent  can  have  access  to  us:  and  therefore,  to  eradi- 
cate this,  though  it  is  not  indeed  formally  to  deny  them  that 
assistance  which  is  their  due;  yet  it  is  to  cut  them  off  from 
that  which  is  too  frequently  their  only  way  of  obtaining  it. 
And  as  for  those  who  have  shut  up  this  door  against  the  com- 
plaints of  the  miserable,  and  conquered  this  affection  in  them- 
selves ;  even  these  persons  will  be  under  great  restraints  from 
the  same  affection  in  others.  Thus  a  man  who  has  himself 
no  sense  of  injustice,  cruelty,  oppression,  will  be  kept  from 
running  the  utmost  lengths  of  wickedness,  by  fear  of  that 
detestation,  and  even  resentment  of  inhumanity,  in  many  par- 
ticular instances  of  it,  which  compassion  for  the  object  towards 
whom  such  inhumanity  is  exercised,  excites  in  the  bulk  of 
mankind.  And  this  is  frequently  the  chief  danger,  and  the 
chief  restraint,  which  tyrants  and  the  great  oppressors  of  the 
world  feel. 

In  general,  experience  will  show,  that  as  want  of  natural 
appetite  to  food  supposes  and  proceeds  from  some  bodily 
disease;  so  the  apathy  the  stoics  talk  of,  as  inuch  supposes, 
or  is  accompanied  with,  somewhat  amiss  in  the  moral  char- 
acter, in  that  which  is  the  health  of  the  mind.  Those  who 
formerly  aimed  at  this  upon  the  foot  of  philosophy,  appear 
to  have  had  better  success  in  eradicating  the  affections  of 
tenderness  and  compassion,  than  they  had  with  the  passions 
of  envy,  pride  and  resentment:  these  latter,  at  best,  were  but 
concealed,  and  that  imperfectly  too.  How  far  this  observation 
may  be  extended  to  such  as  endeavour  to  suppress  the  natural 
impulses  of  their  affections,  in  order  to  form  themselves  for 
business  and  the  world,  I  shall  not  determine.  But  there 
does  not  appear  any  capacity  or  relation  to  be  named,  in  which 
men  ought  to  be  entirely  deaf  to  the  calls  of  affection,  unless 
the  judicial  one  is  to  be  excepted. 

And  as  to  those  who  are  commonly  called  the  men  of 
pleasure,  it  is  manifest,  that  the  reason  they  set  up  for  hard- 
ness of  heart,  is  to  avoid  being  interrupted  in  their  course, 
by  the  ruin  and  misery  they  are  the  authors  of:  neither  are 
persons  of  this  character  always  the  most  free  from  the  im- 
potencies  of  envy  and  resentment.  What  may  men  at  last 
bring  themselves  to,  by  suppressing  their  passions  and  affec- 
tions of  one  kind,  and  leaving  those  of  the  other  in  their  full 
strength  ?  But  surely  it  might  be  expected  that  persons  who 
make  pleasure  their  study  and  their  business,  if  they  iinder- 
stood  what  they  profess,  would  reflect,  how  many  of  the  en- 
tertainments of  life,  how  many  of  these  kind  of  amusements 
which  seem  peculiarly  to  belong  to  men  of  leisure  and  educa- 
tion, they  become  insensible  to  by  this  acquired  hardness  of 
heart. 

I  shall  close  these  reflections  with  barely  mentioning  the 
behaviour  of  that  divine  Person,  who  was  the  example  of  all 
perfection  in  human  nature,  as  represented  in  the  Gospels, 
mourning,  and  even,  in  a  literal  sense,  weeping  over  the  dis- 
tresses of  liis  creatures. 

The  observation  already  made,  that,  cf  the  two  aflpctions 
mentioned  in  the  text,  the  latter  exerts  itself  much  more  than 
the  former;  that,  from  the  original  constitution  of  human 
nature,  we  much  more  generally  and  sensibly  compassionate 
the  distressed,  than  rejoice  with  the  prosperous,  requires  to 
be  particularly  considered.  This  observation,  therefore,  with 
the  reflections  which  arise  out  of  it,  and  which  it  leads  our 
thoughts  to,  shall  be  the  subject  of  another  discourse. 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


514 

Foi  the  conclusion  of  this,  let  me  just  take  notice  of  the 
danger  of  ovcr-irreat  refinements ;  of  going  besides  or  beyond 
the  plain,  obvious,  first  appearances  of  things,  upon  the  sub- 
ject of  morals  and  religion.  The  least  observation  will  show 
how  little  the  generality  of  men  are  capable  of  speculations. 
Therefore  morality  and  religion  must  be  somewhat  plain  and 
easy  to  be  understood  :  it  must  appeal  to  what  we  call  plain 
common  sense,  as  distinguished  from  superior  capacity  and 
improvement;  because  it  appeals  to  mankind.  Persons  of 
superior  capacity  and  improvement  have  often  fallen  into 
errors,  which  no  one  of  mere  common  understanding  could. 
Is  it  possible  that  one  of  this  latter  character  could  ever  of 
himself  have  thought,  that  there  was  absolutely  no  sucli  thing 
in  mankind  as  atleclion  to  the  good  of  others  1  suppose  of 
parents  to  their  cliildren;  or  that  what  he  felt  upon  seeing  a 
friend  in  distress  was  only  fear  for  himself;  or,  upon  supposi- 
tion of  the  afieclions  of  kindness  and  compassion,  that  it  was 
the  business  of  wisdom  and  virtue  to  set  him  about  extirpating 
them  as  fast  as  he  could !  And  yet  eacli  of  these  iinanifest 
contradictions  to  nature  has  been  laid  down  by  men  of  specu- 
lation, as  a  discovery  in  moral  philosophy;  which  they,  it 
seems,  have  found  out  through  all  the  specious  appearances 
to  the  contrary.  This  reflection  may  be  extended  further. 
The  extravagancies  of  enthusiasm  and  superstition  do  not  at 
all  lie  in  the  road  of  common  sense;  and,  therefore,  so  far  as 
they  are  original  misfuk-cs,  must  be  owing  to  going  beside  or 
heyond  it.  "Now,  since  inquiry  and  examination  can  relate 
only  to  things  so  obscure  and  uncertain  as  to  stand  in  need  of 
it,  and  to  persons  who  are  capable  of  it;  the  proper  advice  to 
be  given  to  plain  honest  men,  to  secure  them  from  the  ex- 
tremes both  of  superstition  and  irreligion,  is  that  of  the  son 
of  Sirach  :  "  In  every  good  work  trust  thy  own  soul ;  for  this 
is  the  keeping  of  the  commandmerit." 


SERMON  VI. 


UPON  COMPASSION. 


(Preached  the  first  Sunday  in  Lent.) 

Rejoice  with  them  that  do  rejoice, and  weep  widi  them  that  weep. — 
Jioi:i.  xii.  15. 


There  is  a  much  more  exact  correspondence  between  the 
natural  and  moral  world,  than  we  are  apt  to  take  notice  ot. 
The  inward  frame  of  man  does  in  a  peculiar  manner  answer 
to  the  external  condition  and  circumstances  of  life,  in  which 
he  is  placed.  This  is  a  particular  instance  of  that  general 
observation  of  the  son  of  Sirach:  "All  things  are  double  one 
against  anotlier,  and  God  hath  made  nothing  imperfect."  The 
several  passions  and  affections  in  the  heart  of  man,  compared 
with  the  circumstances  of  life  in  wliich  he  is  placed,  all'ord, 
to  such  as  will  attend  to  them,  as  certain  instances  of  final 
causes,  as  any  whatever,  which  are  more  conmionly  alleged 
for  such  :  since  those  aflections  lead  him  to  a  certain  determi- 
nate course  of  action  suitable  to  those  circumstances;  as  (for 
instance)  compassion,  to  relieve  the  distressed.  And  as  all 
observations  of  final  causes,  drawn  from  the  principles  of 
action  in  the  heart  of  man,  compared  with  the  condition  he 
is  placed  in,  serve  all  the  good  uses  which  instances  of  final 
causes  in  the  material  workl  about  us  do;  and  both  tliese  are 
equally  proofs  of  wisdom  and  design  in  the  Author  of  nature  : 
so  the  former  serve  to  further  good  purposes;  they  show  us 
what  course  of  life  we  are  made  for,  what  is  our  dijty,  and  in 
a  peculiar  manner  enforce  upon  us  the  practice  of  it. 

Suppose  we  are  capable  of  happiness  and  of  misery  in  de- 
grees equally  intense  and  extreme,  yet,  we  are  capable  of  the 
latter  for  a  much  longer  time,  heyond  all  comparison.  We 
see  men  in  the  tortures  of  pain  for  hours,  days,  and,  excepting 
the  short  suspensions  of  sleep,  for  months  together,  without 
intermission;  to  which  no  enjoyments  of  life  do,  in  degree 
and  continuance,  bear  any  sort  of  proportion.  And  such  is 
our  make  and  that  of  the  \vorld  about  us,  that  any  thing  may 
become  the  instrument  of  pain  and  sorrow  to  us.  Thus  al- 
most any  one  man  is  capable  of  doing  mischief  to  any  other, 
though  he  may  not  be  capable  of  doing  liim  good  :  and  if  he 
he  capable  of  doing  him  some  good,  he  is  capable  of  doing 
him  more  evil.  And  it  is,  in  numberless  cases,  much  inore 
in  our  povver  to  lessen  the  miseries  of  others,  than  to  promote 
their  positive  happiness,  any  otherwise  than  as  the  lormcr 


often  includes  the  latter;  ease  from  misery  occasioning  for 
some  time  the  greatest  positive  enjoyment.  This  constitution 
of  nature,  namely,  that  it  is  so  much  more  in  our  power  to 
occasion  and  likewise  to  lessen  misery,  than  to  promote  ))osi- 
tive  happiness,  plainly  required  a  particular  affection,  to  binder 
us  from  abusing,  and  to  incline  us  to  make  a  right  use  of  the 
former  powers,  ('.  e.  the  powers  both  to  occasion  and  to  lessen 
misery;  over  and  above  what  was  necessary  to  induce  us  to 
make  a  right  use  of  the  latter  power,  that  of  promoting  posi- 
tive happiness.  The  power  we  have  over  the  misery  of  our 
fellow-creatures,  to  occasion  or  lessen  it,  being  a  more  im- 
portant trust  than  the  power  we  have  of  promoting  their 
positive  happiness;  the  former  requires  and  has  a  i'urther,  an 
additional  security  and  guard  against  its  being  violated,  be- 
yond and  over  and  above  what  the  latter  has.  The  social 
nature  of  man,  and  general  good-will  to  his  K]>ccies,  equally 
prevent  him  from  doing  evil,  incline  him  to  relieve  the  dis- 
tressed, and  to  promote  the  positive  happiness  of  his  fellow- 
creatures:  but  compassion  only  restrains  from  the  first,  and 
carries  him  to  the  second  ;  it  hath  nothing  to  do  with  the  third. 
The  final  causes  then  of  compassion  are  to  prevent  and  to 
relieve  misery. 

As  to  the  former:  this  affection  may  plainly  be  a  restraint 
u]>on  resentment,  envy,  unreasonable  self-love;  that  is,  upon 
all  the  principles  from  which  men  do  evil  to  one  another.  Let 
us  instance  only  in  resentment.  It  seldom  happens,  in  regu- 
lated societies,  that  men  have  an  enemy  so  entirely  in  their 
power,  as  to  be  able  to  satiate  their  resentment  with  safety. 
But  if  we  were  to  put  this  case,  it  is  plainly  supposable,  that 
a  person  might  bring  his  enemy  into  such  a  condition,  as  from 
being  the  object  of  anger  and  rage,  to  become  an  object  of 
compassion,  even  to  himself,  though  the  most  malicious  man 
in  the  world:  and  in  this  case  compassion  would  sto])  him,  if 
he  could  stop  with  safety,  from  pursuing  his  revenge  any 
further.  But  since  nature  has  placed  within  us  more  power- 
ful restraints  to  prevent  mischief,  and  since  the  final  cause  of 
compassion  is  much  more  to  relieve  misery,  let  us  go  on  to 
the  consideration  of  it  in  this  view. 

As  this  world  was  not  intended  to  be  a  state  of  any  great 
satisfaction  or  high  enjoyment;  so  neither  was  it  intended  to 
be  a  mere  scene  of  unhappiness  and  sorrow.  Mitigations 
and  reliefs  are  provided  by  the  merciful  Author  of  nature, 
for  most  of  the  afflictions  in  human  life.  There  is  kind 
provision  made  even  against  our  frailties;  as  we  are  so  con- 
stituted, that  time  abundantly  abates  our  sorrows,  and  begets 
in  us  that  resignment  of  temper  which  ought  to  have  been 
produced  by  a  better  cause;  a  due  sense  of  the  authority  of 
God,  and  our  state  of  dependence.  This  holds  in  respect  to 
far  the  greatest  part  of  the  evils  of  life;  I  suppose,  in  some 
degree  as  to  pain  and  sickness.  Now  this  part  of  the  coii- 
stitution  or  make  of  man,  considered  as  some  relief  to  misery, 
and  not  as  provision  for  positive  happiness,  is,  if  I  may  so 
speak,  an  instance  of  nature's  compassion  for  us;  and  every 
natural  remedy  or  relief  to  misery  may  be  considered  in  the 
same  view. 

But  since  in  many  cases  it  is  very  much  in  our  power  to 
alleviate  the  miseries  of  each  other;  and  benevolence,  though 
natural  in  man  to  man,  yet  is  in  a  very  low  degree  kept  down 
by  interest  and  competitions;  and  men,  for  the  most  part,  are 
so  engaged  in  the  business  and  pleasures  of  the  world,  as  to 
overlook  and  turn  away  from  objects  of  misery;  which  are 
plainly  considered  as  interruptions  to  them  in  their  way,  as 
intruders  upon  their  business,  their  gaiety  and  mirth ;  com- 
passion is  an  advocate  within  us  in  their  behalf,  to  gain  the 
unhappy  admittance  and  access,  to  make  their  case  attended 
to.  If  it  sometimes  serves  a  contrary  purpose,  and  makes  men 
industriously  turn  away  from  the  miserable,  these  are  only 
instances  of  abuse  and  perversion:  for  the  end,  for  which  the 
affection  was  given  us,  most  certainly  is  not  to  make  us  avoid, 
but  to  make  us  attend  to,  the  objects  of  it.  And  if  men  would 
only  resolve  to  allow  thus  much  to  it;  let  it  bring  before 
their  view,  the  view  of  their  mind,  the  miseries  of  their  fel- 
low-creatures ;  let  it  gain  for  them  that  their  case  be  con- 
sidered; I  am  persuaded  it  would  not  fail  of  gaining  more, 
and  that  very  few  real  objects  of  charity  would  pass  unrelieved. 
Pain  and  sorrow  and  misery  have  a  right  to  our  assistance: 
compassion  puts  us  in  mind  of  the  debt,  and  that  we  owe  it 
to  ourselves  as  well  as  to  the  distressed.  For,  to  endeavour 
to  get  rid  of  the  sorrow  of  compassion  by  turning  from  the 
wretched,  when  yet  it  is  in  our  power  to  relieve  them,  is  as 
unnatural  as  to  endeavour  to  get  rid  of  the  pain  of  hunger  by 
keeping  from  the  sight  of  food.  That  we  can  do  one  with 
greater  success  than'we  can  the  other,  is  no  proof  that  one  is 
fess  a  violation  of  nature  than  the  other.     Compassion  is  a 


BISHOP  BUTLER'S  SERMONS. 


515 


Pall,  a  demand  of  nature,  to  relieve  the  unhappy;  as  hunger  into  ibeexlremes  of  insensibility  towards  thedislresses  of  their 


is  a  natural  call  for  food.  This  affection  plainly  gives  the 
objects  of  it  an  additional  claim  to  relief  and  mercy,  over  and 
above  what  our  fellow-creatures  in  common  have  to  our  good- 
will. Liberality  and  bounty  are  exceedingly  commendable; 
and  a  particidar  distinction  in  such  a  world  as  this,  where 
men  set  themselves  to  contract  their  heart,  and  close  it  to  all 
interests  but  their  own.  It  is  by  no  means  to  be  opposed  to 
mercy,  but  always  accompanies  it:  the  distinction  between 
them  is  only,  that  the  former  leads  our  thoughts  to  a  more 
promiscuous  and  undistinguished  distribution  of  favours;  to 
those  who  are  not,  as  well  as  those  who  are  necessitous ; 
whereas  the  object  of  compassion  is  misery.  But  in  the 
comparison,  and  where  there  is  not  a  possibility  of  both, 
mercy  is  to  have  the  preference ;  the  affection  of  compassion 
mawifesth'  leads  us  to  this  preference.  Thus,  to  relieve  the 
indigent  and  distressed,  to  single  out  the  nnhappy,  from  whom 
can  be  expected  no  returns  either  of  present  entertainment  or 
future  service,  fur  the  objects  of  our  favours ;  to  esteem  a 
man's  being  friendless  as  a  recommendation  ;  dejection,  and 
incapacity  of  struggling  through  the  world,  as  a  motive  for 
assisting  him  ;  in  a  word,  to  consider  these  circumstances  of 
disadvantage,  which  are  usually  thought  a  sufficient  reason 
for  neglect  and  overlooking  a  person,  as  a  motive  for  helping 
him  forward :  this  is  the  course  of  benevolence  which  com- 
passion marks  out  and  directs  us  to:  this  is  that  humanity 
which  is  so  peculiarlj'  becoming  our  nature  and  circumstances 
in  this  world. 

To  these  considerations,  drawn  from  the  nature  of  man, 
must  be  added  the  reason  of  the  thing  itself  we  are  recom- 
mending, which  accords  to  and  shows  the  same.  For  since 
it  is  so  much  more  in  our  power  to  lessen  the  miser)'  of  our 
fellow-creatures,  than  to  promote  their  positive  happiness  ; 
in  cases  where  there  is  an  inconsistency,  we  shall  be  likely 
to  do  much  more  good  by  setting  ourselves  to  mitigate  the 
former,  than  by  endeavouring  to  promote  the  latter.  Let  the 
competition  be  between  the  poor  and  the  rich.  It  is  easy, 
you  will  say,  to  see  which  will  have  the  preference.  True  : 
but  the  question  is,  which  ought  to  have  the  preference  ^ 
\Vliat  proportion  is  there  between  the  happiness  produced 
by  doing  a  favour  to  the  indigent,  and  that  produced  by  doing 
the  same  favour  to  one  in  easy  circumstances?  It  is  mani- 
fest, that  the  adiliiion  of  a  very  large  estate  to  one  who  be- 
fore had  an  atiiuence,  will  in  many  instances  yield  him  less 
new  enjoyment  or  satisfaction,  than  an  ordinary  charity  would 
yield  to  a  necessitous  person.  So  that  it  is  not  only  true, 
that  our  nature,  i.  e.  the  voice  of  God  within  us,  carries  us  to 
the  exercise  of  charity  and  benevolence  in  the  way  of  com- 
passion or  mercy,  preferably  to  any  other  way  ;  but  we  also 
manifestly  discern  much  more  good  done  by  the  former;  or, 
if  you  will  allow  me  the  expressions,  more  misery  annihila- 
ted and  happiness  created.  If  charity  and  benevolence,  and 
endeavouring  to  do  good  to  our  fellow-creatures,  be  any  thing, 
this  observation  deserves  to  be  most  seriously  considered  by 
all  who  have  to  bestow.  And  it  holds  with  great  exactness, 
when  applied  to  the  several  degrees  of  greater  and  less  in- 
digency throughout  the  various  ranks  in  human  life:  the 
happiness  or  good  produced  not  being  in  proportion  to  what 
is  bestowed,  but  in  proportion  to  this  joined  with  the  need 
there  was  of  it. 

It  may  perhaps  be  expected,  that  upon  this  subject  notice 
should  be  taken  of  occasions,  circumstances,  and  characters, 
which  seem  at  once  to  call  forth  affections  of  different  sorts. 
Thus  vice  may  be  thought  the  object  both  of  pity  and  indig- 
nation: folly,  of  pity  and  of  laughter.  How  far  this  is 
strictly  true,  I  shall  not  inquire ;  but  onlj' observe  upon  the 
appearance,  how  much  more  humane  it  is  to  yield  and  give 
scope  to  affections,  which  are  most  directly  in  favour  of,  and 
friendly  towards,  our  fellow-creatures ;  and  that  there  is  plain- 
ly much  less  danger  of  being  led  wrong  by  these,  than  by  the 
other. 

But,  notwithstanding  all  that  has  been  said  in  recommen- 
dation of  compassion,  that  it  is  most  amiable,  most  becoming 
human  nature,  and  most  useful  to  the  worhl  ;  yet  it  must  be 
owned,  that  every  affection,  as  distinct  from  a  principle  of 
reason,  may  rise  too  high,  and  be  beyond  its  just  proportion. 
And  by  means  of  this  one  carried  too  far,  a  man  throughout 
his  life  is  subject  to  much  more  uneasiness  than  belongs  to 
his  share  :  and  in  particular  instances,  it  may  be  in  such  a 
degree,  as  to  incapacitate  him  from  assisting  the  very  person 
who  is  the  object  of  it.  But  as  there  are  some  who  upon 
principle  set  up  for  suppressing  this  affection  itself  as  weak- 
ness, there  is  also  1  know  not  what  of  fashion  on  this  side; 
and,  by  some  means  or  other,  the  whole  world  almost  is  run 


fellow-creatures  :  so  that  general  rules  and  exhortations  must 
alwaj's  be  on  the  other  side. 

And  now  to  go  on  to  the  uses  we  should  make  of  the  fore- 
going reflections,  the  further  ones  they  lead  to,  and  the  gen- 
eral temper  they  have  a  tendency  to  beget  in  us.  There 
being  that  distinct  affection  implanted  in  the  nature  of  man, 
tending  to  lessen  the  miseries  of  life,  that  jiartieular  provi- 
sion made  for  abating  its  sorrows,  more  than  for  increasing 
its  positive  happiness,  as  before  explained  ;  this  may  suggest 
to  us  what  should  be  our  general  aim  respecting  ourselves, 
in  our  passage  through  this  world  :  namely,  to  endeavour 
chiefly  to  escape  misery,  keep  free  from  uneasiness,  pain, 
and  sorrow,  or  to  get  relief  and  mitigation  of  them  ;  to  propose 
to  ourselves  peace  and  tranquillity  of  mind,  rather  than  pursue 
after  high  enjoyments.  This  is  what  the  constitution  of  na- 
ture before  explained  marks  out  as  the  course  we  should  fol- 
low, and  the  end  we  should  aim  at.  To  make  pleasure  and 
mirth  and  jollity  our  business,  and  be  constantly  hurrying 
about  after  some  gay  amusement,  some  new  gratification  of 
sense  or  appetite,  to  those  who  will  consider  the  nature  of 
man  and  our  condition  in  this  world,  will  appear  the  most  ro- 
mantic scheme  of  life  that  ever  entered  into  thought.  And 
yet  how  many  are  there  who  go  on  in  this  course,  without 
learning  better  from  the  daily,  the  hourly  disappointments, 
listlessness,  and  satiety,  which  accompany  this  fashionable 
method  of  wasting  away  their  days! 

The  subject  we  have  been  insisting  upon  would  lead  us 
into  the  same  kind  of  reflections,  by  a  different  connexion. 
The  miseries  of  life  brought  home  to  ourselves  by  compas- 
sion, viewed  through  this  affection  considered  as  the  sense 
by  which  they  are  perceived,  would  beget  in  us  that  moder- 
ation, humility,  and  soberness  of  mind,  which  has  been  now 
recommended ;  and  which  peculiarly  belongs  to  a  season  of 
recollection,  the  only  purpose  of  which  is  to  bring  us  to  a 
just  sense  of  things,  to  recover  us  out  of  that  forgetfulness 
of  ourselves,  and  our  true  state,  which  it  is  manifest  far  the 
greatest  part  of  men  pass  their  whole  life  in.  Upon  this 
account  Solomon  sa)-s,  that  "  it  is  better  to  go  to  the  house  of 
mourning  than  to  go  to  the  house  of  feasting;"  /.  e.  it  is  more 
to  a  man's  advantage  to  turn  his  eyes  towards  objects  of 
distress,  to  recall  sometimes  to  his  remembrance  the  occa- 
sions of  sorrow,  than  to  pass  all  his  days  in  thoughtless  mirth 
and  gaiety.  And  he  represents  the  wise  as  choosing  to  fre- 
quent the  former  of  these  places  ;  to  be  sure  not  for  its  own 
sake,  but  because  by  the  sadrtess  of  the  countenance  f/ie  heart 
is  made  belter.  Every  one  observes  how  temperate  and  rea- 
sonable men  are  when  humbled  and  brought  low  by  afflic- 
tions, in  comparison  of  what  they  are  in  high  prosperity. 
By  this  voluntary  resort  to  the  house  of  mourning,  w'hich  is 
here  recommended,  we  might  learn  all  those  useful  instruc- 
tions which  calamities  teach,  without  undergoing  them  our- 
selves; and  grow  wiser  and  better  at  a  more  easy  rate  than 
men  commonly  do.  The  objects  themselves,  which  in  that 
place  of  sorrow  lie  before  our  view,  naturally  give  us  a  seri- 
ousness and  attention,  check  that  wantonness  which  is  the 
growth  of  prosperity  and  ease,  and  lead  us  to  reflect  upon 
the  deficiencies  of  human  life  itself;  that  ei-eri/  man,  at  his 
beat  estate,  is  altogether  ranili/.  This  would  coriect  the  florid 
and  gaudy  prospects  and  expectations  which  we  are  too  apt 
to  indulge,  tei'.ch  us  to  lower  our  notions  of  happiness  and 
enjoyment,  bring  them  down  to  the  reality  of  things,  to 
what  is  attainable,  to  what  the  frailty  of  our  condition  will 
admit  of.  which,  for  any  continuance,  is  only  tranquillity, 
ease,  and  moderate  satisfactions.  Thus  we  might  at  once 
become  proof  against  the  temptations  with  which  the  whole 
world  almost  is  carried  away ;  since  it  is  plain,  that  not  only 
what  is  called  a  life  of  pleasure,  but  also  vicious  pursuits  in 
general,  aim  at  somewhat  besides  and  beyond  these  moderate 
satisfactions. 

And  as  to  that  obstinacy  and  wilfulness,  which  renders 
men  so  insensible  to  the  motives  of  religion  ;  this  right  sense 
of  ourselves  and  of  the  world  about  us  would  bend  the  stub- 
born mind,  soften  the  heart,  and  make  it  more  apt  to  receive 
impression  :  and  this  is  the  proper  temper  in  which  to  call 
our  ways  to  remembrance,  to  review  and  set  home  upon  our- 
selves the  miscarriages  of  our  past  life.  In  such  a  compliant 
state  of  mind,  reason  and  conscience  will  have  a  fair  hearing; 
which  is  the  preparation  for.  or  rather  the  beginning  of, 
that  repentance,  the  outward  show  of  which  we  all  put  on  at 
this  season. 

Lastly,  The  various  miseries  of  life  which  lie  before  us 
wherever  we  turn  our  eyes,  the  frailty  of  this  mortal  state 
we  are  passing  through,  maj'  put  us  in  mind  that  the  pre- 


516 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


sent  world  is  not  our  honae ;  that  we  are  merely  strangers 
and  travellers  in  it,  as  all  our  fathers  were.  It  is  therefore 
to  be  considered  as  a  foreio-n  country  ;  in  which  our  poverty 
and  wants,  and  the  insiiHicient  supplies  of  them,  were  de- 
signed to  turn  our  views  to  that  higher  and  better  state  we 
are  heirs  to  :  a  state  where  will  be  no  follies  to  be  over- 
looked, no  miseries  to  be  pitied,  no  wants  to  be  relieved ; 
where  the  affection  we  have  been  now  treating  of  will  hap- 
pily be  lost,  as  there  will  be  no  objects  to  exercise  it  upon : 
for  "God  shall  wipe  away  all  tears  from  their  eyes,  and  there 
shall  be  no  more  death,  neither  sorrow,  nor  crying  :  neither 
shall  there  be  any  more  pain ;  for  the  former  things  are 
passed  away. 


SERMON  VII. 


UPON  THE  CHARACTER  OF  BALAAM. 

(Preached  the  second  Sunday  after  Easter.) 

Let  me  die  the  death  of  the  righteous,  and  let  my  last  end  be  like 
liis. — ^Vitmb.  xxiii.  10. 

These  words,  taken  alone,  and  without  respect  to  him  who 
spoke  them,  lead  our  thoughts  immediately  to  the  diflerent 
ends  of  good  and  bad  men.  For  though  the  comparison  is 
no  expressed,  yet  it  is  manifestly  implied ;  as  is  also  the 
preference  of  one  of  these  characters  to  the  other  in  that  last 
circumstance,  death.  And,  since  dying  the  death  of  the 
righteous  or  of  the  wicked  necessarily  implies  men's  being 
righteous  or  wicked,  ;.  f.  having  lived  righteously  or  wick- 
edly; a  comparison  of  them  in  their  lives  also  might  come 
into  consideration,  from  such  a  single  view  of  the  words  them- 
selves. But  my  present  design  is  to  consider  them  with  a 
particular  reference  or  respect  to  him  who  spoke  them ; 
which  reference,  if  you  please  to  attend,  you  will  see.  And 
if  what  shall  be  oifered  to  your  consideration  at  this  time 
be  thought  a  discourse  upon  the  whole  history  of  this  man, 
rather  than  upon  the  particular  words  I  have  read,  this  is  of 
no  consequence  ;  it  is  sufficient,  if  it  aflbrd  reflection  of  use 
and  service  to  ourselves. 

But,  in  order  to  avoid  cavils  respecting  this  remarkable  re- 
lation in  Scripture,  either  that  part  of  it  which  you  have  heard 
in  the  first  lesson  for  the  day,  or  any  others;  let  me  just  ob- 
serve, that  as  this  is  not  a  place  for  answering  them,  so  they 
no  way  affect  the  following  discourse  ;  since  the  character 
there  given  is  plainly  a  real  one  in  life,  and  such  as  there  are 
parallels  to. 

The  occasion  of  Balaam's  coming  out  of  his  own  country 
into  the  land  of  Moab,  where  he  pronounced  this  solemn 
prayer  or  wish,  he  himself  relates  in  the  first  parable  or  pro- 
phetic speech,  of  which  it  is  the  conclusion.  In  which  is  a 
custom  referred  to,  proper  to  be  taken  notice  of:  that  of  de- 
voting enemies  to  destruction,  before  the  entrance  upon  a  war 
with  them.  This  custom  appears  to  have  prevailed  over  a 
great  part  of  the  world  ;  for  we  find  it  amongst  the  most  dis- 
tant nations.  The  Uornans  had  public  ofiicers,  to  whom  it 
belonged  as  a  stated  part  of  their  ofiice.  But  there  was  some- 
what more  particular  in  the  case  now  before  us ;  Balaam  be- 
ing looked  upon  as  an  extraordinary  person,  whose  blessing 
or  curse  was  thought  to  be  always  effectual. 

In  order  to  engage  the  reader's  attention  to  this  passage, 
the  sacred  historian  has  enumerated  the  preparatory  circum- 
stances, which  are  these.  Balaam  requires  the  king  of  Moab 
to  build  him  seven  altars,  and  to  prepare  him  the  same  num- 
ber of  oxen  and  of  rams.  The  sacrifice  being  over,  he  retires 
alone  to  a  solitude  sacred  to  these  occasions,  there  to  wait 
the  divine  inspiration  or  answer,  for  which  the  forgoing  rites 
were  the  preparation.  "  And  God  met  Balaam,  and  put  a  word 
in  his  mouth;"  upon  receiving  which,  he  returns  back  to  the 
altars,  where  was  the  king,  who  had  all  this  while  attended 
the  sacrifice,  as  appointed ;  he  and  all  the  princes  of  Moab 
standing,  big  with  expectation  of  the  prophet's  repl}'.  "And 
he  took  up  his  parable,  and  said,  Balak  the  king  of  Moab 
hath  brought  me  from  Aram,  out  of  the  mountains  of  the  east, 
saying.  Come,  curse  me  .lacob,  and  come,  defy  Israel.  How 
shall  I  curse,  whom  God  hath  notcursed  ?  Or  how  shall  I  defy 
whom  the  Lord  hath  not  defied?  For  from  the  top  of  the 
rocks  I  see  him,  and  from  the  hills  I  behold  liim:  lo,  the  peo- 
ple shall  dwell  alone,  and  shall  not  be  reckoned  among  the 


nations.  Who  can  count  the  dust  of  Jacob,  and  the  number 
of  the  fourth  part  of  Israel  ?  Let  me  die  the  death  of  the- 
righteous,  and  let  my  last  end  be  like  his." 

It  is  necessary,  as  you  will  see  in  the  progress  of  this  dis- 
course, particularly  to  observe  what  he  understood  by  righ- 
teous. And  he  himself  is  introduced  in  the  book  of  Micah 
explaining  it;  if  by  riglilcnus  is  meant  i;-oorf,  as  to  be  sure  it 
is.  "  0  my  people,  remember  now  what  Balak  king  of  Moab 
consulted,  and  what  Balaam  the  son  of  Beor  answered  him 
from  Shittim  unto  Gilgal."  From  the  mention  of  Shittim  it 
is  manifest,  that  it  is  this  very  story  which  is  here  referred 
to,  though  another  part  of  it,  the  account  of  which  is  not  now 
extant;  as  there  are  many  quotations  in  Scripture  out  of  books 
which  are  not  come  down  to  us.  "  Remember  what  Balaam 
answered,  that  ye  may  know  the  righteousness  of  the  Lord  ;" 
('.  e.  the  righteousness  which  God  will  accept.  Balak  de- 
mands "  Wherewith  shall  I  come  before  the  Lord,  and  bow 
myself  before  the  high  God?  Shall  I  come  before  him  with 
burnt-ofterings,  with  calves  of  a  year  old  ?  Will  the  Lord  be 
pleased  with  thousands  of  rams,  or  with  ten  thousands  of  oil  ? 
Shall  I  give  my  first-born  for  my  transgression,  the  fruit  of 
my  body  for  the  sin  of  my  soul  V  Balaam  answers  him,  "  He 
hath  showed  thee,  O  man,  what  is  good  :  and  what  doth  the 
Lord  require  of  thee,  but  to  do  justly,  and  to  love  mercy,  and  to 
walk  humbly  with  thy  God  1"  Here  is  a  good  man  expressly 
characterized,  as  distinct  from  a  dishonest  and  a  superstitious 
man.  No  words  can  more  strongly  exclude  dishonesty  and 
falseness  of  heart,  than  doing  justice,  and  loving  mercy  ■  and 
both  these,  as  well  as  ivalking  humbly  ivith  God,  are  put  in 
opposition  to  those  ceremonial  methods  of  recommendation, 
which  Balak  hoped  might  have  served  the  turn.  From  hence 
appears  what  he  meant  by  the  righteous  whose  death  he  de- 
sires to  die. 

Whether  it  was  his  own  character  shall  now  be  inquired  : 
and  in  order  to  determine  it,  we  must  take  a  view  of  his  whole 
behaviour  upon  this  occasion.  When  the  elders  of  Moab 
came  to  him,  though  he  appears  to  have  been  much  allured 
with  the  rewards  offered,  yet  he  had  such  regard  to  the  au- 
thority of  God,  as  to  keep  the  messengers  in  suspense  until 
he  had  consulted  his  will.  "And  God  said  to  him.  Thou 
shalt  not  go  with  them,  thou  shalt  not  curse  the  people,  for 
they  are  blessed.  Upon  this  he  dismisses  the  ambassadors, 
with  an  absolute  refusal  of  accompanying  them  back  to  their 
king.  Thus  far  his  regards  to  duty  prevailed,  neither  does 
there  any  thing  appear  as  yet  amiss  in  his  conduct.  His  an- 
swer being  reported  to  the  king  of  Moab,  a  more  honourable 
embassy  is  immediately  despatched,  and  greater  rewards  pro- 
posed. Then  the  iniquity  of  his  heart  began  to  disclose  itself. 
A  thorough  honest  man  would  without  hesitation  have  re- 
peated his  former  answer,  that  he  could  not  be  guilty  of  so 
infamous  a  prostitution  of  the  sacred  character  with  which  he 
was  invested,  as  in  the  name  of  a  prophet  to  curse  those  whom 
he  knew  to  be  blessed.  But  instead  of  this,  which  was  the 
only  honest  part  in  these  circumstances  that  lay  before  him, 
he  desires  the  princes  of  Moab  to  tarry  that  night  with  him 
also ;  and  for  the  sake  of  the  reward  deliberates,  whether  by 
some  means  or  other  he  might  not  be  able  to  obtain  leave  to 
curse  Israel;  to  do  that,  which  had  been  before  revealed  to 
him  to  be  contrary  to  the  will  of  God,  which  yet  he  resolves 
nol  to  do  without  that  permission.  Upon  which,  as  when 
this  nation  afterward  rejected  God  from  reigning  over  them, 
he  gave  them  a  king  in  his  anger;  in  the  same  wa)%  as  ap- 
pears from  other  parts  of  the  narration,  he  gives  Balaam  the 
permission  he  desired  :  for  this  is  the  most  natural  sense  of 
the  words.  Arriving  in  the  territories  of  Moab,  and  being 
received  with  particular  distinction  by  the  king,  and  he  re- 
peating in  person  the  promise  of  the  rewards  he  had  before 
made  to  him  by  his  ambassadors  :  he  seeks,  the  text  says,  by 
sacrifices  and  enchantments  (what  these  were  is  not  to  our  pur- 
pose), to  obtain  leave  of  God  to  curse  the  people;  keeping 
still  his  resolution,  not  to  do  it  without  that  permission: 
which  not  being  able  to  obtain,  he  had  such  regard  to  the 
command  of  God,  as  to  keep  this  resolution  to  the  last.  The 
supposition  of  his  being  under  a  supernatural  restraint  is  a 
mere  fiction  of  Philo :  he  is  plainly  represented  to  be  under 
no  other  force  or  restraint,  than  the  fear  of  God.  However, 
he  goes  on  persevering  in  that  endeavour,  after  he  had  de- 
clared, that  "God  had  not  beheld  iniquity  in  Jacob,  neither 
had  he  seen  perverseness  in  Israel;  /.  e.  they  were  a  people 
of  virtue  and  piety,  so  far  as  not  to  have  drawn  down,  by  their 
iniquity,  that  curse  which  he  was  soliciting  leave  to  pro- 
nounce upon  them.  So  that  the  state  of  Balaam's  mind  was 
this :  he  wanted  to  do  what  he  knew  to  be  very  wicked,  and 
contrary  to  the  express  command  of  God  ;  he  had  inward 


BISHOP  BUTLER'S  SERMONS. 


517 


checks  and  restraints,  which  he  coukl  not  entirely  get  over; 
he  therefore  casts  about  for  ways  to  reconcile  this  wicked- 
ness with  his  duty.  How  5re.1t  a  paradox  soever  this  may 
appear,  as  it  is  indeed  a  contradiction  in  terms,  it  is  the  very 
account  which  the  scripture  gives  us  of  him. 

But  there  is  a  more  surprisinor  piece  of  iniquity  yet  heliind. 
Not  daring  in  his  religious  character,  as  a  prophet,  to  assist 
the  king  of  Moab,  he  considers  whether  there  might  not  be 
found  some  other  means  of  assisting  him  ajrainst  that  very 
people,  whom  he  himself  hy  the  fear  of  God  was  restrained 
from  cursing  in  words.  One  would  not  think  it  possible 
that  the  weakness,  even  of  religious  self-deceit  in  its  utmost 
excess,  could  have  so  poor  a  distinction,  so  fond  an  evasion, 
to  serve  itself  of.  But  so  it  was:  and  he  could  think  of  no 
other  method,  than  to  betray  the  children  of  Israel  to  provoli 
his  wrath,  who  was  their  only  strength  and  defence.  The 
temptation  which  he  pitched  upon,  was  that  concerning  which 
Solomon  afterward  observed,  that  it  had  "cast  down  many 
vvonnded  ;  yea,  many  strong  men  had  been  slain  by  it:"  and 
of  which  he  himself  was  a  sad  example,  when  "his  wives 
turned  away  his  heart  after  other  gods."  This  succeeded  :  the 
people  sin  against  God  ;  and  thus  the  prophet's  counsel  broun-ht 
on  that  destruction,  which  he  could  by  no  means  be  prevailed 
upon  to  assist  with  the  religious  ceremony  of  execration, 
wliich  the  king  of  Moab  thought  would  itself  have  effected  it. 
Their  crime  and  punishment  are  related  in  Deuteronomy  and 
Numbers.  And  from  the  relation  repeated  in  Numbers,  it 
appears,  that  Balaam  was  the  contriver  of  the  whole  matter. 
It  is  also  ascribed  to  him  in  the  Revelation,  where  he  is  said 
to  have  "taught  Balak  to  cast  a  stumbling-block  before  the 
children  of  Israel. 

This  was  tlie  man,  this  Balaam,  I  say,  was  the  man  who 
desired  to  "  die  the  death  of  the  righteous,"  and  that  his  "  last 
end  might  be  like  his:"  and  this  was  the  state  of  his  mind, 
when  he  pronounced  these  words. 

So  that  the  object  we  have  now  before  us  is  the  most  as- 
tonishinsf  in  the  world  :  a  very  wicked  man,  under  a  deep 
sense  of  God  and  religion,  persisting  still  in  his  wickedness, 
and  preferring  the  wages  of  unrighteousness,  even  when  he 
had  before  him  a  lively  view  of  death,  and  that  approaching 
period  of  his  days,  which  should  deprive  him  of  all  (hose  ad- 
vantages for  which  he  was  prostituting  himself;  and  likewise 
a  prospect,  whether  certain  or  uncertain,  of  a  future  state  of 
retribution:  all  this  joined  with  an  explicit  ardent  wish,  that, 
when  he  was  to  leave  this  world,  he  might  be  in  the  condi- 
tion of  a  righteous  man.  Good  God,  wliat  inconsistency, 
what  perplexity  is  here  !  With  what  different  views  of  things, 
with  wliat  contradictory  principles  of  action,  must  such  a 
mind  be  torn  and  distracted  !  It  was  not  unthinking  care- 
lessness, by  which  he  run  on  headlong  in  vice  and  folly,  with- 
out ever  making  a  stand  to  ask  himself  what  he  was  doing: 
no  ;  he  acted  upon  the  cool  motives  of  interest  and  advantage. 
Neither  was  he  totally  hard  and  callous  to  impressions  of  re- 
ligion, what  we  call  abandoned  ;  for  he  absolutely  denied  to 
curse  Israel.  When  reason  assumes  her  place,  when  con- 
vinced of  his  duty,  when  he  owns  and  feels,  and  is  actually 
under  the  influence  of  the  divine  authority :  whilst  he  is  car- 
rying on  his  views  to  the  grave,  the  end  of  all  temporal  great- 
ness ;  under  this  sense  of  things,  with  the  belter  character 
and  more  desirable  state  present — full  before  him — in  his 
thoughts,  in  his  wishes,  voluntarily  to  choose  the  worse — 
what  fatality  is  here!  Or  how  otherwise  can  such  a  charac- 
ter be  explained^  And  yet  strange  as  it  may  appear,  it  is 
not  altogether  an  uncommon  one  ;  nay,  with  some  small  alter- 
ations, and  put  a  little  lower,  it  is  applicable  to  a  very  con- 
siderable part  of  the  world.  For  if  the  reasonable  choice  be 
seen  and  acknowledged,  and  yet  men  make  the  unreasonable 
one,  is  not  this  the  same  contradiction;  that  very  inconsist- 
ency, which  appeared  so  unaccountable  ? 

To  give  some  little  opening  to  such  characters  and  beha- 
viour, it  is  to  be  observed  in  general,  that  there  is  no  account 
to  be  given  in  the  way  of  reason,  of  men's  so  strong  attach- 
ments to  the  present  world:  our  hopes  and  fears  and  pursuits 
are  in  degrees  bc)'ond  all  |)roportion  to  the  known  value  of 
the  things  they  respect.  This  may  be  said  without  taking 
into  consideration  religion  and  a  future  state;  and  when  these 
are  considered,  the  disproportion  is  infinitely  heightened. 
Now  when  men  go  against  their  reason,  and  contradict  a 
more  important  interest  at  a  distance,  for  one  nearer,  though 
of  less  consideration  ;  if  this  be  the  whole  of  the  case,  all  that 
can  be  said  is,  that  strong  passions,  some  kind  of  brute  force 
within,  prevails  over  the  principle  of  rationality.  However, 
if  this  be  with  a  clear,  full,  and  distinct  view  of  the  truth  of 
things,  then  it  is  doing  the  utmost  violence  to  themselves, 


acting  in  the  most  palpable  contradiction  to  their  very  nature. 
But  if  there  be  anv  such  thing  in  mankind  as  putting  half- 
deceits  upon  themselves;  which  there  plainly  is,  either  by 
avf'iding  reflection,  or  (if  they  do  reflrrt)  by  reliiiious  equiv- 
ocation, subterfuo-es,  and  palliating  matters  to  themselves; 
by  these  means  conscience  may  be  laid  asleep,  and  they  may 
go  on  in  a  course  of  wickedness  with  less  disturbance.  All 
the  various  turns,  doubles,  and  intricacies  in  a  dishonest 
heart,  cannot  be  unfolded  or  laid  open  ;  but  that  there  is  some- 
what of  that  kind  is  manifest,  be  it  to  he  called  self-deceit,  or 
by  any  other  name.  Balaam  had  before  his  eyes  the  author- 
ity of  God,  absolutely  forbiilding  him  what  he,  for  the  sake 
of  a  reward,  had  the  strongest  inclination  to:  he  was  likewise 
in  a  state  of  mind  sober  enough  to  consider  death  and  his  last 
end:  by  these  considerations  he  was  restrained,  first  from 
•joingto  the  king  of  Moab ;  and  after  he  did  go,  from  cursing 
Israel.  But  notwithstanding  this,  there  was  great  wicked- 
ness in  his  heart.  He  could  not  forego  the  rewards  of  un- 
righteousness:  he  therefore  first  seeks  for  indulgences;  and 
when  these  could  not  be  obtained,  he  sins  against  the  whole 
meaning,  end,  and  desiffn  of  the  prohibition,  which  no  consid- 
eration in  the  world  could  prevail  with  him  to  go  against  the 
letter  of.  And  surely  that  impious  counsel  he  gave  to  Balak 
against  the  children  of  Israel,  was.  considered  in  itself,  a 
greater  piece  of  wickedness,  than  if  he  had  cursed  them  in 
words. 

If  it  be  inquired  what  his  situation,  his  hopes  and  fears 
were,  in  respect  to  this  his  wish  ;  the  answer  must  be,  that 
consciousness  of  the  wickedness  of  his  heart  must  necessarily 
have  destroyed  all  settled  hopes  of  dying  the  death  of  the 
righteous ;  he  could  have  no  calm  satisfaction  in  this  view  of 
his  last  end:  yet,  on  the  other  hand,  it  is  possible  that  those 
partial  regards  to  his  duty,  now  mentioned,  might  keep  him 
from  perfect  despair. 

Upon  the  whole,  it  is  manifest,  that  Balaam  had  the  most 
just  and  true  notions  of  God  and  religion;  as  appears,  partly 
from  the  original  story  itself,  and  more  plainly  from  the  pas- 
sage in  Micah,  where  he  explains  religion  to  consist  in  real 
virtue  and  real  piety,  expressly  distiu'^uisbed  from  supersti- 
tion, and  in  terms  which  most  strongly  exclude  dishonesty 
and  falseness  of  heart.  Yet  you  see  bis  behaviour:  he  seeks 
indulgences  for  plain  wickedness;  which  not  being  able  to 
obtain,  he  glosses  over  the  same  wickedness,  dresses  it  up  in 
a  new  form,  in  order  to  make  it  pass  off  more  easily  with  him- 
self. That  is,  he  deliberately  contrives  to  deceive  and  impose 
upon  himself,  in  a  matter  which  he  knew  to  be  of  the  utmost 
importance. 

To  bring  these  observations  home  to  ourselves:  it  is  too 
evident,  that  many  persons  allow  themselves  in  very  unjusti- 
fiable courses,  who  yet  make  great  pretences  to  religion ;  not 
to  deceive  the  world,  none  can  be  so  weak  as  to  think  this 
will  pass  in  our  age;  but  from  priciciples,  hopes,  and  fears, 
respecting  God  and  a  future  state ;  and  go  on  thus  with  a  sort 
of  tranquillity  and  quiet  of  mind.  This  cannot  be  upon  a 
throrough  consideration,  and  full  resolution,  that  the  pleasures 
and  advantages  they  propose  are  to  be  pursued  at  all  hazards, 
against  reason,  against  the  law  of  God,  and  though  everlast- 
ing destruction  is  to  be  the  consequence.  This  would  be 
doing  too  great  violence  upon  themselves.  No,  they  are  for 
making  a  composition  with  the  Ahninhty.  These  of  his  com- 
mands they  will  obey:  but  as  to  others — why  they  will  make 
all  the  atonements  in  their  power ;  the  ambitious,  the  covet- 
out,  the  dissolute  man,  each  in  a  way  which  shall  not  con- 
tradict his  respective  pursuit.  Indulgences  before,  which 
was  Balaam's  first  attempt,  though  he  was  not  so  successful 
in  it  as  to  deceive  himself,  or  atonements  afterwards,  are  all 
the  same.  And  here  perhaps  come  in  faint  hopes  that  they 
may,  and  half-resolves  that  they  will,  one  time  or  other,  make 
a  change. 

Besides  these,  there  are  also  persons,  who,  from  a  more 
just  way  of  considering  things,  see  the  infinite  absurdity  of 
this,  of  substituting  sacrifice  instead  of  obedience;  there  are 
persons  far  enough  from  superstition,  and  not  without  some 
real  sense  of  God  and  religion  upon  their  minds  ;  who  yet  are 
guilty  of  most  unjustifiable  practices,  and  go  on  with  great 
coolness  and  command  over  themselves.  The  same  dis- 
honesty and  unsoundness  of  heart  discovers  itself  in  these 
another  way.  In  all  common  ordinary  cases  we  see  intui- 
tively at  first  view  what  is  our  duty,  what  is  the  honest  part. 
This  is  the  ground  of  the  observation,  that  the  first  tliought 
is  often  the  best.  In  these  cases  doubt  and  deliberation  is 
itself  dishonesty ;  as  it  was  in  Balaam  upon  the  second  mes- 
sage. That  which  is  called  considering  what  is  our  duty  in 
a  particular  case,  is  very  often  nothing  but  endeavouring  to 


51S 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


explain  it  away.  Tliiis  tliose  courses,  wiiicli,  if  men  would] 
fairly  attend  to  the  dictates  of  their  own  consciences,  they 
would  see  to  be  corruption,  excess,  oppression,  nncharilable- 
ness;  these  are  refined  upon — things  were  so  and  so  circum- 
stantiated— great  difficulties  are  raised  about  fixing  bounds 
and  degrees:  and  thus  every  moral  obligation  whatever  may 
be  evaded.  Here  is  scope,  I  say,  for  an  unfair  mind  to  ex- 
plain away  every  moral  obligation  to  itself.  Whether  men 
reflect  again  upon  this  internal  management  and  artifice,  and 
how  explicit  they  are  with  themselves,  is  another  question. 
There  are  many  operations  of  the  mind,  many  things  pass 
within,  which  we  never  reflect  upon  again;  which  a  by- 
stander, from  having  frequent  opportunities  of  observing  us 
and  our  conduct,  may  make  shrewd  guesses  at. 

That  great  numbers  are  in  this  way  of  deceiving  them- 
selves is  certain.  There  is  scarce  a  man  in  the  world,  who 
has  entirely  got  overall  regards,  hopes,  and  fears,  concerning 
God  and  a  future  state;  and  these  apprehensions  in  the  gen- 
erality, bad  as  we  are,  prevail  in  considerable  degrees ;  yet 
men  will  and  can  be  wicked,  with  calmness  and  thought; 
we  see  they  are.  There  must  therefore  be  some  method  of 
making  it  sit  a  little  easy  upon  their  minds;  which,  in  the 
superstitious,  is  those  imlulgences  and  atonements  before 
mentioned,  and  this  self-deceit  of  another  kind  in  persons  of 
another  character.  And  both  these  proceed  from  a  certain 
imfairness  of  mind,  a  iieculiar  inward  dishonesty;  the  direct 
contrary  to  that  simplicity  which  our  Saviour  recommends, 
under  the  notion  of  becoming  tiUle  c/ii/dreii,  as  a  necessary 
qualification  for  our  entering  into  the  kingdom  of  heaven. 

But  to  conclude  :  How  much  soever  men  differ  in  the  course 
of  life  they  prefer,  ami  in  their  ways  of  palliating  and  excus- 
ing their  vices  to  themselves;  yet  all  agree  in  the  one  thing, 
desiring  to  die  /he  death  nf  the  righkvux.  This  is  surely 
remarkable.  The  observation  may  be  extended  further,  and 
put  thus  :  Even  without  determining  what  that  is  which  we 
call  guilt  or  innocence,  there  is  no  nian  hut  would  choose, 
after  having  had  the  |>leasure  or  advantage  of  a  vicious  action, 
to  be  free  of  the  guilt  of  it,  to  be  in  the  state  of  an  innocent 
man.  This  shows  at  least  the  disturbance  and  implicit  dis- 
satisfaction in  vice.  If  we  inquire  into  the  grounds  of  it,  we 
shall  find  it  proceeds  partly  from  an  immediate  sense  of  hav- 
ing done  evil,  and  partly  from  an  apprehension,  that  this 
inward  sense  shall  one  time  or  another  be  seconded  by  a 
higher  judgment,  upon  which  our  whole  being  depends. 
Now  to  suspend  and  drown  this  sense,  and  these  apprehen- 
sions, be  it  by  the  hurry  of  business  or  of  pleasure,  or  by 
superstition,  or  moral  equivocations,  this  is  in  a  manner  one 
and  the  same,  and  makes  no  alteration  at  all  in  the  nature  of 
our  case.  Things  and  actions  are  what  they  are,  and  the  con- 
sequences of  them  will  he  what  they  will  be;  why  then  should 
we  desire  to  he  deceived?  As  we  are  reasonable  creatures, 
and  have  any  regard  to  ourselves,  we  ought  to  lay  these 
things  plainly  and  honestly  before  our  mind,  and  upon  this, 
act  as  you  please,  as  you  think  most  fit;  make  that  choice, 
and  prefer  that  course  of  life,  which  you  can  justify  to  your- 
selves, and  which  sits  more  easy  upon  your  own  mind.  It 
will  immediately  appear,  that  vice  cannot  be  the  happiness, 
but  must  upon  the  whole  be  the  misery,  of  such  a  creature  as 
man;  a  moral,  an  accountable  agent.  Superstitious  obser- 
vances, self-deceit,  llmngh  of  a  more  refined  sort,  will  not  in 
reality  at  all  mend  matters  with  us.  And  the  result  of  the 
Avhole  can  be  nothing  else,  but  that  with  simplicity  arid  fair- 
ness we  "  keep  innocency,  and  take  heed  unto  the  thing  that 
is  right;  for  this  alone  shall  bring  a  man  peace  at  the  last." 


SERMON  vrn. 


UPON  RESENTMENT. 


Ye  have  licird  that  it  hath  been  said,  Thou  shall  love  thy  nclghhour 
and  hate  thine  enemy:  hut  I  say  unto  you,  Love  your  enemies, 
liless  tlicm  that  cuise  you,  do  good  to  tliem  that  hate  you,  and  jiray 
for  thtn\  ivhich  despitefully  use  you  and  persecute  you. — J\liitt. 
V.  43,  44. 

Since  perfect  goodness  in  the  Deity  is  the  principle  from 
whence  the  universe  was  brought  into  being,  and  by  which 
it  is  preserved;  and  since  general  benevolence  is  the  great 
law  of  the  whole  moral  creation  ;  it  is  a  question  which  im- 
mediately occurs.  Why  had  man  implanted   in  him  a  princi- 


)ile,  which  appears  the  direct  contrary  to  benevolence  ?  Now 
the  foot  upon  which  inquiries  of  this  kind  should  he  treated 
is  this  :  to  take  human  nature  as  it  is,  and  the  circumstances 
in  which  it  is  placed  as  they  are ;  and  then  consider  the  cor- 
respondence between  that  nature  and  those  circumstances,  or 
what  course  of  action  and  behaviour,  respecting  those  cir- 
cumstances, any  particular  aflection  or  passion  leads  us  to. 
This  I  mention  to  distinguish  the  matter  now  before  us  from 
disquisitions  of  quite  another  kind  ;  namely,  Why  we  are  not 
made  more  perfect  creatures,  or  placed  in  better  circumstan- 
ces? these  being  questions  which  we  have  not,  that  I  know 
of,  any  thing  at  all  to  do  with.  God  Almighty  undoubtedly 
foresaw  the  disorders,  both  natural  and  moral,  which  would 
happen  in  this  slate  of  things.  If  upon  this  we  set  ourselves 
to  Search  and  examine  why  he  did  not  prevent  them ;  we 
shall,  I  am  afraid,  be  in  danger  of  running  into  somewhat 
worse  than  impertinent  curiosity.  But  upon  this  to  examine 
how  far  the  nature  which  he  hath  given  us  hath  a  respect  to 
those  circumstances,  such  as  they  are;  how  far  it  leads  us  to 
act  a  proper  part  in  them ;  plainly  belongs  to  us  :  and  such 
inquiries  are  in  many  ways  of  excellent  use.  Thus  the  thing 
to  he  considered  is,  not,  Why  we  were  not  made  of  such  a 
nature,  and  placed  in  such  circumstances,  as  to  have  no  need 
of  so  harsh  and  turbulent  a  passion  as  resentment :  but,  taking 
our  nature  and  condition  as  being  what  they  are.  Why,  or  for 
what  end  such  a  passion  was  given  us :  and  this  chiefly  in 
order  to  show  what  are  the  abuses  of  it. 

The  persons  who  laid  down  for  a  rule,  "Thou  shalt  love 
thy  neighbour,  and  hate  thine  enemy,"  made  short  work  with 
this  matter.  They  did  not,  it  seems,  perceive  any  thing  to 
be  disapproved  in  hatred,  more  than  in  good-will:  and,  ac- 
cording to  their  system  of  morals,  our  enemy  was  the  proper 
natural  object  of  one  of  these  passions,  as  our  neighbour  was 
of  the  other  of  them. 

This  was  all  they  had  to  say,  and  all  they  thought  needful 
to  be  said,  upon  the  subject.  But  this  cannot  be  satisfactory  ; 
because  hatred,  malice,  and  revenge,  are  directly  contrary  to 
the  religion  we  profess,  and  to  the  nature  and  reason  of  the 
thing  itself.  Therefore,  since  no  passion  God  hath  endued 
us  with  can  he  in  itself  evil ;  and  yet  since  men  frequently 
indulge  a  passion  in  such  ways  and  degrees  that  at  length  it 
becomes  quite  another  thing  from  what  it  was  originally  in 
our  nature;  and  those  vices  of  malice  and  revenge  in  parti- 
cular take  their  occasion  from  the  natural  passion  of  resent- 
ment:  it  will  be  needful  to  trace  this  up  to  its  original,  that 
we  may  see,  lelmt  it  is  in  itself,  as  placed  in  our  nature  by  its 
Autltur;  from  which  it  will  plainly  appear, /ur  k'A;/?  fnrfs  it 
was  placed  there.  And  when  we  know  what  the  passion  is  in 
itself,  and  the  ends  of  it,  we  shall  easily  see,  ichat  are  the 
abuics  of  it,  in  which  malice  and  revenge  consist ;  and  which 
are  so  strongly  forbidden  in  the  text,  by  the  direct  contrary 
being  commanded. 

Resentment  is  of  two  kinds:  haxti/  and  sudden,  or  settled 
and  deliberate.  The  former  is  called  anger,  and  often  passion  ; 
which,  though  a  general  word,  is  frequently  appropriated  and 
confined  to  the  particular  feeling,  sudden  anger,  as  distinct 
from  deliberate  resentment,  malice,  and  revenge.  In  all 
these  words  is  usually  implied  somewhat  vicious  ;  somewhat 
unreasonable  as  to  the  occasion  of  the  passion,  or  immode- 
rate as  to  the  degree  or  duration  of  it.  But  that  the  natural 
passion  itself  is  jndiflerent,  St.  Paul  has  asserted  in  that  pre- 
cept, Be  ye  angry,  and  sin  not :  which  though  it  is  by  no 
means  to  be  understood  as  an  encouragement  to  indulge  our- 
selves in  anger,  the  sense  being  certainly  this.  Though  yc 
he  angry,  sin  not;  yet  here  is  evidently  a  distinction  made 
between  anger  and  sin;  between  the  natural  passion, and  sin- 
ful anger. 

•Sudden  anger,  upon  certain  occasions,  is  mere  instinct:  as 
merely  so,  as  the  disposition  to  close  our  eyes  upon  the  ap- 
prehension of  somewhat  falling  into  them;  and  no  more 
necessarily  implies  any  degree  of  reason.  I  say,  necessarily  : 
for  to  be  sure  haily,  as  well  as  deliberate,  anger  ma}'  be  occa- 
sioned by  injury  or  contempt :  in  which  cases  reason  sug- 
gests to  our  thoughts  that  injury  and  contempt,  which  is  the 
occasion  of  the  passion:  but]  am  speaking  of  the  former 
only  so  far  as  it  is  to  be  distinguished  from  the  latter.  The 
only  way  in  which  our  reason  and  understanding  can  raise 
anger,  is  by  representing  to  our  mind  injustice  or  injury  of 
some  kind  or  other.  Now  momentary  anger  is  fre(piently 
raised,  not  only  without  any  real,  but  without  any  apparent 
riascn  ;  that  is,  without  any  appearance  of  injury,  as  distinct 
from  hurt  or  pain.  It  cannot,  I  suppose,  be  thought,  that 
this  passion  in  infants;  in  the  lower  species  of  animals; 
and,  which  is  often  seen,  in  men  towards  them;  it  cannot,  1 


BISHOP  BUTLER'S  SERMONS. 


5H) 

ever  is,  not  that  bare  pain  or  loss  raises  resentment,  but,  that 
it  givts  a  new,  and,  as  1  may  speak,  additional  sense  of  the 
injury  or  injustice.  Accordintr  to  the  natural  course  of  the 
passions,  the  degrees  of  resentment  are  in  proporiion,  not  only 
to  the  degree  of  design  and  deliberation  in  the  injurious  per- 
son ;  but  in  proporiion  to  this,  joined  with  the  degree  of  the 
evil  designed  or  premeditated ;  since  this  likewise  comes  in 
to  make  the  injustice  greater  or  less.  And  tlie  evil  or  harm 
will  appear  greater  when  they  feel  it,  than  when  they  only 
reflect  upon  it:  so  therefore  will  the  injury:  and  conse- 
quently the  resentment  will  be  greater. 

The  natural  object  or  occasion  of  settled  resentment  then 
beinar  injury,  as  distinct  from  pain  or  loss;  it  is  pasj'  to  see, 
that  to  prevent  and  to  remedy  such  injury,  and  the  miseries 
arising  from  it,  is  the  end  for  which  this  passion  was  implant- 
ed in  man.  It  is  to  be  considered  as  a  weapon,  put  into  our 
hands  by  nature,  against  injury,  injustice,  and  crueltj':  how 
it  may  be  innocently  em[)loycd  and  made  use  of,  shall  pre- 
sently be  mentioned. 

The  account  which  has  been  now  given  of  this  passion  is, 
in  brief,  that  sudden  anger  is  raised  by,  and  was  chiefly  in- 
tended to  prevent  or  remedy,  mere  harm  distinct  from  injury  : 
but  that  it  may  be  raised  by  injury,  and  muy  serve  to  prevent 
or  to  remedy  it ;  and  then  the  occasions  and  effects  of  it  are 
the  same  with  the  occasions  and  effects  of  deliberate  anger. 
But  they  are  essentially  distinguished  in  this,  that  the  latter 
is  never  occasioned  by  harm,  distinct  from  injury  ;  and  its 
natural  proper  end  is  to  remedy  or  to  prevent  only  that  harm, 
whicli  implies,  oris  supposed  to  imply,  injury  or  moral  wrong. 
Every  one  sees  that  these  observations  do  not  relate  to  those, 
who  have  habituall3'  suppressed  the  course  of  their  passions 
and  affections,  out  of  regard  cither  to  interest  or  virtue;  or 
who,  from  habits  of  vice  and  folly,  have  changed  their  nature. 
But,  I  suppose,  there  can  be  no  doubt  but  this,  now  described, 
is  the  general  course  of  resentment,  considered  as  a  natural 
passion,  neither  increased  by  indulgence,  nor  corrected  bj' 
virtue,  nor  prevailed  over  by  other  passions,  or  particular 
habits  of  life. 

As  to  the  abuses  of  anger,  which  it  is  to  be  observed  may 
be  in  all  different  degrees,  the  first  which  occurs  is  what  is 
commonly  called  paxsion :  to  which  some  men  are  liable,  in 
the  same  way  as  others  are  to  the  epilepsy,  or  any  sudden  par- 
ticular disorder.  This  distemper  of  the  mind  seizes  them 
upon  the  least  occasion  in  the  world,  and  perpetually  without 
any  real  reason  at  all :  and  by  means  of  it  they  are  plainly, 
every  day,  every  walking  hour  of  their  lives,  liable  and  in 
danger  of  running  into  the  most  extravagant  outrages.  Of  a 
less  boisterous,  but  not  of  a  less  innocent  kind,  is  pen-ishness  ; 
which  I  mention  with  pity,  with  real  pity  to  the  unhappy 
creatures,  who,  from  their  iuferior  station,  or  other  circum- 
stances and  relations,  are  obliged  to  l)e  in  the  way  of,  and  to 
serve  for  a  suppl3'  to  it.  Both  these,  for  aught  that  I  can  see, 
are  one  and  the  same  principle  :  but,  as  it  takes  root  in  minds 
of  different  makes,  it  appears  differently',  and  so  is  come  to  bo 
distinguished  by  different  names.  That  which  in  a  more 
feeble  temper  is  peevishness,  and  languidly  discharges  itself 
upon  every  thing  which  comes  in  its  way  ;  the  same  principle, 
in  a  temper  of  greater  force  and  stronger  passions,  becomes 
rage  and  fury.  In  one,  the  humour  discharges  itself  at  once  ; 
in  the  other,  it  is  continually  discharging.  This  is  the  ac- 
count o{  passion  and  peevishness,  as  distinct  from  each  other, 
and  appearing  in  different  persons,  it  is  no  objection  against 
the  truth  of  it,  that  they  are  both  to  be  seen  sometimes  in  one 
and  the  same  person. 

With  respect  to  deliberate  resentment,  the  chief  instances 
of  abuse  are:  when,  from  partiality  to  ourselves,  we  imagine 
ae  injury  done  us,  when  there  is  none:  when  this  partiality 
represents  it  to  us  greater  than  it  really  is:  when  we  fall  into 
that  extravagant  and  monstrous  kind  of  resentment,  towards 
one  who  has  innocently  been  the  occasion  of  evil  to  us ;  that 
is,  resentment  upon  account  of  pain  or  inconvenience,  without 
injury ;  which  is  the  same  absurdity,  as  settled  anger  at  a 
thing  that  is  inanimate  :  when  the  indignation  against  injury 
and  injustice  rises  too  high,  and  is  beyond  proportion  to  the 
particular  ill  action  it  is  exercised  upon  :  or,  IjstI}',  when  pain 
or  harm  of  any  kind  is  inflicted  merely  in  consequence  of, 
and  to  gratify,  that  resentment,  though  naturally  raised. 

It  would  be  endless  to  descend  into  and  explain  all  the 
peculiarities  of  perverseness  and  wayward  humour  which 
might  be  traced  up  to  this  passion.  But  there  is  one  thing, 
which  so  generally  belongs  to  and  accompanies  all  excess 
and  abuse  of  it,  as  to  require  being  mentioned  ;  a  certain  de- 
termination, and  resolute  bent  of  mind,  not  to  be  convinced  or 
set  right;  though  it  be  ever  so  plain,  that  there  is  no  reason 


say,  be  imagined,  that  these  instances  of  this  passion  are  the 
effect  of  reason :  no,  thej-  are  occasioned  by  mere  sensation 
and  feeling.  It  is  opposition,  sudden  hurt,  violence,  which 
naturally  excites  the  passion;  and  the  real  demerit  or  fault 
of  hira  who  offers  that  violence,  or  is  the  cause  of  tliat  oppo- 
sition or  hurt,  does  not,  in  many  cases,  so  much  as  come  into 
thought. 

The  reason  and  end,  for  which  man  was  made  thus  liable 
to  this  passion,  is,  that  he  might  be  better  qualified  to  pre- 
vent, and  likewise  (or  perhaps  chiefly)  to  resist  and  defeat, 
sudden  force,  violence,  and  opposition,  considered  merely  as 
such,  and  without  regard  to  the  fault  or  demerit  of  him  who 
is  the  author  of  them.  Yet,  since  violence  may  be  consi- 
dered in  this  other  and  further  view,  as  implying  fault;  and 
since  injury,  as  distinct  from  harm,  may  raise  sudden  anger; 
sudden  anger  may  likewise  accidentally  serve  to  prevent,  or 
remedy,  such  fault  and  injury.  But,  considered  as  distinct 
from  settled  anjer,  it  stands  in  our  nature  for  self-defence, 
and  not  for  the  administration  of  justice.  There  are  plainly 
cases,  and  in  the  uncultivatrd  parts  of  the  world,  and,  where 
regular  governments  are  not  formed,  they  frequentlj'  happen, 
in  which  there  is  no  time  for  consideration,  and  yet  to  be  pas- 
sive ij  certain  destruction ;  in  which  sudden  resistance  is  the 
only  security. 

But  from  this,  delibcra/e  anger  or  resentment  is  cssentiall}' 
distinguished,  as  the  latter  is  not  naurally  excited  by,  or  in- 
tended to  prevent  mere  harm  without  appearance  of  wrong  or 
injustice.  Now,  in  order  to  see,  as  exactly  as  we  can,  what 
is  the  natural  object  and  occasion  of  such  resentment;  let  us 
reflect  upon  the  manner  in  which  we  are  touched  with  read- 
ing, suppose,  a  feigned  story  of  baseness  and  villany,  pro- 
perly worked  up  to  move  our  passions.  This  immediately 
raises  indignation,  somewhat  of  a  desire  that  it  should  be 
punished.  And  though  the  designed  injury  be  prevented, 
yet  that  it  was  designed  is  sufficient  to  raise  this  inward  feel- 
ing. Suppose  the  story  true,  this  inward  feeling  would  be 
as  natural  and  as  just:  and  one  may  venture  to  affirm,  that 
there  is  scarce  a  man  in  the  world,  but  would  have  it  upon 
some  occasions.  It  seems  in  us  plainly  connected  with  a 
sense  of  virtue  and  vice,  of  moral  good  and  evil.  Suppose 
further,  we  knew  both  the  person  who  did  and  who  suftered 
the  injury  :  neither  would  this  make  any  alteration,  only  that 
it  would  probably  afl'ect  us  more.  The  indignation  raised 
by  cruelty  and  injustice,  and  the  desire  of  having  it  punished, 
which  persons  unconcerned  would  feel,  is  by  no  means  malice. 
No,  it  is  resentment  against  vice  and  wickedness  :  it  is  one 
of  the  common  bonds,  by  which  society  is  held  tosfether;  a 
fellow-feeling,  which  each  individual  has  in  behalf  of  the 
whole  species,  as  well  as  of  himself.  And  it  does  not  appear 
that  this,  generally  speaking,  is  at  all  too  high  amongst  man- 
kind. Suppose  now  the  injury  I  have  been  speaking  of  to 
be  done  against  ourselves;  or  those  whom  we  consider  as 
ourselves.  It  is  plain,  the  way  in  which  we  should  be  af- 
fected would  be  exactly  the  same  in  kind  :  but  it  would  cer- 
tainly be  in  a  higher  degree,  and  less  transient;  because  a 
sense  of  our  own  happiness  and  misery  is  most  intimately 
and  always  present  to  us ;  and  from  the  very  constitution  of 
our  nature,  we  cannot  but  have  a  greater  sensibility  to,  and 
be  more  deeply  interested  in,  what  concerns  ourselves.  And 
this  seems  to  be  the  whole  of  this  passion,  which  is,  properly 
speaking,  natural  to  mankind  :  namely,  a  resentment  against 
injury  and  wickedness  in  general;  and  in  a  higher  degree 
when  towards  ourselves,  in  proportion  to  the  greater  regard 
which  men  naturally  have  for  themselves,  than  for  others. 
From  hence  it  appears,  that  it  is  not  natural,  but  moral  evil ; 
it  is  not  sufl'ering,  but  injury,  which  raises  that  auger  or  re- 
sentment, which  is  of  any  continuance.  The  natural  object 
of  it  is  not  one,  who  appears  to  the  suffering  person  to  have 
been  only  the  innocent  occasion  of  his  pain  or  loss  ;  but  one, 
who  has  been  in  a  moral  sense  injurious  either  to  ourselves 
or  others.  This  is  abundantly  confirmed  by  observing  what 
it  is  which  heightens  or  lessens  resentment ;  namely,  the  same 
which  aggravates  or  lessens  the  fault:  friendship,  and  former 
obligations,  on  one  hand  ;  or  inadvertency,  strong  tem])tations, 
and  mistake,  on  the  other.  All  this  is  so  much  understood 
by  mankind,  how  little  soever  it  be  reflected  upon,  that  a 
person  would  be  reckoned  quite  distracted,  who  should  coolly 
resent  a  harm,  v.'hich  had  not  to  himself  the  appearance  of 
injury  or  wrong.  Men  do  indeed  resent  what  is  occasioned 
through  carelessness  :  but  then  they  expect  observance  as 
their  due,  and  so  that  carelessness  is  considered  as  faulty. 
It  is  likewise  true,  that  they  resent  more  strongly  an  injury 
done,  than  one  which,  though  designed,  was  ]irevented,  in 
cases  where  the  guilt  is  perhaps  the  same :  the  reason  how- 


520 


CHRISTIAN   LIBRARY. 


for  the  displeasure,  that  it  was  raised  merelj'  by  error  or  miS' 
understanding.  In  this  there  is  doubtless  a  great  mixture  of 
pride:  but  there  is  somewhat  more,  which  I  cannot  otherwise 
express,  than  that  resentment  has  taken  possession  of  the 
temper  and  of  the  mind,  and  will  not  quit  its  hold.  It  would 
be  too  minute  to  inquire  whether  this  be  any  thing  more  than 
bare  obstinacy :  it  is  sufficient  to  observe,  that  it,  in  a  very 
particular  manner  and  degree,  belongs  to  the  abuses  of  this 
passion. 

But,  notwithstanding  all  these  abuses,  "Is  not  just  indig- 
nation against  cruel tj-  and  wrong  one  of  the  instruments  vf 
death,  which  the  Author  cf  our  nature  hath  provided!  Are 
not  cruelty,  injustice,  and  wrong,  the  natural  ohjects  of  that 
indignation  ?  f^urely  then  it  may  one  way  or  other  be  inno- 
cently employed  against  them."  True.  Since  therefore  it  is 
necessary  for  the  very  subsistence  of  the  world,  that  injury, 
injustice,  and  cruelt}',  should  be  punished  ;  and  since  com- 
passion, wliich  is  so  natural  to  mankind,  would  render  that 
execution  of  justice  exceedingly  difficult  and  uneasy;  indig- 
nation against  vice  and  wickedness  is,  and  may  be  allowed 
to  be,  a  balance  to  that  weakness  of  pity,  and  also  to  any 
thing  else  which  would  prevent  tlie  necessary  methods  of 
severity.  Those  who  have  never  thought  upon  these  sub- 
jects, may  perhaps  not  see  the  weight  of  this :  but  let  us  sup- 
pose a  person  guilty  of  murder,  or  any  other  action  of  cruelty, 
and  that  mankind  had  naturally  no  indignation  against  such 
wickedness  and  the  authors  of  it;  but  that  every  body  was 
affected  towards  such  a  criminal  in  the  same  way  as  towards 
an  innocent  man:  compassion,  amongst  other  things,  would 
render  the  execution  of  justice  exceedingly  painful  and  dif- 
ficult, and  would  often  quite  prevent  it.  And  notwithstand- 
ing that  the  principle  of  benevolence  is  denied  by  some  and 
is  really  in  a  very  low  degree,  that  men  are  in  great  measure 
insensible  to  the  happiness  of  their  fellow-creatures  ;  yet  the)' 
are  not  insensible  to  their  misery,  but  are  very  strongly  moved 
with  it:  insomuch  that  there  plainly  is  occasion  for  that  feel- 
ing, which  is  raised  by  guilt  and  demerit,  as  a  balance  to  that 
of  compassion.  Thus  much  may  I  tliink  justly  be  allowed 
to  resentment,  in  the  strictest  way  of  moral  consideration. 

The  good  influence  which  this  passion  has  in  fact  upon  the 
affairs  of  the  world,  is  obvious  to  every  one's  notice.  Men 
are  plainly  restrained  from  injuring  their  fellow-creatures  by 
fear  of  their  resentment;  and  it  is  very  happy  that  they  are 
so,  when  they  would  not  be  restrained  by  a  principle  of  vir- 
tue. And  after  an  injury  is  done,  and  there  is  a  necessity 
that  the  offender  should  be  brought  to  justice;  the  cool  con- 
sideration of  reason,  that  the  security  and  peace  of  society 
requires  examples  of  justice  should  be  made,  might  indeed 
be  sufficient  to  procure  laws  to  be  enacted,  and  sentence  pas 
sed  :  but  is  it  that  cool  reflection  in  the  injured  person,  which 
for  the  most  part,  brings  the  oflendcr  to  justice  ?  Or  is  it  not 
resentment  and  indignation  against  the  injury  and  the  author 
of  it?  I  am  afraid  there  is  no  doubt,  which  is  commonly  the 
case.  This  however  is  to  be  considered  as  a  good  effect, 
notu-ithstanding  it  were  much  to  be  wished  that  men  would 
act  from  a  better  principle,  reason  and  cool  reflection. 

The  account  now  given  of  the  passion  of  resentment,  as 
distinct  from  all  the  abuses  of  it,  may  suggest  to  our  thoughts 
the  following  reflections. 

First,  that  vice  is  indeed  of  ill  desert,  and  must  finally  be 
punished.  Why  should  men  dispute  concerning  the  reality 
of  virtue,  and  whether  it  be  founded  in  the  nature  of  things, 
which  yet  surelv  is  not  matter  of  question;  but  why  should 
this,  I  say,  be  disputed,  when  every  man  carries  about  him 
this  passion,  which  affords  him  demonstration,  that  the  rules 
of  justice  and  equity  are  to  be  the  guide  of  his  actions?  For 
every  man  naturally  feels  an  indignation  upon  seeing  instan- 
ces of  villany  and  baseness,  and  therefore  cannot  commit  the 
same  without  being  self-condemned. 

Secondly,  That  we  should  learn  to  be  cautious,  lest  we 
charge  God  fuulis/ily.  by  ascribing  that  to  him,  or  the  nature 
he  has  given  us,  which  is  owing  wholly  to  our  own  abuse  of 
it.  Men  may  speak  of  the  degeneracy  and  corruption  of  the 
world,  according  to  the  experience  they  have  had  of  it;  but 
human  nature,  considered  as  the  divine  workmanship,  should 
methinks  be  treated  as  sacred:  for  "i[]  the  image  of  God 
made  he  man."  That  passion,  from  whence  men  take  occa- 
sion to  run  into  the  dreadful  vices  of  malice  and  revenge; 
even  that  passion,  as  implanted  in  our  nature  by  God,  is  not 
only  innocent,  but  a  generous  movement  of  mind.  Jt  is  in 
itself,  and  in  its  original,  no  more  than  indignation  against 
injury  and  wickedness:  that  which  is  the  only  delbrmity  in 
the  creation,  and  the  only  reasonable  object  of  abhorrence  and 
dislike.     IIuw  manifold  evidence  have  we  of  the  divine  wis- 


dom and  goodness,  when  even  pain  in  the  natural  world,  and 
the  passion  we  have  been  now  considering  in  the  moral,  come 
out  instances  of  it ! 


SERMON  IX. 

UPON  FORGIVENESS  OF  INJURIES. 

Ye  have  heard  that  it  liath  been  said,  Thou  shall  love  thy  neighbour, 
and  hate  thine  enemy  :  but  I  say  unto  you.  Love  your  enemies, 
bless  them  tliat  curse  you,  do  good  to  tliem  that  hate  you,  and  pi  ay 
for  them  «hic;h  despitefuUy  use  you  and  persecute  you. — ^Mntt.Y. 
43,  44. 

As  God  Almighty  foresaw  the  irregularities  and  disorders, 
both  natural  and  moral,  which  would  happen  in  this  state  of 
things ;  he  hath  graciously  made  some  provision  against  them, 
by  giving  us  several  passions  and  affections,  which  arise 
from,  or  whose  objects  are,  those  disorders.  Of  this  sort  are 
fear,  resentment,  compassion,  and  others ;  of  which  there 
could  be  no  occasion  or  use  in  a  perfect  state :  but  in  the  pre- 
sent we  should  be  exposed  to  greater  inconveniences  without 
them ;  though  there  are  very  considerable  ones,  which  they 
themselves  are  the  occasions  of.  They  are  encumbrances  in- 
deed, but  such  as  we  are  obliged  to  carry  about  with  us, 
throush  this  various  journey  of  life  :  some  of  them  as  a  guard 
against  the  violent  assaults  of  others,  and  in  onr  own  defence  ; 
some  in  behalf  of  others  ;  and  all  of  them  to  put  us  upon,  and 
help  to  carry  us  through  a  course  of  behaviour  suitable  to 
our  condition,  in  default  of  that  perfection  of  wisdom  and 
virtue,  which  would  be  in  all  respects  our  better  security. 

The  passion  of  anger  or  resentment  hath  already  been  largely 
treated  of.  It  hath  been  shown,  that  mankind  naturally  feel 
some  emotion  of  mind  against  injury  and  injustice,  whoever 
are  the  sufferers  by  it;  and  even  though  the  injurious  design 
be  prevented  from  taking  effect.  Let  this  be  called  anger, 
indignation,  resentment,  or  by  whatever  name  any  one  shall 
choose;  the  thing  itself  is  understood,  and  is  plainly  natural. 
It  has  likewise  been  observed,  that  this  natural  indignation 
is  generall}'  moderate  and  low  enough  in  mankind,  in  each 
particular  man,  when  the  injury  which  excites  it  doth  not 
affect  himself,  or  one  whom  he  considers  as  himself.  There- 
fore the  precepts  iofin-givc,  and  to  Inve  our  enemies,  do  not  re- 
late to  that  general  indignation  against  injury  and  the  authors 
of  it,  but  to  this  feeling,  or  resentment  when  raised  by  private 
or  personal  injury.  But  no  man  could  be  thought  in  earnest, 
who  should  assert,  that,  though  indignation  against  injury, 
when  others  are  the  sufferers,  is  innocent  and  just ;  yet  the 
same  indignation  against  it,  when  we  ourselves  are  the  suffer- 
ers, becomes  faulty  and  blaraeable.  These  precepts  there- 
fore cannot  be  understood  to  forbid  this  in  the  latter  case, 
more  than  in  the  former.  Nay,  they  cannot  be  understood 
to  forbid  this  feeling  in  the  latter  case,  though  raised  to  a 
higher  degree  than  in  the  former :  because,  as  was  also 
observed  further,  from  the  very  constitution  of  our  nature, 
we  cannot  but  have  a  greater  sensibility  to  what  concerns 
ourselves.  Therefore  the  precepts  in  the  text,  and  others 
of  the  like  import  with  them,  must  be  understood  to  for- 
bid only  the  excess  and  abuse  of  this  natural  feeling,  in 
cases  of  personal  and  private  injury  :  the  chief  instances  of 
which  excess  and  abuse  have  likewise  been  already  remark- 
ed ;  and  all  of  them,  excepting  that  of  retaliation,  do  so  plainly 
in  the  very  terms  express  somewhat  unreasonable,  dispropor- 
tionate, and  absurd,  as  to  admit  of  no  pretence  or  shadow  of 
justification. 

But  since  custom  and  false  honour  are  on  the  side  of  retalia- 
tion and  revenge,  when  the  resentment  is  natural  and  just; 
and  reasons  are  sometimes  offered  in  justification  of  revenge 
in  these  cases;  and  since  love  of  our  enemies  is  thought  too 
hard  a  saying  to  be  obeyed  :  I  will  show  the  absolute  unlaw- 
fulness of  the  former;  the  obligations  we  are  under  to  the 
latter;  and  then  proceed  to  some  reflections,  which  may  have 
a  more  direct  and  immediate  tendency  to  beget  in  us  a  right 
temper  of  mind  towards  those  who  have  ofl'ended  us. 

In  showing  the  unlawfulness  of  reveno-e,  it  is  not  my  pre- 
sent design  to  examine  what  is  alleged  in  favour  of  it,  from 
the  tyranny  of  custom  and  false  honour,  but  only  to  consider 
the  nature  and  reason  of  the  thing  itself;  which  ouo-ht  to 
have  prevented,  and  ought  now  to  extirpate,  every  thing  of 
that  kind. 


BISHOP  BUTLER'S  SERMONS. 


521 


First,  Let  ns  begin  with  tlie  supposition  of  that  being  inno- 
cent, which  is  pleaded  for,  and  which  shall  be  shown  to  be 
altogether  vicious,  the  supposition  that  we  were  allowed  to 
render  evil  fur  evil,  and  see  what  would  be  the  consequence. 
Malice  or  resentment  towards  any  man  hath  plainly  a  tendency 
to  beget  the  same  passion  in  him  who  is  the  object  of  it;  and 
this  again  increases  it  in  the  other.  It  is  of  the  very  nature 
of  this  vice  to  propagate  itself,  not  only  by  way  of  example, 
which  it  does  in  common  with  other  vices,  but  in  a  peculiar 
way  of  its  own ;  for  resentment  itself,  as  well  as  what  is  done 
in  consequence  of  it,  is  the  object  of  resentment :  hence  it 
comes  to  pass,  that  the  first  offence,  even  when  so  slight  as 
presently  to  be  dropped  and  forgotten,  becomes  the  occasion 
of  entering  into  a  long  intercourse  of  ill  offices:  neither  is  it 
at  all  uncommon  to  see  persons,  in  this  progress  of  strife  and 
variance,  change  parts:  and  him,  who  was  at  first  the  injured 
person,  become  more  injurious  and  blameable  than  the  ag- 
gressor. Put  the  case  then,  that  the  law  of  retaliation  was 
universally  received  and  allowed,  as  an  innocent  rule  of  life, 
by  all;  and  the  observance  of  it  thought  by  many  (and  then 
it  would  soon  come  to  be  thought  by  all)  a  point  of  honour: 
this  supposes  every  man  in  private  cases  to  pass  sentence  in 
his  own  cause;  and  likewise,  that  anger  or  resentment  is  to 
be  the  judge.  Thus,  from  the  numberless  partialities  which 
we  all  have  for  ourselves,  every  one  would  often  think  him- 
self injured  when  he  was  not :  and  in  most  cases  would  repre- 
sent an  injury  as  much  greater  than  it  really  is;  the  imagined 
dignity  of  the  person  offended  would  scarce  ever  fail  to  mag- 
nify the  offence.  And,  if  bare  retaliation,  or  returning  just 
the  mischief  received,  always  begets  resentment  in  the  person 
upon  whom  we  retaliate,  what  would  that  excess  del  Add 
to  this,  that  he  likewise  has  his  partialities — there  is  no  going 
on  to  represent  this  scene  of  rage  and  madness:  it  is  manifest 
there  would  be  no  bounds,  nor  any  end.  "If  the  beginning 
of  strife  is  as  when  one  letteth  out  water,"  what  would  it 
come  to  when  allowed  this  free  and  unrestrained  course'! 
"As  coals  are  to  burning  coals,  or  wood  to  fire;  so"  would 
these  "contentious  men  be  to  kindle  strife."  And  since  the 
indulgence  of  revenge  hath  manifestly  this  tendency,  and  does 
actually  produce  these  effects  in  proportion  as  it  is  allowed; 
a  passion  of  so  dangerous  a  nature  ought  not  to  be  indulged, 
were  there  no  other  reason  against  it. 

Secondly,  It  hath  been  shown  that  the  passion  of  resent- 
ment was  placed  in  man,  upon  supposition  of,  and  as  a  pre- 
vention or  remedy  to,  irregularity  and  disorder.  Now  whether 
it  be  allowed  or  not,  that  the  passion  itself  and  the  gratifica- 
tion of  it  joined  together  are  painful  to  the  malicious  person; 
it  must  however  be  so  with  respect  to  the  person  towards 
whom  it  is  exercised,  and  upon  whom  the  revenge  is  taken. 
Now,  if  we  consider  mankind,  according  to  that  fine  allusion 
of  St.  Paul,  as  "  one  body,  and  every  one  members  one  of 
another;"  it  must  be  allowed  that  resentment  is,  with  respect 
to  society,  a  painful  remedy.  Thus  then  the  very  notion  or 
idea  of  this  passion,  as  a  remedy  or  prevention  of  evil,  and 
as  in  itself  a  painful  means,  plainly  shows  that  it  ought  never 
to  be  made  use  of,  but  only  in  order  to  produce  some  greater 
good. 

It  is  to  be  observed,  that  this  argument  is  not  founded 
upon  an  allusion  or  simile;  but  that  it  is  drawn  from  the 
very  nature  of  the  passion  itself,  and  the  end  for  which  it  was 
given  us.  We  are  obliged  to  make  use  of  words  taken  from 
sensible  things,  to  explain  what  is  the  most  remote  from 
them:  and  every  one  sees  from  whence  the  words  prevention 
and  remedy  are  taken.  But,  if  you  please,  let  these  words 
be  dropped :  the  thing  itself,  1  suppose,  may  be  expressed 
without  thfm. 

That  mankind  is  a  community,  that  we  all  stand  in  a  rela- 
tion to  each  other,  that  there  is  a  public  end  and  interest  of 
society  which  each  particular  is  obliged  to  promote,  is  the 
sum  of  morals.  Consider  then  the  passion  of  resentment,  as 
given  to  this  one  body,  as  given  to  society.  Nothing  can 
be  more  manifest,  than  that  resentment  is  to  be  considered 
as  a  secondary  passion,  placed  in  us  upon  supposition,  upon 
account  of,  and  with  regard  to,  injury;  not,  to  be  sure,  to 
promote  and  further  it,  but  to  render  it,  and  the  inconven- 
iences and  miseries  arising  from  it,  less  and  fewer  than  they 
would  be  without  this  passion.  It  is  as  manifest,  that  the 
indulgence  of  it  is,  with  regard  to  society,  a  painful  means  of 
obtaining  these  ends.  Considered  in  itself,  it  is  very  unde- 
sirable, and  what  society  must  very  much  wish  to  be  without. 
It  is  in  every  instance  absolutely  an  evil  in  itself,  because  it 
implies  producing  misery:  and  consequently  must  never  be 
indulged  or  gratified  for  itself,  by  any  one  who  considers 
Vol.  II.— 3  Q 


mankind  as  a  community  or  family,  and  himself  as  a  member 
of  it. 

Let  us  now  take  this  in  another  view.  Every  natural  ap- 
petite, passion,  and  affection,  may  be  gratified  in  particular 
instances,  without  being  subservient  to  the  particular  chief 
end,  for  which  these  several  principles  were  respectively 
implanted  in  our  nature.  And,  if  neither  this  end,  nor  any 
other  moral  obligation,  be  contradicted,  such  gratification  is 
innocent.  Thus,  I  suppose,  there  are  cases  in  which  each  of 
these  principles,  this  one  of  resentment  excepted,  may  inno- 
cently be  gratified,  without  being  subservient  to  what  is  the 
main  end  of  it;  that  is,  though  it  does  not  conduce  to,  yet  it 
maybe  gratified  without  contradicting,  that  end,  or  any  other 
obligation.  But  the  gratification  of  resentment,  if  it  be  not 
conducive  to  the  end  for  which  it  was  given  us,  must  neces- 
sarily contradict,  not  only  the  general  obligation  to  benevo- 
'ence,  but  likewise  that  particular  end  itself.  The  end,  for 
which  it  was  given,  is  to  prevent  or  remedy  injury ;  ;.  e.  the 
misery  occasioned  by  injury;  i.  e,  misery  itself:  and  the  grati- 
fication of  it  consists  in  producing  misery ;  /.  c.  in  contradictino' 
the  end  for  which  it  was  implanted  in  our  nature. 

This  whole  reasoning  is  built  upon  the  difference  there  is 
between  this  passion  and  all  others.  No  other  principle,  or 
passion,  hath  for  its  end  the  misery  of  our  fellow-creatures. 
But  malice  and  revenge  meditates  evil  itself;  and  to  do  mis- 
chief, to  be  the  author  of  misery,  is  the  very  thing  which 
gratifies  the  passion  :  this  is  what  it  directly  tends  towards, 
as  its  proper  design.  Other  vices  eventually  do  mischief: 
this  alone  aims  at  it  as  an  end. 

Nothing  can  with  reason  be  urged  in  justificaticn  of  revenge, 
from  the  good  effects  which  the  indulgence  of  it  were  before 
mentioned*  to  have  upon  the  aflairs  of  the  world ;  because, 
though  it  be  a  remarkable  instance  of  the  wisdom  of  Provi- 
dence to  bring  good  out  of  evil,  yet  vice  is  vice  to  him  who  is 
guilty  of  it.  "But  suppose  these  good  effect  are  foreseen:" 
that  is,  suppose  reason  in  a  particular  case  leads  a  man  the 
same  way  as  passion  ?  Why  then,  to  be  sure,  he  should  fol- 
low his  reason,  in  this  as  well  as  in  all  other  cases.  So  that, 
turn  the  matter  which  way  ever  you  will,  no  more  can  be 
allowed  to  this  passion,  than  what  hath  been  already.]- 

As  to  that  love  of  our  enemies,  which  is  commanded ;  this 
supposes  the  general  obligation  to  benevolence  or  good-will 
towards  mankind  :  and  this  being  supposed,  that  precept  is 
no  more  than  to  forgive  injuries;  that  is,  to  keep  clear  of  those 
abuses  before  mentioned  :  because  that  we  have  the  habitual 
temper  of  benevolence  is  taken  for  granted. 

Resentment  is  not  inconsistent  with  good-will  ;  for  we 
often  see  both  together  in  very  high  degrees ;  not  only  in 
parents  towards  their  children,  but  in  cases  of  friendship  and 
dependence,  where  there  is  no  natural  relation.  These  con- 
trary passions,  though  they  may  lessen,  do  not  necessarily 
destroy  each  other.  We  may  therefore  love  our  enemy,  and 
yet  have  resentment  against  him  for  his  injurious  behaviour 
towards  us.  But  when  this  resentment  entirely  destroys  our 
natural  benevolence  towards  him,  it  is  excessive,  and  be- 
comes malice  or  revenge.  The  command  to  prevent  its  having 
this  effect,  /.  e.  to  forgive  injuries,  is  the  same  as  to  love  our 
enemies;  because  that  love  is  always  supposed,  unless  des- 
troyed by  resentment. 

"  But  though  mankind  is  the  natural  object  of  benevolence, 
yet  may  it  not  be  lessened  upon  vice,  i.  e.  injury  V  Allowed  : 
but  if  every  degree  of  vice  or  injury  must  destroy  that  benevo- 
lence, then  no  man  is  the  object  of  our  love;  for  no  man  is 
without  faults. 

"  But  if  lower  instances  of  injury  may  lessen  our  benevo- 
lence, why  may  not  higher,  or  the  highest,  destroy  it  ]"  The 
answer  is  obvious.  It  is  not  man's  being  a  social  creature, 
much  less  his  being  a  moral  agent,  from  whence  alone  our 
obligations  to  good-will  towards  him  arise.  There  is  an  ob- 
ligation to  it  prior  to  either  of  these,  arising  from  his  being  a 
sensible  creature;  that  is,  capable  of  happiness  or  misery. 
Now  this  obligation  cannot  be  superseded  by  his  moral  char- 
acter. What  justifies  public  executions  is,  not  that  the  guilt, 
or  demerit  of  the  criminal  dispenses  with  the  obligation  of 
good-will,  neither  would  this  justify  any  severity;  but,  that 
his  life  is  inconsistent  with  the  quiet  and  happiness  of  the 
world :  that  is,  a  general  and  more  enlarged  obligation  neces- 
sarily destroys  a  particular  and  more  confined  one  of  the 
same  kind  inconsistent  with  it.  Guilt  or  injury  then  does 
not  dispense  with  or  supersede  the  duty  of  love  and  good- 
will. 


'  Serm.  VIII.  p.  520. 


t  Ibid. 


522 


CHRISTIAN     LIBRARY. 


Neither  does  that  peculiar  regard  to  ourselves,  which  was 
before  allowed  to  be  natural*  to  mankind,  dispense  with  it: 
because  that  can  no  way  innocently  heighten  our  resentment 
against  those  who  have  been  injurious  to  ourselves  in  par- 
ticular, any  otherwise  than  as  it  heightens  our  sense  of  the 
injury  or  guilt;  and  guilt,  though  in  the  highest  degree,  does 
not,  as  hath  been  shown,  dispense  with  or  supersede  the  duty 
of  love  and  good- will. 

If  all  this  be  true,  what  can  a  man  say,  who  will  dispute 
the  reasonableness,  or  the  possibility,  of  obeying  the  divine 
precept  we  are  now  considering  1  Let  him  speak  out,  and  it 
must  be  tlius  he  will  speak.  "  Mankind,  i.  c.  a  creature  de- 
fective and  faulty,  is  the  proper  object  of  good-will,  whatever 
his  faults  are,  when  they  respect  others ;  but  not  when  they 
respect  me  myself."  That  men  should  be  affecled  in  this 
manner,  and  act  aceordingl)',  is  to  be  accounted  for  like  other 
vices;  but  to  assert  that  it  ought,  and  must  be  thus,  is  self- 
partiality  possessed  of  the  very  understanding. 

Thus  love  to  our  enemies,  and  those  who  have  been  inju- 
rio\is  to  us,  is  so  far  from  being  a  rant,  as  it  has  been  pro- 
fanely called,  that  it  is  in  truth  the  law  of  our  nature,  and 
what  every  one  must  see  and  own,  who  is  not  quite  blinded 
with  self-love. 

From  hence  it  is  easy  to  see,  what  is  the  degree  in  which 
we  are  commanded  to  love  our  enemies,  or  those  who  have 
been  injurious  to  us.  It  were  well  if  it  could  as  easily  be 
reduced  to  practice.  It  cannot  be  imagined,  that  we  are  re 
quired  to  love  them  with  any  peculiar  kind  of  affection.  But 
suppose  the  person  injured  to  have  a  due  natural  sense  of  the 
injury,  and  no  more;  he  ought  to  be  atlected  towards  the  in- 
jurious person  in  the  same  way  any  good  men,  uninterested 
in  the  case,  would  be ;  if  they  had  the  same  just  sense,  which 
we  have  supposed  the  injured  person  to  have,  of  the  fault : 
after  which  there  will  yet  remain  real  good-will  towards  the 
offender. 

Now  what  is  tliere  in  all  this,  which  should  he  thought  im- 
practicable 1  1  am  sure  there  is  nothing  in  it  unreasonable. 
it  is  indeed  no  more  than  that  we  should  not  indulge  a  pas- 
sion, which,  if  generally  indulged,  would  propagate  itself  so 
as  almost  to  lay  waste  the  world  :  that  we  should  suppress 
that  partial,  that  false  self-love,  which  is  the  weakness  of  our 
nature :  that  uneasiness  and  misery  should  not  be  produced, 
without  any  good  purpose  to  be  served  by  it:  and  that  we 
should  not  be  affected  towards  persons  differently  from  what 
their  nature  and  character  require. 

But  since  to  be  convinced  that  any  temper  of  mind,  and 
course  of  behaviour,  is  our  duty,  and  the  contrary  vicious, 
hath  but  a  distant  influence  upon  our  temper  and  actions;  let 
me  add  some  few  reflections,  which  may  have  a  more  direct 
tendency  to  subdue  those  vices  in  the  heart,  to  beget  in  us 
this  right  temper,  and  lead  us  lo  a  right  behaviour  towards 
those  who  have  offended  us:  which  reflections  however  shall 
be  such  as  will  further  show  the  obligations  we  are  under 
to  it. 

No  one,  I  suppose,  would  choose  to  have  an  indignity  put 
upon  him,  or  to  be  injuriously  treated.  If  then  there  be  any 
probability  of  a  misunderstanding  in  the  case,  either  from  our 
imagining  we  are  injured  when  we  are  not,  or  representing 
the  injury  to  ourselves  as  greater  than  it  really  is;  one  would 
hope  an  intimation  of  this  sort  might  be  kindly  received,  and 
that  people  would  be  glad  to  find  the  injury  not  so  great  as 
they  imagined.  Therefore,  without  knowing  particulars,  I 
take  upon  me  to  assure  all  persons  who  think  they  have  re- 
ceived indignities  or  injurious  treatment,  that  they  may  de- 
pend upon  it,  as  in  a  manner  certain,  that  the  offence  is  not 
so  great  as  they  themselves  imagine.  We  are  in  such  a  pe- 
culiar situation,  with  respect  to  injuries  done  to  ourselves, 
that  we  can  scarce  any  more  see  them  as  they  really  are,  than 
our  eye  can  see  itself.  If  we  could  place  ourselves  at  a  due 
distance,  i.  e.  be  really  unprejudiced,  we  should  frequently 
discern  that  to  be  in  reality  inadvertence  and  mistakes  in  our 
enemy,  which  we  now  fancy  we  see  to  he  malice  or  scorn. 
From  this  proper  point  of  view,  we  should  likewise  in  all 
probability  see  something  of  these  latter  in  ourselves,  and 
most  certainly  a  great  deal  of  the  former.  Thus  the  indig- 
nity or  injury  would  almost  infinitely  lessen,  and  perhaps  at 
last  come  out  to  be  nothing  at  all.  Self-love  is  a  medium  of 
a  peculiar  kind  ;  in  these  cases  it  magnifies  every  thing  which 
is  amiss  in  others,  at  the  same  time  that  it  lessens  every  thing 
amiss  in  ourselves. 

Anger  also  or  hatred  may  be  considered  as  another  false 

*  Serm.Vm.  p.  519. 


medium  of  viewing  things,  which  always  represents  charac- 
ters and  actions  much  worse  than  they  really  are.  Ill-will 
not  only  never  speaks,  but  never  thinks  well,  of  the  person 
towards  whom  it  is  exercised.  Thus  in  cases  of  offence  and 
enmity,  the  whole  character  and  behaviour  is  considered  with 
an  eye  to  that  particular  part  which  has  oflended  us,  and  the 
whole  man  appears  monstrous,  without  any  thing  right  or 
human  in  him :  whereas  the  resentment  should  surely  at 
least  be  confined  to  that  particular  part  of  the  behaviour 
which  gave  offence  :  since  the  other  parts  of  a  man's  life  and 
character  stand  just  the  same  as  they  did  before. 

In  general,  there  are  very  few  instances  of  enmity  carried 
to  any  length,  but  inadvertency,  misunderstanding,  some  real 
mistake  of  the  case,  on  one  side  however,  if  not  on  both,  has 
a  great  share  in  it. 

If  these  things  were  attended  to,  these  ill-humours  could 
not  be  carried  to  any  length  amongst  good  men,  and  they 
would  be  exceedingly  abated  amongst  all.  And  one  would 
hope  they  might  be  attended  to:  for  all  that  these  cautions 
come  to  is  really  no  more  than  desiring,  that  things  may  be 
considered  and  judged  of  as  they  are  in  themselves,  that  we 
should  have  an  eye  to,  and  beware  of,  what  would  otherwise 
lead  us  into  mistakes.  So  that  to  make  allowances  for  inad- 
vertence, misunderstanding,  for  the  partialities  of  self-love, 
and  the  false  light  which  anger  sets  things  in  ;  I  say,  to  make 
allowances  for  these,  is  not  to  be  spoken  of  as  an  instance  of 
humbleness  of  mind,  or  meekness  and  moderation  of  temper; 
but  as  what  common  sense  should  suggest,  to  avoid  judging 
wrong  of  a  matter  before  us,  though  virtue  and  morals  were 
out  of  the  case.  And  therefore  it  as  much  belongs  to  ill  men, 
who  will  indulge  the  vice  I  have  been  arguing  against,  as  to 
good  men,  who  endeavour  to  subdue  it  in  themselves.  In  a 
word,  all  these  cautions,  concerning  anger  and  self-love,  are 
no  more  than  desiring  a  man,  who  was  looking  through  a 
glass,  which  either  magnified  or  lessened,  to  take  notice,  that 
the  objects  are  not  in  themselves  what  they  appear  through 
that  medium. 

To  all  these  things  one  might  add,  that,  resentment  being 
out  of  the  case,  there  is  not,  properly  speaking,  any  such  thing 
as  direct  ill-will  in  one  man  towards  another:  therefore  the 
first  indignity  or  injury,  if  it  be  not  owing  to  inadvertence  or 
misunderstanding,  may  however  be  resolved  into  other  parti- 
cular passions  or  self-love  :  principles  quite  distinct  from  ill- 
will,  and  which  we  ought  all  to  be  disposed  to  excuse  in 
others,  from  experiencing  so  much  of  them  in  ourselves. 
A  great  man  of  antiquity  is  reported  to  have  said,  that,  as  he 
never  vi'as  indulgent  to  any  one  fault  in  himself,  he  could  not 
excuse  those  of  others.  This  sentence  could  scarce  with  de- 
cency come  out  of  the  mouth  of  any  human  creature.  But 
■f  we  invert  the  former  part,  and  put  it  thus:  that  he  was  in- 
dulgent to  many  faults  in  himself,  as  it  is  to  be  feared  the 
best  of  us  are,  and  yet  was  implacable  ;  how  monstrous  would 
such  an  assertion  appear !  And  this  is  the  case  in  respect  to 
every  human  creature,  in  proportion  as  he  is  without  the  for- 
giving spirit  I  have  been  recommending. 

Further,  though  injury,  injustice,  oppression,  the  baseness 
of  ingratitude,  are  the  natural  objects  of  indignation,  or  if  you 
please  of  resentment,  as  before  explained ;  yet  they  are  like- 
wise the  objects  of  compassion,  as  they  are  their  own  pun- 
ishment, and  without  repentance  will  for  ever  be  so.  No  one 
ever  did  a  designed  injury  to  another,  but  at  the  same  time 
he  did  a  much  greater  to  himself.  If  therefore  we  would 
consider  things  justly,  such  a  one  is,  according  to  the  natural 
course  of  our  affections,  an  object  of  compassion,  as  well  as 
of  displeasure :  and  to  be  affected  really  in  this  manner,  I 
say  really,  in  opposition  to  show  and  pretence,  argues  the 
true  greatness  of  mind.  We  have  an  example  of  forgive- 
ness in  this  way  in  its  utmost  perfection,  and  which  indeed 
includes  in  it  all  that  is  good,  in  that  prayer  of  our  blessed 
Saviour  on  the  cross  :  "  Father,  forgive  them  ;  for  they  know 
not  what  they  do." 

But  lastly.  The  offences  which  we  are  all  guilty  of  against 
God,  and  the  injuries  which  men  do  to  each  other,  are  often 
mentioned  together  :  and,  making  allowances  for  the  infinite 
distance  between  the  Majesty  of  Heaven,  and  a  frail  mortal, 
and  likewise  for  this,  that  he  cannot  possibly  be  affected  or 
moved  as  we  are  ;  offences  committed  by  others  against  our- 
selves, and  the  manner  in  which  we  are  apt  to  he  affected 
with  them,  give  a  real  occasion  for  calling  to  mind  our  own 
sins  against  God.  Now  there  is  an  apprehension  and  pre- 
sentiment, natural  to  mankind,  that  we  ourselves  shall  one 
lime  or  other  be  dealt  with  as  we  deal  with  others;  and  a 
peculiar  acquiescence  in,  and  feeling  of,  the  equity  and  jus- 


BISHOP  BUTLER'S  SERMONS. 


523 


tice  ol'this  equal  distriluuion.  This  nat\iral  notion  of  etjuity 
the  son  of  Sirach  has  put  in  the  strongest  way.  "  He  that 
revengpth  shall  find  vengeance  from  the  Lord,  and  he  will 
surely  keep  his  sins  in  remembrance.  Forgive  thy  neighbour 
the  hurt  he  hath  done  unto  thee,  so  shall  thy  sins  be  forgiven 
when  thou  prayest.  One  man  beareth  hatred  against  another ; 
and  doth  he  seek  pardon  from  the  Lord  1  He  showeth  no 
mercy  to  a  man  which  is  like  himself;  and  doth  he  ask  for- 
giveness of  his  own  sinsl"  Let  any  one  read  our  Saviour's 
parable  of  the  king  luhn  took  account  of  his  scrranis ,-  and  the 
equity  and  Tightness  of  the  sentence  which  was  passed  upon 
him  who  was  unmerciful  to  his  fellow-servant,  will  be  felt. 
There  is  somewhat  in  human  nature,  ■nhich  accords  to  and 
falls  in  with  that  method  determination.  Let  us  then  place 
before  our  eyes  the  time  which  is  represented  in  the  parable; 
that  of  our  own  death,  or  the  final  judgment.  Suppose  your- 
selves under  the  apprehensions  of  api)roaching  death  ;  that 
yon  were  just  going  to  appear  naked  and  without  disguise  be- 
fore the  .fudge  of  all  the  earth,  to  give  an  account  of  your 
behaviour  towards  your  fellow-creatures  :  could  any  thing 
raise  more  dreadful  apprcliensions  of  that  judgment,  than  the 
reflection  that  you  had  been  implacable,  and  without  mercy 
towards  those  who  had  offended  you:  without  that  forgiving 
spirit  towards  others,  which  that  it  may  now  be  exercised 
towards  yourselves,  is  your  only  hope  1  And  these  natural 
apprehensions  are  authorized  by  our  Saviour's  application  of 
the  parable  :  "So  likewise  shall  my  heavenly  Father  do  also 
unto  you,  if  ye  from  your  hearts  forgive  not  every  one  his 
brother  their  trespasses."  On  the  other  hand,  suppose  a  good 
man  in  the  same  circumstance,  in  the  last  part  and  close  of 
life ;  conscious  of  many  frailties,  as  the  best  are,  but  con- 
scious too  that  he  had  been  meek,  forgiving,  and  merciful ; 
that  he  had  in  simplicity  of  heart  been  ready  to  pass  over 
offences  against  himself:  the  having  felt  this  good  spirit  will 
give  him,  not  only  a  full  view  of  the  amiableness  of  it,  but 
the  surest  hope  that  he  shall  meet  with  it  in  his  Judge.  This 
likewise  is  confirmed  by  his  own  declaration  :  "If  ye  forgive 
men  their  trespasses,  your  heavenly  Father  will  likewise 
forgive  you."  And  that  we  might  have  a  constant  sense  of 
it  upon  our  mind,  the  condition  is  expressed  in  our  daily 
prayer.  A  forgiving  spirit  is  therefore  absolutely  necessary, 
as  ever  we  hope  for  ])ardon  of  our  own  sins,  as  ever  we 
hope  for  peace  of  mind  in  our  dying  moments,  or  for  the 
divine  mercy  at  that  day  when  we  shall  most  stand  in  need 
of  it. 


SERMON  X. 


UPON   SELF-DECEIT. 


And  Nathan  said  to  David,  Thou  art  the  man. — 2  Sam.  xii.  7. 

These  words  are  the  application  of  Nathan's  parable  to 
David,  upon  occasion  of  his  adultery  with  Bathsheba,  and 
the  murder  of  Uriah  her  husband.  The  parable,  which  is 
related  in  the  most  beautiful  simplicity,  is  this  :  "There  were 
two  men  in  one  city ;  the  one  rich  and  the  other  poor.  The 
rich  man  had  exceeding  many  flocks  and  herds :  but  the  poor 
rnan  had  nothing,  save  one  little  cwe-lamb,  which  he  had 
nought  and  nourished  up:  and  it  grew  up  together  with  him, 
and  with  his  children;  it  did  eat  of  his  own  meat,  and  drank 
of  his  own  cup,  and  lay  on  his  bosom,  and  was  unto  him  as  a 
daughter.  And  there  came  a  traveller  unto  the  rich  man, 
and  he  spared  to  take  of  his  own  flock,  and  of  his  own  herd, 
to  dress  for  the  way-faring  man  that  was  come  unto  him, 
but  took  the  poor  man's  lamb,  and  dressed  it  for  the  man  that 
was  come  to  him.  And  David's  anger  was  greatly  kindled 
against  the  man,  and  he  said  to  Nathan,  As  the  Lord  liveth, 
the  man  that  hath  done  this  thing  shall  surely  die.  And  he 
shall  restore  the  lamb  four-fold,  because  he  did  this  thing, 
and  because  he  had  no  pity."  David  passes  sentence,  not 
only  that  there  should  be  a  fourfold  restitution  made ;  but  he 
proceeds  to  the  rigour  of  justice,  the  man  that  hath  done  this 
tiling  shall  die:  and  this  judgment  is  pronounced  \vith  the  ut- 
most indignation  against  such  an  act  of  inhumanity  ;  Js  the 
Jjord  lii'tt/i,  he  shall  siireli/  die ;  and  his  anger  was  greatly 
kindled  against  the  man.  And  the  prophet  answered.  Thou 
art  the  man.     He  had  been  guilty  of  much  greater  inhuman- 


ity, with  the  utmost  deliberation,  thought,  and  contrivance. 
Near  a  year  must  have  passed,  between  the  time  of  the  com- 
mission of  his  crimes,  and  the  time  of  the  prophet's  coming 
to  him ;  and  it  does  not  appear  from  the  story,  lliat  he  had  in 
all  this  while  the  least  remorse  or  contrition. 

There  is  not  any  thing,  relating  to  men  and  characters, 
more  surprising  and  unaccountable,  than  this  partiality  to 
themselves,  which  is  observable  in  many  ;  as  there  is  nothing 
of  more  melancholy  reflection,  respecting  morality,  virtue, 
and  religion.  Hence  it  is  that  many  men  seem  perfect  stran- 
gers to  their  own  characters.  They  think,  and  reason,  and 
judge  quite  differently  upon  any  matter  relating  to  themselves, 
from  what  they  do  in  cases  of  others  where  they  are  not  in- 
terested. Hence  it  is  one  hears  people  exposing  follies, 
which  they  themselves  are  eminent  for;  and  talking  with 
great  severity  against  particular  vices,  which  if  all  the  world 
be  not  mistaken,  they  themselves  are  notoriously  guilty  of. 
This  self-ignorance  and  self-partiality  may  be  in  all  different 
degrees.  It  is  a  lower  degrree  of  it  which  David  himself 
refers  to  in  these  words,  "  Who  can  tell  how  oft  he  offendeth  ? 
O  cleanse  thou  me  from  my  secret  faults."  ']"his  is  the  ground 
of  that  advice  of  Elihu  to  Job  :  "Surely  it  is  meet  to  be  said 
unto  God, — That  which  I  see  not,  teach  thou  me;  if  I  have 
done  iniquity,  I  will  do  no  more."  And  Solomon  saw  this 
thing  in  a  very  strong  light,  when  he  said,  lie  that  trustetk 
his  own  heart  is  a  J'uul.  This  likewise  was  the  reason  why 
that  precept.  Know  thyself,  was  so  frequently  inculcated  by 
the  philosophers  of  old.  For  if  it  were  not  for  that  partial 
and  fond  regard  to  ourselves,  it  would  certainly  be  no  great 
difficulty  to  know  our  own  character,  what  passes  within  the 
bent  and  bias  of  our  mind  ;  much  less  would  there  be  any 
difficulty  in  judging  rightly  of  our  own  actions.  But  from 
this  partiality  it  frequently  comes  to  pass,  that  the  observa- 
tion of  many  men's  being  themselves  last  of  all  acquainted 
with  what  falls  out  in  their  own  families,  may  be  applied  to 
a  nearer  home,  to  what  passes  within  their  own  breasts. 

There  is  plainly,  in  the  generality  of  mankind,  an  absence 
of  doubt  or  distrust,  in  a  very  great  measure,  as  to  their  mor- 
al character  and  behaviour;  and  likewise  a  disposition  to 
take  for  granted,  that  all  is  right  and  well  with  them  in  these 
respects.  The  former  is  owing  to  their  not  reflecting,  not 
exercising  their  judgment  upon  themselves  ;  the  latter,  to 
self-love.  I  am  not  speaking  of  that  extravagance,  which  is 
sometimes  to  be  met  with  ;  instances  of  persons  declaring  in 
words  at  length,  that  they  never  were  in  the  wrong,  nor  had 
ever  any  diffidence  of  the  justness  of  their  conduct,  in  their 
whole  lives.  No,  these  people  are  too  far  gone  to  have  any 
thing  said  to  them.  The  thing  before  us  is  indeed  of  this 
kind,  but  in  a  lower  degree,  and  confined  to  the  moral  cha- 
racter;  somewhat  of  which  we  almost  all  of  us  have,  without 
reflecting  upon  it.  Now  consider,  how  long  and  how  gross- 
ly, a  person  of  the  best  understanding  might  he  imposed  upon 
by  one  of  whom  he  had  not  any  suspicion,  and  in  whom  he 
placed  an  entire  confidence;  especially  if  there  were  friend- 
ship and  real  kindness  in  the  case  :  surely  this  holds  even 
stronger  with  respect  to  that  self  we  are  all  so  fond  of. 
Hence  arises  in  men  a  disregard  of  reproof  and  instruction, 
rules  of  conductand  moral  discipline,  which  occasionally  come 
in  their  way:  a  disregard,  I  say,  of  these;  not  in  every  re- 
spect, but  in  this  single  one,  namely,  as  what  may  be  of  ser- 
vice to  them  in  particular  towards  mending  their  own  hearts 
and  tempers,  and  making  them  better  men.  It  never  in 
earnest  comes  into  their  thoughts,  whether  such  admonitions 
may  not  relate,  and  be  of  service  to  themselves  ;  and  this 
quite  distinct  from  a  positive  persuasion  to  the  contrar}',  a 
persuasion  from  reflection  that  they  are  innocent  and  blame- 
less in  those  respects.  Thus  we  may  invert  the  observa- 
tion which  is  somewhere  made  upon  Brutus,  that  he  never 
read,  but  in  order  to  make  himself  a  better  man.  It  scarce 
comes  into  the  thoughts  of  the  generality  of  mankind,  that 
this  use  is  to  be  made  of  moral  reflections  which  they  meet 
with ;  that  this  use,  I  say,  is  to  be  made  of  them  by  them- 
selves, for  every  body  observes  and  wonders  that  it  is  not  done 
by  others. 

Further,  there  are  instances  of  persons  having  so  fixed  and 
steady  an  eye  upon  their  own  interest,  whatever  they  place  it 
in,  and  the  interest  of  those  whom  they  consider  as  them- 
selves, as  in  a  manner  to  regard  nothing  else  ;  their  views  are 
almost  confined  to  this  alone.  Now  we  cannot  be  acquainted 
with,  or  in  any  propriety  of  speech  be  said  to  know  anj'  thing, 
but  what  we  attend  to.  If  therefore  they  attend  only  to  one 
side,  they  really  will  not,  cannot  see  or  know  what  is  to  be 
alleged  on  the  other.     Though  a  man  hath  the  best  eyes  in 


524 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


the  worlJ,  he  cannot  see  any  way  but  that  which  he  turns 
them.  Thus  these  persons,  without  passing  over  the  least, 
the  most  minute  thing,  which  can  possibly  be  urged  in  favour 
of  themselves,  shall  overlook  entirely  the  plainest  and  most 
obvious  things  on  the  other  side.  And  whilst  they  are  under 
the  power  of  this  temper,  thought  and  consideration  upon  the 
matter  before  them  has  scarce  any  tendency  to  set  them  right : 
because  they  are  engaged ;  and  their  deliberation  concerning 
an  action  to  be  done,  or  reflection  upon  it  afterwards,  is  not 
to  see  whether  it  be  right,  but  to  find  out  reasons  to  justify  or 
palliate  it;  palliate  it,  not  to  others,  but  to  themselves. 

In  some  there  is  to  be  observed  a  general  ignorance  of 
themselves,  and  wrong  way  of  thinking  and  judging  in  every 
thinor  relating  to  themselves  ;  their  fortune,  reputation,  every 
tliino-  in  which  self  can  come  in  :  and  this  perhaps  attended 
with  the  Tightest  judgment  in  all  other  matters.  In  others 
this  partiality  is  not  so  general,  has  not  taken  hold  of  the 
whole  man,  but  is  confined  to  some  particular  favourite  pas- 
sion, interest,  or  pursuit;  suppose  ambition,  covetousness,  or 
any  other.  And  these  persons  may  probably  judge  and  de- 
termine what  is  perfectly  just  and  proper,  even  in  things  in 
which  they  themselves  are  concerned,  if  these  things  have  no 
relation  to  their  particular  favourite  passion  or  pursuit.  Hence 
arises  that  amazing  incongruity,  and  seeming  inconsistency 
of  character,  from  whence  slight  observers  take  it  for  granted, 
that  the  whole  is  hypocritical  and  false;  not  being  able  other- 
wise to  reconcile  the  several  parts:  whereas  in  truth  there  is 
real  honesty,  so  far  as  it  goes.  There  is  such  a  thing  as 
men's  being  honest  to  such  a  degree,  and  in  such  respects, 
but  no  further.  And  this,  as  it  is  true,  so  it  is  absolutely 
necessary  to  be  taken  notice  of,  and  allowed  them  ;  such  gen- 
eral and  undistinguishing  censure  of  their  whole  character,  as 
designing  and  false,  being  one  main  thing  which  confirms 
them  in  their  self-deceit.  They  know  that  the  whole  censure 
is  not  true;  and  so  take  for  granted  that  no  part  of  it  is. 

But  to  go  on  with  the  explanation  of  the  thing  itself:  Vice 
in  general  consists  in  having  an  unreasonable  and  too  great 
regard  to  ourselves,  in  comparison  of  others.  Robbery  and 
murder  is  never  from  the  love  of  injustice  or  cruelty,  but  to 
gratify  some  other  passion,  to  gain  some  supposed  advantage  : 
and  it  is  false  selfishness  alone,  whether  cool  or  passionate, 
which  makes  a  man  resolutely  pursue  that  end,  be  it  ever  so 
much  to  the  injury  of  another.  But  whereas,  in  common  and 
ordinary  wickedness,  this  unreasonableness,  this  partiality 
and  selfishness,  relates  only,  or  chiefly,  to  the  temper  and 
passions,  in  the  characters  we  are  now  considering,  it  reaches 
to  the  understanding,  and  influences  t!ie  very  judgment.*  And, 
besides  that  general  want  of  distrust  and  difiidence  concerning 
our  own  character,  there  are,  you  see,  two  things,  which  may 
thus  prejudice  and  darken  the  understanding  itself:  that  over- 
fondness  for  ourselves,  which  we  are  all  so  liable  to;  and 
also  being  under  the  power  of  any  particular  passion  or  appe- 
tite, or  engaged  in  any  particular  pursuit.  And  these,  espe- 
cially the  last  of  the  two,  may  be  in  so  great  a  degree,  as  to 
influence  our  judgment,  even  of  other  persons  and  their  be- 
haviour. Thus  a  man,  whose  temper  is  formed  to  ambition 
or  covetousness,  shall  even  approve  of  them  sometimes  in 
others. 

This  seems  to  be  in  a  good  measure  the  account  of  self- 
partiality  and  self-deceit,  when  traced  up  to  its  original. — 
Whether  it  be,  or  be  not  thought  satisfactory,  that  there  is 
such  a  thing  is  manifest;  and  that  it  is  the  occasion  of  great 
part  of  the  unreasonable  behaviour  of  men  towards  each 
other  :  that  by  means  of  it  they  palliate  their  vices  and  follies 


*  That  peculiar  regard  for  ourselves  which  frequently  produces 
this  partiality  of  judgment  in  oui*  own  favour,  may  have  a  quite  con- 
trary effect,  and  occasion  the  utmost  diffidence  and  distrust  of  our- 
selves ;  were  it  only,  as  it  may  set  us  upon  a  more  frequent  and  strict 
survey  and  review  of  our  own  character  and  behaviour.  This  searcl 
or  recollection  itself  implies  somewhat  of  diffidence  ;  and  the  dis- 
coveries we  make,  what  is  brought  to  our  view,  may  possibly  in- 
crease it.  Good-will  to  another  may  either  blind  our  judgment,  so 
as  to  make  us  overlook  his  faults  ;  or  it  may  put  us  upon  exercising 
that  judgment  with  greater  strictness,  to  sec  whether  he  is  so  fault- 
less and  perfect  as  we  wisli  him.  If  that  peculiar  regard  to  our- 
selves leads  us  to  examine  our  own  character  wiUi  this  greater  sever- 
ity, in  order  really  to  improve  and  grow  better,  it  is  tlie  most  com- 
mendable turn  of  mind  possible,  and  can  scarce  be  to  excess.  But 
if,  as  every  thing  hath  its  counterfeit,  we  are  so  much  employed 
about  ourselves  in  order  to  disguise  what  is  amiss,  and  to  make  a 
better  appearance  ;  or  if  our  attention  to  ourselves  lias  chiefly  this 
effect ;  it  is  liable  to  run  up  into  the  greatest  weakness  and  excess, 
and  is  like  all  other  excesses  its  own  disappointment :  for  scarce  any 
show  tliemselves  to  advantage,  who  are  over  solicitous  of  doing  so. 


to  themselves:  and  that  it  prevents  their  applying  to  them- 
selves those  reproofs  and  instructions,  which  they  meet  with 
either  in  scripture  or  in  moral  and  religious  discourses,  though 
exactly  suitable  to  the  state  of  their  own  mind,  and  the  course 
of  their  behaviour.  There  is  one  thing  further  to  bo  added 
here,  that  the  temper  we  distinguish  by  hardness  of  heart 
with  respect  to  others,  joined  with  this  self-partiality,  will 
carry  a  man  almost  any  lengths  of  wickedness,  in  the  way  of 
oppression,  hard  usage  of  others,  and  even  to  plain  injustice  ; 
without  his  having,  from  what  appears,  any  real  sense  at  all 
of  it.  This  indeed  was  not  the  general  character  of  David : 
for  he  plainly  gave  scope  to  the  affections  of  compassion  and 
good-will,  as  well  as  to  his  passions  of  another  kind. 

But  as  some  occasions  and  circumstances  lie  more  open  to 
this  self-deceit,  and  give  it  greater  scope  and  opportunities 
than  others,  these  require  to  be  particularly  mentioned. 

It  is  to  be  observed  then,  that  as  there  are  express  deter- 
minate acts  of  wickedness,  such  as  murder,  adultery,  theft : 
so,  on  the  other  hand,  there  are  numberless  cases  in  which 
the  vice  and  wickedness  cannot  be  exactly  defined  ;  but  con- 
sists in  a  certain  general  temper  and  course  of  action,  or  in 
the  neglect  of  some  duty,  suppose  charity  or  any  other,  whose 
bounds  and  degrees  are  not  fixed.  This  is  the  very  province 
of  self-deceit  and  self-partiality;  here  it  governs  without 
check  or  control.  "  For  w  hat  commandment  is  there  broken  ? 
Is  there  a  transgression  where  there  is  no  law  ?  a  vice  which 
cannot  be  defined  ?" 

Whoever  will  consider  the  whole  commerce  of  human  life, 
will  see  that  a  great  part,  perhaps  the  greatest  part,  of  the 
intercourse  amongst  mankind,  cannot  be  reduced  to  fixed  de- 
terminate rules.  Yet  in  these  cases  there  is  a  right  and  a 
wrong:  a  merciful,  a  liberal,  a  kind  and  compassionate  be- 
haviour, which  surely  is  our  duty ;  and  an  unmerciful  con- 
tracted spirit,  a  hard  and  oppressive  course  of  behaviour, 
which  is  most  certainly  immoral  and  vicious.  But  who  can 
define  precisely,  wherein  that  contracted  spirit  and  hard  usage 
of  others  consist,  as  murder  and  theft  may  be  defined  ?  There 
is  not  a  word  in  our  language,  which  expresses  more  detest- 
able wickedness  than  oppression;  yet  the  nature  of  this  vice 
cannot  be  so  exactly  stated,  nor  the  bounds  of  it  so  determin- 
ately  marked,  as  that  we  shall  be  able  to  say  in  all  instances, 
where  rigid  right  and  justice  ends,  and  oppression  begins — 
in  these  cases  there  is  great  latitude  left,  for  every  one  to  de- 
termine for,  and  consequently  to  deceive  himself.  It  is  chiefly 
in  these  cases  that  self-deceit  comes  in ;  as  every  one  must 
see  that  there  is  much  larger  scope  for  it  here,  than  in  ex- 
press, single,  determinate  acts  of  wickedness.  However  it 
comes  in  with  respect  to  the  circumstances  attending  the  most 
gross  and  determinate  acts  of  wickedness.  Of  this,  the  story 
of  David,  now  before  us,  affords  the  most  astonishing  in- 
stance. It  is  rcall}'  prodigious,  to  see  a  man,  before  so  remark- 
able for  virtue  and  piety,  going  on  deliberately  from  adultery 
to  murder,  with  the  same  cool  contrivance,  and,  from  what 
appears,  with  as  little  disturbance,  as  a  man  would  endeavour 
to  prevent  the  ill  consequences  of  a  mistake  he  had  made  in 
any  common  matter.  That  total  insensibility  of  mind  with 
respect  to  those  horrid  crimes,  after  the  commission  of  them, 
manifestly  shows  that  he  did  some  way  or  other  delude  him- 
self: and  this  could  not  be  with  respect  to  the  crimes  them- 
selves, they  were  so  manifestly  of  the  grossest  kind.  What 
the  particular  circumstances  were,  with  which  he  extenuated 
them,  and  quieted  and  deceived  himself,  is  not  related. 

Having  thus  explained  the  nature  of  internal  hypocrisy  and 
self-deceit,  and  remarked  the  occasions  upon  which  it  exerts 
itself;  there  are  several  things  further  to  be  observed  con- 
cerning it :  that  all  of  the  sources,  to  vrhich  it  was  traced  up, 
are  sometimes  observable  together  in  one  and  the  same  per- 
son :  but  that  one  of  them  is  more  remarkable,  and  to  a  higher 
degree,  in  some,  and  others  of  them  are  so  in  others :  that  in 
general  it  is  a  complicated  thing;  and  may  be  in  all  dilTerent 
degrees  and  kinds :  that  the  temper  itself  is  essentially  in  its 
own  nature  vicious  and  immoral.  It  is  unfairness  :  it  is  dis- 
honesty ;  it  is  falseness  of  heart :  and  is  therefore  so  far  from 
extenuating  guilt,  that  it  is  itself  the  greatest  of  all  guilt  in 
proportion  to  the  degree  it  prevails;  for  it  is  a  corruption  of 
the  whole  moral  character  in  its  principle.  Our  understand- 
ing, and  sense  of  good  and  evil,  is  the  light  and  guide  of 
life  :  "  If  therefore  this  light  that  is  in  thee  be  darkness,  how 
great  is  that  darkness !"  For  this  reason  our  Saviour  puts 
an  ecil  eije  as  the  direct  opposite  to  a  single  eye ;  the  absence 
of  that  simplicity,  which  these  last  words  imply,  being  itself 
evil  and  vicious.  And  whilst  men  are  under  the  power  of 
this  temper,  in  proportion  still  to  the  degree  they  are  so,  they 


ElSriOP  BUTLER'S  SERMONS. 


535 


are  fortified  on  every  side  against  conviction  :  and  when  they 
hear  the  vice  and  folly  of  wliat  is  in  truth  tlu  ir  own  course 
of  life,  exposed  in  the  justst  and  strongest  manner,  they  will 
often  assent  to  it,  and  even  carry  the  matter  further ;  persua- 
ding themselves,  one  does  not  know  how,  hut  seme  way  or 
other  persuading  themselves,  that  they  are  out  of  these,  and 
that  it  hath  no  relation  to  them.  Yet,  notwithstanding  this, 
there  freijuenily  appears  a  suspicion,  that  all  is  not  right,  or 
as  it  should  be ;  and  perhaps  there  is  alwui/s  at  bottom  some- 
what of  this  sort.  There  are  doubtless  many  instances  of 
the  ambitious,  the  revengeful,  the  covetous,  and  those  whom 
with  too  great  indulgence  we  only  call  the  men  of  pleasure, 
%vho  will  not  allow  themselves  to  think  how  guilty  they  are, 
who  explain  and  argue  away  their  guilt  to  themselves:  and 
though  thej'  do  really  impose  upon  themselves  in  some  mea- 
sure, yet  there  are  none  of  them  but  have,  if  not  a  proper 
knowledge,  j-et  at  least  an  implicit  suspicion,  where  the 
weakness  lies,  and  what  part  of  their  behaviour  they  have 
reason  to  wish  unknown  or  forgotten  for  ever.  Truth,  and 
real  good  sense,  and  thorough  integrity,  carry  along  with  them 
a  peculiar  consciousness  of  their  own  genuineness  :  there  is  a 
feeling  belonging  to  them,  which  does  not  accompany  their 
courjterfeits,  error,  folly,  half-honesty,  partial  and  slight  re- 
gards to  virtue  and  right,  so  far  only  as  they  are  consistent 
with  that  course  of  gratification  w  hich  men  happen  to  be  set 
upon.  And,  if  this  be  the  case,  it  is  much  the  same  as  if  we 
should  suppose  a  man  to  have  had  a  general  view  of  some 
scene,  enough  to  satisfy  him  that  it  was  very  disagreeable, 
and  then  to  shut  his  eyes,  that  he  might  not  have  a  particular 
or  distinct  view  of  its  several  deformities.  It  is  as  easy  to 
close  the  eyes  of  the  mind,  as  those  of  the  body :  and  the 
former  is  more  frequently  done  with  wilfulness,  and  yet  not 
attended  to,  than  the  latter;  the  actions  of  the  mind  being 
more  quick  and  transient,  than  those  of  the  senses.  This  may 
be  further  illustrated  by  another  thing  observable  in  ordinary 
life.  It  is  not  uncommon  for  persons,  who  run  out  their  for- 
tunes, entirely  to  neglect  looking  into  the  state  of  their  affairs, 
and  this  from  a  general  knowledge,  that  the  condition  of 
them  is  bad.  These  extravagant  people  are  perpetually  ruined 
before  they  themselves  expected  it:  and  they  tell  you  for  an 
excuse,  and  tell  you  truly,  that  they  did  not  think  they  were 
so  much  in  debt,  or  that  their  expenses  so  far  exceeded  their 
income.  And  yet  no  one  will  take  this  for  an  excuse,  who 
is  sensible  that  their  ignorance  of  their  particular  circumstan- 
ces was  owing  to  their  general  knowledge  of  them  ;  that  is, 
their  general  knowledge,  that  matters  were  not  well  with 
them,  prevented  their  looking  into  particulars.  There  is 
somewhat  of  the  like  kind  with  this  in  respect  to  morals, 
virtue,  and  religion.  Men  find  that  the  survey  of  themselves, 
their  own  heart  and  temper,  their  own  life  and  behaviour, 
doth  not  afford  them  satisfaction  :  things  are  not  as  they  should 
be  :  therefore  they  turn  away,  will  not  go  over  particulars,  or 
look  deeper,  lest  they  should  find  more  amiss.  For  who 
would  choose  to  be  put  out  of  humour  with  himself  ?  No  one, 
surely,  if  it  were  not  in  order  to  mend,  and  to  be  more  tho- 
roughly and  better  pleased  with  himself  for  the  future. 

If  this  sincere  self-enjoyment  and  home-satisfaction  he 
thought  desirable,  and  worth  some  pains  and  diligence;  the 
following  reflections  will,  I  suppose,  deserve  j'our  attention; 
as  what  may  be  of  service  and  assistance  to  all  who  are  in 
any  measure  honestly  disposed,  for  avoiding  that  fatal  self- 
deceit,  and  towards  getting  acquainted  with  themselves. 

The  first  is,  that  those  who  have  never  had  any  suspicion 
of,  who  have  never  made  allowances  for,  this  weakness  in 
themselves,  who  have  never  (if  I  may  be  allowed  such  a 
manner  of  speaking)  caught  themselves  in  it,  may  almost 
fake  for  granted  that  they  have  been  very  much  misled  by  it. 
For  consider :  nothing  is  more  manifest,  than  that  affection 
and  passion  of  all  kinds  influence  the  judgment.  Now  as 
we  have  naturally  a  greater  regard  to  ourselves  than  to  oth- 
ers, as  the  private  affection  is  more  prevalent  than  the  public  ; 
the  former  will  have  proportionally  a  greater  influence  upon 
the  judgment,  upon  our  way  of  considering  things.  People 
are  not  backward  in  owning  this  partiality  of  judgment,  in 
cases  of  friendship  and  natural  relation.  The  reason  is  ob- 
vious, why  it  is  not  so  readily  acknowledged,  when  the  inte- 
rest which  misleads  us  is  more  confined,  confined  to  our- 
selves :  but  we  all  take  notice  of  it  in  each  other  in  these  cases. 
There  is  not  any  observation  more  common,  than  that  there 
is  no  judging  of  a  matter  from  hearing  only  one  side.  This 
is  not  founded  upon  supposition,  at  least  it  is  not  always,  of 
a  formed  design  in  the  relator  to  deceive  :  for  it  holds  in  cases, 
where  he  expects  that  the  whole  will  be  told  over  again  by 


the  other  side.  But  the  supposition,  which  this  observation 
is  founded  upon,  is  the  very  thing  now  beflre  us;  namely, 
that  men  are  exceedingly  prone  to  deceive  themselves,  and 
judge  too  favourably  in  every  respect,  where  themselves  and 
their  own  interest  are  concerned.  Thus,  though  we  have  not 
the  least  reason  to  suspect  that  such  an  interested  person 
hath  any  intention  to  deceive  us,  yet  we  of  course  make  great 
allowances  for  his  having  deceived  himself.  If  this  be  gen- 
eral, almost  universal,  it  is  prodigious  that  every  man  can 
think  himself  an  exception,  and  that  he  is  free  from  this  self- 
partiality.  The  direct  contrary  is  the  truth.  Every  man  may 
take  for  granted  that  he  has  a  great  deal  of  it,  till,  from  the 
strictest  observation  upon  himself,  he  finds  particular  reason 
to  think  otherwise. 

Secondly,  There  is  one  easy  and  almost  sure  way  to  avoid 
being  misled  by  this  self-parlialit)',  and  to  get  acquainted  with 
our  real  character :  to  have  regard  to  the  suspicious  part  of  it, 
and  keep  a  steady  eye  over  ourselves  in  that  respect.  Sup- 
ose  then  a  man  fully  satisfied  with  himself,  and  his  own 
behaviour;  such  a  one,  if  you  please,  as  the  Pharisee  in  the 
Gospel,  or  a  better  man. — Well ;  but  allowing  this  good  opin- 
ion you  have  of  yourself  to  be  true,  yet  every  one  is  liable  to 
be  misrepresented.  Suppose  then  an  enemy  were  to  set  about 
defaming  you,  what  part  of  j'our  character  would  he  single 
out?  A\  hat  particular  scandal,  think  you,  would  lie  be  most 
likely  to  fix  upon  you  ?  And  what  would  the  world  be  most 
ready  to  believe?  There  is  scarce  a  man  living  but  could, 
from  the  most  transient  superficial  view  of  himself,  answer 
this  question.  What  is  that  ill  thing,  that  faulty  behaviour, 
which  I  am  apprehensive  an  enemy,  who  was  thoroughly  ac- 
quainted with  me,  would  be  most  likely  to  lay  to  mj'  charge, 
and  which  the  world  would  be  most  apt  to  believe  1  It  is 
indeed  possible  that  a  man  may  not  be  guilty  in  that  respect. 
All  that  I  say  is,  let  him  in  plainness  and  honesty  fix  upon 
that  part  of  his  character  for  a  particular  survey  and  reflection ; 
and  by  this  he  will  come  to  be  acquainted,  whether  he  be 
guilty  or  innocent  in  that  respect,  and  how  far  he  is  one  or 
the  other. 

ThirdI}',  It  would  very  much  prevent  our  being  misled  by 
this  self-partiality,  to  reduce  that  practical  rule  of  our  Saviour, 
"  Whatsoever  ye  would  that  men  should  do  to  you,  even  so 
do  unto  them,"  to  our  judgment  and  way  of  thinking.  This 
rule,  you  see,  consists  of  two  parts.  One  is,  to  substitute 
another  for  yourself,  when  you  take  a  survey  of  any  part  of 
your  behaviour,  or  consider  what  is  proper  and  fit  and  reason- 
able for  you  to  do  upon  any  occasion:  the  otlu^r  part  is,  that 
you  substitute  yourself  in  the  room  of  another;  consider  your- 
self as  the  person  affected  by  such  a  behaviour,  or  towards 
whom  such  an  action  is  done :  and  then  you  would  not  only 
see,  but  likewise  feel,  the  reasonableness  or  unreasonableness 
of  such  an  action  or  behaviour.  But,  alas  !  the  rule  itself  may 
be  dishonestlj'  applied  :  there  are  persons  who  have  not  im- 
partiality enough  with  respect  to  themselves,  nor  regard 
enough  for  others,  to  be  able  to  make  a  just  application  of  it. 
This  just  application,  if  men  would  honestly  make  it,  is  in 
effect  all  that  I  have  been  recommending;  it  is  the  whole 
thing,  the  direct  contrary  to  that  inward  dishonestyfts  respect- 
ing our  intercourse  with  our  fellow-creatures.  And  even  the 
bearing  this  rule  in  their  thoughts  may  be  of  some  service ; 
the  attempt  thus  to  appi}'  it,  is  an  attempt  towards  being  fair 
and  impiirtial,  and  may  chance  unawares  to  show  them  to 
themselves,  to  show  them  the  truth  of  the  case  they  are  con- 
sidering. 

Upon  the  whole  it  is  manifest,  that  there  is  such  a  thing  as 
this  self-partiality  and  self-deceit:  that  in  some  persons  it  is 
to  a  degree  which  would  be  thought  incredible,  were  not  the 
instances  before  our  eyes;  of  which  the  behaviour  of  David 
is  perhaps  the  highest  possible  one,  in  a  single  particular 
case;  for  there  is  not  the  least  appearance,  that  it  reached  his 
general  character:  that  we  are  almost  all  of  us  influenced  by 
it  in  some  degree,  and  in  some  respects:  that  therefore  every 
one  ought  to  have  an  eye  to  and  beware  of  it.  And  all  that 
I  have  further  to  add  upon  this  subject  is,  that  either  there  is 
a  difference  between  right  and  wrong,  or  there  is  not:  religion 
is  true,  or  it  is  not.  If  it  be  not,  there  is  no  reason  for  any 
concern  about  it :  but  if  it  be  true,  it  requires  real  fairness  of 
mind  and  honesty  of  heart.  And,  if  people  will  he  wicked,  they 
had  better  of  the  two  be  so  from  the  common  vicious  passions 
without  such  refinements,  than  from  this  deep  and  calm  source 
of  delusion;  which  undermines  the  whole  principle  of  good; 
darkens  that  light,  that  candle  nf  ll,c  Lurd  wil/dn,  which  is  to 
direct  our  steps  ;  and  corrupts  conscience,  which  is  the  guide 
of  life. 


526 


CHRISTIAN   LIBRARY. 


SERMON  XI. 

UPON  THE   LOVE  OF  OUR  NEIGIIBOUK. 

(Preached  on  Advent  Sunday.) 

And  if  there  be  any  othci- command nient,  it  is  briefly  comprehended 
in  lids  saying,  namely, Thou  shalt  love  thy  ncighboiu'  as  thyself. — 
Jioyu.  xiii.  9. 

It  is  commonly  observed,  that  there  is  a  disposition  in  men 
to  complain  of  the  viciousne.=s  and  corruption  of  the  age  in 
which  they  live,  as  greater  than  that  of  former  ones;  which 
is  usually  followed  with  this  further  observation,  that  man- 
kind has  been  in  that  respect  much  the  same  in  all  times. 
Now,  not  to  determine  whether  this  last  be  not  contradicted 
by  the  accounts  of  history;  thus  much  can  scarce  be  doubted, 
that  vice  and  folly  takes  different  turns,  and  some  particular 
kinds  ol  it  are  more  open  and  avowed  in  some  ages  than  in 
others  :  and,  I  suppose,  it  may  be  spoken  of  as  very  much  the 
distinction  of  the  present  to  profess  a  contracted  spirit,  and 
greater  regards  to  sell-interest,  than  appears  to  have  been 
done  formerly.  Upon  this  account  it  seems  worth  while  to 
inquire,  whether  private  interest  is  likely  to  be  promoted  in 
proportion  to  the  degree  in  which  self-love  engrosses  us,  and 
prevails  over  all  other  principles;  or  whcther°lhe  contracted 
affection  may  not  possibly  be  so  prevalent  as  to  disappoint 
itself,  and  even  contradiet  its  own  end,  private  good. 

And  sitice,  further,  there  is  generally  thought  to  be  some 
peculiar  kind  of  contrariety  belwc<ii  self-love  and  the  love  of 
our  neighbour,  between  the  pursuit  of  public  and  of  private 
good  ;  insomuch  that  when  you  are  recommending  one  of 
these,  you  are  supposed  to  be  speaking  against  the  other;  and 
from  hence  arises  a  secret  prejudice  against,  and  frequently 
open  scorn  of  all  talk  of  public  spirit,  and  real  good-will  to 
our  fellow-creatures;  it  will  be  necessary  to  inquire  wlial 
respect  benevolence  hath  to  self-love,  and  the  pursuit  of  pri- 
vate interest  to  the  pursuit  of  public  :  or  whether  there  be  any 
thing  of  that  peculiar  inconsistence  and  contrariety  between 
them,  over  and  above  what  there  is  between  self-love  and 
other  passions  and  particular  affections,  and  their  respective 
pursuits. 

These  inquiries,  it  is  hoped,  may  be  favourably  attended  to : 
for  there  shall  be  all  possible  concessions  made  to  the  favourite 
passion,  which  hath  so  much  allowed  to  it,  and  whose  cause 
is  so  universally  pleaded  :  it  shall  he  treated  with  the  utmost 
tenderness  and  concern  for  its  interests. 

In  order  to  this,  as  well  as  to  determine  the  forementioned 
questions,  it  will  be  necessary  to  consider  the  nature,  the 
object,  and  end  of  that  self-love,  as  distinguished  from  other 
principles  or  affections  in  the  mind,  and  their  respective 
objects. 

Every  man  hath  a  general  desire  of  his  own  happiness; 
and  likewise  a  variety  of  particular  affections,  passions,  and 
appetites  to  particular  external  objects.  The  former  proceeds 
from,  or  is  self-love;  and  seems  inseparable  from  all  sensible 
creatures,  who  can  reflect  upon  themselves  and  their  own 
interest  or  happiness,  so  as  to  have  that  interest  and  object  to 
their  minds:  what  is  to  be  said  of  the  latter  is,  that  they  pro- 
ceed from,  or  together  make  up  tliat  particular  nature,  accord- 
ing to  which  man  is  made.  The  object  the  former  pursues  is 
somewhat  internal,  our  own  happiness,  enjoyment,  satisfac- 
tion ;  whether  we  have,  or  have  not,  a  distinct  particular  per- 
ception what  it  is,  or  wherein  it  consists  :  the  objects  of  the 
latter  are  this  or  that  particular  external  thing,  which  the 
aftectiotis  tend  towards,  and  of  wliich  it  hath  always  a  par- 
ticular idea  or  perception.  The  principle  we  call  self-love 
never  seeks  any  thing  external  for  the  sake  of  the  thing,  but 
only  as  a  means  of  happiness  or  good :  particular  affections 
rest  in  the  external  things  themselves.  One  belongs  to  man 
as  a  reasonable  creature  reflecting  upon  his  own  interest  or 
happiness.  The  other,  though  quite  distinct  from  reason,  are 
as  much  a  part  of  human  nature. 

That  all  particular  appetites  and  passions  are  towards  ex- 
ternal things  Ihetnsehci,  distinct  from  t\ie.  jikusiire  arising  from 
them,  is  manifested  from  hence;  that  there  could  not  be  this 
pleasure,  were  it  not  for  that  prior  suitableness  between  the 
object  and  the  passion  :  there  could  be  no  enjoyment  or  delight 
from  one  thing  more  than  another,  from  eating  food  more  than 
frorn  swallowing  a  stone,  if  there  were  not  an  affection  or  ap- 
petite to  one  thing  more  than  another. 

Every  particular  affection,  even  the  love  of  our  neighbour, 
is  as  really  our  ov\-n  affection,  as  self-love;  and  the  pleasure 


arising  from  its  gratification  is  as  much  my  own  pleasure,  as 
the  pleasure  self-love  would  have,  from  knowing  I  myself 
should  be  happy  some  time  hence,  would  be  my  owii  pleasure. 
And  if,  because  every  particular  affection  is  a  man's  own,  and 
the  pleasure  arising  from  its  gratification  his  own  pleasure, 
or  pleasure  to  himself,  such  particular  affection  must  be  called 
self-love  ;  according  to  this  way  of  speaking,  no  creature 
whatever  can  possibly  act  but  merely  from  self-love;  and 
every  action  and  every  affection  whatever  is  to  be  resolved  up 
into  this  one  principle.  But  then  this  is  not  the  language  of 
mankind  :  or  if  it  were,  we  should  want  words  to  express  the 
difference,  between  the  principle  of  an  action,  proceeding 
from  cool  consideration  that  it  will  be  to  my  own  advantage; 
and  an  action,  suppose  of  revenge,  or  of  friendship,  by  which 
a  man  runs  upon  certain  ruin,  to  do  evil  or  good  to  another. 
It  is  manifest  the  principles  of  these  actions  are  totally  dif- 
ferent, and  so  want  different  words  to  be  distinguished  by : 
all  that  they  agree  in  is,  that  they  both  proceed  from,  and  are 
done  to  gratify  an  inclination  in  a  man's  self.  But  the  prin- 
ciple or  inclination  in  one  case  is  self-love;  in  the  other, 
hatred  or  love  of  another.  There  is  then  a  distinction  between 
the  cool  principle  of  self-love,  or  general  desire  of  our  own 
happiness,  as  one  j>art  of  our  nature,  and  one  principle  of 
action ;  and  the  particular  affections  towards  particular  ex- 
ternal objects,  as  another  part  of  our  nature,  and  another  prin- 
ciple of  action.  How  much  soever  therefore  is  to  be  allowed 
to  self-love,  yet  it  cannot  be  allowed  to  be  the  whole  of  our 
inward  constitution;  because,  you  see,  there  are  other  parts 
or  principles  which  come  into  it. 

Further,  private  happiness  or  good  is  all  which  self-love 
can  make  us  desire,  or  be  concerned  about :  in  having  this 
consists  its  gratification :  it  is  an  affection  to  ourselves;  a  re- 
gard to  our  own  interest,  happiness,  and  private  good  :  and 
in  the  proportion  a  man  hath  this,  he  is  interested,  or  a  lover 
of  himself.  Let  this  be  kept  in  mind  ;  because  there  is  com- 
monly, as  I  shall  presently  have  occasion  to  observe,  another 
sense  put  upon  these  words.  On  the  other  hand,  particular 
affections  tend  towards  particular  external  things :  these  are 
their  objects  :  having  these  is  their  end  :  in  this  consists  their 
gratification:  no  matter  whether  it  be,  or  be  not,  upon  the 
whole,  Qur  interest  or  happiness.  An  action  done  from  the 
former  of  these  principles  is  called  an  interested  action.  An 
action  proceeding  from  any  of  the  latter  has  its  denomination 
of  passionate,  ambitious,  friendly,  revengeful,  or  any  other, 
from  the  particular  appetite  or  affection  from  which  it  pro- 
ceeds. Thus  self-love  as  one  part  of  human  nature,  and  the 
several  particular  principles  as  the  other  part,  are,  themselves, 
their  objects  and  ends,  stated  and  shown. 

From  hence  it  will  be  easy  to  see,  how  far,  and  in  what 
ways,  each  of  these  can  contribute  and  be  subservient  to  the 
private  good  of  the  individual.  Happiness  does  not  consist 
in  self-love.  The  desire  of  happiness  is  no  more  the  thing 
itself,  than  the  desire  of  riches  is  the  possession  or  enjoyment 
of  them.  People  may  love  themselves  with  the  most  entire 
and  unbounded  affection,  and  yet  be  extremely  miserable. 
Neither  can  self-love  any  way  help  them  out,  but  by  setting 
them  on  work  to  get  rid  of  the  causes  of  their  misery,  to  gain 
or  make  use  of  those  objects  which  are  by  nature  adapted  to 
afford  satisfaction.  Happiness  or  satisfaction  consists  only 
in  the  enjoyment  of  those  objects,  which  are  by  nature  suited 
to  our  several  particular  appetites,  passions,  and  affections. 
8.1  that  if  self-love  wholly  engrosses  us,  and  leaves  no  room 
for  any  other  principle,  there  can  be  absolutely  no  such  thing 
at  all  as  happiness,  or  enjoyment  of  any  kind  whatever;  since 
happiness  consists  in  the  gratification  of  particular  passions, 
which  supposes  the  having  of  them.  Self-love  then  does  not 
constitute  this  or  tliat  to  be  our  interest  or  good;  but,  our 
nterest  or  good  being  constituted  by  nature  and  supposed, 
self-love  only  puts  us  upon  obtaining  and  securing  it.  There- 
fore, if  it  he  possible,  that  self-love  may  prevail  and  exert 
itself  in  a  degree  or  manner  which  is  not  subservient  to  this 
end  ;  then  it  will  not  follow,  that  our  interest  will  be  promoted 
in  proportion  to  the  degree  in  which  that  principle  engrosses  us, 
and  prevails  over  others.  Nay  further,  the  private  and  con- 
tracted affection,  when  it  is  not  subservient  to  this  end,  private 
good,  may,  for  any  thing  that  apjiears,  have  a  direct  contrary 
tendency  and  effect.  And  if  we  will  consider  the  matter,  we 
shall  see  that  it  often  really  has.  Disengagement  is  absolutely 
necessary  to  enjoyment :  and  a  person  may  have  so  steady 
and  fixed  an  eye  upon  his  own  interest,  whatever  he  places  it 
in,  as  may  hinder  him  from  attending  to  many  gratifications 
within  his  reach,  which  others  have  their  m'mAs  free -anA  open 
to.  Over-fondness  for  a  child  is  not  generally  thought  to  be 
for  its  advantage:  and,  if  there  be  any  guess  to  be  made  from 


BISHOP  BUTLER'S  SERMONS. 


527 


appearances,  surely  that  character  we  call  selfish  is  not  the 
most  promising  for  happiness.  Such  a  temper  naay  plainly 
be,  and  exert  itself  in  a  degree  and  manner  which  may  give 
unnecessary  and  useless  solicitude  and  anxiety,  in  a  degree 
and  manner  which  may  prevent  obtaining  the  means  and  ma- 
terials of  enjoyment,  as  well  as  the  making  use  of  them.  Im- 
moderate self-love  does  very  ill  consult  its  own  interest:  and, 
liow  much  soever  a  paradox  it  may  appear,  it  is  certainly  true, 
that  even  from  self-love  we  should  endeavour  to  get  over  all 
inordinate  regard  to,  and  consideration  of  ourselves.  Every 
one  of  our  passions  and  affections  hath  its  natural  stint  and 
bound,  which  may  easily  be  exceeded;  whereas  our  enjoy- 
ments can  possibly  be  but  in  a  determinate  measure  and  de- 
gree. Therefore  such  excess  of  the  affection,  since  it  cannot 
procure  any  enjoyment,  must  in  all  cases  be  useless;  but  is 
generally  attended  with  inconveniences,  and  often  is  down- 
right pain  and  misery.  This  holds  as  much  with  regard  to 
self-love  as  to  all  other  affections.  The  natural  degree  of  it, 
so  far  as  it  sets  us  on  work  to  gain  and  make  use  of  the  ma- 
terials of  satisfaction,  may  be  to  our  real  advantage;  but  be- 
yond or  besides  this,  it  is  in  several  respects  an  inconvenience 
and  disadvantage.  Thus  it  appears,  that  private  interest  is 
so  far  from  being  likely  to  be  promoted  in  proportion  to  the 
degree  in  whicli  self-love  engrosses  us,  and  prevails  over  all 
other  principles ;  that  the  contracted  affection  may  be  so  preva- 
lent as  to  disappoint  itself,  and  even  contradict  its  own  end, 
private  good. 

"  But  who,  except  the  most  sordidly  covetous,  ever  thought 
there  was  any  rivalship  between  the  love  of  greatness,  hon- 
our, power,  or  between  sensual  appetites,  and  self-love  1 
No,  there  is  a  pefect  harmony  between  them.  It  is  by 
means  of  these  particular  appetites  and  affections  that  self- 
love  is  gratified  in  enjoyment,  happiness,  and  satisfaction. 
The  competition  and  rivalship  is  between  self-love  and  the 
love  of  our  neighbour :  that  affection  which  leads  us  out  of 
ourselves,  makes  us  regardless  of  our  own  interest,  and  sub- 
stitute that  of  another  in  its  stead."  Whether  then  there  be 
any  peculiar  competition  and  contrariety  in  this  case,  shall 
now  be  considered- 
Self-love  and  interestedness  was  stated  to  consist  in  or  be 
an  affection  to  ourselves,  a  regard  to  our  own  private  good : 
it  is  therefore  distinct  from  benevolence,  which  is  an  affec- 
tion to  the  good  of  our  fellow-creatures.  But  that  benevo- 
lence is  distinct  from,  that  is,  not  the  same  thing  with  self- 
love,  is  no  reason  for  it  being  looked  upon  with  any  peculiar 
suspicion ;  because  every  principle  whatever,  by  means 
of  W'hich  self-love  is  gratified,  is  distinct  from  it:  and  all 
things  which  are  distinct  from  each  other  are  equally  so.  A 
man  has  an  affection  or  aversion  to  another;  that  one  of 
these  tends  to,  and  is  gratified  by  doing  good,  that  the  other 
tends  to,  and  is  gratified  by  doing  harm,  does  not  in  the  least 
alter  the  respect  which  either  one  or  the  other  of  these  inward 
feelings  has  to  self-love.  We  use  the  word  pruperiy  so  as 
to  exclude  any  other  persons  having  an  interest  in  that  of 
which  we  say  a  particular  man  has  the  property.  And  we 
often  use  the  word  neljish  so  as  to  exclude  in  the  same  man- 
ner all  regards  to  the  good  of  others.  But  the  cases  are 
not  parallel :  for  though  that  exclusion  is  really  part  of  the 
idea  of  property ;  yet  such  positive  exclusion,  or  bringing 
this  peculiar  disregard  to  the  good  of  others  into  the  idea 
of  self-love,  is  in  reality  adding  to  the  idea,  or  changing  it 
from  what  it  was  before  staled  to  consist  in,  namely,  in  an 
affection  to  ourselves.  This  being  the  whole  idea  of  self- 
love,  it  can  no  otherwise  exclude  good-will  or  love  of  others, 
than  merely  by  not  including  it,  no  otherwise,  than  it  ex- 
cludes love  of  arts  or  of  reputation,  or  of  any  thing  else. 
Neither  on  the  other  hand  does  benevolence,  any  more  than 
love  of  arts  or  of  reputation,  exclude  self-love.  Love  of  our 
neighbour  then  has  just  the  same  respect  to,  is  no  more  dis- 
tant from  self-love,  than  hatred  of  our  neighbour,  or  than  love 
or  hatred  of  any  thing  else.  Thus  the  principles  from  which 
men  rush  upon  certain  ruin  for  the  destruction  of  an  enemy, 
and  for  the  preservation  of  a  friend,  have  the  same  respect  to 
the  private  affection,  and  are  equally  interested,  or  equally 
disinterested:  and  it  is  of  no  avail,  whether  they  are  said  to 
be  one  or  the  other.  Therefore  to  those  who  are  shocked  to 
hear  virtue  spoken  of  as  disinterested,  it  may  be  allowed 
that  it  is  indeed  absurd  to  speak  thus  of  it;  unless  hatred, 
several  particular  instances  of  vice,  and  all  the  common  affec- 
tions and  aversions  in  mankind,  are  acknowledged  to  be  dis- 
interested too.  Is  there  any  less  inconsistency  between  the 
love  of  inanimate  things,  or  of  creatures  merely  sensitive,  and 
self-love ;  than  between  self-love  and  the  love  of  our  neigh- 
bour?    Is   desire  of  and  delight  in  the  happiness   of  an- 


other any  more  a  diminution  of  self-love,  than  desire  of  and 
delight  in  the  esteem  of  another?  They  are  both  equally  de- 
sire of  and  delight  in  somewhat  external  to  ourselves:  either 
both  or  neither  are  so.  The  object  of  self-love  is  expressed 
in  the  term  self:  and  every  appetite  of  sense,  and  ever}'  par- 
ticular affection  of  the  heart,  are  equally  interested  or  disin- 
terested, because  the  objects  of  them  all  are  equally  self  or 
somewhat  else.  Whatever  ridicule  therefore  the  mention 
of  a  disinterested  principle  or  action  may  be  supposed  to  lie 
open  to,  must,  upon  the  matter  being  thus  staled,  relate  to 
ambition,  and  every  appetite  and  particular  affection,  as 
much  as  to  benevolence.  And  indeed  all  the  ridicule,  and 
all  the  grave  perplexity,  of  which  this  subject  hath  had  its 
full  share,  is  merely  from  words.  The  most  intelligible  way 
of  speaking  of  it  seems  to  be  this  :  that  self-love  and  the  ac- 
tions done  in  consequence  of  it  (for  these  will  presently  appear 
to  be  the  same  as  to  this  question)  are  interested  ;  that  par- 
ticular affections  towards  external  objects,  and  the  actions 
done  in  consequence  of  those  affection,  are  not  so.  But  every 
one  is  at  liberty  to  use  words  as  he  pleases.  All  that  is  here 
insisted  upon  is,  that  ambition,  revenge,  benevolence,  all 
particular  passions  whatever,  and  the  actions  they  produce, 
are  equally  interested  or  disinterested. 

Thus  it  appears  that  there  is  no  peculiar  contrariety  between 
self-love  and  benevolence;  no  greater  competition  between 
these,  than  between  any  other  particular  affections  and  self- 
ove.  This  relates  to  the  affections  themselves.  Let  us  now 
see  whether  there  be  any  peculiar  contrariety  between  the 
respective  courses  of  life  which  these  affections  lead  to; 
whether  there  be  any  greater  competition  between  the  pur- 
suit of  private  and  of  public  good,  than  between  any  other 
particular  pursuits  and  that  of  private  good. 

There  seems  no  other  reason  to  suspect  that  there  is  any 
such  peculiar  contrariety,  but  only  that  the  courses  of  action 
which  benevolence  leads  to,  has  a  more  direct  tendency  to 
promote  the  good  of  others,  than  that  course  of  action  w  bich 
love  of  reputation  suppose,  or  any  other  particular  affection 
leads  to.  But  that  any  affection  tends  to  the  happiness  of 
another,  does  not  hinder  its  tending  to  one's  own  happiness 
too.  That  others  enjoy  the  benefit  of  the  air  and  the  light  of 
the  sun,  does  not  hinder  but  that  these  are  as  much  one's  own 
private  advantage  now,  as  they  would  be  if  we  had  the  pro- 
perty of  them  exclusive  of  all  others.  So  a  pursuit  which 
tends  to  promote  the  good  of  another,  yet  may  have  as  great 
tendency  to  promote  private  interest,  as  a  pursuit  which  does 
not  tend  to  the  good  of  another  at  all,  or  which  is  mischievous 
to  bim.  All  particular  affections  whatever,  resentment,  be- 
nevolence, love  of  arts,  equally  lead  to  a  course  of  action  for 
their  own  gratifications,  i.  e.  the  gratifications  of  ourselves; 
and  the  gratification  of  each  gives  delight :  so  far  then  it  is 
manifest  they  have  all  the  same  respect  to  private  interest. 
Now  take  into  consideration  further,  concerning  these  three 
pursuits,  that  the  end  of  the  first  is  the  harm,  of  the  second, 
the  good  of  another,  of  the  last,  somewhat  indifferent;  and 
is  there  any  necessity,  that  these  additional  considerations 
should  alter  the  respect,  which  we  before  saw  these  three  pur-  • 
suits,  had  to  private  interest;  or  render  any  one  of  them  less 
conducive  to  it,  than  any  other?  Thus  one  man's  affection  is 
to  honour  at  his  end  ;  in  order  to  obtain  which  he  thinks  no 
pains  too  great.  Suppose  another,  with  such  a  singularity 
of  mind,  as  to  have  the  same  affection  to  public  good  as  his 
end,  which  he  endeavours  with  the  same  labour  to  obtain.  In 
case  of  success,  surely  the  man  of  benevolence  hath  as  great 
enjoyment  as  the  man  of  ambition  ;  they  both  equally  having 
the  end  of  their  affections,  in  the  same  degree,  tended  to  :  but 
in  case  of  disappointment,  the  benevolent  man  has  clearly  the 
advantage ;  since  endeavouring  to  do  good  considered  as  a 
virtuous  pursuit,  is  gratified  by  its  own  consciousness,  i.  e.  is 
in  a  degree  its  own  reward. 

And  as  to  these  two,  or  benevolence  and  any  other  parti- 
cular passions  whatever,  considered  in  a  further  view,  as 
forming  a  general  temper,  which  more  or  less  disposes  us  for 
enjoyment  of  all  the  common  blessings  of  life,  distinct  from 
their  own  gratification  :  is  benevolence  less  the  temper  of 
tranquillity  and  freedom  than  ambition  or  covetousness'! 
Does  the  benevolent  man  appear  less  easy  with  himself,  from 
his  love  to  bis  neighbour?  Does  he  less  relish  his  being? 
Is  there  any  peculiar  gloom  seated  on  his  face?  Is  his  mind 
less  open  to  entertainment,  to  any  particular  gratification? 
Nothing  is  more  manifest,  than  that  being  in  good  humour, 
w-hich  is  benevolence  whilst  it  lasts,  is  itself  the  temper  of 
satisfaction  and  enjoyment. 

Suppose  then  a  man  setting  down  to  consider  how  he  might 
become  most  easy  to  himself,  and  attain  the  greatest  plea- 


528 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


sure  he  could ;  all  that  which  is  his  real  natural  happiness 
This  can  only  consist  in  the  enjoyment  of  tliose  ohjects, 
which  are  by  nature  adapted  to  our  several  faculties.  These 
particular  enjoyments  make  up  the  sum  total  of  our  happi- 
ness :  and  they  are  supposed  to  arise  from  riches,  honours 
and  the  gratifications  of  sensual  appetites  :  he  it  so;  yet  none 
profess  themselves  so  completely  happy  in  these  enjoyments, 
but  that  there  is  room  left  in  the  mind  of  others,  if  they  were 
presented  to  them  :  nay,  these,  as  much  as  they  engage  us, 
are  not  thought  so  high,  hut  that  human  nature  is  capable 
even  of  greater.  Now  there  have  been  persons  in  all  ages, 
who  have  professed  that  they  found  satisfaction  in  the  exer- 
cise of  charity,  in  the  love  of  their  neighbour,  in  endeavouring 
to  promote  the  happiness  of  all  they  had  to  do  with,  and 
in  the  pursuit  of  what  is  just,  and  riglit,  and  good,  as  the 
general  bent  of  their  mind,  and  end  of  their  life ;  and  that 
doing  an  action  of  baseness  or  cruelty,  would  be  as  great 
violence  to  their  self,  as  much  breaking  in  upon  their  nature, 
as  any  external  force.  Persons  of  their  character  would  add 
if  they  might  be  heanl,  that  they  consider  themselves  as  act 
ing  in  the  view  of  an  infinite  Being,  who  is  in  a  much  higher 
sense  the  object  of  reverence  and  of  love,  than  all  the  world 
besides;  and  therefore  they  could  have  no  more  enjoyment 
from  a  wicked  action  done  under  his  eye,  than  the  persons 
to  whom  they  are  making  their  apology  could,  if  all  mankind 
were  the  spectators  of  it ;  and  that  the  satisfaction  of  ap- 
proving themselves  to  his  unerring  judgment,  to  whom  they 
thus  refer  all  their  actions,  is  a  more  continued  settled  satis- 
faction than  any  this  world  can  afford ;  as  also  that  they 
have,  no  less  than  others,  a  mind  free  and  open  to  all  the 
common  innocent  gratifications  of  it,  such  as  they  are.  And 
if  we  go  no  further,  does  there  appear  any  absurdity  in  this? 
Will  any  one  take  upon  him  to  say,  that  a  man  cannot  find 
his  account  in  this  general  course  of  life,  as  much  as  in  the 
most  unbounded  ambition,  and  the  excesses  of  pleasure?  Or 
that  such  a  person  has  not  consulted  so  well  for  himself,  for 
the  satisfaction  and  peace  of  his  own  mind,  as  the  ambitious 
or  dissolute  man  ?  And  though  the  consideration,  that  God 
himself  will  in  the  end  justify  their  taste,  and  support  their 
cause,  is  not  formally  to  be  insisted  upon  here;  yet  thus 
much  comes  in,  that  all  enjoyments  whatever  are  much  more 
clear  and  unmixed  from  the  assurance  that  they  will  end 
well.  Is  it  certain  then  that  there  is  nothing  iu  these  pre- 
tensions to  happiness  ?  especially  when  there  are  not  want- 
ing persons,  who  have  supported  themselves  with  satisfac- 
tions of  this  kind  in  sickness,  poverty,  disgrace,  and  in  the 
very  pangs  of  death;  whereas  it  is  manifest  all  other  enjoy- 
ments fail  in  these  circumstances.  This  surely  looks  sus- 
picious of  having  somewhat  in  it.  Self-love  methinks  should 
be  alarmed.  I\Iay  she  not  possibly  pass  over  greater  plea- 
sures than  those  she  is  so  wholly  taken  up  with  ? 

The  short  of  the  matter  is  no  more  than  this.  Happiness 
consists  in  the  gratification  of  certain  afiections,  appetites, 
passions,  with  objects  which  are  by  nature  adapted  to  them. 
Self-love  may  indeed  set  us  on  vi-ork  to  gratify  these;  but 
happiness  or  enjoyment  has  no  immediate  connexion  with 
self-love,  but  arises  from  such  gratification  alone.  Love  of 
our  neighbour  is  one  of  those  affections.  This,  considered 
as  a  virtuous  principle,  is  gratified  by  a  consciousness  of  en- 
deavuuring  to  promote  the  good  of  others;  but  considered  as 
natural  aftection,  its  gratification  consists  in  the  actual  accom- 
plishment of  this  endeavour.  Now  indulgence  or  gratifica- 
tion of  this  aftection,  whether  in  that  consciousness,  or  this 
accomplishment,  has  the  same  respect  to  interest,  as  indul- 
gence of  any  other  aftection  ;  they  equally  proceed  from  or  do 
not  proceed  from  self-love,  they  equally  include  or  equally 
exclude  this  principle.  Thus  it  appears,  that  benevolence 
and  the  pursuits  of  public  good  hath  at  least  as  great  respect 
to  self-love  and  the  i)ursuits  of  private  good,  as  any  other 
particular  passions,  and  their  respective  pursuits. 

Neither  is  covetousness,  whether  as  a  temper  or  pursuit, 
any  exception  to  this.  For  if  by  covetousness  is  meant  the 
desire  and  pursuit  of  riches  for  their  own  sake,  without  any 
regard  to,  or  consideration  of,  the  uses  of  them  ;  this  haih  as 
little  to  do  with  self-love,  as  benevolence  hath.  But  by  this 
word  is  usually  meant,  not  such  madness  and  total  distraction 
ot  mind,  but  immoderate  atfection  to  ami  pursuit  of  riches 
as  possessions  in  order  to  some  further  end  ;  namely,  satis- 
laction,  interest,  or  good.  This  therefore  is  not  a  particular 
aftection,  or  particular  pursuit,  but  it  is  the  general  principle 
of  sell-love,  and  the  general  pursuit  of  our  own  interest;  for 
which  reason,  the  word  selfish  is  by  every  one  appropriated 
to  this  temper  and  pursuit.  Now  as  it  is  ridiculous  to  assert, 
that  sell-love  and  the  love  of  uur  neighbour  are  the  same ;  so 


neither  is  it  asserted,  that  following  these  different  affections 
hath  the  same  tendency  and  respect  to  our  own  interest.  The 
comparison  is  not  between  self-love  and  the  love  of  our 
neighbour;  between  pursuit  of  our  own  interest,  and  the  in- 
terest of  others  :  but  between  the  several  particular  aSections 
in  human  nature  towards  external  objects,  as  one  part  of  the 
comparison;  and  the  one  particular  affection  to  the  good  of 
our  neighbour,  as  the  other  part  of  it:  and  it  has  been  shown, 
that  all  these  have  the  same  respect  to  self-love  and  private 
interest. 

There  is  indeed  frequently  an  inconsistence  or  interfering 
between  self-love  or  private  interest,  and  the  several  particular 
appetites,  passions,  affections,  or  the  pursuits  they  lead  to. 
But  this  competition  or  interfering  is  merely  accidental; 
and  happens  much  oftener  between  pride,  revenge,  sensual 
gratifications,  and  private  interest,  than  between  private 
interest  and  benevolence.  For  nothing  is  more  common, 
than  to  see  rnen  give  themselves  up  to  a  passion  or  an  affec- 
tion to  their  known  prejudice  and  ruin,  and  in  direct  contra- 
diction to  manifest  and  real  interest,  and  the  loudest  calls  of 
self-love:  whereas  the  seeming  competitions  and  interfering, 
between  benevolence  and  private  interest,  relate  much  more 
to  the  materials  or  means  of  enjoyment,  than  to  enjoyment 
itself.  There  is  often  an  interfering  in  the  former,  when 
there  is  none  in  the  latter.  Thus  as  to  riches :  so  much 
money  as  a  man  gives  away,  so  much  less  will  remain  in  his 
possession.  Here  is  a  real  interfering.  But  though  a  man 
cannot  possibly  give  without  lessening  his  fortune,  yet  there 
are  multitudes  might  give  without  lessening  their  own  enjoy- 
ment; because  they  may  have  more  than  they  can  turn  to 
any  real  use  or  advantage  to  themselves.  Thus,  the  more 
thought  and  time  any  one  employs  about  the  interests  and 
good  of  others,  he  must  necessarily  have  less  to  attend  his 
own ;  but  he  may  have  so  ready  and  large  a  supply  of  his 
own  wants,  that  such  thought  might  be  really  useless  to  him- 
self, though  of  great  service  and  assistance  to  others. 

The  general  mistake,  that  there  is  some  greater  inconsist- 
ence between  endeavouring  to  promote  the  good  of  another 
and  self-interest,  than  between  self-interest  and  pursuing  any 
thing  else,  seems,  as  hath  already  been  hinted,  to  arise  from 
our  notions  of  property  ;  and  to  be  carried  on  by  this  pro- 
perty's being  supposed  to  be  itself  our  happiness  or  good. 
People  are  so  very  much  taken  up  with  this  one  subject,  that 
they  seem  from  it  to  have  formed  a  general  way  of  thinking, 
which  they  apply  to  other  things  that  they  have  nothing  to  do 
with.  Hence,  in  a  confused  and  slight  way,  it  might  well 
be  taken  for  granted,  that  another's  having  no  interest  in  an 
affection,  {i.  e.  his  good  not  being  the  object  of  it,)  renders,  as 
one  may  speak,  the  proprietor's  interest  in  it  greater;  and 
that  if  another  had  an  interest  in  it,  this  would  render 
his  less,  or  occasion  that  such  affection  could  not  be  so 
friendly  to  self-love,  or  conducive  to  private  good,  as  an  af- 
fection or  pursuit  which  has  not  a  regard  to  the  good  of  an- 
other. This,  I  say,  might  be  taken  for  granted,  whilst  is  was 
not  attended  to,  that  the  object  of  every  particular  affection 
is  equally  somewhat  external  to  ourselves;  and  whether  it  be 
the  good  of  another  person,  or  whether  it  be  any  other  exter- 
nal thing,  makes  no  alteration  with  regard  to  its  being  one's 
own  affection,  and  the  gratification  of  it  one's  own  private 
enjoyment.  And  so  far  as  it  is  taken  for  granted,  that  barely 
having  the  means  and  materials  of  enjoyment  is  what  consti- 
tutes interest  and  happiness;  that  our  interest  or  good  con- 
sists in  possessions  themselves,  in  having  the  property  of 
riches,  houses,  lands,  gardens,  not  in  the  enjoyment  of  them  ; 
so  far  it  will  even  more  strongly  be  taken  for  granted,  in 
the  way  already  explained,  that  an  aff'ection's  conducing  to 
the  good  of  anotlier,  must  even  nec£ssarily  occasion  it  to 
conduce  less  to  private  good,  if  not  to  be  positively  detri- 
luental  to  it.  For,  if  property  and  happiness  are  one  and  the 
same  thing,  as  by  increasirig  the  property  of  another,  you 
lessen  your  own  property,  so  by  promoting  the  happiness  of 
another,  you  must  lessen  your  own  happiness.  But  what- 
ever occasion  the  mistake,  1  hope  it  has  been  fully  proved  to 
be  one ;  as  it  has  been  proved,  that  there  is  no  peculiar 
rivalship  or  competition  between  self-love  and  benevolence; 
that  as  there  may  be  a  competition  between  these  two,  so 
there  may  also  between  any  particular  affection  whatever  and 
self-love;  that  every  particular  affiction,  benevolence  among 
the  rest,  is  subservient  to  selt-love,  by  being  the  instrument 
of  private  enjoyment ;  and  that  in  one  respect  benevolence 
contributes  more  to  private  interest,  i.  e.  enjoyment  or  satis- 
faction, than  any  other  of  the  particular  common  affections,  as 
it  is  in  a  degree  its  own  gratification. 

And  to  all  these  things  may  be  added,  that  religion,  from 


BISHOP  BUTLER'S  SERMONS. 


529 


whence  arises  our  strongest  obligation  to  benevolence,  is  sojneighbour  is  the  same  with  charity,  benerolence,  or  good- 
far  from  disownintr  the  principle  of  sell-love,  that  it  often! will:  it  is  an  affection  to  the  good:  and  happiness  of  our 
addresses  itself  to  that  very  principle,  and  always  to  the  mind,  fellow-creatures.  This  implies  in  it  a  disposition  to  produce 
in  that  state  wlien  reason  presides :  and  there  can  no  access  happiness :  and  this  is  the  simple  notion  of  goodness,  which 


be  had  to  the  understanding,  but  by  convincing  men,  that 
the  course  of  life  we  would  persuade  them  to  is  not  contrary 
to  tlieir  interest.  It  may  be  allowed,  without  any  prejudice 
to  the  cause  of  virtue  and  religion,  that  our  ideas  of  happi-, 
ness  and  misery  are  of  all  our  ideas  the  nearest  and  most 
important  to  us;  that  tliey  will,  nay,  if  you  please,  that  they 
ought  to  prevail  over  those  of  order,  and  beautj',  and  har- 
mony, and  proportion,  if  there  should  ever  be,  as  it  is  impos- 
sible there  ever  should  be,  any  inconsistence  between  them: 
though  these  last  too,  as  expressing  the  fitness  of  actions,  are 
real  as  truth  itself.  Let  it  be  allowed,  though  virtue  or  moral 
rectitude  does  indeed  consist  in  affection  to  and  pursuit  of 
what  is  right  and  good,  as  such ;  yet,  that  when  we  sit  down 
in  a  cool  hour,  we  can  neither  justify  to  ourselves  this  or  any 
other  pursuit,  till  we  are  convinced  that  it  will  be  for  our 
happiness,  or  at  least  not  contrary  to  it. 

Common  reason  and  humanity,  will  have  some  influence 


appears  so  amiable  wherever  we  meet  with  it.  From  hence 
it  is  easy  to  see,  that  the  perfection  of  goodness  consists  in 
love  to  the  whole  universe.  This  is  the  perfection  of  Al- 
mighty God. 

But  as  man  is  so  much  limited  in  his  capacity,  as  so  small 
a  part  of  tlie  creation  comes  under  his  notice  and  influence, 
and  as  we  are  not  used  to  consider  things  in  so  general  a  waj'; 
it  is  not  to  be  thought  of,  that  the  universe  should  be  the 
object  of  benevolence  to  such  creatures  as  we  are.  Thus  in 
that  precept  of  our  Saviour,  "  Be  ye  perfect,  even  as  your 
Father,  which  is  in  heaven,  is  perfect,"  the  perfection  of  the 
divine  goodness  is  proposed  to  our  imitation  as  it  is  promis- 
cuous, and  extends  to  the  evil  as  well  as  the  good  ;  not  as  it 
is  absolutely  universal,  imitation  of  it  in  this  respect  being 
plaitdy  beyond  us.  The  object  is  too  vast.  For  this  reason 
moral  writers  also  have  substituted  a  less  general  object  for 
our  benevolence,  mankind.     But  this  likewise  is  an  object  too 


upon  mankind,  wliaiever  beconres  of  speculations;  but,  so 'general,  and  very  much  out  of  our  view.     Therefore  persons 


far  as  the  interests  of  virtue  depend  upon  the  theory  of  it 
being  secured  from  open  scorn,  so  far  its  very  being  in  the 
world  depends  upon  its  appearing  to  have  no  contrariety  to 
private  interest  and  self-love.  The  foregoing  observations, 
therefore,  it  is  hoped,  may  have  gained  a  little  ground  in 
favour  of  the  precept  before  us;  the  particular  explanation  of 
which  shall  be  the  subject  of  the  next  discourse. 

I  will  conclude  at  present,  with  obser\'ing  the  peculiar 
obligation  which  we  are  under  to  virtue  and  religion,  as  en- 
forced in  the  verses  following  the  text,  in  the  epistle  for  the 
day,  from  our  Saviour's  coming  into  the  world.  "The  night 
is  far  spent,  the  day  is  at  hand;  let  us  therefore  cast  off  the 
works  of  darkness,  and  let  us  put  on  the  armour  of  light,"  &c. 
The  meaning  and  force  of  which  exhortation  is  that  Chris- 
tianity lays  us  under  new  obligations  to  a  good  life,  as  by  it 
the  will  of  God  is  more  clearly  revealed,  and  as  it  affords 
additional  motives  to  the  practice  of  it,  over  aad  above  those 
w  hich  arise  out  of  the  nature  of  virtue  and  vice  ;  I  might  add, 
as  our  Saviour  has  set  us  a  perfect  example  of  goodness  in 
our  own  nature.  Now  love  and  charity  is  plainly  the  thing 
in  which  he  hath  placed  his  religion ;  in  which  therefore, 
as  we  have  any  pretence  to  the  name  of  Christians,  we  must 
place  ours.  He  hath  at  once  enjoined  it  upon  us  b}'  way  of 
command  with  peculiar  force;  and  by  his  example,  as  having 
undertaken  the  work  of  our  salvation  out  of  pure  love  and 
good-will  to  mankind.  The  endeavour  to  set  home  this  ex- 
ample upon  our  minds  is  a  very  proper  employment  of  this 
season,  which  is  bringing  on  the  festival  of  his  birth :  which 
as  it  ma}'  teach  us  many  excellent  lessons  of  humility,  resig- 
nation, and  obedience  to  the  will  of  God  ;  so  there  is  none  it 
recommends  with  greater  authority,  force,  and  advantage, 
than  this  of  love  and  charity ;  since  it  was  "  for  us  men,  and 
for  our  salvation,"  that  "  he  came  down  from  heaven,  and  was 
incarnate,  and  was  made  man  ;"  that  he  might  teach  us  our 
duty,  and  more  especially  that  he  might  enforce  the  practice 
of  it,  reform  mankind,  and  finally  bring  us  to  that  eternal  sal- 
vation, of  which  he  is  the  Author  to  all  those  that  obey  him. 


SERMON  XII. 

UPON  THE  LOVE  OF  OUR  NEIGHBOUR. 

And  if  there  Ije  any  other  commandment,  it  is  briefly  comprehended 
in  this  saying,  namely,  I'hou  slialt  love  thy  neighboui-  as  thyself. 
liom.  xiii.  9. 

Having  already  removed  the  prejudices  against  public 
spirit,  or  the  love  of  our  neighbour,  on  the  side  of  private 
interest  and  self-love;  I  proceed  to  the  particular  explanation 
of  the  precept  before  us,  by  showing,  Who  is  our  neighbour  : 
In  what  sense  we  are  required  to  love  him  as  ourselves :  The 
influence  snch  love  would  have  upon  our  behaviour  in  life : 
and  lastly,  How  this  commandment  comprehends  in  it  all 
others. 

I.  The  objects  and  due  extent  of  this  affection  will  be  un- 
derstood by  attending  to  the  nature  of  it,  aud  to  the  nature 
and  circumstances  of  mankind  in  this  world.  The  love  of  our 
Vol.  II 3  U 


more  practical  have,  instead  of  mankind,  put  our  country  ;  and 
this  is  what  we  call  a  public  spirit;  which  in  men  of  public 
stations  is  the  character  of  a  patriot.  But  this  is  speakinor 
to  the  upper  part  of  the  world.  Kingdorns  and  governments 
are  large;  and  the  sphere  of  action  of  far  the  greatest  part  of 
mankind  is  much  narrower  than  the  government  they  live 
under :  or  however,  common  men  do  not  consider  their  actions 
as  affecting  the  whole  community  of  which  they  are  members. 
There  plainly  is  wanting  a  less  general  and  nearer  object  of 
benevolence  for  the  bulk  of  men,  than  that  of  their  country. 
Therefore  the  scripture,  not  being  a  book  of  theory  and  specu- 
lation, but  a  plain  rule  of  lite  for  mankind,  has  with  the 
utmost  possible  propriety  put  the  principle  of  virtue  upon  the 
love  of  our  neighbour ;  which  is  that  part  of  the  universe,  that 
part  of  mankind,  that  part  of  our  country,  which  comes  under 
our  immediate  notice,  acquaintance,  and  influence,  and  with 
which  we  have  to  do. 

This  is  plainly  the  true  account  or  reason,  why  our  Saviour 
places  the  principle  of  virtue  in  the  love  of  our  ni-ighhour  ; 
and  the  account  itself  shows  who  are  comprehended  under 
that  relation. 

II.  Let  us  now  consider  in  what  sense  we  are  coinmanded 
to  love  our  neighbour  as  ountlves. 

This  precept,  in  its  first  delivery  liy  our'Saviour,  is  thus 
introduced  :  "Thou  shall  love  the  Lord  thy  God  with  alflhine 
heart,  with  all  thy  soul,  and  with  all  thy  strength  ;  and  thy 
neighbour  as  thyself."  These  very  dillerent  manners  of  ex- 
pression do  not  lead  our  tho\ights  to  the  same  measure  or  de- 
gree of  love,  common  to  both  objects  ;  but  to  one,  peculiar  to 
each.  Supposing  then,  which  is  to  be  supposed,  a  distinct 
meaning  and  propriety  in  the  words,  us  thyself;  the  precept 
we  are  considering  will  admit  of  any  of  these  senses :  that  we 
bear  the  sayue:  kind  of  affection  to  our  neighbour,  as  we  do  to 
ourselves :  or,  that  the  love  we  bear  to  our  neiglibour  should 
h3.ye  some  cerlain  proportioti  or  other  to  self-love:  or,  lastly, 
that  it  should  bear  the  particular  proportion  of  equality,  that 
it  he  in  the  same  degree. 

First,  The  precept  may  be  understood  as  requiring  only, 
that  we  have  the  same  kind  of  affection  to  our  fellow-creatures, 
as  to  ourselves :  that,  as  every  man  has  the  principle  of  self- 
love,  which  disposes  him  to  avoid  misery,  and  consult  his 
own  happiness  ;  so  we  should  cultivate  the  affection  of  good- 
will to  our  neighbour,  and  that  it  should  influence  us  to  have 
the  same  kind  of  regard  to  him.  This  at  least  must  be  com- 
manded:  and  this  will  not  only  prevent  our  being  injurious 
to  him,  but  will  also  put  us  upon  promoting  his  good.  There 
are  blessings  in  life,  which  we  share  in  common  with  others  ; 
peace,  plenty,  freedom,  healthful  seasons.  But  real  benevo- 
lence to  our  fellow-creatures  would  give  us  the  notion  of  a 
common  interest  in  a  stricter  sense  :  for  in  the  degree  we  love 
another,  his  interest,  his  joys  and  sorrows,  are  our  own.  It 
is  from  self-love  that  we  form  the  notion  of  private  good,  and 
consider  it  as  our  own:  love  of  our  neighbour  would  teach  us 
thus  to  appropriate  to  ourselves  his  good  and  welfare  ;  to  con- 
sider ourselves  as  having  a  real  share  in  his  hajipiness.  Thus 
the  principle  of  benevolence  would  be  an  advocate  within  our 
own  breasts,  to  take  care  of  the  interests  of  our  fellow-crea- 
tures in  all  the  interfering  and  competitions  which  cannot  but 
be,  from  the  imperfection  of  our  nature,  and  the  state  we  are 
in.  It  would  likewise,  in  some  measure,  lessen  that  inter- 
fering; and  hinder  men  from  forming  so  stronn- a  notion  of 
private  good,  exclusive  of  the  good  of  others,  as  we  com- 


530 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


monly  do.  Thus,  as  the  private  affection  makes  us  in  a  pe- 
culiar manner  sensible  of  humanity,  justice  or  injustice,  when 
exercised  towards  ourselves ;  love  ot"  our  neighbour  would 
give  us  the  same  kind  of  sensibility  in  his  behalf.  •  This 
■would  be  the  n-reatest  security  of  our  uniform  obedience  to 
that  most  equitable  rule ;  "  Whatsoever  ye  would  that  men 
should  do  unto  you,  do  ye  even  so  unto  them." 

All  this  is  indeed  no  more  than  that  we  should  have  a  real 
love  to  our  neighbour:  but  then,  which  is  to  be  observed,  the 
words,  as  thyself,  express  this  in  the  most  distinct  manner, 
and  determine  the  precept  to  relate  to  the  affection  itself. — 
The  advantage,  which  this  principle  of  benevolence  has  over 
other  remote  considerations,  is,  that  it  is  itself  the  temper  of 
virtue :  and  likewise,  that  it  is  the  chief,  nay,  the  only  effect- 
ual security  of  our  performing  the  several  offices  of  kindness 
■we  owe  to  our  fellow-creatures.  When  from  distant  consid- 
erations men  resolve  upon  any  thing  to  which  they  have  no 
liking,  or  perhaps  an  averseness,  the}'  are  perpetually  finding 
out  evasions  and  excuses;  which  need  never  be  wanting,  if 
people  look  for  them ;  and  they  equivocate  with  themselves 
in  the  plainest  cases  in  the  world.  This  may  be  in  respect 
to  sinole  determinate  acts  of  virtue :  but  it  comes  in  much 
more,  where  the  obligation  is  to  a  general  course  of  behaviour; 
and  most  of  all,  if  it  be  such  as  cannot  be  reduced  to  fixed 
determinate  rules.  This  observation  may  account  for  the 
diversity  of  the  expression,  in  that  known  passage  of  the 
prophet  Micah :  "  to  do  justly,  and  to  love  mercy."  A  man's 
heart  must  be  formed  to  liumanity  and  benevolence,  he  must 
love  mercy,  otherwise  he  will  not  act  mercifully  in  any  settled 
course  of  behaviour.  As  consideration  of  the  future  sanctions 
of  religion  is  our  only  security  of  persevering  in  our  dutj',  in 
cases  of  great  temptations:  so  to  get  our  heart  and  temper 
formed  to  a  love  and  liking  of  what  is  good,  is  absolutely 
necess'ary  in  order  to  our  behaving  rightly  in  the  familiar  and 
daily  intercourses  amongst  mankind. 

Secondly,  The  precejit  before  us  may  be  understood  to  re- 
quire, that  we  love  our  neighbour  in  some  certain  proportion 
or  other,  ucrordins:  as  we  love  ourselves.  And  indeed  a  man's 
character  cannot  bo  determined  b}'  the  love  he  bears  to  his 
neighbour,  considered  absolutely :  but  the  proportion  which 
this  bears  to  self-love,  whether  it  be  attended  to  or  not,  is  the 
chief  thing  which  forms  the  character,  and  influences  the 
actions.  For,  as  the  form  of  the  body  is  a  composition  of 
various  parts;  so  likewise  our  inward  structure  is  not  simple 
or  uniform,  but  a  composition  of  various  passions,  appetites, 
affections,  together  with  rationality ;  including  in  this  last 
both  the  discernment  of  what  is  right,  and  a  disposition  to 
regulate  ourselves  by  it.  There  is  greater  variety  of  parts 
in  ■what  we  call  a  character,  than  there  are  features  in  a  face: 
and  the  morality  of  that  is  no  more  determined  by  one  part, 
than  the  beauty  or  deformity  of  this  is  by  one  single  Icature  : 
each  is  to  be  judged  of  by  all  the  parts  or  features,  not  taken 
singly,  but  together.  In  the  inward  frame  the  various  pas- 
sions, appetites,  affections,  stand  in  different  respects  to  each 
other.  The  principles  in  our  mind  may  be  contradictory,  or 
checks  and  allays  only,  or  incentives  and  assistants  to  each 
other.  And  principles,  which  in  their  nature  have  no  kind 
of  contrarietj'  or  affinity,  may  yet  accidentally  be  each  other's 
allays  or  incentives. 

From  hence  it  comes  to  pass,  that  though  we  were  able  to 
look  into  the  inward  contexture  of  the  heart,  and  see  with  the 
greatest  exactness  in  ■nhat  degree  any  one  principle  is  in  a 
particular  man  ;  we  could  not  from  thence  determine,  how  far 
that  principle  would  go  towards  forming  the  character,  or 
what  influence  it  would  have  upon  the  actions,  unless  we 
could  likewise  discern  what  other  principles  prevailed  in  him, 
and  see  the  proportion  which  that  one  bears  to  the  others. — 
Thus,  though  two  men  should  have  the  affection  of  compas- 
sion in  the  same  degrees  exactly :  yet  one  may  have  the  prin- 
ciple of  resentment,  or  of  ambition  so  strong  in  him,  as  to 
prevail  over  that  of  compassion,  and  prevent  its  having  any 
influence  upon  his  actions^  so  that  he  may  deserve  the  char- 
acter of  an  hard  or  cruel  man  :  whereas  the  other  having  com- 
passion in  just  the  same  degree  only,  yet  having  resentment 
or  ambition  in  a  lower  degree,  his  compassion  may  prevail 
over  them,  so  as  to  influence  his  actions,  and  to  denominate 
his  temper  compassionate.  So  that,  how  strange  soever  it 
may  appear  to  people  who  do  not  attend  to  the  thing,  yet  it 
is  quite  manifest,  that,  when  we  say  one  man  is  more  resent- 
ing or  compassionate  than  another,  this  does  not  necessarily 
imply  that  one  has  the  principle  of  resentment  or  of  compas- 
sion stronger  than  the  other.  For  if  the  proportion,  which 
resentment  or  compassion  bears  to  other  inward  principles,  is 
greater  in  one  than  in  the  other;  this  is  itself  sufficient  to 


denominate  one  more  resenting  or  compassionate  than  the  other. 
Further,  the  whole  system,  as  I  may  speak,  of  affections 
(including  rationality),  which  constitute  the  heart,  as  this 
word  is  used  in  scripture  and  on  moral  subjects,  are  each  and 
all  of  them  stronger  in  some  than  in  others.  Now  the  pro- 
portion which  the  two  general  affections,  benevolence  and 
self-love,  bear  to  each  other,  according  to  this  interpretation 
of  the  text,  denominates  men's  character  as  to  virtue.  Sup- 
pose then  one  man  to  have  the  principle  of  benevolence  in  a 
higher  degree  than  another :  it  will  not  follow  from  hence, 
that  his  general  temper,  or  character,  or  actions,  will  be  more 
benevolent  than  the  other's.  For  he  may  have  self-love  in 
such  a  degree  as  quite  to  prevail  over  benevolence ;  so  that 
it  may  have  no  influence  at  all  upon  his  actions;  whereas 
benevolence  in  the  other  person,  though  in  a  lower  degree, 
may  yet  be  the  strongest  principle  in  his  heart ;  and  strong 
enough  to  be  the  guide  of  his  actions,  so  as  to  denominate 
him  a  good  and  virtuous  man.  The  case  is  here  as  in  scales  : 
it  is  not  one  weight,  considered  in  itself,  which  determines 
whether  the  scale  shall  ascend  or  descend  :  but  this  depends 
upon  the  proportion  which  that  one  weight  hath  to  the  other. 

It  being  thus  manifest  that  the  influence  which  benevo- 
lence has  upon  our  actions,  and  how  far  it  goes  towards  form- 
ing our  character,  is  not  determined  by  the  degree  itself  of 
this  principle  in  our  mind  ;  but  by  the  proportion  it  has  to 
self-love  and  other  principles:  a  comparison  also  being  made 
in  the  text  between  self-love  and  the  love  of  our  neighbour; 
these  joint  considerations  aflbrded  sufficient  occasion  for  treat- 
ing here  of  that  proportion:  it  plainly  is  implied  in  the  pre- 
cept, though  it  should  be  questioned,  whether  it  be  the  exact 
meaning  of  the  words,  as  thyself. 

Love  of  our  neighbour  then  must  bear  some  proportion  to 
self-love,  and  virtue  to  be  sure  consists  in  the  due  proportion. 
What  this  due  proportion  is,  whether  as  a  principle  in  the 
mind,  or  as  exerted  in  actions,  can  be  judged  of  only  from 
our  nature  and  condition  in  this  world.  Of  the  degree  in 
which  atTections  and  the  principles  of  action,  considered  in 
themselves,  prevail,  we  have  no  measure  :  let  us  then  proceed 
to  the  course  of  behaviour,  the  actions  they  produce. 

Both  our  nature  and  condition  require,  that  each  particular 
man  should  make  particular  provision  for  himself:  and  the 
inquiry,  what  proportion  benevolence  should  have  to  self- 
love,  when  brought  down  to  practice,  will  be,  what  is  a  com- 
petent care  and  provision  for  ourselves.  And  how  certain 
soever  it  be,  that  each  man  must  determine  this  for  himself; 
and  how  ridiculous  soever  it  would  be,  for  any  to  attempt  to 
determine  it  for  another :  yet  it  is  to  be  observed,  that  the 
proportion  is  real ;  and  that  a  competent  provision  has  a 
bound  ;  and  that  it  cannot  be  all  which  we  can  possibly  get 
and  keep  within  our  grasp,  without  legal  injustice.  Mankind 
almost  universally  bring  in  vanity,  supplies  for  what  is  called 
a  life  of  pleasure,  covetousness,  or  imaginary  notions  of  su- 
periority over  others,  to  determine  this  question :  but  every 
one  who  desires  to  act  a  proper  part  in  society,  would  do  well 
to  consider,  how  far  any  of  them  come  in  to  determine  it,  in 
the  wa}-  of  moral  consideration.  All  that  can  be  said  is,  sup- 
posing, what,  as  the  world  goes,  is  so  much  to  be  supposed 
that  is  scarce  to  be  mentioned,  that  persons  do  not  neglect 
what  they  really  owe  to  themselves ;  the  more  of  their  care 
and  thought,  and  of  their  fortune,  they  employ  in  doing  good 
to  their  fellow-creatures,  the  nearer  they  come  up  to  the  law 
of  perfection,  "Thou  shalt  love  thy  neighbour  as  thyself." 

Thirdly,  if  the  words,  as  thyself,  were  to  be  understood  of 
an  equality  of  affection ;  it  would  not  be  attended  with  those 
consequences,  which  perhaps  may  be  thought  to  follow  from 
it.  Suppose  a  person  to  have  the  same  settled  regard  to  oth- 
ers, as  to  himself;  that  in  every  deliberate  scheme  or  pursuit 
he  took  their  interest  into  the  account  in  the  same  degree  as 
his  own,  so  far  as  an  equality  of  affection  would  produce  this  : 
yet  he  would  in  fact,  and  ought  to  be,  much  more  taken  up 
and  employed  about  himself,  and  his  own  concerns,  than 
about  others,  and  their  interests.  For,  besides  the  one  com- 
mon affection  toward  himself  and  his  neighbour,  he  would 
have  several  other  particular  affections,  passions,  appetites, 
which  he  could  not  possibly  feel  in  common  both  for  himself 
and  others :  now  these  sensations  themselves  very  much  em- 
ploy us  ;  and  have  perhaps  as  great  influence  as  self-love.-— 
So  far  indeed  as  self-love,  and  cool  reflection  upon  what  is 
for  our  interest,  would  set  us  On  work  to  gain  a  supply  of  our 
own  several  wants;  so  far  the  love  of  our  neighbour  would 
make  us  do  the  same  for  him:  but  the  degree  in  which  we 
are  put  upon  seeking  and  making  use  of  the  rneans  of  grati- 
fication, by  the  feeling  of  those  affections,  appetites,  and  pas- 
sions, must  necessarily  be  peculiar  to  ourselves. 


BISHOP  BUTLER'S  SERMONS. 


531 


That  there  are  particular  passions  (suppose  shame,  resent- 
ment), wliicli  men  seem  to  have,  and  feel  in  common,  hoth 
for  themselves  anil  others,  makes  no  alteration  in  respect  to 
those  passions  and  appetites  which  cannot  possibly  be  thus 
felt  in  common.  From  hence  (and  perhaps  more  things  of 
the  like  kind  might  be  mentioned)  it  follows,  that  though 
there  were  an  equality  of  affection  to  both,  yet  regard  to  our- 
selves, would  be  more  prevalent  than  attention  to  the  concerns 
of  others. 

And  from  moral  considerations  it  ought  to  be  so,  supposing 
still  the  equalitj*  of  affection  commanded :  because  we  are  in 
a  peculiar  manner,  as  I  may  speak,  intrusted  with  ourselves; 
and  therefore  care  of  our  own  interests,  as  well  as  of  our  con- 
duct, particularly  belongs  to  us. 

To  these  things  must  be  added,  that  moral  obligations  can 
extend  no  further  than  to  natural  possibilities.  Now  we  have 
a  perception  of  our  own  interests,  like  consciousness  of  our 
own  existence,  which  we  always  carry  about  with  us;  and 
which,  in  its  continuation,  kind,  and  degree,  seems  impossible 
to  be  felt  in  respect  to  the  interests  of  others. 

From  all  these  things  it  fullj'  appears,  that  though  we  were 
to  love  our  neighbour  in  the  same  degree  as  we  love  our- 
selves, so  far  as  this  is  possible  ;  yet  the  care  of  ourselves, 
of  the  individual,  would  not  be  neglected;  the  apprehended 
danger  of  which  seems  to  be  the  only  objection  against  un- 
derstanding the  precept  in  this  strict  sense. 

III.  The  general  temper  of  mind  which  the  due  love  of 
our  neighbour  would  form  us  to,  and  the  influence  it  would 
have  upon  our  behaviour  in  life,  is  now  to  be  considered. 

The  temper  and  behaviour  of  charitj'  is  explained  at  large, 
in  that  known  passage  of  St.  Paul :  "  Charily  suffereth  long, 
and  is  kind  ;  charity  envieth  not,  doth  not  behave  itself  un- 
seemly, seeketh  not  her  own,  thinketh  no  evil,  beareth  all 
things,  believeth  all  things,  hopeth  all  things."  As  to  the 
meaning  of  the  expressions,  seekdh  not  her  own,  thinketh  no 
evil,  believeth  all  thirigs  ;  however  those  expressions  may  be 
explained  awaj',  this  meekness,  and  in  some  degree  easiness 
of  temper,  readiness  to  forego  our  right  for  the  sake  of  peace, 
as  well  as  in  the  way  of  compassion,  freedom  from  mistrust, 
and  disposition  to  believe  well  of  our  neighbour;  this  general 
temper,  I  say,  accompanies,  and  is  plainly  the  effect  of  love 
and  good-will.  And,  though  such  is  the  world  in  which  we 
live,  that  experience  and  knowledge  of  it  not  only  may,  but 
must  beget  in  us  greater  regard  to  ourselves,  and  doubtful- 
ness of  the  characters  of  others,  than  is  natural  to  mankind  ; 
yet  these  ought  not  to  be  carried  further  than  the  nature  and 
course  of  things  make  necessary.  It  is  still  true,  even  in  the 
present  state  of  things,  bad  as  it  is,  that  a  real  good  man  had 
rather  be  deceived,  than  be  suspicious ;  had  rather  forego 
his  known  right,  than  run  the  venture  of  doing  even  a  hard 
thing.  This  is  the  general  temper  of  that  charity,  of  which 
the  apostle  asserts,  that  if  he  had  it  not,  giving  his  budi/  to 
be  burned  would  avail  him  nothing ;  and  which  he  says  shall 
never  fail. 

The  happy  influence  of  this  temper  extends  to  every  dif- 
ferent relation  and  circumstance  in  human  life.  It  plainly 
renders  a  man  better,  more  to  be  desired,  as  to  all  the  re- 
spects and  relations  we  can  stand  in  to  each  other.  The  be- 
nevolent man  is  disposed  to  make  use  of  all  external  advan- 
tages in  such  a  manner  as  shall  contribute  to  the  good  of 
others,  as  well  as  to  his  own  satisfaction.  His  own  satisfac- 
tion consists  in  this.  He  will  be  easy  and  kind  to  his  de- 
pendents, compassionate  to  the  poor  and  distressed,  friendly 
to  all  with  whom  he  has  to  do.  This  includes  the  good 
neighbour,  parent,  master,  magistrate  :  and  such  a  behaviour 
■would  plainly  make  dependence,  inferiority,  and  even  servi- 
tude, easy.  So  that  a  good  or  charitable  man  of  superior 
rank  in  wisdom,  fortune,  authority,  is  a  common  blessing  to 
the  place  he  lives  in:  happiness  grows  under  his  influence. 
'J'his  (rood  principle  in  inleriors  would  discover  itself  in  paj'- 
ing  respect,  gratitude,  obedience,  as  due.  It  were  therefore 
methinks  one  just  way  of  trying  one's  own  character,  to  ask 
ourselves,  am  I  in  reality  a  better  master  or  servant,  a  better 
friend,  a  better  neighbour,  than  such  and  such  person  ;  whom, 
perhaps,  1  may  think  not  to  deserve  the  character  of  virtue 
and  religion  so  much  as  myself? 

And  as  to  the  spirit  of  parly,  which  unhajipily  prevails 
amongst  mankind,  whatever  are  the  distinctions  which  serve 
for  a  sunply  to  it,  some  or  other  of  which  have  obtained  in 
all  ages  and  countries:  one  who  is  thus  friendly  to  his  kind 
will  immediately  make  due  allowances  for  it,  as  what  cannot 
but  be  amongst  such  creatures  as  men,  in  sucli  a  Morld  as 
this.  And  as  wrath  and  fury  and  overbearing  tipon  these 
occasions  proceed,  as  I  may  speak,  from  men's  feeling  only 


on  their  own  side:  so  a  common  feeling,  for  others  as  well 
as  for  ourselves,  would  render  us  sensible  to  this  truth,  which 
t  is  strange  can  have  so  little  influence  ;  that  we  ourselves 
differ  from  others,  just  as  much  as  they  do  from  us.  I  put 
the  matter  in  this  way,  because  it  can  scarce  be  expected 
that  the  generality  of  men  should  spe,  that  those  things  which 
are  made  the  occasions  of  dissension  and  fomenting  the 
party-spirit,  are  really  nothing  at  all :  but  it  may  be  expected 
from  all  people,  how  much  soever  they  are  in  earnest  about 
their  respective  peculiarities,  that  humanity,  and  common 
good-will  to  their  fellow-creatures,  should  moderate  and  re- 
strain that  wretched  spirit. 

This  good  temper  of  charity  likewise  would  prevent  strife 
and  enmity  arising  from  other  occasions  :  it  would  prevent 
our  giving  just  cause  of  offence,  and  our  taking  it  without 
cause.  And  in  cases  of  real  injury,  a  good  man  will  make 
all  the  allowances  which  are  to  be  made;  and,  without  any 
attempts  of  retaliation,  he  will  only  consult  his  own  and 
other  men's  security  for  the  future,  against  injustice  and 
wrong. 

IV.  I  proceed  to  consider  lastly,  what  is  affirmed  of  the 
precept  now  explained,  that  it  comprehends  in  it  all  others ; 
i.  e.  that  to  love  our  neighbour  as  ourselves  includes  in  it  all 
virtues. 

Now  the  way  in  which  every  maxim  of  conduct,  or  gen- 
eral speculative  assertion,  when  it  is  to  be  explained  at  large, 
should  be  treated,  is,  to  show  what  are  the  particular  truths 
which  were  designed  to  be  comprehended  under  such  a  gen- 
eral observation,  how  far  it  is  strictly  true;  and  then  the 
limitations,  restrictions,  and  exceptions,  if  there  be  excep- 
tions, w  ith  which  it  is  to  be  understood.  But  it  is  only  the 
former  of  these  ;  namely,  how  far  the  assertion  in  the  text 
holds,  and  the  ground  of  the  pre-eminence  assigned  to  the 
precept  of  it,  which  in  strictness  comes  into  our  present  con- 
sideration. 

However,  in  almost  every  thing  that  is  said,  there  is  some- 
what to  be  understood  beyond  what  is  explicitly  laid  down, 
and  which  we  of  course  supply;  somewhat,  I  mean,  which 
would  not  be  commonly  called  a  restriction,  or  limitation. 
Thus,  when  benevolence  is  said  to  be  the  sum  of  virtue,  it  is 
not  spoken  of  as  a  blind  propension,  but  as  a  principle  in  rea- 
sonable creatures,  and  so  to  be  directed  by  their  reason :  for 
reason  and.  reflection  come  into  our  notion  of  a  moral  agent. 
And  that  will  lead  us  to  consider  distant  consequences,  as 
well  as  the  immediate  tendency  of  an  action  :  it  will  teach  us, 
that  the  care  of  some  persons,  suppose  children  and  families, 
is  particularly  committed  to  our  charge  by  Nature  and  Provi- 
dence ;  as  also  that  there  are  other  circumstances,  suppose 
friendship  or  former  obligations,  which  require  that  we  do 
good  to  some  preferably  to  others.  Reason,  considered  merely 
as  subservient  to  benevolence,  as  assisting  to.  produce  the 
greatest  good,  will  teach  us  to  have  particular  regard  to  these 
relations  and  circumstances;  because  it  is  plaiidy  for  the 
good  of  the  world  that  they  should  be  regarded.  And  as  there 
are  munberlcss  cases,  in  which,  notwithstanding  appearances, 
we  are  not  competent  judges,  whether  a  particular  action  will 
upon  the  whole  do  good  or  harm  ;  reason  in  the  same  way 
will  teach  us  to  be  cautious  how  we  act  in  these  cases  of 
uncertaint}'.  It  w-ill  suggest  to  our  consideration,  which  is 
the  safer  side ;  how  liable  we  are  to  be  led  wrong  by  passion 
and  private  interest ;  and  what  regard  is  due  to  laws,  and 
the  judgment  of  mankind.  All  these  things  must  come  into 
consideration,  were  it  only  in  order  to  determine  which  way 
of  acting  is  likely  to  produce  the  greatest  good.  Thus,  upon 
supposition  that  it  were  in  the  strictest  sense  true,  without 
limitation,  that  benevolence  includes  in  it  all  virtues;  yet 
reason  must  come  in  as  its  guide  and  director,  in  order  to 
attain  its  own  end,  the  end  of  benevolence,  the  greatest  pub- 
lic good.  Reason  then  being  thus  included,  let  us  now  con- 
sider the  truth  of  the  assertion  itself. 

First,  It  is  manifest  that  nothing  can  he  of  consequence  to 
mankind  or  an}'  creature,  but  happiness.  This  then  is  all 
which  any  person  can,  in  strictness  of  speaking,  be  said  to 
have  a  right  to.  We  can  therefore  owe  no  man  any  thing, 
but  only  to  further  and  promote  his  happiness,  according  to 
our  abilities.  And  therefore  a  disposition  and  endeavour 
to  do  good  to  all  with  whom  we  have  to  do,  in  the  degree 
and  manner  whicli  the  different  relations  we  stand  in  to  them 
require,  is  a  discharge  of  all  the  obligations  we  are  under  to 
them. 

As  huinan  nature  is  not  one  simi)le  uniform  tbino-  but  a 
composition  ol  various  parts,  body,  spirit,  appetites,  partiiMi- 
lar  passions,  and  aflections ;  for  each  of  which  reasonable 
self-love  would  lead  men  to  have  due  regard,  and  make  suit 


532 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


able  provision  :  so  society  consist  of  various  parts,  to  which 
we  stand  in  difl'erent  respects  and  relations;  and  just  be- 
nevolence would  as  surely  lead  us  to  have  due  regard  to 
each  of  these,  and  behave  as  the  respective  relations  re- 
quire. Reasonable  good-will,  and  right  behaviour  towards 
our  fellow-creatures,  are  in  a  manner  the  same  :  only  that 
the  former  expresseth  the  principle  as  it  is  in  the  mind  ;  the 
latter,  the  principle  as  it  were  become  external,  i.  e.  exerted 
in  actions. 

And  so  far  as  temperance,  sobriety,  and  moderation  in  sen- 
sual pleasures,  and  the  contrary  vices,  have  any  respect  to 
our  fellow-creatures,  any  inlluence  upon  their  quiet,  welfare, 
and  happiness ;  as  they  always  have  a  real,  and  often  a  near 
influence  upon  it ;  so  far  it  is  manifest  those  virtues  may  be 
produced  by  the  love  of  our  neighbour,  and  that  the  contrary 
vices  would  be  prevented  by  it.  Indeed  if  men's  regard  to 
themselves  will  not  restrain  them  from  excess;  it  may  be 
thought  little  probable,  that  their  love  to  others  will  be  suffi- 
cient:  but  the  reason  is,  that  their  love  to  others  is  not,  any 
more  than  their  regard  to  themselves,  just,  and  in  its  due  de- 
gree. There  are  however  manifest  Instances  of  persons  kept 
sober  and  temperate  from  regard  to  their  affairs,  and  the 
welfare  of  those  who  depend  upon  them.  And  it  is  obvious 
to  every  one,  that  habitual  excess,  a  dissolute  course  of  life, 
implies  a  general  neglect  of  the  duties  we  owe  towards  our 
friends,  our  families,  and  our  country. 

From  hence  it  is  manifest  that  the  common  virtues,  and 
the  common  vices  of  mankind,  may  be  traced  up  to  benevo- 
lence, or  the  want  of  it.  And  this  entitles  the  precept.  Thou 
shah  love  thy  neighbour  as  thyatlf,  to  the  pre-eminence  given 
to  it;  and  is  a  justification  of  the  Apostle's  assertion,  that 
all  other  coniraaudments  are  comprehended  in  it;  whatever 
cautions  and  restrictions*  there  are,  which  might  require 
to  be  considered,  if  we  were  to  state  particularly  and  at 
length,  what  is  virtue  and  right  behaviour  in  mankind.    But, 

Secondly,  It  might  be  added,  that  in  a  higher  and  more 
general  way  of  consideration,  leaving  out  the  particular  na- 
ture of  creatures,  and  the  particular  circumstances  in  which 
they  are  placed,  benevolence  seems  in  the  strictest  sense  to 
include  in  it  all  that  is  good  and  worthy ;  all  that  is  good, 
%¥hich  we  have  any  distinct  particular  notion  of.  Vve  have 
no  clear  conception  of  any  positive  moral  attribute  in  the 
supreme  Being,  but  what  may  be  resolved  up  into  goodness. 
And,  if  we  consider  a  reasonable  creature  or  moral  agent, 
without  regard  to  the  particular  relations  and  circumstances 
in  which  he  is  placed  ;  we  cannot  conceive  any  thing  else  to 
come  in  towards  determining  whether  he  is  to  be  ranked  in 
a  higher  or  lower  class  of  virtuous  beings,  but  the  higher  or 
lower  degree  in  whicli  that  principle,  and  what  is  manifestly 
connected  with  it,  prevail  in  him. 

That  which  we  more  strictly  call  piety,  or  the  love  of  God, 
and  which  is  an  essential  part  of  a  right  temper,  some  may 
perhaps  imagine  no  way  connected  with  benevolence :  yet 
surely  they  must  be  connected,  if  there  be  indeed  in  being 

•  For  instance:  as  we  are  not  competent  judges,  what  is  upon  the 
whole  for  the  good  of  tlie  world,  there  may  be  other  immediate  ends 
appointed  us  to  pursue,  besides  tliat  one  of  doing  good,  or  ])rodueing 
happiness.  Though  the  good  of  llie  creation  be  the  only  end  of  tlie 
Author  of  it,  yet  lie  may  liave  laid  us  under  particular  obligations, 
which  we  may  discern  and  feel  ourselves  under,  quite  distinct  from 
n  perception,  that  tlie  observance  or  violation  of  them  is  for  the  hap' 
piness  or  misery  of  our  fellow-creatures.  And  this  is  in  fact  the 
case.  For  there  are  certain  dispositions  of  mind,  and  certain  ac- 
tions, which  are  in  themselves  approved  or  disapproved  by  mankind, 
abstracted  from  the  consideration  of  their  tendency  to  the  happiness  oi' 
misery  of  the  world;  approved  or  disapproved  by  reflection,  by  that 
principle  within,  which  is  the  guide  of  life,  the  judge  of  right  and 
wrong.  Numberless  instances  of  this  kind  might  be  mentioned. 
There  are  pieces  of  treachery,  which  in  themselves  appear  base  and 
detestable  to  every  one.  There  are  actions,  which  perhaps  can 
scarce  have  anv  other  general  name  given  them,  than  indecencies, 
which  vet  are  odious  and  shocking  to  human  nature.  There  is  such 
a  thing  as  meanness,  a  little  mind;  which,  as  it  is  quite  distinct  from 
incapacitv,  so  it  raises  a  dislike  and  disapprobation  quite  different 
from  that  contempt,  which  men  are  too  apt  to  have,  of  mere  folly. 
On  the  other  hand;  what  we  call  greatness  of  mind  is  the  object  ol 
anodier  sort  of  approbation,  than  superior  understanding.  Fidelity, 
honour  strict  justice,  are  themselves  aiqiroved  in  the  highest  degree, 
alistracted  from  the  consideration  of  their  tendency.  Now,  whether 
it  be  thought  that  each  of  these  are  connected  with  benevolence  in 
our  nature,  and  so  may  be  considered  as  the  same  thing  ^itli  it;  or 
whether  some  of  then'i  be  though  an  inferior  kind  of  virtues  and 
vices,  somewhat  like  natural  beauties  and  deformities;  or  lastly, 
plain  exceptions  to  tlie  general  rule;  thus  much  howe\er  is  certain, 
that  the  things  now  instanced  in,  and  numberless  others,  are  approv- 
ed or  disapproved  by  mankind  in  general,  in  quite  another  view 
than  as  conducive  to  the  hap\iine53  or  misery  of  the  world. 


an  object  infinitely  good.  Human  nature  is  so  constituted, 
that  every  good  affection  implies  the  love  of  itself;  i.e.  be- 
comes the  object  of  a  new  aft'ection  in  tlie  same  person.  Thus, 
to  he  righteous,  implies  in  it  the  love  of  righteousness  ;  to  be 
benevolent,  tlie  love  of  benevolence ;  to  be  good,  the  love  of 
goodness;  whether  this  rigliteousness,  benevolence,  or  good- 
ness, be  viewed  as  in  our  own  mind,  or  in  an  another's  :  and 
the  love  of  God  as  a  being  perfectly  good,  is  the  love  of  per- 
fect goodness  contemplated  in  a  being  or  person.  Thus  mo- 
rality and  religion,  virtue  and  piety,  will  at  last  necesssarily 
coincide,  run  up  into  one  and  the  same  point,  and  love  will 
be  in  all  senses  Ike  end  of  Ihe  commandment, 

0  Mmt'ghty  Gud,  inspire  us  with  this  divine  principle ;  hill  in 
us  all  the  seedfs  of  envy  and  ill-ivill ;  and  help  us,  by  cultivat- 
ing within  ourselves  the  love  of  our  neighbour,  to  improve  in 
ihe  love  of  thee.  Thou  hast  placed  in  us  various  kindreds, 
frienebihips,  and  relations,  as  the  school  of  discipline  for  our 
affections  :  help  xis,  by  the  due  exercise  of  them,  to  improve  to 
perfection;  till  all  partial  affection  be  lost  in  that  entire  uni- 
versal one,  and  thou,  0  God,  shall  be  all  in  all. 


KERMON  XIII.  XIV. 


UPON  THE  LOVE  OF  GOD. 


Thou  shalt  love  the  l^ord  thy  God  with  all  thy  heart,  and  w  ith 
thy  soul,  and  with  all  thy  mind. — .Matt.  xxii.  3". 


all 


Every  body  knows,  you  therefore  need  only  just  be  put  in 
mind,  that  there  is  such  a  thing,  as  having  so  great  horror  of 
one  extreme,  as  to  run  insensibly  and  of  course  into  the  con- 
trary; and  that  a  doctrine's  having  been  a  shelter  for  enthu- 
siasm, or  made  to  serve  the  purposes  of  superstition,  is  no 
proof  of  the  falsity  of  it :  truth  or  right  being  somewhat  real 
in  itself,  and  so  not  to  be  judged  of  by  its  liableness  to  abuse, 
or  by  its  supposed  distance  from  or  nearness  to  error.  It  may 
be  sufficient  to  have  mentioned  this  in  general,  without  tak- 
ing notice  of  the  particular  extravagancies,  which  have  been 
vented  under  the  pretence  or  endeavour  of  explaining  the  love 
of  God  ;  or  how  manifestly  we  are  got  into  the  contrary  ex- 
treme, under  the  notion  of  a  reasonable  religion;  so  very  rea- 
sonable as  to  have  nothing  to  do  with  the  heart  and  affections, 
if  these  words  signify  any  thing  but  the  faculty  by  which  we 
discern  speculative  truth. 

By  the  love  of  God,  I  would  understand  all  those  regards, 
all  those  atTcclions  of  mind  which  are  due  immediately  to  him 
from  such  a  creature  as  man,  and  which  rest  in  him  as  their 
end.  As  this  does  not  include  servile  fear;  so  neither  will 
any  other  regards,  how  reasonable  soever,  which  respect  any 
thing  out  of  or  besides  the  perfection  of  divine  nature,  come 
into  "consideration  here.  But  all  fear  is  not  excluded,  because 
his  displeasure  is  itself  tlie  natural  proper  object  of  fear. 
Reverence,  ambition  of  his  love  and  approbation,  delight  in 
the  hope  or  consciousness  of  it,  come  likewise  into  this  defi- 
nition of  the  love  of  God ;  because  he  is  the  natural  object  of 
all  those  affections  or  movemrnts  of  mind,  as  really  as  he  is 
the  object  of  the  allection,  which  is  in  the  strictest  sense  called 
love;  and  all  of  them  equally  rest  in  him,  as  their  end.  And 
they  may  all  he  understood  to  be  implied  in  these  words  of  our 
Saviour,  without  putting  any  force  upon  them :  for  he  is 
speaking  of  the  love  of  God  and  our  neighbour,  as  containing 
the  whole  of  piety  and  virtue. 

It  is  plain  that  the  nature  of  man  is  so  constituted,  as  to  feel 
certain  affections  upon  the  sight  or  contemplation  of  certain 
objects.  Now  the  very  notion  of  affection  implies  resting  in 
its  object  as  an  end.  And  the  particular  affection  to  good 
characters,  reverence  and  moral  love  of  them,  is  natural  to  all 
those  who  have  any  degree  of  real  goodness  in  themselves. 
This  will  be  illustrated  by  the  description  of  a  perfect  charac- 
ter in  a  creature;  and  by  considering  the  manner,  in  which  a 
good  man  in  his  presence  would  be  affected  towards  sncli  a 
character.  He  would  of  course  feel  the  affections  of  love, 
reverence,  desire  of  his  approbation,  delight  in  the  hope  or 
consciousness  of  it.  And  surely  all  this  is  applicable,  and 
may  be  brought  up  to  that  Being,  who  is  infinitely  more  than 
an  adequate  object  of  all  those  affections:  whom  we  are  com- 
manded to  "love  with  all  our  heart,  with  all  our  soul,  and 
with  all  our  mind."  And  of  these  regards  towards  Almighty 
God,  some  are  more  particularly  suitable  to  and  becoming  so 


BISHOP  BUTLER'S  SERMONS. 


533 


imperfect  a  creature  as  man,  in  tliis  mortal  state  we  are  pass- 
inir  througli ;  and  some  of  lliem,  and  perhaps  other  exercises 
of  the  mind,  will  he  the  employment  and  happiness  of  good 
men  in  a  state  of  jirrfection. 

This  is  a  (jeneral  view  of  what  the  followintr  discourse  will 


appetite  of  hunger,  or  the  passion  of  fear,  as  he  liath  of  <Tood- 
will  to  his  fellow-creatures.  To  be  a  just,  a  good,  a  righteous 
man,  plainly  carries  willi  it  a  peculiar  alVection  to  or  love  of 
justice,  goodness,  righteousness,  when  these  principles  are 
the  objects  of  contemplation.     Now  if  a  man  approves  of,  or 


contain.     And  it  is  manifest  the  subject  is  a  real  one:  there  hath  an  affection  to,  any  principle  in  and  for  itself,  incidental 


is  nothing  in  it  enthusiastical  or  unreasonable.     And  if  it  be 
indeed  at  all  a  subject,  it  is  one  of  the  utmost  importance. 

As  mankind  have  a  faculty  b)'  which  they  discern  specu- 
lative truth;  so  we  have  various  affections  toward  external 
objects.  Understanding  and  temper,  reason  and  affection,  are 
as  distinct  ideas,  as  reason  and  hunger;  and  one  would  think 
could  no  more  be  confounded.  It  is  by  reason  that  we  get 
the  ideas  of  several  objects  of  our  affections:  but  in  these 
cases  reason  and  affection  are  no  more  the  same,  than  sight 
of  a  particular  object,  and  the  pleasure  or  uneasiness  conse- 
(juent  thereupon,  are  the  same.  Now,  as  reason  tends  to  and 
rests  in  the  discernment  of  truth,  the  object  of  it;  so  the  very 
nature  of  affection  consists  in  tending  towards,  and  resting  in, 
its  objects  as  an  end.  We  do  indeed  often  in  common  lan- 
guage say,  that  things  are  loved,  desired,  esteemed,  not  for 
themselves,  but  for  somewhat  further,  somewhat  out  of  and 
beyond  them:  yet,  in  these  cases,  wlioever  will  attend,  will 
see,  that  these  things  are  not  in  reality  the  objects  of  the 
affections,  i.  e.  are  not  loved,  desired,  esteemed,  but  the  some- 
what further  and  beyond  tliem.  If  we  have  no  affections 
which  rest  in  what  are  called  their  objects,  then  what  is  called 
affection,  love,  desire,  hope,  in  human  nature,  is  only  an  un- 
easiness in  bring  at  rest;  an  unquiet  disposition  to  action, 
progress,  pursuit,  without  end  or  meaning.  Hut  if  there  be 
any  such  thing  as  delight  in  the  company  of  one  person,  rather 
than  of  another;  whether  in  the  way  of  friendship,  or  mirth 
and  entertainment,  it  is  all  one,  if  it  be  without  respect  to 
fortune,  honour,  or  increasing  our  stores  of  knowledge,  or  any 
tiling  beyond  the  present  time;  here  is  an  instance  of  an  af- 
fection absolutely  resting  in  its  objects  as  its  end,  and  being 
gratified  in  the  same  way  as  the  appetite  of  hunger  is  satisfied 
with  food.  Yet  nothing  is  more  common  than  to  hear  it 
asked,  what  advantage  a  man  hath  in  such  a  course,  suppose 
of  study,  particular  friendships,  or  in  any  other:  nothing,  I 
say,  is  more  common  than  to  hear  such  a  question  put  in  a 
way  which  supposes  no  gain,  advantage,  or  interest,  but  as  a 
means  to  somewhat  further:  and  if  so,  then  there  is  no  such 
thing  at  all  as  real  interest,  gain,  or  advantage.  This  is  the 
same  absurdity  with  respect  to  life,  as  infinite  series  of  effects 
without  a  cause  is  in  speculation.  The  gain,  advantage,  or 
interest,  consists  in  the  delight  itself,  arising  from  such 
faculty's  having  its  object:  neither  is  there  any  such  thing  as 
happiness  or  enjoyment,  but  what  arises  from  hence.  The 
pleasures  of  hope  and  of  reflection  are  not  exceptions :  the 
former  being  only  this  happiness  anticipated  ;  the  latter,  the 
same  happiness  enjoyed  over  again  after  its  time.  And  even 
the  general  expectation  of  future  happiness  can  afford  satis- 
faction, only  as  it  is  a  present  object  to  the  principle  of  self- 
love. 

It  was  doubtless  intended,  that  life  should  be  very  much 
a  pursuit  to  the  gross  of  mankind.  But  this  is  carried  so 
much  further  than  is  reasonable,  that  what  gives  immediate 
satisfaction,  (".  e.  our  present  interest,  is  scarce  considered  as 
our  interest  at  all.  It  is  inventions  which  have  only  a  remote 
tendency  towards  enjoyment,  perhaps  but  a  remote  tendency 
towards  gaining  the  means  only  of  enjoyment,  which  are 
chiefly  spoken  of  as  useful  to  the  world.  And  though  this 
way  of  thinking  were  just  with  respect  to  the  imperfect  state 
we  are  now  in,  where  we  know  so  little  of  satisfaction  with- 
out satiety ;  yet  it  must  be  guarded  against,  when  we  are  con- 
sidering the  happiness  of  a  state  of  perfection ;  which  happi- 
ness being  enjoyment  and  not  hope,  must  necessarily  consist 
in  this,  that  our  affections  have  their  objects  and  rest  in  those 
objects  as  an  end,  ;.  e.  be  satisfied  with  them.  This  will 
further  appear  in  the  sequel  of  this  discourse. 

Of  the  several  atlections,  or  inward  sensations,  which  par- 
ticular objects  excite  in  man,  there  are  some,  the  having  of 
■which  implies  the  love  of  them,  when  they  are  reflected 
upon.*  This  cannot  be  said  of  all  our  afi'ections,  principles, 
and  motives  of  action.  It  were  ridiculous  to  assert,  that  a 
man  upon  reflection  hath  the  saine  kind  of  approbation  of  the 


*  St.  Augustin  observes,  Amor  ipse  ordinate  amandus  est,  quo 
bene  amatnt-  quod  aioandum  est,  ut  sit  in  nobis  virlus  qui  vivitur 
bene.  i.  e.  Tlie  affection  ^vhiclx  we  rightly  have  for  what  is  lovely, 
must  or(//7i«^f  justly,  in  due  manner  and  proportion,  l)econjo  tlie  ob- 
ject of  a  new  affection,  or  be  itself  beloved,  in  order  to  our  being 
endued  with  that  virtue  wliicb  is  the  principle  of  a  good  life. —  Civ. 
Dei.  I.  XV.  c.  2'2. 


things  allowed  for,  it  will  be  the  same  whether  he  views  it  in 
his  own  mind,  or  in  another;  in  himself,  or  in  his  neighbour. 
This  is  the  account  of  our  approbation  of,  our  moral  love  and 
affection  to  good  characters;  which  cannot  but  be  in  those 
who  have  an\-  degrees  of  real  goodness  in  themselves,  and 
who  discern  and  take  notice  of  the  same  principle  in  others. 

From  observation  of  what  passes  within  ourselves,  our  own 
actions,  and  the  behaviour  of  others,  the  mind  may  carry  on 
it  reflections  as  far  as  it  pleases;  much  beyond  what  we  ex- 
perience in  ourselves,  or  discern  in  our  fellow-creatures.  It 
may  go  on,  and  consider  goodness  as  become  a  uniform  con- 
tinued principle  of  action,  as  conducted  by  reason,  and  forming 
a  temper  and  character  absolutely  good  and  perfect,  which  is 
in  a  higher  sense  excellent,  and  proportionablj-  the  object  of 
love  and  approbation. 

Let  us  then  suppose  a  creature  perfect,  according  to  his 
created  nalure:  let  his  form  be  human,  and  his  capacities  no 
more  than  equal  to  those  of  the  chief  of  men  :  goodness  shall 
be  his  pro]ier  character;  with  wisdom  to  direct  it,  and  power 
within  some  certain  determined  sphere  of  action  to  exert  it; 
but  goodness  must  be  the  simple  actuating  principle  within 
him;  this  being  tlie  moral  qualitj' which  is  amiable,  or  the 
immediate  object  of  love  as  distinct  from  other  affections  of 
approbation.  Here  then  is  a  finite  object  for  our  mind  to  tend 
towards,  to  exercise  itself  upon:  a  creature,  perfect  according 
to  his  capacity,  fixed,  steady,  equally  unmoved  by  weak  pity 
or  more  weak  fury  and  resentment ;  forming  the  justest  scheme 
of  conduct;  going  on  unindisturbed  in  the  execution  of  it, 
through  the  several  methods  of  severit)'  and  reward,  towards 
his  end,  namely,  the  general  happiness  of  all  with  whom  he 
hath  to  do,  as  in  itself  right  and  valuable.  This  character, 
though  uniform  in  itself,  in  its  principle,  yet  exerting  itself 
in  different  ways,  or  considered  in  different  views,  may  by  its 
appearing  variety  move  different  aftuctions.  Thus,  the  severity 
of  justice  would  not  affect  us  in  the  same  way  as  an  act  of 
mercy  :  the  adventitious  qualities  of  wisdom  and  power  may 
be  considered  in  themselves :  and  even  the  strength  of  mind, 
which  this  immovable  goodness  supposes,  may  likewise  be 
viewed  as  an  object  of  contemplation,  distinct  from  the  good- 
ness itself.  Superior  excellence  of  any  kind,  as  well  as  su- 
perior wisdom  and  power,  is  the  object  of  awe  and  reverence 
to  all  creatures,  whatever  their  moral  character  be:  but  so 
far  as  creatures  of  the  lowest  rank  were  good,  so  far  the  view 
of  this  character,  as  simply  good,  must  appear  amiable  to 
them,  be  the  object  of,  or  beget  love.  Further,  suppose  we 
were  conscious,  that  this  superior  person  so  far  approved  of 
us,  that  wc  had  nothing  servilely  to  fear  from  him ;  that  he 
was  really  our  friend,  and  kind  and  good  to  us  in  particular, 
as  he  had  occasionally  intercourse  with  us :  we  must  be  other 
creatures  than  we  are,  or  we  could  not  but  feel  the  same  kind 
of  satisfaction  and  enjoyment  (whatever  would  be  the  degree 
of  it),  fom  this  liigher  acquaintance  and  friendship,  as  we  feel 
from  common  ones;  the  intercourse  being  real,  and  the  per- 
sons equally  present,  in  both  cases.  We  should  have  a  more 
ardent  desire  to  be  approved  by  his  better  judgment,  and  a 
satisfaction  in  that  approbation  of  the  same  sort  with  what 
Would  be  felt  in  respect  to  common  persons,  or  be  wrought 
in  us  by  their  presence. 

Let  us  now  raise  the  character,  and  suppose  this  creature, 
for  we  are  still  going  on  with  the  supposition  of  a  creature, 
our  proper  guardian  and  governor;  that  we  were  in  a  progress 
of  being  towards  somewhat  further;  and  that  his  scheme  of 
government  was  too  vast  for  our  capacities  to  comprehend  : 
remembering  still  that  he  is  perfectly  good,  and  our  friend  as 
well  as  our  governor.  Wisdom,  power,  goodness,  accident- 
ally viewed  any  where,  would  inspire  reverence,  awe,  love: 
and  as  these  affections  would  be  raised  in  higher  or  lower 
degiees,  in  proportion  as  we  had  occasionally  more  or  less 
inlercourse  with  the  creature  endued  with  those  qualities;  so 
this  further  consideration  and  knowledge,  that  he  was  our 
proper  guardian  and  governor,  would  much  more  bring  these 
objects  and  qualities  home  to  ourselves;  teach  us  they  had  a 
greater  respect  to  us  in  particular,  that  we  had  a  higher  in- 
terest in  that  wisdom  and  power  and  goodness.  We  should, 
with  joy,  gratitude,  reverence,  love,  trust,  and  dependance, 
appropriate  the  character,  as  what  we  had  aright  in;  and 
make  our  boast  in  such  our  relation  to  it.  And  the  conclu- 
sion of  the  whole  would  be,  that  we  should  refer  ourselves 


534 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


implicitly  to  him,  and  cast  ourselves  entirely  upon  him.  As 
the  whole  attention  of  life  sliould  be  to  obey  his  commands ; 
so  the  hitrhpst  enjoyment  of  it  must  arise  from  the  contem- 
plation of  this  character,  ami  onr  relation  to  it,  from  a  con- 
sciousness of  his  favour  and  approbation,  and  from  the  exer- 
cise of  those  affections  towards  him  which  could  not  but  be 
raised  from  his  presence.  A  being  who  hath  these  attributes, 
who  stands  in  this  relation,  and  is  thus  sensibly  present  to 
the  mind,  must  necessarily  be  the  object  of  these  atTections: 
there  is  as  real  a  correspondence  between  them,  as  between 
the  lowest  appetite  of  sense  and  its  object. 

That  this  Being  is  not  a  creature,  luit  the  Almighty  God ; 
that  he  is  of  infinite  power  and  wisdom  and  goodness,  does 
not  render  him  less  the  object  of  reverence  and  love,  than  he 
would  be  if  he  had  those  attributes  only  in  a  limited  degree. 
The  Being  who  made  us,  and  upon  whom  we  entirely  depend, 
is  the  object  of  some  regards.  He  hath  given  us  certain  af- 
fections of  mind,  which  correspond  to  wisdom,  power,  good- 
ness; (.  e.  which  are  raised  upon  view  of  those  qualities.  If 
then  he  be  really  wise,  powerful,  good;  he  is  the  natural 
object  of  those  affections,  which  he  has  endued  us  with,  and 
which  correspond  to  those  attributes.  That  he  is  infinite  in 
power,  perfect  in  wisdom  and  goodness,  makes  no  alteration, 
but  only  that  he  is  the  object  of  those  affections  raised  to  the 
highest  pitch.  lie  is  not  indeed  to  be  discerned  by  any  of  on 
senses.  "I  go  forward,  but  he  is  not  there;  and  backward, 
but  I  cannot  perceive  him:  on  the  left  hand  where  he  doth 
work,  but  I  cannot  behold  him  :  he  hiilctli  himself  on  the  right 
hand,  that  I  cannot  see  him.  O  that  I  knew  where  I  might 
find  him!  that  I  might  coine  even  to  his  seat!"  But  is  he 
then  afar  olf?  does  he  not  fill  heaven  and  earth  with  his 
presence!  The  presence  of  our  fellow-creatures  affects  our 
senses,  and  our  senses  give  ns  the  knowledge  of  their  pre- 
sence; which  hath  different  kinds  of  influence  u])on  us;  love, 
joy,  sorrow,  restraint,  encouragement,  reverence.  However 
this  influence  is  not  immediately  from  our  senses,  but  from 
that  knowledge.  Thus  suppose  a  person  neither  to  see  nor 
hear  another,  not  to  know  by  any  of  his  senses,  but  yet  cer- 
taiidy  to  know,  that  another  was  with  him;  this  knowledge 
might,  and  in  many  cases  would,  have  one  or  more  of  the 
effects  before  mentioned.  It  is  therefore  not  only  reasonable, 
but  also  natural,  to  be  aft'ected  with  A  presence,  though  it  be 
not  the  object  of  our  senses :  whether  it  be,  or  be  not,  is  merely 
an  accidental  circumstance,  which  needs  not  come  into  con- 
sideration :  it  is  the  certainty  that  he  is  with  ns,  and  wo  with 
liim,  which  hath  the  influence.  We  consider  persons  then  as 
present,  not  only  when  they  are  within  reach  of  our  senses, 
hut  also  when  we  are  assured  by  any  other  means  that  they 
are  within  such  a  nearness;  nay,  if  they  are  not,  we  can  re- 
call them  to  our  mind,  and  be  moved  towards  them  as  present 
and  must  He.  who  is  so  much  more  intimately  with  us,  that 
"in  him  we  live  and  move  and  have  our  being,"  be  thought 
too  distant  to  be  the  object  of  our  affections^  We  own  and 
feel  the  force  of  amiable  and  worthy  qualities  in  our  fellow- 
creatures  :  and  can  we  be  insensible  to  the  contemplation  of 
perfect  goodness?  Do  we  reverence  the  shadows  of  great- 
ness here  below:  are  we  solicitous  about  honour  and  esteem 
and  the  opinion  of  the  world  :  and  shall  we  not  feel  the  same 
with  respect  to  him,  whose  are  wisdom  and  power  in  their 
original,  who  "is  the  God  of  judgment  by  whom  actions  are 
weighed  1"  Thus  love,  reverence,  desire  of  esteem,  every  fac- 
ulty, every  affection,  tends  towards,  and  is  employed  about 
its  respective  object  in  common  cases:  and  must  the  exercise 
of  them  be  su'-pended  with  regard  to  him  alone,  who  is  an 
object,  an  infinitely  more  than  adequate  object,  to  our  most 
exalted  faculties;  him,  "of  whom,  and  through  whom,  and 
to  whom  are  all  things." 

As  we  cannot  remove  from  this  earth,  or  change  our  gene- 
ral business  on  it,  so  neither  can  we  alter  our  real  nature. 
Therefore  no  exercise  of  the  mind  can  be  recommended,  but 
only  the  exercise  of  those  faculties  you  are  conscious  of.  Re- 
ligion docs  not  demand  new  affections,  but  only  claims  the 
direction  of  those  you  already  have,  those  aflections  you  daily 
feel;  though  unhappily  confined  to  objects,  not  altogether 
unsuitable,  but  altogether  unequal  to  them.  We  only  repre- 
sent to  you  the  higher,  the  adequate  objects  of  those  very  fa- 
culties and  affections.  Let  the  man  of  ambition  go  on  still  to 
consider  disgrace  as  the  greatest  evil ;  honour,  as  his  chief 
good.  But  disgrace,  in  whose  estimation  ■?  Honour,  in  whose 
judgment  ■?  This  is  the  only  question.  If  shame,  and  delight 
in  esteem,  be  spoken  of  as  real,  as  any  settled  ground  of  pain 
or  pleasure ;  both  these  must  be  in  jiroporlion  to  the  su]i- 
posed  wisdom  and  worth  of  him,  by  whom  we  are  contemned 
or  esteemed.     Must  it  then  be  thought  enthusiastical  to  speak 


of  a  sensibility  of  this  sort,  which  shall  have  respect  to  an 
unerring  judgment,  to  infinite  wisdom  ;  when  we  are  assured 
this  unerring  judgment,  this  infinite  wisdom,  does  observe 
upon  our  actions  ! 

It  is  the  same  with  respect  to  the  love  of  God  in  the  strict- 
est and  most  confined  sense.  We  only  offer  and  represent 
the  highest  object  of  an  aftection,  supposed  already  in  your 
mind.  Some  degree  of  goodness  must  be  previously  sup- 
posed :  this  always  implies  the  love  of  itself,  an  affection  to 
goodness :  the  highest,  the  adequate  object  of  this  affection, 
is  perfect  goodness ;  which  therefore  we  are  to  love  with  all 
our  heart,  with  all  our  soul,  and  with  all  our  strength.  "  Must 
we  then,  forgetting  our  own  interest,  as  it  were  go  out  of  our- 
selves, and  love  God  for  his  own  sake  1"  No  more  forget  your 
own  interest,  no  more  go  out  of  yourselves,  that  viiien  you 
prefer  one  place,  one  prospect,  the  conversation  of  one  man 
to  that  of  another.  Does  not  every  affection  necessarily  im- 
ply, that  the  object  of  it  be  itself  loved  ]  If  it  be  not,  it  is  not 
the  object  of  the  affection.  You  may  and  ought  if  you  can, 
but  it  is  a  great  mistake  to  think  you  can  love  or  fear  or  hate 
any  thing,  from  consideration  that  such  love  or  fear  or  hatred 
may  be  a  means  of  obtaining  good  or  avoiding  evil.  But  the 
question,  whether  we  ought  to  love  God  for  his  sake  or  for 
our  own,  being  a  mere  mistake  in  language  ;  the  real  ques- 
tion, which  this  is  mistaken  for,  will,  1  suppose,  be  answered 
by  observing,  that  the  goodness  of  God  already  exercised 
towards  us,  our  present  dependence  upon  him,  and  our  ex- 
pectation of  future  benefits,  ought,  and  have  a  natural  ten- 
dency, to  beget  in  ns  the  aflection  of  gratitude,  and  greater 
love  towards  him,  than  the  same  goodness  exercised  towards 
others :  were  it  only  for  this  reason,  that  every  affection  is 
moved  in  proportion  to  the  sense  we  have  of  the  object  of  it; 
and  we  cannot  but  have  a  more  lively  sense  of  goodness, 
when  exercised  towards  ourselves,  than  when  exercised  to- 
wards others.  I  added  expectation  of  future  benefits,  because 
the  ground  of  that  expectation  is  present  goodness. 

Thus  Almighty  God  is  the  natural  object  of  the  several 
affections,  love,  reverence,  fear,  desire  of  approbation.  For 
though  he  is  simply  one,  yet  we  cannot  but  consider  him  in 
partial  and  different  views.  He  is  in  himself  one  uniform 
being,  and  for  ever  the  same,  without  variableness  or  shadow 
of  turning:  but  his  iiifinite  greatness,  his  goodness,  his  wis- 
dom, are  dilTerent  objects  to  our  mind.  To  which  is  to  be 
added,  that  from  the  changes  in  our  characters,  together  with 
his  unchangeableness,  we  cannot  but  consider  ourselves  as 
more  or  less  the  objects  of  his  approbation,  and  really  be  so. 
For  if  ho  approves  what  is  good,  he  cannot,  merely  from  the 
unchangeableness  of  his  nature,  approve  what  is  evil.  Hence 
must  arise  more  various  movements  of  mind,  more  different 
kinds  of  affections.  And  this  greater  variety  also  is  just  and 
reasonable  in  such  creatures  as  we  are,  though  it  respects  a 
Being  simple  one,  good  and  perfect.  As  some  of  these 
all'ections  are  most  particularly  suitable  to  so  imperfect  a 
creature  as  man,  in  this  mortal  state  we  are  passing  through  ; 
so  there  may  be  other  exercises  of  mind,  or  some  of  these  in 
higher  degrees,  our  employment  and  happiness  in  a  state  of 
perfection. 


SERMON  -XIV. 

Consider  then  our  ignorance,  the  imperfection  of  our  na- 
ture, our  virtue  and  our  condition  in  this  world,  with  respect 
to  an  infinitely  good  and  just  Being,  our  Creator  and  Go- 
vernor ;  and  you  will  see  what  religious  affections  of  mind 
are  most  particularly  suitable  to  this  mortal  state  we  are  pass- 
ing through. 

Though  we  are  not  alTected  with  any  thing  so  strongly,  as 
what  we  discern  with  our  senses ;  and  though  our  nature 
and  condition  require,  that  we  be  much  taken  up  about  sen- 
sible things  ;  yet  our  reason  convinces  us  that  God  is  present 
with  us,  and  we  see  and  feel  the  effects  of  his  goodness:  he 
is  therefore  the  object  of  some  regards.  The  imperfection 
of  our  virtue,  joined  with  the  consideration  of  his  absolute 
rectitude  or  holiness,  will  scarce  permit  that  perfection  of 
love,  which  entirely  easts  out  all  fear:  yet  goodness  is  the 
object  of  love  to  ail  creatures  who  have  any  degree  of  it 
themselves;  and  consciousness  of  a  real  endeavour  to  ap- 
prove ourselves  to  him,  joined  with  the  consideration  of  his 
goodness,  as  it  quite  excludes  servile  dread  and  horror,  so  it 
s  plainly  a  reasonable  ground  for  hope  of  his  favour.     Nei- 


BISHOP  BUTLER'S  SERMONS. 


535 


ther  fear,  nor  hope,  nor  love  then  are  excluded :  and  one  or 
another  of  these  will  prevail,  according  to  the  different  views 
we  have  of  God;  and  ought  to  prevail,  according  to  the 
changes  wc  find  in  our  own  character.  There  is  a  temper 
of  mind  made  up  of,  or  which  follows  from  ail  three,  fear, 
hope,  love;  namely,  resignation  to  the  divine  will,  which  is 
the  general  temper  belonging  to  this  state ;  whicli  ought  to 
be  the  habitual  frame  of  our  mind  and  heart,  and  to  be 
exercised  at  proper  seasons  more  distinctly,  in  acts  of  devo- 
tion. 

Hesignation  to  the  will  of  God  is  tlie  whole  of  piety:  it 
includes  in  it  all  that  is  good,  and  is  a  source  of  the  most 
settled  quiet  and  composure  of  mind.  There  is  the  general 
principle  of  submission  in  our  nature.  Man  is  not  so  consti- 
tuted as  to  desire  things,  and  be  uneasy  in  the  want  of  them, 
in  proportion  to  their  known  value :  many  other  considera- 
tions come  in  to  determine  the  degrees  of  desire;  particu- 
larly whether  the  advantage  we  take  a  view  of  be  within  the 
sphere  of  our  rank.  Whoever  felt  uneasiness,  upon  ob- 
serving any  of  the  advantages  brute  creatures  have  over  us  ! 
And  yet  it  is  plain  they  have  several.  It  is  the  same  with 
respect  to  advantages  belonging  to  creatures  or  a  superior 
order.  Thus,  though  we  see  a  thing  to  be  highly  valuable, 
yet  that  it  does  not  belong  to  our  condition  of  being,  is  suffi- 
cient to  suspend  our  desires  after  it,  to  make  us  rest  satisfied 
without  such  advantage.  Now  there  is  just  the  same  reason 
for  quiet  resignation  in  the  want  of  every  thing  equally  un- 
attainable, and  out  of  our  reach  in  particular,  though  others 
of  our  species  be  possessed  of  it.  All  this  may  be  applied 
to  the  whole  of  life ;  to  positive  inconveniences  as  well  as 
wants;  not  indeed  to  the  sensations  of  pain  and  sorrow,  but 
to  all  the  uneasinesses  of  reflection,  murmuring,  and  discon- 
tent. Thus  is  human  nature  formed  to  compliance,  yield- 
ing, submission  of  temper.  We  find  the  principles  of  it 
within  us;  and  every  one  exercises  it  towards  some  objects 
or  other  ;  i.  c.  feels  it  with  regard  to  some  persons,  and  .some 
circumstances.  Now  this  is  an  excellent  foundation  of  a 
reasonable  and  religious  resignation.  NiUure  teaches  and 
inclines  us  to  take  up  with  our  lot;  the  consideration,  that 
the  course  of  things  is  unalterable,  hath  a  tendency  to  quiet 
the  mind  under  it,  to  beget  a  submission  of  temper  to  it. 
But  when  we  can  add,  that  this  unalterable  course  is  ap- 
pointed and  continued  by  infinite  wisdom  and  goodness; 
how  absolute  should  he  our  submission,  how  entire  our  trust 
and  dependence ! 

Tills  would  reconcile  us  to  our  condition ;  prevent  all  the 
supernumerary  troubles  arisingfrom  imagination,  distant  fears, 
impatience;  all  uneasiness,  except  that  which  necessarily 
arises  from  the  calamities  themselves  we  may  be  under. 
How  many  of  our  cares  should  we  by  this  means  be  disbur- 
dened of!  Cares  not  properly  our  own,  Iiow  apt  soever  they 
may  be  to  intrude  upon  us,  and  we  to  admit  them  ;  the  anx- 
ieties of  expectation,  solicitude  about  success  and  disappoint- 
ment, which  in  truth  are  none  of  our  concern.  IIow  open  to 
every  gratification  would  that  mind  be,  which  was  clear  of 
these  encumbrances ! 

Our  resignation  to  the  will  of  God  may  be  said  to  be  per- 
fect, when  our  will  is  lost  and  resolved  up  into  his;  when 
we  rest  in  his  will  as  our  end,  as  being  itself  most  just,  and 
right,  and  good.  And  where  is  the  impossibility  of  such  an 
affection  to  what  is  just,  and  right,  and  good,  such  a  loyally 
of  heart  to  the  Governor  of  the  universe,  as  shall  prevail 
over  all  sinister  indirect  desires  of  our  own  1  Neither  is  this 
at  bottom  any  thing  more  than  faith,  and  honesty,  and  fair- 
ness of  mind;  in  a  more  enlarged  sense  indeed,  than  those 
words  are  commonly  used.  And  as,  in  common  cases,  fear 
and  hope  and  other  passions  are  raised  in  us  by  their  respective 
objects :  so  this  submission  of  heart  and  soul  and  mind,  this 
religious  resignation,  would  be  as  naturally  produced  by  our 
having  just  conceptions  of  Almighty  God,  and  a  real  sense 
of  his  presence  with  us.  In  how  low  a  degree  soever  this 
temper  usually  prevails  amongst  men,  yet  it  is  a  temper  right 
in  itself:  it  is  w'hat  we  owe  to  our  Creator:  it  is  particularly 
suitable  to  our  mortal  condition,  and  what  we  should  endea- 
vour after  for  our  own  sakes  in  our  passage  through  such  a 
world  as  this;  where  is  nothing  upon  which  we  can  rest  or 
depend ;  nothing  but  what  we  are  liable  to  be  deceived  and 
disappointed  in.  Thus  we  might  "  acquaint  ourselves  with 
God,  and  be  at  peace."  This  is  piety  and  religion  in  the 
strictest  sense,  considered  as  an  habit  of  mind ;  an  habitual 
sense  of  God's  presence  with  us ;  being  affected  towards 
hirn,  as  present,  in  the  manner  his  superior  nature  requires 
from  such  a  creature  as  man :  this  is  to  ivalk  ivith  God. 

Little  more  need  be  said  of  devotion  or  religious  worship, 


than  that  it  is  this  temper  exerted  into  act.  The  nature  of  it 
consists  in  the  actual  exercise  of  those  affections  towards 
God,  which  are  supposed  habitual  in  good  men.  He  is 
always  equally  present  with  us:  but  we  are  so  much  taken 
up  with  sensible  things,  that  "  Lo,  he  goeth  by  us,  and  we 
see  him  not :  he  passeth  on  also,  but  we  perceive  him  not." 
Devotion  is  retirement,  from  the  world  he  has  made,  to  him 
alone  :  it  is  to  withdraw  from  the  avocations  of  sense,  to  em- 
ploy our  attention  wholly  upon  him  as  upon  an  object  actu- 
ally present,  to  yield  ourselves  up  to  the  influence  of  the 
divine  presence,  and  to  give  full  scope  to  the  affections  of 
gratitude,  love,  reverence,  trust  and  dependence ;  of  which 
infinite  power,  wisdom,  and  goodness,  is  the  natural  and  only 
adequate  object.  We  may  apply  to  the  whole  of  devotion 
those  words  of  the  son  of  Sirach,  "  When  you  glorify  the 
Lord,  exalt  him  as  much  as  you  can ;  for  even  yet  will  he  far 
exceed ;  and  when  you  exalt  him,  put  forth  all  your  strength, 
and  be  not  weary  ;  for  you  can  never  go  far  enough."  Out 
most  raised  affections  of  every  kind  cannot  but  fall  short  and 
be  disproportionate,  when  an  infinite  Being  is  the  object  of 
them.  This  is  the  highest  exercise  and  employment  of  mind 
that  a  creature  is  capable  of.  As  this  divine  service  and 
worship  is  itself  absolutely  due  to  God,  so  also  is  it  necessary 
in  order  to  a  further  end,  to  keep  alive  upon  our  minds  a 
sense  of  his  authority,  a  sense  that  in  our  ordinary  behaviour 
amongst  men  we  act  under  him  as  our  governor  and  judge. 

Thus  you  see  the  temper  of  mind  respecting  God,  which  is 
particularly  suitable  to  a  state  of  iraperfeclion ;  to  creatures 
in  a  proorress  of  being  towards  somewhat  further. 

Suppose  now  this  something  further  attained  ;  that  we  were 
arrived  at  it:  what  a  perception  will  it  be,  to  see  and  know 
and  feel  that  our  trust  was  not  vain,  our  dependence  not 
groundless  1  that  the  issue,  event,  and  consummation  came 
out  such  as  fully  to  justify  and  answer  that  resignation  i  If 
the  obscure  view  of  the  divine  perfection,  which  we  have  in 
this  world,  ought  in  just  consequence  to  beget  an  entire 
resignation;  what  will  this  resignation  be  exalted  into,  when 

we  shall  see  face  to  face,  and  know  as  we  are  known  V  If 
we  cannot  form  any  distinct  notion  of  that  perfection  of  the 
love  of  God,  which  casis  out  alt  feur ;  of  that  enjoyment  of 
him,  which  will  be  the  happiness  of  good  men  hereafter;  the 
consideration  of  our  wants  and  ca|)acities  of  happiness,  and 
that  he  will  be  an  adequate  supply  to  them,  must  serve  us 
instead  of  such  distinct  conception  of  the  particular  happiness 
itself. 

Let  us  then  suppose  a  man  entirely  disengaged  from  busi- 
ness and  pleasure,  sitting  down  alone  and  at  leisure,  to  reflect 
upon  himself  and  his  own  condition  of  being.  He  would 
immediately  feel  that  he  w-as  by  no  means  complete  of  him- 
self, but  totally  insufficient  for  his  own  happiness.  One  may 
venture  to  affirm,  that  every  man  hath  felt  this,  whether  he 
hath  again  reflected  upon  it  or  not.  It  is  feeling  this  defi- 
ciency, that  they  are  unsatisfied  with  themselves,  which 
makes  men  look  out  for  assistance  from  abroad  ;  and  which 
has  given  rise  to  various  kinds  of  amusements,  altogether 
needless  any  otherwise  than  as  they  serve  to  fill  up  the  blank 
spaces  of  time,  and  so  hinder  their  feeling  this  deficiency,  and 
being  uneasy  with  themselves.  Now,  if  these  external  things 
we  take  up  with  were  really  an  adequate  supply  to  this  defi- 
ciency of  human  nature,  if  by  their  means  our  capacities  and 
desires  were  all  satisfied  and  filled  up ;  then  it  might  he  truly 
said,  that  we  had  found  out  the  proper  happiness  of  man; 
and  so  might  sit  down  satisfied,  and  he  at  rest  in  the  enjoy- 
ment of  it.  But  if  it  appears,  that  the  amusements,  wiiich 
men  usually  pass  their  time  in,  are  so  fir  from  coming  up  to 
or  answering  our  notions  and  desires  of  happiness,  or  good, 
that  they  are  really  no  more  than  what  they  are  commonly 
called,  somewhat  to  pass  away  the  time;  ;.  c.  somewhat 
which  serves  to  turn  us  aside  from,  and  prevent  our  attending 
to,  this  our  internal  poverty  and  want;  if  they  serve  only,  or 
chiefly,  to  suspend,  instead  of  satisfying  our  conceptions  and 
desires  of  happiness ;  if  the  want  remains,  and  we  have  found 
out  little  more  than  barely  the  means  of  making  it  less  sen- 
sible; then  are  we  still  to  seek  for  somewhat  to  be  an  ade- 
quate supply  to  it.  It  is  plain  that  there  is  a  capacity  in  the 
nature  of  man,  which  neither  riches,  nor  honours,  nor  sensual 
gratifications,  nor  any  thing  in  this  world  can  perfectly  fill 
up,  or  satisfy :  there  is  a  deeper  and  more  essential  want, 
than  any  of  these  things  can  be  the  supply  of.  Yet  surely 
there  is  a  possibility  of  somewhat,  which  may  fill  up  all  our 
capacities  of  happiness;  somewhat,  in  which  our  souls  may 
find  rest;  somewhat,  which  maybe  to  us  that  satisfactory 
good  we  are  inquiring  after.  But  it  cannot  be  any  thing 
which  is  valuable  only  as  it  tends  to  some  further  end.    Those 


536 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


therefore  who  have  orot  this  world  so  much  into  their  hearts,  machine,  the  sight  of  which  would  raise,  and  discoveries  in 


as  not  to  be  able  to  consider  happiness  as  consisting  in  any 
thing  but  property  and  possessions,  which  are  only  valuable 
as  the  means  to  somewhat  else,  cannot  have  the  least  glimpse 
of  the  subject  before  us;  which  is- the  end,  not  the  means; 
the  thing  itself,  not  somewhat  in  order  to  it.  But  if  you  can 
lay  aside  that  general,  confnsed,  undeterminate  notion  of  hap- 
piness, as  consisting  in  such  possessions;  and  fix  in  your 
thoughts,  that  it  really  can  consist  in  nothing  but  in  a  faculty's 
having  its  proper  object;  you  will  clearly  sre,  that  in  the 
coolest  way  of  consideration,  without  either  the  heat  of  fan- 
ciful enthusiasm,  or  the  w-armth  of  real  devotion,  nothing  is 
more  certain,  than  that  an  infinite  Being  may  himself  be,  if 
lie  pleases,  the  supply  to  all  the  capacities  of  our  nature.  All 
the  common  enjoyments  of  life  are  from  the  faculties  he  hath 
endued  us  with,  and  the  objects  he  hath  made  suitable  to 
them.  He  may  himself  be  to  us  infiuilely  more  than  all 
these :  he  may  be  to  us  all  that  we  want.  As  our  under 
standino-  can  contemplate  itself,  and  our  atfections  be  exercis- 
ed upon  themselves  by  reflection,  so  may  each  be  employed 
in  the  same  manner  upon  any  other  mind  :  and  since  the  su- 
preme Mind,  the  Author  and  Cause  of  all  things,  is  the  high- 
est ]iossible  oliject  to  himself,  he  may  be  an  adequate  supply 
to  all  the  faculties  of  our  souls;  a  subject  to  our  understand- 
ing, and  an  object  to  our  affections. 

Consider  then:  when  we  shall  have  put  off  this  mortal 
body,  when  we  shall  be  divested  of  sensual  appetites,  and 
those  possessions  which  are  now  the  means  of  gratification 
shall  be  of  no  avail ;  when  this  restless  scene  of  business  and 
vain  pleasures,  which  now  diverts  us  from  ourselves,  shall 
be  all  over;  we,  our  proper  self,  shall  still  remain  :  we  shall 
still  continue  the  same  creatures  we  are,  with  wants  to  be 
supplied,  and  capacities  of  happiness.  We  must  have  facul- 
ties of  perception,  though  not  sensitive  ones;  and  pleasure  or 
uneasiness  from  our  perceptions,  as  now  we  have. 

There  are  certain  ideas,  which  we  express  by  the  words, 
order,  harmony,  proportion,  beauty,  the  furthest  removed  from 
any  thing  sensual.  Now  what  is  there  in  those  intellectual 
images,  forms,  or  ideas,  which  begets  that  approbation,  love, 
delight,  and  even  rapture,  which  is  seen  in  some  persons' 
faces  upon  having  those  objects  present  to  their  minds? — 
"  !Mere  enthusiasm!" — Be  it  what  it  will :  there  are  objects, 
works  of  nature  and  of  art,  which  all  mankind  have  delight 
from,  quite  distinct  from  their  affording  gratification  to  sen- 
sual appetites;  and  from  quite  another  view  of  them,  than  as 
being  for  their  interest  and  further  advantage.  The  faculties 
from  which  we  are  capable  of  these  pleasures,  and  the  plea- 
sures themselves,  are  as  natural,  and  as  much  to  be  accounted 
for,  as  any  sensual  appetite  whatever,  and  the  pleasure  from 
its  gratification.  Words  to  be  sure  are  wanting  upon  this 
subject :  to  say,  that  every  thing  of  grace  and  beauty,  through- 
out the  whole  of  nature,  every  thing  excellent  and  amiable 
shared  in  differentlj'  lower  degrees  by  the  whole  creation, 
meet  in  the  Author  and  Cause  of  all  things ;  this  is  an  inade- 
quate, and  perhaps  improper  way  of  speaking  of  the  divine 
nature :  but  it  is  manifest  that  absolute  rectitude,  the  perfec- 
tion of  being,  must  be  in  all  senses,  and  in  every  respect,  the 
highest  object  to  the  mind. 

In  this  world  it  is  only  the  effects  of  wisdom,  and  power, 
and  greatness,  which  we  discern  :  it  is  not  impossible,  that 
hereafter  the  qualities  themselves  in  the  supreme  Being  may 
be  the  immediate  object  of  contemplation.  What  amazing 
wonders  are  opened  to  view  by  late  improvements  !  What 
an  object  is  the  universe  to  a  creature,  if  there  be  a  creature 
who  can  comprehend  its  system  !  lint  it  must  be  an  infinite- 
ly higher  exercise  of  the  understanding,  to  view  the  scheme 
of  it  in  that  mind,  which  projected  it,  before  its  foundations 
were  laid.  And  surely  we  have  meaning  to  the  words,  when 
we  speak  of  going  further ;  and  viewing,  not  only  this  sys- 
tem in  his  mind,  lint  the  wisdom  and  intelligence  itself  from 
whence  it  proceeded.  The  same  may  be  said  of  power. 
But  since  wisdom  and  power  are  not  God,  he  is  a  wise,  a 
powerful  Being;  the  divine  nature  may  therefore  be  a  fur- 
ther object  to  the  understanding.  It  is  nothing  to  observe 
that  our  senses  gives  us  but  an  imperfect  knowledge  of  things: 
effects  themselves,  if  we  knew  them  thoroughly,  would  give 
us  but  imperfect  notions  of  wisdom  and  power;  much  less 
of  bis  Being,  in  whom  tliey  reside.  I  am  not  speaking  of  any 
fanciful  notion  of  seeing  all  things  in  God  ;  hut  only  repre- 
senting to  you,  how  much  an  higlicr  object  to  the  understand- 
ing an  infinite  Being  himself  is,  than  the  things  which  he 
has  made  :  and  this  is  no  more  than  saying,  that  the  Creator 
is  sujierior  to  the  works  of  his  hands. 
This  may  be  illustrated  by  a  low  example.     Suppose  a 


its  contrivance  gratify,  our  curiosity :  the  real  delight,  in  thia 
case,  would  arise  from  its  being  the  effect  of  skill  and  con- 
trivance. This  skill  in  the  mind  of  the  artificer  would  be  an 
higher  object,  if  we  had  any  senses  or  ways  to  discern  it. 
For,  observe,  the  contemplation  of  that  principle,  faculty,  or 
power  which  produced  any  effect,  must  be  a  higher  exercise 
of  the  understanding,  than  the  contemplation  of  the  effect 
itself.  The  cause  must  be  a  higher  object  to  the  mind  than 
tlie  effect. 

But  whoever  considers  distinctly  what  the  light  of  know- 
ledge is,  will  see  reason  to  be  satisfied  that  it  cannot  be  the 
chief  good  of  man  :  all  this,  as  it  is  applicable,  so  it  was 
mentioned  with  regard  to  the  attribute  of  goodness.  I  say, 
goodness.  Our  being  and  all  our  enjoyments  are  the  effects 
of  it :  just  men  bear  its  resemblance :  but  how  little  do  we 
know  of  the  original,  of  what  it  is  in  itself?  Recall  what 
was  before  observed  concerning  the  affection  to  moral  cha- 
racters ;  which,  in  how  low  a  degree  soever,  yet  is  plainly 
natural  to  man,  and  the  most  excellent  part  of  his  nature : 
uppose  this  improved,  as  it  may  be  improved,  to  any  degree 
whatever,  in  the  spirits  of  just  men  men  made  perfect;  and 
then  suppose  that  they  had  a  real  view  of  that  rightcuusness, 
which  is  an  everlasting  righieuusness ;  of  the  conformity  of 
the  divine  will  to  the  /aw  of  truth,  in  which  the  moral  attri- 
butes of  God  consists  ;  of  that  goodness  in  the  sovereign 
Mind,  which  gave  birth  to  the  universe:  add,  what  will  be 
true  of  all  good  men  hereafter,  a  consciousness  of  having  an 
interest  in  what  they  are  contemplating;  suppose  them  able 
to  say.  This  God  is  our  God  fur  ever  and  ever:  would  they 
be  any  longer  to  seek  for  what  was  their  chief  happiness, 
their  final  good?  Could  the  utmost  stretch  of  their  capaci- 
ties look  further?  Would  not  infinite  perfect  goodness  be 
their  very  end,  the  last  end  and  object  of  their  affections;  be- 
yond which  they  could  neither  have,  nor  desire ;  beyond 
which  they  could  not  form  a  wish  or  thought  ? 

Consider  wheiein  that  presence  of  a  friend  consists,  whicli 
has  often  so  strong  an  effect,  as  wholly  to  possess  the  mind, 
and  entirely  suspend  all  other  affections  and  regards ;  and 
which  itself  aftbrds  the  highest  satisfaction  and  enjoyment. 
He  is  within  reach  of  the  senses.  Now,  as  our  capacities  of 
perception  improve,  we  shall  have,  perhaps  by  some  faculty 
entirely  new,  a  perception  of  God's  presence  with  us  in  a 
nearer  and  stricter  way  ;  since  it  is  certain  he  is  more  inti- 
mately present  with  us  than  any  thing  else  can  be.  Proof 
of  the  existence  and  presence  of  any  being  is  quite  different 
from  the  immediate  perception,  the  consciousness  of  it.  What 
then  will  be  the  joy  of  heart,  which  his  presence,  and  the 
light  of  his  countenance,  who  is  the  life  of  the  universe,  will 
inspire  good  men  viith,  when  they  shall  have  a  sensation, 
that  he  is  the  sustainer  of  their  being,  that  they  exist  in 
him  ;  when  they  shall  feel  his  influence  to  cheer  and  enliven 
and  support  their  frame,  in  a  manner  of  which  we  have  now 
no  conception  ?  He  will  be  in  a  literal  sense  their  strength 
and  their  portion  fur  ever. 

When  we  speak  of  things  so  much  above  our  comprehen- 
sion, as  the  employment  and  happiness  of  a  future  state, 
doubtless  it  behoves  us  to  speak  with  all  modesty  and  distrust 
of  ourselves.  But  the  scripture  represents  the  happiness  of 
that  state  under  the  notions  of  seeing  God,  seeing  him  us  he 
is,  knowing  as  we  are  known,  and  seeing  face  to  face.  These 
words  are  not  general  or  undetermined,  but  express  a  parti- 
cular determinate  happiness.  And  I  will  be  bold  to  say,  that 
nothing  can  account  for,  or  come  up  to  these  expressions,  but 
only  this,  that  God  himself  will  be  an  object  to  our  faculties, 
that  he  himself  will  be  our  happiness;  as  distinguished  from 
the  enjoyments  of  the  present  state,  which  seem  to  arise,  not 
immediately  from  him,  but  from  the  objects  he  has  adapted 
to  give  us  delight. 

To  conclude :  Let  us  suppose  a  person  tired  with  care  and 
sorrow  and  the  repetition  of  vain  delights  which  fill  up  the 
round  of  life  ;  sensible  that  every  thing  here  below  in  its  best 
estate  is  altogether  vanity.  Suppose  him  to  feel  that  defi- 
ciency of  human  nature,  before  taken  notice  of;  and  to  be 
convinced  that  God  alone  was  the  adequate  supply  to  it. 
What  could  be  more  applicable  to  a  good  man  in  this  state 
of  mind  ;  or  better  express  his  present  wants  and  distant 
hopes,  his  passage  through  this  world  as  a  progress  towards 
a  state  of  perfection,  than  the  following  passages  in  the  devo- 
tions of  the  royal  prophet  ?  They  are  plainly  in  a  higher 
and  more  projier  sense  applicable  to  this,  than  they  could  be 
to  any  thing  else.  "  I  have  seen  an  end  of  all  pefection. 
Whom  have  1  in  heaven  but  thee  ?  And  there  is  none  upon 
earth  that  I  desire  in  comparison  of  thee.     My  llesli  and  my 


BISHOP  BUTLER'S  SERMONS. 


537 


heart  faileth  :  but  God  is  the  strength  of  my  heart,  and  my'of  exercising  them  depends.  "  I  am  fearfully  and  wonderfuljy 
portion  for  ever.  Like  as  the  hart  desireih  the  water-brooks,  made  :  marvellous  are  thy  works,  and  that  my  soul  knoweth 
so  longeth  my  soul  afier  thee,  O  God.  My  soul  is  athirst  for  right  well."  Our  own  nature,  and  the  objects  we  are  sur- 
God,  yea,  even  for  the  living  God  :  when  shall  I  come  to  ap-;  rounded  with,  serve  to  raise  our  ci;riosity ;  but  we  are  quite 
pear  before  him  ?  How  excellent  is  thy  loving  kindness,  0,out  of  a  condition  of  satisfying  it.  Kvery  secret  which  is  dis- 
God  !    and  the  children  of  men  shall  put  tlieir  trust  under  the  |  closed,  every  discovery  which  is  made,  every  new  effect  which 


shadow  of  th}'  wings.     They  shall  be  satisfied  with  the  plen 
teousness  of  thy  house  :  and  thou 

thy  pleasures,  as  out  of  the  river.  For  with  thee  is  the  well 
of  life  :  and  in  thy  light  shall  we  see  light.  Blessed  is  the 
man  whom  thou  choosest,  and  receivest  unto  thee  :  he  shall 
dwell  in  thy  court,  and  shall  be  satisfied  with  the  pleasures 
of  thy  house,  even  of  thj'  holy  temple.  Blessed  is  the  people, 
O  Lord,  that  can  rejoice  in  thee :  they  shall  walk  in  the  light 
of  thy  countenance.  Their  delight  shall  be  daily  in  thy  name, 
and  in  thy  righteousness  shall  they  make  their  boast.  For 
thou  art  the  glory  of  their  strength  :  and  in  thy  loving  kind- 
ness they  shall  be  exalted.  As  for  me,  I  will  behold  thy  pre 
sence  in  righteousness :  and  when  I  awake  up  after  thy  like- 
ness, I  shall  be  satisfied  with  it.  Thou  shnlt  show  me  the 
path  of  life  ;  in  thy  presence  is  the  fulness  of  joy,  and  at  thy 
right  hand  there  is  pleasure  for  evermore." 


SERMON  XV. 

UPON   THE    IGNORANCE   OF   MAN. 

AA'lien  I  applied  mine  heart  to  know  wisdom,  and  to  see  the  business 
that  is  done  upon  tlte  earth:  then  I  beheld  all  the  work  of  God,  that 
a  man  cannot  finil  out  the  work  that  is  doneunder  tlic  sun:  because 
though  a  man  labour  to  seek  it  out,  yet  he  shall  not  find  it;  yea 
further,  though  a  wise  man  think  to  know  it,  yet  shall  he  not  be 
able  to  find  it. — Ecclee.  viii.  16,  1". 


The  writings  of  Solomon  are  very  much  taken  up  with  re- 
flections upon  human  nature  and  human  life;  to  which  he 
hath  added,  in  this  book,  reflections  upon  the  constitution 
of  things.  And  it  is  not  improbable,  that  the  little  satisfac- 
tion and  the  great  difficulties  he  met  with  in  his  researches 
into  the  general  constitution  of  nature,  might  be  the  occasion 
of  his  confining  himself,  so  much  as  he  hath  done,  to  life  and 
conduct.  However,  upon  that  joint  review  he  expresses 
great  ignorance  of  the  works  of  God,  and  the  method  of  his 
providence  in  the  government  of  the  world;  great  labour  and 
weariness  in  the  search  and  observation  he  had  employed 
himself  about;  and  great  disappointment,  pain,  and  even 
vexation  of  mind,  upon  that  which  he  had  remarked  of  the 
appearances  of  things,  and  of  what  was  going  forward  upon 
this  earth.  This  whole  review  and  inspection^  and  the  result 
of  it,  sorrow,  perplexity,  a  sense  of  his  necessary  ignorance, 
suggests  various  reflections  to  his  mind.  But,  notwithstand- 
ing all  this  ignorance  and  dissatisfaction,  there  is  somewhat 
upon  which  he  assuredly  rests  and  depends;  somewhat,  which 
is  the  conclusion  of  the  whole  matter,  and  the  only  concern 
of  man.  Following  this  his  method  and  train  of  reflection, 
let  us  consider, 

L  The  assertion  of  the  text,  the  ignorance  of  man ;  that 
the  wisest  and  most  knowing  cannot  comprehend  the  ways 
and  works  of  God  :  and  then, 

IL  What  are  the  just  consequences  of  this  observation  and 
knowledge  of  our  own  ignorance,  and  the  reflections  which 
it  leads  us  to. 

L  The  wisest  and  most  knowing  cannot  comprehend  the 
works  of  God,  the  methods  and  designs  of  his  providence  in 
the  creation  and  government  of  the  world. 

Creation  is  absolutely  and  entirely  out  of  our  depth,  and 
beyond  the  extent  of  our  utmost  reach.  And  yet  it  is  as 
certain  that  God  made  the  world,  as  it  is  certain  that  effects 
must  have  a  cause.  It  is  indeed  in  general  no  more  than  ef- 
fects, that  the  most  knowing  are  acquainted  with  :  for  as  to 
causes,  they  are  as  entirely  in  the  dark  as  the  most  ignorant. 
What  are  the  laws  by  which  matter  acts  upon  matter.but  cer- 
tain effects;  which  some,  having  observed  to  be  frequently 
repeated,  have  reduced  to  general  rules  1  The  real  nature  and  [ '^'^g*' 
essence  of  beings  likewise  is  what  we  are  altogether  ignorant 
of.  All  these  things  are  so  entirely  out  of  our  reach,  that 
we  have  not  the  least  glimpse  of  them.  And  we  know  little 
more  of  ourselves,  than  we  do  of  the  world  about  us  :  how 
we  were  made,  how  our  being  is  continued  and  preserved, 
what  the  faculties  of  our  minds  are,  and  upon  what  the  power 
Vol.  IL— 3  S 


is  brought  to  view,serves  to  convince  us  of  numberless  more 
shalt  give  them  drink  of|  which  remain  concealed,  and  which  we  had  before  no  sus- 
picion of.  And  what  if  we  were  acquainted  with  the  whole 
creation,  in  the  same  way  and  as  thoroughly  as  we  are  with 
any  single  object  in  it  ^  What  would  all  this  natural  knowledge 
amount  to  1  It  must  be  a  low  curiosity  indeed  which  such 
superficial  knowledge  could  satisfy.  On  the  contrary,  would 
it  not  serve  to  convince  us  of  our  ignorance  still ;  and  to  raise 
our  desire  of  knowing  the  nature  of  things  themselves,  the 
author,  the  cause,  and  the  end  of  them  ? 

As  to  the  government  of  the  world :  though  from  consid- 
eration of  the  final  causes  which  come  within  our  know- 
ledge ;  of  characters,  personal  merit  and  demerit ;  of  the  fa- 
vour and  disapprobation,  which  respectively  are  due  and  be- 
long to  the  righteous  and  the  w  icked,  and  which  therefore 
must  necessarily  be  in  a  mind  which  sees  things  as  they  really 
are;  though,  I  say,  froin  hence  we  may  know  somewhat  con- 
cerning the  designs  of  Providence  in  the  government  of  the 
world,  enough  to  enforce  upon  us  religion  and  the  practice 
of  virtue:  yet,  since  the  monarchy  of  the  universe  is  a  domi- 
nion unlimited  in  extent,  and  everlasting  in  duration;  the 
general  system  of  it  must  necessarily  be  quite  beyond  our 
comprehension.  And,  since  there  appears  such  a  subordi- 
nation and  reference  of  the  several  parts  to  each  other,  as  to 
constitute  it  properly  one  administration  or  government;  we 
cannot  have  a  thorough  knowledge  of  any  part,  without 
knowing  the  whole.  This  surely  should  convince  us,  that 
we  are  much  less  competent  judges  of  the  very  small  part 
which  comes  under  our  notice  in  this  world,  than  we  are  apt 
to  imagine.  "  No  heart  can  think  upon  these  things  worthily  : 
and  who  is  able  to  conceive  his  way  ?  It  is  a  tempest  which  no 
man  can  see:  for  the  most  part  of  his  w-orks  are  hid.  Who  can 
declare  the  works  of  his  justice  i  for  his  covenant  is  afar  off, 
and  the  trial  of  all  things  is  in  the  end  :''  i.e.  The  dealings  of 
God  with  the  children  of  men  are  not  yet  completed,  and  can- 
not be  judged  of  by  that  part  which  is  before  us.  "  So  that 
a  man  cannot  say,  This  is  worse  than  that:  for  in  time  they 
shall  be  well  approved.  Thy  faithfulness,  O  Lord,  reacheth 
unto  the  clouds:  thy  righteousness  standeth  like  the  strong 
mountains  :  thy  judgments  are  like  the  great  deep.  He  hatli 
made  every  thing  beautiful  in  his  time  :  also  he  hath  set  the 
world  in  their  heart;  so  that  no  man  can  find  out  the  work 
that  God  maketh  from  the  beginning  to  the  end."  And  thus 
St.  Paul  concludes  a  long  argument  upon  the  various  dispen- 
sations of  Providence  :  "  0  the  depth  of  the  riches,  both  of  the 
wisdom  and  knowledge  of  God  !  How  unsearchable  are  his 
judgments,  and  his  ways  past  findiijg  out !  For  who  hath 
known  the  mind  of  the  Lord  1" 

Thus  the  scheme  of  Providence,  the  ways  and  works  of 
God,  are  too  vast,  of  too  large  extent  for  our  capacities.  There 
is,  as  I  may  speak,  such  an  expense  of  power,  and  wisdom, 
and  goodness,  in  the  formation  and  government  of  the  world, 
as  is  too  much  for  us  to  take  in,  or  comjjrehend.  Power,  and 
wisdom,  and  goodness,  are  manifest  to  us  in  all  those  works 
of  God,  which  come  within  our  view  :  but  there  are  likewise 
infinite  stores  of  each  poured  forth  throughout  the  immensity 
of  the  creation  ;  no  part  of  which  can  be  thoroughly  under- 
stood, without  taking  in  its  reference  and  respect  to  the  whole : 
and  this  is  what  we  have  not  faculties  for. 

And  as  the  works  of  God,  and  his  scheme  of  government, 
are  above  our  capacities  thoroughly  to  comprehend  :  so  there 
possibly  may  be  reasons  which  originally  made  it  fit  that 
many  things  should  be  concealed  from  us,  which  we  have 
perhaps  natural  capacities  of  understanding;  many  things 
concerning  the  designs,  methods,  and  ends  of  divine  Provi- 
dence in  the  government  of  the  world.  There  is  no  manner 
of  absurdity  in  supposing  a  veil  on  purpose  drawn  over  some 
scenes  of  infinite  power,  wisdom,  and  goodness,  the  sight  of 
which  might  some  way  or  other  strike  us  too  strongly ;  or 
that  better  ends  are  designed  and  served  by  their  being  con- 
cealed, than  could  be  by  their  being  exposed  to  our  know- 
ledge. The  Almighty  may  cast  clouds  and  darkness  round 
about  him,  for  reasons  and  purposes  of  which  we  have  not  the 
least  glimpse  or  conception. 

However,  it  is  surely  reasonable,  and  what  might  have  been 
expected,  that  creatures  in  some  stage  of  their  being,  suppose 
in  the  infancy  of  it,  should  be  placed  in  a  state  of  discipline 
and  improvement,  where  their  patience  and  submission  is  to 


538 


CHRISTIAN   LIBRARY. 


be  tried  by  afflictions,  where  temptations  are  to  be  resisted, 
and  difficulties  gone  through  in  the  discharge  of  tlieir  duty. 
Now  if  the  greatest  pleasures  and  pains  of  the  jiresent  lUe 
may  lie  overcome  and  suspended,  as  they  manitestly  may, 
by  hope  and  fear,  and  other  passions  and  aflections ;  then  the 
evidence  of  religion,  and  the  sense  of  the  consequences  ol  vir- 
tue and  vice,  might  have  been  such,  as  entirely  in  all  cases 
to  prevail  over  "those  afflictions,  difficulties,  and  teinpta- 
tions  ;  prevail  over  them  so,  as  to  render  them  adsolutely 
none  at  all.  But  the  very  notion  itself  now  mentioned,  ot  a 
state  of  disciplineand  improvement,  necessarily  excludes  such 
sensible  evidence  and  conviction  of  religion,  and  of  the  conse- 
quences of  virtue  and  vice.  Religion  consists  in  submission 
and  resignation  to  the  divine  will.  Our  comhtion  m  tins 
world  is  a  school  of  exercise  for  his  temper:  and  our  igno- 
rance, the  shallowness  of  our  reason,  the  temptations,  difficul- 
ties, afflictions,  whicli  we  are  exi>osed  to,  all  equally  contri- 
bute to  make  it  so.  'I'he  general  observation  may  be  carried 
on  ;  and  whoever  will  attend  to  the  thing  will  plainly  see,  that 


afford  liiin,  becanse  it  was  not  the  sun  itself!  If  the  make 
and  constitution  of  man,  the  circumstances  he  is  placed  in,  or 
the  reason  of  things  affords  the  least  hint  or  intimation,  that 
virtue  is  the  law  he  is  born  under;  scepticism  itself  should 
lead  him  to  the  most  strict  and  inviolable  practice  of  it;  that 
he  may  not  make  the  dreadful  experiment,  of  leaving  the 
course  of  life  marked  out  for  him  by  nature,  whatever  that 
nature  be,  and  entering  paths  of  his  own,  of  which  he  can 
know  neither  the  dangers  nor  the  end.  For  though  no  dan- 
ger be  seen,  yet  darkness,  ignorance,  and  blindness  are  no 
manner  of  security. 

Secondly,  Our  ignorance  is  the  proper  answer  to  many 
things,  which  are  called  objections  against  religion;  particu- 
larly, to  those  which  arise  from  the  appearances  of  evil  and 
irreo-ularity  in  the  constitution  of  nature  and  the  government 
of  the  world.  In  all  other  cases  it  is  thought  necessary  to  be 
thoroughly  acquainted  with  the  whole  of  a  scheme,  even  one 
of  so  narrow  a  compass  as  those  which  are  formed  by  men, 
in  order  to  judge  of  the  goodness  or  badness  of  it:  and  the 


less  sensihle  evidence,  with  less  difficulty  in  practice,  is  the  most  slight  and  superficial  view  of  any  human  '■o"'  ^an^^ 
'.me  as  rresesible  evidence,  with  greater  difficulty  in  prac-  comes  abundantly  nearer  to  a  thorough  knowledge  ol  it  than 
same,  __     .  '.^^^^^^  as  much  come  into  that  part,  which  we  know  of  the  government  o    the  world, 


tice.     Therefore  difficulties  in  spe 

the  notion  of  a  state  of  discipline,  as  difficulties  in  practice : 
and  so  the  same  reason  or  account  is  to  be  given  of  both.  Thus, 
though  it  is  indeed  absurd  to  talk  of  the  greater  merit  of  assent, 
upoiriittle  or  no  evidence,  than  upon  demonstration;  yet  the 
strict  discharge  of  our  duty,  with  less  sensible  evidence,  does 
imply  in  it  abetter  character,  than  the  same  diligence  in  the 
discharge  of  it  upon  more  sensible  evidence.  This  fully  ac- 
counts for  and  explains  that  assertion  of  our  Saviour,  Bkascd 
arc  tlini  that  have  not  seen,  and  yet  have  believed ;  have  become 
Christians  and  obeyed  the  gospel,  upon  less  sensible  evi- 
dence, than  that  which  Thomas,  to  whom  he  is  speakmg,  in- 
sisted upon.  . 

But  after  all,  the  same  account  is  to  be  given,  why  we 
were  placed  in  these  circumstances  of  ignorance,  as  why 
nature  has  not  furnished  us  with  wings;  namely,  that  we 
■u-ere  dcsio-ned  to  be  inhabitants  of  this  earth.  1  am  alrald^ 
we  think  too  highly  of  ourselves  ;  of  our  rank  in  the  creation, 
and  of  what  is  due  to  us.  What  sphere  of  action,  what  bu- 
siness is  assio-ned  to  man,  that  he  has  not  capacities  and 
knowledge  fully  equal  to  T  It  is  manifest  he  has  reason,  and 
knowledae,  and  faculties  superior  to  the  business  ot  the  pre- 
sent worTd  :  faculties  which  appear  superfluous,  if  we  do  not 
take  in  the  respect  which  they  have  to  somewhat  further,  and 
beyond  it.  If  to  acquire  know^ledge  were  our  proper  end, 
we  should  indeed  be  but  poorly  provided :  but  if  somewhat 
else  be  our  business  and  duty,  we  may,  notwithstanding  our 
icrnorance,  be  well  enough  furnished  for  it;  and  the  observa 
tfon  of  our  ignorance  may  be  of  assistance  to  us  in  the  dis- 
charge of  it. 

II.  Let  us  then  consider,  what  are  the  consequences  ot  this 
knowledge  and  observation  of  our  own  ignorance,  and  the 
reflection  it  leads  us  to.  r     ■  j 

First,  We  may  learn  from  it,  with  what  temper  of  mind  a 
man  outrht  to  inquire  into  the  subject  of  religion ;  namely, 
with  expectation  of  finding  difficulties,  and  with  a  disposition 
to  take  up  and  rest  satisfied  with  any  evidence  whatever, 
which  is  real.  . 

He  should  beforehand  expect  things  mysterious,  and  snch 
as  he  will  not  be  able  thoroughly  to  comprehend,  or  go  to  the 
bottom  of.  To  expect  a  distinct  comprehensive  view  of  the 
whole  subject,  clear  of  difficulties  and  objections,  is  to  forget 
our  nature  and  condition;  neither  of  wliich  admit  of  such 
knowledge,  with  respect  to  any  science  whatever.  And  to 
inquire  with  this  expectation,  is  not  to  inquire  as  a  man,  but 
as  one  of  another  order  of  creatures. 

Due  sense  of  the  general  ignorance  of  man  would  also  be 
get  in  us  a  disposition  to  take  up  and  rest  satisfied  with  any 
evidence  whatever,  which  is  real.  I  mention  this  as  the  con- 
trary to  a  disposition,  of  which  there  are  not  wanting  instan- 
ces, to  find  fault  with  and  reject  evidence,  because  it  is  not 
such  as  was  desired.  If  a  man  were  to  walk  by  twilight, 
must  he  not  follow  his  eyes  as  much  as  if  it  were  broad  day 
and  clear  sunshine  %  Or  if  he  were  obliged  to  take  a  journey 
by  nio-ht,  would  he  not  "  give  heed  to  any  light  shining  in  the 
darkiiess,  till  the  day  should  break  and  the  day-star  arise?" 
It  would  not  be  altogether  unnatural  for  him  to  reflect  how 
much  better  it  were  to  have  day-light ;  he  might  perhaps  have 
great  curiosity  to  see  the  country  round  about  him  ;  he  might 
lament  that  the  darkness  concealed  many  extended  prospects 
from  his  eyes,  and  wish  for  the  sun  to  draw  away  the  veil : 
but  how  ridiculous  would  it  be  to  reject  with  scorn  and  dis- 
dain ihe  guidance  and  direction  which  that  lesser  light  iniuht 


does'to  the  general  scheme  and  system  of  it;  to  the  whole  set 
of  laws  by  which  it  is  governed.  From  our  ignorance  of  the 
constitution  of  things,  and  the  scheme  of  Providence  in  the 
government  of  the  world  ;  from  the  reference  the  several  parts 
have  to  each  other,  and  to  the  whole ;  and  from  our  not  being 
able  to  see  the  end  and  the  whole;  it  follows,  that  however 


erfect  things  are,  they  must  even  necessarily  appear  to  us 
otherwise  less  perfect  than  they  are.* 

Thirdly,  Since  the  constitution  of  nature,  and  the  methods 
and  designs  of  Providence  in  the  government  of  the  w'orld, 
are  above  our  comprehension,  we  should  acquiesce  in,  and 
rest  satisfied  with,  our  ignorance,  turn  our  thoughts  from  that 
wliich  is  above  and  beyond  us,  and  apply  ourselves  to  that 
which  is  level  to  our  capacities,  and  which  is  our  real  busi- 
ness and  concern.  Knowledge  is  not  our  proper  happiness. 
Whoever  will  in  the  least  attend  to  the  thing  will  see,  that  it 
is  the  training,  not  the  having  of  it,  which  is  the  entertain- 
ment of  the  mind.  Indeed,  if  the  proper  happiness  of  man 
consisted  in  knowledge  considered  as  a  possession  or  treasure, 
men  who  are  possessed  of  the  largest  share  would  have  a 
very  ill  time  of  it;  as  they  would  be  infinitely  more  sensible 
than  others  of  their  poverty  in  this  respect.  Thus  "he  who 
increases  knowledge  would  eminently  increase  sorrow."  Men 
of  deep  research  and  curious  inquiry  should  just  be  put  in 
mind,  not  to  mistake  what  they  are  doing.  If  their  discove- 
ries serve  the  cause  of  virtue  and  religion,  in  the  way  of 
proof,  motive  to  practice,  or  assistance  in  it;  or  if  they  tend 
to  render  life  less  unhappy,  and  promote  its  satisfactions; 
then  they  are  most  usefully  employed  :  but  bringing  things  to 
lio-ht,  alone  and  of  itself,  is  of  no  manner  of  use,  any  other- 
wise than  as  entertainment  or  diversion.     Neither  is  this  at 


*  Suppose  some  very  complicated  piece  of  -aiorlc,  some  system  or 
constitution,  foi-med  for  ^oxn^  geiu-ral  end,io  which  each  of  the /,ar(s 
had  a  refevence.  The  pcrfectinn  or  justness  of  this  work  or  consti- 
tution wouhl  consist  in  the  reference  and  respect,  which  the  several 
parts  have  to  the  general  design.  This  relerencc  of  parts  to  the  gen- 
eral design  n.av  he  infinitely  various,  hoth  m  degree  and  kind.  I  hns 
one  part  luav  only  contribute  and  he  subservient  to  another  :  this  to 
a  third  ;  and'  so  on  througli  a  long  series,  the  last  part  oi  w  hich  alone 
may  contribute  immediately  and  directly  to  the  general  design  Ur 
a  part  may  have  this  distant  reference  to  the  general  design,  and  may 
also  contribute  immediatelv  to  it.  For  instance  :  if  the  general  de- 
sign or  end,  for  which  the  complicated  frame  of  nature  was  brought 
into  being,  is  happiness  ;  whatever  aftbrds  present  satisfaction,  and 
likewise  tends  to  carry  on  die  course  of  things,  hath  this  double  res- 
pect to  the  general  design.  Now  suppose  a  spectator  ot  that  work 
or  constitution  was  in  a  great  measure  ignorant  of  such  various  reler- 
ence  to  tlie  general  end,  whatever  that  end  be  ;  and  that,  upon  a  very 
slight  and  partial  view  which  lie  had  of  the  work,  several  things  ap- 
peared to  his  eve  liispropoi-tionatc  and  wrong  ;  others  just  and  beau- 
tiful :  what  would  he  gallier  from  these  appearances  'He  would  im- 
mediately conclude  there  was  a  probability,  if  he  could  see  the  whole 
reference  of  the  parts  appearing  wrong  to  the  general  design,  that 
tliis  would  destrov  the  appearance  of  wrongness  and  disproportion  : 
but  there  is  no  probability,  that  the  reference  would  destroy  the  par- 
ticular right  appearances,  though  that  reference  might  show  the  things 
already  appearing  just,  to  be  so  likewise  in  a  higher  degree  or 
another  manner.  There  is  a  in-obability,  that  the  right  appearances 
were  intended  :  there  is  no  probability,  that  the  wrong  appearances 
were.  We  cannot  suspect  irregularity  and  disorder  to  be  designed. 
The  pillars  of  a  building  appear  beautiful ;  but  their  being  likewise 
its  support  does  not  destrov  that  beauty  :  there  still  remains  a  reason 
to  believe  that  the  archilect  intended  the  beautiful  appearance,  alter 
we  have  found  out  the  reference,  support.  It  wouM  be  reasonable 
for  a  man  of  himself  to  tliiiik  thus,  upon  the  first  piece  of  architec- 
ture he  ever  s;iw. 


,\ 


BISHOP  BUTLER'S  SERMONS. 


539 


all  amiss,  if  it  does  not  take  up  the  time  which  should  he  em- 
ployed ill  better  work.  Hut  it  is  evident  that  there  is  another 
mark  set  up  for  us  to  aim  at;  another  end  appointed  us  to 
direct  our  lives  to :  another  end,  which  the  most  knowing  may 
fail  of,  and  the  most  ignorant  arrive  at.  "The  secret  things 
belong  unto  the  Lord  our  God ;  but  those  things  which  are 
revealed  belong  unto  us,  and  to  our  children  forever,  that  we 
may  do  all  tlie  words  of  this  law.  Which  reflection  of  Mo- 
ses, put  in  general  terms,  is,  that  the  only  knowledge,  which 
is  of  any  avail  to  us,  is  that  which  teaches  us  our  duty,  or 
assists  us  in  the  discharge  of  it.  The  economy  of  the  uni- 
verse, the  course  of  nature,  almighty  power  exerted  in  the 
creation  and  government  of  the  world,  is  out  of  our  reach. 
What  would  be  the  consequence,  if  we  could  really  get  an 
insight  into  these  things,  is  very  uncertain  ;  whether  it  would 
assist  us  in,  or  divert  us  from,  what  we  have  to  do  in  this 
present  state.  If  then  there  be  a  sphere  of  knowledge,  of 
contemplation  and  employment,  level  to  our  capacities,  and 
of  the  utmost  importance  to  us;  we  ought  surely  to  apply 
ourselves  with  all  diligence  to  this  our  proper  business,  and 
esteem  every  thing  else  nothing,  nothing  as  to  us,  in  com- 
parison of  it.  Thus  Job,  discoursing  of  natural  knowledge, 
how  much  it  is  above  us,  and  of  wisdom  in  general,  says, 
"  God  understandeth  the  way  thereof,  and  he  knowetli  the 
place  thereof.  And  unto  man  he  said.  Behold,  the  fear  of  the 
Lord,  that  is  wisdom,  and  to  depart  from  evil  is  undi'rstand- 
iiig.  Other  orders  of  creatures  may  perhaps  be  let  into  the 
secret  counsels  of  heaven  ;  and  have  the  designs  and  methods 
of  Providence,  in  the  creation  and  government  of  the  w'orld, 
communicated  to  them :  but  this  docs  not  belong  to  our  rank 
or  condition.  "'J'hc  fear  of  the  Lord,  and  to  depart  from 
evil,"  is  the  only  wisdom  which  man  should  aspire  after,  as 
his  work  and  business.  The  same  is  said,  and  with  the  same 
connexion  and  context,  in  the  conclusion  of  the  book  of  Ec 
clesiastes.  Our  ignorance,  and  the  little  we  can  know  of 
other  things,  affords  a  reason  why  we  should  not  perplex 
ourselves  about  them  ;  but  no  way  invalidates  that  which  is 
the  conclusion  of  the  whole  matter,  "  Fear  God,  and  keep  his 
commandments;  for  this  is  the  whole  concern  of  man."  So 
that  Socrates  was  not  tlic  first  who  endeavoured  to  draw  men 
off"  from  labouring  after,  and  laying  stress  upon  other  know- 
ledge, in  comparison  of  that  which  related  to  morals.  Our 
province  is  virtue  and  religion,  life  and  manners  ;  the  science 
of  improving  the  temper,  and  making  the  heart  better.  This 
is  the  field  assigned  us  to  cultivate:  how  much  it  has  lain 
neglected  is  indeed  astonishing.  Virtue  is  demonstrably  the 
happiness  of  man  :  it  consists  in  good  actions,  proceeding 
from  a  good  principle,  temper,  or  heart.  Overt-acts  are  en 
tirely  in  our  power.  What  remains  is,  that  we  learn  to  keep 
our  heart ;  to  govern  and  regulate  our  passions,  mind,  affec- 
tions :  tliat  so  we  may  be  free  from  the  impotencics  of  fear, 
envy,  malice,  covetousness,  ambition  ;  that  we  may  be  clear 
of  these,  considered  as  vices  seated  in  the  heart,  considered 
as  constituting  a  general  wrong  temper;  from  which  general 
wrong  frame  of  mind,  all  the  mistaken  pursuits,  and  far  the 
greatest  part  of  the  unhappiness  of  life,  proceed.  He,  who 
should  find  out  one  rule  to  assist  us  in  this  work,  would  do- 
serve  infinitely  belter  of  mankind,  than  all  the  improvers  of 
ether  knowledge  put  together. 

Lastly,  Let  us  adore  that  infinite  wisdom  and  power,  and 
goodness,  which  is  above  our  comprehension.  "  To  whom 
hath  the  root  of  wisdom  been  revealed^  Or  who  hath  known 
her  wise  counsels  1  There  is  one  wise  and  greatly  to  be 
feared ;  the  Lord  sitting  upon  his  throne.  He  created  her, 
and  saw  her,  and  numbered  her,  and  poured  her  out  upon  all 
his  works."  If  it  be  thought  a  considerable  thing  to  be  ac- 
quainted with  a  few,  a  very  few,  of  the  effects  of  infinite 
power  and  wisdom ;  the  situation,  bigness,  and  revolution  o 
some  of  the  heavenly  bodies;  what  sentiments  should  our 
minds  be  filled  with  concerning  Him,  who  appointed  to  each 
its  place  and  measure  and  sphere  of  motion,  all  which  are 
kept  with  the  most  uniform  constancy  !  "  Who  stretched  out 
the  heavens,  and  telleth  the  number  of  the  stars,  and  ealletl 
them  all  by  their  names.  Who  laid  the  foundations  of  the 
earth,  who  comprehendeth  the  dust  of  it  in  a  measure,  and 
weigheth  the  mountains  in  scales,  and  the  hills  in  a  balance." 
And,  when  we  have  recounted  all  the  appearances  whic 
come  within  our  view,  we  must  add,  "  Lo,  these  are  part  of 
his  ways:  but  how  little  a  portion  is  heard  of  him!  Canst 
thou  by  searching,  find  out  God  ^  Canst  thou  find  out  the 
Almighty  unto  perfection  %  It  is  as  high  as  heaven  ;  what 
canst  thou  dol  deeper  than  hell ;  what  canst  thou  know?" 

The  conclusion  is,  that  in  all  lowliness  of  mind  we  set 


lightly  by  ourselves:  that  we  form  our  temper  to  an  implicit 
submission  to  the  divine  Majesty ;  beget  within  ourselves  an 
absolute  resignation  to  all  the  methods  of  his  providence,  in 
his  dealings  with  the  children  of  men  :  that,  in  the  deepest 
humility  of  our  souls,  we  prostrate  ourselves  before  him,  and 
join  in  that  celestial  song;  "Great  and  marvellous  are  thy 
works.  Lord  God  Almighty  !  just  and  true  are  thy  ways,  thou 
King  of  saints  !  Who  shall  not  fear  thee,  0  Lord,  and  glorify 
thy  name  V 


CORRESPONDENCE 

BETWEEN 

DR.  BUTLER  AND  DR.  CLARKE. 


THE  FIRST  LETTER. 

Reverened  Sir, — I  suppose  you  will  wonder  at  the  present 
trouble  from  one  who  is  a  perfect  stranger  to  you,  though  yon 
are  not  so  to  him ;  but  I  hope  the  occasion  will  excuse  my 
boldness.  I  have  made  it,  Sir,  my  business,  ever  since  I 
tliought  myself  capable  of  such  sort  of  reasoning,  to  prove  to 
myself  the  being  and  attributes  of  God.  And  being  sensible 
that  it  is  a  matter  of  the  last  consequence,  I  endeavoured  after 
a  demonstrative  proof;  not  only  more  fully  to  satisfy  my  own 
mind,  but  also  in  order  to  defend  the  great  truths  of  natural 
religion,  and  those  of  the  Christian  revelation  which  follow 
from  them,  against  all  opposers :  but  must  own  with  concern, 
that  hitherto  I  have  been  unsuccessful ;  and  though  I  have 
got  very  probable  arguments,  yet  I  can  go  but  a  very  little 
way  with  demonstration  in  the  proof  of  those  things.  When 
first  your  book  on  those  subjects  (which  by  all,  whom  I  have 
discoursed  with,  is  so  justly  esteemed)  was  recommended  to 
me,  I  was  in  great  hopes  of  having  all  my  inquiries  answered. 
But  since  in  some  places,  either  through  my  not  understand- 
ing your  meaning,  or  what  else  I  know  not,  even  that  has 
failed  me,  I  almost  despair  of  ever  arriving  to  such  a  satisfac- 
tion as  I  aim  at,  unless  by  the  method  I  now  use.  You. 
cannot  but  know,  sir,  that  of  two  different  expressions  of  the 
same  thing,  though  equally  clear  to  some  persons,  yet  to 
others  one  of  them  is  sometimes  very  obscure,  though  the 
other  be  perfectly  intelligible.  Perhaps  this  may  be  my  case 
here;  and  could  1  see  those  of  your  arguments,  of  which  I 
doubt,  differently  proposed,  possibly  I  might  yield  a  ready 
assent  to  them.  This,  sir,  I  cannot  but  think  a  sufficient 
excuse  for  the  present  trouble  ;  it  being  such  a  one  as  I  hope 
may  prevail  for  an  answer,  with  one  who  seems  to  aim  at 
nothing  more  than  that  good  work  of  instructing  others. 

In  your  Demonstration  of  the  Being  and  Attributes  of 
God,  Prop.  VI.  [edit.  2d.  p.  03,  70.]  you  propose  to  prove 
the  infinity  or  omnipresence  of  the  self-existent  Being.  The 
former  part  of  the  proof  seems  highly  probable;  but  the 
latter  part,  which  seems  to  aim  at  demonstration,  is  not  to  me 
convincing.  The  latter  part  of  the  paragraph  is,  if  I  mistake 
not,  an  entire  argument  of  itself,  which  runs  thus:  "To 
suppose  a  finite  being  to  be  self-existent,  is  to  say  that  it  is  a 
contradiction  for  that  being  not  to  exist,  llie  absence  of  v,-liich 
may  yet  be  conceived  without  a  contradiction;  which  is  the 
greatest  absurdity  in  the  world."  The  sense  of  these  words 
("the  absence  of  which")  seems  plainly  to  be  determined  by 
the  following  sentence,  to  mean  its  absence  from  any  par- 
ticular place.  Which  sentence  is  to  prove  it  to  be  an  absurd- 
ity; and  is  this:  "For  if  a  being  can,  without  a  contradiction, 
be  absent  from  one  place,  it  may,  \\ithout  a  contradiction,  be 
absent  from  another  place,  and  from  all  places."  Now  sup- 
posing this  to  be  a  consequence,  all  that  it  proves  is,  that  if 
a  being  can,  without  a  contradiction,  be  absent  from  one  place 
at  one  time,  it  may,  without  a  contradiction,  be  absent  from 
another  place,  and  so  from  all  places,  at  different  times;  (for 
I  cannot  see,  that  if  a  being  can  be  absent  from  one  place  at 
one  time,  therefore  it  may,  without  a  contradiction,  be  absent 
from  all  places  at  the  same  time,  /.  e.  may  cease  to  exist.) 
Now,  if  it  proves  no  more  than  this,  I  cannot  see  that  it 
reduces  the  supposition  to  any  absurdity.  Suppose  I  could 
demonstrate,  that  any  particular  man  should  live  a  thousand 
years;  this  man  might,  without  a  contradiction,  be  absent 
froui  one  and  from  all  places  at  different  times;  but  it  would 


540 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


not  from  thence  follow,  that  lie  niishl  be  absent  from  all 
places  at  the  same  time,  /.  e.  that  he  might  cease  to  exist. 
No;  this  would  be  a  contradiction,  because  I  am  supposed 
to  have  demonstrated  that  he  should  live  a  thousand  years. 
It  would  be  exactly  the  same,  if,  instead  of  a  thousand  years, 
I  should  say,  for  ever;  and  the  proof  seems  the  same,  whether 
it  be  applied  to  a  self-existent  or  a  dependent  being. 

What  else  I  have  to  offer  is  in  relation  to  j'our  proof,  that 
the  self-existent  being  must  of  necessity  be  but  one.  Which 
proof  is  as  follows,  in  Prop.  VII.  (edit.  2d.  p.  74.)  "To 
suppose  two  or  more  different  natures  existing  of  themselves, 
necessarily,  and  independent  from  each  other,  implies  this 
plain  contradiction;  that,  each  of  them  being  independent 
from  the  other,  they  may  either  of  them  be  supposed  to  exist 
alone;  so  that  it  will  be  no  coiitradiclion  to  imagine  the  other 
not  to  exist,  and  consequently  neither  of  them  will  be  neces- 
sarily existing."  The  supposition  indeed  implies,  that  since 
each  of  these  beings  is  independent  from  the  other,  they  may 
either  of  them  exist  alone,  i.  c.  without  any  relation  to,  or 
dependence  on,  the  other:  but  where  is  the  third  idea,  to 
connect  this  proposition  and  the  following  one,  viz.  "  so  that 
it  will  be  no  contradiction  to  imagine  the  other  not  to  exist]" 
Were  this  a  consequence  of  the  former  proposition,  I  allow 
it  would  be  demonstration,  by  the  first  corollary  of  Prop.  III. 
(2d  edit.  p.  2G.)  but  since  these  two  propositions,  ("they  may 
either  of  them  be  supposed  to  exist  alone,")  and,  ("  so  that  it 
will  be  no  contradiction  to  imagine  the  other  not  to  exist,") 
are  very  widel}'  dilferent;  since  likewise  it  is  no  immediate 
consequence,  that  because  either  may  be  supposed  to  exist 
independent  from  the  other,  therefore  the  other  may  be  sup- 
posed not  to  exist  at  all ;  how  is  what  was  proposed,  proved  ! 
That  the  propositions  are  dilferent,  I  think  is  plain  ;  and 
whether  there  be  an  immediate  connexion,  every  body  that 
reads  your  hook  must  judge  for  themselves.  I  must  say,  for 
my  own  part,  the  absurdity  does  not  appear  at  first  sight,  any 
more  than  the  absurdity  of  saying  that  the  angels  below  the 
base  in  an  isosceles  triangle  are  nnequal  ;  which  though  it 
is  absolutely  false,  yet  I  suppose  no  one  will  lay  down  the 
contrary  for  an  axiom ;  because,  though  it  is  true,  yet  there 
is  need  of  a  proof  to  make  it  a])pear  so. 

Perhaps  it  may  be  answered,  that  I  have  not  rightly  ex- 
plained the  words,  "to  exist  alone;"  and  that  they  do  not 
mean  only,  to  exist  independent  from  the  other;  but  that 
"existing  alone"  means  that  nothing  exists  with  it.  Whether 
this  or  the  other  was  meant,  I  cannot  determine:  but,  which 
ever  it  was,  what  I  have  said  will  hold.  For  if  this  last  be 
the  sense  of  those  words,  ("  they  either  of  them  may  be  sup- 
posed to  exist  alone ;")  it  indeed  implies  that  it  will  be  no 
contradiction  to  suppose  the  other  not  to  exist:  but  then  I 
ask,  how  come  these  two  propositions  to  he  connected ;  that, 
to  suppose  two  difierent  natures  existing  of  themselves  neces- 
sarily and  independent  from  each  other,  implies  that  each  of 
them  may  be  supposed  to  exist  alone  in  this  sense  ?  Which 
is  exactly  the  same  as  I  said  before,  only  applied  to  difierent 
sentences.  So  that  if  "  existing  alone"  be  understood  as  I 
first  took  it,  I  allow  it  is  implied  in  the  supposition;  but 
cannot  see  that  the  consequence  is,  that  it  will  be  no  contra- 
diction to  suppose  the  other  not  to  exist.  But  if  the  words, 
"existing  alone,"  are  meant  in  the  latter  sense,  I  grant,  that 
if  either  of  them  be  sup|)osed  thus  to  exist  alone,  it  will  he 
no  contradiction  to  suppose  the  other  not  to  exist:  but  then 
I  cannot  see,  that  to  suppose  two  difierent  natures  existing, 
of  tliemselves,  necessarily  and  independent  from  each  other, 
implies  that  either  of  them  may  be  supposed  to  exist  alone 
in  this  sense  of  the  words;  but  only,  that  either  of  them  may 
be  supposed  to  exist  without  having  any  relation  to  the  other, 
and  that  there  will  be  no  need  of  the  existence  of  the  one  in 
order  to  the  existence  of  the  other.  But  though  upon  this 
account,  were  there  no  other  principle  of  its  existence,  it 
might  cease  to  exist;  yet  on  the  account  of  the  necessity  of 
its  own  nature,  which  is  quite  distinct  from  the  other,  it  is  an 
absolute  absurdity  to.suppose  it  not  to  exist. 

Thus,  sir,  I  have  proposed  my  doubts,  with  the  reasons  of 
them.  In  which  if  I  have  wrested  your  words  to  another 
sense  than  you  designed  them,  or  in  any  respect  argued  un- 
fairly, I  assure  you  it  was  without  design.  So  I  hope  you 
will  impute  it  to  mistake.  And,  if  it  will  not  be  too  great  a 
trouble,  let  me  once  more  beg  the  favour  of  a  line  from  you, 
by  which  you  will  lay  mo  under  a  jjarticular  obligation  to  be, 
what,  with  the  rest  of  the  world,  I  now  am, 

Reverend  (Sir,  your  most  obliged  servant,  &c. 

Nov.  1,  171.3. 


THE  ANSWER  TO  THE  FIRST  LETTER. 

Sir, — Did  men  who  publish  controversial  papers  accustom 
themselves  to  write  with  that  candour  and  ingenuity,  with 
which  you  propose  3'our  difficulties,  I  am  persuaded  almost 
all  disputes  might  be  very  amicably  terminated,  either  by 
men's  coming  at  last  to  agree  in  opinion,  or  at  least  finding 
reason  to  suffer  each  other  friendly  to  differ. 

Your  two  objections  arc  very  ingenious,  and  urged  with 
great  strength  and  acuteness.  Yet  I  am  not  without  hopes 
of  being  able  to  give  you  satisfaction  in  both  of  them.  To 
your  first,  therefore,  1  answer:  Whatever  may,  without  a 
contradiction,  be  absent  from  any  one  place,  at  any  one  time, 
may  also,  without  a  contradiction,  be  absent  from  all  places 
at  all  times.  For,  whatever  is  absolutely  necessary  at  all,  is 
absolutely  necessary  in  everj'  part  of  space,  and  in  every 
point  of  duration.  Whatever  can  at  any  time  be  conceived 
possible  to  be  absent  from  any  one  part  of  space,  may  for  the 
same  reason  (viz.  the  implying  no  contradiction  in  the  nature 
of  things)  be  conceived  possible  to  be  absent  from  every  other 
part  of  space  at  the  same  time;  either  by  ceasing  to  be,  or 
by  supposing  it  never  to  have  begun  to  be.  Your  instance 
about  demonstrating  a  man  to  live  a  thousand  years,  is  what, 
I  think,  led  you  into  the  mistake ;  and  is  a  good  instance  to 
lead  you  out  of  it  again.  You  may  suppose  a  man  shall  live 
a  thousand  years,  or  God  may  reveal  and  promise  he  shall 
live  a  thousand  years;  and  upon  that  supposition,  it  shall 
not  be  possible  for  the  man  to  be  absent  from  all  places  in 
any  part  of  that  time.  Very  true:  but  why  shall  it  not  be 
possible'!  only  because  it  is  contrary  to  the  supposition,  or 
to  the  promise  of  God;  but  not  contrary  to  the  absolute  na- 
ture of  things  ;  which  would  be  the  ease,  if  the  man  existed 
necessarily,  as  every  part  of  space  does.  In  supposing  you 
could  demonstrate,  a  man  should  live  a  thousand  years,  or  one 
year;  you  make  an  impossible  and  contradictory  supposition. 
For  though  you  may  know  certainly  (by  revelation  suppose) 
that  he  will  live  so  long;  yet  this  is  only  the  certainty  of  a 
thing  true  in  fact,  not  in  itself  necessary:  and  demonstration 
is  applicable  to  nothing  but  what  is  necessary  in  itself,  neces- 
sary in  all  places  and  at  all  times  equally. 

To  your  second  difficulty,  1  answer:  What  exists  necessa- 
rily, not  only  must  so  exist  alone,  as  to  be  independent  of 
any  thing  else;  but  (being  self-sufficient)  may  also  so  exist 
alone,  as  that  every  thing  else  may  possibly  (or  without  any 
contradiction  in  the  nature  of  things)  be  supposed  not  to  exist 
at  all :  and  consequently  (since  that  which  may  possibly  be 
supposed  nottoexistat  all,  is  not  necessarily  existent),  no  other 
tiling  can  be  necessarily  existent.  Whatever  is  necessarily 
existing,  there  is  need  of  its  existence  in  order  to  the  sup- 
posal  of  the  existence  of  any  other  thing;  so  that  nothing  can 
possibly  be  supposed  to  exist,  without  presupposing  and  in- 
cluding antecedently  the  existence  of  that  which  is  necessary. 
For  instance;  the  supposal  of  the  existence  of  any  thing 
whatever  includes  necessarily  a  presupposition  of  the  exist- 
ence of  space  and  time;  and  if  any  thing  could  exist  without 
space  or  time,  it  would  follow  that  space  and  time  were  not 
necessarily  existing.  Therefore,  the  supjiosing  any  thing 
possibly  to  exist  alone,  so  as  not  necessarily  to  include  the 
[iresupposal  of  some  other  thing,  proves  demonstrably  that 
that  otiier  thing  is  not  necessarily  existing;  because,  what- 
ever has  necessity  of  existence  cannot  possibl}',  in  any  con- 
ception whatsoever,  be  supposed  away.  There  cannot  possi- 
bly he  an}'  notion  of  the  existence  of  any  thing,  there  cannot 
possibly  be  any  notion  of  existence  at  all,  but  what  shall 
necessarily  preinclude  the  notion  of  that  which  has  necessary 
existence.  And  consequently  the  two  propositions,  which  you 
judged  independent,  are  really  necessarily  connected.  These 
sorts  of  things  are  indeed  very  difficult  to  express,  and  not 
easy  to  be  conceived  but  by  very  attentive  minds:  but  to  such 
as  can  and  will  attend,  nothing,  I  think,  is  more  demonstra- 
bly convictive. 

If  any  thing  still  sticks  with  you  in  this  or  any  other  part 
of  my  books,  I  shall  be  very  willing  to  be  informed  of  it; 
who  am,  sir,  your  assured  friend  and  servant,  S.  C. 

Nov.  10,  1713. 

P.  S.  Many  readers,  1  observe,  have  misunderstood  my 
second  general  proposition;  as  if  the  words  ["some  one 
unchangeable  and  independent  being,"]  meant  [one  only — 
being;]  whereas  the  true  meaning,  and  all  that  the  argument 
there  requires,  is,  [some  one  at  least.]     That  there  can  be 


.,^ 


CORRESPONDENCE  BETWEEN  DR.  BUTLER  AND  DR.  CLARKE. 


541 


but  one,  is  the  thing  proved  afterwards  in  the  seventh  pro- 
position. 


THE  SECOND  LETTER. 

Reverend  Sir, — I  have  often  thought  that  the  chief  occa- 
sions of  men's  differing  so  much  in  their  opinions,  were, 
either  their  not  understandincr  each  other;  or  else,  that,  in- 
stead of  inEfeniously  searching  after  truth,  they  have  made  it 
their  business  to  lind  out  arguments  for  tlie  proof  of  wliat 
they  have  once  asserted.  However,  it  is  certain  there  may 
be  (jtlier  reasons  for  persons  not  agreeing  in  their  opinions : 
and  where  it  is  so,  I  cannot  but  think  with  you,  that  they 
will  find  reason  to  suffer  each  other  to  differ  friendly;  every 
man  having  a  way  of  thinking,  in  some  respects,  peculiarly 
his  own. 

I  am  sorry  I  must  tell  you,  your  answers  to  my  objections 
are  not  satisfactory.  The  reasons  why  I  think  them  not  so 
are  as  follow  : 

You  say,  "  Whatever  is  absolutely  necessary  at  all  is  ab- 
solutely necessary  in  every  part  of  space,  and  in  every  point 
of  duration."  Were  this  evident,  it  would  certainly  prove 
■what  you  bring  it  for;  viz.  that  '-whatever  may,  without  a 
contradiction,  be  absent  from  one  place  at  one  time,  may  also 
be  absent  from  all  places  at  all  times."  But  I  do  not  con- 
ceive, that  tlie  idea  of  ubiquity  is  contained  in  the  idea  of  self- 
existence,  or  directly  follows  from  it;  any  otherwise  than  as, 
whatever  exists  must  exist  somewhere.  You  add,  "  Whatever 
can  at  any  time  be  conceived  possible  to  be  absent  from  any 
one  part  of  space,  may  for  the  same  reason  [viz.  the  implying 
no  contradiction  in  the  nature  of  things]  be  conceived  possible 
to  be  absent  from  every  other  part  of  space,  at  the  same  time." 
Now  I  cannot  see,  that  I  can  make  these  two  suppositions 
for  the  same  reason,  or  upon  the  same  account.  The  reason 
why  I  conceive  this  being  may  be  absent  from  one  place,  is 
because  it  doth  not  contradict  the  former  [iroof  [drawn  from 
the  nature  of  things],  in  which  I  proved  only  that  it  must 
necessarily  exist.  But  the  other  supposition,  viz.  that  I  can 
conceive  it  possible  to  be  absent  from  every  part  of  space  at 
otie  and  the  same  time,  directly  contradicts  tlie  proof  that  it 
must  exist  somewhere;  and  so  is  an  express  contradiction. 
Unless  it  be  said,  that  as,  when  we  have  proved  the  three 
angles  of  a  triangle  equal  to  two  right  ones,  that  relation  of 
the  equality  of  its  angles  to  two  right  ones  will  be  wherever 
a  triangle  exists;  so,  when  we  have  proved  the  necessary 
existeuceof  a  being,  this  being  must  exist  every  where.  But 
there  is  a  great  difference  between  these  two  things:  the  one 
being  the  proof  of  a  certain  relation,  upon  supposition  of  such 
a  being's  existence  with  such  particular  properties ;  and  con- 
sequently, wherever  this  being  and  these  properties  exist, 
this  relation  must  exist  too:  but  from  the  proof  of  the  neces- 
sary existence  of  a  being,  it  is  no  evident  consequence  that  it 
exists  every  where.  Jly  using  the  word  demonstration,  in- 
stead of  proof  which  leaves  no  room  for  dotil/f,  was  through 
negligence,  for  I  never  heard  of  strict  demonstration  of  matter 
of  fact. 

In  your  answer  to  my  second  difficulty,  you  sa}-,  "  What- 
sover  is  necessarily  existing,  there  is  need  of  its  existence, 
in  order  to  the  siipposal  of  the  existence  of  any  other  thing." 
All  the  consequences  you  draw  from  this  proposition,  I  see 
proved  demonstrably;  and  consequently,  that  the  two  propo- 
sitions I  thought  independent  are  closel}'  connected.  But 
how,  or  upon  what  account,  is  there  need  of  the  existence  of 
whatever  is  necessarily  existing,  in  order  to  the  existence  of 
any  other  thing  1  Is  it  as  there  is  need  of  space  and  dura- 
lion,  in  order  to  the  existence  of  any  thing;  or  is  it  needful 
only  as  the  cause  of  the  existence  of  all  other  things?  If  the 
former  be  said,  as  your  instance  seems  to  intimate:  I  answer; 
space  and  duration  are  very  abstruse  in  their  natures,  and,  I 
think,  cannot  properly  be  called  things,  but  are  considered 
rather  as  affections  which  belong,  and  in  the  order  of  our 
thoughts  are  antecedently  necessary,  to  the  existence  of  all 
things.  And  I  can  no  more  conceive  how  a  necessarily  ex- 
istent being  can,  on  the  same  account,  or  in  the  same  manner 
as  space  and  duration  are,  be  needful  in  order  to  the  existence 
of  any  other  being,  than  I  can  conceive  extension  attributed 
to  a  tlionght;  that  idea  no  more  belonging  to  a  thing  existing, 
than  extension  belongs  to  thought.  But  if  the  latter  be  said, 
that  there  is  need  of  the  existence  of  whatever  is  a  necessary 
being,  in  order  to  the  existence  of  any  other  thing;  only  as 
this  necessary  being  must  be  the  cause  of  the  existence  of  all 


other  things:  I  think  this  is  plaiidy  begjing  the  question; 
for  it  supposes  that  there  is  no  otiier  being  exists,  but  what 
is  casual,  and  so  not  necessary.  And  on  what  other  account, 
or  in  what  other  manner  than  one  of  these  two,  there  can  be 
need  of  the  existence  of  a  necessary  being  in  order  to  the 
existence  of  any  thing  else,  I  cannot  conceive. 

Thus,  sir,  you  see  I  entirely  agree  with  you  in  all  the  con- 
sequences you  have  drawn  from  your  suppositions,  but  cannot 
see  the  truth  of  the  suppositions  themselves. 

I  have  aimed  at  nothing  in  my  style,  but  only  to  be  intelli- 
gible ;  being  sensible  that  it  is  very  difficult  (as  you  observe), 
to  express  one's  self  on  these  sort  of  subjects,  especiall)'  for 
one  who  is  altogether  unaccustomed  to  write  upon  them. 

I  have  nothing  at  present  more  to  add,  but  my  sincerest 
thanks  for  your  trouble  in  answering  my  letter,  and  for  j'our 
professed  readiness  to  be  acquainted  with  any  other  difficulty 
that  I  may  meet  with  in  any  of  your  writings.  I  am  willing' 
to  interpret  this,  as  somewhat  like  a  promise  of  an  answer  to 
what  I  have  now  written,  if  there  be  any  thing  in  it  which 
deserves  one.     I  am.  Reverend  Sir, 

Y'our  most  obliged  humble  servant. 
Nov.  23,  1713. 


THE  ANSWER  TO  THE  SECOND  LETTER. 

Sir, — It  seems  to  me,  that  the  reason  why  j'ou  do  not  ap- 
prehend ubiquity  to  be  necessarily  connected  with  self-exist- 
ence, is  because,  in  the  order  of  your  ideas,  you  first  conceive 
a  being  (a  finite  being,  suppose),  and  then  conceive  self-ex- 
istence to  be  a  property  of  that  being;  as  the  angles  are 
properties  of  a  triangle,  when  a  triangle  exists :  whereas,  on 
the  contrary,  necessity  of  existence,  not  being  a  property 
consequent  upon  the  supposition  of  the  things  existincr,  but 
antecedently  the  cause  or  ground  of  that  existence ;  it  is  evi- 
dent this  necessitj',  being  not  limited  to  any  antecedent  sub- 
ject, as  angles  are  to  a  triangle;  but  being  itself  original, 
absolute,  and  (in  order  of  nature),  antecedent  to  all  existence; 
cannot  but  be  every  where,  for  the  same  reason  that  it  is  any 
where.  By  applying  this  reasoning  to  the  instance  of  space, 
3'ou  will  find,  that  by  consequence  it  belongs  truly  to  that 
substance,  whereof  space  is  a  *property,  as  duration  also  is. 
What  you  say  about  a  necessary  being  existing  somewhere, 
supposes  it  to  be  finite;  and  being  finite,  supposes  some  cause 
which  determined  that  sucli  a  certain  quantity  of  that  being 
should  exist,  neither  more  nor  less:  and  that  cause  must 
either  be  a  voluntary  cause;  or  else  such  a  necessary  cause, 
the  quantity  of  whose  power  must  be  determined  and  limited 
hy  some  other  cause.  But  in  original  absolute  necessity, 
antecedent  (in  order  of  nature),  to  the  existence  of  anj-  thing, 
nothing  of  all  this  can  have  place;  but  the  necessity  is  neces- 
sarily ever)'  where  alike. 

Concerning  the  second  difficulty,  I  answer:  That  which 
exists  necessarily,  is  needful  to  the  existence  of  any  other 
thing ;  not  considered  now  as  a  cause  (for  that  indeed  is 
begging  the  question),  but  as  a  sine  qua  non  ;  in  the  sense  as 
space  is  necessary  to  every  thing,  and  nothing  can  possibly 
be  conceived  to  exist,  without  thereby  presupposing  space: 
which  therefore  I  apprehend  to  be  a  property  or  mode  of  the 
self-existent  substance;  and  that,  by  being  evidently  neces- 
sary itself,  it  proves  that  the  substance,  of  which  it  is  a  pro- 
perty, must  also  be  necessary;  necessary  both  in  itself,  and 
needful  to  the  existence  of  any  thing  else  whatsoever.  Ex- 
tension indeed  does  not  belong  to  thought,  because  thought  is 
not  a  being;  but  there  is  need  of  extension  to  the  existence  of 
every  being,  to  a  being  which  has  or  has  not  thought,  or  any 
other  quality  whatsoever.     I  am.  Sir, 

Your  real  friend  and  servant. 

London,  JSov.  28,  1713. 


THE  THIRD  LETTER. 

Reverend  Sir, — I  do  not  very  well  understand  your  mean- 
ing, when  you  saj-  you  think,  "  in  the  order  of  my  ideas  I  first 
conceive  a  being  (finite  suppose),  to  exist,  and  then  conceive 
self-existence  to  be  a  property  of  that  being."  If  you  mean 
that  I  first  suppose  a  finite  being  to  exist  I  know  not  why ; 


*  Or,  mode  of  existence. 


542 


christiajn   library. 


aflirming  necessity  of  existence  to  be  only  a  conseqnent  of  its 
existence;  and  that,  when  I  have  supposed  it  finite,  I  very 
safely  conclude  it  is  not  infinite;  I  am  utterly  at  a  loss,  upon 
•what  expressions  in  my  letter  this  conjecture  can  be  founded. 
But  if  you  mean,  tliat  1  first  of  all  prove  a  being  to  exist  from 
eternity,  and  then,  from  the  reasons  of  things,  prove  that 
such  a  being  must  be  eternally  necessary;  I  freely  own  it. 
Neither  do  1  conceive  it  to  be  irregular  or  absurd;  for  tliere 
is  a  crreat  difference  between  the  order  in  which  things  exist, 
and  the  order  in  which  I  prove  to  myself  that  they  exist. 
Neither  do  I  think  my  saying  a  necessary  being  exists  some- 
where, supposes  it  to  be  finite;  it  only  supposes  that  this 
being  exists  in  space,  without  determining  wliether  here,  or 
there,  or  every  where. 

To  my  second  ol)jection,you  say,  "Thatwbich  exists  neces- 
sarily, is  needful  to  the  existence  of  any  other  thing,  as  a 
sijie  fjua  non ;  in  the  sense  space  is  necessary  to  every  thing: 
which  is  proved  (you  say)  by  this  consideration,  that  sjiace 
is  a  property  of  the  self-existent  substance;  and,  being  both 
necessary  in  itself,  and  needful  to  the  existence  of  every 
thing  else;  consequently  the  substance,  of  which  it  is  a  pro- 
perty, must  be  so  too."  Space,  I  own,  is  in  one  sense  a 
property  of  the  self-existent  substance  ;  but,  in  the  same 
sense,  it  is  also  a  property  of  all  other  substances.  The  only 
difference  is  in  respect  to  the  quantity.  And  since  every  part 
of  space,  as  well  as  the  whole,  is  necessary ;  every  substance 
consequently  must  be  self-existent,  because  it  hath  this  self- 
existent  propertv.  Which  since  you  will  not  admit  for  true ; 
if  it  directly  follows  from  your  arguments,  the)'  cannot  be 
conclusive. 

%\  hat  you  say  under  the  first  head  proves,  I  think,  to  a  very 
great  probability,  though  not  to  me  with  the  evidence  of  de- 
monstration :  but  your  arguments  under  the  second  I  am  not 
able  to  see  the  force  of. 

I  am  so  far  t'rom  being  pleased  that  I  can  form  objections 
to  your  arguments,  that,  besides  the  satisfaction  it  would 
have  given  me  in  my  own  mind,  I  should  have  thought  it  an 
honour  to  have  entered  into  your  reasonings,  and  seen  the 
force  of  them.  1  cannot  desire  to  trespass  any  more  upon 
your  better  employed  time  :  so  shall  only  add  ray  hearty  thanks 
for  your  trouble  on  my  account,  and  that  I  am  with  the  great- 
est respect,  Reverend  Sir, 

Your  most  obliged  humble  servant. 

Dec.  5,  1713. 


THE  ANSWER  TO  THE  THIRD  LETTER. 

Sir, — Though,  when  1  turn  my  thoughts  every  way,  1  fully 
persuade  myself  there  is  no  defect  in  the  argument  itself;  yet 
in  my  manner  of  expression  I  am  satisfied  there  must  be  some 
want  of  clearness,  when  there  remains  any  difliculty  to  a  per- 
son of  your  abilities  and  sagacity.  I  did  not  mean  that  your 
saying  a  necessary  being  exists  somewhere,  does  necessarily 
suppose  it  to  be  finite ;  but  that  the  manner  of  expression  is 
apt  to  excite  in  the  mind  an  idea  of  a  finite  being,  at  the  same 
time  that  you  are  thinking  of  a  necessary  being,  without  ac- 
curately attending  to  the  nature  of  that  necessity  by  wliich  it 
exists.  Necessity  absolute,  and  antecedent  (in  order  of  na 
ture)  to  the  existence  of  any  subject,  has  nothing  to  limit  it; 
Lut,  if  it  operates  at  all  (as  it  must  needs  do),  it  must  operate 
(if  I  ma}'  so  speak)  every  where  and  at  all  times  alike.  De- 
termination of  a  particular  quantity,  or  particular  time  or  place 
of  existence  of  any  thing,  cannot  arise  but  from  somewhat 
external  to  the  thing  itself.  For  example:  why  there  should 
exist  just  sucli  a  small  determinate  quantity  of  matter,  neither 
more  nor  less,  interspersed  in  the  immense  vacuities  of  space, 
no  reason  can  be  given.  Nor  can  there  be  an}'  thing  in  na- 
ture, which  could  have  determined  a  thing  so  indifferent  in 
itself,  as  is  the  measure  of  that  quantity ;  but  only  the  will  of 
an  intelligent  and  free  agent.  To  siippose  matter,  or  any 
other  substance,  necessarily  existing  in  a  finite  determinate 
quantity;  in  an  inch-cube,  for  instance;  or  in  any  certain 
number  of  cube-inches,  and  no  more;  is  exactly  tlie  same  ab- 
surdity, as  supposing  it  to  exist  necessarily,  and  yet  for  a 
finite  duration  only;  which  every  one  sees  to  be  a  plain  con- 
tradiction. The  argument  is  likewise  the  same,  in  the  ques- 
tion about  the  original  of  motion.  Motion  cannot  be  neces- 
sarily existing;  because,  it  being  evident  that  all  determina- 
tions of  motion  are  equally  possiljle  in  themselves,  Ihe  ori- 
ginal determination  of  the  motion  of  any  particular  body  this 


way  rather  than  the  contrary  way,  could  not  be  necessarily 
in  itself,  but  was  cither  caused  by  the  will  of  an  intelligent 
and  free  agent,  or  else  was  an  efl'ect  produced  and  determined 
without  any  cause  at  all ;  which  is  an  express  contradiction  : 
as  I  have  shown  in  my  Demonstration  of  l/ie  Bring  a7id  .it tri- 
butes of  God.  [Page  14,  edit.  4tli  and  5th  ;  page  12,  edit.  Cth 
nd  Tlh.] 
To  the  second  head  of  argument,  I  answer :  Space  is  a  pro- 
perty [or  mode]  of  tlie  self-existent  substance  ;  but  not  of  any 
other  substances.  All  other  substances  are  in  space,  and  are 
penetrated  by  it;  but  the  self-existent  substance  is  not  in 
space,  nor  penetrated  by  it,  but  is  itself  (if  I  may  so  speak) 
the  substratum  of  space,  the  ground  of  the  existence  of  space 
and  duration  itself.  Which  [space  and  duration]  being  evi- 
dently necessary,  and  yet  themselves  not  sulistances,  but  pro- 
perties or  modes,  show  evidently  that  the  substance,  without 
which  these  properties  could  not  subsist,  is  itself  much  more 
(if  that  were  possible)  necessary.  And  as  space  and  dura- 
tion are  needful  (;.  c.  sine  qua  non)  to  the  existence  of  every 
thing  else;  so  consequently  is  the  substance,  to  which-these 
properties  belong  in  that  peculiar  manner  which  I  before  men- 
tioned. I  am.  Sir, 

Your  affectionate  friend  and  servant. 
Dec.  10,  1713. 


THE  FOURTH  LETTER. 

Reverend  Sir, — Whatever  is  the  occasion  of  my  not  seeing 
the  force  of  your  reasonings,  I  cannot  impute  it  to  [what  you 
do]  the  want  of  clearness  in  your  expression.  I  am  too  well 
acquainted  with  myself,  to  think  ray  not  understanding  an 
argument,  a  suflicient  reason  to  conclude  that  it  is  either  im- 
properly expressed,  or  not  conclusive;  unless  I  can  clearly 
show  the  defect  of  it.  It  is  with  the  greatest  satisfaction  I 
must  tell  you,  that  the  more  I  reflect  on  your  first  argument, 
the  more  I  am  convinced  of  the  truth  of  it:  and  it  now  seems 
to  me  altogether  unreasonable  to  suppose  absolute  necessity 
can  have  any  relation  to  one  part  of  space  more  than  to  an- 
other; and  if  so,  an  absolutely  necessary  being  must  exist 
every  where. 

I  wish  I  was  as  well  satisfied  in  respect  to  the  other.  You 
say,  '•  All  substances,  except  the  self-existent  one,  are  in 
space,  and  are  penetrated  by  it."  All  substances  doubtless, 
whether  body  or  spirit,  exist  in  space;  but  when  I  say  that  a 
spirit  exists  in  space,  were  I  put  upon  telling  my  meaning, 
I  know  not  how  I  could  do  it  any  other  way  than  by  saying, 
such  a  particular  quantity  of  space  terminates  the  capacity  of 
acting  in  finite  spirits  at  one  and  the  same  time;  so  that  they 
cannot  act  beyond  that  determined  quantity.  Not  but  that  I 
think  there  is  somewhat  in  the  manner  of  existence  of  spirits 
in  respect  of  space,  that  more  directly  answers  to  the  manner 
of  the  existence  of  body ;  but  what  that  is,  or  of  the  manner 
of  their  existence,  I  cannot  possibly  form  an  idea.  And  it 
seems  (if  possible)  much  more  difficult  to  determine  what  re- 
lation the  self-existent  Being  hath  to  space.  To  say  he  ex- 
ists in  space,  after  the  same  manner  that  other  substances  do 
(somewhat  like  which  I  too  rashly  asserted  in  my  last),  per- 
haps would  be  placing  the  Creator  too  much  on  a  level  with 
the  creature ;  or  however,  it  is  not  plainly  and  evidently  true  : 
and  to  say  the  self-existent  substance  is  the  substratum  of 
space,  in  the  common  sense  of  the  word,  is  scarce  intelligible, 
or  at  least  is  not  evident.  Now  though  there  may  be  a  hun- 
dred relations  distinct  from  either  of  these  ;  yet  how  we  should 
come  by  ideas  of  them,  I  cannot  conceive.  We  may  indeed 
have  ideas  to  the  words,  and  not  altogether  depart  from  the 
common  sense  of  them,  when  we  say  the  self-existent  sub- 
stances is  the  substratum  of  space,  or  the  ground  of  its  exist- 
ence :  but  I  see  no  reason  to  think  it  true,  because  space  seems 
to  me  to  be  as  absolutely  self-existent,  as  it  is  possible  any 
thing  can  be :  so  that,  make  what  other  supposition  you  please, 
yet  we  cannot  help  supposing  immense  space;  because  there 
must  be  either  an  infinity  of  being,  or  (if  you  will  allow  the 
expression)  an  infinite  vacuity  of  being.  Perhaps  it  may  be 
objected  to  this,  that  though  space  is  really  necessary,  yet  the 
reason  of  its  being  necessary  is  its  being  a  property  of  the 
self-existent  substance ;  and  that  it  being  so  evidently  neces- 
sary, and  its  dependence  on  the  self-existent  substance  not  so 
evident,  we  are  ready  to  conclude  it  absolutely  sell-existent, 
as  well  as  necessary  ;  and  that  thiais  the  reason  why  the  idea 
of  space  forces  itself  on  our  minds,  antecedent  to,  and  cxclu- 


•CORRESPONDENCE  BETWEEN  DR.  BUTLER  AND  DR.  CLARKE. 


543 


sive  of  (as  to  the  ground  of  its  pxistence)  all  other  things. 
Now  this,  though  it  is  really  an  objection,  j-et  is  no  direct 
answer  to  what  I  have  said :  because  it  supposes  the  only 
thing  to  be  proved,  viz  :  that  the  reason  why  space  is  neces- 
sary is  its  being  a  property  of  a  self-existent  substance.  And 
supposing  it  not  to  be  evident,  that  space  is  absolutely  self- 
existent;  yet,  while  it  is  doubtful,  we  cannot  argue  as  though 
the  contrary  were  certain,  and  we  were  sure  that  space  was 
only  a  property  of  the  self-existent  substance.  But  now,  it 
space  be  not  absolutely  independent,  I  do  not  see  what  we 
can  conclude  is  so :  for  it  is  manifestly  necessary  itself,  as 
well  as  antecedently  needful  to  the  existence  of  all  other 
things,  not  excepting  (as  1  think)  even  the  self-existent  sub- 
stance. 

All  your  consequences,  I  see,  follow  demonstrably  from 
your  supposition;  and,  were  that  evident,  I  believe  it  would 
serve  to  prove  several  other  things  as  well  as  what  you  bring 
it  for.  Upon  which  account,  I  should  be  extremely  pleased 
to  see  it  proved  by  any  one.  For,  as  I  design  the  search  after 
truth  as  the  business  of  my  life,  I  shall  not  be  ashamed  to 
learn  from  any  person ;  though,  at  the  same  time,  I  cannot 
but  be  sensible,  that  instruction  from  some  men  is  like  the 
gift  of  a  prince,  it  reflects  an  honour  on  the  person  on  whom 
it  lays  an  obligation.  I  am,  Reverend  Sir, 

Your  obliged  servant. 

Dec.  16,  1713. 


THE  ANSWER  TO  THE  FOURTH  LETTER. 

Sir, — My  being  out  of  town  most  part  of  the  month  of  Jan- 
uary, and  some  other  accidental  avocations,  hindered  me  from 
answering  your  letter  sooner.  The  sum  of  the  difficulties  it 
contains  is,  I  think,  this :  that  "  it  is  difficult  to  determine 
what  relation  the  self-existent  substance  has  to  space:"  that 
"to  say  it  is  the  substratum  of  space,  in  the  common  sense 
of  the  word,  is  scarce  intelligible,  or,  at  least,  is  not  evident :" 
that  "space  seems  to  be  as  absolutely  self-existent,  as  it  is 
possible  any  thing  can  be:"  and  that  "its  being  a  property 
of  the  self-existent  substance  is  supposing  the  thing  that  was 
to  be  proved."  This  is  entering  indeed  into  the  very  bottom 
of  the  matter;  and  I  will  endeavour  to  give  you  as  brief  and 
clear  an  answer  as  I  can. 

That  the  self-existent  substance  is  the  substratum  of  space, 
or  space  a  properly  of  the  self-existent  substance,  are  not 
perhaps  very  proper  expressions  ;  nor  is  it  eas)'  to  find  such. 
But  what  I  mean  is  this:  The  idea  of  space  (as  also  of  time 
or  duration)  is  an  abstract  or  partial  idea  ;  an  idea  of  a  cer- 
tain quality  or  relation,  which  we  evidently  see  to  be  neces- 
sarily existing;  and  yet  which  (not  being  itself  a  substance) 
at  the  same  time  necessarily  presupposes  a  substance,  with- 
out which  it  could  not  exist;  which  substance  consequently 
must  be  itself  (much  more,  if  possible)  necessarily  existing. 
1  know  not  how  to  explain  this  so  well  as  by  the  tollowing 
similitude.  A  blind  man,  when  he  tries  to  frame  to  himself 
the  idea  of  body,  his  idea  is  nothing  but  that  of  hardness 
A  man  that  had  eyes,  but  no  power  of  motion,  or  sense  of 
feeling  at  all ;  when  he  tried  to  frame  to  himself  the  idea  of 
bod}',  his  idea  would  be  nothing  but  that  of  colour.  Now 
as,  in  these  cases,  hardness  is  not  body,  and  colour  is  not 
body  ;  but  yet  as  the  understanding  of  these  persons,  those 
properties  necessarily  infer  the  being  of  a  substance,  of  which 
substance  itself  the  persons  have  no  idea :  so  space  to  us  is 
not  itself  substance,  but  it  necessarily  infers  the  being  of  a 
substance,  which  allects  none  of  our  present  senses ;  and, 
being  itself  necessary,  it  follows,  that  the  substance,  which 
it  infers,  is  (much  more)  necessary.     I  am.  Sir, 

Your  affectionate  friend  and  servant. 

Jan.  -20,  1713. 


THE  FIFTH  LETTER. 

Reverend  Sir, — You  have  very  comprehensively  expressed, 
in  six  or  seven  lints,  all  the  difficulties  of  my  letter  ;  which  I 
should  have  endeavoured  to  have  made  shorter,  had  I  not  been 
afraid  an  improper  expression  might  possibly  occasion  a  mis- 
take of  my  meaning.  I  am  very  glad  the  debate  is  come  into 
so  narrow  a  compass ;  for  I  think  now  it  entirely  turns  upon 
this,  whether  our  ideas  of  space  and  duration  are  partial,  so  as 
to  presuppose  the  existence  of  some  other  thing.    Your  simil- 


itude of  the  blind  man  is  very  apt,  to  explain  your  meaning 
(which  I  think  I  fully  understand),  but  docs  not  seem  to 
come  entirely  up  to  the  matter.  For  what  is  the  reason  that 
the  blind  man  concludes  there  mdst  be  somewhat  external,  to 
give  him  that  idea  of  hardness  ?  It  is  because  he  supposes 
it  impossible  for  him  to  be  thus  affected,  unless  there  were 
some  cause  of  it;  which  cause,  should  it  be  removed,  the  ef- 
fect would  immediately  cease  too ;  and  he  would  no  more 
have  the  idea  of  hardness,  but  by  remembrance.  Now  to  ap- 
plj'  this  to  the  instance  of  space  and  duration  :  Since  a  man 
from  his  having  these  ideas,  very  justly  concludes  there  must 
be  somewhat  external,  which  is  the  cause  of  them  ;  conse- 
quently, should  this  cause  (whatever  it  is)  be  taken  away, 
his  ideas  would  be  so  too  :  therefore,  if  what  is  supposed  to 
be  the  cause  be  removed,  and  j'et  the  idea  remains,  that  sup- 
posed cause  cannot  be  the  real  one.  Now,  granting  the  self- 
existent  substance  to  be  the  subtratum  of  these  ideas,  could 
we  make  the  supposition  of  its  ceasing  to  be,  yet  space  and 
duration  would  still  remain  unaltered ;  which  seems  to  show, 
that  the  self-existent  substance  is  not  the  subtratum  of  space 
and  duration.  Nor  would  it  be  an  answer  to  the  difficulty,  to 
say  that  every  property  of  the  self-existent  substance  is  as 
necessary  as  the  substance  itself;  since  that  will  only  hold, 
while  the  substance  itself  exists  :  for  there  is  implied,  in  the 
idea  of  a  property,  an  impossibility  of  subsisting  without  its 
substratum.  I  grant,  the  supposition  is  absurd :  but  how 
otherwise  can  we  know  whether  any  thing  be  a  property  of 
such  a  substance,  but  by  examining  whether  it  should  cease 
to  be,  if  its  supposed  substance  should  do  so  ?  Notwith- 
standing what  1  have  now  said,  I  cannot  say  that  I  believe 
your  argument  not  conclusive  ;  for  I  must  own  my  ignorance, 
that  1  am  really  at  a  loss  about  the  nature  of  space  and  dura- 
tion. But  did  it  plainly  appear  that  they  were  properties  of 
a  substance,  we  should  have  an  easy  way  with  the  atheists  : 
for  it  would  at  once  prove  demonstrably  an  eternal,  necessary, 
self-existent  Bein^  ;  that  there  is  but  one  such  ;  and  that  he 
is  needful  in  order  to  the  existence  of  all  other  things. 
^Vhich  makes  me  think,  that  though  it  may  be  true,  yet  it  is 
not  obvious  to  every  capacity :  otherwise  it  would  have  been 
generally  used,  as  a  fundamental  argument  to  prove  the  being 
of  God. 

I  must  add  one  thing  more :  that  your  argument  for  the 
omnipresence  of  God  seemed  always  to  me  very  probable. 
But  being  very  desirous  to  have  it  appear  demonstrably  con- 
clusive, 1  was  sometimes  forced  to  say  what  was  not  alto- 
gether my  opinion  :  not  that  I  did  this  for  the  sake  of  dis- 
puting, (for,  besides  the  particular  disagreeableness  of  this  to 
my  own  temper,  I  should  surely  have  chosen  another  person 
to  have  trifled  with ;)  but  I  did  it  to  set  off  the  objection  to 
advantage,  that  it  might  be  more  fully  answered.  I  heartily 
wish  you  as  fair  treatment  from  your  opponents  in  print,  as  I 
have  had  from  you ;  though,  I  must  own,  I  cannot  see,  in 
those  that  I  have  read,  that  unprejudiced  search  after  truth, 
which  I  would  not  have  hoped  for. 

I  am.  Reverend  Sir, 

Your  most  humble  servant. 

Feb.  3,  1713. 


THE  ANSWER  TO  THE  FIFTH  LETTER. 

Sir, — In  a  multitude  of  business,  I  mislaid  your  last  let- 
ter; and  could  not  answer  it,  till  it  came  again  to  my  hands  by 
chance.  We  seem  to  have  pushed  the  matter  in  question 
between  us  as  far  as  it  will  go ;  and,  upon  the  whole,  I  can- 
not but  take  notice,  I  have  very  seldom  met  with  persons 
so  reasonable  and  unprejudiced  as  yourself,  in  such  debates 
as  these. 

I  think  all  I  need  say,  in  answer  to  the  reasoning  in  your 
letter,  is,  that  your  granting  the  absurdity  of  the  supposition 
you  were  endeavouring  to  make,  is  consequently  granting 
the  necessary  truth  of  my  arguiitent.  If*  space  and  duration 
necessarily  remain,  even  after  they  were  supposed  to  be  taken 
away;  and  be  not  (as  it  is  plain  they  are  not)  themselves 
substances ;   that  the  f  substance,  on  whose  existence  they 


•  Ut  partium  temporis  ordo  est  imraut,ibilis,  sic  etiam  ordo  par- 
tiura  spatii.  Aloveantur  ha;  de  locis  suis,  et  moTebunlur  (ut  ita  dicara) 
de  seipsis.     J\''exvton.  I^rincip.  J\lathemat,  schrjL  ad  dejimt.  8. 

t  Deus  non  est  Eeternitas  vel  infinites,  sed  aiternus  et  infinitus  ;  non 
est  duratio  vel  spatium,  sed  durat  et  adest.  Dui-at  semper,  et  adest 
utiique  \  et  existendo  semper  et  ubiijue,  dui-ationem  et  spatium, 
aiternitatem  et  infinitatem,  constituit.    Cum  unaquaque  sjtatii  parti- 


544 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


depend,  will  necessarily  remain  likewise,  even  after  it  is  snj)- 
posed  to  be  taken  away:  which  shows  that  supposition  to  be 
impossible  and  contradictor)'. 

As  to  your  observation  at  the  end  of  your  letter;  that  the 
argument  I  have  insisted  on,  if  it  were  obvious  to  every 
capacity,  should  have  more  frequently  been  used  as  a  funda- 
mental argument  for  a  proof  of  the  being  of  God  :  the  true 
cause  why  it  has  been  seldom  urged,  is,  1  think,  this  ;  that  the 
universal  prevalency  of  Cartes's  absurd  notions  (teaching 


cula  sit  semper;  ct  unumquodque  durationis  indivisibile  raomentuni 
ubique  ;  certe  rerum  omnium  Fabricator  ac  Domiiius  ron  erit  nuii- 
quam  nusquam.  Omnipi-oesfiis  est,  non  jut  virtutem  solani,  sed  eti- 
am,  per  substantiam  :  nam  virtus  sine  substantia  subsistere  non  po- 
test. In  ipso  continentur  et  moventur  universa,  kc.  ^'eiolon.  J^riii- 
cip,  Mathemat.  Schol.  gaieral  sub.  Jinem. 


that  *  matter  is  necessarily  infinite  and  necessarily  eternal, 
and  ascribing  all  things  to  mere  mechanic  laws  of  motion, 
exclusive  of  final  causes,  and  of  all  will  and  intelligence  and 
divine  Providence  from  the  government  of  the  world)  hatli 
incredibly  blinded  the  eyes  of  common  reason,  and  prevented 
men  from  discerning  him  in  ichuin  tliey  live,  and  mure,  and 
liave  their  being.  The  like  has  happened  in  some  other 
instances.  How  universally  have  men  for  many  ages  be- 
lieved, that  eternity  is  no  duration  at  all,  and  infinity  no  am- 
plitude!  Something  of  the  like  kind  has  happened  in  the 
matter  of  transubstantiation,  and,  I  thiidi,  in  the  scholastic 
notion  of  the  Trinit)',  &c.  1  am,  Sir, 

Your  affectionate  friend  and  servant. 
.iprilS,  1713. 


*  Puto  implit-ave  contrfldictioncm,  tu  niundus  [meaning 
terial  world]  sit  finitus.     Cartes.  Epist.  Oy.  I'ariis primse. 


the  ma- 


\ 


SERMONS 


THE   LATE   REV.   ROBERT   HALL,    A.M. 


OF    KELSO. 


[The  followintr  discourses  are  from  a  volume  recentlj' 
issued  from  the  Edinburgh  press,  prefaced  by  a  biographical 
sketch  of  the  author;  from  which  we  learii  that  he  was  born 
near  Glasgow,  studied  theology  under  Brown  of  Haddington, 
was  for  forty-six  years  the  pastor  of  a  seceding  church  in 
Kelso,  and  died  in  1831,  aged  74.  He  appears  to  have  pos- 
sessed an  uncommonly  vigorous  mind. — Ed.  Ch.  Lib.'] 

SERMOX  I.* 

Tlie  Guspcl  a  light  to  the  Genti/es,  and  a  salvation  unto  the  end 
of  the  earth. 

I  will  also  give  thee  for  a  light  to  the  Gentiles,  tliat  thou  niayest  be 
my  salvation  unto  the  end  of  the  earlii. — haiuh^  xlix.  6. 

The  chapter  now  before  us,  like  man}'  other  chapters  to  be 
found  in  Isaiah,  contains  an  illustrious  prophecy  respecting 
the  future  advent  of  the  Messiah,  and  respecting  the  great 
benefits  which  shall  be  made  to  result  from  the  dissemina- 
tion of  Christianity.  For,  whereas  the  Jews,  throughout  a 
long  series  of  ages,  had  been  in  the  exclusive  enjoyment  of 
Divine  Revelation,  it  is  the  subject  of  prophecy,  in  the  chap- 
ter now  before  us,  that  the  enjoyment  of  this  privilege  should 
not  be  confined  to  the  .Tews,  but  hereafter  should  be  univer- 
sally extended.  "It  is  a  light  thing,"  says  the  Father  to  the 
Son,  according  to  the  language  of  our  text  "that  thou  should- 
est  be  ray  servant,  to  raise  up  the  tribes  of  Jacob,  and  to  re- 
store the  preserved  of  Israel;  I  will  also  give  thee  for  a  light 
to  the  Gentiles,  that  thou  mayest  be  my  salvation  unto  the 
end  of  the  earth." 

In  the  material  creation  there  are  not  any  objects  more  oppo- 
site to  each  other  than  light  and  darkness ;  and  in  consequence, 
among  all  nations  these  objects  have  been  employed  as  fio- 
ures  of  speech,  and  as  figures  of  speech  to  represent  conditions 
the  fartherest  removed  and  the  most  contrary — darkness  being 
expressive  of  every  thing  frightful,  wretched,  melancholy — 
light  being  expressive  of  every  thing  agreeable,  and  bene- 
ficial, and  happy.  Now,  by  bringing  these  contrary  objects 
into  approximation,  the  conditions  represented  under  these 
figures  will  appear  the  more  affecting  through  contrast;  and, 
consequently,  these  figures  will  enable  us  to  form  a  juster 
conception  of  the  state  of  the  Gentiles,  as  made  known  under 
theimageof  darkness,  and  of  the  magnitude  of  the  blessing  to 
be  conferred  upon  the  Gentiles,  when  the  Gospel  shall  be 
communicated  as  a  light.  "  I  will  also  give  thee,"  says  the 
Father  to  the  Hon,  according  to  the  language  of  our  text, 

*  A  ^lissionary  Sermon,  iii-eachcd  in  July,  1789. 
Vol.  II 3  T 


"for  a  light  to  the  Gentiles,  that  thou  mayest  be  my  salvation 
unto  the  end  of  the  earth." 

In  order  that  we  may  comprehend,  and  that  we  may  appreci- 
ate, the  benefits  contained  in  our  text,  it  must  lie  with  us  to  take 
a  view  of  the  Gentile  nations  as  in  a  state  of  darkness — to 
illustrate  this  prophecy,  that  the  Gospel  shall  he  given  to  the 
Gentiles  as  a  light — and  to  bring  forward  a  body  of  evidence 
in  favour  of  the  certainty  of  this  universal  Christian  illumi- 
nation. 

When  taking  a  view  of  these  nations  as  involved  in  moral 
darkness,  we  shall  find  the  Gentiles  under  the  darkness  of 
ignorance  and  error.  For  even  among  such  of  these  nations 
as  have  arrived  at  the  highest  eminence  and  improvement, 
and  whose  minds  have  been  the  most  enlightened  b}-  civili- 
zation and  by  science — among  the  inhabitants  of  the  great 
ancient  commonwealths,  who  were  so  famous  for  their  know- 
ledge and  their  wisdom,  and  whose  vast  superiority  in  all  the 
walks  of  learning  threw  such  a  lustre  over  their  names,  such 
a  brilliancy  over  their  manners,  such  a  grandeur  and  celebrity 
over  their  achievements,  that  wherever  we  turn  our  eyes,  we 
meet  with  sagacious  politicians,  heroic  patriots,  respected  ci- 
tizens, brave  soldiers,  eloquent  historians,  searching  and 
sublime  philosophers, — even  among  the  most  eminent  of  the 
Gentile  nations,  what  ridiculous  fancies  were  entertained,  and 
were  spread  abroad  respecting  the  Diety,  respecting  human 
obligation  towards  the  Diety,  respecting  the  nature  of  .Spirit, 
and  respecting  an  eternity  beyond  the  grave  !  How  wrapt  up 
in  shade  was  any  knowledge  of  the  responsibility  of  man  ! 
And,  not  having  a  mind  to  be  like  God,  they  made  God  like 
unto  themselves;  nay,  lower  than  themselves  was  he  made, 
when,  invisible  and  incorruptible,  having  no  connection  with 
matter,  except  that  he  brought  it  into  being,  and  having  no 
connection  with  material  forms,  except  that  he  upholds  them 
in  the  being  which  at  first  he  inspired,  he  was  impiously 
transformed  into  the  shape  of  callous  and  unreasonino-  ani- 
mals, of  weak  fluttering  birds,  and  of  reptiles  that  creep  upon 
the  ground.  Instead  of  the  one  only  living  and  true  God, 
among  the  most  eminent  of  the  Gentile  nations,  there  were 
gods  many,  and  there  were  goddesses  many ;  at  Rome,  there 
were  not  fewer  than  thirty  thousand  objects  of  religious  wor- 
ship ;  and  the  greatest  of  the  Greek  philosophers, — we  mean 
Socrates, — though  he  had  taught  the  unity  of  God,  was  so 
uncertain  and  wavering,  or  was  so  insincere  as  to  his  belief 
in  this  unity,  that  he  gave  sanction  to  Pagan  idolatry  in  his 
last  nioments,  when,  a  little  before  his  decease  he  issued  or- 
ders for  the  offering  up  of  a  sacrifice  to  one  of  these  imaginary 
deities.  And  under  what  moral  darkness,  under  what°icrno- 
rance  and  error,  shall  we  find  such  countries  to  be  lying"  as 
are  itnmersed  in  savage  hnbits— among  whose  inhabitants^civi- 
lization  has  not  appeared,  nor  the  rays  of  science  beamed  ! 
For,  not  to  condescend  upon  specific  places,  or  upon  such  of 


546 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


the  European  countries  as  are  under  the  darkness  of  popery, 
shall  we  not  universally  find,  that  over  the  continents  of  Asia, 
of  Africa,  and  of  America,  and  over  the  countless  islands 
within  the  Southern  and  Eastern  Oceans,  there  is  not  any 
knowledge  of  the  Supreme  Ueing — there  is  not  any  know- 
ledge of  religions  worship — there  is  religious  adoration  to 
stocks  and  stones,  to  the  sun  and  the  starry  firmament,  to 
fountains,  to  rivers,  to  groves,  and  even  to  cats  and  crocodiles 
— there  is  not  a  mere  ignorance  with  regard  to  God,  and  with 
regard  to  the  religious  worship  which  tliey  ought  to  give,  and 
which  He  will  agree  to  receive,  but  likewise  ignorance  with 
respect  to  the  best  ground  of  consolation  amid  trouble,  with 
respect  to  a  Saviour,  and  to  redemption  tlirough  his  atone- 
ment, with  respect  to  moral  duty,  and  with  respect  to  a  fu- 
ture existence  beyond  the  grave — there  is  an  immense  forest 
of  nations,  but  without  a  single  verdant  leaf,  and  without  a 
gleam  of  sunsliine  on  the  branches  ■? 

When  taking  a  view  of  these  nations  as  involved  in  moral 
darkness,  we  sliall  find  the  Gentile  nations  under  the  dark- 
ness of  guilt  and  depravity.  For,  if  guilt  works  so  ])ower- 
fully,  and  depravity  not  seldom  bursts  forlh  into  forms  so 
hideous,  and  if  there  is  atheism  the  most  audacious,  and  in- 
temperance the  most  loathsome,  and  bloodshed  the  most  un- 
merciful, among  nations  which  have  the  Gospel  shining  upon 
them,  and  which  are  regulated  by  means  of  wise  and  salutary 
laws, — how  gross  shall  be  that  darkness  where  the  nations 
are  ignorant  and  superstitious,  and  where  fallen  guilty  human 
nature  is  hurled  along  by  its  passions  without  check  or  con- 
trol !  View  them  in  religious  vi'orshi]>,  and  you  shall  have  to 
witness  human  sacrifices,  with  intoxication,  and  revelling, 
and  outrage,  and  obscenity ;  view  tliem  coming  home  from 
battle,  and  they  shall  be  seen  feasting  upon  the  flesli  of  cap- 
tives, and  exulting  with  savage  triumph  over  the  blood  of  the 
slain ;  view  them  as  individuals,  and  ambition,  relentless 
fury,  and  revenge,  shall  be  observed  as  bearing  the  charac- 
ter of  virtues,  while  with  unrestrained  indulgence  they  give 
themselves  up  to  impurity,  the  men  and  women  living  to- 
gether promiscuously  in  whole  communities,  and  the  infants 
being  murdered  without  remorse.  And,  at  the  same  time,  as 
there  is  no  conviction  of  sin,  so  there  is  no  feeling  of  shame ; 
guilt  has  no  sting,  and  turpitude  is  not  infamous :  whence 
you  shall  have  to  witness  among  them,  not  merely  as  general 
habits,  but  as  general  habits  whicli  wise  men  have  recom- 
mended and  lawgivers  authorized,  theft,  exposure  of  new-born 
infants,  and  that  sin  which  brought  down  the  Almighty  upon 
Sodom  and  Gomorrah  in  overwhelming  torrents  of  tiame. 
This  representation  is  sad,  hut  it  is  true — this  picture  fright- 
ful, but  drawn  from  the  life — these  colours  gloomy  and  wild, 
but  not  overcharged. 

When  taking  a  view  of  these  nations  as  involved  in  moral 
darkness,  we  shall  find  the  Gentiles  under  the  darkness  of 
sorrow  and  of  misery.  For  what  though  they  roam  amid  the 
fairest  scenes  of  nature — though  the  rocks  be  rich  with  gems, 
the  mountains  stored  witli  costly  mines,  the  hills  covered 
witli  frankincense,  and  the  valleys  teem  with  luxuriant  blos- 
soms and  fruit — what  though  the  rivers  roll  on  with  golden 
sand,  and  the  woods  breathe  fragrance  and  sweet  odours, — 
what  avails  this  wondrous  wealth,  and  what  avails  this  gor- 
geous profusion  of  terrestrial  bliss  1  A  man  may  be  iu  want 
of  liberty,  and  yet  he  may  have  happiness  like  Joseph — a  man 
may  be  in  want  of  peace,  and  yet  he  may  have  the  comforts 
of  David — a  rnan  may  be  in  want  of  health,  and  yet  be  finally 
strengthened  like  the  once  afllicted  Job— a  man  may  be_  in 
want  of  food  and  refreshment,  and  yet  at  length  he  may  be  fed, 
and  may  be  refreshed  by  the  ravens  of  Elisha — a  man  may  lose 
life  itself,  and  yet  Jesus  Christ,  who  cheered  the  proto-martyr 
Stephen,  may  shed  consolation  upon  his  departing  soul :  but 
in  want  of  the  Gospel,  he  is  want  of  a  Saviour;  and  in  want 
of  a  Saviour,  his  condition  must  be  truly  sorrowful  and  mis- 
erable,— no  blessing  upon  him  while  in  life,  no  consolation 
for  him  when  he  comes  to  die,  and  no  happiness  when  he  en- 
ters into  eternity.  For  whatever  be  the  tender  mercies  of 
God— and  we  know  that  they  are  infinite,  and  that  they  are 
inexhaustible — yet  it  stands  within  the  Holy  Scriptures  as 
matter  of  revelation,  that  "there  is  none  other  name  under 
heaven  given  among  men  whereby  we  must  be  saved,"  than 
the  name  of  Jesus  Christ;  and  till  another  revelation  be 
granted  from  on  high,  we  must  continue  to  rest  with  the  be- 
lief, that  they  who  are  in  want  of  the  Gospel  are  in  want  of 
tlie  means  of  salvation — that  the  people  who  sit  in  darkness 
abide  in  the  region  of  the  shadow  of  deatli.  Jesus  Christ  is 
called  the  living  bread  and  the  living  water ;  but  wanting  a  Sa- 
viour, they  must  languish  in  spiritual  liuiiger,  and  in  sjiiritual 
thirst — Jesus  Christ  is  called  the  redemption  of  the  soul ;  but 


wanting  a  Saviour,  they  must  be  prisoners  without  release, 
captives  without  ransom,  sinners  without  hope — Jesus  Christ 
is  called  the  wisdom  of  God  ;  but  wanting  a  Saviour,  as  they 
have  been  trained  amid  folly,  they  must  be  cast  away  into 
the  condemnation  of  fools — Jesus  Christ  is  the  way;  but  in 
want  of  a  Saviour,  tlie  people  must  go  wrong — Jesus  Christ 
is  the  truth;  but  in  want  of  a  Saviour,  the  people  must  be 
tossed  to  and  fro  with  each  breath  of  imposture  and  of  false- 
hood— Jesus  Christ  is  the  life;  but  in  want  of  a  Saviour,  tlie 
people  must  be  dead  in  trespasses,  and  through  eternity  shall 
die  the  death  which  immortals  endure — Jesus  Christ  is  the 
light;  but  in  want  of  a  Saviour,  the  people  are  under  mid- 
night moral  darkness,  and  know  not  wliilher  they  walk. 
Great  was  that  darkness  which  brooded  over  Egypt,  when 
the  Lord  thus  addressed  himself  unto  Moses,  "  Stretch  out 
thine  hand  toward  heaven,  that  there  may  be  darkness  over 
the  land  of  Egypt,  even  darkness  which  may  be  felt."  But, 
oh  !  it  was  a  darkness  upon  the  body,  and  it  was  a  darkness 
wherein  men  lived;  while  the  Gentile  nations  arc  under  a 
darkness  which  closes  upon  every  faculty  of  the  soul,  and 
overspreads  the  inhabitants  with  sorrow  and  with  misery. 

When  taking  a  view  of  these  nations  as  involved  in  moral 
darkness,  we  shall  find  the  Gentiles  under  the  darkness  of 
ignorance  and  error — under  the  darkness  of  guilt  and  deprav- 
ity— under  the  darkness  of  sorrow  and  of  misery.  But  if  we 
turn  our  eyes  from  contemplating  the  present  dark  state  of 
the  Gentiles,  we  may  reap  comfort  from  the  anticipation  of  a 
blessed  era  soon  to  be  with  us,  when  the  language  of  our 
text  shall  be  accomplished,  "  I  will  also  give  thee  for  a  light 
to  the  Gentiles,  that  thou  mayest  be  my  salvation  unto  the  end 
of  the  earth." 

The  language  of  our  text  conveys  to  us  this  important  pro- 
phecy,— that  Jesus  Christ  shall  be  given  unto  the  end  of  the 
earth  as  a  salvation  from  ignorance  and  error:  and  that  a  great 
and  blessed  era  is  fast  approaching,  when  the  sacred  senti- 
ments of  Christianity,  taking  possession  of  the  mind  with 
the  liglit  of  truth,  shall  chase  away  the  gloom  of  superstition 
and  the  thick  clouds  of  falsehood — when  there  shall  not  be 
ny  more  ignorance  of  God,  whether  in  his  nature,  or  in  his 
character,  or  in  his  administration — when  the  ruin  which  has 
been  incurred  by  sin,  and  the  remedy  which  has  been  furnish- 
ed by  a  Savioi.r,  aijd  that  most  useful  and  most  interesting 
knowledge  \\hich  relates  to  human  beings  under  the  twofold 
capacity  of  mortal  and  of  immortal,  shall  be  laid  open  to  the 
view — when  the  one  God  and  the  one  Mediator  shall  be  clearly 
unfolded,  and  idolatry  cease,  and  Christian  service  arise 
beautiful  upon  the  Gentiles — when  tongues,  however  rude, 
hall  confess,  and  the  stiflest  knees  worship,  and  the  hard- 
est hearts  adore,  and  people  of  all  customs  and  of  all  com- 
plexions joyfully  embrace,  the  God  and  Father  of  our  Lord 
Jesus  Christ.  No  longer  shall  Confucius  be  the  boast  of 
haughty  China;  the  roving  Tartars  no  longer  halt  at  the 
banks  of  the  Volga,  and  worship  the  Grand  Lama  with  slave- 
crouching  fear;  no  longer  the  sable  Hindoos  seek  for  holi- 
ness within  the  consecrated  waters  of  the  Ganges,  or  fall 
prostrate  before  Vishnu's  unshapely  and  monstrous  image; 
no  longer  the  copper-coloured  Peruvians  make  the  valleys  of 
the  Andes  to  resound,  through  its  wild  caverns,  with  songs  of 
thanksgiving  to  the  beams  of  the  sun  ;  no  longer  the  South 
Sea  Islanders  redden  the  altars  with  blood,  and  uplift  the 
savage  yell  of  exultation  above  the  screams  of  the  victim  : 
but,  brought  unto  the  knowledge  of  Christ,  and  brought  under 
the  authority  of  Christ,  and  melted  with  the  love  of  Christ, 
what  a  change  there  shall  be  upon  the  Gentile  nations, — igno- 
rance changed  into  heavenly  wisdom,  error  into  sound  rea- 
soning, idolatry  into  spiritual  worship,  and  horrid  cruelty  into 
meekness  and  brotherly  kindness  ! 

The  language  of  our  text  conveys  to  us  this  important  pro- 
phecy,— that  Jesus  Christ  shall  he  given  unto  the  end  of  the 
earth  as  a  salvation  I'rom  guilt  and  depravity  ;  and  that  a  great 
and  blessed  era  is  fast  approaching,  when  the  sacred  senti- 
ments of  Christianity,  taking  possession  of  the  mind  with  the 
light  of  holiness,  shall  irradiate  the  benighted  Gentile  nations 
by  a  view  of  that  atonement  for  which  they  have  long  sighed, 
and  for  which  they  have  long  sighed  in  vain — by  a  view  of 
that  Saviour  who  bore  our  sins  in  his  own  body  upon  the 
cursed  tree — by  a  view  of  that  remission  of  gnilt,  and  that 
freedom  from  inirpiity,  through  which  the  wickedness  with- 
in us  may  be  removed,  the  conscience  be  unburdened  of 
guilty  feelings,  the  soul  restored  unto  tranquillity,  the  heart 
encouraged,  and  through  which  the  whole  man  may  rejoice 
in  God  and  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ — and  by  a  view  of  this 
gracious  atonement,  not  as  a  sluggish  and  a  stagnant  mass 
of  merit,  bnt  as  the  source  of  active  holiness,  and  of  moral 


THE  GOSPEL  A  LIGHT  TO  THE  GENTILES. 


547 


npritvlitiioss  and  truth.  How  unusual  anil  how  marvellous 
tvonld  it  srem,  were  you  walkino;  in  the  meadow,  and  upon  a 
sudden  10  bcdiold  tlie  low  and  priokly  thorn  shoot  into  a  state- 
ly lir,  and  the  rough  briar  tlourish  like  the  smooth  green 
myrtle  !  or  were  you  traversing  the  forest,  and  upon  a  sudden 
to  behold  the  leopard  shed  his  spots,  and  the  ferocious  tiger 
become  harmless  like  the  lamb !  and  how  unusual  and  raar- 
vellous,  were  you  to  behold  an  Eiliiopiau  instantaneously 
whiten,  and  some  black  countenance,  upon  an  Indian  wilder- 
ness, be  instantaneously  suftused  with  a  crimson  blush  !  Hut 
how  much  more  marvellous  shall  be  the  transformation  made 
by  the  Gospel  upon  the  once  beniglited  Gentiles,  when  fero- 
cious tempers  shall  become  mild,  barbarous  feelings  humane, 
revengeful  spirits  compassionate,  tlie  robber  honest,  the  hypo- 
crite sincere,  and  the  savage  a  cultivated  citizen;  and  when 
Christian  ministers  shall  look  around  upon  the  once  benight- 
ed (ientiles  as  now  in  a  state  of  light — upon  Gentile  coun- 
tries as  now  turning  from  the  service  of  idols  to  serve  the 
living  God — upon  Gentile  congregations  as  now  sanctifying 
the  Sabbath — upon  Gentile  families  as  now  raising  the  morn- 
ing aiul  evening  voice  of  supplication,  thankfulness,  and 
praise;  and  shall  find  abundant  reason  to  address  these  new 
sprung  churches  in  the  words  of  the  Apostle  I'aul  to  the  once 
idolatrous  Corinthians,  "Such" — even  so  vile,  and  filthy, 
and  stubborn,  and  apparently  hopeless — "  were  some  of  you, 
hut  ye  are  washed,  but  ye  are  sanctified,  hut  ye  are  justified, 
in  the  name  of  the  Lord  Jesus,  and  by  the  Spirit  of  our 
God  !" 

The  language  of  our  text  conveys  to  us  this  important  pro- 
phecy,— that  .Tesns  Christ  shall  be  given  unto  the  cud  of  the 
earth,  as  a  salvation  from  sorrow  and  from  misery;  and  that 
a  great  and  blessed  era  is  fast  approaching,  when  the  sacred 
nentinients  of  Christianity,  taking  possession  of  the  mind  with 
the  light  of  spiritual  joy,  shall  soothe  and  allay  the  miseries 
of  the  Genlile  nations,  whether  it  be  the  afflictions  of  savage 
and  malignant  nature,  or  the  bewildering  terrors  of  going  into 
the  grave  without  any  hope  of  happiness  beyond  it — by  its 
gracious  influence  on  the  heart,  shall  sweeten  the  temper  and 
soften  the  manners — by  uniting' man  to  man,  and  the  whole 
human  race  unto  the  Father  of  !\Iercies,  shall  quicken  into 
exercise  those  kindly  feelings  and  endearments,  which  make 
private  life  contented  and  public  life  useful — while  order,  and 
truth,  and  justice,  and  benevolence,  shall  water  the  barren 
soil,  and  hang  the  blossoms  of  spring  around  the  former  hab- 
itations of  cruelly.  The  political  misunderstandings  which 
may  take  place  shall  be  abjusted  by  wise  and  solemn  arbitra- 
tion, and  not  by  soldiers  set  in  battle  array  to  build  the  thrones 
of  tyrants  on  the  fallen  carcasses  of  brave  men.  For  it  wag 
the  song  of  the  inspired  Prophet,  and,  in  hopes  of  soon  behold- 
inor  the  event,  that  song  let  us  sing, — "They  shall  beat  their 
swords  into  ploughshares,  and  their  spears  into  pruning- 
hooks  ;  nation  shall  not  lift  up  sword  against  nation,  neither 
shall  they  learn  war  any  more."  The  sword  which  was  wont 
to  pierce  the  heart,  shall  open  the  furrows  of  the  field,  and 
cover  the  valleys  with  corn;  the  murdering  spear  which  has 
often  thinned  whole  ranks  of  heroes,  shall  be  used  to  top  the 
branches  of  the  t'ruit-bearing  vine;  the  treacherous  shall  not 
lie  in  wait  for  blood,  nor  the  dagger  assassinate,  but  the 
hand  of  friendship  shall  he  stretched  towards  tlic  widow  and 
the  orphan,  that  the  orphan  be  relieved,  and  the  solitary 
widow  rejoice.  But  besides,  while  there  is  universal  peace 
among  the  nations,  and  universal  love  among  men,  there  shall 
at  the  same  time  be  a  universal  spiritual  joy  within  the  breast: 
for  hope  shall  enter  into  that  within  the  veil,  and  faith  be  the 
evidence  and  assurance  of  things  not  seen — fear  shall  be 
quieted,  uncertainty  subside,  and  the  darkness  of  sorrow  and 
of  misery  pass  away.  And,  oh !  but  man's  faith  and  man's 
hope,  however  weak  this  vessel  may  seem  when  amid  the 
floods  of  death,  shall  at  last  go  triumphantly  into  the  landing- 
place  of  bliss,  whatever  be  the  storms  that  are  roaring  on  the 
waters,  and  though  the  waves  of  temptation  may  sometimes 
break  in  upon  the  soul ! 

When  taking  a  view  of  these  nations  as  in  a  state  of  dark' 
ness,  we  find  that  the  Gentiles  are  under  the  moral  darkness 
of  ignorance  and  error,  of  guilt  and  depravity,  of  sorrow"  an 
of  misery.  Hut  when  illustrating  this  prophecy,  that  the 
Gospel  shall  be  given  unto  the  Gentiles  as  a  light,  we 
find  that  Jesus  Christ  shall  be  given  unto  the  end  of  the 
earth  as  a  salvation  from  ignorance  and  error,  from  guilt 
and  depravity,  from  sorrow  and  from  misery ;  and  that  the 
sacred  sentiments  of  the  Gospel  shall  take  possession  ol' 
the  mind  with  the  light  of  truth,  of  holiness,  and  of  spiritual 


joy 


What  a  speclacle  do  we  behold,  through  tlie  glass  of  pro- 


phecy, in  the  distance  of  future  ages, — no  more  uncertainty, 
no  more  fears,  no  more  guile,  no  more  discord,  no  more  dark- 
noss — hostile  natures  feeling  mutual  tenderness,  and  the  worst 
)assions  reformed  and  tamed — the  wolf  with  the  lamb,  and 
the  leopard  with  the  little  kid,  lying  on  the  same  pasture — 
the  lion  and  the  ox  feeding  at  the  same  stall.  On  yonder 
shores,  whererthe  temples  of  idolatry  stood,  and  where  stocks 
and  stones  were  the  objects  of  religions  worship,  we  behold 
a  new  temple  over  the  ruins  of  the  old,  and  these  stones  are 
converted  into  pillars  of  that  temple,  and  these  stocks  into 
beams.  From  yonder  isles  of  the  sea,  where  a  blind  and  crim- 
inal superstition  reigned  absolute — where  silly  and  shameful 
ceremonies  usurped  the  throne  of  God  and  of  the  Lamb — 
where  the  boisterous  clamours  of  outrage  and  excess  re- 
sounded, and  blood  ran  like  water, — we  must  listen  to  the  still 
snjall  voice  of  rational  and  spiritual  worship,  to  the  joyful 
melody  of  devotion,  to  the  raptures  of  enlightened,  purified, 
and  sublimed  hearts.  It  is  just  as  if  we  had  been  with  Moses 
upon  the  mount  of  Nebo,  and,  far  beyond  the  rocky  bounda- 
ries of  the  waste  howling  w-ilderness,  surveyed  the  land  of 
Canaan,  with  its  green  fields  and  forests,  and  its  mellow 
grapes,  and  its  flowing  and  sweet  streams;  nay,  just  as  if  we 
had  been  with  Christ  upon  the  Mount  of  Transfiguration,  and, 
instead  of  his  lowly  attire,  surveyed  snow-white  and  shining 
garments  around  his  person,  and  the  fulness  of  the  Godhead 
over  each  limb  and  each  feature,  which  hitherto  were  void  of 
comely  form.  For  there  shall  no  more  be  any  darkness,  or 
any  groping  and  stumbling,  when  the  language  of  our  text 
has  it  fulfilment, — "I  will  also  give  thee  for  a  light  to  the 
Gentiles,  that  thou  mayest  he  my  salvation  unto  the  end  of 
the  earth." 

And  if  it  should  here  he  inquired,  what  is  our  evidence  in 
support  of  this  universal  Christian  illumination,  and  how  are 
we  to  he  satisfied  and  assured,  that  the  Gospel  shall  be  given 
unto  the  Gentiles  as  a  light  and  a  salvation  !  it  is  competent  for 
us  to  occupy  a  very  large  field  of  matter  highly  useful  and 
important,  and  to  bring  forward  arguments  from  the  superla- 
tive excellence  of  the  Gospel  itself,  and  its  infinite  superiority 
over  every  other  moral  and  religious  system;  from  its  being 
calculated  to  work  well,  not  within  a  certain  circumscribed 
and  limited  sphere  of  operation,  but  among  people  of  all  na- 
tions and  conditions;  from  the  decree  of  Heaven,  which  has 
been  notified  in  the  sacred  Scriptures,  respecting  its  universal 
spread,  taken  into  connection  with  the  prophecies  already  un- 
sealed, and  with  the  success  already  visible  ;  from  the  aspect 
of  the  times,  and  the  counsels  and  intentions  of  Providence, 
as  gradually  unfolding;  from  the  intercession  of  Jesus  Christ, 
at  the  right  hand  of  the  Majesty  on  high,  for  inheritance  unto 
the  uttermost  parts  of  the  earth,  which  is  always  and  is  alto- 
gether efficacious;  from  his  unlimited  and  irresistible  control 
of  men,  of  societies,  of  events,  of  kings  and  subjects,  of  war 
and  peace,  of  calamity  and  prosperity;  and  from  his  injunc- 
tion upon  the  first  ministers  of  the  New  Testament,  and  w  liich 
still  is,  and  shall  continue  to  be,  binding  with  regard  unto 
each  successive  ministry  till  the  end  of  all  things,  to  carry 
the  Gospel  to  the  remotest  countries  of  the  globe,  and  to  in- 
struct the  various  individuals  composing  the  whole  human 
race.  We  make  it  for  our  remark,  that,  on  topics  such  as 
these,  we  might  expatiate  with  much  pleasure  to  ourselves, 
and,  it  is  trusted,  with  no  small  advantage  to  you;  but  it  is 
only  permitted  us  to  crave  the  farther  indulgence  of  your  at- 
teulion  unto  the  evidence  from  what  the  Gospel  has  already 
done,  and  from  what  the  Gospel  can  do,  and  from  what  the 
Gospel  will  do. 

When  Christianity  was  first  made  known,  such  were  its 
external  circumstances  and  appearance,  that  there  was  no 
probability  of  its  surviving  beyond  its  original  ministers  and 
friends.  Its  temper  and  genius  were  opposite  to  the  most 
favourite  maxims,  and  to  the  most  general  customs  among 
men;  its  original  ministers  were  men  whose  natural  talents, 
whose  country  and  extraction,  whose  character,  and  whose 
occupations,  were  the  objects  of  scorn  and  contempt,  and  not 
of  respect  or  of  reverence;  the  opposition  with  which  it  nut 
was  universal,  and  was  unrelenting;  for  the  great  and  the 
vulgar,  the  mighty  and  ignoble,  Jewish  doctors  and  Greek 
sages,  circumcision  and  uncircumcision.  Barbarian,  Scythian, 
bond  and  free,  though  impelled  by  dift'ereut  motives,  were 
filled  with  one  and  the  same  spirit  of  rancorous  envy,  some 
against  the  creed  which  it  contained,  others  against  the  morals 
which  it  imposed,  and  others  rather  against  its  members  and 
followers  than  against  the  belief  which  it  enjoined;  while,  at 
the  same  time,  it  was  not  in  alliance  with  any  one  single 
kingdom  or  commonwealth,  but  was  unsheltered,  unprotected, 
and  exposed  on  every  side  to  hatred  and  persecution.     An 


548 


CHRISTIAN    L  1 13  R  A  II  Y. 


inlidel,  during  tlie  first  century,  might  have  found  abundant 
matter  for  ridicule  in  the  idea  of  the  continuance  and  success, 
and  the  future  unbounded  spread,  of  a  sect,  at  whose  head 
stood  twelve  illiterate  fishermen.  It  would  just  have  been 
as  if  you  had  told  him,  that  grapes  should  be  gathered  from 
these  thorns,  and  figs  from  these  thistles — that  a  bush  should 
be  burnino-,  and  yet  not  be  consumed — that  these  withered 
and  dry  bones  should  live.  But  as  we  have  now  the  advan- 
tage of  reasoning  upon  the  matter  of  fact  itself,  which  no 
argument  can  invalidate,  nor  ridicule  weaken,  so  from  the 
matter  of  fact  we  shall  find,  tliat  Christian  principles  and  the 
Christian  ministry  have  surmounted  opposition,  conquered 
the  combined  force  of  malice  and  sophistry,  and,  without  the 
lielp  of  power,  or  guile,  or  gold — nay,  with  the  weight  of  all 
these  in  the  opposite  scale — have  constrained  men  and  na- 
tions to  lay  aside  unbelief  and  prejudice,  and  yield  obedience 
to  the  triumphs  of  the  Gross.  Now,  we  are  not  to  be  charged 
witli  the  weakness  of  credulity,  or  with  the  mere  fondness  of 
party  and  of  system,  when  we  infer  from  the  matter  of  fact 
now  before  us,  that  the  same  Almighty  strength  which  fixed 
Christianity  within  the  heart  of  unwilling  and  unbelieving 
nations,  and  fixed  it  in  spite  of  captious  philosophy,  and 
armies  of  soldiers,  both  can  and  will  fix  it  in  nations  equally 
>m  willing  and  equally  unbelieving,  and  furnish  it  with  stability, 
till  time  shall  be  no  more.  And  when  we  give  ourselves  to 
reflect,  how  unpromising  were  the  circumstances  under  which 
it  was  at  first  introduced — how  gradually,  and  yet  how  con- 
stantly and  steadily,  it  has  been  going  forward — how  closely 
it  is  interwoven  with  the  civil  and  political  institutions  of 
various  great  countries,  and  that  to  overturn  religion  would, 
in  these  countries,  be  tantamount  to  the  doing  away  with  the 
very  fortn  of  government  itself, — we  may  with  confidence 
assert,  that  its  march  will  be  more  rapid  and  more  glorious 
than  ever,  its  enemies  fewer  and  feebler,  its  victories  more 


nothing  of  its  importance  by  its  having  been  so  frequently 
urged  upon  your  minds;  and,  whatever  be  its  want  of  novelty*, 
we  would  endeavour,  on  the  present  occasion,  to  rouse  your 
better  princijdes  and  your  sympathies  in  behalf  of  that  im- 
mense multitude  of  our  fellow-creatures,  who  are  involved  in 
the  moral  darkness  of  ignorance  and  error,  of  guilt  and  de- 
pravity, of  sorrow  and  ot  misery. 

According  lo  what  has  been  the  observance  of  that  last  and 
that  solemn  charge  from  our  Saviour  unto  his  apostles,  that 
they  should  go  and  preach  the  Gospel  to  every  creature, — 
according  to  the  manner  in  which  that  command  has  been 
executed,  in  the  same  proportion  have  the  Gentile  nations 
been  enlightened,  and  in  the  same  proportion  have  ignorance 
and  error,  guilt  and  depravit}-,  sorrow  and  misery,  vanished 
away.  The  Gospel  has  never  failed  of  success,  when  this 
command  and  charge  of  our  Saviour  have  been  observed  and 
performed  ;  for  if  its  advancement  has  at  any  time  been  broken, 
we  must  look  for  the  cause  of  this  interruption,  not  in  the 
Gospel  itself,  but  among  Christians  who  have  nothing  of  that 
zeal  and  ardour,  and  unction,  for  which  the  primitive  ages 
were  so  famous. 

With  grief  and  shame  we  must  lament  that  there  has  been 
so  much  apathy  and  so  much  indifierence  about  the  state  of 
the  Gentiles;  that,  knowing  the  wretched  condition  of  our 
poor  fellow-creatures,  and  being  in  possession  ourselves  of 
the  means  of  salvation,  we  have  continued  to  keep  back  these 
means,  and  to  sufl'er  generation  after  generation  to  go  into 
eternity  without  letting  them  sec  how  it  might  be  rendered 
an  eternity  of  happiness;  and  that,  owing  to  our  criminal  ne- 
glect, myriads  are  without  Christ  and  without  hope,  unto 
whom  the  Gospel  might  have  been  communicated  as  a  light. 
For  so  long  had  the  Gentiles  been  under  moral  darkness,  and 
so  little  had  been  done  for  them,  that  it  seemed  as  if  Chris- 
tians were  of  opinion,  that  the  Gentiles  were  ignorant,  de- 


numerous  and  more  splendid.     For  that  it  shall  yet  reach  praved,  and  miserable,   by  some  fatal  necessity — that  the 
farther,  is  neither  so  wonderful  nor  improbable,  as  it  once  was  matter  could  not  be  otherwise — that  it  as  much  belonged  unto 


that  it  should  reach  so  far 

But  there  is  not  merely  evidence  from  what  the  Gospel  has 
already  done, — there  is  evidence  from  what  the  Gospel  is  able 
to  do;  for  its  ability  and  influence  are  not  impaired  by  the 
lapse  of  time,  nor  by  the  accidents  of  fortune  :  and  however  it 
may  alter  somewhat  in  its  outward  form  and  figure — though  it 
may  shift  its  place  of  residence — though  it  may  set  as  to  one 
country,  that  it  may  rise  upon  another — though  its  beams  may 
be  sometimes  bright,  and  sometimes  obscure, — yet  in  itself  it 
is,  like  its  great  author  and  finisher,  the  same  yesterday,  to-day, 
and  for  ever.  For  enlightening  the  most  benighted,  for  sancti- 
fying the  most  depraved,  for  civilizing  the  most  savage,  it  has 
always  been  successful,  and  successful  it  has  the  ability  to 
be;  and  the  same  Gospel  which  has  been  the  means  of  con^ 
verting  men  of  all  nations,  languages,  and  complexions,  is 
able  to  work  these  moral  miracli  s  still 


these  nations  to  be  in  want  of  the  light  of  the  Gospel,  as  it 
belongs  unto  the  northern  regions,  during  half  of  the  year,  to 
be  in  want  of  the  light  of  the  sun. 

Viewing  ourselves  under  a  national  capacitj',  we  have  been 
admirably  qualified  for  this  great  service, — so  wide  our  con- 
quests, so  vast  and  important  our  commerce,  so  boundless  and 
so  glorious  our  fame.  But  our  enterprises  and  our  schemes 
have  not  been  set  on  foot  with  a  view  towards  missionary 
labour,  but  they  have  been  set  on  foot  by  the  avaricious  with 
a  view  towards  money,  by  the  warlike  with  a  view  towards 
j;elebrily,  by  the  wily  statesman  with  a  view  towards  in- 
creased opulence  and  power;  and,  instead  of  making  known 
the  Gospel  unto  the  Gentiles,  their  gold  and  silver  have  been 
seized  by  the  mercenar}',  their  territories  impoverished  and 
laid  waste  by  the  rapacious,  their  companions  and  sweet 
friends  taken  ca]>tive  by  men  of  violence,  they  themselves 


But  look  at  the  volume  of  the  book,  and  search  the  oracles  made  slaves,  and  the  steps  of  Europeans  tracked  through 
of  prophecy ;  for  there  we  find  laid  before  us  what  the  Gospel  their  countries  and  their  towns  from  the  footmarks  of  cruelty 
will  assuredly  do — what  the  Gospel  we  hope  and  trust,  is  just  and  bloodshed  ;  while,  when  they  shall  hear  about  missiona- 
upon  the  point  of  doinor.     "    '         '  .     t,     ,         ,  .    .    ,,  .     .   r. 


II  is  written  in  the  Psalms,  "  I  shall 
give  thee  the  HeatheiT for  thine  inheritance,  and  the  uttermost 
parts  of  the  earth  for  thy  possession."  It  is  written  in  the 
Prophets,  '■  I  will  say  to  the  north,  give  up,  and  to  the  south, 
keep  not  back ;  bring  my  sons  from  far,  and  my  daughters 
from  the  ends  of  the  earth."  It  is  written  in  the  Revelation, 
"  The  seventh  angel  sounded,  and  there  were  great  voices  in 
heaven,  saying.  The  kingdoms  of  this  world  are  become  the 
kingdoms  of  our  Lord  and  of  his  Christ,  and  he  shall  reign 
for  ever  and  ever."  Vast  continents  and  fruitful  islands  shall 
bring  tribute  to  his  glory — empires  shall  be  his  footstool,  and 
the  mightiest  monarchs  prepare  the  way  for  his  kingdom- 
opposing  powers  and  potentates  shall  melt  at  his  glance — and 
before  the  grand  drama  be  finished,  the  whole  earth  shall  be 
one  resplendent  blaze  of  moral  noontide,  when  the  language 
of  our  text  has  its  fulfilment,  "  I  will  also  give  thee  for  a  liglit 
to  the  Gentiles,  that  thou  mayest  be  my  salvation  unto  the 
end  of  the  earth." 

If  we  should  cast  our  eyes  tow^ards  the  foregoing  remarks, 
-  we  shall  be  much  encouraged  while  carrying  on  with  our  ef- 
forts under  the  character  of  a  Missionary  Society.  "I  will 
also  give  thee,"  says  the  Father  to  the  Son,  according  to  the 
language  of  our  text,  "  for  a  light  to  the  Gentiles,  that  thou 
mayest  be  my  salvation  unto  the  end  of  the  earth."  And  from 
predictions  recorded,  from  promises  bestowed,  from  what  the 
Gospel  has  done,  from  what  it  can  do,  from  what  it  will  do, 
oh  !  what  may  we  not  expect  1 

Though  the  subject  upon  which  we  address  you,  my  Chris- 
tian friends,  cannot  now  be  said  to  be  new,  yet  it  has  lost 


ries  coming  out  of  Europe,  they  must  feel  inclined  to  say, 
along  with  Nathanael  in  the  Scriptures,  "  Can  there  any  good 
thing  come  out  of  Nazareth  T' 

When  the  once  benighted  Gentiles  shall  have  beheld  the 
light  and  glory  of  the  Saviour,  may  we  not  suppose  that  they 
might  thus  address  us, — Why  did  you  not  bring  us  the  Gospel 
before  now'!  You  tell  us  that,  in  your  favoured  island,  it  has 
been  known  for  many  hundred  years — you  tell  us,  that  in 
every  age  thousands  have  lived  and  have  died  happy  with  its 
comforts, — and  why  w-ere  you  so  negligent,  why  so  inhuman, 
as  to  keep  it  from  our  sight,  while  successive  generations 
have  been  under  the  midnight  darkness  of  idolatry  ?  ^^  e  may 
say,  with  the  brothers  of  Joseph,  "  We  are  verily  guilty  con- 
cerning our  brother,  in  that  we  saw  the  anguish  of  his  soul 
when  he  besought  us,  and  we  would  not  hear."  We  have 
not  bestirred  ourselves  to  put  them  in  possession  of  the  means 
of  salvation. 

But  a  missionary  spirit  has  at  length  made  its  appearance. 
The  eighteenth  century  is  coming  near  to  its  close ;  and  though 
it  is  just  going  out  with  a  stormy  tempest  of  war  and  revolu- 
tion, yet  let  us  fondly  hope,  that,  notwithstanding  these  tremen- 
dous phenomena,  the  close  of  the  eighteenth  century  shall  be 
marked,  in  the  annals  of  future  history,  as  the  commencement 
of  a  bright  and  a  blessed  era,  when  the  language  of  our  text 
first  began  to  be  realized,  "  1  will  also  give  thee  for  a  light  to 
the  Gentiles,  that  thou  mayest  be  my  salvation  unto  the  end 
of  the  earth." 

Blessed  is  the  hand  which  feeds  the  hungry,  and  clothes 
the  naked,  and  takes  care  of  the  helpless,  and  sets  the  prison- 


THE  QUALIFICATIONS  OF  A  MINISTER. 


549 


ers  free — which  erects  an  asylum  for  the  indicrent  blind,  and 
with  the  warm  beams  of  charity  refreslics  and  gladdens  the 
sightless  eyeballs:  but  more  blessed  still  is  the  hand  which 
lets  in  the  light  of  the  glorious  Gospel  upon  the  benighted 
understanding  and  upon  the  bewildered  soul ! 

Such  of  you  as  may  be  in  easy  or  in  affluent  circumstances, 
give  largely,  and  without  ostentation:  such  of  you  as  may  be 
poor,  and  have  only  a  mite  to  give,  give  the  mite  cheerfully, 
and  you  shall  not  want  your  reward.  And  along  with  your 
prayers  and  contributions,  endeavour  to  stir  up  missionaries, 
•who  may  carry  abroad  the  Gospel  for  "a  light  to  the  Gen- 
tiles," and  for  a  "  salvation  unto  the  end  of  the  earth."  When 
you  meet  with  anv  of  your  acquaintances  who  shall  appeari 
to  be  eminently  Christian,  and  to  be  of  an  apostolic  bearing 
and  courage,  admonish  them  to  be  missionaries;  and  as  many] 
of  you  as  can  admit  of  it,  be  missionaries  j-ourselves.  For  if 
he  is  not  deemed  to  act  a  foolish  part  who  forsakes  his  friends 
and  quiet  home,  encounters  the  hair-breadth  escapes  of  the 
swollen  sea,  scorches  his  frame  beneath  a  sultry  climate,  and 
wastes  more  than  half  bis  days  beside  the  rude  and  low- 
minded  natives,  in  order  to  hoard  a  small  treasure  of  the  gold 
which  perishes, — oh !  what  nobler  inducements  and  motives 
has  the  missionary  to  visit  foreign  lands,  when  he  seeks  not 
for  gold,  when  he  works  not  for  wealth,  but  seeks,  and  works, 
and  struggles,  for  the  salvation  of  souls!  But  supposing 
for  a  moment,  that  the  various  modes  and  shapes  of  human 
wretchedness  by  which  life  may  be  afflicted,  or  even  cut  off, 
were  brought  together,  at  one  and  the  same  instant,  before 
your  sight — that  upon  your  one  hand  there  was  lean  and 
hunger-bitten  famine,  while  upon  your  other  there  was  naked 
and  cold  beggary — that  you  could  behold  numerous  families 
turned  adrift,  without  so  much  as  another  morsel  of  bread,  by 
the  flames  of  wasting  conflagration — that  you  could  behold  one 
poor  shipwrecked  sailor,  after  every  fellow-passenger  was  in 
the  watery  grave,  still  grasping  some  thin,  unsteady  plank,  but 
yet  apparently  exhausted,  and  just  about  to  sink  beneath  the 
waves, — such  a  heart-rending  spectacle,  in  which  there  would 
be  one  universal  and  sad  assemblage  of  the  worst  forms  of 
human  wretchedness,  would  only  be  a  faint  shadow  of  that 
scene  of  moral  wretchedness  and  darkness  on  W'hich  the  mis- 
sionary must  turn  his  eye,  and  which  must  continue  to  im- 
plore your  compassion,  and  help,  and  strenuous  efforts,  till 
the  language  of  our  text  be  accomplished,  "  I  will  also  give 
thee  for  a  light  to  the  Gentiles,  that  thou  mayest  be  my  sal- 
vation unto  the  end  of  the  earth."  A  great  light  shall  in  due 
time  find  its  way  among  the  Gentiles,  which,  being  again 
reflected  back  on  the  European  nations,  shall  more  and  more 
increase,  till  every  dark  corner  be  enlightened,  and  the  whole 
earth  be  filled  with  Jehovah's  glory :  and  then  shall  the  lan- 
guage of  our  text  be  prophecy  no  more;  but,  in  real  and  sober 
fact,  the  Gospel  shall  be  given  "for  a  light  to  the  Gentiles," 
and  Jesus  Christ  for  "salvation  unto  the  end  of  the  earth." 


THE  QUALIFICATIONS  OF  A  MINISTER  STATED. 

A  Charge  to  Ihe  Rev.  Mr.  ArLaurin,  upon  his  ordination  at 
Coldingham. 

Allow  me  to  congratulate  and  to  sympathize  with  you,  my 
reverend  brother,  in  that,  through  the  grace  of  God,  you  have 
been  set  apart  as  a  minister  and  as  a  ruler  in  the  Church  of 
Christ. 

The  oflice  to  which  you  have  been  ordained,  the  employ 
ment  to  which  you  have  devoted  all  your  future  life,  is  ardu- 
ous, and  is  important,  and  is  sacred.  We  have  witnessed 
your  having  received  this  trust;  we  have  attended  to  the 
solemn  vows  under  which  you  have  come,  to  do  all  your 
ministerial  duties  without  exception,  and  to  go  forward  in 
your  ministerial  course,  with  zeal,  with  integritj',  and  with 
fortitude;  and  anxious  to  remove  from  you  the  fears  and  the 
embarrassments  which  may  be  upon  your  mind,  and  to  in- 
terest in  your  behalf  the  great  Shepherd  who  has  committed 
the  flock  into  your  hands — the  great  Bishop  who  superintends 
and  supports  the  Christian  ministry, — to  Him  who  bestows 
every  good  gift,  we  have  offered  up  our  united  supplications, 
that  the  grace  of  faithfulness  may  be  yours,  with  soundness 
of  understanding,  and  gladness  of  heart,  and  approbation 
hereafter  from  your  Lord  and  your  Judge. 

Bear  with  me  for  a  little  in  concluding  these  services,  by 
addressing  to  you  an  exhortation  and  charge  suitable  to  the 


work  on  which  you  have  entered — entered,  as  we  believe, 
w  ith  an  honest  mind,  and,  as  we  all  know,  with  the  voice  and 
the  consent  of  the  congregation, — a  charge  with  regard  to  your 
own  religion,  with  regard  to  your  deportment  in  the  world, 
and  w  ith  regard  to  your  ministerial  duties. 

And  first,  with  regard  to  your  own  religion,  let  me  exhort 
you  to  look  upon  godliness  as  the  leading  object  of  your  life, 
and  as  that  which  ought  to  be  your  constant  occupation  ;  and 
in  representing  the  redemption  which  has  been  accomplished 
by  Christ,  to  make  the  representation  from  your  own  experi- 
mental knowledge  of  his  character  and  of  his  blessings,  and 
from  your  own  union  with  him  in  mysterious  membership, 
and  in  spiritual  contemplation.  For  if  we  find,  in  one  of  the 
Epistles,  that  the  minister  is  condemned  who  shall  speali  of 
Christ  in  a  language  unknown  to  his  hearers,  we  conceive 
that  it  is  much  more  useless,  and  much  more  criminal,  for  a 
minister  to  speak  of  Christ  in  a  language  unknown  to  him- 
self. And,  therefore,  let  your  religion  he  active,  be  energetic, 
be  ardent.  Make  it  your  aim  and  object  to  live  in  the  exer- 
cise of  godliness,  in  the  belief  of  the  doctrines  of  the  Gospel, 
and  in  the  remembrance  of  its  encouragements — and  in  build- 
ing upon  its  moral  code  a  fair  fabric  of  justice,  and  truth,  and. 
uprightness,  and  charity — not  contented  with  your  existing 
attainment  in  holiness,  but  aspiring  after  that  finished  holi- 
ness which  waits  upon  genuine  and  undefiled  religion.  And 
in  order  to  this,  unceasingly  converse  with  God  and  with 
yourself  in  the  attitude  of  devotion,  attending  to  supplication 
and  abounding  in  thankfulness — since  secret  devotion  is  the 
very  language  of  godliness,  and  is  an  essential  means  of 
confirming  its  growth,  and  its  influence,  and  its  force.  To 
be  much  with  God,  refines  our  nature,  and  guards  us  from 
wrath,  and  from  malice,  and  from  every  wild  impulse  and 
unhallowed  affection ;  and  by  your  being  niuch  with  God, 
you  will  instruct  with  authority,  and  you  will  rouse  every  . 
faculty  within  you,  under  the  overwhelming  sense  of  your 
responsibility  for  souls. 

But,  secondly,  with  regard  to  your  deportment  in  the  world, 
et  me  exhort  you  to  incorporate  with  your  every  action 
"  whatsoever  things  are  true,  whatsoever  things  are  honest, 
whatsoever  things  are  just,  whatsoever  things  are  pure,  what- 
soever things  are  lovely,  whatsoever  things  are  of  good 
report."  And  especially,  let  unimpeachable  honesty,  let 
undaunted  zeal,  let  prudence,  benevolence,  and  condescending 
humility,  adorn,  and  support,  and  exalt  your  character. 

As  honesty  is  the  foundation  of  character — the  character 
that  has  it  arising  upon  the  rock  with  unshaken  firmness,  and 
the  character  that  has  it  not  tottering  upon  the  sand,  and 
never  ap])roached  but  with  apprehension  and  with  dismay — 
let  me  exhort  you,  in  all  your  commerce  with  man,  to  be 
rigidly  honest,  and  to  bo  careful  that  your  honesty  should  be 
seen,  so  that  your  character  may  have  stability  and  strength, 
may  advance  in  honour  as  you  advance  in  years,  and  may  be 
surrounded  with  veneration  and  with  confidence,  wherever  it 
is  known. 

To  unimpeachable  honesty,  let  me  exhort  you  to  add  un- 
daunted zeal  in  managing  your  office,  and  that  for  the  vindi- 
cation of  the  truth,  for  the  counteracting  of  heresy,  for  the 
reproving  of  them  that  do  evil,  and  for  the  casting  out  of 
them  that  reject  reproof — a  zeal  which  is  according  to  know- 
ledge, which  is  tempered  by  love  tow-ards  God  and  towards 
man,  which  is  measured  by  the  case  that  calls  it  forth,  and 
which  is  regulated  and  guided  by  discretion — firm,  but  not 
boisterous — kindled  into  ardour,  but  not  consumed  with  in- 
temperance— and  excited  by  opposition,  but  not  rendering 
evil  for  evil. 

That  you  may  occasion  none  offence,  nor  throw  a  stumbling- 
block  before  the  ignorant  and  the  weak,  let  me  exhort  you  to 
use  prudence — not  that  low  and  selfish  craftiness  which  goes 
current  for  prudence,  which  skulks  beneath  every  subterfuge, 
and  only  works  by  machinations,  and  by  stratagems — but  that 
avoidance  of  wicked  and  even  of  careless  companions,  that 
abstinence  from  slander  and  evil-speaking,  that  unilbrm  de- 
corum of  manners,  that  keeping  up  of  an  unblemished  fame, 
and  all  that  system  of  honourable  ways  and  means  by  which 
the  Christian  faith  is  carried  forward  in  credit  and  estimation 
— using  that  prudence  which  Paul  adopted,  when  he  became 
all  things  to  all  men  that  he  might  gain  some,  and  which  our 
Saviour  recommended,  when  he  counselled  his  disciples  to 
be  wise  as  serpents,  no  less  than  harmless  as  doves. 

To  the  cultivation  of  benevolence  let  me  exhort  you  to  give 
earnest  heed,  in  conformity  to  the  example  of  your  JIaster, 
who  went  about  doing  good — thus  attesting  your  love  for 
Christ  by  your  generosity  towards  all  mankind,  and  by  your 
unconfined  benevolence,  in  relieving  want,  in  helping  unob- 


550 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


trusive  indiCTence,  in  comforting  tlie  mournpr,  and  in  lifting 
up  your  voice  against  oppression  wlierever  it  may  appear. 

Let  me  exhort  you  to  be  clotlied  with  humility  and  with  a 
meek  and  quiet  temper — not  elated  beyond  measure  with 
whatsoever  talents  you  may  have,  or  with  whatsoever  hon- 
ours you  may  enjoy,  and  neither  excited  to  anger,  nor  thrown 
into  gloom,  by  the  vexations,  the  indignities,  and  the  haughty, 
senseless  scorn,  with  which  at  times  it  may  be  your  lot  to 
meet,  and  always  enduring  injuries  from  man  with  mildness, 
and  chastisements  from  God  with  resignation. 

Willi  recrard  to  your  deportment  towards  your  fellow-min- 
isters, at  least  towards  those  of  them  whose  own  deportment 
and  bearing  are  exemplary,  let  me  exhort  you  to  be  respect- 
ful in  conversation,  compliant  in  business,  cordial  in  your 
manners,  and  open  and  ingenuous  in  the  communication  of 
your  opinions  and  of  your  feelings.  In  your  dealings  with 
your  brethren,  let  there  be  no  selfishness,  nor  meanness,  nor 
artifice.  Never  be  it  said,  that  you  iiave  traduced  their  repu- 
tation, or  that  you  have  taken  from  their  usefulness,  by  the 
circulating  of  invidious  reports.  If  they  should  be  old,  then 
treat  them  with  reverence — if,  like  yourself,  in  the  meridian 
of  life,  then  treat  them  with  fraternal  regard.  And  whatever 
may  he  their  habits  and  tempers,  and  even  their  failings,  ex- 
cuse there  can  be  none  for  your  attempting  to  cover  them 
with  ridicule,  to  rise  on  their  ruins,  and  to  shine  in  their 
eclipse. 

With  regard  to  3'our  dc]iortment,  let  me  exhort  you  to  do 
nothing  that  is  beneath  your  office,  and  nothing  that  opposes 
it.  As  it  is  written,  "Let  your  light  so  shine  before  men, 
that  they  may  see  your  good  works,  and  glorify  your  Father 
which  is  in  heaven,"  be  an  example  to  your  friends  and  to 
the  world,  in  word  and  in  conversation,  in  faith  and  in  virtue, 
in  charity  and  in  spirituality  of  mind. 

But,  thirdly,  with  regard  to  your  ministerial  duties,  let  me 
exhort  you,  notwithstanding  the  numerous  assaults  ag-ainst 
our  most  holy  faith,  and  notwithstanding  the  reproach  that  is 
sometimes  heaped  upon  it,  not  to  be  ashamed  of  the  CJospel 
of  Christ,  for  it  is  built  upon  the  Prophets  and  upon  the 
Apostles,  while  Jesus  Christ  himself  is  the  chief  corner 
stone.  It  is  built  upon  the  Prophets,  who  foretold  the  ap- 
pearance of  the  Messiah  so  clearly  and  so  minutely,  and 
what  would  be  his  condition  and  his  achievements,  and  what 
the  benefits  resulting  iVom  his  advent,  that  any  impostor  lay- 
ing claim  to  tlie  title  should  be  foiled  in  the  attempt,  and  tlic 
true  Messiah  have  his  vouchers  and  credentials  sent  before 
liim.  It  is  built  upon  the  Apostles,  who  exhibited  the  fulfil- 
ment of  the  prophecies  which  concerned  the  Messiah  in  the 
actions  of  Christ,  who  embodied  into  their  speeches  and  their 
letters  tlie  words  of  eternal  life  which  the  Messiah  had  ut- 
tered, who  spread  over  the  then  known  habitable  globe  the 
joyful  sound  which  the  Messiah  had  committed  to  their  care, 
and  whose  miracles  and  whose  sufferings  for  Christ  evinced 
their  having  had  their  commission  from  above,  and  mani- 
fested beyond  contradiction  their  sincere  and  firm  belief  in 
the  Messiah  whom  they  declared.  By  Jesus  Christ  himself, 
who  is  the  corner  stone,  it  is  fastened  and  consolidated,  main- 
tained in  unity  and  supplied  with  strength ;  and,  unshapely 
as  it  may  seem  unto  the  carnal  mind,  yet,  through  Christ,  it 
shall  be  the  house  for  all  nations,  the  temple  for  all  worship- 
pers, the  salvation  of  all  ends  of  the  earth,  and  falsehood  and 
superstition  shall  be  made  to  cease. 

With  regard  to  your  ministerial  duties,  let  me  exhort  j'ou 
to  be  decpl)',  to  be  overwhelmingly,  impressed  with  the  ne- 
cessit}'  and  the  advantagcousness  of  a  constant  believing 
meditation  upon  the  Scriptures,  which  have  been  fashioned 
by  inspiration,  that  the  man  of  God  might  be  thoroughly  fur- 
nished for  his  work.  Diligently  search,  carefully  examine, 
correctly  apprehend,  and  then  faithfully  and  boldly  explain, 
the  sentiments  of  this  Sacrfd  Bonk.  Let  it  he  your  constant 
companion — let  it  be  your  library  of  knowledge.  Go  to  it 
for  guidance,  refer  to  it  for  authority,  and  carry  your  appeals 
to  no  other  tribunal.  Value  it  as  a  treasure,  defend  it  as  a 
trust,  and  study  it  as  a  magazine  of  vitally  important  and 
eternally  interesting  facts.  8tanding  on  the  firm  basis  of 
revelation,  shun  not  to  make  known  the  whole  counsel  of 
God — to  advance  every  doctrine,  however  unpalatable,  and  to 
enforce  every  duty,  however  harsh — to  censure  the  very  ap- 
pearance of  evil,  and  to  rebuke  the  transgressor,  let  him  be 
the  noblest  in  the  land.  .Standing  on  the  firm  basis  of  reve- 
lation, invest  every  truth  with  its  due  weight,  assign  to  every 
truth  its  distinguishing  station  in  the  Christian  creed,  incul- 
cate every  truth  at  the  ref|uisite  season,  and  lay  open  every 
truth  in  its  connexion  with  the  person  and  with  the  atonement 
of  Christ. 


AVith  regard  to  your  ministerial  duties,  let  me  exhort  you, 
in  conducting  the  services  of  the  Sanctuary,  to  be  deliberate^ 
to  be  solemn,  to  be  full  of  your  subject,  and  sedulously  to 
abstain,  like  Paul  of  old,  from  the  "  enticing  words  of  man's 
wisdom."  And  while  solid  learning,  judicious  argument, 
and  a  thinking  and  philosophical  spirit,  accompanied  with 
discreet  and  manful  eloquence,  may  do  much  to  illustrate 
Christianity,  and  to  ennoble  its  outward  form,  it  must  also 
be  added,  that  luxuriant  language,  needless  reasonings,  vague 
and  fanciful  speculations,  long  researches  in  history,  and  in- 
dulgence in  criticism,  without  either  solidity  or  object,  do 
much  to  obscure  Christianity,  and  to  lay  its  honours  in  the 
dust.  If  your  religion  be  experimental,  your  eloquence  will 
emanate  from  the  Bible;  and,  glowing  with  love  to  God,  and 
with  martyr-like  devotedness  to  his  cause,  your  whole  soul 
will  come  forth  into  your  discourses  with  a  simplicitj'  and  a 
greatness  which  art  cannot  borrow,  which  nature  did  not  give, 
which  the  Lord  whom  you  serve  can  alone  bestow. 

W'ith  regard  to  your  ministerial  duties, — since  you  are 
bound  to  excite  and  to  cherish  among  your  congregation  a 
sense  of  their  being  lost  and  helpless,  along  with  a  conviction 
of  the  all-sufficiency  of  Christ,  by  his  righteousness  and  by 
his  Spirit,  to  save  them  unto  the  uttermost — since  it  is  be- 
yond the  strength  of  the  most  zealous  minister,  beyond  the 
gr^ices  of  composition,  bej'ond  the  charms  of  eloquence,  to 
awaken  this  sense  and  this  conviction — and  since  it  only  is 
the  influence  of  God  that  can  emancipate  a  heart  enslaved  to 
sin,  that  can  ransom  it  from  bondage,  and  endue  it  with  the 
■'liberty  wherewith  Christ  hath  made  us  free," — let  me  ex- 
hort you  to  sustain  and  to  feed  your  ministry  with  the  oil  of 
fervent  supplication ;  and  let  your  soul  be  ever  upon  the 
wing  to  Heaven,  for  a  blessing  upon  your  labours,  so  that 
your  congregation  may  grow  up  around  you  in  holy  living, 
and  so  that  you  and  your  congregation  may  offer  up  your 
accounts  to  the  Almighty  Judge  with  joy,  and  not  with  grief; 
and  rest  assured,  that  your  supplications  shall  not  fall  to  the 
ground.  In  being  a  minister  of  Christ,  you  have  not  an 
Egyptian  taskinaster,  demanding  bricks,  and  yet  not  furnish- 
ing straw.  Unto  him  who  has  the  honour  to  be  a  minister 
of  the  Word — the  high,  the  inetfable  honour,  for  of.our  office 
we  will  boast — unto  him  it  is  said,  "  My  grace  is  sufficient 
tor  thee,  for  my  strength  is  made  perfect  in  weakness."  Suf- 
ficient it  has  been  in  the  ages  that  are  gone,  when  his  ser- 
vants were  in  the  waters  of  allliction,  in  the  rivers  of  tempta- 
tion and  of  abounding  iniquity,  in  tlie  fires  of  suffering,  and 
in  the  flames  of  martyrdom — and  sufficient  it  shall  be,  in  this 
age  of  comparative  tranquillity,  when  we  sit  beneath  our  vine, 
and  watch  our  flocks,  without  any  one  to  make  us  afraid. 

With  regard  to  your  ministerial  duties,  let  me  exhort  j'ou 
to  be  resolute  and  to  be  consistent,  to  be  unceasing  in  your 
labours,  and  instant  in  season  and  out  of  season,  for  the  sal- 
vation of  souls.  With  the  salvation  of  every  soul  under  your 
ministry,  your  own  salvation  is  essentially  connected  ;  and  if, 
among  the  souls  before  you,  even  one  soul  should  go  to  ruin 
through  your  indifference  or  your  neglect — life  for  life,  and 
soul  for  soul,  we  are  not  warranted  to  consider  you  as  safe. 
For  it  was  said  to  Ezekiel,  and  it  is  said  to  you  and  to  us  all, 
"  Son  of  Man,  I  have  made  thee  a  watchman  to  the  house  of 
Israel,  therefore  hear  the  word  at  m\'  mouth,  and  give  them 
warning  from  me.  When  I  say  unto  the  wicked,  Thou  shalt 
surely  die,  and  thou  givest  him  not  warning,  nor  speakest  to 
warn'the  wicked  from  his  wicked  way  to  save  his  life,  the 
same  wicked  man  shall  die  in  his  iniquity,  but  his  blood  will 
I  require  at  thine  hand." 

And  finally,  niy  reverend  brother,  this  charge  is  delivered 
to  you  in  the  sight  of  God,  who  at  this  very  moment  is  gazing 
on  your  heart,  and  who  hereafter  will  judge  you  according  to 
your  deeds;  it  is  delivered  to  you  before  Christ,  whose  com- 
iiiandment  it  is,  that  you  consecrate  to  his  service  your  time 
and  your  abilities;  and  it  is  delivered  to  you  in  the  hearing 
of  this  assembly,  who  are  enjoined  to  be  witnesses  that  we 
have  laid  before  you  an  exhortation  concerning  your  own  in- 
dividual goilliness,  concerning  your  deportment  in  the  worhl, 
and  concerning  your  ministerial  duties,  and  that  if  yon  fail  in 
your  avocations,  we  are  guiltless  of  your  blood.  And  in  or- 
der that  you  should  not  come  short  in  your  ministerial  avoca- 
tions, oh !  may  the  blessing  of  Almighty  God,  and  the  grace 
of  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ  be  upoti  you;  and  may  the  opera- 
tions of  the  Holy  Spirit  encourage  you  to  unremitting  labours, 
and  hold  vou  up"  amid  toils  and  amid  trials !  And  if  your 
work  should  be  done,  and  your  warfare  be  ended,  when  the 
trumpet  shall  sound,  shall  it  not  sound  in  your  ears  as  the 
signal  of  victory?  and  when  the  dead  shall  be  raised,  shall 
not  your  body  he  raised  incorruptible,  and  forthwith  be  asso- 


THE  SECURITY  OF  THE  CHURCH. 


551 


ciated  with  a  soul  that  is  immortal ;  while  you,  my  reverend 
brnthpr,  in  body  and  in  soul,  receive  tlie  blessed  sentence, 
"  Well  done,  <jood  and  failliful  servant,  thou  hast  been  faith- 
ful over  a  few  things,  I  will  make  thee  ruler  over  many  things, 
enter  thou  into  the  joy  of  thy  Lord  ?" 

And  in  fine,  the  words  which  were  addressed  to  Joshua  at 
his  ordination,  I  address  to  you  at  yours,  and  these  are  the 
words  :  "  This  book  of  the  Law  shall  not  depart  out  of  thy 
mouth,  but  thou  shalt  meditate  therein  day  and  night,  that 
thou  maycst  observe  to  do  according  to  all  that  is  written 
therein,  for  then  thou  shalt  make  thy  way  prosperous,  and 
then  thou  shalt  have  good  success." 

And  in  addressing  myself  to  you,  the  members  of  thisccn- 
gregation,  now  that  the  relation  between  your  minister  and 
you  is  firmly  settled,  give  me  leave  to  observe,  that  you  have 
knowingly  consented  to  this  relation,  and  that  you  have  know- 
ingly undertaken  the  responsibility  of  cementing  that  relation, 
by  continued  attachment  to  your  minister,  and  by  continued 
concord  among  yourselves.  And  h  t  me  exhort  you — seeing 
you  shall  be  called  to  an  account  for  your  conduct  towards 
j'our  minister  and  towards  one  another,  and  seeing,  as  we 
hope  and  trust,  that  your  nunister  has  come  among  you  in 
answer  to  your  intercessions  at  the  throne  of  grace — to  re- 
ceive him  with  gladness  in  the  Lord,  to  love,  to  reverence, 
and  to  esteem  hiin.  Assist  hitu,  and  strengthen  Ids  hands, 
by  educating  all  wlio  are  under  your  care  in  the  exercises  of 
religion.  Let  devotion  in  your  closets  be  observed — 'et  wor- 
ship with  your  families  be  regularly  and  conscientiously  kept 
up — be  unfailing  in  your  attendance  upon  the  ordinances  of 
the  church — remember  the  Sabbath,  and  curb  every  tendency 
towards  the  violating  of  its  liallowcd  rest:  and  thus,  in  sur- 
rounding your  households  with  the  light  and  with  the  beau- 
ties of  holiness,  you  will  be  fellow-workers  with  your  pastor 
on  earth,  and,  wliat  is  slill  more,  fellow-workers  with  your 
Pastor,  your  Priest,  your  Saviour  who  is  in  Heaven. 

And  let  it  weigh  upon  your  minds,  that  in  being  stationed 
as  your  minister,  he  is  entitled  to  an  uidimited  freedom  in 
admonishing  and  in  rebuking  you,  and  in  standing  boldl}'  for- 
ward to  expose  the  sins  that  beset  you,  the  hypocrisy  or  the 
carnality  with  which  you  may  be  tainted.  And  considering 
that  your  own  welfare  may  hinge  on  his  unshrinking  and 
faithful  management,  and  considering  that  if  he  does  not  act 
faithfully,  or  if  he  suffers  any  sin  to  lie  upon  you  unexposed, 
it  may  cost  him  his  soul,  let  me  exhort  you  to  put  your  com- 
mission into  his  hands,  authori'.ing  him  to  speak  to  you  what- 
ever the  Lord  may  command  ;  and  do  not  weaken  and  do  not 
grieve  his  spirit  by  your  negligence  and  carelessness  under 
his  ministry,  but  by  your  faith  unshaken,  your  love  unfeign- 
ed, and  your  blameless,  harmonious  demeanour,  be  his  epistles 
of  commendation  unto  the  church  of  Christ. 

May  our  reverend  brother  never  have  reason  to  regret,  on 
account  of  your  inattention  or  your  unkindness,  that  lie  has 
chosen  this  congregation  in  preference  to  several  others, 
which  would  have  Ijeen  glad  to  have  received  him.  May  you 
animate  and  urge  him  on  by  your  constant  attendance  on  his 
ministrations,  and  by  your  improvement  under  them  ;  and  God 
grant  that  you  may  never  afflict  his  soul  by  ruiidng  your  own  ! 
And  to  conclude  with  an  ajiostolic  benediction,  "  May  the  God 
of  peace,  that  brought  again  from  the  dead  our  Lord  Jesus, 
that  great  Shepherd  of  the  sheep,  through  the  blood  of  the 
everlasting  covenant,  make  you  perfect  iu  every  good  work 
to  do  his  will,  working  in  you  that  which  is  well-pleasing  in 
his  sight,  through  Jesus  Christ,  to  whoin  be  glory  for  ever 
and  ever !" 


SERMON  IL 

The  security  of  the  Vhurch  in  its  rclatiun  to  GuJ.* 

God  is  in  the  m'ulst  of  her  ;  she  shall  not  be  moveJ. — Psalm  .\l\i.  5. 

The  preceding  verses  of  this  Psalm  express  the  language 
of  exaltation  and  of  triumph.  The  Church  declares  her  full 
and  firm  confidence  of  jirotectiou  and  safety  amid  all  the  tu- 
mults and  confusions  of  the  earth,  the  raging  of  nations,  the 
fall  of  empires,  and  the  dissolution  of  the  world  :  "Therefore 
will  not  we  fear,  though  the  earth  he  removed,  and  though 

*  Preached  at  the  opening  of  the  Sj-nod  in  Edinburgh,  IT'To. 


the  mountains  be  carried  into  the  midst  of  the  sea,  though 
the  waters  thereof  roar  ami  be  troubled,  though  the  mountains 
shake  with  the  swelling  thereof."  lint  what  is  the  graund 
on  which  the  Church  erects  her  towering  confidence!  It  is 
on  the  ground  of  her  relation  to  God  :  she  is  the  city  of  the 
Most  High — the  residence  of  t!ic  Eternal,  who  is  engaged  to 
be,  and  in  the  time  of  need  will  appear  as,  her  protector  and 
avenger.  "  God  is  in  the  midst  of  her,"  says  our  text :  "  she 
shall  not  be  moved  :  God  shall  keep  her,  and  that  right  early." 
A  meditation  on  this  interesting  and  reviving  topic,  which 
cannot  be  deemed  improper  at  any  period  for  the  considera- 
tion of  the  Church's  guides  when  they  are  assembled  in  their 
judicial  character,  receives,  in  my  opinion,  a  vast  accession 
of  weight  and  importance  from  the  incidental  circumstances 
o(  the  present  time:  it  seems,  raethinks,  peculiarly  seasonable 
ror  us,  at  this  critical  juncture,  when  looking  back  on  what 
lias  been  suffered  b}-  our  people  in  common  with  tlieir  fellow 
subjects,  and  forwards  to  what  we  may  be  supposed  to  fear. 
\\  hen  we  behold,  on  the  one  hand,  the  miseries  produced  by 
a  calamitous  war,  and  on  the  other  the  probable  prolongation 
of  its  horrors,  or,  if  these  should  cease  by  the  terminating  of 
hostilities,  the  probable  springing  up  of  the  seeds  of  national 
discontent,  originating  in  real  or  in  imaginarj-  grievances — 
when  turning  our  attention  to  what  we  see  and  feel,  we  may 
dread  that  every  wind  which  blows,  tliat  every  post  which 
arrives,  is  freighted  to  us  with  tidings  of  local  insurrections 
and  of  universal  disaster,  schemes  overturned,  property  lost, 
territories  invaded,  friends  massacred,  brave  hearts  falling  iu 
the  battles  of  Europe — when  it  occurs  to  our  minds  that  the 
great  principles  of  honesty,  honour,  and  holiness,  have  lost 
their  influence  and  credit — and  when  vices  of  the  utmost  mag- 
nitude and  of  extensive  spread  call  aloud  for  vengeance, — it 
seems,  we  say,  peculiarly  seasonable  to  recollect,  that  the 
counsels  of  princes,  the  animosities  of  kingdoms,  the  tumults 
of  the  people,  the  combinations  of  fleets  and  armies,  and  all 
the  infernal  fiends  of  devastation  are  still  under  His  control 
who  regards  the  best  interests  of  his  Cliurch  with  infinite 
tenderness — who,  under  the  sorest  and  saddest  calamities, 
furnishes  an  asylum  for  believers  in  the  consolator}-  doctrine 
which  our  text  and  similar  Scriptures  bring  to  view, — "  God 
is  in  the  midst  of  her,  she  shall  not  he  moved,"  intimating, 
that  the  presence  of  Jehovah  iu  the  midst  of  Zion  is  ground 
of  confidence  to  her  citizens  in  the  prospect  or  at  the  approach 
of  'he  most  shaken  times. 

We  shall,  very  briefly,  Advert  to  some  of  those  many  char- 
acters of  excellences  which  are  ascribed  in  Sacred  Scripture 
to  that  illustrious  person  who  is  here  said  to  be  resident  in 
the  Church;  secondly,  we  shall  speak  of  his  presence;  and 
thirdly,  we  shall  demonstrate  how  his  presence  in  the  Cliurch 
is  ground  of  confidence  and  joy  to  her  members  in  the  pros- 
pect or  at  the  approach  of  the  most  shaken  times. 

Of  the  many  characters  of  excellence  which  are  ascribed  in 
Sacred  Scripture  to  that  illustrious  person  who  is  here  said  to 
be  resident  in  the  Church,  let  us  only  enumerate  his  unity, 
'lis  holiness,  his  greatness,  and  his  grace. 

He  is  one.  In  this  perfection  he  glories,  as  distinguishing 
him  from,  and  !exalting  him  above,  every  being.  Both  the 
Old  and  the  New  Testament  abound  with  expressions  of 
it.  "  Hear,  0  Israel,  the  Lord  our  God  is  one  Lord."  And 
again,  "There  be  gods  many  and  lords  many,  but  to  us" — 
Christians  no  less  than  Jews — "there  is  but  one  God." 
But  though  a  unit}'  or  oneness  ol' essence  is  expressed  in  these 
and  similar  passages,  yet  the  plurality  of  jjerson.s  is  necessa- 
rily implied.  These  two  are  consistent,  and  are  alike  clearly 
revealed:  the  unity  and  simplicily  of  essence  does  not  des- 
troy the  trinity  of  persons,  nor  does  the  plurality  of  persons 
infer  the  mulliplicity  or  division  of  the  essence;  for  we  find 
it  stated  in  a  verse  which  several  critics  reject,  but  which  we 
have  not  heard  reasons  enough  to  discredit,  "There  are 
three  that  bear  record  in  Heaven,  the  Father,  the  Word,  and 
ihe  Holy  Ghost — and  these  three  are  one."  the  unity  of  the 
Godhead,  iu  opposition  to  the  multiplicity  of  gods  among  the 
Gentiles,  was  a  principal  part  of  orthodox  testimony  respect- 
ing the  Divine  nature  before  the  coming  of  Jesus  Christ; 
and,  since  that  event,  a  principal  part  of  orthodox  testimony 
respecting  ihe  Divine  nature  is  a  trinity  of  persons  in  this 
one  Godhead,  in  opposition  to  the  Jews  and  the  followers  of 
Socinus,  who  league  together  in  denying  this  fundamental 
article  of  belief. 

Holiness  is  joined,  in  many  passages  of  Scripture,  wilh  the 
unity  and  simplicity  of  his  essence,  and  belongs  to  each  of 
the  persons — all  of  them  are  necessarily  and  are  unchamrea- 
bly  holy.  Angels  celebrate  and  believing  men  give  thanks  at 
the  remembrance  of  the  holiness  of  each  :  it  ia  the  glory,  the 


552 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


happiness,  the  life,  of  each  of  them;  and  from  them  all  cre- 
ated holiness  is  immediately  derived.  "Exalt  ye  the  Lord 
our  God,  and  worship  at  his  footstool,  for  he  is  holy."    "  Be 


the  midst  of  the  Church  is  ground  of  confidence  to  her  mem- 
bers, in  the  prospect  or  at  the  approach  of  the  most  sad  and 
shaki  n  times,  let  us  fifrure  the  saddest  times  imaginable, — her 


ye  holy,  for  I  am  holy."     And  if  his  power  and  Godhead  are  members  labouring  under  heavy  spiritual  decays — mercenary. 


seen  in  the  things  which  he  hath  made,  so  let  the  immnculate 
purity  of  his  nature  be  seen  in  yonr  temper  and  conduct. 

His  greatness  is  expressive  of  the  excellence  and  majesty 
of  the  Deity,  and  we  observe,  in  Scripture,  the  minds  of  good 
men  seized,  surprised,  and  overwhelmed  with  it.  "The 
grenl,  the  mighty  God,"  says  Jeremiah,  "the  Lord  of 
Hosts  is  his  name."  "  The  Lord  your  God,"  says  Moses, 
"  is  God  of  gods  and  Lord  of  lords,  a  great  God,  a  mighty, 
and  a  terrible."  If  you  desire  farther  conceptions  of  his  great- 
ness, for  helping  yonr  faith  and  for  supporting  your  hope,  look 
to  his  name, — "  Behold  I  I  have  sworn  by  my  greal  name, 
saith  the  Lord  ;"  and  look  to  his  counsels  which  were  of  old 
from  everlasting, — "The  Lord  of  Hosts  is  his  n;\me,  great  in 
counsel;"  and  look  to  his  faithfulness, — "  Great  is  thy  faith- 
fulness ;"  and  look  to  his  goodness, — "  Oh  !  how  great  is  thy 
goodness ;"  and  look  to  his  power, — "  Great  is  our  Lord,  and 
o{  great  power;"  and  look  to  his  works, — "O  Lord!  how 
great  are  thy  works;"  and  look  to  his  precious  thoughts,  and 
his  mercy  towards  miserable  men, — "  How  precious  also  are 
thy  thoughts  unto  me,  O  God  !  how  great  is  the  sum  of  them." 
And  his  greatness  demands  from  us  great  fear,  great  love, 
great  honour,  great  praise,  great  subjection. 

With  regard  to  his  grace  exhibited  in  relation  to  the 
Cliurch,  he  bears  the  amiable  character  of  the  God  of  Jacob 
— the  God  of  Israel.  In  the  last  mentioned  character  he  de- 
lights with  ineffable  complacency,  because  it  strongly  deline- 
ates his  relation  to  tlie  Church,  and  signally  displays  his 
grace  in  constituting  that  relation.  Israel  was  the  name 
given  to  Jacob  on  tlie  morning  after  he  had  wrestled  with  the 
Angel, — "Thy  name  shall  be  called  no  more  Jacob,  but 
Israel  ;  for  as  a  prince  hast  thou  power  with  God  and  with 
men,  and  hast  prevailed."  And  God  having  chosen  tlie  seed 
of  Jacob  to  be  his  heritage,  this  name,  the  God  of  Israel,  de- 
notes, that  all  who  believe  in  his  cocternal  Son,  are  and  shall 
be  tlie  objects  of  his  delight,  and  the  heirs  of  his  promises; 
while  the  same  eye  which  shadowed  over  Jacob  shall  be  fixed 
on  them  for  good,  and  the  arm  which  defended  him  shall  be 
their  defence,  and  the  hand  which  supplied  his  wants  shall 
be  the  magazine  of  their  supply. 

We  come  to  speak  of  his  presence  in  the   Church.     It  i 
embodied  in  the  language  of  our  text  with  uncommon  empha 
sis  and  energy, — "  God  is  in  the  midst  of  her" — the  one,  the 
holy,  the  great,  the  gracious  God,  is  in  the   midst  of  the 
Church. 

The  divine  presence  may  be  distinguished  in  respect  of  his 
being,  and  in  respect  of  his  working. 

Ill  respect  of  being,  he  is  wholly,  equally,  and  continually 
every  where — excluded  from,  and  included  in,  no  place. 
This  presence  has  been  denominated  his  Immensity  ;  and, 
with  a  view  to  it  we  find  some  striking  and  silencing  ques- 
tions put  to  us  by  a  prophet,  in  his  name, — "  Am  I  a  God  at 
hand,  saith  the  Lord,  and  not  a  God  afar  ott"!  Can  any  hide 
himself  in  secret  places  that  I  shall  not  see  him,  sailh  the 
Lord  ?     Do  not  I  fill  heaven  and  earth,  saith  the  Lord  V 

In  respect  of  working,  he  may  be  considered  as  present 
with  all  his  creatures  by  upholding  them  in  existence  and  in 
the  capacity  for  action — as  present  with  his  enemies  by  pun- 
ishing, in  various  ways  and  in  different  degrees,  their  rebel- 
lious conduct — as  present  with  the  Church  by  special  favour, 
by  sacred  institutions,  by  spiritual  operations,  by  communi- 
cating to  every  member  knowledge,  and  purity,  and  consola- 
tion,— the  first  of  these  being  his  presence  providential,  the 
second  his  presence  vindictive,  the  third  his  presence  gra- 
cious. And  from  what  has  been  said  you  perceive,  that  they 
are  nothing  more  than  different  manifestations  of  one  and  tlie 
same  presence  exerting  its  power  differently  according  to 
the  different  relations  in  which  his  creatures  are  estimated  by 
him, — as  the  objects  of  his  care,  or  of  his  displeasure,  or  of 
his  love. 

When  God,  therefore,  is  represented  to  be  in  the  micht  of 
the  Church,  the  meaning  is  this:  He  is  and  ever  will  be 
present  with  the  society  of  the  faithful  by  his  word  and  ordi- 
nances, by  his  favour  and  affection,  by  his  grace  and  by  the 
efficacy  of  his  Spirit,  and  by  his  irrevocable  engagement  to 
bend  every  perfection  of  his  character  towards  the  accomplish- 
ment of  their  real  good;  and  to  dwell  with  them,  to  animate 
and  to  actuate  them,  forms  his  choice  and  his  crowning  de- 
light; wliile  it  is  their  safety  and  defence,  their  glory  and 
beauty,  their  comfort  and  joy. 

But,  thirdly,  in  demonslraliiig  how  his  gracious  presence  in 


unfaithful  pastors  obtruded  upon  her  congregations — impedi- 
ments reared  against  reformation,  whether  civil  or  ecclesias- 
tical— few  of  the  nobles  and  great  men  owning  her  cause, 
but  conspiring  to  crush  her  advancement,  or  to  mock  at  her 
doctrines — the  heart  and  the  hand  for  building  up  her  walls 
or  for  repairing  her  breaches  taken  away — her  citadels  at- 
tacked by  intestine  commotions — her  watchmen  and  garrison 
consumed  amid  the  flames  of  persecution — the  world  con- 
vulsed, and  anarchy  triumphant  throughout  the  earth, — dis- 
aslerous  and  shaken  times  indeed  !  yet,  during  such  times 
as  these,  the  members  of  the  Church  may  remain  unshaken 
— may  rejoice  and  exult,  for  "  God  is  in  the  midst  of  her," 
says  our  text;  "she  shall  not  be  moved." 

The  presence  of  God  with  the  Church  is  ground  of  confi- 
dence and  joy,  because  He  who  is  in  the  midst  of  her  is 
almighty  in  strength.  In  our  notions  of  the  Supreme  Be- 
ing, this  is  among  the  first  that  we  form  ;  and  it  is  this  which 
invests  him,  amid  the  most  turbulent,  desolating  commotions, 
with  the  awful  sovereignty  of  the  world.  He  spake,  and 
it  was  done — it  stood  fast  when  he  commanded — the  deep 
heard  his  voice — the  abyss  of  nothing  teemed  with  myri' 
ails  of  sparkling  stars,  and  blazing  suns,  and  rolling  orbs  : 
'  Lift  up  your  eyes  on  high,  and  behold  who  hath  created 
these  things,  that  bringeth  out  their  host  by  number;  he 
calleth  them  all  by  names,  by  the  greatness  of  his  might,  for 
that  he  is  strong  in  power — not  one  faileth."  Rulers  may 
forge  the  galling  yoke  for  their  subjects,  and  subjects  may 
tremble  for  their  liberties;  but  kings  and  the  people  are  in  his 
hand — it  is  his  to  stint  the  undue  extension  of  prerogative, 
to  suppress  the  clamor  of  faction,  and  to  make  public  calami- 
ties eventually  public  benefits  to  the  Church.  "God  is  in 
the  midst  of  her,"  says  our  text ;  "  she  shall  not  be  moved." 

The  presence  of  God  with  the  Church  is  ground  of  confi- 
dence and  joy,  because  he  who  is  in  the  midst  of  her  is  infi- 
nite in  wisdom.  Power  without  wisdo?n  can  be  no  object  of  rev- 
erence to  the  weak  and  the  dependent;  but  in  regard  to  Him 
who  is  in  the  midst  of  the  Church,  the  Scriptures  pronounce 
his  understanding  infinite  ;  he  is  acquainted  with  the  wants 
and  the  dangers  of  her  members,  and  can  be  at  no  loss  to  con- 
trive the  means  of  conferring  what  is  wanted,  and  of  warding 
ofi"  what  is  dangerous.  He  is  every  where,  to  crown  the 
righteous  with  his  blessing,  and  to  smite  the  wicked  with 
his  curse.  Nothing  too  great  or  too  small  for  his  attention, 
he  looks  upon  the  whole  S3'stem  of  human  affairs,  not  as  an 
idle  and  indifferent  spectator,  but  as  one  deeply  and  alike 
concerned  in  them  all  ;  and  the  members  of  the  Church  may 
rest  assured,  that,  in  the  arrangements  of  his  providence,  he 
keeps  always  in  view  an  end  worthy  of  himself  and  conducive 
to  their  advantage — that  he  will  never  forget  their  interest 
in  one  of  his  numerous  appointments.  The  wheels  of  his 
administration  are  in  harmony  with  his  benevolent  designs 
for  the  welfare  of  the  Church, — "  God  is  in  the  midst  of  her," 
says  our  text ;  "  she  shall  not  be  moved." 

The  presence  of  God  with  the  Church  is  ground  of  confi- 
dence and  joy,  because  He  who  is  in  the  midst  of  her  is  un- 
changeable in  faithfulness.  He  who  is  almighty  in  strength 
and  infinite  in  wisdom,  is  inviolable  in  truth.  It  were  easier 
for  ns  to  convert  fire  into  water,  to  annihilate  the  elements,  to 
unhinge  the  system  of  nature,  than  to  unhinge  or  to  annihilate 
the  purpose  of  the  Lord.  Can  time  impair  the  mind  which 
inhabits  eternity,  or  creatures  unsettle  the  decrees  of  their 
Maker,  or  conlingencies  perplex  the  arrangements  of  the  Father 
of  lights,  before  whom  all  possible  occurrences  are  manifest, 
and  from  whom  no  possible  accidents  are  hid  ?  His  faithful- 
ness imparts  to  the  Church  uidimiled  confidence  in  all  branches 
of  his  administration;  and  is  the  pledge  of  victory  over  her 
foes,  of  the  sanctified  use  of  every  trying  dispensation  which 
he  ordains,  of  the  full  acciimplisbment  of  every  gracious  pro- 
mise which  he  makes.  For  while  faithfulness  is  the  girdle 
of  his  reins,  and  truth  is  inseparable  from  his  being,  her 
members  may  dismiss  every  fear,  and  bid  defiance  to  every 
danger, — "  God  is  in  the  midst  of  her,"  says  our  text;  "  she 
hall  not  be  moved." 

The  presence  of  God  with  the  Church  is  ground  of  confi- 
dence and  joy,  because  He  who  is  in  the  midst  of  her  is  un- 
bounded in  goodness.  The.  goodness  of  God  to  the  Church  in 
all  his  works  is  visible — in  her  redemption  through  Jesus 
Christ  it  is  refulgent.  It  warms  us  in  the  morning  beam, 
and  cools  us  in  the  evening  breeze,  glitters  in  the  midnight 
firmament,  waves  luxuriant  in  the  flowers  of  the  field;  but  in 


CHRIST,  OUR  HIGH  PRIEST. 


553 


tlie  restoration  of  the  Cliurch  to  perfection  and  felicity,  it 
sliines  over«helnun<r  and  dazzling,  with  the  splendour  of  a 
meridian  sun  :  "God  is  in  the  midst  of  her,"  says  our  text; 
"  she  shall  not  he  moved." 

W  ith  such  a  foundation  to  rest  upon,  what  have  the  mem- 
bers of  the  Church  to  apprehend  from  the  passions  of  men, 
from  the  vicissitudes  of  time,  from  the  dissolution  of  things — 
there  being  still  one  at  the  head  of  matters,  superior  to  all 
change,  and  boundless  in  love,  in  whom  our  chief  good  is 
eternally  secure  ?  Let  the  hemisphere  darken  and  the  tempests 
rage — let  thunders  rend  the  concave  and  earthquakes  desolate 
the  lands — let  property  pass  to  other  owners,  kingdoms  to 
other  lords,  continents  to  other  heroes — let  famine,  let  pesti- 
lence, let  war,  these  direful  scourges  of  mankind  occasioned 
by  our  guilt  and  inflicted  by  celestial  justice,  empoison  the 
fountains  of  each  earthly  comfort, — still  the  Church  is  encir- 
cled in  the  arms  of  God,  and,  conscious  of  her  security,  may 
with  exultation  sing,  "  God  is  our  refuge  and  strentrth,  a  very 
present  help  in  trouble,  therefore  will  not  we  fear,  though  the 
earth  be  removed,  and  though  the  mountains  be  carried  into 
the  midst  of  the  sea,  though  the  waters  thereof  roar  and  be 
troubled,  though  the  mountains  shake  with  the  swelling 
thereof;  there  is  a  river  the  streams  whereof  shall  make  glad 
the  city  of  God,  the  holy  place  of  the  tabernacles  of  the  Most 
High;  God  is  in  the  midst  of  her,  she  shall  not  be  moved 

Vie  invite  the  hearers  of  the  Gospel  to  become  members  of 
that  society,  to  which  the  gracious  and  protecting  presence  of 
God  is  secured.  By  nature,  to  the  family  of  Satan  you  be- 
long; the  state  of  wicked  men  is  your  state;  the  enemies  of 
Heaven's  love,  the  objects  of  Heaven's  wrath,  are  your  friends 
and  companions.  A  dreadful  situation  !  but  it  may  soon  and 
may  completely  be  reversed:  your  state  and  your  temper, 
your  name  and  connexions,  may  all  be  transformed.  Hover 
not  about  Sinai,  in  blind  attachment  to  the  broken  covenant 
of  \yorks;  tarry  not  in  the  Sodom  of  a  natural  state;  linger 
not  in  the  Babylon  of  temporal  vanities  and  of  carnal  impuri- 
ties ;  leave  the  family  of  him  who  worketh  in  the  children  of 
disobedience,  for  the  family  and  the  fellowship  of  Him  who  is 
in  the  midst  of  the  Church.  An.l  let  tlie  citizens  of  Zion  be 
joyful  in  their  king;  let  them  pray  for  the  peace  of  Zion  ;  let 
them  be  zealous  for  the  interests  of  Zion;  let  them  speak  the 
language,  and  wear  the  dress  of  Zion;  let  them  comfort  and 
assist  their  brethren  when  dejected  or  helpless,  and  dwell  to- 
gether in  unity. 

And  suffer  me,  with  all  dutiful  respect,  my  reverend  fathers 
and  brethren,  to  remind  you  of  the  high  office  with  which  you 
are  invested,  and  the  important  duties  which  your  office  calls 
upon  you  to  discharge.  Ye  are  watchmen  of  Zion,  ye  are 
the  ministers  of  the  Church;  and  by  your  instructions,  by 
your  fervent  prayers,  by  your  example,  may  our  Zion  be  de- 
fended and  our  Church  animated, — by  your  instructions  in 
holding  forth  the  simple  truth — by  your  prayers  for  the  spread 
of  religion,  for  the  growth  of  grace,  for  comfort  amid  labours, 
for  the  joys  of  final  triumph— by  your  example  fraught  with 
holy  boldness,  with  unwearied  activity,  with  self-denial,  with 
sincerity ! 

It  your  duties  are  great,  and  the  discharge  of  them  difficult, 
yet  for  your  encouragement  consider,  should  you  be  instru- 
mental in  plucking  but  one  brand  from  the  burning — in  de- 
livering but  one  unhappy  sinner  from  the  error  of  his  ways 
it  is  more  than  worth  a  whole  long  life  of  diligence  and  of  toil. 

If  your  duties  are  great,  and  the  discharge  of  them  difficult, 
yet  for  your  encouragement  consider,  with  the  Master  of  the 
Church,  ye  are  fellow-workers, — his  Gospel  ye  declare— his 
ordinances  ye  dispense — his  kingdom  ye  advance — his  re 
wards  ye  shall  receive— your  life  be  full  of  usefulness,  and 
your  heart  of  consolation,  and  your  death  of  assurance,  and 
your  eternity  of  bliss.  And  then  shall  come  to  pass,  in  its 
loftiest  mearung,  the  language  of  our  text,  "  God  is  in  the 
midst  of  her,  she  shall  not  be  moved." 


SERMON  III. 

CHRIST,  OUR  HIGH  PRIEST.* 

We  have  not  an  High  Priest  which  cannot  be  touched  witli  the  feel- 
ing of  our  infirmities,  but  was  in  all  points  tempted  like  as  we  ai-e, 
yet  without  sin. — Ilel/ieM's,  iv.  15. 

It  has  been  the  universal  opinion,  that  personal  experience 
of  sutiering  has  a  tendency  to  impart  fellow-feeling  to  the 

*  A  Sacramental  Sermon,  preached  in  1800. 
Vol.  II.— 3  U 


heart.  In  the  law  of  Moses,  when  the  Israelites  are  com- 
manded not  to  grieve  or  oppress  the  stranger,  the  followintr 
reason  is  alleged:  "The  stranger  that  dwelleth  with  }'ou, 
shall  be  unto  you  as  one  born  among  you,  and  thou  shalt  love 
him  as  thyself,  for  ye  were  strangers  in  the  land  of  Egypt." 
To  those  who  have  been  companions  in  affliction,  the  afflicted 
have  recourse,  and  among  them  find  consolation  and  comfort. 

It  consisted  with  Divine  W'isdom,  that  the  Saviour  of  our 
fallen  race  should  be  made  in  all  things  like  unto  the  individ- 
uals he  came  to  save ;  and  that,  living  as  a  man  among  men, 
he  might  be  qualified  for  giving  instruction,  according  to  the 
necessities  and  exigencies  of  the  case.  To  his  instructions 
he  added  his  own  example,  accommodating  that  example  to 
the  most  trying  circumstances;  while,  by  suffering  a  painful 
death,  he  taught  us  how  to  suffer,  and  how  to  die ;  and,  in 
that  nature  which  had  offended,  he  offered  up  a  great  and  a 
solemn  expiation  for  its  guilt. 

Besides  these  purposes,  so  worthy  of  the  Divine  mind, 
which  were  accomplished  b)'  the  incarnation  of  Christ,  an- 
other purpose  of  high  importance  is  suggested  in  the  language 
of  our  text, — "We  have  not  an  High  Priest  which  cannot  be 
touched  with  the  feeling  of  our  infirmities,  but  was  in  all 
points  tempted  like  as  we  are,  yet  without  sin."  For  this 
life,  to  the  godly,  as  well  as  to  others,  is  a  state  of  infirmities 
and  affliction,  and  to  hold  up  the  hearts  of  the  godly  with 
comforts  and  with  encouragements,  was  one  grand  purpose  in 
the  incarnation  of  Christ.  With  a  view  to  encourage  them, 
he  assumed  the  office  of  High  Priest,  or  Mediator,  between 
God  and  them;  and  the  comfort  and  encouragement  to  be  de- 
rived from  a  consideration  of  this  office,  shall  just  be  in  pro- 
portion to  the  belief  which  they  may  entertain  respectino-  the 
greatness  of  his  power  and  the  extent  of  his  fellow-feelinnr. 

The  greatness  of  his  power  is  unfolded  in  the  verse  going 
before  our  text,  and  upon  the  circumstance  of  that  power,  the 
proper  inference,  or  argument,  is  founded:  "Seeing,  then, 
that  we  have  a  great  High  Priest  that  is  passed  into  the 
heavens.  Jesus  the  Son  of  God,  let  us  hold  fast  our  profess- 
ion." But  though  it  be  much  comfort  and  much  encouraore- 
ment  to  be  assured  that  we  really  have  a  great  Hidh  Priest, 
that  he  is  nothing  less  than  Jesus  the  Son  of  God,  and  that 
he  is  passed  into  the  heavens;  yet  these  facts,  without  some- 
thing farther,  are  not  quite  enough  to  render  him  the  object 
of  supreme  and  of  unwavering  confidence;  for,  as  it  is  after- 
ward argued,  it  was  essentia!  to  the  character  of  a  Hio-h 
Priest,  that  he  should  be  taken  from  among  men — and  why  1 
that  he  might  "have  compassion  on  the  ignorant,  and  on  them 
that  are  out  of  the  way,  for  that  he  himself  was  compassed 
with  infirmities." 

In  order,  then,  to  convince  the  godly,  that  he  has  qualities 
of  mercy  and  compassion,  as  well  as  the  quality  of  unboun- 
ded irresistible  power,  we  are  told,  in  the  language  of  our 
text,  that  "  We  have  not  an  High  Priest  that  cannot  be  touch- 
ed with  the  feeling  of  our  infirmities,  hut  was  in  all  points 
tempted  like  as  we  are,  yet  without  sin." 

If  we  take  cognizance  of  the  words  of  our  text,  we  shall 
have  to  observe  a  certain  character  and  office  ascribed  to  the 
Son  of  God, — he  is  an  High  Priest ;  we  shall  have  to  observe 
the  interest  of  the  Church  in  this  Mediator, — he  is  our  High 
Priest ;  we  shall  have  to  observe  the  afflicted  situation  in 
which  our  High  Priest  was  placed, — he  was  in  all  points 
tempted  like  as  we  are ;  we  shall  have  to  observe  what  has 
been  the  result  of  these  afflictions, — he  is  deeply  touched  with 
the  feeling  of  our  infirmities;  and  we  shall  have  to  notice,  as 
the  conclusion  of  the  whole  matter,  in  what  manner  the  com- 
passion of  our  great  High  Priest  is  to  be  the  means  of  com- 
fort and  of  hope  unto  the  godly,  during  the  performance  of 
duty,  and  amid  the  trials  of  life,  "  We  have  not,"  says  our 
text,  "  an  High  Priest  which  cannot  he  touched  with  the  feel- 
ing of  our  infirmities,  but  was  in  all  points  tempted  like  as 
we  are,  yet  without  sin." 

If  we  take  cognizance  of  the  words  of  our  text,  we  shall 
have  to  observe  a  certain  character  and  ofljce  ascribed  to  the 
Son  of  God, — he  is  an  High  Priest. 

The  Son  of  God  has  the  character  of  a  High  Priest,  be- 
cause he  has  been  ordained  to  offer  sacrifice.  It  is  the  state- 
ment of  Scripture,  that  "  every  High  Priest,  taken  from  amono- 
men,  is  ordained  for  men  in  things  pertaining  to  God,  that  he 
may  offer  both  gifts  and  sacrifices  for  sins."  Gifts  and  sa- 
crifices, indeed,  as  they  were  of  celestial  institution,  so  they 
were  of  ancient  origin  ;  but  in  the  vicarious  atonement  of  the 
Son  of  God,  we  behold  the  grand  antitype  of  ceremonial  obla- 
tions. For,  just  as,  with  the  finger,  each  of  them  pointed  to- 
wards Christ,  and  seemed  to  speak  the  same  language  with 
his  harbinger,  "  Behold  the  Lamb  of  God  which  taketh  away 


554 


CHRISTIAN     LIBRARY. 


the  sins  of  the  world," — taketh  it  away  by  one  grand  effica- 
cious atonement,  in  which  the  sacrifice  was  his  human  nature 
while  his  divinity  was  the  altar  that  sanctified  the  gift.  Am: 
this  sacrifice  was  according  to  eternal  appointment, — a  sacri- 
fice by  one  who  was  consecrated  a  Priest  forever,  and  whose 
Priesthood  it  is  neither  possible  to  transfer,  nor  possible  to 
supersede.  And,  by  the  consuming  fire  of  Almighty  wrath, 
this  atoning  sacrifice  was  burned  to  ashes,  while  the  sweet 
savour  breathed  up  on  high,  more  grateful  and  of  more  avail, 
than  the  numerous  and  costly  victims  which  had  smoked 
within  the  tabernacle,  and  the  clouds  of  incense  which  had 
fumed  from  the  golden  censer. 

The  Son  of  God  has  the  character  of  a  High  Priest,  be- 
cause he  has  been  authorized  to  act  as  intercessor.  As  a  type 
of  the  intercession  of  the-.Son  of  God,  it  belonged  to  the  oiBcc 
of  High  Priest,  upon  the  day  of  anniversary  atonement,  to 
enter  into  the  holy  of  holies,  after  the  expiatory  sacrifice  had 
been  offered  up,  and  to  besprinkle  the  mercy-seat  with  the 
blood  of  the  slaughtered  vicliiii ;  hence,  in  allusion  to  this 
typical  intercession  of  the  High  Priest,  we  find  it  elsewhere 
said  in  the  epistle  before  us,  that  "Christ  is  not  entered  into 
the  holy  places  made  with  hands,  which  are  the  figures  of 
the  true,  but  into  heaven  itself,  now  to  appear  in  the  presence 
of  God  for  ns."  The  intercession  of  Christ  just  lies  in  his 
making  appearance  before  God  on  our  behalf,  openly  and 
avowedly ;  and  in  his  making  urgent  request,  that  all  who 
have  been  given  him  may  continue  to  be  his,  may  be  brought 
elTectually  and  lastingly  within  the  covenant  of  grace,  may 
be  pardoned,  may  be  sanctified,  may  obtain  victory  over  death, 
may  he  taken  up  into  glory. 

The  Son  of  God  has  the  character  of  a  High  Priest,  be- 
cause he  has  been  appointed  to  bless  the  people.  That  bless- 
ing the  people  was  an  act  of  the  High  Priest,  we  may  gather 
from  the  following  passage  to  be  found  in  Numbers,  "The 
Lord  spake  unto  Moses,  saying.  Speak  unto  Aaron  and  unto 
his  sons,  saying,  on  this  wise  ye  shall  bless  the  children  of 
Israel,  saying  unto  them.  The  Lord  bless  thee  and  keep  thee; 
the  Lord  make  his  face  shine  upon  thee,  and  be  gracious 
unto  thee;  the  Lord  lift  up  his  countenaiicc  upon  thee,  and 
give  thee  peace."  In  this  act  of  worship,  there  was  at  once 
an  ardent  prayer  for,  and  an  impressive  benediction  over,  the 
assembled  people ;  and  it  was  done  in  the  name  of  the  Lord, 
for  we  find  it  subjoined.  "They  shall  put  my  name  upon  the 
children  of  Israel,  and  I  will  bless  them."  And  whatever 
there  may  be  in  the  opinion  of  certain  commentators,  that  this 
three-fold  repetition  of  the  name  of  the  Lord  refers  to  the 
Trinity — the  Lord  the  Father  bless  thee,  the  Lord  the  Son 
bless  thee,  the  Lord  the  Holy  Ghost  bless  thee ;  yet  of  one 
thing  we  may  rest  assured,  that  Christ  is  the  High  Priest 
who  has  been  appointed  to  bless  the  people,  and  to  bless  them 
liberally,  and  to  bless  them  constantly  and  sufficiently,  and 
to  bless  them  with  forgiveness  of  sin,  and  with  newness  of 
life. 

The  Son  of  God  has  the  character  of  a  Higli  Priest,  be- 
cause he  has  been  intrusted  with  the  management  of  the 
Christian  Church.  He  is  a  minister  of  the  sanctuar}' — he 
is  Head  of  the  Church.  By  his  wisdom  he  administers  its 
affairs  ;  by  his  converting  influence  he  widens  its  borders  and 
multiplies  its  conquests :  and  by  the  gifts  and  graces  of  his 
Holy  Spirit,  its  members  are  strengthened  for  action  and  con- 
soled under  affliction.  It  belongs  to  him,  with  the  strong 
liand  of  regenerating  grace,  to  bring  aliens  and  foreigners  into 
its  bounds  and  immunities — it  belongs  to  him,  from  the  ful- 
ness of  divinitj',  treasured  within  himself,  to  confirm  and  es- 
tablish the  citizens  of  that  commonwealth  by  heavenly  bless- 
ings, shed  abroad,  not  according  to  merit  in  thein,  but  ac- 
cording to  the  plentiful  measure  that  is  in  him — it  is  a  weighty 
branch  of  his  office,  to  welcome  these  citizens,  one  by  one, 
into  what  is  einphatically  styled,  "  the  General  Assembly  and 
Church  of  the  First-born" — and  it  is  coinmitted  to  him  in 
charge,  to  summon,  at  the  Day  of  Judgment,  the  whole  Chris- 
tian Church  before  his  tribunal,  and  to  receive  its  individual 
members  into  glory  with  himself.  Yes!  inglorious  as  they 
appear,  into  glory  shall  the)'  go;  and  every  sense  be  as  quick 
and  sharp,  as  now  it  is  obscured — and  every  faculty  as  intel- 
ligent and  vivid,  as  now  it  is  confused — and  every  all'cction 
as  earnestly  panting  after  God,  as  now  it  is  lukewarm  and 
careless.  For  though  we  can  see  nothing  of  "the  first-born," 
when  departed,  beyond  his  lifeless  and  clay-cold  body  ;  and 
though  it  is  no  more  competent  for  ns  to  know  how  the  soul 
mounts  from  earth,  and  takes  wing  to  the  regions  above,  than 
it  is  competent  for  us  to  know  the  way  of  an  eagle  in  the  air, 
or  the  way  of  a  ship  in  the  midst  of  the  sea ;  yet  still  it  is 
luatter  of  revelation,  that,  absent  from  the  body,  he  is  present 


with  the  Lord  ;  and  that,  what  time  the  Son  of  God,  as  uni- 
versal Judge  and  IJuler,  shall  rear  his  throne  upon  the  bright 
clouds,  then  shall  be  brought  to  pass  that  saying  which  is 
written,  "  Unto  them  that  look  for  him  shall  he  appear,  the 
second  time,  without  sin  unto  salvation." 

But  if  we  take  cognizance  of  the  words  of  our  text,  we  shall 
have  to  observe  the  ititerest  of  the  Church  in  this  Mediator, — 
he  is  our  High  Priest. 

We  are  said  to  have  the  Son  of  God  for  our  High  Priest, 
on  account  of  his  appointment  to  the  office,  and  his  own  vol- 
untary acceptance  and  undertaking  of  it.  For  "no  man," 
according  to  apostolic  language,  "taketh  this  honour  unto 
himself  but  he  that  is  called  of  God,  as  was  Aaron;  so  also 
Christ  glorified  not  himself  to  be  made  an  High  Priest,  but 
he  that  said  unto  hiin.  Thou  art  ni)'  Son,  to-day  have  I  begot- 
ten thee."  That  is,  Christ,  the  appointed  Saviour  aiid  Medi- 
ator, did  not  violently  usurp  the  office  and  honour  of  the  glo- 
rious priesthood,  any  more  than  Aaron  did  violently  usurp  the 
priesthood  to  which  he  was  advanced;  but,  from  eternity,  by 
God  he  was  set  apart,  and,  in  the  fulness  of  lime,  by  none 
except  God  himself  he  was  called  and  ordained  over  so  mo- 
mentous and  so  rrlorious  an  office.  And  to  this  it  is  added, 
"  As  he  saith  also  in  another  place,  thou  art  a  Priest  for  ever, 
after  the  order  of  Melchisedec."  That  is,  we  have  another 
clear  and  express  testimony,  in  this  quotation  from  the  Psalms, 
confirming  tlie  truth  of  his  appointiuent  to  the  priestly  office; 
for,  in  the  above  quotation,  we  must  understand  him  as  being 
thus  addressed, — Thou  art  and  shalt  be  an  eternal  Priest,  not 
after  the  order  of  Aaron,  whose  priesthood  ran  in  a  continued 
and  exclusive  line  confined  to  his  own  family,  but  after  the 
more  lofty  order  of  Melchisedec,  to  whotn  was  neither  official 
father  nor  mother,  to  whom  was  neither  predecessor  nor  suc- 
cessor, with  whom  there  was  neither  associate  nor  assistant, 
who  filled  the  priestly  office  without  rival  or  substitute,  and 
who  in  these  respects  was  an  eminent  and  lively  type  of  thy 
priesthood,  which  shall  remain  with  thee  undivided  and  ever- 
lasting. And  this  appointment  he  cheerfully  accepted,  under- 
took, embraced, — "  Sacrifice  and  oifering  thou  didst  not  de- 
sire, mine  ears  hast  thou  opened  ;  burnt-oftering  and  sin-offer- 
ing hast  thou  not  required  ;  then  said  I,  Lo  !  I  come." 

We  are  said  to  have  the  Son  of  God  for  our  High  Priest, 
on  account  of  his  relation  to  us  as  bone  of  our  bone  and  flesh 
of  our  flesh ;  and  as  having  our  nature,  though  not  our  condi- 
tion— our  form,  without  its  frailties.  We  have  it  upon  Scrip- 
tural authority,  that  "  he  took  not  on  him  the  nature  of  angels, 
but  he  took  on  him,"  or,  as  it  might  be  translated,  he  laid 
hold  upon,  "the  seed  of  Abraham  :"  he  laid  hold  upon  it  ac- 
tually, for  he  was  a  man,  and  not  a  phantom;  he  laid  hold 
ipon  it  completeh',  both  body  and  soul ;  he  laid  hold  upon  it, 
yet  was  not  polluted  by  it,  for  he  was  a  man,  yet  riot  a  sinner ; 
he  laid  hold  upon  it,  )'et  did  not  mix  with  it,  for  his  power 
and  Godhead,  and  other  great  essential  attributes,  were  un- 
changed ;  he  laid  hold  upon  it,  as  a  manager  lays  hold  of  an 
agent,  or  as  a  mechanic  of  an  instrument ;  and  by  laying  liold 
upon  it,  he  has  brought  our  nature  into  a  relation  and  into  a 
consistence  with  himself,  which  neither  things  present  nor 
things  to  come  shall  be  able  to  break. 

We  are  said  to  have  the  Son  of  God  for  our  High  Priest, 
on  account  of  his  having  been  set  apart  to,  and  solemnly  in- 
vested with,  the  office  of  the  priesthood.  The  High  Priest, 
under  the  Jlosaic  order  of  things,  was  invested  with  his  office 
by  cerem.onial  anointing.  By  the  influence  of  the  Holy  Spirit 
upon  the  humanity  of  Christ,  he  was  perfectly  qualified  for, 
and  he  was  solemnly  invested  with,  his  great  official  charac- 
ter; and  the  influence  of  the  Spirit  upon  his  humanity,  was 
not  by  little  and  little,  or  now  and  then,  or  sometimes  grant- 
ed and  soinetimes  withheld,  but  it  came  at  once,  and  unboun- 
dedl}',  and  constantly.  "Such  an  High  Priest  became  us," 
exclaims  an  inspired  apostle,  "who  is  holy,  harmless,  unde- 
filed,  separate  from  sinners  :" — What  was  it  that  became  us  ? 
We  are  guilty,  and  eternal  misery  became  us — we  are  sinful, 
and  the  accusations  of  an  evil  conscience  became  us — we  are 
obstinate,  and  mercy  would  be  lost  upon  us, — nay,  but  "  such 
an  High  Priest  became  ns,  who  is  holy,  harmless,  undefiled, 
separate  from  sinners." 

Cut  if  we  take  cognizance  of  the  words  of  our  text,  we  shall 
have  to  observe  the  alHicted  situation  in  which  our  High  Priest 
was  placed, — he  was  in  all  points  tempted  like  as  we  are. 

To  be  tempted,  according  to  Scriptural  phraseology,  means 
to  undergo  such  trials  of  grace  and  virtue  as  are  accompanied 
with  difficulty  and  with  conflict, — trials  from  Providence 
itself^from  the  world  in  its  example,  in  its  maxims,  in  its 
favours,  in  its  frowns — from  the  snares  and  temptations  of 
ataii — from  our  own  bad  inclinations  and  desires  within. 


CHRIST,  OUR  HIGH  PRIEST. 


555 


And  it  is  in  a  sense  equally  extensive  as  this,  we  apprehend, 
that  the  term  imut  be  understood  in  the  paragraph  now  he- 
fore  us, — our  High  Priest  was  "in  all  points  tempted  like  as 
we  are."  And  though  he  was  not  liable  to  temptation  from 
sinfulness  of  nature,  because,  in  the  words  of  our  text,  he 
was  "without  sin,"  yet  he  was  continually  in  situations  the 
most  adverse  to  the  growth  and  to  the  influence  of  pietj' — to 
the  growth  of  holy  thoughts  and  of  holy  actions ;  he  was 
tempted  in  all  points  like  as  we  are — he  underwent  the  same 
troubles,  and  shared  the  same  afflictions — the  same  bitter  cup 
he  drank,  and  the  same  thorny  path  he  trod. 
•  Believers  are  tempted  in  point  of  poverty  and  want;  some- 
times, like  Lazarus,  they  are  extremely  indigent — sometimes, 
like  Jol),  a  sudden  sad  reverse  takes  every  comfort  away,  with 
every  prospect  that  is  good,  and  every  hope  of  being  better; 
and,  while  the  black  cloud  hangs  over  them,  there  may  be 
nothing  but  the  cold  hand  of  reluctant  charity  to  lead  them 
through  the  gloom.  In  this  point  our  High  Priest  was  tempt- 
ed like  onrselves;  for  the  same  poverty  which  marked  his 
birth,  went  along  with  him  in  the  succeeding  stages  of  life, 
insomuch  that,  even  at  the  moment  when  his  public  ininistry 
was  most  followed  ami  most  applauded,  while  the  foxes  had 
holes  and  the  birds  of  the  air  had  nests,  he  himself  had  not 
where  to  lay  his  head. 

IJelicvers  are  tempted  in  point  of  persecution ;  and  ecclesi- 
astical history,  from  Genesis  to  Revelation,  and  from  Revela- 
tion till  recent  times,  is  one  great  mass  of  evidence,  that  they 
must  carry  tlie  Cross  when  they  are  going  after  Christ:  for 
in  Genesis,  we  find  the  Churcli  to  be  a  pilgrim — in  Exodus, 
a  bond-slave — in  .fudges,  a  mournful  prisoner — in  Kings  and 
Chronicles,  an  oppressed  captive — in  Ezra  and  Neheraiah,  an 
insulted  mendicant — in  the  Song  of  Solomon,  a  lily  among 
thorns — in  the  Prophets,  a  widow  afflicted  and  not  consoled  ; 
in  Revelation,  a  feeble  and  a  timorous  woman,  chased  by  a 
dragon  into  the  bleak  and  barren  wilderness;  and  not  long 
since,  witliin  our  native  country',  there  were  large  armies, 
skilful  generals,  and  instruments  of  keenest  torture,  kept  for 
no  other  purpose  than  finally  to  break  Christian  liberty  and 
unrelentiugly  to  spill  Christian  blood.  In  this  ])oiut,  our 
High  Priest  was  tempted  like  ourselves  :  for  he  was  no  sooner 
born  than  he  was  persecuted  by  Herod — be  no  sooner  entered 
tipon  his  ministry  than  he  was  persecuted  by  the  Jews — he 
was  persecuted  by  Caiaphas,  who  adjudged  him  to  death  on 
false  testimony — he  was  persecuted  by  the  soldiers,  who 
scourged  him  and  who  mocked  him — be  was  persecuted  by 
the  Roman  governor,  who,  though  unwilling,  confirmed  the 
malicious,  unjust,  and  cruel  sentence — amid  the  tortures  of 
the  last  agony,  we  may  see  it  recorded,  "they  that  passed  by 
reviled  him,  wagging  their  heads,  and  saying.  Thou  that  des- 
troyest  the  temple,  and  buildest  it  in  three  days,  save  thy- 
self:" persecution  raged,  till  our  High  Priest  was  no  more. 

Are  believers  tempted  in  point  of  prosperity  ]  are  they  in 
possession  of  honour,  or  of  power,  or  of  affluence?  and  does 
honour  tempt  to  pride,  power  to  oppression,  affluence  to  licen- 
tiousness 1  In  tills  point,  our  High  Priest  was  temjjted  like 
ourselves;  for  by  the  solicitations,  almost  by  the  force,  of  the 
rash  and  ignorant  multitude,  he  was  tempted  to  become  an 
earthly  king:  but  when  they  cried  Hosanna,  he  was  not  over- 
joyed— when  they  cried  Crucify  him,  he  was  not  dejected. 

Are  believers  tempted  with  a  sense  of  fear  and  terror,  when 
nlarming  trials  seem  to  approach  ?  In  this  point,  our  Hicrh 
Priest  was  tempted  like  ourselves;  for  when  the  grand  busi- 
ness of  redemption  reached  a  crisis,  he  was  filled  with  anxiety 
and  with  apprehension,  and  was  heard  to  pray,  "  Oh  I  my 
Father  !  if  it  be  possible,  let  this  cup  pass  from  me,  neverthe- 
less not  as  I  will,  but  as  thou  wilt," — there  being  an  awful 
conflict,  fear  and  terror  on  the  one  hand,  and  a  rpiick  and  strong 
feeling  of  duty  on  the  other ;  an  awful  struggle  with  the  weak- 
ness and  the  daintiness  of  nature,  and  a  great  victory,  and  a 
firm  resolved  mind  to  sutfer  and  to  die. 

Are  believers  tempted  by  Satan?  In  this  point,  our  High 
Priest  was  tempted  like  ourselves ;  and  it  shall  be  found,  that 
with  those  very  temptations  which  he  commonly  wields 
against  believers,  our  High  Priest  himself  was  assaulted  : 
"Oh  !"  says  one,  "I  am  under  temptation  to  doubt  whether 
or  not  I  may  be  a  child  of  God ;"  yes,  and  so  with  our  High 
Priest,  for  it  was  the  language  of  Satan,  "  If  thou  be  the  .Son 
of  God."  "Oh!"  says  another,  "1  am  under  temptation  to 
use  unlawful  means  for  bringing  myself  ont  of  trouble  and 
perplexity  :"  )'es,  and  so  with  our  High  Priest,  for  it  was  the 
language  of  Satan,  "  Command  that  these  stones  be  made 
bread."  "Ob!"  saj's  another,  "I  am  under  heart-rending 
temptation  to  lay  violent  hands  upon  my  own  lile;"  yes,  and 
so  will)  our  Hiali  Priest,  for  it  is  said,  "  The  devil  taketh  him 


up  into  the  holy  city,  and  setteth  him  on  a  pinnacle  of  the 
temple,  and  saith  unto  liim.  If  thou  be  the  Son  of  God,  cast 
thyself  down."  "Oh  !"  says  another,  "  I  am  under  tempta- 
tion to  think  such  horrid  blasphemy  as  I  dare  not  for  a  world 
name;"  yes,  and  so  with  our  High  Priest,  for  it  was  the 
language  of  Satan,  "All  these  things  will  I  give  thee,  if  thou 
wilt  fall  down  and  worship  me." 

Are  believers  overwhelmed  with  desertion,  and  with  appre- 
hensions of  wrath  as  to  be  inflicted  upon  sinl  In  this  point, 
our  High  Priest  was  tempted  like  ourselves;  for  when  sus- 
pended on  the  accursed  tree,  the  Siin  of  Righteousness  was 
dimmed  by  an  awful  eclipse,  he  had  to  grope  his  way  for  a 
while  beneath  midnight  gloom,  and  he  was  ultimately  forced 
to  cr)- — not,  O  Judas!  why  hast  thou  betrayed  mel  not,  O 
Peter  I  why  hast  thou  denied  mel  not,  O  my  disciples!  why- 
have  ye  fled  from  me  1 — but,  "  My  God  !  My  God  !  why  hast 
thou  forsaken  me  V 

Do  believers  feel  the  stroke  of  death,  and  must  thev  be  con- 
signed to  the  darksome  grave  1  That  stroke  our  High  Priest 
felt ;  within  the  grave  our  High  Priest  lay ;  and  be  it  con- 
stantly in  our  minds,  that  death  came  to  our  High  Priest,  not 
in  the  natural  course  of  things,  not  by  a  gradual  and  slow- 
pace,  not  with  a  soft  couch  or  tender  weeping  friends — but 
death  came  to  him  under  the  grim  aspect  of  crucifixion,  agonv, 
mockery,  soul-beclouding  sadness,  soul-vesing  temptations. 

And  if  our  High  Priest  was  tempted  in  all  points  like  as 
we  are,  should  we  not  readily,  and  should  we  not  cheerfully 
conclude,  along  with  our  text,  that  "  we  have  not  an  High 
Priest  which  cannot  be  touched  with  the  feeling  of  our  in- 
firmities 1" 

But  as  two  negatives  are  equivalent  to  the  strongest  affirm- 
ative, so  when  our  text  gives  information  that  "we  have  not 
an  High  Priest  which  cannot  be  touched  with  the  feeling  of 
our  infirmities,"  it  means  to  impress  upon  us,  that  we  have  a 
High  Priest  who  is  deeply  and  keenly  touched  with  such  a 
feeling — and  thus  deeply  and  keenly  touched,  on  account  of 
his  knowledge  and  experience  of  these  infirmities  ;  and  show- 
ing himself  to  be  so  touched  by  the  manifestations  of  his 
compassion  and  sympathy. 

Our  High  Priest  is  touched  with  a  feeling  of  our  infirmi- 
ties, on  account  of  his  knowledge  and  experience.  For  while 
in  the  world,  there  are  few  distressful  situations  in  which  he 
was  not  placed, — he  became  familiar  with  a  wide  compass  of 
woes,  with  hunger  and  thirst,  with  fasting  and  privation,  with 
toil  and  weariness,  with  evil  returned  for  good,  with  reproach 
and  calumny  from  men's  wicked  tongues,  with  contradiction 
and  opposition  from  men's  wicked  hearts,  with  monrnfulness 
at  men's  wicked  conduct,  with  agony  of  his  bodily  frame, 
with  mental  anguish — and,  according  to  the  words  of  Isaiah, 
"  He  hath  borne  our  griefs,  and  carried  our  sorrows." 

And  our  High  Priest  shows  himself  to  be  touched  with  a 
feeling  of  our  infirmities  by  the  manifestations  of  his  com- 
passion and  sympathy.  For  while  in  the  world,  be  felt  as  a 
man  himself,  and  could  feel  in  unison  with  men  ;  and,  behold- 
ing the  distressful  situations  in  which  others  were  placed, 
sometimes  he  was  troubled  in  spirit,  and  sometimes  he 
groaned,  and  sometimes  he  wept.  And  though,  Elijnh-like, 
he  dropped  the  mantle  of  infirmity  which  he  had  assumed, 
and  left  weakness  and  suflcriug  in  the  grave;  yet  he  carried 
his  sympathetic  feelings  to  the  throne,  and  we  are  still  enti- 
tled "  the  members  of  his  body,  of  bis  flesh, and  of  his  bones." 
But  can  the  body  be  sick,  or  the  flesh  be  torn,  or  the  bones 
be  broken,  and  will  the  head  not  feel  the  smart?  Can  be- 
lievers be  tried  and  tempted  with  poverty,  with  persecution, 
with  prosperitjr,  with  alarms  and  cares,  with  doubts  and  ap- 
prehensions, and  with  bondage  to  the  fear  of  death — and  will 
the  glorious  bead  of  believers  not  deeply  and  keenly  feel  ? 
He  will  continue  to  feel,  as  he  felt  for  the  Israelites  in  the 
days  of  old,  "In  all  their  affliction  he  was  afflicted,  and  the 
angel  of  his  presence  saved  them." 

Though  we  are  not  able  sufficiently  to  comprehend  or 
clearly  to  explain,  in  what  manner  our  High  Priest  is  touched 
with  the  feeling  of  our  infirmities,  yet,  with  respect  to  his 
compassion  and  sympathy  towards  believers,  we  may  soberly 
entertain  the  following  conceptions:  that  his  compassion  lies 
in  a  distinct  remembrance  of  what  he  himself  ex]ierienced  by 
temptation  and  sufl'ering  from  without,  and  by  sorrow  from 
within — in  a  correct  knowledge  of  what  believers  must  and 
do  sutler,  a  knowledge  not  merely  arising  from  his  omnis- 
cience, but  from  a  full  and  realizing  sense  of  what  were  his 
own  infirmities — in  a  tender,  lively,  throbbing  concern  over 
the  component  members  of  his  body  mystical — and  in  the 
grand  exertion  of  his  wisdom  and  grace  to  collect  the  mem- 
bers of  his  bojy  tiiuinphaiillv  iiit"  heaven,  where  the  shackles 


556 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


of  infirmity  and  of  temptation  Ml  off,  and  wliere  perfection 
and  blessedness  are  enjoyed  for  ever  more. 

But  if  we  talie  coirnizance  of  tlie  words  of  our  text,  we  shall 
have  to  notice,  as  the  conclusion  of  the  whole  matter,  in  what 
manner  the  compassion  of  our  High  Priest  is  to  be  the  means 
of  comfort  and  of  hope  unto  the  godly,  during  the  perform- 
ance of  duty,  and  amid  the  trials  of  life, — "  VVe  have  not," 
says  our  text,  "  an  High  Priest  which  cannot  be  touched  with 
the  feeling  of  our  infirmities,  but  was  in  all  points  tempted 
like  as  we  are,  yot  without  sin." 

Is  our  High  Priest  touched  with  a  feeling  of  our  infirm- 
ities? Then  may  we  not  suppose,  that  a  line  of  mercy  shall 
be  drawn  between  our  weakness  and  our  wickedness — be- 
tween the  shortcomings  of  infirmity  and  the  shortcomings  of 
wilful  criminality  ?  The  being  whom  we  worship,  knows 
our  frame  and  our  capacity,  and  remembers  that  we  are  dust; 
the  Mediator  through  whom  we  worship,  is  not  an  High 
Priest  which  cannot  be  touched  with  a  feeling  of  our  infirmi- 
ties; and  it  is  rational  to  suppose,  that  what  time  we  worship, 
there  shall  be  a  distinction  between  that  which  is  done  feebly 
and  that  which  is  done  amiss. 

Is  our  High  Priest  touched  with  a  feeling  of  our  infirmi- 
ties 1  Then  may  we  not  suppose,  that  we  shall  not  be  over- 
loaded with  troubles  and  temptations :  and  that,  though  in  the 
course  of  his  administration,  our  High  Priest  may  judge  a 
certain  intermixture  of  adversity  to  be  conducive  towards  the 
welfare  of  our  souls,  yet  these  infirmities  shall  be  so  appor- 
tioned by  his  wisdom  and  goodness,  as  not  to  harden,  as  not 
to  spoil — as  to  soften,  and  cleanse,  and  refine — our  affections 
and  desires  1  And  when  he  apportions  adversity,  he  shall 
not  inflict  it  with  rigour — lie  shall  measure  it  with  the  tender- 
ness of  one  who  is  aware,  from  experience,  how  deeply  the 
heart  is  wounded  by  such  a  stroke,  and  how  apt  faitli  is  to 
shake  beneath  such  a  trial.  For  affliction  comes  not  from  the 
dust,  nor  does  trouble  spring  from  the  unconscious  ground  ; 
they  come,  they  spring,  at  the  fiat  of  our  High  Priest,  who 
lays  upon  us  that  load  of  trouble  which  will  serve  to  mortify 
sin,  and  no  more — that  load  of  allliction  which  will  serve  to 
quicken  heavenly  thoughts,  and  no  more — and  so  much  in- 
firmity as  will  serve  to  impress  us  with  the  needfulness  of 
faith,  yet  not  so  much  as  might  have  a  tendency  to  stagger  or 
to  subvert  it. 

Is  our  High  Priest  touched  with  a  feeling  of  our  infirmi- 
ties! Then  may  we  not  suppose,  that  he  will  vouchsafe  to 
us  support  amid  temptation  and  distress;  and  that,  as  he  is 
completely  qualified  and  illustriously  adorned  for  doing  so — 
as  he  himself,  from  experience,  remembers  how  insufficient 
mere  nature  is  to  bear  up  under  the  sufferings,  and  to  over- 
come the  hostile  circumstances,  with  which  it  is  enclosed^so 
he  will  not  forget  to  throw  around  us  that  almighty  strength, 
without  which  the  hardihood  of  animal  courage,  and  the 
loftiest  lessons  of  philosophy,  would  be  a  paper  shield  against 
the  miseries  of  life  !  For  if,  in  the  sad  season  of  his  own 
distress,  an  angel  was  sent  to  minister  to  him,  we  may  rest 
assured,  that  he  will  not  be  regardless  of  our  situation,  when 
infirmities  are  gathering  thick,  and  might  soon  be  overwhelm- 
ing. It  is  the  song  of  Isaiah,  and  that  song  let  us  sing, — 
"  \Vhen  thou  passcst  through  the  waters,  I  will  be  with  thee, 
and  through  the  rivers,  they  shall  not  overflow  thee;  when 
thou  walkest  through  the  fire,  thou  shall  not  be  burnt,  neither 
shall  the  flame  kindle  upon  thee."  It  is  the  sentiment  of 
Paul,  and  that  sentiment  let  us  declare, — "In  that  he  himself 
hath  suffered  being  tempted,  he  is  able  to  succour  them  that 
are  tempted." 

Is  our  High  Priest  touched  with  a  feeling  of  our  infirmi- 
ties ?  Then^'may  we  not  su])pose,  that  in  his  own  good  time 
he  shall  take  us" to  himself — far  away  from  the  accidents  and 
evils  of  time — where  infirmity  and  temptation  are  sounds  un- 
known— where  happiness  is  complete,  glory  overflowing,  and 
every  thing  eternaH  "  Many,"  says  the  Psalmist,  "  are  the 
afflictions  of  the  righteous,  but  the  Lord  delivereth  him  out 
of  them  all." 

Lift  up  your  heads,  my  Chrisliati  friends!  for  the  day  of 
you  redemption  drawetli  nigh.  Soon  will  your  compassion- 
ate and  sympathizing  High  Priest  give  the  word.  These  my 
followers  have  been  long  enough  traversing  the  wilderness, 
long  enough  sorrowful  and  tempted ;  let  them  be  with  me,  let 
them  see  my  glory,  and  with  my  glory  be  arrayed.  And  no 
sooner  has  our  High  Priest  thus  pled,  than  upon  body  and 
upon  soul  does  the  hand  of  mortality  lay  hold — and  the  body 
goes  safely  to  the  grave — and  the  spirit  goes  victoriously  to 
heaven — and  then I^hen  farewell  sin  and  sinners;  farewell 
poverty, affliction, and  distress;  farewell  contumely,  calamity, 


and  temptation :  welcome  the  cherubim  and  seraphim  around 
the  throne;  welcome  immortality  of  bliss;  welcome  (.iod  in 
Christ,  and  Christ  in  ns,  and  the  whole  household  of  faith 
built  and  compacted  together  by  the  one  eternal  spirit  of  grace 
and  consolation ! 

But  does  the  believer  complain,  that,  during  the  solemn 
exercises  of  religion,  his  spirit  is  untuned  by  cares  and  sor- 
rows, and  his  eye  of  knowledge  dim,  and  his  hand  of  faith 
feeble,  and  in  his  thoughts  no  composure,  and  in  his  affections 
no  elevation  ;  and  that,  after  his  utmost  elTorts,  he  finds  himself 
at  a  loss  to  fix  his  attention  steadily  upon  Cod,  or  to  urge  his 
prayers  with  becoming  warmth  and  fulness  of  soul ;  and  that 
such  infirmity,  such  a  wandering  careless  mind,  should  be 
imputed  to  some  nncommon  degree  of  unpardoned  guilt,  and 
is  a  melancholy  symptom  and  evidence  how  hardened  is  his 
heart!  Well,  these  complaints  of  infirmity,  in  a  great  mea- 
sure, go  to  refute  themselves;  for  if  you  were  hardened  and 
wicked,  you  would  be  insensible  as  to  your  hardness  and 
wickedness,  whereas  your  complaints  of  infirmity  bear  wit- 
ness to  the  sincerity  and  contrition  of  your  souls.  And  your 
High  Priest,  instead  of  condemning,  sympathizes  with  your 
infirmities — while  at  the  same  time,  acciuainted  wiih  the  in- 
most recesses  of  your  soul,  he  perceives  the  reality  of  your  grace, 
the  strength  of  your  desires,  the  eagerness  and  the  upright- 
ness of  your  intentions;  and  he  will  be  far  from  rejecting  your 
attempts  to  serve  him  in  consequence  of  the  infirmities  which 
you  lament — he  will  hear  the  voice  of  tho'se  secret  aspirations 
which  you  are  unable  to  express — he  will  see  the  temptations 
and  the  malice  against  which  you  must  contend — he  will  see 
your  griefs  and  tears,  and  your  unuttered  supplications,  on 
account  of  the  indwelling  corruption  which  continues  to  come 
in  between  your  faith  and  those  spiritual  objects  which  your 
faith  would  fain  survey — and  come  good  or  evil,  come  life  or 
death,  he  shall  demonstrate,  by  the  history  of  believers  to  the 
last,  what  is  laid  before  us  in  the  language  of  our  text,  "  We 
have  not  an  Hii>h  Priest  which  cannot  be  touched  with  the 
feeling  of  our  infirmities,  but  was  in  all  points  templed  like 
as  we  are,  yet  without  sin." 


vSERMON  IV. 

THE  ADVENT  OF  CHKIST.* 

I  came  down  from  licaven,  not  to  do  mine  own  will,  but  the  will  of 
liim  tliat  sent  nie. — John  iv.  38. 

Jesus  Christ,  our  Lord,  is  the  great  ordinance  of  Heaven 
for  retrieving  the  lost  condition  of  mankind,  and  reducing  all 
things  to  that  order  which  has  been  proposed  in  the  Kternal 
Mind.  This  is  styled  the  mystery  of  God.  Now,  it  is  brought 
to  its  final  issue  by  a  threefold  coming  of  this  illustrious  per- 
son— in  the  flesh,  in  the  spirit,  and  in  the  clouds  of  heaven. 
His  coming  in  the  spirit  is  always  present,  both  under  the 
Old  and  under  the  New  Testament  dispensation  ;  his  coming 
in  the  flesh  was  future  under  the  Old,  and  is  past  under  the 
New  Testament;  his  coming  in  the  clouds  is  future  both  to 
the  Old  and  the  New  Testament  churches.  His  coming  in  the 
flesh,  is  like  laying  the  foundaticn;  his  coming  in  the  spirit 
like  erecting  the  superstructure ;  and  his  coming  in  the  clouds 
like  placing  the  copestone  on  the  beautiful  work  of  redeiup- 
tion. 

It  is  the  first  coming  of  Christ,  and  the  momentous  objects 
connected  with  it,  to  which  the  text  and  the  solemnities  of 
this  day  direct  our  attention.  From  this  event,  the  most 
illustrious  that  ever  happened,  the  counsels  of  the  Most  High 
derive  their  chief  fulfilment,  the  history  of  our  world  its  prin- 
cipal importance,  and  the  scheme  of  Providence  its  brightest 
lustre.  To  this  memorable  season,  the  ancient  bards  and 
prophets  bore  witness,  and  from  it  borrowed  all  that  illumi- 
nation and  splendour  by  which  they  enlightened  and  adorned 
the  earliest  ages  of  the  world.  In  this  season,  the  anxious 
hopes  and  longing  expectations  of  the  wise  and  good  in  the 
land  of  Judca,  happily  terminated.  To  this  season  and  its 
magnificent  occurrences,  ancient  sacraments  and  services 
looked  forward  ;  and  to  this  season  and  its  magnificent  occur- 
rences, New  Testament  sacraments  and  services  look  back. 
In  short,  with   this   season  are  connected  all  our  hopes  as 


A  Sacramental  Sermon,  preached  in  ISIO. 


THE  ADVENT  OF  CHRIST. 


dying  creatures,  and  from  it  alone  we  must  derive  our  truest 
I'elicity. 

A  more  joyful  intimation  was  never  made  to  our  guilty 
world,  a  more  delightful  suljji-ct  of  meditation  can  never  be 
presented  to  the  human  mind,  than  wliat  is  contained  in  our 
text — "  I  came  down  from  heaven,  not  to  do  mine  own  will, 
but  the  will  of  him  that  sent  me."  If  thou  art  a  saint,  it  will 
be  music  in  thine  ears  and  honey  in  thy  mouth — if  thou  art  a 
sinner,  there  is  nothing  which  thou  hast  ever  heard  that  con 
corns  thee  more.  From  this  passage,  three  very  important 
topics  of  discourse  rise  to  view,  and  to  each  of  them  we  shall 
attend  in  due  order, — the  coming  of  our  Lord  .Ipsus  Christ 
into  the  world,  "I  came  down  from  heaven" — the  object 
which  he  had  in  view  in  coming  into  the  world,  "not  to  do 
iriine  own  will,  but  the  will  of  him  that  sent  me" — and  the 
manner  in  which  he  came  to  do  the  will  of  God,  suggested 
by  the  whole  verse,  "Icame  down  from  heaven,  not  to  do 
mine  own  will,  but  the  will  of  him  that  sent  me." 

Our  Redeemer,  considered  as  God,  to  speak  with  propriety, 
neither  comes  nor  goes, — in  all  places  of  his  dominion  he  is 
equally  and  ever  present.  His  coming,  therefore,  announced 
in  the  text,  is  metaphorical  language,  and  means  his  incarna- 
tion, or  the  manifestation  of  his  presence  among  men  in  man's 
nature.  'I'hen  he  began  to  execute,  in  a  visible  and  public 
manner,  that  mediatorial  office  with  which  be  had  been  in- 
vested from  eternity,  and  which  he  had  continued  to  discharge 
more  obscurely,  by  revelations,  sacrifices,  and  ceremonial  in- 
stitutions from  the  fall  of  Adam  downwards  through  the  whole 
period  of  the  legal  econom}'. 

The  doctrine  of  the  Incarnation  is  so  essential  to  the  Chris- 
tian's faith,  and  so  influential  on  the  Christian's  happiness — 
for  the  union  of  the  two  natures  in  the  person  of  our  Lord 
may  he  considered  as  the  source  of  every  blessing  we  enjoy 
in  time,  or  hope  to  enjoy  in  eternity — that  w^e  embrace  with 
alacrity  the  present  occasion  of  stating  it  to  you  in  as  clear  a 
Hianner  as  we  can.  It  must  be  granted,  that  this  point  is  in 
some  respects  an  incomprehensible  mystery,  and  in  every  re- 
spect requires  a  close  attention,  and  an  illuminated  mind  ; 
yet  while  we  consent  to  lay,  again  and  again,  foundation  doc- 
trines, you  may  permit  us  at  times  to  lead  you  onwards,  as 
the  apostle  speaks,  to  perfection,  to  a  more  perfect  knowledge 
of  deeper,  but  highly  interesting  truths. 

In  order  to  convey  to  your  minds  Scriptural  and  suitable 
conceptions  of  the  Son  of  God  coming  into  the  world,  or  his 
assuming  our  nature,  it  will  be  proper  to  speak  of  the  assump- 
tion itself,  to  consider  the  union  of  the  divine  and  human  na- 
tures, which  is  the  consequence  of  the  assumption  ;  to  men- 
tion the  effects  of  this  union  ;  and  to  notice  those  remarkable 
occurrences  which  attended  the  manifestation  of  the  Son  of 
God  in  our  nature,  or  his  coming  in  this  manner  to  execute 
his  mediatorial  work. 

With  regard  to  the  assumption  of  humanity  by  the  Son  of 
God,  we  submit  to  you  the  following  observations  :  First,  the 
person  who  assumed  humanity  existed  before  his  incarnation, 
and  existed  as  a  divine  person.  So  far  from  dating  the  com- 
mencement of  his  being  from  his  conception  and  birth,  from 
before  the  foundation  of  the  world  he  was  and  is,  and  was  and 
is  what  he  will  ever  he, — the  true  (Joil.  At  present  it  would 
not  be  agreeable  to  enter  upon  the  thorny  field  of  controversy  : 
nevertheless,  as  so  much  of  our  coinfort  depends  upon  the  per- 
suasion we  have  that  the  person  who  came  to  do  the  will  of 
his  father  is  truly  God,  we  cannot  pass  from  this  particular 
■without  requesting  you  to  compare  what  is  written  in  the  first 
verse  of  the  13ible,  "  In  the  beginning  God  created  the  hea- 
ven and  the  earth,"  with  the  iiitroduction  to  John's  (lospel, 
"In  the  beginning  was  the  Word,  and  the  Word  was  with 
God,  and  the  Word  was  God  :  the  same  was  in  the  be- 
ginning with  God  :  all  things  were  made  by  him,  and  with- 
out him  was  not  any  thing  made  that  was  made."  And 
if  to  this  you  add  that  obvious  conclusion  of  enlighten- 
ed reason,  "Every  house  is  builded  by  some  man,  but  he 
that  built  all  things  is  God,"  you  will  discover  at  once — even 
the  simplest  among  you  will  at  once  discover — the  true  and 
essential  dignity  of  him  in  whom  you  are  commanded  to  trust, 
and  see  with  what  strict  propriety  of  language  he  is  styled, 
God  manifest  in  the  flesh,  the  great  God  and  our  Saviour, 
God  over  all,  blessed  for  ever.  Secondly,  that  individual 
human  nature  which  this  glorious  person  assumed,  was  from 
eternity  chosen,  and  to  this  honourable  relation,  by  God  the 
Father,  and  was  actually  formed,  in  the  fulness  of  time,  by 
God  the  Spirit.  It  was  chosen  by  God  the  Father ;  and  by 
virtue  of  this  election,  the  man  Christ  Jesus  is  called  God's 
chosen ;  he  is  to  be  considered  as  the  prime  elect,  as  standing  at 


557 

the  head  of  the  election  of  grace,  the  members  of  his  mystical 
body  being  by  him  represented,  and  in  him  elected.  It  was 
actually  formed  in  the  fulness  of  time  by  God  the  Spirit.  A 
soul  and  body  constitute  the  nature  of  man  :  both  were  pre- 
pared for  the  Mediator — the  body  from  the  substance  of  the 
Virain,  and  the  soul  created  out  of  nothing  by  the  agency  of 
God  the  Spirit.  Thirdly,  in  the  very  moment  in  which  this 
soul  and  body  were  prepared,  there  was  an  assumption  of  this 
human  nature  into  the  person  of  the  Eternal  Son,  which  as- 
suruption  was  an  act  appropriate  to  the  second  person  alone. 
"  Forasmuch,  then,  as  the  children  are  partakers  of  flesh  and 
blood,  he  also  himself  likewise,"  not  the  Father,  but  the  Son, 
"took  part  of  the  same."  "  God  seiit  forth  his  Son,"  not 
his  Spirit,  but  his  Son,  "made  of  a  woman,  made  under  the 
law."  As  it  was  neither  the  Spirit  nor  the  Father  who  should 
purchase  the  redemption  of  sinners,  so  the  act  of  assuming 
that  nature  in  which  the  purchase  should  be  made,  was  the 
act  neither  of  the  one  nor  the  other,  but  of  the  Sou  of  God 
alone.  Fourthly,  By  the  assumption  of  the  human  nature 
into  the  person  of  the  Son  of  God,  no  alteration  passed  on  the 
divine  nature.  There  was  indeed  a  human  nature  assumed, 
and  the  two  natures  united  in  one  and  the  same  person ;  bat 
the  divine  nature  was  neither  altered  nor  debased.  It  is  true, 
the  human  nature,  by  this  assumption,  is  enriched  with  a 
fulness  of  grace,  to  which,  independent  of  this  act,  it  had  no 
pretensions  ;  but,  notwithstanding,  the  fulness  of  the  divine 
nature  remains  undiminished,  for  that  which  is  infinite  can 
neither  be  changed  nor  lessened. 

With  regard  to  the  union  of  the  divine  and  human  natures 
in  the  Son  of  God,  which  is  the  consequence  of  the  assump- 
tion, we  submit  to  you  the  following  observations  :  First, 
There  is  a  difference  between  assumption  and  union,  the  as- 
sumption being  the  cause,  and  the  union  being  the  effect. 
The  former  is  Just  our  Lord  taking  the  human  nature  into 
his  own  divine  person,  to  have  it  abide  there  for  ever ;  hut 
the  latter,  the  union,  is  the  joint  residence  of  the  two  natures 
in  that  divine  person.  Previous  to  the  act  of  assumption,  the 
humanity  had  no  subsistence  of  its  own ;  hut  in  consequence 
of  being  assumed,  it  was  united  to,  had  its  subsistence 
along  with,  the  divine  nature  in  the  person  of  the  Son  of  God. 
Secondly,  It  is  a  personal  union,  but  not  a  union  of  persons. 
The  union  of  the  Father,  Son,  and  Holy  (Jhostin  the  Trinity, 
is  indeed  a  union  of  persons,  because  in  it  distinct  persons 
are  united  in  the  same  individual  nature  and  essence.  But 
the  union  of  divinity  and  humanity  iji  the  Son  of  God,  is  not 
a  union  of  persons,  but  of  natures  in  one  and  the  same  person. 
A  human  person  is  a  soul  and  body  united,  and  subsistino- 
by  themselves  in  that  union  :  but  the  soul  and  bodj',or  human 
nature,  which  Christ  assumed,  never  subsisted  by  itself  for 
a  single  moment  of  time  ;  and  therefore,  when  he  took  this 
nature,  he  took  not  a  person,  but  that  which  constitutes  our 
personality ;  and  this  nature  was  made  to  subsist  in  the  per- 
son of  the  Son  of  God.  In  this  marvellous  dispensation, 
mark  the  brightest  display  of  wisdom  and  of  grace.  If  his 
human  nature  had  existed  by  itself  in  the  union  of  its  con- 
stituent parts,  soul  and  body,  but  for  a  single  moment  before 
it  was  united  to  his  divine  person,  it  would  have  been  a  hu- 
man person  as  well  as  any  of  us;  and  consequently  all  the 
union  that  could  have  taken  place  would  have  been  a  union 
of  persons,  because  the  Son  of  God  was  a  person  from  eter- 
nity ;  and,  on  the  supposition  now  made,  the  human  nature 
would  have  been  a  person  too,  a  finite  person,  represented 
by  Adam,  and  guilty  in  Adam's  guilt,  and  defiled  with  Adam's 
defilement.  In  this  situation  of  things,  who  does  not  see  that 
the  plan  of  our  redemption  would  have  been  frustrated!  For 
how  could  a  person  chargeable  with  guilt  himself  have  ato- 
ned for  the  guilt  of  others  !  or  how  could  a  finite  person  have 
borne  infinite  wrath,  and  imparted  infinite  worth  to  temporary 
sufferings  1  But  by  virtue  of  the  human  nature  never  sub- 
sisting hy  itself,  but  in  the  person  of  the  Son  of  God,  he  who 
came  for  our  redemption  was  an  infinite  person;  and  though 
he  derived  from  Adam  a  human  nature,  he  did  not  derive 
from  him  a  human  person,  and  could  not  be  represented  by 
him  in  the  covenant  of  works,  for  in  that  covenant,  not  na- 
tures, but  persons,  were  represented,  and  not  being  represent- 
ed, he  could  not  be  chargeable  with  guilt.  Tliirdly,  Though 
this  be  not  a  union  of  persons,  yet  it  is  a  union  of  two  natures, 
infinitely  and  eternally  distinct  from  one  another,  in  one  per- 
son. The  Divine  Nature  subsisted  in  the  person  of  the  Son 
from  eternity,  but  the  human  nature  was  the  creature  of  time  : 
we  have  seen  that  it  was  the  workmanship  of  God,  prepared  for 
him  when  the  fulness  of  time  was  come,  and  then,  and  not 
before,  taken  into  union  with  himself, — there  are  two  natures 


558 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


in  one  Christ.  Nor  Id  it  he.  rorfrntlm,  that  these  natures  are  tically  denominated,  That  lioly  thing.  Thirdly,  an  iminea- 
not  blended  together,  Imt  retain,  ntitwitlistanding  of  this  union,  I  surable  fulness  of  grace,  both  in  its  habits  and  in  its  acts, 
their  essential  properties:  the  humanity  is  not  deified,  the  .Said  the  prnpbet,  "The  spirit  of  the  Lord  shall  rest  upon 
divinity  is  not  humanized ;  the  Deity  is  notchanged  into  ilesh,  him,  the  spirit  of  wisdom  and  understanding,  the  spirit  of 
nor  the  llesh  transformed  into  God:  the  divine  nature  is  still, jcounscl  and  might,  the  spirit  of  knowledge  and  of  the  fear 
accordinn-  to  its  essential  attributes,  omnipresent,  omniscient,  i  of  the  Lord."  In  his  life  and  death,  and  administration,  love 
omnipotent;  the  human  nature  is  still,  according  to  its  native  to  God  and  love  to  man,  trust  in  the  Lord,  zeal  for  the  glory 
oualities,  attached  to  one  particular  place,  at  one  particular, of  his  Father,  and  patient  subjection  to  his  will,  even  when 


time,  limited  in  its  knowledge,  bounded  in  its  power.  Fourthly, 
This  union  is  indissoluble.  The  relation  of  the  two  natures  to 
the  person  of  the  Son  of  God,  and  of  the  two  natures  to  each 
other,  can  never  be  broken.  It  will  run  parallel  to  the  life  of  Je- 
hovah, and  be  coeval  with  eternity.  It  is  true,  his  death  dis- 
solved the  union  between  his  soul  and  body  ;  but  yoii  will 
recollect,  that  his  soul  and  body  were  but  the  constituent 
parts  of  one  of  his  natures,  and  the  dissolution  of  the  union 
between  thein  could  never  affect  tlie  union  of  his  two  natures  in 
his  one  person.  Nay,  it  could  not  in  the  least  invalidate  the 
union  between  his  person  and  the  constituent  parts  of  his  hu- 
manit}',  even  when  separated  from  each  other  by  death, — 
tUougii  these  continued  for  a  while  divided  from  each  other, 
the  one  in  paradise,  the  other  in  the  tomb,  each  of  them  con- 
tinued in  a  state  of  union  to  his  divine  person,  and  by  the 
power  of  his  divine  person  were  again  united  to  eacli  other, 
and,  when  re-united,  advanced  to  the  throne  of  God.  Thus 
was  he  declared  to  be  the  Son  of  God  by  the  exertion  of  his 
own  power  in  raising  himself  from  the  dead. 

IMy  design,  by  those  remarks  on  this  and  the  preceding 
branch,  has  been,  to  present  to  your  minds,  as  clearly  as 
possible,  the  truth  respecting  the  human  nature  and  mediato- 
rial person  of  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  and  to  state  it  in  such  a 
manner  as  to  oppose  the  enemies  of  our  faith,  who  in  different 
ways,  by  infidelity  and  sophistry,  have  laboured  to  expunge 
and  destroy  it. 

Wo  must  not  deny  the  Saviour  to  be  truly  God  because  he 
became  man,  nor  assert  that  he  was  not  really  man  because 
he  was  also  God  ;  we  must  not  rend  Christ  asunder,  and 
divide  him  into  two  ]iersons,  nor  confound  in  his  person  those 
natures  which  must  be  kept  distinguished.  These  were  the 
capital  errors  which,  in  the  earlier  ages,  harassed  and  dis- 
tracted the  Christian  Church  on  the  point  of  the  incarnation; 
and  in  opposition  to  which  assendjled  the  famous  ancient 
covmeils  of  Nice,  Constantinoide,  Epiiesus,  and  Chalcedon. 
Whatever  was  liy  them  decreed,  in  declaration  of  Christian 
belief  or  refutation  of  heresy,  may  all  be  comprised,  as  a 
judicious  divine  has  well  observed,  in  four  words, — truly, 
perl'ectly,  indivisibly,  distinctly — truly  God,  perfectly  man, 
indivisibly  one  person,  distinctly  two  natures.  As  in  us  the 
reasonable  soul  and  the  ilesh  is  one  man,  so  God  and  man  is 
one  Christ.  As  the  soul  is  not  turned  into,  nor  compound 
with  the  body,  yet  they  two,  though  distinct  in  nature,  form 
one  man ;  so  the  divine  and  liuman  natures,  infinitely  distinct 
from  one  another  in  respect  of  properties,  but  infinitely  near 
in  point  of  residence,  make  up  the  one  person  of  the  one 
Mediator.  The  natures  are  preserved  without  confusion  ;  the 
person  is  entire  w'ithout  division. 

With  regard  to  the  elTeels  of  this  union,  we  submit  to  you 
the  following  observations  : — The  effects  of  it  may  be  viewed, 
either  as  they  respect  the  human  nature  itself,  or  as  they 
regard  the  person  of  the  Mediator.  As  they  respect  the  hu- 
man nature.  First,  unspeakable  dignity  is  conferred  upon  Iht 
liuman  nature,  greater  indeed  than  is  conferred  on  any  crea 
ture,  the  highest  angel  not  excepted.  Lie  has  been  "niade 
so  much  better  than  the  angels  as  he  hath  by  inheritance 
obtained  a  more  excellent  name  than  they  ;  for  ifnto  which  of 
the  angels  said  he  at  any  lime,  'i'hou  art  my  son,  this  day 
have  lljegotten  theel"  He  was  honourable  by  his  mother's 
side,  descended  from  the  ancient  Kings  of  Israel ;  but  much 
more  honourable  by  Ids  father's,  who  is  no  less  than  the 
blessed  God.  It  was  highly  honourable  for  the  human  na- 
ture to  be  produced  in  a  maimer  so  exiraordinary ;  but  much 
more  honourable  for  that  nature  to  be  united  to  the  person  of 
the  Son  of  God.  On  this  account  it  is  styled,  the  beginning 
of  the  creation  of  God,  the  toji  of  his  achievements,  the  flower 
of  his  splendid  operations.  Secondly,  an  absolute  impossi- 
bility of  sinning.  Its  union  with  the  second  person  of  the 
Trinity  ensures  this,  for  hereby  the  fulness  of  the  Godhead 
is  communicated  to  it  in  such  a  manner  as  no  creature  can 
conceive.  As  by  the  extraordinary  mode  of  its  formation  by 
the  Spirit,  it  was  preserved  from  every  taint  of  original  cor- 
ruption, so  by  the  grace  of  union  to  the  vSon  of  God,  it  is 
secured  and  fortified  against  the  possibility  of  transgression. 


expressed  by  frowns  and  indignation,  shone  forth  with  nndi- 
minished  and  with  unqualified  splendour.  Never  did  any 
creature,  never  could  any  creature,  exercise  such  heroic  virtue 
as  the  human  nature  of  Christ,  for  in  consequence  of  its  union 
with  the  divine,  it  received  the  Spirit  not  by  measure. 
When  grace  is  bestowed  upon  us,  it  is  bestowed  as  it  were 
in  drops;  but  to  Christ  it  comes  in  a  top  flood.  No  vessel 
but  his  had  an  extent  or  capacity  for  such  overflowing  abund- 
ance. Fourthly,  The  highest  blessedness  and  glory.  In  the 
scale  of  blessedness  the  humanity  of  Christ  rises  to  a  high 
degree,  and  ranks,  in  point  of  felicity,  next  to  the  Eternal 
God.  His  human  soul  and  body  are  inconceivably  closer  to 
the  divine  nature  than  any  intelligence  besides;  and  the 
stricter  the  union,  the  more  intimate  must  he  the  fellowship 
with,  and  the  more  superabundant  must  be  the  communica- 
tions of  joy  and  happiness  from,  that  nature  which  is  the 
fountain  head  of  all  being  and  of  all  blessedness.  "Thou 
hast  loved  righteousness  and  hated  iniquity;  therefore  God, 
even  thy  God,  hath  anointed  thee  with  the  oil  of  gladness 
above  thy  fellows."  As  these  effects  regard  the  person  of 
the  Mediator,  First,  what  is  called  a  communication,  or  an 
ascription,  of  the  properties  of  each  nature  to  his  whole  per- 
son, is  one  effect.  Thus,  though  it  was  the  ])eculiar  property 
of  the  divine  nature  to  be  in  heaven,  while  the  human  nature 
tabernacled  on  earth,  yet  the  Son  of  Man  is  even  then  said  to 
have  been  in  heaven.  Thus,  too,  it  is  peculiar  to  the  human 
nature  to  sulTer,  yet  the  Lord  of  Glory  is  said  to  have  been 
crucified.  And  again,  though  it  was  only  the  human  nature 
which  ascended  to  heaven,  yet,  by  reason  of  the  personal 
union  between  his  two  natures,  God  is  said  to  have  gone  up 
with  a  shout.  Secondly,  The  exercise  of  mediatorial  power 
and  authority  in  both  natures.  Says  an  apostle,  "There  is 
one  God,  and  one  mediator  between  God  and  men, — the  man 
Christ  Jesus."  Here  the  exercise  of  the  mediatorial  office  is 
said  to  belong-to  the  human  nature,  though  not  to  the  exclu- 
sion of  the  divine,  in  which  last  nature  he  exercised  it  during 
all  the  period  which  had  elapsed  I'rom  the  apostacy.  Thirdly, 
The  combined  influence  of  both  natures  in  the  work  of  man's 
redemption.  He  is  described  as  having,  "through  the  eternal 
spirit,  ollered  himself  to  God;"  where  you  will  observe,  that 
the  sacrifice  was  his  humanity,  the  altar  which  imjiarled 
value  to  the  sacrifice  was  his  divinity,  here  called  the  Eternal 
Spirit;  and  the  oll'erer  was  himself,  who  laid  the  sacrifice 
upon  the  altar  in  his  incarnation,  and  continued  through  the 
whole  course  of  his  ministry  to  offer  it  unto  God  through  the 
Eternal  Spirit,  or  by  the  power  and  with  the  prevailing  effi- 
caciousness of  his  divine  nature.  In  consequence  of  the 
union,  both  natures  operated,  according  to  their  respective 
attributes  and  capacities,  in  accomplishing  the  work  of  re- 
demption. The  human  nature  sufi'ers,  the  divine  satisfies ; 
in  the  human  nature  all  blessings  are  purchased,  and  by  the 
divine,  infinite  worth  is  communicated  to  the  price.  Fourthly, 
The  person  of  C'hrist,  as  God  man,  becomes  the  object  of 
religious  worship.  We  cannot  say  that  the  human  nature  of 
Christ  is  by  itself  the  object  of  religious  worship  ;  yet  we 
can  and  will  say,  that  the  person  of  Christ,  as  God  man,  is 
the  object  of  adoration.  In  snjiport  of  this  doctrine  we  have 
the  authority  of  the  church  militant  and  the  church  triumph- 
ant; we  have  the  authority  of  God  himself:  "When  he 
bringeth  in  the  first-begotten  into  the  world,  he  saith,  And 
let  all  the  angels  of  God  worship  him." 

With  regard  to  some  of  the  concomitant  circumstances 
which  marked  his  coming  into  the  world,  to  execute  his 
mediatorial  work,  we  submit  to  you  the  following  observa- 
tions: First,  the  departure  of  the  sceptre  from  Judah,  or  the 
annihilation  of  the  .lewish  sovereignty.  For  many  years  the 
regal  glory  of  the  house  of  David  had  been  on  the  wane;  hut 
at  the  period  in  which  the  Shiloli  came,  when  Jndea  became 
a  tributary  ]irovince,  and  was  governed  in  matters  of  lile  and 
death  by  a  iionian  delegate,  it  departed  and  vanished  away. 
— Secondly,  'I'he  return  of  the  Spirit  of  Prophecy  in  the 
Jewish  church.  It  is  admitted  that  the  cessation  of  prophetic 
influence,  and  the  withdrawment  of  express  revelations,  con- 
tinued  from  the  davs  of  I\Ialachi  till   the  coming  of  Christ. 


Hence,  by  way  of  eminence  and  discrimination,  it  is  empha-  Tlie  first  instance  of  its  return  occurs  in  the  case  of  Zacharias 


THE  ADVENT  OF  CHRIST. 


559 


— next  in  the  case  of  the  Virgin  Mary — 'hen  of  Elizabeth — 
after  that  of  Simeon  and  Anna — and  after  that  of  Joseph, 
who  was  commanded  to  flee  into  Kgypt.  Tliese  instances 
showed  that  the  Lord  was  returning'  gracious  to  his  church, 
and  his  pouring  out  his  Spirit  in  this  remarkable  manner  upon 
sinful  men,  and  his  renewing  an  amicable  correspondence 
with  them,  testified  that  he  was  well  pleased  with  that  illus- 
trious i)erson  who  should  come  to  atone  divine  justice  for 
tlieir  iniquities. — Thirdly,  The  remarkable  notice  that  was 
taken  of  this  event  both  in  heaven  and  on  earth.  Tlie  era  of 
his  nativity,  so  interesting  to  the  children  of  rneu,  was  not 
announced  by  any  of  those  fulsome  forms  of  ostentatious 
splendour  which  signalize  the  birth  of  the  worldly  great. 
His  kingdom  was  not  of  this  world,  and  he  deigned  not  to 
borrow  its  rites :  but  the  Ruler  of  the  nations  was  preparing 
the  world  for  his  approach,  the  celestial  armies  were  seen  to 
mustur  forth  at  his  corning,  and  his  insignia  were  stamped  in 
the  sky.  Though  Bethlehem  prepared  not  to  receive  her 
divine  guest,  the  Almighty  himself  hail,  during  four  thousand 
years,  set  the  wheels  of  providence  forward  in  preparing  the 
earth  into  a  proper  theatre  on  which  he  might  appear :  if 
kingdoms  rose,  if  empires  fell,  if  war  desolated  the  world,  or 
peace,  blessed  mankind,  all  was  designed  to  prepare  the  way 
fur  the  coming  of  the  Son  of  5tan.  Though  his  birth  was 
obscure  on  earth  below,  it  was  celebrated  by  the  halleluias 
of  the  heavenly  host.  At  what  period  the  inhabitants  of 
heaven  received  the  first  intimation  that  this  even  should 
happen  in  some  future  age,  we  cannot  tell,  nor  need  we  too 
solicitously  inquire.  We  are  certain,  that  if  this  marvellous 
secret  was  not  communicated  to  them  long  before,  the  angels 
must  have  received  the  knowledge  of  it  by  the  promulgation 
of  the  first  promise  ;  from  henceforth  they  became  fellow- 
students  with  the  church,  by  searching  into  the  prophecies 
which  unfolded  so  glorious  an  event;  and  when  the  fulness  of 
time  arrived,  they  were  ready,  on  the  wings  of  obedience  and 
of  ardent  love,  to  salute  the  coming  of  our  Lord.  In  fine, 
though  his  lodging  was  but  poor  and  his  attendants  mean, 
yet  an  extraordinary  star,  which  God  ordained  for  a  lamp  to 
Jiis  Anointed,  conducted  to  him  the  most  illustrious  visitants, 
from  tlie  groves  of  solitude  and  of  science  in  a  distant  land; 
and  with  these  Gentile  sages  were  associated,  in  their  wor- 
ship of  the  incarnate  God,  many  of  the  wise  and  the  holy  in 
.Tu(lea,  who  waited  for  consolation  and  salvation.  Fourthly, 
His  personal  appearance  in  the  second  temple  at  the  ceremony 
of  purification.  Haggai  had  Iou'j  before  predicted,  that  the 
glory  of  the  second  should  surpass  that  of  the  former  house 
which  Solomon  built;  yet  in  respect  of  outward  magnifi- 
cence, such  the  inferiority  of  the  second  to  t4ie  first  temple, 
that  when  the  foundation  of  it  was  laid,  the  old  man,  whose 
eyes  had  beheld  the  unrivalled  grandeur  of  the  first,  wept 
with  sorrow  at  the  striking  and  the  melancholy  contrast. 
How  then  should  the  second  surpass  that  of  the  firsts  Be- 
cause the  God  of  the  temple  came  in  person  into  his  own 
house:  then,  and  afterwards  when  he  disputed  with  the  doc- 
tors, he  filled  the  house  with  his  glory;  then  also  he  made 
intimation,  that  his  office  and  his  design  consisted  in  setting 
every  thing  to  rights  in  the  church  which  is  the  house  of 
God  ;  a  signal  instance  and  figurative  representation  of  which 
he  exhibited,  when,  with  a  whip  of  cords,  he  drove  from  the 
temple  the  buyers  and  sellers,  who  had  converted  the  sanctu- 
ary into  an  exchange,  and  the  House  of  God  into  a  den  of 
thieves. 

Such  is  the  doctrine  of  the  Incarnation.  Willi  regard  to 
the  assum])tion  of  humanitj',  we  submitted  to  you  the  follow- 
ing observations  :  The  person  who  assumed  humanity  existed 
before  his  incarnation,  and  existed  as  a  divine  person ;  that 
individual  human  nature  which  he  assumed,  was  from  eternity 
chosen,  and  to  this  honourable  relation,  by  God  the  Father,  and 
was  actually  formed  in  the  fulness  of  time  by  God  the  .Spirit; 
in  the  very  moment  iu  which  this  human  nature  was  prepared, 
took  place  an  assumption  of  it  into  the  person  of  the  Eternal 
Son,  which  assumption  formed  an  act  appropriate  to  the  se- 
cond person  alone;  by  the  assumption  of  the  human  nature 
into  the  person  of  the  Son  of  God,  no  alteration  passed  on  the 
divine  nature.  With  regard  to  the  union  of  the  divine  and 
human  natures,  we  submitted  to  you  the  following  observa- 
tions :  There  is  a  difference  between  assumption  and  union,  as- 
sumption being  the  cause,  and  union  being  the  elTect ;  it  is 
a  personal  union,  but  not  a  union  of  persons ;  it  is  a  tinion 
of  tw-o  natures,  infinitely  and  eternally  distinct  t'rom  one 
another,  in  one  person ;  this  union  is  indissoluble.  With 
regard  to  the  eflects  of  this  union,  we  submitted  to  you  the 
following  observations: — Unspeakable  dignity,  absolute  im- 


'possibility  of  sinning,  immeasurable  fulness  of  grace,  the 
highest  blessedness  and  glory,  are  conferred  on  his  human 
nature;  and  in  rclerence  to  his  mediatorial  person,  there  re- 
sult from  it  a  communication  or  ascription  of  the  properties 
of  each  nature  to  his  whole  person,  the  exercise  of  mediato- 
rial power  and  authority  in  both  natures,  the  combined  influ- 
ence of  both  natures  in  the  work  of  man's  redemption,  and  the 
constitution  .of  his  person  into  the  object  of  religious  worship. 
With  regard  to  the  concomitant  circumstances  which  marked 
his  cominginto  the  world,  we  enumerated  the  annihilation  of 
the  Jewish  sovereignty,  the  return  of  the  spirit  of  prophecy, 
the  remarkable  notice  that  was  taken  of  this  event  both  in  hea- 
ven and  on  earth,  and  his  personal  appearance  in  the  second 
temple  t}"pifying  his  appearance  and  his  presence,  and  his 
blessing   to  rest  upon  tlie  Christian  Church. 

Finding  it  iuipossible,  just  now,  to  overtake  the  remaining 
body  of  matter — namely,  the  view  which  Christ  had  in  com- 
ing, and  the  manner  in  which  he  came — we  shall  reserve  it 
for  subsequent  consideration,  and  observe,  that  his  coming  is 
a  subject  of  joy  and  rejoicing  to  mankind. 

Is  the  birth  of  a  prince  celebrated,  by  loyal  subjects,  with 
tokens  of  joy  1  Rejoice,  O  daughter  of  Zion  !  shout,  O 
daughter  of  Jerusalem  !  behold  thy  King,  the  Prince  of  Peace 
Cometh  unto  thee;  he  is  just  and  righteous,  and  carries  salva- 
tion in  his  train.  Is  it  subject  of  rejoicing  to  the  poor  man 
and  the  indigent,  that  he  hath  a  sister  married  to  some  worthy 
and  generous  potentate,  from  whom  he  may  expect  valuable 
assistance?  Behold,  in  the  Son  of  God,  humanity  espoused 
to  divinity;  and  hecometh  forth  a  bridegroom  from  his  cham- 
bers in  heaven,  arrayed  in  the  wedding  garment  of  man's 
flesh  to  assist  men's  souls,  and  tdt  advance  them  near  his 
throne.  Is  victory  over  numerous,  formidable,  and  cruel  foes, 
a  subject  of  rejoicing  1  Lo,  the  Captain  of  our  Salvation  liath 
marched  into  the  field,  he  conquers  and  he  shall  conquer;  he 
shall  vanquish  sin,  overthrow  Satan,  abolish  death,  subdue  all 
things  to  himself;  and  the  voice  from  the  upper  temple  shall 
sound.  It  is  done,  the  destructive  blow  has  been  given,  and 
his  enemies  are  fleeing  for  slielter — vain  efl'ort  I  fleeing  for 
covert  to  the  mountains  and  the  rocks.  Is  the  rising  of  the 
sun,  after  a  night  of  blackness,  and  darkness,  and  tempest,  a 
subject  of  rejoicing  to  the  bewildered  traveller?  See,  in  the 
coming  of  Christ,  how  the  day  spring  from  on  high  hath  vis- 
ited us,  dispelling  the  forlorn  midniglit  of  error,  and  vice,  and 
wretchedness,  and  dilTusiug  the  beams  of  truth,  and  purity, 
and  salvation.  In  consequence  of  his  coming  to  do  the  will 
of  God,  we  derive  from  him  the  revelations  of  a  prophet,  the 
intercessions  of  a  priest,  and  the  protection  of  a  king,  and  the 
affection  of  a  brotlier,  and  the  fidelity  of  a  friend.  In  conse- 
quence of  his  coming  to  do  the  will  of  God,  we  shall  derive 
from  him  the  white  stone,  the  hidden  manna,  the  morning  star, 
the  robe  of  righteousness,  the  tree  of  life,  and  thrones  and 
crowns  everlasting.  And,  oh  !  let  our  hearts  be  open  to  every 
feeling  of  gratitude,  which  the  remembrance  of  his  love 
awakens;  and  the  choirs  of  heaven  shall  catch  our  aspira- 
tions as  they  mount  up,  and  mingle  our  sighs  with  their 
songs  ! 

Glory  to  God  in  the  highest,  that  he  sent  not  his  Son  into  the 
world  to  condemn  the  w-orld,  but  that  the  world  through  him 
might  be  saved  !  Glory  to  Christ  in  the  highest,  that  he  came 
from  heaven  to  do  the  will  of  him  that  sent  him;  in  raising, 
and  cleansing,  and  exalting  our  race!  Sing,  O  ye  heavens! 
for  the  Lord  hath  done  it;  shout,  O  ye  lower  parts  of  the 
earth  I  for  Christ  hath  declared,  It  is  finished.  This  is  the 
day  which  the  Lord  hath  made,  and  let  us  rejoice.  Hosanna 
to  the  Son  of  David,  who  indeed  is  the  Son  of  God,  who  in- 
deed is  God  inefiable — adorable  ! 

And  if  ye  reject  him,  there  remaineth  no  more  sacrifice  for 
sin — miserable  sinners  !  for  you  noihintj  more  remains.  Yes, 
something  more  does  remain — a  fuart'ul  looking  for  of  judg- 
ment and  a  fiery  indignation.  Turn  to  him — fix  the  eye  of 
faith  upon  him :  On  this  otie  stone,  saith  Scripture,  are  se- 
ven eyes, — the  Father,  the  Holy  Spirit,  prophets,  apostles, 
martyrs,  saints,  devils,  eye  and  watch  him — and  do  ye,  in- 
tended communicants,  for  peace  and  pardon  here,  for  happi- 
ness hereafter,  fasten  your  e3'es  upon  him  likewise.  He 
came  to  do  the  will  of  God  in  point  of  suffering,  that  ye 
might  do  the  will  of  God  in  point  of  believing.  .  "  I  came 
down  from  heaven,  not  to  do  mine  own  will,  but  the  will  of 
him  that  sent  me.  And  he  adds,  '•  this  is  the  will  of  him 
that  sent  me,  that  every  one  which  seeth  the  Son,  and  be- 
lieveth  on  him,  may  have  everlasting  life." 


560 


CHRISTIAN   LIBRARY. 


SERMON  V, 


THE  OBEDIENCE  OF  CHRIST. 


1  came  down  from  heaven,  not  to  do  mine  own  ^vill,  but  tiie  "will  of 
him  tliat  sent  me. — John^  vi.  3S. 

And  is  it  not  a  faithful  saying,  and  worthy  of  all  accepta- 
tion, that  Christ  came  into  tlie  world  to  save  sinners  hy  doing 
the  will  of  his  Father  that  sent  him!  This  is  tliat  event 
whicli  engaged  the  counsels  of  God  from  eternit}' ;  prefigured 
by  types,  predicted  hy  prophets,  longed  for  by  saints,  an- 
nounced by  angels,  and  celebrated  by  songs  of  joy.  To  con- 
template its  glory,  and  to  feel  its  inlluence  on  the  heart  and 
conduct,  should  be  the  business  of  our  every  Sabbath — the 
grand  distinguishing  aim  of  our  future  lives.  Let  us  consider  the 
Apostle  and  High  Priest  of  our  profession  ;  let  us  consider 
him  in  the  natural  dignity  and  voluntary  abasement  of  his 
person  ;  let  us,  with  attention,  admiration,  and  rapture,  hear 
himself  announcing  so  joyful  an  event  in  the  words  of  our 
text,  "  I  came  downfrom  heaven,  not  to  do  mine  own  will, 
but  the  will  of  him  that  sent  me." 

From  this  passage  three  very  important  topics  of  discourse 
rise  to  view  :  First,  The  coming  of  Christ  into  the  world  :  "  I 
came  down  from  heaven;"  Secondly,  The  object  which  he 
had  in  view  in  coming:  "  Not  to  do  mine  own  will,  but  the 
will  of  him  that  sent  me;"  Thirdly.  The  manner  of  his  com- 
ing into  the  world  to  do  the  will  of  God,  suggested  by  the 
wliole  verse:  "I  came  down  from  heaven,  not  to  do  mine 
own  will,  but  the  will  oC  him  that  sent  me."  We  shall  not, 
on  the  present  occasion,  enter  so  wide  and  deep  a  topic  as 
that  of  the  coming  or  incarnation  of  Christ;  but  confine 
our  discourse  to  the  object  and  to  the  manner  of  his  coming. 

Says  Christ  in  our  text,  "  I  came  down  from  heaven,  not 
to  do  mine  own  will,  but  the  will  of  him  that  sent  me." 
Now,  what  was  the  will  of  God  which  he  came  to  accom- 
plish 1  It  was  the  Father's  will  that  he  should  glorify  the 
divine  perfections  ;  that  he  should  magnify  the  violated  law, 
and  make  it  honourable  ;  that  he  should  finish  transgression, 
and  bring  in  everlasting  righteousness;  that  he  should  des- 
troy the  "works  of  the  devil,  abolish  death,  and  save  his  peo- 
ple with  an  everlasting  salvation.  Such  the  will  of  his  pur- 
pose— "  God  hath  not  appointed  us  to  wrath,  but  to  obtain 
salvation  by  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ;"  such  the  will  of  his 
commandment:  "Therefore  doth  my  father  love  me,  be- 
cause I  lay  down  my  life  that  I  might  take  it  again  ;  no  man 
taketh  it  from  me,  but  I  lay  it  down  of  myself;  1  have  power 
to  lay  it  down,  and  I  have  power  to  take  it  again  :  this  com- 
mandment have  I  received  of  my  Father." 

Says  Christ  in  our  text,  "  I  camedown  from  heaven,  not  to 
do  mine  own  will,  but  the  will  of  him  that  sent  me."  Now, 
by  what  means  did  Christ  accomplish  the  will  of  God?  He  ac- 
complished the  will  of  God,  First,  by  bearing  sin.  But  his 
bearing  sin  supposes  sin  to  have  been  laid  upon  him;  and 
who  laid  it  upon  him  ?  "  The  Lord,"  we  are  informed  by  a 
prophet,  "  hath  laid  on  him  the  iniquity  of  us  all."  But  how 
did  he  lay  iniquity  on  him  who  of  himself  knew  no  sin  1 
By  imputing  it  to  him.  But  on  what  ground  did  he  make 
the  imputation  1  Because  Christ  substituted  himself  in  the 
room  of  the  guilty,  and  became  one  with  them  in  point  of  law 
reckoning.  As  Abraham  laid  the  wood  on  the  shoulders  of 
Isaac,  and  as  the  Israelites  laid  their  sins  on  the  head  of  the 
sacrifice  of  atonement,  so  the  Father  laid  our  iniquity  on 
Christ.  It  is  guilt,  it  is  guilt  alone,  which  justifies  the  Sa- 
viour's death  ;  had  he  not  been  the  antitype  of  the  scapegoat  to 
■which  the  iniquities  of  the  Israelitish  congregation  were  trans- 
ferred, the  law  could  not  have  fastened  its  claims  upon  him, 
nor  would  God  have  driven  him  forth  into  the  wilderness  of 
desertion  and  of  death.  He  accomplished  the  will  of  God, 
Secondly,  by  suffering  for  sin;  between  bearing  sin  and  sut- 
fering  for  it,  the  connection  is  natural,  and  necessary,  and  un- 
avoidable ;  Christ  found  it  so,  and  so  shall  every  sinner  find 
it  who  may  be  left  to  bear  his  own  burden  of  iniquity.  And 
the  law,  perceiving  that  Christ  bore  our  sins,  entangled  him 
in  its  net,  and  made  him  suffer  for  sin,  the  just  for  the  un- 
just. And  what  did  he  suflerl  Greatly  do  they  mistake 
who  believe  that  he  sulfered  only  in  his  body,  and  in  the  in- 
ferior part  of  his  soul,  by  the  opposition  of  men,  and  the  rage 
of  satannic  malice  :  "It  pleased  the  Lord" — the  Lord — "  to 
bruise  him  ;"  for  what  arm  but  his  could  inflict  a  stroke  ade- 
quate to  the  demerits  of  sin  1  The  fire  upon  the  typical  altar 
consumed  thety]>ical  sacrifice,  and  from  heaven  it  descended  ; 
so  from  above  descended  the  fire  of  wrath,  which  consumed 


the  true  sacrifice  offered  by  our  High  Priest  in  his  body  once 
for  all.  This  made  him  sweat  great  drops  of  blood  ;  this  made 
his  soul  exceeding  sorrowful  even  unto  death  ;  this  made  him, 
under  the  agonies  of  expiring  nature  and  under  the  pangs 
of  desertion,  exclaim,  "My  God!  my  God!  why  hast  thou 
forsaken  me  ?" 

Thus  he  bore  sin,  and  suffered  for  sin ;  and  by  suffering  for 
it,  he  bore  it  all  away.  Oh,  blessed  consummation !  It  was 
the  will  of  God,  that  in  order  to  save  men,  men's  iniquities 
should  be  laid  upon  his  own  Son;  in  obedience  to  his  Father's 
will,  and  from  compassion  and  affectionate  concern  for  men, 
he  bowed  himself  to  receive  the  tremendous  burden;  and  we 
behold  him  in  Gethscmane  and  on  Calvarj',  sweating,  stag- 
gering, bleeding,  expiring,  trampled  to  the  dust  of  death. 
But  like  a  man,  sinking  for  moment,  under  a  heavy  load,  into 
the  ocean,  but  rising  the  next  moment  without  it;  so  we  be- 
hold Christ  sinking  for  a  while  in  the  flood  of  divine  wrath, 
under  the  burden  of  our  guilt,  but  soon  rising  above  the  water, 
disentangled  from  it,  and  having  cast  it  into  the  deeps  of  the 
sea.  Hence  that  triumphant  exclamation,  "  It  is  finished  !" 
Holy  Father,  thou  art  glorified ;  unholy  men,  ye  are  saved  ; 
the  will  of  him  that  sent  me  I  have  done.  And  God  looked 
down  with  pleasure ;  angels  heard  it  with  inexpressible 
amazement;  the  earth  rejoiced  ;  the  powers  of  darkness  fell 
thunderstruck;  in  heaven  new  songs  of  praise  began,  which 
are  not  ended  yet,  and  never  shall,  but  are  still  to  arise  and 
are  still  to  resound ;  while  fresh  companies  of  the  redeemed, 
entering  heaven's  gates  with  the  high  praises  of  God  in  their 
mouth,  add  to  the  melody,  and  swell  the  everlasting  hymn ! 

On  the  topic  of  his  obedience  to  the  will  of  God,  we  micrht 
say  irmch  more :  we  might  narrate  the  historj',  and  point  out 
the  wonders,  and  detail  the  causes,  and  recount  the  effects, 
of  his  obedience  and  death.  But  we  shall  satisfy  ourselves 
with  two  considerations  more :  that  his  obedience  and  death 
are  a  bright  display  of  divine  wisdom  and  goodness;  and 
are  a  permanent  source  of  support  and  of  consolation  to  be- 
lievers. 

Wisdom  consists  in  bringing  about  the  best  and  most  im- 
portant end  by  the  most  proper  method  :  now  the  method  taken 
by  God  to  effectuate  the  redemption  of  fallen  men,  by  the 
substitution  and  satisfactory  death  of  his  own  Son,  appears 
the  most  consummate  manifestation  of  wisdom  and  goodness, 
if  you  consider,  that  his  obedience  and  death  were  calculated 
to  illustrate  and  to  reconcile  what  seem  to  be  the  conflicting 
attributes  of  the  divine  nature;  calculated  to  counteract  the 
designs  of  Satan,  and  disappoint  his  wiles  ;  calculated  at  once 
to  condemn  the  folly  and  to  remove  the  penalty  of  man's  dis- 
obedience; and  calculated  to  make  ample  provision  for  the 
weakness  and  for  the  necessities  of  believers. 

Ilis  obedience  and  death,  it  has  been  observed,  were  calcu- 
lated to  illustrate  and  to  reconcile  what  seem  to  be  the  con- 
flicting attributes  of  the  divine  nature.  In  human  adminis- 
trations, mercy  and  justice,  for  the  most  part,  cannot  reign 
except  by  turns ;  in  the  scheme  of  man's  redemption,  they 
shine  forth  with  united  splendour  and  with  united  efficacy. 

It  is  certain  that  sin  exists;  and  equally  certain  that  sin 
must  be  abominable  to  the  Supreme  Being,  whose  holiness 
and  justice  are  upon  his  works  with  no  less  clearness  im- 
pressed, than  are  his  wisdom  and  power :  for  the  tendency  of 
sin  to  disarrange  that  order,  and,  in  proportion  to  the  extent 
of  its  influence,  to  break  that  harmony,  which  he  has  estab- 
lished, appears  as  evident  as  the  existence  of  sin  itself.  But 
if  sin  can  never  he  an  object  of  approbalion  with  a  holy  God, 
so  must  it  be  an  object  of  punishment  with  a  just  God;  and 
concerning  the  Monarch  of  the  Universe  we  may  affirm,  that 
he  behoved  to  vindicate  his  justice  in  the  punishment  of  sin. 
However,  he  whom  we  are  permitted  to  call  our  Father,  moved 
with  pity  lor  his  offspring,  resolved  to  separate  the  sinner  from 
the  sin;  to  admit  the  former  on  certain  conditions  into  his 
favour,  while,  by  his  expressed  detestation  of  the  latter,  the 
holiness  and  dignity  of  his  government  should  be  asserted. 
How  then  could  this  end  be  effected  1  by  what  method  could 
he  reconcile  these  jarring  characters,  of  the  righteous  Mon- 
arch of  the  Universe  and  the  gracious  Father  of  men  !  By  no 
other,  as  far  as  we  are  able  to  conceive,  than  by  accepting,  in 
place  of  the  offender,  the  substitution  of  some  being,  whose 
sufferings  might  declare  his  abhorrence  of  sin,  and  whose 
merits  might  plead  and  intercede  for  the  restoration  of  the 
olTender  to  his  grace  and  to  his  friendship.  But  when  shall 
we  discover  a  being  competent  for  so  mighty  a  work  %  The 
whole  race  of  men  had  been  involved  in  guilt ;  the  whole  race 
of  angels  confessed  themselves  without  strength  :  that  entire 
exemption  from  sin,  which  could  be  obnoxious  to  no  punish- 
ment; that  infinity  of  natural  and  moral  power,  requisite  for 


THE  OBEDIENCE  OF  CHRIST. 


561 


quickening  men  from  moral  death,  and  for  dcmonstratinor  its 
commission  bv  natural  sii;ns  and  wonders;  that  degree  of  in- 
dependence, which  brought  along  with  it  the  right  of  self- 
disposal  ;  that  exalted  rank,  on  which  the  condescension  could 
not  be  enjoined  or  enforced,  and  which,  by  the  importance  of 
its  atonement  evincing  the  enormitj'  and  the  danger  of  sin, 
might  check  the  progress  of  its  ravages ;  such,  such  the  qual- 
ifications for  an  efficient  substitution.  And  in  what  being 
could  these  qualificalions  be  met  with,  but  in  the  Word  who 
was  with  God,  and  the  Word  who  was  God,  ^nd  the  ^\  ord 
who  was  made  flesh  7  Him  tlierefore,  with  his  own  consent, 
the  Eternal  Father  substituted  in  the  room  of  transgressors  ; 
and  the  atonement  which  he  made  in  the  nature  that  had 
offended,  while  it  vindicated  the  greatness  of  the  divine  majes- 
ty, operated  effectually  and  powerfully  to  the  preservation  of 
the  divine  laws  and  manifestation  of  the  divine  love.  IMercy 
and  truth  meet;  righteousness  and  peace  embrace;  the  rain- 
bow encircles  the  throne  of  judgment;  and  be  who  sits  upon 
it,  shines  forth  in  tlie  attractive  glories  of  his  character ;  the 
just  God  and  yet  the  Justifier.  This  mnst  be  the  domg  of  the 
Lord,  a  most  consummate  act  of  wisdom  and  of  goodness. 

His  obedience  and  death,  it  has  been  observed,  were  calcu- 
lated to  counteract  the  designs  of  Satan,  to  disappoint  the 
wiles  of  that  malicious  adversary.  By  the  scheme  of  man's 
redemption,  that  subtile  spirit  is  counteracted  ;  by  the  scheme 
of  man's  redemption,  that  proud  spirit  is  disappointed. 

He  is  counteracted  ;  for  what  he  intended  to  be  the  blackest 
dishonour  to  the  divine  majesty,  did,  in  the  event,  prove  its 
highest  glorv.  He  is  disajipointed,  whether  you  regard  the 
incarnation  in  which  the  divine  and  human  natures  became 
united  into  one  person,  against  which  he  breathed  the  most 
rancorous  enmity  ;  or  whether  you  regard  the  satisfaction,  for 
in  the  sufferings  of  Christ  he  had  an  active  hand,  and  yet 
these  very  sufferings  have  annihilated  his  power.  Thus  hath 
the  wise  been  taken  in  his  own  craftiness,  and  the  counsel  of 
the  froward  been  turned  upside  down.  Of  an  eminent  divine 
we  remember  it  to  be  the  saying,  that  those  macerations 
wherewith  he  is  tormented  on  account  of  his  sliameful  defeat 
and  disappointment,  constitute  a  great  part  of  that  hell  which 
he  carries  in  his  bosom. 

By  his  obedience  and  death,  it  has  been  observed,  man  s 
disobedience  is  at  once  condemned  in  its  folly  and  remedied 
in  its  guilt. 

From  the  pride  and  ambition  of  the  first  Adam  did  our  tall 
result;  our  recovery,  from  the  condescension  and  humiliation 
of  the  second.  Adam,  a  servant,  aspired  to  be  the  Lord; 
<;hrist,  the  Lord,  humbled  himself  to  be  a  servant.  Adam, 
thou-rh  poor,  affected  to  be  rich  :  Christ,  though  rich,  for  our 
sakel  became  poor,  that  we  through  his  poverty  might  be 
made  rich.  Adam,  under  the  law,  desm:d  to  be  above  the 
law's  precept,  and  brought  himself  and  us  under  its  curse: 
Christ,  thoup-h  not  under  the  law  either  in  its  precept  or  Us 
curse,  consented  to  be  made  under  the  law,  that  we  might  be 
redeemed.  Adam,  being  a  man,  comm'ated  robbery  in  affect- 
ino-  to  be  equal  with  God  :  the  Son  of  God,  who  thought  it 
no°robbery  to  be  equal  with  God,  made  himself  ol  no  reputa- 
tion, assumed  the  infirmilies  of  human  nature,  humbled  him- 
self, and  became  obedient  unto  the  death  of  the  cross.  Ol 
more  revolting  affectation  the  creature  was  not  capable,  nor 
the  Creator  of  more  astonishing  condescension. 

His  obedience  and  death,  it  has  been  observed,  were  calcu- 
lated to  make  ample  provision  for  the  wants  and  for  the  neces- 
sities of  believers. 

What  method  more  efficient  for  awakening  our  sluggish 
souls  to  contemplate,  and  our  stubborn  hearts  to  feel,  the  mys- 
tery of  irodliness,  than  the  coming  of  Christ  into  the  world  to 
converse  with  us  face  to  face]  what  motive  more  irresistible 
for  exciting  our  love  to  him,  than  such  an  unparalleled  de- 
monstration of  love  divine  1  What  argument  more  convincing, 
for  a  filial  boldness  in  acts  of  devotion,  than  God  havinjj  come 
in  the  person  of  Christ  to  reconcile  the  world  to  himsell.  He 
is  a  finished  pattern  of  holiness;  he  is  an  overllowmg  fountain 
for  our  wants  ;  nothing  remains  for  us  to  do  in  the  business 
of  our  salvation,  but  just  to  receive  what  the  bou  hath  pur- 
chased, and  the  Father  who  sent  him  hath  bestowed;  he  is 
made  unto  us  wisdom,  and  righteousness,  and  sanctilication, 
and  redemption  ;  and  we  are  complete  in  him  :  in  hira  the  head 
over  all  things  for  the  Church.  ,  ,     ., 

But  furthermore,  let  us  consider  his  obedience  and  death  as 
a  permanent  source  of  support,  and  of  consolation  to  believers. 
In  the  sufferino-s  and  death  of  Christ,  they  contemplate  hi, 
atonement,  his  love,  and  his  example ;  and  are  animated  by  a 
prospect  of  the  victorious  issue,  when  he  passed  Irom  a  state 
of  suffering  to  a  state  of  glory. 
Vol.  n.— 3  V 


His  atonement,  apprehended  and  appropriated  by  faith,  de- 
livers them  from  guilt  and  condemnation;  and  conveys  to 
them  peace  with  offended  Deity,  and  access  to  him  with  full 
assurance  and  with  joy.  And  being  delivered  from  the  power 
of  sin,  and  having  a  channel  opened  for  receiving  supplies  of 
grace  according  to  their  need,  and  of  strength  according  to 
Their  day,  they  are  prepared  to  carry  the  cross,  and  to  follow 
him,  and  to  rejoice  in  him  exceedingly. 

His  love,  in  submitting  to  death  for  their  sakes,  attaches  to 
him  the  love  and  the  confidence  of  believers.  Unspeakable 
the  power  of  love  ;  it  makes  hard  things  easy,  and  hitter  things 
sweet;  it  can  do,  or  bear,  or  forbear  any  thing,  for  the  person 
beloved  ;  but  this  noblest  principle  of  the  soul  can  never  pour 
itself  forih  in  full  tide,  till  fixed  upon  its  proper  object.  The 
love  of  Christ  begetting  love  in  believers,  has  a  constraining 
force:  it  is  stronger  than  death;  it  overcomes  the  world; 
it  lightens  the  iron  yoke  of  trouble;  and  makes  them  bow, 
with  resignation  to  the  hand  that  chastises. 

And  again,  the  reflection  that  he  suffered  for  them,  leaving 
them  an  example,  emboldens  them  with  the  like  mind,  and 
creates  in  them  a  studious  attention  to  the  manner  in  which 
he  conducted  himself  during  the  period  of  his  sufferings. 
They  look  to  him,  and  are  enlightened  ;  by  his  cross  they  are 
crucified  to  the  world,  and  the  world  to  them ;  they  neither 
court  its  favour,  nor  feel  dismayed  for  its  frown.  They  know 
what  they  must  expect,  if  they  will  be  his  servants,  from  the 
treatment  w-hich  himself  encountered;  and  they  are  content: 
in  their  sufferings  they  perceive  the  divine  purpose,  making 
them  conformable  to  their  suffering  head;  and  they  rejoice. 
The  recollection,  too,  of  the  striking  contrast  which  obtains 
between  his  character  and  theirs,  and  of  the  merciful  relation 
which  subsists  between  their  sufferings  and  his,  renders  them 
silent,  and  even  happy.  Did  the  Son  of  God  suffer,  and  if 
the  sons  of  men  suffer,  shall  it  be  considered  strange  !  was 
the  Holy  One  and  the  Just  affiicted,  and  shall  we  guilty  men 
complain  1  was  my  Creator  pierced  with  nails,  and  shall  I, 
a  contemptible  creature,  repine  for  some  thorn  in  the  flesh? 
did  the  flaming  sword  fall  upon  my  Saviour,  and  shall  I  inn- 
moderately  grfeve  when  chastened  with  the  rod?  did  he  drain 
for  me  the  cup  of  divine  wrath,  and  shall  I  refuse  to  taste  a 
cup  of  tribulation,  mingled  as  it  is  with  medicinal  ingredients? 
such  their  conformity  to  the  example  of  Christ;  such  their 
fellowship  with  hira  in  his  sufferings  and  death.  And  if  they 
suffer  with  him,  they  shall  also  reign  with  him :  he  who  was 
victorious  over  all  opposition,  can  make  them  conquerors  over 
all  their  foes :  and  he  whose  puissant  hand  rolled  back  the 
ponderous  stone  from  the  mouth  of  the  sepulchre,  to  make 
way  for  his  own  resurrection,  can  and  will  burst  the  barrier 
of  the  tomb  to  make  way  for  their  resurrection  to  glory,  hon- 
our, immortality. 

So  much  for  the  object  of  his  coming;  and  m  reference  to 
the  manner  of  it,  we  have  time  for  nothing  more  than  to  men- 
tion the  particulars  which  might  have  been  expounded,  and 
which  may  on  some  future  occasion  be  resumed.  . 

The  words  of  our  text  suggest  to  us — the  alacrity  with 
which  he  came,  the  fortitude  which  he  displayed  in  coming, 
the  seasonableness  of  his  coming,  the  acceptableness  of  the 
object  for  which  he  came,  the  solemn  attention  due  to  his 
advent,  and  the  subject  matter  of  joy  redounding  to  believers, 
from  his  havino-  come  into  the  world  to  do  the  will  of  God 
or  their  salvation.     On  these  particulars  we  shall  not  enlarge. 

With  wonder,  with  gratitude,  then,  let  us  meditate  on  the 
honour  done  to  our  nature  by  the  Son  of  God  coming  into  the 
world,  and  heiu^  made  flesh.  Our  nature  is  united  to  divin- 
ity ;  there  is  a  man  at  the  right  hand  of  the  majesty  on  high. 
The  disciples  beheld  his  glory  in  the  days  of  Ins  humiliation; 
but  eye  hath  not  seen,  nor  ear  heard,  neither  hath  it  entered 
uto  the  heart  of  man,  to  conceive  the  glory  with  which  he 
„as  invested  the  nature  of  man.  And  if  no  man  ever  hated 
his  own  flesh,  can  God  hate  the  flesh  which,  being  taken 
,to  one  person  with  the  Eternal  Son,  is  united  to  deity?  can 
,ne  father  hate,  or  fail  to  nourish,  him  whom  he  hath  more 
than  once  proclaimed  to  be  his  beloved  and  pleasant  bon  T- 
and  we  are  the  members  of  his  body,  of  his  flesh,  and  of  his 

"wherefore,  holy  brethren,  the  advice  of  the  philosopher 
comes  to  you  with  tenfold  urgency— reverence  yourselves. 
Consider  to  whom  you  are  related,  who  hath  begotten  you  to 
lively  hopes;  and  degrade  not  your  origin  by  base  and  un- 
worthy actions;  let  your  education  be  suitable  to  your  bir  h, 
your  conduct  answerable  to  your  expectations  Neither  et 
the  infirmities  and  the  dishonours  which  mortality  is  heir  to, 
rai=e  in  you  dejection  or  affliction ;  be  not  dismayed  at  the 
approach  of  pain  or  sickness;  be  not  terrified  at  the  coffin 


562 


CHRISTI/VN    LIBRARY. 


and  the  shroud.  Though  all  flesh  be  as  grass,  and  all  the 
goodliness  of  men  as  the  flower  of  grass ;  though  the  grass 
withereth  and  the  flower  fadeth,  admonishing  you  to  prepare 
for  an  autumn  and  a  winter,  when  the  spring  of  your  youth 
and  the  summer  of  your  strength  are  no  more ;  yet  the  word 
of  the  Lord  endnretli  for  ever ;  and  this  is  the  word  of  the 
Lord,  "  I  came  down  from  heaven,  not  to  do  mine  own  w  ill, 
but  the  will  of  him  that  sent  me;'"  and  also,  "If  1  go  and 
prepare  a  place  for  you,  I  will  come  again,  and  receive  you 
unto  myself." 


SERMON  VI. 

THE  NECESSITY  OP  CHRISTIAN  FRtJlTFULNESS. 

Now  also  the  axe  is  laid  unto  the  root  of  the  trees;  therefore  ever 
tree  whii-h  brinj:;eth  tiot  forth  good  fruit,  in  hewn  down  and  cast 
into  the  fire. — jMatt.  iii.  10. 

Remarkable  was  that  dream  of  Nebuchadnezzar,  which  is 
mentioned  in  the  fourth  chapter  of  Daniel.  He  saw,  in  his 
sleep,  a  large  and  stately  tree  rearing  its  majestic  head  toward 
the  heavens,  adorned  with  great  profusion  both  of  foliage  and 
of  fruit ;  but  while  surveying  it,  behold  a  watcher  and  an  holy 
one  descends  from  above,  and  cries  aloud,  "  Hew  down  the 
tree,  and  cut  off  his  branches  I"  Before  the  commencement 
of  another  year,  concerning  i/oit,  and  you,  and  you,  in  ibis 
vineyard,  shall  a  watcher  and  an  holy  one  exclaim,  "  Hew 
down  the  tree,  and  cut  off  his  branches!"  Yea,  how  know- 
est  thou,  O  vain  man !  but  he  may  already  be  poising  the 
axe,  and  lifting  it  up  for  the  fatal  blow?  "Now  also  the 
axe  is  laid  unto  the  root  of  the  trees ;  therefore  every  tree 
which  bringcth  not  forth  good  fruit,  is  hewn  down  and  cast 
into  the  fire." 

In  our  text,  the  parties  threatened  are  the  trees  which 
bring  not  forth  good  fruit;  the  doom  denounced  is,  that  they 
shall  be  hewn  down  and  cast  into  the  fire ;  and  the  emphatic 
manner  of  the  denunciation  is  obvious  from  the  whole  verse. 
"Now  also  the  axe  is  laid  unto  the  root  of  the  trees;  there- 
fore every  tree  which  bringeth  not  forth  good  fruit,  is  hewn 
down  and  cast  into  the  fire." 

In  the  first  place,  then,  what  is  meant  by  the  trees ;  by  the 
fruit  of  the  trees;  and  by  that  fruit,  particularly,  which  they 
ought  to  bring  forth,  and  without  which  they  cannot  escape 
the  doom  of  being  hewn  down  and  cast  into  the  fire? 

Trees,  being  a  figurative  expression,  are  used  in  Scripture 
to  point  forth  nations,  churches,  and  individuals:  Nations — 
"Behold,  the  Assyrian  was  a  cedar  in  Lebanon,  with  fair 
branches  and  with  a  shadowing  shroud,  and  of  an  high 
stature,  and  his  top  was  among  the  thick  boughs  :"  Churches 
— "Thou  hast  brought  a  vine  out  of  Egypt,  thou  hast  cast 
cut  the  heathen  and  planted  it:"  Individuals — the  tree  men- 
tioned in  the  fourth  chapter  of  Daniel  represented  Nebuchad- 
nezzar;  and  Christ  himself  is  compared  to  a  vine.  The 
fruit  of  the  trees  means  the  conduct  of  nations,  churches,  and 
individuals;  and  the  fruit  which  they  ought  to  bring  forth, 
here  denominated  good  fruit,  is  expressive  of  universal  holi- 
ness, or  such  excellent  and  worthy  conduct  as  honours  the 
divine  law,  and  demonstrates  the  sincerity  of  external  pro- 
fession. 

The  fruit  which  deserves  the  name  of  "  good,"  is  good  in 
respect  of  quality.  In  this  point  of  view,  the  efficient  cause 
of  it  must  be  the  Spirit  of  God,  operating  on  the  mind  by 
virtue  of  the  truth  believed  and  improved,  and  converted  into 
a  principle  of  action  and  a  rule  of  conduct  :  its  matter  must 
be  conformity  to  the  law  of  God;  for  when  our  heart  and 
behaviour  are  regulated  by  the  law  of  God,  we  have  our  fruit 
unto  holiness,  and  the  praise  and  the  honour  of  God  must  be 
its  all-engrossing  end.  Such  fruit  is  denominated  the  fruit 
of  the  Spirit,  and  the  fruit  of  righteousness.  Such  fruit  will 
never  fail  to  be  sound  at  the  heart,  heavy  in  the  hand,  fair  to 
the  eye,  and  sweet  unto  the  taste.  Moral  virtue,  which  owes 
not  its  formation  to  the  agency  of  the  Holy  Spirit,  and  has 
no  connexion  with  the  obedience  and  blood  of  Christ,  nor 
the  smallest  regard  to  the  divine  will  as  its  rule,  or  to  the 
divine  approbation  as  its  object  and  its  joy,  no  more  deserves 
the  title  of  being  good,  than  the  apples  of  Sodom,  which, 
though  beautiful  to  the  view,  were  inwardly  rottenness,  and, 
when  touched,  did  crumble  into  dust. 
The  Ixuit  which  deserves  the  name  of  "good,"  is  good  in 


respect  of  rjuaiiliti/.  In  this  point  of  view,  it  should  be  full, 
and  should  be  proportionable.  It  should  be  full  in  all  its 
branches ;  for  that  cannot  be  a  fruitful  tree  which  has  but 
two  or  three  berries  on  the  top  of  the  uppermost  bough,  and 
but  two  or  three  berries  on  the  middle  and  undermost  boughs; 
every  branch  must  bear  fruit,  and  bear  it  in  abundance.  Just 
so,  do  not  consider  it  enough  that  you  have  spiritual  gifts 
and  holy  meditations  alone,  or  laudable  purposes  and  inclina- 
tions alone,  or  pious  words  alone,  or  becoming  and  unim- 
peachable characters  alone :  you  should  have  all  these,  and 
have  them  in  abundance;  your  minds,  and  hearts,  and  con- 
duct, should  bear  fruit,  and  bear  it  plentifully.  Spiritual 
knowledge  should  abound  in  the  mind,  sjiiritual  affections 
should  abound  in  the  heart,  and  out  of  the  abundance  of  the 
heart  the  moutli  should  speak  and  the  hand  should  act  for 
God.  And  the  fruit  should  he  proportionable  to  the  means 
of  frnitfulness,  and  to  the  length  of  time  we  have  enjoyed 
them.  If  they  who  have  enjoyed  the  Gospel  for  many  years 
in  much  light,  and  purity,  and  power,  are  not  more  eminent 
for  piety  and  charity  than  those  who  have  enjoj-ed  it  for  a 
shorter  time,  and  under  a  less  powerful  and  advantageous 
ministry,  they  must  he  wofully  deficient  in  bringing  forth 
fruil,  and  will  by  no  means  answer  the  expectation  of  the 
husbandman;  for  where  he  hath  sown  bountifully  he  shall 
exjject  to  reap  bountifully. 

The  fruit  which  deserves  the  name  of  "  good,"  is  good  in 
respect  of  continuance.  In  this  point  of  view,  we  must  con- 
tinue to  bear  fruit,  and  the  fruit  which  we  bear  must  continue. 
You  should  begin  well  in  religion,  but  you  should  hold  on 
well  too.  From  the  commencement  till  the  close  of  the  year, 
during  the  warmth  of  prosperity  and  during  the  rigours  of 
adversity,  in  the  spring  of  youth  and  in  the  winter  of  old  age, 
see  that  ye  bring  forth  the  fruits  of  righteousness.  And  see 
that  the  fruit  which  ye  bring  forth  continues.  Juda  speaks 
of  some  trees  whose  fruit  wit/ierelh,  and  immediately  after 
describes  them  to  be  trees  without  fruit ;  so  that,  fruit  which 
withereth,  which  continues  not  nor  ripens  to  perfection,  is, 
in  the  estimate  of  the  Bible,  no  better  than  no  fruit,  of  which 
withering  kind,  are  those  convictions  of  conscience  which 
are  not  accompanied  by  repentance,  and  conversion,  and  re- 
formation ;  those  good  resolutions  which  are  never  executed  ; 
those  good  desires  which  are  never  reduced  to  action  nor  con- 
secrated by  prayer;  those  tokens  and  signs  of  better  conduct 
which  are  never  realized.  As  when  good  impressions  are 
made  upon  the  heart  by  the  Word  or  by  Providence;  but  the 
sermon  is  ended  or  the  aflliction  removed,  and  the  cares  of 
the  world,  or  the  deceilfulness  of  riches,  or  the  pleasures  of 
life,  or  the  influence  of  bad  example,  check  the  seed  that 
might  be  springing  up,  and  prevent  the  fruit  from  swelling 
and  bursting  to  maturity. 

In  short,  the  man  who  hath  the  divine  seed  implanted 
within  him,  will  bring  forth  the  fruit  of  the  Spirit,  which  is 
love,  juy,  peace,  long-suffering,  gentleness,  goodness,  faith, 
meekness,  temperance. 

Placing  God  before  the  eye  of  his  mind,  he  will  aim  to 
discharge  the  duties  of  religious  worship  with  sincerity, 
attention,  and  devotion.  When  contemplating  the  excel- 
lencies of  God,  he  will  revere  him  ;  when  enjoying  the  to- 
kens of  his  favour,  he  will  delight  in  him  ;  when  chastened 
by  his  afflicting  hand,  he  will  submit  to  him;  when  assault- 
ed by  temptation,  he  will  confide  in  him  ;  w-hen  employed  by 
him  in  any  difficult  and  arduous  service,  he  will  rely  on  his 
powerful  and  promised  aid. 

Integrity,  meekness,  and  benevolence  will  adorn  his  de- 
portment. He  will  be  just  in  his  dealings,  faithful  to  his 
engagements,  sincere  in  his  friendships.  He  will  sympathize 
with  the  afflicted,  and  rejoice  when  he  has  it  in  his  power  to 
shield  from  the  arrows  of  calumny  the  good  name  of  his  bro- 
ther, to  smooth  the  brow  of  adversity,  to  shed  consolation 
upon  the  sorrowful  and  the  oppressed.  To  mean  and  base 
actions  he  will  rise  nobly  superior;  and  in  acts  of  generosity 
and  of  kindness  his  heart  will  exult,  his  life  will  be  spent. 

The  comforts  of  life  he  will  use  with  temperance  and  mod- 
eration. The  wealth  and  spendour  of  the  world  he  will  have 
fortitude  enough  to  hold  in  sovereign  contempt,  when  they 
dispute  the  pre-eminence  with  intellectual  and  celestial  joys. 
His  pride  he  will  endeavour  to  mortify  ;  his  vanity  he  will 
endeavour  to  suppress  ;  his  angry  passions  he  will  endeavour 
to  restrain  and  soften ;  and  a  spirit  of  meekness,  gentleness, 
and  forbearance  he  will  cultivate  to  the  utmost  of  his  power. 
The  salvation  of  his  soul,  being  most  precious,  will  form 
his  grand  object,  and  have  the  preference  to  every  other 
concern. 

And,  oh !  be  persuaded  to  bring  forth  abundantly  the  fruit 


CHRISTIAN  FRUITFULNESS. 


5G3 


of  faiili  and  love,  of  zeal  for  God,  of  brotherly  kindness,  con 
descension,  and  forbearance.  Can  ye  forget  that  the  Chris 
tian  religion  is  the  religion  of  love  t  Do  ye  think  it  becom- 
ing or  consistent  to  put  off  humanity  when  ye  put  on  Christi- 
anity V  Nay ;  but  the  wisdom  that  comelh  down  from  above 
is  peaceable,  gentle,  and  easy  to  be  entreated.  A  gracious 
sour  spirit  is,  we  had  afmost  said,  a  contradiction  in  terms, 

Be  persuaded  to  bring  forth  good  fruit.  What  but  reason- 
able, that  Christ  should  expect,  should  seek,  should  demand 
fruit?  and  where  but  from  you  1  Shall  he  seek  it  from  the 
uncultivated  trees  of  the  forest,  from  the  wild  olives  in  the 
wilderness  1  Or  is  it  more  natural  to  seek  it  from  the  pruned 
and  watered  trees  in  his  own  vineyard  f  And  if  ye  bring 
forth  good  fruit,  well, — well  for  the  Lord  of  the  vineyard,  which 
is  Christ,  well  for  the  vine-dresser,  which  is  your  minister, 
well  for  the  barren  fig  tree,  which  is  yourself.  For  against 
every  tree  which  bringeth  not  forth  the  fruit  we  have  been 
describing,  is  the  awful  doom  in  our  text  denounced.  Not 
every  tree  that  bringeth  forth  evil  fruit,  but,  "Every  tree 
which  bringeth  not  forth  good  fruit,"  for  that  tree  is  evil 
which  is  barren.  "  Every  tree  which  bringeth  not  forth  good 
fruit,  is  hewn  down  and  cast  into  the  fire." 

Christ  is  the  lord  of  the  vineyard.  What  is  the  believing 
soul  but  the  vineyard  of  Christ?  And  hence,  when  alluding 
to  those  special  communications  which  he  has  with  the  soul 
of  a  believer,  he  calls  them  visiting  his  garden  ;  and  the  sa- 
tisfaction which  he  has  in  those  renewed  and  sanctified  tem- 
pers that  dwell  in  the  heart  and  spread  through  the  conduct 
of  a  believer,  he  styles  eating  his  pleasant  fruit.  "I  am 
con:e  into  my  garden,  my  sister,  my  spouse ;  I  have  gathered 
my  myrrh  with  my  spice  ;  I  have  eaten  my  honey-comb  with 
my  honey,  I  have  drunk  my  wine  with  my  milk."  Once, 
and  this  vineyard  lay  but  a  waste  howling  wilderness,  in 
which  Satan  held  undisputed  sway  ;  but  the  exertions  of  the 
great  husbandman,  and  the  dews  of  spiritual  influence,  have 
enriched  it  with  the  fruitfulneSB  and  adorned  it  with  the  bloom 
of  Eden:  "The  wilderness  and  the  solitary  place  shall  be 
glad  for  them,  and  the  desert  shall  rejoice,  and  blossom 
as  the  rose:"  "  Instead  of  the  thorn  shall  come  up  the  fir 
tree,  and  instead  of  the  brier  shall  come  up  the  myrtle  tree; 
and  it  shall  be  to  the  Lord,"  the  keeper  of  the  vineyard,  "for 
a  name,  for  an  everlasting  sign  that  shall  not  be  cut  oil"." 

But  Christ  has  another  vineyard,  and  of  more  extent ;  we 
refer  to  the  whole  visible  Church,  in  which  are  to  he  found 
the  tall  cedar  and  lowly  shrub,  fruitful  plants  and  barren 
trees.  The  trees  in  this  garden  were  primarily  the  Jews,  and 
afterwards  the  Gentile  nations.  The  original  condition  of  the 
Gentiles  has  been  compared  to  that  of  a  wild  olive,  not  the 
natural  production  of  the  vineyard,  but  transplanted  from  the 
wilderness,  and  inserted  into  the  better  stock  by  the  skill  and 
kindness  of  the  lord  of  the  vineyard  ;  the  Jews  being  the  na- 
tural root.  But  the  Jews,  in  the  divine  sovereignty  and  in 
the  divine  wrath,  have  been  cast  over  the  garden  wall,  and 
we  are  permitted  to  remain  within  the  vineyard.  Yet  above 
our  head  also  do  the  judgments  of  the  Almighty  hang,  and 
shall  as  assuredly  seize  upon  us  for  our  impenitence  and  un- 
belief, as  they  siezed  upon  and  trampled  down  the  Church  of 
the  Jews,  of  which  a  most  awakening  intimation  is  contained 
in  the  text  now  before  us.  "Every  tree  which  bringeth  not 
forth  good  fruit,  is  hewn  down  and  cast  into  the  fire." 

The  doom  denounced  in  our  text,  that  "  every  tree  w^hich 
bringeth  not  forth  good  fruit,  is  hewn  down  and  cast  into  the 
fire,"  does  the  Supreme  Ruler  inflict  upon  sinning  nations 
with  the  axe  of  public  calamities. 

Among  the  chief  of  such  calamities  may  be  reckoned  war, 
and  those  dread  disasters  which  mark,  and  which  follow  the 
progress  of  an  invading  and  successful  enemy  :  famine,  pes- 
tilence, and  captivity,  confused  noise,  and  garments  rolled  in 
blood.  The  Assyrian  monarch,  while  invading  and  destroy- 
ing the  nations  around  him,  is  entitled  the  axe  and  saw  of 
the  divine  anger,  "  Shall  the  axe  boast  itself  against  him  that 
hewetli  therewith'!  or  shall  the  saw  magnify  itself  against 
him  that  sbaketh  it?"  Such  an  axe  against  the  sinning  na- 
tion of  the  Jews  was  Nebuchadnezzar,  and  after  him  Titus 
Vespasian  :  with  the  calamities  brought  upon  them  by  the 
severe  strokes  of  the  one  axe,  surrounding  him,  did  Jeremiah 
utter  his  Lamentations,  and  deplore  the  miseries  of  his  fallen 
country  ;  with  the  still  heavier  calamities  to  he  brought  upon 
them  by  the  other  battle-axe,  full  in  his  prophetic  view,  did 
John  forewarn  them  of  the  irrevocable,  and  complete,  and 
final  ruin  of  the  state,  "  Now  also  the  axe  is  laid  unto  the 
root  of  the  trees ;  therefore  every  tree  which  bringeth  not 
forth  good  fruit  is  hewn  down  and  cast  into  the  fire."  A  ter- 
rible axe!  most  dreadful  to  behold!  which  levels  in  undis- 


tinguishing  ruin  the  bramble  of  the  wilderness  and  the  oak 
upon  the  mountains,  cuts  off  the  spirit  of  princes,  and  strikes 
through  kings  in  the  day  of  his  anger  ;  while  the  oil  of  mercy 
and  patience,  by  the  sinning  nation  refused  and  slicihted, 
adds  to  it  incredible  sharpness  and  brightness,  and  irresisti- 
ble effect.  Consult  the  page  of  history,  consult  the  records 
which  yourselves  must  have  made  of  the  dispensations  of 
Providence,  and  mark  how  awfully  our  text  has  been  fulfill- 
ed, "  Every  tree  which  bringeth  not  forth  good  fruit  is  hewn 
down  and  cast  into  the  fire."  And,  oh!  that  Britian  may 
profit  by  such  sad  examples  ;  and  abandon  that  pride,  intem- 
perance, false  security,  and  obstinacy,  that  irreligion,  that 
atheism,  that  corruption  and  fraudulence.  that  misgovern- 
ment,  disunion,  and  disorderliness,  and  that  want  of  fraternal 
concord,  so  calculated  to  bring  upon  her  swift  perdition  ! 

The  doom  denounced  in  our  text,  that  "  Every  tree  which 
bringeth  not  forth  good  fruit  is  hewn  down  and  cast  into  the 
fire,"  does  the  Supreme  Ruler  inflict  upon  sinning  Churches 
with  the  axe  of  spiritual  plagues  and  temporal  judgments. 

With  spiritual  plagues,  when  he  removes  faithful  ministers, 
and  sends  inefficient  and  indolent  successors  ;  when  he  excites, 
among  the  members,  intolerant  and  arrogant  domination  over 
the  consciences  and  liberties  of  each  other,  and  strife  so  that 
they  bite  and  devour  each  other;  when  he  suffers  to  prevail 
among  them  uncharitableness,  malice,  envy,  slander,  and 
similar  passions,  which,  carried  far,  he  abhors  and  considers 
to  be  equally  heinous  with  the  robberies  and  with  the  mur- 
ders which  are  visited  by  human  justice,  and  are  so  revolting 
to  human  nature.  With  temporal  judgments,  when  he  in- 
volves them  in  the  calamities  brought  upon  sinning  nations,  of 
which  they  constitute  part;  and  when,  by  these  dire  calam- 
ities, the  light  of  the  Gospel  is  extinguished,  the  candlestick 
of  Christian  ordinances  taken  out  of  the  place,  civil  and  reli- 
gious freedom  overturned,  whatever  conveniences  and  for- 
tunes they  possess  ruined  and  scattered  ;  and  the  blackest 
curse  of  Heaven  appears  to  spread  its  raven  w  ing,  and  exert 
its  baleful  influence,  over  the  very  spot  of  earth,  at  one  time 
favoured  and  consecrated  from  on  high,  which  they  had  pol- 
luted by  unbelief,  ingratitude,  and  impiety.  "Now  will  I 
sing  to  my  well-beloved  a  song  of  my  beloved  touching  his 
vineyard  :  my  well-beloved  hath  a  vineyard  in  a  very  fruitful 
hill ;  and  he  fenced  it,  and  gathered  out  the  stones  thereof, 
and  planted  it  with  the  choicest  vine,  and  built  a  tower  in  the 
midst  of  it,  and  also  made  a  wine-press  therein  ;  and  he  look- 
ed that  it  should  bring  forth  grapes,  and  it  brought  forth  wild 
grapes.  And  now,  O  inhabitants  of  Jerusalem,  and  men  of 
Judah,  judge,  I  pray  you,  betwixt  me  and  my  vineyard. 
What  could  have  been  done  more  to  my  vineyard  that  I  have 
not  done  in  it?  Wherefore,  when  1  looked  that  it  should 
bring  forth  grapes,  brought  it  forth  wild  grapes?  And  now, 
go  to;  I  will  tell  you  what  I  will  do  to  my  vineyard  :  I  will 
take  away  the  hedge  thereof,  and  it  shall  be  eaten  up ;  and 
break  down  the  wall  thereof,  and  it  shall  be  trodden  down  ; 
and  I  will  lay  it  waste;  it  shall  not  be  pruned  nor  digged; 
but  there  will  come  up  briers  and  thorns  ;  I  will  also  com- 
mand the  clouds  that  they  rain  no  rain  upon  it." 

The  doom  denounced  in  our  text,  that  "  Every  tree  which 
bringeth  not  forth  good  fruit,  is  hewn  down  and  cast  into  the 
fire,"  does  the  Supreme  Ruler  inflict  upon  sinning  persons, 
by  exposing  and  blasting  them  even  here,  assuredly  by  pun- 
ishing and  consuming  them  hereafter. 

Just  while  they  shall  be  carrying  upon  them  the  blossoms 
of  profession,  and  bo  crowned  with  all  favourable  opinions, 
he  lets  them  uncover  themselves,  and  show  what  in  reality 
they  are,  and  convince  the  world  that  in  reality  they  are  twice 
dead,  and  only  fit  to  be  plucked  up  and  thrown  away.  For 
he  who  is  no  more  than  a  hypocrite,  will  not  always  be  suf- 
fered to  remain  a  hypocrite  ;  the  disguise  may  soon  be  torn 
from  bis  person,  and  the  mask  from  his  face.  But  whether 
exposed  and  blasted  here,  or  not,  they  cannot  fail  to  be  hewn 
down  by  the  axe  of  death;  death,  which  indeed  hews  down 
the  flourishing  and  fruit-bearing  trees  also,  and  spares  neither 
the  verdant  tree  nor  the  dry,  neither  hypocrisy  nor  sincerity, 
neither  wickedness  nor  holiness  ;  but  mark  the  difl'erence  : 
the  trees  in  the  vineyard  of  Christ  are  not  so  much  hewn 
down,  as  transplanted  from  the  nursery  below,  to  the  paradise 
above,  where  they  flourish  under  a  warmer  sun  and  a  milder 
climate,  all  beauty  and  order,  all  safety  and  perfection ; 
whereas,  the  trees  that  glorify  not  the  divine  husbandman  by 
bearing,  must  glorify  him  by  burning;  and,  in  the  monitory 
emphatic  language  of  our  text,  "Every  tree  which  bringeth 
not  forth  good  fruit,  is  hewn  down  and  cast  into  the  fire." 

The  doom  denounced  in  our  text,  that  "  Every  tree  which 
bringeth  not  forth  good  fruit,  is  hewn  down  and  cast  into  the 


564 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


fire,"  suggests  to  our  mind,  tliat  notwithstanding  the  care 
and  attention  bestowed  upon  the  trees,  multitudes  of  them 
continue  barren,  or  bring  not  forth  good  fruit;  that  no  more 
signal  instance  of  the  divine  mercy  could  be  exliibited,  thin 
withholding,  lime  after  time,  the  fatal  blow  ;  that  when  the 
season  of  forbearance  terminates,  vengeance  will  hew  down 
the  tree  ;  that  however  near  the  axe  descends  to  the  root  of 
the  tree,  however  prepared  the  instruments  of  vengeance,  yet 
mercy  still  implores  and  admonishes;  and  that,  all  means 
rejected,  all  warnings  slighted,  if  the  tree  be  "hewn  down 
and  cast  into  the  fire,"  the  blame  and  the  blood  of  men's 
viisery  be  on  men's  impcnilency. 

Wherefore,  onr  exhortation  to  you  is,  bring  forth  good 
fruit — see  that  ye  be  rooted  in  Christ;  see  that  ye  be  stead- 
fast in  the  faith,  not  tossed  with  every  wind  of  doctrine ;  see 
that  no  worm  of  predominant  sin  be  at  the  root;  see  that  ye 
grow  by  the  rivers  of  water;  see  that  ye  grow  near  to  one 
anotlicr ;  and,  oh  !  pray  to  be  made  fruitful,  even  though  the 
pruning-knife  be  employed  ;  for  better  the  pruning-knife  of 
aflliction,  than  the  hewing  axe  of  damnation. 


SERMON  VIII. 


THE  DESIRE  OF  LIFE;    A  NEW  YEAR'S  DISCOURSE. 
Let  my  soul  live,  and  it  shall  piaise  thee. — Psalm  cxix.  1*5. 

In  the  words  now  before  us,  the  psalmist  prays  for  a  con- 
tinuation of  his  temporal  life,  that  he  might  have  time  and 
opportunity  in  this  world  to  honour  God  :  "Let  my  soul  live, 
and  it  shall  praise  thee,"  or,  that  I  may  praise  thee — Let  my 
life  be  prolonged,  that  I  may  live  to  thy  glory. 

I  have  no  doubt,  my  brethren,  that  such  a  wish  as  this  has, 
at  least  in  part,  been  formed  and  expressed  by  most  of  you, 
during  the  preceding  week,  the  commencement  of  a  new  year. 
When,  in  the  usual  style,  you  wished  to  yourselves  and  to 
your  friends,  a  good  new  year,  long  life,  and  many  comforta- 
ble returns  of  the  season,  you  in  fact  formed  the  very  same 
wish  with  David  in  the  text,  "  Let  my  soul  live."  I  flatter 
myself,  therefore,  with  entering  into  your  sentiments,  when  I 
make  this  wish  to-day  the  subject  of  our  discourse. 

Only,  as  we  discern  in  the  text  both  the  man  and  the  be- 
liever, humanity  and  piety  ;  and  as  these  two  qualities,  united 
in  the  psalmist,  are  so  often  separated  in  the  hearts  and  lips 
ol  the  great  bulk  of  mankind  ;  it  will  be  requisite  to  consider, 
in  two  <listinct  parts,  that  which,  with  the  ))salmist.  made  but 
one  and  the  same  emotion,  or  breathing  of  soul.  He  wishes 
for  life;  behold  the  aflections  of  the  man;  he  wishes  for  lite, 
that,  in  the  enjoyment  of  it,  he  might  glorify  God  ;  behold  the 
heaven-born  desires  of  the  believer ;  he  wishes  for  life,  and  so 
do  we  all ;  but  we  do  not  all,  like  him,  wish  to  employ  that 
life  which  we  desire  for  the  glory  of  God. 

It  is  our  design  to  examine  the  first  branch  of  the  text. 
"Let  my  soul  live,"  as  a  detached  wish,  in  which  all  the  sons 
of  men  will  join  ;  and  at  the  same  time  run  over  those  culpa- 
ble motives  which  every  day  induce  the  greater  part  of  men 
to  form  it ;  and  next,  to  consider  the  words  as  one  entire  and 
complete  wish,  "  Let  my  soul  live,  and  it  shall  praise  thee  ;" 
and,  in  this  point  of  view,  present  it  to  you  as  a  model  of 
those  reasonable  and  Christian  sentiments  which  ought  to 
animate  you  on  the  beginning  of  a  new  year,  in  desirino-  for 
yourselves  and  others  many  returns  of  such  a  season. 

"Let  my  soul  live;"  let  my  life  be  prolonged;  is  a  wish 
common  to  all  the  sons  of  men,  and  it  becomes  laudable  or 
criminal  according  to  the  goodness  or  badness  of  the  motives 
which  influence  us  to  form  it:  and  we  propose,  in  the  first 
place,  to  consider  this  part  of  the  text  as  a  detached  wish,  set 
in  opposition  to  the  last  clause,  and  originating  in  those  cul- 
pable motives  which  induce  too  many  of  the  sons  of  men  to 
desire  a  prolongation  of  life. 

We  should  naturally  begin  the  catalogue  of  those  w^ho  are 
influenced  to  form  sucli  a  wish  from  cr'iminal  motives,  with 
deists  or  infidels,  who  deny  the  Bible  to  be  a  divine  revela- 
tion, and  also,  for  the  most  part,  the  immortality  of  the  soul, 
the  resurrection  of  the  body,  and  a  future  state  of  existence ; 
a  class  of  men  who  are  deeply  interested  in  wishing,  "Let 
my  soul  live."  If  they  believe  no  other  doctrine  but" that  of 
annihilation  after  death,  on  leaving  the  world  they  cannot  ex- 
pect an  adequate  recompense  for  that  of  which  they  are  de- 


prived. If  things  which  are  seen  and  which  are  temporal 
bound  their  views,  it  is  by  no  means  surprising  to  behold 
them  attached  to  the  world ;  for,  in  the  grave,  their  prospects 
terminate;  beyond  the  grave,  they  see  nothing  but  everlasting 
silence  and  desolation.  That  exquisite  relish  which  they  dis- 
play for  the  enjoyments  of  time  and  of  sense  cannot  be  so 
much  blamed,  as  the  hot  precipitancy  which  they  discover  in 
arriving  at  conclusions  so  dismal;  in  extinguishing  hopes  the 
most  sublime;  in  renouncing  immortality,  and  heaven,  and 
happiness.  Have  they  spent  that  time  and  paid  that  atten- 
tion which  are  required  for  settling,  even  in  a  speculative 
way,  questions  so  important  and  eventful,  so  big  with  the 
eternal  destinies  of  man  '\  Have  they  not,  with  unreasonable 
rashness,  and  under  the  impulse  of  unhallowed  appetite,  burst 
the  bands  of  moral  and  religious  feeling,  and  joined  the  stand- 
ard of  infidelity,  without  reflecting  upon  the  substantial  loss 
which  they  have  incurred,  and  upon  the  unsubstantial  gaia 
which  they  have  acquired?  Have  they  not  assumed  deism, 
to  indulge  in  criminal  passions  without  restraint  and  without- 
control  f  Have  they  not  fled  to  infidelity  as  to  a  city  of  refuge, 
where  they  might  be  safe  from  the  torments  of  conscience — 
the  enemy  and  the  avenger?  And  yet,  should  they  search 
matters  to  the  bottom,  a  thousand  moments,  and  a  thousand 
too,  are  occurring,  in  which  tliey  will  find  it  impossible,  des- 
pite of  all  the  assurance  and  confidence  affected  by  them,  to 
persuade  themselves  that  religion  is  a  cheat,  and  eternity  a 
baseless  dream.  And  if  so,  are  they  not  inexcusable  in  wish- 
ing for  the  prolongation  of  life,  with  a  view  to  make  no  other 
Hseof  it,  but  to  fulfil  the  desires  of  the  flesh  and  of  the  mind? 
Ought  they  not,  in  a  very  different  spirit,  a  spirit  of  humility 
and  inquiry,  to  form  the  wish  in  our  text,  "Let  my  soul 
live?" 

But  some  people  we  meet  with,  who  do  not  reject  the  truths 
of  religion,  yet  live  as  if  they  admitted  none  of  them;  and 
who  perceive  no  other  end,  no  other  benefit,  in  the  prolonga- 
tion of  life,  than  as  it  furnishes  them  with  an  opportunity  and 
with  the  means  of  gratifying  their  depraved  inclinations. 
Shall  it  offend  my  audience,  if  I  suppose  that  some  of  these 
baptized  infidels  are  now  hearing  me?  Art  not  thou  one  of 
them,  O  young  man!  who,  ushered  upon  the  world's  stage, 
and  surrounded  with  scenes  of  forbidden  pleasure,  believest 
no  felicity  comparable  to  the  noise  and  hubbub  of  riot  and  of 
extravagance  ;  who  shunnest  the  path  of  pieiy  ;  who  leavest 
the  acts  of  devotion  to  the  aged  and  to  the  dying  ;  to  whom  a 
wise  and  sober  deportment  appears  the  vilest  drudgery,  and 
a  bar  to  real  happiness  ?  Art  not  thou  one  of  them,  O  ambi- 
tious man  !  who,  from  morn  till  night  unceasing,  projectest 
schemes  for  aggrandizing  thy  fortune  or  thy  family ;  who  as- 
pirest  after  the  honour  that  cometh  from  man,  more  than  after 
the  honour  that  cometh  from  above ;  who  createst  imaginary 
))rospects  of  grandeur  awaiting  thee,  and,  by  anticipation  of 
future  height  and  affluence,  comfortesl  thyself  against  the 
present,  wiiich  fails  to  satisfy  thy  pride;  and  wouldest  rather 
live  no  more,  than  live  in  obscurity  and  in  shade?  Art  not 
thou  one  of  them,  O  vindictive  man  I  who,  since  the  injury 
done  thee,  brealhest  nought  but  the  ruin  of  thine  enemy  ;  who 
pursuest  him  with  taunts,  afi'ronts,  calumnies,  contradictions, 
oppressions,  violence ;  who  stirrest  up  thy  neighbourhood 
into  quarrels,  or  thy  nation  into  the  flames  of  anarchy  and  of 
war ;  and  whose  life  is  a  continual  study,  how,  and  how  soon, 
and  how  much,  to  be  avenijed  on  thine  adversary?  Art  not 
thou  one  of  them,  O  covetous  man  !  who,  envying  the  success 
of  those  around  thee,  strivest,  by  lawful  measures  and  unlaw- 
ful tricks,  to  rise  to  a  similar  degree  of  opulence  and  splen- 
dour ;  who  hast  a  thief's  fingers,  and  a  murderer's  heart ;  who 
cstecmest  liiui  the  happiest  that  hoards  silver  as  the  dust,  and 
swims  in  wealth,  and  rides  aloft  in  jiomp  and  in  pre-eminence? 
Thus,  by  enumerating  the  various  classes  of  men,  who,  hav- 
ing a  form  of  godliness,  yet  deny  the  power  thereof,  it  must 
appear  too  evident,  that  multitudes  are  tied  to  life  by  the 
bonds  of  criminal  passion,  and  by  no  other  motives;  inso- 
much, that  if  their  desires  for  the  prolongation  of  it  should  be 
reduced  into  direct  prayers,  each  with  its  ruling  motive  an- 
nexed, what  a  scene  would  be  unfolded,  how  black  w  ilh  im- 
piety, how  shocking  to  the  serious  mind  !  Let  my  soul  live, 
that  I  may  enjoy  heaven  upon  earth  ;  let  the  Mahomedan  par- 
adise descend ;  and  mine  be  the  feast  and  the  dance,  mirth 
and  sensual  delight:  let  my  soul  live,  that  I  may  shine  in 
splendour  and  exalted  repute  before  men  ;  let  dignities  be  con- 
ferred upon  me  from  every  side,  and  my  fame  be  wafted  on 
every  breeze :  let  my  soul  live,  that  I  may  inflict  vengeance 
on  my  foes;  brace  my  sinews,  strengthen  my  hands,  that  I 
may  sweep  from  domestic  comforts  and  from  public  honours, 
those  who  have  thwarted  my  pursuits,  wounded  my  vanity, 


THE  DESIRE  OF  LIFE. 


565 


and  withheld  the  homage  which  I  had  expected :  let  my  soul 
live,  that  I  may  grasp  riches,  extort  profits,  cheat  my  credit- 
ors, and  oppress  my  debtors;  pence  instead  of  pardon,  the 
mammon  of  unrighteousness  instead  of  God  in  Christ  recon- 
ciling the  world  unto  himself.  Is  the  serious  mind  confound- 
ed and  shocked  at  such  a  prayer  1  yes,  and  so  perhaps  the 
sinner  too:  but  what]  is  not  this  the  very  language  of  the 
secret  desire  of  your  heart  1  Is  not  this,  however  impious,  the 
loud  thundering  language  of  your  conduct?  Is  not  this  the 
actual,  but  concealed  interpretation,  that  you  affix  upon  the 
wish  in  our  text,  '.'  Let  my  soul  live  ?"  And  oh  !  what  else  is 
your  conduct  but  unjust,  ungenerous,  and  ungrateful,  to  abuse 
the  divine  goodness  and  the  divine  gifts,  and  alienate  them 
from  God,  to  the  indulgence  of  your  unhallowed  appetites  1 
But  why  nime  equity,  why  speak  of  generositj-,  why  of  grat- 
itude, to  you,  who  are  too  much  drenched  in  carnal  excesses, 
to  be  susceptible  of  such  high  and  such  elevated  feelings  ? 
What  spirit  of  error  bewitches  you,  what  blind  frenzy  hath 
seized  you  ;  desiring  life,  that  you  may  consume  it  on  your 
lusts?  the  goodness  of  God  which  ought  to  inspire  you  with 
repentance;  you  pervert  that  goodness  and  patience,  and 
treasure  up  for  yourselves  wrath  against  the  day  of  wrath. 
"Because  sentence  against  an  evil  work  is  not  executed 
speedily,  therefore  the  heart  of  the  sons  of  men  is  fully  set  in 
them  to  do  evil." 

A  third  class,  much  less  condemned  than  any  of  the  pre- 
ceding, bnt  whose  disposition  is  far  removed  from  the  psalm- 
ist's, we  define  to  be  such  as  are  attached  to  life,  and  desire 
the  continuance  of  it,  from  an  immoderate  regard  for  objects 
in  themselves  right  and  proper.  What  more  common  than  to 
find  persons,  in  the  enjoyment  of  external  comfort  and  tran- 
quillity, desirous  of  building  a  tabernacle  here,  and  abiding  in 
the  midst  of  so  much  that  is  pleasant  to  the  tlesh  and  to  the 
fancy  ?  \Vhat  more  common  than  to  find  persons  attached  to 
life,  from  anticipating  some  distant  advantage ;  or  from  the 
remembrance  of  past  toils  and  fatigues,  of  which  it  seems  nat- 
ural and  just  for  them  to  reap  the  profit;  or  from  an  ardent 
alTection  towards  relatives  and  friends,  which  dreads  a  sepa- 
ration, and  abhors  the  unsocial  tomb  ?  However,  in  forming 
such  a  wish  from  such  motives,  you  are  preferring  your  own 
will  to  the  will  of  God,  the  gift  to  the  Giver,  the  creature  to 
the  Creator,  sentiments  little  worthy  of  a  rational  being,  far 
less  of  an  exalted  Christian,  who  should  desire  to  be  with 
Christ,  his  master,  and  not  rest  too  fondly  in  the  fashion  of 
the  world  or  in  the  delights  of  society.  Let  not  the  pregnant 
cloud  of  the  divine  mercies  intercept  from  our  view  the  di- 
vine hand,  which  has  filled  that  cloud  with  dew  and  with 
fruitfulness. 

It  still  remains  for  us  to  animadvert  upon  a  fourth  class, 
whose  attachment  to  life,  and  whose  desire  of  having  it  pro- 
longed, appears,  as  one  might  think,  much  more  reasonable 
than  do  the  cases  which  we  have  already  delineated,  and 
yet,  if  inspected,  must  be  pronounced  unreasonable  and  dis- 
graceful in  the  extreme.  Lo,  there  is  a  man  whose  head  is 
enlightened  in  the  truths  of  religion  ;  he  knows,  in  a  specula- 
tive manner,  his  privileges  and  his  duty;  his  conscience  is 
alarmed  by  the  preaching  of  the  word;  the  spirit,  in  his  com- 
mon operations,  knocks  at  the  door  of  his  heart,  or  say. 
Providence  lays  him  on  a  sick  bed,  and  death  and  eternity 
stare  him  full  in  the  face  :  he  is  roused  from  his  former  slolh- 
Ailness:  his  thoughts  turn  inwards ;  reflection  and  the  force 
of  truth  illuminate  the  darkest  recesses  of  his  sonl ;  after  a 
serious  and  careful  survey,  he  discovers  with  grief  borderino' 
on  despair,  that  his  eternal  interests  have  been  neirlected ; 
overwhelmed  with  terror,  convinced  how  much  is  to  be  done, 
and  how  much  more  space  he  needs  for  doing  it,  he  pravs  for 
a  prolongation  of  his  life,  "  Let  my  soul  live."  His  prayer 
is  answered  ;  but  scarce  has  he  obtained  his  desire,  scarce 
has  he  come  from  the  sick  bed,  till,  forgetting  the  cause  and 
occasion  of  his  desire,  he  holds  on  in  the  self  same  road  of  care- 
lessness and  iniquity;  and  arrive  death  when  it  may,  tenfold 
more  horrible  shall  be  its  appearance,  tenfold  more  dreaded 
its  approach.  \\  hat  think  ye  of  such  a  man  ?  Yet  we  have 
not  done:  the  same  circumstances  recur;  again  he  meditates 
on  his  condition;  again  receives  a  broad  view  of  death  and 
eternity;  again  is  alarmed,  penetrated,  frantic;  an-ain  and 
again  repeats  his  desire,  his  promise,  his  resolution  ;  let  his 
desire  be  granted,  and  his  promise  he  neglects,  his  resolution 
he  breaks;  afraid  of  death,  he  never  makes  ready  for  it,  pray- 
ing fur  life,  yet  he  never  makes  a  better  of  it — never  lives 
by  the  faith  of  the  :?on  of  God,  who  hath  abolished  death, 
and  revealed  to  us  a  spiritual  life  and  a  blissful  immortality. 
We  shall  do  these  men  justice:  they  are  neither  speculative 
unbelievers,    nor   hardened    sinners;  they   have   seasons    in 


which  the  spirit  moves  upon  their  heart,  and  religion  seems 
takino'  fast  hold  of  them,  and  conscience  arises,  and  higher  res- 
olutions arise;  seasons  in  which  they^  condemn  their  folly, 
and  imbecility,  and  iniquity ;  seasons  in  which  they  confess 
themselves  unfit  to  die;  and  they  desire  to  live,  in  order  to 
have  their  state  reversed,  their  souls  regenerated  :  but  yet,  in 
spite  of  terror,  and  in  spite  of  reflection,  and  in  spite  of  reso- 
lution, they  are  no  more  ready  to  die,  than  five,  or  twenty,  or 
forty  years  since.  Do  ye  require  arguments  to  be  convinced, 
that  such  conduct  is  opposed  to  the  honour  of  God,  to  right 
reason,  to  your  own  vital  interests?  Know,  that  so  long  as 
you  do  not  flee  for  refuge  to  Christ,  the  hope  set  before  us, 
your  iniquities  are  daily  increasing,  and  with  them  are  daily 
increasing  your  grounds  of  terror  for  that  period,  when  before 
your  Sovereign  Judge  you  shall  be  cited,  and  consigned  to 
abodes  of  penal  vengeance,  oBers  of  mercy  excluded,  and  no 
place  for  repentance,  though  sought  with  eternal  tears  and 
lamentations.  And  will  not  your  present  delay  to  barken  to 
the  voice  of  mercy,  will  not  your  present  despite  of  the  great 
salvation,  aggravate  your  crime,  and  deepen  your  doom? 
Among  the  various  wishes  for  the  prolongation  of  life,  the 
most  unreasonable  and  most  presumptuous  we  conceive  to  be, 
making  no  improvement  of  life  for  the  vast  and  vital  concern- 
ments of  eternity,  and  yet  praying  from  time  to  time  in  the 
words  of  our  text,  "  Let  my  soul  live." 

We  propose,  in  the  second  place,  to  consider  the  words  of 
our  text  as  one  entire  and  complete  wish,  "  Let  my  soul  live, 
and  it  shall  praise  thee ;"  and,  in  this  point  of  view,  present 
it  to  you  as  a  model  of  those  reasonable  and  Christian  senti- 
ments, which  ought  to  animate  you  on  the  beginning  of  a  new 
year,  in  desiring  for  yourselves  and  others  many  returns  of 
such  a  season. 

Praising  God,  consists  in  our  acknowledging,  admiring, 
and  endeavouring  to  imitate  his  excellences,  and  the  beauty 
of  his  power  and  holiness.  Praising  God,  includes  in  it  a 
suitable  knowledge  of  his  being  and  perfections,  a  believing 
trust  in  his  mercy,  an  ardent  love  for  him,  an  admiration  of 
his  benevolence,  and  the  manifesting  of  our  knowledge,  and 
faith,  and  love,  and  admiration,  in  the  tenor  of  our  converse 
and  conduct.  And  the  praising  of  God  which  ought  to  be 
our  motive  in  forming  the  wish,  "  Let  my  soul  live,"  is,  yon 
will  be  pleased  to  observe,  the  praises  of  the  whole  inau  : 
soul  and  body,  being  alike  participants  of  his  bounty,  and 
subjects  of  his  redeeming  love,  must  alike  be  consecrated  to 
his  praise.  His  praise  must  be  celebrated  upon  the  earth ; 
his  praise  nmst  be  celebrated  by  us  on  our  journey  to  heaven ; 
his  praise  ascends  amid  innumerable  dishonours  done  to  him 
by  our  apostate  obdurate  race.  We  praise  God,  by  securing 
our  own  salvation — by  showing  forth  his  perfections,  and 
declaring  his  tender  mercies — by  promoting  the  temporal 
interest,  and  especially  the  spiritual  advantage  of  our  brethren 
of  mankind.  In  each  of  these  respects  we  may  pray,  accord- 
ing to  the  words  of  our  text,  "Let  my  soul  live,  and  it  shall 
praise  thee." 

"  Let  my  soul  live,  and  it  shall  praise  thee,"  by  securing 
my  own  salvation.  The  trembling  soul,  whom  an  insight 
into  his  native  corruption  frightens;  whom  the  idea  of  divine 
justice  crushes ;  whom  the  possible  or  probable  nearness  of 
death  fills  with  anguish;  who  keeps  looking  to  Jesus,  desir- 
ous of  prolonged  time  in  order  for  the  establishing  of  his 
faith ;  let  him  draw  near  with  the  prayer  in  our  text,  let  him 
ctTer  it,  nothing  doubting,  and  the  answer,  whatever  it  be, 
shall  be  for  his  advantage  and  his  happiness.  The  trembling 
and  infirm  believer,  anxious  and  unsettled  about  his  spiritual 
state;  who,  though  foxes  have  holes,  and  the  birds  of  the  air 
have  nests,  hath  not  where  to  lay  his  head,  no  pillow  to  rest 
upon  with  certainty,  in  view  of  the  eternal  world ;  let  him 
draw  near,  and  offer  up  the  prayer  in  our  text,  nothing  doubt- 
ing, and  the  answer,  whatever  it  be,  shall  be  for  his  advant- 
age and  his  happiness ;  and  who  knows  but  that,  before  his 
departure  into  the  eternal  world,  the  evidences  of  his  state 
shall  be  brightened,  and  he  shall  be  enabled  to  make  his 
calling  and  election  sure  and  undiniable? 

"  Let  my  soul  live,  and  it  shall  praise  thee,"  bj'  showing 
forth  thy  perfections,  and  declaring  thy  tender  mercies.  Lord, 
I  am  not  worthy  to  enter  into  thy  celestial  palace;  let  my 
soul  live,  that  I  may  declare  how  much  I  am  indebted  to  thy 
grace,  before  departing  hence  and  being  no  more:  mj' life 
hitherto  has  been  tlic  opposite  of  praising  thee ;  I  have  dis- 
honoured thee ;  I  have  hardened  my  fellow  sinners  against 
thee;  I  have  drawn  aside  thy  professing  people,  and  insti- 
gated them  to  blasplieme  thy  name,  to  mock  thine  ordinances, 
to  bring  discredit  on  the  C'lirisiian  character:  let  my  soul 
live,  that  I  may  he  the  instrument  of  repairing  what  I  have 


566 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


injured,  of  restorincr  what  I  have  taken  away,  of  building  up 
what  I  have  destroyed. 

"  Let  my  soul  live,  and  it  shall  praise  thee,"  by  promoting 
the  temporal  interest,  and  especially  the  spiritual  advantage, 
of  my  Ijrethren  of  the  human  race.  We  are  commanded  to 
put  on,  towards  our  neighbour,  bowels  of  mercy  and  com- 
passion :  and  if  the  believer  deems  it  in  his  power  to  con- 
tribute to  the  edification  of  his  brethren,  he  should  by  no 
means  desire  to  be  made  perfect  without  them.  What  a 
beautitul  exemplification  of  such  disinterested  love  did  the 
Apostle  Paul  display,  when  lie  said,  "  I  am  in  a  strait  be- 
twixt two,  having  a  desire  to  depart  and  to  be  with  Christ, 
which  is  far  better;  nevertheless,  to  abide  in  the  flesh  is 
more  needful  for  you  :"  Love  to  man,  love  to  the  church, 
made  him  willing  that  his  entrance  into  heaven  should  be 
deferred  ;  out  of  tenderness  for  them,  he  accepted  of  his  min- 
isterial cares  and  the  dreariness  of  exile  from  Christ,  content 
to  remain  among  them  for  the  advancement  and  for  the  joy 
of  their  faith  !  Let  us  desire  life,  not  merely  for  ourselves, 
but  for  the  i[iterest  and  advantage  of  our  neighbours.  Let  us 
imitate  the  genorous  Uriah,  who  refused  to  share  the  comforts 
of  bis  house  and  bed,  because  his  brethren  were  stretched  in 
the  camp,  and  exposed  to  the  fatigues  and  to  the  calamities 
of  war.  Let  us  imitate  the  courageous  Nehemiah,  who, 
though  royal  cupbearer,  mourned  and  pined,  because  the  city 
of  his  God  lay  in  ruins,  and  his  brethren  under  contumely 
and  distress.  And  if  these  he  our  motives  for  desiring  a 
prolongation  of  life,  let  parents  in  behalf  of  their  children,  let 
ministers  in  behalf  of  their  flocks,  let  rulers  in  behalf  of  the 
country  whose  interest  they  do  or  should  promote, — let  them 
offer  up  with  boldness  and  assurance  the  prayer  in  our  text, 
"  Let  my  soul  live,  and  ii  shall  praise  thee." 

And  finally,  it  being  a  custom,  on  the  commencement  of  a 
new  year,  for  men  to  present  each  other  with  congratulations 
and  friendly  w'ishes,  according  to  the  same  custom  do  I  pre- 
sent you,  my  Christian  brethren,  with  my  pastoral  congratu- 
lations. In  the  scriptural  sense  of  the  phrase,  1  wish  you  a 
good  new-year.  I\hiy  your  souls  live,  not  tliat  you  should 
act  upon  infidel  sentiments,  not  that  you  should  throw  loose 
the  reins  to  your  depraved  inclinations,  not  that  you  should 
sink  down  in  doating  attachment  upon  secular  pursuits  and 
earthly  relatives,  not  that  you  should  trifle  and  procrastinate 
with  the  affairs  of  your  eternity  ;  but  that,  with  heart  and 
soul,  and  mind  and  strength,  you  should  praise  God,  by 
securing  your  own  salvation,  by  showing  t'orth  his  perfec- 
tions, and  declaring  his  tender  mercies;  by  promoting  the 
temporal  interest,  and  especially  the  spiritual  advantage,  of 
your  brethren  of  mankind.  May  this  be  to  you  the  year  of 
jubilee,  of  release  from  Satan's  yoke,  and  of  an  increasing 
advancement  in  the  liberty  wherewith  C'lrist  hath  made  you 
free.  And  if  this  year  you  shall  die,  may  it  be  the  year  in 
which  you  are  born  into  the  world  of  glory,  where  time  is 
measured  out,  not  by  drops,  but  by  a  full  and  ever-flowing 
flood  of  happiness  and  of  praise.  Let  me  live,  that  I  may 
praise  thee  on  earth ;  let  me  die,  that  I  may  praise  thee  in 
heaven  :  "  For  to  me  to  live  is  Christ,  and  to  die  is  gain." 


SOME  ACCOUNT 


REVEREND  PETER   YOUNG, 

LATE  MINISTER  OF  THE  FIRST  UNITED  ASSOCIATE  CONGREGA- 
TION IN  JEDBURGH. 

From  the  conclusion  of  a  sermon,  delivered  by  the  Uev.  Rebert  Hall 
to  his  own  congregation,  in  Kelso,  in  18'i4. 

During  the  progress  of  this  discourse,  3'our  minds  will  na- 
turally have  been  turned  towards  the  memory  of  our  dear 
friend,  whose  death  has  led  to  the  present  train  of  meditation. 

Praise,  I  know,  availeth  not  the  dead  ;  but  when  truthfully 
and  judiciously  bestowed,  may  be  of  service  to  the  living.  It 
is  under  the  influence  of  this  feeling,  that  I  proceed  to  say 
something  of  our  dear  departed  friend. 

Among  those  who  knew  him,  this  we  believe  to  be  the 
general  feeling,  that  of  living  characters,  few  were  to  be  met 
with,  in  whom  was  to  be  found  less  to  censure,  and  more  to 


commend.  His  mind  was  early  formed  to  piety.  It  was  in 
his  early  years  that  his  thoughts  were  turned  towards  the 
ministry;  and  during  the  course  of  bis  studies  he  was  re- 
markable for  bis  modesty  and  his  diligence.  In  the  begin- 
ning of  1738,  he  received  licence  to  preach  the  Gospel,  llis 
services  were  very  acceptable  to  the  religious  public,  and  he 
soon  received  a  harmonious  call  from  the  congregation  in  Jcd- 
burgh,  to  be  successor  to  the  Reverend  Alexander  Shanks, 
their  then  aged  and  venerable  pastor, and  w-as  ordaiiied  in  the 
August  following.  When  he  entered  on  his  ministry,  it  was 
with  every  favourable  circumstance.  The  dawn  indicated 
the  approach  of  an  auspicious  day.  Nor  did  the  indication 
prove  fallacio\is,  for  his  ministry  was  eminently  distinguished 
iiy  public  usefulness.  In  discharging  all  the  functions  of  the 
sacred  office,  he  continued  to  be  the  successful  minister  unto 
the  end. 

In  general  his  judgment  was  good,  his  memory  strong,  his 
reading  extensive,  and  on  men  and  books  his  observations 
were  judicious. 

In  regard  to  his  bodily  constitution,  it  was  not  robust.  He 
was  rather  of  delicate  health;  but  by  a  careful  attention  to 
himself,  previously  to  the  illness  which  terminated  his  la- 
bours, he  was  very  seldom  laid  off  from  his  public  work  by 
bodily  indisposition. 

As  a  man,  he  had  an  amiable  mind,  and  was  of  conciliating 
dispositions.  In  his  manner  there  was  a  patience,  a  meek- 
ness, a  softness,  accompanied  with  a  visible  willingness  to 
oblige,  which  endeared  him  to  all.  Benevolence  to  men,  I 
may  say,  was  the  very  element  in  which  his  soul  lived  and 
moved.  His  integrity  was  of  the  first  order;  in  friendship  he 
was  sincere;  in  counsel  prudent;  to  admonish  he  was  loath, 
and  when  he  had  to  do  it,  it  was  always  done  in  the  tender- 
ness of  friendship. 

His  piety  was  of  the  most  amiable  cast, — it  was  enlighten- 
ed, it  was  mild,  it  was  uniform.  In  him  Christianity  ap- 
peared lovely  and  inviting;  pouring  day  over  the  dark  mind, 
strengthening  the  weak,  consoling  the  afilicted,  gladdening 
the  hearts  of  the  faithful,  commanding  the  respect  of  the  most 
worthless.  It  shone,  not  like  the  moon  when  labouring  under 
an  eclipse,  but  like  the  sun  when  shinning  beauteously  in  the 
heavens. 

In  religious  principle,  he  was  the  enlightened  and  steadfast 
man.  Where  religious  principles  were  concerned,  no  earthly 
authority  weighed  with  him.  It  was  necessary  that  with  his 
own  eyes  he  should  see  them  to  be  in  the  word  of  the  Lord  ;  and 
when  satisfied  of  their  being  in  the  word  of  the  Lord,  to  them 
he  adhered  with  a  firm  and  unshaken  mind.  He  was  a  Pres- 
byterian from  principle;  and  a  Presbyterian  of  the  Secession 
Church  from  principle.  But  though  a  Presbyterian,  and  of  the 
Secession  Church,  he  could  well  appreciate  the  worth  of  all 
good  men,  to  whatever  denomination  they  belonged.  He 
kept  by  the  Scripture  doctrine,  That  all  who  believe  on  Jesus 
Christ,  and  walk  in  him,  are  in  the  sight  of  God  valuable 
characters,  and  as  such,  these  he  loved  ;  and  that,  where  this 
is  not  the  case,  whatever  denomination  of  Christians  a  man 
belongs  to,  his  religion  is  nothing. 

In  the  discharge  of  his  ministerial  duties,  in  the  pulpit  and 
out  of  it,  he  was  most  assiduous.  Presiding  over  a  large 
body  of  people,  and  having  a  constitution  not  of  the  strongest 
kind,  he  had  much  to  do  ;  but,  notwithstanding,  in  discharg- 
ing all  the  offices  of  the  Chrisiian  pastor,  his  labour  was  un- 
remitting. Besides  his  attentions  to  his  own  congregation, 
he  was  ready  to  give  his  assistance  to  every  institution,  which 
had  for  its  object  the  good  of  man.  Every  institution,  pious 
and  charitable,  felt  his  energies  ;  especially  that  greatest  of  all 
charities,  the  dissemination  of  the  "  word  of  life"  among  the 
various  nations  of  mankind. 

His  manner  of  preaching  you  know  much  better  than  I  can 
describe.  In  the  language  of  Scripture,  he  was  "  an  able 
minister  of  the  New  Testament."  His  manner  of  preaching 
was  eminently  suited  to  a  numerous  congregation,  made  up  of 
persons  of  every  capacity.  His  subjects  were  the  great  and 
interesting  doctrines  of  Christianity.  His  exposition  of  the 
truth  was  always  luminous,  and  happily  adapted  to  the  taste 
of  the  renewed  soul.  In  his  discourses  there  was  an  uncom- 
mon zest  of  savuui-iness,  for  his  heart  was  transfused  into  the 
words  which  proceeded  from  his  lips.  His  countenarice  was 
mild  ;  his  manner  grave  ;  bis  utterance  deliberate  ;  his  voice 
full-toned.  The  truth  coming  from  liim,  was  tenderly  and 
strongly  impressive;  but  on  the  assembly  it  fell  not  in  light- 
ning, and  thunder,  and  tempest,  but  as  the  warm  refreshing 
rain  upon  the  earth.  I  know  my  congregation  is  going  along 
with  me  in  all  that  I  have  said. 

For  twenty-five  years  he  was  our  regular  assistant  at  the 


SOME  ACCOUNT  OF  THE  REV.  PETER  YOUNG. 


administration  of  the  Lord's  Supper,  and  in  looking  back  on 
the  years  that  are  gone,  you  have  the  pleasing  recollection, 
how  acceptable  and  edifying  his  ministrations  were  unto  you. 
When  he  ascended  the  pulpit,  there  was  a  general  feeling  of 
satisfaction  visible  on  the  face  of  the  congregation,  and  as  he 
proceeded,  the  satisfaction  visibly  increased.  What  I  said 
of  him  when  living,  I  may  say  of  him  now,  when  dead, — 
that  he  was  one  of  the  most  useful  ministers  the  generation 
has  produced. 

This  good  and  amiable  man  walked  through  life,  still 
holding  on  the  placid  tenor  of  his  way  ;  increasing  in  know- 
ledge and  in  piety,  in  private  worth  and  public  usefulness, 
beloved  and  respected  by  his  congregation,  beloved  and  res- 
pected by  all  who  knew  him.  For  twenty-five  years  of  his 
ministry  he  was  in  full  activity;  and  during  that  period,  with 
the  truth  "his  lips  fed  many."  When  it  pleased  God  to 
visit  him  with  the  affliction  which  was  to  terminate  his  la- 
bours, he  was  devoutly  submissive  to  the  divine  will.  The 
Lord  was  very  gracious  to  him  in  his  affliction.  It  was  in- 
deed of  considerable  length;  but  the  darkness  without  was 
alleviated  by  the  sunshine  within.  The  Lord  lifted  up  the 
light  of  his  countenance  upon  him,  and  all  was  peace. 

Tranquillity  of  mind  he  happily  enjoyed  from  the  beginning 
to  the  close  of  his  affliction.  About  two  weeks  before  his 
death,  he  had  something  like  a  little  revival;  and  at  that 
time,  to  a  friend  who  came  in  to  see  him,  he  said,  "  I  have 
been  within  sight  of  the  harbour;  but  I  think  I  am  again 
blown  back  a  little."  Upon  Sabbath  evening,  the  evening 
before  he  died,  when  his  dear  friends  were  standing  around 
his  bed,  and  sympathizingly  inquiring  how  he  was, "this  was 
his  reply,  "You  see  me  here  making  rapid  progress  to  eter- 
nity, and  I  am  marching  under  the  brightest  beams,  both 
from  the  outward  kindness  of  God,  and  his  inward  communi- 
cations to  my  soul."  After  which  he  proceeded,  with  a 
mind  quite  at  ease,  to  give  his  pious  friends  many  precious 
directions,  among  which  he  said,  "Young  people  are  often 
afraid  of  trouble,  but  fear  not  to  enter  into  the  dark  cloud,  for 
God  will  be  with  you  there,  and  the  light  of  his  countenance 
will  brighten  the  deepest  shades  of  affliction."  As  the  night 
advanced,  nature  became  more  and  more  exhausted.  But 
still  he  felt  his  mind  tranquil,  both  under  his  affliction,  and 
in  looking  to  the  close  of  it.  He  desired  to  be  with  Christ, 
and  his  desire  was  soon  given  him.  At  half-past  four  on  the 
following  morning  he  was  in  much  weakness,  but  still  in 
perfect  recollection;  and  during  the  space  of  a  few  minutes, 
without  pain,  his  breathing  gradually  subsided,  and  he  yielded 
up  his  spirit  into  the  arms  of  his  dear  Redeemer.  Oh 
blessed !  supremely  blessed  are  those  dead,  who  have  died 
in  the  Lord  ! 

^  When  the  Apostle  Paul  took  his  final  farewell  of  the 
Church  of  Ephesus,  I  remember  it  is  recorded  in  the  Acts, 
that  they  all  wept  sore,  and  fell  upon  his  neck  and  kissed 
him,  sorrowing  most  of  all  for  the  words  which  he  spoke- 
that  they  should  see  his  face  no  more.  We  are  placed  in  a 
similar  situation.  That  excellent  minister  and  good  man  has 
taken  his  departure,  and  in  this  world  we  are  to  see  his  face 
no  more.  Under  this  painful  and  depressing  dispensation, 
what  are  we  to  do  '  Let  us  first  give  thanks  to  God  for  hav- 
ing called  him  to  take  part  in  the  Christian  ministry,  for  the 
grace  bestowed  upon  him,  and  for  the  years  he  did  preserve 
hira  to  be  so  eminently  useful  in  the  service  of  the  Church. 
Are  we  to  see  him  no  more  ?  Then  let  us  pray  to  God  that 
the  spirit  ot  the  departed  Elijahs  may  descend  on  the  youno- 
Elishas,  and  that  he  may  raise  up  many  such  good  ministers", 
to  be  a  blessing  to  the  Church,  and  to  the  world.  Are  we 
to  see  him  no  more?  Then  let  us  be  frequently  employed 
in  recollecting  the  words  of  truth  which  we  have  so  often 
heard  from  his  lips;  that,  now  when  dead,  to  us  he  may  yet 
be  speaking.  Are  we  to  see  his  face  no  morel  Let  us  re- 
member, that  when  good  men  and  good  ministers  die,  what 
earth  loses  heaven  gains.  Our  dear  friend  is  gone,  in  reo-ard 
to  this  world,  for  ever  gone;  but  it  is  to  occiTpy  a  more^ele- 
vated  station  in  the  kingdom  of  God.  He  is  gone  to  the 
spirits  of  just  men  made  perfect,  with  whom  he  is  now  serv- 
ing God  day  and  night,  and  made  blessed  for  evermore 
"  And  I  heard  a  voice  from  heaven,"  says  John  in  the  Apoca- 
lypse, "saying  unto  me,  write.  Blessed  are  the  dead  which 
die  in  the  Lord  from  henceforth  :  Yea,  saith  the  Spirit,  that 
they  may  rest  from  their  labours;  and  their  works  do  follow 
them. 

Finally,  need  we  be  reminded  that  the  time  is  near  at  hand 
when  we,  too,  shall  see  one  another  in  this  world  no  more' 
P«eed  we  be  admonished,  that  in  a  little,  death  shall  for  ever 
dissolve  our  connexion  with  earth  and  time?     To  the  ocean 


567 


of  vast  eternity  are  we  drawing  near,  so  very  near,  that  now 
it  is  opening  to  our  view,  and  seems  to  roar  within  our  hear- 
ing. Eternity!  Oh  Eternity!  and  is  this  awful  eternity,  in 
a  little,  to  receive  us?  Well,  let  us  prepare  for  it  by  in- 
stantly betaking  ourselves  to  the  Saviour,  whom  God  has 
provided  for  us  perishing  immortals.  In  the  Gospel  of  the 
blessed  God,  Christ  is  presented  to  sinners  of  mankind,  as 
the  object  of  faith.  God,  in  mercy,  has  laid  his  command 
upon  us  to  receive  Christ,  as  his  gift  unto  us,  to  be  our 
Saviour;  and,  on  our  believing  in  Christ,  we  shall  receive 
from  him  the  remission  of  sins,  and  life  everlasting.  Thus, 
in  believing  on  the  Son  of  God,  we  shall  be,  hap^pilv,  pre- 
pared for  our  eternity.  All  shall  be  safe.  When  \ve  die, 
our  dying  day  will  be  our  birth-day  into  the  world  of  glory; 
where  all  the  friends  of  God  at  last  shall  meet,  and  meet— no 
more  to  part;  where  mortality  is  swallowed  up  of  life,  and 
the  former  things  have  passed  away ;  where,  in  the  beatific 
presence  of  God,  and  of  Christ,  our  blessedness  shall  be 
complete,  and  all  will  be  eternal. 

When  Mr^  Young  was  ordained,  which  was  on  the  15th 
of  August,  1798,  he  commenced  his  ministrv  by  preachina  on 
the  following  Sabbath  from  Ephes.  vi.  19.  "And  for°me 
also,  that  utterance  may  be  given  unto  me,  that  I  may  open 
my  mouth  boldly,  to  make  known  the  mystery  of  the  Gos- 
pel." And  at  the  close  of  his  ministry,  the  last  sermon  he 
preached  was  from  Acts,  xx.  24.  "That  1  miaht  finish  my 
course  with  joy,  and  the  ministry  which  I  have  received  from 
the  Lord  Jesus." 

Mr.  Shanks,  the  aged  pastor,  lived  a  little  more  than  a 
year  after  the  appointment  of  his  successor;  and  when  the 
great  and  the  good  man  died,  on  the  Sabbath  after,  our  dear 
friend  preached  from  2  Kings,  ii.  12.  "And  Elisha  saw  it, 
and  he  cried,  INIy  father,  my  father  !  the  chariots  of  Israel. 
and  the  horsemen  thereof;  and  he  saw  him  no  more:"  It 
was  a  most  appropriate  text,  and  it  afterwards  appeared,  that 
a  portion  of  the  spirit  of  the  ascending  Elijah  had  fallen  on 
the  young  Elisha. 

In  1802,  Mr.  Young  was  appointed  to  supply,  for  some 
time,  the  congregation  of  Miles's  Lane  in  London.  Durino- 
his  continuance  with  them  he  was  held  in  much  estimation" 
and  soon  after  a  call  for  translating  him  to  Miles's  Lane  was 
brought  forward  ;  but  Mr.  Young,  when  desired  to  express 
his  mind  on  the  subject,  was  of  the  judgment  that  he  should 
be  allowed  to  continue  with  his  congregation  in  Jedburgh, 
and  the  Synod  was  unanimous  in  appointing  his  continuance. 

During  his  affliction,  the  continuance  of  which  was  about 
twelve  months,  his  brother,  Mr.  Young,  surgeon  in  Edin- 
burgh, occasionally  came  to  see  him;  and  not  Fong  before  his 
death,  when  his  brother  was  with  him,  he  said,  "In  the 
course  of  my  affliction  I  had  been  frequently  thinkino-  of  re- 
signing the  charge  of  my  congregation,  but  it  is  now  some 
time  since  I  have  thought  of  not  doing  it,  till  I  shall  crive  it 
into  the  hands  of  the  Lord  Jesus  himself,  from  whom  I  re- 
ceived It."  When  he  looked  back  on  all  the  way  by  which 
the  Lord  had  led  him  through  the  world,  he  said  "  He  found 
he  had  reason  to  biess  God,  and  to  be  very  thankful ;  and 
were  he  to  travel  through  life  over  again,  he  would  not  wish 
to  interfere  with  the  will  of  God  in  making  any  alteration ; 
tor  the  doings  of  the  Lord  with  him  were  either  in  themselves 
agreeable,  or  his  mind  was  brought  to  acquiesce  in  them,  and 
he  now  found  that  He  had  done  all  things  well."  He  was 
reniarkable  for  his  tranquillity  and  resignation  during  his 
affliction.  At  a  time  when  his  illness  was  more  than  ordina- 
rily severe,  it  was  sympathizingly  said  to  him,  that  he  had 
got  little  rest :  with  great  serenity,  he  replied,  "  I  will  aet 
rest—a  good  rest  soon."  Upon  the  Friday  preccdino-  the 
Monday  morning  on  which  he  died,  he  was  able  to  walk  into 
the  drawing-room,  but  from  what  he  said,  it  appeared  that, 
^"T  'j  "'  ^^  considered  the  time  of  his  departure  to  be  near 
at  hand.  But  he  looked  to  it  with  calmness  and  serenity  of 
soul  for  he  had  the  peace  of  God  which  passeth  all  under- 
standing, keeping  his  heart  and  mind  through  Jesus  Christ. 

Ihe  lollowing  extract  of  a  letter  from  a  much  respected 
triend,  is  worthy  to  form  the  conclusion  of  the  present  narra- 
tive. 

"  He  said  much,  during  the  whole  time  of  his  trouble,  indi- 
cative of  the  happy  frame  of  his  mind ;  indeed,  I  may  say 
scarce  a  day  passed  without  some  expression  that  showed  his 
inward  comtort,  serenity,  peace,  and  even  joy.  But  it  was 
not  so  much  what  he  said,  as  the  whole  tenor  of  his  conduct, 
during  the  days  of  his  trouble,  that  has  shed  a  lustre  over  his 
character  which  I  am  unable  fully  to  describe.  Such  uniform 
resignation,  cheerful  submission,  thankfulness,  and  content- 


568 


CHRISTIAN    LIBRARY. 


merit  with  all  the  dealings  of  his  heavenly  Father,  could  pro-i  The  following  paragraph  appeared  in  the  Kelso  Mail,  on  the 
ceed  from  nothinT  but  the  rich  grace  of  his  Saviour,  that  alone  Monday  after  the  funeral. 

made  him  what  he  was.  Perhaps  you  may  think  the  partial-j  "  Died  on  the  18th  instant,  the  Rev.  Petek  Young,  one  of 
ity  of  a  friend  may  colour  too  highly,  but  I  can  assure  you  the  ministers  of  the  Secession  Church  in  Jedburgh,  in  the 
that  no  words  of  mine  are  adequate'' to  convey  to  you  any  idea  fiftieth  year  of  his  age,  and  twenty-seventh  of  his  ministry, 
of  the  brio-ht  exemplification  of  all  the  doctrines  he  loved  to'Among  those  who  knew  him,  this,  perhaps,  is  the  general 
teach,  that  shone  forth  in  his  conduct  during  the  period  of  his, feeling, — that  of  living  characters  few  were  to  be  met  with, 
afflict'ion.  i'"  whom  was  to  be  found  less  to  censure,  and  more  to  com- 

With  reo-ard  to  the  manner  of  his  death  I  can  say  little;  it  mend.  He  was  a  man  of  amiable  and  conciliatory  disposi- 
took  place'about  half  past  four  o'clock  on  the  Monday  morn- tions;  for  piety  he  was  most  exemplary;  his  public  services 
ino-;  he  seemed  restless  and  uneasy  for  some  hours  before,  were  highly  acceptable  and  edifying  to  all,  and  in  discharging 
but  was  quite  recollected,  and  in  the  full  use  of  his  faculties  his  other  ministerial  duties  he  was  most  assiduous.  In  liim 
to  the  very  last;  he  suffered  much  at  times  during  the  whole  his  congregatien  has  lost  a  most  valuable  and  endeared  pas- 
course  of  his  trouble,  but  at  the  end  there  was  nothing  but  lor,  and  his  memory  will  be  long  and  affectionately  cherished 
peace;  his  pain  seemed  all  over  long  before,  and  without  the  by  a  large  circle  of  respectable  friends.  He  bore  his  length- 
smalle'st  strutrcrle  his  breath  grew  m'ore  and  more  gentle,  till  ened  affliction  with  great  tranquillity  ;  and  vvhen  he  died,  it 
he  yielded  uiThis  spirit  into  Ihe  hands  of  his  Redeemer,  in  |  was  under  much  serenity  of  mind,  and  almost  without  suffering, 
whose  presence  he  now  rejoices,  with  joy  unspeakable  andi  "We  understand  that,  as  an  expression  of  public  respect 
full  of  o-lory."  U"'  '^®  deceased,  the  shops  were  shut  during  the  funeral." 


END  OF  VOL.  II. 


PrmcMOn  ThfOloqical  Semiia 


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1    1012  0114 


iniliillnilllli 
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